Warlord (21 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Fallon

BOOK: Warlord
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“I was going to say he won’t let you down,” Marla assured him, patting his hand comfortingly.
“No, you weren’t!” the High Prince accused, snatching his hand away. “You were going to say something else! This is a plot, isn’t it? If I lower the age of majority, he’ll be able to take my throne!”
“Your throne is perfectly safe, Lernen,” she assured him, wishing she could slap her brother for being such a fool. It would only make matters worse, she knew, but it was so very tempting … “Very well,” she conceded, knowing the more she pushed on the subject, the more likely he was to dig his heels in. She took a deep breath. “Forget the age of majority. Why not keep Damin too busy to threaten you, Lernen? Give him something to keep him occupied and out of your hair until he does come of age.”
“Keep him busy how?”
“I don’t know … perhaps a role in the military … something to let him know how much you appreciate his loyalty, along with too much responsibility to leave him any time to plot against you.”
“Damin would never plot against me!” Lernen exclaimed, in a complete reversal of his position of a moment ago. “The boy dotes on me. You’ve told me that any number of times.”
“And he does, dearest,” Marla assured him hurriedly. “But isn’t it nice to do something unexpected for those we love, every now and then. Just because we can?”
“I suppose.” Lernen shrugged. “But what role could I give him?”
“Hmmm …” Marla said, as if trying to think of something suitable. “Why not Lord Admiral of Hythria’s Navy?”
“We don’t really have a navy,” Lernen pointed out with a frown. Then he brightened suddenly. “I know! What about Lord of the Northern Marshes? That would keep him out of my hair in the north, wouldn’t it?”
“You awarded him that title when he turned eighteen,” Marla said. “And it’s a meaningless one, dear. There’s nobody to fight in the Northern Marshes.”
“Ah … well, what about … Lord Commander of Hythria’s Army?”
Marla thought about it for a moment. “I suppose. Although unless you were to call up the combined armies of Hythria—which hasn’t happened in a millennium—it’s rather an empty title, and it wouldn’t give him that much to do.”
Lernen patted her hand and winked at her. “Empty titles are always the best ones to hand out as gestures, Marla. Can’t have the boy getting too full of himself now, can we? He’ll be busy enough, I think. They have lots of parades.”
“Of course,” Marla agreed, rising to her feet. “You’re very wise, brother. I shall have the papers drawn up immediately and you can sign them this afternoon. Shall I send someone in to run your bath?”
Before he could answer, the door flew open and Alija strode into the room, followed by Corian Burl (objecting loudly to the intrusion) and the two soldiers who were supposed to be guarding the door outside. The men seemed unsure if their duties included manhandling the High Arrion to prevent her entering the High Prince’s chambers.
Lernen squealed like a girl when he saw Alija and hid behind Marla, who had jumped to her feet when they were disturbed.
“She’s one of them!” Lernen screeched, pointing at Alija. “Kill her! Kill her now!”
For a precious moment Marla hesitated, wishing the guards would do as her brother ordered, but they weren’t about to cut down a woman in cold blood, particularly not the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective.
“Belay that,” Marla sighed, making no attempt to disguise the reluctance in her voice. “And leave us.”
Bowing as they backed out of the room and looking more than a little concerned, Corian Burl and the two guards closed the doors behind them.
Alija glared at her. “Smart move, Marla.”
That’s debatable,
Marla replied silently.
“What’s she doing here?” Lernen demanded, tugging on Marla’s skirt. “She’s a Patriot. She’s one of them. She’s the one who sent the assassins after me.”
Alija rolled her eyes impatiently. “For the gods’ sake, Lernen, if I wanted you dead, I’d have done it long before now. As it happens, I’m here to report on some disturbing news about your nephew.”
Marla’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Which nephew?”
“Why our precious heir, of course,” Alija replied. “I have news that he’s in Cabradell with an army, preparing to invade Fardohnya.”
“Are we invading Fardohnya, Marla?” Lernen asked.
“It’s more like he’s protecting us from the Fardohnyans, dearest,” Marla told her brother soothingly, wishing she hadn’t so hastily belayed that order to kill Alija.
