The Bloodbound (18 page)

“E
rik.”

He looked up to find Alix peering through the tent flap with a worried expression. He stood. “What's the matter?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. It's just . . .” She blinked and shook her head, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was about to say. “Albern Highmount is here.”

Erik stared at her in astonishment.
“What?”

“He just arrived, and he wants to see you. I wasn't sure . . . Shall I admit him?” She sounded as perplexed as Erik felt.
We were only just discussing him . . . what, a week ago? No
, Erik realised,
longer.
Three weeks. Three weeks and three battles. An age in wartime.

“Did he come alone?”

“Not quite. He brought a handful of guards and retainers.”

Erik shook his head in disbelief. What in the Nine Domains was Highmount doing here, of all places? The man was too old to be riding halfway across the country, especially a country at war.
He must be here for Tom,
Erik thought.
My brother has sent him to treat with me.
He felt his gaze harden. “You may admit him, Alix, but keep a close eye on his men.”

She nodded and disappeared through the tent flap. Moments later, Highmount himself pushed through, bowing as low as his rickety frame would allow. “Your Majesty.”

“Lord Highmount,” Erik said. “You look well.”

It was an empty courtesy. Highmount looked pale and drawn. His beard was a dull grey, not the glossy silver Erik remembered, and the dimples that had once been the only sign of humour on the first counsel's face had slumped into long, deep crags in his flesh. Only his piercing eyes and hawkish nose remained undaunted; if anything, they were more prominent than ever against that wasted face, lending him the look of a bird of prey.
And so he is
, Erik thought, perhaps uncharitably.

“Your Majesty is more kind than truthful,” Highmount said with a wisp of a smile. “In truth, I am weary from my journey.”

“I don't doubt it.” Erik gestured at a chair. “It is a long way for you to have come. You serve a hard master, it seems.”

“What an odd thing to say, Your Majesty. I serve you.”

Erik frowned. “I dismissed you. Over a year ago.”

“I recall,” Highmount said as he sank into his chair. “War has made you blunt, sire. Or perhaps it is merely efficient.” His eyes did a slow tour of the tent. It must have seemed terribly austere to him, accustomed as he was to the finery of King Osrik's hunting pavilion. Even Erik scarcely recognised it as his refuge from a few weeks before. Everything that did not serve a purpose had been removed. There were no rugs, no silk hangings, not even a bottle of wine. Erik's writing desk was meticulously tidy, his maps scrupulously rolled. Coloured inks were arranged in neat ranks, from archer red to infantry black. Aside from the desk, the cot, the dining table, and a few functional chairs, the tent was barren. It had been transformed from royal sanctuary to war room.

“War makes a man efficient, it's true,” Erik said. “I've found it necessary to curtail my indulgences, idle chatter among them. So forgive me if I ask you to come directly to the point. Why are you here?”

Highmount folded his hands in his lap. “But I have already told you, Your Majesty, I am here to serve. I may not be first counsel any longer, but I still serve the realm, and therefore, its king.”

“Tom sent you.”

“He did not.”

Irritably, Erik grabbed a chair and sat. “I'll not play volley with you, Highmount. Speak plainly. How exactly do you mean to serve me?”

The old man regarded him steadily. “Though you may not realise it, you are still in need of my counsel, now more than ever before. I swore an oath to your father, may he find peace in his Domain, and I mean to keep my word. Your brother is a traitor, though all of court feigns ignorance of that fact, and he will have your crown unless you stop him.”

“I'm well aware of that.”

“And yet I find you here.” Highmount spread his hands, condemning his surroundings. “Instead of in the capital where you belong.”

“I'm fighting a war,” Erik said between clenched teeth. It was all he could do to keep his temper in check. No one in the realm got under his skin like this man. Surround him with fools and liars and worse, and Erik would never let his smile slip, but Highmount found every gap in his armour, whether he meant to or not.

