A sound came from their right. The general turned to see a man standing before the Temple of Nartis, one of three temples not stand¬ing on the plain itself. Dev, peering through the pillars, could see it was empty.

Odd, he thought, shouldn't the priests of Nartis be performing the final ritual of the night?

The man walked towards them and offered a respectful bow that was not returned. General Dev glanced at his companions. Each group consisted of a tachrenn, commander of a thousand axemen, and a few of their command staff – like General Dev, they had been instructed to bring only their closest advisors, and no guards. No doubt they feared they were to be slaughtered before the city awakened, but General Dev suspected something else. Killing them quietly, even in guarded stoneduns, was easy enough to arrange. They wouldn't have been invited to the Temple Plain if Lord Styrax wanted them all dead. To bring together the commanders of the legions that comprised the Ten Thousand – or at least, those who remained after the Menin's comprehensive victory – with neither ceremony nor great secrecy: that spoke of respect, rather than a knife in the back.

The man, a Menin servant, he assumed, wore a nondescript grey robe tied at the waist, and loose grey trousers. He beamed at the eight groups of men. 'Good morning, General Dev, and Tachrenn of the Ten Thousand; my Lord requests your presence for a small Menin tradition down on the Temple Plain.'

'Do we look like we care about Menin traditions?' spat Tachrenn Lecha, a tall Chetse with his arm still in a sling from a spear-wound he'd received in the battle.

'Lecha,' General Dev rumbled, unwilling to let the younger tachrenn stir trouble already, 'it's a little early for incivility.'

'Incivility? General, you do recall that they have occupied our capi¬tal city – or has your new creature-friend made you forget that?' said Lecha, appalled at what he viewed as his commander's collaboration. Tachrenn Lecha had organised much of the city's resistance; General Gaur had said as much in his last meeting with Dev, and he had made it clear they were losing patience with the man. Dev was far from happy with the situation himself; he was getting pressure from both sides, and life grew more complicated with every day. Very few Chetse approved of his current understanding with Lord Styrax and he had yet to decide himself whether he'd done the right thing.

'I remember,' Dev said, ignoring the tachrenn's disrespectful tone, 'and I also remember that our legions lack the weapons to stop Lord Styrax slaughtering any part of the population he pleases – and I also remember that most conquering armies would have executed us all after our city fell. I remember hearing only yesterday that a Chetse army marching to our aid from Cholos was crushed. So until the time has come when we are in a position to throw off our oppressors, please try not to antagonise the white-eye currently ruling us.'

Not waiting for a response, the ageing Chetse started off down the massive stair. He could feel the resentment behind him, but he knew there was nothing to do other than ignore it. Beside him hovered his nephew, a young infantryman acting as his aide since he was still none too steady on his feet after the recent injury. As he neared the Temple of the Sun and once again saw a white-eye waiting for him, General Dev felt his head start to throb again. His vision swam for a moment, causing him to hesitate enough for his nephew to notice and take his arm.

'Gods,' Dev muttered, loud enough only for his nephew to hear, 'I was too old for this even before I got my skull cracked.'

After more than a hundred steps, set in a zigzag of three straight sections, he found himself on the plain, approaching the looming bulk of the Temple of the Sun, which was lit faintly from within by the eternal flame. The white shaft of light that ran from altar to apex shone only inside the temple's boundary line. The pale stone of the temple glowed, and grew even larger in the dim of dawning morn.

Once they reached the temple, Dev realised that none of the figures waiting for them beside the small fire was in fact Lord Styrax, though the lord's son, Kohrad, was there, slumped in a campaign chair and wrapped in what looked like white ceremonial robes. He looked drawn and sickly still, and the skin of his face and hands was blistered and scarred.

Curious: removing that burning armour from his body weakened the boy more than anyone could have expected, Dev thought. The man hovering at Kohrad's elbow looked like a doctor – he didn't envy the man if his charge died.

Predictably, General Gaur was amongst those awaiting them. The bestial warrior nodded to the group, but had the good sense not to greet Dev personally. The apparent leader was Duke Vrill. He was the exception to the white-eye rule, for not only was he smaller than most of his kind, he was little more than half-decent as a warrior. Even stranger, he made up for that in other ways, for he was renowned as a cunning and patient strategist.

Dev guessed the duke must have recently returned to the city. He had been overseeing the ongoing campaign against the last two Chetse cities defying the Menin. Tachrenn Lecha insisted the con¬tinuing resistance was a sign that they could still drive the Menin out of Thotel, but Dev knew he was not alone in believing the only reason Cholos and Lenei remained free was because neither city was important enough for Lord Styrax to bother with yet.

'Honoured guests,' Duke Vrill declared with a broad grin, his arms spread theatrically, 'it is a Menin tradition to take tea at the breaking of dawn, in a place of quiet reflection. I do hope you will join us in saluting the day's first light.'

One of the assorted soldiers gave a snort of amusement. Lecha voiced the collective thought. 'What tradition is this/' he asked. 'Just to drink tea as dawn breaks?' He didn't bother to hide the contempt in his voice, but Duke Vrill ignored it, as few white-eyes would have.

The Menin duke stepped forward, his eyes on the tachrenn, and said softly, 'Just to drink tea, and to consider the beauty of the Land as it is revealed.'

'No particular ceremony with the tea, then?'

'None; I've always thought that ritual tends to get in the way of enjoyment – but it is tea brought from our home in the Ring of Fire. You could consider it symbolic tea, if you like.' Somehow, the duke managed to keep any mocking tone from his voice.

1)ev stepped in before Lecha refused the tea on symbolic grounds

this was obviously a face-saving pretext so both sides could come together in relative peace. He could smell business needing to be discussed.

'I would be glad for tea,' he said loudly, 'and like all old men, I have learned that one should take any opportunity to appreciate the beauty of our Land.'

'One must always take the time to pay attention to what's around,' boomed a deep voice from the temple, and they turned to see Kastan Styrax step out from the lee ol a pillar. The massive white-eye lord was swathed in a long grey cloak, but Dev's schooled eye detected the full suit of armour underneath the enveloping material.

'Strange, none of the others are dressed for battle,' Dev muttered to himself, looking around discreetly. The two soldiers tending the fire had sheathed swords on their hips, of course, as did Kohrad Styrax and Duke Vrill, but no one else was armoured.

What is playing out here? Dev wondered. Styrax s helm is lying on the temple floor, and he surely knows no crowd of old soldiers is going to miss his gear – he wants to make it very clear that he's the only one ready for battle, but why? 1 really am too old for this.

Once the two soldiers had served tall cups of pale green tea to each man they retired to a respectful distance.

Dev realised Lord Styrax was watching him fixedly and with a curt nod, he ordered his aides to do likewise. One by one, the tachrenns copied him. Although some looked less than happy, it would have been a gross insult not to follow their commander's lead. Even Tachrenn Lecha wouldn't defy his general quite so openly.