Highest Lord

by R. J. Price

  “I'd say that would be important enough to keep,” Aren said.

  “Van didn't know the details, only that he holds it,” Av murmured. “Makes me wonder what the other barons actually hold, compared to what they think they hold.”

  “The South has all the knowledge that had been at the palace before the reconstruction,” Lord Yelder said. “The reason why the warrior queen has fallen to such myth is because her volumes are no longer available to the common folk of palace lands. Knowledge of old—very old—magic was sent there as well, which was why no new treasures have been made.

  “The East took knowledge of mines, which has led me to believe that they stopped palace lands from advancing through technology. Much of our metals are reused, as is my understanding, with the East trading palace lands ore every ten years or so. But they will not risk sending Van more ore, or weapons, because the damp in the West eats away at the blades.

  “The North took the palace blocks, but also any and all landscape magic that had sunk into the stone and no one knows how to access that because only the one who sits the throne can awaken the palace.”

  Av and Aren both looked at Lord Yelder. The man shifted uncomfortably under their stares.

  “Each high lord has had to make his way with whatever his skills are, since the palace stopped paying us near a century ago,” Lord Yelder said. “I trade in old magic and curiosities. Mainly information. You would be surprised how much any one lord would pay to hear what I just told you. Which really begs the question of why I told you that instead of trading for it as I should have.”

  “Because if you didn't, I would count it as trying something with Aren,” Av said with a toothy grin.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Aren walked into Jer’s study to find Av, Telm, Jer, and a dirtied man waiting for her. Outside the door a healer stood, alert and waiting, but gave no indication to Aren as to what was going on. Perhaps the man had arrived and asked for assistance.

  “What’s this?” she asked, looking over the man.

  His clothing was ripped and torn, covered in mud and what might have been blood. The man’s face was battered, but there was an anger in his eyes. He had been beaten, but he hadn’t been broken down.

  “This is the messenger we sent south,” Jer said. “Show her.”

  The man unbuttoned his riding jacket and opened it, revealing a once white tunic stained with red-brown and torn along one side. Aren leaned closer to see the tear, then turned and almost wretched.

  There was a gaping wound on the man’s side. Not bleeding in the least, but in the moment Aren had looked at it, she was certain the wound went deeper than skin. A healer must have seen to the man shortly after he was wounded, but hadn’t finished the job. Why hadn’t they finished the job?

  “Go to the healer outside,” Jer said.

  The man left as Av stood and directed Aren into the seat he had been in. She sank into it, trembling.

  “Never again!” she shouted at Jer, who watched her calmly. “Some warning at the very least.”

  “I thought you should see with your own eyes what Merkat’s response was,” Jer said quietly. “Laeder’s brother’s mate is a healer. She attempted to help the messenger afterwards but was caught. She could only stop the bleeding—and his heart—long enough for them to believe him dead. She’s palace born. Her loyalties lie with us, but are divided with her mate.”

  “Which means if we seek retribution, the healer is given quarter,” Av murmured by her ear.

  “Merkat killed our messenger?” Aren asked.

  “Technically a healer did,” Telm said. “But Merkat believes he killed our messenger. The baron ranted for quite some time about how spoiled and stubborn you are and how you will pay for your sins against the spirits.”

  “War,” Jer said. “He means to go to war.”

  “There must be another way,” Aren protested. “I broke off an engagement, not stabbed him in the eye. I certainly didn’t murder one of his messengers. Aren’t messengers sacred?”

  “Attacking a messenger is considered an act of war, yes,” Av said.

  “There is no other way—we have to go to war,” Jer said. “Have to, no other way. It’s not possible. Besides, this is a warrior thing. We were bred for this. We revel in it, of course we’re going to war, there’s no question about it. As Av said, this is an act of war. Merkat is going to war with us. We will meet him on the battlefield.”

  Aren was quiet a moment as she considered how odd it was to hear Jer repeat himself. Was he excited, and that was why he was reiterating the point so much? Did he actually want to go to war?

  “And die, Lord Lerd said—”

  “We will find out what he said when we call the war council,” Jer said quickly. “As the high lord of the South, he would be included in order to—”

  “But we won’t go to war unless I say so,” Aren said.

  Both warriors snarled. Jer snarled at Aren. When Aren looked to Av, she found him focused on Jer. He hadn’t snarled at her; he had done so at his brother for challenging her.

  Av sighed and tried to relax. “Aren, what he’s trying to say is that we counsel you to go to war. Not just as warriors, but as those who know the matters more easily than you. War is the only option, since if you attempt to back down, Merkat will think you weak.”

  “And if we go to war, hundreds of innocents will die.”

  “Lady Aren, while not a warrior, I agree with them,” Telm said calmly. “And as the only one to have seen any amount of true battle, young as I was at the time, I think you may see that I understand the possible losses. I lost my mother and my father. I lost my village. I was placed here an orphan with nothing to my name, not even my name, for my bloodline was stripped of me. I had to take a new one when I came of age. I know what war entails, and even I would counsel you to go to war.”

