by Peter Wacht
“Interesting. Interesting, indeed. Well, the declaration won’t take place until the end of the Council. Perhaps something will occur before then with respect to the Highlands. I’d love to see one of Rodric’s famous fits if the dice don’t fall as he expects they will.”
“As would we all,” agreed Gregory.
Rendael smiled at the thought of Rodric getting his knickers in a twist. “Until then we’ve got plenty of other issues to worry about.”
“Yes, we do,” agreed Sarelle.
Their conversation quickly came to an end as a handful of trumpeters walked into the chamber, blasting away as Rodric Tessaril entered behind them with his retinue.
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
Law and Custom
High King Rodric Tessaril walked into the chamber believing he was about to bring back the glory days of the first High King, Ollav Fola. Almost ten years before he had helped to engineer the death of Talyn Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands. After the success of that secret play, as well as the murder of Talyn’s son, Benlorin, Rodric would have gained the first piece to the puzzle he was trying to piece together.
But Chertney and Killeran had failed him by not confirming the death of the grandson, Thomas Kestrel. Thus, the placement of Killeran as regent so that he could begin to take advantage of the riches hidden in the Highlands, even if he couldn’t exploit them to the fullest extent until the decade-long time limit passed because of the continued obstinance and forbearance of the Highlanders.
Now, with the Council of the Kingdoms finally upon him, he expected to take the Highlands for his own once and for all. Then he could begin to play the other pieces he had accumulated over the years. Loris of Dunmoor had his uses. But there could only be one true High King. Once Rodric had the Highlands under his control, he could turn his attention to Dunmoor and put his plan in place for taking that Kingdom. With Armagh, Dunmoor and the Highlands under his thumb, and having gained control of the Corazon River and the Inland Sea, he could apply greater pressure on Benewyn by choking the trade down through the Gullet to Stormy Bay whenever he deemed it necessary.
Sarelle Makarin, proud though she may be, then could not ignore the threat that Rodric posed to her Kingdom, as he could easily strangle the commerce upon which Benewyn depended. Rodric could remove Sarelle if he so desired. Or, perhaps, he would consider a closer, more personal alliance with her if she were willing. Either way, he would bring Benewyn into the fold.
From there, Fal Carrach would be isolated, and as a result it would be just a matter of time before Rodric gained all the Eastern Kingdoms. Then the west would follow, as he either subverted the rulers of those lands to his own purposes, as he had already done with Eshel of Inishmore, or eliminated them. Eventually, he could drop the façade hiding his actions. With his secret ally behind him, no one could stop him. But the Highlands first, and thus the importance of this Council of the Kingdoms.
Yet, even with his grand plans, Rodric’s appearance within the throne room failed to put forward the image he wished to present as he walked into the chamber. The purple cloak dragged across the stone floor, much too big for his frame. The same could be said for his gold crown, which perched precariously on his brow, a couple sizes too large for his head. His dark, swarthy complexion and lank, greasy hair didn’t help matters.
Rodric thought the stares were for him as he made his way toward the semicircle of thrones, not realizing that his daughter, Corelia, entering on his arm, had attracted the gaze of almost all the men, and quite a few women, as she passed. The beautiful Princess of Armagh knew how to command attention by her mere appearance.
So much so that in addition to putting her father in her shadow, only a few noticed the absence of her brother, Ragin. Once handsome, arrogant, and gregarious, only the arrogance remained. His ill-fated decision had left a scar on the right side of his face that destroyed his once good looks and left him in a perpetually foul mood. Moreover, Ragin’s stricken vanity kept him in his rooms, unwilling to risk the stares of those saddened by, or more likely pleased by, his misfortune.
Rodric stopped before the throne, Corelia moving to stand behind the chair. The other monarchs soon stood before their own chairs, their family and retainers standing behind them as well. Killeran and Malachias remained in the shadows of the chamber, not wishing to step forward and announce their presence or their well-known allegiance to the High King.
