‘I held that the West was a sap upon the resources of the Kingdom. The distances are too great for proper administration. You rule in Krondor. You know you govern an independent realm, with only broad policy coming from Rillanon. The Western Realm is almost a separate nation. Anyway, we argued about that, then fought. Afterward we relented in our anger. But that was the first sign of how deep were the differences we felt over the policies of the realms. Still, even those differences did nothing to lessen the bond between us.’
‘You make it sound a reasonable disagreement between honourable men over politics. But I knew Father. He hated you and his hate ran deep; there must be more.’
Guy again studied the firelight for a time. Softly he said, ‘Your father and I were rivals in many things, but most bitterly for your mother.’
Arutha sat forward. ‘What?’
‘When your uncle Malcom died of the fever, your father was called home. As older brother, Borric would inherit, which is why he had been sent to court for an education, but with Malcom dead your grandfather was alone. So your grandfather had the King name your father Warden of the West and send him back to Crydee. Your grandfather was aging – your grandmother had already died, and with Malcom’s death he seemed to fade quickly. It was less than two years later that he died and Borric became Duke of Crydee. By then Brucal had returned to Yabon, and I was Senior Squire of the King’s court. I looked forward to Borric’s return – for he was to present himself to the King to swear fealty as all new dukes are required to do during the first year of their office.’
Arutha calculated and realized that had to be the time his father had visited Brucal at Yabon, on his way to the capital. It was during that visit that Borric’s fancy was caught by a pretty serving maid, and from that union came Martin, a fact not known to Borric until five years later.
Guy continued speaking. ‘The year before Borric’s return to Rillanon, your mother came to court, to be a lady-in-waiting to Queen Janica, the King’s second wife – Prince Rodric’s mother. That’s when Catherine and I met. Until Gwynnath, she was the only woman I’ve ever loved.’
Guy lapsed into silence, and suddenly Arutha felt an odd sense of shame, as if he had somehow forced Guy to reexamine two painful losses. ‘Catherine was rare, Arutha. I know you understand that; she was your mother, but when I first saw her she was as fresh as a spring morning, with a blush in her cheeks and a hint of playfulness in her shy smile. Her hair was golden, with a shine to it. I fell in love with her the first moment I saw her. And so did your father. From that moment on, our competition for her attention became fierce.
‘For two months we both courted her, and by the end of the second, your father and I were not speaking, so bitter was our rivalry for Catherine. Your father kept putting off his return to Crydee, choosing to stay and woo Catherine. We vied desperately for her favour.
‘I was to have gone riding with Catherine one morning, but when I reached her quarters, she was readying to travel. She was first cousin to Queen Janica and, as such, a prize in the game of court intrigue. The lessons I had taught your father the years before had paid handsomely, for while I had been riding and walking in the garden with Catherine, he had been speaking to the King. Rodric directed your mother to wed your father, as was his right as her guardian. It was a politically expedient marriage, for even then the King had doubts as to his son’s ability and his brother’s health. Damn it, but Rodric was an unhappy man. His three sons from his first marriage had died before reaching manhood, and he never got over their deaths or the death of his beloved Queen Beatrice. And his younger brother, Erland, was a late child and sickly with the lung flux. He was but ten years older than Prince Rodric. The court knew that the King wished to name your father Heir, but Janica had given him a son, a shy boy whom Rodric despised. I think he forced your mother to marry your father to strengthen the tie to the throne, so he might name him Heir, and heaven knows he spent the next twelve years trying to either make the Prince a better man or break him in the trying. But the King never did name an Heir before he died, and we were left with Rodric the Fourth, a sadder, more broken man than his father.’
Arutha looked on, his cheeks flushed. ‘What do you mean, the King forced my mother to marry my father?’
Guy’s one good eye blazed. ‘It was a political marriage, Arutha.’
Arutha’s anger rose up. ‘But my mother loved my father!’
