"We are too near Kopeth," Madia said, squatting amid a stand of thick brush, peering through leaves tinged with the first colors of autumn. She was reminded of another time, many months ago, when she had hidden herself this way. Her haunches ached from several days' riding, and they protested as she leaned forward to lift a bothersome branch. Still, she took grim comfort from the fact that Frost could barely walk.
The wizard knelt beside her, following her gaze. "I would go there," he said.
"Why?"
"To visit once more with the old wizard, Aphan. Without the proper spells to command the Blade, I am left to sorceries of my own devising, and they are not enough. Aphan may be able to help me improve on what I have learned. And," Frost added, giving Madia a nearly apologetic look, "he knows more of demons than any other; he remembers the stories. I must learn whatever I can."
"Ferris' men will be there," Madia reminded him.
"Of course. That cannot be helped. I will leave that problem in the capable hands of my Subartans."
Frost grinned at Madia, an evil sort of grin, or a perfectly satisfying one—Madia still considered herself Frost's third Subartan, at least whenever the need arose, and this was his way of reminding her that he agreed. But having earned the title of warrior did not matter to her quite as much anymore, no more than any other part of who and what she was supposed to be. No single part of anything mattered now, only the whole.
"We still must talk, all of us," Madia said, "of a plan for when we reach Kamrit again. You act as though you have ideas in mind and confidence enough, but you say nothing we can count on. I am beginning to know you, Frost. As with any man, such confidence is easily feigned."
Frost shrugged his shoulders, then let his hands rest upon the satisfying bulge of his abdomen. "I do not have a plan, at least not a good one," he said. "And you may be right to worry—with the omens calling me 'fool' at every turn, my confidence may be undue. Yet, you'll recall, you had no plan when I followed you to Kamrit."
"So you've said, and we were nearly destroyed."
Frost chuckled, more or less.
"I am glad you find this amusing," Madia replied.
"Humor can't hurt. The future looks to be a very sad thing. Even at Kamrit I had two good plans or we would not be here, yet now I have not even one. I've never felt so foolish before. In fact, prudence requires that I change my mind and simply disappear somewhere between here and Kamrit."
"You would not do that."
"I'm glad you are so convinced."
Madia frowned—as severe an expression as she could muster. "What of Jaran's question? Why did you not stir a pond and show us the way?"
"All spells, including mine, are limited, and by many things. The talent I used in Golemesk is useful for showing a possible future, but usually one that reflects what I want it to. I do not possess a gift like Aphan's. In his fires, he creates a window that looks on truths."
"Then what you showed the leshys and Tiesh was not real?"
"Possibly."
Madia considered him a moment, then she let her gaze wander. "A pity," she said.
"Truly," Frost remarked. "You have seen enough of my limitations, and still I must show you more."
"As usual, your concern centers on yourself."
"Not entirely," Frost answered.
"There must be a way to get to Ferris without fighting his entire army," Madia said, trying her best to move on. "Or some way to trick him into placing himself at our mercy, perhaps—a way to flush him out?"
"And then what?" Frost asked. "What do I do with him once I have him? Again we need two plans, and we have not one."
"But you spoke of attacking him with a single blow, using the Blade."
Another shrug, less cavalier. "I intend to try."
"Then you do not think such an attack will defeat him?"
"I have no idea, and that is the problem. I would enjoy a few years' practice with the Blade, time to learn more of its ways and how best to control them. And time to consult with others like Aphan about the weaknesses of demons, but we don't have that kind of time."
Frost turned to Jaran and his men, then Rosivok and Sharryl, who stood patiently waiting together behind him, holding the horses. No one said a word. "Come closer," he told the Subartans, then went about building false glamours for both of them, as well as for Madia and himself. When he was finished, they each took to their mounts and started toward the road.
"Strange," Jaran said, nudging his own horse in between Frost's and Madia's as they began. He looked at Madia from several angles. "Somehow, you seem easier to take when you look like this. My compliments, sir," he said, grinning at Frost.
"Accepted," Frost replied with a graceful bow.
Madia kicked at her horse and rode on ahead.
