"TWO FRIENDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE," SAID DOSH HOUSEBOY, kneading Tarion's calf, "especially if they are enemies."
"Sounds like one of my dear brother's aphorisms. It's enough to send a whole dining room of sycophants into hysterics."
"It's from the Green Scriptures, Canto 1576." Dosh turned his attention to the other leg.
Tarion was stretched out naked on an auroch hide. The tent was dim and hot. It smelled of leather, his own sweat, and the fragrant oil Dosh was using. After hours of standing in the temple, a massage felt very good. Massages from Dosh always did—he had skill and his hands were much more powerful than they looked. All the thousands of other people who had endured that ceremony would perhaps appreciate similar treatment, but none of them would be getting it.
"What two friends do you have in mind?" he asked sleepily.
Dosh chuckled throatily. "You and Golbfish."
"The Joalians can still play us off against each other, of course."
"Of course. And the fat man did not die . . . which may have been the plan, possibly?"
Tarion chuckled. "Do my thighs now." He sighed sensuously as those powerful fingers began to work on the muscle.
"So you will have to behave yourself, or they can bring him back," Dosh said, phrasing the words in time with his thrusts. "They do not trust my beloved master." He was as nosy as an old woman.
After a while Tarion roused himself to answer. "Mother cannot last much longer. Then the Joalians will have to decide which of us to put on the throne. I think we shall have just time to slaughter a few Lemodians before then. Before the terrible news arrives."
It would be better for Tarion himself if the time was insufficient for the Lemodian's Thargian allies to arrive on the scene—Thargians were dangerous—but that was in the lap of the gods. "It seems most unlikely that my dear brother will survive more than an hour or two of infantry training. He has the muscle tone of a milk pudding. His comrades will laugh him to death. There must be a limit to the amount of humiliation even that man can absorb. Besides . . . Do you want to hear a little secret, dear boy?"
"You know I love secrets."
"Then work harder. Harder! I won't break. Ah! Lovely! My whimsical brother took refuge in the Nagian infantry. You know what the Joalians think of the Nagian infantry?"
"They think it a useless rabble," Dosh said, panting with effort as he pummeled.
"Exactly! Our cavalry—my cavalry I mean . . . They will allow us to play some minor part. Nothing too critical, I am sure. I hope showy. But the infantry is a mob. A peasant's idea of fighting is to throw his spear at his opponent's shield and then charge him with a club. Even Lemodians can massacre Nagians. They always have in the past. Start on my back now. Kammaeman will hurl the Nagians in first to use up the Lemodians' arrows. That's what they're for. Dear Golbfish's chances of surviving his first battle may charitably be defined as, 'remote.'"
He grunted as Dosh's strong hands pressed down on his torso. He had allowed none of his subordinates to bring personal body servants along to the war, and only the very senior Joalians had them. As leader of the cavalry, though, he needed someone to attend to his mount, his weapons, and equipment. And his more personal needs. Dosh was a real joy, in every way.
"The Joalians do not trust you, master," Dosh repeated.
"I am heartbroken," Tarion said drowsily. "I wonder why not?"
"Because two friends are better than one, especially when they are enemies."
Tarion spun over on his back, grabbed a handful of Dosh's hair, and hauled him down. Dosh squealed in surprise and ended leaning on one elbow, nose to nose with his prince and frantically trying not to spill the oil bottle in his other hand.
"What are you implying?" Tarion said menacingly.
He saw none of the fear he had hoped to provoke, only amusement.
"Oh, beloved!" Dosh said in a fake whine of humility. "Who am I to lecture my master on political affairs?"
"Did I ever tell you you had beautiful eyes?"
"I don't think so. You've praised just about every other part of me excessively, but I don't recall you mentioning eyes."
"I do so now only to stress that I should hate to have them put out with red-hot irons. That would spoil your perfection. What were you saying?"
