The lad clambered up the oak, assisted by the strong arms of several Dom-shu. After lodging himself in the high branches, he put the brass horn to his lips.

He had sounded “Parley” several times before the imperial horsemen took note. Silence fell as the hordes re-formed their lines. A delegation of eight horsemen advanced from the Caergoth contingent: four horde commanders, each with his standard bearer. Tol recognized those standards. The Lightning Riders, the Bronzehearts, the Caer Blades, and the Iron Falcons had served under him in the war with Tarsis.

The leader of this delegation also was known to Tol. A barrel-chested warrior with a forked black beard, Geddrig Zanpolo, commander of the Iron Falcons, was a formidable fighter and widely hailed as a brave warrior. His famous beard had been grown, it was said, to hide the deep notch cut in his chin by a wild centaur. Disarmed, grievously wounded, Zanpolo had slain the centaur bandit with his bare hands.

Tol decided to go out alone to meet the delegation. Such veteran warriors of the Great Horde would not talk to him were he accompanied by women, foot soldiers, or foreigners. He reckoned he could trust the honor of the warlord of the Iron Falcons.

He left the shade of the oak tree and walked out into the midday sun. He headed uphill through the trampled grass to a small ledge of weathered sandstone. This put him at the same height as the approaching mounted men, so there he waited.

Eight riders drew up in a line before him.

“My lord,” Zanpolo greeted him. “I was told you led this motley army. I am sorry to see it!”

“Save your sorrow. You see before you the advance guard of the Army of the East.”

“I know of no such army. Who created it? Not the emperor.”

“We created it ourselves. Nomads had burned and looted half the eastern provinces. Were we to sit idle simply because the emperor could not be bothered to defend his own people?”

“I wouldn’t,” Zanpolo admitted.

“This parley is illegal! We cannot treat with a proscribed man!”

This outburst came from a younger warrior at Zanpolo’s left, the commander of the Caer Blades. He added, “By rights, we should take his head and present it to the governor!”

The young warlord’s hand moved to rest on his sword hilt, but Zanpolo growled, “This is a parley, Hallack. I’ll cut down the first man who dares draw a blade!”

Tol relaxed. With this proof of Zanpolo’s honor, he decided to make the appeal he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“Warriors of Ergoth,” he said loudly, for all to hear, “you know me. Some of you fought with me against the Tarsans. Ten years we fought together, hoot to boot, shoulder to shoulder. We were not city soldiers then, living in warm barracks and eating in taverns. For a decade we rode together, sleeping on the ground, eating from the same pot.

“After the war was won,^our late emperor, Pakin III, died and I was recalled to Daltigoth. So were many of you. There, while serving the new emperor, Ackal IV, I became involved in the machinations of the rogue wizard Mandes, who had done me much wrong. He was driven into exile and began a campaign of evil against the empire. I convinced His Majesty Ackal IV to let me bring Mandes to justice. This I did.”

The Riders, except for Zanpolo, showed signs of impatience. They knew this story. Tol’s next words erased their boredom.

“It was the worst mistake of my life. While I was away from Daltigoth, Prince Nazramin usurped the throne.” Anger bloomed on Lord Hallack’s face. Tol pinned him with a glare. “Yes, usurped,” he repeated. “Through the use of evil magic, Nazramin drove his brother mad, then had him deposed and murdered.

“When I returned from dealing with Mandes, the new emperor stripped me of my titles and authority, and had me beaten nearly to death. He could hardly allow the champion of his late, unhappy brother to go free, so he had me proscribed.

“For six years I have dwelt among the foresters, my friends the Dom-shu. There I learned again how decent and honest people behaved. We’ve long despised the tribes of the east as savages, but they treated me with fairness and generosity.”

Tol’s expression grew hard again. “Then the bakali and the nomads invaded the empire. Ackal V made only half-hearted attempts to defend the east, preferring to hold back the Great Horde to defend Daltigoth. With what result? Murder, pillage, fire, and waste! Juramona and a score of lesser towns are in ruins. Farms have been burned, herds scattered or slaughtered. Orchards have been left to rot, mines and markets are empty. Tens of thousands are without food or shelter. In the east there was no law, no order!

“Egrin, Raemel’s son, came to me in the Great Green and convinced me to return. I hammered together the Juramona Militia, which you see accompanying me today. We fought off armies of nomads while Egrin summoned the landed hordes from all the eastern provinces. Together, the militia and landed Riders drove the nomads out of the empire, slaying two of their great chiefs in the process.”

Zanpolo nodded, breaking his stern silence. “We heard as much, from prisoners,” he said. “We did not know you led the landed hordes.” A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Though I should have guessed.”

“This is irrelevant!” snapped Hallack, unable to contain himself any longer. “This man has been condemned by the emperor himself! It is our duty to arrest him and deliver him to the governor!”

“Our duty,” Zanpolo said quietly, “is to the empire.”

Tol looked his old comrade in the eyes. This was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear!

“I have thirty-two hordes in the Army of the East,” he said. “With the garrison of Caergoth added, we’ll be strong enough to defeat the bakali and save our country!”

“And what about the emperor?” asked Zanpolo, after a pause, black brows lifting.

Choosing his words with utmost care, Tol said, “An emperor who does not defend his country should not be emperor.”

“Treason!”

Lord Hallack erupted out of line, drawing his saber. Tol stepped back, reaching for Number Six, but before he had done more than grasp the hilt, Zanpolo spurred his horse forward. He caught Hallack’s sword arm in one hand, and with the other, backhanded him across the face. The harsh blow sent the Ackal loyalist flying from his horse. Out cold, he rolled over and over in the grass, down to the foot of Tol’s perch.

Zanpolo looked at the other two warlords, who sat calmly, hands folded across the pommels of their saddles.

“Moristan. Caminol. What say you?”

Moristan, commander of the Bronzehearts, inhaled and exhaled slowly. “For six years,” he said with customary deliberateness, “I’ve done nothing but collect taxes and chase unworthy bandits. When the nomads invaded, Wornoth kept us here to defend the city, even though the barbarians had no way to breach the walls.”

Caminol’s response was more succinct. “The Lightning Riders serve the empire, not one man,” he said, nodding to Tol and the other two warlords.

“So, what will you have us do, my lord?” Zanpolo asked Tol.

Hope surged through Tol’s weary frame. “Take Caergoth, first,” he said. “Will the hordes inside resist us?”

“A few young hotheads might, and Wornoth’s guard. No one of consequence.”

“Then let’s enter now. The governor will think we have surrendered and you have captured us!” The three warlords agreed.

Tol hurried back to his people, still clustered around the oak tree. When he told them what had transpired, they were incredulous. Except Miya.

“That’s Husband,” she said, shrugging. “Throw him in a pit of snakes, and he’ll make friends with all the vipers!”

The Juramonans formed two columns, one behind the other, and set off toward the city. Tol rode at the head of the foremost column. At Zanpolo’s order, the unconscious Lord Hallack was draped over his horse and the beast’s reins given over to one of his men. Word flashed like lightning through the Caergoth troops: instead of fighting Lord Tolandruth, they were going to follow him!