CHAPTER
15
“IDIOT,” DURST
SNARLED. “HOW COULD YOU BE SO stupid?”
Lanfer was bent over
a table, his leathers down around his ankles. He winced as Browdus
poured wine onto his buttocks. “It was necessary. It will throw
them off balance.”
“Horseshit,” Durst
growled. “You and the Seneschal’s son have been at odds since
birth. You brought personal feelings into this for the wrong
reasons.”
Lanfer twisted around
to look at the man. “And your reasons aren’t
personal?”
“Yours is a squabble
between boys.” Durst’s tone was cold. “I am avenging the death of
my son with a cool head and a steady hand.”
Lanfer winced as
Browdus spread open the wound and rinsed it again. “Hold still,”
the cleric muttered.
“You can’t stay in
the castle,” Durst continued. “We’ll need a reason to get
you—”
“I am not leaving,”
Lanfer said.
“You won’t be able to
sit for a week,” Durst pointed out. “And your man will walk with a
limp.” He sniffed. “At least you had the brains not to leave a
blood trail to my door.”
“I will be fine,”
Lanfer said. “The pain is nothing compared to the healing. My man
can take my horses out to the farrier and leave that way. But I am
staying.”
Durst lifted his cane
and brought the tip up under Lanfer’s chin. Lanfer lifted his head,
craning his neck until he winced with pain.
“You stay only so
long as you obey me,” Durst said. “Our plans rely on quiet and
subtlety. No one must suspect until it’s too late.”
Lanfer pulled his
head off the tip of the cane. “I will obey,” he
growled.
“Good.” Durst turned
to the man tending him. “How bad is it?”
Browdus shrugged.
“I’ve got the bleeding stopped. The wound is small but fairly deep.
We can’t risk a healer, so he will have to suffer my
ministering.”
“Suffer is the word,”
Lanfer said.
“I’ve washed it with
wine, and I’ll bandage it as best I can.” Browdus took the clean
rags from Beatrice.
“You need to get back
to the church,” Durst said. “My wife can apply the bandages to his
ass. I don’t trust the Archbishop’s nerves.”
“Best if I keep him
far from the court.” Browdus stepped back, taking up his
cloak.
“As far as you can.”
Durst smiled grimly. “Let there be no reminders.”
“Plans within plans,”
Browdus said. “Remember that plans fail and—”
“Rest assured,
priest,” Durst arched an eyebrow. “My plans do not call for
bedding.”
Browdus flushed,
bowed, and went swiftly out the door. “What was that about?” Lanfer
asked. He was clearly trying not to flinch as Beatrice packed the
wound.
“Nothing you need
know of.” Durst limped over to the window. “Just an ill-conceived
plan that Browdus came up with early on.” Durst settled into his
chair with a sigh. “Admittedly, it was done quickly, with little
time for planning. But my web has been woven over months.” He
settled back with a sigh. “They will never see the blows
coming.”
“I UNDERSTAND THERE
WAS A BIT OF A RUCKUS last night,” Lara said as she stepped out of
her sleeping chambers. Her eyes were lit up with
mischief.
“Did Keir and Atira
leave already?” Heath asked, trying to avoid the topic. Bad enough
he still had the taste of willowbark tea in his mouth.
“Yes, and Marcus,
with Keir’s token.” Lara frowned at that thought, plucking at her
skirts. Once again she was dressed in the Xyian manner, with a
high-waisted blue gown. She’d slung a belt over her belly, a dagger
at her side. It looked odd, but that hardly mattered. Other than
her walk into the city, Heath doubted she’d ever be without a
weapon again. “Keir wouldn’t take anyone else with him,” Lara
continued. “He left them to guard me.”
“The Warlord needs no
others for a senel,” Amyu said. “Worry about yourself,
Warprize.”
“Prest and Rafe are
waiting in the hall,” Heath said. Yveni and Ander were rising,
strapping on their weapons. “You’ll have the four of them and
myself with you at all times.”
“As if I have a
choice in the matter,” Lara said crossly. She titled her head,
considering Heath for a moment. Then her smile was back. The impish
one. “Anna told me all about it when she brought
breakfast.”
“If you are ready,
Your Majesty?” Heath extended his arm. “Your Council is
waiting.”
Lara laughed, placed
her hand on his wrist, and they started off.
“Seems an animal of
some kind crushed Anna’s chicken coop last night,” Lara continued.
“Smashed it flat. Set off a terrible racket, with chickens
squawking and fluttering around.” She gave him a sly look. “Isn’t
that just under your hiding place?” she inquired innocently. “The
one where you’d star-gaze for hours at a time?”
