“You’re denying Riika her birthright.”
“She won’t have a birthright if Fardohnya overruns us, Laran. Take the chance. For me. For Hythria.”
“What about Chaine?” he asked cautiously.
The Warlord shook his head. “It’s just a rumour, Laran.”
“One that’s never let up in all the time I’ve known you.”
“Still nothing more than a rumour, though. And even if I was willing to admit to such a thing, it would cause too much pain to those I love . . . to acknowledge a bastard on my deathbed. It would embarrass your mother. It would kill Riika.”
“That’s not a reason not to do the right thing by your son, Glenadal.”
“I have no legitimate son, Laran. If it will make you feel better then I give you leave to do the right thing after I’m gone. Right now, I am only concerned about Hythria.” Glenadal closed his eyes, exhausted by their discussion. He said nothing more for a time, simply lying there, his breathing laboured, clinging to life.
Laran watched him draw each painful breath, wishing his stepfather wasn’t dying, because he would dearly like to throttle the old fool.
“Glenadal,” he sighed, trying to word this as carefully as he could. The man was on his deathbed, after all; he really didn’t want to upset him. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father, and I hold your opinion above all others. You know that. But in this, you’re being completely irrational. You can’t expect me to agree to it. You can’t ask it of me.”
Glenadal smiled and turned to look at him.
“And that, Laran Krakenshield,” the old Warlord mumbled through his pain, “is why it must be you.”
chapter 20
J
eryma led Kagan inside to a low couch in the main reception hall and signalled a slave for refreshment. It was a long room with an intricately patterned black-and-white tiled floor. The palace at Cabradell had changed a great deal since Jeryma first came here nearly two decades ago. Room by room she had stamped her personality on the place until it felt as if this was the way it had always been. As they sat down on the beautifully embroidered, brightly coloured silk cushions, his sister glanced at Kagan’s companion, waiting for an introduction.
“This is Wrayan Lightfinger.”
“Your apprentice?” Jeryma asked with a slightly raised brow before turning to Wrayan and offering him her hand. “I’ve heard of you, young man.”
“Nothing too sinister, I hope, my lady,” Wrayan replied. He raised Jeryma’s palm to his lips and bowed elegantly. Wrayan’s skill at court etiquette always surprised Kagan. The boy had grown up in the slums of Krakandar, but he seemed to have an instinctive ability to turn on the charm whenever it would do the most good.
Jeryma smiled. “He certainly didn’t learn those manners from you, Kagan.”
“Well, you know how it is with the young,” Kagan shrugged. “They just seem to pick these things up on their own.” He turned to Wrayan then, and for the benefit of his sister, added, “Why don’t you see to the horses? Glenadal’s people probably don’t know the first thing about sorcerer-bred mounts.”
“And do a sweep of the surrounding countryside,” Jeryma added.
“My lady?”
She smiled. “I’ve heard of your special talents, Wrayan,” she explained. “And I’m glad you’re here. With Glenadal at death’s door, the vultures will be circling soon.”
“I take it you don’t mean the feathered kind, my lady?”
“I most certainly do not.”
“Then it will be my pleasure to aid you in any way I can, Lady Jeryma,” Wrayan informed her as he took his leave of them with a small bow.
“He’s very polite,” Jeryma remarked as they watched him leave.
“Irritating, isn’t it?”
Jeryma took his hand and squeezed it fondly. “It will be all right, Kagan. I’ve already buried three husbands. I’m getting quite good at this.”
“I doubt that,” Kagan replied, studying his sister closely. “You buried three husbands you barely knew. You and Glenadal have been together a long time.”
“I suppose,” she sighed. She straightened an imaginary crease from her skirt. Jeryma had a distant expression on her drawn, pale face. “Have you arranged many marriages as High Arrion?”
“A few. I get a lot of requests, but I don’t allow many of them.”
Kagan thought of one marriage he would never have allowed had anybody bothered to consult him—Alija’s to Barnardo Eaglespike. But he hadn’t been High Arrion then. It wasn’t his decision.
