Age of War

Chapter 31

The Gap of Hephaestus was a rocky, windswept plateau dotted with a few scrubby trees, permanently leaning away from the fierce wind that blew down from the mountains to the north. Now, that wind carried a heavy and unexpected snowfall. The stony ground was already dusted white and more was certain to come. Commander Hadrin tugged at the reins of her horse as she picked her way along the ridge that ran down from the foothills, at the top of which was the compact fortress in which the garrison had, until very recently, been stationed. She’d half expected that they’d have a fight on their hands when they arrived here – there would be survivors from the army they’d defeated in Ixion and Rykall for one would have been foolish enough to try to make a stand. That the castle was deserted told her something very important: Rykall didn’t have the command. That meant Albrihn was alive. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. Now, Saffrey’s banner had been raised over the squat stone keep, but he hadn’t actually occupied it – it was a drafty, bleak building, not at all suitable for the First Minister of Atlantis. Or the Emperor. At least he hadn’t been fool enough to formally declare himself ruler yet. That would be much too risky for someone as careful and controlled as him. Instead, Saffrey was still quartered in his elaborate tent, but it was set near the walls of the fortress, cunningly sheltered from the bad weather. The rest of the vast, sprawling camp – now reinforced with the troops she had brought over to this side as well as a number of other contingents that had joined them from elsewhere in Chronus and even other Provinces, fulfilling bargains made with Saffrey before all this had begun – was spread across the Gap, shivering in the bitter cold.

She dismounted and handed the reins over to a groom. It was dusk, but the sky was already dark with heavy clouds. In the distance, to their west, she could see the lights of towns and villages, glimmering faintly through the falling snow. Atlas itself wasn’t visible yet, but if tomorrow’s weather was fine it should be a dark smudge on the horizon. She had been born and raised in that city; how did she feel about marching on it at the head of an army? The guards outside the tent, elite Chronusi cataphracts in gleaming scale mail, uncrossed their spears and allowed her to enter without a word. She ducked through the entrance and came upon Saffrey sitting nonchalantly at a wooden table. Two handsome servants waited on him, one with wine, the other with a bowl of glazed dates. As soon as the lord took a sip from his goblet, it was refilled. The dark wine steamed, even in the heat from the braziers at each corner of this receiving room. Draped doors led off to other chambers within the fabulous pavilion. It was larger than most houses in Atlas.

“Commander,” Saffrey said with a smile.

She watched him for a moment and then, as if it were nothing, threw a lazy salute. However, instead of clenching her fist, her forefinger and little finger remained extended. Saffrey lifted his chin slightly and then wordlessly returned the strange gesture. Immediately he waved a hand, dismissing his servants. They walked past her, moving with a swish of silk and leaving the scent of perfume in their wake. She cocked her head. On the table, besides the wine, was a sheaf of papers – she recognised even from this distance the look of military reports – and, before him, a wooden queens board laid out. He was halfway through a game. Next to it was a folded letter that he occasionally glanced at.

She approached the table. “Queens?”

“Do you play?”

“A little. Not well.”

“Everyone says that. Have a seat, commander.” He gestured to one of the folding camp stools.

She pulled the closest towards the table and sat down opposite him. “You’re playing yourself?”

He chuckled. “No.” He held up the letter. It was covered in dense, spidery script. “A friend. We play by correspondence.”

“Oh…”