Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  Damin, it turned out, had abandoned the field for some harebrained scheme he hadn’t bothered to share with anyone, leaving Tejay to face the wrath and shock of Hythria’s Warlords on her own. Her protestations that she’d simply taken the field at the last minute because Terin was unwell held up for as long as it took Cyrus to send somebody back to the camp to check on the missing Warlord.

  Once it was clear her husband wasn’t even in the camp, the whole damned thing began to unravel. Cyrus had had her arrested and bundled away before she could explain anything. Although he protested loudly on her behalf, Rorin could do nothing, because faced with Cyrus’s fury the only man present in a position to overrule the Warlord of Dregian—the High Prince—turned into a quivering mass of blubber at the first hint of a raised voice and nodded his terrified agreement to every order Cyrus shouted after that.

  “My lady!”

  Tejay halted her pacing at Kendra’s exclamation and turned to find Damin Wolfblade ducking through the tent flap. He was unshaved, muddy and looked as if he hadn’t changed his clothes since the major engagement began two days ago.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded with her hands on her hips as she faced him.

  “Winning the war for you,” he replied, straightening up as the flap dropped closed behind him.

  Tejay wasn’t amused. “So nothing the rest of us did matters, I suppose?”

  “Oh … I don’t know about that. I hear there’s a particularly grateful young Raider currently recovering in the physicians’ tent, thanks to your heroic efforts. And that you faced down Hablet’s entire army on your own. I heard you were wounded, too. Are you all right?”

  “Don’t I look all right?”

  Damin eyed her up and down curiously. “You look fine, although after what you did in the command tent, my lady …”

  “I wouldn’t have had to do anything,” she snapped, “if you’d been there to help me like you were supposed to. Or if that spineless uncle of yours had uttered a single word in my defence.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have threatened to put him across your knee and paddle his bare arse in full view of the Fardohnyan army, then,” he suggested.

  “Who told you about that?”

  “I’ve spoken to Rorin and Kraig already. Good morning, Lady Kendra. I hope this awkwardness hasn’t been too hard on you?”

  “Why are you being so nice to her?” Tejay demanded. “I’m the one that arrogant, woman-hating brute Cyrus Eaglespike berated in public like an errant child! Do you know he actually called me a whore?”

  “Ah! That would explain his black eye, then.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “It’s also the reason he had you arrested, Tejay.”

  “Well, now you’re back, you can have him un-arrest me. Where were you, by the way? The last I heard, Cyrus was accusing you of fleeing the battle before it even started.”

  “I took Almodavar and twelve men and captured five thousand Fardohnyan cavalry with them,” he told her, not completely able to disguise his smug expression. “Cyrus is having second thoughts about calling me a coward.”

  “Did you really capture five thousand men with only a dozen Raiders, your highness?” Kendra gasped, thoroughly impressed. “How did you manage such a feat?”

  “Cut off the head of a snake, my lady, and it doesn’t take the rest of the body long to realise it’s done for,” he told her. When she responded with nothing more than a blank look, Damin added, “We sneaked up on their command post, captured their general and convinced him to surrender. The Fardohnyans are disciplined soldiers. They follow orders, even when their orders are to lay down their arms.”

  “And your brother, your highness? Lord Hawksword?” she ventured cautiously. “Is he … unharmed?”

  “Alive and well, my lady, but you’re going to have to take my word for that at present. I’ve got enough trouble convincing everyone Lady Lionsclaw shouldn’t be executed. I’d really rather you didn’t add fuel to the fire by consorting with Narvell.”

  “I understand, your highness,” she said, with a graceful (if somewhat resigned) curtsey.

  “Well, I don’t!” Tejay exclaimed. “What in the name of all the Primal Gods do they think they can execute me for?”

  “Fortunately for you, my lady, that’s the problem. You broke tradition, rather than the law, I think. Cyrus is having a bit of a job thinking up a charge. But he’s a resourceful fellow. I’m sure, given enough time, he’ll think of something.”

