Wolfblade (38 page)

It had been an awkward time for everyone and Alija planned to leave Warrinhaven as fast as they could politely get away, pleading a pressing engagement with the Earl of Glint in Dregian Province in a few days time which meant they couldn’t stay longer than a day or two.

It might not have been so bad, had she not had to suffer the smug satisfaction of Kagan Palenovar. The old sorcerer, anxious to gloat over his stunning coup, caught up with her in the corridor outside Lord Murvyn’s main hall after she had delivered her apologetic news about their hasty departure.

“So you’re leaving us, my lady?” Kagan called after her as she headed back towards the guest quarters in the southern wing of the small palace. It was late afternoon and the sunlight streamed through the narrow west-facing windows lining the hall, striping it with lines of shadow and sparkling dust motes that danced in the still air.

“What a shame,” he added with vast insincerity.

Alija composed her features into a neutral expression before turning to face him. She knew Kagan was baiting her. Her only consolation was the continuing and unexplained disappearance of Wrayan Lightfinger. There was no sign of the apprentice in Warrinhaven and although she could tell the High
Arrion was burning with the need to interrogate her about what had happened in the Temple of the Gods, he could say nothing without admitting his own involvement in the deliberate tampering with her
court’esa
.

“There’s not much point in remaining here,” Alija shrugged. “And I imagine you’ll not be here much longer yourself, my lord. You have your own problems to deal with, don’t you?” The absence of his apprentice loomed like an invisible wall between them that neither could acknowledge without admitting their own guilt in the affair.

But Kagan was too sharp to even hint that he knew anything about her confrontation with Wrayan. “One of the joys of being High Arrion, I’m afraid. One is always confronted with problems. I imagine being the chief agitator in the faction determined to unseat the High Prince has its own, quite similar responsibilities.”

Alija smiled, but inwardly she was seething. Admittedly, Kagan had good cause to feel smug. He knew as well as Alija did that Marla’s marriage to a Hythrun of Laran’s faultless breeding had stopped the Patriot Faction’s campaign to put Barnardo on the throne in its tracks. With a chance that Lernen’s sister would produce a male child of the Wolfblade line who might one day replace him, the High Prince’s foibles would seem a lot easier to tolerate. Lernen’s perversions, which a month ago were the cause of endless outrage among his peers, were already being talked about (only days after the wedding) as harmless diversions that hurt nobody—slaves not being counted as real people. Suddenly Lernen was seen as a powerless fool who nobody minded enough to do anything about.

“You won’t get away with this, old man,” she warned. “The Convocation of Warlords will be furious. Lernen has overridden them in the matter of Glenadal’s will and arbitrarily dismissed their wishes on this issue.”

“Perhaps,” Kagan agreed, unconcerned. “But he’s also withdrawn his earlier plan to marry his only sister to the Fardohnyan King, which rather makes his decision to grant Laran Krakenshield lordship over Sunrise Province and his sister’s hand the lesser of two evils, don’t you agree?”

“Marrying his sister to a Hythrun doesn’t alter what Lernen is.”

“And who but you cares, Alija?” the old man shrugged. “Lernen has given your Patriot Warlords precisely what you were agitating for—a Hythrun heir, albeit one yet to be conceived. The whole basis of your push for the High Prince’s crown was the fact that your husband is Hythrun, has two healthy Hythrun sons and is descended from the royal line, even though his great-grandmother was the last member of his family who carried the name of Wolfblade. None of that matters now. We will have our Wolfblade heir, born and raised a Hythrun. You and your husband—just like your faction—are irrelevant now.”

“You might think so, Kagan, but you’re a fool if you think the Convocation will stand by idly and let this happen.”

“You underestimate how much respect Laran has among his peers, my lady. It’s quite possible he’s the only man in Hythria who could have gotten away with such a bold plan.”

Alija nodded her reluctant agreement. Laran’s standing among the Warlords wasn’t accidental. She knew Jeryma had quite deliberately fostered her son with both Charel Hawksword and Bryl Foxtalon when he was a boy, so both Warlords looked upon him with almost paternal pride. His mother had also insisted Laran spend time during his youth learning the arts of war, not from their own commanders in Krakandar, but from Rogan Bearbow, the Warlord of Izcomdar, the province which bordered Krakandar to the south. “Do you think that, with three of Hythria’s Warlords thinking of him as a son, the High Prince in his pocket, the High Arrion a close member of the family and direct control over another two provinces, it means nobody will dare challenge Laran?”

Kagan smiled serenely. “I rather think it does, Alija. Laran—and the High Prince, for that matter—are beyond anything you and your increasingly immaterial faction can do to them.”

“For now,” she agreed, wondering if Kagan thought she had abandoned her plans for her husband to eventually take the throne.

“Now is all that matters,” Kagan replied, and then he turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him, wishing she could find a way to channel the helpless rage that threatened to overwhelm her.

During her short stay at Warrinhaven, Alija noted, with some concern, that Marla seemed quite indifferent to Corin’s return, a situation that would not make it easy for him to become her close confidant and would limit his effectiveness as a spy. That role seemed to be reserved for the dwarf, who appeared to enjoy a much higher level of intimacy with his mistress than the handsome
court’esa
Alija had given Marla as a gift.

It had proved next to impossible to convince Barnardo to accept the inevitable. He had his heart set on the High Prince’s throne and was convinced every action Lernen took simply strengthened his position in the eyes of the other Warlords. In the end, Alija used her Innate magic and changed his mind for him, effectively putting an end to his whining about it until they could return home, regroup and come up with a way to deal with this unexpected turn of events.

