Warlord

by Jennifer Fallon

  He took a deep breath and climbed to his feet. He had too much to do, too much to mend, too much to arrange, to sit out here on the roof dwelling on his own grief. Mahkas was dead and Bylinda, for her own reasons—however alien to Damin—had delivered the justice she felt he so richly deserved.

  Damin didn’t grieve for Mahkas, but he did grieve for the heartbreak that had driven a gentle soul like Bylinda Damaran to commit a vicious murder. Of all the outcomes this night, the tragedy he hadn’t seen coming was that one.

  And now, thanks to Bylinda’s sacrifice, he had what he came for.

  I am Warlord of Krakandar now.

  Damin stopped and looked down over the city. His city.

  He’d almost forgotten, until Bylinda reminded him of it, that today was his twenty-fifth birthday. The responsibility for the lives of every man, woman and child in the province now sat squarely on his shoulders.

  “Bylinda was right, you know.”

  “About what?” Wrayan asked, rising to his feet beside Damin to watch the sun creep over the horizon.

  “It is a lovely night,” he said, glancing up at the sky.

  Wrayan glanced at him with concern. “Are you all right?”

  He frowned. “If I say yes, does that make me a monster?”

  The thief shook his head. “Don’t agonise over it too much. Your mother deals with grief the same way. She’s always at her most commanding when everyone around her is falling apart. At the very least, it makes you what they trained you to be, I suppose.”

  “What’s that, Wrayan?” Damin asked sourly. “A heartless fiend?”

  “No,” Wrayan replied. “A Warlord.”

  CHAPTER 79

  It was midwinter before the Convocation of Warlords could be held to confirm all the new appointments. By then the last remnants of the plague were gone from Greenharbour, Lasting Drift was just a place on a map once more, and in Sunrise Province, seven thousand or more Fardohnyan prisoners of war were camped around Winternest until the spring melt, when they could continue clearing the Widowmaker Pass.

  Krakandar, Sunrise, Greenharbour and Izcomdar were all getting used to their new Warlords. It was the first time, Marla reflected as she nodded her approval of the buffet, that every province had a ruling lord at the same time in more than thirty years.

  Rogan Bearbow’s transition to power had gone smoothly in Izcomdar. He was the legitimate son of the former ruling lord and the population had never expected any other master. Greenharbour Province’s transition had been similarly incident free. The Sorcerers’ Collective had been grooming Conin Falconlance to rule for several years and his appointment was no surprise to anybody.

  In Krakandar, Damin appeared to be enjoying a honeymoon period as the people got used to having their own Warlord again. For the better part of the past fifty years (except for the brief two years Laran Krakenshield was Warlord) Krakandar had been ruled by administrators and regents. Finally, the people had a Warlord of their own, one they felt belonged to them. Damin had been busy consolidating his position these past few months and cleaning up after Mahkas.

  It was a pity, really, that he had died under such tragic circumstances, Marla mused. For all his faults, Mahkas Damaran had kept Krakandar prosperous and safe, but his legacy would always be remembered as one of brutal tyranny. Mahkas would be remembered as the man who whipped his daughter into committing suicide. The man murdered by his own wife for his heinous betrayal. Nobody would remember it was Mahkas who constructed the third defensive ring around Krakandar City. His name would live on in infamy, any good he might have done buried and forgotten under the weight of his crimes.

  Sunrise Province had been a little more problematic. Tejay Lionsclaw’s appointment had almost caused a riot, but she was a capable young woman and had so far managed to keep the province from exploding into open rebellion. Marla was confident she would prevail and the fact the Convocation had confirmed her appointment today was another reason to be hopeful. Tejay was working frantically to clear the Widowmaker, fully aware that reestablishing the trade routes with Fardohnya was the quickest way to settle the population down. As Tejay had remarked a few days ago when she arrived in Greenharbour for the Convocation, happy, employed subjects with full bellies spent a lot less time plotting the downfall of their Warlord than hungry ones with too much time on their hands.

