“A feast has been prepared in your honor,” King Olafur said. Though feast was perhaps too strong a word, since royal kitchens only had hours to prepare for their guests. Still whatever was served was bound to be better than journey fare. And he had ordered the remaining Myrkan red brought up from the cellars, so there would be no cause for complaint there. “If you would join us?” Olafur asked.
“It would be our pleasure,” Count Magaharan replied.
Captain Drakken buckled the scabbard of her sword over her dress tunic and then tugged at the hem of her uniform until it hung straight. Seldom used in the winter months, a musty odor arose from the garment and she made a mental note to have words with the servant who oversaw her quarters. With the court about to commence its annual session, it would not do for her to discover that her dress uniforms were moth-eaten or rotted from neglect. King Olafur was known to be a stickler about such things, and her place in court was tenuous enough without incurring his wrath over such a trifle.
He was also insistent on punctuality. A glance at the sand clock showed that she needed to leave soon if she was not to be late for the dinner honoring the Selvarat Ambassador. But she did not want to leave before Lieutenant Embeth had made her report, and wondered what could have delayed her.
There was a sharp knock and the door to her quarters swung open before she could respond.
“Captain, your pardon,” Lieutenant Embeth paused to gasp for breath. Her face was flushed and she was panting as if she had just run a race.
“Wait. Breathe,” Captain Drakken said. There was no sense in listening to a report made incomprehensible from lack of breath.
“Report,” she ordered, when Embeth had gained control of herself.
“Captain Drakken,” Lieutenant Embeth drew herself to attention. “As you know, Ambassador Magaharan and his party arrived by ship just before the noon hour. They were met by a royal equerry who escorted them to the palace. In addition to the ambassador, there was his aide Jenna, two noblemen named Vachel and Guy, and a man called either Karel or Charles whose status I could not confirm. He was accorded his own chamber, so he may be another aide.”
Strange that Count Magaharan would have brought not one but two aides, along with a pair of advisors who had never visited Jorsk before, but then again this was no usual visit. Drakken knew full well that King Olafur was hoping for a renewal of the ancient alliance, and an agreement for Selvarat to supply troops to defend Jorsk’s borders. The dinner tonight would serve to introduce the ambassador’s party to the court, but it would do no harm to also check with Solveig, to see if she knew anything of their visitors.
“There were also four clerks, a priest, a half-dozen servants, and the ambassador’s personal honor guard.”
“Is that all?”
“That is the party that arrived at the palace. But we kept watch on the ship that carried the ambassador, and at dusk six persons left the ship and took rooms in the old city. They were dressed as sailors but they had the gait of lands-men, and at least one of them was wearing a sword under her cloak.”
“Soldiers,” Captain Drakken said. “Or mercenaries.”
“So I suspected. I stayed long enough to confirm the report and then ordered a watch kept on the inn where they were staying.”
“You did well. Make sure the watchers know to be discreet, and that they are to make a daily report of what these people do and who they meet. And if they see anything suspicious they are to notify me without delay.”
“Understood, Captain.”
She dismissed Embeth with a nod, and the lieutenant saluted before making her departure.
A glance at the sand clock showed that she would have to make haste to avoid a late entrance at the dinner, but instead Captain Drakken crossed over to her desk and unrolled a parchment scroll which showed a map of the kingdom. Along the Southern Road was a small spot, so faint that it might be mistaken for a flaw in the parchment. But in truth it was the latest position of the Chosen One, as verified by the soul stone only this morning. He had made good time since leaving Duncaer, but in the last days his pace had slowed. By her reckoning Devlin was at least a fortnight away from Kingsholm. She glared at the map, but all her wishing could not make the leagues any shorter, and with an angry curse she rolled it back up.
Devlin had been gone too long. He should have returned over a month ago, but his errand in Duncaer had taken longer than expected. Now he was on his way home, presumably bearing the Sword of Light. But they could not wait another two weeks for him. They needed him here in the capital. Now.
The court was beginning its spring session. The ambassador from Selvarat had arrived, bringing with him the Empress Thania’s response to King Olafur’s request for military assistance. Intelligence indicated that the empress would respond favorably, but intelligence could be wrong. And even if she sent troops, it would take skill to deploy them to the maximum advantage.
