Ruxton’s mind was blank, Alija discovered, disappointed. She thought something must be going on behind that veil of unconsciousness, but there was nothing. His mind was vacant, like the inside of an empty sphere, the walls slippery and smooth as coloured glass, opaque to her probe and any last residual thoughts that might struggle to find their way into his consciousness.
His last thoughts were of you, Alija murmured silently. She would tell Marla that to keep her happy. Or maybe she would tell her the truth. His last thoughts weren’t of you, my dear . . . they were of absolutely nothing at all . . .
Another burst of coughing tore through Ruxton as his bleeding lungs tried vainly to find air. He was very close to death. So close that Alija would be a fool to remain in his mind any longer. She didn’t know if she would die along with the spice trader if she was still linked to his mind in the moment of death and didn’t fancy putting the theory to the test. Carefully, Alija un-hooked the tendrils of her thoughts from Ruxton’s mind as his breathing turned to weak, strangled gasps. A little concerned that she had left it too late, Alija hurried to extract her mind from that of the dying man. Somewhere in the background, she heard him draw his last, desperate breath . . .
And then an explosion seemed to go off in Alija’s mind. She screamed, clutching her hands to her head as she fell off the bed and collapsed to her knees.
Even though the physical contact had been broken, the link remained in place as the smooth glass wall that she thought was Ruxton Tirstone’s unconscious mind shattered into myriad, crystalline pieces, overwhelming Alija. Her skin prickled, itched and burned, the familiar, terrifying touch of true Harshini magic washing against her skin as a mind shield she hadn’t even known was there disintegrated on the death of its owner.
It was instantaneous and blinding, unleashing a flash flood of Ruxton’s memories and thoughts held back by the subtle shield—a work of such mastery she couldn’t even conceive of it. The tirade washed over her like a crashing wave. It was too much to understand, too much to deal with, too much to bear.
Alija’s last coherent thought before she lost consciousness was a name she had thought long passed into history. It jumped out at her from the maelstrom of Ruxton’s final dying thoughts, flaring like a beacon in a storm. A threat she had believed dealt with and destroyed more than twenty-five years ago.
A ghost come back to haunt her.
Wrayan Lightfinger.
Chapter 49
Orleon had already shown Tejay into Mahkas’s study by the time Damin arrived downstairs.
There was no sign of the children—presumably Orleon had made arrangements for their care—and the Warlord’s wife was looking tired and travel-weary. Her riding habit was stained with mud splatters, her damp hair even more unruly than usual.
As far as Damin knew, Tejay Lionsclaw hadn’t been back to Krakandar since Rielle and Darvad Vintner’s wedding. He’d not seen her since about halfway through the third year of his fosterage in Natalandar, when, in keeping with their long-standing arrangement, Tejay had married finally Terin, the only son of Chaine Lionsclaw, Warlord of Sunrise Province. That was almost nine years ago. He had fond memories of his foster-sister, however. A skilled swordsman, she had delivered a sound beating to Damin on more than one occasion in the first few years he was fostered with her father.
“Tejay?”
She turned when she heard the door open. Motherhood and nine years had added a little bulk around her hips and a few crinkles around her eyes when she smiled, but other than that she was still the strong, forthright young woman that Damin remembered from his childhood.
“Is that you, Damin?” She smiled tiredly at him, looking him up and down with a critical eye “My, didn’t you grow into a big strong boy.”
He crossed the room, taking her hands in his and kissing her palms affectionately. “What in the name of the gods are you doing here, Tejay? Where’s Terin?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You look exhausted. Sit down,” he urged, offering her a seat. There was a low table with cushions around it in the centre of the room, but Tejay gladly sat in the chair facing the desk.
“Can I get you anything?”
She shook her head. “Orleon’s got everything under control, as usual. I was so relieved when I heard you were here. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“What are you talking about? Go where? Why aren’t you in Sunrise with your husband?”