“Then the rumours I’ve heard about Hablet gathering his army over the border are true?” Alija enquired. She directed the question to Lernen but she was looking straight at Marla. “We face an invasion from Fardohnya and all we have to protect us is a handful of cattle thieves led by an inexperienced boy not yet come of age?”
“That’s all right. I’ve taken care of that,” Lernen announced.
Marla could have cheerfully throttled him. Even though Lernen had refused her request today, he might just as easily grant it tomorrow. If Alija learned of her plans to lower the age of majority before Lernen signed the decree, Marla was sure she’d find a way to talk him out of it. In her own way, Alija was just as proficient at playing on Lernen’s fears as Marla.
“Taken care of what?”
“Damin,” Lernen told her. “Him being too young. Found a way to keep him busy. I’m giving him a new title. Lord Commander of Hythria’s Army.”
Alija glared at Marla as she realised the magnitude of Lernen’s gift (even if he didn’t) and then smiled sweetly at Lernen. “That’s remarkably generous of you, your highness. There aren’t many sovereigns who would pass up an opportunity for fame and glory in favour of their heir.”
Lernen stared at her, obviously puzzled. “Fame and glory?”
“I would have expected
you
to lead Hythria’s combined forces, your highness. It was very courageous of you to award your nephew the honour.”
“Me?
Lead a
real
army?”
“Naturally. I mean, isn’t that why we have a High Prince?”
To Marla’s horror, she realised her brother was seriously contemplating the idea.
“You have matters of state to attend to here in Greenharbour,” she reminded him. “We don’t even know if there’s an invasion coming. Let Damin play with his soldiers in Cabradell while you remain here, Lernen. Keeping us safe from the Patriots,” she added, staring pointedly at Alija.
“Marla!” Alija exclaimed, quick as a rodent. “It’s not like you to be so selfish. Surely you can muddle through with things here in the palace while our High Prince is fulfilling his sacred role as Hythria’s defender?”
“She has a point, Marla,” Lernen mused. “That is
my
role, you know. Hythria’s defender.”
Marla stared at her brother, standing there with his grubby shirt and his skinny legs.
The gods help us, she thought, if you’re defending Hythria.
“You will need to call up the reserves of all the provinces to defend us, your highness,” Alija reminded him, ignoring Marla completely. “With so many under the control of the Sorcerers’ Collective, it is my duty as High Arrion to provide the throne with the support it needs to defeat this threat, and while I have no doubts about
your
ability to lead our forces into war, sire … I’d be reluctant to do the same if I thought command of our forces was in the hands of an inexperienced boy.”
You conniving bitch!
Marla wanted to shout, as she saw what Alija was doing. By refusing to release the troops under the Sorcerers’ Collective’s command unless Lernen led the army, she was making it his fault if Hythria fell to the Fardohnyans. And forcing Marla’s hand. There was almost no chance Lernen was going to be able to deny Alija now.
“You are needed here in Greenharbour, Lernen,” Marla insisted, even though she knew she was fighting a losing battle. “This city has been devastated by the plague. If you leave now, people might think you’ve abandoned them in their hour of need.”
“Of course, if he left now, the chances of our beloved High Prince catching the plague would be significantly reduced,” Alija pointed out, strengthening her hand by playing on Lernen’s fear of the deadly disease. “As for people thinking he’s abandoned them, Marla … you’d be better served wondering what people will say about Lernen Wolfblade when Hablet of Fardohnya is sitting on Hythria’s throne.”
“That barbarian will never take my throne!” Lernen declared, stamping his foot like a child. “You are right, Lady Alija! I am Hythria’s High Prince! It is my sacred duty to lead our forces into battle!”
“Good for you, your highness!”
“Lernen, I think we should talk about this …”
“What’s to talk about, Marla? The High Arrion is right. Hythria needs her High Prince on the front lines, not cowering in his palace hundreds of miles from the battle. You may send a message to my nephew, sister, and inform him Lernen Wolfblade, High Prince of Hythria, will assume command of our combined forces immediately!”
“Might I suggest you appoint an experienced officer as your second-in-command, your highness?” Alija added. “My son, Cyrus—”
Oh no you don’t!
