“Do tell him,” urged the dark-eyed Diagoras. “He’s been talking about the axeman non-stop since you left.”
“That’s not true,” muttered Orases, blushing. “We’ve all been talking about him.” Certak slapped Orases on the shoulder, then ruffled his hair.
“You get me a drink, Orases, and then I’ll tell you all.”
As Orases fetched a flagon of wine and four goblets, Diagoras moved smoothly to his feet and pulled up a chair, reversing it before sitting opposite Certak, who had streched out on the bed. The fourth man, Archytas, joined them, accepting a goblet of light honey mead wine from Orases and draining it swiftly.
“As I said, he is big,” said Certak. “Not as tall as the stories claim, but built like a small castle. The size of his arms? Well, his biceps are as long as your thighs, Diagoras. He is bearded and dark, though there is some grey in his hair. His eyes are blue, and they seem to look right through you.”
“And Rowena?” asked Orases eagerly. “Is she as fabulously beautiful as the poem says?”
“No. She is nice enough, in a matronly sort of way. I suppose she would have been lovely once. It’s hard to tell with some of these older women. Her eyes are gorgeous, though, and she has a pretty smile.”
“Did you see the axe?” asked Archytas, a wand-slender nobleman from the Lentrian border.
“No.”
“Did you ask Druss about his battles?” asked Diagoras.
“Of course not, you fool. He may be only a farmer now, but he’s still Druss. You don’t just march up and ask how many dragons he’s downed.”
“There are no dragons,” said Archytas loftily.
Certak shook his head, staring at the man through narrowed eyes.
“It was a figure of speech,” he said. “Anyway, they invited me to join them for supper and we chatted about horses and the running of the farm. He asked my opinion about the war, and I told him I thought Gorben would sail for Penrac Bay.”
“It’s a safe bet,” said Diagoras.
“Not necessarily. If it’s that safe, how come we’re stuck here with five regiments?”
“Abalayn is over-cautious,” answered Diagoras, grinning.
“That’s the trouble with you westerners,” said Certak. “You live so long with your horses that you start to think like them. Skeln Pass is a gateway to the Sentran Plain. If Gorben took that we would starve during the winter. So would half of Vagria, for that matter.”
“Gorben is no fool,” offered Archytas. “He knows Skeln can be defended forever with two thousand men. The pass is too narrow for the numbers of his army to be of any real use. And there’s no other way through. Penrac makes more sense. It’s only three hundred miles from Drenan and the countryside around is as flat as a lake. There his army could spread and cause real problems.”
“I don’t particularly care where he lands,” said Orases, “as long as I’m close by to see it.”
Certak and Diagoras exchanged glances. Both had fought the Sathuli and had seen the true, bloody face of battle, and watched the crows peck out the eyes of dead friends. Orases was a newcomer who had urged his father to buy him a commission in Abalayn’s lancers when news of the invasion fleet reached Drenan.
“What about the Cuckold King?” asked Archytas. “Was he there?”
“Sieben? Yes, he arrived for supper. He looks ancient. I can’t see the ladies swooning over him any longer. Bald as a rock and thin as a stick.”
“You think Druss will want to fight alongside us?” asked Diagoras. “That would be something to tell the children.”
“No. He’s past it. Tired. You can see it in him. But I liked him. He’s no braggart, that’s for sure. Down to earth. You’d never believe he was the subject of so many songs and ballads. They say Gorben has never forgotten him.”
“Maybe he sailed the fleet just for a reunion with his friend Druss,” said Archytas, with a sneer. “Perhaps you should put that idea to the general. We could all go home.”
“It’s an idea,” admitted Certak, biting back his anger. “But if the regiments separate, we’d be deprived of your delightful company, Archytas. And nothing is worth that.”
“I could live with it,” said Diagoras.
“And I could do without being forced to share a tent with a pack of ill-bred hounds,” said Archytas. “But needs must.”
“Well, woof woof,” said Diagoras. “Do you think we’ve been insulted, Certak?”
“Not by anyone worth worrying about,” he replied.
“Now that is an insult,” said Archytas, rising. A sudden commotion from outside the tent cut through the gathering drama. The flap was pulled aside. A young soldier pushed his head inside.
“The beacons are lit,” he said. The Ventrians have landed at Penrac.”
The four warriors leapt to their feet, rushing to gather their armour.
Archytas turned as he buckled his breastplate.
“This changes nothing,” he said. “It is a question of honour.”
“No,” said Certak. “It is a question of dying. And you’ll do that nicely, you pompous pig.”
