Wolfblade

by Jennifer Fallon

  “What are your orders, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “My orders, you moron, are to get that idiot Symon Kuron here from Westbrook, before the King arrives, so that he can explain to our esteemed monarch how he mistook a chambermaid for the High Prince of Hythria’s sister!”

  Riika opened her mouth to protest that she was no chambermaid, but the words froze in her throat as another thought occurred to her. If the Fardohnyans didn’t realise who she was, they might simply let her go. Granted, there was a certain level of protection in being a hostage, but she was more determined than ever to escape. It was a much better idea than sitting around waiting to be rescued.

  Lecter Turon turned away, heading back into the palace.

  “What did you want me to do with the Hythrun girl then?” the captain asked his retreating back.

  The eunuch stopped and turned to glance uninterestedly at Riika over his shoulder before fixing his gaze on the captain. “Kill her.”

  Riika gasped as the captain saluted in acknowledgement of the order.

  “No . . . wait!”

  Lecter Turon continued walking back into the palace. The captain turned to face her, drawing his dagger from his belt as he did so.

  “But you don’t realise who I am,” she began, as he moved towards her. All of a sudden, her silence seemed foolish, not clever. Two other soldiers closed in on her from behind and Riika was dragged from the saddle. She screamed, her heart pounding so hard she couldn’t speak. Blood rushed through her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear herself think. Her knees collapsed as she hit the ground. The captain drew closer. Riika screamed again, paralysed with terror. They intended to carry out Lecter Turon’s indifferent order for her execution right there and then.

  Tell them who you are! a small voice in her head shouted at her urgently.

  With a burst of terror-inspired strength, Riika found the will to struggle against the hands that held her down, but with two strong men pinning her to the ground, she had little hope of fighting them off. The words that might save her—I am Glenadal Ravenspear’s daughter. Laran Krakenshield’s sister—couldn’t get past her terrified screams.

  The Fardohnyan captain hesitated for a moment, looking down on her with a hint of pity, giving Riika a brief glimmer of hope. But it lasted only an instant before the blade came down, cutting off her cries of protest and ending any chance she had to explain that she wasn’t some nameless chambermaid.

  After a sharp, brutal pain there was a sudden feeling of warm, sticky wetness as the blade sliced across her throat; more pain, shock—and a refusal to believe this was really happening—all filtered through the gauze of her unintelligible terror.

  The world went dark. Riika Ravenspear’s blood spilled unhindered onto Qorinipor’s delightful chequerboard paving.

  And then the pain stopped and there was nothing. Not even darkness.

  chapter 54

  K

  idnapping Marla Wolfblade had seemed a wonderful idea to Hablet, right up until he arrived at the Winter Palace to taunt Laran Krakenshield with his victory, only to discover he had nothing to bargain with.

  Hablet was just about ready to kill someone, starting with that idiot Symon Kuron and ending with his chamberlain who’d come up with this crazy scheme in the first place. He should have just invaded Hythria, razed a few villages, captured a couple of hundred slaves, slaughtered the odd town square full of unarmed peasants and been done with it.

  He was pissed off with Lernen Wolfblade for reneging on their deal. Massacres were good for making a point like that.

  Instead he’d let himself be talked into this stupid, convoluted plot, which was unravelling faster than he could comprehend. He’d arrived in Qorinipor to find their hostage was no hostage at all. Lecter had killed her without bothering to find out who she was if she wasn’t actually Marla Wolfblade, and now Laran Krakenshield was on his way to negotiate for . . . well, Hablet wasn’t really sure what the Warlord of Krakandar and Sunrise wanted.

  If they hadn’t kidnapped his wife (and presumably he knew that) why was Laran coming here? Were the men killed in the raid his four best friends? Or was the dead girl a particularly favoured slave? Just to be on the safe side, Hablet had ordered his chamberlain to prepare her body properly and lay it out in the temple, in case Krakenshield wanted to see it and assure himself the girl was really dead. If he didn’t care about her one way or the other . . . well, there was no harm done and it would please the gods if she got a decent burial. Hablet was a devout man, after all.

