as soon as he is able. If that answer is negative, we will advance immediately, while there is daylight enough.’
‘Commander, you have to give me a chance,’ implored Rusau.
‘No, Rusau, I do not,’ he said. ‘I sympathise with you but my orders are quite clear. Dordover has invaded us. I will repel that invasion. The time for talking is when they are north of the Dord. I suggest you work quickly or get yourself to a place of safety.’
Rusau nodded. ‘I had hoped for more understanding from you. Where is your messenger?’
‘He is being briefed by the sergeant-at-arms now. You’ll find them to your right.’ Chandyr indicated a pair of riders slightly apart from the rest of the column. ‘And Rusau, I understand very well. We didn’t ask for war but we will wage it. Perhaps you can talk sense into the Dordovans, but if you ask me, the time for talking is done.’
Rusau joined the messenger as he cantered up the the rise and over the crest into the valley. Below them a wide grassy plain fell away down a shallow slope to the banks of the River Dord a mile and a half away. A mass of humanity waited on the south side. ‘Corralled’ was the right word. They were in a tight group, Dordovan cavalry and foot soldiers guarding them. To the north of the river, tents were pitched, fires burned and pennants flew. The sound of hammering and the whinnies of horses filtered up to them as they rode in silence towards the Dordovan army.
As they passed the refugees, a Dordovan cavalryman detached himself from the guard and fell in beside them.
‘You’re wasting your time, Xeteskian,’ he said to the messenger. ‘You should have saved your horse’s legs and your breath. While you still have it to waste, that is.’
‘What is the name of your commanding officer? I have a message for him.’
The cavalryman laughed. ‘Very disciplined, I’m sure. Turn around. Mark my words, boy.’
‘His name,’ said the messenger.
‘Master Mage Tendjorn,’ said the cavalryman. ‘He’ll eat you for breakfast.’
He peeled away and rode back to his companions. They shared an over-loud laugh.
‘Commendable,’ said Rusau to his companion.
The messenger didn’t reply. He kept his pace even, riding through the shallow waters of the Dord which, though thirty yards wide at this stretch, barely reached his boots. Unchallenged, they rode to the centre of the camp, where they dismounted. The command tent was obvious, its sides pinned back. A table inside was bare but for a scattering of goblets and a few bottles. Five men stood inside and waited for them to enter.
‘You took your time,’ said one. Rusau supposed him to be Tendjorn. He was an ugly man with a wide nose, small ears and thinning unkempt dark hair. ‘And you? Sent a Lysternan lackey to beg, have they? We’ve enough of your sort plaguing us already.’
‘I am Rusau of Lystern,’ he confirmed. ‘I seek peace, as I believe ultimately we all do.’
‘Well there’s your first mistaken assumption,’ said Tendjorn. ‘Xetesk’s protection of the Nightchild was the first act of aggression in this war and now we are delivering the consequences of their invasion to their door for them to deal with.’
‘These people are not consequences of this dispute,’ said Rusau. ‘You cannot use them as such.’
‘Can’t I? Xetesk prevented us from dealing with the Nightchild at the earliest opportunity. They were complicit in her prolonged survival, hence the prolonged elemental attacks on Balaia. Therefore these refugees are their problem.’
‘Your memories are coloured,’ began Rusau, but Tendjorn cut him off with a snap of his fingers.
‘Your message, Xeteskian,’ he said.
The messenger pulled a leather envelope from his breast and handed it over.
‘I would take your reply at your earliest convenience, my Lord,’ he said.
Tendjorn untied the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper it contained. It was a brief message, and the mage smiled and shook his head as he read it.
‘Gracious me, how predictable,’ he muttered, and handed it to the quartet of soldiers and mages grouped behind him. He slapped the empty envelope into the chest of the messenger. ‘Tell your commander that we will not withdraw until he agrees to take charge of the people whom his college has made homeless. Tell him that any move to force them across the river will be met with an appropriate response.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’ The messenger bowed, his face expressionless.
Rusau grabbed his shoulder. ‘Wait a moment. You can’t deliver that. This is madness. Tendjorn, I