The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  "It's lasted a long time, Tirnya. More than a century."

  "Yes," Tirnya said. "But you know as well as I that this has always been a truce of convenience and not a true peace. The Blood Wars went on as long as they did because the hatred between the clans and the sovereignties runs deep. They ended because neither side had the stomach for more war."

  Her father shook his head. "You're not helping your cause arguing so. What you say may well be true, but that only serves to convince me that this attack we're talking about would lead to an ever-widening war. This is a dangerous idea."

  "You're missing my point," she told him. "This peace will only last until one side or the other sees some advantage in attacking again. If we wait-if we let this opportunity pass by-then the next advantage might be theirs."

  Jenoe seemed to ponder this.

  "The Qirsi have always been stronger than we have, Father. We have the greater numbers, but their magic is more than a match for our armies. I'm sure that others would be offended to hear me say that aloud, but you know it's true. We won our share of battles, we had our moments of glory.

  But the fact is the Fal'Borna pushed us hack steadily for the better part of five hundred years before the final truce. They took the land on the far side of the K'Sand, they took the Horn, they pushed us farther and farther from the Thraedes, and finally they gave us no choice but to flee across the Silverwater. Next time, if we give them the chance, they might push us back to Ravens Wash." She smiled. "But right now, we're the stronger ones. Just this once, wouldn't you like to beat them? Wouldn't it be a boon to every Eandi in the Southlands if we could take land from the Qirsi?"

  Even before her father opened his mouth, Tirnya knew that she had won. She could see the surrender in his eyes.

  "I'll arrange an audience with His Lordship," he said.

  Tirnya was so pleased she nearly shouted like a child, and in a corner of her mind she wondered when she had grown so eager for war. "Thank you, Father," she said, keeping her tone measured.

  He raised a finger in warning. "I make no promises. I won't speak in favor of this to Maisaak. You'll do the talking yourself. And if he refuses, that's the end. Do you understand?"

  "He won't refuse," she said.

  Jenoe started to walk out of the lane. "I'm less certain of that than you are," he said, glancing back at her. "But we'll see soon enough."

  Enly was training with his men, working up a good sweat despite the cool air and light rain, when the summons came.

  As soon as he'd seen the man-a young soldier wearing a white baldric over his blue and green uniform-he'd known. Immediately he'd felt his mood souring. This had been a good day. His men were training well; it seemed the sting of having lost out on so much gold to Tirnya's company had finally started to ease for them. And Enly had received word that Tirnya was recovering well and would bear no lasting injury from her encounter with the brigands. He couldn't have been in finer spirits.

  The summons changed everything. He could only assume that any of the other captains in Qalsyn would have found it unsettling to be called before the lord governor. They were soldiers; His Lordship was their commander. To be summoned thus was rarely a good thing.

  That he was Maisaak's son only made matters worse. He often wondered if Berris would have felt the same way, if his older brother had lived long enough to be made a captain in Maisaak's army. Berris had gotten along with their father better than Enly ever did. Not that Berris and Maisaak had been close; no one was close to Maisaak, except maybe their mother. But Berris understood how to make the old goat happy. He knew the right things to say, he fought in his tournament matches with tactical precision, he rarely disagreed with their father's decisions, and if he did he kept his thoughts to himself. In short, he was boring, and Maisaak liked boring.

  Enly's sense of humor, his willingness to flout convention, his daring technique in the ring, all of which made him so popular with his men, and with many of the court women, served only to irritate his father.

  Perhaps that was why being summoned to the palace irked him so. More often than not it meant he had done something-who knew what?-to anger his father. Again.

  So, though he saw the palace soldier approaching, Enly ignored him and continued to train, throwing himself into his swordplay with such abandon that the man he'd been working with was suddenly forced to retreat several steps. His father's guard stopped a few strides away and just stood there, waiting for Enly to notice him. Enly pretended not to.

  "Captain Tolm?" the man said after a few moments.

  Still Enly didn't look at him.

