Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  They arrived at the Sorcerers’ Collective to little fanfare. Kagan was hopeful he might even sneak back without anybody noticing. He was just on the point of thinking he had achieved such a remarkable feat, when Tesha Zorell marched into his quarters without knocking to inform him the High Prince had been asking for him for days and he was expected at the palace the moment he returned to Greenharbour.

  Kagan didn’t have to wait a day, after all.

  “My Lord Palenovar!” Lernen gushed as soon as he spied Kagan walking down the brick path laid out among the foliage so carefully planted in the roof garden of the west wing. “Come! You must see my latest acquisition!”

  Wondering what folly the High Prince had indulged in this time, Kagan pushed past several workmen and the thick branches of a golden palm to find Lernen in a small artificial clearing, admiring a statue that was so new it still had the ropes attached that had enabled the workmen to manoeuvre it into place. The prince was dressed in white, presumably in mourning for Glenadal Ravenspear, unless he’d killed another slave last night. Lernen often wore mourning clothes after he did that, as if the fact he mourned his dead slaves somehow lessened the heinous nature of their deaths.

  “What do you think, Kagan?”

  The High Arrion examined the statue for a time, trying to think of something suitable to say. Carved from a single slab of marble, the statue depicted a larger-than-life man and woman copulating. The figure of the woman was bent over backwards and her face looked quite agonised. The expression on the man’s face, however, was almost blissful.

  “It’s called The Rape of Medalon.”

  “Medalon is a country, your highness,” Kagan felt compelled to point out. “Not a woman.”

  Lernen rolled his eyes impatiently. “I know that! But it’s symbolic, don’t you see? The woman represents Medalon. The man represents the overthrow and destruction of the Harshini.”

  “I see,” Kagan replied, thinking there was nothing more gullible than a man who knows nothing about art. The statue was, as far as Kagan was concerned, simply a man and a woman copulating. Lernen obviously felt the need to put a different spin on it to justify its purchase. That could mean only one thing in Kagan’s mind. “Your highness, how much did it cost?”

  “Not as much as it’s worth,” Lernen assured him. “I’m a pretty savage haggler when I want to be.”

  Which meant the artist probably quoted Lernen a price three times what it was actually worth and then allowed the High Prince to talk him into only paying twice what the damn thing was worth.

  “And the rest of your new . . . garden? What’s that costing the Hythrun treasury?”

  “Oh, do stop being such an old fusspot, Kagan! I can afford it. You heard what Hablet agreed to pay me for Marla.”

  “That’s not a done deal until your sister is married, your highness.”

  “I know, but what can go wrong now, eh? You worry far too much!” Lernen linked his arm through Kagan’s and led him along the path, deeper into the garden. “This will be my pleasure garden, Kagan. Here my friends and I will be able to rediscover the joys of Harshini love. Frolic with god and goddess. One will be able to indulge in anything that tickles one’s fancy. Boys. Girls. Harshini. Nymphs. Everything here will be a delight to behold!”

  “I wasn’t aware one could buy Harshini or nymphs in the Greenharbour slave markets, your highness.”

  “Of course you can’t buy them here,” Lernen chuckled, obviously assuming Kagan was joking. “But I do know where to get the most beautiful slaves in all of Hythria. The most beautiful in the whole world, for that matter. You’ll never guess where.”

  “I’m sure I won’t, your highness.”

  “Warrinhaven!” Lernen announced with delight. “I don’t know what made me think of Lord Rahan’s stables. The idea just popped into my head, really. But I’m sure I’m right. In fact, I’m already making arrangements to travel there at the end of the week. Do say you’ll come, Kagan. We’ll have such fun.”

  “I have duties here, your highness.”

  “Nonsense! What can be more important than attending your High Prince?”

  Kagan looked at Lernen, with his painted lips, his nauseating preoccupation with his own pleasure, his total disregard for his responsibilities as High Prince. Dear gods, what am I doing? Wrayan is right. Why are we risking everything for this fool?