‘By the time you were born, I’m sure she had learned to love him. Your father was a good enough man and she a loving woman. But in those days, she loved me.’ His voice became thick with old emotions. ‘She loved me. I had known her a year before Borric’s return. We had already vowed to wed when my tenure as a squire was through, but it was a secret thing, a pledge between children made in a garden one night. I had written to my father, asking him to intercede with the Queen, to gain me Catherine’s hand. I never thought to speak to the King. I, the clever son of an eastern lord, had been bested by the country noble’s boy in a court intrigue. Damn, I had thought I was so wily. But I was then only nineteen. It was so long ago.
‘I fell into a rage. In those days my temper was a match for your father’s. I dashed from your mother’s room and sought Borric out. We fought; in the King’s palace, we duelled and almost killed each other. You must have seen the long wound upon your father’s side, from under the left arm across his ribs. I gave him that scar. I bear a similar wound from him. I almost died. When I recovered, your father was a week gone to Crydee, taking Catherine with him. I would have followed, but the King forbade it on pain of death. He was correct, for they were married. I took to wearing black as a public mark of my shame. Then I was sent to fight Kesh at Deep Taunton.’ He laughed a bitter laugh. ‘Much of my reputation as a general came from that encounter. I owe my success in part to your father. I punished the Keshians for his having robbed me of Catherine. I did things no general in his right mind should do, leading attack after attack. I think now I hoped to die then.’ His voice softened, and he chuckled. ‘I was almost disappointed when they asked for quarter and terms of surrender.’
Guy sighed. ‘So much of what happened in my life stems from that. I ceased holding ill will toward Borric, eventually, but he … turned a bitter side up when she died. He rejected the idea of sending his sons to the King’s court. I think he worried I might take revenge upon you and Lyam.’
‘He loved Mother; he was never a happy man after her death,’ Arutha said, feeling somehow both uncomfortable and angry. He did not need to justify his father’s behaviour to his most bitter enemy.
Guy nodded. ‘I know, but when we are young we cannot entertain the idea another’s feelings can be as deep as our own. Our love is so much loftier, our pain so much more intense. But as I grew older, I realized Borric loved Catherine as much as I did. And I think she did love him.’ Guy’s good eye fixed on a point in space. His tone became softer, reflective. ‘She was a wonderful, generous woman with room in her life for many loves. Yet, I think deep in his heart your father harboured doubts.’ Guy regarded Arutha with an expression of mixed wonder and pity. ‘Can you imagine that? How sad it must have been? Perhaps, in a strange way, I was the luckier, for I knew she loved me. I had no doubt.’ Arutha noticed a faint sheen of moisture in Guy’s good eye. The Protector brushed away the gathering tear in an unselfconscious gesture. He settled back, closing his eye, his hand to his forehead, and quietly added, ‘There seems little justice in life at times.’
Arutha pondered. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
Guy sat up, shedding his mood. ‘Because I need you. And there can be no doubts on your part. To you I am a traitor who sought to take control of the Kingdom for his own aggrandizement. In part, you are correct.’ Arutha was again surprised at Guy’s candour.
‘But how can you justify what you did to Erland?’
‘I am responsible for his death. I cannot disavow that. It was my captain who ordered his continued confinement after I had ordered his release. Radburn h
ad his uses, but tended to be overzealous. I can understand his panic, for I would have punished him for letting Anita and you escape. I needed her to gain a foothold in the succession, and you would have been a useful bargaining piece with your father.’ Seeing surprise on Arutha’s face, he said, ‘Oh yes, my agents knew you were in Krondor – or they reported to me when I returned – but Radburn made the error of thinking you’d lead him to Anita. It never occurred to him you might have nothing to do with her escape. The fool should have clapped you in jail and kept the search on for her.’
