up where they were supposed to. Wood was in much evidence elsewhere, in the chests and barrels, crates and pallets stacked along the dockside.
Further coldwards were the dockyards, where the skeletal beams of two new galleys were being laid down, towered over by complex cranes of wood and rope. Ullsaard watched the construction as he sat down at the quayside, pulling Blackfang down next to him while he waited for her to recover enough to continue.
Shouts echoed from the shipyard as teams of tanned, loincloth-clad dockworkers pulled at ropes, swinging a long deck timber down onto the struts holding the ship carcass beneath it. The workers made fast their cables and returned to lounging along the riverbank while carpenters milled over the ship with mallets and wooden wedges. There seemed to be little sense of urgency or discipline.
A shadow crossed Ullsaard and he glanced over his shoulder to see Noran leading Thunderbolt. The pair sat down next to him.
'Told you they were lazy bastards,' said Noran, picking an errant tuft of hemp from Thunderbolt's fur.
'Right enough,' replied Ullsaard. 'Look at them! While the carpenters are fixing the decking, those others could be getting the next beam ready.'
'Maybe they're worried about dropping it onto their friends,' suggested Noran.
'Meh, only if they don't organise themselves properly.' Ullsaard shook his head and looked at Noran. 'This is what I mean. There's no urgency any more. Everyone's happy just to dawdle along; everything's fine, like we've already got what we're after. It's comfortable contentment, people happy with what they've already got. Where's the hunger for more? What happened to Askhos's pledge to rule over all the land between the seas?' 'Why stop there? Why not rule the seas as well?'
'Why not?' exclaimed Ullsaard with a laugh. 'It's only water, no reason it should get away with running around doing its own thing.'
Blackfang purred and flicked her ears.
'They'll be back with us soon, we might as well start walking to the villa,' said Noran, standing up. Ullsaard fell in beside him and the pair made their way up the cobbled road, heading for the centre of the town.
The large warehouses gave way to smaller wooden buildings, long terraces of one-storey houses for the hundreds of dockworkers. Children ran about in the street and stopped to stare at the ailurs as they passed; mothers shouted out of narrow windows and fell silent when they saw the pair, eying the general and his noble companion with more than just passing interest, expressions coloured by lust and awe.
The road led straight to the central plaza, at the foot of the hill upon which stood the palace of Nemtun, governor of Okhar. The grey building loomed over the town, its shadow cast across the roofs of the town's centre. From this direction the palace presented a narrow front, its columned portico painted white. The hall itself stretched directly away from the square and could not be seen.
'Going to pay him a visit?' asked Noran.
'Not if I can avoid it. I'd rather he didn't know I was even here.'
'Me too. He might start asking awkward questions, like why you've been called back to Askh and he hasn't, when it's his nephew that is ailing.'
'Were messages sent to any of the governors?'
'Not that I know of, none had been sent when I left,' said Noran with a shake of the head. 'It was Prince Aalun that sent for you, not the king. I don't think King Lutaar wants anyone to know about Kalmud's condition just yet. He is the heir after all.'
'I hadn't thought of that,' admitted Ullsaard.
'Best keep it to yourself for now,' suggested Noran, casting a meaningful glance at the troop of legionnaires standing guard by the large gilded gate that barred the road up to the palace.
The activity in the plaza was winding down for the evening; market stalls being wheeled away; wares being loaded back onto abada carts; customers drifting down the side streets. A few desperate merchants continued to hawk their perishable wares, offering fruits and vegetables at prices so ridiculous it couldn't be true, if their patter was to be believed.
The ailurs were lively enough to mount by the time the pair had crossed the plaza. There were more stone buildings further from the river; homes of the wealthiest merchants and offices of the governor's small army of sychophants and moneylenders. Only the ground storeys were of stone, the upper levels made of the same pale wood as the warehouses. The buildings had high, narrow windows covered with colourful awnings, and stepped porches up to their slender doors. Here and there a servant or maid swept dust onto the cobbled streets, while workmen laboured on tiled roofs or repainted the stones with thick coats of white. Of the owners, there was no sign.
Slightly apart from them was the three-tiered precinct of the Brotherhood. Atop the precinct a huge golden disc depicting Askhos's face glared down at passers-by, flanked by two limply hanging flags. None of the bureaucrat-priests could be seen, though Ullsaard had no doubt that his arrival and progress would be noted from within the narrow windows.
The cobbled road gave way to a packed dirt track a short way from the plaza, and the houses were again made solely of wood, roofed with grasses and leaves. They had no windows and smoke drifted lazily from chimney-holes. Children ran through the narrow alleys between the commoners' huts, chasing goats and chickens, shrieking and giggling. Knots of women sat in scattered groups grinding flour, kneading dough, scraping roots and sorting through baskets of vegetables and fruit bought at the market or foraged from the hills around the harbour town.
They seemed happy enough to Ullsaard, chattering away in their odd, guttural Okharan dialect. Just like the fishermen, he thought, content with what they have. No dreams, no grand desires. Perhaps is it better to have low expectations fulfilled than loftier goals thwarted.
Now and then one of the women would see the pair riding past and look up with broad, broken-toothed smiles. A few waved. Ullsaard hesitantly waved back, while Noran ignored them.
'What are you doing?' Noran asked.
'Saying hello,' replied Ullsaard.
'Why?'
The question caused Ullsaard to pause. He glanced at the women and looked at Noran.
'Why not?'
'You shouldn't encourage them. They'll become over-familiar. First it's a wave and a smile. Next time, you stop and ask how they are, what they're doing, if the harvest has been good or if their man has come back from his voyage upriver. The next thing you know, there's a bunch of them at your villa asking you to represent their complaints to the governor…'
'Speaking from experience?'
Noran nodded sourly.
'Not here, but up in Parmia. I spent a summer on my farms around there and thought it would be good to get to know a few of the locals living on my land. They wouldn't go away until I'd promised to speak to Adral about drainage ditches being blocked on Crown land, drowning their crops.'
'What did Adral have to say about that? Did you get the problem sorted out?'
'Never mentioned it to him. Would have been a bit churlish, considering I was trying to negotiate for that land at the time.'
'You said you promised your tenants…'
'It's not a real promise though, is it? Not like I'd promised you something, or my father, or a prince.'
Ullsaard grunted with disappointment and shook his head.
'And what do your tenants think of you now?'
'No different, I guess. They don't know I didn't say anything to Adral. For all they care, he heard their case and then told me to piss off; which is what he probably would have done if I had spoken to him. Anyway, all got sorted. I bought the land from him and those whingers ended up clearing it themselves. Problem solved. For all I know, they're eternally grateful to me for buying the land and resolving the situation.' 'So you haven't been back since?'
'Yes, a couple of times. But, like I say, I don't talk to underlings any more, it just causes trouble.'
The path forked ahead, the right-hand trail leading up towards the hills that heaped upon each other until they stopped abruptly at the coast of the Nemurian Strait. The other fork continued ahead, with rutted branches