  Because the alternative is to put an even bigger fool on the throne, a small voice in his head replied. One with an Innate sorcerer for a wife.

  “Your highness, I’d be delighted to accompany you to Warrinhaven,” the High Arrion said. “I’m sure it will be a journey you’ll never forget.”

  chapter 34

  M

  arla was a complete wreck for the next week as she waited for Nash to make his move, certain she wouldn’t remember a thing Corin had taught her over the last few days when it came time for her own wedding night. That her wedding—to Nash, of course—was the reason the young lord “wanted a word in private” was a foregone conclusion in Marla’s mind. It was perfectly logical as far as she was concerned. The High Arrion knew how she felt about Nash. And he had promised to find an alternative to Hablet of Fardohnya. So he’d done the right thing and arranged everything as it should be.

  The whole castle had been in an uproar since Nashan Hawksword’s arrival. Laran Krakenshield had arrived two days after Nash and had spent the next few days closeted with her Uncle Frederak, going over the borough’s financial affairs. Marla had hardly seen him, but she’d seen plenty of Nash. He’d even taken her riding once, and been very impressed with her ability to control Sovereign, the sorcerer-bred horse she’d had since she first learned to ride. Although she’d been given Sovereign as a present by her late father on her seventh birthday, it was only in the past year or so that she’d grown confident enough to control him. But Nash didn’t know that. He thought she’d been born in the saddle and she wasn’t going to spoil the impression by letting him know how recently she’d stopped fearing the huge golden stallion.

  “How are you feeling?” Lirena enquired, as she handed Marla a cup of mulled wine. The weather had closed in again. There would be no riding today.

  “Fine.”

  “How’s Corin doing?”

  “He’s very informative,” Marla replied stiffly, a little annoyed that Lirena wanted details.

  The old woman smiled. “Informative, eh?” She glanced over at Corin who was sitting on the floor near the hearth, feeding sticks into the fire. “Did you hear that, Corin? Her highness says you’re informative.”

  The young man looked up from the fire and smiled languidly. “And you’re going to spend the rest of the day wondering exactly what that means, aren’t you, Lirena?”

  The nurse made a noise that sounded rather crude, but before Marla could scold her for it there was a knock at the door. The princess’s heart began to pound as Elezaar waddled to the door and pulled it open.

  Elezaar turned to Marla. “Lord Krakenshield to see you, your highness. Are you in?”

  Laran Krakenshield? What was he doing here? Then Marla smiled, realising he was probably here as Nash’s envoy. “Don’t be silly, Elezaar. Of course, I’m here. Now invite Lord Krakenshield in and close that door before you let all the warm air out.”

  Laran Krakenshield stepped into the room and bowed elegantly. “I bring you greetings from the High Arrion, your highness.” He glanced at Corin, Elezaar and Lirena, his smile fading a little. “Are your slaves to be trusted, my lady?”

  “As much as you, my lord,” she replied coolly. Although she gave the impression she was calm, Marla could barely contain her excitement. He’d said he was here with greetings from the High Arrion! That meant she had guessed correctly: Kagan had kept his promise. She wished Laran would get past the formalities quicker and tell her about the offer. I’ll bet Laran always says the right thing. The polite thing. It’s probably why Kagan chose him as Nash’s envoy.

  Fighting to keep her composur
e, she sat a little straighter in her chair. “You bring more than just greetings from the High Arrion, I hope, Lord Krakenshield.”

  “I do, your highness. I bring you the news he assures me you’ve been praying for.” He lowered his voice a fraction. “Kagan has found a way to circumvent your marriage to Hablet of Fardohnya.”

  “I’m to marry someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s she marrying?” Lirena demanded, with all the fierce protectiveness of a lioness over her cub.

  Laran didn’t seem to mind. “Someone who can give her a whole province to rule over some day.”

