The Gray Wolf Throne

by Chima, Cinda Williams

  As Raisa’s bodyguard, Han attended nearly all of her meetings. He hoped to learn something useful—who was who and what was what. But it wore him out—it was all talk, talk, talk, and nothing much accomplished. He stood through most, vibrating like a plucked string, impatient at wasting so much time.

  It struck him how alone Raisa was. There seemed to be few people at court the queen could trust. Even her father, Averill, had a clan agenda that might not fit with her own. She was always onstage, whether at meals or at a recital, or in conference with her economic advisers.

  At one afternoon meeting with the Queen’s Council, she managed to get into a row with just about everyone.

  They were seated around the table in her privy chamber (which Han thought was an amusing name, given what was often slung around). As was his custom, Han stood propped against the wall, looking as ruthless as possible.

  “General Klemath,” Raisa said, lifting her chin in that way she had when she meant to do battle, “as the contracts with the mercenary forces come due for renewal, I want you to dismiss the foreign brigades and send them home.”

  “Send them home, Your Highness?” Klemath stared at her in astonishment. “These are dangerous times, my dear. I know the brigades are expensive, but surely there are other places to cut costs.” He ticked off each point on his thick fingers. “There is conflict with the Waterwalkers on the western border. Arden is a threat to the south. The army might be needed to help the guard if we have a domestic rebellion.” He looked up at the ceiling, making a point of ignoring Lord Averill. “There is unrest among the upland clans. They are always unpredictable. Now is not the time to be frugal with the army.”

  “I think you will find that tensions between clans and Valefolk will diminish once the blooded queen is on the throne and we are convinced that she is no longer in danger,” Averill said. “In the meantime, we will do whatever it takes to maintain the tenets of the Næ´ming and protect the Gray Wolf line. As long as attacks on our villages continue, we will stand ready to defend ourselves. May I remind you that in many areas of the countryside, the Demonai are all that stand between the people and the flatland brigands.”

  “I don’t mean to cut funding to the army,” Raisa said, holding up her hand to quiet the debate, “at least not to the degree that it puts us in danger. I intend to field as many soldiers as now, but I want to move to native-born soldiers. Men and women who have a loyalty to the Fells, who know the land, and will fight hard to defend it.”

  Klemath raised an eyebrow. “If there is a rebellion, Your Highness, it would be best to field professional soldiers who have no possible allegiance to slumdwellers and street thieves.”

  “Except that your foreign soldiers have no particular allegiance to me,” Raisa said.

  “But they do as they’re told,” Klemath said, like he was trying his best to be patient. “Your homegrown army might betray you.”

  Klemath is native born, Han thought. Strange that he’s so married to the notion of southern mercenaries. Maybe he’s lining his own pockets. Maybe he’s on the dawb from the mercenary brokers and doesn’t want to give that up.

  “It is not the primary job of the army to fight our own citizens,” Raisa said. “People in the Fells are close to rebellion because there are no jobs and no way to make a living. The wars in the south have idled hardworking people. Wouldn’t it be better to use our funds to put our own people to work?”

  “Has there been a problem, Your Highness, with the mercenaries?” Klemath asked.

  “There has been a problem, General, with people starving in the Fells while we send money to sell-swords and brokers in the flatlands.” The spots of color on Raisa’s cheeks signaled that she was losing patience. “I’ve been out to the camps. Most of our soldiers seem to be from Arden and Tamron. You’d think they’d have plenty of fighting to do at home.”

  Klemath raised his hands helplessly and turned to the others on the council. “Gentlemen?”

  “Gentlemen!” Raisa repeated. “That’s another problem. Why aren’t there more women on my council?”

  They all looked at one another, each waiting for someone else to speak. They were all men, save one spare, red-haired woman Han didn’t know.

  “Well, ah…” Lord Hakkam flailed about for an answer. “The members—it’s the office, not the gender, you know.”

  “I’m going to fix that,” Raisa said to herself.

