He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards the artificial hill that rose up beneath the cliff behind Magilnada, where the largest houses and richest inhabitants of the city could be found.
"Salphoria ain't one people, besides," Gelthius continued. "I'm Linghar, then there's the Hadril, the Cannin, the Vestil, the Hannaghian, all sorts. You call us all Salphors, but Salphoria's just the land we live in, it ain't who we are. The king's just the most powerful chieftain, nobody special."
"What are you talking about?" asked Noran.
"I heard things in the camp," admitted Gelthius. "This ain't about Magilnada. The general's promised his men the chance to have a go at Salphoria. They're all excited about it, which is why they've stayed. All I'm saying is, even if you beat the king, it don't mean all the Salphorian tribes'll just fall into line. Same's true here. If you get the chiefs on your side, the city's yours. If they decide to make a fight of it, it could get dirty.
"The tribes fight amongst themselves three days out of four, but if you lot march in and start telling everyone what to do, that's a sure way to get them to join forces. I hope the general's got plenty of gold to throw around, that's all, cause that'll get him the city surer than any number of spears."
Noran smiled.
"Gold that is offered at spearpoint tends to have a brighter gleam, though," he said. "It will be harder for these chieftains of yours to negotiate with a few thousand legionnaires staring at them."
Gelthius shook his head and sighed.
"What?" asked Noran. "What is the matter with that?"
"You ain't heard what I said," Gelthius told him. "If rebels take over Magilnada, or some rival chieftain gets rich enough to stake his claim, the tribes wouldn't give two rotten apples for it. But if you Askhans start sticking your golden faces all over the walls and prancing about like you own the place, that's the best way to get them angry and fighting together. Magilnada's part of the Free Country, which means it's fair game for any Salphorian tribe — for everyone 'cept the Askhans. Your kings made an agreement, and breaking promises is a sure way to make the tribes hate you even more."
Noran considered this opinion with a frown.
"We cannot start a war in Salphoria," he said. "Not until everything back in Askh has been smoothed out."
He stood up, and Gelthius did likewise. Noran was clearly agitated and he glanced around the gardens with a faint look of distaste.
"I think I have to make some suggestions to your general. If he comes in here with his full legions, he will be starting something he cannot finish yet." Noran clasped Gelthius's shoulder briefly. "Thank you. You have been a great help."
As he watched the Askhan stride off through the gardens, Gelthius was left wondering just how much help he wanted to be. It had been one thing to join up with the rebels; he had never really believed they had a chance of taking the city. It was another matter to hand the city over to Askhans. Askhans, he thought, that wanted to use the city as a position to launch attacks on the Salphorian tribes.
Troubled by his conflicting allegiances and expectations, he wandered through the long grass and leafless bushes until he found the shrine to the spirit of justice. It was a low, broad slab underneath the naked branches of a short, twisted tree. The stone was covered with coins of low value, stubs of candles and dishes of smouldering leaves that gave off a sweet odour. Thin strips of material hung from the tree limbs, covered with writing that Gelthius could not read — the invocations of petitioners scrawled by the shrine's priestess. She sat on one of the tree's roots, an old woman, her eyes bound with rags. She turned her craggy face towards Gelthius as he walked across the mat of rotting leaves.
"The spirit of justice calls out to you," she crooned. "Make your offering and let it guide your hand and your words."
Gelthius looked at the shrine, tapping a finger on the pouch of coins given to him by General Ullsaard. He saw the rags on the branches waving in the wind and wondered how many favours the spirit of justice had granted people over the years, and how many they had ignored no matter how great the sacrifice to them was. He thought about his own life — the years lost aboard Anglhan's landship — and realised that the spirits, of justice and everything else, had abandoned him a long time ago. The Askhans did well enough without them, perhaps it was time he looked to a different power to look after him; the power of the Crown and the Blood, the power of the legions.
"Not today," Gelthius said, and walked away.
IV
Noran paced restlessly, cursing the backward inhabitants of Magilnada for having neither water clocks nor watch candles. How in Askhos's name did anybody here know what the time was? They had some sundials, but they were crude and altogether useless at night, and it was sometime after Midwatch.
And time was important.
He ceased his striding and forced himself to sit down on a low wall that ran along the side of the street. The clouds obscured stars and moon, and all he could see were the torches on the gatehouse at the bottom of the road, and the flickering fire and candlelight from the windows of the small houses on each side of the street. Looking coldwards, he saw the glow of the huge bonfires lit in the garden of shrines, and the wind brought the shouts and chants from those celebrating the Midwinter festival of spirits.
He was aware of other people in the dark; thirty fellow infiltrators gathered close at hand, most pretending to be drunk. They were all Ersuans from the Fifteenth, picked because they looked the most like Salphors. They swigged from beer jugs and wine bottles and laughed and chatted. Noran thought a few of them were just a bit too convincing and wondered whether they were pretending at all. Then he remembered they were legionnaires, and they were under orders. Their company code would mean that none of them would be allowed to get the others intro trouble by actually being drunk.
Over half of them wore swords at their belts; not the short and easily recognisable blades of Askhor, but the clumsy, curved weapons Anglhan had bought for the rebels. Noran had to admire Ullsaard's attention to detail. Once Noran had passed on Gelthius's wisdom, the general had quickly agreed that Magilnada had to be overrun by rebels, not Askhan legionnaires. Having access to the stores of the genuine rebels helped in this regard, but he had also been careful to send in only those men not obviously from one of the more distant provinces of Greater Askhor.
Likewise the legion he had assembled to attack the city was drawn from across the army, leaving out Okharans, Enairians and Nalanorians who would be immediately identified as men of Greater Askhor. Nobody in the city was to realise that their new "liberators" were anything other than disaffected Salphors and their hillmen allies, with a few Ersuan and Anrairian opportunists thrown in.
Details, thought Noran.
Details like choosing the festival of spirits for the assault, when people were on the streets so that Noran and the others could move around with freedom; a night when most of the city's warriors and militia would be drunk, even those supposedly on duty.
Details such as the carefully drawn maps of Magilnada handed out to the captains in the legion waiting outside, so that they knew exactly where to go once they were in the city.
Details like the small box of gold coins Noran had in his room, melted down from the askharins Urikh had provided and smelted afresh as more debased, local coinage.
Details like choosing one hour after Midwatch, after careful observation of the guard routine on the wall; the watch changed around midnight, and so Ullsaard had allowed just enough time for the new men on duty to get comfortable.