War Maid's choice wg-4

by David Weber

  Immediately, at least.

  “Should I assume the fact that you came along for the trip indicates you and Tellian have settled your plans for the summer well enough to discuss them with me, Sir Vaijon?” Yurokhas asked once they were all seated, and Vaijon shrugged slightly.

  “Mostly, Your Highness,” he agreed. “To be honest, I couldn’t actually have told you the real reason for my decision to accompany Bahzell and the Baron this time.” He smiled crookedly. “Tomanak has a tendency to send us where He needs us without necessarily explaining it all to us ahead of time. Unless I’m badly mistaken, though, this time around it was more to send another healer than another sword.”

  “And I’m grateful for it,” Yurokhas said quietly. “But you do have a campaign plan?”

  “We do.” Vaijon nodded. “Or the skeleton of one, at any rate. Baron Tellian and I still have to work out the exact number of armsmen he can make available.”

  “Under Trianal?” Yurokhas asked, glancing at Tellian, who nodded.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t risk him quite so readily, Milord,” Sir Jerhas said. Tellian looked at him, and the Prime Councilor shrugged. “I understand your thinking, and I won’t say you’re wrong, but the lad’s not even married yet.” Sir Jerhas shook his head. “It was difficult enough getting the Council to settle the succession on him in the first place.” There might have been a faint flicker of distaste in his eyes for the circumstances which had made that Council decision necessary, but no trace of it touched his voice as he continued. “If something happens to him before he produces an heir of his own, all of that work will have been for nothing in the end.”

  “I appreciate that,” Tellian replied after a moment. His own tone was level, and he held Sir Jerhas’ gaze with his own for just a moment before he continued. “I appreciate it, and I’ve pointed out to him that it’s past time he be thinking about that. Hanatha…has some thoughts on the subject, as well. I think they’re very good thoughts, as a matter of fact, but the truth is that there’s no wife officially on the horizon for him yet, and in the meantime, someone needs to lead my armsmen and lords warden when I can’t. Besides, he’s already demonstrated his ability. He’s not simply my heir; he’s also one of my two or three best field commanders.”

  Sir Jerhas nodded in unhappy acknowledgment. Not necessarily agreement, Bahzell thought, but in acceptance. No one needed to explain to the Prime Councilor how important it was for any baron’s heir, especially an heir-adoptive like Trianal, to prove his mettle in the eyes of the fighting men sworn to his service. Tellian couldn’t keep Trianal home if he himself wasn’t to take the field, not without some of his retainers’questioning his own confidence in the youngster’s capabilities.

  That much, Sir Jerhas understood perfectly. However little he might like the thought of exposing Trianal-and, through him, the security of the West Riding’s succession-to that sort of danger, it came with the young man’s position and duties. But Bahzell also suspected the Prime Councilor was less than delighted with Tellian’s failure to demand Trianal settle down and choose a wife. Or, for that matter, to select a bride for him. That was the way it was supposed to work among the great Sothoii houses, after all. Yet Tellian’s tone made it obvious that whatever “thoughts” Hanatha might be having, he had no intention of forcing the issue any time soon, despite the near-disastrous consequences of his own…lack of marital resolution.

  More than one of King Markhos’ nobles blamed Tellian’s soft heartedness for the fact that Balthar had ever required an heir-adoptive. In their opinion, Tellian should never have settled for a single girl child in the first place! No one blamed Baroness Hanatha for the riding accident which had left her unable to bear additional children, but her barrenness would have constituted a perfectly acceptable cause for him to set her aside and remarry. Indeed, given who he was and how much depended upon Balthar’s succession, it had been his duty to remarry. No one could have faulted him for it, nor would any dishonor have attached to Hanatha, under the circumstances, and two or three healthy sons would have obviated the entire mess that disgraceful hoyden Leeana had left in her wake when she scandalized the entire Kingdom by running off to the war maids.

  Bahzell was reasonably confident Sir Jerhas tended to agree with those critics. He’d never said so, not in so many words, and the hradani was certain he never would. Yet there was no escaping the Prime Councilor’s basic conservatism, and he would vastly have preferred for Trianal to be settled in a nice, stable, carefully arranged marriage-preferably one which constituted a solid political alliance-rather than see yet another Baron of Balthar sliding off into Tellian and Hanatha’s mushy-minded romanticism. That sort of thing might make for good bard’s tales, but it was also the sort of thing that gave prime councilors sleepless nights.

