CHAPTER TWO
THE PRINCE ROYAL
OF TA-MELTEMOS
Strymon’s accommodations were military rather than luxurious, but comfortable enough. Tylara pointed out a field hospital. Priests of Yatar bustled about among the wounded. Acolytes tended fires and boiled cloths for bandages. Priest surgeons scrubbed meticulously before and after tending the wounded, and the dead were carried far downwind from the hospital.
“He has learned fast,” she said.
“Your teaching while you were his prisoner?”
“Yes, My Lord Husband. Was that not proper? You have told me that knowledge is not to be hoarded.”
“Indeed, my most wise lady wife. It was very proper to teach the germ theory of disease. My surprise is at how fast he’s learned.”
“Cleanliness has always been pleasing to Yatar,” Tylara said. “His priests needed little persuading.”
And there are priests of Yatar in both armies, Rick thought. Judging by the small red crosses on the shoulders and left breast of their blue and yellow robes, nearly all the priests of Yatar in Strymon’s force were converts to the New Faith, which accepted Christ as the Son of Yatar. What that would do to Tran politics was likely to be more than Rick could guess.
But at least there was enough hot water for a bath. When they reached the tent assigned to them he was delighted to see there was a large tub to soak in. Hot water and a tub! And Tylara was smiling, enjoying their renewed friendship. Like falling in love all over again! He thought of inviting Tylara into the bath with him, but that might shock Strymon’s servants. Prince Strymon had no male heirs and was twice a widower, but unlike his young brother was rumored to be somewhat prudish in both habits and speech. And Tylara had her own bath. But by God we’ll sleep together, Rick thought. For the first time in months . . .
* * *
Rick’s pistols and sword were missing when he emerged from his bath. So was his armor. A page explained they were to be cleaned.
“Prince Strymon has ordered they be returned to you so soon as you need them,” the boy said. His voice was strong, but Rick thought he saw fear in the boy’s eyes. As well he might. The boy indicated new clothing laid out on the bed. “And if you and your lady will come to dinner when you are dressed?”
Rick dressed in silence. There would be no point in complaining to a ten-year-old boy, and there was no one else he could speak to. May as well play this one as it lies . . .
Guardsmen held umbrellas to protect them from the rain as they were conducted to Strymon’s command tent.
“My pistol’s missing,” Rick muttered.
“As well mine,” Tylara said. “Likewise my dagger.”
“What the hell?”
Tylara nodded.
“Prince Strymon’s honor and chivalry are known everywhere, and I have more than enough reasons to know those stories are not false,” she said. “Whatever his reason, we will know in good time. I am certain he means us no harm, and I think we would do best to trust him.”
“Trust is fine,” Rick thought. Then he laughed.
“My husband?”
“I keep thinking how Mason would have fits if he knew,” Rick said.
“Ah.” Tylara grinned. Art Mason would never let Rick go out in public without full armor, chain mail over flak jacket, pistol in shoulder holster, short sword and dagger, and a full escort. And here they were both in garta cloth robes and slippers, while their armor was away to be polished and oiled and their weapons were God alone knew where.
“And Major Mason is not without his reasons,” Tylara said. “Yet I feel safer here than I would in similar conditions in the camp of our own Wanax.”
“You know something I don’t?”
“Know?” She shook her head, a slight gesture that still said volumes.
Rick frowned. Ganton had seemed friendly enough. But Tylara understood Tran dynastic politics far better than Rick ever would. Relax and enjoy it, Rick thought. Nothing else to do.
* * *
Rain drummed on the tent roof, and sometimes a gust of wind shook the walls. For the most part Strymon’s tent caravan was proof against the weather. A long trestle table had been set up, with an almost white tablecloth, and pewter dishes. A cheery fire blazed in one corner of the tent. Rick inspected the portable fireplace with approval, and made a mental note to have one made for his own travel caravan: an open-faced Franklin stove, with sections of chimney made of some kind of ceramic and held together with metal collars. He had seen nothing like it in Drantos. The Five Kingdoms pretended a superiority that Drantos didn’t admit. Could this be evidence that it was more than pretense?
