Salendor shot her a shrewd look. ‘None know him better than you, eh? I heard that too. Tell me, what passed between you when he was last here?’
‘Why did you wish to see me, Salendor?’
‘You know why. Peace is not possible. He might put off war for a few months, maybe years, but not forever.’
Liandra said nothing. Salendor was right, of course, but there was no point in confirming it.
‘So we have two choices,’ Salendor went on. ‘First, we can change his mind.’
‘Impossible,’ said Liandra. Despite herself, a little sadness sank into her voice. ‘Trust me, there is no turning it.’
‘Then you know what must be done: we make other arrangements.’
‘That could mean anything.’
‘It means acting,’ said Salendor. ‘He can talk with them for as long as he wishes, but there will be no peace if we do not allow it.’
‘You would not dare.’
‘We, Liandra. You and me. Forget the rest of the Council – they would not stir if the world was ending around their ears. Gelthar is obsessed with defence and Caerwal… I do not understand Caerwal. His people have been butchered and still he hesitates. But you know the truth – we are warriors. We have already blooded the dawi, we will do so again. Think on it: my forces will follow my orders. Add yours, and near half the armies of Tor Alessi would march on our word.’
Liandra closed her eyes wearily. She could already see images parading before her – legions of spearmen coursing through open gates, picking up speed as they charged towards dug-in ranks of iron and bronze, surmounted by the raging wingbeats of dragons sweeping east. She saw herself at the head of it, as glorious and unstoppable as Isha, festooned in flame and underpinned by fields of steel.
‘You do not know me,’ she said softly.
Salendor lost his smile. ‘What?’
Liandra opened her eyes. ‘If you came here asking me to oppose him, then you do not know me.’
‘So you spurn the offer.’
‘It is no offer!’ she said, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘You give me nothing but revolt, something the humblest archer captain would blush to consider. I had heard you were a tactician, my lord, not a gutter-thief.’
Salendor pushed clear of the wall, suddenly looking dangerous. ‘You dare to–’
‘I dare nothing!’ cried Liandra. ‘And neither do you – we are just following our instincts, doing what we were trained to do. Do you think Imladrik is a simpleton? His troops would fight for him until their last breaths – none of them will stir to support you. You might as well ask them to fight with the druchii.’
Salendor took a single step towards her, his right fist clenching. For the first time Liandra saw just how powerfully built he was. ‘Then you are in his thrall, just as I feared,’ he said. ‘What were you, then – his lover? His whore?’
‘Say no more,’ hissed Liandra, her own fists balling. A stray flicker of fire rippled over her flesh. ‘I swear by holy Isha if you say another word I will kill you.’
They stood facing one another, hearts beating powerfully, eyes locked together. Liandra saw the desperation in Salendor’s battle-scarred face. For a moment she thought he might goad her further, just to test whether her threats meant anything.
Then, slowly, grudgingly, he backed down. ‘They were unworthy words,’ he muttered. ‘I should not have spoken them.’
Liandra unclenched her own hands, feeling the burn from where her fingernails had dug in. He had dragged her close.
Salendor shook his head with frustration, looking like he wanted to punch the walls. ‘But by Khaine,’ he spat, ‘he drives me to it. He does not answer my pleas. He will not bend. He will damn us all.’
Liandra looked at him coldly. All at once, Salendor’s rage seemed ignoble to her, like the rantings of a child kept from his sweetmeats rather than the noble fury of a son of Ulthuan.
‘You have said what you came to say,’ she said. ‘No word of it shall come from my lips. Now go.’
Salendor hesitated. ‘I will not make the offer again,’ he warned.
‘You should not have done so now.’ Liandra ran her hands through her hair. She felt weary, tainted. Despite the insult, some of what he had said hit near the mark. ‘Salendor, I know why you suffer. On another day, in another war, perhaps I might have listened. But know this: I can never oppose him.’
Salendor looked at her grimly. ‘So there it is. I made the attempt.’ He started to leave, then halted. ‘He has some hold over you, I see that. I will not ask you again, but beware. Memories are a poor guide.’
Liandra didn’t reply. Salendor shrugged, withdrew down the length of the chamber and stalked back outside.
She waited for a long time after that, standing still as the candles burned down, leaving a suitable interval before following him out into the city. She had lost track of time and had no idea whether the sun had gone down.
It didn’t matter. Salendor’s words still echoed in her mind.
He has some hold over you, I see that.
Perhaps he had, once, but that was a long time ago. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted whether it had ever been true.
Caradryel rode uneasily. The guards Imladrik had sent to escort him were from his own personal retinue: Caledorian, each with a dragon-winged helm and riding a powerful black charger. Twenty rode within Caradryel’s eyeshot; twice that were in bow-range, fanning out through the trees in a wide, almost silent arc.
Even to Caradryel’s untrained eyes they were quite obviously deadly. Their captain, a sour-faced killer named Feliadh, had made no secret of his contempt for his feckless-looking charge. Feliadh had ridden ahead during the entire journey, conversing with his troops in a local dialect and avoiding standard Eltharin. The days had thus passed in a procession of weary, wordless rides followed by lonely and windswept camps.
Every so often the party would encounter
