Wolfblade (24 page)

“I’ll see to it,” Mahkas agreed, smiling encouragingly at his younger sister. “You know, you could name any bride price you wanted at the moment, Riika.”

“I’ve no wish to be married to anyone, Mahkas.”

“And you won’t have to be, until you inform me otherwise,” Laran promised.

“I know. Thank you.” She stood up and sighed meaningfully. “I should help Darilyn get organised. You know what she’s like.”

“Only too well,” Laran agreed. “You’ll like Winternest, Riika. It’s very pretty.”

Riika smiled; the first one Laran could recall since Glenadal’s death. It lit her face and for a moment she looked like the child she still was. “I’ve never seen snow, either. Papa always promised to take me, but he never got around to—” She stopped abruptly, unable to go on, and then turned and fled the courtyard with a loud sob.

“Riika!” Laran called after her.

“Let her go, Laran,” Kagan advised. “She just needs time, that’s all.”

Before Laran could respond, a slave hurried into the courtyard, bowing low to his mistress. “My lady, Master Lightfinger sends word that the Warlord of Elasapine is on his way with his son and is asking for an audience with you and Lord Laran.”

“Thank you, Nikki,” Jeryma replied expressionlessly. “Show them to the reception hall when they arrive and see they are served refreshments. Tell Lord Hawksword and his son we will join them shortly.” As the slave backed out of the courtyard, she sighed wearily. “One month today Glenadal is dead. And now it begins.”

“The official mourning is over now,” Kagan pointed out, rising stiffly to his feet. “I’m surprised they had the decency to wait even this long.”

T
he Warlord of Elasapine was a big man with a mass of thick grey hair and an equally impressive beard. He wore his ceremonial armour—the silver-chased hawk emblem of his house outlined in gold—implying that he came in peace, but his sword was big and heavy and battle-scarred, giving lie to the impression he was trying to create. Like his father, Nash was dressed in armour too; the boiled leather cuirass he wore was embossed with the hawk emblem of his Province, but his was much more serviceable than his father’s.

As they entered the hall, Nash bowed respectfully to Kagan and Jeryma and then winked at Laran.

“I might have known the High Arrion would become involved in this fiasco,” Charel Hawksword snapped. “Get up, fool,” he added to his son. “Kagan is here to console his sister, Jeryma, not in his capacity as High Arrion. Or at least he had better be,” the Warlord added ominously, glaring at Kagan.

Jeryma smiled. “Charel, do sit down.”

The Warlord bowed stiffly, the ceremonial armour hampering his efforts somewhat. “My lady, I bring you my sincere condolences at your loss. And also,” he said, turning his attention to Laran, “to find out what this damn fool boy thinks he’s doing by accepting Glenadal’s bequest!”

“Hello, Charel. Nash,” Laran said.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” the Warlord declared, his rich baritone rising to a hearty bellow. “Laran, you have no more brains than a flea! Do you fancy a nice state funeral? Lots of women beating their breasts at the loss of Krakandar’s Warlord?”

“Charel Hawksword! Sit down!” Jeryma repeated firmly. Looking a little startled the big man lowered himself to the cushions. Jeryma smiled. “That’s better. Now, what exactly is your objection?”

Charel took a deep breath before continuing. “Laran, I’ve known you since you were born. I fostered you. I helped train you. I always assumed you
were intelligent. What has possessed you to accept this? Isn’t there some lad with potential who can marry Riika and be appointed Sunrise’s Warlord? You can’t think for a moment that the others will stand for this concentration of power. It’s only been a matter of months since you gained your father’s province. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Glenadal wanted me to have Sunrise Province,” Laran replied.

“Glenadal was a sentimental old fool,” Charel replied. Then he took a deep breath and assumed a much more reasonable tone. “Look, I know he was like a father to you, Laran, but you’re a Warlord in your own right. Isn’t being lord of the richest province in Hythria enough? What do you want? To own the whole damn country?”

“If I have to,” Laran agreed.