  "Beg pardon," the soldier started again, speaking more loudly this time. "Captain Tolm? Sir?"

  The man he was training kept glancing toward the guard, looking confused, not to mention tired. At last Enly relented. He broke off his attack, raised his sword in salute to his soldier, and turned to his father's man.

  "Yes, what do you want?" he demanded. Before the man could reply he went on. "My father wishes to see me, is that right?"

  The guard nodded. "Aye, sir."

  "And did he tell you anything beyond that?"

  "Only tha' he wanted ya right off, sir. He weren' in a mood t' wait."

  Enly sighed. "Of course he wasn't." He wiped his brow on his sleeve. "Fine then. Tell him 1'll be along just as soon as I can."

  "Aye, sir." The man turned smartly and hurried back toward the palace.

  He sheathed his blade, watching the man walk away. Then he turned to look at his men, who were eyeing him now. "The rest of you…" He shook his head. "The rest of you can do as you please until patrols begin."

  The men cheered, making him smile in spite of himself.

  He waited until his soldiers had dispersed before making his way back to the palace, not because he had to, but rather because he didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of thinking he'd been in any rush to obey the summons.

  He thought briefly about changing his clothes, but his father had wanted him there without delay, so he'd have him as he was now, sweat and all.

  The guards at the palace gates bowed to him as he passed. Among his own men he tried to be nothing more or less than their captain. Surely none of them forgot that he was a Tolm, the lord heir at that. But with time he had managed to build a rapport with his soldiers that was similar in most respects to that of other captains with their companies.

  The soldiers of the palace guard, however, were another matter. Here there could be no doubt but that he was Maisaak's son and eventual successor. Probably that was as it should be, but after all these years, it still bothered him.

  Reaching the door to his father's presence chamber, he stopped and waited while one of the guards there announced him to Maisaak. A moment later, the door opened and the guard bowed, gesturing for him to enter.

  "You're late," Maisaak said, before the door had closed behind Enly, before Enly had even spotted him by his writing table. "I sent for you before market bells."

  Enly bit back the first words that came to him. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I was working the men, and had one last drill to finish."

  "Well, we haven't much time. They'll be here shortly."

  "They?"

  Maisaak frowned, making his square face look even more severe than it usually did. "That fool of a guard didn't tell you?"

  "He said only that you wanted to see me."

  "Jenoe and Tirnya have requested an audience."

  "She's well enough to come here?" This time Enly had been unable to keep from saying the first thing that came to him.

  His father's frown deepened and he shook his head. "Either marry her or have done with it already. But either way, I need you to think clearly for a moment, not as her suitor, but as lord heir."

  "What is it they want to discuss?" he asked, ignoring the rebuke, and refusing to admit that Tirnya had no desire to marry him.

  "I was hoping you might know," his father said.

  "I don't. I've barely seen her sin
ce…" Since the tournament, he'd been about to say. But he didn't want to bring that up again either. Talking to his father was like stepping through a briar patch: for every thorn avoided four others drew blood. "It's been some time now," he said.

  "Well, nevertheless, I'd like you here when they arrive. I know Jenoe well enough, but your insights with respect to the girl might be of some use."

  All he could say was "Of course."

  For a time, as they waited for the marshal and his daughter to arrive, neither of them spoke. Maisaak went back to perusing the scrolls on his writing table. Enly wandered the chamber, looking idly at the baubles on his father's mantel and the ever-growing collection of daggers his father kept in a glass case in the corner of the great room.

  Eventually his father looked up at him again, his brow creased. "You must be hungry."

  "Thirsty, actually."

  "Of course." Maisaak picked up the small bell on his table and rang it. Almost instantly, a young servant appeared in the doorway and bowed. "My son desires water," said the lord governor. "And with our guests arriving soon, I'd like food and wine brought as well."

  The boy bowed a second time and withdrew, having said nothing. Maisaak had well-trained servants.

  "How goes it with your company?" his father asked, sounding oddly formal.

  "Very well, thank you."

