Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Which will simply reinforce everyone’s opinion that it really is Terin inside this thing,” Rorin remarked. “Hold still, my lady.”

  “Gods! I spent less time getting dressed for the Feast of Kaelarn ball in Greenharbour,” she complained.

  “You probably moved around a lot less, too,” Rorin protested. “Please, my lady, we’re almost done.”

  “Is he always like this?” she asked Damin grumpily.

  Damin sympathised with her discomfort, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Are you sure you know what you have to do today?”

  Still suffering Rorin’s ministrations, Tejay rolled her eyes. “Hold the line long enough to draw them in, collapse it, bit by bit, so we can encircle them, and then fake a rout, leading the enemy too far in to retreat when the flanks close in behind them. I’m not stupid, Damin.”

  “I never meant to imply that you were, Tejay. I asked Rogan, Conin and Narvell the same question.”

  “What about Cyrus and Toren?”

  “Didn’t get a chance. They took off for the command post at Lasting Drift before I could speak to either of them.”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Ow!” She glared at Rorin. “Just watch how tight you’re pulling that strap, young man. There’s a healthy bosom under there that’s fed four children, you know. It wasn’t meant to be squashed into a steel bucket.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but this armour was designed for a man. We always knew the fit was going to be a bit dicey.”

  “Which brings up another point nobody seems to have mentioned,” she declared, turning to look at Damin. “What happens if I want to pee?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. How does one pee in a suit of armour?”

  “Um …” Damin said uncomfortably. “Well … I know how I would do it …”

  “Thanks, Damin, you’re a real big help.” She turned to Rorin. “Do you know?”

  Rorin looked at her helplessly. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say very carefully.”

  “Wonderful! Just what I need. Another fool who thinks he’s a wit!”

  “In all fairness, Tejay,” Damin pointed out, “they don’t make these things for women, as a rule. I don’t suppose anyone’s given the matter a great deal of thought.”

  “I can imagine I will have remedied that little problem by this evening. Are you sure this looks convincing?”

  “You look like a galloping great fool.”

  “Thank you, your highness. I feel so much better now.”

  “Well, that’s my job, you know. Keeping up morale. You’ll make sure you keep that damned helmet on, won’t you?”

  She glared at him.

  “I’m just offering a bit of useful advice.”

  Tejay sighed. “What do you really want, Damin?”

  “Cyrus Eaglespike’s naked body smeared with honey and staked out over an anthill.” Then he thought about it a little longer, adding, “And the news Hablet of Fardohnya has died a gruesome and painful death in a manner that can’t be traced back to anybody in my family.”

  She tossed one of her gauntlets at him. “Get out of here, you fool. And take Rorin with you.”

  Damin’s smile faded. “He’s staying with you, Tejay. I won’t have you arguing with me about it, either.”

  “Rorin’s a healer, Damin. He needs to be by your side.”

  “I don’t intend to get hurt.”

  “Neither do I,” she retorted, “and what’s more, I’m wearing armour, so I’m far less likely to. You need him. I’ll be fine.”

  Damin was adamant. “He stays with you. If anything happens …”

  “It won’t.”

  “I meant,” he repeated, a little annoyed she had interrupted him, “that if anything happens and you’re knocked off your horse or otherwise incapacitated, I want Rorin in a position to get you off the field before anybody realises there’s a healthy and impressive bosom under that breastplate, and not the Warlord of Sunrise Province.”

  “He’s right, my lady,” Rorin agreed. “I really should stay with you.”

  “Armour or not, Tejay, you’ll be right there in the front lines in the thick of battle,” Damin reminded her. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

  “Damin, if you don’t want people getting killed, you really should rethink this whole worshipping the God of War philosophy, you know. It’s been my observation that people quite often come to harm when you throw them all on a field together, arm them with sharp implements, and tell them to hit each other until there’s nobody left standing.”

  Damin smiled at her. “Rorin stays.”

  “Bully. What happens afterwards?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After the battle? Do I just go back to my embroidery and await some man to come and tell me what’s best for me and my province once you have no further use for my military skills?”

  Damin frowned, as if the question had caught him off guard. “To be perfectly honest, Tejay, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I’ll owe you a big favour though, once this is over, I know that much.”

  “Well, don’t think about it for too long, will you? This battle is likely to be decided, one way or the other, by the end of the day. Assuming I’m still around at the end of it, I want to know if I have to start looking for another husband.”

  “Do you want another husband?” Rorin asked curiously.

  “I didn’t even want the first one,” she informed him with a grimace, picking up her helmet. “But there’s no other way to hold on to Sunrise Province except find a semi-decent husband and have him appointed my son’s regent. There’s a reason your mother’s been married four times, you know, Damin, and it isn’t her great love of being a wife.”

