War Maid's Choice-ARC (65 page)

“I’ll admit it’s unlikely we’re going to run the board and succeed
everywhere
,” he said, “but we really only have to succeed partially to accomplish what They sent us here to do. And there’s still all that marvelous potential where the Purple Lords are concerned, after Kilthan and his canal cut off their entire economy at the knees!” He shook his head. “Even granting all the things that can still go wrong, the odds are heavily on our side, Varnaythus.”

“And if someone on the other side knows what They’re doing—or what They have
us
doing, at any rate?” Varnaythus challenged.

“If Tomanāk or any of the others realized what was happening, They’d have already taken steps to stop us,” Sahrdohr said confidently. “Because, frankly, by this point, I don’t see anything They
could
do to prevent our basic strategy from biting Them right on the arse. There just isn’t enough time for anyone on the other side to adjust their positions enough to stop us before we actually hit them.”

“Probably not,” Varnaythus conceded. “On the other hand, I suspect Jerghar, Paratha, and Dahlaha thought that right up to the last minute the
last
time, too. I know we don’t have people running off in all directions at once the way
those
three managed, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still come apart on us.”

“No,” Sahrdohr agreed. “But in a worst-case situation, there’s still the karsalhain.” He shrugged. “Coming out into the open with the art may be a last resort, but at least we can still
guarantee
that Markhos, Tellian, and everyone else in Chergor dies, whatever else happens. It won’t be as neat, and it won’t be as precisely targeted as we wanted, but it may actually work out even better, especially if Borandas and the wind riders decide Cassan was behind it. They won’t have any choice but to move against him if they think he’s been hobnobbing with Carnadosans, Varnaythus, and
Yeraghor
won’t have any choice but to
back
him, because they’ve been joined at the hip for so long no one would believe he hadn’t known exactly what Cassan was up to all along. That gives us a brand-new Time of Troubles, and there’s no telling how many fish we could land out of waters
that
troubled!”

Varnaythus was forced to nod again, although he dearly hoped to avoid using the karsalhain. Someone like Wencit of Rūm was entirely too likely to be able to track that sort of working back to its caster. It would probably take him quite a while, but one thing wild wizards had plenty of was time, and if he did succeed, the result could be decidedly fatal for the caster in question.

At least you haven’t done a single thing to attract Wencit’s attention back to the Wind Plain yet
, he reminded himself.
And Sahrdohr’s right; the karsalhain is
definitely
a “last resort”...and one it doesn’t look like we’re going to need. Not when not a single one of them so much as suspects what’s coming at them
.

* * *

“Shahana?”

Shahana Lillinarafressa sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. It was pitch black outside the windows of her austerely appointed sleeping chamber in the Quaysar temple, but the chamber itself was filled with gentle, silvery illumination. There might not be any moon in the heavens over Quaysar, but there was one—or at least the light of one—in Shahana’s bedroom, flowing from the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman standing in her doorway. The Quaysar Voice was slender and quite tall, and she kept herself physically fit, yet she was also in her forties, and her hair was just touched with the first strands of frost.

“Yes?” Shahana rubbed her eyes again, grateful that the Voice had decided to call the Mother’s light rather than carry a lit lamp with her. Being awakened in the middle of the night was bad enough without having bright light blasting into her darkness-accustomed eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” The Voice smiled crookedly as if she’d been able to read Shahana’s thoughts. Which, the arm conceded, she might very well have managed to do. Some of the Voices
could
read thoughts, after all.

“I assume you wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been necessary,” Shahana said.

“No, I wouldn’t,” the Voice agreed. “You have to leave for Kalatha. Now, I’m afraid.”

“Now?” Shahana repeated. “You mean as in
right
now, in the middle of the night?” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t complaining, merely making certain she’d understood correctly, and the Voice nodded. “May I ask
why
I’m leaving for Kalatha?”

“You can ask, but I can’t tell you,” the Voice said wryly, and this time the arm’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I would if I knew,” the Voice continued, “but I’m afraid She didn’t tell me, either.” She shrugged. “I got the impression it has something to do with young Leeana and that whole business about her marrying Bahzell, but it was
only
an impression, Shahana. I wouldn’t depend too heavily on it, if I were you.”

