Boranius saw Morcha and paused, sheathing the Swords of Blood and Fire. They were handsome blades, the ivory hilts superbly crafted.
‘Well?’ asked Boranius, draping a towel over his sweat-drenched shoulders. ‘Are our guests close?’
Morcha strode forward, then began to refer to the sheaf of notes he carried. ‘It is most odd, lord. The enemy has been sighted in several places, some of them thirty miles apart. Our best Nadir scout sent word he saw Druss in the mountains, at the camp of Khalid Khan. I sent out twenty men to set up an ambush.’ Morcha shuffled through the notes. ‘Now I have had word he and the others have been sighted far to the west. I have sent two more riders to scout the high pass, and have another ten bowmen positioned at the only entrance to the lowlands. An hour ago a rider came in saying he had seen them going in to the Temple of Ustarte.’
‘They will come, regardless of your efforts, Morcha. I know this in my soul.’
‘With respect, lord, there are only four routes to the Citadel. All of them are now watched. We will have word when they approach.’
‘They will come,’ repeated Boranius. ‘I shall kill Skilgannon. It is my destiny.’
‘Are your wounds still troubling you?’
‘The surgeon has done well. My face is numb to pain. See that his body is removed from my quarters. I don’t want it starting to stink.’
‘You killed him? Why?’
‘Why not? I had no further need of him.’ Boranius strode to a window and gazed down at the land below. ‘At dusk bring twenty of our best swordsmen into the Citadel. The rest can man the walls. Their screams will alert us when the enemy attack. Go now. I need to practise.’
Morcha bowed and left him. In his own office on the ground floor he sat by a window and went through the reports. There was increased movement into the market towns, but this was to be expected at this time of year. Many of the poorer hill people travelled down seeking work. No armed men had been reported travelling the roads. There were no reports from the east. This was hardly surprising, since it was the one direction that the enemy could not have taken. Having been with Khalid Khan it would have been impossible for them to cross the high peaks. They would first have to travel past the Citadel. Even so, Morcha made a mental note to send a rider to find out why the daily report had not been made. Maybe the eastern scouts have also deserted, he thought. He swore softly, and returned to studying the reports.
A wagon had been seen on the road above the town. It was driven by a large old woman. Five children had been riding alongside. Their mounts were described as shaggy hill ponies. The wagon had contained a large bundle of furs. Morcha flicked through the reports. They should have been reported twice, once on the High Road, and once when they approached the town below the Citadel. Yet the only other wagon noted was driven by a crippled old man, travelling with four women and a simpleton. This wagon had three wolfhounds in the back.
Noting the names on both reports Morcha strode from the office and walked back to the buildings being used as a barracks. He found the first of the men eating a meal in the tavern, and asked him if he recalled the wagon with the furs.
‘Yes, sir. Strange bunch. They had no weapons. Just the furs.’
‘What do you mean by strange?’
‘Hard to say. Just odd, really. The sun was very bright. Hurt the eyes.
Then this family rode through. No problem at all. Called for them to stop, and they did. Didn’t say anything. We checked the wagon, saw they weren’t armed, and let them through.’
‘So what was strange?’
‘I feel foolish saying it, sir. One of the children said something as they went by. And just for a moment everything blurred. I think it was just the sunlight being so bright. I thought I saw two eyes staring at me from the furs. I ran up to the wagon, but there weren’t any eyes. See what I mean?
Just odd. Strange moment.’
‘But you saw no other wagons?’
‘Just that one, sir, during my watch. It came in around noon yesterday.’
The second of the men named on the report sheets rode in an hour before dusk. Morcha had left word for him to report to his office. He stepped into the room and saluted. Morcha questioned him about his report.
‘Nothing special, sir. Crippled old man and four women. Oh yes, and a simpleton. Thought he was a woman at first, and when he spoke it was quite a shock. Don’t know how I could have missed the beard.’
‘What did he say that made you realize he was a simpleton?’
The soldier shrugged. ‘Just his manner of speaking, sir. You know how they sound. Don’t recall what he said.’
‘And there were dogs in the back of the wagon?’
‘Yes, sir. Thought they were furs at first. I poked at them and then one of the dogs snarled at me. I jumped like a startled rabbit.’
‘You walked up to the wagon and did not recognize three dogs?’
‘Yes. Odd, isn’t it? The sun was very bright about then. Could hardly see.’
‘And this was when?’
‘A little after noon yesterday.’
Morcha shuffled through the reports, coming at last to the note concerning Skilgannon and the others reaching the temple. The Nadir scout said he had seen a large arena beast, a Joining. It was crouched down alongside the old axeman.
‘Are you finished with me, sir? I could do with a meal.’
‘Did you see all three dogs in the wagon?’
‘Of course.’
‘Think for a moment. You heard a snarl and jumped back. What happened then?’
‘I saw the first dog snarling. The others were behind it.’
‘You saw all their heads?’
‘Yes.’ The man hesitated. ‘Well… no. But there must have been at least three.’
‘Forget the meal,’ said Morcha, rising. ‘Saddle a fast horse, and take a spare. Find Naklian. He is with twenty men, guarding the nomad road.
Tell him to bring his men back here as soon as possible. What you saw was not three dogs. Nor was it a bale of fur, as the other report stated. It was a Joining. It is travelling with Druss and Skilgannon. The enemy is here.’
‘With respect, you are wrong, sir. There were no fighting men. Just the old cripple.’
‘They came from the temple. There was a spell put upon you. That is why the sun seemed so bright. Trust me. The enemy is close.’
The soldier looked bemused. He was one of the newer recruits, from the Naashanite community in Mellicane. ‘Am I wrong, sir?’ he asked. ‘There are only a handful of men coming after us, aren’t there?’
‘Yes. Though two of them are more deadly than I could make you understand.’
‘I appreciate that, sir. I have listened to the men talking about Skilgannon and Druss. But even so, they can’t attack the Citadel, can they?
If they are hunting Lord Ironmask, they’ll have to wait until he leaves the fortress. They’ll be looking for an ambush, surely?’
‘I cannot anticipate what they’ll do,’ admitted Morcha. ‘I fought against Skilgannon for years. What I learned was that he always found a way to attack. In every battle we were always, somehow, reacting to him. You understand? Action and reaction. Action is what usually wins battles and wars. Reaction is almost always defensive. You think six men cannot attack a fortress? I agree with you. But what I think does not matter. The question is this: does Skilgannon think he can attack the Citadel.’
‘It would be madness. They couldn’t survive.’
‘Perhaps survival is not uppermost in their minds. There is no more time to debate, soldier. Find Naklian, and get him and his men back here as soon as possible.’
Survival was uppermost in the mind of Diagoras, as he waited for the sun to drop behind the mountains. The Drenai officer was standing in a grove of trees no more than a quarter of a mile from the Citadel. From here the fortress looked impressive. True, the walls around it were crumbling and in disrepair, but the tall, round Citadel itself, with its murder holes, through which archers could shoot barbed shafts down at attackers, and its ramparts, from which defenders could hurl down rocks and hot oil, seemed particularly daunting.