Wolfblade (28 page)

“Then spit it out, Tarkyn. I’ve no time to coax it from you.”

Tarkyn turned his head towards her, as if his blind eyes could actually see her standing by the window.

“Glenadal Ravenspear named Laran Krakenshield his heir.”

For a brief, frozen, crystalline moment, Alija’s world remained the way it had been a few minutes ago when her worst problem was the logistics involved in closing up the house in Greenharbour and heading home.

And then it shattered into a million pieces as Tarkyn’s news sank in and she began to realise what it might mean.

“I’ll bring Barnardo back to Greenharbour,” she announced, sounding far calmer than she felt. “Now is not the time for him to be out of the city.”

“I agree.”

“Do we know if Laran plans to accept the bequest?”

“Nobody seems to know anything other than Glenadal Ravenspear died and left Laran his province and Charel Hawksword rode to Cabradell as soon as he heard the news. You now know all that I do.”

She stared out of the window across the flat white rooftops, but saw nothing. “If Laran accepts . . .” she said. “If he can get a majority of the other Warlords to agree . . . Gods, he’ll control more than a third of the country.”

“I’m sorry.”

Alija looked at the
court’esa
curiously. “Sorry? For what?”

“I advised you to put Laran aside for Barnardo. Maybe I was wrong.”

“There was no way to predict this would happen, Tarkyn.”

“No, but there’s one problem we wouldn’t be facing now if you’d married Laran.”

“What problem?”

“Laran wouldn’t now be
unmarried
.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Not a lot, I suppose,” the blind
court’esa
shrugged. “I guess it will only make a difference if the good Warlord of Krakandar realises the value of the prize awaiting him in Highcastle.”

“What are you implying?”

“All I’m saying, my lady, is that if I was Laran Krakenshield, right now I’d be making my way to Highcastle as fast as my little legs could carry me, kidnapping Marla Wolfblade and marrying her so I could get her pregnant with the next heir to Hythria.”

Alija shook her head. “It won’t happen. Laran is far too noble to do anything so calculating. He’ll petition the Collective to manage Sunrise until Riika is married to someone suitable. I know him, Tarkyn. He’s not the kind to get involved in political intrigue.”

“I hope you’re right, my lady.”

“Trust me, Tarkyn,” she said with a smile. “Laran is probably trying to get out of this so fast, the thought of kidnapping and marrying a girl the same age as his beloved little sister, just to get an heir on her to thwart my plans, probably hasn’t even crossed his mind.”

W
e have a visitor, my lord.”

The family was gathered in the main hall of Highcastle at Lydia’s insistence. Marla’s aunt had decided they were not spending sufficient time together as a family and had ordered everyone to be in attendance this evening. Kaul was playing chess with his father, Frederak, on the other side of the fireplace. Ninane and Marla were working on their embroidery with Lydia and her companion ladies. Braun was sitting on the floor by the fire, playing with a hound pup he had brought in from the kennels. The room was warm and quite cosy, which was a rare thing for any room in Highcastle. Marla thought Lydia had deliberately seen to it that the fire was larger than normal, just to make sure neither of her sons decided to wander off in search of other entertainment in chillier parts of the castle.

Marla’s Uncle Frederak was a gaunt, sour-looking man, whose features belied his genial nature. He looked up from his chess game with relief. As usual, Kaul was beating him soundly.

“A visitor? At this hour?” Frederak asked the slave. “Who is it?”

“It’s Lord Hawksword’s son, Nashan, my lord.”

Marla’s heart skipped a beat at the news. She looked up, stabbing herself with her embroidery needle in the process.

“Ow!” she yelped, sucking her finger.

Lydia shook her head disapprovingly. “Marla, you will leave blood stains on the linen. Please be more careful.”

