The Bloodbound (20 page)

“F
irst, the grim news,” Highmount said, eyeing each of them in turn. He sat on the king's right, opposite Arran Green and Adelbard Brown. Raibert Green, Alix, and Rig rounded out the assembly. Taken together, they were something of a crowd, in Alix's estimation, and she found herself pining for the tidy trio of their Greenhold days, when she and Erik and Raibert Green had formed the sum total of the decision-making apparatus. Spacious as the king's pavilion was, Alix feared it was too small to accommodate the egos around the table.

“General Green, if you please,” said Highmount.

Green inclined his head gravely. “Our scouts report that the enemy host at the border stirs. They are building siege engines, taking advantage of the abundant forest of Boswyck Valley. There can be little doubt that they mean to march in the coming days.”

A spasm of fear wrenched Alix's insides. They'd known it was only a matter of time, but it still came as a nasty shock to learn that the moment was here.
Siege engines. They make for Erroman.

“They are fifty thousand strong,” Green went on, as though any of them could have forgotten. “The coming battle will be like nothing this country has faced since the days of the old empire.”

“You mean when the Harrami sacked Erroman?” Rig asked. “Or were you referring to the Onnani rebellion? Hard to say which was the more glorious moment in our history, but it's good to hear that this might top them both.”

Highmount fixed him with a look of elegant distaste. “Lord Black, please. This is hardly the time for levity.”

Arran Green ignored them both. “We have a substantial head start on the enemy, and the siege engines will slow his progress. Even so, we must increase our pace. I recommend adding two hours per day to the march, plus a night march every three days. It will be difficult, but we have little choice. We must allow ourselves enough time to deal with matters in Erroman before the Oridians descend upon us in earnest.”

“Very well,” said Erik. “There is little else we can do for now. We will begin tomorrow. Now—what else? Have we any news from the capital?”

“Thankfully, of a more positive nature,” Highmount said. “As of last intelligence, Tomald remained lodged in his own apartments.”

Erik was unimpressed. “I'm afraid I don't understand your point. Where else would he be lodged?”

“Why, in your royal suite, Your Majesty. Moving into the king's lodgings would have sent a powerful signal.”

“My brother has sent plenty of signals,” Erik said dryly, “but I'm gratified to hear that he has drawn the line at occupying my bed.”

“It has always been difficult to know your brother's mind,” Highmount said, ignoring the king's sarcasm. “Any small insight into his thinking is valuable. From that perspective, his decision to remain in his own quarters is instructive.”

“And what does it teach us?”

“That for all his manoeuvrings, Tomald is not yet ready to proclaim himself king.”

Erik didn't look convinced, but he held his peace. It was Raibert Green who asked the obvious question. “But what will he do when we approach the city? What if he bars the gates?”

“Then we attack,” said Rig.

“Impossible,” said Arran Green. “They outnumber us nearly fourfold.”

“Do they?” Rig arched an eyebrow. “How many Kingswords will take up arms against their rightful king? Seems to me that we have allies within the walls, and plenty of them.”

“Perhaps, but it would be foolish to rely on that.”

“It does not matter,” Highmount interrupted with an impatient gesture. “The king cannot attack his own city. It would make him appear weak, as though
he
were the challenger for the crown. And besides, it would do significant damage to the city, which in addition to weakening our defences against the Oridians, would cost him dearly in terms of popular support.”

“What do you suggest, Highmount?” asked Lord Brown. “Should we stand outside the gates and ask nicely?” He and Rig exchanged a
look
; plainly, they did not think Highmount had any business in the war council.
As though this is a military question
, Alix thought irritably. By all accounts, Highmount was a shrewd politician, and he came with fresh intelligence from the capital. If anyone had a right to speak on the matter, it was he.
Too many egos, not enough information.
She didn't envy Erik the task of sorting wisdom from bluster.

“I do not believe Tomald means to bar King Erik from the city,” Highmount said. “He can no more afford a direct confrontation than we can. He recognises that, else he would not have troubled with assassins and spies. He needs at least a veneer of legitimacy for his actions.”