  Lecter Turon speculated that the girl so well (and so blatantly) guarded in Winternest had actually been a decoy, put there by Laran Krakenshield to deliberately confuse the issue. Hablet knew there was a younger sister somewhere, and for a while had been worried that was who the dead girl was, but Lecter scoffed at the suggestion. Their contact in Winternest had been a member of Laran’s own household, perhaps even a family member, according to the intelligence sent by Symon Kuron prior to the kidnapping. (Privately, Hablet thought that unlikely. If there was a traitor, it was more likely a disgruntled servant or slave in the employ of the family.) The problem with that theory was that slaves, even free servants, who got that close to the family were too well cared for to betray one of their own and risk finding themselves back in the slave markets of Greenharbour. Marla was a newcomer to the household, so it was easier to believe their spy had no loyalty to her.

  The trouble was, it was even easier to believe that the spy who had betrayed the girl that looked so suspiciously like Marla Wolfblade had done so at the behest of his or her master, and that Hablet was the victim of this charade, not the other way around.

  The door at the end of the hall opened and Lecter walked in, his silks hissing softly as he walked. Except for the half dozen bodyguards Hablet insisted on having here for the meeting with the Hythrun Warlord, he was alone in the gloriously gilded throne room, pacing the podium in front of his throne while he waited for Laran Krakenshield to get here from Westbrook.

  “They’ve arrived.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Who? Laran Krakenshield? Well, he’s a tall man, really; rather lean and—”

  “I mean, does he look angry, you idiot? Murderous? Smug? What?”

  “I couldn’t really say,” Lecter shrugged.

  “Maybe we should have met with Symon Kuron first.”

  “That would give the impression we have something to hide, your majesty.”

  “Oh? And we don’t?”

  “Trust me, your majesty,” Lecter urged. “And if anything goes wrong, just follow my lead.”

  “We’re being played, Lecter,” Hablet warned. “I can feel it.”

  Before the chamberlain could respond the doors opened again and a herald dressed in a loose red robe and turban stepped into the hall.

  “His grace, the Warlord of Krakandar and Sunrise, Lord Laran Krakenshield and the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook, Symon Kuron.”

  Laran was already striding through the hall before the herald had a chance to finish announcing him. Hablet didn’t think that was a good sign. The Hythrun looked quite . . . peeved.

  “Lord Krakenshield.”

  “Your majesty.”

  The Warlord and the king sized each other up for a long, tense moment. Although they had met before, Hablet had paid little attention to Laran Krakenshield while he was in Greenharbour. The Hythrun was young, only just ready to inherit his province, and in Hablet’s view was going to be relatively ineffectual for years yet while he grew into his power and made the alliances one needed to become any sort of effective power broker.

  How wrong about one man can another man be? Hablet thought, looking Laran up and down. Older than Hablet, the Hythrun was lean and tall, with the physique of a man who lived by the sword. The king made a mental note not to goad Laran into making any sort of personal challenge. Hablet’s bulk was mostly the result of good living. If Laran called him out, he’d be obliterated.

  “How nice
of you to pay me a visit,” Hablet said with an insincere smile.

  “You didn’t really leave me much choice,” Laran pointed out.

  “May I offer you wine?”

  “I want to see Riika,” Laran replied. “Once I know my sister is safe, then we can bother with the social niceties.”

  Hablet glanced at Lecter Turon, whose face wore an alarming look of dawning comprehension, then looked back at Laran blankly. “Pardon?”

  “My sister, Hablet. Bring Riika to me so that I can determine for myself that she has been well treated, and then we can talk about the terms for her release.”

  Hablet turned to stare at the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook who had suddenly gone very pale.

  The chamberlain stepped forward into the uncertain silence. “His majesty did not bring you here to negotiate, Lord Krakenshield, but to offer his deepest regrets and, hopefully, to avoid an armed conflict.”

