War Maid's Choice-ARC (60 page)

“I beg your pardon?” Leeana’s tone was even warier than the mayor’s had been, and Balcartha laughed.

“Oh, yes, Leeana! I promise you I intend to be right there to see it when it happens, too!”

“When
what
happens?” Leeana demanded.

“Why, when you have to explain this to
Garlahna
and she starts pumping you for all the juicy details about Bahzell!” Balcartha told her. “After all those years when you gave her grief over her, ah...
energetic
love life while you weren’t sleeping with
anybody?
” The five hundred snorted. “Trust me, girl—you are
never
going to live this down where
she’s
concerned!”

* * *

There were, Brayahs Daggeraxe acknowledged, advantages to being a wind-walker.

For one thing, he could get away from all of the exquisitely polite, venomous backbiting and intrigue of court quickly when the time came.

He stood on the east tower of Sothōkarnas, looking back across the city of Sothōfalas and the blue ribbon of the Pardahn River, wending its way towards the distant Spear. The barge traffic was thicker and denser than it had been earlier in the year, he thought, and his mouth twitched wryly as he thought about how much thicker it was likely to become in the next few years if things worked out the way he was fairly certain they were about to. At the very least, those “things” were going to get very...interesting, and Sothōii were by nature conservative. “Interesting” had never been their favorite word, not with its implications of change and unpredictability, which, after all was why peope like Tellian Bowmaster made so many of their neighbors so acutely uneasy.

He snorted in harsh amusement at the thought and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Summer was moving steadily towards fall, and it was hot, even here on the lofty Wind Plain. There was scarcely a breath of breeze to ease the heat this afternoon—not down here at his current level, at any rate—and he listened to the cries of the birds hovering almost motionless in the updrafts above the mighty fortress. Those cries were distant yet crystal clear over the less distinct stir and murmur of the city.

The noise of the horses and armsmen gathered in Sothōkarnas’ main courtyard was rather closer to hand, and the crisp rasp of commands came to him as Sir Frahdar Swordshank, King Markhos’ personal armsman and the captain of his forty-man detachment of the Royal Guard, chivied along his armsmen’s final preparations. Brayahs knew other eyes—hundreds of them, at the very least—were watching the same scene. It would scarcely do to admit it, but he rather suspected the owners of most of those eyes had already ordered their own escorts to assemble as soon as the King had been good enough to take himself out of the way. It didn’t need a mage to sense the palpable aura of impatience hovering like fog over Sothōkarnas, at any rate, and Brayahs wondered if perhaps—just perhaps, unworthy though it might be—His Majesty wasn’t deliberately dawdling just a bit in order to tweak his loyal courtiers’ impatience. Markhos Silveraxe wasn’t the sort to pitch tantrums. Indeed, there were those who considered him rather cold and bloodless for a proper Sothōii king. Most people thought that was better than someone whose fiery temper led him into missteps, as his grandfather had demonstrated on more than one occasion, but Brayahs had been able to observe him from closer range than most for the past few years. There was a far sharper temper below the King’s surface than he’d seen fit to let most people see...and he was far more subtle about it than those same people were ever likely to guess.

He probably
is
deliberately making the lot of them wait,
the mage thought now.
He knows exactly how they’re all dancing with impatience to get home to their own estates and their own affairs.
It would never do for him to say so openly, of course—just as it would
never
do for any of
them
to admit it, but he knows. And there’s no way he’d pass up this opportunity to whack them by making them pretend they aren’t champing at the bit...not if he’s one half as tired of all this quarreling and snapping and veiled innuendo as
I
am, at any rate. And the gods know he’s had to put up with even more of it than I have. On the other hand, he’s not a mage. He doesn’t have to hold his personal shields every minute of the day just to keep these idiots from driving him mad with their incessant, babbling, calculating, manipulating, dishonest, self-seeking, devious
—

He chopped off the catalog of adjectives and inhaled again, even more deeply than before. Thank Semkirk mind speech wasn’t one of his major talents! Just the emotional aura that went with the steadily intensifying power struggle had been bad enough without having the participants’ actual
thoughts
spilling over into his brain!

