‘I think we’d better go and talk with Dolmant,’ Preceptor Darellon said. ‘The situation has changed a bit. Why don’t you round up your friends, Sir Sparhawk, and we’ll go back to the chapterhouse.’

‘Pass the word, Kurik,’ Sparhawk told his squire. ‘Let all our friends know that King Wargun’s come to our rescue.’

Kurik nodded.

The Patriarchs were enormously relieved to hear of King Wargun’s approach and even more relieved to hear that Annias had incriminated himself. ‘The colonel can even testify about the arrangement Annias and Martel have with Otha,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘The only unfortunate part of the whole business was that Annias and Martel escaped.’

‘How long will it take for word of this turn of events to reach Otha?’ Patriarch Emban asked.

‘I think we’ll almost have to assume that Otha will know about the change in the situation here almost as soon as it happens, Your Grace,’ Preceptor Abriel told him.

Emban nodded with a look of distaste. ‘More of that magic business, I suppose.’

‘It’s going to take Wargun quite some time to regroup and start to march into Lamorkand to meet the Zemochs, isn’t it?’ Dolmant said.

‘A week or ten days, Your Grace,’ Vanion agreed, ‘and even that’s cutting it a little fine. Advance elements from both armies will be able to move out more rapidly, but neither main force will be able to start in less than a week.’

‘How far can an army move in a day?’ Emban asked.

‘Ten miles maximum, Your Grace,’ Vanion replied.

‘That’s absurd, Vanion. Even I can walk ten miles in four hours, and I don’t move very fast.’

‘That’s when you’re walking alone, Your Grace.’ Vanion smiled. ‘A man out for a stroll doesn’t have to worry about keeping the rear of a column from straggling, and when the time comes to sleep for the night, he can roll himself in his cloak under a bush. It takes quite a bit longer to set up an encampment for an army.’

Emban grunted, laboriously hauled himself to his feet and waddled to the map of Eosia hanging on the wall of Sir Nashan’s study. He measured off some distances. ‘They’ll meet about here then,’ he said, stabbing one finger at a spot on the map, ‘– on that plain to the north of Lake Cammoria. Ortzel, what’s the country like around there?’

‘Relatively flat,’ the Lamork Patriarch replied. ‘It’s mostly farmland with a few patches of woods here and there.’

‘Emban,’ Dolmant said gently, ‘why don’t we let King Wargun work out the strategy? We have our own business to attend to, you know.’