  “Why?”

  “The South is filled with commoners, and Merkat’s army would be the same. Filled with commoners. Most of the time all you need to do is wave a sword in the air to remind them that you are in control and you are a rank. Commoners instinctively fear warriors, so put a sword in one’s hand and they start running in the other direction. Put a warrior on the battlefield without a weapon and commoners have been recorded as dropping dead of fright alone.”

  “And if we still go to war?”

  “Let me try, instead, to tell you what would happen if you did not go to war,” Telm said. She was quiet a moment, caught in thought. “Lady Mar’s brother-by-mating is now lord of the area down there. It is a border area and Merkat knows the connection between Mar and yourself. He would overrun that first, slaughtering man, woman, and child to prove a point. From there he would take his best men and call them warriors, even though they carry no rank. These warriors would begin to tarry the nearby villages, raping as they go along because myth has it that is what warriors at war do. If the women are pregnant, they will cut the children from their bellies to ensure that no child of the enemy is left alive. If they don’t outright kill the mother.

  “And that’s not a myth—that happened to several villages on the borders before.

  “From there he would overtake Bilgern Vineyard, which I know you have no taste for, but he would rape and murder your mother. That might entice your bloodlust for vengeance, but if you want that done to her, I know some men who could do the job without involving anyone else. He’d do this because Para tried to help him and botched it, so it would be an example to every man in his army.

  “Then he would march ever north. Now eventually he would come to Ervam’s land and the trainer has called to the village there, which means he would go out to defend. He would leave a trail of blood in his wake, but he would die. In the very slim chance he survives, Ervam’s next stop is here, to the palace, to put a knife between your ribs and there’s not a man stupid enough to try to stop him, let alone be able to.

  “The more likely outcome is that the commoners will overtake him and punish the villagers
for his actions before they turn their attention to the palace. Av and Jer would know, upon the army’s arrival, what had happened to their father and would go out to meet the army and they, without a doubt, would put them down. But only one of them would come back to the palace and he would forevermore be a shadow of who he once was.”

  “Why would Ervam be at his home? He’d be here, at the palace with us.”

  “If you think you can stop a rank from going to defend? Try telling Mar that a war is brewing and her home is likely to be the first hit.”

  Aren looked to Av, who stared back at her gravely.

  “But queens have nothing to do with war,” she protested.

  “Merkat will attack in high summer, when the heat begins to slow most down,” Av said. “If he attacks this year, it means Mar will be heavy with child. Her instincts will be to protect herself. Now there is a chance she could stop Merkat’s army then and there, but we both know what happens when a queen, heavy with child, is attacked and almost murdered.”

  “I won’t let her go,” Aren said.

  “Keeping her here would result in the same, only we’d all be killed in the rage,” Jer said. “You cannot contain a queen, and if you attempt to keep my daughter against her will, I’ll put an end to you.”

  “I’m just trying—”

  “To avoid war,” Telm finished. “I understand your desire to. Perhaps you’d rather talk with those who are faced with this thought often. The mates of the barons? I could bring the queens from the three couples together and you can speak openly with them and see how they feel about this. In the meantime, I do suggest that we call the war council because we’ve little other choice. We need to know how large Merkat’s army is, in order to know whether there is that very slim option of simply killing him to be done with it.”

  “Why didn’t you mention that?” Aren demanded. “Kill him, be done with it.”

  “His son sympathizes with him,” Jer said. “If the army is large enough, the new baron will take the army and sweep north in a vengeful and bloody war.”

  “There’s just no winning here,” Aren said. “Who would be in this war council?”

  “Us present,” Telm said. “Myself for support for you because Lady Mar cannot be brought into these talks. Until we know how delicate she is while she carries, I do no not want to risk mother or babe. Then there would be Jer as steward, Av because he’ll just force his way in—”

  Aren look at Av again who nodded. “I would—I’d do that.”

  “—Er and Url, because they mentioned standing to our backs for a war. Lerd because he is high lord of the South and Gamen because of the tentative agreement for him to come into the palace lands after his death.”

  “The only question, then,” Jer said, “is do we bring Van into this conversation? He is often complaining of being left out. There is the chance that if we do not bring him in, he will go to Merkat and join forces with him in order to prove a point.”

  “Why would we exclude him?” Aren asked.

  “He’s not involved in this. The West borders on the South, but the marsh is deep and wet there. Merkat will not be able to cross it. It would be a folly to even attempt as much.”

  “But why would we exclude him?” she asked again.

  “Because he’s not involved,” Av said.

  She smacked him with the back of her hand, without looking to see what she was striking. “Once again, I ask, why would we exclude him?”

  Silence predominated over the room as the other three looked to one another. Telm cleared her throat gently, drawing Aren’s attention to her.