“I was,” she informed him. “Until I got word Father was ill. Terin was having trouble with the Fardohnyans closing the borders, so I took the children and headed for Natalandar to see my father.”
“Is everything all right, Tejay?” he asked with concern. “With you and Terin, I mean?”
“That’s hardly the point, Damin,” Tejay said, shrugging off his question. “And why would you automatically assume that there’s something wrong with my husband? Or my marriage?”
“I didn’t mean there was,” Damin assured her, surprised by her defensive reaction. “It just seems a little odd that he’d let you go alone, that’s all.”
Tejay bristled at the implied insult. “Why? You think I can’t look after myself?”
“No, of course I don’t think that!” he assured her hastily. “I just think I wouldn’t let my wife traipse all the way across the country, on her own, with plague on the loose and four small children in tow.”
“Good thing I’m not your wife, then,” she replied tartly.
Damin let the comment pass. “Why not leave Chaine to deal with the Fardohnyans?”
Tejay shook her head, her face etched with weary sorrow. “You haven’t heard, then, I suppose.”
“Heard what?”
Tejay took a deep breath. “Chaine Lionsclaw is dead, Damin. My husband is the Warlord of Sunrise Province now.”
Damin sank down on the edge of the desk in stunned surprise. “When . . . when did this happen?”
“About a month ago. Chaine was killed in the Widowmaker Pass trying to get through to Fardohnya to convince the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook to keep the borders open. It was bandits, we think.”
“Then the news would have reached Greenharbour just after I left.”
She nodded in agreement. “We were still reeling from that news when we got the word about my father within a day of Chaine’s death. There was no way Terin could leave Sunrise after that. So I took the children and headed for Izcomdar without him.”
Damin did a quick mental calculation in his head and frowned. “You haven’t had time to get from Cabradell to Natalandar and then back here to Krakandar in a month.”
“I didn’t even try. Rogan had a messenger waiting for me on the Pentamor border, telling me to turn back. The plague had reached Natalandar before me and our father was already dead. Apparently, he was so ill, he was one of the first to go when the disease hit the city. So we turned back the way we came, only to learn that Grosburn in Pentamor was starting to report the first cases of plague there, too.
So I turned around again and headed north for Krakandar. I didn’t know what else to do. I have my children with me, Damin. This is the last place in Hythria that seems to be immune from this dreadful blight.”
Tejay’s tale was worrying for more than news the plague was spreading. Old Rogan Bearbow, the Warlord of Izcomdar, was dead. That alone was enough to make Damin want to weep. And for Chaine Lionsclaw, too—a good and loyal friend to the Wolfblades. He was sure there were going to be political ramifications from this unexpected turn of events that he’d not had time to figure out.
“I think we’re more lucky than immune, Tejay. Rorin claims it’s the weather that keeps us safe here in the north. Something to do with rats breeding, he says. It’s much colder here than Greenharbour and it’s still winter, which seems to keep the problem in check. And I’m so sorry about Chaine and your father. Chaine was a good man. Your father was a great one.”
She smiled wanly. “He was very fond of you, too.”
; “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, of course,” he promised. “Just speak to Orleon.
He’ll arrange a message to be sent to Terin to let him know where you are. And that you and the children are safe.”
“I knew I could rely on you, Damin. Thank you.”
Damin crossed his arms, frowning thoughtfully. “You present me with another dilemma, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The plague is on your very heels, Tejay. At what point do we seal the city to keep us safe from it?”
“Now. Before the refugees and the warmer weather arrive,” Tejay advised. “They’ll bring this nightmare with them sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.”
“I think it’s a bit late to start turning refugees away,” he said with a smile and then looked up as the door opened and a slave wheeling a small cart laden with fruit and fresh pastries and a pot of lemon-scented tea entered the room, followed by Starros, who ordered the slave to park the cart next to Tejay. The young man did as Starros bid, then bowed silently and left the room, leaving Starros to pour the tea.
