“Who’s Paranasien?”
“A Medalonian villager trapped in the mountains after a logging accident. The Harshini found him in the forest and took him back to Sanctuary to heal him, so he claims. It’s supposed to have happened about three hundred years before the Sisters of the Blade came along.”
“Why
supposed
to have happened? Do you doubt his story?”
“There are other accounts dated around the same time which claim Paranasien was on the run from an irate father expecting him to wed the daughter he’d dishonoured just before he vanished into the mountains. By the time Paranasien returned to civilisation two years later without so much as a mark on him, the daughter was wed to another man …”
“And Paranasien was off the hook,” Kalan finished with a smile.
“Hence the doubt about the veracity of his account,” he agreed. “Thank you for the notebook, you can go now.”
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“Which you have done,” the old man pointed out, a little impatiently. “Now be a good girl and run along, Kalan. I’m busy.”
“I know where Sanctuary is.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you do.” He shrugged dismissively.
“I know someone who’s been there.”
Bruno looked up at her with a shake of his head. “You should stay out of taverns, Kalan. And not listen to the drunks who frequent them.”
“He gave me this.” She reached into her pocket and retrieved the tiny crystal cube suspended on a chain that Wrayan had given her to prove her story, holding it out for Bruno to see.
He glanced at the necklace without really seeing what it was, then he looked at it a second time. This time he cried out in shock and snatched it from her hand.
Anxiously, he studied it under the magnifying glass, making more of those funny little noises, before he looked up at her, clearly shocked. “By the gods, girl! Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a
couremor,
isn’t it?”
“A lover’s link,” Bruno breathed in awe as he held it up to the light to examine the tiny dragon magically etched inside the crystal. “The Harshini would infuse these with magic and leave them with their human lovers so they could call them. There hasn’t been one of these found in more than a hundred years. How did you
get
this?”
“My friend gave it to me.” And then she added with a smug little smile, “The one who knows where Sanctuary is.”
This time the Lower Arrion didn’t dismiss her claim quite so quickly. “Who is this friend? I must meet him.”
“I can probably arrange that”
“You
must
arrange it, girl!” he ordered excitedly. “At once, do you hear! At once! This is the most remarkable discovery since … since … the last … I don’t know … the last … remarkable discovery!”
Kalan smiled at his blubbering excitement. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Bruno, but my friend is very shy. Not to mention he’s been sworn to secrecy by the Harshini.”
“If he’s been sworn to secrecy, why did he tell you about it?”
“He told me that he’d been there. Not where it is. He swore not to reveal the location of Sanctuary unless there was a dire need.”
“But … but …” Bruno stammered impatiently. “I’ve been searching for this all my life. Your friend’s need might not be dire, young lady, but mine certainly is!”
“There
might
be a way I could convince him to talk with you,” she said, thoughtfully. “But you’d probably have to do something first. Something to prove you can be trusted with such knowledge.”
“I’m the Lower Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective!” he barked at her, quite offended by the implication that he was anything less than totally trustworthy. “What makes you think I can’t be trusted?”
“It’s not you, Bruno. It’s the High Arrion who has my friend worried. She’s already tried to kill him once. He’s afraid if he comes forward now, you’ll reveal his secret and because she’s in league with Hythria’s enemies, by sharing anything with you, he’d be bringing about the ruin of the last of the Harshini.”
“What do you mean, she’s in league with Hythria’s enemies?” he demanded. “What nonsense are you babbling, girl?”
“She’s doing a deal with the Fardohnyans, Bruno, even as we speak. Alija is arranging for her son to be appointed governor by Hablet when he overruns us. I thought you knew all this?”
“I’ve never even heard of such a plot. How do
you
know of it?”
“I’m the High Prince’s niece. How do you
think
I know?”
Bruno looked on the verge of tears. “This cannot be.”
Kalan leaned forward and took the
couremor
from him, replacing it in her pocket. He reached for the necklace anxiously, as she took it from him, but Kalan was too quick for him. “I’ll tell my friend you can’t meet with him. I’m sorry.”
“No! Wait! You just can’t take it away like that! I have to study it … hold it …”
“I have to give it back, Bruno.”
“But can’t I just …”
She looked down on him sadly. “I’m sorry. My friend won’t come near the Sorcerers’ Collective unless he thinks it’s safe, and until someone is willing to expose Alija … well, look at it this way, Bruno. At least now you know Sanctuary is real.”
