Morgan shrugged and slipped his glass into the case at his knee. “I think you would have been hard-pressed to dissuade her, my prince. I tried to talk her out of it last night, and she—well, she is a very determined woman.”

“So I have gathered. “Kelson sighed, turning in his saddle as Duncan conferred briefly with a guard captain and then moved his roan near. The banner riders were now galloping toward the Gwynedd lines, their white pennants snapping in the breeze.

“Our spotters identify Wencit’s man as Baron Torval of Netterhaven,” Duncan said. “He is one of Wencit’s elite officers. They’ll be bringing him here under guard to deliver his message.”

Kelson nodded and turned to Morgan. “You don’t suppose Wencit wants to offer terms already, do you?”

“Unlikely, my prince. And if so, they will be terms you could not think of accepting. That’s the way the game is played. My guess is that this will be yet another attempt to keep us off balance. Watch what you say to him.”

“Don’t worry.”

As the two riders approached, the Gwynedd men parted, and a band of Kelson’s crack cavalry fell in with the enemy messenger to escort him up the rise to the king. The man was bareheaded, his manner arrogant and assured as he reined his horse to a halt a few yards away. His jeweled satin surcoat glittered in the sunlight as he bowed slightly in the saddle. He could not have been more than twenty.

“Kelson of Gwynedd?”

“I am he. Speak your message.”

The young man bowed again, an unctuous smile touching his lips. “Torval of Netterhaven, my lord. I bear greetings from my Lord Duke Lionel, kinsman to our king.” He wagged his head toward the party still sitting their horses near the center of the plain. “His Grace comes at the behest of King Wencit to propose terms for the coming battle. He desires that you and a like number of your men ride out to discuss the matter.”

“Indeed?” Kelson said evenly. “And why should I parley with a mere duke? Why should I risk my safety if your king will not do the same? I do not see Wencit there on the plain.”

“Then name another in your stead,” Torval said glibly. “I am to remain hostage until their safe return.”

“I see.” Kelson’s tone was glacial, his eyes hard and cold, and he stared pointedly at Torval until the young Torenthi lord was finally obliged to lower his gaze. At that, Kelson glanced at Morgan, at his other commanders, then gathered up his reins.

“Very well, we will parley with your Duke Lionel. Uncle Nigel, you are in command until we return. Morgan, you and Arilan will accompany me to the actual meeting in mid-field. Father Duncan and Warin will ride with us partway with an escort.” He gestured toward two of the riders who had accompanied Torval up the rise. “Sergeant, please relieve the baron of his weapons and then bring him along with us.”