morning air. A longer stroke propelled it higher, and now it was turning in a lazy circle above their heads, climbing all the while.
Gaur watched the creature rise until it was hard to make out the figure on the wyvern’s back, then he stalked over to the engineer, who took a half-pace back.
The engineer couldn’t decipher the beastman’s expression, but he recognised the sense of purpose in his stride.
‘Get back to the baggage-train,’ Gaur growled at the engineer. ‘Your work here is done.’
Beyn peered forward, ignoring the bubble of chatter behind him. The King’s Man was intent on movement several miles away, beyond the Hound Lake.
‘Knew it,’ he whispered to himself, ‘I damned well knew it.’ He turned and looked down the line of frightened soldiers until he found the general, half-hidden by an enormous nobleman and his white-eye bodyguard - one inferior in every way to the vicious ogre who’d inspired that latest Narkang fashion. General Aladorn had withered in his retirement; now he could barely see over the shoulder of a normal man, and whatever he was trying to say was being ignored as the nobleman, one Count Pellisorn of the Arothan Lords’ Chamber, continued to fire demands at him.
‘General, have the mages turn the weather, now!’ Beyn called.
As he expected, Pellisorn just increased his volume, turned his back on Beyn and loomed over the elderly general.
‘Soldier,’ Beyn said quietly to the crossbowman next to him, holding his hand out.
The soldier handed over his weapon with a grin and watched Beyn quickly load it, raise the bow and put it to the bodyguard’s ear. To his credit, the white-eye didn’t flinch or move; he very sensibly stood stock-still.
‘What the — ?’ the count started, but Beyn cut him off.
‘Honour Council Pellisorn,’ Beyn said in a calm voice, ‘the enemy have made their first move. That means your authority is no longer recognised. The task appointed to me - by the king himself - is to ensure General Aladorn is unimpeded in his duties.’
Count Pellisorn leaned back with a look of distaste on his face, as though a favourite pet had just revealed yellow eyes and a forked tongue. Unlike most of the men assembled he was dressed in court-finery, his only armour a ceremonial gorget displaying his position on the Honour Council, the ruling body within the Lords’ Chamber.
He was, however, a consummate politician, and he recovered as soon as he realised it was his bodyguard in danger, not he. ‘I don’t give a damn for the opinions of some low-born thug!’ the count announced, his hand moving to his sword hilt. ‘Unless you think threatening my man will earn you anything but a slow walk to the headsman, you will lower your weapon immediately.’
‘Take your hand away from your sword, Honour Council,’ Beyn advised. ‘You’re as fat as you are past your prime, so don’t embarrass yourself further. I suggest you get out of my sight.’
‘You a King’s Man?’ the white-eye rumbled. He was a block-faced specimen of indeterminate age with a bulbous brow and a nose broken many times - and old enough to have a shred of common sense, Beyn guessed from the look in his white eyes. He had to hope so, at any rate; they didn’t have soldiers to spare in Aroth.
‘I am.’
‘Then ah’m takin’ your orders,’ the white-eye said ponderously, trying to watch the point of the bolt out of the corner of his eye. ‘Is the law, I were told.’
Beyn heaved a sigh of relief that the king’s decree had reached the white-eyes here. He lowered the crossbow and ordered, ‘Step back, and remove your former employer from my sight, soldier. Use as much force as you think necessary.’
The white-eye’s face split in into a grin, and Count Pellisorn’s objections were cut short when his erstwhile bodyguard grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him towards the door by his jewel-inlaid gorget, leaving Beyn free to approach the general.
‘What was that you said?’ Aladorn demanded, squinting up at Beyn. ‘Are they advancing?’
‘I saw the wyvern; you have to get the mages to turn the weather, sir.’
‘He’s not going to attack all by himself,’ Aladorn croaked, waving a liver-spotted claw dismissively. ‘No need to waste their strength.’
‘He can soften us up first,’ Beyn said, ‘we’ve nothing that can fire so high. You need to order the mages now, the only way to stop him is to threaten a storm.’
The general made a contemptuous sound. ‘Afraid of thunder, is he?’
Beyn