Tejay looked over the cart with a frown. “I appreciate the thought, young man, but haven’t you got anything stronger than tea?”
Starros glanced at Damin, who shrugged. “Get the lady a drink, Starros.”
“My lord,” Starros replied with a courtly bow. He walked to the sideboard and returned with a cut-crystal decanter of dark, fortified wine, which he poured into the teacup in lieu of the tea, and then handed it to Tejay with another bow.
She studied him for a moment as she accepted the wine. “Starros? I remember you. You were a fosterling here, when we visited Krakandar when Damin’s stepsister, Rielle, married my kinsman Darvad, weren’t you?”
“Yes, my lady. I was.”
“And you’re Krakandar’s assistant steward now?”
“Assistant chief steward,” he corrected with a faint smile.
Tejay nodded approvingly. “You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? Most fosterlings wind up in the Palace Guard. You must be very pleased to have attained such a high position in the household.”
Starros glanced at Damin for a moment. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking. But he did nothing more than incline his head towards Tejay in appreciation of the compliment. “Indeed, my lady.
What more could a lowborn bastard want out of life, I often ask myself.”
Tejay didn’t miss the mockery in his tone. Damin frowned. “Starros, can you ask Kalan and Rorin to join us?”
“Of course, your highness,” he replied with a slightly insolent bow, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Tejay looked at Damin in confusion. “Did I miss something there?”
“Don’t worry about it. Starros just forgets himself sometimes.”
She shook her head and drained the teacup full of wine, then held it out to Damin for a refill. He did as she asked, and watched her drink that one down in three gulps as well.
“It’s not lunchtime yet,” he reminded her.
“Good, that means I can have another one at lunch. Did you say Kalan was here?”
He nodded. “She and Rorin were in Nalinbar when the plague started to get out of hand. I met up with them on the way here and convinced them they’d be safer in Krakandar. They’d closed the city gates in Greenharbour by then anyway, so there was no point in trying to go south.”
“Who is Rorin?”
“Rorin Mariner,” he explained. “He’s Luciena’s cousin.”
The door opened again and Kalan entered the room with Rorin on her heels. Tejay rose to her feet wearily, but Kalan waved her back into her seat. “Please, don’t get up on my account, my lady.”
The Lady of Sunrise smiled gratefully and resumed her seat. “Gracious, I thought Damin had grown, but you were just a little girl the last time we met, Kalan. And now look at you! A full member of the Sorcerers’ Collective, no less!”
“It’s all right, my mother has trouble coping with the notion, too,” Kalan laughed. “This is Rorin Mariner, my lady.”
The young sorcerer bowed politely. Tejay looked him up and down and then glanced at Damin.
“You’ve got it made, haven’t you?”
“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.
“A couple of sorcerers in your pocket already. Your younger brother set to inherit Elasapine when old Charel Hawksword finally passes on. One of the Taranger brothers is married to your stepsister, isn’t he? The one who owns half the shipping in Hythria? The gods help us by the time you become High Prince, Damin.”
“Actually, I think Luciena only owns about a third of the shipping,” Damin corrected with a grin.
Kalan wasn’t nearly so amused. Her smile faded as she stared at the Warlord’s wife suspiciously.
“Do you have some sort of problem with my brother becoming High Prince, my lady?”
Tejay shook her head, a little taken aback by Kalan’s ferocity. “You have a feisty advocate there, Damin.”
“Pay no attention to her, Tejay,” Damin advised. “She doesn’t bite if you don’t tease her.”
Before his sister could object he turned to her and added, “Tejay is suggesting we seal the city.”
“Is that necessary?” Kalan asked.
“The plague is already showing up in Izcomdar and Pentamor,” Tejay warned. “It won’t be long before it gets here. And if the Medalonians close their border . . .”
“Easier said than done,” Damin remarked, rubbing his bruised chin without thinking. The pain shot through his jaw and he hastily pulled his hand away. “The border with Medalon is a couple of hundred miles long. There’s no way to seal it effectively.”