  Tejay glared at him. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

  Damin didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “I wish I’d been there when you blacked his eye.”

  “If you’d been there, Damin Wolfblade, I wouldn’t have had to. Did you really convince Axelle Regis to surrender?”

  “I’m not sure how much of the credit I deserve. He’d already been cut adrift by Hablet, even before we drew him into the ambush. I think that’s why he held back his cavalry. He figured enough blood had been shed by then. We just arrived in time to give him the option to back down gracefully.”

  Tejay looked sceptical. “He was probably more concerned about his horses than the men he might lose. Have you ever noticed that, Kendra? Men will kill without mercy and then get all misty-eyed if their horse falls over.”

  The young woman smiled. “I have noticed it, my lady. A most interesting phenomenon, I always thought.”

  “There!” Tejay declared, turning back to Damin. “You can stop thinking you’re so damned clever now. Even Kendra agrees. It’s all about the horses.”

  Damin at least had the decency to look sympathetic. “I will try to sort this out, Tejay, I promise.”

  “Don’t let them take my province from me, Damin.”

  “I may not be able to stop them.”

  “You have to stop them.”

  “Isn’t there someone you can marry, my lady?” Kendra asked.

  “There you go!” Damin agreed. “Find yourself another husband. In fact, you should talk to Kendra about it. She’s got one she doesn’t want.”

  “Which reminds me, your highness,” the young woman said to Damin with a tinge of guilt in her voice. “Is my husband well?”

  “I heard he was wounded, my lady, but not fatally. I’m sorry.”

  She looked quite downcast at the news. “The High Prince informs me there will be no divorce if my husband lives.”

  “Then pray to Cheltaran his wounds turn septic,” Tejay suggested heartlessly, before turning her attention back to Damin. “I won’t marry again, Damin.”

  “Tejay …”

  “Find a way to fix this,” she ordered. “And don’t treat me like a tradeable commodity. I stood there and faced down an army for you, Damn Wolfblade. I expect you to reward me the way you would any man who’d done the same for you.”

  “I’ll do my best, Tejay. But I can’t make you a Warlord, you know.”

  “Why not?” Kendra asked curiously.

  “Well … because I can’t,” Damin replied.

  “But you just said Lady Lionsclaw broke tradition rather than the law by being on the battlefield. Doesn’t that mean there’s no law stopping her becoming Warlord?”

  “A Warlord is more than a figurehead, my lady,” the young prince tried to explain. “A Warlord is expected to lead … .”

  “His men to war,” Tejay finished for him. “I’ve already proved I can do that. What other qualifications does a Warlord need? Must I prove an able administrator? I believe I’ve been proving that for years. Must I have the right education? Speak to my brother. You know, Rogan? The one they’re promoting to Warlord of Izcomdar because he’s a man? He’s sufficiently well educated for the position it seems and as we had the same education, that shouldn’t prove a problem, either. Or is it the correct pedigree, perhaps, that makes one Warlord material? Well, what do you know? I’m a Warlord’s daughter …” She glared at the young prince. “Feel free to stop me when I come to the essential qualities I s
eem to be lacking, your highness.”

  Damin opened his mouth to defend his position and then closed it again, no doubt because it occurred to him this was an argument he couldn’t possibly win.

  “It’s not as easy as you make it sound, Tejay,” he said with an uncomfortable shrug. “You know that.”

  “Make it easy, Damin,” she ordered. “You claim you want to do the right thing by Hythria, so do it. It’s too hard doesn’t really wash with me as an excuse.”

  “I didn’t mean that …” He sighed. “It’s just … well, there are laws, Tejay. There might not be one specifically forbidding a woman from becoming a Warlord, but just the laws regarding inheritance would make it untenable.”

  “Then change the damn laws, Damin. As I’ve remarked before, you seem quick enough to suggest your uncle change the law when it suits your own agenda.”