Marla fumed silently. “But Cyrus is in Dregian Province, my lady,” she cut in before the High Arrion could finish her sales pitch. “It would take far too long for him to get here. And besides, as you’ve already reminded us, my dear, your son has plenty of experience in command. Lernen needs an opportunity to test the mettle of his heir, and what better place to do that than in a battle? I’m sure if Damin proves less than able, the High Prince will know he can call on Cyrus for aid.”
Alija smiled at her with all the warmth of a predator eyeing its prey. “I shall send for Cyrus in any case,” she said. “He will insist on leading Dregian’s forces.”
“Then let him lead them all the way to the Fardohnyan border, my lady!” Lernen declared. He turned to Marla, his earlier paranoia forgotten, his face flushed with excitement. “And now we’ve settled the fate of Hythria,” he added, “I think I’ll take that bath.”
 
“H
ow the
hell
did she know about the Fardohnyans?” Marla demanded.
The princess was pacing the main hall in the townhouse and looked ready to kill something. Kalan and Marla’s stepson, Rodja Tirstone, were sitting opposite each other on the cushions around the low table. Wrayan stood by the doors leading out onto the terrace. It was hot and humid and he was vainly hoping for a breeze from the harbour to relieve the heat.
“An army’s not an easy thing to hide, your highness.”
“That might explain how Alija knew Damin was in Cabradell,” Rodja said, sipping his wine. “It doesn’t explain where she got her intelligence about the Fardohnyans.”
“I’m still reeling from the news she actually convinced Lernen he should lead the army,” Kalan said, shaking her head in disbelief. “And I can tell you one thing for certain. Damin’s not going to be happy about it.”
“Name one single warrior in Hythria, even among the Royalists, who
will
be happy about it,” Rodja challenged. He looked up at Marla, shaking his head in disbelief, just as Kalan had. “This is bizarre. I mean, surely Alija must know what a disaster this is.”
“Maybe she does,” Wrayan suggested.
They all turned to look at him.
“You’re not suggesting she wants us to lose this war, are you, Wrayan?” Marla asked.
“Why not? It’s patently clear she doesn’t have the support to unseat Lernen on her own. You’ve made sure of that, your highness. But if our esteemed High Prince leads us to war and stuffs it up? What could be better for her? Maybe she’ll get really lucky and both Damin and Narvell will be killed in a battle, too. For that matter, if Hablet invades Hythria and wins the war, he’s not going to govern us from Greenharbour. He’ll need some sort of administrator to rule in his stead when he goes back to Talabar. Who better than a disgruntled highborn Hythrun who’s conveniently changed sides at the last moment?”
“That’s it,” Kalan said.
Marla looked at her daughter curiously. “What’s it, Kalan?”
“The way to destroy Alija,” Kalan said. “Expose her as a Fardohnyan collaborator.”
“What’s to expose?” Rodja asked. “Wrayan’s simply speculating, not stating any provable facts.”
“But it’s a plausible scenario.”
“There’s a world of difference between a plausible scenario and the truth, Kalan,” Wrayan warned. “Who’d seriously believe the High Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective was collaborating with the Fardohnyans?”
“Anybody we want,” Marla suggested. “If it’s handled correctly.”
Wrayan shook his head. “Even if you could somehow manage to concoct such a far-fetched state of affairs, your highness, it wouldn’t actually help us. Collaboration might be despicable, but it’s treason that’s the capital crime and you can’t prove that.”
“You’re missing the point,” Kalan said. “The idea isn’t to make everyone else believe we have proof. Only Alija has to believe it.” When they all looked at her in confusion, she sighed impatiently, as if she couldn’t understand why they didn’t see what she did. Wrayan had a bad feeling he knew what she was driving at, but he remained silent, waiting for Kalan to explain before he voiced his objections.
“Alija Eaglespike would kill herself before she did anything to jeopardise her sons or what she believes is Cyrus’s chance at the throne.”
“So … what are you proposing, Kalan?” Rodja asked. “That we somehow manage to convince the High Arrion she’s turned into a collaborator and hope she falls on her sword to save her sons from the disgrace?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
Rodja disagreed. “You can’t make her believe something so patently untrue.”
