Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  Darilyn’s sons went a long way to aiding her recovery. In the face of their unbridled enthusiasm, it was impossible to remain depressed. Travin and Xanda were such a delight, so full of life, Riika found her grief impossible to cling to. By the end of the third week she was tossing snowballs at her nephews, laughing as hard as the boys as they fought to bring her down. They built a snowman in the castle courtyard and decorated him with twigs and a helmet Travin borrowed from one of the Raiders who constantly watched over them, and then dubbed him Lord Lucky because Xanda thought it was lucky he hadn’t melted before they finished him.

  Predictably, Darilyn’s reaction to Riika’s escapades with her sons swung between gratitude that her sister was taking the boys off her hands and resentment when she realised the boys preferred Riika’s company to her own. Depending on her mood, Darilyn was either fondly tolerant of their games or scathingly intolerant.

  Darilyn was having one of her better days today and Riika had been able to prevail upon her sister to let her take the boys outside to the small ice-rimed stream that ran past the castle walls to see if they could find any fish. Her older sister was an accomplished musician and, after annoying Almodavar for weeks about it, had finally convinced the captain to send for her harp from home. It had arrived yesterday with one of the traders from Greenharbour. Anxious for some peace and quiet so she could tune the massive instrument, Darilyn had readily agreed to the boys going on an outing with their aunt.

  Accompanied by one of Captain Almodavar’s lieutenants and a dozen of his Raiders, Riika traipsed through the knee-high snow. The boys ran on ahead, telling each other of the fish they were certain they would find in the narrow waterway, even though some of the creatures they described sounded like they’d need an ocean to contain them.

  Winternest loomed majestically behind them, its massive walls rising out of the mountainside as if it had grown from the very rock of the mountain, rather than being constructed there in the traditional way by men. Riika thought it might have been built by the Harshini. Its tall spires and elegant lines were certainly reminiscent of the lost race. The castle guarded the Widowmaker Pass (so named for the number of widows created during the numerous battles that had taken place there), one of only two navigable passes across the Sunrise Mountains between Fardohnya and Hythria. The other pass was much farther south, near Highcastle.

  The keep served as a garrison, customs house, inn and fortress and catered to the steady stream of traffic that moved between the two countries. Commerce was the lifeblood of Fardohnya. Even when they were at war, they still tried to make it pay. Glenadal had been fond of saying the only reason most Fardohnyans didn’t sell their own grandmothers was that every other Fardohnyan had already had the same idea and there was a glut on the grandmother market. Riika’s eyes misted as she thought of her father. She wiped the tears away impatiently, glad to realise she could at least think about him now without breaking down completely. Maybe Mahkas was right. Maybe time would heal the pain.

  Winternest was actually two castles in one, built either side of the road leading through the pass into Fardohnya. An arched and heavily fortified bridge high above the road linked the northern wing, where most of the commerce of the border post was carried out, to the southern wing, which remained the private domain of the Ravenspear family when they were in residence. There was a similar fortress on the Fardohnyan side of the border at the other end of the pass, about ten miles to the west. Although Riika had never seen it, her father had always insisted it wasn’t nearly so grand or impressive as Winternest.

  Her eyes began to fill with tears again. Riika stumbled on the icy ground, but a strong arm caught her before she fell.

  “Careful, my lady.”

  Riika smiled at the young lieutenant gratefully as he helped her up. She wiped her eyes and sniffed inelegantly, hoping he would think her sniffles nothing more than a reaction to the cold air. “Thank you, Raek. I’m as clumsy as a fool today. I wish I had Travin or Xanda’s ability to flit across any terrain without falling on my face.”

  “That’s a gift owned only by little boys aged between five and seven, my lady. The rest of us have to stumble on the hard way, I’m afraid.”

  Riika liked Raek Harlen. He was the son of one of Laran’s vassals near the southern border of Krakandar and the neighbouring province of Izcomdar. Raek had the courtly manners of a nobleman’s son and the sharp instincts of a well-trained soldier. Riika always felt safer whenever he was around. She dusted the powdery snow off her skirts self-consciously and then cocked her head curiously.