  “Well, I’ll want to discuss exactly what you and Tellian-and Prince Bahzell’s father, of course-have in mind for the campaign,” Yurokhas told Vaijon. “My brother’s going to want a report as soon as I can put one together for him.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Vaijon gave Yurokhas a polite half-bow across the table.

  All of them understood that Yurokhas was the Crown’s true go-between. Sir Jerhas’ presence made it abundantly clear King Markhos continued to support both the Derm Canal and Tellian’s increasingly close relationship with Prince Bahnak’s Confederation, but Sir Jerhas was only his Prime Councilor. In a pinch-as Sir Jerhas understood perfectly well-he could be dismissed, banished back to Amber Grass in official disgrace, if it became politically expedient to do so. In fact, Bahzell suspected the old man would probably prefer to return to his own estates. Life would certainly be simpler then, and he wouldn’t have to worry quite as much about whether any of Cassan’s assassins might be looking his way, as well as Tellian’s.

  Yet Markhos himself could have only the slightest personal contact with Bahzell or any other hradani envoy. The delicate balance of factions and attitudes among his own nobility precluded anything closer, and probably would for years to come. It was inconvenient, but there was no point pretending it could be any other way. Yurokhas, on the other hand, was not only a wind rider-like Bahzell-and a devout, well-known follower of Tomanak-also like Bahzell-but Tellian of Balthar’s foster brother, as well. If there was a single high ranking member of the Sothoii nobility who could afford the “contamination” of hobnobbing with Bahzell while simultaneously staying in close touch with Tellian and the King, that person was Prince Yurokhas. One or two of King Markhos’ nobles might be sufficiently irate over Tellian’s unforgivable actions to regard Yurokhas’ ongoing relationship with him with distaste, even anger, but the prince was far too wellborn for anyone to actually say so. And in the meantime, everyone maintained the fiction that Yurokhas’ association with Tellian-and Bahzell-had nothing at all to do with canals, Axemen, hradani kingdoms, or any of the rest of that appalling business. Nobody believed it for a moment, perhaps, but no one dared admit that.

  “Should I assume you’ll be taking the Order into the field, as well?” Yurokhas asked Vaijon now.

  “I will.” Vaijon’s smile was crooked. “We’re no longer at the point of our lads needing to keep the Baron’s armsmen and Prince Bahnak’s warriors from each other’s throats, but Hurthang tells me we’d probably have something like a mutiny on our hands if we tried to keep them home!” He shook his head. “There are just some things you can’t seem to get a hradani to do, and staying home from something like this is one of them.”

  “I’ve come to the shocking conclusion that Sothoii and hradani are even more alike than Wencit’s always insisted they are,” Yurokhas said wryly. “In fact-”

  “No,” Tellian said firmly. Yurokhas looked at him, and the baron snorted. “You are not invited, Yurokhas. Norandhor may mean you aren’t the King’s heir any longer, but if anything were to happen to you, it would be just as bad-probably worse! — than having something happen to Trianal. Can you imagine how Cassan and his lot would react if you managed to get
yourself killed on the Ghoul Moor fighting alongside hradani as part of this entire plan they’re opposing as a threat to the Kingdom’s very existence?!”

  “His Lordship is entirely correct, Your Highness,” Sir Jerhas said with unwonted, decidedly frosty formality. “The very possibility is out of the question!”

  Yurokhas looked back and forth between them for a moment, then shrugged.

  “Well,” he said mildly, “if that’s the way you both feel about it, I suppose that’s all there is to be said about it. Which means we should probably turn to the rest of the reason for your visit. I assume you have a progress report on the canals and the tunnel, Tellian?”

  “I do,” Tellian replied, regarding the prince’s apparent meekness with an air of pronounced suspicion.

  “Then I suppose we should go ahead and get started on that,” Yurokhas said equably, and Bahzell hid a smile. He might not yet know Yurokhas as well as Tellian did, but he’d come to know him well enough to understand the baron’s skepticism perfectly.