“A fox, perhaps,”
Heath suggested. “I’ll have the Guard set some traps.”
“That seems a lot of
damage for a fox,” Lara said. “I told Anna I thought it was a
bear.”
Heath gave her a look
out of the corner of his eye. Lara laughed.
“Father is already in
with the Council,” Heath said softly, changing the subject. “He
limped in early with the documents. They have been poring over them
for about an hour.”
“Good,” Lara said.
She pressed her free hand to her belly. “I want this resolved
quickly.”
“You’ll be back in
your chambers with Keir at your side before you know it. He said he
didn’t think his senel would last any longer than your meeting,”
Heath said.
“Maybe.” Lara sighed.
“With all the truths being exchanged, he will be longer at it than
I will.”
“I don’t know,” Heath
paused. “Lord Durst is in there.” He nodded down the
corridor.
Lara stopped
abruptly, standing in the hall, looking sick. “That’s right. He is
on the Council. I’d forgotten. Last time, he wasn’t able to
attend—”
“Because Keir thrust
his sword through his chest,” Heath finished for her.
“Goddess.” Lara
closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Give me
strength.”
“We could return to
your chambers,” Heath said. “Plead exhaustion on your
part.”
“No.” Lara opened her
eyes and lifted her chin. “This needs to be done.”
“Have no fear, little
bird. Father and I will be at your side, and your guards will be
close at hand,” Heath said with a smile.
Strength flooded back
into her face. Lara gave him a grateful smile and then started
toward the double doors. “Let’s be about this, then. We’ll deal
with the terms of the regency, I’ll announce the High Court dinner
and the Justice for tomorrow, and then I will nap.”
“As you command,”
Heath said as the guards opened the double doors and the Council
members rose to greet them.
Othur was seated
closest to the head chair, and he was struggling to rise. Lara put
her hand on his shoulder. “No need, Lord Othur,” she said as she
took her place before her chair. She looked around the table. “My
lords, I wish you a good morning.”
Heath took his
position just behind his father’s chair. The Council room hadn’t
changed in years. Still the same tapestries covering the stone
walls, and the long oak table that the maids kept highly polished.
Out of habit he checked the nearest corner of the table. Sure
enough, he could still make out the faint blue stain in the
grooves.
The Crystal Sword of
Xy lay on the table, sheathed. It was an old tradition, dating back
for as long as anyone could remember. The old blade normally hung
on the wall here in the chamber, but it was set on the table during
Council meetings, the hilt toward the monarch, the point toward the
far wall. It only left these chambers when it was needed for
ceremonies in the throne room.
Heath smiled when he
saw it. He’d used to beg for his father to draw the sword so he
could see it. The blade was thick and clear as glass, and none knew
the secret of its forging. Seeing it on the table was almost like
seeing an old friend.
Each lord had his
designated seat, and Heath scanned their faces as they waited. Some
were forbidding, some harsh, some wise, some serene. Lord Durst’s
was bland, but Heath wasn’t fooled. The weapons in this room
weren’t swords, but they were just as deadly in their own
way.
Othur looked at Lara,
and for a moment, Heath feared that Lara had forgotten the rituals
of the Council, but she placed her hand on the hilt of the Sword of
Xy as if she’d done it a thousand times before. “I, Xylara,
Daughter of Xy and consecrated Queen, do hereby open this Council,”
she said. She sat then, and Heath moved to help her adjust her
chair as the lords settled into theirs. “Let us start to work,
gentlemen, for I tire easily. I believe you’ve seen the
documents?”
ATIRA STOOD NEXT TO
KEIR AND FUMED.
“I would tell you the
truth, Warlord,” Elois of the Horse began, standing before the
gathered warriors with Keir’s token in her hand.
“You hold my token,”
Keir acknowledged calmly. He was seated on a stool set before the
throne at the same level as the warriors.
“My truth is that I
feel betrayed,” Elois said.
Atira kept her hands
clenched behind her, her eyes focused on the far wall, her anger
simmering in her gut.
Just as well she was
angry. It took her mind off her bruises and the taste of that
horrible tea that Heath had made her drink. She wondered how he was
faring; he’d taken the brunt of the fall. She’d check on him after
this senel.
Provided she didn’t
challenge Elois first.
The sight of Marcus,
cloaked and hooded, standing against the back wall, helped. If he
could control his temper, she could keep hers.
The Warlord had
called senel for all of the warriors that had remained in Water’s
Fall and had claimed the throne room, the only room that would hold
them all, for that purpose. And almost all had decided to attend,
to hear his truths. The room was overflowing, and unlike a tent,
these walls did not roll up to allow light and air.
