In spite of himself, Dardas was amused by the youth's discomfort. Among others, he had implemented the policy that officers from various units were to rotate through the position of his personal aide. Partly this was being done so he could familiarize himself with the officers under his command. More important, however, was that it allowed him to dismiss those favored officers who would normally have held the post permanently. They would be the ones most likely to notice the changes in the "Lord Weisel" they had known for years.

Even now, after only three campaigns, Dardas was overhearing murmured comments, most of them expressing pleasant surprise as to how effective a battle leader the previously discounted Lord Weisel was proving to be. Apparently there had been no small measure of protest and concern when Matokin had named Lord Weisel as the commander of the army.

It seemed Weisel, who affected pretenses of military aptitude, was traditionally indecisive and easily confused. The critics were pleased to admit the error of their misgivings, however, as the army was now functioning with superb efficiency.

Weisel was one of the few Felk lords who was not also a mage. Matokin had otherwise surrounded himself with wizards.

Dardas himself took little pride in his successes to date, however. The campaigns had been simplicity itself, child's play to one of his expertise and experience. In his former life, he had driven an army nearly across the width of the Northern Continent and, evidently, into historical legend. He had outmaneuvered, outdesigned, and crushed his enemies. Those had been real campaigns. He had also waged them without the help of magicians.

He was unaware of exactly how Matokin had originally gained control of the city-state of Felk. He had not been summoned back to life until the mage had settled on his grand plan, which was to unite all me city-states of the Isthmus under his rule.

At that point, Matokin had evidently realized that he needed someone with more military knowledge than was available to him to organize and lead the army, and had settled on Dardas as the most likely candidate. Dardas the Conqueror. Dardas the Invincible. Dardas the Fox. Dardas the Butcher. In his day, depending on who spoke, his name was said in awe, respect, fear, or loathing, but none would contest his devastating effectiveness in the field.

Of course, if Matokin had researched Dardas a bit more closely than simply reviewing his legendary string of victories, he might have thought twice about his choice.

The first campaign in this current war had been to overthrow Felk's neighboring state of Callah. There was no great challenge there for Dardas, as mere had been no open hostilities between the two city-states beyond border dispute skirmishes for many tenwinters. Callah was totally unprepared for an attack of the magnitude that Dardas had leveled at it, and fell in less than a quarter-lune.

The second campaign, against Windal, was even easier. Windal had failed to see the forces of Felk as a threat, assuming that die battle between Felk and Callah had been nothing but a personal dispute between the city-states' respective leaders. As such, they neglected to make any decent preparations, and when confronted by Dardas's army, now swollen by the assimilation of the surviving Callahan troops, they fell within a matter of days.

An even battle when one side was unprepared, and an-other when his forces outnumbered his opponents by nearly two to one. Nothing noteworthy there. Certainly nothing requiring a general of Dardas's unique talents. Any competent field commander could have managed as well. Of course, it was just as well that Matokin hadn't realized that, or Dardas likely would not be enjoying his second chance at life.

Of course, things should get a bit more interesting now, particularly with the annihilation of Udelph. The Isthmus's remaining city-states stretching to the south would no longer assume their own safety was guaranteed or that their usual defenses would suffice, since they were likely adequate only to repel skirmish-like onslaughts. Dardas was curious to see what his future enemies would come up with to try to halt him.

No, armies didn't change much, and so it didn't ultimately matter mat he was leading these Felk, and not his own people. It didn't matter that this was die Isthmus, not Northland, though how puny a strip of land this was by comparison. Had he lived long enough in his last life, he probably would have gotten around to conquering this land, once the disposition of the Northern Continent was firmly settled. Or he would have left the Isthmus for his heir, except that he had never produced one. Instead, he had died, and his army had unraveled. Northland had since reverted to a kind of general barbarism, so he was told.

Dardas's death had been natural. A fatal wrench to his heart that had made him bedridden, then released him into the void only a few days later. He recalled the experience, and it was a very strange tiling to recall one's own death.

"Your dinner is ready now, General."

It was the aide again. His composure regained, he was standing by the open flap of Dardas's pavilion. He was a clean-cut looking young man with delicate features. Probably, like most of the junior officers, the second son of a noble Felk family, whose father had bought his commission to keep him out from underfoot while the elder son was trained to run the family for the next generation.

Dardas nodded at him and entered the pavilion, only to stop short when he caught sight of his small dining table.

"What's that?" he said, his voice edged with accusation.

Taken aback, the aide blinked in confusion.

"It's your dinner, sir," he said. "Roast chicken and rabbit with wild onions and carrots. The cooks prepared it special for you."

The general stared at him.

"I assume that the fare for the troops is significantly less grand?" he said levelly.

"Well... of course," the aide said. "I mean, some of them may have foraged something, but the food that's issued them—"

"Take it away," Dardas ordered, interrupting. "I want you to go to the nearest squad circle and bring

me back a portion of whatever it is they're having. What's more, be sure the portion is no larger than that of any other soldier being served."

"Yes, sir!"

Do you have something against decent food?

It was the familiar, somewhat whiny voice of Lord Weisel intruding on the general's thoughts. One thing Dardas did have to admit to having difficulty with was adapting to the presence of a second mind in his head.

You wouldn't understand.

I understand that it's my body you're abusing.

And a decent body it was, too. Dardas appreciated the new vessel for his consciousness. Despite it being more than four tenwinters old, it was both fit and healthy... even reasonably attractive, not that it mattered. If only it hadn't come with the previous occupant still in residence.

Remember, I was summoned because I know more about running an army than you do.

But, as my advisor, you're supposed to be teaching me. How can I learn if you don't explain why you do things?

It seemed that Lord Weisel had consented to this arrangement on the basis that he would be second in power only to Matokin himself. Supposedly, Dardas's presence in Lord Weisel's body was to be as an advisor, helping to fill in the immense gaps in the noble's military knowledge.

It was unclear to Dardas if Matokin was genuinely unaware of the strength of the general's personality, or if he had intended all along that Dardas would be the dominant mind, but either way, the results were the same. Now he controlled the body as well as the army, and Lord Weisel was reduced to a sulking presence in the mental shadows.

Dardas had little respect for Lord Weisel, a not surprising view for a professional soldier and ruler to have of a pampered nobleman. Still, he felt it behooved him to maintain at least a pretense of courtesy. The man was, literally, his host. If nothing else, Lord Weisel was still his main source of information regarding this new land and age, so though it was annoying, it was in Dardas's best interest to humor Weisel's requests for instruction.