The king’s war council was in session. In the Curia chamber, the dishes and cutlery of the evening’s supper had been cleared away some hours ago to make way for the maps and charts and books of military strategy which were the generals’ stock in trade. Amidst the dull rumble of half a hundred gruff voices, the head-work of making war continued as bright-colored markers on painted maps were advanced and withdrawn and scarred fingers traced out positions and troop movements. A light collation of cheeses, fruit, and bread had been brought in an hour before, and some of the men picked at the fare distractedly.

But no one was particularly interested in food at this point. Though wine goblets dotted the tables, and might be raised in burly fists from time to time, the atmosphere was essentially a sober one. Generals and tacticians worked shoulder to shoulder with princes of the Church, who sometimes were able to suggest startling innovations, despite their disclaimers of secular knowledge. Even minor officers of foot and horse were recruited for their specialized expertise, when warranted. The hall echoed to the ring of steel-shod heels on marble flags, to the clunking of scabbards against sturdy oak furniture as the men came and went.

The king, for his part, had made it his business to remain on the fringes of what was going on, circulating among the clergy and lesser nobles of his court to soothe pre-battle nerves and leaving all but the most critical decisions in the able hands of Morgan and Nigel and the other generals. To that end, he had elected to remain inconspicuous, clad in the simplest of crimson lion tunics and with raven head bare of any princely adornment, taking special care to reassure those among his nobles who had little to offer besides their goodwill.

When requested, Kelson would break away from whatever he was doing and rejoin the generals to consider some important point of strategy, to make some decision which only he could make. But he was astute enough to realize that, in the main, his generals and military advisors knew far more of war and military cunning than he did, for all the fact that he was the son of Brion Haldane, who had been an almost legendary leader of men. In the short term, it seemed the single most effective thing he could do was keep quiet and offend no one. For, without the support of every man in the royal army, they could not hope to stand against Wencit of Torenth in the week ahead.

Nor was Kelson alone in his determination to smooth ruffled feathers and make peace among the nobles of Gwynedd. Across the room, Morgan and Bishop Conlan were wrangling with three of Morgan’s western barons who had joined them at Coroth. Several of the younger lords and Nigel’s son Conall watched and listened with wide eyes. Prince Nigel, too, had been a part of the debate until a little while ago, but now he had returned to the main table to arbitrate some minor difference of opinion between Warin and the Earl of Danoc.