  The prince seemed sympathetic to her plight even if, as a man, he didn’t fully grasp the gravity of her situation. “I know how you must feel, Tejay …”

  “No, you don’t,” she declared, settling the helmet on her head. It was a little loose, but her long blond hair was gathered up in a bun and served as extra padding, which stopped the helmet moving around too much. “You haven’t got the slightest notion of what it’s like to be dictated to by someone you know you’re smarter than, having to watch them make stupid decisions, knowing you could have done better … and then having to lay down and open your legs to him, just because the law gives him the right to have you any time he pleases. If you want to do me a favour, Damin Wolfblade, . find a way for me to avoid that fate. How do I look?”

  Damin nodded approvingly. “Like a Warlord,” he said.

  Which is all well and good, Tejay lamented silently, as Rorin helped her buckle on her sword. But regardless of what happens on the battlefield today, come tomorrow I’ll still be a mere woman and you’ll be the lords and masters.

  Worst of all, she knew, by tomorrow these men would have forgotten that in the heat of battle, for a short time at least, they couldn’t tell the difference.

  CHAPTER 62

  Damin had one more stop to make before he took up his position for the battle, and to the rumble of distant thunder, he made his way through the busy camp to the command tent which was the front section of Lernen’s huge, multiroomed red silk pavilion. He glanced at the sky, wondering if the rain would favour their side or the Fardohnyans. It was hard to say, but deep down, Damin had a good feeling about this fight. The Hythrun were defending their homeland and the God of War was on their side. Zegarnald had told Damin as much in person.

  The Fardohnyans were fighting only to save face. The collapse of the Widowmaker had handed Damin’s forces that indefinable advantage Kraig warned him about. The moral high ground; the morale high ground, too. According to Kraig, the enemy had to believe he could win, as much as their own troops. With no chance of reinforcements and the Fardohnyans forced to fight out of hunger as much as territorial ambition, provided nobody made any monumental blunders, Hythria wo
uld win this day and win it soundly, regardless of the enemy’s superior numbers.

  When he arrived at Lernen’s tent, the High Prince was nowhere to be found. Damin had expected him to be giddy with excitement at the prospect of leading a battle, even if it was by proxy. But the High Prince was still abed, one of his slaves informed Damin when he asked after his uncle, and was anxious to see his nephew as soon as possible.

  The slave gave no other hint as to his master’s state of mind, so with a great deal of trepidation, Damin followed him into the back of the pavilion, thinking that of all the times Lernen had chosen to have a relapse, the day they were going into battle was probably the worst time to do it.

  “You wanted to see me, Uncle Lernen?”

  The High Prince’s room was dark, even though dawn was all but past. The drapes were pulled tight against the light and the room was uncomfortably warm. On the nightstand were the remains of a sleeping draught. This end of the pavilion reeked of opium and stale incense.

  “Damin? Is that you?”

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Of course.”

  Lernen struggled to sit up, studying Damin with rheumy eyes. He seemed to be partially dressed, as if he’d climbed out of bed and then changed his mind halfway through dressing and retreated under the covers. “Come. Sit by me,” he ordered, patting the side of the bed.

  Damin did as his uncle asked, wondering what was bothering the old man. And why he’d chosen today of all days to be bothered by it.

  “I don’t have long,” he warned, as he sat down. “We’re expecting the Fardohnyans to move as soon as it’s fully light. I need to get into position.”

  “Should I be out there, do you think?” the High Prince asked. “You know … leading … ?”

  “It probably wouldn’t hurt. You being the High Prince and General of the Combined Hythrun Armies, and all …”

  Lernen pulled the covers up to his chin. “They’ll all know it’s a joke. They’ll know I’m not really a general. I should have listened to your mother. Alija did this to me on purpose. I don’t know how to fight. Tell me the truth, Damin … I’m the laughingstock of every Warlord in Hythria, aren’t I?”

  “Is that why you’re still in bed? Hiding?” he asked, neatly avoiding having to answer the question.

  Lemen’s eyes filled with fear. “If we lose, Damin … do you know what they’ll do to me?”

  “We’re not going to lose, Uncle Lernen.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  Damin smiled. “Because I won’t allow it.”

  “You’re too much like your damned father,” Lernen complained. “He said much the same thing.”

  “He did?” Damin asked curiously. In all the time he’d known his uncle, this was the first time he’d ever mentioned Laran Krakenshield.

  “When he made the offer for your mother. I tried telling him then, that Hablet would go to war with us over it. He said he wouldn’t allow it, too. And that if Hablet did declare war on us, we’d beat him.”

  “And he was right, wasn’t he?”

  “That just makes it more irritating, Damin.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to irritate you, Uncle, but I will win this for you. I can’t inherit Hythria when you’re gone if I let Hablet take it from you now, can I?”

  Lernen patted Damin’s hand as if he was a small child. “Win this war for me and you can have your decree, nephew.”

  “My decree?”

  “About lowering the age of majority. Tell your mother I’ll sign it. After we’ve won.”

  Damin looked at him in surprise. The only time they’d spoken about it, his uncle had been vehemently opposed to the idea. “What changed your mind?”

  Lernen shrugged. “A lot of things. It wasn’t anything you said.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lernen leaned back against his pillows. “When your mother first came to me and suggested I should lower the age of majority, and that it was all your idea, I feared you were making a push for my throne.”

