by Pam Uphoff
"Old . . . Huh. What about the witches, who don't ever marry? I've heard they think that provision was specifically written to ensure their inheritance of property from Mother to daughter."
"Oh bull." Mirk shot a glare up toward the head of the table. "Rufi and his claims of legitimate children, when there was never anything even resembling a marriage! Utter rubbish."
"But needed, for their way of life."
"Rufi's precious witches are nothing but peasants, grubbing the dirt and playing at 'magic.' He's trying to push his only male descendant forward, but it simply isn't going to stand," he snapped.
Staven nodded. Found your hot button, Uncle! "But since we're talking about inheriting titles and positions in the . . . dominant culture, surely our local customs are the only ones we need to consider." Staven stabbed a strip of steak and managed to not drop it on the way to his mouth.
Mirk growled, not looking any happier. "There, the Charter is unfortunately clear. None will be held above any others, and no child will be disinherited in one region because he or she was only considered legitimate in another." He sliced into his own steak as if he were envisioning an enemy.
Staven swallowed. "That's a bit awkward. I see why they accepted Fossi, when . . . "
"Please! Do not start that mess all over. Fossi is a bastard, his confirmation pushed through because Leano was madly in love with Nez."
"And a good thing, else you and Garit, not to mention all your sisters, wouldn't exist." Staven watched him carefully, spotted the slight softening of the set of his shoulders.
"True."
"Which leaves us with a hideous mess." Staven stepped out onto thin ice. "What's the lineup look like? You, your son, and Garit, of course, then it jumps to, I suppose, Rufi's sole male descendant." He shook his head. "Can't believe they'd actually consider descent through the female line . . . " he let it trail off, but Mirk just shrugged. "The three of you are all of King Rebo's straight male descendants. So . . . jumping up to Rebo the Elder's Spear. Kersh has two grandsons, doesn't he?"
Mirk shook his head. "They're too old, and neither has a son to carry on. Grandfather Rebo's two younger brothers are both very elderly, Benni's sons are in their sixties, the four grandsons are in their forties, with not a single son among them. I've been over all this. Marius? Both his sons are little fags, and only the younger is young enough to consider promoting to . . . I don't know if crown or spear would be more disastrous."
Staven couldn't repress a smirk. "Oh, I dunno, Franki likes to dress up, but I've never noticed him checking out any of the men."
Mirk snorted. "Great grandfather, King Haro, also had a late born daughter. She's the mother of Marshall Byson Trehem. He's got two sons; one's in the army, could be a possible spear heir."
"That's a reach. The next possibility is . . . what, King Haro's Spear? Heso the Iron Man is the great grandfather of Lord Fidel Iron, and he's got two sons."
Mirk sneered. "Much too distant. Although it is straight male descent. And he did marry a granddaughter of Haro's, so they're doubly qualified. I suspect though, that it'll come down to me and Garit. And I'm really too old. We need younger men for both spear and crown. Perhaps Garit for the Spear and one of the very young boys for the Crown Heir."
"That would be sensible." Staven blinked at his empty plate. Guess I'm getting used to this left handed thing.
And you sure ducked. Diverting suspicion or honest appraisal? . . . Is his son Kel the only straight male line child? I can't think of any others.
"At least we can count out that Wolfson person. All we'd need is another damned bastard weaseling his way into the power structure."
Staven nodded. "Yeah."
***
"I need to organize my thoughts." Staven looked over to see Markly peeking around the door's edge. "Can you write?"
"Of course!" Offended tones and braced shoulders.
Can't be worse than me trying to write left handed. He shoved back and searched his borrowed desk for pen and paper. "I need to make a list of the succession."
"For Crown or Spear?"
"Either. Then we'll look at the ages, and sort them out again." Staven organized his thoughts while the boy pulled up a chair and took up the pen.
"Mirk's first, so his baby boy, what's his name?"
"Kel."
"Kel is second. Number three is Garit. Four is Grandbi."
"But he's old!" the boy looked indignant.
