Firewalk (11 page)

“Is something wrong?” Kayli asked, reaching for her robe.

“More or less,” Randon said irritably. “Knowing that I’d be conveniently out of the way for three days, Terralt’s called a meeting of
my
advisers to discuss all the reasons why my father’s choice of Heir should be ignored. Bright Ones, if it weren’t for the loyalty of the servants I’d never have even heard about the meeting. They’re already in the council chamber. I didn’t expect Terralt to force a confrontation so soon.”

“Can he do that?” Kayli asked surprisedly. “Call a meeting of the High Lord’s own advisers without the High Lord?” Immediately she was embarrassed to have asked; Terralt had done it, hadn’t he?

“He has no right, if that’s what you’re asking,” Randon said wryly, struggling with his trousers. “But my advisers are in an odd position—I’m the declared Heir, but not confirmed as High Lord yet, while Terralt’s been the High Lord in all but name for years. In their place I might have agreed to the session, too. But to fail to notify me—well, I’ll have something to say about that.”

“Then I will go with you.” Kayli pulled a gown at random from her wardrobe and stepped into it.

“There’s no time,” Randon protested. “By the time your maids could have you ready, there’d be no use in going.”

“Then your council of advisers must learn that your bride cares more for her duties than her appearance,” Kayli returned. She brushed her hair hurriedly and pinned it into a simple knot at the back of her head, half laced her slippers, and nodded briskly. “I am ready.”

Randon raised one eyebrow.

“You’re not wearing any underthings at all, are you?”

“No one can see that,” Kayli said. “However, if you wish to wait while I don all of my smallclothes and petticoats—”

“No matter,” Randon said hurriedly. “As you say, nobody will know but us.” Then he grinned. “But I may find the thought something of a distraction.”

This time they walked not to the great hall, but to another room on the ground floor. Two guards were stationed at the door, but they stepped aside as Randon approached, one hurriedly opening the door for them. Randon did not wait to be announced, but strode into the room, and Kayli, taking a deep breath and performing a brief calming exercise in her mind, followed.

This apparently was the council chamber, a smallish room with no windows and only the one door. At the back of the room was a heavy wooden table with a large, ornate chair behind it, and beside that a smaller chair. Terralt was sitting in neither; he was standing instead, leaning against the table.

A short distance from that table and perpendicular to it were two longer tables facing each other. Seated at those tables were the advisers Kayli had seen at the great hall when she and Randon had been married: three men at one table, two women and a man at the other. All six had turned to gaze at Kayli and Randon, and Kayli felt a little of her tension ebb when she saw the surprise and embarrassment on all six faces—and a measure of relief as well. Not a conspiracy, then.

“Fair morning, lords and ladies,” Randon said casually, as if he’d met them in the hallway. “I’ve already presented to you the lady Kayli, my bride; Kayli, I make known to you my advisory council: Lord Kereg, Minister of Agriculture; Lord Disian, Minister of Science; Lord Vyr, Minister of the Army; Lady Tarkas, Minister of Trade; Lady Aville, Minister of Justice; and Lord Jaxon, Minister of Finance.”

The ministers stood and bowed as they were named; Kayli noted that Lord Kereg and Lady Tarkas glanced briefly at Terralt as they rose, but whether their glance was to obtain approval or merely to gauge Terralt’s reaction, Kayli could not tell.

“You may be seated, lords, ladies,” Randon said amiably. “I’m gratified that a formal assembly could be called so soon after my wedding so that my wife could meet you. I’m certain it was a simple oversight that someone forgot to notify me that my own council was sitting in session.”

“Why, brother”—Terralt grinned—“have you forgotten that you said that you weren’t to be disturbed for three days?”

You have shown courtesy,
Kayli thought, tightening her grip on Randon’s hand.
Now you must show strength.
But she said nothing; it was Randon who had been challenged, not she.

When Randon spoke again, there was a gratifying note of steel in his calm voice.

“I would have preferred to believe this business an honest misjudgment on your part, Terralt,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to believe you’d court treason so far as to disobey Father’s orders, to conspire against his chosen Heir, even try to seduce my ministers into treason with you.”

