“Hythrun dog!” the younger boy cried, spitting on the ground in front of Damin. Almodavar stepped forward and slapped the boy down with the back of his gauntleted hand. The lad fell backwards, landing on his backside.
“That’s Lord Hythrun Dog, to you boy,” Damin told him, placing his hands on his hips and glaring at the youth. The boy cowered under his gaze.
“They are Jaymes and Mikel of Kirkland,” Almodavar told him. “From Lord Laetho’s duchy in Northern Karien.”
Duke Laetho’s banner had been identified months ago. He was a rich man with a large retinue, but rumour had it he was more bluster than bravery, a fact borne out by the presence of these two boys. Who but a fool would send children to do his reconnaissance for him?
“Almodavar says you have interesting news, boy. Tell me now, and I might let you live.”
“We would give our lives for the Overlord,” the older brother snarled from the floor. “Tell him nothing, Mikel.”
“No, I’ll tell him, Jaymes. I want to see the Hythrun quivering in their boots when they learn what is coming.”
“Then out with it, boy,” Damin said. “It would be most unfortunate if I have you put to death for the glory of the Overlord before you get the chance to see me quivering, won’t it?”
“Your day of reckoning is coming. Even now, the Karien knights advance on you.”
“They’ve been doing that for months. I’m scared witless at the mere thought.”
“You should be,” Mikel spat. “When our Fardohnyan allies join with us to overrun this pitiful nation of atheists, we will descend on Hythria and you will be knee-deep in pagan blood.”
Damin glanced at Almodavar questioningly before turning his attention back to the boy. “Fardohnyan allies?”
“Prince Cratyn is to marry Princess Cassandra of Fardohnya,” Mikel announced triumphantly. “You can’t defeat the might of two such great nations.”
“You’re lying. You’re a frightened child making up wild stories. Kill them, Almodavar—just don’t leave the corpses where I can smell them.” He turned his back on the youths and pushed back the flap of the tent.
“I do not lie!” the boy yelled after him. “Our father is the Duke Laetho’s Third Steward in Yarnarrow, and he was there when the king received the offer from King Hablet.”
That had the ring of truth to it, Damin decided, although he didn’t stop or turn back. Once they were clear of the tent, he turned to his captain, his face reflecting concern and firelight in almost equal measure.
“You think he speaks the truth?”
“Aye, he’s too scared to think up a convincing lie.”
“This changes the rules of engagement somewhat,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps our visitor from the Citadel can shed some light on the news. He’s supposed to be in Intelligence, after all.”
“And the boys? Did you really want me to kill them?”
“Of course not. They’re children. Put them to work some place they can’t cause any trouble. I believe the Kariens think hard work is good for the soul.”
The captain smiled wickedly. “And deny them a chance to die as martyrs for the Overlord? You’re a cruel man, my Lord.”
CHAPTER 9
Adrina’s departure from Talabar was an occasion of some note, and Hablet was determined to see his daughter off in style. The hastily repaired wharf was lined with soldiers in their white dress uniforms, a band played merry tunes to keep the spectators entertained, and even Bhren, the God of Storms, was smiling on Fardohnya this day. The weather was perfect—a flawless sky, a calm sea. The sprawling city of Talabar glowed pink in the warm sunlight; the flat-roofed houses closest to the docks were lined with curious Fardohnyans come to see the last of their princess.
Hablet stepped down from his litter and looked around with satisfaction, waving to his people and accepting their cheers with a wave of his bear-like arms. He had just about everything he wanted from this treaty and was feeling unusually magnanimous. He had secured enough of the tall, straight Karien lumber to build the ships he wanted, enough gold to pay for their construction and, in a few months, with the Kariens and the Defenders embroiled in a war in the north, he would have a clear run across the southern plains of Medalon into Hythria. Best of all, he would finally destroy Lernen Wolfblade, the Hythrun High Prince—and his heirs—for an insult over thirty years old that very few people even remembered.
Hablet never forgot an insult.
He had conceded surprisingly little to the Kariens in return. True, he had agreed to allow Karien ships unhindered access to Solanndy Bay, where the Ironbrook River met the ocean, but they would pay dearly for the privilege. He had granted the Kariens sovereignty over the Isle of Slarn too, but that measly lump of rock perched in the Gulf was hardly a prime piece of real estate and it had no value to anyone but the Kariens. Of course, the casual observer would never have guessed how little the island meant to him. He had the Kariens believing it was as dear to him as one of his limbs, and had made them pay accordingly.
As for the secret of gunpowder, he had promised that, too, but had wisely proposed sending an expert in the science to Karien to suggest an appropriate location for a mill, before divulging the formula. When Hablet finally got around to sending someone, it was a foregone conclusion that the search for such a location would take years. A lot could happen in that time.
But the unexpected bonus was that he had finally found a way to get rid of Adrina.
He loved his eldest child, it was true. In fact he had often lamented the twist of fate that had seen her born a girl. She would have made a fine son. Unfortunately, that fiery spirit, that biting wit, that piercing intelligence, was positively dangerous in a woman. Adrina was, to put it bluntly, a troublesome, spoilt little bitch. Hablet was quite certain he would find it much easier to dote on his daughter from a distance.
