the hour.
I feel we are approaching a time when being Scarlet will find its way back into favour. War with the Blues is coming, and that always rallies our people to the Scarlet cause. It is my sincerest wish that you excel in service to my old friend. My one regret is that my damnable illness prevents me from taking up arms once more and fighting at your sides.
Sardec put the letter down and cursed his luck. It had been dated more than three weeks before and doubtless held up by some delay or other. If it had arrived sooner he might have gained some greater advantage from it. He would have known of the General’s appointment before his brother officers and thus been able to steal a march on them. As it were, most of them had probably visited the Lady Asea and began lobbying for staff positions with her. Doubtless Azaar would listen to the opinions of another of the First.
He had no great faith that Azaar would grant his father’s request merely for the sake of their old friendship. There were too many families at court who had much greater influence than his own, and the General could gain a great deal of political capital by allocating choice posts to them. If he could have met Azaar in person perhaps he might have persuaded him. So far no word had come of any new appointments. It looked like the General would be doling them out once he arrived.
Even Sardec's trip to the hills and the wound he had taken had conspired against him. It had delayed his sending his card to Asea. It could not be helped, he thought, even as he cursed it. He had been performing his duties, and those had to come first. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. No use crying over spilled wine, he thought, and considered his father’s words.
The first part was obviously a politely worded instruction to flatter the General, for imitation was always the sincerest form of that. He considered the second part of the message with regard to Azaar’s well-known political stance. What was his father trying to tell him? He still had sources at the court of the Amber Throne. He obviously expected war and a long one. He was basically instructing Sardec to hitch his star to that of the General. It might work. In a time of war, a successful field commander would find himself in favour at court no matter what colour his politics were, and those on his staff with him. There was no doubt his father expected Azaar to be successful and why not? He always had been before. There never had been any doubt of his genius on the field of battle.
Sardec considered this from all angles. Perhaps Azaar had seen better days. All of his real fighting had been done in the age of dragons, and before the coming of these damnable black powder weapons. He was a hero from the great days of truesteel and sorcery. Perhaps he would fair less well in this new era of cannons and rifled muskets. In any case, Sardec decided his father’s advice was worth taking. Certainly with the Lord of Battles in command there would be no shortage of fighting, and no shortage of opportunities to seek to add to his father’s glorious legacy.
Satisfied he had divined his father’s meaning, he gave his attention to the rest of the letter which contained a great deal of family news, most of it of little interest to Sardec. Two of his cousins were betrothed. His brother Magnus was doing brilliantly at court at least according to his own letters to their father. This did not surprise Sardec. Magnus has always had a very high opinion of himself. His sister Elena’s studies at the College of Magisters were going well.
Sardec noted that his mother had dragged herself away from her latest lover long enough to send her best wishes and let him know she was still negotiating his marriage to the eldest of the Kasaki clan. The matter of the bride price remained to be settled. He knew that would likely remain the case for some time yet. They had been discussing it for a decade. Only the news that old Sathrax had hatched a clutch of eggs excited him. It was the first time that had happened in decades. More than that, it seemed all of the hatchlings were doing well. It looked like the line of the great dragon Sardenys would not become extinct after all. It was an omen, perhaps of better times ahead. His father concluded by wishing him well in the old formal fashion.
He opened the letter from his sister next. It contained some news of her studies at the College of Magisters, and a warning concerning the portents all the fashionable astrologers were discovering. It seemed now was a particularly dark and threatening time for the Realm, and for their House, and for him as well by all accounts. His stars had entered a particularly ominous house. His recent encounter with the spider demons seemed to confirm the truth of that, at least.
It mentioned that her spell-craft was advancing with great speed, although the same could be said of all members of her class, so she felt no great pride in the matter. That was odd, Sardec thought. Although sorcery had never been his forte he had been given to understand that in recent generations the aptitude of Terrarch wizards had been greatly lessened. Certainly the older Terrarchs always managed to give that impression. Perhaps, this was just a particularly gifted crop of new mages, or perhaps it was an omen too, like the dragons, that the good old times were returning.
Elena went on to tell him all the family gossip that his father would not. His youngest sister Mariel was apparently still causing a scandal among the youths of the capital which, considering the decadence of the place, spoke of quite a talent for it. Elena concluded with a few enquiries about his health and his career, and he made a note to answer them as quickly as he could.
He summoned a servant and wrote a note to the Lady Asea requesting permission to call on her, and then made ready for bed. His head hurt and Mourning Time was not the time to go back to losing money at cards to his brother officers.
From downstairs he could hear the sound of chamber music. Some of them were playing instruments as others played cards. The likes of Jazeray and Paulus and Marcus would be drinking and joking and getting ready to visit the brothels of the town. Not for them the contemplation of the mighty deeds of their forefathers at this most significant of times. Sardec felt they were symbolic of how far his people had fallen. Still, if he was honest with himself, he admitted that he found that thought of the bawdy houses contained a certain piquancy, but now was not the time for it.
He opened the Book of Prophets and read several pages about the Last Days of Al’ Terra before he fell asleep. His dreams were troubled and whispered of cataclysm. In many of them, strange spidery demons gnawed at the roots of the world.
Chapter Fourteen
“It took long enough,” said the Barbarian watching Weasel emerge from the Quartermaster’s tent with the papers clutched in his hand.
“But it’s done,” said Weasel with some satisfaction, brandishing a handful of signed chits. “I got the passes.”
Rik was impressed. For several days there it looked like they were not going to get out of camp at all. The rumours of the appearance of the new commander appeared to have put all the Terrarchs on their mettle. There had been plenty of spit and polish, plenty of mock assaults, plenty of bayonet practice even for the Foragers.
It all seemed designed to keep the men too tired to work or worry about their lack of time off. Every night since their return had seen them turn in at the first drum roll. Their rations had consisted of bread and water and hard cheese. It was the Mourning Time, and the humans were being made to suffer through it just as much as the Exalted. So far Rik had not even found much time to look at the books. He had been so tired that he had most often fallen asleep after the drum sounded. Curiosity burned within him but he had not found the means of satisfying it.
“How did you get them?” Leon asked. His pipe was back in his mouth. It was still unlit as he chewed away at the stem. Weasel gave him a disparaging look.
“You should know better than ask such questions. All you need know is that we have passes with Lieutenant Jazeray’s signature on them, stamped with the regimental seal. And you can show your gratitude by buying me beer all night.”
Rik wondered what sort of hold the Quartermaster could have on Lieutenant Jazeray. Rumour had it the Terrarch numbered a passion for gambling among his several vices. He had run up debts. The Quartermaster would be quick to take advantage of those. Rik wondered at his using up some of his influence just to get them a