But if the air was
thick, the tension was thicker. Elois continued to speak. “We were
promised much, War—” Elois paused, then continued. “Keir of the
Cat.”
That caused a stir,
but Keir didn’t react.
“We honored our
pledge to remain here through the snows, to secure this city for
you. We stayed when the rest of the army went with you to the
Plains. We stayed, even when the winds brought word that the army
had suffered losses from illness, and that Epor and Isdra had died.
A bonded pair, in your service, Keir. Still, we
stayed.
“We coped with the
Xyians. With their language, their odd ways, their insults.” Elois
drew a breath. “We adapted to their stone tents and accepted this
life as the warriors we are.”
Atira grit her teeth
at Elois’s tone.
“Then the Council of
Elders summoned Atira to give testimony, and Simus left to return
to your side. And still we stayed.”
Elois looked around,
as if seeking support. The warriors around her were nodding, as if
in agreement. “Again, a messenger came, but this time from the
Council. Word that you were no longer Warlord. Yet, we still
stayed, in honor of our vows and the Warprize.”
“But now? Now you
return, but not as the conquering Warlord. No, instead you follow
behind, silent, as the Xyian returns to her land as the triumphant
one.” Elois averted her gaze. “I mean no offense to the Warprize,
for the Council has proclaimed her so. But spring has come, and I
have no Warlord to serve. At least, this is the truth as it seems
to me. And I would know your intent.”
It was clear that
Elois had finished; it was also clear that she intended to keep the
Warlord’s token in her hands.
Keir stood, tall and
relaxed, his dark hair and black leathers a stark contrast to the
white stone of the throne. “I thank you for your truths, Elois of
the Horse, and will answer to them.”
He looked out over
the room.
“Harsh truths, but
truths that must be faced and dealt with.”
“It is true that I no
longer am Warlord. The Council held me responsible for the deaths
of my warriors. Isdra and Epor were a great loss to all of the
Plains.”
Keir spread his
hands. “If you wish to hear the winds laugh, tell them your
plans.”
There were murmurs of
agreement then, and nods of understanding.
“So we must deal with
what is, and face these truths. The Council, in its judgment,
proclaimed that I could strive to regain my status, and I would
have done so this spring. But the Warprize bears a child, and her
traditions require that the birth be here, in the Xyian tents,
where the Xyians may witness the birth.
“While I am no longer
a warlord, still am I Overlord of this land,” Keir said. “But what
use is there in repeatedly striking a foe that has already
surrendered to me? Instead, the focus is on the Warprize and her
babe, not on us. In this matter, I am her second. It is for the
Warprize to rule her people and resolve conflicts such as the fate
of the child you rescued.” Keir had a small half-smile on his lips.
“But while the winds have altered my plans, they have not defeated
them.”
Keir lifted his head,
and looked around. Atira had a feeling he was deliberately looking
each warrior in the eye. “I would release any warrior who no longer
wishes to remain in my service. They will depart with my thanks and
packs full enough to hold them in good stead on the Plains. But for
any willing to forge a new path with me, there will be even bigger
rewards if my plans come to pass.”
“And what are those
plans?” Elois asked, confusion and hope warring in her
face.
“I will regain my
status next spring,” Keir said firmly. “Simus will contest for
Warlord this season, and Joden will offer himself to the Singers.”
He smiled, almost to himself. “Liam of the Deer will aid me as
well, and there are others of the Warlords who will listen, and I
hope, support me. If the Council of Elders can be reunited,
then—”
Elois looked at him
in astonishment. “You would be Warking,” she said, her voice the
barest whisper.
A thrill ran through
Atira’s body at the idea as the other warriors stirred, exchanging
looks.
Keir nodded, slowly.
“The need is there, Elois. Can you deny that? Too long the
warrior-priests have—” Keir cut off his words. “Enough. If that
debate starts, we’d be here a day and a night exchanging
tokens.”
Even Elois chuckled
at the truth of those words. Many of the other warriors smiled as
well, and tensions eased.
“My plans must start
here in Xy,” Keir said. “For this land must also change. The
Warprize and I have discussed the matter, but I need the aid of
another to show it to you.” Keir nodded to Marcus, who opened the
door of the antechamber.
A short, fat man
beamed at him and hustled into the room with two assistants, their
hands filled with rolls of parchment. Remn paused, blinked at the
crowd of warriors, and then headed for Keir.
“Warlord.” Remn
greeted him with a quick bow. “I have brought all that you
requested. This one in particular.” He gestured to one of the
assistants, who unrolled and displayed a parchment filled with
colors and lines.
“What are these?”
Elois asked.