From her position behind her father’s chair, Kaylie glanced over at Corelia, noting the knowing smirk that rarely left her lips. The princess of Armagh was beautiful, true, something she admitted reluctantly, yet her ambition was plain. She would use anyone she could if it suited her plans and purposes. In that way, at least, she was very much like her father.
“My lords and ladies, welcome to the Council of the Kingdoms,” intoned Rodric, attempting to sound kingly despite his less than regal appearance as he recited the well-known introduction. “As we have done since the first Council, our actions here will be decided by words, not blades. Let every ruler approach every issue with an open mind, striving for harmony among the Kingdoms rather than discord. For we are the descendants of Ollav Fola, who taught that law and custom should take precedence over all else.”
With that Rodric sat on his throne, ignoring the irony of the words he had just spoken, though several other rulers shook their heads with chagrin or amusement as they assumed their places.
Settled on his uncomfortable chair, Rodric opened the Council: “Let us begin.”
Immediately, Lord Dorgas of Ferranagh stood and stated his claim for a small tract of land that now belonged to Kashel, but had once been a part of Ferranagh several hundred years before. Kashel’s representative took issue with the claim and a shouting match erupted.
Expecting nothing less, Gregory sighed as the two lords began throwing insults at one another. This was the first of five days in this chamber. How was he going to survive? Well, maybe Kaylie would learn something, he hoped. Yet his daughter’s mind had already turned to other things as she took the chair placed behind her father’s throne. She barely paid attention to Ferranagh’s claim. Rather, she kept peeking at Corelia and thinking of Thomas. Corelia had shown an inordinate amount of interest in the green-eyed boy when he had appeared before them in Tinnakilly.
Kaylie fought to keep her ever-present guilt from consuming her. Thomas was the only person who had treated her as an equal. Yet she had been the cause of Thomas’ capture in Tinnakilly. He was likely dead, and that grief stayed with her every minute. But in a hidden part of her heart she hoped that he still lived, remote though that chance may be, and that she would have just one more chance to see him again.
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT
An Offer
Gregory entered Rodric’s personal quarters with a guard at his back. He noticed immediately the soldiers standing to either side of the door he had just entered, as well as the two stationed outside the private office Rodric just exited as he walked into the room. Gregory had been on edge as soon as he received Rodric’s request for a private meeting. He was even more so now, instantly aware of the dark shadow hidden deep within the High King’s office. Clearly, this was not meant to be a private meeting after all.
“We have never been on the best of terms, Gregory,” acknowledged Rodric, twirling his finger in a glass of blood red wine after having taken a seat in the only chair in the room. Apparently the expected niceties between peers weren’t needed for this conversation. “I’d like to change that.”
“I doubt we’ll ever be on the best of terms, Rodric.”
Gregory stood stiffly in front of Rodric, dwarfing the High King. During the long period of time he had been forced to interact with Rodric, Gregory had grown accustomed to his mercurial moods, volatility, and instability. But what he saw now worried him even more. There was a glint in Rodric’s eyes. The glint of madness.
“One can always hope,” said Rodric. “This is only the first day of the Council, four more to go. Little of th
e business will interest us until we reach the last day and the final item on the agenda.”
Gregory smiled briefly, having to give Sarelle credit. He had spoken with her before coming to meet with Rodric, not knowing why the High King would want to talk with him considering their long, troubled history of having opposing perspectives on almost every issue raised between them. Sarelle had guessed immediately why Rodric had requested his presence.
“He’s nervous,” she had explained. “We keep hearing more and more rumors of this Lost Kestrel, which is to be expected with the deadline for deciding the fate of the Highlands fast approaching. Consider, as well, the growing unrest. As you said, the Marchers apparently have reawakened, staking claim to a large swath of their territory, and we know from your scouts that reivers are leaving the Highlands as quickly as they can, so obviously Killeran has experienced a major setback, if not more than one. Rodric desperately needs the Highlands, so he’s going to try to hedge his bets with you just in case.”
