down.
‘Isn’t that why we drove so hard?’ she asked. ‘To take the ridge before the King reached it?’
‘No,’ Laia answered, ‘Prince Ythor would have lost face if he had not come out to meet the King.’
In her head Aisla repeated the prayer to Uroth.
The army moved down from the ridge and out onto the plain, with Aisla looking back wistfully at a set of positions that would have given them a near insurmountable advantage. By noon they had reached the estuary and she began to wonder if Prince Ythor was mad enough to attempt an attack across it.
Instead they made camp, not as they had before, but with the tents well spaced out in a brave array around that of the Prince and with every banner and pennon flying in plain view. Aisla helped Sulitea to dress in her finest clothes, the gown of black velvet she had intended for herself, with a silver coronet to show her rank. Presently Sulitea was summoned to the Prince’s tent, along with Elmaea and the maids. Within the large tent a number of high backed thrones had been placed in a line with a table before them and lower, less ornate chairs to the sides of most. Prince Ythor, Count Alanthor and the other rebel nobles sat in the main chairs, while Elmaea and Sulitea were shown to those at either side of the Count.
Aisla went to stand behind Sulitea’s chair, wondering what was happening. Presently a fanfare sounded and a number of men were shown into the tent, headed by a burly man whose facial features resembled those of the Prince only with an added hardness. As formal greetings were exchanged Aisla realised that this was the Prince’s brother, Agrath.
A map was spread on the table by heralds, with the estuary and the city of Rai-Uhruhai marked on it. The men fell to discussion, to whichAisla listened in mounting disbelief. First a site for the battle was chosen, an area of flat, open fields with low hedges between them. Combats were then arranged, first duels between nobles and then engagements between squadrons of similar size and type, until each had been assigned a place and time, leaving some thousand men over on the loyal side. It was agreed that these be held back to await the outcome of the main battle, after which the two sides exchanged a series of formal insults and the loyal group left.
Aisla bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to suggest waylaying Prince Agrath before he had a chance to return to the safety of the loyal army. The nobles fell to talking, discussing the coming engagement and the probable outcome. They were optimistic and even exchanged bets, all of which Aisla listened to with ever increasing alarm. As her dismay rose she began to evolve wild plans for escape, only to reject each as unfeasible, more often than not because Sulitea could not be counted on to co-operate. Worst of all was the fact that Count Alanthor was due to face someone called Gallaris, the Count of Palahai. If Alanthor died in combat, then Elmaea and Sulitea would be forfeit as trophies, and Aisla with then. She had never heard of Palahai, but a glance at a map of the whole of the Glass Coast showed it to be a region far to the east and south, almost on the borders of the Red Parch desert. From Palahai the hope of escape would be more remote than ever.
Lunch was served, with which Aisla assisted, pouring sweet white wine of Croisaine, which the nobles drank with a gusto that made her more alarmed than ever. By the time the last bottle had been emptied the order of the tent had dissolved in drunken braggadocio, and she was left to make a light meal of left over plover’s eggs and quail in sweet jelly behind the chair in which Count Alanthor was casually fondling Sulitea’s breasts and enlarging on the magnificence of Mundic girls to the other nobles.
Barely an hour later the heralds announced that the combat field was ready. The nobles trooped outside, Alanthor swinging the birdswing axe to make the blade catch the air and boasting of how easy it would be to
‘Isn’t that why we drove so hard?’ she asked. ‘To take the ridge before the King reached it?’
‘No,’ Laia answered, ‘Prince Ythor would have lost face if he had not come out to meet the King.’
In her head Aisla repeated the prayer to Uroth.
The army moved down from the ridge and out onto the plain, with Aisla looking back wistfully at a set of positions that would have given them a near insurmountable advantage. By noon they had reached the estuary and she began to wonder if Prince Ythor was mad enough to attempt an attack across it.
Instead they made camp, not as they had before, but with the tents well spaced out in a brave array around that of the Prince and with every banner and pennon flying in plain view. Aisla helped Sulitea to dress in her finest clothes, the gown of black velvet she had intended for herself, with a silver coronet to show her rank. Presently Sulitea was summoned to the Prince’s tent, along with Elmaea and the maids. Within the large tent a number of high backed thrones had been placed in a line with a table before them and lower, less ornate chairs to the sides of most. Prince Ythor, Count Alanthor and the other rebel nobles sat in the main chairs, while Elmaea and Sulitea were shown to those at either side of the Count.
Aisla went to stand behind Sulitea’s chair, wondering what was happening. Presently a fanfare sounded and a number of men were shown into the tent, headed by a burly man whose facial features resembled those of the Prince only with an added hardness. As formal greetings were exchanged Aisla realised that this was the Prince’s brother, Agrath.
A map was spread on the table by heralds, with the estuary and the city of Rai-Uhruhai marked on it. The men fell to discussion, to whichAisla listened in mounting disbelief. First a site for the battle was chosen, an area of flat, open fields with low hedges between them. Combats were then arranged, first duels between nobles and then engagements between squadrons of similar size and type, until each had been assigned a place and time, leaving some thousand men over on the loyal side. It was agreed that these be held back to await the outcome of the main battle, after which the two sides exchanged a series of formal insults and the loyal group left.
Aisla bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to suggest waylaying Prince Agrath before he had a chance to return to the safety of the loyal army. The nobles fell to talking, discussing the coming engagement and the probable outcome. They were optimistic and even exchanged bets, all of which Aisla listened to with ever increasing alarm. As her dismay rose she began to evolve wild plans for escape, only to reject each as unfeasible, more often than not because Sulitea could not be counted on to co-operate. Worst of all was the fact that Count Alanthor was due to face someone called Gallaris, the Count of Palahai. If Alanthor died in combat, then Elmaea and Sulitea would be forfeit as trophies, and Aisla with then. She had never heard of Palahai, but a glance at a map of the whole of the Glass Coast showed it to be a region far to the east and south, almost on the borders of the Red Parch desert. From Palahai the hope of escape would be more remote than ever.
Lunch was served, with which Aisla assisted, pouring sweet white wine of Croisaine, which the nobles drank with a gusto that made her more alarmed than ever. By the time the last bottle had been emptied the order of the tent had dissolved in drunken braggadocio, and she was left to make a light meal of left over plover’s eggs and quail in sweet jelly behind the chair in which Count Alanthor was casually fondling Sulitea’s breasts and enlarging on the magnificence of Mundic girls to the other nobles.
Barely an hour later the heralds announced that the combat field was ready. The nobles trooped outside, Alanthor swinging the birdswing axe to make the blade catch the air and boasting of how easy it would be to
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