The small group started forward, and Gill felt a pang of regret that his banner was not flying. Suddenly it felt as though something had been left undone.
Gill didn’t recognise any of the men with Amaury, when the two parties met. They were all hard-looking types who’d obviously seen a few fights in their time.
“I was pleased to get news of your recovery, your Highness,” Amaury said.
“I’m sure you were,” Boudain said. “I thank you for parading my army before the city walls. I presume you’ve done so to hand them back into my charge?”
Amaury laughed and shook his head. “No, your Highness, I’m afraid not. It’s common knowledge that you’ve been bewitched by a powerful sorceress. It would be a disservice to all the right-thinking people of the kingdom to allow you back on the throne.”
Boudain nodded slowly. “Bewitched? Is that the best you could come up with?”
“The truth is rarely as fancy as we might like it to be, but truth it is, and it would be a crime to allow a bewitched man to rule a kingdom,” Amaury said.
Gill shook his head in disgust. He wondered if Amaury had told so many untruths over the years that he was starting to believe them himself.
“We both love this city,” the Prince Bishop continued, “and this kingdom. If there is any shred of your true self left in there, I beseech you: order your men to put down their arms and return home. Those of the standing regiments will be welcomed back to their barracks with no questions asked. A man who loves Mirabaya will not tear her apart to possess her.”
“You’ve always been full of shit, Amaury,” Gill said, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “But you’re really surpassing yourself today.”
“General Villerauvais, please,” Boudain said.
Amaury turned his attention to Gill and raised an eyebrow. “General? My congratulations on your advancement. I’m glad to see you here today, Guillot. Very glad.”
“Want to even out that limp?” Gill said, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Gill!” Boudain said, then turned his attention back to Amaury. “I will allow you an hour to collect your belongings, Richeau, and depart the city, and the country. Never to return.”
Gill noted the use of Amaury’s surname, rather than any of his titles, but was surprised at the amount of restraint the king was showing, in marked contrast to Gill’s own outburst. Despite his efforts to appear calm and in control, Gill knew Amaury too well to be deceived. The strain showed on his face.
“I don’t think so, your Highness,” Amaury said. “Now that we’ve dealt with the formalities, perhaps we can get down to it?”
“Gladly,” Boudain said sharply, the contempt with which he was being treated finally seeming to have overcome his reserve. “You will not live out this day.”
Amaury turned his horse to leave, then cast a quick glance back. “We shall see!” With that, he galloped back toward his troops, his retinue in tow.
Boudain watched him go a moment, then looked at Gill. “One way or the other, that bastard does not see the sunset.”
“You have my word on that,” Gill said.
As he rode toward his own lines, Amaury decided he was satisfied with his illusion. Even he couldn’t tell who was real and who was not among his troops. The products of his imagination had passed muster so far, however, and it wasn’t as though they were going to be doing any actual fighting. He turned to face the king’s army once again. The king, and that smug bastard Gill, were at the centre, nicely contained and marked out with a number of fluttering banners.
It was a beautiful sight, really. So many men and horses in glittering armour. Beautiful, colourful flags flapping lazily on the gentle morning breeze. In a moment, all would be carnage. A scene from the three hells made real in the world. The feeling of power was intoxicating. A king had brought a full army against him, and there was nothing they could do to stop him. In a few moments, most of them would be dead. Those who weren’t would be running away as fast as they could.
When word of what he had done spread, no one would dare challenge him ever again. No one. Mirabaya would reign supreme, with Amaury benevolently guiding it in the right direction.
He took a deep breath and reached out to the Fount. He held out his arms, ready to revel in the joyous sensation of its embrace. But it was not there. He opened his eyes and looked about in consternation. His men—the real ones—were giving him odd looks. He must have looked a fool, his arms outstretched, an expression of rapture on his face. The expression changed to one of confusion and dismay. Where was the Fount? Why was it not there for him to call on?
He stilled his panic and tried again. Nothing. What had happened? With all of the people in Mirabay, it was usually so powerful. He could hardly have drained it creating his fake army, could he? No, that was nonsense. It must be nerves, the distraction of a stressful day. He ignored the eyes that were burrowing into the back of his head, and tried to rid it of any distraction. Another deep breath. He opened his mind to the Fount.
“Where in hells is it!”
“Lord Protector?”
“Nothing, never mind,” Amaury said. He looked around, but his illusion remained. There was no reason for it not to; he had cast it with an enormous amount of energy. But what was going on now?
This wasn’t supposed to be how it worked—he had drunk from the Cup. The power was his. The power of Amatus. Perhaps the problem was temporary. But with an army facing him from across the field, there wasn’t time to wait for circumstances to change. Time. He needed to buy more. But how? Then it hit him, and the idea was good enough to actually make him smile.
“They’ve raised the flag of truce again, your Highness.”
“So they have,” Boudain said, shielding his eyes with a hand as he squinted toward Amaury’s position. “What in hells does he want now? Hasn’t he antagonised us enough?”
“Amaury’s capacity for that is … substantial,” Gill said, focussing on the rider who was coming toward them. “It’s only a messenger. Not Amaury himself this time.”
“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m riding out to meet him,” Boudain said. “He can come to us. Anyone got any booze? My armour feels like it was stored in an icehouse and I could use my knackers to chill a whisky. I could do with something to warm me up.”
There was a chuckle of laughter from the others. Even Gill broke into a smile. A man who could kill the tension at a moment like that was a man whom others followed. The young king continued to impress Gill. It was a strange thing, how a man—a king—could give you hope. Even a young one, like Boudain.
Someone passed the king a small silver flask. Boudain nodded his thanks and took a swig, then offered the flask to Gill. Guillot thought of refusing, but today was not the day to be seen doing that. He covered the opening with his finger as he tipped it up to his mouth. He caught a whiff of the contents, but no more—Ruripathian whisky by the smell of it. A good one, too, and happily not chilled by the king’s knackers. He handed the flask back to Boudain, who passed it on to Savin.
The armoured messenger drew his horse up a short distance away.
“His Grace, the Lord Protector of Mirabay, wishes you to hear his offer,” he said in a clear voice. “In consideration of the devastation a battle would wreak upon the people of Mirabay, he suggests an alternate solution: to settle this matter with a single combat, the result of which he will abide by, on his bond and word as Banneret of the White and as a loyal son of Mirabaya.”
“Pah,” Boudain said. “He’s a treacherous maggot. But I’ll listen. Who does he suggest do the fighting?”