‘Look at what you have wrought, Commander Chandyr,’ he said as they rode past. ‘They were human beings and you have driven them away like animals. You killed so many.’

Chandyr looked across at him, no hint of remorse evident. He was a career soldier in his early forties and had seen a great deal of action in the last decade. His face was pockmarked and he sported livid scars on his chin and forehead. Clad in mail-covered leather, he was a ferocious sight and his views were simple.

‘First they were victims, now they are parasites. We have to look to our own problems, not take on other people’s. Dordover is a powerful adversary.’

‘But you could have chosen to help these people cut wood for new homes, plough fields for new plantings. Your blacksmiths’ wagons could have been the forges that made new hope.’

‘Building is preferable to dying in battle,’ said Chandyr, ‘but we have to defend ourselves before we can disperse ourselves across Balaia helping the people. Have you travelled the country in the last season?’

‘No,’ confessed Rusau. ‘My duties kept me in Lystern.’

‘You should talk to the mages who come in. It is true that the Black Wings are feeding the flames of hatred for us but the country is not quite as destroyed as they would have us all believe. There are blacksmiths out there. There are woodmen too. There are builders and farmers. The regeneration of the country must come from within. We as a college army are duty bound to protect our borders.’

‘But this is a fight that can be solved around a table. By reason and discussion. War only feeds the fires of hate. And, after all, the issues are trivial, aren’t they?’

‘The issues do not concern me. The protection of Xetesk does.’

Rusau took a breath. In front of them, the gentle sweep of the Xeteskian mage lands stretched north-east to Lystern and north to Dordover. It was undeniably beautiful. Shades of green dappled the landscape; trees, shrubs, brackens and grasses. And everywhere were splashes of colour as the first spring flowers pushed through the soil, a symbol of the enduring strength of nature.

‘I can stop this,’ said Rusau, and inside he firmly believed that he could.

‘Really?’ asked Chandyr. ‘Like the Dordovan delegation, perhaps? What have they managed so far apart from outrageous demands that do nothing but lighten the mood in the officers’ mess?’

‘It is the nature of negotiation to begin at an unattainable level and settle for compromise.’

‘Compromise!’ Chandyr spat the word. ‘We are defending ourselves from unwarranted aggression.’

‘And Xetesk is blameless in your view?’

Chandyr’s face darkened. ‘You ride at my side because I like you, Rusau. And because my Lord of the Mount, Dystran, wants independent reporting of what we find. But we are not the aggressors. We did not invite this conflict, it was thrust upon us. It is not our forces herding refugees into neighbouring lands. It is not us using innocents as pawns. But we will not stand by and watch it happen. Dordover will not be allowed to encroach on our lands. We will fight to preserve what is ours.’

‘I meant no offence, Commander,’ said Rusau. ‘But when we find the Dordovans I urge you to stand off and let me speak, whether they are on Xeteskian land or not. Words are one thing, significant loss of life is another. When they see you and hear me, they will think again.’

‘You are naive to believe that,’ said Chandyr. ‘But I pray you are right. Remember, though, that soldiers go where they are ordered and fight as directed. It is accepted that not all those who enter battle will leave it alive. I don’t think you will find anyone in the Dordovan force able to make the decision to stand down.’

‘Perhaps not, but would you choose not to fight if I could negotiate a truce to allow the rulers to speak again?’

‘I will assess the situation when we encounter the Dordovans,’ said Chandyr. ‘But we are at war, Rusau, and I will not take any decision that risks our borders.’

‘But I must be allowed to cross the battle lines,’ said Rusau.

‘Enough,’ snapped Chandyr. ‘I go to defend my lands. And I will take such action as I see fit in discussion with the senior mage. If you get in the way of such action it will be on your own head. I trust you understand. Now I must think. Please fall back to the centre of the column.’

He looked at Rusau, and for the first time the Lysternan mage felt a pang of doubt.

‘Now, Rusau. I don’t want to have you removed.’

Rusau did as he was ordered, and for the rest of the day’s march and the day following he kept his distance from the Xeteskian commander. Late in the afternoon of the second day, with light cloud covering what had been a warm spring day, he was summoned forward.

He found Chandyr in conversation with the senior mage, Synour, a man fast rising through the echelons of Xeteskian power. They were riding towards the crest of a low hill and Rusau knew that beyond it a shallow valley swept away to the River Dord, which flowed through Dordover and eventually let out into the River Tri just to the north of Triverne Lake. The Dord marked the northern border of the Xeteskian and Lysternan mage lands.

‘Commander,’ he said, as he rode to Chandyr’s free side.

Chandyr acknowledged his presence but finished his conversation before turning in his saddle.

‘My scouts have reported,’ he said, voice matter of fact, ‘a force of perhaps eighteen hundred Dordovans setting up camp just north of the river. There are an estimated five hundred refugees there too. They are corralled by the Dordovans but are south of the river. On Xeteskian land. You will see that they have been very careful to allow no one to occupy Lysternan land. I think their message is quite clear.’

‘And what are your intentions?’ asked Rusau.

‘The refugees must be freed immediately to return to rebuild their homes. The Dordovans must not stand in their way. I am sending a message to that effect to their commander, whoever he may be. You are welcome to ride under the parley flag but you will not interfere with the delivery of the message. We are not negotiating this point. Those refugees will not be used against us.’

‘I will see what I can do,’ said Rusau.

‘Try not to endanger your own life,’ said Chandyr. ‘I am not responsible for you and neither are the Dordovans. My messenger will return with their answer 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.