Kalan turned and walked toward the door. She had barely reached the end of the table before he called her back.
“What do you want of me?” His tone was resigned, almost defeated. Bruno Sanval had spent the last twelve years as Lower Arrion trying to stay clear of the politics of the Sorcerers’ Collective. It obviously pained him to realise that in order to achieve his lifelong ambition, he was going to have to step up and be counted.
“I want you to do nothing more than come with me, Bruno,” she said, turning back to face him. “I’ll tell you the time and place when I know the details myself. I want you to listen, that’s all. You can make your own mind up about Alija, after that.”
“Is that all?”
“Do this for me and I’ll arrange a meeting with my friend. He’ll tell you anything you want to know about Sanctuary and the Harshini.”
He agreed unhappily. “Very well.”
“You mustn’t tell anybody about this, Bruno. One word and my friend and his
couremor
are gone forever.”
“I understand,” he agreed.
She smiled. “I knew you would. I’ll be in touch.” Kalan turned back to the door, and then hesitated on the threshold. “Oh, there was one other thing you could do for me.”
“Name it.”
“When you’ve discovered for yourself what Alija is up to and publicly denounced her as a traitor, we’re going to have to remove her. That makes you the High Arrion until a permanent one can be appointed.”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“Why you, of course, Bruno,” she told him brightly. “What makes you think I’d try to influence who got
that
job?”
“Then what is the favour you want of me, child?”
“I want
your
job,” she told him. “When Alija Eaglespike is removed and you are High Arrion, I want you to appoint me Lower Arrion.”
“Out of the question! You are far too young.”
“Alija was elected High Arrion when she was only twentysix. And you’re not getting any younger, Bruno, my old friend. Deny me if you want, but I’m the only person in the world who can hand you the answer to your quest. Surely you’re not going to pass up a chance like that because I’m only twenty-three?”
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression pained. “Perhaps I
should
appoint you,” he told her with a heavy sigh. “You’re obviously a damn sight better at this sort of underhanded double-dealing than I am.”
She preened at the compliment. “Why thank you, Bruno. You say the nicest things when you’re cornered.”
The old man treated her to a rare smile. “The Sorcerers’ Collective hasn’t been the same since they let you in, Kalan Hawksword.”
“Then you should be grateful I’m on your side, old man.”
“You’re on your own side, Kalan,” the Lower Arrion replied. “And whose side that is, is anybody’s guess.”
N
ews that the Widowmaker Pass had been destroyed arrived at the Winter Palace more than a week after it happened. The news was delivered by the young bandit-turned-spy Ollie Kantel, and left the King of Fardohnya more than a little put out to hear his plans had been foiled by something as unexpected as a rockfall.
He was suspicious, of course, about what might have caused the disaster, but he was sceptical about the reports of an explosion. Nobody Hablet didn’t own body and soul knew how to make the explosive powders his engineers had mastered nearly two decades ago when they first opened up the Widowmaker. Hablet had slit throats and cut out tongues to make certain things remained that way.
But whatever the cause of the avalanche, King Hablet of Fardohnya had a much more pressing problem. He had fifty thousand troops stranded on the wrong side of the Widowmaker and an army of thirty thousand trapped in Hythria with no way to support it. There would be no point in Axelle Regis carving his way in glorious battle to Greenharbour now, Hablet knew, because there would be nobody following behind to hold any territorial gains.
And to further add to his woes, Adrina was with him when the fool blurted out this depressing snippet of intelligence. Hablet didn’t like to have anybody see his weakness, particularly not someone who might one day use those weaknesses against him. His daughter remained remarkably demure, however, as young Ollie delivered the news, so in the end Hablet had decided to let her stay. Adrina had seen his weakness. Let her now observe her father demonstrate his strength.
“How could you let this happen, Lecter?” he demanded peevishly of his chamberlain.
“
Me,
sire? How is this calamity my fault?”
“I pay you to keep an eye on this sort of thing.”
“I’m a slave, your majesty. You don’t pay me at all, hence my reliance on whatever small recompense I can eke out of your subjects.”
“
Small
recompense?” the king sneered. “You’re probably richer than I am, you’ve extorted so much money out of my subjects.”
The eunuch shrugged. “I can’t help it if I’m good at what I do.”
“Well you’re not very good at this. I’ve got fifty thousand men sitting out there on the plains, picking their noses, while my only practicable route into Hythria has been destroyed by what? The act of a capricious god?”
“It would seem so, your majesty.”
