Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  A little taken aback, Regis frowned. “I couldn’t really say, your majesty.”

  “Well, before you get too enchanted with my daughter, Lord Regis,” he suggested, “you might want to find out.”

  “Sire … I didn’t mean to imply …”

  “It’s all right, Axelle, I know what you meant.”

  “I would never behave improperly toward your daughter, your majesty. You must know that!”

  I’m more worried about her behaving improperly toward you, Hablet thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Let Regis think he’d crossed the line. It always paid to keep a man like him on his toes.

  “I hope you mean that, son, because Adrina means more to me than my own life. If I ever had reason to suspect anything …”

  “I understand, your majesty.”

  Hablet clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Good. And now that’s cleared up, let’s go find ourselves a drink and you can tell me about the rest of your plans for my invasion of Hythria.”

  PART TWO

  TRAITORS, TRICKS AND TREACHERY

  CHAPTER 21

  It was only a matter of days after Damin Wolfblade left Krakandar that Luciena Taranger began to regret her husband’s hasty decision to stay here and keep an eye on things until his cousin returned.

  And all of her concerns began and ended with Xanda’s uncle, Mahkas Damaran.

  At first, with Mahkas still in shock over the death of his daughter and his serious injuries, it wasn’t too bad. Although the whole city was in mourning for Leila, Luciena had her hands full with her own three children as well as Tejay Lionsclaw’s four young sons, whom the Warlord’s wife had left in Krakandar to keep safe from the plague, while she accompanied Damin back to Cabradell. With the funeral to arrange and Lady Bylinda incapacitated by grief, it had been easy for Luciena and Xanda to fool themselves into believing that all would be well. But as the weeks progressed and Mahkas regained his strength, it became clear that things were far from normal.

  Unfortunately, the only one who could do anything about it was her husband, Xanda.

  Damin had done one very useful thing before he left, which was probably the only thing keeping Xanda’s head on his shoulders, because every time her husband disagreed with his uncle, the old man flew into a rage. Damin had taken aside Orleon, Raek Harlen and the other captains he was leaving in Krakandar and quietly explained to them, in no uncertain terms, that he would be back as soon as this problem with Fardohnya was sorted out, and when he did come back, the chances were good he would be removing Mahkas Damaran from his position as regent. If it came to a question of whom the Raiders should follow and they wanted any sort of long-term future in Krakandar, they would do well to remember Xanda Taranger was here at their prince’s request, and acting with his full authority.

  As a consequence the palace had fallen into a strange routine that involved Xanda giving an order, Mahkas overruling it, everyone apologising profusely, bowing to the regent’s wishes, and then going off and quietly doing exactly what Xanda had asked them to do in the first place.

  Mahkas was up and about again, but Damin’s attack on him—or maybe it was Leila’s suicide—had left him a changed man. It was as if someone had scraped away the veneer of sanity and exposed the madman underneath. He could speak only in a painful, hoarse whisper, which meant he yelled a lot to make himself understood, but because of his damaged throat it often proved futile. It also gave everyone the perfect excuse to ignore him, either on the grounds they hadn’t understood him, or simply hadn’t heard him issue the order in the first place.

  Even with such a bizarre arrangement in place, it wasn’t always successful. When Raek Harlen tried to leave the city with the other two and a half thousand troops Damin was expecting as reinforcements on the border, Mahkas threatened to hang Raek and flog any man who attempted to follow the captain out of the city. In a show of loyalty to his prince that left Luciena breathless, Raek had ignored Mahkas’s orders, gathered his troops and marched them toward the inner gate of the city, in preparation for their departure. Furious, and shouting after the captain in a rasping whisper, the regent had run on ahead of the departing Raiders, taken the steps to the wall-walk two at a time, grabbed a crossbow from the first sentry he came to, and shot Raek Harlen clean through the chest ten feet from the inner gate.

  There was no question, after that, of any more Krakandar troops going to Damin’s aid.

