Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  Marla glanced out of the tall windows that opened onto the balcony overlooking the gardens of the inner compound of the city and realised it was almost time for Damin to wake from his nap. She liked to be there when he woke. Let Orleon figure out the best way to arrange the tables to fit in three hundred guests for the Feast of Kalianah. He probably thought her incapable of organising the function, anyway.

  She was about to announce her intention to leave everything to the steward when a commotion at the entrance at the far end of the banquet hall caught her attention. Several armed men pushed their way into the hall over the protests of the slaves. Her initial stab of fear vanished when she saw the swooping hawk escutcheon on the soldiers’ breastplates. Marla’s frown turned into a cry of delight as she realised who it was.

  “Nash!”

  The young lord looked at the head table and immediately began heading towards her with his escort following close behind. With rather unladylike haste, Marla dropped the steward’s carefully detailed seating plan on the floor and hurried to meet them halfway, almost colliding with Nash when she reached them as her slippers failed to find any traction on the highly polished floor.

  “I swear, your highness, you’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” Nash declared, catching her smoothly as she all but crashed into him. He steadied her with a laugh, took her palm and kissed it gallantly, then indicated the men who stood behind him. “Allow me to introduce Captain Sawen, your highness, and the captain of Elasapine’s Household Guard, Captain Darenne. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce her highness, Princess Marla of the House of Wolfblade, the Lady of Krakandar, mother of Hythria’s true heir and the most beautiful woman in all of Hythria.”

  “Your circle of female acquaintances must be severely limited, Lord Hawksword, if you think I’m the finest example of Hythrun womanhood,” she laughed, blushing at his introduction. Elezaar had taught her a great deal over the past few years, not the least of which was how to deal with outrageously flirtatious compliments. Marla wasn’t the same girl who had swooned over Nash on the balcony overlooking the ballroom of Greenharbour palace. She still felt her pulse race whenever she laid eyes on Nashan Hawksword, broke into a sweat whenever he touched her, no matter how innocently, but at least now she knew enough not to advertise the fact to all and sundry. She smiled at the captains graciously. “Please, present yourselves to Almodavar down at the barracks,” she told them. “Tell him I sent you. He’ll see you and your men are taken care of.”

  “Almodavar’s not with Laran and Mahkas?” Nash asked in surprise as the captains saluted and took their leave of the princess.

  Marla shook her head. “Almodavar is captain of the Palace Guard now. Laran’s still rather touchy after what happened to Riika at Winternest. He doesn’t take his most trusted captain with him over the border any more. These days he leaves him at home to look after his son.”

  “And his wife?”

  Marla smiled. “I think if it came to a choice, Almodavar would save Damin before he lifted a finger to save me.”

  “And the rest of the guests? Have they arrived yet, or do I have you to myself for a few days?”

  “The High Arrion sent word he was on his way,” she informed him. “We’re expecting him about the same time Laran and Mahkas get back from the border. But Jeryma’s gone back to Cabradell for the spring. She worries Chaine is becoming too popular. She likes to remind him that he’s Governor of Sunrise at Laran’s whim, I think.”

  “Is Laran’s whim likely to change?”

  “I don’t see why it should. Chaine’s done a fine job these past couple of years.”

  “And the High Arrion is coming too? It’s a long way for Kagan to travel,” Nash remarked. “Just for the Feast of Kalianah.”

  “Laran mentioned some urgent business,” she shrugged. “Who knows what the High Arrion really wants, though.”

  Nash looked her up and down and sighed. “Motherhood agrees with you, Marla. You look ravishing.”

  The compliment was not misplaced. Motherhood had left Marla with a much more curvaceous figure. She felt like a woman now, even if she was only just eighteen. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she laughed.

  “Only the ones that have children,” he conceded with a grin. “The others tend to get a little upset, for some reason, if I start complimenting them on their maternal qualities and they’re still unmarried.”

  Marla slipped her arm through Nash’s and led him towards the entrance to the banquet hall. “Well, I’ll suffer your pathetic attempts to flatter me because you’re Laran’s friend. But you’d better stop once my husband gets home or I’ll have to have him run you through.”

  “For you, it would be worth it.”

  Marla laughed. “Nash, you really are incorrigible.”

  “Incorrigible, eh? It sounds contagious. Where is Laran, anyway? The border, you said?”

  “He and Mahkas have gone to liberate some cattle for the celebration.”

  “When are you expecting them home?”

  “Any day now,” she informed him as they stepped into the main foyer of the palace. “If they don’t get back soon with our ‘liberated’ cattle, we won’t have time to slaughter and drain the beef properly.”

  “Liberated?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Apparently the Medalonians get upset if you call it stealing.”

  “I can see how they might.”

  “Anyway, according to Mahkas it’s not really stealing,” she explained as they walked through the foyer towards the grand staircase that wound its way impressively to the upper floors. “Rumour has it all this raiding started a score of years ago when some cheeky Medalonian farmer stole one of Krakandar’s best bulls and took him back over the border to service his herd. Being a Krakandar bull, he was naturally of above average stamina and virility . . .”