Dinner was far more than Rick had expected, and Strymon’s troops had liberated a store of wine from the enemy’s camp. Like most of the wine on Tran, it was thinner and more tart than Rick liked, but it was strong enough and left a good aftertaste. When Rick drained his cup it was filled again without his asking. He caught Tylara’s eye. She grinned slyly, and Rick asked for water as well as wine. After that he was careful not to drain his wine cup again. Tylara thought he drank too much, and when he was being reasonable he knew that was true. And tonight he would need his head clear. Strymon was no fool.
Strymon drank plentifully but from a different jug. Tylara watched, saying nothing, until after dessert was served and the dishes cleared away. Strymon dismissed the servants.
“It is odd that you are here,” Strymon said.
“I came for my wife,” Rick said simply. Tylara beamed. She looked happier than she had since they were first married. It must have been terrible, a secret like that with no one to tell it to, he thought. And that won’t happen again. I nearly lost her!
“I did not mean here at this battle,” Strymon said. “All her time when she was my captive your lady promised me that you would work the most terrible revenge if any harm came to her, until I thought to see you come out of the mist at any moment. No, My Lord, I mean that you won the battle today. Much as I am pleased to have you here, you should be the honored guest of the Wanax, not of his ally.”
“So should be you,” Tylara said simply.
“He was exhausted,” Rick protested.
Strymon politely ignored him.
“Then you believe as I do?” he asked Tylara.
“Yes.”
“What are you two talking about?” Rick demanded.
“Oh. My husband is a direct man,” Tylara said. “Quick to trust, and never thinks another may harbor ill thoughts. My Lord Husband, we mean that with Akkilas dead, the world has changed a very great deal for the Wanax Ganton, and he was hardly too exhausted to know that. Or to know who won his battle for him.” She smiled. “You ‘saved his bacon,’ I believe your Major Mason would say.”
“I do not think that head was Akkilas,” Strymon said.
“What? But why did you not say so, Prince?” Tylara asked.
“I cannot be sure, and would I be believed? Wanax Ganton is aware that my claim is as good as his. He would wonder if I played for time. And it might well be Akkilas.”
“If it’s not him, who is it?” Rick asked.
“His tanist,” Strymon said.
Rick frowned the question.
“A custom no longer followed in southern lands. Nor indeed in all of ours, but it is invariable in the High Rexja’s household,” Strymon said. “As the prince comes of age, a young man of good family who closely resembles him is selected. He is trained as companion, advisor—and possibly as target for assassination. Akkilas was fortunate. His tanist was a young man of ability, a good advisor and a better student of war than Akkilas ever was.”
“Who’d know the difference?” Rick asked.
“Any who knew them well, I suppose. The birthmarks are only similar, not identical, and the tanist was a year older than Akkilas—”
“Ah.” Tylara nodded understanding. “My Lord Husband means that it may not matter whose head that is, if there exists someone of ability who can claim to be Akkilas.”
“Indeed,” Strymon said. “One more complication. Among many. Lord Rick, what does your Wanax Ganton intend now? Whoever leads, whether Akkilas or his tanist or the Honorable Matthias of Vothan’s Temple, these invaders will retreat well into the Five Kingdoms before they can regroup. They may again become a formidable force, but it will take time, even without the pursuit you are in no condition to make. When word of this defeat reaches Chancellor Issardos, Captain General Ailas will be recalled to the defense of the realm. He will abandon your lands in the west. The invasion of Drantos is ended.”
Rick nodded agreement.
“That’s the way I read it. The war is as good as over.”
“For now, certainly,” Strymon said. “So what will Ganton do?”