  Luciena lived in mortal fear of what might happen next. It wasn’t herself she feared for. Luciena couldn’t be intimidated by Mahkas the way Leila had been. But she feared for the children—her own and Tejay’s—afraid Mahkas might decide to vent his barely concealed rage on those least able to defend themselves against it.

  Her fear made her afraid to leave the palace, even afraid to leave the nursery some days, which just made things worse, because she desperately wanted to speak to Starros and assure herself he was all right. So she watched over the children and anxiously paced the nursery, wishing she could just gather them all up and flee this place. Wishing she had somewhere else to go.

  Luciena glanced out of the window. It was midafternoon and gloomily overcast and she hadn’t seen Xanda since breakfast. He’d been planning to approach Mahkas about opening the city up again. His reasoning was that since the expected wave of refugees had not eventuated, the city was suffering from its self-imposed isolation. Privately, Luciena knew, Xanda wanted the city unsealed so anybody who wanted to flee had the chance to do so while they still could. With the city gates open, Luciena could take the children to Xanda’s brother Travin in Walsark, where they’d be safe from Mahkas’s wrath, if nothing else.

  Pacing up and down in front of the hearth, Luciena was nauseous with worry. Mahkas had killed Raek Harlen for defying him without stopping to think about it. He’d tortured Starros, beaten Leila like a dog … his capacity for cruelty was staggering and there was no telling how he would take Xanda’s suggestion they unseal the city. He might think it a brilliant idea, or he might run his nephew through for having the temerity to suggest such a thing.

  There was just no way to know.

  To distract herself, Luciena picked up the little porcelain horse with its proud blue knight from the mantle. The knight’s lance had a broken tip, but was otherwise unmarked. The figurine had belonged to Xanda when he was a boy, shattered when his mother committed suicide in the castle at Winternest. In an act of rare generosity, Mahkas had retrieved all the pieces except one and glued it back together for the distraught little boy. There was no sign of the joins now, though. The day he arrived in Krakandar, Rorin had magically sealed the breaks while attempting to show his new cousins that he really did have magical talent.

  It was a pity, Luciena lamented, that Rory’s magical talent couldn’t heal a few of the other gaping wounds in this family that Leila’s death has exposed.

  “Mama?”

  Luciena looked down at Emilie. “Yes?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  She forced a smile and put the little horse and rider back on the mantle. “Of course not, darling, what makes you say that?”

  “You look sad.”

  “I was just thinking about poor cousin Leila.” Emilie was old enough to understand Leila was dead, although not the reasons why.

  The little girl inclined her head solemnly. “Leila was a nice person, so Death would have taken her to a good place,” she assured her mother. “Uncle Rorin says not all the seven hells are bad.”

  Luciena smiled thinly. “And when were you discussing theology with Uncle Rorin?”

  “The last time he came to visit us in Greenharbour. He was telling us about the Harshini. He says they’re not really dead. Just in hiding.”

  “Well, if anybody would know for certain,” Luciena agreed, “Uncle Rorin would.”

  “Can we go outside and play?”

  Luciena was on the verge of saying no, when the nursery door opened and, to her vast relief, Xanda stepped into the room.r />
  “Of course you can,” she told her daughter. “It will do you good to get some fresh air. Aleesha, take the children out into the gardens, would you? They could do with the exercise.”

  The slave did as she was bid and herded all the children outside as Xanda approached, his expression grim.

  Luciena eyed him up and down warily as he stopped in front of her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled by her close examination of him.

  “Just looking for stab wounds.”

  Xanda smiled grimly. “No blood. Not even any visible bruises.”

  Hoped surged in her. “Then he’s going to unseal the city?”

  Her husband shook his head. “No. But he did tell me he’s planning a monument to Leila in the main plaza. He wanted to know what I thought she should be wearing when he has her immortalised in marble.”

  “Has he completely lost his mind?”

  “I don’t know,” Xanda said, taking her in his arms. He knew how crushed she was by the news she was trapped here for the gods knew how long.

