camp of war, and the memory of what they were doing, and what still faced them, came slowly back to her. Out there somewhere was the imperial army.
She shivered, the goosebumps rising on her flesh, and held an arm across her chest.
‘How are you?’ Bolt asked. ‘You seem to be fitting in well enough.’
‘They’re good people,’ she replied, looking up at him only briefly. She was always nervous in the company of this man, for she could never tell what he was thinking.
‘Here,’ he said, and handed her something. She looked down and saw a wrap of graf leaves in his outstretched hand.
‘I noticed the markings,’ he said, looking at her nostrils, which were less reddened now that she had left the city, and her supply of dross had run out. ‘It’s just a little muscado. It’ll help take the edge off a little.’
‘I’m fine,’ she told him. ‘Really.’
‘Take it,’ he said, and she so she did, and slipped the folded leaves into a pocket. ‘You’ll be glad of it once we see some action, and we start running low on those bottles of sanseed.’
She looked up into his grey eyes. ‘Thank you.’
Bolt stared hard at her.
‘I’d better get back inside,’ she told him.
After a moment he nodded, his expression still blank. Without a word he turned and strode away.
They gathered in the warmth of the command tent, the space heated by the black iron stove that squatted in one corner, its chimney running up through the roof. A plain, square table stood in the middle of the tent, covered with maps and notes for the march. Bahn swept them up quickly to put them out of sight. Creed took the weight off his feet by sitting back in his wicker chair. Halahan sat on the edge of the table, his leg-brace squeaking. The Nathalese colonel was clearly fighting down his anger.
After a few moments the Mannian ambassador was allowed to enter. The guards had stripped him of his clothing before searching his cavities. The man hadn’t shaven in some days, and he covered his nakedness with a borrowed red cloak wrapped about him, so that his appearance was that of some ragged beggar. It was an illusion only. The man held himself tall, and seemed hardly concerned that he stood in the heart of his enemy’s encampment.
‘Our spies were correct, it seems,’ he said in an accent clearly Q’osian. ‘Though I can hardly believe it. You must have fewer than ten thousand men here, if even that.’
Creed brought his hand to his chin. His eyes flickered to Halahan.
‘State your business here, ambassador,’ Halahan instructed as he removed the hat from his head, lay it down on the table. His tone was openly hostile.
‘Please. Call me Alarum. May I sit?’ This last addressed to Creed.
The general raised a hand in consent, and the Mannian settled down in a chair with a long and weary sigh. ‘It’s been a hard ride,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could share some wine and food while we talk?’
Creed’s chair creaked sharply as he leaned forwards. ‘Why are you here, fanatic?’
Alarum inclined his head and studied the general with his dark eyes. ‘I’ve been sent by the Holy Matriarch to offer you terms.’
‘She wishes to surrender?’
The man gave a quick, pinched smile. ‘It’s not too late, you know. Even now, after all these years, we can settle our differences another way.’
‘Aye,’ snapped Halahan. ‘You can pack up your armies and go home.’
‘Come, now,’ responded the man. ‘You know as well as I what reputations are riding on this. We can hardly simply withdraw. But what we can do is this: we can offer you the lives of your people, if only you will surrender Khos to us now, and agree to become a client state of Mann.’
‘What, open our gates to you like Serat, so you can decimate the population with your purges and enslave the rest?’ Halahan was incensed. Bahn could see the blood rushing to his face. ‘You came all this way for this?’
‘If you don’t, we’ll slaughter every man, woman and child of Bar-Khos. That is a promise not made lightly.’
Halahan stood up with his hands clenching. Creed held a hand up to restrain him, staring hard at the ambassador. ‘You still have to defeat us first,’ he reminded the man softly.
‘I have forty thousand fighting men at my back, General.’
‘Aye. That you do. And those men are far from home. Their fleet has departed. Their supplies are limited to what they already have and what they can pillage from the land. If they’re not fast, winter will set in and trap them here without adequate sources of food or shelter. You are hardly in any position of certainty, ambassador. Else you would not be here.’
Alarum’s response was to rise slowly from the chair with the cloak held loosely about him. He glanced at Halahan as the colonel took a step towards him. Bahn felt the sudden rise of tension in the air. He gripped the pommel of his sword without thinking.
‘If I may,’ said Alarum, with a soft, cautious smile. ‘The Holy Matriarch has sent a gift for you, should you fail to see sense in this matter.’
Creed nodded, and one of the guards at the entrance stepped forward with something in his hand. He handed it to Bahn, the closest person to him.
Bahn looked down at the sheathed dagger in his hand. It was a curved blade no larger than his thumb, and the scabbard was ornately decorated with gold and diamonds, and fitted with a cord to hang about a person’s neck.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
He looked up even as Halahan struck the ambassador hard across the face, sending the man toppling back across the chair.
Halahan kicked him in the side of the head as he tried to get up.
‘What gives you the right to this? What gives you the right to demand that others bow down to you or they must die? ’
‘Colonel,’ Creed snapped. ‘ Halahan! ’
At last the colonel backed away, panting hard now. Nothing in the world could tear his gaze from Alarum as the man climbed unsteadily to his feet. The ambassador’s lip was bloody, and he hitched the robe over his body to cover his sudden nakedness.
He glowered at Halahan as he dabbed a corner of the robe against his mouth. ‘What right? By right of natural law, what other? Do I need to explain this as though to children? What is man’s nature if not to take power wherever he can? The strong do what they like. The weak must endure what they must always endure. Do not blame we followers of Mann because life is this way. Blame your World Mother. Blame your Dao.’
Creed placed his hands on either side of his chair and rose slowly to confront him.
‘We have a belief, amongst the Free Ports, ambassador. A belief that power must always flow outwards, especially to those most affected by it. The idea comes from Zezike. I suppose you Mannians don’t read much of our famed philosopher, no?’
Alarum tilted his head, saying nothing.
‘I’ll be honest with you, I don’t always agree with him myself. But at times he made some fine points, especially about such notions as yours. If I recall his words correctly, he said that human behaviour is as much a result of our environment as it is the blood in our veins. And that our environment is as much a result of how we choose it to be as it is the turning of the earth and the sky.’
He leaned forwards, looking carefully at the ambassador’s expression.
‘You do not like that idea, perhaps? Yet you of Mann wish to shape the entire world in your image. Why is this, then? I will tell you why. Because you know this truth as well as Zezike ever did. You know that to rule absolutely, you must control those choices in people’s lives which allow them to shape their environment. Is that not so?’
Alarum’s breathing had calmed now. He dabbed his lip again, looked at the blood that stained the material of his robe. ‘You talk of ideals, General,’ he answered. ‘Empty words of this and that. I talk of something much closer to reality. I talk of power, which in the end needs no defence. Power will always speak for itself. It will always subdue what is weaker, no matter what you believe.’
‘Aye, it’s an old story certainly, subjugation. Yet so is murder. And rape. And theft. Things that decent people