Now was the time when decisions would be made that would secure the kingdom’s safety, or see it fracture under the competing pressures from within and without. It was a time for bold leadership, but such was noticeably lacking. Devlin’s few friends at court had no influence with either King Olafur or his council. Marshal Olvarrson was neither a strategist nor a leader. He would do as King Olafur instructed, heedless of the long-term consequences.
She knew that many were expecting great things from the Selvarat alliance, but she herself was wary of strangers offering gifts. Ancient treaties or no, if Empress Thania was prepared to have her soldiers shed blood on Jorsk’s behalf, then it was safe to reason that she was expecting to receive something of equal value in return. Depending on what concessions the Selvarats might win out of King Olafur, the cure might well prove worse than the disease.
And if politics were not enough for Drakken to worry about, she now had six mysterious strangers who would have to be closely watched. Not to mention that she had yet to discover who had sent the assassins after Devlin last fall. For all she knew their paymaster might well be among those nobles who were even now arriving in the city for the spring council.
There were plots among plots, and very few people whom she could trust. For these past months she had done what was needed, to ensure that Kingsholm would be ready for Devlin’s return. She had held her tongue, ensuring that she gave the king no cause to relieve her of command. But she could no longer afford inaction. Now she owed it to herself, and to those whom she served, to make her opinions known. And she knew Devlin’s other friends, including Lord Rikard and Solveig of Esker, would be facing similar dilemmas.
Only Devlin’s voice could balance the conservative forces of the court. She prayed to the gods that his errand had been successful. If Devlin returned bearing the Sword of Light, it would be impossible for King Olafur and the courtiers to ignore him.
“Hurry back,” she said aloud. “We cannot hold on much longer.”
King Olafur led the way into the great dining hall, with Count Magaharan at his side. The rest of the party followed, and from the corner of his eye he saw Lady Ingeleth speaking to Lord Rikard. Rikard, who had been intended to sit on the main dais, found his way to a seat at the head of the center table along with Vachel and Guy, while Lady Ingeleth escorted Lord Karel to a place at the dais.
The main doors were opened and the rest of the court filed in, along with the members of the ambassador’s retinue who had been too lowly to be presented to the king, but were too important to be consigned to the servants’ hall. Only a third of the tables had been set, for with winter just ended, most of his nobles were only now beginning to make the long journey to court. Still there were enough courtiers who had wintered over in the capital to make for a lively gathering.
Conversation at dinner was general, as he had known it would be. Affairs of state were too delicate a matter to be discussed in such a public setting. Instead they spoke of trivialities. Count Magaharan described his journey on the newest ship in the imperial fleet, and how it was so comfortable on
e could scarcely believe they were on a ship instead of on dry land. Olafur, whose own memories of sailing ships included misery and wretched discomfort, kept his doubts to himself.
For his part he spoke little, content to let Lady Ingeleth play the role of hostess—a part she was well suited for. Knowing the ambassador’s love of culture, Lady Ingeleth reported that a new poet had come into favor at the court over the winter, and offered to arrange a private performance for the ambassador and his party.
Such trifles kept them occupied until the last course had been removed, and the final toast drunk. King Olafur dismissed the diners, then invited Count Magaharan and Lord Karel to join him in his private chambers. Lady Ingeleth and Marshal Olvarrson accompanied them.
He waited with seemingly endless patience as the party settled themselves, and the servants served glasses of ice wine and citrine. At his signal the servants placed the pitchers on the sideboard, then took their leave, bowing low as they closed the doors behind them.
Ambassador Magaharan lost no time in coming to the point. “Empress Thania has sent a letter of greeting which I will give to your secretary. But I am authorized to tell you the gist of her message, which is that she honors the alliance between our peoples and has sent the troops from our armies to assist in the protection of Jorsk.”
Olafur nodded gravely, though he felt nearly dizzy with relief. This was no more than he had expected, and indeed the last letter from Selvarat, received before the winter ice locked the harbor, had strongly hinted that this aid would be forthcoming. But much could change in three months time, and only now did he realize how much he had feared that she would have found some reason to refuse his request.
