Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  “And a golden shield,” she confirmed. “Do you know him? Is he one of the fairy people, too?”

  “Oh, yes, Zegarnald is most definitely one of the fairy people.”

  “Well, he said the fairy people would find me and help me get home safely. And he was right.” She glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky with concern. “I should be going now.”

  “Goodbye, J’nel.”

  “Goodbye.”

  The child darted off between the trees and was lost to sight within moments. Brak stared after her thoughtfully and then turned to look at Wrayan.

  “Did she really dream about the God of War?” Wrayan asked.

  “Sounds more like Zegarnald appeared to her,” Brak replied with concern, shouldering his pack once more.

  “Why would he do that? He’s more interested in killing than saving lives, isn’t he?”

  “Usually,” Brak agreed. He turned and started walking back towards the game trail they’d been following before meeting the woodsman. Their plan was to circle around the villages in the mountains as much as possible. Strangers were too often remarked upon out here where there were so few of them. Besides, now the Karien priest was dead, until they reached the more populated areas of Medalon they were free to use as much magic as they wished, so food, shelter and warmth were hardly a problem.

  “Zegarnald is up to something,” Brak added after a while.

  “That’s probably not a good thing, is it?”

  “Definitely not,” he said, leading the way. Elebran had disappeared, presumably to find his companion and brag that he’d discovered the little girl first. “And where does he get off calling us ‘fairy people’, anyway?”

  “It’s better than ‘pretty city boys in fancy dress’,” Wrayan pointed out as he followed the Halfbreed into the gloomy trees. It was almost completely dark. He hoped J’nel had found her way home safely.

  “I think I’m starting to actually like ‘evil creatures of the night’,” Brak grumbled in reply. “At least it’s got a bit of dignity.”

  “It’s scary, too,” Wrayan agreed with a smile.

  Brak strode on ahead, irritation driving him, it seemed. Before long the darkness enveloped him completely, only the sound of Brak angrily muttering, “fairy people, indeed!” guiding Wrayan in the direction he should go.

  chapter 78

  N

  ash used the slaveways to visit Marla after she had Elezaar deliver a message, asking him to meet her in private. She had every intention of making her lover stand on the other side of the room while she delivered her news, and then inform him dispassionately that he had until she returned from Bordertown, in about ten days time, to make up his mind regarding what he planned to do about it. He could claim the baby or not, she intended to tell him. It wasn’t too late to say Laran had left her with child. Perhaps only Elezaar could accurately bear witness to the last time Marla had lain with her husband, and she was confident he would lie for her if she asked him to.

  It wasn’t what she wanted, of course, but under the circumstances, she had little choice but to honour the God of Liars if Nash let her down.

  The decision about her unborn child’s fate had to come from Nash. She would offer him a chance, just once, to claim his child. After that . . . well, if he didn’t want her or their child, she’d deal with that when it happened.

  But Marla’s good intentions remained just that. Nash was in her room and she was in his arms and they were on the rug in front of the fire, tearing at each other’s clothes, before she got a word out. It was only later—much later—after they had moved to the bed and made love a second time, that Marla got a chance to tell him why she wanted to see him.

  She was lying in his arms in the darkness, the room lit only by the dying fire, exhausted and replete, her guilt, for the moment, fading into the distance, drowned out by her love for this man. She remembered what he’d said the night she found out Laran was dead, when he’d come through the slave-ways the first time.

  Kalianah doesn’t punish lovers.

  Perhaps, Marla thought, in a rare moment of cynicism, she leaves that job, not to Death, as I thought the night Laran died, but to Jelanna, the Goddess of Fertility, instead.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Marla,” Nash murmured into her hair as he held her close, his finger tracing a line between her breasts and down to her navel and then back again to circle her nipples.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Don’t make me stay away so long again,” he begged, taking her breast in his hand and bending down to kiss it. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I’m pregnant, Nash.”