  And to profoundly doubt that the matter of where Prince Yurokhas was going to spend the summer was remotely close to resolved.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Lovely!” Baroness Myacha breathed, looking down at the sparkling amethyst glory displayed on the swatch of black velvet.

  The cloth-and the exquisitely cut gem on it-had been arranged on the polished mahogany table in the exact center of a shaft of golden sunlight, and sun reflections danced in eyes that were almost exactly the same shade as the stone. Neither the placement of the cloth nor the choice of the gem had been anything remotely like random, and Master Talthar Sheafbearer (who bore very little resemblance to a wizard named Varnaythus) smiled broadly behind his trader’s carefully bland expression as Borandas Daggeraxe, Baron Halthan, winced ever so slightly.

  “It is quite a nice stone, Milady,” Talthar acknowledged after a moment, “although I fear it’s a bit over large for a lady’s delicate hand.”

  “Oh, I quite agree,” the dark-haired baroness replied. “But set into a proper pendant, in silver, perhaps, not gold, I think…”

  Talthar decided to let himself meet Baron Borandas’ eyes. Borandas gazed back at him for a heartbeat or so, then smiled wryly in acknowledgment of his inevitable defeat.

  “Do you truly want it, my love?” he asked, and Talthar’s mental ears pricked at the baron’s gently teasing, undeniably tender tone.

  “Yes,” Myacha sighed, looking up with a slight smile. “On the other hand, I fear Master Sheafbearer has far too good a notion of his wares’ worth! I have entirely too many fribbleows and pretty toys to justify paying him what I have no doubt he would demand from you, Milord.”

  She actually sounded as if she meant it, Talthar noted, and that was interesting, too. Myacha was barely half Borandas’ age. She was also his second wife, two years younger than Borandas’ eldest son, Thorandas, and when their marriage had been arranged by Myacha’s father three years earlier, the near-universal opinion had been that Borandas was buying himself a sweet, toothsome morsel to warm his bed and flatter his ego as he moved into his sixties. In fact, that had been Talthar’s opinion until perhaps thirty or forty seconds ago.

  I tend to forget sometimes how much…detail and nuance you can lose relying solely upon scrying spells and the gramerhain, he thought. I should have paid more attention and not relied so heavily on Court gossip, I suppose. Of course, having to worry about that bastard Brayahs didn’t make it any simpler in this case.

  His professional merchant’s expression hid his inner frown as readily as it had hidden his smile, which was just as well. Thoughts of Brayahs Daggeraxe, the son of Borandas’ deceased uncle, tended to have that effect upon him. Having any mage that closely related to one of the Kingdom’s barons would have been bad enough, but Brayahs was considerably more strongly talented than the majority of his fellows. He was not simply a wind-walker and a healer, but (if the rumors were true) had the gift of foresight, as well. And to make Talthar’s unhappiness complete, he was a mind-speaker, to boot, and one who’d come to his mage powers late. That mind-speakery of his made him particularly good at sniffing out any use of wizardry in his vicinity, and the fact that he’d been a man grown before his mage talents awoke meant he’d also been trained as a knight before he became a mage. After which he’d gone on and added the martial arts training of a master mishuk to his repertoire. His weapon (and weaponless) skills would have been more than enough to make him particularly resilient to assassination attempts, and successfully ambushing any wind-walker, even one without those skills, was no easy achievement at the best of times.

  All of which meant that while it wouldn’t necessarily be impossible to assassinate him, it would be extraordinarily difficult to do it in any way that didn’t require the obvious use of sorcery or some other less than natural agency which would draw all sorts of unwanted attention. Talthar was perfectly prepared to have Brayahs murdered-indeed, he was looking forward to it-and he was more than willing to use whatever was required to make that happen, but he couldn’t afford any moves in that direction at this point. The last thing he needed was to focus the attention of other magi on the North Riding before he had his hooks firmly into Borandas or his heir.

  Time enough for that later, he reminded himself now. Patience and cunning are just as important as-and more reliable than-brute power, especially at a time like this. Once all the pieces are in place he’ll have to go, but let’s not joggle our own elbow just because we find his continued existence inconvenient as hell.

