Stormed Fortress (32 page)

His point was not empty. The Alliance war host was massive enough to pose such a wide-ranging threat. All of the eastshore
'
s trade towns were involved, with too many ignorant factions aligned in support of Lysaer
'
s fanatical doctrine.

Traithe sighed and sat down, harried by more than the pain that plagued his twisted leg. He had no long-term comfort to give. No sound planning to shape a solution. He could not back the promise, that another Sorcerer
'
s help could reach Atwood in time to avert disaster.

The raven shifted clawed feet, too subdued for an aspect of the mysteries, enfleshed as a bird.

'
I
grieve, as well, brother,
'
Traithe sent without speaking.

He stood alone, here, with the well-being of Melhalla
'
s clan presence left in his hands. He had no words to tell these proud people they were thrown at the mercy of whatever back-lash Arithon
'
s next actions might stir. With his Fellowship colleagues engaged beyond recourse, Traithe had no more than inadequate strength: such limited power as he could raise through the impairment of his crippled flesh.

Surely worse, Asandir
'
s absence and Sethvir
'
s strapped resources left the unpredictable bent of Davien
'
s interests an open arena and total free rein.

Autumn 5671

Storm

When Duke Bransian confronted his frothing suspicion that Elaira was Koriathain, his outspoken impulse stung the ears of his wife straightaway. Toss the chit out on her meddling arse and let the false avatar
'
s priests have their field-day
'

Liesse glared back at her husband over his spurned bowl of oatmeal. Shortened days stopped the chickens from laying. The dwindling hoard of eggs cold-stored in the spring-house for baking meant meagre breakfasts, which always fanned the ducal temper. "That enchantress snuck in here straight under the pack, with their wall-eyed talent and snooping noses. Raging hot as they are to burn hedge talent, they
'
re not stupid. Tweak the tail of the Koriani Order, and they
'
ll earn a catfight even their simpering avatar can
'
t win.
'

'
I
'
d risk that and grin.
'
The s
'
Brydion lord stabbed his spoon upright in his cold mush, both wrists chapped by the bite of his bracers, and his carping mood unabated.
'
Except the confounded witch might stir up who knows what vexing mischief to slap us in retaliation.
'
His next sober thought was to order the problem set into irons and placed under locked confinement. "That way, we
'
ll keep any spell-driven wiles under our thumb in surveillance.
'

'
You
'
ve abandoned sense!
'
Liesse shrieked.
'
Like the dumb ox pricked on by the thorn goad, you
'
d back your shambling butt straight into the shafts and haul the dung cart for your enemies!
'

The duke barked out orders. His summary dispatch for arrest became stalled, because the wife hiked up her skirts and moved first. She kicked over her carved chair with a bang. Aflutter in layers of lace petticoats, she placed herself in the doorway and stymied the burly captain just given the ducal command.

'
You catty-whomping bitch!
'
Bransian thrashed to his feet.
'
Interfere further, I
'
ll skin you for the grease to quiet the squeal in the gate winch!
'

'
And does your drum windlass make such a noise? Who
'
d hear it?
'
his wife cried.
'
Not the Mathiell Gate sentries! With you reared up on both your hind legs, and braying like a smacked jackass, it
'
s a wonder that anyone else gets the chance for two words and a simple answer!
'

The match burgeoned to shouting, overheard two floors down by Dame Dawr
'
s ubiquitous servants. The dowager
'
s sent runner short-cut through the back corridors and applied astute influence, which double salvo arrived just in time.

Talvish strode up in his polished appointments, touched Liesse aside, and leaned an armoured shoulder against the door-jamb under dispute. With lazy provocation, he said,
'
Did you realize this Koriathain is Prince Arithon
'
s woman?
'

Politically sensitive as an explosion,
that
name pocked a gap in the argument.

'
Imprison her,
'
said Talvish,
'
or show her the least gesture of discourtesy, and I can promise, as I know his Grace, that we
'
ll have a round of vindictive offence to smoke our hides pink with embarrassment. Worse yet, the woman
'
s a power in her own right. She spent a year with Ath
'
s adepts, Sidir says. Earn her enmity, you might have to beg for relief that
'
s as wishful as a cold bath in Sithaer.
'

'
Piss on Dharkaron Avenger himself! I don
'
t simper and scrape before threats.
'
Duke Bransian jerked his chin at his captain, fist laid on his sword to back up his bluster. "The woman
'
s live trouble and damned lucky at that, to bide in a cell as my prisoner.
'

Except Mearn sauntered up to the doorway outside, slit-eyed as a prowling tiger. He was roguishly clad in a red velvet doublet. The empty, right sleeve had been pinned, with his burned sword-arm done up in strapping.
'
Evidently I
'
m missing out on a fight?
'

He slipped like a marsh wisp past Talvish, side-stepped the impasse ongoing between Liesse and the armoured officer, and confronted his brother
'
s cocked rage.
'
You fish-brained mule! Crap into a gale, whose arse wears the stink?
'

'
He
'
s grieving,
'
warned Liesse.
'
It
'
s Keldmar
'
s loss hurting. He strikes out because inside, he
'
s bleeding.
'

'
Ath, who isn
'
t?
'
Mearn sucked a fast breath.
'
I pity the man who can
'
t cry.
'
He snatched for the duke
'
s chair, poked his brother, and snapped,
'
Sit! You
'
ve gone dumb and blind to current events! Dakar
'
s in recovery, and likely to block any effort you make to upset the Fellowship
'
s assets. We need allies, you idiot. These are Arithon
'
s people, here to help hold our gates if they want to live long enough to spare Jeynsa.
'

Bransian snapped a signal for his officer to stand down. While Talvish looked on with glacial eyes, and Mearn held his ground like poised flame, the pause stretched. For a second, the rising sun through the casements streamed across the laid table and sparked stinging high lights off crystal and cutlery.