The streets of Kopeth were not so busy as they had been in spring, and merchants were not as plentiful. Many market stalls stood empty or nearly so, though a few, Frost noticed, were brimming with wares. Like the shops they had seen, some thrived, while others languished. In one of the market squares, he observed that soldiers, as they passed, only stopped to hassle certain traders, generally the poorest ones. Merchandise was insulted, merchants were taken aside for questioning. Yet other stalls, those best supplied, seemed to go unmolested. Fair trade, it was obvious, was another casualty of Lord Ferris' new realm.
Which would benefit a few for now and no one in time, Frost thought, once Ferris' greed exceeded the bounty of these lands and people.
Though that would not be the end of it. Such a creature as Ferris would only usurp new lands, whatever the cost. Finally no land would go untouched; nowhere Frost went would he be free of the demon, of what it had done to him, of what he would always fear it would still do. The choices before him were maddeningly few, and none of them allowed for sanity. Though in a way, that made an impossible decision just slightly more possible.
They reached the narrow streets of the city's western section, moving on foot, having left the horses outside the town. The buildings above hung out over the streets at perilous angles, and the sewage, for lack of rain, lay deep in the gutters and scattered onto the walk. As Frost led the others through a small intersection, a handful of soldiers wandered by at the end of the street, and one of them paused to peer down the way. After a moment, he moved on.
Since entering the city they had stayed mostly out of sight, and no one had yet taken them to task. As they continued, Frost felt a nagging at the back of his neck. A few houses more and he turned—to catch just a glimpse of someone taking to the cover of a doorway several houses back. He called to Rosivok and explained, and the warrior nodded.
Just beyond a small inn, they turned a corner and kept walking while Rosivok pressed his back to the inn's wall. Frost led the others a few feet further and paused, signaling them to prepare for trouble. There was no need.
Two soldiers, guards from Kamrit Castle, darted around the corner a moment later only to find Rosivok suddenly between them. Their eyes widened as he raised his subarta blade, then both men tried to draw their weapons as they stepped back. Rosivok was already driving forward, his powerful arm moving much too swiftly to allow a proper defense. In an instant both men lay mortally wounded, bleeding at Rosivok's feet. Sharryl and two of Jaran's men rushed up to help drag the soldiers from the street.
"There will be more," Jaran said. "Bouren soldiers walking the streets of Kopeth do nothing but invite trouble."
"We will make our stay a brief one," Frost replied. They moved quickly on, making their way to the tiny home of Aphan, where Frost asked the others to wait outside.
"You can't change the way we look, too?" Jaran asked.
"It would take time and energy, and I have very few glamours that work well. If you all looked alike, would that not draw attention as well?"
"Then see if he'll mind the lot of us in there," Jaran asked, moving nearer Frost, nearer the door. He glanced up and down the worn, cobbled way. "We'll be better off."
"That's one opinion," Madia remarked, batting her eyes at the prince when he looked. Jaran's jaw tensed, but to his credit he made no reply, simply shook his head. Their constant dueling seemed to lack the intensity it had, Frost thought, and the venom. Too much had been shared between them now.
"Aphan will not mind," Frost said, nodding to the prince. He didn't particularly want an audience, since he wasn't sure the old wizard could help him, and he wasn't even sure what questions he would ask. But Jaran was right.
He turned and knocked, but no one answered. He pressed the door open and peered inside. The hearth fire was cold and only one lamp remained lit. Aphan sat at his table, his head down, his body still.
"Too late?" Jaran whispered, leaning in.
Frost opened the door a bit further and stepped inside. "I don't think so. I sense something of his presence."
With that Frost went to the table and put his hands on the old man, then began a quiet chant, reciting a whispered phrase several times until the body began to stir. Soon enough, Aphan raised his head and took a deep breath, then let it out and opened his eyes. Frost examined the other man's face and decided he looked rather well, considering.
Aphan blinked blind eyes several times, then reached out with a timid hand and touched Frost's tunic. "My friend," Aphan said, "one day you must show me how you do that."
"There is much you must teach me as well." Frost opened his cloak and retrieved the Demon Blade, then laid it on the table. Aphan shivered momentarily, a chill that raked his wiry frame. He reached out, moving his fingers until they rested just over the Blade, then a sigh passed his lips. "You have it," Aphan said, a breathy voice, old vocal cords growing weak. "The Blade is yours!" He continued to shake. Frost leaned across the table and placed his hands on the old man's arms, calming him. "Yes," he said.
"You were meant to have it, Frost, at least for a time. I have seen this in the flames. All this was shown."