Rick frowned as Tylara and Strymon looked at each other. Clearly they understood each other better than Rick did. The war’s over, Rick thought. The peasants can go back to their fields, I can go back to Armagh and work on increasing the surinomaz crop for the Shalnuksis, and we can send our best diplomats to the Five Kingdoms to settle the matter. If Issardos is smart he’ll put Strymon on his negotiating team, only he can’t as he has already charged Strymon with treason. Now who can we send? He looked from his wife to the prince, and saw only frowns. Tylara was thinking hard. On what? Would she want to be a negotiator? She should be . . . .
The silence lasted half a minute.
“He will press forward, I think,” Tylara said finally. “Left to himself I think Ganton would return to his home and his Roman queen, that was a true love match for all that it was arranged, but his barons will demand otherwise. The nobility of Drantos smarts under remembered grievances. The inclination will be strong to press forward, seize lands in compensation for what was lost in these wars. And Ganton’s claim to the throne will be strongest if he stands with an army at the Capital of the Five Kingdoms! My Lord, I weary of war, but did I not know that My Lord Husband would never approve, I would myself be among those clamoring for Ganton to press his claims. My own county of Chelm has lost much to the Five, to Sarakos when he came—”
She shuddered, and Rick reached to take her hand. The memories of what Sarakos had done to her would never leave her.
“And to Ailas,” she continued, calm enough that only Rick heard the tremor in her voice. “My people should have some recompense.” She turned to Rick. “Oh, I know, I have heard you say often enough that I have come to believe it, in a well-managed land plunder is no substitute for production, labor spent planting and building and trading will bring more reward than looting. I know this, I believe this, but I do not feel it. And Ganton’s bheromen do not even know what I know. Depend upon it, they are even at this moment clamoring for him to press his claims.”
“That was my thought,” Strymon said. “And I cannot permit it.” He poured himself another cup of the thin wine. “I was never in favor of invading Drantos, and I will not say I was unhappy when circumstances made me ally to Ganton in resisting the invasion. But I cannot remain his ally when his armies march into the Five Kingdoms!”
“You’d come to the aid of a king who’s charged you with treason?” Rick asked.
“I would not come to the aid of the High Rexja or his false chancellor, but I would act to spare the lands of desolation by the greedy bheromen of Drantos, particularly in light of the warning of the Time.”
“But if Ganton comes as the High Rexja of the Five?” Rick asked. “If the Five Kingdoms become Six, as I am told they once were?”
“There is an election to be held,” Strymon said. “And I do not think Ganton will win. Certainly if he comes as legitimate monarch I will accept him, but that is not likely.”
“So what will you do?” Rick asked.
“Go home,” Strymon said. “Go home and prepare. Prepare for a war that I hope is not against you, and mostly prepare for the Time.”
“And your father the Wanax?” Rick asked.
A look of pain crossed Strymon’s face. “Did not your lady tell you? My father the Wanax Palamon is vigorous, but he has the mind of a child.”
“Oh.” I may have known that and forgotten it. What else have I forgotten that may get us killed?
“And his chief advisor Rauros is a tool of Chancellor Issardos,” Tylara added.
“On your lady’s advice I have sent my brother home to guard our family’s honor,” Strymon said. “He is a better soldier than statesman. As am I, but I am the oldest, and now I must return, and organize defense of the borders. Quickly, before the Wanax Ganton can lead his troops northward.”
Rick nodded slowly.
“He can be decisive.”
“You taught him that,” Strymon said.
“I did.” Rick bowed his head. “It was my duty.”
“Which you have discharged well,” Strymon said. “And I know you have taught your young king of the Time.”
The Time. The Demon Sun approached the planet of Tran, changing climates and seasons. Thrones, Dominions, and Powers were shuffled like a pack of cards every six hundred years or so, and while that happened the agriculture of the planet changed as well. And the Time was upon them.
“We’ve taught him,” Rick said. “Whether he’s learned is not so clear. And certainly many of his lord’s advisors have not.”