His previous efforts to find Adrina a husband had all failed miserably. The last potential suitor, Lord Dundrake, had even suggested that he would rather face a century of Hythrun Raiders, alone and unarmed, than spend one night with Her Most Serene Highness. He claimed he would have a better chance of survival. Adrina had despised the man on sight, declaring she would never marry a man who couldn’t tell the difference between a dinner fork and his fingers. Dundrake was a little rough around the edges, certainly. Hablet had hoped his provincial charm would entice her. It had proved an idle hope. Adrina was attracted to power, and there was no way that Hablet would allow her to wed a powerful man. She needed a husband who would hold her back. There were other men who would have married her gladly, and she them—not for love, but the power they brought each other. Hablet had refused all such offers out of hand.
The Karien prince had turned out to be the perfect solution. He was a meek boy, so constrained by the edicts of his religion that Adrina would never be able to cajole him into anything. He was so inhibited by his religious distaste of all matters sexual, that even her legendary powers of seduction would be wasted. He believed in his God and little else. Poor Adrina. She would be the Karien Queen one day; she had agreed to go north for no other reason than the power it might eventually bring her. She was going to be very disappointed.
The band finished their tune and struck up a dour Karien number, heralding the arrival of Prince Cratyn and his party. The brightly painted Karien brigantine was tied up at the end of the wharf, awaiting her prince. Hablet frowned at the ship and decided he probably had no one but himself to blame for its hideous design. Fardohnyan ship builders were the best in the world, but their secrets were guarded more closely than his treasury. The Kariens built poor copies that were vastly inferior to their Fardohnyan originals. The irony was, Fardohnya had little in the way of timber for shipbuilding. It all had to be imported from Karien. What the Kariens did not have, besides generations of skilled craftsman, was the Fardohnyan secret of hardening and waterproofing the timber.
The king turned his attention back to the ceremony, smiling expansively at the young p
rince. For a moment, as Hablet studied his solemn face, he felt sorry for the boy. He was stuck with Adrina for life. The sorry fool was not even able to take a lover to console him. Ah well, that was the price one paid for being a Karien prince. Cratyn bowed politely to the king and began a rather long-winded speech, thanking the king for his generosity, his kindness, his hospitality, and so on—in the Karien language, as the prince didn’t speak Fardohnyan. Hablet only half listened to the young man, thinking that he looked a little inbred. They were always marrying their cousins up north. The Karien Royal Family would benefit from a bit of fresh blood.
“Her Most Serene Highness, Princess Adrina!”
The fanfare that accompanied Adrina’s arrival was not on the program that Hablet had approved. He smiled at her audacity, and she was handed down from her open litter by a handsome young slave wearing nothing but a white loin cloth and a great deal of oil on his well-formed muscles. She was planning to make her departure memorable, it seemed.
A number of white-robed young girls hurried to assemble in front of the princess and proceeded to scatter petals on the ground before her, so that her feet would not have to touch the grubby docks. Hablet considered that the ultimate irony, considering a week ago she thought she could sail a damned warship. He glanced at Cratyn’s disapproving frown and forcibly swallowed his laughter. The boy was only just beginning to discover what he was marrying.
Adrina trod the flower-strewn path regally until she reached her father and curtsied gracefully. She was a beautiful woman, and in her prime. Although she was not particularly tall, and lacked Cassandra’s delicate perfection, she had outgrown her sister’s awkwardness of youth and had blossomed into a stunning creature. Her eyes were her best feature: emerald green and wide set. Her body was voluptuous and well-toned, rather than the slender gawkiness of a teenager. Cratyn would be a lucky young man if he had the sense to appreciate what he was getting. Provided Adrina kept her mouth shut.
Lecter Turon waddled forward and presented Hablet with a slender blade wrapped in a jewelled sheath. He took the dagger and held it out to Adrina.
“This is the Bride’s Blade your mother carried.”
“I hope it brings me better luck,” Adrina replied, accepting the gift. Adrina’s mother was not a topic discussed at court.
“It breaks my heart to lose you, my petal,” he declared, almost, but not quite believing it.
Adrina’s eyes glittered dangerously. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Father.”
He knew that look. She had learnt it at his knee.
“Oh yes it is, my petal.”
“Then you will just have to live with the consequences, won’t you?”
Hablet smiled. Only Adrina would dare threaten him. He swept her up into a bear hug and the crowd cheered at this obvious display of affection between the king and the princess.
“If you cross me, I’ll personally see to it that you spend the rest of your life suffering in the coldest, most miserable place I can imagine,” he whispered affectionately as he held her.
“Think up a better threat, Daddy,” she whispered back. “You’ve already done that.”
He let her go and held her at arm’s length for a moment. She met his gaze evenly. Her mother had been like that. Fearless and ambitious. It was such a pity her ambition had run away with her. Had she learnt to control it, she might not have lost her head…But Adrina was everything her mother was and more. He felt overcome with love for his child. Hopefully, the feeling would soon pass.
He took her hand and ceremoniously placed it in Cratyn’s hand. The crowd went wild. Hablet suspected it had more to do with the idea of Adrina finally getting married than any affection for the Karien groom.