“No,” Marla conceded. Then she turned and looked at Wrayan thoughtfully. “But Wrayan could.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to repay twenty years of friendship.”
“I’ve repaid your friendship plenty, your highness,” he replied, refusing to be manipulated so blatantly. “But what you’re asking for isn’t possible. You can’t make somebody believe something they fundamentally disagree with, and hope to make it stick. Even the Harshini wouldn’t try it.”
“But we’re not,” Kalan said, truly warming to the idea. Her eyes were alight and he could almost see the cogs of her devious little mind ticking over as she worked out the plan in her head.
Like mother, like daughter,
Wrayan thought.
“Alija is a Patriot,” he reminded her. “And their entire manifesto is based on preserving the sovereignty of Hythria from the ravages of what they see as a corrupt and worthless dynasty. Even if I was a Patriot, you’re not going to convince me—and you’re certainly never going to convince Alija—that Hythria’s best interests lie in aiding a foreign power to invade us.”
“But if she believed someone … another Patriot perhaps … was willing to smooth the way for her son to become High Prince, she’d jump at the chance like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. You just have to get her to take the bait.”
“Set her up, you mean?” Rodja asked. “With a false agent?”
“Exactly. Give her what she wants. Give her someone who offers to do precisely what she’s hoping for. Have him promise he can dispose of all the Wolfblade males in one fell swoop during battle, in a way that leaves the Eaglespikes and the Patriots blameless …”
“And then, when she’s taken the bait, you expose her coconspirator as a Fardohnyan,” Marla concluded. “Kalan’s right. It doesn’t need to go any further if Alija thinks we have proof she’s a traitor, even inadvertently.”
“Just watch how fast she falls on her sword then,” Kalan suggested, with unaccustomed savagery, “if she thinks her precious sons might suffer from the stigma of having a traitor for a mother.”
“Alija would never fall for anything so blatant,” Wrayan warned. “She’d smell a trap a mile away.”
“Not if you’re there to smooth over her doubts,” Kalan pointed out.
Wrayan wished that damn breeze would pick up. He was sweating like a pig but he wasn’t certain, any longer, if it was just the muggy evening that made him so uncomfortable. “That’s coercion, Kalan. I won’t do it. For that matter, I’m not even sure I
can
do it.”
“But isn’t coercion making someone believe something they fundamentally disagree with?” Marla asked. “Kalan’s right. This would be giving Alija exactly what she wants, what she’s prayed for. She may even consider it a gift from the gods.”
“And anybody with half a brain knows what a gift from the gods is worth.”
“Your irreverent blasphemy aside, Wrayan,” Marla said, “this idea may actually have a chance of succeeding. It’s certainly the best plan I’ve heard so far.”
“It’s actually the only plan you’ve heard so far.”
“Then come up with a better one,” Kalan challenged. “We can’t kill the High Arrion outright. Even if it didn’t mean losing the support of the Sorcerers’ Collective as a whole, we can’t risk the Wolfblades being seen to be the cause of her downfall or we’ll be guilty of the very thing the Patriots accuse us of and we’ll drive even our most forgiving allies straight into the arms of our enemies. Nor can we risk destroying her House completely for the same reason—much as it pains me to admit it. We need to cut Alija out like a tumour. Remove her from Hythria’s body without damaging any of the surrounding organs. The only way to do that is to have her perform the surgery on herself.”
“And who’s going to prompt her into this remarkable act of self-mutilation?” Wrayan asked. “It’s not as if one of us can walk up, knock on the door of the Sorcerers’ Palace and tell the High Arrion we’ve got a great idea about how she can arrange for her son to inherit the throne.”
“I might have someone,” Rodja volunteered. The news didn’t surprise. Wrayan. Rodja’s father had made his fortune trading information as much as spices. For every legitimate business associate the Tirstone brothers had, there was a shadier one lurking in the shadows.
“What about you, Wrayan?” Marla asked.
He hesitated, wondering if he should refuse. Coercion was right up there with murder, according to the Harshini. On the other hand, Kalan was right, loath though Wrayan was to admit it. Convincing Alija there was a chance to remove Lernen, Damin and Narvell in a way that left her blameless was something she probably prayed for on a daily basis. There would be no coercion involved.