  "And their spirits?"

  Enly had to laugh. "Their spirits would have been much improved if we had been the ones to earn your gold for killing all those brigands."

  "Yes, well," Maisaak said sourly, clearly not seeing the humor in this matter, "I think the less said about that the better, don't you?"

  "Yes, Father."

  They fell silent once more until Enly's water arrived, and with it the food and wine. A few moments after, someone knocked, and at Maisaak's invitation, one of the guards stepped into the chamber.

  "Yar Lordship, Marshal an' Captain Onjaef," the man said.

  "Send them in," Maisaak said, sounding desperate for any new guests, even the one man in Qalsyn he hated most.

  Tirnya entered the chamber followed by her father. She looked pale-the cut he had dealt her in the tournament had healed over, but the scar stood out starkly against her skin-and she moved slowly, without her usual grace. And yet, even while still recovering from wounds that had nearly killed her, she remained lovely. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands fell over her brow. Her eyes, blue-grey, the color of smoke from smoldering embers, found him immediately. She gave him a puzzled look, as if to ask why he was there.

  Enly shrugged, then looked away.

  As usual, Jenoe cut an imposing figure. He was a good deal taller than Maisaak and he still had the trim muscular build of a champion swordsman. He caught Enly's eye a moment after his daughter had and nodded in greeting.

  The two of them, father and daughter, halted in front of Maisaak's writing table and bowed to him.

  "Thank you for agreeing to see us, Your Lordship," Tirnya said.

  Enly and Maisaak shared a quick look. Usually the marshal would have spoken for them, not his daughter.

  "It's my pleasure, as always, Captain," Enly's father said, a smile fixed on his lips. "I take it you're recovering well."

  "I am. Thank you, Your Lordship."

  "I'm glad to hear it. You're to be commended for the performance of your company. They handled themselves quite well, even after you were wounded."

  "You honor us, Your Lordship."

  Maisaak turned to Jenoe, his smile growing ever more brittle. "You must be very proud of her, Marshal."

  "Yes, I am. Your Lordship is most kind."

  The servants had placed the food on the large table in the center of the chamber. Maisaak took his place there now, gesturing for the others to join him.

  "Come, have something to eat."

  "Thank you, Your Lordship," Tirnya said as she and Jenoe sat on opposite sides of the table. Enly sat at the end across from his father. A servant poured wine for them all, and Maisaak took some greens and fowl for himself before passing the platter to Jenoe.

  "Well," Maisaak said, after a brief lull in their conversation, "I'm sure you didn't request an audience just so that I could feed you. Why are you here?"

  Again it was Tirnya who answered, though not before she glanced uncertainly at her father. Jenoe merely gazed back at her, his expression revealing nothing.

  "Perhaps Your Lordship has received word of the pestilence outbreak in the Fal'Borna clan lands."

  Maisaak did nothing to mask his puzzlement. "Yes. Yes, I've heard something of it. Not much, but from what I've been told it seems the outbreak began west of the Silverwater and has spread westward across the plain." A hint of fear appeared in his eyes. "Is it headed this way now?"

  "No, Your Lordship," she said. "Not as far as we know."

  "Gods be praised for that," Enly said.

  Jenoe nodded his agreement. "Indeed."

  "From what we've heard, Your Lordship," Tirnya went on, "this is a strain of the disease that strikes only at white-hairs. It makes them ill, it robs them of control over their magic, and in the end it kills them."

  The lord governor's eyes widened. "I knew of course that it was sickening the Qirsi. But you're saying that it has no effect on our people? You're certain?"

  "Quite, Your Lordship. Several peddlers, Qirsi and Eandi alike, have said much the same thing. It seems we're immune, and the white-hairs are not."

  "Interesting," Maisaak said, sounding genuinely intrigued. "But why bring this to my attention?"

  Again Tirnya glanced at her father, and again Jenoe did nothing more than return the look.

