Damin had one more stop to make before he took up his position for the battle, and to the rumble of distant thunder, he made his way through the busy camp to the command tent which was the front section of Lernen’s huge, multiroomed red silk pavilion. He glanced at the sky, wondering if the rain would favour their side or the Fardohnyans. It was hard to say, but deep down, Damin had a good feeling about this fight. The Hythrun were defending their homeland and the God of War was on their side. Zegarnald had told Damin as much in person.
The Fardohnyans were fighting only to save face. The collapse of the Widowmaker had handed Damin’s forces that
indefinable advantage Kraig warned him about. The moral high ground; the morale high ground, too. According to Kraig, the enemy had to believe he could win, as much as their own troops. With no chance of reinforcements and the Fardohnyans forced to fight out of hunger as much as territorial ambition, provided nobody made any monumental blunders, Hythria would win this day and win it soundly, regardless of the enemy’s superior numbers.
When he arrived at Lernen’s tent, the High Prince was nowhere to be found. Damin had expected him to be giddy with excitement at the prospect of leading a battle, even if it was by proxy. But the High Prince was still abed, one of his slaves informed Damin when he asked after his uncle, and was anxious to see his nephew as soon as possible.
The slave gave no other hint as to his master’s state of mind, so with a great deal of trepidation, Damin followed him into the back of the pavilion, thinking that of all the times Lernen had chosen to have a relapse, the day they were going into battle was probably the worst time to do it.
“You wanted to see me, Uncle Lernen?”
The High Prince’s room was dark, even though dawn was all but past. The drapes were pulled tight against the light and the room was uncomfortably warm. On the nightstand were the remains of a sleeping draught. This end of the pavilion reeked of opium and stale incense.
“Damin? Is that you?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Are you alone?”
“Of course.”
Lernen struggled to sit up, studying Damin with rheumy eyes. He seemed to be partially dressed, as if he’d climbed out of bed and then changed his mind halfway through dressing and retreated under the covers. “Come. Sit by me,” he ordered, patting the side of the bed.
Damin did as his uncle asked, wondering what was bothering the old man. And why he’d chosen today of all days to be bothered by it.
“I don’t have long,” he warned, as he sat down. “We’re
expecting the Fardohnyans to move as soon as it’s fully light. I need to get into position.”
“Should I be out there, do you think?” the High Prince asked. “You know … leading … ?”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt. You being the High Prince and General of the Combined Hythrun Armies, and all …”
Lernen pulled the covers up to his chin. “They’ll all know it’s a joke. They’ll know I’m not really a general. I should have listened to your mother. Alija did this to me on purpose. I don’t know how to fight. Tell me the truth, Damin … I’m the laughingstock of every Warlord in Hythria, aren’t I?”
“Is that why you’re still in bed? Hiding?” he asked, neatly avoiding having to answer the question.
Lemen’s eyes filled with fear. “If we lose, Damin … do you know what they’ll do to me?”
“We’re not going to lose, Uncle Lernen.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
Damin smiled. “Because I won’t allow it.”
“You’re too much like your damned father,” Lernen complained. “He said much the same thing.”
“He did?” Damin asked curiously. In all the time he’d known his uncle, this was the first time he’d ever mentioned Laran Krakenshield.
“When he made the offer for your mother. I tried telling him then, that Hablet would go to war with us over it. He said he wouldn’t allow it, too. And that if Hablet did declare war on us, we’d beat him.”
“And he was right, wasn’t he?”
“That just makes it more irritating, Damin.”
“Well, I don’t mean to irritate you, Uncle, but I will win this for you. I can’t inherit Hythria when you’re gone if I let Hablet take it from you now, can I?”
Lernen patted Damin’s hand as if he was a small child. “Win this war for me and you can have your decree, nephew.”
“My decree?”
“About lowering the age of majority. Tell your mother I’ll sign it. After we’ve won.”
Damin looked at him in surprise. The only time they’d
spoken about it, his uncle had been vehemently opposed to the idea. “What changed your mind?”
Lernen shrugged. “A lot of things. It wasn’t anything you said.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lernen leaned back against his pillows. “When your mother first came to me and suggested I should lower the age of majority, and that it was all your idea, I feared you were making a push for my throne.”
“But, I never …”
“I know,” Lernen agreed. “And I know I’m not a great High Prince. Kagan Palenovar kept me on the throne for years and your mother has held the country together in my name since he died, with little help or thanks from me. I’m not ignorant of her efforts, Damin, or ungrateful. But I’m a sick old man subject to bouts of deep insecurity. I thought maybe you’d gotten impatient. I thought signing that decree might be as good as signing my own death warrant.”
“I might have wished you lived differently at times, Uncle Lernen, but I’ve never wished you any harm.”
“I know that. And I wanted you to know that I know it. Before you go to war. If we lose this fight and you die today, Damin, I wanted you to die thinking well of me.”
“I will,” Damin promised. “Although your pep talks leave a lot to be desired.”
Lernen looked about the darkened room, as if he was expecting to see someone else present, and then lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you want me to give you command of the army today, nephew?”
Damin thought about it and then shook his head. “The orders are issued, the battle all but begun. There’s no time to advise everyone of the change in command.”
Faced with the enormity of the task before him, Lernen shrank back under the covers again. “But I know nothing about war. People will be looking to me to lead them. Suppose someone has to make a decision? Stay with me today, Damin. Please? I don’t care that people think I’m a fool. I’ll ruin everything for certain.”
Never have you spoken a truer word, Damin thought, realising Lernen’s offer was more about shifting the responsibility from his own shoulders than any particular trust he had in his heir. And the offer was a tempting one. A chance to control the battle from a distance, to move the pieces around like a game of chess … but Damin wanted to fight too, and he had a particular mission in mind—one that might have a decisive effect on the battle—and it left no room for playing general.
“How about I give you someone to help?” he suggested, thinking of the perfect solution. “Someone nobody will even suspect of being an advisor. He can watch over the battle with you, tell you what you must do to deal with problems as they crop up, how and where to move the troops … all you’d have to do is issue the actual orders. That way, nobody will ever know it wasn’t you responsible for victory this day. All of Hythria will think you a hero.”
“What advisor?” the High Prince asked, emerging from under the covers, his curiosity piqued.
“One of my court’esa. The Denikan. Kraig.”
“The large terrifying one?”
Damin smiled. “Yes, Uncle, the large terrifying one.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to bring him near me?”
“He’s been at every meeting we’ve had since you got here, Uncle. I keep him around because he frightens Cyrus even more than you.”
Lernen grinned. Anything that might keep Cyrus Eaglespike at arm’s length was a wonderful idea in the High Prince’s book. “Does he know anything useful, this court’esa of yours?”
Damin nodded. “He used to be a warrior in his own country. He’ll advise you well. And nobody will think anything odd about it other than your taste in court’esa has changed.”
Lernen thought on that, studying his nephew warily. “You’re nearly as clever as your mother, aren’t you?”
“Very nearly.”
“I’m glad I changed my mind about you.”
“So am I,” Damin agreed, rising to his feet. “Stay well,
Uncle. I’m really not ready to become High Prince yet. Shall I send your slaves back and tell them you’re ready to get dressed now?”
The High Prince grabbed at his arm to prevent him leaving. “Don’t die today, Damin, if you can manage it. I’ve not the energy left to go looking for another heir.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
On his way out of the pavilion, Damin ordered the High Prince’s slaves back into the bedchamber, and instructed them to get their master dressed and ready for the battle. Once that was taken care of, Damin went looking for Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon to inform him he was about to become—albeit unofficially, and only for a single day—General of the Combined Armies of Hythria.