“Guess they’re coming for the war.”
“Guess so, although why we need more cavalry on the border is beyond me. It’s infantry we need, infantry to garrison Daavis. Cavalry isn’t worth spit in a siege.”
“Yah,” Gudon agreed sympathetically. “But the rumors been goin‘ for weeks now, so how come Kendra ain’t sending infantry?”
The foreman gave Gudon a look of mild disgust. “Weeks? Don’t know who you’ve been talkin‘ to, but the first I heard about it was less than five days ago.”
Gudon slipped away. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Prado could not have put together a company this size in less than a month. The mercenaries were not here for the war.
He walked quickly to the small room he rented in a rundown riverside inn. He went in the back way and quickly gathered together his few belongings, including the sword he had hidden under a loose floorboard. From there, he made his way to a stable, woke the irate owner and paid the difference he owed for the keep of his two horses, then rode north out of Daavis at a fast trot. By dawn, he was well clear of the city and the river. He switched horses and kept up a good pace, but he could not help wishing he had wings on his feet. Even at the best speed he would not reach the High Sooq before the start of spring, and by then it might be too late.
Normally Prado lost his temper when he was forced to kick his heels, but he made a special effort on this occasion; so far into his plan, he was not going to allow anything to stop his progress. Officials in Queen Charion’s court bustled by him, paying him scant attention; at first he had pestered each of them to find out when the queen would see him, but they would shrug helplessly and maneuver out of his way, so eventually he gave up.
He had heard from the court sergeant-at-arms the news that Areava was mobilizing for a war against Haxus, and he was afraid she had sent orders for his company to be conscripted into the defense of Daavis. The news certainly did away with any intention he had of asking Charion for a troop or two of her regular cavalry to help him in his mission.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I can do it with the twenty-five hundred I have, as long as no one gets in my way.
About mid-morning he was joined by Freyma and Sal.
“Have you heard—” Freyma started excitedly.
“About the war?” Prado spat. “Of course I’ve heard.”
“And the other rumor?” Sal asked.
Prado’s eyes narrowed. “What other rumor?”
“That Lynan is leading the armies of Haxus.”
Prado could not hide his surprise. If true, it would almost certainly mean Areava had ordered Charion to join his forces with her own. He thought furiously, pacing up and down the ornate tiled atrium and glancing nervously at the bronze doors that led to the queen’s throne room. He was not so sure he wanted that audience with her now.
If the rumor was true, then Rendle had returned to the Oceans of Grass and captured Lynan. But how? Prado had been with Rendle when his first attempt to capture the prince had failed—presumably foiled by the Chetts; if that was the case, the Chetts would have made sure Lynan was safe, which in turn meant Rendle was riding deep into the plains in late autumn—or worse, in winter—to capture Lynan.
He shook his head. No, it was not possible. It must be nothing but a rumor.
“Lynan’s still with the Chetts,” he said aloud, but to no one in particular.
“How can you be so sure?” Sal asked.
He looked at her sternly. “I just know.”
Over the last two months, Sal had learned what that expression meant. She did not argue the point.
The bronze doors opened and a harried-looking official scurried to Prado. “The queen will see you now.” The official glanced disapprovingly at the mercenaries’ dress. “Be brief.”
He led the three into the throne room. The space seemed small after Areava’s throne room in Kendra, but it was richly decorated. Courtiers, soldiers, and secretaries were everywhere, yapping with each other, poring over documents on makeshift tables, looking strained. Charion herself was on the throne surrounded by an anxious throng of attendants, and among them all she seemed like an oasis of tranquillity.
She was short and finely built, like a figurine. Her face was round and pale, and black hair tumbled loose over her shoulders. Brown eyes coolly regarded the mercenaries as they approached her.
“Your Highness—” Prado began, bowing low.
“I have received messages from Queen Areava concerning your mission,” Charion interrupted. Her voice seemed unnaturally low for such a small woman. “It is an annoyance.”
“I am sorry, ma‘ am, that we have come at such an inconven—”
“The messages also stressed I was not to interfere,” she continued. “By which I gather she means I cannot second your company.”
“It is mainly cavalry, your Highness. No good in a siege.”
“A siege? Who said anything about a siege?” Her voice was as hard as steel.
“Everyone is talking about it, ma’am,” Prado said hurriedly. “And the supplies we have seen—”
“Farben?” she said.
The official who had showed in the mercenaries scampered by them and kneeled before Charion. “Your Highness?”
“I thought I ordered the supplies to be stored as soon as they arrived? I don’t want Salokan’s spies knowing what we’re about.”
Farben shrugged apologetically. “We’re storing them as quickly as we can, but work was disrupted last night by ...” he glanced at Prado, “... by the arrival of the general and his company.”
Charion looked sourly at Prado. “Another reason to be unhappy with you.”
“We had no idea, your Highness,” Prado pleaded. “If we did—”
“You would still have made your grand entrance. I know your type, General. And I know Areava.”
Prado did not know what to say, and anyway she would only interrupt him, so he bowed again. Freyma and Sal stood well back, studiously staring at their feet.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“To gather supplies,” Prado told her.
“Not possible,” she said. “You can see we need all the supplies for ourselves. Salokan will march on us when the thaw starts.” She looked at Farben again. “When do my magickers say that will be?”
“Four, maybe five, weeks, your Highness,” Farben answered.
“So you see, General, supplies are out of the question.”
Prado licked his lips. “Your Highness, I understand your predicament, but my mission is vital.”
Charion leaned forward. “What exactly is your mission?”
Prado blinked. He had not expected this. “Your Highness?”
“Oh, God’s teeth, General, don’t play the fool. The question was straightforward enough.”
“I assumed Queen Areava would have informed you of it.”
Charion sat back again, and her pale face flushed with anger. “Obviously an oversight on her part. These are busy times for us all, and something as simple as that might be overlooked. So, what is your mission?”
“Far be it from me to withhold information, your Highness, but I am under instruction from the queen not to discuss it.” He hoped he was lying convincingly. If Areava had not told Charion, she had her reasons. Or rather, Orkid had his reasons. Was the chancellor afraid Charion would interfere? Or take on the mission herself? Yes, that was it. In her struggle with Chandra, she would do anything to curry favor with Areava.
“I see,” Charion said icily. “Then you had better get on with it.”
“I need supplies, ma’am.”
“I’ve already told you I cannot spare any.”
“But my mission—”
“If I knew what your mission was, General, then maybe I could see my way to giving you what you need.”
“Or we could send a carrier bird to Kendra to clarify the position,” Prado said quickly, and bowed his head a third time, but this time to hide the swallow that bobbed in his throat. He held his breath, expecting a scream of outrage.