“The Harshini?” Mahkas cut in sceptically, not fooled by the young man’s black sorcerer’s robes.
He was still a peasant in Mahkas’s mind and all the trappings of civility in the world wouldn’t change that. “What would you know about the Harshini, boy?”
“More than you or I know,” Damin said, coming to Rorin’s defence in the same way he defended Starros every chance he got. Marla had made a grave mistake in Mahkas’s opinion, allowing her son to mix with commoners so readily. The young prince was quite inappropriately familiar with his lowborn companions and gave their opinions much more weight than they deserved. “And I, for one, believe him. Rorin says it’s all to do with keeping the rat population down.”
“Not just rats,” Kalan corrected. “Cats. Dogs. Anything with fur. The plague is carried by fleas. If we can keep the city clean, if we can clean out all the places rats like to congregate, and have a way of isolating any cases that do occur, we might be able to stop it devastating the whole city.”
“But we have to do it now,” Damin emphasised. “Before the weather really warms up and the fleas start to breed again.”
“Even if I agreed with this, you’re asking the impossible!” Mahkas objected. “You can’t get rid of all the rats in the city. The grain store alone probably feeds ten thousand of them.”
“I know. So I’ve put out a bounty on them,” Damin announced. “One copper rivet for every dead rat. Raek Harlen is already down in the city with a troop of Raiders, organising a way to dispose of the bodies. We thought the glassworks were probably the best place. They have the biggest furnaces in the city, at any rate.”
“You can’t be serious! Who is going to pay for this?”
“It’s not as if we can’t afford it, Uncle Mahkas,” Kalan said, looking a little wounded that he wasn’t applauding their foresight. “And I’d be happy to bankrupt Krakandar if it means we don’t die of the plague.”
“That’s all right for you to say, young lady,” he snapped, “but—” Mahkas stopped abruptly. The four of them—Damin, Almodavar, Kalan and Rorin—were staring at him as if he was completely ignorant of the danger, with no concept or ability to deal with this threat to his city. How dare they think that? Krakandar has never had a better lord than Mahkas Damaran. But it was clear rage would accomplish nothing here. He consciously bit back his anger, forcing himself to breathe deeply.
“Damin,” he said, in the calmest tone he could manage, “you have no authority to order the city sealed. Or any of the other actions you’ve set in motion in my absence. However, I appreciate that you and Kalan were trying to do the right thing, so I’ll overlook your disrespect and treat it as merely youthful enthusiasm.”
Damin looked at him oddly, and for a dreadful moment, Mahkas thought he actually meant to defy him.
“Youthful enthusiasm?” the young man repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears.
Mahkas ignored the question. “You can take me through your plans and I’ll see if they have any merit, and implement them if they prove sound. I’m sure you’ve got some excellent suggestions about how to manage this dreadful situation and I’ll be happy for you to assist me in dealing with it, if that is what you want.”
He waited, not sure what he was expecting Damin to do. This was the first time Damin had ever tried to exert any kind of authority in Krakandar and Mahkas wasn’t sure what would happen if he forced the issue. Whether he was legally old enough to rule or not, Damin was Krakandar’s prince. Hell, they turned out in droves just to welcome him back to the city. If Damin wanted to dig his heels in, Mahkas faced a much greater crisis than simply finding the city sealed in his absence.
But the young prince smiled and stepped back from the table. “We were just trying to help, Uncle.”
Mahkas’s knees almost gave way with relief. “I know. And I do appreciate your efforts. You might have warned the gate about letting me back in when I arrived, however. It wouldn’t have been quite such a shock.”
Damin grinned, suddenly back to the rakish young man Mahkas remembered. “I promise, the next time I seal the city with you on the outside, Uncle Mahkas, I’ll do it much more effectively.”
Mahkas laughed politely, not sure if he liked the way Damin had phrased that, but then he dismissed his own foolishness and glanced around the room. “Is Leila not here helping you take over my city?”
