“You know it would.”
“Then you have your answer, your highness.”
Damin sighed. “I love Tejay like a sister. You know that. So does she. And I think she’s a better man than half the Warlords in Hythria. But how do I get anybody to accept her, Wrayan? How would I get the Convocation to appoint her?”
“The High Prince has the discretion to appoint Warlords as he sees fit, Damin. He did it when he appointed Terin’s father, Chaine Lionsclaw, as Warlord of Sunrise Province. So you don’t need the Convocation. All you really need to do is convince Lernen to make the ruling, which shouldn’t be too hard given he’s basking in the glow of your victory at the moment. As for the other Warlords, one of them is her own brother and you’re about to hand two formerly underage heirs their inheritance years ahead of when they were expecting it. Don’t you think—at least until the shine wears off your handsome gift—you’ll get a bit of cooperation out of them?”
Still doubtful, Damin shook his head. “Cyrus Eaglespike would never allow it. And Foxtalon will support him, just on principle.”
“Cyrus Eaglespike is going to be too busy for the foreseeable future distancing himself from his mother’s crimes. He hasn’t got the time to worry about who’s appointed Warlord of Sunrise, Damin. If anything, the next few days are going to be his most vulnerable time. If you want to do this, you’d better do it now, when—for a few days at least—all the players are aligned in your favour. There’ll never be another opportunity like this.”
“What do you think my mother would say about it?”
Wrayan smiled. “I think she’d be delighted.”
Damin frowned, still not convinced. “And what about afterwards? When things go back to normal and all the players, as you call them, aren’t aligned in my favour any longer? What happens to Tejay then?”
“If you have any doubt about her ability to handle the aftermath, Damin, then you shouldn’t even consider appointing her Warlord in the first place.”
Damin smiled suddenly. “You know she gave Cyrus a black eye for calling her a whore?”
Wrayan laughed. “And you worry about whether or not she can handle the other Warlords?”
Damin picked up his damp cloak, and glanced down at the letters Wrayan had brought him. There was something else he wanted to talk to Wrayan about, but he’d kept his own counsel on the matter for so long now, it was surprising how hard it was to talk about it.
“Damin?” Wrayan asked curiously, sensing something was amiss.
He took a deep breath and faced the sorcerer. “If I told you I’d spoken to the God of War, would you think I’m crazy?”
“People pray to their gods all the time, Damin.”
“I wasn’t praying, Wrayan. He appeared to me.”
To Damin’s intense relief, the thief didn’t seem to doubt his word. “When was this?”
“A couple of months ago. Just after I left Krakandar.”
“What did he say to you?” Wrayan asked curiously.
“Not a great deal, in hindsight. Just a whole lot of stuff about honouring him. And that I was favoured by him.”
Wrayan studied him thoughtfully. “Then you are honoured, Damin. Zegarnald chooses his favourites carefully.”
“Do you think that’s why we won so easily?”
Wrayan shook his head. “If Zegarnald had his way, you’d be fighting for months yet. The victory is yours, Damin. Don’t belittle your achievement by thinking the gods intervened.”
That idea cheered Damin considerably. “Have you ever met him?”
The thief nodded. “A few times. When I was in Sanctuary. I’m sworn to Dacendaran, though, so he didn’t take much notice of me. Have you told anybody else about this?”
“Not a soul,” Damin assured him. “I’ve got enough problems now without everyone thinking I’m a lunatic. Or worse, that I really have been singled out by the gods. That would be enough to make enemies out of some of my best friends, I fear.”
“You’re right about that, I suspect,” Wrayan agreed. “And wise to keep your own counsel.” He reached out and gripped Damin’s shoulder reassuringly. “There’ll come a time when it doesn’t matter if people believe you’ve inherited the divine right to rule, Damin. But it isn’t now.”
“Then I’d better go talk to Lernen, I suppose. Help yourself to the wine and have someone bring you something to eat while you’re waiting. You look exhausted.”
“I will. And don’t look so worried. You’ll make the right decision, Damin. About all of this.”
