Somewhat embarrassed by their open conversation, I looked about the camp. I had no recollection of where we were, how we got there, or what the surrounding area might be like. All I could remember of Alexsander’s day was the hard riding and hard rain. To the west, where the sun was about to be lost, I saw a low patchwork of hills and fields. A forest lay a good distance to the south and east, but I recognised the trees as those native to the north of Reikova; they lacked the sense of immensity that I knew was the character of our destination. I wondered if Esteberg could still be seen to the north, but struggled to see beyond the tents. Such a sight would have done me little good.

When my turn came I was passed a plate.

A broad-shouldered man looked at me expectantly. ‘You must be the attached-ey?’

I blinked, then understood. ‘Yes.’

‘Come to me for some brekkie have you?’

‘Please.’

The man walked to the back of his stall and patted the flank of an enormous black packhorse. ‘Well, then, gots some porridge.’ He reached into the horse’s bags. ‘One quarts wheat, three quarts barley I makes it. To you, that’s two silver kreers.’

‘Two silver?’ I stuttered, looking about to see if the soldiers either side me were similarly shocked. I wondered if they earned so much in a month.

‘You see, they pays much more than that.’ The man gazed out at the eating soldiers. ‘They pay with their lives, don’t they?’

Rather than back away I paid the man and ate every thin mouthful until I was no longer ravenous. I found that to be the case with most of my interaction with the King’s prized Dragoon Guards: everything was dealt with to my satisfaction, but that satisfaction was as shallow as the puddles left from the day’s rain. The large man waved to me from beside his black horse as I left the mess area.

It was a short night, between the extra hours in the saddle and my bodily exhaustion. I spent some time wandering the camp, exchanging soft words with wary soldiers. My general impression was of a less than enthusiastic fighting force. They seemed surly, with a distrust not just of me – a stranger, a civilian – but of everything and everyone. This was no regiment marching gloriously off to war, singing songs and waving hats as they did so. They had many a muttered opinion regarding their orders, their posting, and their divine monarch. Many of which I found myself agreeing with, not that they would find that much comfort.

I saw Cornet Pitzmun inspecting a supply wagon, and ducked behind a tent to avoid the young woman. I was in no mood for her unusual enthusiasm.

Eventually, I returned to my tent and fell asleep wondering if Alexsander and I would become more accustomed to life as a soldier in the few short days to Drekenford; like the colonel’s books-against-rifles, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that proposition.