A Darkness at Sethanon (32 page)

Arutha pondered.
“Why are you telling me this?”

Guy sat up,
shedding his mood. “Because I need you. And there can be no
doubts on your part. To you I am a traitor who sought to take control
of the Kingdom for his own aggrandizement. In part, you are correct.”

Arutha was again
surprised at Guy’s candour. “But how can you justify what
you did to Erland?”

“I am
responsible for his death. I cannot disavow that. It was my captain
who ordered his continued confinement after I had ordered his
release. Radburn had his uses, but tended to be overzealous. I can
understand his panic, for I would have punished him for letting Anita
and you escape. I needed her to gain a foothold in the succession,
and you would have been a useful bargaining piece with your father.”
Seeing surprise on Arutha’s face, he said, “Oh yes, my
agents knew you were in Krondor - or they reported to me when I
returned - but Radburn made the error of thinking you’d lead
him to Anita. It never occurred to him you might have nothing to do
with her escape. The fool should have clapped you in jail and kept
the search on for her.”

Arutha felt a
return of his distrust and a lessening of sympathy. Despite Guy’s
forthright speech, his callous references to using people rankled.
Guy continued, “But I never wished Erland dead. I already had
the Vice-royalty from Rodric, giving me full command over the West. I
didn’t need Erland, only a link to the throne: Anita. Rodric
the Fourth was mad. I was one of the first to know - as was Caldric -
for in kings people overlook and forgive behaviour they would not
tolerate in others. Rodric could not be allowed to rule much longer.
The first eight years of the war were difficult enough in the court,
but in the last year of his reign, Rodric was almost totally without
reason. Kesh always has an eye turned northward, seeking signs of
weakness. I did not wish the burdens of kingship, but even with your
father as heir after Erland, I simply felt I was better able to rule
than anyone in a position to inherit.”

“But why
all this intrigue? You had backing in the congress. Caldric, Father,
and Erland barely overruled your attempt to become Prince Rodric’s
regent before he reached majority. You could have found another way.”

“The
congress can ratify a King,” answered Guy, pointing a finger at
Arutha. “It cannot remove him. I needed a way to take the
throne without civil war. The war with the Tsurani dragged on, and
Rodric would not give your father the Armies of the East. He wouldn’t
even give them to me, and I was the only man he trusted. Nine years
of a losing war and a mad King, and the nation was bleeding to death.
No, it had to end, but no matter how much backing I had, there were
those like Brucal and your father who would have marched against me.

“That’s
why I wanted Anita for my wife and you as a bargaining piece. I was
ready to offer Borric a choice.”

“What
choice?”

“My
preference was to let Borric rule in the West, to divide the Kingdom
and let each realm follow its own destiny; but I knew none of the
western lords would have permitted that. So my offer to Borric was to
allow him to name the Heir after me, even if it were Lyam or you. I
would have named whoever he chose Prince of Krondor, and I would have
ensured I had no sons to contest for the crown. But your father would
have had to accept me as King of Rillanon and swear fealty.”

Suddenly Arutha
understood this man. He had put aside all questions of personal
honour after he had lost Arutha’s mother to Borric, but he had
kept one honour above all others: his honour for the Kingdom. He had
been willing to do anything, even commit regicide - to go down in
history as a usurper and traitor - in exchange for removing a mad
king. It left a bad taste in Arutha’s mouth.

“With
Rodric’s death and Lyam being named Heir, all that became
meaningless. Your brother is not known to me, but I expect he shares
some of your father’s nature. In any event, the Kingdom must be
in better hands than when Rodric sat the throne.”

Arutha sighed.
“You have given me much to think about, Guy. I don’t
approve of your reasoning or your methods, but I understand some of
it.”

“Your
approval is immaterial. I repent nothing of what I have done, and
will admit my decision to claim the throne myself, ignoring your
father’s place in succession, was done in part from spite. If I
couldn’t have your mother, Borric couldn’t have the
crown. Beyond selfish considerations, I also held the firm conviction
I would have made a better king than your father. What I do best is
rule. But it doesn’t mean I feel good about what I’ve had
to do.