“It’s not like Her to be quite that vague,” Shahana said, and the Voice snorted.

“I’ve been listening to Her for over twelve years now, Shahana, and I’ve discovered She’s
never
vague. When she seems to’ve been, it usually turns out we simply didn’t know enough about what was going on—then—to realize She was actually being quite specific. Unfortunately, in this case, I don’t have a clue what She has in mind.”

“Well,” Shahana said philosophically, climbing out of bed and reaching for her clothing, “I suppose we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

Chapter Thirty-One

“Good afternoon, Master Brayahs,” the armsman in the crimson and silver of House Daggeraxe said.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant. I’d like to see Baron Borandas, please.”

The sergeant outside the closed door considered Brayahs Daggeraxe thoughtfully. There’d been a time when Brayahs had been one of Borandas’ most trusted advisers, and the sergeant knew he was still extremely close to the baron and his baroness. But he also knew Brayahs had been chosen as one of the King’s magi, with his oath given to the Crown first and Halthar second, and that imposed certain constraints.

“Your pardon, Master Brayahs,” the sergeant said, “but the Baron is conferring with Sir Dahlnar. Perhaps it would be better if you came back later.”

“I realize he’s meeting with Sir Dahlnar,” Brayahs replied, returning his regard steadily. “In fact, I really need to speak to both of them. Please announce me and ask if they can see me now.”

The sergeant stood thinking for another moment, then made his decision. Baron Borandas valued judgment in his armsmen, and he expected his senior noncoms to use that judgment.

“Wait here, please,” he said, He turned, knocked once on the closed door, and then opened it and stepped through it, leaving Brayahs with the rest of his three-man detachment in the hallway.

He was gone for only a few seconds before the door opened once again.

“The Baron says he’ll be most pleased to see you, Master Brayahs,” the sergeant said with a respectful bow.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

Brayahs returned the bow and stepped past the armsman into Borandas Daggeraxe’s personal office. It was on the fourth floor of the spire-like tower from which Star Tower Castle took its name, and its opened windows looked out over the castle’s courtyard and the green fields beyond. A cool breeze blew through them, setting the curtains dancing in a flicker of sunlight, and Borandas stood behind his desk, holding out his right hand to his cousin with a broad smile.

“Brayahs!” he clasped forearms with the mage, squeezing firmly. “I’m sorry I missed you yesterday.”

“I know you’ve been busy conferring with Thorandas and Sir Dahlnar,” Brayahs replied as he returned the clasp. “And, to be honest, I had some thinking of my own to do.”

“Oh?” Borandas released his arm and stepped back, waving towards one of the unoccupied chairs in front of his desk. Sir Dahlnar nodded to Brayahs with a friendly smile, offering his own hand, and Brayahs reached out to take it. He clasped Bronzehelm’s forearm firmly, looking deep into the other man’s eyes, and his nostrils flared. He held Sir Dahlnar’s arm for an extra moment or two, then released it and sank into his own chair.

“And what were you thinking about?” Borandas inquired. He leaned back in his own chair, clasping his hands behind his head, and regarded his cousin a bit quizzically. “I don’t seem to remember you taking very long to think things over when you were younger, Brayahs!”

“Life was simpler when I was a runny-nosed brat pestering my grownup cousin,” Brayahs replied. “When you have so many fewer thoughts in your head, it doesn’t take as long to sort through them, you know.”

“I’ve heard that,” Borandas agreed, but his eyes also narrowed slightly, as if he’d caught a trace of something unexpected in his cousin’s expression or manner, and he lowered his hands, sitting upright once more. “And now that you’ve sorted through the ones currently rattling around in your head, what conclusions have you reached?”

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I have to take advantage of our kinship,” Brayahs said in a tone which had grown suddenly far more somber.

“Meaning what?” Borandas’ expression turned warier, and Brayahs drew a deep breath.

“Borandas, I’ve been the King’s man for three years now. In all that time, I’ve never approached you
as
the King’s man or in any way questioned any of the policies you’ve chosen to pursue here in the North Riding. And I have no instructions from His Majesty to do that now. Coming here this morning is my own decision, but I ask you as my kinsman and my Baron to hear me.”