  She clung to him, needing his embrace to remind her she was safe and warm and that Xanda would never let any harm come to her. Then another thought occurred to her and Luciena leaned back in his arms, her fear surging back with a vengeance. “Xanda, suppose Damin doesn’t come back?”

  “What do you mean, suppose Damin doesn’t come back? He won’t forget what he’s left behind here, Luci. There’s no danger of that.”

  “But he’s gone off to fight a war, Xanda. Suppose something happens to him?”

  “Rorin won’t leave his side,” he assured her. “If Damin is wounded, your cousin can heal him. That was the whole point of him joining the expedition, remember?”

  “Rorin can work magic, Xanda, not miracles. Suppose Damin is wounded beyond Rorin’s ability to heal him? Suppose the unthinkable happens and he’s killed?”

  “Then Tejay Lionsclaw would come. We have her children. And I doubt Marla will simply ignore Krakandar, once Kalan and Wrayan tell her what’s been going on here.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’m being silly. I understand this is only temporary. But whenever I see Mahkas … whenever I think of the way he just shot down Raek Harlen in cold blood … what he did to his own daughter, to Starros. And then there’s Bylinda … gods, have you seen her lately? She’s like a walking ghost.”

  Xanda glanced around sorrowfully. “This is not the happy household I grew up in, I can tell you that.”

  “I just want to get the children away from here.”

  “I know,” he said. “And as soon as we can get them to my brother in Walsark, we will. But in the meantime …”

  “In the meantime, we just have to grin and bear it and pretend our lives aren’t in the hands of a madman.”

  “He’s sick with grief, Luci …”

  Luciena pushed out of Xanda’s embrace and stared at him in shock. “You’re defending him?”

  “Of course I’m not defending him! I’m just saying he’s not himself.” He looked at her with concern, and even a little hurt, when it became clear to him that Luciena didn’t understand his position. “Mahkas raised me and Travin, Damin and Narvell and Kalan … this man … he’s not the uncle I remember.”

  “He wasn’t sick with grief when he whipped Leila,” she accused. “He was angry. Did you take a close look at your cousin before they buried her? She was savaged! And he certainly wasn’t grieving when he tortured Starros, either!”

  “Still … this isn’t like him …”

  “Tell that to Leila or Starros, perhaps. Raek Harlen might not agree with you, either. Or if you want an objective opinion, maybe you should ask some of the farmsteaders over the border in Medalon what they think the Regent of Krakandar is like? You know—the ones he crucifies if they dare raise a hand in protest when he steals their cattle?”

  “Now come on!” Xanda objected. “Stealing Medalonian cattle is a time-honoured tradition in Krakandar! You can’t blame him for that.”

  “Crucifying farmsteaders was a refinement your uncle added. And I know you had concerns about it because you mentioned it to Marla when you heard what he was doing.”

  “And as Marla pointed out, he is regent here and entitled to take whatever action he sees fit to ensure the safety of Krakandar’s borders.”

  Luciena shook her head, fully aware of the political motives that drove every single thing this family did. “You don’t buy that excuse any more than Marla does. She just doesn’t want to confront Mahkas until Damin’s old enough to inherit the province,” she pointed out. “Just like you don’t want to confront your uncle, either.”

  Somewhat to her surprise, Xanda agreed with her. “And for the same reason, Luci. We can’t allow Krakandar to fall under the control of the Sorcerers’ Collective. Mahkas has to stay alive and remain in his position as regent here until Damin comes of age. If that means letting him flay Medalonian farmsteaders alive to keep himself amused, then I’ll stand back and let him do it, because in the long run, that’s less dangerous to Krakandar—and our family—than handing the province to Alija Eaglespike.”

  “And what if he chooses to flay one of our children alive to keep himself amused?” she asked. “Does your impressive loyalty to your family extend to your own children?”

  He looked horrified. “How can you even ask me that?”