“The gods save us all from ever having to witness another Hythrun civil war,” Charel muttered, the ancient prayer something Kagan hadn’t heard anyone utter in years. The Warlord turned his gaze on Kagan and the Lady Jeryma. “What is really going on here?” he demanded, suddenly wary. “What are you not telling me?”

“Lernen has arranged for his sister to marry the King of Fardohnya,” Kagan told him, thinking the success or failure of this venture rested on the next few minutes. They could talk all they wanted, but without the support of Elasapine, the province that separated Krakandar and Sunrise, there was no point in even trying to make it work.

“That’s old news.”

“Is it? Have you thought what it means if Lernen produces no heir?”

“Is there some reason he won’t?”

“Physically, he’s probably more than capable,” Laran agreed. “It’s his choice of bed partners that places the likelihood in doubt.”

“If Lernen dies childless,” Jeryma added, “any son Marla bears Hablet will inherit his throne. Glenadal’s greatest fear was that Hablet is planning to reunite the two nations of Hythria and Fardohnya.”

“Unite them?” Charel snorted. “My lady, if anyone is planning to unite the Warlords of Hythria, it’s your son! They will all be united in their desire to see his head on a spike once word of this gets out.”

“Glenadal may have been sentimental,” Laran agreed, “but he wasn’t a fool, Charel. Even without your help, I now command nearly a third of the armies of Hythria. Married to Marla Wolfblade, any son she bears would be the natural heir.”

“It won’t happen. Marla is already promised to Hablet. And even if she wasn’t, it’s moot. The Convocation of Warlords will never agree to you keeping Sunrise. Even if they thought you the most noble and benign soul in Hythria, the precedent is far too dangerous.”

“The High Prince can overrule the Convocation,” Jeryma reminded him. “For that matter, he can appoint a Warlord at his pleasure, just as he can
marry his sister to whomever he pleases. The practice of the High Prince asking the Convocation to vote on the issue is a courtesy, not a law.”

“You think Lernen’s actually going to agree to this?”

“I believe I can make him see things our way,” Kagan confirmed cautiously. “Given the right . . . enticement.”

With an effort, Charel stood up and began to pace the room, tugging on his beard, as if the motion helped him gather his thoughts. The others watched him in silence as he considered the problem, knowing the man was both a friend and a potentially powerful enemy. Eventually, he stopped and turned to Laran.

“Suppose—just for a moment—I go along with this,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m not, mind you, but let us suppose for a moment that I do. Have you considered the effect such a conflict would have on our northern neighbours? I can’t see them sitting back and doing nothing.”

“The Medalonians aren’t a threat,” Laran said. “They have their own internal problems to deal with.”

“I agree,” Jeryma added. “Since Trayla came to power, the Sisterhood seems more intent on self-destruction than expansion. One wonders how much longer they can go on.”

“And the Kariens?”

“Also too self-absorbed to be a threat,” Kagan concluded.

“But what of the Fardohnyans? What do you think Hablet is going to do about this? At the very least, if it comes to civil war he’ll try to take advantage of our disunity. At worst he might come after you, Laran, either for the insult of stealing his intended bride or fear of the concentration of power you represent. I can assure you, Hablet of Fardohnya will have no moral qualms about ridding the world of Krakandar’s Warlord.”

“All of which are preferable to Hablet conquering Hythria between the open legs of Marla Wolfblade,” Kagan reminded them bluntly.

“And just how do you plan to stop that?” Charel asked sceptically. “And more to the point, have you thought that while you’re
trying
to stop it, the Patriot Faction will jump into the void so fast, you won’t even realise they’ve won until you’re on your knees swearing fealty to the High Prince Barnardo?”

“It’s because of Alija and the Patriots that we must do this, and do it quickly,” Kagan warned. “Since the murder of Ronan Dell and Marla’s betrothal to Hablet, their cause has never looked better in some circles.”

Charel shook his head at the High Arrion. “If you knew it was going to make things easier for Lernen’s enemies, Kagan, why, in the name of all the Primal Gods, did you agree to broker the deal with Fardohnya in the first place?”