  He smiled warily at Marla, removing the last of her doubts. It was true. Kagan had somehow arranged for her to marry Nashan Hawksword.

  Lirena didn’t see things quite so clearly. She glared at the Warlord, hands on her hips, unsatisfied with his evasive answer. “That could be the son of every Warlord in Hythria, except I don’t see how, unless she is to marry the Hawksword boy! Barnardo Eaglespike’s sons are only little children. Glenadal Ravenspear died without an heir. You don’t have any children. Rogan Bearbow has a son, but he’s less than a year old. Lord Foxtalon’s only son is already married and Graim Falconlance’s two boys are a couple of years younger than Marla. Gods, Kagan didn’t arrange for her to marry one of them, did he?”

  “You have an excellent understanding of the lineage of Hythria’s noble families, mistress,” Laran told her. Marla thought he was amused by Lirena. And it worried her a little. If she was to marry Nash, why not just come right out and say so . . .

  And then her heart sank and the cruel truth dawned on her. “But I’m not going to marry Nash, am I?” She wasn’t crying, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “Nash Hawksword?” Laran asked, a little confused. “No, of course not . . . Oh, I see . . .”

  Marla wiped her eyes hurriedly and stared at her slaves. “Out! All of you!”

  “Marla—” Lirena began sympathetically, but she pushed the old nurse away. “I said, out! Leave me! I wish to speak to Lord Krakenshield alone!”

  The slaves reluctantly did as she bade them, closing the door softly as they left. Marla rose to her feet and walked to the fire, hugging her arms around herself. Suddenly it seemed just as cold inside as it did outdoors.

  “Are you privy to the identity of my future husband?” she asked stiffly.

  “Yes.”

  “And are you at liberty to divulge his identity to me?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  She turned on him angrily. “What sort of question is that? Of course I want to—” Marla stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in horror. “Oh, by all the Primal Gods, it’s you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Anger replaced disappointment with lightning speed. “Sorry? You’re not sorry! Why even pretend you are?”

  “Your highness, if you’d just let me explain—”

  “Explain what, exactly? I’m not stupid! You think you can just waltz in here and marry me now you’ve got two provinces and two armies to back you up. I don’t believe this! What’s the plan, my lord? Force me to marry you and hope I have a son and then get my brother to name your son as his heir?”

  “That sums it up fairly succinctly, your highness,” he agreed, looking rather startled that she’d seen through his intentions so quickly. “Although I prefer to think you might come to see the merits of our plan rather than consider yourself forced into anything.”

  “There’s more chance of the Harshini coming back!” she retorted. “Did Kagan Palenovar really agree to this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And my brother?”

  “I’m not sure he’s been told about it yet. But we’re expecting him to agree.”

  Marla paced the small sitting room furiously, her agitation wearing a track across the carpet. “But . . . Dear gods! Hablet will be furious! He’s likely to invade—” She stopped and slapped her forehead, cursing her own foolishness. “Which is why Nash turned up here with you and a couple of thousand men on winter manoeuvres, isn’t it? I suppose you’ve got the other half of your army guarding Winternest.”

  “Those that aren’t in Warrinhaven,” he confirmed, looking at her with a puzzled frown. “I must say, your highness, you appear to have a remarkable grasp of the political implications of this . . . plan.”

  “The dwarf is a very good teacher, my lord.”

  “The dwarf?”

  “Never mind,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Do you really want to marry me, Laran?”

  He smiled faintly. “Not really.”

  “Then why do this?”

  “Do you really want to marry Hablet?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then this is your only way out. There isn’t another one, Marla. It’s not as if your brother has any other options. You’re the only thing he has left to sell.”

  “I wish people would stop saying that.”

  “It’s not a perfect solution,” Laran admitted. “We both know that. You probably think I’m an old man, and I have a sister your age I still consider a child. But given the alternative, it’s the lesser of two evils.”