“Until you’re confirmed as High Lord, they’re no more your ministers than they are mine,” Terralt said flatly, his grin gone. “And what sort of Heir expects his country to wait for three days while he dallies with his bride?”

“The sort of Heir who respects the customs of a country with whom we’ve signed a treaty,” Randon said quietly. “But that’s exactly what this is about, isn’t it—what sort of Heir I am. And now’s as good a time as any to discuss that.”

Randon led Kayli past Terralt as if the latter did not exist, giving Kayli an apologetic shrug as he motioned her to the smaller chair.

“It’s my shame to agree that until Father died I had no preparation for rulership.” He turned back to Terralt. “But our own grandfather was a common mercenary until his brother’s death forced him to take the seat. At least I can read and write, however clumsily.”

Randon sat back in the chair, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of the chair.

“You’re not pleased, Terralt, with the way I’ve spent my youth—Bright Ones know you’ve made your views known to everyone—but my father was the only one entitled to judge my suitability as Heir.

“And you don’t like my politics. Strange that you made no complaint when they were
our father’s
politics. But a declared Heir can’t be set aside simply because his subjects”—he emphasized the word slightly—“aren’t happy with his position on foreign affairs. So on what grounds, brother, do you believe that Father’s advisory council should—or have the right to, for that matter—set me aside in defiance of Father’s choice?”

Kayli could see Randon’s white hand begin to tremble; she laid her hand over his to cover it. Startled as if he’d forgotten she was there, Randon glanced at her, and Kayli smiled at him. She felt him relax just a little.

Terralt scowled at Randon blankly for a long moment, and Kayli thought that he had been doubly surprised: first, that Randon had appeared at all to defend his claim; and second, that he had been prepared to speak so strongly on his own behalf.

“You argue well for your claim, brother,” Terralt said at last. “If you could rule this land with pretty speech, we’d be better off. But it doesn’t surprise me that you speak only of your rights, your power. Those matters were always first with you, before the welfare of the people of this country, and they remain so now, as the council can plainly see.”

Randon exploded to his feet, slamming his fist on the table.

“I had everything I wanted!” he shouted. “I had my freedom, all the money I could spend, all the wenches I could bed, my horses and dogs and the open sky, and gods, how you hated and envied me for it, while you set yourself the task of reading Father’s papers, writing his proclamations as any scribe could’ve done, all the while hoping he’d see what a dutiful little son you were and hand you the country like a bone to a favorite dog. It’s you who has always wanted the damned power, not me! The Bright Ones know I’d be glad enough to be rid of it!”

Terralt leaned over the table, his face only inches from Randon’s.

“Then,” he said icily, “give it to me.”

Silence. Kayli felt her own hands trembling, stilled them.

Randon returned Terralt’s gaze squarely.

“Swear before me and the council that you’ll continue with the alliance and all other matters as Father wished,” Randon said quietly, “and the seat is yours.”

This time the silence was longer. Kayli sat still, scarcely breathing. Randon was playing a dangerous game for high stakes indeed; he was wagering that Terralt’s honor was stronger than his ambition. Then Kayli realized that Randon already
knew;
he’d made that same wager when he’d sent Terralt to fetch his bride.

“You know I can’t swear that,” Terralt growled at last, slamming his fist on the table as Randon had. “What this country needs isn’t an alliance with a herd of backward nomads, it needs a mercenary force strong enough to—”

“Enough.” The unfamiliar voice startled them all; the tension in the room broke like a string pulled too taut. Kayli saw Lord Kereg standing. “Enough, the both of you. Sit down and be still.”

The brothers glared a moment longer, then Randon nodded slightly and sat down. There was nowhere for Terralt to sit but on the edge of the table; he glowered, but sat.