  It wasn’t an easy task ahead of her and of all the provinces, she had the most hurdles to overcome. Even with Axelle Regis’s active cooperation in keeping them under control, the Fardohnyan prisoners of war were still a major problem. Just feeding them was putting a huge strain on a province that relied on trade through the damaged Widowmaker for its prosperity. Tejay had demanded the Convocation take some of the burden off Sunrise by contributing to the upkeep of the prisoners, a motion that Damin had supported and had bullied the others into agreeing to. It was a potential disaster avoided, Marla knew, but only the first of many. The trick would be identifying the next one and finding a way to head it off before it blew up in their faces.

  Marla had arranged a reception following the Convocation to celebrate the confirmation of the new Warlords. It was the first time she’d had all her children under the same roof since the year she first took Luciena to Krakandar. It was a family gathering she organised, restricted to those she considered trustworthy allies.

  Damin was over by the entrance, looking every inch the Warlord in his ceremonial armour, talking to his brother, Narvell, who looked so like his father it brought a lump to Marla’s throat. He’d come to the Convocation as his grandfather’s representative because Charel Hawksword was too sick to travel, which effectively meant anything Damin wanted at the Convocation—with Narvell’s support and Charel’s vote—Damin got. That included confirming Tejay Lionsclaw as the Warlord of Sunrise Province and the supply of foodstuffs to feed the prisoners of war until they could be repatriated back to Fardohnya.

  With the support of Damin, Narvell, Conin Falconlance and her own brother, Rogan Bearbow, Tejay’s appointment was a mere formality by the time the Convocation voted on it, and there was nothing Cyrus Eaglespike had been able to do to prevent it.

  Next to Narvell was his twin sister, Kalan, dressed in her sorcerer’s robes, proudly wearing the silver diamond-shaped pendant denoting her rank as Lower Arrion, chatting to Kendra Warhaft, whose smile was forced and artificial. Nobody had been able to change Lernen’s mind about granting her a divorce. Damin had promised Narvell he would rule in her favour when he became High Prince, Marla knew, but that was probably years away and small consolation for either of the lovers.

  In the meantime, Kendra was headed home tomorrow to return to her husband and her children. The only bright note in that sad arrangement was Stefan Warhaft’s injury. He’d fallen from his horse during the battle and broken his back and was now paralysed from the waist down. Marla had heard a rumour that Rorin Mariner could have healed his fractured spine, but he’d found other places to be for days after the battle, until it was too late even for his magical skills to be of any use to the wounded baron. Marla chose not to investigate the report further. If the story was true, she didn’t blame Rorin. If anything, she secretly admired the young sorcerer’s sense of justice. Poor Kendra might have to stay married to Stefan Warhaft for the foreseeable future, but her husband would never be in a position to beat her again. The tables had been turned completely and he was now subject to his wife’s whim.

  Retribution, Marla reflected, had an interesting way of manifesting itself.

  She watched Kalan chatting with her brothers and smiled. Marla realised her daughter had every intention of succeeding Bruno Sanval as High Arrion someday. She was quite certain her daughter would achieve her ambition, too. She was even prouder of Kalan’s achievement than she was of anything her sons had done. They were born into their roles, trained from the very beginning to do them well and likely to win power simply by the accident of their birth. Kalan, on the other hand, had worked hard for what she’d gained. A
ny power she might wield some day as High Arrion would be hers alone and won by her own efforts. For a woman in Hythria, that was no mean feat.

  Talking with Damin, Kalan, Kendra and Narvell were Xanda and Luciena. Her adopted daughter had recovered from her physical wounds inflicted by Mahkas Damaran, but Marla sensed a sadness in Luciena she suspected came from guilt over Bylinda’s suicide. Marla intended to take her aside at some point and explain that it wasn’t her fault. Luciena’s involvement in that tragedy was none of her doing. She needed to stop blaming herself for it.