“Send him in then, by all means,” Frederak ordered the slave, glancing at his son with a puzzled look. The men in the hall looked at each other with interest. A visit from a neighbouring Warlord’s son, late at night and unannounced, was a remarkable thing indeed. Marla turned to watch the door, her heart pounding, wondering why Nash was here. Had he come to visit her? Maybe even
rescue
her? Filled with anticipation, Marla gave up trying to appear
interested in her needlework. She looked at the other women in the circle around the hearth. They were all sewing industriously as if nothing could distract them from so vital a task.

A few moments later the door opened and Marla thought she might faint from happiness as Nash stepped into the hall. He was wearing leather armour and a thick fur-lined cloak, his dark hair tousled, his skin ruddy from the cold. He strode across the hall as if he owned it. Frederak and his son rose to greet him.

“My Lord Hawksword,” Frederak said with a respectful bow. “This is an unexpected honour.”

“Please, don’t get up on my account!” Nash insisted. “I’ve no wish to disturb your family gathering.”

“The arrival of the Lord of Elasapine’s son could never be counted as a disturbance, my lord,” Frederak replied graciously. “You remember my wife, Lydia, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Nash said with a gracious bow as Lydia rose to her feet. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, your highness.”

“You’ve no need to grant me a royal title, Lord Hawksword,” Lydia told him modestly. “It was my brother through whom the royal line continued.”

“And continues yet,” Nash replied, glancing past her aunt and winking at Marla before taking Lydia’s hand and kissing her palm. He then turned to Marla with a smile that made her feel like she was melting. “Good evening, your highness.”

Marla hastily threw her embroidery aside and rose to her feet, smiling coyly as she offered Nash her hand. “It’s good to see you again, my lord.”

“You’ve met before?” Lydia asked suspiciously.

“At the Feast of Kaelarn Ball,” Nash explained as he kissed Marla’s palm. Marla thought she might die from the lump in her throat that was sure to strangle her. “The Princess Marla stole my heart, along with the heart of every other man in Greenharbour, while she was there.”

“You flatter her, I’m sure, my lord,” her aunt Lydia replied, gathering up her needlework. “And now, if you will excuse us, we ladies shall retire. You obviously wish to speak to my husband.”

Lydia turned her stern gaze on the other women sitting in the circle around the hearth. Her three companions and her daughter Ninane immediately took the hint and began packing away their sewing. Marla kept watching Nashan.

“Marla,” Lydia called. “We must leave the men to their business.”

“Thank you, but I’m staying.”

Lydia glared at Marla, obviously annoyed that her niece would dare challenge her authority so casually in front of her small court. “I am sure your uncle will see fit to pass on any greetings from your brother in Greenharbour, my dear,” she persisted in a strained voice.

At the mention of her brother, Marla glanced at Frederak who was studiously ignoring the exchange. Only on the subject of the Lady Lydia were Marla and her uncle in total agreement. She would be allowed to stay simply because Lydia was insisting she leave.

“Actually, I do have a message for her highness,” Nash added.

“Then do I have your permission to remain, Uncle Frederak?” she asked sweetly.

“Of course,” he agreed. “I would never dream of standing in the way of you communicating with the High Prince.”

Marla turned to her aunt. “Don’t worry Aunt Lydia, I’ll let you know if it’s anything exciting,” she promised cheerfully.

Lydia looked set to explode. “As you wish,” she said stiffly and marched out of the room with her ladies and her daughter in tow. Marla was grinning broadly.

Frederak shook his head ruefully. “Marla, I see you have yet to master the art of diplomacy.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Frederak,” she said quite earnestly. “I really don’t mean to upset Aunt Lydia. She’s just . . .” Marla faltered, unable to describe exactly what it was about Lydia that made her so rebellious.

“I understand, Marla,” Frederak said with a faint smile. “Truly, I do.”

“So what brings you to Highcastle, my lord?” Marla asked, turning to look at Nash, wondering if he would blurt out the real reason for his visit (which she was convinced was to rescue her) or if he would be more circumspect in her uncle’s company.

“I bring greetings from my father, the Warlord of Elasapine.”