  All of which was true enough, although “inconvenient” was a pale description of the situation. The one good thing about Brayahs’ birth and ability was that King Markhos had enlisted him as one of the Crown magi who served as his investigators and agents. That made him even more dangerous, in some ways, but it also meant he’d been called to Sothofalas for the summer session of the Great Council, which would keep him busy for at least a month or two. His talents-and his influence with his cousin-were the real reason Talthar had deferred his first visit to Halthan until he could be certain the mage would be somewhere else. And why it had taken him over six months to prepare the ground properly for this first approach at all.

  “Oh, I’m certain the Baron and I could come to a reasonable agreement, Milady,” he said out loud, allowing a very slight flicker of amusement into his eyes in response to Borandas’ smile.

  “Why do I have the feeling that your idea of ‘reasonable’ and my own aren’t going to be precisely the same, Master Sheafbearer?” the baron responded, and Talthar permitted himself a chuckle.

  “Because you, Milord Baron, are a shrewd, hardheaded bargainer, while I, alas, am an equally shrewd, clutch-fisted trader. Nonetheless, when such a fair lady is involved, it’s likely-well, possible, at any rate-that even such as I may find myself giving at least a modest amount of ground.”

  “You, Master Sheafbearer,” Baroness Myacha told him with a smile of her own, “are a very dangerous man. Milord,” she looked at Borandas, “I forbid you to pay this man what this stone is truly worth.”

  “A shrewd blow, Milady!” Talthar congratulated her. “Not that I would ever have expected the Baron to willingly part with this gem’s true worth.” He sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, that state of affairs is one any master trader is unhappily accustomed to confronting.” He sighed again, his expression mournful. “In order to make our way in the world at all, we become accustomed to being regularly out-bargained by our customers!”

  “I trust you’ll forgive me for asking you this, Master Sheafbearer,” Baron Borandas said a bit tartly, “but would it happen that your mother was particularly well acquainted with Hirahim?”

  “ Borandas! ” Myacha laughed and smacked him across the knuckles with her hand-painted fan.

  “Actually, Milord Baron,” Talthar allowed with a smile, “when I was a mere lad, my father did remark once or twice upon how little like the rest of the family I looked.”

  “I’m n
ot surprised,” Borandas said, then drew a deep breath. “Very well, I already know this is going to hurt. Why don’t you go ahead and name your starting point. And in the meantime, my love,” he looked at Myacha with a warm smile of his own, “would you be so kind as to ring for Trelsan and request beverages. And perhaps a plate of sandwiches, as well.” He looked back at Talthar with a challenging glint in his blue eyes. “I believe we might be here long enough to require the sustenance before we’re done.”

  ***

  Much later that evening, Talthar Sheafbearer carefully locked the door of his bedchamber on the second floor of The Halthan Arms, the most prestigious-and expensive-inn in Borandas’ capital city, behind him. It was a large, luxuriously furnished chamber, as befitted a merchant of his obvious wealth, but that wasn’t the reason he looked around it for several moments with careful, intent eyes. Then he drew a deep breath and closed those eyes, reaching out with other senses and trained abilities. He extended his feelers delicately, carefully, with all the hair-trigger sensitivity of a nervous cat, searching for the aura he’d learned to associate with Brayahs Daggeraxe. Brayahs wasn’t scheduled to visit his cousin for at least the next couple of weeks, but Phrobus knew schedules were subject to change, and if that accursed mage was anywhere close to Halthan…

  After the better part of five minutes, Talthar drew a deep breath and opened his eyes once more, this time with an expression of satisfaction. He crossed briskly to the chamber’s window and carefully closed the drapes before he set the hard-sided leather case in his right hand in the center of the table placed in front of the window. There was nothing particularly remarkable about that case-any gem-trader would have carried something very like it-and he drew a finely wrought key from where it had nestled inside his tunic on a silver chain and used it to unlock the case. He returned the key to its normal place, opened the case, and reached into it for the fist-sized lump of almost clear quartz stowed away at its very bottom. The quartz was no more remarkable than the case itself, aside from the fact that it was an extraordinarily plebeian piece of rock for a gem merchant of Talthar’s obvious wealth to carry about with him.