  “It’s so unfair!” Marla’s anger was gradually giving way to despair. “Didn’t anybody think / might like to be consulted?”

  “You’re being consulted now.”

  “I don’t want this.” For a moment she feared she sounded like a petulant and frightened child. Laran might even have been fooled had it not been for her earlier lightning-fast assessment of the political ramifications of his proposal. “In fact, I refuse!”

  “Very well,” he agreed, turning for the door.

  Marla looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean, very well?”

  He stopped with his hand resting on the latch. “I’m not going to force myself on you, Marla. If you truly don’t want any part of this, then we’ll leave things as they are. You can go to Fardohnya in the spring and that will be the end of it.”

  “But—”

  “Yes?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

  She was fighting back tears. “All you’re offering me is a choice between two husbands I don’t want. What makes you so special? Hablet can make me a queen.”

  “Go to Fardohnya and be a queen then,” he replied. “It really doesn’t make that much difference to me.”

  Marla couldn’t believe he would be so callous about it. Then Laran hesitated, and something in his demeanour softened. As if he’d suddenly taken pity on her, he turned from the door and crossed the room. Taking Marla’s reluctant hands in his, he held them and smiled at her encouragingly. “Marla, if you’re clever enough to work out what this means, then you’re smart enough to know what will happen if you refuse to become a part of it. I don’t need to threaten you or make promises you know to be insincere.”

  “You don’t care about me. You don’t even know me.”

  “And you think Hablet cares about you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why is this offer any worse than what you’ve already got on the table?”

  “But you’re no better than Hablet,” she accused. “You don’t want me. You’re only interested in any children I might bear.”

  “Until and unless your brother produces a couple of healthy sons, your highness, every man, woman and child in Hythria is only interested in any children you might bear. Surely you appreciate that?”

  She pulled her hands away from his grasp and crossed her arms against the chill. “And if I don’t care? Suppose I have no interest in being the repository for Hythria’s dreams for the Wolfblade line?” She smiled thinly and added, “For all you know, my lord, my sympathies lie with the Patriot Faction.”

  Fortunately, Laran Krakenshield had a sense of humour. He smiled at the very suggestion. “A Patriot, eh? You don’t look like a dangerous insurgent, your highness.”

  “You’re not exactly what I envisaged as my husband, either, Laran Krakenshie
ld.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “And, believe it or not, I do appreciate how hard this is going to be for you. But in the end, either you’re interested in keeping Hythria out of Hablet’s grasp or you’re not. That’s what it comes down to.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “And it’s never going to be,” he said.

  Marla sighed, wondering how hope could turn to despair so quickly. She’d felt the same at the ball in Greenharbour when she’d discovered she was going to marry Hablet. You’d think, by now, I’d be used to it.

  “Do you want my answer right now?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be here for another few days. You have until I leave, your highness. I trust you’ll come to the right decision and leave with me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Laran turned for the door, but Marla had one more question for him. “When I . . . or rather if . . . I leave with you, my lord, may I bring my slaves with me?”

  “You may bring your nurse,” he told her.

  “And my court’esa?”

  “Court’esa are usually sold when a woman marries, your highness. It’s a husband’s duty to provide new court’esa for his wife if she requires them.”

  “Suppose I’ve become attached to the ones I have now?”

  “Are they so important to you?”

  “Would it make a difference to you if they were?”

  Laran smiled. “That’s a very loaded question, your highness.”

  “You’re asking me to commit my allegiance, my body and my life to you, Lord Krakenshield, because you would have me believe you’re a better man than the King of Fardohnya. I think it only fair that I find a way to take your measure.”

  He nodded in agreement. “You may keep the nurse and one of the court’esa. That’s a better offer than you’d get from most husbands.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll speak to you before I leave?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  Laran said nothing further, simply letting himself out of the room with a courtly bow, leaving Marla alone to contemplate a future that she had thought, up until a few days ago, could not slip any more out of control than it was already.