  “But, I never …”

  “I know,” Lernen agreed. “And I know I’m not a great High Prince. Kagan Palenovar kept me on the throne for years and your mother has held the country together in my name since he died, with little help or thanks from me. I’m not ignorant of her efforts, Damin, or ungrateful. But I’m a sick old man subject to bouts of deep insecurity. I thought maybe you’d gotten impatient. I thought signing that decree might be as good as signing my own death warrant.”

  “I might have wished you lived differently at times, Uncle Lernen, but I’ve never wished you any harm.”

  “I know that. And I wanted you to know that I know it. Before you go to war. If we lose this fight and you die today, Damin, I wanted you to die thinking well of me.”

  “I will,” Damin promised. “Although your pep talks leave a lot to be desired.”

  Lernen looked about the darkened room, as if he was expecting to see someone else present, and then lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you want me to give you command of the army today, nephew?”

  Damin thought about it and then shook his head. “The orders are issued, the battle all but begun. There’s no time to advise everyone of the change in command.”

  Faced with the enormity of the task before him, Lernen shrank back under the covers again. “But I know nothing about war. People will be looking to me to lead them. Suppose someone has to make a decision? Stay with me today, Damin. Please? I don’t care that people think I’m a fool. I’ll ruin everything for certain.”

  Never have you spoken a truer word, Damin thought, realising Lernen’s offer was more about shifting the responsibility from his own shoulders than any particular trust he had in his heir. And the offer was a tempting one. A chance to control the battle from a distance, to move the pieces around like a game of chess … but Damin wanted to fight too, and he had a particular mission in mind—one that might have a decisive effect on the battle—and it left no room for playing general.

  “How about I give you someone to help?” he suggested, thinking of the perfect solution. “Someone nobody will even suspect of being an advisor. He can watch over the battle with you, tell you what you must do to deal with problems as they crop up, how and where to move the troops … all you’d have to do is issue the actual orders. That way, nobody will ever know it wasn’t you responsible for victory this day. All of Hythria will think you a hero.”

  “What advisor?” the High Prince asked, emerging from under the covers, his curiosity piqued.

  “One of my court’esa. The Denikan. Kraig.”

  “The large terrifying one?”

  Damin smiled. “Yes, Uncle, the large terrifying one.”

  “Didn’t I tell you not to bring him near me?”

  “He’s been at every meeting we’ve had since you got here, Uncle. I keep him around because he frightens Cyrus even more than you.”

  Lernen grinned. Anything that might keep Cyrus Eaglespike at arm’s length was a wonderful idea in the High Prince’s book. “Does he know anything useful, this court’esa of yours?”

  Damin nodded. “He used to be a warrior in his own country. He’ll advise you well. And nobody will think anything odd about it other than your taste in court’esa has changed.”

  Lernen thought on that, studying his nephew warily. “You’re nearly as clever as your mother, aren’t you?”

  “Very nearly.”

  “I’m glad I changed my mind about you.”

  “So am I,” Damin agreed, rising to his feet. “Stay well, Uncle. I’m really not ready to become High Prince yet. Shall I send your slaves back and tell them you’re ready to get dressed now?”

  The High Prince grabbed at his arm to prevent him leaving. “Don’t die today, Damin, if you can manage it. I’ve not the energy left to go looking for another heir.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

  On his way out of the pavilion,
Damin ordered the High Prince’s slaves back into the bedchamber, and instructed them to get their master dressed and ready for the battle. Once that was taken care of, Damin went looking for Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon to inform him he was about to become—albeit unofficially, and only for a single day—General of the Combined Armies of Hythria.

  CHAPTER 63

  To the sound of distant thunder, Rorin Mariner rode out at Tejay Lionsclaw’s side, just as the last of the Sunrise archers was settling into place. Feeling awkward in the unaccustomed weight of the borrowed breastplate he wore, he followed Tejay in her magnificent jewelled and gilded armour, wondering why he was the only one who didn’t realise at first glance that the armoured figure cantering to the head of the lines wasn’t Terin Lionsclaw.

  Even wearing a suit of archaic armour, Tejay rode better than her husband. She was far more confident in the saddle, far more anxious to lead from the front. Rorin hurried to keep up with her. It was important any final orders be relayed through him. The armour might fool everyone into believing the Warlord of Sunrise was recovered enough to take the field, but one word from Tejay would give the game away.

  The officers saluted their Warlord as he rode past, but made no attempt to address their liege lord. Their orders had been relayed the night before by Rorin, who had addressed the officers and made certain they were fully briefed on today’s strategy. There’d been a few discontented rumblings about why the troops were getting their orders from their Warlord’s new seneschal, rather than their Warlord, most of the complaints coming (not surprisingly) from Stefan Warhaft, heading up the small contingent of Elasapine cavalry. They were to cover the right flank, mostly because Damin didn’t want him anywhere near Narvell while he was carrying a weapon. Rorin had handled the questions well and eventually, even the most disgruntled man was forced to accept their orders came from the High Prince and through Terin Lionsclaw, and the seneschal was merely here to fill them in because their lord was still too unwell to do it himself.