Be nice
, he told himself.
It’s not as if they’re deliberately radiating all that garbage at you. In fact, Semkirk knows they’d be just deliriously happy to have you somewhere else entirely! The mere thought that you might be perching in a corner somewhere and surveying the contents of their muddy little minds is one reason they get so
...
apprehensive whenever they notice you walking by. And
, he admitted more grudgingly,
you know it’s inevitable that people who
don’t have mage talents are going to worry about the intrusiveness of anyone who
does
have them
.

Of course it was. And the fact that everyone knew the King relied heavily on magi as royal agents and investigators only made any good, devious-minded conspirator even more nervous. And the gods knew they’d been more devious than usual this summer!

He snorted at the thought and rested his forearms atop one of the battlements’ crenelations and cushioned his chin on them as he gazed moodily down at the assembling armsmen and considered what that meant for his own family and the North Riding in general.

His thoughts, not surprisingly, were not happy ones.

It was scarcely astonishing that his cousin Borandas had chosen to send his heir to represent him for the summer session of the Great Council rather than attending in person. He’d done that for the last two or three years, in fact, and the truly important decisions were usually made at the fall session. Borandas always attended that session in person, and sending Thorandas to deal with the normally more routine business of the summer session was undoubtedly good training for him, not to mention making sure the North Riding’s heir knew
exactly
what was happening in the capital if he should suddenly inherit the title. But this session had been far less “routine” than normal, and Brayahs rather wished Borandas hadn’t delegated it to his son this year. Or perhaps not. Brayahs loved his cousin, and he respected him as both his baron and a man, but there was no point pretending Borandas of Halthan was as needle witted as Tellian of Balthar or Cassan of Frahmahn. Of course, he wasn’t as devious, ambitious, and unscrupulous as Cassan, either. That had to be considered a plus for those living under his governance in the North Riding, although a bit more deviousness on his part might have stood the Kingdom as a whole in rather better stead at a moment like this one.

Brayahs didn’t really like admitting that, yet it was true. And while he generally applauded his cousin’s determination to remain neutral in the struggle between Tellian and Cassan, Borandas’ willingness to delegate to Thorandas had started to worry him. He had to agree that Thorandas was better suited than his father, by both nature and inclination, to holding his own in the snake pit of factions here in Sothōfalas. Unfortunately, either Borandas had changed his policy where the North Riding’s neutrality was concerned without mentioning it to Brayahs, or else Thorandas had begun changing it for him.

You don’t know what messages Borandas may have sent him, Brayahs Daggeraxe,
he told himself sternly.
And no law or custom requires Borandas to keep
you
informed about his policies, either—not after you swore mage oath, and
especially
not since His Majesty tapped you as one of his court magi. It’s entirely possible he’s gotten more concerned over Tellian’s growing ascendancy than he’s mentioned to you, and who could blame him if he has? It can’t be comfortable for any of the other barons to reflect on how that new trade route’s going to pour kormaks into Tellian’s purse like water. For that matter, it’s enough to make
you
nervous...and you actually
like
Tellian!

All of that was true enough, yet Brayahs knew his cousin’s profound distrust for Cassan Axehammer. Borandas might be concerned by Tellian’s expanding powerbase, but Brayahs rather doubted he believed for a moment that Tellian had any designs on seizing outright control of the Kingdom’s policies, whereas anyone who’d ever met Cassan knew exactly what
he
had in mind.

The problem was that fear of Tellian—not to mention that deep, bred-in-the-bone conservatism of Sothōii in general—had pushed those who feared his new trade route, his new closeness to the Axemen and Kilthandahknarthas of Silver Cavern, and (above all) his friendship for the hated and feared hradani into ever more vociferous opposition to him. The rumors of increasing hostility on the part of the Purple Lords didn’t help matters where Tellian’s critics were concerned, either. And for all its centuries-long alliance with the Empire of the Axe, more than one Sothōii noble feared that Tellian’s plans were going to bind the Kingdom
too
tightly to the Axemen, turn them into some sort of hapless appendage of the Empire and subordinate their interests to those of their Axeman “friends.”