  “Your Highness,” Lord Bayar said, with an indulgent smile, “with reference to the mercenary issue, perhaps it is wise to listen to your counselors. We are here to help, after all.”

  “I know you are kindhearted, Your Highness,” Lord Hakkam said, patting Raisa’s hand. “But you are as yet unschooled in military matters. Although the mercenaries are expensive, it is dangerous to make so radical a change during this transition period. Above all, we want to keep you safe.” Hakkam served as her financial minister as well as chair of the Queen’s Council.

  “The Guard keeps me safe, uncle,” Raisa said, firmly withdrawing her hand. “And the good will of my people, which I mean to earn.”

  Amon Byrne cleared his throat. As Captain of the Queen’s Guard, he was an ex-officio member of the council, but he didn’t speak out often. “We use only native borns in the Queen’s Guard, and it has worked well for us. Until recently, our army was native born as well.”

  “And we lost Queen Marianna despite her native-born Guard,” Lord Bayar said.

  “Are you suggesting it was murder?” Byrne asked, looking the High Wizard in the eyes.

  Bayar backed off. “I am only raising the possibility, nothing more,” he said. “I am saying I still have questions about how she died.”

  “Really? I thought perhaps you had the answers,” Averill said.

  I did too, Han thought. Why is Lord Bayar raising questions about Queen Marianna’s death when he’s likely the one who did her?

  “That’s enough!” Raisa said. Into the silence that followed, she said, “Anyone who has solid information about my mother’s death should speak to Captain Byrne. We will not sling accusations here in this council.”

  This is like a rival gang standoff, Han thought. With Raisa trying to be streetlord over all of them.

  Raisa waited, and when nobody said anything, went on. “Regarding the reshaping of the army, I thank you for your advice, but I have made my decision. This is not an impulsive move. I have been looking at this issue for some time. I will rely on you, General Klemath, to provide proper training to our new recruits.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” General Klemath said, bowing his head. “As you wish. But with so many other pressing obligations, I hope you realize that it can’t be done overnight.”

  This change will be so gradual as to be unnoticeable, Han thought. In a year, we’ll have no more than a handful of native borns in the army, and Klemath will still have his mercenaries.

  “I don’t expect you to do it without help, General,” Raisa said sweetly. “As Captain Byrne is experienced in working with native-born soldiers, he will assist you in implementing this.” She laced her fingers and rested her chin on her hands. “Also, Speaker Jemson has contacts in Ragmarket and Southbridge, where I expect many of our recruits will come from. Lord Averill is similarly connected in the camps. The clans have been under-represented in the army, and I mean to field a force that reflects all the peoples of the Fells.”

  She paused, looking at each man in turn. “The four of you are accountable for this. You will meet at least weekly, and I will expect monthly progress reports.”

  Irritation flickered across Klemath’s face, then quickly extinguished. Jemson frowned, looking as if he wished to say something, but did not. Byrne’s expression said that he would see it done if that’s what his queen required.

  She’s put him in a spot, Han thought. The bluejackets and the army already hate each other. But she doesn’t have much choice if she really means to make this happen.

  “What other business is there?”
Raisa asked, stretching her arms out in front of her and rotating her shoulders like they hurt.

  “This arrived from Tamron Court via the garrison at Tamron Crossing,” Klemath said sullenly, extending an envelope toward Raisa. “It is addressed to you, from Gerard Montaigne, Prince of Tamron.”

  Prince Gerard! Han stiffened. He and Dancer had had a run-in with Gerard in Ardenscourt. Gerard had tried to “recruit” them for his wizard army. If not for Cat Tyburn, he might have succeeded.

  Strange that Klemath would give Raisa the message at this meeting, Han thought. Why wouldn’t he just forward it to her with other dispatches from the border?

  Unless he already knew what it said and wanted to see how queen and council reacted to the message within.

  Raisa stilled herself for a long moment, took a deep breath, then took the envelope from Klemath. It was thick, creamy stationery, sealed with a wax stamp. Ripping the seal free, she slid a folded sheet from the envelope.