“But it is true?” Strymon asked. “Not a stratagem your lady devised to win me over?”
“It’s true enough,” Rick said. He grinned. “Tylara can charm anyone, but in this case she was telling the exact truth.”
“Truth as I learned it from Rick,” Tylara said. “The Priests of Yatar tell of the Time, when the seas shall rise and the lands shall scorch—of course you have heard those stories. But My Lord Husband knows why the tales are true.”
“Ah. And can you tell me?” Strymon asked.
“I can try,” Rick said. “But at the risk of insulting you, I must ask what you know of suns and stars.”
“I have been told that the suns are great masses of flaming gas, and stars are distant suns,” Strymon said. “I suppose I believe it, but I must confess it is not a matter of great importance to me. Should it be?”
“In this instance, yes,” Rick said. He looked around the room. It was a tent, floored with rugs, and there were no solid walls. “I’ll need a charcoal from the fire,” he said.
Tylara went to the fireplace and returned with a cold ember.
“Will this do?”
Rick nodded.
“I’m going to draw on your tablecloth,” Rick said. “This circle represents the True Sun. Tran is a world, round, a ball—I suppose you know this?”
Strymon grimaced.
“Again, I have been told this, but it does not seem reasonable. Yet, if the world is flat, what is on the underside? I am willing to believe it is a ball. I am told you have seen it as such, that your ships go”—he pointed up—“up beyond the sky, above the Vault of the Sky, above the realm of the Day Father. I confess this disturbs me. If you have been beyond the sky, to the realms of endless day, you must have seen God.”
“I’ve been there, but God hides Himself,” Rick said. “Not even the Galactics have seen Him.”
“And yet they believe in Yatar?” Strymon asked.
“He is not known by that name, but yes, many believe in the Almighty,” Rick said. And how did Agzaral put it? “The dominant religion of the Confederation is not inconsistent with the great Monotheisms of Earth.” Something like that. “But yes, I have seen this world as a single ball in space.” He drew a circle around the dot of the True Sun. “And this is the path this world takes around the True Sun. And now, well out beyond this world, moving in a greater circle around Tran and the True Sun alike, is a second sun that you call the Firestealer.” He drew another circle enclosing the first. “When the Firestealer is on the other side of the True Sun, it’s moving farther away from Tran, because Tran is moving much faster than the Firestealer. The Stealer appears to grow dimmer and dimmer because each day it’s farther away, until it passes behind the True Sun. Then each day it becomes brighter again as Tran grows closer to it.” Rick illustrated on the tablecloth. “Eventually Tran passes between Firestealer and True Sun and we have the high summers, warmer with the night lit by the Firestealer.”
Strymon stared at the tablecloth.
“If you say so,” he said finally. “I confess uneasiness. When I was a child I believed True Sun and Firestealer were gods. Then I found not even the priests believed this. The gods live in the realms of endless day beyond the vault of the sky, or so it is said, but you have been there and did not see them. But what has all this to do with the Time? Every year there comes a time when the Firestealer stands in the night sky. It is always thus.”
Rick drew a large arc on the tablecloth.
“There is a third sun,” Rick said. “Red. It is smaller than either True Sun or Firestealer, and its path carries it so far away that you don’t see it unless you know to look for it. But every three hundred fifty-three of your years it comes closer, close enough to bring heat and light and chaos. It is coming now.”
“The Demon,” Strymon half whispered. “We see it. It grows brighter. But you say it is no more than another sun? But the Honorable Matthias said—” Strymon frowned in thought for a moment. “I suppose it is no matter what the priest of Vothan said. This is no speculation. You have seen all this. You know.”
“Yes, Highness,” Rick said.
Strymon laughed.
“Highness. You have been higher than ever I shall, but you call me Highness. Welladay, Lord Rick. Your lady’s stories of the Time are true, then. The seas will rise, the days grow longer, the summers hot. Waves of refugees will come from the south. The icy plains will melt, grass grow on the tundra. All this.”
