‘Upon the dawn of a day promising glorious battle! Permit me to elaborate. The battle is yours and the glory is mine. There will be no confusion regarding this matter, I trust. Excellent! You are here, and you will fight in my name, for one perfectly reasonable reason – to wit, because you are not over there, upon the valley’s other side, fighting in the name of him, or her. In other words, you are here and not there. Is that clear, then?’

‘Sire! Sire!’

‘What is it?’

‘I have a brother who fights for him or her, over there!’

‘That man is no brother of yours, fool.’

‘But our mother—’

‘Your mother was a whore and a liar! Now, where was I?’

Dathenar sighed. ‘We were being stirred unto inspiration.’

Prazek waved a hand. ‘I hold high this sword, my kin, my comrades, and with it do point that way, towards the enemy. And where my sword points, you follow. You will march, yes, and when close enough, why, you will charge, and if you prevail, I will be pleased, and further pleased to send those of you left alive back to your shacks and barns, if you please. But if you fail, I’ll not be pleased. No, not at all. In fact, your failure will mean that I’m likely to get my skull cracked open—’

‘Spilling into the ditch minarets and towers and spires all tumbling every which way. Crowns askew, robes besmudged, bared head laid bare through and through, and, alas, godliness snuffed out like a guttered candle.’

‘Just so. Was that succinct enough, then? Now, we march to war!’

With this strident challenge ringing in the air, the two men fell silent, both slumping a bit further into their saddles. Until Dathenar sighed and said, ‘Never mind the peasants, Prazek, and let’s speak instead of prisoners.’

‘A touchy subject,’ Prazek replied. ‘Of crime or duty?’

‘Your distinction reeks of the disingenuous.’

‘In this mud, no distinction is possible.’

‘And we not yet upon battle’s field.’

Prazek stood on his stirrups and looked about, eyes narrowed.

‘What now, brother?’

‘Somewhere, lying in the grasses about us, is a pillager of prose, a looter of language.’

Dathenar snorted. ‘Nonsense, we but ape the noble cause, my friend. With hairy discourse.’

Settling back down in the saddle, Prazek scowled. ‘Let us defy the ghost, then, and ride on in silence. I must prepare, in my mind, my stirring speech to my prisoners.’

‘You’ll win their hearts, I am sure.’

‘I need only their swords to cheer.’

‘Yes,’ Dathenar grunted, ‘there is that.’

A short time later, a score of crows winged out from the hills, and made their way overhead, seeking the distant trees. The two officers exchanged a look, but, for a change, neither spoke.

* * *