"Fifty-six. We'll sort them out by age, later, this first list is pure line of descent."
In the end they came up with just eighteen straight line male Negues.
Only half of them younger than Rolo.
"And since Rolo's only forty-two, we really ought to cut it down further. These are the men who will take over when Fossi and Rolo die. Hopefully of old age. Okay, this is good. We're down to eight men, and one baby. Now let's say they decide to allow descent through the female line, equally. So after Mirk and his son, there are five daughters with four sons. But I suspect Garit would come ahead of their sons. So the boys are forth through seventh. Garit's buddy Xen is eighth. And on down the list . . . none of them have sons or grandsons . . .There are plenty of daughters, but they don't have sons . . . until we get to the Trehems. The Marshall and his two sons. They're twenty-first through twenty-third on the list, right?"
"Right!" The boy sounded a bit desperate.
Staven leaned forward to read, and grinned. "Creative spelling, but you've got the gist of it. Let's see. After the Trehems . . . Tee are ee aitch ee em. The Irons finish up at twenty-four through twenty-six, calculated this way."
"Would anyone think they could get away with murdering dozens of royals?" The boy was looking at his list, clearly taken aback by the possibilities.
"Yeah, hard to think anyone would be so . . . stupid." Staven frowned at the chicken scratchings. "You know what we're leaving out? Rebo's children. Sixteen of them. At least four boys, that I know of. And two of the boys might be considered legitimate."
He contemplated the list. "The Crown Heir really does need to be someone from the male descent list. The Spear, they could bring in someone from the female descent list."
Markly perked up. "So someone, like those Trehems, could be helping someone high on the list . . . " his voice wavered.
"Yeah. I can't stand the thought that Mirk or Garit could murder Rebo in cold blood. And try to kill me." Kill part of me. Kill my career. Kill my place in the hierarchy of power in the Kingdom. "And Baylor Trehem is connected to the woman who attacked me. Let's go take a good hard look at him first."
I really wish he didn't know Garit. Wish Garit didn't know those women. Wish he didn't have a wizard friend.
Chapter Seven
Winter 1393, day 6
Havwee, Section 6, Desert Valley Province
Captain Jimes Macay managed to get his appalled expression under control.
Staven hid his own grim amusement. The Captain's expression had been cautious when Staven announced that he would accompany the investigating team to Havwee. It was Solstice's pinto spots that had truly horrified the man.
Macay cleared his throat. "Those are harness marks. There are spare mounts . . . " He broke off at Staven's head shake. Cleared his throat. "Well. We've had several places under observation from mid-morning of the second. No sign of any of the women, let alone the one who tried to kill you. So let's go find out if their boyfriends know anything."
It wasn't Staven's first trip through a corridor, but he found himself sweating. His last trip through this particular one had not ended well. The small team of investigators had a bit of trouble convincing their horses to approach the gate. Once they stuck their heads in, the rest of the horse and rider popped through readily.
Macay and Passe swapped worried looks, but Solstice just pointed his ears at the arch with the desert architecture on the other side and trotted through without breaking stride. A weird twisting sensation . . . The troops were circling their alarmed mounts. Solsti
ce slowed and sauntered over toward them.
Staven heard one of them muttering. ". . . cart horse has probably pulled hundreds of wagons through . . ."
Staven looked over and nodded. "Solstice is experienced." He didn't elaborate. They're probably right, and I don't care.
Passe popped through, on a horse that threw a couple of bucks. Captain Macay's mount tried to bolt and was reined around by a rather spooked looking officer . . . Few of them have had any experience with corridors. Horses or riders.
Staven steered Solstice away from the corridor and took a look around. The corridors opened up on a large empty plaza just inside the town gate. Seven of them. The one directly across led to Farofo. The others to various small towns. Like Two Trees.