Dosh still showed no alarm. He smiled, as if this bullying were a form of foreplay—which it probably was, Tarion realized.
The beautiful eyes twinkled. "I mean that Thargia would be very happy to see Nagland recover its independence. Thargia is not close enough to be a threat to you in itself. I think you are a man of Nagvale, beloved master."
"My father was a peasant," Tarion agreed. "And then a palace guard, and then royal gigolo." He twisted the boy's hair. "Is this what is said about me—that I would sell out to Thargia?"
"It is what is thought. Nobody says it. Ouch! That hurts!"
"It is meant to. Do you spy on me for the Thargians or the Joalians?"
With his head bent over at a critical angle, Dosh regarded the prince sideways and then said, "Both. Whoever pays me."
"Good. I appreciate honesty and a proper respect for money. Spy all you want, but remember this—while you are mine, you let no other man touch you! Unless I say so, of course."
"Of course not. I have my standards."
Tarion chuckled and released him. Then he put an arm around Dosh's neck and hauled him closer. "I love you, you little monster! When we have overrun a village or two in Themodvale, we shall enjoy the spoils of war. What would you like me to bring you? Girls or boys?"
Dosh's white teeth shone. "Either, as long as they are young and pretty. Like you, I am not fussy."
"I am extremely fussy."
"I am flattered."
From outside the tent flap came the unmistakable sound of a spear being thumped against a shield.
"Curses!" Tarion said, pushing his body servant off his body. "Just when things were starting to become interesting! See what he wants."
Dosh rose, straightened his hair, adjusted his loincloth, and took the oil bottle with him.
Tarion sat up, hearing the Joalian voice outside summoning him to the battlemaster's tent. He had half expected this, and of course he must go. He would be very surprised if his beloved half brother Golbfish was not the first item on the agenda.
The camp was not large enough to justify riding; the two men walked. With the sun now dipping toward Nagwall, the temperature was becoming bearable, but Kolgan Coadjutant set a very leisurely pace. When the second-in-command of the Joalian army came in person to conduct a mere Nagian to a meeting, one could reasonably assume that he had an ulterior motive. Tarion was now Nagian heir designate and Kolgan was an important Joalian politician. They had never spoken in private before.
The camp bustled all around them. Troopleaders were drilling long-shadowed squads on the dusty plain; moas were mewing for their evening meal. Smoke trickled up reluctantly from cooking fires.
"How soon do you expect the final contingents from Joalvale, sir?" Tarion inquired politely.
"In a few days." Kolgan was very tall, and even his armor failed to make him look broad. He had a hatchet face and a reddish beard.
"I hope we shall move out at once. The enemy must know about us by now."
The tall man chuckled. "And the army is eating the heart out of your capital?" Tents ran off in rows for miles, enough to hold five thousand hungry men.
"Certainly. Mother will have to raise taxes to pay for it." On the other hand, the crown's levy on brothels must be paying royally just now.
"Ah. But the queen's health distresses us all. That unpopular task may fall to her successor."
"Or, if Karzon favors our cause," Tarion prompted, "loot from Lemodvale may solve the problem?" But would the Joalians let the Nagians have a significant share?
"Possibly," Kolgan said vaguely. "Do you know how I got to be where I am, Tarion Cavalryleader?" He glanced down with a meaningful glint in his eye.
"Not in detail," Tarion said diplomatically, "but I have heard how the people's assembly in Joal rejected the Clique's nominee for the position of coadjutant and demanded you instead. Riot was threatened. A great tribute to your reputation, of course."
"A great tribute to graft. I have no military experience to speak of. I had been sponsoring public games on a scale not seen for many years."
The People's Assembly was the ultimate authority in Joal, but it was very expensive to buy. Tarion distrusted candor. Candor was dangerous to both candorer and candoree. "How wonderfully public-spirited of you!"
"I staked everything I possessed and everything I could borrow. Unless I return gloriously victorious and loaded with loot, then I am a ruined man."
