Bran touched heels to his mount and they rode slowly from the palace, the silver-clad Honour Guard marching behind them. An hour later they cleared the gates, and took the horses into a light run across the western hills. Drawing rein at the top Bendegit Bran gazed back at the city of Stone.

'You look troubled, my friend,' said Fiallach.

'Indeed I am. War is coming, Fiallach.'

'But Jasaray said—'

'It doesn't matter what he said. He acts like a scholar and a man longing for peace. But he lives for war and conquest. I knew it when we saw the tiger in his gardens. Can you imagine at what cost they caught the beast and transported it thousands of miles? And for what? So that Jasaray could send it into the arena to be killed for sport, so that the mob of Stone could glimpse more blood. Is this the act of a scholar? No, he has won in the east and destroyed his enemies at home. Now he will seek to win the mob's approval with a war against the only enemy ever to have defeated a Stone army.'

'But what about his talk of King Shard, and his growing army? Surely Shard is a greater danger to Stone. He wouldn't have to cross the sea to fight Jasaray. His armies could march into Stone territory within days.'

'Indeed they could,' agreed Bran. 'But it is my belief that Jasaray and Shard have made an alliance. Come the spring, Shard will invade in the north, Jasaray in the south. We will have a war on two fronts.'

Swinging his horse, Bran headed west.

Fiallach rode after him. He respected Bran more than any other man, save perhaps Connavar. Bran was more than a general, and even the king deferred to him on matters of strategy and tactics. His mind was sharper than daggers, his skills in battle almost mystical. Connavar often said that Bran could read a battle the way other men read simple script.

'It is a shame that the Bastard saved him,' said Fiallach, as they angled their mounts down the slope and onto the wide western road.

Bran glanced at the giant warrior. 'Bane's act was heroic. I can't fault him for that.'

'I can,' said Fiallach, with feeling. 'He is no good, Bran. Born of treachery, he carries it in his blood.'

'I have heard this argued of bastards before,' said Bran, 'and I do not believe it. Bane carries the blood of Connavar in his veins. By Taranis, he even looks like him! He has courage and strength, and he deserved better than the treatment my brother gave him. It saddens me that you hate him so.'

'I do not wish to hear you criticize Connavar,' said Fiallach, anger creeping into his voice.