  Before Damin could respond to that charge, one of the Dregian guards poked his head through the tent flap. “Your highness?”

  “What?”

  “Lord Hawksword wishes to advise a messenger has just arrived from Greenharbour. He said to tell you the news is urgent.”

  Damin sighed impatiently. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Tejay. “I’ll do what I can, Tejay,” he promised. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

  He meant it. She could see that. But it didn’t do much to ease her fears. “Don’t let them take my province from me, Damin. Or my sons.”

  The prince hesitated, perhaps debating the value of any further empty platitudes, and then, without another word, he bowed politely to the two women and ducked out of the tent, leaving Tejay and Kendra alone with nothing but their uncertain futures ahead of them.

  CHAPTER 71

  When he got back to his tent, dogged by the persistent rain that hadn’t let up since the day of the battle, Damin was stunned to discover the messenger from Greenharbour was Wrayan Lightfinger. Narvell was with him and the two of them were standing either side of the brazier, talking in low voices while they dried their damp clothes. They looked up when he entered, Wrayan smiling wearily when he saw Damin.

  “You look like I feel,” the thief remarked, taking in Damin’s less-than-pristine attire, as the young prince shed his dripping cloak.

  “Wrayan? What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been seconded from the Thieves’ Guild by your mother to act as a royal courier.”

  “Why you?”

  The thief shrugged. “I’d like to say it was because she trusted me, but I suspect it had more to do with the fact the High Prince has several sorcerer-bred horses in his stables and I’m the only one she knows who can use such an animal in the manner they were bred for.”

  “He got here from Greenharbour in two days,” Narvell added, obviously a little shocked at the notion himself.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Sorcerer-bred horses,” Wrayan repeated. “You were fostered at Izcomdar, Damin. Surely I don’t have to explain it to you?”

  Damin nodded in understanding. “According to old Rogan Bearbow, they were bred by the Harshini because of their ability to link magically with their riders. He claimed a sorcerer-bred mount will go for days without foundering if he has access to the source of the Harshini power through his rider. I thought he was joking.”

  “Well, now you know,” Wrayan said, reaching into his jacket for a small packet of letters which he handed to Damin. “And I come bearing gifts.”

  “What’s this?” Damin asked, after tossing the string aside and breaking the seal on the first letter.

  “Ah, now that one would be the decree from the new High Arrion, Bruno Sanval, advising that all appointments made by the former High Arrion, Lady Alija Eaglespike, are null and void, pending a review of every decision she made while in office. I believe it also temporarily transfers to the High Prince control of the armies of Greenharbour, Izcomdar—and probably Sunrise as well, if what Narvell tells me about Terin Lionsclaw’s fate is true—until the war is concluded and the matter of heirs can be appropriately dealt with.”

  Damin read through the first letter in stunned disbelief. He was almost afraid to open the second document. “What’s the other one?”

  “I believe it’s a decree your mother drafted at your request some time ago, formally lowering the age of majority to twenty-five. Given the contents of Bruno’s letter, and the fact the heirs to Greenharbour and Izcomdar are currently in the war camp, she thought it might come in handy.”

  “But Lernen refused to sign it,” Narvell pointed out. “It’s no good without his signature and his seal.”

  “The seal I can help you with,” Wrayan announced, producing another small packet from the pocket of his vest and handing it to Damin. “The signature you’ll have to arrange yourself.”

  Damin accepted the High Prince’s seal from the thief and shook his head in wonder. “How … what happened?”

  “Long story.” Wrayan shrugged. “No doubt you’ll get the full version from Kalan or your mother when you get back to Greenharbour. The short version goes something like this: Alija tricked Elezaar into thinking his brother was still alive and to save him from being tortured he told her everything he knew, right down to the colour of your mother’s undergarments, then he confessed his crime to Marla just before he killed himself out of guilt, leaving your mother with no choice but to do something about Alija. So she hired an assassin to kill Tarkyn Lye in retaliation. Then Kalan got involved—she’s a very scary young woman, your sister, by the way. Don’t ever get on her bad side. Anyway, she, and your mother, and this assassin, Galon Miar—another long story I don’t intend to get into right now—managed to manipulate Alija into confessing to thirty or forty-odd murders she’s been responsible for over the years in the presence of the Lower Arrion and the Chief Librarian of the Sorcerers’ Collective.”