  In another small group a little closer to the window, Rodja and Adham Tirstone were deep in discussion with Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon and his two statuesque companions. Adham had recovered from his belly wound and was talking of returning to Denika with the prince, the trade possibilities between Denika and Hythria something both brothers were all but salivating over. Marla watched them talking, thinking Adham was salivating over more than the possibility of establishing a formal trading route to Denika. Adham had returned to Krakandar once he was well enough to travel. By all accounts, he and Lady Barlaina had struck up quite a friendship while he was recuperating, a suspicion Marla didn’t doubt given the way Adham’s eyes never left the young woman as she browsed the buffet.

  Kraig and his friends were leaving tomorrow on one of Luciena’s ships, his year-long adventure in Hythria thankfully at an end. It had proved a mixed blessing, this visit from a foreign dignitary. Although during the past few months in Krakandar he had been treated in the manner to which he was obviously accustomed, Kraig had seen the best and the worst of them and she did wonder what sort of impression Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig would take back to Denika with him. And how it would affect future relations with the southern continent. Damin and the Denikan heir seemed firm friends, however, any residual resentment about his treatment in the hands of his Hythrun hosts smoothed over by several months of Krakandar hospitality which had even included, so Marla had heard rumoured, a trip into Medalon to steal cattle. She had some concern over something called the seed game, too, and why Kraig seemed to think he had some sort of claim on their northern neighbour …

  A gleeful squeal echoed through the hall as the Taranger boys chased their cousins through the party, ducking and weaving to avoid the adults. Ruxton’s daughter, Rielle, and her husband Darvad had also come to Greenharbour with their family to see Rogan Bearbow confirmed as their Warlord and to see Ruxton laid to rest in a more permanent tomb. Their children had discovered kindred souls in Luciena and Xanda’s boisterous sons.

  Out on the terrace there was another, much more intense friendship developing between Emilie Taranger and the two Miar girls, Karola and Mira. A year older and younger than Emilie, the three of them had been sitting cross-legged on the terrace for the better part of an hour, their heads close together as they traded secrets in the manner of prepubescent girls the world over.

  Marla smiled, wondering how much trouble three girls aged nine, ten and eleven could get into, left to their own devices. Emilie hadn’t been told the truth about Mahkas’s death. Luciena and Xanda judged it unwise to disillusion the child about her beloved uncle and had blamed his infected wound for his untimely demise, and Bylinda’s unbearable grief at his death so soon after Leila’s for her suicide. Emilie seemed to accept the explanation and with the resilience common to most children, had almost put her stay in Krakandar completely behind her.

  Then Marla spotted Galon Miar sitting near the window, as if he had one eye on his daughters and one eye on everyone else in the room.

  She made her way towards him, smiling and nodding to her guests as she went. Galon rose to his feet as she approached and raised his glass to her. “Quite a party, your highness.”

  “I’m so glad you approve. I arrange all my entertaining to suit the Assassins’ Guild.”

  “As you should,” he agreed with a smile.

  “What are you doing hiding over here, anyway?” she asked. “You’re a guest, Galon. You even came through the front door, this time. Please, feel free to mingle.”

  “I was just looking over the family,” he told her, refusing to rise to her taunt.

  “For any particular reason, or do we highborn just fascinate you?”

  “I was deciding which one of them I’m going to kill when you renege on your deal with us.”

  Unperturbed, Marla took a sip of her wine. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  He grinned. “I’ll just bet you have.”

  “Perhaps it won’t be necessary for you to kill a member of my family, after all.”

  “You’ve decided to fulfil your agreement?”

  She looked out over the room, deliberately avoiding his eye. “I’ve decided which of my children your guild can have as an apprentice.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You can have my stepson, Kiam Miar.”

  “What a coincidence,” he remarked. “I have a son named Kiam Miar.”

  “Fancy that.”

  He studied her curiously. “If we’re talking about the same Kiam Miar, your highness, there is the minor detail of him not actually being your stepson. For that to be the case, you and I would have to get married.”

  “The things I do for Hythria,” she sighed.

  He studied her curiously. “Have you told anybody else about this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So I’m the first to know? I’m flattered.”