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Your enthusiastic commitment to our cause is overwhelming, sir,” Kalan remarked sourly. She still sounded a little hurt, but he was fairly certain she’d get over it. Kalan was young and resilient, and would survive a broken heart. She’d probably forget all about him as soon as something better came along.
Marla looked at him curiously too, a little concerned by his response. “Are you afraid, Wrayan?”
He didn’t take offence at the question. He knew Marla wasn’t trying to goad his male ego into action. She was genuinely concerned.
“Not for the reason you think, your highness. This isn’t about how much power either of us has. I know I’m stronger than Alija. The fact she’s never been able to detect any mind shield I’ve created since I came back from Sanctuary is proof enough of that. If you want me to make sure she has no doubts your agent is genuine, I can arrange it. But this … it involves more than just the people in this room. This man Rodja’s offering to bring on board, for instance. How are you going to silence him afterwards? Have him killed, too?” When none of them was able to offer an answer, he added, “I’m not afraid of Alija, I’m afraid of what this makes us. There’s no glory in victory if the casual observer can’t tell the difference between your particular brand of tyranny and your enemy’s.”
“So now we’re
evil
?” Kalan snapped. “Funny how that hasn’t bothered you up until now.”
“You offered to kill Alija yourself, Wrayan,” Marla reminded him. “Isn’t that just as evil?”
“I suggested a clean kill, your highness. You’re suggesting luring an innocent woman into a trap and then driving her to suicide through guilt.”
“Alija may be many things, Wrayan,” Rodja pointed out, “but innocent isn’t one of them.”
“You don’t have to convince me of that,” he said. “I’ve been affected by Alija’s pernicious ambition more directly than any other person in this room, including you, your highness,” he added to Marla. “But don’t we hold the moral high ground here? Are you willing to surrender that just for vengeance?”
Marla glanced at Rodja and Kalan before answering. “Absolutely.”
“I’m sorry if that shatters your illusions about the noble character of the Wolfblades,” Kalan added with an edge of bitterness.
“I think it shatters a fair few of the noble illusions I had about my own character, Kalan.” He smiled faintly as a peace gesture. He didn’t want to fight Kalan or her mother about this. It just made him uneasy to witness how quickly they’d come up with this plan. And how eager he was to abuse his own magical gifts to aid the Wolfblades in bringing down his nemesis. “It’s a brilliant plan,” he added to Kalan. “And it’ll work. Frighteningly well, I suspect.”
Marla turned to her stepson. “Then it’s agreed. When can we speak to this man of yours, Rodja?”
“It may take me a day or so to find him, but I’m not sure you
should
speak to him, Marla. Wrayan brought up a very good point about what we’re supposed to do with him later. Perhaps I should deal with him alone. That way, there’s no need for him to know you’ve got anything to do with this. And it’s probably safer if he doesn’t, anyway. If Alija reads his mind, the last thing you want her to discover is that he’s been given his instructions by her good friend, Princess Marla.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Marla said. “You’ll take care of it then, Rodja?”
“The man I have in mind is such a good liar he ought to be Jakerlon’s high priest,” Rodja assured the princess. “And he doesn’t know my real name, either—just that I’m willing to pay for accurate information when he has it.”
“Accurate information about what?” Kalan asked curiously.
Rodja shrugged. “Just … things.”
Marla nodded. “That’s it, then. Rodja can speak to his man and when he’s been briefed we can discuss the most effective way to make contact with Alija, at which point, Wrayan can make sure any doubts Alija has are quashed before they get a chance to take hold of her.”
“And the irony,” Rodja added, climbing to his feet, “is that by sending Cyrus off to war with Lernen, the only person she’d dare share her plans with for the destruction of the Wolfblades won’t be there to question her good fortune.”
“I must be slipping,” Marla remarked with a smile. “I hadn’t thought of that either.”
“It must be the first sign of impending senility, I’m sure,” Rodja joked. “And on that note, I really must be getting home. If I’m a minute later than I promised, Selena will immediately assume the worst and start arranging my funeral.”

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