CHAPTER NINETEEN
“It need not be this way,” the King of Ocosse stated grimly. “We need not go to war.”
The King sat upon his war horse, surrounded by a small entourage, in the center of a level valley with gently sloping hills rising all around. The low grass was surprisingly green despite the heat and lack of rain. Before the day was out, though most of the green in the small valley would be red.
“I wear the kilt of war,” continued the King, his sweeping hand indicating his array, “but I would gladly change into a dress kilt and feast alongside you, Henri, if we could but put a rest to this dispute peaceably.”
Henri shifted in the saddle. His dark war horse stamped the ground anxiously, chomping at the bit, as intent on getting on to the battle as his master. Henri held the reins tigh
