Tarfel signalled to his staff, hovering at the edge of earshot, then turned back to the camp. ‘Come on, Vedren, it’s almost time. Don’t make that face, it would have been a shame to let all Corvel’s preparations go to waste. Need to put on a good show for the citizens. God knows they’ve had little enough cheer of late.’

Chel watched the troops assembling at the camp’s edge, their armour less ornate and gleaming than the new king’s, but no less intimidating. Someone had taken inspiration from the golden lancers of Arowan.

‘Can you trust this bunch, Tarf?’ Chel said as they walked back into the camp. ‘I’m seeing a lot of a certain haircut growing out. At least half of them have to be—’

‘Confessors, yes. Formerly. They’ve renounced the church, of course. I’m reviving the Order of Sentinels, you see, sworn in our first intake. Don’t worry, my friend, you’ll always be my first sworn, even released, but felt it was time to bolster the numbers, eh?’

‘Is that wise?’

The king shrugged. ‘An oath is an oath, Vedren, and they know the penalties. I suspect they’ll keep each other honest. Otherwise …’ He waved an airy hand toward the stakes that still lined the road that led toward the city, looming over the sparse, nervous traffic.

Chel pursed his lips. The sightless eyes of Esen Basar stared back from their distant, lofty vantage. Tarfel followed his gaze. ‘I know you don’t agree, old chap, but think of the message otherwise. I’m supposed to be unifying, remember? Can’t go encouraging another half-dozen lordlings to try their hands. Still, we’ve got his lands to reapportion as favours, should encourage some bold displays of pre-emptive loyalty. Oh, don’t worry, Vedren, I’m not going to try to make you a duke.’

Chel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Your Majesty. It is time.’

Vashenda had appeared, looking more formal, more elegant, more ostentatious than ever. She rode a glossy bay, and led a muscular grey stallion in one gloved fist. A mounting block followed, carried by a pair of earnest grooms.

Chel leaned close to the king. ‘You’ve kept her around?’

‘Who better to aid in dismantling a malignant monolith than one versed in its inner workings, eh? She’s sharp. She’ll be useful. Don’t fret, Vedren. You don’t have to watch my every step any more. I was born to do this.’

He stomped up the mounting block, took hold of the grey and hauled himself, armour and all, into the saddle. Vashenda passed him the reins, and a moment later, mounted King Tarfel was walking slowly toward the road, an armoured column forming up in anticipation.

Chel watched dumbfounded. ‘You learnt to ride?’

‘I thought it was time,’ he called back. ‘A king can’t walk everywhere, or go bobbing along on a mule!’