Cronan grunted and went back to his work. The soldiers had stopped singing and were trudging along even more slowly than before. The monk went back to sleep, and muttered from time to time about something or other.
A squadron of cavalry brought in a further report. No sign of the raiders, they said, but when they'd ridden up to Vistock Beacon, the highest point for miles around, they'd seen what looked like a big mob of armoured horsemen riding in from the north-west. They were seven, perhaps eight hours away, assuming the Visk was still fordable at North Hey.
'The Amathy house,' Cronan said, frowning, searching the map. It didn't show a River Visk, let alone a ford or a village called North Hey. It was a new map from the cartographer royal's office in Torcea.
'Could be,' said one of his staff. 'Or it could be Tazencius, coming from that direction.'
'More likely to be Feron Amathy, if they're cavalry,' Cronan pointed out. 'In any event it's bad news.'
'What do you think he's planning to do?' someone else asked.
'Either join with the raiders and make us fight on two fronts-tactically his best option, but he may have another agenda besides mere victory. Otherwise, he could hold off while we fight the raiders, and then attack whoever's left standing.'
One of the senior officers frowned. 'I can see why he'd attack us,' he said, 'but why pick a fight with them? I thought they were in this together.'
Cronan shook his head. 'Only as far as it suits him,' he replied. 'No, if he can step in after we've been wiped out and drive the raiders back into the sea…'
'I follow you,' the other man said. 'The long-term view. You think this may be what he had in mind all along?'
'Possibly' Cronan shrugged. 'I think he's more of an opportunist than that. For one thing, I don't know how he's planning to handle that idiot Tazencius. He'll be glad of a few more infantry regiments, and it could be that he's planning to set up Tazencius as a puppet emperor, at least in the short term-you know, to make his coup look more legitimate. Or maybe he isn't bothered about that, in which case he'll probably send Tazencius and his people in first to get chewed up, and finish off the rest of them along with the rest of us. Or the raiders, depending on who wins the main battle.' Cronan yawned, and stretched his arms. 'The likeliest bet is that he's keeping all these options open, and he'll make his final choice as late as possible. The one thing I do know about Feron Amathy, he loves having as many choices as possible.'
'So what are you going to do?' someone asked.
Cronan smiled. 'I haven't got any choices at all,' he said ruefully. 'I've got to press on to Vistock and take on the raiders, stop them getting to Sansory. Of course, while I'm doing that, Feron Amathy may stave off boredom while he's waiting by sacking the city and burning it to the ground, something else to blame on the raiders. It depends on what's most important to him: giving his people a good time, to keep them happy for the next stage of the plan, or being the saviour of Sansory and the last, best hope of the empire. At the moment I'd be inclined to favour the latter, except that Sansory's small but rich, which makes it eminently suitable for feeding to his dogs. There's plenty of other cities he can save, after all, whereas sacking, say, Mael or one of the other Guild towns would be a bigger job with a lower return per man hour expended. So I really don't know. Anyway,' he went on, 'there's nothing much we can do about that, so it's best not to think about it. After all, our chances of still being on our feet after we've picked a fight with the raiders are small enough, God knows.'
That wasn't the sort of thing they wanted to hear; mostly because Cronan had a reputation for telling the truth, even when it wasn't the wisest thing to do. 'What about Tazencius?' someone said, after a long silence. 'I know it's a long shot, but he can't be completely stupid, he must realise that playing along with Feron Amathy's a wonderful way of getting killed before your time. Could we talk to him, do you think?'
Cronan shook his head. 'Highly unlikely,' he said. 'He doesn't like me very much, you see. And he's just cocky enough to think he can finesse his way past Feron Amathy when the time comes. Of course, his plans may be seriously adrift by now; supposing he was banking on our sleeping friend here having done his job-get rid of me, and there's no reason why he shouldn't desert the Amathy house and change sides, thereby making himself the champion of legitimate government and his imperial cousins' new best friend-it's reasonable to expect a sword-monk to be able to pull off a simple assassination after all. If my guess is right, he talked the order into believing that killing me was the only way to save the empire. His bad luck, I suppose; you can't really say he was stupid for gambling on what should've been a certainty.' Cronan smiled, and held up his thumb and forefinger, three-quarters of an inch apart. 'He came this close,' he added, 'assuming the monk really did miss.'
Only one or two of the staff knew what he was talking about; the others didn't ask. 'So we can't expect any help from Tazencius,' someone said. 'Even if we beat the raiders, we'll have the Amathy house and Tazencius' infantry at our backs. No disrespect, but it's not sensible to stake the future of the empire on your tactical ability. You may be able to pull off a miracle, but then again you may not.'
'Very tactful,' Cronan sighed. 'I put our chances at something less than a hundred to one.'
'Fine,' said an officer. 'You're as good as saying you're resigned to this army getting wiped out, Sansory falling, and Feron Amathy with nothing between him and Torcea but a handful of third-string garrisons.' He hesitated, then went on, 'There is an alternative, you know.'
Cronan nodded, looking away. 'Sure,' he said. 'We simply withdraw, refuse to play. Sansory falls-but it'd have fallen anyway, in all probability; Feron Amathy doesn't get an opportunity to stab the raiders in the back, he doesn't get rid of Tazencius; the raiders get as much loot as they can carry and go home. Feron Amathy's campaign loses momentum, giving us time to pick off Tazencius, maybe patch up a pardon so he can go home, and then deal with the Amathy house once and for all. Apart from Sansory getting burned to the ground, it's a good result. And, as you say, our chances of saving the city even if we do press on and fight are next to nothing, so to all intents and purposes they're already dead, we can't save them.' He picked at a thread on the knee of his trousers. 'Also, true courage and service don't lie in making the heroic gesture; fighting and dying here would be the easy way out. The truly brave and loyal thing to do would be to walk away. Did I leave anything out?'
'I think that covers it,' someone murmured, 'more or less.'
'Splendid,' Cronan replied. 'Well, we'd better be getting along. If this pathetic excuse for a map's anything to go by, it's still nearly two hours to Vistock.'
Just over two hours later they came to a ford over a small, inoffensive river.
'North Hey?' Cronan asked the captain of pioneers, who claimed to know the area.
The captain shook his head. 'Vistock,' he replied.
The first thing they could make out was the shell of a mill-house, with a wrecked and moss-grown wheel sunk in the water. There was only one other structure still standing: half a barn (the other half had fallen in a long time ago, there were still signs of fire on the rounded ends of the rafters), surrounded on two sides by an overgrown wall. Outside the ramshackle doorway someone had driven a stake into the ground and stuck on it the head of an old woman with long, matted grey hair. The blood running down the stake was still wet. The body was nowhere to be seen.