“No, what
I want is your understanding. You don’t have to like me, but
you must accept me for who and what I am. I need your acceptance to
secure the future of Armengar.”

Arutha became
silent, feeling discomforted. A memory of a conversation two years
previous flooded back into his mind. After a long silence, he said,
“I am not in a position to judge. I’m remembering a
conversation with Lyam in our father’s burial vault. I was
ready to see Martin dead rather than risk civil war. My own brother .
. .” he added softly.

“Such
judgments are a necessary consequence of ruling.” He sat back,
regarding Arutha. At last he said, “How did your decision about
Martin make you feel?”

Arutha seemed
reluctant to share that with Guy. Then after a long silence had
passed, he looked directly at the Protector. “Dirty. It made me
feel dirty.”

Guy extended his
hand. “You do understand.” Slowly Arutha took the
proffered hand and shook. “Now, to the heart of the matter.

“When we
first came here, Amos, Armand, and I were sick, injured, and
near-starved. These people healed us, strangers from an alien land,
without questions. When we were fit, we volunteered to fight, then
discovered it was expected that all who are able serve without
question. So we took our place in the garrison of the city and began
to learn of Armengar.

“The
Protector before Gwynnath had been an able commander, as was
Gwynnath, but both knew little of modern warfare. Nevertheless, they
kept the Brotherhood and the goblins under control, keeping a bloody
balance of sorts.

“Then
Murmandamus came and things changed. When I arrived, the Brotherhood
was victorious three out of four encounters. The Armengarians were
losing, being routinely defeated for the first time in their history.
I taught them modern warfare, and again we hold our own. Now nothing
comes within twenty miles of the city without being seen by one of
our scouts or patrols. But even with that, it is too late.”

“Why too
late?”

“Even if
Murmandamus weren’t coming to crush us, this nation couldn’t
last another two generations. This city is dying. As best I can
judge, two decades ago, there were perhaps fifteen thousand souls
living within the city and in the surrounding countryside. Ten years
ago, it was eleven or twelve thousand. Now it’s more like seven
or perhaps even less. Constant warfare, women of child-bearing age
being killed in battle, children dying when a steading or kraal is
overrun: it all adds up to a declining population, a decline that
seems to be accelerating. And there’s more. It’s as if
years of constant warfare have sapped the strength from these people.
For all their willingness to fight, they seem somehow indifferent to
the needs of daily living.

“The
culture is twisted, Arutha. All they have is struggle and, in the
end, death. Their poetry is limited to sagas of heroes, and their
music is simple battle chants. Have you noticed there are no signs in
the city? Everyone knows where everyone else lives and works. Why
signs? Arutha, no one born in Armengar can read or write. They don’t
have the time to learn. This is a nation slipping inexorably into
barbarism. Even should there have been no Murmandamus, in another two
decades there would be no nation. They would be as the nomads of the
Thunderhell. No, it’s the constant fighting.”

“I can see
how that could give one a sense of futility. What can I do to help?”

“We need
relief. I will gladly turn the governance of this city over to Brucal
-”

“Vandros.
Brucal retired.”

“Vandros,
then. Bring Armengar into the Duchy of Yabon. These people fled the
Kingdom, ages ago. Now they would not hesitate to embrace it, should
I but order it, so much have they changed. But give me two thousand
heavy foot from the garrison at Yabon and Tyr-Sog, and I’ll
hold this city against Murmandamus for another year. Add a thousand
more and two thousand horse, and I’ll rid the Plain of Isbandia
of every goblin and Dark Brother. Give me the Armies of the West, and
I’ll drive Murmandamus back to Sar-Sargoth and burn the city
down with him inside. Then we can have commerce and children can be
children, not little warriors. Poets will compose and artists paint.
We will have music and dancing. Then maybe this city will grow
again.”

“And will
you wish to remain as Protector, or as Earl of Armengar?” asked
Arutha, not fully rid of his distrust.

“Damn it,”
said Guy, slamming his hand down on the table. “If Lyam has the
brains of a bag of nails, yes.” Guy sagged back into his chair.
“I’m tired, Arutha. I’m drunk and tired.” His
good eye brimmed. “I’ve lost the only thing I’ve
cherished in ages, and all I’ve left is the need of these
people. I’ll not fail them, but once they’re safe . . .”