“Fighting a war, yes,” the old man said, “and weakening yourself with every passing day. The Brownlands are a lost cause, as you must know, and the Brownswords too few to make much difference. Meanwhile, your brother's army stays healthy and rested, and he spends his time recruiting allies whose strength may actually matter when the time comes. The longer you leave him unchallenged, the stronger he becomes. If you are to have any hope of dislodging him, you must return home immediately.”

“You would have me leave my kingdom undefended against the invaders? Are you so eager to join the Trionate?”

“You cannot defeat the Oridians with your paltry force. The best you can hope for is to stay alive a little longer—that is, unless the main host at the border should stir. If that happens—
when
that happens—you will be caught in the field without shelter or hope of reinforcement. Your swords are in Erroman, and it is to Erroman you must go. You are fighting this war in reverse, Erik, and it will be your undoing.”

“I had no idea you were a military strategist.”

Highmount made a dismissive gesture. “One hardly needs to be a military strategist to see the truth of this. A basic command of mathematics should suffice. If you cannot see your doom galloping toward you, then it falls to me to describe it to you.”

Erik bit back a scathing reply. He would be damned if he let Highmount bully him into behaving like a petulant child. Calmly, he said, “If you think I am under any illusions about my situation, you are mistaken. I understand perfectly well the need to deal with the enemy within before I face the enemy without. But in order to do
that
, I need the loyalty of the Banner Houses, which my presence here has secured.”

Highmount nodded gravely. “A wise precaution. But the task is complete, and now it is time to move on. There is no further loyalty to be gained from Brown or Black or Green by staying here and allowing your meagre forces to be ground down by attrition.”

“We are buying time for Arran Green to uproot the enemy from the Blacklands. I'll not give Oridia a foothold this deep inside our territory.”

The old man ran a thumb and forefinger over his thick moustache, his expression thoughtful. “How much more time does Green require?”

“I wish I knew. We haven't heard from him in over a week. At last word, they were headed over the Catsback bridge to take the Scions from the east.”

“A risky operation. Is Liam still his squire?”

“No, but he is among Green's men. It does worry me.” Highmount was the only person in the world he could admit that to. Highmount, and perhaps Alix.

The old man grunted. “Do you still harbour the same intentions toward him?”

“I do, and that's all the discussion I care to have on that subject.” If the old man was as wise as he claimed, he would recall what happened the last time he had aired his views on the matter, and he would hold his Hew-cursed tongue.

“It sounds as though the battle for the Scions will decide matters in the Blacklands,” Highmount said.

“It should.”

“And when that is through, you will ride for Erroman?”

“Provided we can find enough horses,” Erik said wryly.

“Good. And now that you have ensured the loyalty of the Banner Houses, you must make a show of rewarding them for it. You are already well on your way, whether you realise it or not.”

Erik narrowed his eyes, suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”

“Your brother—or rather his pet, Roswald Grey—has made it clear that wealth and power await any lord who throws in his lot with the White Ravens. However shabby the tactic, I fear it will be effective. The Whites have gone too long without bestowing a new banner, as I warned your royal father many times, and the lesser nobles grow weary of playing squire to the musty old Banner Houses. Their loyalties are ripe for the purchase.”

“And so you counsel me to make a counteroffer?”

“Someone already has. I received an interesting message while on the road. It seems that a group styling itself the White Crowns has begun papering the city with pamphlets, promising a clever mix of carrot and stick to give the ambitious pause.”

Erik smiled.
Alix's work.

“That is well done,” Highmount went on, “but now you must lend credence to the rumours by making a show of rewarding loyalty.”

“How?”

“Appointing Arran Green commander general of your armies was a good start.”

“I appointed Green because he was the best man for the job.”

Highmount shrugged. “No matter. You threw the Greens a juicy bone, and now you must throw more.”

“Such as?”

“Formalise Riggard Black's command. Give him the White Wolves.”

“The White Wolves are disbanded.”

“The White Wolves
were
disbanded,” Highmount corrected patiently. “Reconstituting them is your prerogative.”