Jeryma nodded approvingly. “Things are different now. I remember hating Glenadal when we first married.”
“Never,” Kagan scoffed.
“I did,” Jeryma assured him. “I thought him the rudest, most uncouth creature I’d ever met. Velma was still High Arrion, then. She ordered my marriage to him only a month after Darilyn’s father was killed. I was ready to kill myself when I heard. Glenadal brought me here to Cabradell after the wedding, took away all the sharp instruments in my room and left me there for a week before he came back.”
“Why?”
“He knew I was frightened. He knew what Jacel had been like. He knew I needed time to heal. Remember, I was still only in my mid-twenties. My entire experience of men had been Daelon Krakenshield, who was a hotheaded fool, Phylrin Damaran, who was more a father than a husband, and Jacel, who was more animal than man.”
“But you love him now?”
“I suppose,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t really know. I’ve never felt a rush of longing for any man I’ve been married to. I’ve never met one I couldn’t live without, at any rate. I hope my daughters do better in marriage than I.”
Kagan smiled. “So do they, I imagine.”
“I shouldn’t be burdening you with my woes,” Jeryma said with a sigh. “You have enough to concern you. Are Darilyn and Mahkas coming, too?’
“I spoke to Darilyn before I left Greenharbour. She had some affairs to wrap up in the city before she could leave. She should be here within a day or so.”
“Her social calendar, more likely,” Jeryma suggested with a frown. “And Mahkas?”
“He’ll follow in a week or so. He was on a border patrol when I arrived in Krakandar. Laran had to send somebody to find him.”
Jeryma smiled thinly. “Knowing Mahkas, he’s probably managed to ‘patrol’ all the way into Medalon. I suspect they’ll find him in a Bordertown tavern, having most of his adventures over a barrel of ale.”
“He’s a good lad, Jeryma,” Kagan said. “At heart.”
“I know. Perhaps marriage to Bylinda will settle him down a bit.”
“Perhaps. But what of Riika?” Kagan asked, suddenly realising that he had not yet seen his youngest niece. “How is she bearing up?”
“Not very well,” Jeryma admitted. “I’m hoping you and Laran can console her somewhat.”
“I’ll do what I can. Is she with him now?” Kagan rose to follow Laran into Glenadal’s chamber, but his sister caught his sleeve.
“Before you see him, there’s something else I must tell you.”
Kagan sat beside her, patting her hand comfortingly. Jeryma looked very worried. “I have seen men on their deathbed before, you know.”
“I’m not concerned for your tender sensibilities, brother. We have another situation to deal with.”
“Exactly what do you mean by a situation?”
“Glenadal intends to name Laran as his heir, since he has no son of his own.”
Kagan’s eyes widened. “The other Warlords will not allow it. You must convince Laran to refuse! It will mean his death if he accepts. Especially now, when he’s only just taken possession of Krakandar. No one has ever held two provinces.”
“I tried to convince Glenadal he was being foolish when he first suggested the idea to me,” Jeryma admitted. “But after a time, I came to see that the idea has merit.”
“I’ll make Laran refuse, Jeryma! I have
no wish to bury my nephew alongside your four husbands.” Kagan was too shocked to be tactful. If he accepted this bequest, with the death of his stepfather Laran Krakenshield would control almost a third of the Hythrun landmass.
“Think of the possibilities, Kagan.”
“I am thinking of them!”
“And you think it’s a bad thing?”
“I think it’s a dangerous thing, Jeryma. Even if Laran agrees to this—and I suspect he’ll not have a bar of it—he still wouldn’t be strong enough to do what you want of him.”
“Not without help,” his sister agreed cryptically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jeryma refused to answer. She simply smiled and patted his arm as if he were a small child being distracted from a toy his big sister didn’t want him to play with.
“Go,” she said. “Say your farewells to Glenadal, brother. There’ll be plenty of time to speak of politics later.”
chapter 21
H
e says you know about this insane idea!”