“Then find out
which
god did this to me, damn it! And tell him to fix it!”
“If Lecter Turon could talk to the gods, Daddy,” Adrina remarked from her seat by the window, obviously relishing the slave’s discomfort, “I’m sure you’d have a legitimate son by now. Isn’t that right, Lecter?”
The slave glared at her but offered no reply.
“Exactly how bad is it?” Hablet demanded of the spy. “Can we clear the obstruction?”
“Eventually, I suppose, your majesty,” the young man concluded. “But it’s going to take a lot of manpower. There’s a good half-mile of the pass buried under all the rocks and debris.”
“We’ll just have to divert the troops through Highcastle then,” the king announced. “How long will it take to move them south, Lecter?”
“Two, maybe three months.”
“I don’t have three months, fool! In three months summer will be over and the weather will turn against us. In three months the troops stranded in Hythria will have starved to death, assuming the Hythrun don’t wipe them out first.”
“Why don’t you just cut your losses and give up the idea of invading Hythria at all, Daddy?”
He glared at his daughter. “
What
?”
“Give it up,” she replied with a shrug. “As you say, we don’t have three months; we don’t even have three weeks. If you can’t find a way to send reinforcements through the Widowmaker to General Regis in the next few days, he might as well throw himself on the mercy of the Hythrun.”
“I can’t just give it up!”
“Why not?” Adrina asked, uncurling her legs and putting aside the book she’d been reading. “You certainly can’t clear the pass in time to do any good here, and even if you could, how long is it going to take to clear half a mile of rubble? Probably longer than shipping the troops south to Highcastle, is my guess. And even if you could manage to get your army to the coast before the winter snows set in, the reason you decided to invade through the Widowmaker in the first place was because Highcastle is so narrow in places, the Hythrun would be able to sit comfortably on the high ground and pick us off at their leisure while we’re traversing the pass. Your alternative is to keep that army out there waiting around until next spring, I suppose, while your engineers clear the Widowmaker, which won’t help General Regis much, but if you forget about him, that’s thirty thousand men you don’t have to pay, which should go some way to offsetting the cost of paying the other fifty thousand who’ll be sitting around here for the better part of a year, picking their noses.”
Hablet stared at his daughter worriedly.
This
, he lamented,
is what happens when you let a woman learn to read
.
He turned to Lecter Turon. The bald eunuch appeared almost as disturbed as Hablet by his daughter’s alarmingly accurate analysis of the situation. “Much as it pains me to agree with Her Serene Highness, sire, she has summed up the situation fairly succinctly.”
But the king wasn’t willing to give up his dearly held dream of adding the wealth of Hythria to his treasury quite so readily. Not to mention the opportunity to wipe out the Wolfblades, once and for all. Impatiently, he turned to the young spy. “What about you?”
The lad jumped, startled by his sudden inclusion in the conversation. “Sire?”
“You come and go into Hythria as you please, don’t you?”
“Well … yes …”
“Then my army will use your route through the mountains!” he declared. “We don’t need the damned Widowmaker. We’ll find another way through.”
Ollie looked down at his boots uncertainly. “Um … it’s … well …”
“Don’t stammer at me, boy! What?”
“Well, sire, you won’t … you can’t … there are no roads, you see,” he told the king. “Your soldiers wouldn’t be able to take their supply wagons by our route.”
Hablet shrugged, unconcerned. “Each man can carry his own supplies.”
“There’s a lot of climbing … they’ll need ropes.”
“And you won’t be able to send your artillery across the mountains, either,” Adrina surmised, stating aloud what the bandit was obviously too terrified to tell his king. She smiled encouragingly at the nervous lad. “How long does it take you and your friends to get across the mountains?”
“Two of us who know the route, travelling light, assuming no accidents and that the weather holds?” He shrugged. “From Westbrook to Winternest … four, maybe five days, I suppose.”
Adrina looked up at her father. “Well, given our men are neither mountain climbers nor know anything about this secret route the bandits favour, you can multiply
that
time by a factor of at least ten,” she estimated. “And it will get you what, Daddy? A line of men in single file, trickling into Hythria, one at a time? That’s going to scare the Hythrun witless, I’m sure.”
“Your highness, you speak as if you have no wish to see your father’s campaign succeed,” Lecter sneered, no doubt hoping to undermine her remarkably astute observations by implying she was less than supportive of the king’s endeavours.
