Free Warlord by Jennifer Fallon

man King Hablet has placed in charge of the Hythrun invasion.”
    As Baraban was speaking, the door opened and a much younger man than Brak was expecting stepped into the office. He wasn’t that tall, with a slender build, dark hair and an aristocratic bearing. He wore the pretentious silver and white dress uniform of Hablet’s own Guard and appeared to be in his early thirties, which meant he was either exceptionally good or exceptionally well connected at court.
    He eyed Brak and Chyler disdainfully. “These are the criminals you propose to employ?” he asked Baraban, without even acknowledging the presence of the Plenipotentiary’s guests.
    “Ah, yes, my lord, this is Chyler Kantel and her associate, Master …” He looked at Brak blankly as it dawned on him he didn’t know his name.
    “You can call me Brak.”
    “This is Master Brak.”
    “Lord Baraban has explained what I expect of you?” Regis asked the visitors.
    “Lord Baraban has explained nothing,” Chyler replied. “And you can expect all you want, my lord , but you won’t be getting anything out of me or my people until I get some idea of what’s going on here.”
    “I need more intelligence,” Lord Regis announced.
    Brak couldn’t help himself. “Perhaps you’d be happier just learning to live with what you were born with, my lord.”
    Regis may have had a lot of friends at court, but apparently he didn’t have much of a sense of humour. He glared at Brak. “If you’re not going to take this seriously …”
    “You’ll do what , my lord?” Chyler asked, grinning broadly. She obviously thought Brak’s joke was funny. “Find another band of border bandits to do your dirty work for you?” She rose to her feet, unconcerned. “Fine by me. Come on, Brak, if we leave now we can be back at—”
    “Now, now, Chyler, there’s no need to be hasty …” Baraban hurried to assure her. “Sit down, please, so we can talk about this, eh?”
    With some reluctance, Chyler did as Baraban asked and resumed her seat. “What exactly are you offering?”
    “Your people are familiar with the mountains,” Regis replied, clasping his hands behind his back, standing unconsciously “at ease.” Whoever this man was, Brak decided, he had a military background. “I’m led to believe you move quite freely across the border and have ways of doing so which don’t involve using the Widowmaker Pass.”
    “You can forget it, my lord, if you want us to lead your army over the border without going past Winternest,” Chyler warned, crossing her legs as she leaned back in her seat. “One man can make it if he knows the terrain, two or three at the most. There’s a reason they built the road through here, you know.”
    “But your people can move in and out of Hythria without being detected, yes?” Regis was quite adamant about that.
    “Yes,” Chyler conceded.
    “Then that is all I ask of you, Mistress Kantel,” he said. “I just want to use your people to find out what’s happening in Hythria.”
    “They’re being wiped out by the plague,” Brak reminded the general. “That’s what’s happening in Hythria.”
    “I’m more interested in their troop movements.”
    “Assuming they have any troops left to move.”
    Axelle Regis stared at Brak suspiciously. “You seem singularly unenthusiastic about this operation, Master Brak.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Brak more closely. “You’re not Fardohnyan, are you?”
    “I was born in Medalon, actually, but that’s not really the point, is it? What you’re asking is no small favour. These people follow Dacendaran. You’re asking them to change their allegiance to Zegarnald and risk being hanged as spies if they’re caught in Hythria.”
    “No victory worth having comes without cost,” Regis said.
    “Which is all well and good when you’re paying with other people’s lives.”
    “Enough, Brak,” Chyler warned, glancing up at him. “I think you’ve made your point.” She turned