'
We won
'
t see attack till the dark of the moon
'
the duke stated at unpleasant length. He spun the oak seat. Kicked back the jut of his scabbard and perched, his regard tracking his younger brother as he folded his arms on the chair-back to brangle.
'
You actually have your eye trained on Sidir.
'

'
I do, at that.
'
Mearn
'
s sly grin emerged.
'
My men need his touch, setting spring traps.
'

No paltry asset, the skilled ingenuity that had made Rathain
'
s clansmen feared far and wide for their viciousness. Despite raging loss, the Duke of Alestron had not jettisoned reason for stubborn insanity.
'
You think you
'
ll wheedle that spellbinder
'
s assistance, and engage his talent as well? A gambler
'
s thrill, Mearn. This nest of vipers we
'
ve harboured for Arithon
'
s interests is dangerous! Nary a one owes their loyalty to me, or this town, which stresses my liver. I feel like the gaffed frog who doesn
'
t yet know that his legs will get fried up for dinner!
'

'
Have the lot watched
'
Mearn agreed.
'
Who
'
s better than family? Though how anyone around here can get a damned thing past Dawr
'
s perked-up ears is a nuisance I
'
d give up the cards to eliminate.
'

'
Old besom was born with two sleepless eyes set into the back of her head
'
agreed Bransian.
'
Got a nose long enough to stick crosswise into whatever
'
s been stowed behind a locked keyhole, besides.
'

He snapped up a cold piece of toast and bit down, which signalled to Liesse and the disgruntled officer that the air had cooled enough for intelligent discussion. The grandame
'
s usurping decision would stand, over Talvish
'
s reassignment. The troublesome goatherd and the s
'
Valerient daughter would stay curtailed by the blond captain
'
s aggressive attendance.

'
We
'
ve got a war, outside, poised to rip out our guts
'
Alestron
'
s lord groused through his beard.
'
Can
'
t afford trouble stirred up inside, fit to raise spellcraft against us.
'
He waved Mearn off.
'
Let the weasel kiss the bared fangs of the serpent. Find out if yon pack of initiate talent can be tamed enough to recruit.
'

Mearn s
'
Brydion wasted no time. First breath, his low-voiced instruction to Talvish ordered Sidir
'
s blades and recurve returned.
'
Clan honour won
'
t let him strike at our backs. Not with the might of the towns set to flatten us.
'
Belting down stairwells two steps at a stride, the pale swordsman
'
s longer legs an effortless match for his quickness, the duke
'
s youngest brother broached the stickier problem.
'
We
'
ve got to roust the Mad Prophet out of bed.
'

Talvish laughed.
'
You don
'
t. He
'
s already immersed his sore head in a hot tub. Suds up to the chin, and for the next hour, sweating out toxins, flat helpless.
'
He added, serious,
'
You
'
ve got time to change clothes, well enough.
'

'
Good.
'
Mearn grinned back.
'
My singed surcoat
'
s waiting.
'
Which was shrewd good sense: ball-room rags were pure genius to quell Bransian. But no forestborn scout with a Companion
'
s grim history would respect affectation, wrapped up in silk cuffs and braid trim.

'
I can
'
t stay to advise you,
'
Talvish apologized.
'
Jeynsa
'
s shooting the butts into straw chaff with war points, and the nit-brained double
'
s too eager to brangle himself into mince. He
'
s already twitching to pick a ripe fight with yon fettlesome northern barbarian.
'

Mearn knew that chill tone. His keen glance flicked sidewards.
'
A warning?
'

Talvish nodded.
'
Walk softly with that one. He
'
s seen the rough side of Tal Quorin, the Havens, and Vastmark, and came through with a fist that once knocked Arithon onto his backside, cold senseless.
'

Mearn gave a near-soundless whistle.
'
By Dharkaron
'
s Black Chariot, did he so!
'
Beyond jokes, the youngest brother s
'
Brydion was too canny to playact, or press the martyr
'
s role, nursing an injury. With Talvish
'
s counsel still tumbling his thoughts, he presented himself at the shut door of Dakar
'
s bath chamber with a polite knock.

A peeling curse arose in rebuff.
'
If you
'
re a man-servant with a razor, take off and stick it!
'
Dakar added,
'
I
'
ll have no duke
'
s lackey with bloodthirsty fingers plying stropped steel at my windpipe!
'

Mearn let himself in.
'
And good morrow to you, also.
'
Without invitation, he minced past the puddles slicked over the white marble floor-tiles. His singed surcoat, in fact, had been torn up for rags, as flammable lint to tip fire-arrows. Now dressed in serviceable leathers and plain steel, with his poulticed arm free of the sling, he paused by the towel-rack and rested a nonchalant elbow on Liesse
'
s best folded linen.
'
I should send you a maid with lascivious hands and a drink?
'