Ullsaard's musings were interrupted by the approach of Karuu.
'General, a messenger from Askh awaits your attendance,' the officer reported. 'He bears missives from Prince Aalun.'
Ullsaard nodded and shooed Karuu away with a wave of the hand. Tidings from the capital would be important; the prince would not send a messenger this far hotwards without good reason. Ullsaard mused on what it might be as he walked through the camp towards his pavilion at the centre. Kalmud, the king's eldest son, was campaigning to dawnwards along the Greenwater River. Perhaps the news concerned that.
Ullsaard caught scattered snatches of conversation as he walked through the camp. Morale seemed to be high, though he overheard many complaints about the heat and sand. Soldiers always moan, he told himself. Though the conditions were less than tolerable, today's battle had been the first serious fighting since passing into the desert. Most of the warriors seemed to think that the Mekhani had been dealt such a harsh blow they would be returning to their families soon. Ullsaard would not dissuade them of the notion for the time being, though he knew the Mekha war was just beginning; better that his men enjoy what peace they could; by the best guesses of the empire's scholars as many as three times the number of tribesmen slain today awaited the army's bloody attentions, spread across the vast desert. The summer would be long this year for many of his soldiers, and brutally short for others.
A bright red pavilion rose high above the orderly rows of white tents that surrounded it, Ullsaard's personal standard gleaming in gold from its central pole. Hunting scenes had been embroidered in black on the red cloth; visions of Askhor's lush forests and cold mountains that reminded all of what they fought for, not least Ullsaard himself. The quartet of guards stood at the doorway bowed their heads in greeting as Ullsaard approached.
'Send word for the prince's herald to attend me,' Ullsaard said as he strode into the huge tent.
The floor was covered with rugs woven from Askhan wool dyed a dark red, deep and soft beneath his booted feet. Here and there sandy footprints trailed across the carpets, from the bare feet of servants and the sandals of soldiers. Linen partitions decorated with spiralling patterns divided the pavilion's large space into smaller compartments. Lamps hung from the roof beams, unlit for the moment for there was plenty of light provided by window flaps opened in the high roof.
The central area was lined with wooden screens painted with scenes from the plazas and avenues of Askh; the approach to the royal palaces, the racing circuit at Maarmes, the fruit markets of the lake quarter. Other officers decorated their tents with portraits of themselves and their families, but Ullsaard felt no need for such affectation. His family were kept in his heart and there they would stay. The scenes reminded him instead of his duties as a general of the legions, dedicated to the protection and future of Askhor before all other concerns.
Flanked by stools carved from black wood, Ullsaard's campaign throne was set upon a marble plinth that had been quarried from the hills far to coldwards in the general's native province of Enair. The stone was black and veined with red, like blood trickling down a bare slate. The throne itself was wrought from bronze and gilded with white gold, padded with cushions of blue velvet stuffed with the hair of ailur cubs, the back lined with white meimur fur. There was no doubt in Ullsaard's mind that it was indeed a magnificent chair, but just a chair nonetheless. His less intelligent subordinates were impressed by their general giving his orders from such a magnificent perch, and that alone was worth the effort of bringing it on the long march.
Upon seeing their master enter, two tan-skinned Maasrite servants came with clay ewers of wine and water, and another with a bronze tray set with a single golden goblet. Ullsaard nodded to the water bearer, who poured him a draught from his jug before the trio retired wordlessly to their positions at the side of the chamber. After taking a gulp of the refreshing drink, Ullsaard placed the goblet on the arm of the throne, sat down on the marble plinth and began to pull off his boots.
With a grunt the right boot came free and Ullsaard wriggled his toes, enjoying the cool breeze wafting through the open door. Sand was caked between his toes and on his instep and he waved to one of the servants.
'Fetch me a bowl of water, soap and a towel,' said Ullsaard. The mute Maasrite bowed and departed.
By the time the servant had returned with the cleaning provisions, Ullsaard had wrenched off the other boot and sat with his feet in the deep pile of the rug, clasping and releasing the thick wool between his toes. The servant knelt down with the bowl and picked up the soap, but Ullsaard took it from him and waved him away.
