Ullsaard scratched his bearded chin and his eyes glazed over for a moment before he focussed again. "What lie?" "Did he seem all that concerned to you?"
"No. He was very calm about the whole thing; more interested in trying to relive his glory days."
"Exactly. Nemtun clearly knows that Kalmud is ill, but it looks like he doesn't know quite how ill he is. He's happy to stay out of the matter because he thinks Kalmud will be back on his feet soon enough. Why make him think anything else?"
Ullsaard nodded sagely, eyelids drooping. He squinted at the almost-empty jug.
"That's strong stuff; we should probably have watered it."
Noran suppressed a heavy yawn and silently agreed. He stood up uncertainly and patted Ullsaard on the shoulder.
"Someone will show you to your rooms when you're ready. I'll see you bright and early."
V
While Ullsaard and Noran slept the heavy sleep of the drunken, Erlaan stared into a camp fire, not far from the duskward bank of the Greenwater. He was alone — except for two Maasrites — and was depressed. He grabbed pinches of dirt from between his legs and flicked them at the flames.
"I'm glad Noran suggested I not stay in Geria," the prince said. The tongueless servants looked across to him from where they were preparing his bedding, their bald heads reflecting the glow of the flames. "The last thing my father or grandfather need at the moment is Nemtun raging around the palace making trouble."
The two Maasrites — Keaila and Aminea — nodded sympathetically and returned to their chore. Erlaan didn't notice and continued talking softly.
"He trained my father and uncle in generalship, you know? I think that's why they both agreed I should learn from Cosuas and Ullsaard; didn't want me to suffer whatever it was they had to go through."
The servants exchanged a knowing look and glanced with mock pity at the Prince of the Blood. Erlaan was still looking at the dancing red and orange of the fire.
"I'm still not sure why I need to learn to be a general," he muttered, grabbing a fistful of dry earth. He let it trickle through his fingers. "When I'm king, I'll have generals to lead legions for me."
Concealed from Erlaan's view, Aminea's fingers flickered in secret sign language, "King one day?" Keaila gave a slight shrug and softly shook his head in disappointment. They shared a smirk while they plumped up the prince's feather-filled pillows.
"It isn't as if a king since Askhos has actually led a legion. A king's far too valuable to risk on a battlefield." The prince considered this realisation for a while. "When you think about it, surely an heir is as valuable as a king? I'm a king-to-be. If anything happens to me before I have an heir… I really should do something about that. Find some wives. The sooner the better, in fact."
Erlaan sat deep in thought, drawing circles in the dirt with his booted toe.
"I'll speak to my father when we reach Askh. I'm sure he and my mothers have already lined up some likely candidates for me to think about, that's the sort of thing parents do. Askhan, obviously. Pure families. Dark-haired and dark-eyed beauties, with any luck. Three would be nice; one my age and a couple a little older. They say experienced women make the best wives. Full breasts too, and hips you can grab onto without worrying about breaking them. Good for breeding and good for bedding. Hmm, I think that was one of Nemtun's sayings. Perhaps I should go for small tits and thin hips to spite him."
Erlaan sighed long and deep. Thinking about women was giving him an erection. He absentmindedly rubbed his crotch through his tunic.
"I haven't been with a woman since the winter," complained Erlaan. Out of the prince's sight, the Maasrites exchanged alarmed glances and pointed at each other insistently. "It's a shame Ullsaard doesn't have any maidservants. Hopefully my balls won't burst before I get back to Askh."
The Maasrites breathed quiet sighs of relief and ducked out from under the awning that would serve as the prince's shelter for the night. Erlaan looked up at their approach.
"We need to be ready to leave by dawn," he said. The Maasrites nodded in understanding. General Ullsaard had been quite specific with his instructions. "Wake me up at the start of Dawnwatch."
The Maasrites patiently nodded again and followed the prince to his mattress, quickly helping him undress. When he was under the blanket, head sunk into the pillow, they turned away and shared a conspiratorial smile. As they tidied the camp, Erlaan began to grunt quietly with pleasure. They kept their gazes away from his tent.
"Wanker," signed Aminea. The other Maasrite bit his knuckle to suppress a laugh and they headed to their rough pallets, sneaking a jug of fiery Enairian spirit from their packs. They took a swig each and giggled quietly as panting began to sound from Erlaan's bed.
"Not a lot," Keaila signed. "Early start."
Aminea nodded, took one more mouthful and stashed the liquor. The frenetic sounds of self-pleasure from Erlaan died down. The two mute servants looked past the guttering fire and saw the prince burying himself deeper into the bedding.
"You wash sheet in morning," Keaila signed to his friend.
"Fuck you," Aminea signed back with a grin.
VI
The galley's boat picked up Erlaan and the two servants not long after the next day. Noran and Ullsaard were both aboard already, nursing sore heads. The prince was happy to keep to himself, while Ullsaard and Noran were in no fit state for conversation and winced every time the sailors' bare feet padded on the boards or the sail cracked in the wind. Ullsaard was relieved that a steady duskwards wind carried them against the sluggish current without need for the sweeps. The thump of the drum and creak of the oars would just about have broken him.
The ship was brimming with fresh supplies from Geria. Barrels of pickled fish and salted goat meat filled the hold and were roped onto the deck. Bales of white Okharan linen had been stowed as well, for dyeing in the towns of Nalanor before being shipped to markets across the empire. The captain had also used the opportunity to acquire some slabs of Okharan marble — jadeveined stone highly prized in Askh — which he had distributed throughout the ship as expensive ballast. Up in the bow two bulky abada munched at their feed, thick ropes through their nose horns tying them to rings in the deck. No patch of deck was wasted, everything bound tight and close-packed.
There was little cloud and the captain made use of the pleasant weather to set his crew to cleaning and maintaining everything from bow to stern. Bronze fixings were polished, planks scoured, the mast lacquered with thick resin from Maasra, knots were tightened, ropes spliced and a hundred other things besides that kept a ship afloat and orderly. All was done with a quiet bustle that carefully avoided the guests when possible, as if they were a necessary inconvenience rather than the purpose of the journey.
Ullsaard lay on the deck, a coil of rope for a pillow, eyes closed, sleeping in short snatches. He found his troubled stomach could handle the rising and falling of the ship better than when upright. In the periods of wakefulness, he thought about his confrontation with Nemtun. Should he have held his tongue? He dismissed the regret. Both he and Nemtun wanted to take over the Greenwater campaign in Kalmud's absence. They were going to become rivals anyway, so Ullsaard's little outburst didn't matter. If anything, it might discourage Nemtun from getting too carried away, knowing that a fully active, experienced general was offering to continue the advance along the river.
Thoughts of the Greenwater campaign banished any chance of catching up on lost sleep. Ullsaard's mind filled with the possibilities. So much more could be done than in Mekha. An easy, constant supply line meant he would be able to push hotwards as far as the river would take him. Who could say what was waiting down there? The sea, at some point, and that probably meant a harbour. The Greenwater was the main artery of Ersua, Nalanor and Okhar, and doubtless in the uncharted reaches of the river there were undiscovered tribes and towns that depended on the river. For all that Ullsaard knew, it was a prize worth even more than Salphoria. He would sooner risk the wrath of Nemtun than let the bloated fart get his greasy paws on the Greenwater without a fight.