  “Can you hear that?” she asked.

  “Hear what?” Raek replied, and then a moment later he heard it too. Horses. A lot of horses. “It’s coming from the east.”

  “Do you think it means trouble?”

  Raek didn’t answer her. Instead, he skidded and slid down the slope towards the castle, calling to the lookouts on the bridge. At his command, one of the men high above turned his looking-glass east. After a moment he called something down to Raek, who nodded and then turned and scrambled up the slope to where Riika waited.

  “Can they see anything?”

  Raek nodded, a little breathless from his exertions. “It’s our people, my lady. Krakandar troops, I mean. Marching under your brother’s banner.”

  “Laran is here?”

  Raek shook his head. “It’s Lord Damaran’s banner.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little disappointed. “I wonder what Mahkas is doing here with Laran’s army? Do you suppose it’s started?”

  “We’ll know in about ten minutes,” Raek suggested. “They’re almost here. The lookouts have been watching them since early this morning.”

  “And they never thought to mention it to anyone?”

  “I would imagine it was reported to Captain Almodavar as soon as they were identified, my lady,” Raek pointed out. “And Lady Darilyn.”

  Of course, Riika realised. /’m the younger sister. The baby of the family. Nobody would think of reporting anything to me.

  “Would you like to return to the castle and wait for your brother, my lady?”

  Riika looked up the slope where the boys had raced on ahead followed by a clutch of rather put-upon Raiders, forced to keep pace with them. Travin had reached the edge of the stream and was calling for her excitedly.

  “I would love to, Raek,” she sighed with a smile. “But despite the fact there is an army approaching as we speak, I suspect none of us will be doing anything until Travin and Xanda have seen their fish.”

  “Mahkas!”

  Riika ran the length of the Great Hall, skidding to a halt on the polished floor as she reached her brother and Darilyn, who stood by the fire at the far end of the hall. Winternest was a cold, draughty place, but the bright tapestries lining the walls and the fact that Darilyn insisted every fireplace in the castle be constantly ablaze, tended to take the chill from the air.

  Her elder sister shook her head disapprovingly.

  “Honestly, Riika,” Darilyn sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt you to walk occasionally, you know. You can achieve just as much at a dignified pace as you can doing everything at a run.”

  “Oh, leave her alone, Darilyn,” Mahkas ordered, embracing Riika with a grin. His leather armour was cold against her cheek. “You’re looking much better, Riika. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right,” she assured him. “Some days are better than others, but . . . I’m getting by.”

  “Mother and Laran send their love.”

  “How thoughtful of them,” Darilyn remarked sourly. “Laran sent us nearly two-and-a-half thousand Raiders, too. I suppose that’s because he’s so certain we’re in no danger from this insane scheme of his.”

  “Well, you know Laran. He always was the giving sort.”

  Mahkas was deliberately goading Darilyn. It was a sport neither of her brothers ever seemed to tire of when they were children. Riika was not sure if Darilyn was the way she was because of her brothers’ torment
s, or if her nature had provoked her brothers to treat her that way in the first place. Riika couldn’t really understand it, either. Both Laran and Mahkas had always treated their youngest sister with nothing but affection.

  “Will you be leaving again soon, Mahkas?”

  “And miss the chance to slit a few Fardohnyan throats when Hablet hears his bride has been stolen out from under his nose? I think not!” Mahkas pulled off his riding gloves and held his hands out towards the fire. “Actually, I’m here to replace Almodavar. Laran wants him in charge of the remaining troops he’s taking with him to Warrinhaven.”

  “Good!” Darilyn declared grumpily. “The man’s incompetent.”

  “Incompetent?” Mahkas asked in surprise. “He’s one of the best men we’ve got, Darilyn.”

  “If he was any good, Mahkas, he’d be able to arrange a simple thing like moving a harp without causing irreparable damage to the damn thing!”

  “Was your harp broken?” Riika asked, thinking it had looked just fine to her this morning when the slaves had unpacked it.