"One can only hope," Frost said.
"You will use it to destroy the thing that masquerades as Ferris?"
"I will try."
"You know it is a left-handed blade," Aphan said, not a question, more a spontaneous review.
"I know."
"You can feel its pull?"
"Yes."
Aphan shook again. "Then you have learned its powers? You know how to use the Blade to destroy the demon?"
"I am not sure," Frost replied, and he felt Aphan's body settle. "That is why I came here," he went on. "I have learned to use the Blade to direct my own power, to use all my energies in great concentration, but I am sure there is more—something that escapes me, no matter how I try—though perhaps it is only valor."
"I have so few words for you, my friend," Aphan said, his voice heavier now, losing its slight energy. "I am sorry."
"You knew Ramins."
"For a time, years ago. I have not seen him since he came to be the keeper of the Blade. Since that time he was intent on living in isolation; he even lived without guardsmen of any kind. To limit attempts to take the Blade from him, I've always thought, though surely one so powerful as he had little to fear from ordinary men. I would have kept a small, carefully groomed army about me."
"He may simply have preferred solitude," Frost suggested. Aphan only shrugged. Frost sat motionless, the silence of the room filling the air about him. He could still sense Madia and the Subartans behind him, as well as Jaran and his men. They made no sound, intent on allowing Frost every courtesy; intently hopeful, too, that Frost would gather from Aphan the knowledge he had come for.
"What do the flames tell you of the battle to come? Of my ways with the Blade?" Frost asked.
"What I have seen makes little sense. My eyes have faded these past few weeks, as have the flames I would conjure. I've lost the talent since last you were here. I cannot help you."
"Then tell me who was named Ramins' successor by the last council."
"There are few who know. Ramins knew, of course, as it was told to him. I know of no one else, though I'm sure they exist. The council members had protegés, and some had descendants, of course, who may have been told. But Ramins himself learned that he had been chosen only when an ailing Wentesh sought him out and gave it to him."
"Of course," Frost replied. "I will find no comfort, I'm afraid. From the omens, I should have known."
For a time he simply sat, arms across the table, still touching the aged sorcerer. Then he turned to Rosivok and motioned toward the door. "Check outside," he said. "I think we will go."
Rosivok opened the door to find a group of local soldiers, perhaps a dozen or more, running by in the little street with their swords drawn and their voices raised in shouts of panic. They continued down the way, never pausing, never looking back. Madia stood with the others as they gathered at the door.
"They act like frightened game," Rosivok remarked.
Madia leaned out, looking about. "What would frighten such men?"
Frost rose to join them. "Quiet, and listen," he said. In the distance now they could hear the sounds of many more men shouting, a ragged chorus that rose over the clatter of steel against steel. The sounds of battle.
"We outnumber them at least three to one," Hoke told the great lords, his voice bouncing as his horse began to trot. They rode through the wall and into the city flanked by cavalry and archers and soldiers on foot. A squad of men on armored mounts, wearing the crest of Lord Ferris, broke lines at a hard gallop and came straight for them. Hoke rode out to meet them, drawing his sword, reining in his horse just as the first of the opponents came within striking distance. He moved quickly, relying again on old instincts still well remembered, and avoided the first blow. He countered with a sound wallop to the back that swept the other man off his horse as he turned.
The other lords showed their spirit as well, wading into the fray and cutting down two other men. Then the five of them found themselves bystanders as the main body of their attack force, some five hundred men, flowed past all around them. Hoke watched at least thirty of the city's guard rush in from a nearby square to meet them, saw them butchered almost at once.
Two hundred additional cavalry waited in reserve beyond the city's walls, but already Hoke saw they would not be needed. He rode forward again with the others, watching smaller groups of the city's guard attack from adjoining streets only to die in brief battles, or turn and run the other way. The lords of the great fiefs toured the second greatest city in all Ariman, the key to trade north of the wide waters, in triumph. The victory was largely one of commerce, but it was symbolic as well, and something this new and valiant army could take pride in.
Hoke turned his mount and rode back to find the others. Lady Anna met him near the wall. Mauro and Umblic were still with her as personal escorts, all on horseback. She looked on with apparent satisfaction.
"A shame you are too old for all of this, isn't it?" she said coyly.
"I am too old," Hoke replied. "I am simply too foolish to refuse the likes of you."