“When friends stand together there is none can divide them,” Olafur said. “As it was in the time of Axel and Jeoffroi, so shall it be with Empress Thania and myself. Just as our enemies are your enemies, we pledge that your enemies will be ours as well.”
It was speech that he had rehearsed for days, yet had never quite been sure that he would have the opportunity to say.
Marshal Olvarrson cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “If I may, your majesty,” he said. “Count Magaharan, did I hear you say that the empress had already sent the troops? Are they on their way here even now?”
“Better than that, they have already landed,” Count Magaharan replied with a small smile. “Two hundred horseman and a thousand foot soldiers have already disembarked on the coast of Korinth. Our ship accompanied the transports and witnessed their landing. By now they have secured the whole of the eastern coast.”
Lady Ingeleth’s eyebrows rose. “This is indeed unexpected,” she said.
It was more than unexpected. It was presumptuous, to say the least. True, Thania had been generous in the number of troops she sent, but he should have been consulted before they arrived.
“I appreciate the Empress Thania’s loan of her troops, but I had expected to be informed before they set sail. My commanders will want to make best use of them,” King Olafur said. His pride was stung by the highhanded way in which this had been done, but he could not afford to offend those who represented the empress. He needed those soldiers.
“Of course, but such consultations would take time, and the empress wished to send her aid with all possible speed,” Count Magaharan said. “She did not want you to be caught unprepared, if there should be an invasion this spring. We knew of your concern over Korinth from our discussions last fall, and felt it was best to send the troops where they needed without delay.”
He allowed himself to be mollified. Help that came too late was no help at all. The journey between Selvarat and Jorsk could take several weeks, depending on the weather. Having asked for help to be sent with all speed, he should not quarrel if his allies had used their own judgment about the method of fulfilling his request.
“And now that we have arrived, we can discuss the disposition of the next wave of forces with you and Marshal Olvarrson,” Lord Karel added. “Our general staff recommended that our troops be used to secure the eastern provinces, which are the closest to Selvarat. You could then use your own units to secure your northwestern border. But this is just a proposal. Naturally you will want your advisors to review these plans to see if you agree with our suggestions.”
“Naturally,” he echoed.
Marshal Olvarrson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I would have to see the plans, but there is sense in what he proposes. Major Mikkelson has been complaining for months that if an attack came he could not hold the east coast on his own.”
Mikkelson. Now there was a man who was nearly as much trouble as his mentor Devlin. Mikkelson had pleaded that the troops be released from their central garrisons, not seeming to realize that trouble was just likely to come from the west as the east.
“It seems you have thought of everything,” Lady Ingeleth said drily. From the tone of her voice Olafur knew that she was not pleased. “And what precisely is it that you expect from us in return?”
Treaty or no, there was bound to be a cost.
“The empress seeks a pledge of friendship. And a gift to seal the alliance.”
Olafur had a strong suspicion that he knew what the gift was to be. He had had months to resign himself to this, though he had not yet told Ragenilda of her probable fate. Fortunately she was a biddable girl and would do as she was told.
It was a shame that he had only one child. Ragenilda would rule Jorsk after him, and whomever she married would be the father of the next king or queen. Still it was a small price to pay if it meant ensuring there was a kingdom for her to inherit.
“My daughter Princess Ragenilda is young—”
“Not too young to be pledged,” Lord Karel interrupted.
Lady Ingeleth hissed at this breach of court etiquette.
“Prince Nathan is just turned sixteen, and would be a fitting match for your daughter, when the time comes. But Ragenilda’s future is a matter for another day,” Karel continued.
“Then what is it you want?” Olafur asked.
“The Chosen One,” Lord Karel replied. “We want Devlin of Duncaer.”
DEVLIN’S HONOR
A Bantam Spectra Book / June 2003
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2003 by Patricia Bray
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written
permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For
information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed”
to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received
any payment for this “stripped book.”
Bantam Books, the rooster colophon, Spectra, and the portrayal of a boxed
“s” are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN : 978-0-307-41800-5
www.randomhouse.com
v1.0
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Hidden Truths
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
About the Author
Also by Patricia Bray
Copyright Page
Devlin's Honor Page 33