“And I return the greeting gladly,” Frederak assured the young lord. “But what brings Lord Hawksword’s son this far south in the dead of winter?”

“Manoeuvres,” Nash informed him with a careless shrug. “Just keeping the troops on their toes. You know what winter lethargy can do to an army. Laran and I thought it would do the lads some good to march them through the snow for a bit.”

“You have Lord Krakenshield with you?” Kaul asked in surprise. His face was suddenly alight with anticipation. Everyone knew he was itching to join the Sunrise Raiders, but his father had denied him permission, claiming that as heir to Highcastle, it was inappropriate for Kaul to become a mercenary, even if it was for Highcastle’s liege lord.

“And several thousand Raiders. Thought we might ride up into the pass and take a look around.”

Frederak looked panicked. “My lord, while I appreciate your need to keep your troops active, don’t you think marching them into the pass is a little . . . provocative?”

“How so?” Nash asked.

“We are currently enjoying a rare period of stability in this region. The bandits are at an all-time low. The trade is flowing freely and therefore so are the customs levies. Is it wise to damage this current state of prosperity just to give the troops of a neighbouring province a bit of exercise?”

“I’m sure the Fardohnyans will take our manoeuvres in the spirit they’re intended, Frederak.”

“And Lord Krakenshield? Is he planning to visit us?”

“Of course!” Nash assured him. “He wanted to come with me this evening, actually, but I told him it was patently unfair of a new Warlord to arrive at his vassal’s door unannounced so I volunteered to come and warn you that he’ll be here in a day or so. You’ll want to get the estate books ready, I suppose. Laran likes to look at that sort of thing.”

Frederak’s relief was evident. “I appreciate the warning, Lord Hawksword. We’d heard Glenadal Ravenspear was killed some weeks ago, of course. Unfortunately, due to the inclement weather at the time, we weren’t able to attend the funeral in Cabradell.”

“I’m sure Lady Jeryma appreciated your predicament,” Nash assured him.

“Lord Krakenshield intends to keep Sunrise Province, then?” Marla asked curiously, thinking of a recent discussion she’d had with Elezaar when they’d first got the news about Glenadal Ravenspear. The dwarf was of the opinion that Laran would probably refuse the bequest. At least, he
should
refuse it—if he intended to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Of course he is,” Nash replied. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Civil war?” Marla suggested.

Frederak looked at her in alarm. “Why should it cause a civil war?”

“Because he’s already a Warlord,” Marla told him, bringing a surprised look from the men in the room. “The Convocation will never allow one man to hold two provinces.”

“Please elaborate,” Frederak commanded, just a little put out by Marla’s outspokenness.

Marla happily obliged, thinking that all the boring things Elezaar had been making her learn lately, like history and government and economics, were really very useful. And she so desperately wanted to impress Nash with her new-found grasp of all things political.

“Being Warlord of two provinces makes him the most potentially dangerous man in Hythria,” Marla told the men in a lecturing tone. “The other Warlords will never accept such a concentration of power. With that sort of power behind him, he could take over the whole country if he wanted. He doesn’t have a son, does he?”

“Not that I know of,” Frederak told her, considering her analysis. “Would it make a difference?”

“The difference between life and death, I imagine. If he had a son, he’d
be expendable. The child would be nominated his heir and taken to a place of safety while they obliterate the father, who immediately gets relegated to the ranks of just another power-hungry fool who must be eliminated.”

“When did you become such an expert on the Warlords?” Braun asked from his place by the fire. He hadn’t moved from the rug, even to greet Nash when he arrived.

“I’m inclined to ask the same question, your highness,” Nash said, looking at her with new respect.

“I’ve been studying,” Marla explained, thrilled to think she had impressed Nash with her reading of the situation.

“And what does your father think of all this, Lord Hawksword?” Frederak asked. “Is he lining up with the other Warlords, as my niece expects, to put an end to Laran Krakenshield’s ambitions?”