"I thought you listened to me because you'd grown wise with your years."
"Is that what it is?"
"I assure you."
Hoke shook his head, then the two of them started back into the city. When they had gotten only a few yards, Hoke looked up to find a Bouren soldier riding toward him at a full gallop. The man drew up just in front of Hoke and Anna, breathless. "Lord Ivran said to bring you at once!" the rider exclaimed.
"What has happened?" Hoke demanded, already beginning to follow the man.
"My lord will explain."
He glanced at Anna, an unspoken invitation, then kicked his mount into a gallop again. She followed in kind, with Mauro and Umblic trailing. They rushed through squares and down a brief maze of streets, passing many of their own men and a few captured guards, and townsfolk who had already begun to come out of their homes and shops and halls, until they reached a particularly narrow way. Here they came to a sudden stop.
Lord Jurdef Ivran stood in the street, a strange, pleased look on his face. "My son, Jaran," he said, grinning then, and he put his arm around a young man who could only have been his own. Behind the prince a very large man stood worrying over those grouped about him—already, their appearances had begun to change.
Hoke sat absolutely still, unable just then to say or do anything as he looked down at the people in the street before him. Anna, however, paused just long enough to gasp. Then she jumped down from her horse and rushed ahead to throw her arms around another who ran to meet her, calling the other's name as she did: "Madia!"
Dinner was the work of guild merchants and city officials, all of whom seemed altogether grateful to the men who had, at least for now, freed Kopeth's markets. On their way to the town hall, Frost had passed through the same market square he had seen earlier, this time to find nearly all of the occasional rich, overflowing stalls being emptied out, and the merchants who had tended them conspicuously absent. Many of the smaller booths seemed to have gained from other merchants' losses.
He stopped here and there, and the merchants had made offers of gifts to Madia and Anna, then included Sharryl as well, though they seemed less certain of what to offer her.
As they strolled further, the town's gentry met them along the way, bowing to Madia, making introductions. Just minding their business, Frost knew, as were the merchants and the city's fathers, though Madia seemed to sense this well enough on her own. Dinner had followed.
Madia said little during the meal, letting squires and nobles, merchants and town officials fill her ears as well as those of their other guests with tales of the past year, the hardships they had suffered, the oppression, the fear of Lord Ferris they each still harbored. The mayor, a balding, rather troubled man, with thick face and hands, and dressed to indicate an even thicker purse, lent many of the most woeful accounts himself.
"My own brother!" he whined. "Cast out of his shop because of 'owed taxes'—none of which he owed, I can assure you! They simply wanted his shop closed. He sold silks, you see, and so did the new shop the soldiers helped set up."
"And what has each of you done about all this?" Madia asked at last, looking around the great table, finding each man one by one. No replies were forthcoming.
"What, then, do you plan to do now?" she pressed. Though again, no one spoke.
Frost noticed the northern lords discreetly calling his attention, a signal that he was to speak their minds for them. He and Madia had talked with Hoke and the great Lords at length about allegiance—though this seemed a hopelessly mired subject at present—and about Kopeth, but only briefly had they discussed details of what would come tomorrow, or the day after. Still, it seemed there was a feeling of general agreement, a basic premise that did not require much debate. This was what the others wanted Frost to tell the people of Kopeth. He nodded, then leaned to whisper a word in Madia's ear. Madia listened, and quickly nodded.
"Then you will give supplies to the great army that has saved you this day, so that we may ride on to Kamrit," Frost said, "to reclaim the throne."
"If we are successful," Madia told them, "you will have nothing to fear from the throne of Kamrit, and all Ariman will long remember the generosity of the citizens of Kopeth."
There was a momentary pause as the men in question looked to each other. Then in unison, all around the table, glasses were raised.
"We live to serve you," the mayor replied. The servants came then, laden with trays of food, a welcome sight.
The meal itself was splendid, a hearty vegetable and broth soup followed by roasted pork and fresh oat bread, all doused with a plentiful supply of good red wine. By dinner's end, many wishful plans had been made, and not the slightest disagreement seemed to remain among those in attendance. But even now there was little talk of Madia's place in the scheme of things, and no true admission of her sovereignty. Madia, for her part, did not bring it up; like a hidden cave, she had found the entrance to her future but was afraid to enter.