"We must trust in the gods and the justice of our cause," Tarion said, wondering what this frankness could possibly be leading up to.
Kolgan's angular face twisted in a grin—or possibly a sneer. It was hard to tell under his helmet. "And you, Prince? How did you come to be where you are?"
Candor was for others. "Mother has long believed that I would make a better king than my poor brother."
"Quite!" Kolgan Coadjutant snapped. "But her Joalian allies have never agreed with that viewpoint. Our distinguished ambassador recently switched his support to you—in direct breach of the Clique's instructions."
"He did," Tarion agreed blandly. The Joalian ambassador was effectively the resident Joalian governor of Nagland, although one did not say so openly. Bondvaan was another devious politician, a human snake.
The commander's tent was in sight now. Kammaeman had appropriated the best campsite, under the only decent shade trees. He was sitting on a stool, still wearing armor and watching his subordinates approach. Beside him sat that very same Bondvaan.
"Three years ago," Kolgan said, "the old man spent five million stars, bribing the Clique to appoint him. I am sure he has made it all back by now."
"In his first ten fortnights here, or so he boasts."
"Well, then!" Kolgan said triumphantly. "Bribery on his scale would be well beyond your means. How did you work it?"
"Mother persuaded him."
This time the sneer was unmistakable. "That is not what I heard. I had hoped we might exchange confidences, Tarion Cavalryleader."
Tarion sighed. "What did you hear?"
"He is a notorious lecher. He hosts orgies of the foulest perversions. What his age makes impossible for him personally now, he stages to watch. I heard you participated in certain memorable performances at his residence."
Tarion had never found a smile harder. "I am no prude, but I prefer not to be reminded of those nights." Candor!
"Understandably!" The tall man chuckled coarsely. "Great causes require great sacrifices?"
"Yes."
"Do we appreciate each other now? Do you know why I dismissed the messenger and came for you myself?"
Tarion gritted his teeth. "Of course. Kammaeman Battlemaster must be aware of your need for personal glory. A wise Joalian commander never turns his back on his deputy. By arriving with me, you are undermining my reliability in his eyes, and thus hope to enlist me to your side."
Kolgan laughed. "We do understand each other! Let us make an agreement, then. Help me come out on top in this and I shall give you Bondvaan Ambassador's privates on a plate. Interested?"
"Fervently," Tarion said. "Fried."
The guards let the visitors pass. They came to a halt and saluted the man who was at the moment autocrat of Nagland. Kammaeman's word could stop any heart in the vale.
He was close to sixty, a seasoned warrior. He must also be one of the most successful and ruthless politicians in Joal, as he had hung on to his membership in the Clique for more than ten years. The fact that he had dared take command of the army in person and thus absent himself from the city showed how firm his grip must be. He was physically powerful, too. His armor covered his torso and shins, but his bearlike, matted arms and thighs were exposed. Dust and sweat had muddied in the wrinkles in his weathered face and in his beard. His eyes were inflamed by the sun. He nodded at the newcomers without rising or even offering them a seat, although there were stools standing unused at his back.
Beside him—silver-haired, short, and blubbery—Bondvaan Ambassador favored Tarion with a buttery smile that awakened memories to make his skin crawl.
Kammaeman was peering up at him from under grizzled brows thicker than many men's mustaches. Black hairs sprouted from his ears and nostrils.
"Did you enjoy the ceremony today, Cavalryleader?"
Kolgan alone had been bad enough. Tarion braced himself to deal with three of them. "I hope someday to wean my people from ritual scarring, sir. It is a holdover from our barbaric past and contrary to the enlightened civilization that Joal has brought us, for which we are all so grateful. However, the sight of blood excites me, and you certainly cannot doubt the young men's courage."
"I can doubt their sanity. Did you find the conclusion at all surprising?"
"Astonishing!" It would be more truthful to call the conclusion deeply disappointing. Some blood would be more exciting than others. "I never suspected my brother of such patriotism."