“Maps.” Keir leaned
forward, watching as Remn pointed at something on the parchment.
“Very, very old maps.”
“SO, IF THERE IS NO
FURTHER DISCUSSION OF THE terms,” Lara said as she shifted in her
chair. “We can conclude this meeting.”
Heath knew full well
why she was uncomfortable. It felt like they’d been at this for
hours.
“One thing, Your
Majesty,” Lord Reddin said, his chair scraping the stone as he
rose.
Heath stiffened.
Reddin supported Durst.
“Yes?” Lara
asked.
“The phrase here
regent for the child born of Xylara, Daughter
of Xy.” Lord Reddin tapped his finger on the copy before
him. “I believe a different wording would be appropriate. Let us
change the word child to heir.”
Othur frowned. Heath
couldn’t see Lara’s face, but her tone was cautiously neutral. “Why
so, my lord?” she asked.
Lord Reddin shrugged
elegantly, as if it was of no matter. “I desire specificity, my
Queen. It’s my understanding that Firela—” He paused with an
expression of apology that looked false to Heath’s eyes. “That
those of the Plains routinely bear twins. Should Your Majesty bear
more than one child, we would be better served that there be no
question as to which child the document refers to.”
Lara said nothing,
just reached out to the table to draw the document closer so that
she could read it. Heath kept his face neutral, but his thoughts
raced furiously as the silence grew.
ATIRA CRANED HER NECK
WITH ALL THE OTHER warriors, straining to look at Remn’s maps, and
listen to Keir’s words. The idea that the land could be captured on
parchment and cloth was a new and frightening one. Colors, lines .
. . it was hard to believe it meant something.
Of course, she had
thought that about words before Heath had taught her to read. And
there stood Remn, the short, fat man, pointing and explaining about
mountain passes.
“Liam of the Deer is
due to arrive shortly,” Keir announced over everyone’s heads.
“Warren and Wilsa have not yet returned from their task of ridding
the land of bandits.”
Everyone started to
settle, listening to his words.
“I do not ask any
warrior to decide here and now”—Keir flashed a smile—“for the
decision you make is an important one. But consider well before you
decide, for understand one thing.” Keir paused, waiting for
everyone’s attention. “I will do this. I will be Warking. The
Warprize and I will unite these lands, for the betterment of both
our peoples.”
Keir stopped there,
but the message was clear. The Plains warriors all looked at one
another.
“Consider well your
choices,” Keir said. “This senel is closed.”
FOR HIS LIFE, HEATH
COULDN’ T SEE A PROBLEM with the request, but he’d trust Lord
Reddin about as far as he could throw him.
“I see no problem
with the change, Your Majesty,” Lord Pellore said softly. Other
heads were nodding.
Pellore was fairly
neutral as far as Heath knew. He saw Lara’s head turn toward Othur
slightly, saw the faint nod Othur gave her.
“Very well,” Lara
said. “Let us have the scribes make the final changes, and be about
it.” She shifted in the chair with a sigh as the document was
removed and rushed to the waiting scribe at the corner desk. “In
the meantime, my lords, I will hold a High Court feast this night,
in celebration of our safe arrival in Water’s Fall. I’d ask all of
you and your ladies to attend.
“On the morrow, we
will hold the Justice, to resolve any pending issues.” She placed
her hand on her belly. “After that, I will withdraw from view for a
time.”
Most of the lords
looked a bit uncomfortable at that statement, but Pellore smiled
and nodded. “May I say, Majesty, that we wish you well in the
coming days.”
Heath watched as Lara
thanked him, even as the other lords offered their best
wishes.
All except for
Durst.
ATIRA HEAVED A SIGH
OF RELIEF ONCE THE WARLORD was back in his chambers, the Warprize
safe at his side. Lara was yawning her head off as Keir took her
into the sleeping chamber and closed the door behind
them.
“That’s done,” Heath
said, his own relief in his voice.
Prest and Rafe were
starting to settle before the hearth, watching Marcus grind beans
for kavage. Ander and Yveni were making themselves comfortable as
well, and there were two castle guards outside the door. Atira
stretched, trying to loosen the muscles in her back.
Heath drew closer.
“Sore?” he asked softly.
Atira
nodded.
Heath sighed. “I
could get us some more willowbark tea,” he suggested.
“I’ve a better idea,”
Atira said, whispering in his ear. “We need something . . .
physical.”
“Mmmm,” Heath sighed
back, his blue eyes hot with want. “Something to warm us. Stretch
us. Make us feel . . . good.” His eyes were sparkling now. “What
exactly did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice warm and
husky.
“Come with me,” Atira
said.