to confess everything, but resisted the temptation. Anglhan plunged on with the lie, ignoring the question.
'Once he has control of Magilnada, Aroisius plans to stop all grain trade between Salphoria and Askhor. He wants to starve the Askhans and cripple the treasury of the Salphorian king.'
Had he guessed right? Was Aroisius's belief that this was about the grain trade true? Anglhan suppressed a tremble as he searched the man's face for any sign of his thoughts. There was nothing; Anglhan would have had an easier time trying to discern the ponderings of a statue.
'You have not answered my question,' the noble said. 'What do you gain by telling me this?'
'I'm a merchant by nature, Lord, and my first thought is always for profit, I admit.'
'You want paying for this information?'
'Not at all, Lord! I have associated myself with Aroisius in the hope of getting a cut of the Magilnada taxes. If there's no trade, there's no tax, and no money for me.'
A half-truth was always better than an outright lie, Anglhan had always thought. It is far easier to convince another man to believe selfish motivations over selfless acts. It appeared this belief still held true: the Askhan straightened on his stool and smiled.
'What do you propose I should do about this?' he said. 'Should I send my men to cut off his head for this act of betrayal? Perhaps I should entrust you with my money to complete this business?'
Anglhan smelt a trap; the stranger's proposal was far too convenient for Anglhan.
'I wouldn't do that, Lord. Without Aroisius, this ragtag army of his will vanish in a few days. Your money could convince the hillmen to stay, but Aroisius has a sway over the rebels and debtors. Neither have any respect for me.'
The noble thought about this some more before speaking.
'You are right, Anglhan. Killing Aroisius would favour nobody, and would mean I have wasted a great deal of effort and money.'
Anglhan edged forward with a hopeful expression.
'What do you plan to do, Lord?'
The man looked at Anglhan with a flicker of annoyance.
'Why the fuck would I tell you what my plans are?'
Anglhan retreated two steps, shocked. As he recovered his composure, he found himself feeling a mixture of respect and awe for this man. There was a streak of ruthlessness about him that Anglhan admired.
'You do not have to tell me anything, Lord,' Anglhan muttered. He looked earnestly at the Askhan. 'But if there is something I can do to help, please tell me.'
The noble examined his fingernails for a moment as if he had not heard the offer. He looked up sharply at Anglhan, as though an idea had just come to him.
'There is one small thing you can do for me, Anglhan. How well do you remember your journey here?'
Anglhan wrinkled his lip and shrugged.
'Most of it, Lord.'
'So you could find your way back to your camp?'
'To the general area, yes.'
The noble stood and walked around the foot of the bed to a bronze-bound strongbox against the wall. He lifted the lid, revealing a mess of scrolls and wax tablets. He pulled out a map and tossed it to Anglhan.
'I am sure this would help,' the Askhan said with a lopsided smile.
Anglhan looked at the map and at the noble's cruel amusement, realisation sinking in.
'If I am to guide you to our camp, I would like to know something first.'
'Yes?' The Askhan showed surprise for the first time.
'Your name, lord. If I am to betray Aroisius, I would like to know the name of my new master.'
'Of course you do,' said the noble, and for a moment Anglhan thought he was going to be denied an answer. The Askhan stepped across the room with a hand outstretched.
'I am not a lord, so you can forget all of that,' he said. 'Just call me Urikh.'
Erusan Foothills
Winter, 209th Year of Askh
I
A haze of fine rain swathed the camp as bells rang out the start of High Watch. There were muffled calls from the walls as the guard companies changed. The clatter of hammer on metal, the shouts of the third captains drilling their men, the slap of canvas in the wind blurred with the constant patter and splish of raindrops.
Noran hurried across mud-spattered wooden walkways with his cloak drawn over his head, stopping when he reached the awning of his pavilion. Shaking the wet from his clothes, he turned inside. Neerita sat in a low chair wrapped in blankets, her pale face shivering among layers of blue and red wool.
'The Fifth's surgeon gave me this,' said Noran, holding up a fistful of dried leaves. 'He said I should boil them for half a watch, and then use the water to make you some porridge.'
Neerita nodded hesitantly inside the hill of cloth. She flipped back the edge of a blanket and rubbed her swollen belly.
'I wish there was a loremother,' she said. 'It's coming soon.'
'You mean he is coming soon,' said Noran. He tossed the medicine onto a small table and knelt beside his wife, his hand on hers. Neerita chuckled.
'A little Noran, that would be perfect,' she said. 'Have you decided on a name yet?'
'I though perhaps my grandfather's — Noridan.' 'And if it is a girl?' Noran shrugged and stood up.
'If it is a girl, you can choose the name,' he said. The herald stopped and listened for a moment, hearing nothing. 'Where is Anriit? She should be here with you.'
'My sister is asking Allenya if we could have one of Ullsaard's maids.' Neerita struggled to get to her feet. Noran sprang to help her. 'We'll need all the hands we can get once the baby is born.'
'I should have thought of that,' Noran muttered as he put an arm around Neerita's shoulders and helped her into the screenedoff bed area. He lowered his wife onto the bedding — more blankets piled atop each other — and kicked off his boots. Throwing his cloak over a stool, he settled beside her on the bed and smoothed her hair.
'You'll be a wonderful mother,' he said quietly. Neerita reached out and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.
'And you will be a fine father,' she said. Noran snorted.
'A fine father it is that brings a child into this,' he said, waving a hand to encompass the tent and, by extension, the camp beyond and everything else that had happened of late. 'Our son should be born in Askh, with a loremother and a dozen servants to hand; not in a grubby field surrounded by soldiers.'
'It was not your fault,' Neerita said, not for the first time. 'Things will settle down, you'll see. It will be a great story to tell him when he is older.'
Noran kissed her lightly on the lips and pushed himself to his feet.
'I should get to work on that herbal porridge,' he said.
'See? Who needs servants around when I have you? You are doing a wonderful job.'
Noran snorted again, unconvinced.
'Making porridge is one thing; looking after a newborn is something else!'
'The common people manage it just fine without servants, we will as well,' Neerita said sleepily.
Noran stayed at the doorway watching his wife until her eyes fluttered closed. He went back into the main compartment and snatched up the leaves.
'Right,' he muttered. 'Porridge. Where can I find a pot?'