“She’s with Tejay Lionsclaw in the nursery, I think,” Kalan informed him.
“Lady Lionsclaw is here?”
“She and her children arrived the same day you left for Walsark, my lord,” Almodavar said. “It was Lady Lionsclaw who brought the news of the spreading plague.”
“Then I’d best speak to her myself. Would you fetch her for me, please, Kalan?”
It was an unsubtle dismissal and his niece knew it. She nudged Rorin and the two of them left the room together. Almodavar also took the hint, pleaded other duties to attend to, and departed with a sharp salute, first to Damin and then—almost as an afterthought—to Mahkas.
Once they were alone, Mahkas felt a little easier. “You should be careful, Damin. Actions like the ones you took in my absence might be misconstrued.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
Mahkas nodded with relief. “I know. Just think it through a little more carefully the next time, eh? Besides, I don’t know how you found the time to organise any of this.” You should have been with Leila, he added silently, despairing to think Damin had found the time to plan the city’s defence against the plague when he should have been wooing his future bride.
“What else is there to do?” the young man asked with a frown. “Almodavar says you flatly refuse to let me accompany any of the raiding parties into Medalon.”
“Your father was killed while on a raiding party into Medalon.”
“It doesn’t automatically follow that I will be, Uncle.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it does mean your mother is rather touchy on the subject. I thought it would be better if we just didn’t go there.”
Damin’s eyes lit up mischievously. “But if I’m on a raiding party into Medalon, I won’t be here trying to take over your city. And I’d be much safer from the plague out there in the wilderness. It would be good practice for me. And if Almodavar or Raek Harlen came along to keep an eye on me, I could get in some much needed command experience. And it would be—”
“All right!” Mahkas cried, throwing his hands up to halt Damin’s undoubtedly endless list of justifications. “I’ll think about it!”
He grinned happily. “That’s all I ask, Uncle Mahkas.”
“And while I’m thinking about it, you must do me a favour.”
“Name it.”
“Spend some time with your cousin, would you? She’s missed you desperately while you’ve been gone.” He hesitated, suffering a moment of guilt as he recalled Bylinda’s harsh words in the carriage this morning about whoring his daughter for the sake of his ambition—and then he pushed his wife’s foolish fears aside and added, “The slaveways don’t get the same traffic they used to when you were children.”
Damin stared at him in confusion. “The slaveways?”
“You’re only young once, Damin. Make the most of it.”
He was a bright boy. It took very little time for Damin to work out exactly what Mahkas was implying.
“You wouldn’t mind?” he asked, as if making absolutely certain he understood.
“I already think of you as the son I never had, Damin.”
He was hoping, of course, that Damin would respond in kind and assure Mahkas that he was the father he’d never had, but the young prince simply nodded his understanding, looked at Mahkas oddly for a moment, and then, as if he had a sudden urge to be elsewhere, took his leave as quickly as he was able.
Mahkas smiled as the door closed behind Damin, thinking Bylinda was completely wrong. Damin was obviously so thrilled with his suggestion that he couldn’t wait to find Leila and tell her there was nothing standing
in the way of them finding happiness in each other’s arms, and that they wouldn’t have to wait for the betrothal to consummate their union.
Filled with a deep sense of satisfaction, he walked around the desk and glanced down at the map of the city sewers Damin and the others had been examining, without really seeing it. All Mahkas could think of was the brilliant future that lay ahead for his family. Once Damin has come of age, and Lernen is dead, our daughter is married to the High Prince, and our own grandson the heir to the throne .
. . then Bylinda will see things differently. Leila would probably be a little more grateful, too, for all his efforts on her behalf.
He only hoped Leila had the sense to ignore the lessons about taking precautions against an unwanted pregnancy she would have received from both her mother and her court’esa. Mahkas frowned when he caught himself thinking that. He was no better than all the others, he realised, recalling his greatest fear when Damin had left Krakandar to be fostered was that some minor lord’s daughter would find her way into his nephew’s bed, get herself knocked up and force Marla into agreeing to a totally inappropriate union. There was nothing inappropriate about Leila, he consoled himself. It was just that time was against him. Leila wasn’t getting any younger. None of them was. He was doing this for the good of Hythria, he reminded himself.
