Raj Ahten’s answer was chilling. “We need leave no warriors to guard the Dedicates’ Keep.”

“What?” Feykaald asked. “You practically beg Orden to attack. You’ll get your Dedicates killed!”

“Of course,” Raj Ahten said. “But at least their deaths will serve some higher purpose.”

“Higher purpose? What higher purpose can their deaths serve?” Feykaald asked, wringing his hands, mystified.

But Jureem suddenly saw the plan in all its cruelty and magnificence: “Their murders shall nurture factiousness,” Jureem reasoned. “For years, the Northern nations have united against us. But if Orden murders Sylvarresta’s Dedicates, as he must, if he destroys his oldest and dearest friend, what will he win? He might weaken us for a few days, but he will weaken himself forever. Even if he should escape with the forcibles, the lords of the North will fear Orden. Some here in Heredon will revile him, perhaps even seek vengeance. All this shall work against House Orden, and destroying Orden is the key to taking the North.”

“You are most wise,” Feykaald whispered, glancing first at Raj Ahten, and then at Jureem, his voice filled with awe.

Yet such a waste saddened Jureem. So many men go through their lives content to do nothing, to be nothing. It was wise to harvest endowments from such men, put them to use. But wasting the lives of Dedicates this way—was a great shame.

Jureem and Feykaald shouted a few curt orders, and in moments the castle walls became alive as the troops prepared for the march. Men rushed to and fro.

Raj Ahten began heading along the narrow cobbled streets, wanting to be alone with his thoughts, walking past the King’s stables—some fine new wooden buildings that stood two stories tall. The upper story held hay and grain. The lower stabled the horses.

His men rushed everywhere, claiming the first steeds they found, shouting orders to stablehands.

As he passed, Raj Ahten peered into several open doors. A few Dedicate horses were kept in stalls, many of them hanging from slings where stablemasters groomed and pampered the unfortunate beasts. Barn swallows darted in and out through the open doors, peeping in alarm.

The stables became tremendously busy. Not only were Sylvarresta’s horses stabled here, but some of Raj Ahten’s finer beasts had been brought last night, to be cared for by Raj Ahten’s own stablemasters.

He had enough good warhorses to mount a decent cavalry.

Raj Ahten ducked into the last stable. The odor of dung and horse sweat clung in the air. Such stench irritated Raj Ahten, with his overdeveloped sense of smell. Raj Ahten’s stablemaster washed the master’s horses twice daily in lavender water and parsley, to diminish such offensive odors.