Borandas looked at him silently, and the sounds of birds from beyond the open windows were clear and distinct in the stillness. Seconds trickled away, but then, finally, he nodded.

“Speak.” His voice was cooler, more formal, but he sat regarding his cousin levelly, and Brayahs glanced at Bronzehelm for just a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and faced the baron.

“You know I’m a mage. In fact, you know what my mage talents are.” He paused, and Borandas nodded again, slowly, his eyes suddenly very intent. “Then you’ll understand I know what I’m talking about when I tell you wizardry has been at work here in Halthan,” Brayahs said softly.

“
What?
” Borandas snapped fully upright in his chair, leaning forward, staring at him. Bronzehelm looked at him, as well, equally shocked, and Brayahs nodded.

“How?” the baron demanded. “Where?”

“I can’t say exactly how, or what the spell may have been,” the mage replied. “You know the
limitations
of my talents, as well. But I can tell you where it was cast.”

“Then tell me!” Borandas more than half-snapped, and Brayahs looked at him sadly.

“There,” he said...and pointed at Sir Dahlnar Bronzehelm.

* * *

“Are you
certain
about this, Brayahs?”

Borandas Daggeraxe’s face was twenty years older than it had been a half hour earlier, his eyes haunted, and Brayahs nodded unhappily.

“I’m afraid I am, and I wish I weren’t. But not as much as I wish I knew what the spell was supposed to do and how in Semkirk’s name anyone got into a position to cast it in the first place.” Brayahs’ jaw clenched. “And not as much as I wish that whoever the bastard is, he’d picked someone besides Dahlnar to cast it on!”

Myacha sat beside her husband, holding his left hand, her amethyst eyes huge and dark. Despite everything, she’d hoped desperately that the suspicion she’d awakened in Brayahs’ mind had been groundless.

“I wish that, too,” the baron said now, his voice grim and harsh. He shook his head. “It’s not Dahlnar’s fault. I know that as well as the gods themselves do! But how can I ever trust him again now that he’s been...tampered with?”

“We’re not
positive
he has been,” Brayahs said, remembering the look in Bronzehelm’s eyes as he’d been gently but firmly escorted from Borandas’ office by no less than five Halthan armsmen. The seneschal’s shock had been only too evident, and there’d been a sort of ineffable horror
under
the shock. Yet there’d been no resistance. In fact, he’d been the first to suggest that Borandas had no choice but to confine him to his own quarters until they could determine what had been done to him...and by whom.

“Come now!” Borandas said even more harshly. “You detected the stench of wizardry both on him and in his office!”

“But what I smelled hadn’t been cast directly upon him,” Brayahs pointed out. “He was
present
when it was worked, and he obviously doesn’t remember it, but I’m detecting no indication
he’s
been arcanely altered. And you saw his eyes as well as I did, Borandas. He’s more horrified by the possibility that he’s been forced to betray your confidence than
you
could ever be.”

“Of course he is!” Borandas scowled. “He’s not just my seneschal—he’s my
friend
, and he would never have betrayed me in any way if the choice had been his! Do you think I don’t realize that?!”

“No, I’m sure you do,” Brayahs replied. “And I think it’s evident he
has
been influenced—unknowingly and against his will—whether it was done arcanely or not. There are many ways that could have been done by someone who’d managed to gain access to him and worked his way into his confidence, and not all of them require wizardry. If it was done without using sorcery, I think a good mind healer could almost certainly find and repair the damage, now that he knows there’s something there to look for. And if it
was
done using sorcery, then I think once the Council of Semkirk gets word to Wencit, he’ll be able to undo whatever it was.” He smiled sadly at his cousin. “Dahlnar’s too good a man for us to allow this—whatever ‘this’
is
—to take him away from you forever, Borandas. I promise we’ll do everything we can to give him back to you and to himself.”

The baron continued to stare searchingly into Brayahs’ face for a dozen more heartbeats, and then he slowly relaxed—a little—and sucked in a deep, deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and turned his head to smile at his wife when Myacha squeezed his hand in both of hers.

“You’re welcome,” Brayahs said, “but we still have to decide what to do about this.”