Marla came to see them off when Alija and Barnardo left Warrinhaven. Alija had cautiously skimmed the young princess’s mind as they embraced and found nothing amiss on the surface. She seemed to accept the inevitability of her position. There was even a hint of self-importance lurking in the background. Someone had obviously planted the idea in Marla’s mind that
she had some noble purpose in life. That might prove a problem in the future if she ever truly came to believe it.

The only other thing Alija had been able to determine from her brief glance into Marla Wolfblade’s mind was that she was still in love.

And, as Alija knew, it wasn’t with her husband.

“I do hope you’ll be happy, little cousin,” Alija had told her, hugging the princess warmly as Barnardo’s white carriage was brought around to the front of the small palace. Trimmed with burgundy leather and gilt, it was a beautiful vehicle pulled by six matching greys, all wearing the green and gold colours of Dregian in the plumes on their harnesses. The whole outfit screamed outrageous wealth, which was exactly the impression Alija was aiming for.

Warrinhaven was really nothing more than the country seat of a fairly insignificant nobleman, but some sound investments and careful management of the borough for several generations meant Lord Murvyn enjoyed a lifestyle usually reserved for a Warlord. The palace, although small, was quite beautiful, the mosaic-tiled steps where they waited reaching down to a broad plaza and a large fountain cast in bronze that depicted the god Kaelarn.

Marla shrugged, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. It was cool this morning. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t let them bully you,” Alija whispered, kissing Marla’s cheek. “Especially Jeryma Ravenspear. She can be a real old cow.”

“Truly, Alija,” Marla assured her, “I’ll be all right.”

“Well, just you remember, if you need comfort, Corin is there for you.”

“I’ll remember.”

Alija frowned, wondering if Marla would bother to call on the
court’esa
at all. Newly wed and weighed down by the burden of expectation, she probably wouldn’t think of much else besides producing the heir everyone was so determined she should bear.

Perhaps I should send her another slave
, Alija decided.
A female slave, this time. This girl doesn’t want a lover. She needs a friend
.

“And you really should think about getting rid of that dwarf, Marla,” she advised. “He’s really not an appropriate companion for a Warlord’s wife.”

“Laran promised me I could keep him.”

“He’s probably just trying to be nice to you, dear. But if you care for your husband’s position at all . . . well, think how it looks. A Fool like that as a
court’esa
to entertain you? What does it say about your husband?”

“I’ll think about it,” Marla promised, although it was clear she had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

“You do that, Marla. And if you ever need my help, for anything at all, just send for me. I will come.”

Marla smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Alija hugged her again and crossed the tiled plaza to the carriage where Barnardo was waiting for her. She allowed a slave to hand her into the carriage and waved at Marla with a smile as they drove off, surrounded by the guard of Dregian Raiders they had brought as an escort.

Almost as an afterthought, Alija released the hold she had kept on her husband’s mind to prevent him saying anything stupid before they could get out of Warrinhaven.

“Are we leaving?” Barnardo asked, as if waking from a long sleep.

“Yes, don’t you remember? You insisted we leave Warrinhaven immediately.”

“I did?” he said, a little vaguely. “Did I say where we were going?”

“Home,” she informed him. “To Dregian.”

“The boys have missed you,” he ventured.

“And I’ve missed them.”

Barnardo glanced out of the window of the carriage, clearly puzzled about why he would suddenly decide to return to Dregian. “Did I mention how long we’d be staying this time?” he asked cautiously.

“Actually, you sounded quite determined to stay there for a while. I suppose that’s why you wanted so many visitors.”

“Did I mention visitors, too?”

“Don’t you remember, dear? You were quite enthused by the idea of organising some serious hunting in the spring. You were talking about inviting Rogan down from Izcomdar to join you.”

“He’d like that. Did I mention anyone else?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a proper hunting season if we didn’t invite the Falconlance boys. And you mentioned bringing up a few of the sons of your vassals this year. To give you a chance to get to know them.”

“That’s a good idea,” Barnardo said, embracing the notion as if it were his own.

“There was someone else,” she told him, making a pretence of thinking about it. Then she smiled suddenly. “Of course, that was the other name you mentioned.”

“Who?”

“Nash Hawksword,” Alija told her husband. “You said you really wanted a chance to get to know Nash Hawksword better.”

“Do you think it might help us?”

The game is still on
, she reminded herself.
It’s simply the field of play that’s changed
.

Alija smiled at her husband knowingly. “You have
no
idea.”

M
ahkas Damaran was used to being overlooked. As the only one of Jeryma Palenovar’s four children who did not inherit a substantial fortune from their deceased fathers, he had spent his whole life living on the charity of his siblings. He held his commission as a captain in Krakandar’s army because of his brother.

He rode a sorcerer-bred mount because his brother had given it to him. The food he ate, the very clothes on his back, were there because of Laran’s charity.

And it drove him to distraction.

The frustration Mahkas felt was only compounded by his posting to Winternest to protect his sisters. Or, more specifically, to protect Riika, in case somebody decided that with the late Warlord of Sunrise Province’s only daughter as their wife, they might have some chance at claiming her legacy.

There had been no such attacks. With Laran now married to Marla Wolfblade, the backing of Charel Hawksword and Bryl Foxtalon, and the High Prince agreeing to the unheard of condition of Laran taking Sunrise without the blessing of the Convocation of Warlords, there was simply nobody in Hythria who thought the idea of challenging Laran worth the effort. Even Chaine Tollin, Glenadal Ravenspear’s bastard son, had decided it was easier to back Laran than oppose him.

Disappointingly, Hablet, the jilted king of Fardohnya, hadn’t bothered to retaliate, either. Mahkas had been hoping for that much at least. With four thousand bored troops hanging around Winternest waiting for something to happen, it would have been nice to give them something to do. But no, even the King of Fardohnya had apparently come to the conclusion, like everyone else, that it simply wasn’t worth trying to challenge Laran Krakenshield on anything.