  “What?” both Laran and Hablet said simultaneously.

  He pointed to Symon Kuron. “Arrest this man!”

  “Eh?” the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook cried. Hablet was almost as confused, but he trusted the eunuch as he trusted no other person in Fardohnya.

  “You heard him!” Hablet shouted. The guards rushed forward and grabbed the garrison commander, who was looking as confused as Hablet felt.

  “Both you and my king have been the victim of a foul plot, Lord Krakenshield,” Lecter continued, as the Plenipotentiary struggled against the guards who held him. “This man, hoping to use his position as the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook to enrich himself, devised an evil plan to kidnap your sister from Winternest. Like you, my unsuspecting king was also duped. Claiming his foul deed was not a kidnap but actually a rescue, Kuron sent a message to his majesty in Talabar some weeks ago, stating that Marla Wolfblade was being held prisoner in Winternest and had managed to smuggle a message out with one of our traders, begging King Hablet to rescue her. The message spoke of her undying love for my king and the pain she had suffered when her brother reneged on the marriage he had previously agreed to and married her to you instead.”

  “That’s a lie!” Symon Kuron protested. “The orders came from—” His words were cut off abruptly by a mailed fist in the mouth from one of the guards. Spitting blood and teeth, the Plenipotentiary wisely fell silent.

  “As I’m sure you understand, with no reason to suspect the lie, his majesty had no choice but to respond to the desperate plea from a damsel so obviously in distress.”

  Hablet was fascinated by the eunuch’s gift for mendacity. He almost believed him and he knew every word of this fabulous tale was a lie. The man’s a genius.

  “Marla has never left Cabradell,” Laran pointed out. “Didn’t your agents inform you of that?”

  The chamberlain looked at Laran, aghast at the implications of his question. “Surely you’re not suggesting that we have spies in your court, Lord Krakenshield?”

  “Of course not,” Laran replied sceptically.

  Lecter ignored the Warlord’s tone and continued his story. “His majesty sent orders to the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook asking him to do whatever was necessary to expedite the rescue of the woman he believed to be Marla Wolfblade, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, resulted in the inadvertent abduction of your sister.” Lecter sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, this is where the truly heinous nature of this crime becomes apparent. Fully aware that it was your sister and not Marla Wolfblade whom he had abducted, Kuron planned to hold her to ransom and demand payment from you for her return, take his money and be gone across the border into Hythria before anybody realised what was going on. However, when he learned King Hablet was on his way to the Winter Palace and had demanded that Marla be brought to him, he realised his scheme was about to unravel. With one glance, the king would know the woman he had kidnapped was not Marla Wolfblade and he would be exposed.”

  Lecter stopped and glanced at Hablet before saying anything more.

  “And?” Laran demanded in the long silence that followed.

  “You must understand, Lord Krakenshield, that my king is innocent of anything other than the noble desire to rescue the woman he loved. Perhaps, the charge of a lack of good judgment in appointing such a recalcitrant to a position of power as the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook might also be levelled at him—”

  “Where is my sister?” Laran asked.

  “She is dead, my lord,” the chamberlain announced heavily. “Symon Kuron had her killed in an effort to cover up his crime. He sent a message to the king informing him that Marla had been unavoidably delayed but he would be bringing you here to negotiate her release, knowing his own guard had been ordered to kill her as soon as they were out of sight of Westbrook. The order was carried out, my lord, on the side of the road some ten miles south of the border fortress the morning after she was kidnapped. Several of the soldiers on Kuron’s murderous escort proved to be loyal Fardohnyans. Instead of fleeing into the mountains to join the bandits, they brought her body here to their king and confessed their part in the crime in the hope of gaining leniency. They did not, of course. All of them, with the exception of this man,” he said, pointing to the shocked Plenipotentiary of Westbrook, “have been executed.”