'I'll not have any man clean another man's feet, no matter what they do in Maasra,' Ullsaard declared.
'A sensible if unfashionable choice, General,' said a voice from the doorway.
The short, slim man standing there was garbed in the red sash, kilt and cloak of a king's herald, his crestless helm under one arm. He was a little younger than Ullsaard, with long blonde hair that showed no signs of the grey that had assailed Ullsaard in the last few years. His face was softer though not chubby, and stubble betrayed that he was normally clean shaven but had not had opportunity to attend to his cheeks and chin in the last few days. A longsword hung at his belt, its hilt and pommel wrought from gold. To Ullsaard's eye it was a ceremonial duelling weapon, unsuited for real fighting.
'Noran!' exclaimed Ullsaard. Grinning, Ullsaard pushed himself to his feet and paced across the rugs with his arms open for an embrace. The messenger met him halfway and they hugged, clapping each other on the back and kissing each other's left cheek. 'They just said a messenger had come, they never mentioned it was you.'
'I asked them not to,' said Noran, stepping back and smiling. 'Why spoil the surprise?'
'Indeed, indeed,' said Ullsaard. He waved his lifelong friend towards the stools and clapped his hands twice. 'Wine and food for my guest!'
'Wait,' Noran said as he raised a hand to stay Ullsaard's servants. 'As much as I would dearly love to indulge in some reminiscing and wine, I have important matters to discuss with you first. We can eat and drink later.'
'Leave us,' Ullsaard snapped at the approaching servants. He turned to Noran, apprehension written on his face.
'Prince Aalun has demanded your attendance at the court,' said Noran as the servants melted from view. 'His older brother has fallen ill.'
Ullsaard, slumped into his throne. 'What is it? How long has the prince been afflicted? More to the point, why do I have to travel all the way back to Askh because of it?'
'Word came to the court only the day before I left,' explained Noran, seating himself as Ullsaard slouched in the throne and took up his goblet. 'It is an affliction of the lungs. The prince's life is in no immediate danger, but if his condition deteriorates, it jeopardises his campaign. I believe Prince Aalun wishes to discuss this, along with other matters to which I have not been made privy. I'm sure the prince is aware of the burden of travel and would not summon you for an inconsequential matter.'
'We've only just fought a battle,' Ullsaard said, rubbing his chin in thought. The notion that Aalun perhaps wanted him to take over Kalmud's campaign encouraged him, but he was loathe to leave his army to Cosuas without knowing when he, or if, he would return. 'There are preparations to be made for the cremations and honour to be given to the dead. If I leave suddenly, rumour will quickly engulf the army. And there's the matter of this unfinished bridge.'
'Cosuas can deal with all of that,' said Noran with a dismissive wave. 'Probably better, he's been doing this sort of thing even longer than you have. The prince was insistent that you attend him at as soon as it was practical. In fact, he was adamant.'
Ullsaard frowned and stood.
'Then I have no choice,' he said, suppressing a rebellious sigh. 'Though I would rather continue the campaign here, one of the Blood has spoken and I must obey. It will take some time to get ready for a return to Askh. If this concerns Kalmud, I should take Erlaan back to the capital as well, to see his family. He'll have to get everything packed away for the journey. It will be too late to leave tonight; first thing in the morning will be soon enough.'
'That would be good,' said Noran. 'I will inform him of what I know while you get yourself ready to depart. I have a galley waiting at Atanir to take us up the Greenwater.'
Noran stood and stepped towards Ullsaard.
'I wish that we had met again in better circumstances,' said the messenger. 'All the same, it is good to see you, Ullsaard.' Ullsaard smiled and laid a hand on Noran's shoulder.
'It is good to see you as well, my friend,' Ullsaard said. 'On the road you will have to tell me what you have been doing with yourself these past two years.'
'Well, maybe,' Noran said with a wink. 'There's a few tales I'm not sure that I trust you with!'