Jeryma glanced up with an innocent smile as Laran stalked into the main reception room where she was enjoying a rare moment of solitude. With a silent wave she dismissed the barefoot slave who was pouring her tea, waiting until he had left the room before answering her son. “He told you then?”
“Yes, he told me. I won’t accept.”
“Don’t be foolish, Laran. You have to accept it.”
“Actually, mother, I don’t have to do anything of the kind. I will simply ask the Collective to assume responsibility for Sunrise Province, the way it did with Krakandar when I was too young to rule. The Sorcerers’ Collective can manage the province until Riika marries someone suitable.”
“Which would be a wonderful plan, my dear,” Jeryma replied calmly. “Except for one small detail. The Collective will not support you. The High Arrion agrees with us.”
“Kagan would never agree to this!”
“Kagan has just spent several months very reluctantly hammering out an arrangement that will deliver us into the hands of Fardohnya within a generation, Laran. He is far more sympathetic to the Royalist cause than you give him credit for.”
“And you know I’d support the throne with my life,” he reminded her. “But we’d be mad to buy into a faction fight, Mother. Let Riika marry someone capable of ruling Sunrise and leave it at that. Nash Hawksword would marry her tomorrow if he could. I know Riika is fond of him. Please, for all our sakes, forget any foolish notions you and Glenadal have about manipulating the succession.”
“Nashan Hawksword is the heir to Elasapine. If you don’t think yourself fit to rule two provinces, Laran, where, in the name of all the Primal Gods, do you get the idea that Nashan Hawksword is?”
That was something Laran hadn’t given much thought to. But there had to be a way out of this. He didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t need the problems this bizarre idea would inflict not just on him but on all of Hythria. “Perhaps someone else then . . . Have you thought that Chaine might make some claim?”
“Chaine Tollin has no claim on the Ravenspear House,” Jeryma said coldly. “And I’ll thank you not to encourage him by letting him believe that he does.”
Laran eyed his mother quizzically, wondering at her tone. “Do you think he’s Glenadal’s bastard?”
“Even if I was certain of it, Laran, it makes no difference. Glenadal has never acknowledged him, which means Chaine is simply a captain in the employ of the House Ravenspear. A competent captain, I’ll grant you, and one of above-average intelligence and resourcefulness, but rumour does not make an heir. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll hear no more on the subject.”
Laran shook his head, thinking his mother’s refusal to even discuss the matter was only going to add to his woes. As Jeryma said, Chaine Tollin was a competent captain, of above-average intelligence and resourcefulness. And he enjoyed the loyalty of Glenadal’s army. It was foolish in the extreme to simply brush him aside as if he didn’t matter. But there was little point in pursuing the matter at the moment.
“Has Glenadal no nephews? No cousins? Not even a distant relative you can marry Riika to?”
“There is no one else. Besides, Riika is much too young to be thinking of marriage.”
“She’s the same age as Marla Wolfblade,” Laran reminded her sourly.
“Which is unfortunate but unavoidable,” Jeryma replied uncomfortably.
Laran studied his mother, looking for some hint of reluctance. It seemed unbelievable that she would go along with this. Jeryma’s face was set in determined lines. If she felt any remorse, she was hiding it well.
“You would have me do to Marla Wolfblade what was done to you,” he accused.
That struck a chord. For the first time, Jeryma couldn’t meet his eye. “It’s not the same thing, Laran.”
“It’s exactly the same thing, mother,” he said, seating himself on the cushions opposite. “You want me take control of a third of Hythria, kidnap and marry a girl damn near half my age . . . and don’t look at me like that. She’s been promised to Hablet of Fardohnya. There is no way to secure her participation in this little escapade of yours without using force. Then you’ll expect me to get an heir to the Wolfblade House on her—having spent most of my life listening to you threaten to have me castrated if I ever did to another woman what was done to you—all the while trying to keep my own head on my shoulders fighting off the inevitable attack from Fardohnya and probably a coalition of all the other Warlords—Royalist and Patriot alike—on the off-chance Lernen will name his sister’s son his heir. Assuming she obliges us by actually having a son, that is. Have I missed anything?”
