Wolfblade (21 page)

And now Glenadal was to become one of them.

It just didn’t seem fair.

They waited in silence for the pallbearers to emerge from the tomb. Riika surreptitiously tried to blow her nose, fearful of the sound carrying across the silent slopes. She was spared the embarrassment by one of Darilyn’s
boys. Bored with this grown-up ceremony he didn’t understand (and obviously bribed into good behaviour by his mother) Xanda squirmed out of his mother’s grip and turned to stare at the silent crowd before addressing Jeryma, rightly assuming she was in charge of such things.

“Can we please go home, Grammy?” he asked in a startlingly loud voice. “I’ve been a good boy. I want my surprise now.”

The tension suddenly broke as an uncomfortable titter ran through the people waiting on the slopes. Jeryma smiled and bent down to pick up her grandson. “Of course you can have it, darling.” She looked up then, addressing the people of Cabradell as much as Xanda. “We should all go home. To celebrate Glenadal’s life while we mourn his death.”

The pallbearers emerged from the tomb as the crowd began to disperse. Darilyn snatched Xanda from Jeryma’s arms, scolding him sharply for embarrassing her.

“He did nothing wrong, Darilyn,” Jeryma said. “Leave him be.”

“What’s the matter?” Laran asked, as he and Mahkas rejoined the family, obviously wondering why Jeryma was reprimanding Darilyn.

“It’s nothing,” Jeryma said. “Give me your arm, Laran. Let’s get back to the house.”

Mahkas looked at Riika as Laran led their mother down the path towards the town. “Are you all right, kiddo?” he asked gently.

Riika shook her head wordlessly, a fresh batch of tears blinding her momentarily.

Mahkas slipped his arm around her and turned her in the direction Laran and Jeryma were heading. “You’ll feel better, Riika. The pain goes away. Eventually.”

“How would you know, Mahkas Damaran,” Darilyn snapped behind them. “You never even knew
your
father.”

“But I knew yours,” Mahkas replied over his shoulder. “We all got over
his
death in record time.”

“Don’t you dare sully my father’s name—”

“Stop it!” Riika cried. “Both of you!”

She tore herself out of Mahkas’s embrace and ran down the path, past Laran and her mother, past Kagan, past the people of the city come to gawk at her father’s funeral. She even outran the guard.

Not that it did her one bit of good.

Because try as she might, Riika couldn’t outrun her pain.

M
indful of his pact with Dacendaran, Wrayan spent much of his time in Cabradell on the lookout for something to steal, in order to keep his promise to the God of Thieves. Stealing a trinket from the Warlord of Sunrise was going to be easy enough. Wrayan was a guest in the palace with unlimited access to anywhere he chose other than the private family suites.

After several days of surreptitiously examining each room for a likely object, he settled on a small statuette of a water dragon, carved from a piece of delicate green jade. It looked Fardohnyan to Wrayan’s eye, perhaps a souvenir of some trip Glenadal had made across the border in his youth. And he chose to steal it during Glenadal’s wake, not because he needed the cover several hundred guests would provide, but because he was honouring the God of Thieves and there was little honour in an act that had no element of danger in it.

Besides, there was no point in half measures and Wrayan couldn’t risk offending a god. If he was going to honour Dacendaran, he was going to do it properly. Stealing a statuette from the Warlord’s private study with half of Cabradell present was far more daring than simply stepping into the room as soon as nobody was looking and slipping the trinket he had promised Dacendaran into his pocket.

It was late in the day when Wrayan judged the time right to honour the God of Thieves. The palace was filled with guests from the funeral. The muted buzz of conversation hovered over the public rooms of the palace, a background hum that permeated the whole building. He worked his way around the main hall all afternoon and had just excused himself politely from a discussion going on between two Cabradell matrons about the best husband for Riika Ravenspear now that her poor father was dead, when he judged the time right. With a quick look around the hall to ensure he was unobserved, he slipped inside the study, closing the door gently behind him.

Wrayan glanced around, the sudden silence after the buzz in the main hall ringing in his ears. It was a large room, with a heavy carved desk by the wall under the window covered in rolls of parchment and a low table surrounded by colourful cushions near the centre of the room, where Glenadal liked to conduct most of his business. On his left was a beautifully embroidered folding screen, done in a multicoloured geometric design which matched the cushions around the table; behind it was another, smaller writing table where Glenadal’s scribe normally sat, close by his master.

The jade water dragon was on the mantel over the fireplace, which was built of polished red granite from Krakandar. Wrayan was headed across the rug towards the fireplace when the latch on the door turned. Instinctively, he dived behind the screen near the secretary’s desk as the door opened and Laran Krakenshield entered the study followed by the captain of Glenadal’s personal guard, Chaine Tollin.

Wrayan skidded silently on the polished floor, coming to a stop a bare hand’s-breadth from the wall, breathing hard. He swore silently under his breath. There was no need for him to hide. He was a member of the Sorcerers’ Collective. If he wanted to seek the solitude of Glenadal’s study, then nobody would question his right to be here. Nobody but Dacendaran knew the real reason he was in the study. All he need do was step out from behind the screen and make his presence known. There was nothing to worry about. He didn’t even have the water dragon on him yet. He could come back later, when they were gone . . .

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Laran Krakenshield said to the captain before Wrayan could act on his decision.

“I thought it was more an order than a request, my lord,” Chaine replied. The captain sounded annoyed, as if he’d had a choice when it came to an order from a member of his ruling family.

Go out there now
, Wrayan told himself sternly.
Before it’s too late and they find you here, lurking behind the screen, and you have to think up a reason
why
you’re lurking behind the screen
.