“All this,” Rick said. “This and more.”
“And your part?” Strymon asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
Strymon stretched his feet out under the table and lifted his wine cup.
“My Lord, I am a simple man, soldier not diplomat. So, I think, are you. You will do well all the tasks that the gods give you, but you are not ruled by ambition. So. As one soldier to another, what will you do? What are your preparations for the Time? I freely confess I would copy you.”
Rick smiled thinly.
“Fate has given us different roles, I think,” Rick said. “My part is different from yours. Give me a moment.” Rick drained a water glass and stared into the fire. “Highness, you’ve heard stories of the sky demons.”
“Yes. They are part of the legends of the Time. Do you say, then, that all the old legends are true? The seas rise, the land burns, crops fail, and evil gods rain skyfire across the land.” Strymon shuddered. “The sky demons bring the skyfire.”
“They do,” Rick said. “More than once in Tran’s history. And that is my part, Highness, to prevent the skyfire if I can.”
“How will you do this?”
“I may not be able to,” Rick said.
Tylara took his hand.
“If anyone can, you will, My Lord Husband.”
“I hope so. Highness, the sky demons are real. They are not true demons, they are creatures of flesh and blood, but they were not born of human women. They see this world and all its people as you or I would see a herd of sheep, useful in potential, valuable even, but of no great importance. They want only one thing from Tran.”
“And that is?”
“The essence of the plant we call madweed. They use it for pleasure, and they are willing to pay well for it.”
“Ah,” Strymon exclaimed. “That explains why you grow madweed at Castle Armagh! When it was told to me I could not believe it, yet my agents were trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy and very adept,” Rick said. “I had no idea you had agents watching Armagh. My security officers must not be as careful as I thought.”
Strymon smiled coyly.
“We can discuss this another time,” he said. “But you grow madweed for the sky demons?”
“I do.”
“And in exchange they bring you new charges for your star weapons.” Strymon’s tone was emphatic. He reached into a sleeve pocket and retrieved a .45 ACP cartridge. “Like this.”
“Like that,” Rick agreed.
“When I was taken prisoner they naturally took my weapons,” Tylara said. “The pistol among them. Later, after the attempts on my life, Prince Strymon was honorable enough to return the pistol to me for my protection.”
Rick nodded.
“Less one cartridge. That much was in your letters,” Rick said. “Now he has all our weapons.”
“Only for the moment, My Lord,” Strymon said. “Only for the moment. They will be returned to you long before you have need of them.”
“All right, we’ll leave it at that for now. Prince, my wife tells me you became her friend before you ceased to be her jailer. I have great regard for Tylara’s abilities. Her father once asked me who last fooled her, and I had no answer. It’s because of your kindness to her and her good opinion that I speak this frankly with you.”
Strymon spread his hands, fingers apart.
“Thank you. I believe I deserve your trust.”
“So do I,” Rick said. “Despite this mystery of our weapons. So. You know what I must have from the sky demons, and why the Armagh madweed farms must be my first concern. Now I tell you that it is Armagh that will most likely suffer skyfire. With luck it will be only Armagh.”
“Luck and the favor of Yatar and Christ,” Tylara said.
Rick nodded. Tylara’s sudden conversion to the new Unified Christian Church had been a surprise, but it was no surprise that her conviction was deep. She’s never been a shallow person, Rick thought. And who am I to encourage cynicism? Maybe it’s all true, here anyway. Maybe God lets us create Him. I’m no preacher.
“To business, then,” he said. “You have a treaty with Ganton. May I know the terms?”
“Certainly. I would gladly tell you, but perhaps—yes.” Strymon clapped his hands. “My compliments to My Lord Father Apelles, and we request his attendance,” he told the servant who answered.
“My Lord Father Apelles?” Rick said.
Tylara smiled.