And if it meant arranging to have his own daughter impregnated with a bastard sired by the next High Prince of Hythria to force Marla into making the right decision about her son’s future, that was a sacrifice Mahkas was more than willing to make.
Chapter 53
Ruxton Tirstone’s death hit Marla harder than she had expected. Although she had never loved any man the way she once burned for Nashan Hawksword, sixteen years of marriage couldn’t fail to leave its mark on her. Her grief was real, even if it was more for the loss of a companion than a lover.
Ruxton had been a good man—intelligent, reliable, trustworthy and enjoyable company. As marriages went, he was probably the best husband a woman in Marla’s position could hope for. He never interfered in her affairs and expected her never to interfere in his. They had raised their children together in remarkable harmony and lived to see all of them grow into young men and women they could be proud of. It wasn’t a bad tally, when all was said and done.
As usual, grief drove Marla into a bout of ruthless practicality. A public funeral was out of the question in these trying times, so they had to settle for a small family gathering in her townhouse, which Marla organised with her usual efficiency, and which even Lernen agreed to attend, in honour of his common-born brother-in-law. With Travin and Damin safe in Krakandar Province, Kalan missing in northern Pentamor somewhere with Rorin, Luciena and Xanda in Fardohnya, Ruxton’s daughter, Rielle, up north at Dylan Pass with her husband and children, and Adham wandering about Medalon somewhere, it was left to just Rodja and Marla to bid farewell to Ruxton.
Rodja was twenty-eight now, and had been married to a young woman named Selena Sorenn for the past four years. Selena was the daughter of Ruxton’s main rival in the spice trade—a thin, bitter, disagreeable old man, who, after years of fighting Ruxton at every turn, had finally succumbed to the inevitable and allowed his only daughter to marry the son of his worst enemy. By contrast, Selena was like a ray of sunshine everywhere she went, her cheerful demeanour barely even dented by the devastation of the plague.
It never ceased to amaze Marla that old man Sorenn had fathered such a child, although the young woman’s eternal optimism could be wearing at times. They had two children, both girls, on whom Rodja doted, and Selena was pregnant already with a third. Despite the fact Selena had effectively been traded by her father for spice route concessions from Ruxton, she and Rodja seemed happy enough together. With both their fathers now taken by the plague, however, they would inherit an effective monopoly on the spice trade, which Marla scolded herself for even thinking about at a time like this.
Ruxton deserved to be mourned as a good man and a loving father, not tallied and calculated for his final monetary worth. Then she smiled thinly and thought Ruxton would probably have appreciated the irony and that a monopoly on the spice trade was just the way he’d like to be remembered.
Adham Tirstone, like his brother Rodja, had followed his father into the family business, but it was proving much harder to make marital arrangements for the younger Tirstone boy. Rodja was the more business-minded of the brothers; the one with a head for figures and his father’s ability to negotiate his way into or out of anything he pleased. Adham, on the other hand, was far more reckless and not the least bit interested in settling down. Ruxton had jokingly blamed Almodavar for Adham’s restlessness, claiming that in the process of training the boys to defend themselves, the Krakandar Raider had filled his younger son’s head with wild notions of battle and glory in honour of Zegarnald, the God of War. Marla didn’t think Ruxton was that far off the mark, considering her own sons suffered the same inexplicable male need to constantly prove themselves by putting their lives in danger. Adham spent much of his time working with the caravans, arranging their protection from bandits both in Hythria and across the border into Fardohnya, and had, on more than one occasion, arrived back in Greenharbour proudly bearing the scars of a serious confrontation with them.