Adrina smiled venomously at the eunuch. “I think it’s a waste of money, Lecter. If Daddy wants to throw millions of rivets away on something frivolous, I’d rather he spent it on me.”
Before he could stop himself, Hablet laughed aloud. “You want me to cancel the war so you can go shopping, Adrina?”
“But, your majesty!” the eunuch complained. “She’s accusing your righteous campaign to reclaim Hythria and rid the world of the Wolfblades of being frivolous!”
“I’m accusing him of nothing of the kind,” the princess countered, rising to her feet. “I think the Wolfblades are a perverted, deviant family of monsters, and that the nicest thing we could do for the Hythrun people would be to free them from their tyranny. But I also believe the window of opportunity is lost. The plague only weakened Hythria temporarily and if we could have sent enough men through the pass in time, we might have walked in and taken the country with barely a fight. But that’s not going to happen now, is it, Lecter? At best, even if Lord Regis manages to establish a foothold and can keep it until we can get a few reinforcements through to him, every day we delay is a day longer the Hythrun have to gather their strength.” She turned to her father, her emerald eyes blazing with conviction. “You know I’m right, Daddy. If you want to own Hythria and destroy the Wolfblades, you’re going to have to find another way across their borders, because this isn’t it.”
He frowned, disturbed to realise she might be right. “If I follow
your
line of reasoning, Adrina, I must abandon Regis and his men in Hythria.”
“Unfortunately,” she agreed with a total lack of sentimentality.
“I thought you fancied him.”
“One can’t be swayed by personal likes or dislikes when making hard decisions,” she reminded the king. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
“Sire!” Lecter cried, when he realised Hablet was seriously considering his daughter’s suggestion. “I must object!”
“Don’t
object
, Lecter,” Adrina advised. “Tell us
your
plans. If you don’t like the idea of calling off the war, please enlighten my father as to how you think he can successfully prosecute it … with us having no way to get our troops or artillery onto the battlefield, and all …”
The eunuch glared at the princess, before turning to the king. “Your majesty, we need to think this through more carefully … consider all our options …”
“What options?”
“I’m sure, once we’ve had time to look at the situation objectively …”
“Objectively,” the king concluded, “we’re in serious trouble.”
“But sire, if nothing else, think of the humiliation! You gathered an army of eighty thousand men to invade your sworn enemy and at the first hurdle you’re going to run away?”
“A half a mile of fallen rock is quite a hurdle, Lecter,” he retorted. “And it’s not running away if you achieve something useful, even if it’s not everything you hoped for.”
“And what exactly have we achieved thus far, your majesty, other than to make fools of ourselves if we back down the moment the going gets tough?”
“I want to be rid of the Wolfblades, Lecter, and right now, I’ve every Wolfblade male alive under the command of the biggest fool of them all, facing the considerable army I
do
have in Hythria. Regis is a smart lad and he has almost twice the number Lernen has been able to muster. I might not get the whole country, but the chances are still very good I’ll get the Wolfblades before Regis is forced to surrender.”
“And how are you going to break it to Lord Regis that you’re cutting him adrift in a foreign country with no support, no supplies and no hope of reinforcements?”
Hablet turned to the young bandit who had listened to the entire exchange with a startled look on his face. “You! What’s your name again?”
“Ollie Kantel, your majesty.”
“Well, Ollie Kantel, I have another mission for you.”
“Of course, sire.”
“I want you to use your secret route to slip back into Hythria. I want you to find my army and deliver a message to General Regis for me.”
“What shall I tell him, sire?”
“Tell him …” the king announced, turning to stare at his daughter. She might have demonstrated a disturbingly acute military mind, but he didn’t intend to let her get away with it. “Tell him my daughter, Her Serene Highness, the Princess Adrina of Fardohnya, doesn’t think he’s worth saving. Tell him that at
her
suggestion, we’re going to abandon him and his men to their fates. Tell him, at my daughter’s behest, we are leaving him to do what he can against the Hythrun for the greater glory of his king and his family name, but there will be no further support from Fardohnya.”
Adrina stared at him in shock. “You’re blaming this disaster on
me?”
“There is always a scapegoat in times of trouble, your highness,” Lecter informed her gleefully.
Adrina turned on the slave angrily. “And how exactly does it become
my
fault, slave?”
“You’re in the room,” the eunuch smirked. “That’s usually enough.”
“
Daddy
!”
Hablet shrugged helplessly. “I only take the credit for the things that work, petal. Defeat is never,
ever
my fault. I’m the king.”