  She sighed, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Xanda. You didn’t deserve that. I know you’d die before you let anything happen to our children. I’m just so on edge … this place is a living nightmare.”

  He took her in his arms again and held her close. “I know, Luci. I know. And I swear, the moment I can get you and the children out of here, I will. Just don’t be mad at me for doing what I promised Damin I’d do.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Xanda,” she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m scared.”

  “So am I, Luciena,” he admitted reluctantly as he held her close. “So am I.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The slaveways of Krakandar Palace were a labyrinth of hidden paths, all of which led to the heart of power in Krakandar Province. Starros knew them better than any man alive. He’d grown up here in the palace and roamed them freely when he was a boy. As an adult, in his role of Assistant Chief Steward, he’d discovered even more offshoots and isolated nooks and crannies that gave access to the service areas of the palace as well as the more public areas he’d been familiar with as a child.

  It seemed surreal, to be walking the slaveways again. This time, if he was caught, it wouldn’t be Damin, or Narvell or one of the Tirstone boys leaping out of the shadows to surprise him. It was more likely to be a slave or a member of the family taking a shortcut through the hidden passages. Regardless, they’d know he no longer belonged here. They’d know he was up to no good.

  Starros had gained entry to the palace through the fens. Like the slaveways, he’d roamed the myriad trails through the swampy water-park with Damin and the others as a child and was one of the few who could find his way unerringly through the dangerous pools to the path that led to the palace gate. In an appalling breach of security that would have had Almodavar lopping off heads if he’d known of it, the gate to the palace remained unlocked. The chances were good nobody had been through the gate since the night Damin had gone down to the fens to seek some much needed solitude after he almost killed his uncle.

  Whatever the reason, as Starros had hoped, the gate remained unlocked and he had been able to slip inside the inner wall of the city and gain access to the palace where he was free to roam the slaveways at will.

  He was cautious in the beginning, fearful of discovery. But this was his third visit, and each time he grew bolder. He wasn’t just strolling through the slaveways for old times’ sake. Starros was looking for something; something that would give him unlimited access to every room in Krakandar Palace.

  He was looking for the master key he and Damin had pilfered and copied when they were boys.

&nbs
p; The key had sat—for as long as Starros could remember—on the lintel above the entrance to Damin’s room. When he searched for it, however, it was gone. Somebody had moved it. Unfortunately, the only people who even knew the key existed were no longer in the city, so he couldn’t ask anyone why it had been moved, or to where. He had to guess what might have happened, perhaps even relive that last dreadful night in the palace when Leila died, in the hope of finding what had become of it.

  A noise further along the hall sent him diving for cover. He held his breath and waited in the shadows for the footsteps to pass him by. He risked a glance as the figure moved past the narrow alcove. It was a slave carrying a tray loaded with empty dishes. He waited until the slave’s scuffing footsteps had faded completely before he moved again. It was risky to be in this wing of the palace. In this wing the family suites were located. On his right was the door to what had once been Marla’s room when they were very small. A little further along the torch-lit corridor was the Blue Room, the room reserved for the most honoured guests.

  The door past that was Leila’s room.

  Starros hesitated, not sure if he had the courage to go on. He didn’t want to enter the room. He needed to find the key, and if he remembered what Kalan had told him of that last awful night of Leila’s, her mother had entered the room from the slaveways, using the master key the boys had created all those years before, to tend her poor savaged and brutalised child.

  That’s when she’d discovered Leila, floating facedown in the bath, her wrists slashed, her blood washed away by the tepid bath water. Leila had gone to meet him, Starros knew. She thought he was dead and had gone to join him in the afterlife.

  Starros wished he had the courage to do the same.

  He approached Leila’s room with caution, his heart pounding. It wasn’t fear of discovery that made his blood race. It was an odd mix of guilt for not being there to help the woman he loved when she needed him most, and anger at the man who had kept them apart. He hesitated a dangerously long time, and then cursed his own cowardice, before stepping forward and reaching up to run his hand along the dusty lintel. It was empty.