"Where did he go?" Ullsaard demanded. The servant looked towards the doorway pointedly and returned his gaze to impassively staring ahead. Ullsaard pulled himself from the bath with a snarl at the mute orderly. "Fucking Maasrites."
As Ullsaard was pulling on the robe, Noran reappeared, a concerned look on his face.
"Shit!" he said. "It seems that you can't ride a couple of ailurs through the centre of a town without someone running off to tell the governor. Probably someone from the Brotherhood. Nemtun's invited us to his palace for a feast tonight."
"Tell him we're very sorry but we're in a hurry and are setting off at first light. It's not really a lie, after all."
"It's Nemtun, he won't take no for an answer, and if we don't go to him he's bound to come to us, with all of the fucking about that will entail. Shit, I really could do without this."
Ullsaard tied the belt of the robe tight and smirked.
"I'm not sure why it's such a problem. We'll go to the palace, have a few drinks, eat some of his food and then be back here before midnight."
"It's Nemtun! How many times do I have to say it? Aalun was very explicit that he didn't want any of the governors, least of all the king's brother, coming to Askh at the moment. I've no idea why, but he only wanted you."
"Then why in Askhos's name did you have us stop off here? We could have sailed on to Paalun in another two days and Nemtun would have been none the wiser."
"Because I'm a fucking idiot, sometimes." Noran strode back and forth across the bathroom cursing inaudibly. He rounded on Ullsaard with a gleam in his eye. "I've got it! You can go and see Nemtun and I'll stay here. That way Aalun can't blame me if Nemtun finds out about Kalmud's illness."
"Not a chance," growled Ullsaard, crossing his arms. "If you think I'm going to be the one to tell Nemtun his nephew might be dying, you can think again."
"No, think about it. You can just tell Nemtun you've been summoned to Askh, and don't know why. Nemtun doesn't have to find out anything."
"I'm not lying to Nemtun just because you wanted to show off your fancy villa. He may be an arsehole, but he was a commander of the legions and is still a Prince of the Blood. That deserves some respect."
Noran paced some more while Ullsaard watched with wry amusement. The general quickly grew bored and threw off the robe, slipping back into the relaxing bath. A thought occurred to him.
"Wait a moment," he said. Noran fixed a hopeful stare on Ullsaard. "Don't get excited, it's just something that doesn't fit. Kalmud would have come back along the Greenwater from where he was campaigning. How is it that Nemtun doesn't know already that the prince is ill?"
"Well, clearly…" began Noran. He scratched his chin as he sought an answer. "You're right. Word gets around, no matter how clever you are. The ship carrying him back to Askh would have to put in somewhere along the Greenwater, and it's only a sailor's tongue away from becoming common knowledge."
"That still doesn't help you out of the shit you're in."
"Maybe it does, maybe it does," Noran said slowly, wagging a finger at Ullsaard. His gaze drifted away as he fell into thought. "Yes, that might work."
"What might?"
Noran looked down at Ullsaard lounging in the bath, startled from his contemplation.
"Oh, nothing. Just let me do the talking when we first see Nemtun."
"Is this going to be political?" asked Ullsaard with a wary sigh.
"Oh yes. The heir to the empire doesn't fall dangerously ill without a whole shitheap of politics falling on the rest of us…"
II
A troop of forty legionnaires stood in ranks either side of the palace portico. They had white crests on their helmets, denoting that they were the governor's guard. Ullsaard didn't like that; he never had, even though he had started as guard to Allon of Enair. To his mind there were just legionnaires of Greater Askhor. Giving them different coloured hats didn't change that. What it did was make some governors think they were military commanders, when most of them — Nemtun excepted — had never come closer to a battle than hearing about it from a herald.
Something else irritated Ullsaard as he and Noran walked towards the shallow steps leading to the palace entrance. He stormed towards the guard captain, who recoiled as the general stopped just short. He couldn't have been more than twentyfive years old, his eyes bulging with sudden apprehension.
"Stand up straight!" rasped Ullsaard and the captain went rigid, his gaze hovering over Ullsaard's right shoulder. Ullsaard leaned closer, his voice a hiss. "When a general of the legions and a herald of the king arrive, I would expect a fucking salute!"
"Present spears!" screamed the captain, his voice almost breaking. The guard lofted their weapons in salute with shuffling feet. The lines of spearheads bobbed uncertainly.
"Pathetic," said Ullsaard. "Practice that until we come out. I expect a smarter farewell than the welcome we got. Do you understand?"
"Yes, General," the captain replied.
Ullsaard stalked away and rejoined Noran as he reached the steps.
"Fucking soft-arsed captain, I bet his spear's never seen a drop of blood," muttered Ullsaard as the two of them mounted the steps. The heavy wooden doors swung inwards to reveal a pillared hallway down the centre of the palace, archways along each side leading to other chambers.
"Temper your mood before we see Nemtun," cautioned Noran.
"I'll try."
A bowing factotum appeared in front of them, dressed in a blue linen kilt and sleeveless white vest. His head was shaved and he had a golden ring piercing the side of his nose.
"General, herald, please follow me," he said with another bow.
"Fuck me, a talking Maasrite," chuckled Ullsaard. The factotum directed a weary smile towards the general.
"Not everyone from Maasra takes the Vow of Service, General," the man explained, speaking softly. "It is only those committed to the life of domestic service that do so."
"I knew that," Ullsaard lied quickly. "Just never met one of you lot who wasn't a servant."
The functionary nodded in understanding and led them to the end of the hall and turned right, passing through an archway into a broad, square chamber. Rugs were scattered on the stone floor and the walls were covered with patterned hangings. Young, half-naked maids walked with trays amongst the clusters of Nemtun's guests, offering wine, water and fruits. Ullsaard ignored them though Noran quickly lifted a clay cup from the tray of the closest and filled it with undiluted wine. Ullsaard directed a questioning look at his friend.
"I need something strong before I see Nemtun," Noran explained before taking a long draught of the drink. He smacked his lips appreciatively.
Ullsaard walked through the throng of merchants and ship captains. He suddenly stopped, spying a middle-aged, handsome woman standing at the centre of a knot of aging admirers.
"Is that…?" he asked, turning to Noran.
"Lerissa? Yes, that's her."
Ullsaard gazed at Nemtun's wife, admiring her smooth, tanned skin and firm limbs through the slits in her dress.
"I didn't realise it had been so long since I last saw her," Ullsaard remarked quietly. "She's certainly matured well. I hope Nemtun looks after her properly."
"This is where listening to the gossiping Meliu and Neerita comes in useful," replied Noran with a wink. "Apparently Nemtun is besotted with Lerissa, but has never once laid a finger on her. They don't even share a bed."
"Why would any sane man pass up the chance of bedding such a woman?"
"Are you interested? Apparently Nemtun isn't too fussy about who his wife chooses as her lovers, that's why all those wrinkled vultures are circling so intently."
"I hope she doesn't settle for these old goats," Ullsaard said with a disconsolate shake of the head. "I can't imagine any of them having the necessary endurance."