Gregar leaned to Leah. ‘You know, he’s not half bad at that.’
‘You should hear him when he really gets on a roll.’
Limp between his two supporters, Haraj raised his head just enough to peer about. ‘Is he gone?’ His two supports pushed him from them, disgusted, and he stood brushing at the mud smearing the yellow surcoat over his old leather jupon.
Gregar restrained himself from swatting the fellow. ‘So you can stand?’
‘Quite. Thought that rather obvious from the timing, hey? There you were about to commit a punishable crime.’ He held out his pale hands. ‘I had to do something.’
Leah was now laughing openly, though silently. ‘Your friend’s right. He saved your skin.’
Gregar scowled his irritation. ‘Saved me? I don’t see how – I’m gonna be out here all the godsdamned night!’
‘There’s worse,’ Leah supplied. ‘Far worse.’
‘Such as?’
Leah’s amusement fell from her and she half turned away, squinting up at the thin cold rain. ‘Whippings. The stocks. Branding. Maiming. Imprisonment. Hanging.’ She jerked her chin to the tents now lit against the gathering gloom of the overcast sky. ‘Whatever our betters wish. We live, and die, at their discretion.’
‘Not me,’ Gregar growled through clenched lips. ‘Not me.’
*
The order to stand down only came to the ranks after each and every aristocrat and knight had ambled off the field, accompanied by their bevy of aides, squires, attendants, servants and grooms. Only then were the assembled infantry allowed to file back to their bivouacs. By then it was long after dark.
All quit the field save one; Gregar remained, tall pike of the Yellows’ colours in hand. Soaked through and chilled to the bone, still he did not sit and huddle for warmth, for he knew that damned Teigan would pounce and he refused to give him the satisfaction.
Standing there all alone in the broad trampled field, he eyed the pike and the limp sodden rag tied just behind its narrow dagger-like blade. It struck him then that the weapon was really nothing more than a very long stick. And he knew how to fight with sticks or staves – twinned sticks were his preferred weapons. So he began experimenting: spinning, thrusting, trying circling counters, even entire turning sideways slashes. The weapon’s arc was impressive. In fact, it looked as if he’d have the reach on any mounted foe. That made him smile, and he turned to see Leah standing behind him, a bemused look on her face, and a cloth-wrapped bundle in her hand.
‘What in Burn’s name are you doing?’ she asked in wonder.
‘Experimenting.’
She cocked a brow. ‘Right. Well, here,’ and she held out the bundle.
‘What’s this?’
‘Dinner.’
‘This allowed?’
Her answering smile was a half-scowl that held a mischievous tilt. ‘Teigan didn’t forbid it …’
Gregar huffed. ‘That fat oaf.’
Leah handed over the bundle and Gregar unwrapped it to find a half-round of coarse hard bread and a small portion of dried meat. While he ate, she rubbed her arms for warmth, saying, ‘Don’t be too hard on Teigan. He fights hard for us and he fights from the front – but I think yelling is the only way he knows how to soldier.’
Gregar grunted a neutral demurral. ‘How’s Haraj?’
‘Sleeping like the dead. Why’s he here? This is clearly not the life for him.’
‘Long story.’
She raised her hands in surrender. ‘Right. None of my business.’
‘And you? What about you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m all that’s left of two brothers and one sister. My parents are old. We have no money. When the baron’s officers came round demanding back rents and taxes I had no choice.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She shrugged again. ‘That’s how it is for most of us here. But not you. You’re no farmer.’
His mouth full, he said, ‘No. Apprentice stonemason.’
‘A free craftsman? What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Like I said – long story.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Well, you made a poor swap, that’s what I think.’
‘I don’t know about that. Standing around isn’t so bad.’
‘Not tomorrow. Marching. The Grisians and their allies have moved on. We follow.’
He looked to the night sky. ‘Wonderful. What are we even doing here?’
‘We’re the expendable fodder, friend. We’re just here to stand in the way of a charge, hold some piece of ground, or protect our lords if they’re unhorsed.’
‘What? Protect those arses from being killed?’
Leah appeared almost shocked. ‘Oh, no. Not killed. Ransomed. We get killed – lords and ladies get ransomed.’
Gregar couldn’t believe it. He wiped his hands clean on his sodden yellow surcoat. ‘Just when you think things couldn’t be any more insulting …’
Leah gave him a wink and headed off back to the bivouac grounds.
Not much later Teigan himself appeared. The sergeant looked surprised to find him still standing, then sullenly waved him off. ‘Get some sleep,’ he growled.
Gregar saluted and headed for his group’s tent; he walked stiffly, his legs numb and tingling.
* * *
Tarel, king of the Napan Isles, walked alone through the empty night-time halls of the harbour fortress that served traditionally as the ruler’s palace. He always walked alone as he did not wholly trust his bodyguard, many of whom he suspected would have much preferred seeing his sister upon the throne.
In fact, he was quite certain of it.
And so this night he hurried through the damp and bare stone halls, his pace ever quickening despite his efforts to remain calm, until he reached a certain door that he yanked open and flung himself within.
He turned, blinking in the dim yellow lamplight, to face his closest allies among the ruling council of Nap. Or rather, his most browbeaten, blackmailed, foolish and servile cronies among the Napan Council of Elders. Lady Elaina of the Ravanna line, as desperate to retain the prerogatives and privileges of her aristocratic class as she was determined to retain her line’s riches. Torlo of the Torlo Trading House, as bought and paid for as any of his illicit goods. Lord Kobay of the Medalla line, whose unsavoury habits had placed him under Tarel’s heel. And High Admiral Karesh, lord of all the Napan fleets, a deluded pontificating fool who owed his rank, estate and riches entirely to Tarel’s patronage.
Lady Elaina rounded upon him, pointing an age-spotted hand. ‘What now, Tarel? You have thrown away good troops for nothing!’
‘Commander Clementh has assumed all responsibility for the debacle. She is imprisoned now in the cells below.’
‘She is from a noble family …’ Lord Kobay warned, his barrel stomach making his voice a low rumble, and he making the most of that.
‘Oh, shut up, you idiot!’ Lady Elaina snapped.
Torlo, the eldest of the Council of Elders by far, raised a frail thin hand for silence. ‘Perhaps this dark mage she has enlisted with can be bought …’
‘I doubt it,’ Tarel answered. ‘From all reports all he desires is power. But you are not too far from the mark, I think, Torlo.’
‘Meaning what?’ High Admiral Karesh asked.
‘That this mage may be a weakness.’
Lady Elaina waved her disbelief. ‘How so? Everyone agrees he is fearsome.’
Tarel nodded his agreement. ‘Exactly. And mages are a notoriously envious and jealous breed. Many suffer no rivals. His growing repute has won him enemies.’ He crossed his arms, peering right and left – no turning back now. ‘And one has contacted me to let me know her willingness to confront the fellow.’
Torlo’s already narrow gaze slit even more, making his resemblance to a carrion bird even greater. ‘Who? And how much?’
Tarel crooked a smile; of course Torlo, the canny merchant, would immediately turn to money. He raised a hand in reassurance. ‘I will get to that. As to costs, no cost at all. Just permission to meet him here.’