He shrugged. “Well, even if I’m wrong, it’ll be a classic application of Elezaar’s Eleventh Rule.”
“Which one is that?”
“Do the unexpected,” he replied, and then he refolded the letters from Greenharbour and tucked them in his belt to protect them from the rain.
With Wrayan settled in beside the brazier, Damin ducked back under the tent flap and headed across the muddy camp to visit the High Prince thinking—divinely sanctioned or not—if he succeeded in his quest, in the next few hours the whole make-up of Hythrun society was going to be turned on its ear.
CHAPTER 72
The more Wrayan Lightfinger saw of Damin Wolfblade, the less he worried about the future of Hythria. Against the most astounding odds, Marla had raised an intelligent, capable and charismatic young man who would rule with fairness and common sense; a man who could be both ruthless and compassionate—the latter not a trait he inherited from his mother, Wrayan decided wryly. The prince old Kagan Palenovar, Laran Krakenshield and Glenadal Ravenspear had schemed and plotted and prayed they would produce was finally come of age. Their gamble appeared to have paid off, although how much of it was his upbringing, and how much simply his nature, Wrayan couldn’t really say.
To learn even Zegarnald had smiled on this scion of Hythria didn’t surprise Wrayan in the slightest.
Wrayan considered him carefully, several hours later, as he watched Damin Wolfblade break the news to Rogan Bearbow and Conin Falconlance that he had persuaded the High Prince to lower the age of majority to twenty-five, which meant they were now both officially the Warlords of their provinces.
It hadn’t been an easy task, by all accounts. Lernen was feeling particularly peevish today and initially reneged on his earlier promise to sign the decree. Wrayan wasn’t sure what Damin had done to get Lernen to put his signature and seal on the document eventually, but he did it somehow. Along with tactics and politics, Marla had obviously taught her son how to manage the High Prince when he was in one of his moods.
The two young men were quite stunned by the news, Rogan recovering more quickly than his younger companion. Conin Falconlance was a distant cousin still coming to grips with the notion he was even the heir of Greenharbour Province. Rogan, on the other hand, had been raised from birth to assume the role of Warlord of Izcomdar and had effectively been doing so since his father died in the plague, even though he’d been breaking the law to do it.
“And this law your uncle has signed, lowering the age of majority, cannot be revoked by the Convocation of Warlords?” Rogan asked, when Damin had finished explaining their unexpected change in circumstances to them.
“The next High Prince could revoke it, I suppose,” Damin informed him. “But as that’s me, and I turn twenty-five myself very shortly—the day after which I intend to ride back to Krakandar and take it from my uncle—I can’t see myself doing that any time soon, can you?”
“It’s a pity you can’t lower the age to five,” Conin joked. “That would take care of Sunrise, too, and then every province would have a Warlord again.”
“Which brings us to the problem of what to do about Sunrise,” Damin said.
“Have you found someone for my sister to marry?” Rogan asked.
“She doesn’t want to marry again.”
“But after what you’ve told us about the strife in the Sorcerers’ Collective, you surely don’t mean to hand the province back into their control, do you?”
“You have a regent in mind, then?” Conin asked.
“Not exactly.”
Rogan glared at him. “Is this supposed to be a guessing game, Damin?”
“No. I just haven’t really worked out how I’m going to break it to you, that’s all.”
“Perhaps you should just show them, your highness,” Wrayan suggested.
Damin had introduced him as a royal courier and one of his mother’s advisors. He’d omitted, wisely perhaps, the bit about Wrayan also being a thief.
“Maybe that would be better,” Damin agreed. He crossed the tent to the beautifully woven hanging dividing the living area from the sleeping quarters and pulled it aside. Standing behind it, waiting for her cue, was Tejay Lionsclaw.
“This is your new Warlord?” Narvell gasped.
Rogan looked at his sister with a frown. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why can’t he be serious, Rogan?” Tejay asked her younger brother, stepping into the main part of the tent.