The town gates were open: Troopers in Second Army uniforms saluted, passed them through without checking further. Staven got some stares. Then again, they probably all know who I am. Young, family resemblance to Rufi and Fossi, one arm. Of course they know who I am. Interesting, the open area . . . so the troops can shoot any bandits that come through? Or too many runaway horses? I doubt they think invaders could come from Karista, so that corridor could be inside the walls. Any trouble, another Auralian invasion, say, and Rufi could send reinforcements through to help hold the town. But those little towns are a serious vulnerability. He raised his voice a bit. "Where to first? Second Army HQ to find Lieutenant Trehem, or do you want to tackle Lord Lester first?"
Macay wrestled his horse up beside Solstice. "HQ first. They will at least know where to find him."
Staven nodded and Solstice trotted sedately away. Damned if the horse isn't amused by the ill mannered horses, after he was insulted. Uncle Day, where did you get this old fellow? Devil's grandsire. The troops fell in, as much as they were able. The other horses settled quickly enough.
The Army had taken possession of the city's Temple of Ba'al, after repeated disobedience of royal decrees. The buildings were ornate, but reasonably functional. Although what the army used the big domed building for was hard to imagine.
The general stalking down the steps to meet them, followed their gaze, and answered the unasked question. "Warehouse. And hay. Lots of hay. Now. What is this about Trehem? I've checked, he hasn't left town." His eyes drifted to Staven, took in the arm, and his back stiffened a bit more.
Macay nodded. "We need to talk to him. He is not a suspect in the assassination."
"Then why . . . " The general broke off as Macay produced an envelope.
His eyes scanned the single sheet inside. Staven couldn't read it, but even at this angle, Rufi's signature was unmistakable.
"Well. I'll get you a conference room and summon Trehem. He's . . . not bad for a snotty noble. Good young officer. Came up through the rotation with Prince Garit . . . " His eyes drifted toward Staven again. "But then I suppose you know all that."
"Yes." Macay was definitely not giving out any information.
The general waved in a private. "My compliments, will Lieutenant Baylor Trehem join me in conference room twelve, immediately. He ought to be on the fourth floor."
The private saluted and trotted off.
They followed the general to a door marked twelve.
Macay eyed him, nodded. "You may stay and listen if you wish."
The general didn't look happy, but he nodded, and sat.
Macay took the head of the table.
Staven walked around the table, and sat, so that his arm wouldn't be immediately obvious. Passe leaned casually against the wall, near the door. A sergeant positioned a notebook in front of himself and poised a pen.
In the uncomfortable silence, Staven contemplated what the general had said. Went through the rotation with Garit. Garit . . . who now stands a good chance of becoming the Crown Heir. And Trehem's mistress was that dancer who tried to kill me. Trehem . . . must be a year or two older . . . royal connection through his paternal grandmother. That might be good enough for a Spear. Then I just need to find a connection to magic, for the illusions . . . like Xen Wolfson. And I have a trail of possibilities, not proof.
He closed his eyes in pain.
Not Garit! Please not Garit!
I know there's a good chance Rebo was murdered to get him out of the way of someone's advancement. But please, Old Gods, please, make it a jealous husband or boyfriend!
A soft rap preceded the door opening.
Trehem was recognizably family. The bright blonde hair, tall, broad and muscular. A nose most kindly described as "strong." He looked irritated. He barely glanced at them, eyes tracking toward his commander.
Macay leaned forward. "Sorry to bother you. We're checking in with all members of the Royal family. You're probably distant enough to not be in any danger. But . . . have you noticed anything out of the usual, this last week?"
Trehem frowned at the pen wielding sergeant. "I . . . well, apart from my mistress running off? I've had the devil of a time . . . "
"Your mistress is missing?" Macay sat up in what Staven knew was entirely false alarm. "Do you know that she left of her own accord?"
Trehem looked taken aback. "Well . . . she vacations occasionally. She went off to some resort to get all pampered and primped . . . and then she came back in a hurry, grabbed everything in sight and just left. Took the silver and my spare horse. And left little Allie with her friend in Karista. And Gar—little boy of my friend Lester's. We share a house in town, for our little pleasures. His mistress took off as well."
"Well," Macay looked a bit relieved. "It sounds like a normal split up, not a kidnapping. But perhaps we ought to run a quick check. Do you know where she went?"