  “Naturally,” Nash agreed solemnly.

  “. . . so he covered most of the cows in the region during his sojourn over the border. Consequently, if you believe my brother-in-law, stealing Medalonian cattle isn’t stealing at all, because all their cattle are descended from our bull, so technically that makes them ours, anyway.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” he laughed.

  “I’m not sure the Medalonians agree with you,” she warned. “They have a new Lord Defender in Medalon. Laran says since Lord Korgan took over the Sisterhood has been sending more and more Defenders to protect the border.”

  “You see,” Nash sighed, shaking his head. “That’s what happens when you let women rule a country. Medalon has the best damned army on the continent and they’re going to waste it fighting off cattle raids.”

  “What would you rather they did, Nash? Invade us?”

  “Of course not. But surely, they could declare war on somebody, every now and then. For the practice, if nothing else.”

  Marla smiled. “For the practice? Really, Nash, why do you get so excited about the idea of going to war?”

  “I follow Zegarnald,” he shrugged. “What else is one supposed to do to honour the God of War?”

  “Good point,” Marla agreed with a laugh. They reached the foot of the grand staircase and stopped. “I’ve had the Green Room made ready for you.” Nash had been a frequent enough visitor to the Krakandar palace that he didn’t need a guide to find his way to his room.

  He turned to look at her, lifting the arm she had linked through his to kiss her palm and then her wrist, smiling at her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to show me the way?”

  His words whispered against the skin at her wrist, causing goose bumps along her arm.

  “You know the way, my lord,” she replied, with commendable calm.

  “Yes, but it would be so much more . . .” He hesitated and searched her face for a moment. “Are you happy, Marla?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You just look a little . . . forlorn.”

  “This is the first tim
e I’ve organised anything on this scale without the Lady Jeryma watching my every move,” she said, more than a little uncomfortable that Nash might suspect her true feelings. “I’m nervous, not forlorn.”

  “You don’t have to be alone, Marla,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

  Marla smiled faintly, wondering if Nash had any idea how tempted she was by his offer. He flirted with her quite openly now she was safely married to Laran, in a manner he would never have dared when she was single. “Perhaps it’s a good thing I’m going to the nursery to see my son, and you’re going to your room, Nash.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with honouring the Goddess of Love,” he told her in a low, seductive voice.

  “Then I’ll have one of the court’esa sent to your room, shall I?” she suggested, pretending ignorance about what he was really proposing.

  Nash lifted her hand to his lips again and smiled. “You’re a cruel woman.”

  “The cruellest,” she agreed, extracting her hand carefully from Nash’s grasp before she did something likely to embarrass them both. “Now go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Nash smiled regretfully and bowed before taking the stairs two at a time to the upper floor. Marla watched him leave, a part of her wishing she was brave enough to follow her heart instead of her head. Nash was always joking about making love to her. Even when Laran was around. Marla was never sure if he was just doing it to tease her, to get a rise out of Laran, or if he was testing her in some way. Perhaps even at Laran’s behest . . .

  I’ve been listening to that damn dwarf too much, she told herself as she headed across the foyer to the south wing where the day nursery was located. I’m seeing plots in everything these days.

  Nash flirted with Marla because he flirted with every woman he met. Marla had seen him flirting with Jeryma. At Damin’s adoption ceremony in Greenharbour, she’d heard him telling old Lady Foxtalon, the incumbent Warlord of Pentamor’s great-grandmother, that she was the most stunning woman present. It was what Nash did. It was his nature. Marla was wise enough now to realise that believing anything else would simply lead to heartbreak.

  Unfortunately, all the mature common sense in the world couldn’t stop her longing for what might have been.

  chapter 63

  M

  ahkas waited anxiously with Laran for the scouts to return from across the Medalonian border. Their small camp was hidden in the trees a few hundred paces back from the Border Stream which marked the line between Medalon and Hythria. Their fires were low and carefully shielded, even though they had seen no sign of any Defender patrols on the Medalon side of the border. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. It might just mean the patrol was particularly good at hiding any sign of their passing.

  It was just on dusk and the slight breeze was chilly, even though spring had officially started several weeks ago. Mahkas shivered, hoping it was the weather and not some terrible premonition that made him feel so jittery. They had expected the scouts back over an hour ago. Laran seemed unconcerned, more interested in preparing his dinner. The scouts had found a young straggler the day before yesterday that had wandered away from its herd on the other side of the stream. The steer was barely a yearling, the meat tender and sweet. They’d butchered the carcass and eaten like kings for the past few days.

  “Stop pacing, Mahkas,” Laran ordered, as he adjusted the haunch of beef over the fire to make the most of the flames. “They’ll be back.”

  “They’re late,” Mahkas reminded his brother. “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Not particularly,” Laran shrugged. Then he smiled. “Or maybe it’s not overdue scouts that have you so edgy.”

  “I’m not edgy.”

  “We’ll be home in a couple of days,” Laran assured him. “You’ll see Bylinda soon enough.”

