Ullsaard drummed his fingers on the table and studied his son. Urikh seemed genuinely excited by what he had to say, in stark contrast to his usual chilly disposition. No doubt this plan was not solely for Ullsaard and Aalun's benefit.
"All right," Ullsaard sighed. "Tell me."
So Urikh related the whole story; how he had been sponsoring Salphorian rebels to attack grain shipments coming past Magilnada to drive up the prices; how he had paid the hillmen to team up with those rebels for an attack on Magilnada in return for preferential trade; and how he now knew where the rebel camp was.
Ullsaard stared in disbelief as Urikh unveiled this plot, as casually as if he had been describing what he had eaten for breakfast.
"So, what do you think?" asked Urikh. "The rebels could easily accommodate us until spring."
"Wait just a fucking moment," Ullsaard snarled, surging to his feet, fists balled on the table. "By Askhos's giant prick, what do you think you've been doing? Are you trying to start a war with Salphoria?"
"Well, you are," Urikh snapped back.
"With the full support of the king and the whole fucking empire!"
"And how is that going, eh? Besides, I have the king's support. Half the damn loan I took was guaranteed by Lutaar."
Ullsaard slumped back in his chair, stunned.
"You've got a deal with Lutaar?" The general struggled to comprehend the implications of this revelation. "The king? The same man that currently wants to cut off my balls and feed them to me?"
"This started a long time before all of that happened," Urikh said calmly. "It was his idea, for the most part. He provided me with some extra money to cause trouble for the Salphors. He has his own plans for duskwards."
Urikh spread his hands and leaned back in his chair.
"You know, if Aalun hadn't twisted you into his own plotting, you might have been successful in asking for a campaign."
Ullsaard growled and grumbled wordlessly at the thought that Urikh was right. He thumped a fist onto the map.
"That still doesn't explain what in Askhos's name you thought you were doing, getting involved in something like this."
Urikh shook his head, stood up and took a few paces, wringing his hands in front of him. He spun back to face Ullsaard.
"Stop avoiding the issue with excuses," Urikh said. "The rebel camp; do you want to know where it is or not?"
"It's not just for me to decide," Ullsaard replied, pushing his concerns about Urikh's schemes to the back of his mind. "It is Aalun's decision as much as mine."
"Well, let's find the good prince and see what he thinks," said Urikh, heading for the door.
"Wait!" Ullsaard rose to his feet again. "I'll talk to the prince; you can stay here and wait for me."
"But…" Urikh said with a pleading expression.
In that moment, Ullsaard was reminded of the many occasions his son as a young boy had protested his innocence against some accusation or other, or had tried to persuade his father to allow him to do something that he had expressly forbidden. Urikh's scowl had never changed, nor his habit of squeezing his hands into tight fists when he was being denied. The years slipped away, and Ullsaard saw again the bright, conniving Urikh, shaped by Luia's scheming, craving his father's approval, yet showing him no respect.
"Urikh, listen to me," Ullsaard said sternly. The effect was instant; his son's hands dropped to his sides in surrender. "It is best if Aalun hears this from me, and the less he knows about your involvement, and his father's, the better it will be. Trust me, son."
Urikh flopped onto his chair with a reluctant nod, pouting, his hair falling across his face. Ullsaard bit back a laugh and patted his son on the shoulder as he walked past. As he reached the door, Ullsaard looked over his shoulder.
"And sit up straight; you're not some lazy fucking poet."
III
Servants moved around the main chamber of the pavilion lighting the oil lamps hanging on the wooden partitions. Ullsaard finished explaining the situation and sat back to wait for the prince's response. Aalun's answer was immediate.
"No."
Aalun lifted his cup and took a sip of wine, his eyes following one particular servant. Ullsaard waited for an explanation or a counter-proposal, but none was forthcoming.
"I think you should consider this," said Ullsaard, choosing his words carefully.
"It is unthinkable," said Aalun, turning his attention back to the general. "I am a Prince of the Blood, and I am not about to start scraping around in the mountains with a ragged bunch of dirty Salphors and hairy hillmen. What would you have them think of us, running for their help with our tails between our legs? This is an Askhan affair, it has nothing to do with foreigners."
"Do you have a suggestion for what we should do next?"
"We stop running, Ullsaard," said the prince. "It is about time we face up to Nemtun and look him in the eye. He will back down, I am sure of it. I have always said we should make a stand rather than let ourselves be chased all over Greater Askhor."
Ullsaard knew Aalun had never said anything of the sort, but opted for discretion.
"Nemtun wants to prove he's still the big man, an army commander," said Ullsaard. "He doesn't give an abada's turd about the consequences, he'll attack just out of spite for me."
"We will stay here, build up the fortifications. Even Nemtun will think twice about attacking five legions in a strong position."
"I think you misjudge your uncle's desire for renewed glory. He'll happily send his men to the spear just to prove he's still got what it takes."
"Not all of the men are his," Aalun said, wagging a finger in disagreement. "I shall send messages to Allon."
"And what will your messages say, Prince?"
"Allon is a nobody, Ullsaard. He is governor of Enair, the arse end of the empire, and at the moment Nemtun and my father make him feel important. I shall offer to transfer his governorship to somewhere more to his liking when I become king." Aalun smiled at a thought. "Probably Okhar if Nemtun continues to push his luck."
"But that depends on Allon believing you can deliver on your promise. What if he thinks you're already on the losing side? What can you bargain with?"
"Enough with the 'ifs' and 'buts', man!" Aalun stood up, fists on hips. "I have told you my decision. I thought you were a general of Askhor! If Nemtun wants a fight, you should give it to him. Unless you think you cannot beat him?"
It took all of Ullsaard's resolve not to bite on the bait. He stood up slowly, pressed his fist to his chest in salute and left. The evening routine occupied the camp as he stepped out of the pavilion. A few soldiers gave him odd looks as he marched stiffly back to his tent, keeping his boiling temper in check.
Inside, Urikh was still waiting for him, joined by Luia and Pretaa. Ullsaard almost left again at the sight, but refused to be chased out of his own place by his family.
"It looks like you don't approve of whatever Aalun had to say," said Luia. Ullsaard darted her a foul look but she continued. "Urikh has told me everything he has been doing. It is most enterprising."
"The prince wants us to stay and wait for Nemtun," Ullsaard said, flopping down into his chair. He looked around for something to drink but the table was empty. "Bring me some wine!"
"When did Aalun become commander of your army?" said Luia. "He sits in your tent, is served by your household, and now he gives the orders."
"Hush, Mother, Aalun is one of the Blood," said Urikh with a mocking tone. "We have to do what he says."
At this remark, Ullsaard's eyes met his mother's. Her thoughts were easily guessed. A servant appeared at Ullsaard's shoulder with a jug and cup, and he was glad to look away. Taking the drink, he focussed on Urikh.
"How many of these rebels and brigands are there?" Ullsaard asked.