“There is, at heart, very little wrong with the common folk of the South-shires. True, they are lazy and tend towards the dull-witted, but they need only a firm hand at the tiller. Alas, simple folk are easily led astray. By troublemakers we have singularly failed to capture, much less eliminate.”

“It’s not the fault of our soldiers,” said Lord Akadra. “There are too many Forbidden Places in the Southshires. Without kraikons . . .”

“But if your son is successful, the scoundrels will no longer be in hiding. They’ll be ours for the taking.”

Lord Akadra grimaced. “The Council promised clemency. Viktor bears documentation with our signatures, and our seal.”

Makrov snorted. “Promises to traitors have no validity. There will be few tears shed at Council, save by the likes of Lord Reveque. But we don’t have the soldiers.”

“We won’t need many,” said Lady Ebigail. “One regiment would do. We’ll wait for this Hadari nonsense to run its course. I’ve no doubt Viktor will have his triumph – he is singularly determined – but even triumph will leave the dissidents weary and vulnerable. We’ll take the ringleaders, Josiri Trelan included, before they even know their danger. The common folk will fall into line. They did fifteen years ago.”

“Much good it did us in the long run.”

“History is a bloodstain,” sniffed Lady Ebigail. “One that must be re-inked ere it fades from memory.”

“We don’t have a regiment,” said Lord Akadra. “They’re committed to reinforcing the border.”

“We have a few companies of the 7th, and the 12th are only a day away – they’re nearer the Southshires than we are. There was some confusion surrounding their orders and they made a late march.” Lady Ebigail offered a thin smile. “And we hardly need them on the border any longer. I understand Warleader Maggad woefully underestimated the task ahead of him and was bloodied accordingly. The Ravonn will hold.”

Makrov rubbed his chin and nodded. “And if the Hadari take the Southshires?”

“Then the 12th will fight to reverse the situation.” A note of sorrow crept into her voice. “And to avenge those poor, patriotic souls who perished for the good of the Republic.”

Lord Akadra gripped the arm of his chair. “Raven’s Eyes, Ebigail. That’s my son you’re talking about!”

“A parent can make no greater sacrifice than their child.” She shrugged. “Viktor’s a survivor. I don’t imagine the Hadari will end his tale.”

“And the Council,” said Makrov. “They will support this . . . endeavour?”

“Anton will stand with us,” she replied. “He would have been here, but had to bury that fool of a daughter. Loss will make him . . . tractable. We’ll have his support.”

“You won’t have mine,” growled Lord Akadra. “Do you forget, Ebigail? Viktor has my full backing. And I don’t fancy your chances of getting Abitha or Malachi to agree with this betrayal. Yes, betrayal, for that’s what it is.”