  He stilled warily and let her go, propping himself up on one elbow to stare at her thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it Laran’s child?”

  “No.”

  A slow smile crept across his face. “It’s mine?”

  “No, Nash,” she snapped impatiently. “I’ve slept with so many men since my husband died that I’m working my way through them alphabetically until I come up with one willing to take responsibility!”

  He laughed delightedly. “You’re pregnant!”

  “I just said that.”

  “But that’s marvellous!”

  She was shocked by his obvious delight. “It is? I thought you’d be . . . a little . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “But I’m thrilled!” he cried, placing his hand on the round mound of her belly. Although the child didn’t show yet, after having Damin she’d never fully regained the flat stomach she’d had as a girl. Not that she minded. The faint lines of faded stretch marks and the curves of womanhood were a thing to be prized in Hythria. It was proof a woman was favoured by Jelanna. “Can you feel him yet?”

  “You’re assuming it’s a boy.”

  “Of course it’s a boy!” He placed his ear on her belly and smiled. “I can hear him calling me . . . Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”

  “You’re an idiot, Nash,” she said, pushing him off and struggling to sit up.

  “But I’m the idiot who loves you,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to get married, of course. Right away.”

  “I can’t marry you, Nash! My husband has been dead for barely two months!”

  “Which is scandalous, I agree, but not nearly as scandalous as it would be if he were still alive,” he pointed out reasonably. “My father adores you. He won’t mind.”

  “What about my brother?”

  “He adores you, too. Anyway, if you can negotiate a treaty with the First Sister of Medalon that means he doesn’t have to stay away from his playground in Greenharbour for a moment longer than necessary, I’m sure he’ll give you anything you want.”

  “And my son?”

  “Damin? What about him? I love the child like he’s my own.”

  “But he’s not yours, Nash. He’s Laran’s son and heir to the throne of Hythria. I won’t marry you unless I know that you’ll respect that.”

  “Laran was my best friend, Marla,” he reminded her. “I would never permit any harm to come to his son.”

  She allowed herself to start hoping, at that point. All the terrible futures she had imagined were suddenly no longer going to happen. Nash loved her. He loved their child and had sworn to protect Damin as if he was his own. He wanted to marry her.

  Things didn’t get much more perfect than that.

  Things stayed perfect for the rest of that night and right up until she spoke to Lernen the next day, who flatly refused her permission to marry anybody, let alone another Warlord or his heir.

  “But why?”

  “I only let you marry Laran because Kagan forced me into it,” the High Prince reminded her, as they walked arm in arm through the gardens. “I’m not going through all that again, Marla.”

  “But you made a fortune from my marriage to Laran. You told me that yourself.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’d be as lucky a second time. What happens when you have another ch
ild? There’ll be another contender for my throne, for one thing.”

  “Damin is your heir, Lernen,” she told him firmly. “There is no question that any other child I have will be anything other than his father’s son.”

  “You say that now,” he grumbled. “But a few years from now . . .”

  “I won’t let that happen, Lernen. I give you my word.”

  He patted her forearm paternally. “And I’m sure you mean it, dearest, but what is it worth, the word of a woman?”

  “That’s not fair, Lernen! Why is my word any less valuable than a man’s?”

  He smiled at her ignorance. “You wouldn’t understand. dear. Now put this silly notion out of your head. You weren’t all that thrilled about being married off to Laran Krakenshield, as I recall. Well, the fates have seen to it that you’re rid of him. Be thankful for it. You have your son. You must settle down and enjoy a quiet life from now on, and put all these notions of remarriage aside. It doesn’t suit me to have you married again so soon.”

  “You can’t be serious! I’m only eighteen, Lernen! And you’re telling me that’s it? Settle down and raise my son? That’s all that’s left to me?”

  “Don’t raise your voice, Marla, it’s unseemly.”

  “I’ll raise my voice as much as I want!” she retorted, and then, realising she sounded like a testy child, she hesitated. What was Elezaar always telling her? Don’t look for the plot before you’ve eliminated the obvious reason?