Arutha felt a return of his distrust and a lessening of sympathy. Despite Guy’s forthright speech, his callous references to using people rankled. Guy continued, ‘But I never wished Erland dead. I already had the Vice-royalty from Rodric, giving me full command over the West. I didn’t need Erland, only a link to the throne: Anita. Rodric the Fourth was mad. I was one of the first to know – as was Caldric – for in kings people overlook and forgive behaviour they would not tolerate in others. Rodric could not be allowed to rule much longer. The first eight years of the war were difficult enough in the court, but in the last year of his reign, Rodric was almost totally without reason. Kesh always has an eye turned northward, seeking signs of weakness. I did not wish the burdens of kingship, but even with your father as heir after Erland, I simply felt I was better able to rule than anyone in a position to inherit.’
‘But why all this intrigue? You had backing in the congress. Caldric, Father, and Erland barely overruled your attempt to become Prince Rodric’s regent before he reached majority. You could have found another way.’
‘The congress can ratify a King,’ answered Guy, pointing a finger at Arutha. ‘It cannot remove him. I needed a way to take the throne without civil war. The war with the Tsurani dragged on, and Rodric would not give your father the Armies of the East. He wouldn’t even give them to me, and I was the only man he trusted. Nine years of a losing war and a mad King, and the nation was bleeding to death. No, it had to end, but no matter how much backing I had, there were those like Brucal and your father who would have marched against me.
‘That’s why I wanted Anita for my wife and you as a bargaining piece. I was ready to offer Borric a choice.’
‘What choice?’
‘My preference was to let Borric rule in the West, to divide the Kingdom and let each realm follow its own destiny; but I knew none of the western lords would have permitted that. So my offer to Borric was to allow him to name the Heir after me, even if it were Lyam or you. I would have named whoever he chose Prince of Krondor, and I would have ensured I had no sons to contest for the crown. But your father would have had to accept me as King of Rillanon and swear fealty.’
Suddenly Arutha understood this man. He had put aside all questions of personal honour after he had lost Arutha’s mother to Borric, but he had kept one honour above all others: his honour for the Kingdom. He had been willing to do anything, even commit regicide – to go down in history as a usurper and traitor – in exchange for removing a mad king. It left a bad taste in Arutha’s mouth.
‘With Rodric’s death and Lyam being named Heir, all that became meaningless. Your brother is not known to me, but I expect he shares some of your father’s nature. In any event, the Kingdom must be in better hands than when Rodric sat the throne.’
Arutha sighed. ‘You have given me much to think about, Guy. I don’t approve of your reasoning or your methods, but I understand some of it.’
‘Your approval is immaterial. I repent nothing of what I have done, and will admit my decision to claim the throne myself, ignoring your father’s place in succession, was done in part from spite. If I couldn’t have your mother, Borric couldn’t have the crown. Beyond selfish considerations, I also held the firm conviction I would have made a better king than your father. What I do best is rule. But it doesn’t mean I feel good about what I’ve had to do.
‘No, what I want is your understanding. You don’t have to like me, but you must accept me for who and what I am. I need your acceptance to secure the future of Armengar.’
Arutha became silent, feeling discomforted. A memory of a conversation two years previous flooded back into his mind. After a long silence, he said, ‘I am not in a position to judge. I’m remembering a conversation with Lyam in our father’s burial vault. I was ready to see Martin dead rather than risk civil war. My own brother…’ he added softly.
‘Such judgments are a necessary consequence of ruling.’ He sat back, regarding Arutha. At last he said, ‘How did your decision about Martin make you feel?’
Arutha seemed reluctant to share that with Guy. Then after a long silence had passed, he looked directly at the Protector. ‘Dirty. It made me feel dirty.’
Guy extended his hand. ‘You do understand.’ Slowly Arutha took the proffered hand and shook. ‘Now, to the heart of the matter.
‘When we first came here, Amos, Armand, and I were sick, injured, and near-starved. These people healed us, strangers from an alien land, without questions. When we were fit, we volunteered to fight, then discovered it was expected that all who are able serve without question. So we took our place in the garrison of the city and began to learn of Armengar.
‘The Protector before Gwynnath had been an able commander, as was Gwynnath, but both knew little of modern warfare. Nevertheless, they kept the Brotherhood and the goblins under control, keeping a bloody balance of sorts.