The lieutenant snorted. "I followed her, arguing, right up to the corridor to Farofo. She's Auralian, so maybe she went home. Old Gods know why, she was a common prostitute when I found her down there."
"Perhaps she missed her home?"
Snort. "Fat chance. All she ever talked about was how much she loved the kingdom. She always wanted to hear all about it."
Macay placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. Stared at Trehem. "All about what? What you do?"
"Well," Trehem blinked uncertainly. "I told her about my patrols, and so forth. Bragged about my access . . . to . . . umm . . . "
The general growled faintly. Glanced at Macay and received a nod. "The sorts of things a young officer really ought not tell anyone, let alone an Auralian?"
Trehem's mouth dropped open. "But she . . . loves me."
They left him to the general and went looking for Lord Lester Gannis.
Gannis was in a temper, with what looked like a younger brother sniping about how his mistress, having taken Lester for all he was worth, had moved on.
"Probably not even your own kid," the younger Gannis sneered.
Staven couldn't suppress a wince. He sounds like Garit taunting Rebo over his . . .
Lester shot a dirty look over his shoulder at the visitors who'd ridden into his stable yard and family shouting match. "Bugger off. I'm busy." Then he froze, turned around, eyes scanning the uniforms, no doubt recognizing the differences in King's Own. "What?" His eyes found Staven and widened further.
Staven swung down and stalked forward. "So. Four days after two of your whores helped murder Crown Heir Rebo Negue, you're all packed up and planning to run for Auralia."
As shock treatment it worked well. "What? Murdered . . . what!" He looked around, baffled. "Look, my mistress just took off with half of my mother's jewelry. I've got to . . . "
"Sit down and answer a few questions." Staven snapped. "We had people on the ground here within hours, and they never spotted this 'Kessi' or Baylor's 'Jasi.' When did you last see either of them?"
"Wha . . . why . . ." Lester's gaze fell on Staven's right arm, and his mouth dropped open. "What, when. . ."
"No, Gannis, the way this works is we ask and you answer. When did you last see Kessi or Jasi?"
"Five days ago." The younger brother snapped. "She came tearing in here, scooped up Mother's
jewelry chest and ran back out." He shot a disgusted look at Lester. "She had the key to the side door. Just walked in. Lester was staggering around half asleep trying get it on while she robbed us."
"I don't know what happened." Lester's voice had a definite whine. "Wha . . ." He blinked and straightened. "Did you say she murdered Rebo? Rebo's . . . " He shot a look at Staven's right arm. His adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed. "And you think Kessi is mixed up in it?"
"Yep. We've kept the warrant in hand, hoping she'd show up here, but now it's time for some information. Where'd you meet her?"
"In Auralia . . . " Gannis looked around, as if wondering where his safe little world had wandered off to. "We were on our rotation, the end of our first assignment, and we went across the border for some entertainment."
"We?"
"The whole rotation. Garit, Dominic, Asti . . . Umm. Lord Dominic Marsh. Lord Asti Thorogus. Lord Keith Rivolte. Lord Rally Feloni, Lord Baylor Trehem, Lord Onray Eckerman, and Lord Philip Kemper. Umm, well I really don't think Wolfson qualified as a Lord . . . And Prince Garit."
Keith Rivolte was in that rotation group! Damn, damn, damn.
"And you say your mistress went off to a beauty spa? Where? What's the name of it?"
"Karista. She's got some old friends there, who would keep Gar while she was busy being pampered."
"So, the beauty spa is in Karista? What's the name of it?"
"Well . . . I don't know." Lester stared at them, blank. "I never asked. I just assumed it was someplace near her friends . . . "
Staven scowled, and glanced back at Captain Macay. "We'd better check with the guards at the corridor plaza. Gannis, do you have any pictures of her?"
Gannis had apparently, finally, started thinking. "She took them all."
"And the negatives?"
He perked up. "No, I have them . . . somewhere . . . "
Macay sent a man to the general for more people.