  “The frame’s intact,” Darilyn informed her. “No thanks to those ruffians who transported it. But there are at least three strings broken. I’ve had it moved to my room to save it from any further damage. Where I’m going to find someone to restring a harp out here in this god-forsaken hole, the gods only know!”

  “A couple of broken strings is hardly irreparable damage,” Mahkas told her. “And the damage is the fault of the men who brought it here, surely? Not Almodavar.”

  “He arranged the transport. It’s his fault. He can’t leave soon enough for my liking.”

  This had the makings of an ongoing and very unpleasant gripe. Riika smiled brightly, hoping to change the subject from Darilyn’s harp. “Well, I suspect the boys will be happy to hear that you’re replacing him, Mahkas.”

  As if to confirm Riika’s prediction, a gleeful squeal interrupted them. “Uncle Mahkas!”

  Travin and Xanda barrelled down the hall and threw themselves at Mahkas, who gathered them up and hugged them fondly. Mahkas was by far their favourite uncle. Laran was too aloof, too formal, to get down on the floor and tumble around with a couple of little boys. There was also a certain amount of guilt attached to Laran’s relationship with his nephews, Riika suspected. It was Laran, after all, who had inadvertently sent Jaris Taranger into a Medalonian ambush during a border skirmish two years ago and robbed the boys of their father. Laran took care of them, of course. As Warlord of Krakandar he was, by default, the executor of the Taranger estate and held their inheritance in trust for his nephews. Materially, neither Darilyn nor her sons wanted for anything. But Laran still found it difficult to look at the boys without feeling some responsibility for their plight.

  “We found a fish, Uncle Mahkas!” Xanda announced as his uncle put him down. “I patted him.”

  “Did you now?” Mahkas asked with wide eyes. He squatted down so that he was eye level with Xanda. “Was he a big one?”

  “He didn’t pat anything,” Travin scoffed, rolling his eyes at his uncle. Being the grand old age of seven, Travin considered himself quite the little grown-up compared to his five-year-old brother. “The stupid fish swam away from him.”

  “I did so get to pat him!” Xanda objected, his eyes filling with tears.

  “Did not.”

  “Did so!”

  “Did not.”

  “Enough!” Darilyn bellowed. “For the gods’ sake, stop it, both of you!”

  “Did so!” Xanda whispered loudly at his brother.

  “That’s it!” their mother declared. “I am fed up with the two of you and your constant bickering! Veruca!”

  Riika’s old nurse must have been waiting nearby. It took only a few moments for her to appear at the entrance to the hall. She had retired here to Winternest some years ago and wasn’t really supposed to be looking after the boys, but she couldn’t bear Darilyn and thought her far too intolerant of her sons’ boisterous natures. What had started out as Veruca trying to be helpful had graduated to her assuming almost full-time care for the children, just as she had when Riika was a child. The old nurse complained about it a great deal, but deep down, Riika thought, Veruca was rather enjoying the chance to mother a couple of small children again.

  “Would you please get these boys out of here? They’re giving me a headache.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Veruca said. “Travin. Xanda. Come here, please.”

  With a helpful shove from Mahkas, the children complied with Veruca’s request without protest, which did nothing but irritate Darilyn even more to see them so well behaved for a slave.

  “Those boys will be the death of me,” she complained, as Veruca took the children in hand and led them from the hall. “They lack a father’s discipline.”

  “They’re doing fine, Darilyn,” Mahkas assured her, knowing his sister’s comment was directed at him just as much as Laran. He’d been on the same sortie that killed her husband, after all, and he’d had the audacity to survive it. “It’s just youthful high spirits.”

  “How would you know what it is, Mahkas Damaran? You have no children of your own.”

  Mahkas sighed, but had the good sense not to answer. Darilyn seemed to be itching for a fight. He turned to Riika instead. “I have a message for you from Laran. He said to tell you he’s sorry you can’t be at the wedding, but he’ll try to arrange for you to meet Princess Marla as soon as possible after things settle down.”

  “It seems odd, Laran marrying someone the same age as me.”