  "Because, Your Lordship," she replied, facing Maisaak again, "I believe this white-hair plague, as the merchants are calling it, offers us a unique opportunity."

  Maisaak's eyebrows went up.

  And as Tirnya began to describe for them just what it was she had in mind, Enly's must have as well. Her proposal struck him as audacious, perilous, and foolhardy. After a time, Enly stopped staring at her and turned his gaze to her father, watching for Jenoe's reaction to what she was saying. Surely the marshal, a man Enly had always respected despite the rivalry that existed between their two houses, couldn't approve of this folly. He had to see the danger.

  But Jenoe made no effort to stop her. Could it be that both of them were blinded by their desire to reclaim the Onjaef ancestral home and their need to avenge the defeat of their forebears?

  Tirnya spoke passionately for this invasion of hers. Her cheeks, which had been ashen when they entered the chamber, now were flushed, and there was a look in her eyes that Enly had seen there previously only in the tournament ring, and on two memorable nights in his own bed. What frightened him most, as he continued to listen to her, was that she made a certain amount of sense. If one managed to ignore the fact that she was talking about restarting the Blood Wars, it would have been easy to be persuaded by her reasoning.

  At first, after she finally finished, no one said anything. The four of them had even stopped eating, though Tirnya took a quick sip of wine, her hand trembling slightly as she raised the goblet to her lips. As the silence stretched on, she looked at her father and then at Enly. Her cheeks were red still, but it seemed that this was now more a product of discomfort than ardor.

  "What do you think of all this, Jenoe?" Enly's father finally asked, turning to his rival.

  "This is Tirnya's idea," the marshal said. "I told her I'd accompany her to your palace, but that's all."

  "Yes, I gathered as much. But now I'm asking your opinion as a marshal in the Qalsyn army and the man who would probably lead this assault. What do you think of this?"

  Jenoe shrugged, taking a bite of fowl. "I'm not sure what to think of it," he said, after swallowing his mouthful.

  "Come now," Maisaak said, frowning. "I should have added a moment ago that you're also the person with the most to gain should this campaign succeed. And you want me to believe that you have no thoughts w
hatsoever on the matter?"

  "With all respect, Your Lordship, that's not what I said. Precisely because I have the most to gain, I'm not sure what to think of it. It strikes me as terribly dangerous. And yet, I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't intrigued by the possibilities of such a gambit."

  "How many men do you think it would take?" the lord governor asked.

  Jenoe narrowed his eyes in thought, as he played idly with his wine goblet. "Probably every man under my command, and then some. But a lot of that will depend on how hard this pestilence has struck at the Fal'Borna. If only a few of the septs have been hit, we'll have a hard time of it. If the damage is more extensive, we may meet with little resistance until we reach the Thraedes."

  Enly couldn't keep still any longer. "Pardon me for speaking out of turn, Father. And, Tirnya, forgive me for saying this, but what you're suggesting is madness, pure and simple. The Blood Wars are a blot on the history of the Southlands. They did unspeakable damage to both the clans and the sovereignties; especially to the sovereignties. To start them again…" He shook his head. "It's madness. There's no other word for it. I find it hard to believe that you'd support this, Marshal. And I'm shocked, Father, that you haven't dismissed the idea already."

  Maisaak took a breath and nodded. "Well, Enly, I appreciate your candor, and I'll consider what you've said." He looked at Tirnya. "Captain Onjaef, what do you say to that?"

  She regarded Enly coolly for just an instant before facing Maisaak again. "Nothing, Your Lordship. I've made my case. I'll stand by it."

  The lord governor nodded and grinned. "Very good." He stood, forcing the others to do the same. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Both of you," he added, with a glance at Jenoe. "Obviously I'll need to give this a good deal of thought before I send any messages on to Ofirean City. And we can do nothing, of course, without Ankyr's approval. And if he does allow us to go forward, I'll want to send missives to the other lord governors to see if we can put together a larger force. If we're going to do this, I don't want to be undermanned. I'll let you know what I've decided. In the meantime, speak of this with no one."