Wolfblade (8 page)

Nash smiled knowingly, still watching the commotion at the entrance, while Laran studiously ignored it. Alija was Barnardo’s wife now and there was no point in thinking about her. No point in wondering what might have been. Besides, she had brushed him off like an annoying insect when she realised what Barnardo could offer her. Laran was unproved and unknown, caught in limbo until his thirtieth birthday and the time when he could take charge of his wealth and his province. Barnardo was a much safer bet for an ambitious woman like Alija—a powerful and wealthy Warlord and cousin of a
weak and easily manipulated High Prince. Alija was many things, Laran thought. Sentimental definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Are you going to speak to her?” Nash asked.

“Who?”

“Alija, of course.”

“I’ve nothing to say to her.”

“You’ll have to say something eventually,” Nash suggested. “I mean, she’s bound to want to congratulate you when the Convocation votes you your province in a few days.”

“
If
they vote me my province,” Laran corrected.

“They will,” Nash promised. “They have no choice. You’re the only man in Hythria who actually wants to live so far from the capital. I really don’t know what you see in Krakandar, myself. Far too close to those vicious sluts running Medalon, if you ask me.”

“The Sisters of the Blade don’t give us much trouble,” he shrugged. “They’re too busy trying to rid their own country of pagans to worry about the pagans south of the border.”

“Yes, but one day those nasty bitches may actually
succeed
in ridding themselves of their own pagans,” Nash said. “And then you know what they’ll do, don’t you?”

“Invade Karien?” Laran suggested with a faint smile, taking a sip from his glass. The wine was too sweet and he winced at the taste of it, trying very hard to give the impression that he had no interest in what was going on between Alija and Kagan across the hall.

“Now there’s a thought!” Nash was saying, oblivious to the direction of Laran’s thoughts. “I wonder who’d win that little skirmish? What are there—a few thousand Defenders to take on a few
hundred
thousand Kariens?”

“I’d back the Defenders any day,” Laran said, forcing himself to look away. There was nothing between him and Alija any more. And no point wishing there was. He fixed his attention on Nash. “One well-trained Medalonian Defender is worth a hundred reluctant Karien conscripts.”

“You sound like you actually admire them!” Nash accused, looking a little alarmed at the thought.

“I do,” Laran agreed. “I mean, I’ve no time for the Sisterhood, but their Defenders are trained better than any other soldiers in the world. Including ours.”

“You know, that’s bordering on sacrilegious, Laran.”

The future Warlord smiled. “Maybe Zegarnald created the Defenders to give us a worthy opponent?”

“What’s this about the Defenders?” a voice boomed behind them. “I turn my back on you two for five seconds and now you’re planning to declare war on Medalon!”

Laran and Nash turned to find Laran’s stepfather, Glenadal Ravenspear,
the Warlord of Sunrise Province, standing behind them. He was a big man with a broad grin and a voice that could decalcify a man’s spine at fifty paces when the mood took him. Laran liked him a great deal, not because he was a powerful Warlord, or a clever one, but because he had made Laran’s mother happy. After a lifetime of misery brought on by a series of unhappy arranged marriages, she deserved some small measure of peace.

“How did you get in here?” Laran asked. “I thought this ball was restricted to civilised people?”

The big Warlord laughed. “They let Hablet of Fardohnya in, didn’t they?”

“I heard a rumour he’s made an offer for the High Prince’s sister,” Laran said.

Nash’s smile faded. “It’s no rumour. And her son will be heir to Hythria, some day.”

“Not if Lernen has a son.”

Nash shook his head unhappily at the thought. “Since I can’t recall the last time a young male slave gave birth, that’s not very likely, is it?”

Laran looked at his two companions hopefully. “Look, I know what he fancies—gods, the whole country knows it—and I agree it’s not very healthy, but surely he realises he has a duty? They only have to find him a wife with the right bloodline. After he gets her with child, who cares what he does? Or who he does it with?”

