In Corvus’s tent, the Marshals stood before the map-table in an armoured line, helms in the crooks of their arms. They were a grim-faced set of men, and they stared at the map and at the varicoloured wooden blocks upon it as though they might read some augury of the future therein.
‘He is encamped some twenty pasangs away, a normal marching camp,’ Corvus said. ‘He knows we are somewhere in the region. But I am betting that he has no idea just how close. Druze and Ardashir have destroyed every patrol they have encountered and the main body is moving out as I speak. Brothers, we have not yet been found out.’
‘You’d better be right,’ Fornyx said. ‘In the morning he’s going to come marching across that plain and see us standing in front of him, and we’ll have to either shit or get off the pot.’
‘He’ll attack — he has to,’ Corvus said. ‘He will be in line of march. He should see us about mid-morning, while half his army is still coming up the road behind him. He will form up what he can at a safe distance — and that is when we will hit him. Parmenios’s machines will strike his ranks at a distance he does not think possible, and so he will elect to close with us as fast as he can. He will commit his troops as they come up, and we will deal with them piecemeal.’
‘I’m glad you’re so familiar with the Great King’s intentions,’ Fornyx said. He looked thoughtful, but did not press the point.
‘And there is no word from the Juthan?’ Demetrius asked.
‘Not for a week now. They are coming up as fast as they can, but they will not make it in time. Brothers, this time tomorrow, it will all be over, for good or ill.’
‘For good or ill,’ Rictus repeated.
‘The dispositions have been made,’ Corvus said briskly. ‘Tonight the men sleep on their arms, those that can. The line is forming five pasangs east of the camp. There’s a wide plain there, no ditches or orchards or vineyards. It’s as flat as a theatre stage. The local people call it gaugamesh, barren ground. Rictus, I want the water-carriers out at daybreak, going up and down the line. Tomorrow will be hot, and the men will be standing to arms for some time before the thing begins in earnest.’
Rictus nodded, and exchanged a glance with Fornyx. The Dogsheads were going into battle without him. He had important duties behind the lines. He commanded the reserves, which was something; five thousand green spearmen who had not yet seen battle. But for the most part, his concerns for the morrow were logistical. And he hated it.
Does Corvus no longer trust me? He wondered, and dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had arrived. The truth might even be the opposite.
‘Brothers,’ Corvus said quietly, ‘I know that we have come a long way together, from the Harukush to this place. But we are only a few days march from the Bekai River. Beyond that, the Magron, and beyond that, a world none of us has ever seen before. They say that there are more people in the city of Ashur alone than in the whole of the Harukush, and that the wealth of the Middle Empire is nothing compared to the riches of the imperial heartlands. Asuria is the richest place in the world. If we defeat these people tomorrow, I tell you it is all ours for the taking. The morning after tomorrow we will all be as good as kings.’ He smiled. ‘Even you, Fornyx.
‘One day to fight through, as we have never fought before — a day of glory which they will talk about for the rest of all time. That is tomorrow. Brothers, tell me honestly, right now; would any of you — any single one of you — wish to be anywhere else but here right now?’
There was no answer needed to that. His words had written it across all their faces.
He has done it again, Rictus thought. This is how he makes men die for him. He paints pictures of glory they all want to be part of.
But Rictus needed no more glory. He had seen enough of that in his life; enough to turn the stomach. When the others left the tent, he remained behind, as he often did.
‘What are you going to do, Rictus — talk me out of it?’ Corvus asked him.
‘No point in that. You’re set on doing it this way, and you are my king. I will support you, Corvus.’
‘Tepid words, brother. I never thought I would see the day when Fornyx was happier with my plans than you.’
‘Perhaps I am getting old.’ Rictus shrugged. ‘Phobos, I am old. You were right to take me out of the front line.’
‘You nearly died at the Haneikos, Rictus,’ the younger man said softly. ‘I cannot let that happen. Of them all, I trust you most.’
‘And Ardashir.’
‘And Ardashir. But we grew up together.’
‘Listen to me, Corvus. There is no longer any profit in denying your heritage. Do you think that the five thousand Kufr of the Companions would follow you so loyally if you were all Macht?’
‘Rictus — ’
‘Hear me out, without wasting any wine this time. If I cannot speak my mind to you, then I should roll up my pack and march home.
‘Fight the battles as you always have, by all means. But use your mixed blood to win the peace afterwards. If you portrayed yourself more as a… as a — ’
‘A Kufr?’
‘As a Kefre, among his own people, then you will find this empire you’re making easier to rule when the bloodletting is done.’
Corvus glared at the older man. ‘I’ve been playing the Macht for long enough, is that it, Rictus? Now that we’re here in the empire, I can revert to my true self — a Kufr. How do you think the army would take that?’
‘You are both Macht and Kufr. The two bloods that are in you made you what you are. Without either, we would not be here now, and the thousands of men forming up to the east of this tent would never have thought to march so far. They follow Corvus, their king.’ Rictus smiled now. ‘And if he is a strange-looking little wight with something of the east about him, then what is that? Men need a hint of difference in the leaders they follow.’
‘Not too much difference. A King of the Macht with Kufr blood — I do not think they are ready for that yet, Rictus.’
‘Many suspect it already. We are surrounded by the Kufr, Corvus, and the men see now what is in you. They see that the people of the empire are your people also.’
‘You are becoming something of a philosopher in your old age.’
‘You take the spear out of a man’s hand, and he must fall back on something. Words, usually. Or wine.’
Corvus drew close. ‘I will think on your words, brother. Do not think I will not. Ardashir has already said similar things, though he cannot be as direct as you. No-one can.’
Corvus turned away again, and laughed, a free, unforced laugh — the first Rictus had heard from him in a long time.
‘Look at us, discussing the disposal of an empire that is not yet ours. There are two hundred thousand Kufr asleep on the plain east of here who have come to dispute that little fact with us, Rictus. We could both of us be dead by tomorrow night.’
‘I could choke on a plum stone tonight, or take a fit while having a shit. Men must make provision for a future, even when they are not so sure they will live to see it.’
Corvus turned away at this. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Do you know the full story of the skirmish at the farm Ardashir and I became caught up in some days ago?’
‘I know you brought back some wounded waifs and strays, and a body we burned with more ceremony than it warranted.’
‘The girl is beautiful, is she not?’
‘The boy, too, though the surgeon tells me he is a eunuch. Last night I had to slap sense into a few of our people who were about to have some fun with them.’
Corvus glared again. It was his battlefield look. The eyes went wide until there were whites all around the iris, and his voice lowered an octave. Rictus did not believe it was a conscious thing, but it was like watching something possess him, and it never failed to unnerve anyone who saw it.