  “You want the bargaining power I represent,” she concluded after thinking about it for a moment.

  He looked at her in alarm. “What?”

  “That’s why you don’t want me to remarry,” she explained. “You learned the lesson very well when I married Laran, didn’t you? While you have a sister you can dangle as a prize, you can wheedle and deal and get whatever you want out of men who think that if they pander to your bizarre tastes enough, there’s a chance you’ll make them a member of the High Prince’s family.”

  “Marla, that’s a callous thing to suggest,” he said, refusing to meet her eye. “Do you honestly believe I would use you in such a manner?”

  “You’ve killed three house slaves for fun since you’ve been here in Krakandar, Lernen,” she reminded him bluntly. “And you know you can get away with it, because you’re the High Prince of Hythria. If you can abuse your position in such a manner just to satisfy your carnal needs, why would I think you have any conscience at all?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” he objected. “And I’ll see you’re compensated for the slaves.”

  “It’s not about the slaves, Lernen. 1 want to be happy and you’re denying me the only chance I’ve got for it. You owe me this. I married Laran and gave you the heir you needed. Damn it! You’ve still got your throne because I let you use me. Now it’s time to do something for me. I want you to let me marry Nash, and I want you to do it soon.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll find out who your worst enemy is and claim the child I’m carrying is his,” she threatened.

  Lernen stopped walking and stared at her in shock. “You’re pregnant again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Nashan Hawksword still wants to marry you? Even knowing you carry another man’s child?”

  “I’m carrying Nash’s child, brother, not Laran’s.”

  He frowned at her disapprovingly. “How long has that been going on?”

  “That’s not the issue. Do I have your permission or not?”

  He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip uncertainly. “Kagan isn’t going to like this. I should probably consult with him—”

  “Oh, no you don’t! You’re not consulting with anybody. I’m your sister, Lernen, not the High Arrion’s and not anyone else’s. This is between you and me.”

  “But Marla—”

  “I’m no good to you in this condition anyway, Lernen,” she pointed out, thinking he would understand lust, even if he couldn’t comprehend love. “What man is going to be interested in a woman all fat and bloated with another man’s child? I’m not the prize you thought I was. Let me marry Nash, and I promise, if I ever become a widow again, I’ll let you dangle me all you want. I’ll marry a dozen times to help secure your throne. But just this once, let me be happy.”

  “With my luck,” he grumbled, “Nash will live to be ninety.”

  “With my luck,” she countered with a smile, realising she was on the verge of winning, “if my first marriage is anything to go by, I’ll be doing well if it lasts two years.”

  “This is very inconsiderate of you, Marla,” he complained, “getting yourself pregnant like this. Didn’t that court’esa of yours show you how to take precautions?”

  “Does that mean yes?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head and sighed heavily. “Promise me I won’t regret this, Marla.”

  “I promise, Lernen,” she said, kissing his cheek. “There is nobody in Hythria who loves you more than I do, right at this moment.”

  “That wouldn’t take much, Marla. It’s been a long time since anybody in Hythria really loved their High Prince.”

  “Don’t be absurd! Look at what Laran and the High Arrion and Charel Hawksword and even Glenadal Ravenspear did to secure your throne and give you an heir. They could have just made you marry, you know.”

  “Their concern was for Hythria, not me,” he warned. “The Warlords want a High Prince they can mould themselves. And they will, you know. Your son will have more offers of fosterage than any other child in Hythria’s history as they all try to influence the boy. That’s why I’m really not happy with you marrying Nash Hawksword, Marla. This arrangement will give Charel Hawksword far more power over your son—and my heir—than is healthy.”

  “Then I’ll refuse to live in Byamor,” she shrugged. “Would that make you feel easier about it?”

  “You can hardly stay here,” he pointed out. “Not with Mahkas Damaran as Krakandar’s regent.”