‘Then Murmandamus came and things changed. When I arrived, the Brotherhood was victorious three out of four encounters. The Armengarians were losing, being routinely defeated for the first time in their history. I taught them modern warfare, and again we hold our own. Now nothing comes within twenty miles of the city without being seen by one of our scouts or patrols. But even with that, it is too late.’
‘Why too late?’
‘Even if Murmandamus weren’t coming to crush us, this nation couldn’t last another two generations. This city is dying. As best I can judge, two decades ago, there were perhaps fifteen thousand souls living within the city and in the surrounding countryside. Ten years ago, it was eleven or twelve thousand. Now it’s more like seven or perhaps even less. Constant warfare, women of childbearing age being killed in battle, children dying when a steading or kraal is overrun: it all adds up to a declining population, a decline that seems to be accelerating. And there’s more. It’s as if years of constant warfare have sapped the strength from these people. For all their willingness to fight, they seem somehow indifferent to the needs of daily living.
‘The culture is twisted, Arutha. All they have is struggle and, in the end, death. Their poetry is limited to sagas of heroes, and their music is simple battle chants. Have you noticed there are no signs in the city? Everyone knows where everyone else lives and works. Why signs? Arutha, no one born in Armengar can read or write. They don’t have the time to learn. This is a nation slipping inexorably into barbarism. Even should there have been no Murmandamus, in another two decades there would be no nation. They would be as the nomads of the Thunderhell. No, it’s the constant fighting.’
‘I can see how that could give one a sense of futility. What can I do to help?’
‘We need relief. I will gladly turn the governance of this city over to Brucal –’
‘Vandros. Brucal retired.’
‘Vandros, then. Bring Armengar into the Duchy of Yabon. These people fled the Kingdom, ages ago. Now they would not hesitate to embrace it, should I but order it, so much have they changed. But give me two thousand heavy foot from the garrison at Yabon and Tyr-Sog, and I’ll hold this city against Murmandamus for another year. Add a thousand more and two thousand horse, and I’ll rid the Plain of Isbandia of every goblin and Dark Brother. Give me the Armies of the West, and I’ll drive Murmandamus back to Sar-Sargoth and burn the city down with him inside. Then we can have commerce and children can be children, not little warriors. Poets will compose and artists paint. We will have music and dancing. Then maybe this city will grow again.
’
‘And will you wish to remain as Protector, or as Earl of Armengar?’ asked Arutha, not fully rid of his distrust.
‘Damn it,’ said Guy, slamming his hand down on the table. ‘If Lyam has the brains of a bag of nails, yes.’ Guy sagged back into his chair. ‘I’m tired, Arutha. I’m drunk and tired.’ His good eye brimmed. ‘I’ve lost the only thing I’ve cherished in ages, and all I’ve left is the need of these people. I’ll not fail them, but once they’re safe…’
Arutha was stunned. Before him Guy bared his soul, and what he saw was a man without much reason left to live. It was sobering. ‘I think I can persuade Lyam to agree, if you understand what his attitude toward you will be.’
‘I don’t care what he thinks of me, Arutha. He can have my head, for all of it.’ His voice again betrayed his fatigue. ‘I don’t think I care at all anymore.’
‘I’ll send messages.’
Guy laughed, a bitter, frustrated laugh. ‘That, you see, is the problem, dear cousin. You don’t think I’ve been sitting here for the last full year hoping a Prince of Krondor might blunder into Armengar? I’ve sent a dozen messages to Yabon, and toward Highcastle, outlining in detail what the situation here is and what I’ve proposed to you. The difficulty is that while Murmandamus lets anyone come north, no one – nothing – goes south. That Beasthunter you found was one of the last to try for the south. I don’t know what happened to the messenger he escorted, but I can imagine…’ He let the thought drift off.
‘You see, Arutha, we’re cut off from the Kingdom. Utterly, totally, and unless you’ve an idea we’ve not thought of, without a prayer.’
The Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn and A Darkness at Sethanon Page 153