“A sound plan if you could get him to cooperate,” Glenadal agreed. He lowered his voice and glanced around before adding, “The problem is—Lernen isn’t interested. If what I hear rumoured is true, Hablet is offering him a fortune and the chance to get an heir without having to sully his hands by laying them on a woman. I don’t think he cares what happens beyond that.”

“It won’t happen,” Laran said, shaking his head. “The Convocation of Warlords will never countenance a Fardohnyan-born heir to the High Prince of Hythria’s throne.”

“Hence the Patriots’ seemingly acceptable suggestion that we abandon the current bloodline,” Glenadal pointed out. “To those who don’t want to be ruled some day by Hablet’s get, Barnardo Eaglespike is an eminently reasonable alternative.”

“He’d strip the country bare in five years,” Laran said.

“But he’s Hythrun,” Glenadal reminded them. “A lot of people would rather be raped by one of their own than a foreigner.”

“Raped is still raped, Glenadal.”

“Why can’t we just marry the High Prince’s sister to a Hythrun then?” Nash asked.

“Who?” Laran scoffed. “Any man foolish enough to make an offer for Marla Wolfblade needs an army the size of Medalon’s to back him up and
more wealth than any one province owns. That’s what makes Hablet’s offer so attractive to Lernen. The Fardohnyan king is richer than a god and has access to a standing army bigger than the population of Greenharbour.”

“Besides, the only unmarried Warlord in Hythria is you, Laran,” Glenadal reminded them. “And you’re not even sure they’re going to let you have Krakandar yet.”

“Perhaps
I
should make an offer for her?” Nash laughed. “I’ll be a Warlord soon. And she’s really quite stunning, you know.”

“Don’t you think your father might have something to say about that?” Laran suggested. “He was looking pretty hale and hearty earlier this evening. I’m not sure he’d be too pleased to hear you announcing that you’re soon to replace him.”

“Well, maybe
soon
is a bit of an exaggeration,” Nash conceded. “But it’s kind of tempting for a patriotic Hythrun, don’t you think? The chance to father the next High Prince? Particularly if all it requires is a brave man willing to take a beautiful, well-trained princess to his bed.”

“A sacrifice a noble and selfless Royalist such as you would be more than willing to make, I suppose?” Laran asked with a wry smile.

“Of course,” Nash agreed. “I’m renowned for my selfless devotion to the cause.”

Glenadal smiled. “I’d not joke about it too loudly, if I were you, Nashan Hawksword. Nobody has much of a sense of humour when it comes to the succession.”

“It’s probably a foolish notion,” Nash sighed. “Besides, I’m waiting for Riika to grow up.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time before I let you near
my
daughter,” Glenadal chuckled, slapping the young man on the back. “Anyway, she hates you.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. I decided it for her.”

“Help me, Laran!” Nash begged, turning to his friend for support. “He’s not being fair!”

“Help you get your hands on my innocent little sister?” Laran asked with a wink at his stepfather. “Are you forgetting how well I know you, Nash?”

“I would treat her like a queen!” Nash promised.

“Isn’t that what you told that
court’esa
last night?”

“Laran!”

The Warlord laughed. “Keep trying, Nashan. I like you. One day I may even let you stand in the same room as Riika without an armed escort. But don’t hold your breath.”

Nash opened his mouth to object but the words never came. Over his shoulder, a door to one of the anterooms opened. The movement caught his eye and they all turned to see what was happening. A young girl dressed in a
swirl of lavender silk emerged from the room followed by an elegant, black-robed sorcerer.

“Ye gods,” Laran breathed in awe. “Who is
that?”

“That,” Nashan replied, “is Marla Wolfblade.”

“You weren’t joking when you said she was stunning.”

“I know, I think I’m in love,” Nash declared, clutching his hand dramatically over his heart.

Laran shook his head and looked at his stepfather, rolling his eyes. “He said
that
to a
court’esa
last night, too.”

T
he first thing Marla saw when she emerged from the anteroom was Nashan Hawksword staring at her with open admiration, his hand on his heart. Behind him were two older men. One she recognised as the Warlord of Sunrise Province. The other man, she didn’t know. Nash took his hand from his heart, picked up his wine and raised his glass in her direction.

