beautiful and charming centurion doing the greeting to make them feel all welcome."
"Good man."
Giraldi's smile faded, and he lowered his voice, his expression frank but unafraid. "You think there's a fight brewing?"
Bernard clapped the old soldier on the shoulder. "No. But I want you personally to tell Knight Captain Gregor and the other centurions it might be a good idea to run a weapons and arms inspection in their barracks for a while, in case I'm wrong."
"Yes, Your Excellency," Giraldi said. He struck his fist to his heart in a crisp Legion salute, nodded at Amara, and marched out.
Bernard turned to a large, sturdy wooden armoire and opened it. He drew out a worn old arming jacket and jerked it on with practiced motions.
"What's happening?" Amara asked.
He passed her a short, stout blade in a belted scabbard. "Could be trouble."
The gladius was the side arm of a legionare , and the most common weapon in the Realm. Amara was well familiar with it, and buckled it on without needing to watch her fingers. "What do you mean?"
"There's a Marat war party on the plain," Bernard said. "They're coming this way."
Chapter 4
Amara felt a slow, quiet tension enter her shoulders. "How many?"
Bernard shrugged into the mail tunic and buckled and belted it into place. "Two hundred, maybe more," he answered.
"But isn't that far too small to be a hostile force?" she asked.
"Probably."
She frowned. "Surely you don't think Doroga would attack us at all, much less with so few."
Bernard shrugged, swung a heavy war axe from the cabinet, and slung its strap over his shoulder. "It might not be Doroga. If someone else has supplanted him the way he did Atsurak, an attack is a possibility, and I'm not taking any chances with the lives of my men and holders. We prepare for the worst. Pass me my bow."
Amara turned to the fireplace and took down a bow from its rack above it, a carved half-moon of dark wood as thick as her ankles. She passed it to him, and the big man drew a wide-mouthed war quiver packed with arrows from the armoire. Then he used one leg to brace the bow, and without any obvious effort he bent recurved staves that would have required two men with tools to handle safely, and strung the weapon with a heavy cord.
"Thank you."
She lifted her eyebrows at the bent bow. "Do you think that is necessary?"
"No. But if something bad happens, I want you to get word to Riva immediately."
She frowned. She would hate to leave Bernard's side in the face of danger, but her duty as a messenger of the First Lord was clear. "Of course."
"Shall I find you some mail?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm already tired from the trip in. If I need to fly, I don't want to carry any more weight than I must."
He nodded and stalked out of the office, and she kept pace with him. Together they headed through the eastern courtyard, to the looming, enormous expanse of the wall facing the spreading plains of the lands of the Marat. The wall was better than thirty feet high and thick, all black basalt that seemed to have been formed of a single, titanic block of stone. Crenellation spread seamlessly along the battlements. A gate high and wide enough to admit the largest gargants was formed of a single sheet of some dark steel she had never seen before, called from the depths of the earth by the First Lord himself, after the battle two years ago.
They mounted the steps up to the battlements, where Giraldi's eighty grizzled veterans, the men who had survived the Second Battle of Calderon, were assembling in good order. The bloodred stripe of the Order of the Lion was conspicuous on the piping of their trousers, and though they were dressed in their formal finery, each of the men wore his working weapons and armor of simple, battle-tested steel.
Far out on the plain, moving shapes approached the fortress, little more than dark, indistinct blotches.
Amara leaned into the space between two of the stone merlons and
"Good man."
Giraldi's smile faded, and he lowered his voice, his expression frank but unafraid. "You think there's a fight brewing?"
Bernard clapped the old soldier on the shoulder. "No. But I want you personally to tell Knight Captain Gregor and the other centurions it might be a good idea to run a weapons and arms inspection in their barracks for a while, in case I'm wrong."
"Yes, Your Excellency," Giraldi said. He struck his fist to his heart in a crisp Legion salute, nodded at Amara, and marched out.
Bernard turned to a large, sturdy wooden armoire and opened it. He drew out a worn old arming jacket and jerked it on with practiced motions.
"What's happening?" Amara asked.
He passed her a short, stout blade in a belted scabbard. "Could be trouble."
The gladius was the side arm of a legionare , and the most common weapon in the Realm. Amara was well familiar with it, and buckled it on without needing to watch her fingers. "What do you mean?"
"There's a Marat war party on the plain," Bernard said. "They're coming this way."
Chapter 4
Amara felt a slow, quiet tension enter her shoulders. "How many?"
Bernard shrugged into the mail tunic and buckled and belted it into place. "Two hundred, maybe more," he answered.
"But isn't that far too small to be a hostile force?" she asked.
"Probably."
She frowned. "Surely you don't think Doroga would attack us at all, much less with so few."
Bernard shrugged, swung a heavy war axe from the cabinet, and slung its strap over his shoulder. "It might not be Doroga. If someone else has supplanted him the way he did Atsurak, an attack is a possibility, and I'm not taking any chances with the lives of my men and holders. We prepare for the worst. Pass me my bow."
Amara turned to the fireplace and took down a bow from its rack above it, a carved half-moon of dark wood as thick as her ankles. She passed it to him, and the big man drew a wide-mouthed war quiver packed with arrows from the armoire. Then he used one leg to brace the bow, and without any obvious effort he bent recurved staves that would have required two men with tools to handle safely, and strung the weapon with a heavy cord.
"Thank you."
She lifted her eyebrows at the bent bow. "Do you think that is necessary?"
"No. But if something bad happens, I want you to get word to Riva immediately."
She frowned. She would hate to leave Bernard's side in the face of danger, but her duty as a messenger of the First Lord was clear. "Of course."
"Shall I find you some mail?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm already tired from the trip in. If I need to fly, I don't want to carry any more weight than I must."
He nodded and stalked out of the office, and she kept pace with him. Together they headed through the eastern courtyard, to the looming, enormous expanse of the wall facing the spreading plains of the lands of the Marat. The wall was better than thirty feet high and thick, all black basalt that seemed to have been formed of a single, titanic block of stone. Crenellation spread seamlessly along the battlements. A gate high and wide enough to admit the largest gargants was formed of a single sheet of some dark steel she had never seen before, called from the depths of the earth by the First Lord himself, after the battle two years ago.
They mounted the steps up to the battlements, where Giraldi's eighty grizzled veterans, the men who had survived the Second Battle of Calderon, were assembling in good order. The bloodred stripe of the Order of the Lion was conspicuous on the piping of their trousers, and though they were dressed in their formal finery, each of the men wore his working weapons and armor of simple, battle-tested steel.
Far out on the plain, moving shapes approached the fortress, little more than dark, indistinct blotches.
Amara leaned into the space between two of the stone merlons and
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