“Because it delayed them. I had to do something, Charel, or at the last Convocation we wouldn’t have been meeting to vote Laran his province, we’d have been swearing fealty to a new High Prince.”

Even Charel Hawksword couldn’t deny the truth of that. He resumed his pacing, tugging on his beard so hard Kagan expected to see clumps of it coming away in his hand.

“Have you given any thought to the logistics of what you have planned?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe sane men would even consider such a course of action. “You’ll have to get Lernen to agree. You have to somehow get your hands on Marla Wolfblade without raising suspicion. You have to marry her and make damn sure the marriage is consummated before anybody—and I do mean
anybody
—gets wind of what’s going on. You’ll have to move troops into place without raising suspicion to block both the pass near Highcastle and the Widowmaker Pass at Winternest, both of which will be vulnerable to attack from Fardohnya if Hablet decides to express his displeasure by using his army.”

“I’ll soon have Krakandar troops stationed at Winternest,” Laran informed him. “They’ll be there ostensibly to protect Riika, Darilyn and her boys. It won’t take much to bolster their number to fighting strength.”

“Which only leaves the pass near Highcastle vulnerable to attack. You need me rather badly, I think, Laran Krakenshield.”

“
Hythria
needs you rather badly, Charel,” Laran corrected.

“Isn’t that where Marla lives?” Nash asked. “At Highcastle? Frederak Branador’s wife is Lernen’s aunt, isn’t she?”

“Lydia is . . . was . . . Garel Wolfblade’s younger half-sister. She’s had the care of Marla pretty much since she was born,” Jeryma confirmed. “The princess’s appearance in Greenharbour for the Convocation was quite unexpected, I hear.”

“Hablet wanted to see what he was buying,” Kagan explained. “Once the Convocation was over, Lernen sent Marla back to Lydia and Frederak with a couple of
court’esa
and instructions to prepare her for the wedding.”

“And how are you going to get her away from Highcastle without raising the alarm?”

“I could do it,” Nash offered.

They all turned to look at him.

“
You?”
Charel asked his son suspiciously.

“It’s not what you think! It’s just . . . well . . . Marla loathes the idea of marrying Hablet. She told me that herself. She even begged me to save her from him, just before . . .” Nash hesitated and glanced at Kagan, who glared at him with a threatening scowl. He shrugged. “Just before she left the party. If I turned up at Highcastle telling her I’d found a way to save her from the marriage, she’d follow me out of there like a hound dog on a blood trail.”

Jeryma smiled faintly. “Despite your son’s rather colourful turn of phrase, Charel, I believe he may have the right of it. And I’m encouraged to learn Marla Wolfblade is opposed to the marriage,” she added, looking pointedly at Laran. “Her cooperation in this venture will simplify it considerably.”

“I haven’t said we’ve agreed to this yet,” Charel warned, glowering at his son.

“We might as well, Father,” Nash replied, leaning back on the cushions. “I mean, when it comes down to it, we’re either going to support the plan that will give us a Hythrun-born heir, do nothing and allow the next High Prince to be a Fardohnyan, or we let that idiot Barnardo Eaglespike take the crown, with a sorcerer calling the shots from behind the throne. I know which one I’d prefer.”

“As opposed to what we have now?” Charel asked, looking pointedly at Kagan.

“I think you’ll find my advice to Lernen a little less disturbing than the advice Barnardo is likely to get from Alija and her cronies.”

“This is fraught with danger,” Charel warned, after a moment. “The planning will have to be impeccable.”

Kagan breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re with us then?” Laran asked.

Charel Hawksword hesitated for a long, tension-filled moment and then he nodded. “Aye. The House of Hawksword is with you. And the gods help us all if we fail.”

T
he jade water dragon was still sitting on the mantel of Glenadal’s office. After his last abortive attempt at stealing it, Wrayan had decided to wait until a more opportune time. Now seemed as good a time as any. He lifted the ornament from the mantel, smiling at its delicate perfection, and then carefully, surreptitiously, slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.