  Mahkas frowned, wondering if he’d been so obvious that every man in the troop knew he was fretting about being away from home. “Suppose she gives birth while I’m away?”

  “Your wife wouldn’t dare give birth to your son without you being there,” Laran chuckled. “I’m quite sure she has her legs firmly crossed.”

  “We are going home after this raid, aren’t we?” Mahkas demanded of his brother. “No more reconnaissance? No more detours? No more ‘just checking on the strength of the Defenders’?”

  “Yes, Mahkas,” Laran promised. “We’re going home after this raid. I need to get back for Kagan, anyway.”

  Mahkas stopped his pacing and came to sit opposite Laran by the fire. “The High Arrion is coming to Krakandar for the Feast of Kalianah this year?”

  “A letter arrived from him just before we left,” Laran confirmed, feeding some more sticks into the fire. “He said he had something urgent to discuss with me.”

  “He probably wants money,” Mahkas suggested with a humourless laugh. “Perhaps he wants to build a monument to himself before he dies and figures his nephews should be the ones to pay for it.”

  Laran shook his head. “He said it had something to do with Darilyn’s death.”

  On the other side of the fire, Mahkas froze warily. In the past two years he had aged ten, living in terror of the day when someone realised he had murdered his sister. He felt bad about having done it. Really bad. And Mahkas had tried to make amends. He treated Darilyn’s sons like his own. Loved them like a father. He insisted that Bylinda treat them as her own too, determined to see the boys didn’t suffer for want of a mother. But not a day went by that he didn’t think about it. Not a day went by that he didn’t expect to be caught out in the lies. Not a day went by when he didn’t rub the sore spot on his arm that for some reason refused to go away. He couldn’t leave it alone, either, rubbing it raw when he was tired or worried about something.

  Remarkably, nobody had ever discovered the truth. Laran had believed him. Jeryma had believed him. Even Kagan, after expressing a few doubts, had come to believe his version of events. Until now.

  Is that why Kagan is coming to Krakandar? Has he discovered the truth?

  Forcing himself to stay calm, Mahkas enquired casually, “Oh? Did he say what he wanted to tell you?”

  “No. Just that some information had come to light which needed to be dealt with urgently. I can’t imagine what he’d think was so important after all this time, but it must be fairly serious to bring him all this way. He’s barely left Greenharbour since Wrayan went missing.”

  Mahkas jumped on the chance to change the subject. “Has nobody ever discovered what became of his apprentice?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I know Kagan thinks Alija Eaglespike was behind Wrayan’s disappearance, but he can’t prove it. For that matter, without a body, he can’t even be sure that Wrayan didn’t just suddenly decide to take off from the Sorcerers’ Collective and return to his former life as a thief.”

  “That’s a bit unlikely, isn’t it? After ten years?”

  “That’s what Kagan thinks. I’m interested to hear what he has to say about Darilyn, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mahkas advised with a remarkably steady voice. “We’ll know what news he has for us in a few days.” A few days. The words rattled around Mahkas’s head like a threat.

  That might be all the time he had before Laran learned the truth.

  Did Kagan really know what had happened? Had he finally figured it out? He’d been suspicious of Darilyn’s wounds after he’d viewed her body in Cabradell after Riika’s funeral. What should I do?

  What would Laran do?

  Mahkas hesitated. There was really no question about what Laran would do to Mahkas if he discovered who was responsible for Darilyn’s death. And worse, if his older brother discovered the motive behind Darilyn’s killing, Laran would also learn that Mahkas was responsible for Riika’s kidnapping and death at the hands of the Fardohnyans, and he would be doubly damned.

  And what if we’re late back home? What if Kagan arrives in Krakandar before us and has time to tell someone else his theory about who was really r
esponsible for the death of his two nieces?

  “Mahkas!” Laran said sharply, jerking him out of his horrifying train of thought. His older brother was still squatting on the other side of the fire, turning the haunch of beef. The flickering light on his angular features made him look like the face of Judgment.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d suddenly gone deaf.” Laran wiped his hands on his trousers as he stood up and pointed north towards the border. “No time for daydreaming, little brother. The scouts are back.”

  Several other Raiders were gathered near the edge of the camp, bows raised and pointed into the darkness in case the scouts were being pursued. The two men sent to find the most likely herds to raid tomorrow slipped into the camp, stopping near the closest fire to shed their weapons and share their intelligence. Mahkas didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, staring into the fire, wondering what would happen when Kagan spoke to Laran. He prayed none of his guilt or fear was showing on his face. Scrambling to his feet, he forced his features into a grin.

  “Then let’s go plot the recovery of some prime Medalonian beef for the Feast of Kalianah, eh?” he announced with a strained laugh.

  “And let’s honour Dacendaran while we’re at it,” Laran laughed, turning towards the other fire.

  Mahkas followed close behind—just one of the boys, the Warlord’s loyal younger brother—thinking the only thing he was interested in at the moment was not stealing Medalonian cattle or honouring any god.

  All Mahkas cared about was finding a way to stop Kagan Palenovar and Laran Krakenshield discussing anything to do with the death of his sisters.

  chapter 64

  A