Conin Falconlance stared at them in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Damin, but I fear Rogan is correct. The High Prince will never agree to a woman being appointed Warlord.”
“The High Prince has already agreed to it,” Damin told them. “It’s a done deal, my lords. Say hello to the new Warlord of Sunrise.”
“Damin …” Rogan began carefully, aware, perhaps, his sister probably wasn’t joking when she threatened him. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but … this can’t work. Surely you can see that. Even if the High Prince thinks it’s a grand idea, the people will not accept a female Warlord.”
“I think you underestimate the people of Sunrise Province,” Tejay suggested.
Rogan turned to Damin, shaking his head. “Sunrise Province is too strategically important to be used as a testing ground for your socially enlightened agenda, Damin.”
“I don’t have an agenda,” Damin replied. “What I have is a problem, which is that Sunrise doesn’t have a Warlord. What I also have is a perfectly viable solution. Are you objecting because you think your sister can’t do the job?”
“Of course not.”
“Will it ease your mind if I tell you there is no Harshini law that prevents her appointment? They’ve never judged anybody on their sex. And the God of War certainly doesn’t discriminate. Provided you worship him, shed blood for him, he doesn’t care what gender you are.”
“But what of the common people, sir?” Conin asked. “I fear Rogan speaks the truth. They will never accept a female Warlord.”
“Do you know that for a fact?” Tejay asked.
“Well … I haven’t asked them about it personally,” he admitted, “but I can’t imagine the peasants liking the idea …” His voice trailed off as he realised how indefensible his position sounded.
“I think you credit yourself with an understanding of the peasants that you don’t really own, my lord,” Wrayan suggested. “When was the last time you actually spoke to one? Not a slave or a servant in your employ, but one you might meet in the street?”
“Well, naturally, I don’t speak to them myself …”
“Why naturally?” Narvell asked, glancing at his brother with a puzzled shake of his head, before fixing his gaze on the young Warlord. “Do you think it’s unnatural to speak to someone not of your class?”
Conin looked quite offended by the question. “Does Charel Hawksword allow you to consort with the peasants?”
“Actually, he encourages it,” Narvell replied, taking a step forward to confront Falconlance. “He says it stops the highborn from turning into pompous, self-important—”
“Enough!” Tejay snapped, glaring at the two young men. She turned to her brother, shaking her head. “If you want a reason why we need female Warlords, Rogan, take a look at these two as a shining example. Five minutes we’ve been discussing this and they’re already having an argument about something that’s got nothing to do with the discussion at hand.”
Wrayan glanced across at Damin, who’d had the sense to step back and let Tejay convince the others herself. The prince was smiling faintly as he watched her, but made no move to interfere.
“That doesn’t alter the fundamental problem with your appointment, Tejay,” Rogan replied, obviously not unsympathetic to his sister’s plight. “Even if I agreed with you ruling Sunrise, I just don’t know how you’re going to be able to hold on to it.”
“The same way you’ll hold on to Izcomdar, Rogan. By being good at what I do.” She turned and looked at the others. “Besides, isn’t holding on to the province my problem? If I take Sunrise and lose it a week, a month, even a year from now, you can all pat yourselves on the back about how right you were. In the meantime, I at least deserve the chance to prove I can do this, don’t I?”
Rogan considered his sister for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right, Tejay. If you can hold Sunrise, you deserve to keep it.”
“You’re supporting this?” Conin asked in surprise.
The new Warlord of Izcomdar put his hands on his hips. “I do. And so do you, young Falconlance.”
“Why?” Conin asked. To Wrayan, he seemed more than a little taken aback by Rogan’s threatening stance.
“Because the new Warlord of Sunrise Province is my sister and I’ll kill any man who tries to interfere. If the people of Sunrise want to rise up and overthrow her because she’s a despot, or a tyrant, or just a hopeless incompetent, that’s one thing. But there won’t be any outside interference, Conin. Not from Izcomdar. And certainly not from Greenharbour.”
“Nor Elasapine,” Narvell promised on behalf of his grandfather.