“Terralt brought before us the suggestion that High Lord Terendal was dying and his thoughts were confused when he named you as his Heir, Lord Randon,” Kereg said. He turned to Terralt. “The council discussed that idea long before you broached it—in fact, on the day of High Lord Terendal’s death, before we confirmed his choice. High Lord Terendal was weak and in great pain, but his thoughts were whole. He spoke clearly until his death.” Kereg glanced apologetically at Randon, then turned back to Terralt. “Most of us expected and favored you to become our High Lord. If ever, even once, High Lord Terendal had previously named you his Heir—even indicated that he might one day choose you—that might have been excuse enough for us to question his choice of Lord Randon. But the High Lord always hoped for an alliance between Agrond and Bregond, and in the last months of his life he worked single-mindedly toward that cause. His choice of Heir was made after great deliberation. We decided that there was no challenging his choice.”

Lord Kereg sat back down.

“So long as Lord Randon proves that he can provide his country with an heir, and doesn’t show himself grossly unfit to hold the seat,” he said, “we have neither authority nor reason to sustain a challenge to his claim to the throne of Agrond.” He shrugged. “That being said, I suggest that any further business of this council be postponed until our next sitting.”

“No.” Randon rose again. “There is one more item I wish to place before the council. And my brother.” He laid his hand on Kayli’s shoulder.

“This council is appointed to serve the High Lord and Lady of Agrond,” he said. “As High Lord presumptive, that’s myself and Kayli. The council sits at our order, and ours alone. My brother has no authority to convene this council; you have no authority to convene it yourselves. From now on, the council will sit when
and only when
I or Kayli has ordered it. And my brother has no right to attend or speak at any session of council except at our invitation. Is that quite clear?”

There was a gasp from someone in the council, and the rage on Terralt’s face grew to thundercloud proportions.

Lady Aville was the first to stand.

“Your order is clear, High Lord presumptive,” she said calmly. “And I shall honor it without fail.”

One by one, the other ministers stood and acknowledged Randon’s order; Kayli noted carefully the voice and mannerisms of each as they spoke. By the time the ministers had finished, the rage was gone from Terralt’s face, and he shrugged.

“Have it your way,” he said. “And may the Bright Ones have mercy on our country. But remember, brother, you’re not yet confirmed the High Lord of Agrond. Remember that.”

Randon frowned, and Kayli thought wildly that another argument would undo all that Randon had accomplished here. She stood, startling Randon once more.

“I will spare Terralt the trouble of telling you that I have had perhaps less preparation for rulership than my husband, and I am hampered additionally by small knowledge of your people and your customs,” she said. “Like Randon, I can offer only my best effort. But by the trust and admiration that Randon has expressed to me for each of you, I know that I may rely upon you to help me learn, to correct my ignorance, and to forgive any inadvertent offense I may give.”

She turned to Terralt.

“And before my husband and this council, I am pleased to have the opportunity to give my deepest thanks to Terralt for his great courage and honor. By marriage he has become my brother, and like Randon, I could not wish for better.” She extended her hand, gazing into Terralt’s eyes.

A rueful smile twitched at the corner of Terralt’s mouth; then he relented, taking Kayli’s hand.

“You speak as eloquently as my brother,” he said. “Between the two of you, I’m doomed to appear the blackguard.” He bowed a trifle too deeply. “I wish the two of you happiness, if not fertility.” Releasing Kayli’s hand, he turned and walked from the room.

A little awkwardly, the ministers excused themselves also. When they had gone, Randon sat down, then slumped forward, his elbows on the table and his head in his shaking hands.

“Bright Ones,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d have done if—for a moment I thought—”

“You thought they would side with Terralt against you?” Kayli asked gently. “No. They lack the courage for such an action. And some of them, I believe, prefer you to Terralt as High Lord, though their reasons may be suspect.”

Randon raised his head and glanced at her.

“What do you mean?”

“There are many reasons they might favor you,” Kayli told him. “Terralt’s ambitions are too strong, as you observed, and now that the treaty has been signed, Terralt, given freedom of action, might offend Bregond to the point of war. Perhaps some of them favor the alliance, as your father did. But some may believe you more malleable, easier to influence, and therefore more desirable a High Lord.” She shook her head. “I know none of them well enough to judge their motives.”

“You judged Terralt shrewdly enough,” Randon told her, smiling faintly. “After the scene he made, I thought the best I could hope for was open hostility instead of quiet treachery. Bright Ones, what I’d give to have the man as my ally! With his help and his influence with the nobility, there’s no limit to what I could do with this country.”