  Marla fixed her gaze on him, determined to set down the ground rules right from the outset. “You do understand this arrangement will be dissolved the moment you become the Raven, don’t you? I’m doing this because the Assassins’ Guild is leaving me little choice in the matter, not because I find you the least bit attractive.”

  “I understand.”

  “I mean it, Galon.”

  “If you insist,” he replied with a knowing smile.

  Marla frowned, wondering how she ever thought she could fool this man into thinking she was immune to him. “Do you think your children will mind?” she asked, deciding on a safer topic.

  “Kiam’s already apprenticed to the guild, so I don’t think he’ll care one way or the other. But the girls will be thrilled. I couldn’t shut them up when they learned you’d invited them to this party. Coming to live in a palace with a real princess should send them into raptures. Have you told your children yet?”

  She shook her head. “I’m still trying to figure the best way to break the news to them that I’m planning to marry an assassin.”

  Galon looked at her oddly. “I’ll be your fifth husband, Marla. I would have thought you’d have sitting the children down and telling them about their new step-papa down to a fine art by now.”

  Marla glanced across the room to where Damin, Kalan and Narvell were chatting with the others and frowned. “The last time I got married, Galon, my eldest child was only eight years old. He’s just been confirmed as a Warlord in his own right. The situation is a little different.”

  Galon grinned. “Do you think he’ll want to call me Pa?”

  “He’s more likely to call you out in a duel.”

  “You should be proud of him, you know.”

  She sipped her wine and glanced at her future husband. “I’ll be sure to tell Damin you approve of him.”

  “I mean it, Marla. You’ve done a remarkable job raising your children.”

  “I’ve agreed to marry you, Galon. There’s no need to keep flattering me.”

  “I’m not trying to flatter you. And I’m not just saying this because the young man in question is about to become my stepson, or because he’s very large and fights like a lion and has the power to have me thrown into the lowest dungeon in Greenharbour until I rot if he decides he doesn’t like me. Hythria has needed a strong High Prince for generations. We haven’t had a half-decent one since the Harshini left. And somehow, in a court ruled by a depraved fool, you managed to raise a son strong and clever enough to become a Warlord in his
own right. Rumour has it your other son is just as promising and I’ve had enough dealings with your charming daughter, Kalan, to know just how intimidating she can be. That’s no mean feat, Marla. You shouldn’t underestimate your achievement.”

  “My achievement?” she asked sceptically. “By all accounts I left my children to be raised by a homicidal maniac and the suicidal woman who eventually killed him. If there’s any kudos to be awarded here, it should go to my children for turning out even remotely sane, given the circumstances.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he advised. “Worse things have happened to a lot of people and they turned out all right in the end. Look at me.”

  Marla frowned. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

  Galon laughed softly. “I suppose not. But I did mean what I said. You should be proud. Although, Damin did make one mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Asking the High Prince to promote Tejay Lionsclaw to Warlord.”

  “Why was it a mistake? She’ll probably prove the best Warlord Sunrise Province has had since Glenadal Ravenspear.”

  “But in supporting her, he let people know he’s willing to go against tradition to get what he wants,” Galon pointed out. “The whole of Hythria knows he’s nothing like the current High Prince, now.”

  “I’m not sure Damin would see that as a bad thing.”

  “But it’s not necessarily good for him, either. The Warlords like that Lernen doesn’t try to rule them. You know that. Your son just proved he’ll be a much different High Prince to your brother. He made enemies in this conflict. Enemies who may not have revealed themselves yet.”

  Marla shrugged philosophically. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think he had much choice other than to do what he did. Besides, he’s a Wolfblade, Galon. Being surrounded by enemies comes with the name.”

  The assassin smiled. “Well, look on the bright side. The truth hasn’t made its way west of the Sunrise Mountains yet. The Fardohnyans still think he’s just as bad as Lernen. All those tales of wild orgies, stealing other men’s wives, court’esa of both sexes in the war camp with him …”