been more than twentyfive years old, his eyes bulging with sudden apprehension.
'Stand up straight!' rasped Ullsaard and the captain went rigid, his gaze hovering over Ullsaard's right shoulder. Ullsaard leaned closer, his voice a hiss. 'When a general of the legions and a herald of the king arrive, I would expect a fucking salute!'
'Present spears!' screamed the captain, his voice almost breaking. The guard lofted their weapons in salute with shuffling feet. The lines of spearheads bobbed uncertainly.
'Pathetic,' said Ullsaard. 'Practice that until we come out. I expect a smarter farewell than the welcome we got. Do you understand?'
'Yes, General,' the captain replied.
Ullsaard stalked away and rejoined Noran as he reached the steps.
'Fucking soft-arsed captain, I bet his spear's never seen a drop of blood,' muttered Ullsaard as the two of them mounted the steps. The heavy wooden doors swung inwards to reveal a pillared hallway down the centre of the palace, archways along each side leading to other chambers.
'Temper your mood before we see Nemtun,' cautioned Noran.
'I'll try.'
A bowing factotum appeared in front of them, dressed in a blue linen kilt and sleeveless white vest. His head was shaved and he had a golden ring piercing the side of his nose.
'General, herald, please follow me,' he said with another bow.
'Fuck me, a talking Maasrite,' chuckled Ullsaard. The factotum directed a weary smile towards the general.
'Not everyone from Maasra takes the Vow of Service, General,' the man explained, speaking softly. 'It is only those committed to the life of domestic service that do so.'
'I knew that,' Ullsaard lied quickly. 'Just never met one of you lot who wasn't a servant.'
The functionary nodded in understanding and led them to the end of the hall and turned right, passing through an archway into a broad, square chamber. Rugs were scattered on the stone floor and the walls were covered with patterned hangings. Young, half-naked maids walked with trays amongst the clusters of Nemtun's guests, offering wine, water and fruits. Ullsaard ignored them though Noran quickly lifted a clay cup from the tray of the closest and filled it with undiluted wine. Ullsaard directed a questioning look at his friend.
'I need something strong before I see Nemtun,' Noran explained before taking a long draught of the drink. He smacked his lips appreciatively.
Ullsaard walked through the throng of merchants and ship captains. He suddenly stopped, spying a middle- aged, handsome woman standing at the centre of a knot of aging admirers.
'Is that…?' he asked, turning to Noran.
'Lerissa? Yes, that's her.'
Ullsaard gazed at Nemtun's wife, admiring her smooth, tanned skin and firm limbs through the slits in her dress.
'I didn't realise it had been so long since I last saw her,' Ullsaard remarked quietly. 'She's certainly matured well. I hope Nemtun looks after her properly.'
'This is where listening to the gossiping Meliu and Neerita comes in useful,' replied Noran with a wink. 'Apparently Nemtun is besotted with Lerissa, but has never once laid a finger on her. They don't even share a bed.'
'Why would any sane man pass up the chance of bedding such a woman?'
'Are you interested? Apparently Nemtun isn't too fussy about who his wife chooses as her lovers, that's why all those wrinkled vultures are circling so intently.'
'I hope she doesn't settle for these old goats,' Ullsaard said with a disconsolate shake of the head. 'I can't imagine any of them having the necessary endurance.'
Lerissa looked across the room and caught Ullsaard's gaze. Her warm smile melted another piece of his heart. He nodded in acknowledgment and turned away, cursing his faithless thoughts. This was no time to get distracted. He had to keep an eye on Noran to make sure he didn't get himself, or Ullsaard, into more trouble.
The Maasrite functionary coughed politely to catch their attention. He looked pointedly towards an archway barred by a heavy curtain of black and red beads.
'Governor Nemtun would like to speak with you in private before he joins the festivities.'
'In there?' Noran asked with a gesture towards the curtain. The factotum nodded. Ullsaard heard Noran taking in a deep breath as he plunged towards the archway. 'Best not to keep him waiting.'
III
The small room beyond the curtain was filled with brightly patterned divans, and low wooden tables brimming with fruits and various dishes made from the fish of the Greenwater. Nemtun reclined in the dim light from the room's one narrow window, his gross form filling the couch on which he sprawled. He looked up at the clatter of beads and smiled, droplets of sweat dripping from his heavily lined brow and bald scalp.
'Ah, my special guests!' Nemtun declared in his bass voice, jowly cheeks wobbling. He raised a beringed hand in greeting but made no effort to sit up.
'Governor,' replied Noran with a nod. He glanced towards a divan and Nemtun motioned the pair to seat themselves. 'Thank you for the invitation, but I must start with an apology.'
'Eh? How so?' Nemtun's crumpled forehead deepened into a frown. 'You've only just arrived; you can't have got into that much trouble already, Noran!'
'Not at all, Governor,' Noran said with a light laugh. His face grew sincere. 'We must apologise for not being able to enjoy your hospitality for long.'
'Got an early start,' added Ullsaard with what he hoped was a look of disappointment. Noran shot him an exasperated look, piqued by Ullsaard's interruption.
'As the general says, we must be away by dawn tomorrow to make all speed to Askh, and I've never had much of a stomach for boats at the best of times.'
'Shame.'
Noran blinked in surprise at the governor's flat retort. He rallied quickly. 'We are also eager to learn if you have heard any further news of Prince Kalmud's condition.'
Now it was Ullsaard's turn to be surprised. Wasn't Noran supposed to keep the prince's illness secret from Nemtun?
'I had hoped to ask you the same,' Nemtun replied heavily. 'You're the first man from the court I've seen since poor Kalmud went upriver.'
'He was as well as could be hoped when I departed, and I have no reason to believe he will not make a full recovery.'
Nemtun shifted his bulk, causing the wooden frame of the divan to creak alarmingly. Once upright, the governor leant forwards, wiped a hand over his sweaty pate and fixed Ullsaard with bright blue eyes.
'And what about you, General?'
Ullsaard managed to avoid glancing towards Noran for guidance.
'I am well, Governor. The campaign in Mekha is slow but progressing.'
'Those sand-eaters giving you much trouble?' Nemtun plucked a bowl of roe from a nearby table and scooped a handful of the black eggs into his mouth.
'Not so far,' Ullsaard replied, ignoring the cluster of small spheres now stuck to the governor's chin. 'The lava-throwers are a match for the behemodons, and they've got nothing else to offer in the way of threat.'
'Reckon you should be done by winter.'
'I don't know. The Mekhani keep moving around, it's hard to bring them to battle in one place. They split up and disappear into the desert where we can't follow.'
'Why not?'
Ullsaard was taken aback by the question; a general of Nemtun's experience should have realised the difficulties of maintaining an army in such conditions. He kept his tone even.