“Nor Krakandar,” Damin also assured them.
They all fixed their gaze on the young Warlord from Greenharbour, who nodded reluctantly.
“There will be no interference from me,” he agreed. “But I’d like to know how you’re going to get Eaglespike and Foxtalon to agree to this.”
“They don’t have to agree,” Damin said. “The High Prince has decreed this and the Convocation can’t overrule him. But even if we needed the Convocation, five of the seven provinces are represented in this tent. We’d have the majority.”
“I think I’d like to be there when you tell Cyrus,” Rogan said. “Just to see his reaction.”
“His reaction to the news his mother is dead is what I’m looking forward to,” Narvell announced cheerfully. “Can we do it soon? And can I watch?”
“Grow up, Narvell,” Tejay scolded.
“Sorry, my lady.”
“Narvell does have a point, though, Tejay,” Damin said. “We need to talk to Cyrus and Toren as soon as possible.”
“No time like the present,” Rogan suggested.
“I agree,” Damin said, turning toward the entrance. “Almodavar!”
The old captain had been waiting just outside. The tent flap opened as he ducked inside. “Your highness?”
“Fetch the Warlords of Dregian and Pentamor here, would you, Captain? Use force if you have to.”
Almodavar cracked a rare smile. “With pleasure, your highness.”
The captain ducked back through the entrance and Damin turned to his companions. “This is going to be interesting.”
Rogan shrugged. “I’m just looking forward to issuing orders to my own people that don’t have to be approved by some foreign Warlord first …”
Wrayan didn’t hear much more of the discussion. As Rogan was speaking another Raider slipped into the tent and approached the thief with a folded note. He opened it curiously and when he saw who it was from, he folded it again and followed the Raider outside.
“Brose Rollin!” Wrayan exclaimed, recognising one of his own men from the Krakandar Thieves’ Guild. He was standing just outside the tent with Rorin Mariner. The man was splattered with mud and looked exhausted.
“Didn’t expect to find you in the war camp, Wrayan.”
“Didn’t expect to find myself in a war camp, either. But I k
now how I finished up here. What’s your excuse?” He glanced at Rorin. Wrayan had only been in camp a couple of hours himself. He didn’t think anybody knew he was here. “And how did you know where to find me?”
“Damin told me you’d arrived when he came to see Lernen. I’ve been in the High Prince’s pavilion for the last couple of days, helping out. And your man here is carrying a message for Damin, actually, not you. From Starros. When Master Rollin showed up just now, I thought you might want to speak to him first.”
Wrayan studied the thief. He was a burglar; a good one, too. And always reliable. “Is something wrong in Krakandar?”
The man nodded wearily. “Everything is wrong in Krakandar, Wrayan. You can’t imagine what it’s been like since you left. The city is still sealed. People are starving. Everyone is terrified … I guess it’s why we decided to do something about it.”
“This sounds ominous,” Wrayan said. “Who is we exactly?”
“The Thieves’ Guild. And some of the other guilds. Well, all of the other guilds, actually. Once word got around about what we were planning, every man and his dog seemed to want to help. And that includes some fairly high-placed people at the palace, too.”
Rorin looked at the young visitor in alarm. “What the hell are you planning, exactly?”
Brose seemed reluctant to confide in them. “Starros said I was to speak only to Prince Damin.”
“You work for me, Brose Rollin, not for Starros,” Wrayan reminded the burglar. “Answer Rorin’s question. What are they planning to do?”
The thief hesitated. Behind them, a very unhappy-looking Cyrus Eaglespike and an equally peeved Toren Foxtalon approached the tent in the company of Geri Almodavar and a dozen or more Krakandar Raiders as an escort.
Brose waited until the two Warlords had entered the tent before continuing.
“We’re going to steal the population of Krakandar.”
“What?” Rorin asked.
“We’re going to evacuate the city in secret. A week from next Restday.”
Wrayan looked at Rorin. “Damin’s going to love this.”
Warlord Page 55