“You have something to tell me, I assume? About the will?”

“That. And a favour to ask of you,” Laran said.

“A favour?”

“When the will is read.”

“You know what it says then?”

“Yes.”

“Am I mentioned?” the captain asked cautiously.

“No, Chaine,” Laran said. “You’re not mentioned.”

The captain was silent for a time, and then he swore softly under his breath. “So the old bastard refused to acknowledge me. Even at the very end.”

“He had his reasons, Chaine.”

“And all of them begin and end with Riika Ravenspear,” the captain replied with an edge of bitterness in his voice.

“This has nothing to do with Riika. Glenadal had a far grander scheme in mind. One I’m not sure I agree with, but it does have merit, not just for Sunrise, but for the whole of Hythria.”

“And for this grand scheme I’m supposed to just forget that my father refused to ever acknowledge my existence?”

“You’ve always been treated well here, Chaine. He made you the captain of his personal guard.”

“I
earned
that rank, Lord Krakenshield. Glenadal Ravenspear gave me the job in
spite
of the fact I was his bastard, not because of it.”

“Aye,” Laran said in acknowledgement of the truth of Chaine’s claim. “And if you recall, it was I who supported your promotion over older, more experienced men.”

“For which I am grateful, my lord. But your support purchased my appreciation, not my soul.”

“You have always been an honourable man, Chaine. And it’s for that reason I need you now.”

“Why?”

“Because Glenadal named
me
as his heir.”

Chaine was silent as that news sank in. When he spoke, he sounded amused. “You’ll last a week. Tops.”

“That is also my assessment of the situation. Unless I have your help.”

Chaine laughed harshly. “You want me to aid you in taking what should have been mine? You’ve got a nerve.”

“I’m asking you to trust me, Chaine.”

“You’re asking me to turn my back on who I am. I have a right—”

“You have
no
right. Glenadal never acknowledged you, Captain. Even if your birth is an open secret, you have no proof and nobody to back your claim. Without that, you’re just another mercenary looking for an opportunity.”

“Then why did you call me here? To remind me of that? To gloat?”

“I brought you here to make a deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

“The sort that gives us both something we want.”

“I’m listening.”

“Glenadal told me before he died that he would never acknowledge you. He was too afraid of causing Jeryma and Riika pain. But he did ask me to make things right, and I intend to.”

“How?”

“By seeing you get what is owed you.”

“And the cost of this remarkably generous act?”

“Your support. And the support of Sunrise’s army.”

“You have your own army.”

“I’m going to need yours as well.”

“And what guarantee do I have that you won’t use my army for your own ends and then have me disposed of when I’m no longer of any use to you?”

“You have my word.”

“And what do I get?”

“What do you want?”

“What if I said I wanted Sunrise Province?”

“I’d tell you that you were asking the wrong person. It’s not mine to give.”

“Of course it’s yours to give,” Chaine argued. “It’s yours down to the last blade of grass. Even if Glenadal hadn’t named you his heir, you’re his only legitimate child’s legal guardian. That makes this whole province and everything in it yours for the taking, my lord, and don’t treat me like a fool by pretending I don’t know it.”

“Chaine, I will swear by any god you name that my interest in Sunrise has nothing to do with preventing you from claiming what you think is owed to you. I’m doing this because it’s the only way to stop a Fardohnyan heir to the High Prince’s throne. If you think your chances of ever seeing any part of what you believe is your birthright are small now, imagine what they’ll be if the next High Prince is the son of Hablet of Fardohnya.”

“And I’m supposed to do nothing? Say nothing? Suppose all this power you suddenly have goes to your head? Suppose once you’ve dealt with Hablet, you decide to turn your attention closer to home? What then?”

“Then it will be up to men like you to make certain it doesn’t,” Laran replied.

Wrayan waited, unconsciously holding his breath, wondering what Chaine’s answer would be. There was nothing worse than a disenfranchised bastard running loose after the death of a Warlord. When that bastard had a great deal of personal support in his late master’s army, the danger was extreme. Laran was very wise to take the time to warn Chaine of what was about to happen and to seek his support. Wrayan was beginning to understand why Kagan thought his nephew so capable. The knowledge gave the young sorcerer a warm feeling of provincial pride. Laran Krakenshield was Krakandar’s Warlord, after all: Wrayan’s Warlord (although sorcerers were supposed to eschew all loyalties other than to the Collective and the gods).

How did the old saying go?
They breed them strong and wise in Krakandar
.

“What’s my alternative?” Chaine asked, although it was clear he already knew the answer. When Laran didn’t reply, Chaine sighed heavily. “You’d better mean what you say about seeing justice done, Laran Krakenshield.”

“I give you my word,” Laran replied solemnly. “When the time is right, I will see that you are acknowledged as Glenadal’s son. And that you are given your fair share of your inheritance.”

“Then I’m your man,” Chaine promised the Warlord.

Although Wrayan couldn’t see them, he guessed the men were shaking hands to seal the deal.

Pity though
, he thought,
that Chaine hadn’t thought to have the transaction witnessed properly
. A handshake might be enough between soldiers, but legally, without the Sorcerers’ Collective to attest to the proceedings, Laran could walk away from his promise any time he chose.

Wrayan didn’t think he would. Laran wasn’t that sort of man. But it disturbed the sorcerer a little to realise that with Laran’s agreement with Chaine, he had effectively committed himself to following the dangerous course that Glenadal, Jeryma and Kagan had laid out for him.

And for the rest of them caught up in this whirlwind.

Because with that simple, unseen handshake, the pact was sealed and there was no going back.

T
ell me more about men, Elezaar.”