  “If you wish for a reason to exclude him, the fact that he has hidden his rank is one. The idea that he may have an actual army is two. The fact that he has no ties to palace lands or the throne, with no intention of realigning with us is three. But if you ask why you, Aren, would want to exclude Van from a war council when the other barons are already involved, I cannot help but say that there is no reason to exclude him and every reason to bring him in.

  “Van is a queen, so he will side more with you than with the warriors and he will help keep them level-headed. His army can aid you, and his ranks are likely begging to be let off the leash that he no doubt has them on, and it would draw him closer to us and towards a unified land.”

  “Then bring him to council. Lady Telm, please extend an invitation to the other queens with appropriate titles. I wish to speak with them about a few things.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Url sat and watched as the warriors gathered. He had heard that the messenger had returned from the South. He knew that Merkat wasn’t coming, and from there he could gather why Jer and Av seemed to have that delighted glow about them.

  The brothers were not enthused about the mating to happen three days hence. They were excited about a brewing war.

  Until a council was called, and he was invited to it, Url had no ability to bring up his concerns. All those who were gathering knew, unofficially, why there was drink and meat aplenty, why the servants who brought the meat were young, unattached things who giggled and flirted openly.

  When wars brewed, warriors stirred. And when warriors stirred they were more likely to pick fights with one another, or anyone who got in their way.

  To counter the riled warriors, each land had its own traditions, which all boiled down to the same thing: a secluded hall built of stone—for plaster would not survive the night—plenty of drink, lots to eat, and willing bodies to bed.

  Those that attended provided the rest.

  They might have been warriors, but when not warring they had other professions. Musicians came to the hall, all warriors, and all knowing just what sort of music to play. The one who manned the kegs and makeshift bar knew what to give who and when to cut off a warrior before he became too drunk and did something stupid.

  Yet there Url sat, in the back corner of the hall, watching the brothers laugh and shove one another while the others shouted encouragement. Small fights would break out. A few would escalate. In the morning they would all be sore and some few of them might even be in the healer hall, but it was all considered a hazard of living with warriors.

  No one would mention the war.

  His father thumped a tankard down in front of him and shifted into the seat beside him.

  “Leg bothering you?” Url asked, noticing how his father seemed to fall into the chair instead of easing into it.

  “Just the hip,” was the quiet response. “You’re young, you should be out there with your cousins. Go celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” he asked. “You do realize Mother received a formal invitation from the one who sits the throne? You know what they’re talking about. You know they’re planning our funerals.”

  “Your funeral, not mine,” Er said, taking the tankard from Url to sip it, then place it back where it had been.

  “You know what I mean, she’s going to get drunk and come stumbling back in, weeping and crying and going on. Her rank doesn’t take this news well.”

  “And then they cry themselves out and when they’re finished they pick up their arms and join us,” Er said. “It’s a woman’s thing.”

  “Van was also invited.”

  Er made a strangled sound in response.

  As his father struggled with the information, Url stood and went to retrieve food. He had to fight with a younger warrior who thought Url would be a pushover. Taking the youngster down didn’t make him feel any better about the food he collected as reward.

  Everyone would be fed, but those who wanted to be fed first had to earn the privilege.

  Along with the food he received a tankard that was not ale, which he didn’t realize was not what he ordered until he was sitting back down and attempted to gulp his drink. Coughing and sputtering, he slammed it onto the table and shot the bartender a scathing look. The man simply nodded in response and turned to another warrior.

  “When I ask for ale, but get something a great deal stronger, does t
hat mean he’s challenging me?” he asked his father.

  The other man puzzled over the information for a moment, then shook his head. “If he were challenging you, he would have put your head into the bar.”

  “They don’t actually—” Url stopped talking when there was a thump and a cry from the gathered warriors as the same youngster who had challenged Url stumbled away from the bar. “Did you see that happening as you spoke?”

  “Of course, but I’ve also had someone try to put my head through a bar,” Er said, pulling his tankard towards himself. “You should have stuck with my tankard. If you don’t drink that, he will have a problem with you.”

  “Is he trying to flirt with me?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” Er said quietly. “That is a fine-looking warrior.”

  “I’m not like Jer,” he said quickly. “I like breasts and the rounded shape of a woman. Tumbling with a man holds absolutely no value to me.”

  “You’d be surprised how many warriors pair off at events like this, when war is actually coming and there aren’t enough women to go around. The last time we went to war was with those past our boundaries in the North, when we wiped them out. Well, I was mated to your mother going on a year, but she was pregnant with your eldest sister at the time and that sort of a joining isn’t healthy for the babe or mother, I don’t care what anyone tries to tell me. Woke up the next morning beside a Western warrior who had apparently bested and mounted me right there in the hall.”

  “Yes, but you don’t recall it, meaning it likely wasn’t an active decision on your part.”

  “I put him into the ground every other time we met,” his father said gravely. “And not because he was letting me win. All I’m saying is: go into these things with an open mind. There’s bloodshed on the horizon and we all know it. Women used to throw themselves at warriors. Now we get a handful of maidens, gorgeous as they are, to near half a hundred of us.”