  “It’s perfectly common for a bride to be much younger than the groom,” Darilyn pointed out. “Did he say when I would get to meet the princess?”

  “I’m sure he meant both of you would get to meet her as soon as things settle down a bit,” Mahkas assured them hurriedly as he realised his blunder.

  Darilyn was unconvinced. “It’s all right. You’ve no need to cover for him. I know where I stand with Laran.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Riika can entertain you, Mahkas. I am going to retire. I have a headache.”

  She stalked off without waiting for either of them to answer.

  Mahkas watched her leave and then shook his head with a smile. “She’d be so much nicer if she . . . moved to . . . Karien.”

  “Don’t be horrible,” Riika scolded. “She’s really not that bad.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I’ve only been here half an hour and already I want to strangle her.”

  “You do not! Now stop worrying about Darilyn and tell me what else has been happening at home.”

  “Well, the whole of Cabradell is fairly buzzing, as you can imagine. Laran and Nash Hawksword took his father’s troops up to Highcastle to block the southern pass and to arrange for Marla to get to Warrinhaven.”

  “Is that where the wedding will take place?”

  Mahkas nodded. “Kagan and Wrayan left for Greenharbour a couple of weeks ago to sort out Lernen. And here I am, ready to defend your precious little backside.”

  Riika studied him for a moment, wondering at his tone. “Is something wrong, Mahkas? You sound a little . . . bitter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What do I have to be bitter about?”

  “You’re not jealous my father left Sunrise to Laran and not you?”

  “I’m always being pushed aside for Laran, Riika. I don’t waste my time getting jealous about it any more.”

  “You are angry.”

  He smiled disarmingly. “You’re imagining things. Your father did what he thought was the best thing for Hythria. How I feel about it isn’t even a factor in the equation. This will work because Laran now controls two provinces. I control nothing, so even if he had left Sunrise to me, none of this would have been possible.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Now stop worrying about it, silly girl. I still love you. And I’m here to murder any bastard who thinks he can lay a hand on my little sister.”

  Riika smiled and let him hold her clos
e, his breastplate chill against her face, unable to avoid the feeling that Mahkas was not trying to convince her that he wasn’t bothered by Laran’s inheritance, so much as himself.

  chapter 31

  A

  lija Eaglespike much preferred the townhouse in Greenharbour to the ancient castle in Dregian Province, the traditional seat of her husband’s family. With seventeen bedrooms, its own stables, accommodation for more than fifty slaves and internal plumbing to the main suites, the townhouse was far more comfortable than the tall, narrow, draughty tower of Dregian Castle with its crashing oceans, damp climate, endless stairs and impossibly ancient amenities. But even Alija couldn’t delay her return home indefinitely, and it was nearly two months since she had seen her boys. She was missing them desperately.

  She had no legitimate excuse to stay in Greenharbour, really. The deal with Fardohnya had been struck. Marla Wolfblade was to marry the Fardohnyan king in the spring, as soon as she turned sixteen. The young woman was back at Highcastle with her court’esa, learning the arts required to make her a desirable wife.

  At least she should be. Alija’s reports had been rather vague on that point. She had a spy among Marla’s retinue, of course, and would know almost as soon as anything happened, but she didn’t expect to hear much from High-castle until the winter snows cleared. And Marla wasn’t actually a problem. Just a silly girl, with no comprehension of the power she held in her foolish, innocent hands.

  The Lady of Dregian was well pleased with her work. The seeds of fear and dissent among the Warlords had been sown and all that remained was for the crop to mature, which it would as soon as Marla Wolfblade bore Hablet of Fardohnya a son. Then the time would be ripe for Barnardo to make his move. Even if it took years for Marla to produce a boy, as soon as Lernen made an attempt to confirm any child of the Fardohnyan king as his heir, he was doomed. The other Warlords wouldn’t stand for it. Even those aligned with the Royalist faction would move to replace the High Prince—immediately—with the only man of royal descent who could provide Hythria with not one, but two, pure Hythrun heirs.