Marla fretted about Adham sometimes, trying to tell herself he was just young and would settle down when he got older, but he was twenty-six and showed no sign of it yet. He was a bad influence on Damin, too, she tried to convince herself, knowing full well it was, and always had been, Damin who instigated most of the trouble the boys had got into when they were children. When Adham was in town, the stepbrothers were constant companions and they seemed able to find more mischief in one week together than either of them could manage in a year alone.
Marla sighed as she thought about them, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she unpinned her white mourning veil. It seemed to be the only colour she wore these days. The funeral was done, Ruxton laid to rest in a temporary grave Marla had arranged to have dug in the small garden, until it was safe to relocate his remains to a more permanent home once the plague had run its course. There were still thousands of bodies out there in the city, she knew, not nearly as fortunate as Ruxton, and if they didn’t do something about them soon the city would never be free of this miserable disease.
But that was a problem for later. She was tired and still had to host a dinner for the family this evening and she certainly didn’t feel like eating. But she owed it to Rodja and Selena. And to Ruxton’s memory.
She was still sitting at her dressing table when Elezaar tapped her on the shoulder some time later, making her jump with fright.
“I’m sorry, your highness,” the dwarf said. “But I did knock.”
“I was just daydreaming,” she shrugged, wondering how long she had been sitting there, staring into space. It was almost dark outside, she noted, the last traces of sunset fading into the velvet darkness of night.
“You look tired,” Elezaar told her with concern, bringing the flickering silver candlestick he was holding closer to the dressing table. “You should rest.”
“We’re all tired, Elezaar. It never seems to end.”
“I saw you speaking to Corian Burl after the funeral. Were you able to solve your other little problem?”
She nodded. Marla’s “other little problem” was much more potentially dangerous than the mere death of her fourth husband. She’d managed, with great difficulty and over a period of years, to finally convince the Denikans to send an envoy to meet with Hythria’s High Prince in order to secure a treaty with the vast southern nation. The majority of Hythria’s population considered the distant southerners across the Dregian Ocean as nothing but ignorant barbarians, aided by the ridiculous stories spread about by visitors to their country—her third husband included. But if Jarvan Mariner had taught Marla anything in the two short years they’d been married, it was not to underestimate the Denikans. Marla was determined to see such a tre
aty in place before Damin took the throne.
Unfortunately, the arrival of the Denikan envoy (their crown prince, no less) had coincided with the outbreak of the plague and the unfortunate belief it was the Denikans who had brought the disease to Hythria. Unable to get the young man on a ship out of the plague-cursed port, Marla had sent him to Sunrise Province masquerading as a court’esa, in the guise of a gift to Tejay Lionsclaw, Rogan Bearbow’s daughter and Chaine Lionsclaw’s daughter-in-law. Fully aware of who the young man really was, Chaine had promised to arrange to get the Denikan prince over the border and onto a ship for home out of Fardohnya. The relief Marla felt, now that Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon was out of the city and out of danger of being stoned for the crime of being Denikan, she was able to breathe much easier. She glanced at the dwarf, and noticed he was holding a small scroll in his other hand. The type favoured by Ruxton’s spies.
“What do you have there?”
“It’s from Damin in Krakandar.”
Marla snatched the scroll from him and broke the seal anxiously, all thoughts of Denika and her prince forgotten. She had made Damin promise to write to her every day. Naturally, he’d done nothing of the kind. This was the first communication she’d had from him since he’d left the city. She held it closer to the light Elezaar was holding, squinting a little in the gloom.
Elezaar used his own candle to light the lamp on the dresser for her, so she turned towards it and examined the letter in the brighter light. It was dated a little over ten days ago, which meant it must have been delivered by a speeded courier—a rider with the ability to change horses at almost every stop, who would then pass on the scroll to another courier as soon as he crossed the border into the next province. Using speeded couriers, it was possible to get a letter from Greenharbour in the south to Krakandar, eight hundred miles to the north, in a little over six days. But they were expensive and Marla was surprised they were still running, with the plague spreading the way it was.
Warrior Page 45