So, yes, there was enormous scope for completely reasonable anxiety over Tellian’s plans and ambitions. Brayahs understood that, even sympathized with it, but Thorandas was clearly fishing in those troubled waters, and that worried the mage. In fact, it worried him a lot.

No doubt Thorandas was seeking every advantage he could find for the North Riding, and Brayahs trusted his loyalty to the Crown, yet there was no denying that his prejudices against the hradani had produced a simmering hostility towards Tellian’s efforts even before the entire Derm Canal project had ever been proposed. And this business of offering for Shairnayith Axehammer’s hand...that worried Brayahs. It was a perfectly suitable match in almost every way—indeed, it would have been difficult for Thorandas to find an equally suitable one, given the girl’s birth and his own position—and the mere fact of a marriage connection didn’t automatically promise a union of policies, as well. That wouldn’t keep it from giving the
appearance
of one, however, and it
would
inevitably make Thorandas more...susceptible to Cassan’s advice.

Brayahs wasn’t the only one thinking those thoughts, either. He’d seen it in quite a few of the lords warden, and of the more perceptive members the Manthâlyr, as well. Everyone knew the true power in the Kingdom rested with the Great Council, but no monarch could simply ignore the Kraithâlyr or Manthâlyr, and if the minor nobility and the commoners seated in those bodies decided Cassan was regaining his influence in the Great Council—or, even worse, successfully forging an alliance that pitted all three other ridings against the West Riding—the implications could be profound. Surely Borandas had to be aware of the dangers inherent in presenting that sort of appearance! For that matter, Brayahs
knew
Borandas was—or had been, the last time they’d discussed it, at any rate. So what could have possessed him to allow Thorandas to offer for the girl?

The mage sighed heavily, feeling the hot sun across his shoulders, listening to those birds, and worried. He’d also come to a decision, however. He’d deliberately resolved to stop discussing Borandas’ policies with him when King Markhos summoned him to serve at court, but he was going to have to break that resolve. At the very least, he had to reassure himself that Borandas was accurately informed on what had been happening here in Sothōfalas. He didn’t like to even consider the possibility that Thorandas might have been...shading his own messages to his father, but he’d seen too many painful examples of what ambition or political expediency could do to simply set the thought aside.

At least we’ve got some time
, he told himself encouragingly as a trumpet rang out and the King came striding across the courtyard to his waiting horse at last.
Whatever Cassan and Yeraghor may be up to, they aren’t going to get a lot actually accomplished with the Council, the Conclave, and the Manthâlyr all adjourned for the summer! And as soon as His Majesty disappears up the road to Chergor, every one of those Councilors, lords warden, and delegates is going to vanish in clouds of dust of his very own. Cassan’ll play hell trying to coordinate anything complicated over the rest of the summer, and that should give me at least a month or two to figure out exactly what Borandas’ real policy is
.

He watched Markhos climb into the saddle. Then a bugle sounded and his armsmen surrounded him, with Tellian of Balthar riding on his left and Sir Jerhas Macebearer riding on his right, and swept out of Sothōkarnas’ gates in a clatter of steel-shod hooves. Brayahs straightened and nodded in satisfaction as the last armsman passed under the great stone arch into the dark gullet of the gate tunnel. With the King’s departure from Sothōkarnas, he was officially released from his own attendance here at court, and that was where the advantages of being a wind-walker came into their own.

He closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sun, seeing its redness through his eyelids, and sought his own center. He found it quickly, with the ease of long training and years of practice, and a sense of calm purpose and focus settled over him. It didn’t magically erase his concerns about his cousin and the Kingdom, but it set them to one side, placed them in a sort of mental pigeonhole until he needed them once again, in order to free his mind for other things.

His nostrils flared as he pictured the familiar towers and walls of Star Tower Castle, tall and proud, standing guard over the city of Halthan. He’d grown up in those towers, those walls, and he smiled as he felt them calling to him, beckoning him home.