“So long as you honor the truce proclaimed by your standard, you need not fear. What message do you bear from your king besides his felicitations?”

Lionel’s dark eyes swept Bran and his men as he bowed once again. “My lord Earl of Marley, Wencit Furstán Padishah, King of Torenth and Tolan and the Seven Tribes to the East, desires the honor of your presence at his temporary headquarters in the city of Cardosa. There he would meet with you to discuss the possibility of a cessation of hostilities and mutual withdrawal from the area in dispute, or perhaps some other solution that your lordship might care to suggest. His Majesty has no quarrel with the Earl of Marley, and would not wish to do battle with one whom he has esteemed for many years. He awaits your immediate reply.”

“Don’t do it, m’lord,” Campbell rumbled, stepping closer to Bran as though to shield him. “It’s some kind of trick.”

“It is no trick, my lord,” Lionel interjected. “So that you may be assured of His Majesty’s sincerity, he has commanded that I and my escort remain as hostages against your safe return. You may bring one of your officers with you, if you desire it, as well as an honor guard of ten men. You are free to leave Cardosa and return to your camp at any time should you feel that further discussion would not be worth your while or in your best interests. I believe the offer is more than generous, my lord. Do you not agree?”

Bran studied the man unwaveringly for several seconds, his face unreadable, then motioned for Gwyllim and Campbell to follow him into the tent. Inside, the walls were hung in blue and ochre velvet, rich furs on the carpets and draped across the carved camp chairs. Bran crossed to the center of the tent and toyed with the hilt of his dagger, then turned to study the faces of his two captains.

“Well, what do you think? Ought I to go?”

The two exchanged furtive glances before Campbell spoke.

“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I still don’t like it. What can we possibly gain from such a parley, besides a new chance for treachery? Regardless of what this Duke Lionel says, I don’t think for a minute that Wencit plans to withdraw. There is no question that he can win if he decides to come down off his mountain; it’s just a matter of how many men he’ll have to lose in order to do it. And if he uses magic…”

“Faithful Campbell,” Bran smiled grimly, “ever the gadfly, reminding me of the truths I would rather avoid. Gwyllim?”

Gwyllim shrugged thin shoulders under his blue woolen cloak. “Campbell is right in part, my lord. I think we have known all along that we cannot hold the pass for long, if Wencit decides to come down. I wonder what sort of agreement he hopes to reach? Also, I am inclined to agree with Campbell that it smells like a trap. I hesitate to advise you one way or the other.”