He had a point. The White Wolves were merely a name—and a storied one at that. Their legacy would strengthen him, if only symbolically. In time, perhaps they could even be restored to their former glory. “Go on,” Erik said.

“You must also deliver a blow to the Greys. Punish them for their disloyalty.”

Erik frowned. “Will that not make them my enemies?”

“They are already your enemies, Your Majesty, or at least, Roswald is. His mother is a more calculating woman. Deal her a blow, yes, but one that leaves room for reconciliation later on. She will bring her son to heel.”

“You obviously have something in mind.” Why did he feel a tingle of dread working its way down his spine?

“A stick for the Greys, and a carrot for the Blacks, all rolled into one.” The old man smiled, visibly pleased with himself.

Erik squirmed. “I don't follow,” he said, but that was a lie, and Highmount knew it.

The old man indulged him anyway. “Announce your intention to marry Alix Black.”

Erik couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. The irony was just too much for him. “After years of badgering me to marry Sirin Grey, you counsel me to put her aside? And for a Black, no less!
Those wayward children,
isn't that what you called them? Forgive me, Highmount, but I can't quite believe it. This must surely be a sign that the dragon is nigh and the world will soon end.”

“It is a sign that the situation has changed,” Highmount said. “An engagement is a promise, one that can be broken—or remade. You will send a powerful signal, not only to the Greys, but to all those who are considering throwing in with Tom.”

“And Alix and Sirin—they will do as they're bid, no doubt.” That amused him too. The old man obviously didn't know either of them.

“I am surprised at you, Your Majesty. I would have thought you would welcome the chance to be open about your lover.”

Erik laughed again, but this time there was an edge to it. “Someone's been having you on, I'm afraid. Alix Black and I are not lovers.”
Not quite
, he allowed himself silently.

“The servants at Greenhold tell a different story.”

Erik suppressed a growl. Did the man have spies
everywhere
? Aloud, he said, “If you pay for gossip, you can hardly be surprised if it is always in good supply.”

“You would do well to be mindful of gossip, Your Majesty. It can be enormously valuable. And if I have heard the rumour of your involvement with Lady Alix, you can be sure the Greys have too.”

Erik winced. He had not thought of that. “I hope you're wrong.”

“Unlikely. In which case, the best thing you can do is turn the rumour to your advantage. Announce your betrothal, and back it up with action. Make sure you display your affection for all to see. You may even consider inviting her to spend the night in your tent. Indiscreet, to be sure, but under the circumstances—”

“Did you not just hear me say that we are not lovers?”

“That can be remedied, surely.”

“I'm flattered by your confidence,” Erik said wryly, “but I assure you it isn't as easy as that.”

“So you have tried, then?”

“
Olan's battered shield, man!
My bed is not your business!”

“Your bed is the kingdom's business, Your Majesty,” Highmount returned implacably.

Erik sprang from his chair and began to pace. He did not dare to speak, lest he say something he regretted later. Was it so unreasonable to want something for himself, something untouched by grubby politicking and the vagaries of court?

“You may even decide to go through with the marriage,” Highmount continued. “The Blacks are not what they once were, certainly, but—”

“Enough.” Erik silenced the old man with a sharp gesture. “I will not have you speaking of Alix like she is a brick to be added to my fortress. Nor do I intend simply to cast aside my vow to Sirin Grey.”

Highmount's lips pursed in displeasure. “Your vows cannot rule you, Your Majesty. Honour is a fine virtue, but a luxury in times like these. You have a higher duty to your kingdom.”

“So I am constantly being told,” Erik snapped.
So I am beginning to tell myself
, he might have added. “I will consider it, Highmount, and that is all. Leave it now. I have a battle to prepare for.”

For a moment, Highmount looked like he would argue. At length, however, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Very well. I will let this subject alone for now. Do not think it gives me any pleasure to broach these matters with you. I only want what is best for you, and what is best for Alden. I owe your father's memory no less.”