“Why the urgency?” Rorin asked.
“My father is already dead,” Tejay told him. “And my father-in-law. This is the only major city in Hythria free of the plague. If you can’t stop it reaching Krakandar, there’s no telling how many people it will kill before it’s done with us.”
As she spoke, Rorin walked around the desk thoughtfully, until he was standing before the map of Hythria that hung on the wall behind them. It was a beautiful piece of work, six feet high and twice that in length; it had been hand-sewn by Damin’s great-great-grandmother as a wedding present to her husband almost a hundred years ago. Each province was sewn in a different coloured silk, the borders worked in real gold thread. Damin watched the young sorcerer curiously, the voices of Kalan and Tejay fading into the background as they discussed the implications of the plague.
Rorin studied the map in silence for a time and then turned to Damin. “You’ve got more than the plague to worry about, Damin.”
“What do you mean?”
Rorin pointed at the map. “Barnardo Eaglespike is dead. His son—or more importantly, Alija’s son—Cyrus, is now Warlord. Effectively the High Arrion has control of Dregian Province.” He pointed at the next province, lying to the south of Dregian. “Greenharbour Province. Currently under the administration of the Sorcerers’ Collective, and has been ever since Graim Falconlance and his two sons were killed in that idiotic border skirmish with Pentamor a couple of years back. Remember? They were fighting over some worthless piece of land they both claimed was theirs because some fool announced he’d found gold in a stream that ran through it. After the dust settled and they realised both the Warlord of Greenharbour and his heir were dead, there was quite a bit of trouble over who should inherit. Finally, they settled on a distant cousin, I believe.”
“I remember,” Damin said with a nod. “The gold they were fighting over turned out to be pyrite, didn’t it?”
“Fool’s gold, indeed.”
Damin studied the map for a moment and then looked at Rorin. “The cousin . . . that’s Conin Falconlance. I know him. He’s only a year or two older than me.”
“So he can’t rule in his own right for years yet.” Rorin then pointed to Izcomdar and turned to look at Tejay. “And now you tell us Lord Bearbow is dead. How old i
s your brother, my lady?”
Tejay looked up from her conversation with Kalan, obviously puzzled by the question. “Rogan is twenty-seven.”
“And you have no other male relatives who might act as his regent until he comes of age?”
Tejay shook her head, a little worried about what Rorin was driving at.
“Then, for the next three years at least, Izcomdar is going to fall under the governance of the Sorcerers’ Collective, too.” Rorin then pointed to Sunrise Province. “Terin Lionsclaw is now the Warlord of Sunrise. His eldest child is . . . how old, my lady?”
“Four,” Tejay told him.
Rorin nodded and pointed to Elasapine. “Then we have Charel Hawksword’s province. He’s an old man and he’s been failing for years, so much so that he keeps Narvell with him all the time now, for fear he won’t have taught his young heir everything he needs to know before he dies. But Narvell is only twenty-two. The twins have an uncle, by marriage at least, but if anything were to happen to Lord Hawksword, I can promise you they won’t let the Regent of Krakandar govern Elasapine as well.”
“And if anything should happen to Mahkas,” Damin said with a frown, beginning to understand what Rorin was getting at, “Krakandar would also fall into the hands of the Sorcerers’ Collective until I come of age.”
Rorin nodded and studied the map again for a moment before turning to look at the others.
“Get Mahkas back here and seal the city,” the young sorcerer advised. “And send a message to Narvell in Elasapine to keep Charel safe. You should warn your husband, too, my lady.”
“Warn him of what?” Tejay asked, still a little confused.
“To take care of himself,” Damin told her, staring at the map with deep concern. “Because this plague means that, right now, we’re one Warlord’s death away from Alija Eaglespike having majority control of the Convocation of Warlords.”
Chapter 50
Your majesty,” Lecter Turon announced, closing the sandalwood doors of King Hablet’s office behind him. “I’ve been having some thoughts on the issue of your heir.”
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