  Damin stared at him. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  “You had to be there, Damin,” Wrayan told him.

  “Where is Alija now?”

  “She’s dead. She drew too much power to herself and it killed her. You’d have to be a sorcerer to fully understand what happened.”

  “So what’s happening in the Sorcerers’ Collective?” Damin asked, stunned by the news.

  “Poor old Bruno Sanval is losing his hair trying to figure out how he’s supposed to deal with all this. I’m sure Kalan will have a few ideas for him. She managed to manipulate him into appointing her Lower Arrion, while she was at it. Did I mention that? I can’t imagine what Rorin’s reaction is going to be when he finds out.”

  Narvell smiled at the news of his twin. “She has been threatening she’d be High Arrion since she was ten years old. Lower Arrion by the time she’s twenty-three augurs well for her ambition.”

  Wrayan looked at Narvell askance. “Trust you to think that.”

  Damin smiled too. Like Narvell, he admired his sister more than he worried about her. “I’m guessing Cyrus doesn’t know anything about this, yet?”

  “I’ve spoken to nobody other than you and Narvell since I got here, and given my journey was magically assisted, I doubt the news has beaten me here by traditional means. Unless someone sent a message by bird from Greenharbour, then he’s probably none the wiser.”

  Damin looked at his brother. “Can you get Rogan Bearbow and Conin Falconlance in here? Quietly?”

  “I suppose,” Narvell replied. “Why?”

  “I want to speak to them after I’ve spoken to Lernen. I shouldn’t have any trouble getting Lernen to sign the decree—he promised me as much the morning of the battle. But I want to make damned certain that when we announce the new order of things, they’re ready for it.”

  “Shouldn’t you warn the Warlord of Pentamor?” Wrayan asked.

  Damin shook his head. “Wherever Cyrus is, I can guarantee Toren Foxtalon will be one step behind him. We’ll break the news to him at the same time we inform Cyrus his mother is dead.”

  Narvell picked up
his cloak. “I’ll go find the others then.”

  Damin nodded. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

  Once Narvell had left, Damin turned to Wrayan. “I still have one problem neither your welcome news, nor these decrees, does anything to solve.”

  “Are you talking about Mahkas?”

  Damin smiled ruefully. “All right, I have two problems neither your welcome news, nor these decrees, does anything to solve.”

  “What’s the other one?” Wrayan asked, lowering himself wearily down onto the cushions surrounding the brazier.

  “Sunrise Province. Tejay just suggested I have Lernen appoint her the new Warlord.”

  Wrayan held out his hands toward the coals to warm them. “Well, under the circumstances, you can’t hand the province over to the Sorcerers’ Collective, even if they were in a position to accept the guardianship. Appointing Valorian’s mother as Warlord would preserve the inheritance for her son. And she’d certainly do a better job than the previous incumbent, from what I hear.”

  “But she’s a woman!”

  Wrayan frowned. “Don’t ever say that in front of your mother, lad.”

  “I’m not saying that’s the reason she can’t do the job,” Damin argued, exasperated that everybody assumed that about him. “I’m saying that’s the reason nobody will accept her.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Well …” Damin hesitated as he realised he was relying entirely on his own reading of the situation. He hadn’t even put the notion to anybody else to gauge their opinion. “Actually, I don’t know for sure, but …”

  “Let me ask you this, then. Do you think Tejay Lionsclaw is capable of doing the job?”

  “Of course.”

  “And will it secure your throne in the future to have Sunrise Province as an unswerving ally?”