Without even looking, Tarion could sense the smirk on Bondvaan's suety face. Oh, he must be pleased! The Joalians still had a second string to their bow in Nag.
"That was not quite what I . . . Ah!" Kammaeman gestured for Tarion and Kolgan to step aside. "Here comes the man I want to see."
Tarion watched with interest as the guards confiscated the new arrival's spear. He was a fairly typical Nagian—black haired, slender, and tall; taller than most. Still bearing his shield, he marched up to the commander and slapped a palm on it in salute. Then he stood stiffly at attention, staring over the commander's helmet. His grotesque face paint made his expression almost unreadable.
Having seen him earlier only at a distance, Tarion had not realized how young he was. He felt a stir of interest. A straight diet of Dosh Houseboy would soon pall. If rank did not suffice, a few coppers would seem like a fortune to such a peasant.
"Your name?" Kammaeman demanded, looking the youth up and down, mostly up.
"D'ward Troopleader, sir."
"And before that?"
"D'ward Roofer."
"From Sonalby?"
"Yes, sir." He had a faint accent that Tarion could not place. He was showing no signs of nervousness, which was exceedingly curious.
"I ordered you to bring your new recruit with you."
The young man did not look down. "With respect, sir, my oath was made to another, who then transferred it to you. I take orders only from you directly."
Kammaeman's face reddened under the dust. His hairy fists clenched.
"If you order me to go and fetch him now, sir," the youth told the tent in the background, "then of course I shall obey."
"That is exceedingly kind of you!"
Tarion detected a suitable moment to win the boy's gratitude. "If I may speak, Battlemaster? Technically he is correct. That is the way things stand at the moment. He cannot be expected to understand proper military procedures."
The youth glanced briefly at the speaker and Tarion saw with astonishment that he had brilliantly blue eyes. How bizarre! How very intriguing!
And why was he not quaking in his shoes—apart from the fact that he was barefoot, of course? This lad must definitely be investigated more closely. Nasty, fat old Bondvaan had obviously had the same idea. He was almost slobbering on his stool.
"I see!" Kammaeman growled, mollified. "Well, I can't have a dozen troopleaders pestering me all day. I have to appoint an overall commander for the Nagian infantry, do I? Someone responsible to me?"
Tarion opened his mouth and then hastily closed it. The question had been directed to the peasant.
"As I understand, sir, there are no precedents. No hordeleader has ever resigned before."
He was not speaking like an ignorant rustic. He was quite right, though, and Kammaeman's proposal was the only possible solution. Tarion had carefully not mentioned the problem earlier, but he was prepared to undertake the additional responsibilities if they were offered. Then he would command the entire Nagian army. He did not say so yet, for Kammaeman was still intent on the youngster.
"What military experience do you have?"
"None, sir."
"Who taught your squad to drill?"
"I did, sir. I asked some of the elders in the village how Joalians made war." He was showing no pride or satisfaction or . . . or anything! He was as impassive as a veteran of innumerable campaigns. His confidence was positively eerie. Tarion wondered if Kammaeman might order him flogged, just on principle. But there was nothing in the boy's manner to indicate insubordination or hidden mockery. He was being completely factual, and his manner carried conviction.
"How long did it take you?"
"Two days, sir, was all I had—I do have a request, sir."
"Yes?"
"I have nothing more to teach them. If you could send us a Joalian instructor, he could further their training."
Kammaeman snorted disbelievingly. "It has been tried before! Nagian warriors insist on fighting in their traditional fashion. They will not listen to a Joalian."
"They will listen if I tell them to, sir."
At Tarion's side, Kolgan Coadjutant chuckled. Kammaeman shot him a glance that silenced him, and then looked back to D'ward. Up to D'ward.
"Give me your oath on that, subject to a flogging if you are wrong."
"I so swear," the boy said at once, still staring over his head.