  Hablet watched Laran Krakenshield closely, acutely aware that the man was armed and very good at wielding the blade he carried. But Laran didn’t look vengeful. He looked stunned, as if he couldn’t comprehend what the eunuch was telling him. The Plenipotentiary’s expression had changed from outrage to a certain resigned inevitability. He could tell he was being set up to take the blame for Riika Ravenspear’s death. And could clearly see the futility of trying to rail against it.

  “Riika is dead?”

  “I would give half my kingdom to bring her back,” Hablet swore, with a touching catch in his voice. “Whatever ill feeling there might have been between us over the matter of Marla Wolfblade, Lord Krakenshield, if petitioning the gods themselves could undo this heinous crime, I would do it.”

  “Name your reparation,” the chamberlain added (which Hablet thought was going a bit far—the man might ask for anything). “Fardohnya will do what it must to redress the wrong done to you and your family.”

  “I want to see my sister,” Laran said, his voice choked.

  “Of course!” Lecter snapped his fingers and two of the guards not holding down the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook stepped forward. “Take Lord Krakenshield to the temple where Lady Riika’s body is laid out.”

  Without another word, Laran turned on his heel and followed the guards from the throne room. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Hablet turned to Lecter. “Well, he seemed to take that quite well.”

  “Your majesty . . .” Symon Kuron began. “Please . . .”

  “Shut him up,” Hablet ordered impatiently. He turned back to Lecter as a guard used his mailed fist to remind the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook why he should remain silent. “What happens now?”

  “We buy him off.”

  “I thought the whole idea was that he’d have to pay me?”

  “That was before this fool kidnapped the wrong girl and we accidentally killed her. We’ve no choice now but to distance ourselves from this as fast as we can. Enough coin and Symon Kuron’s execution should do the trick.”

  “Your majesty, no!” Symon cried, despite the blow he received for opening his mouth again. Hablet ignored him.

  “Her death was no accident, Lecter. You had her killed.”

  “An error of judgment for which I shall never forgive myself, your majesty.”

  Hablet shook his head. “This feels all wrong. Laran Krakenshield was supposed to come to me on his knees, begging for his wife back. Now we’re on our knees to him, offering him anything he wants for killing his sister. Why don’t I just kill him, too?”

  “Because Hythria would declare war on us.”

  “So? My army is as large as theirs.”

  “Your army is scattered all over Fardohnya, your majesty. A good portion of
Hythria’s forces, however, are currently sitting just across the border. They’d be in Lanipoor before we could mobilise and in Talabar by the end of spring.”

  “None of which you seem to have thought of before you talked me into this foolish plan.”

  “My plan was not foolish, your majesty. I simply lacked the appropriate resources to carry it out.”

  “Oh, so now it’s my fault Laran Krakenshield has me by the balls?”

  “You are, as you so frequently remind me, sire, the king.”

  “This is going to cost me a fortune.”

  “There will be a chance to recoup some of the costs.”

  “How?”

  “The Plenipotentiary of Westbrook’s position is about to become vacant. There’s a tidy sum to be made selling that honour to the next incumbent.”

  Hablet looked across at the man who had, until a few minutes ago, been his first line of defence on the border. Symon’s face was distraught and there was moisture on his cheeks that Hablet suspected came from tears of terror.

  Hablet smiled. All was not lost if he could still make a man sob with fear.

  “Should I kill him, or let Krakenshield do it?”

  “I’m sure Lord Krakenshield would like the pleasure of killing his sister’s murderer himself, your majesty, but I suggest it would be unwise to allow him to interrogate the prisoner first in case certain . . . inconsistencies . . . in your story come to light.”

  “Then I’ll make him a gift of Symon Kuron’s head,” Hablet decided, ignoring the former Plenipotentiary of Westbrook’s terrified whimper. “And his balls, too. That should convince him I’m innocent of anything to do with his sister’s death.”

  “An excellent idea,” Lecter Turon agreed.

  Hablet nodded, feeling a little better. The Plenipotentiary of West-brook’s head on a platter should please Laran Krakenshield. It would certainly please Hablet.

  And, in the end, that was all that mattered, really.

  chapter 55