She thought her heart might shatter into a million fragments at the sight of him.

“That’s Nashan Hawksword,” Lady Tesha explained. “The son of Lord Hawksword, the Warlord of Elasapine. It would be rude not to acknowledge his greeting.”

“It’s rude to farm me out like a prize brood mare,” Marla retorted petulantly. “That doesn’t seem to bother anyone.”

Tesha ignored her comment, taking her arm to lead her forward to greet the Warlords.

“Lady Tesha,” the Warlord of Sunrise said with a gracious bow as they approached. “How lovely to see you again. And with such a charming companion.”

“Allow me to introduce her royal highness, Marla Wolfblade,” Tesha said. “Marla, I believe you already know Glenadal Ravenspear. This is Nashan Hawksword, son of the Warlord of Elasapine, and Lord Laran Krakenshield, the Warlord of Krakandar.”

“I had the honour of meeting her highness earlier,” Nash said, taking her hand. He kissed her palm, sending a shiver down her spine, then handed her over to Laran Krakenshield.

Laran bowed politely, taking Marla’s hand, kissing her palm also, although far more properly than Nash had done. He was very tall, with dark hair, blue eyes and features too stern to be called handsome. “Lady Tesha exaggerates, your highness. I’m not actually the Warlord of anything yet.”

Marla smiled, trying to give the impression she cared. She had no interest in Laran Krakenshield.

“Surely your appointment as Warlord of Krakandar is a mere formality, my lord?” Tesha asked.

“Nothing in Hythria is a mere formality,” Laran replied. “As you should know, my lady.”

The comment caught Marla’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“Just that nothing is ever certain until it’s done, your highness. Not in this country, at any rate.”

“But Krakandar is your birthright, is it not? What could go wrong?”

Nash laughed, amused by her innocent question. “Any number of things could go awry, your highness. It’s the nature of life to be uncertain. That’s what makes it so interesting.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe nothing was certain, after all. Maybe there was some hope for a future that didn’t involve a loveless, lonely existence in a foreign country, far from everything she knew and loved.

“If uncertainty is your guiding principle, Nash,” Lord Ravenspear chuckled, “I wonder how you manage to get anything done.”

“Well, mostly it’s just luck, I think.”

“You’re a follower of Jondalup, Lord Hawksword?” Marla asked, hoping she didn’t sound like she was simply fishing for any pathetic excuse to stand here and talk to him. “The God of Chance?”

“Actually, I’ve always fancied myself a follower of Kalianah first, your highness,” Nash told her with a mischievous smile. “I tend to pray to the other gods as the need arises.”

“Which would account for why they seem to ignore you so regularly,” Glenadal remarked. “Pay no attention to him, Marla. Nashan Hawksword is a rogue and I’ll not let him or my stepson corrupt you any further. Come!” he ordered, offering her his arm. “Walk with me. My wife is back home in Cabradell so we’ll get all the gossips talking about what you’re doing hanging off the arm of an old beast like me.”

Marla liked Glenadal Ravenspear. He had always been kind to her and was one of the few who ever bothered to visit her at Highcastle. Her cousins’ estate was located within the borders of Sunrise; her Aunt Lydia was married to Frederak Branador, one of the vassals of the Ravenspear family. Marla took the Warlord’s arm and smiled hopefully at Tesha.

“Is that all right with you, Lady Tesha?”

“I suppose you’re as safe with the Warlord of Sunrise as any other man in this hall,” the sorcerer remarked. “You will keep her safe, won’t you, Glenadal?”

“Like she was my own child,” the Warlord promised.

“I notice you didn’t actually bring your
own
child to Greenharbour for the Convocation,” Tesha pointed out—a little annoyed, Marla thought.

“Riika will make her debut into society when I deem her ready, Lady Tesha. Never fear. In the meantime, I have a princess to escort and a great number of dirty old men to turn green with envy.”