Tarion felt a stab of alarm. What was going on here? Was the old rogue going to take the word of a raw laborer? He glanced at Kolgan and saw a scowl that mirrored his own feelings exactly.
Kammaeman said, "Kneel."
The boy knelt. That put their eyes on the same level.
"So you can make them march in step," the commander said. "I admit that. I admit that I am surprised by that. But how do you make them remember that spears are for thrusting? In the heat of battle, they will throw their spears away! They always have in the past."
"I was planning to tie the poles to their wrists with leather thongs," D'ward said simply, "to remind them."
"Indeed?" Kammaeman raised those jungly eyebrows. He was obviously impressed. "How long would it take you to train the rest of the Nagian contingents to the same standard you have brought Sonalby's?"
Even the youth looked startled, but he barely hesitated. "I can talk to them this evening, sir. If you will assign a Joalian instructor to each troop in the morning, I will guarantee that they will obey him and do their best."
The battlemaster scratched his beard. "On the same penalty? No, I'll raise the stakes. Make that two floggings."
The boy grinned. "Done!"
"By the five gods, lad, you're either crazy or just insane! Your new recruit? What is he doing now?"
"Digging a latrine ditch, sir."
Tarion exploded. Oh, joy! Oh, perfection!
Kammaeman shot him a disapproving glare, but he was having trouble hiding his own amusement. "Why that?"
The boy seemed surprised, as if the answer were obvious. "I told him that was the worst job I could give him. Once he has done that, then he has nothing more to fear."
The Joalians exchanged glances. Old Bondvaan ran soft fingers through his skimpy silver hair. Kolgan was chewing his lip thoughtfully. Kammaeman seemed to be at a loss. "Did your group accept him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh? What did you tell them?"
"I said we were very honored to have the prince enlist with us. That they need not show him any special favor, but they should try to be patient with him, because he has had a deprived upbringing and has everything to learn about true manhood."
This time even the commander grinned. He turned to Kolgan.
"Well, Coadjutant? Do we have a native military genius here?"
"He appears to have flair, sir."
"Stand up!" Kammaeman said, heaving himself to his feet. Even in his boots and helmet, he was shorter than the boy, but twice as wide. "Take good care of him!"
"Yes, sir."
"We don't want him to have any accidents—do we, Cavalryleader?" He favored Tarion with a threatening glare.
"I hope my brother survives to dig many, many latrine ditches, sir," Tarion said crossly. If the Nagian rabble was to be turned into an effective fighting force, he could no longer count on Golbfish dying in the customary massacre. How annoying!
Kammaeman thrust out a hairy arm and grasped the youth's brown shoulder.
"I shall make you a wager! D'ward Troopleader, I appoint you acting commander of the Nagian infantry. Any instructors you need, just ask this man. His name is Kolgan Coadjutant. Three days from now, you will parade your horde for me. I shall then either confirm your appointment or have you beaten to jelly. Do you accept those terms?"
"Yes, sir," the youth said calmly. "Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure! Dismissed."
With a smart salute, the new troopleader spun around and marched away. The guards gave him back his spear.
Kammaeman watched him go and then turned to his deputy with the sleepy content of a bearcat that has just eaten a band of hunters. "You are dismissed also. Give him the best men you can, all the help you can. You two gentlemen wait a moment."
Kolgan flickered anger, but he saluted and marched away.
Tarion moved forward. Bondvaan rose, looking completely perplexed. Tarion hoped his own face did not show his fury. That young upstart was doomed!
"You two gentlemen," Kammaeman repeated as soon as Kolgan was out of earshot, "were both making slobbering spectacles of yourself. Keep your filthy habits to yourselves, do you understand? Leave D'ward alone!"
"Sir!" Tarion protested. "I don't underst—"
"You understand perfectly! He is not to be molested in any way. Any way! I think I may have found a secret weapon in this war."
Tarion decided he had better make some new plans.