“You can't be sure of that,” Erik said.

“Letting us into the city would squander a major military advantage,” Arran Green said. “The Raven is too smart for that.”

Alix could hold her tongue no longer. “I agree with Lord Highmount.” Unsurprisingly, this announcement earned her a glare from Arran Green.
He can scowl all he likes
, she thought, meeting Green's eyes with a level stare. She was not his to command anymore, or to reproach
.
Erik had always encouraged her to speak her mind, and so she would. “If Tom meant to challenge His Majesty through force of arms, he wouldn't bother investing so much in his propaganda campaign. The White Ravens are proof that he craves popular backing.”

“Crave it he might,” Arran Green said, “but that does not mean he will renounce a military option.”

Erik surveyed his counsellors with narrowed eyes, his chin propped on his hand. “Suppose you're right, Highmount. What would you do in Tom's place?”

“I would meet you in parley. I would attempt to convince you that the crown is already lost, and demand that you stand aside.”

Erik laughed bitterly. “He knows me better than that.”

“He knows you will do what you believe best for the kingdom. Therefore, he will seek to convince you that opposing him will only bring blood and ruin to all of Alden.”

“You're wrong, Highmount,” Erik said. “Tom thinks me
frivolous
.”

“He thinks you a fool,” Highmount said blandly. Alix's jaw dropped, and she wasn't alone; every pair of eyes around the table glared at the first counsel. If Highmount noticed, he didn't care. “He also thinks you are principled to a fault. Recall the arguments you employed in favour of going to war with Oridia.”

“I said we were honour-bound to stand by our allies.”

“You also said that however painful for Alden, it was for the greater good. If I were your brother, I would appeal to that very sentiment, and argue that yielding to me would be for the greater good.”

Erik grunted thoughtfully. “You may be right.”

Alix wasn't sure. If Tom believed his brother was principled to a fault, he might just as easily conclude that Erik would dig in his heels no matter what.

“Your brother has gathered many allies,” Highmount said. “How many, I cannot say. He obviously hopes that the balance of support weighs in his favour, and he may not be wrong.”

Rig scowled at that. “Nearly all the Banner Houses are represented at this table.”

“With due respect, Lord Black, the Banner Houses are not what they used to be.” Highmount raised his eyebrows at Rig, as if to say,
Especially yours.
“The lesser houses outnumber you tenfold. Many of them are far wealthier and spend more time in the capital, meticulously tending to their alliances. Their influence cannot be underestimated. Moreover, they breed prodigiously, no matter if some consider it vulgar, and that makes them hungry.” He pulled his collar down to reveal his marriage chain, two large gold loops and four smaller, proclaiming him the father of four children. “I myself have three daughters and a son, gods help me, and nearly a dozen grandchildren. We must find a marriage and lands for each of them. Unlike the Banner Houses, the lesser lords take marriage very seriously.” In case anyone had missed his meaning, he fixed Lords Black and Green with a reproachful look. Rig should have been married years ago, it was true, and it had been nearly a decade since Raibert Green's wife died in childbirth. Neither had heirs, and Raibert lacked even a single sibling. If he fell tomorrow, the Green banner would pass to his cousin Arran.

“On this, at least, we agree,” Lord Brown said. “The Swiftcurrents have more gold than the royal treasury, and the Middlemarches are shameless climbers, and breed like rabbits besides. Who can say what families like that will do?”

Highmount levelled his hawklike gaze at Erik. “Your brother hopes you will see the allies arrayed at his back and conclude that opposing him would tear the country apart.”

“And if I fail to reach that conclusion?”

“Then he will attack,” Arran Green said, “and he will win.”

Silence settled like ash over the table. The assembled lords looked at each other grimly. Erik sat straight and proud, jaw taut, blue eyes chiselled from ice. “It's hopeless, then?”

“Not hopeless, Your Majesty,” Highmount said. “I cannot agree with General Green. I do not think it inevitable that your brother will attack, at least not straightaway. Tomald is not entirely without honour.”

