"Your dinner is ready now, General."

It was the aide again. His composure regained, he was standing by the open flap of Dardas's pavilion. He was a clean-cut looking young man with delicate features. Probably, like most of the junior officers, the second son of a noble Felk family, whose father had bought his commission to keep him out from underfoot while the elder son was trained to run the family for the next generation.

Dardas nodded at him and entered the pavilion, only to stop short when he caught sight of his small dining table.

"What's that?" he said, his voice edged with accusation.

Taken aback, the aide blinked in confusion.

"It's your dinner, sir," he said. "Roast chicken and rabbit with wild onions and carrots. The cooks prepared it special for you."

The general stared at him.

"I assume that the fare for the troops is significantly less grand?" he said levelly.

"Well... of course," the aide said. "I mean, some of them may have foraged something, but the food that's issued them—"

"Take it away," Dardas ordered, interrupting. "I want you to go to the nearest squad circle and bring

me back a portion of whatever it is they're having. What's more, be sure the portion is no larger than that of any other soldier being served."

"Yes, sir!"

Do you have something against decent food?

It was the familiar, somewhat whiny voice of Lord Weisel intruding on the general's thoughts. One thing Dardas did have to admit to having difficulty with was adapting to the presence of a second mind in his head.

You wouldn't understand.

I understand that it's my body you're abusing.

And a decent body it was, too. Dardas appreciated the new vessel for his consciousness. Despite it being more than four tenwinters old, it was both fit and healthy... even reasonably attractive, not that it mattered. If only it hadn't come with the previous occupant still in residence.