It was Heinrich. Mark opened his eyes. He was not even sure if he had been asleep. If he had, it was a shallow sort of slumber, dancing on the line between sleeping and waking. He had not slept so since the days he was a hunted man, pursued by Randwulf's men across the kingdom. Maybe it was because of Einar and his band of former Marauders that those days felt so close. Maybe it was simply the fact that a battle was soon to break out.

Just as he directed his men, Mark slept in full armor with his sword resting on his chest as if he had been laid in the catacombs. His joints felt stiff as he rose from his cot. They would get their exercise soon enough, he feared.

Petrus was waiting by the laver with a towel draped across his arm. Mark doffed his gloves and washed his face and hands. Once his ablutions were done, he knelt down for his morning prayers, joined by his squires, young Master Floki and Brother Matteus. No sooner had Mark uttered the final 'amen' than the bugler sounded the wakeup call.

Mark rose, donned his gloves once more and girded on his sword.

When they exited the tent, Sonia and Sir Emerich were waiting for them.

Mark had no expectation of signs and portents being so obvious.

Sir Emerich's suggestion had merit, but even if it left them vulnerable, they would be more vulnerable if they broke into open conflict with any of the mercenary companies with the rebels all about them.

It was a wonder the rebels did not seize the opportunity to attack during the night. They wanted this parley to happen, but to what end? Surely after all they had done, they had no intention of surrendering themselves, so why the parley? They could mean treachery by assembling the enemy leaders in one place, either to take them hostage or to kill them outright. They could be stalling for time while their forces move to a more advantageous position. If they were not intent on holding their ground, they could withdraw entirely and force the expedition to go on a merry chase until they were driven to the point of exhaustion. Of all the likely scenarios, none of them were good.

Realizing he could not get Mark to give him orders that would excuse him from the burden of making a decision that could be held against him later, Sir Emerich grumbled, "As you say, milord."

They proceeded to conduct the morning inspection. Everything was in order. After some words of encouragement and caution for the men, Mark headed to the Ducal Hird's encampment with Sonia, Floki, and his squires in tow.

The men standing guard on the edges of the Hird's encampment did not challenge them as they approached and so Mark took that as a sign to proceed forward. The tents of the Archduke and the six jarls selected to accompany him were in the center of the encampment and were nearly as large as the meeting tent set before them. Two Hirdmen were posted outside the opening to the meeting tent.

Mark and Sonia dismounted and handed their horses over to the squires, who took them to a nearby hitching post.

Inside the tent were the Archduke, Captain Alcimenes, the six jarls, and several attendants.

Mark suspected it was more than just the hour that explained why he appeared so weary.

He pointed to the map on the table with his vine staff. He had the shatranj pieces in place and moved the white king toward the black one.

He then moved a white rook close to the white king.

Though Captain Alcimenes would not have known what she said in Everardian, he was able to surmise her meaning and without being bidden, he said, "We can surely expect them to assemble more than that."

He moved four black pawns to about the same distance behind the black king as the rook was behind the white king. He then pointed to the white pieces representing the encampment.

Mark had observed two schools of thought when it came to parleys. One was that both parties would be unarmed so that treachery would be exceedingly difficult if not impossible. The other was that they would both be permitted their arms as a sign of trust and an assurance that treachery would come at a price. Both had their own sort of honor to them and both carried certain risks.

Mark was not expecting good faith from the rebels, but if they were to go unarmed and be met with treachery, he did have a hidden weapon he did not mean to disclose, the Earth Pendant he won during his quest against the Omnimancer back he was yet a stripling. He knew that Sonia kept a little dagger tucked away in the fashion of her ancestors and was not likely to relinquish it even if she could be induced to part with her sword. They would not be entirely vulnerable.

At least he was not entirely naive.

Mark got the distinct sense that the Archduke had hoped to conduct this campaign entirely from the rear. Even if the rebels could be bowed into surrender, it would not be by this man. His weakness practically guaranteed the battle to come, but it was not Mark's place to give voice to such thoughts. God preserve them.

They exited the tent and servants were dispatched to fetch the mounts of the Archduke and his fellow jarls. Mark motioned to Sonia to wait until the horses arrived before mounting themselves. While they were waiting, Mark took a moment to appraise his squires. They seemed to be holding up rather well, all things considered. They could not hide their anxiousness, but they were able to maintain a respectable bearing. Young Floki, on the other hand, looked rather pale, almost as if he had been drained of his blood. Brother Matteus was busily whispering words of encouragement to him.

Mark motioned for the monk to permit him to continue.

Mark nodded and replied, "Indeed so."

Sonia patted her sword.

Heinrich and Petrus replied with a "Yes, milord," and a "Yes, Master," respectively while Floki only nodded numbly.

It was about that time that the servants returned with the horses for the Archduke and his entourage. As they were mounting, Mark and his group mounted as well. The lot of them then rode out of the encampment.

In the field where they were to have their parley, a rude tent had been raised for the occasion, and where the Archduke had some fifty riders at his back, nearly five hundred of the rebels were assembled a short distance from the tent. As they got closer, Mark could see that they were very nearly all peasants armed with farming implements and other simple tools that would have been ready at hand. If they could be shaken, as most peasant mobs could, they would be easy prey for a cavalry charge. However, the people who could wreak devastation as was done at the abbey were not likely to be so easily shaken.