Rodric quickly brought him back to the present. “I don’t want to waste your time, Gregory. We are both men of action. Men of deeds.”
Gregory found it difficult to contain the smirk that threatened to escape him, not expecting such amusement so early in this conversation. Men of deeds, indeed.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Rodric. What do you want?”
“Never one to engage in conversation if it’s unnecessary. As I said, Gregory, men of action.”
Rodric placed the wine glass on a small table, turning his full attention to the King of Fal Carrach. He tried to gather himself in a way that added to his less than regal appearance. Yet despite his best efforts, it was not to be.
“Allow me to make this plain. In a few days, as prescribed by the law, I will rule the Highlands, to do with as I think best. Perhaps you should think about how we could work together, to keep both our Kingdoms strong during this time of transition. If we were partners, we could accomplish much to the benefit of both. I have a son. You have a daughter. It would be easy to arrange the match.”
Gregory stared at Rodric as if he were a fool. Did the High King really believe he would be so stupid as to agree to such a pairing? Fal Carrach would be severely weakened and his daughter would disown him.
“And if I don’t accept this offer? What then?”
“Then Armagh gets stronger with the Highlands and Fal Carrach weaker, Gregory. As I said, I will rule the Highlands and do what I think is best. If you want to continue to rule Fal Carrach as you think best, it would be wise for you to do what I think is best as well.”
“A hard offer to refuse,” chuckled Gregory.
To think that he would ever consider such a thing, knowing that the man standing before him likely ordered the murder of his friend Talyn Kestrel. To say nothing of the barbarity he had demonstrated in Tinnakilly in how he treated the boy. Moreover, how could Rodric think that he would put his daughter and his Kingdom at risk, particularly considering who Rodric’s silent partner likely was based on his involvement with Chertney and Malachias? Truly, Rodric’s arrogance and ignorance astounded him.
“You find this amusing, Gregory? Will you find it so amusing with Armagh’s soldiers to your north and Dunmoor’s to your west? Will you go running to your precious Sarelle in Benewyn when you realize the untenability of your position? I assure you, Gregory, Benewyn can offer you nothing, except perhaps a romp in the hay, which even I would find hard to turn down. In just a few days you will have few, if any, options. I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity you have now. An alliance between Armagh and Fal Carrach would aid us both.”
Gregory’s face turned a bright red as Rodric spoke. His reference to Sarelle sent his hand to his right hip, but he restrained his desire to free his sword because of the restrictions of the Council. He sought an outlet for his fury, but saw no purpose in fighting four Armaghian soldiers and not knowing but suspecting who hid in Rodric’s office. Instead, he refocused his mind, working to ensure he didn’t allow his temper to get the better of him.
“Your threats are growing tiresome, Rodric. Tell me, oh grand High King, even if this Lost Kestrel does not appear, how do you expect to actually rule in the Highlands? From what I hear, the Marchers have won some victories, and some say that the reivers, led by your loyal Lord Killeran, are fleeing the Highlands in droves. So yes, by all means, best of luck in trying to lay claim to the Highlands. You’ve failed to conquer that Kingdom for the past decade. Why you think you could do so now is beyond me.”
Rodric’s rage almost boiled over, his face becoming a mottled red.
“You cannot speak to me this way,” screeched Rodric. “I am the High King! I am …”
“You are the High King, I’ll grant you that,” said Gregory, his smile thin, veiled, as if he sought to further antagonize Rodric. “But High King in name only. And that will never change. You made an offer at the beginning of this conversation. Now allow me to offer you a certainty. There will be no bargain between Fal Carrach and Armagh. Law or no, Fal Carrach is ready to assist the Highlands. If the Marchers choose to stand against you after this Council, then Fal Carrach will stand with them.”
Gregory turned on his heel, striding purposefully for the door. The soldier standing there quickly opened it, allowing him to pass, not wanting to get in the way of the formidable King of Fal Carrach. Gregory scowled as he walked back toward his chambers, thinking that he would have Kael increase the number of guards tonight, then remembering that Kael had not yet arrived at the Council. He would do it himself, then. Tweaking the nose of the High King had proven fun, almost refreshing, but better to protect against any unforeseen consequences here in Eamhain Mhacha just in case, not trusting the truce of the Council to be obeyed.