“You always did have a gift for getting straight to the heart of the matter, Laran,” Kagan announced as he walked into the room. When he reached the square of cushions in the centre of the large hall, he leaned forward and kissed Jeryma’s cheek. “He’s resting as comfortably as he can. Riika’s with him.”
Jeryma nodded, glancing across at Laran as Kagan took a seat beside her. “Laran is not very enthusiastic about our plan.”
“Our plan?” Kagan asked. “When did it become our plan?”
“See!” Laran exclaimed, certain Kagan would have none of this. “I told you he’d never agree.”
“I didn’t say I don’t agree with Glenadal’s plan, Laran. I just don’t think I deserve any credit for its conception.”
“Then take the credit for its destruction. Tell her what folly this is!”
“It is folly,” he agreed. “But not necessarily a folly we should dismiss out of hand.”
“Kagan!”
“I’ve been trying to find a way out of this nightmare since Lernen first told me he was seriously considering Hablet’s offer, Laran. This is the first time I’ve had even a whiff of a plan that might have a chance of succeeding. This gives us a chance for a Hythrun-born heir to the High Prince’s throne. It keeps Hythria in the hands of the Hythrun without placing it in the hands of a Patriot. I know there’s an element of risk. But with both provinces under your control, you’d have the resources you’d need to fight off any threatened retribution from Fardohnya.”
“Not if Hablet made a serious incursion through the Sunrise Mountains,” Laran warned. “There’s more than one pass through the mountains from Fardohnya into Hythria.”
“You would need allies,” Kagan conceded.
“And who would ally with me, uncle?” he asked. “What Warlord would stand back, watch me take control of Sunrise and Krakandar, and then offer to help me? I’m more likely to be a target than an ally.”
“Every Royalist in Hythria would back you, Laran.”
He scoffed at the suggestion, shaking his head.
“If it is done quickly,” Jeryma suggested. “And quietly . . . it could be a done deal before any of the others even realise what is going on.”
“Ensuring we have no way out of this,” Laran suggested sourly.
“If we go do
wn this path, Laran, there’s no point in wishing for an escape route. There will be none.”
Laran turned on his uncle angrily. “We? What do you mean, we? Aren’t you supposed to stay out of this sort of thing? What happened to the famous neutrality of the Sorcerers’ Collective?”
“I am looking after the Collective’s interests,” Kagan announced. He clutched at his diamond-shaped pendant, looking rather offended by his nephew’s accusation.
“Since when did the Collective’s interests involve starting a war with Fardohnya? Or a civil war in Hythria?”
“Since I realised that it doesn’t matter what I do, Laran, that Fardohnyan tyrant intends to rid Fardohnya of every member of the Collective he can get his hands on. When Hablet assumed the throne there was a bloodbath in Talabar. I don’t fancy helping his cause along. Or giving him a chance to wreak the same havoc in Hythria.”
“Then shouldn’t you be doing something about Hablet? Why pin all your hopes on me?”
“Because we trust you, Laran,” his mother said simply. “Glenadal trusts you.”
Laran shook his head. “That’s not enough.”
“It will have to be,” Kagan said flatly.
Laran stared at his mother in surprise. “I can’t believe you, of all people, have agreed to this. All those stories you told me when I was a boy, all those dreadful anecdotes about how demeaning and degrading it is to be the daughter of a noble house of Hythria, married off for her bloodline like a particularly valuable slave. What of them, mother? Are you so enamoured of the idea of being the grandmother of the next High Prince that you suddenly find your many and much publicised objections to arranged marriages inconvenient?”
“That is unfair, Laran.”
“I’m sure Marla Wolfblade will agree with you.”
Wolfblade Page 13