“May the gods bless this great union!” Hablet boomed. “May Fardohnya and Karien, from this day forward, live in peace!”
The crowd cheered, although most of them knew Hablet’s declaration had little to do with his own feelings. By law, no Fardohnyan could declare war on the house of a family united by marriage. That law included the king. The Kariens knew about it too, which was no doubt why they had put aside their prejudice and accepted a foreign bride. A Fardohnyan queen was a small price to pay for the guarantee that Hablet was unable to make war on them.
Cratyn squirmed a little as he stood there holding Adrina’s hand. His daughter smiled and waved to the people. They liked the princess. She was an astute politician and had made a point of being generous to those lesser creatures outside the palace. She was a tyrant around anyone else, but the people remembered her small kindnesses and were probably genuinely sorry to see her go.
The guard snapped to attention as the Karien prince and Adrina walked down the dock towards the ship. Hablet watched them leaving with some relief. As they boarded the gangway, he waved his hand to the Captain of the Guard. Tristan dismissed his men and came to stand before his father.
“You can come back next winter,” he told the young man brusquely. “I should have forgiven you by then.”
Tristan grinned. “You are too kind, Sire.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. You’re lucky I didn’t send you to the eastern passes.”
“To be honest, Father, I would have preferred that you did. I’d rather fight Hythrun bandits than play toy soldiers in Karien.”
“I need you to look after Adrina.”
“Adrina doesn’t need looking after.”
“Well, keep an eye on her, then. And don’t get mixed up in her schemes. I want you back in year, boy. I expect you to stay out of trouble.” He hugged his eldest bastard with genuine affection. “I’ll have a legitimate son by then.”
Tristan shook his head wryly. “Father, don’t you worry sometimes that one of us might want the throne for himself?”
“There’s none of you strong enough to challenge me, Tristan.”
“But if you were to die before you name your heir…”
Hablet laughed. “Then you’ll have Adrina to contend with, my boy, and I’m damned certain none of you are strong enough to challenge her.”
CHAPTER 10
“Knights. About five hundred of them.”
Damin handed Tarja the small hollow tube he was using to examine the golden plain below. It had taken them most of the morning to climb up to this vantage on the side of the mountain that overlooked the border. Although rocky, the ledge was comfortably wide and he, Garet and Damin were stretched out on their bellies as they watched the tents of the enemy below, occasionally brushing away curious insects come to investigate the intruders.
Tarja put the tube to his eye and was enthralled to see the distant figures of the knights, their white circular tents and impressive entourage, grow larger through the lens. Damin called it a looking glass.
The knights camped on the Karien side of the border didn’t bother Tarja nearly so much as the infantry Jasnoff could throw against them. The knights were impressive, but they would be a minority in the final battle. More worrisome were the countless foot soldiers that the Kariens could muster. They had yet to arrive at the front. The knights below were as much an intimidating show of force as a serious vanguard of any incursion over the border. With a sigh, he moved the looking glass around to examine the fortifications on their side of the border.
The Defenders only hope to keep the conflict manageable was to force the Kariens to attack down a path chosen by the Medalonians. Trenches filled with sharpened stakes scored the plain like sword cuts in the red earth. The ground was pockmarked with holes dug to hamper the movement of the heavy Karien destriers. Mangonels, protected by earth mounds, stood silently out of Karien bow range, waiting for the coming battle like giant insects. But they had a vast front to cover and their defences looked woefully inadequate from this height.
“I thought there’d be more of them,” Garet remarked as he took the looking glass from Tarja to study the Kariens.
“Ah, now that’s the problem with a feudal government,” Damin remarked sagely. “You have t
o waste an awful lot of time getting your army together. You have to call in favours, bribe people, marry off your children, and convince your Dukes that there’s a profit in your war. Monumental waste of time and money, if you ask me. Standing armies are much more efficient.” The fair-haired Hythrun frowned at Garet’s surprised expression. It was obvious that Damin neither liked nor trusted Garet Warner. “I’m not a complete barbarian, you know, Commandant. Even Warlords need an education. What were you expecting my tactical assessment to be? Me Warlord. Me kill Kariens.”
Garet smiled thinly. “Not exactly.”
Damin grinned suddenly and pushed himself backward along the ledge. He sat against the cliff, leaning comfortably in the shade, with his long legs stretched out in front. He crossed his booted feet at the ankles as he took a long swig from his waterskin.
“You underestimate me again, Commandant,” he said, offering Tarja the waterskin as Garet turned to face him. “But, for your information, I was educated by the finest tutors in Hythria. And I’m right. The Kariens don’t keep a standing army, for all that they can field a huge one, once they finally get organised. It’s a fatal flaw. Jasnoff’s vassals owe him sixty days each a year, which means that by the time they get here, it will almost be time to go home again, but they’re stuck here while the Church supports the war. Even fighting for the glory of the Overlord starts to pale when it’s costing you money and there’s no plunder in sight.” He swatted idly at an annoying insect. “You Medalonians have the right idea. Toss the nobility, promote on merit and keep a standing army.”
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