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"Yes, I listened. What else was I to do? Had I dared to defy you, you would either have
killed me or wrenched my mind to make me do your will. I could not stand against all of
you. I was only one frail human man."
"And have there been no martyrs before?" Cullen observed coldly. "That, too, was a
choice open to you, had you dared to take it. If your beliefs were as fervent as you now say,
why did you not continue to refuse us, come what might? We were not easy on you, Cinhil,
but you cannot wholly lay the blame on us. With a stronger vessel, we could not have
succeeded."
"Well, perhaps you have not succeeded yet!" Cinhil shouted.
With a sob of indignation, he lurched from the pavilion at a dead run, clutching his cloak
around him like a madman.
"Open warfare," Camber murmured, when Cinhil s pounding footfalls had faded from
hearing.
"He'll come to his senses," Cullen said. "He must, or I have truly set us all to ruin. I'm
sorry. I suppose it was the final eruption of all my own frustration."
Joram bowed his head, toying with a stole he still held in his hands. "I'm partially to
blame. I lost my temper. I goaded him. Father, I'm sorry you had to be associated with
this. It will only make things more difficult for you."
He looked up at his father in sorrow, but Camber merely shrugged and smiled.
"He has a few hours to cool off. Perhaps he needed to hear that. It was truth as was his
side."
"Truth." Cullen sighed and buckled his sword over the blue Michaeline surcoat he now
wore.
"Truth. In a few hours, I expect we shall all know real truth."
chapter six
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, 1 have kept the faith.
II Timothy 4:7
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There was no time to ponder further consequences in the hour which followed. Final
orders must be given, scouting reports digested, horses fed and groomed and saddled,
weapons inspected and tested one final time before the coming battle.
Camber, with a subdued Joram at his side, repaired to his Culdi levies to confer with his
captains. Cullen gave his Michaeline knights as tough an inspection as they had ever stood,
tight-lipped and taciturn as his second-in-command led him along the battle lines.
To Rhys had fallen the task of organizing a hospital corps, of making optimum use of the
dozen Healers and perhaps twice that many human surgeons they had been able to recruit
for the war effort. The surgeons and their assistants would have their hands full by the end
of the day, for the Healers' ministrations must be confined to those in mortal need, while
the surgeons took care of lesser injuries. Those who could be helped by neither would see
the priests, for the cure of their souls, if nothing else.
But even Rhys's planning would make little difference to the majority. Battle shock,
added to actual injuries, would claim more lives than could be saved, even had they three
times the number of Healers. They dared not risk such valuable men in actual battle, with
the result that the wounded must lie where they fell until the battle was over.
As for Cinhil, there was little that could be done. The king retreated to his pavilion
precipitously after leaving Cullen and the others, and was not seen again until time for him
to mount the great horse Frostling and ascend the ridge. Jebediah escorted the king,
having been warned by Joram of the verbal altercation with Cullen, and he did his best to
remain as unobtrusive as possible while still performing his duties. Orders were given
quietly, preferably after asking Cinhil's formal permission. Cinhil responded in as few
words as possible, civil but much subdued, with the taut precision of anger held rigidly in
check.
Where the men were concerned, Cinhil played his part well. Though no one dared to
cross him, they read his silence as quiet confidence. But within the protection of steel and
leather, Cinhil was anything but calm. He clenched his teeth and willed his hands steady
on the charger's reins, grateful for the shelter of his crowned helm. His innards tied in
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