  “Then we’ll reside in Greenharbour,” Marla decided. “At least until Damin is old enough to be fostered. And I promise, I’ll not let him spend more than a year in any one province. In fact, that’s probably the safest way to do it, anyway. That way none of the Warlords can accuse you of favouritism or influencing Damin unduly.”

  The High Prince smiled at her, looking a little puzzled. “First you solve the problem about what to do with Sunrise Province and now this. You know, you really have quite a good head for this sort of thing, dearest,” he remarked, making Marla swell with pride.

  And then he spoiled the moment by adding, “For a girl.”

  chapter 79

  B

  ordertown was the southernmost town in Medalon, located close to where the borders of Fardohnya, Hythria and Medalon converged. Brak and Wrayan arrived at the beginning of summer on a shallowdraughted barge, crewed by a dour Medalonian and his seven brothers, all of whom seemed to resent their elder brother, the captain, enormously, making for an unhappy time for everyone on board. Not having any money when they arrived in Testra, Wrayan had picked the pocket of a fatuous-looking woman in a blue robe who was, Brak informed him afterwards, one of the notorious Sisters of the Blade. There was enough in the purse for a good room at an inn, an excellent meal and two rather ordinary berths on the barge travelling to Bordertown.

  Lapped by the broad silver expanse of the Glass River, the busy docks were north of the town and echoed with harsh shouts and muttered curses as the sharp smell of fish permeated the hot, still air. It was mid-morning when they docked and the wharves were thick with sailors and traders, riverboat captains and red-coated Defenders, all of whom seemed to have business there.

  They walked towards the centre of the town, Wrayan’s head swivelling with curiosity, past wagons and elegant polished carriages, beggars and rich merchants, whores and fine ladies, all shoving for space on the cobbled streets. Bordertown’s buildings were almost all double-storeyed establishments with red-tiled roofs and bal
conies overlooking the shops below. Many of them were festooned with washing hung out to dry. The closer they got to the centre of town, the greater the number of rickety, temporary stalls with tattered awning covers set up in the gaps between the shops, selling a variety of food, copper pots and exotic Fardohnyan silks and spices. They were manned by impatient and obsequious merchants, who fawned over potential customers and screeched at the many beggars to move on for fear they would drive away business—often in the same breath.

  Wrayan found the assault on his senses overwhelming. Two years spent sheltered among the gentle Harshini had left him unprepared for the raw verbosity of a place like Bordertown. ‘There was nothing gentle or soft here. No friendly smiles. No guarantee of a welcome. Everybody was a stranger. Nothing was certain. And nothing could be taken for granted.

  Brak wanted to head for a good tavern and a nice long bath. They had shed their Harshini Dragon Riders’ leathers back in Testra, and they were now tucked into the bottom of their packs. Both men were dressed in ordinary clothes and boots, making them no different from any other travellers in the town. Wrayan’s accent marked him as Hythrun, but that mattered little in a town that seemed to have just as many Hythrun residents as it had Medalonian and Fardohnyan. Brak looked Medalonian—which wasn’t hard to understand, given his father was a Medalonian human—and he blended in as if born here.

  Wrayan envied Brak his composure. But then, he’d worked out over the past weeks as they travelled together, that Brak was probably about seven hundred years old, although he looked barely thirty-five. One had plenty of time to work on one’s composure, he supposed, when one had lived that long.

  As they jostled their way through the markets, Wrayan passed stalls selling just about anything he could name. He passed raucous chickens stacked in cages, bleating sheep, sloe-eyed goats and squealing piglets, their cries so pathetic and heartbreaking that Wrayan began to understand why the Harshini were so opposed to eating meat.

  A tall fountain in the shape of a large, improbable fish, which spewed forth a stream of water from its open mouth into a shallow circular pool, dominated the town square. On the other side loomed the Defenders’ Headquarters, located in a tall, red-bricked building with a rather grand arched entrance that led into a courtyard in the hollow centre of the building.