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE
Reminiscing
“I never thought we’d reach this point,” said Coban. He sat against his saddle in front of the small fire, enjoying the breeze of the early evening. “I remember that night in the Crag so clearly.”
Coban replayed the events of that cursed night from almost a decade ago, sharing the story with Oso. He had watched Thomas escape, then ran into the Hall of the Highland Lord to fight to the death with Talyn. When Talyn fell, before he died, the Highland Lord told Coban and his surviving Marchers to follow his grandson. He and a few others escaped reluctantly, then went in search of Thomas. They followed him through the passage, tracked him through the Highlands, found the glade, and there the trail ended. They searched for months, but to no avail. The whole time reivers and Ogren were at their heels, pressing them, as they too seemed to be in search of the heir to the Highland throne. In the end, the trail cold and having no other options, he and his Marchers had assumed the worst and made for the safer, higher passes.
Oso simply listened, never having heard the full story of the events that occurred after the fall of the Crag. Coban then focused on the importance of Thomas declaring himself.
“As I said, once the time has passed, if there is no legitimate claimant, then the High King could do what he wants with the Highlands,” explained Coban. “And it would give Rodric a power that previous High Kings have not enjoyed for centuries.”
“How so?” asked Oso.
“Over time the High King has become a figurehead,” answered Coban. “The first High King, Ollav Fola, united the Kingdoms into a single entity. Though he allowed each Kingdom’s ruler a level of independence, all remained subservient to him. Ollav Fola began the great gatherings, what became the Council of the Kingdoms, that continue to take place in which the major lords and ladies of the land gather at Eamhain Mhacha to enact laws, settle disputes and successions, essentially conduct any business needed to keep the united but somewhat distinct Kingdoms functioning as a whole, with a good bit of feasting thrown into the mix as well. During the gathering, all enmities had to be set aside, and no man could lift a hand against another.”
Coban shifted against his saddle, his old bones protesting at having to rest against
the hardened ground.
“It was inevitable, I guess. There was no ruler like Ollav Fola, and once he died, over time, due to wars and poor judgment, the power of the High King waned and the individual Kingdoms once again gained dominance. Armagh is now simply another Kingdom, rather than the Kingdom. Rodric wants to change that. He wants to make Armagh the Kingdom once again. And if he took the Highlands that would be an important first step in that direction.”
The Swordmaster chuckled softly. “Rodric wasn’t even supposed to become the ruler of Armagh, and thereby the honorary High King. His cousin was in line for the throne, yet within a few weeks of his uncle dying, Rodric’s cousin died mysteriously as well. Some said it was an illness that came on quickly, sapping his strength and attacking his heart. Others expected poison.”
“What do you think happened?” asked Oso, intrigued by a history he had never heard.
“Need I even answer?”
“Are you done reliving the past?” asked Thomas, who stepped noiselessly out of the shadows.
“Thomas, you must stop doing that!” protested Coban, startled by his sudden, silent appearance. “It might be fun for you, but it’s not fun for me.”
“It’s fun for me, too,” said Oso, laughing and enjoying Coban’s discomfiture. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was like you saw a ghost.”
“Careful, lad,” replied Coban. “I’m still better than you in a fight. If it’s a ghost you want to see, it’ll be you.”
“Enough,” said Thomas, settling before the fire. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Coban. My apologies.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” responded Coban. “I was simply startled because I was …”
Coban would have continued his argument, but seeing Thomas and Oso’s grins, knew it was useless.
“You two are insufferable,” huffed Coban. Thomas and Oso broke out into laughter, and it wasn’t long before Coban joined in. Allowing Thomas and Oso to have their fun for a brief moment, Coban sought to shift their focus to more pressing matters. “Anything to worry about?”