“He has risen since you saw him last. Justifiably. Highpriest Yanulf and Archbishop Polycarp have decreed that he be raised to bishop as soon as sufficient prelates may be gathered to consummate his elevation.”
* * *
Apelles was robed in blue garta cloth and wore a large pectoral cross topped with the sun disk of Yatar, as befitted a bishop-designate of the Unified Church, and he hardly resembled the young swineherd turned clerk that Rick remembered. He can’t be thirty yet, doesn’t look twenty-five. Rick stood and bowed. It never hurt to show respect to the clergy.
“My Lord Father Apelles. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Lord Rick. My Lady.”
Learned some courtly manners, too, Rick thought. Respectful, but mindful of the dignity of his offices. Odd how quickly they pick that up . . .
“Lord Father, Lord Rick has requested to know the terms of my treaty with Wanax Ganton. As you were one of the witnesses, I thought it best to have you recite it,” Strymon said.
“As you will, Highness,” Apelles said.
“It will be dry work,” Rick said. “Perhaps My Lord Father would care for wine?”
“A small glass only,” Apelles said. “It is a short treaty. Ta-Meltemos withdraws from the invasion of Drantos, will assist in the expulsion of all enemies from Drantos for the period of one year, and thereafter will aid Drantos in war against any power other than the Five Kingdoms for five years. In return, Drantos imposes no demand for reparations, and for five years will aid Ta-Meltemos against enemies other than Rome. Furthermore, as soon as Prince Strymon and his army have departed from Drantos, I am to share with him all I know of the Time, including what I know of sky demons, skyfire, and the box that speaks to the stars. Prior to that I am free to share what I know of the healing arts, and to preach the True Religion of the Unified Church of Yatar and Christ.” Apelles raised the palm of his right hand. “That latter is not formally part of the treaty, but it is an understood condition of my accompanying his Highness to the Green Palace.”
Rick frowned.
“I heard nothing to prevent Wanax Ganton from pressing a claim to the throne of the High Rexja.”
“Nor I, Lord,” Apelles said. “Of course at the time the treaty was made, there was no serious thought of such. Am I to understand that the head was that of Akkilas?”
Rick looked to Strymon.
“I am not sure,” Strymon said. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you know of the head.”
Apelles bowed slightly.
“Highness, I would be astonished if there were any man in the army who does not know of it. Your own soldiers rejoice that you have as good a claim as any, now that the heir is dead. I make little doubt that Wanax Ganton’s men feel much the same about his claims.”
“And the treaty says nothing of any of this,” Rick observed.
“More to the point,” Strymon said, “my chief benefit from this treaty was to be knowledge. Knowledge I do not receive until I have brought my army back to Ta-Meltemos. Ganton has reaped the benefits of this agreement. I have not.”
“That is a matter of time only,” Apelles said. “I certainly intend to fulfill my part of the bargain.”
“Until Ganton orders you otherwise?” Strymon suggested.
Apelles’ expression didn’t change.
“Highness, I was given an order by a king in regards to a treaty. The Wanax swore to that treaty, and I swore as a sacred witness. No order from the Wanax can change that.” He shook his head side to side gravely. “I do not say what I might do if I received a decree from Patriarch Yanulf nullifying the treaty, but I hardly consider that a likely event. My future seems clear enough. I shall be your advisor until am released. I expect I will also be appointed the Patriarch’s Nuncio. The arrangement is not uncommon.”
“With the clear implication that my interests and those of the Patriarch are the same.”
“Are they not?” Apelles asked.
Strymon nodded.
“I suppose, I have no reason to think otherwise. Assuming that what I am told of the Time to come is true.”
“I am convinced that it is true,” Apelles said. “I believe Lord Rick and Lady Tylara are convinced. I know that Patriarch Yanulf is, for he speaks of little else by his own choice. Preparation for the Time should be the highest consideration of everyone to whom God has given authority. So says the Church. Heed that advice, Prince, and you will do well by the people God has entrusted to you.”
