'That's something I don't get. Her mother is Queen of the Catti and Adrina is King Pius' adopted daughter. They're meant to be enemies. It doesn't make sense.'
'It doesn't have to make sense.' The sergeant pinched his nose and snorted. 'Nothing in this sodding island makes sense. What you have to remember is that hundreds of thousands of the heaven savages are out there and there's only ten thousand of us. One false move and they will forget they don't like one another ... they'll unite and turn on us.'
'One of the village girls told me Sky Warrior and the princess got together.'
'What?..You've been talking to the village girls?'
'Yes, Sarge. 'She said that after they'd done it the princess put a big purple mark on his neck.'
'Ye Gods. That's something worth knowing.'
The sergeant tapped his arm approvingly.
'What's your name then?'
'Alvero.'
'Well, Alvero my lad, that's a very valuable piece of intelligence what you've just told me. That's something which should be reported to the Lord Morgon.'
The sergeant's attention returned to the procession.
'Prepare to receive the royal party.'
He barked an order and the soldiers placed their hands on their chests and stood rigidly with their shields to the side. Orders required them to remain expressionless, eyes staring directly ahead. Alvero found that difficult.
In an open carriage, beside King Pius, there was a most beautiful girl. She reminded him of the girls in his home village, far to the south. Her hair was dark and so were her eyes. All his mates talked about her. The carriage reached the gate and she looked up. Their eyes met. Alvero smiled and, to his amazement, Adrina smiled back.
***
In the main square of Gorm, in front of the Great Hall, three men stood with their retainers. King Pius was flanked by white-haired chieftains. Grimwald, Grand Master of the Duideth, was accompanied by two white-robed priests. Morgon stood between them and fidgeted awkwardly.
The big man was not comfortable in their presence. He fiddled with the pommel of his sword and tried to make conversation with one of Pius' aristocratic companions. The old man spoke the southern language and had gained a reputation as a great warrior in his younger days.
Morgon felt at ease with the old soldier even though the man clearly disliked him. Being disliked was a way of life for Morgon. What he could not abide was a confrontation with weak-kneed individuals who wielded power through words no one else could understand. His inclination was to draw his sword and cut them down to size. Unfortunately, that solution rarely achieved its desired aim.