David Drake - Master of the Cauldron

"It's Lord Rosen," said King Carus approvingly as he saw the commander of the Blaise regiment that'd be crossing the strait. The sun was just risen high enough for even Garric's excellent eyes to distinguish one man in armor from another at a distance of thirty feet. "He was in charge when we had trouble at that temple in Carcosa."

I recall, Garric thought, a little irritated to be reminded of somebody he remembered quite well. On the other hand, Carus was reputed to have known every one of the forty thousand men in his army by name "Not so, lad," the king's spirit said with a smile. "But maybe everybody above the rank of file closer, maybe that."

– and it was avery valuable trick for a commander who wanted troops to follow him into hard places.

"Lord Rosen!" Garric said, stepping forward to clasp right arms with the Blaise officer. "I left the choice of the regiment that'd accompany me to Waldron, but I couldn't be more happy than to be working with you again!"

That was all true. Rosen had proven to have a quick mind. Even more important, Rosen had enough of a grip on his temper that he hadn't taken offense when Garric snapped orders curtly. That wasn't a given among noblemen, especially those who'd chosen the army for a career.

But it was also true that he was greeting Rosen with this warmth for political reasons. Garric wanted an officer who'd do what he was told promptly and without argument. If that officer was convinced the Prince really liked and cared about him, he was likely to behave the way Garric needed him to.

In a way, this was no different from the way a successful innkeeper behaved to his guests. It wasn't exactly lying. By demonstrating enthusiasm that maybe you don't feel just at the moment with a lot of other things on your mind, you made the guest feel comfortable. Garric was actually better at that part of business than his father had been.

"And better than I was, lad," Carus agreed, "for all I knew what I should do."

"Pleased as well, your highness!" said Rosen, a plumpish fellow of average height with the flaring moustaches that Blaise aristocrats favored. "Honored, if I may say. The lads and I are rather looking forward to a chance to sort out these Sandrakkan weasels."

"While I'm sure your men are capable of doing just that, milord," Garric said, smiling to emphasize that this was a friendly comment rather than a rebuke, "it'll be a disaster if that happens. I'm going over with your troops rather than an Ornifal regiment so as not to inflame the Erdin mob, but I'm sure there'll be provocations nonetheless. I trust your discipline not to repond to anything less than an outright armed attack."

I pray to the Shepherd your discipline is that good, Garric thought, but he knew sometimes you simply had to face problems. There couldn't be parts of the kingdom into which royal officials couldn't go, not and it really be akingdom; and if there was going to be trouble, then best it happen when the entire army was on hand to finish whatever the Sandrakkan mob might start.

"You can count on us, your highness!" Lord Rosen said, stepping back. He raised his right arm straight up in a Blaise salute, then returned to where his regiment waited. It was on the shoreline, broken into companies alongside the triremes that'd ferry it across the strait.

I have to count on them, Garric thought, continuing to smile while he felt a surge of bleak despair. Every thing had to work, everyonehad to do his or her job without getting lazy or angry. Otherwise the Isles would shatter into a hundred little principalities that squabbled among themselves till some great, united evil swept them all into oblivion. As it surely would.

"You have to count on them, and they have to count on you," Carus agreed quietly. "And thus far, neither of you has disappointed the other."

Garric glanced at the Sandrakkan delegation, the same four officials as before, who waited to return to Erdin with Garric and his escort. The priestess and the courtier talked to one another with stony expressions. The commoner kept to himself in the background, and Marshal Renold was watching the phalanx go through evolutions on the rubble-strewn foreshore.

The demonstration-because that's what it was-was worth watching. The phalanx was formed sixteen ranks deep and armed with twenty-foot pikes. These were heavy, awkward weapons, difficult to handle even on a level field. That the phalanx kept good order as it advanced and countermarched across broken ground would impress any military man-and would seriously worry an enemy who realized there'd be at least five pike points aimed at the face of every soldier in his own front rank.

"By the Shepherd!" Carus said, watching through Garric's eyes. "Yours are as good as mine were, lad. Ours are as good as mine were a thousand years ago!"

Liane stepped close to Garric's right elbow. In the formal tone which she always used to him in public she said, "Your highness, I've just received some information that I'd like to go over with you in that tent She nodded toward an ordinary canvas tent meant to hold an eight-man squad. The sides were lowered, which was unusual for this temperate weather even now in the early morning. The person waiting inside-the spy waiting inside-wanted to conceal his features as much as possible from the Sandrakkan traders now mingling with the royal army.

"- as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course," Garric said. Liane didn't say 'as soon as possible' idly.

He glanced again at the Sandrakkan envoys. Their vessel was an ordinary river barge, draped for this occasion with tapestries over both sides. Sea water sloshing during the short voyage had soaked the fine fabrics.

"Ilna won't like that," Garric said, grinning at a homely memory; and sobering at once. He didn't realize how despairing he must have looked until Liane touched his hand, a rare public display of affection. Well, hewas better for being reminded just now that he had friends.

His mind went back to the news he'd gotten the previous afternoon. "What particularly bothers me is that both Cashel and Ilna disappeared," he said to Liane quietly. "As if it was coordinated."

A senior clerk stepped into Garric's path with his mouth open for a question. Lord Tadai said, "Morschem, come here. Now."

The clerk's mouth clamped shut. He hopped sideways to Tadai in a motion more like a crab swimming in clear water than anything Garric had seen on land before. Tadai, who was in his way every bit as ruthless as King Carus, had no intention of letting somebody in his department disturb Garric now.

"Cashel wasn't attacked," Liane said, mincing along so that there'd be time for her and Garric to talk before they met the spy. "And Ilna and her friends may not have been attacked either, since the soldiers nearby are sure they heard someone shout a warning."

She cleared her throat, then added carefully so she wouldn't sound as though she was being falsely optimistic, "Tenoctris says that there's a great deal of power focused here on Volita. That might explain what's happened without positing hostile action."

"True," Garric said, because itwas true. He grinned, feeling much better for an honest discussion of what'd happened. "And while that doesn't mean they aren't in danger, anybody who dares to threaten them is in a good deal more danger. So we'll take care of our end, and trust them to take care of theirs as they've done in the past."

Two tough looking men in civilian clothes stood by the tent, one at either end. They were Liane's retainers, guarding her unobtrusively but probably as effectively as Blood Eagles. Attaper must have believed the same thing, because Garric's own guards kept discreetly to the side instead of thrusting themselves into the tent ahead of him to see that no assassin lurked there.

The fellow who waited in the dimness wore a long hooded cloak over his clothing. He bowed slightly to Liane and said, "Mistress. I've brought a full report."