As talk settled into rambling chatter, Madia felt the strain of the day and the glow of the wine begin to overcome her. She leaned back and fought with what seemed an endless yawn and found Hoke looking at her as she recovered.
"I know the innkeeper in the main square," Hoke said as the hour drew late enough. "And we'll need a place for the night. Perhaps—"
"Of course!" the mayor said. "A fine place, it is. We will put all of you up there, and as many of your men as we can."
Jaran yawned then, and Madia yawned again, helpless.
"Our men have set up camps outside the city," Hoke said. "I would stay with them. But these lords and ladies, I am sure, will find the inn a comfort."
"My Subartans and I look forward to it," Frost replied. "We have not slept indoors in weeks."
"Walk with us," the mayor asked them, getting to his feet, then leading the way. "We'll go at once." Madia watched Frost gather with Grish and Marrn, the first time she had seen him truly speak to the two court wizards from the northern fiefs, and she wondered how he viewed them, whether he already knew them. Both men seemed sincere and competent, and their lords, Dorree and Bennor, apparently had every confidence in them, but Madia had seen court wizards in her youth, at Kamrit and neighboring manors. None compared to Frost.
They must know that, she thought, as must he.
As they entered the street, Madia found Jaran striding beside her. He waited until she looked at him.
"We must talk, you and I."
"Of what?"
"I know my father and the other lords much better than anyone in Ariman. If you plan to ask for their allegiance, you must first tell them what you expect, and what they can expect from you. And you must listen to what they have to say. No one knows you, or exactly what you want. Except myself, of course."
"You?"
Jaran nodded.
"Then you tell me what I want."
"You have decided to rule as your father did, of course, at least lately you have. And I think you are nothing like the Madia Andarys these others have in their minds; if you were, I would not have come with you this far, nor would Frost, for he follows you as much as you follow him.
"But I would tell you that your father was the much-praised and long-respected son of Hual Andarys, and a man of great strength and honor. He maintained the peace with ease. The same is not true of his daughter, and might never be. To most you are but a young girl, untested, unknown. . . . "
"I know," Madia said, shuddering as she did.
"They talk, Madia. They see you in an . . . unfavorable light."
"I have heard enough, thank you."
Jaran shook his head. "I simply meant—"
"You needn't say."
Directly they turned a corner and the inn stood before them, and they were ushered inside. The mayor took prompt care of the arrangements, and in a moment they were being led upstairs to their rooms. Jaran was let into one of the first doors they came to. He paused and looked at Madia as he entered, a different look, Madia noticed, difficult to read—bearing a touch of concern, perhaps, or quiet despair. She walked on, entering her own room, then fell on the bed and lay there awhile, letting her thoughts spin in her mind. Fatigue nagged at every muscle, but she could not sleep.
Damn him, she fumed at last, seeing no sense to leaving things so unfinished yet again. She had to know where she stood, no matter what. She got up and headed out into the hall. She tried the door and found that it was unlocked, so she pushed it open and stood staring at Jaran, who seemed to have nearly completed the task of getting undressed for bed.
"All right," she said, "unfavorable how, exactly?"
Jaran pulled his trousers back on, then paused to tie them before speaking. "Very well," he said. "You are known to these men as an irresponsible tart, a girl without respect for her own heritage and therefore the heritage of others. They have been told differently by Hoke and Anna, and they have spoken with you enough to know that there is some truth to what your friends say, but there remains much doubt in their minds. If they are ever to pay even symbolic homage to you, they must be shown good reason to do so."
"And you say you do not agree with the other lords?" Madia asked, looking at him differently now, unable to ignore him physically, even though she wanted to resist the idea. He was making sense, and being honest, like the Prince he had been raised to be. . . .
"I know a different Madia."
"Truly?" She kept her expression still.
He crossed the room toward her slowly, until finally he stood very close, his stockinged toes nearly touching the tips of her boots. "You may just do," he said, "in desperate times."
Madia barely smiled as Prince Jaran leaned closer. She stood fast, feeling an urge to close her eyes; she kept them open, waiting for Jaran to make his intentions clear. Then she watched a smile spread across his face, and hers broadened. He kept still, apparently sensing the moment exactly as she did. For a long time they simply looked into each other's eyes.
"Good night," he said then, softly, rocking back a bit.
"In the morning," Madia replied, softer still. She turned and started up the hall, heard him gently closed the door behind her. For many things, she thought, there would come a time.