  She unfolded it and spread it out on the table. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she bent her head to scan the message, so Han couldn’t see her expression. She appeared to read over it twice, running her finger along the page as if to assure herself that she was reading every line.

  When she raised her head, her complexion resembled the tawny marble they dug from the quarries in We’enhaven, set with the emeralds of her eyes. Pressing the heels of her hands into the table, she tapped on the page with her fingers, staring straight ahead.

  “Well?” Lord Bayar asked impatiently. “What does Montaigne have to say?”

  Raisa flinched as if startled, and looked at the High Wizard, her eyes unusually bright.

  “What is it, Your Highness?” Bayar said, leaning forward and reaching for the letter. “Perhaps we could shed some perspective on—”

  “Here, Lord Bayar,” Raisa said, thrusting the page toward him. “Why don’t you read it aloud for the council?” She sat back, arms folded, gripping her elbows to either side.

  Bayar scanned the page quickly, then looked up at Raisa as if seeking clues as to how she might respond.

  Clearing his throat, he bent his head over the paper and began to read.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y-E I G H T

  LOVE LETTER FROM ARDEN

  To Her Majesty Queen Raisa of the Fells,

  I write in the fervent hope that this finds you well and to offer congratulations on your imminent coronation.

  Please also accept my condolences on the sudden and yet remarkably timely death of your mother, Queen Marianna. It is well known that relations between the two of you have been strained of late. Her accident, while unfortunate, has cleared a major obstacle from your path. It appears that you, like me, do not hesitate to shape events to your advantage. This only reinforces my notion that we are natural allies and could be more than that.

  “Blood of the demon!” Averill swore.

  Clearly, this was not a message intended to be read aloud in company.

  Or perhaps it was.

  Han watched Raisa’s face. It retained its stonelike quality, stamped with a faintly interested expression. He could tell that she was watching all the other faces in the room.

  “Daughter,” Averill said. “You should not entertain this kind of slander. The notion that you would have had anything to do with your mother’s death is ludicrous.”

  “And yet many suspect me,” Raisa said. “Especially outside of the Fells.” She gestured to Bayar. “Go on.”

  It will take some time to reestablish order in Tamron and rid the kingdom of spies and traitorous elements. The abuses and excesses of the recent king have stoked the fires of rebellion among both nobles and commons. They must understand that those days are over. Indeed, the former prince and princess are at risk of assassination by their own people. You will be glad to know that I am keeping them well secured within my keep.

  The current confusion does, I believe, present an opportunity for us to expand our holdings. My brother, Prince Geoff, continues to lay claim to the kingdom of Arden. He has reinforced his borders with Tamron and brought his army west to meet any threat from us. This leaves his northern borders lightly garrisoned and unprotected.

  I understand that the Fells maintains a standing army of more than five thousand horse and foot soldiers.

  Bayar looked up from the letter. “Remarkably accurate count, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Remarkable,” Raisa murmured.

  Bayar resumed reading.

  I propose the following, the details of which are to be negotiated by our representatives:

  The Fells will invade the kingdom of Arden from the north, committing at least three thousand of its troops to this campaign. The Fellsian Army will drive south as far as Temple Church and hold its position there. This will divert the Ardenine Army away from the western border and allow us to advance from that direction to take the capital.

  “It would also make any future alliance with Geoff unlikely, if not impossible,” Averill said.

  Raisa nodded, lips tight together. “Go on,” she directed Bayar.

  He continued reading.

  Once Arden is securely under my control, I will withdraw most of my army from Tamron, leaving the Tomlins to rule as my regents there, assuming that they can be made to understand certain realities.

  Finally, I propose an immediate marriage contract between us, with the marriage to be solemnized as soon as our military objectives are accomplished. It would be best, of course, for our betrothal to remain secret for now.

  Following our marriage, we will jointly rule the larger kingdom of Arden, Tamron, and the Fells. You would, of course, retain your title of Queen of the Fells, a title that our daughters would inherit.