Arutha was
stunned. Before him Guy bared his soul, and what he saw was a man
without much reason left to live. It was sobering. “I think I
can persuade Lyam to agree, if you understand what his attitude
toward you will be.”

“I don’t
care what he thinks of me, Arutha. He can have my head, for all of
it.” His voice again betrayed his fatigue. “I don’t
think I care at all anymore.”

“I’ll
send messages.”

Guy laughed, a
bitter, frustrated laugh. “That, you see, is the problem, dear
cousin. You don’t think I’ve been sitting here for the
last full year hoping a Prince of Krondor might blunder into
Armengar? I’ve sent a dozen messages to Yabon, and toward
Highcastle, outlining in detail what the situation here is and what
I’ve proposed to you. The difficulty is that while Murmandamus
lets anyone come north, no one - nothing - goes south. That
Beasthunter you found was one of the last to try for the south. I
don’t know what happened to the messenger he escorted, but I
can imagine . . .”He let the thought drift off.

“You see,
Arutha, we’re cut off from the Kingdom. Utterly, totally, and
unless you’ve an idea we’ve not thought of, without a
prayer.”

Martin awoke
sputtering, spitting out a mouthful of water. Briana’s laughter
filled the room as she tossed a towel at him and replaced the now
empty water pitcher. “You’re as difficult to wake as a
bear in winter.”

Blinking as he
dried himself off, Martin said, “I must be.” He fixed her
with a black look, then found his anger slip away as he regarded her
smiling face. After a moment he smiled in return. “Out in the
woods I’m a light sleeper. Indoors I relax.”

She knelt upon
the bed and kissed him. She was dressed in tunic and trousers. “I
must ride out to one of our steadings. Care to come? It is only for
the day.”

Martin grinned.
“Certainly.”

She kissed him
again. “Thank you.”

“For
what?” he asked, clearly confused.

“For
staying here with me.”

Martin stared at
her. “You’re thanking me?”

“Of
course, I asked you.”

“You are
of a strange people, Bree. Most men I know would happily slit my
throat to have had my place here last night.”

She turned her
head slightly, a puzzled look on her face. “Truly? How odd. I
could say the same about most of the women here and you, Martin.
Though no one would fight over something like bed rights. You are
free to choose your partners, and they are free to answer yes or no.
That is why I thanked you, for saying yes.”

Martin grabbed
her and kissed her, half-roughly. “In my land we do things
differently.” He let her go, suddenly concerned he had been too
rough. She seemed a little uncertain but not frightened. “I’m
sorry. It’s just that . . . it was
not
a favour, Bree.”

She leaned close
and rested her head upon his shoulder. “You speak of something
beyond the comforts of the bedchamber.”

“Yes.”

She was silent
for a long time. “Martin, here in Armengar, we know the wisdom
of not planning too far into the future.” There was a catch in
her speech and her eyes gleamed. “My mother was to have wed the
Protector. My father has been dead eleven years. It would have been a
joyous union.” Martin could see the wetness spreading down her
cheeks. “Once I was betrothed. He rode to answer a goblin raid
on a kraal. He never returned.” She studied his face. “We
do not lightly make promises. A night shared is not a vow.”

“I am not
a frivolous man.”

She studied his
face. “I know,” she said softly. “And I am not a
frivolous woman. I choose partners carefully. There is something here
building quickly between us, Martin. I know that. It will . . . come
to us as time and circumstances permit, and to worry what the outcome
of these things will be is wasted effort.” She bit her lower
lip as she struggled for her next words. “I am a commander,
privy to knowledge most in the city are ignorant of. For the moment I
can only ask you not to expect more than I can freely give.”
Seeing his mood darken, she smiled and kissed him. “Come, let
us ride.”

Martin quickly
dressed, uncertain of what had been accomplished, but certain it had
been important. He felt both relieved and troubled: relieved he had
stated his feelings, then troubled he had not done so clearly and her
answer had been clouded. Still, he had been reared by elves, and as
Briana had said, things would come to pass in their own good time.