Madia could feel the eyes of the great lords keenly upon her as she and Lady Anna walked out into the late morning sun. When she reached her mount, she glanced up at the others. Yes, she saw, it is as Jaran said. The others looked away as her gaze found them, but they had been watching her, she knew, considering her, passing judgment on her—talking about her when she was not there.
They would see what they wanted, think as they had always thought, say whatever pleased them no matter what she said or did. At least, for a while they would. She needed to erase what had been and convince them of who she was now, of what could be, or she would never be a Queen in their eyes. She simply didn't know how.
But as she mounted her horse, she noticed not only the lords but everyone else looking at her: Hoke and Mauro and Umblic, Frost and Rosivok and Sharryl, a dozen captains that stood before their ready forces, and nearly eight hundred fighting men, those from the northern fiefs as well as the militia they had attracted in Kopeth. Waiting for her, she saw, for me. . . .
And for the first time in her life, she felt the full weight of her heritage touch her shoulders. She had been so caught up in redefining herself and struggling to reach her goals that she had never stopped to think about what it would be like to obtain them, what her life would be like afterward.
She looked about again as she settled atop her mount. So many eyes, and these only the first, she thought. So many people, all of them wondering who I am. Yet even now, or perhaps especially now, she felt a fleeting urge to count herself among them.
"The higher ground west of the river will be our best route," Hoke recommended to all. "There are many open fields where an army might find easy passage."
"I agree," Jaran said. "The road from Kopeth is a better one, but it is still too narrow, and we would be too vulnerable in so predictable a line."
"Aye," Dorree agreed. "We've stayed to the fields so far. And so good."
Madia watched as everyone chimed agreement, noting that now none of the nobleman seemed to be looking to her anymore, except Jaran, whose eyes seemed never to stray too far. His expression was almost too understanding. She said nothing, waiting while the conversation around her found its own end, then she solemnly followed the great lords as they turned and called to their captains to march.
A great enthusiasm filled the air as the armies spread out, loosening ranks, cavalry and footmen finding their way across the road and into the fields and woods. Villagers at work in the countryside along the way waved and some even cheered, and many were quick to offer a share of their noontime ale. And a string of local land barons turned out to greet the passing army, to offer supplies and even a few men-at-arms, and to stare at the young princess. . . .
Madia found many of the peasants she encountered aware of who she was, rumors having spread ahead of the march. And for the first time since leaving home, the people of Ariman bowed in her presence. Few said anything to her, and many seemed more curious than genuine in their attention, a curiosity of scandal and power, of course, but she did not mind the attention even so.
Still, these waiting friends meant that Kamrit would know of their approach long before they reached the city, that the beast that was Lord Ferris would have ample time to prepare his defenses. There had not been nearly enough talk of battle plans. The collective forces of the great fiefs had been unstoppable, and certainly blessed by the Greater Gods in their quest thus far. Decisions made on the spur of the moment had produced perfectly good results. These blessings, Madia thought, might not be enough in the battle that lay ahead. She maneuvered her horse close to Hoke's, near the front of the march, and told him of her concerns.
"You are right, of course," he said. "Tonight, when we make camp, we must discuss our plans."
"What have the others said?" she asked, sitting back in the saddle as the horses trudged up a long, low rise. "You must know something of their desires. Surely they do not expect to ride up to Kamrit's main gates and ask for the head of Lord Ferris."
"No, but you are not far off. They are buoyed by the magic of Frost and his Demon Blade, and by our quick successes. They feel that straightforward assault will work. They may be right."
"You were not there when Frost faced Lord Ferris the first time. I fear these men will die, most of them, Blade or no." The horses were slowing, finally reaching the top of the rise. "We may all die."
"I'm sure each of them knows that."
"But this must not be a sacrifice. I—"
"Madia!" Hoke yelled suddenly as he thrust an arm out in front of her. She reigned her horse to a stop beside his at the crest of the hill. The others riding the point had stopped as well. Out ahead lay a wide cultivated basin—ponds near its center, small clumps of trees, many acres of barley and beans and hay and grazing pastures. Beyond the valley lay another row of low, rolling hills covered mostly by forest on either side but cleared along a wide piece of the ridge straight across the way. There, atop the ridge, stood a waiting army of several thousand men.