  We needn’t stop there. Given your line’s history, we would have a natural claim to the rest of the Seven Realms. With our combined resources, we can add these jewels to our crown. You will be the beautiful and glittering symbol of a new age of peace and prosperity.

  Do give this proposal careful consideration. I think you agree that this arrangement presents significant advantages to us both, if we act quickly.

  I also hope you are able to set aside the unfortunate incidents along the border between Tamron and Arden and know that it was my desire to cement a match with you that drove my behavior. These times call for bold and aggressive action.

  Best, Gerard Montaigne, King of Arden and Tamron

  Bayar tossed the pages onto the table with a snort. “The new king of Tamron takes you for a fool, Your Highness.”

  Raisa laced her fingers, resting her hands on the table. “Do you think so, Lord Bayar?”

  “During that unfortunate incident, as he calls it, Montaigne murdered young Wil Mathis in cold blood,” Bayar said.

  Raisa nodded. “I was there.”

  “Not only that,” Bayar continued, “some speculate that his agents may be responsible for the murders we’ve seen recently, right here in the city.”

  “Murders?” Raisa looked from face to face, fastening on Captain Byrne’s. “What murders?”

  “Five of the gifted have been murdered in the past fortnight, and the bodies left in Ragmarket,” Byrne said. “The murders seem indiscriminate, connected only by the fact that all of the victims were wizards. One was a member of the assembly, but the last two were students slumming in Ragmarket. They were found in a back alley with their throats cut and their amulets missing, painted over in blood.”

  That caught Han’s attention. Cat had mentioned that there’d been several murders of the gifted in Ragmarket and Southbridge. She’d asked around, but nobody seemed to be bragging about it.

  Whoever’s running that crew has starch, Han had thought at the time. Or a death wish.

  “Why would Montaigne kill wizards in Ragmarket?” Raisa asked.

  “It’s just one theory,” Byrne said. “As you know, Your Highness, Montaigne has abducted wizards and forced them into his army. But it’s likely he’s been having difficulty getting his hand
s on magical weaponry. So he might be killing wizards in order to collect their amulets. Or seeking to reduce the supply of gifted in the north.”

  Bayar rolled his lace cuffs. “Some say Gerard Montaigne is behind it. Others believe we should look closer to home.” He turned his head very deliberately and looked at Averill Demonai. The red-haired wizard leaned forward, nodding her support.

  “By all means, look closer to home,” Lord Demonai said, glancing up at the ceiling. “After all, wizards have a long history of preying on each other. Perhaps some have chosen this means to address the shortage of flashcraft.”

  “Isn’t it more likely to be gang related?” Raisa’s gaze flickered to Han, then fixed back on her captain.

  “That could be,” Byrne said, “but the gangs usually leave wizards alone.”

  “All right,” Raisa said wearily, as if she were adding this problem to some mental list. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand.” She looked around the table. “What about the rest of you? What do you think of Montaigne’s proposal?”

  Is she really considering it? Han wondered. He’d met Gerard Montaigne, and he wasn’t buying anything the prince was selling.

  “I agree with Lord Bayar,” Byrne said, “whether or not Montaigne has anything to do with those murders. My guess is, since he hasn’t been able to defeat his brother on his own, he’s hoping the army of the Fells will distract Geoff long enough for him to gain a foothold.” He paused. “Our losses could be devastating. Our army is trained for mountain fighting, where our smaller numbers aren’t such a disadvantage. Out on the Arden plains, we can be flanked and overwhelmed.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” General Klemath said, adjusting his bulk in his seat. “While there is some truth to what Captain Byrne says, his knowledge of our army and the tactics of flatland warfare is limited. Many of our mercenary soldiers have trained in Arden and Tamron for just this kind of fighting. In this instance, it may be that our employ of experienced mercenaries will lead to success rather than failure.” He smiled smugly, as if he felt redeemed.