The troop of horsemen halted about a hundred paces from the tent, roughly equivalent to the distance held by the rebel mob. There were two men geared as Hirdmen standing guard outside the opening of the tent. Either they were Hirdmen who had mutinied or rebels who had plundered the gear off the slain. Whatever the case may have been, the Archduke grimaced at the sight of them. Captain Alcimenes gritted his teeth but held his tongue as they passed by the men and entered the tent.

Inside they were met by a tall woman clad in a bronze breastplate molded in the likeness of a naked torso, as was apparently the fashion among the ancients—though never for women as far as Mark knew. A small bronze plate tied by a leather thong served as an eyepatch. There was a cut that ran from her cheek up her forehead past the brow and it was not an old wound either as it was still bound up in stitches. She had severe hawklike features and certainly appeared worthy of the name Tisiphone. Two women and three men with her were equipped similarly, while a cloaked man hung further back, his features concealed beneath his hood.

The Archduke did not say anything at first. His hesitation was starting to become uncomfortable when he finally mustered the willpower to speak.

She balked at this.

There was much Mark could have said, but he held his peace. It was the Archduke who had to treat with this woman, though it was like setting a mouse against an adder.

Mark could feel the anger roiling in his gut. He was thankful none of his Templars were in attendance. They would not have as much sufferance for this woman, but this was still a parley. For their honor's sake, they needed to observe the forms so long as the other side did as well. Provocative words alone could not justify bloodshed.

Nevertheless, Mark rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and began to channel energy, much as he had done in their encounter with the mountain bandits. When this parley would take its inevitable turn for the worst, he would be ready and he could wreak havoc on the mob assembled outside.

The cloaked man stepped forward and whispered something in Tisiphone's ear. She turned her attention to Mark.

To most any observers, the way his hand rested should have caused no concern as it was his offhand and not in a position suited for drawing. It was as if she knew what he was doing and indeed that proved to be the case.

She nodded to Sonia after uttering that epithet, 'the Witch of Flames'. Though Sonia had the same Grecian blood as Mark, she did not have the same command of the language, though she could tell that Tisiphone was speaking about her.

Mark knew that voice. It had been years, but it was not so changed that he would not recognize it.

The cloaked man stepped forward, pulling back his hood and said, "It has been such a long time, Mark the Guardian."

Mark's hand acted of its own accord and he drew his sword. Sonia was only a moment slower on the draw, having only tasted a portion of the torment the cloaked man had dished out in his wicked days. It was only through the most strenuous force of will that Mark restrained himself from charging forward and piercing the villain's black heart in that moment.

Naturally, the Archduke and his entourage were alarmed and those with Tisiphone were quick to ready their own weapons.

Again, the Archduke pleaded, "Put them away, please!"

The cloaked man only laughed at the scene.

The cloaked man was Brenok, a scion of House Serkan who had been Mark's childhood tormentor before his ambition led him to blacker and blacker deeds. He went from the tutelage of the Omnimancer who nearly unmade the kingdom of Byrn to the dread warlock who ushered in Randwulf's conquest of Gladius. What monster was he pledged to now? Or had he grown into a proper monster in his own right?

Brenok clearly knew how Mark would react to the sight of him and the fact that Mark acted exactly as he was expected to act provided no small amusement for the twisted devil in human shape.

Ever more in a panic, the Archduke cried, "Lord Mark, I beg you!"

With a smug grin, Brenok said, "You don't want to start a war over a personal grudge, now do you, Marko?"

Again, the Archduke pleaded with his Gladian guests.

Captain Alcimenes added his voice, saying, "Lord Mark, Lady Sonia, put away your swords. What would your King say if he learned you broke faith here?"

King Edric himself would probably not think much of it at all, but if it would mar the kingdom's reputation and imperil their commerce, surely the patricians surrounding him would make a huge scandal of it. Their houses would be made to answer for it and the people in their domains would pay the price.

Though he knew he would regret not seizing the opportunity to rid the world of Brenok, Mark sheathed his sword. Sonia did not, though.

His was perhaps the only voice she would heed and reluctantly she sheathed her sword as well, saying, "We're going to regret this, Mark."

However, even with the two of them putting away their weapons, there was no relief to be found for the tense air about them.

Seemingly clueless to this tension, a relieved Archduke sighed and said, "Now that's better. Lady Tisiphone, please forgive our Gladian guests. Their manner of greeting old friends must seem strange to you, but they mean no harm."

If he thought he could bluff past a woman like Tisiphone like that, he was sorely mistaken.

The parley was ended and Mark did not intend to wait for the enemy to draw together their forces. Most of all, he was not going to give Brenok the chance to work his black arts. He drew his sword once more, perhaps the fastest his hand had moved in many years, and lunged at the sorcerer. However, even this Brenok anticipated, gliding back past the reach of Mark's sword, laughing all the while as a sooty cloud billowed out from under his cloak.

The two kinsman had fought and trained at each other's side long enough that nothing else needed to be said. From within the darkness of the cloud, there was a flash of red light and a wall of flame rose up where Tisiphone and her people had stood, tearing apart the tent as it did.

Mark seized the Archduke to pull him along as they retreated. Even with his vision obscured, he could make out the shapes of the guards standing outside the tent. He slashed at one, but the man was skilled enough to block with his shield. As they were in need of haste, Mark loosed a lightning bolt from his sword and struck the man down. The other one was dispatched more cleanly by Sonia.

As they ran toward their mounts, Captain Alcimenes raised his silver horn to his lips and sounded it thrice. The battle had begun.