Strymon sat nodding to himself for a moment, then stood in decision. He bowed.
“My thanks. You are welcome to join us for the rest of the evening, My Lord Father, but I suggest your time would be better used preparing to march. We depart immediately for Ta-Meltemos. I hope to have my entire army on my home soil by dark two days hence. Earlier if possible. We march.”
“You said immediately?”
“Yes. I have already given orders to my officers. Now I inform you.”
“There are wounded that should not be moved so soon,” Apelles protested.
“Yes, I had thought of that. My Lord Rick, regarding any of my troops who must be left behind, I release them into your service and custody. When they are recovered they should be escorted to our borders, or they may remain in your service if they so choose. I pledge to pay any expenses you may incur by this. My Lord Father Apelles, will this fulfill the conditions of the treaty?”
“My Lord Rick remains Warlord of Drantos?” Apelles asked formally. “Then all is well, and we may consider leaving wounded soldiers under the orders of a Great Officer of Drantos to be a fulfillment of the treaty requirement that all Ta-Meltemos troops return to their own soil. My Lord Rick, I will leave suitable medical officers to attend the wounded and explain to them their new status. I think you will not need a large escort to guard them. All that I know of are converts to the True Faith, and their word will be good.”
He says that with a straight face, Rick thought. I suppose he believes it.
“And with your Highness’ leave I will see to my preparations,” Apelles said. He bowed and left. They could hear him speaking urgently to his assistants the moment he had left the tent.
“A young man who will go far,” Rick said.
“He already has,” Tylara said. “And did you know he accompanied me into captivity? Of his own free will, he surrendered in order to care for me.”
“I’d heard. We owe him,” Rick said. “I will think on suitable rewards.”
“I would guess that you are too late,” Tylara said. “I doubt he would set much value on any reward you or I could give him now. He looks elsewhere for his rewards.”
Rick nodded understanding.
“So. Highness, you honor me with your trust, but I think I need to consult with Wanax Ganton on this request.”
“And I think I cannot allow that,” Strymon said. “I don’t know if Ganton would try to stop me from leaving, but I do not intend to find out. With luck, the first he will know of our plans is when he finds my camp empty at dawn.”
“And us?” Tylara asked.
“You must pardon me,” Strymon said. “I regret that you must remain my guests until I have begun to march. Otherwise, honor would require you to warn Ganton, and that I cannot have.”
“You do yourself little honor to make prisoners of your guests,” Tylara said.
“My Lady, I would hope you would not put it that way. Say rather that you remain my guests.”
“Until Ganton has our heads,” Rick said. “Better to be your prisoners.”
“That had not escaped me,” Strymon said. “It is fortunate that proper care of your weapons will require my armorer pages to work through the night until morning. I would not have them returned to you in less than perfect condition, nor can I hospitably allow you to depart without them. You will have all you brought here when you join me for breakfast.”
“Oh.” Rick looked to Tylara and saw she was grinning faintly. So she’d understood all this long before. “I trust your pages will not harm themselves,” Rick said. “Handling star weapons can be tricky.”
“As well we know,” Strymon said. “They will have a care.”
“Until morning,” Rick said.
Strymon nodded. “We began preparations an hour after the battle ended. My main body will be on the road before first light.” He smiled. “Wanax Ganton’s army may be efficient, but I doubt he can march soon enough to catch us.”
“He has also the services of Sergeant Bisso and his star weapons team.”
“Who are unlikely to do much without direct orders from you,” Strymon replied, and Rick dipped his head in agreement.
“I suppose that’s true enough,” he said.
“And, My Lord,” Strymon said, “fortunately we are in border country that I know better than Ganton. Or you, if it comes to that. If I cannot take my army home I am a poor captain indeed.”
And he’s anything but that, Rick thought. So now what? He looked to Tylara, but got no answer.