He was dressed, as ever, in black. His boots, hose, tunic and short jacket were all as dark as an eclipse-night. A narrow, sheathed sword hung from his right hip, a long dagger from his left.

"You fetch maps for my generals now, DeWar?" UrLeyn asked, amused. The General of generals of Tassasen, the commoner who commanded nobles, was a relatively small man who by dint of the bustling, busy force of his character made almost everybody feel that they were no taller than he. His hair was brindled, grey and thinning but his eyes were bright. People generally called his gaze "piercing'. He was dressed in the trousers and long jacket he had made the fashion amongst many of his fellow generals and large sections of the Tassasem trading classes.

"When my general sends me away from him, sir, yes," DeWar replied. "I try to do whatever I can to help. And such actions help prevent me dwelling on the risks my lord might be exposing himself to when he has me leave his side." DeWar tossed the map on to the table, where it unrolled.

"The borders… Ladenscion," UrLeyn breathed, patting the soft surface of the old map, then looking up at DeWar with a mischievous expression. "My dear DeWar, the greatest danger I expose myself to on such occasions is probably a dose of something unpleasant from some lass newly brought in, or possibly a slap for suggesting something my more demure concubines find excessively rude." The General grinned, hitching up the belt round his modest pot-belly. "Or a scratched back or bitten ear, if I'm lucky, eh?"

"The General puts us younger men to shame in many ways," DeWar murmured, smoothing out the parchment map. "But it is not unknown for assassins to have less respect for the privacy of a great leader's harem than, say, his chief bodyguard."