Arran Green snorted, but did not otherwise deign to reply. Part of Alix was in sympathy with the commander general, but another part recalled a conversation at Greenhold, half a lifetime ago. “Your Majesty,” she said, “you once told me that Tom always believes he's the hero of the story,” she said. “If that's true, then maybe Lord Highmount is right, and there's a chance he can be convinced to back down.”

Erik cocked his head. “Go on.”

Alix felt the weight of the gazes upon her. They were expectant, even hopeful. For once, none of the great lords looked at her as if she were an impudent girl, not even Arran Green. She should have felt vindicated; instead she felt more nervous than ever. She cleared her throat. “If Tom fancies himself the hero, then let him be. Hand him a narrative that makes him the saviour. What happened at Boswyck changed you forever. It hardened you, forced you to grow wiser. You understand now what Tom was trying to tell you all along, that war with Oridia was folly. It's too late to stop it now, but you're twice the king you once were, and together, you and Tom can defeat the enemy.” It rolled off her tongue so easily that Alix wondered if some of it might even be true.

Highmount stroked his beard. Alix could see the thoughts churning behind his sharp eyes. Aloud, he merely said, “Interesting.”

Erik did not share that assessment. “You want me to say that I was wrong to honour our oath? That I should never have declared war? I don't believe that, Alix.”

“You are not the one who needs to believe it, Your Majesty,” Highmount said. “You need only play the part long enough for your brother to concede. Then you may do with him what you will.”

Erik turned a cold gaze on his first counsel. “You propose that I deceive him into surrendering and then take his head?”

“If that is what you must—”

“No.” Erik didn't raise his voice, but he didn't have to. The word carried absolute finality. “He is my
brother
. If I accept his surrender, then I accept it. I will not betray him, no matter that he has betrayed me.”

Alix suppressed a sigh. Destan himself couldn't have been more stubborn where honour was concerned. Admirable though Erik's principles might be, they were not always practical. Then again, honour was a Holy Virtue; pragmatism was not.

“The good news is, you probably won't need to make that choice,” Rig said wryly. “Tom will never stand aside, not when he's this close to getting what he wants.”

“Then I will give him what he wants.”

Highmount was aghast. “Your Majesty, you cannot turn over the crown!”

“It's not the crown he wants, not really.” Erik smiled sadly. “The crown is only a symbol. Alix has the right of it—what he wants is to be the hero. He wants to prove that he is better than me, once and for all. I can give him that. And I can give him Sirin Grey.”

“A risky ploy,” said Raibert Green. “He will have to believe you are absolutely sincere.”

“Yes.”

Rig shook his head. “In that case, may Hew be your sign, Erik.”

Alix would have thought to go to her grave without ever hearing her brother invoke the god of wit. Courage and strength had always been his watchwords.
The world must be coming to an end after all.

“His Majesty must be armed with more than a clever tongue,” Highmount said. “We must do everything we can to strengthen his position before the parley.”

“You obviously have ideas,” Lord Brown said.

“Indeed. First, there is the matter of the White Wolves. Have you considered my proposal, Your Majesty?”

Erik gave a thin smile. Turning to Rig, he said, “Congratulations, Lord Black. You are now commander of the White Wolves.”

“His Majesty is too generous.” They shared a hollow laugh, oblivious to the look of outrage that came over Arran Green. The commander general didn't appear to see the humour in mocking the legendary Wolves, a unit he himself had commanded before the Raven came of age.

“And my other proposal?” Lord Highmount said.

Erik stiffened, but made no reply. His reaction piqued Rig's curiosity. “What proposal is that?”

Highmount glanced at Alix, and suddenly she knew what he was going to say. “I have suggested that His Majesty betroth himself to your sister.”

Alix's gaze snapped to Erik, but he looked away before she could catch his eye. “I told you I'd heard enough of this,” he growled, sounding more embarrassed than angry.

“And I agreed to leave it be for a time, but it is my duty as first counsel to give you the benefit of my wisdom, and I firmly believe that an alliance with the Blacks is the most prudent step you could take right now.”