“Ha! Dancing on his grave, more like it. Is that why you're here? Now that Lernen is dead, you've decided to come to me for protection? You should have come here first, in any case. It was a grave insult to Fardohnya, the Harshini King sending his people to Lernen's court without coming here first.”
“You just said you didn't want any Harshini in your court.”
“That's not the point. You should have offered. I have served the gods faithfully. I deserve it.”
Brak knew it was hopeless trying to argue with such a man. “Your Majesty, the decision to allow the Harshini to return to the Sorcerers' Collective was not mine to make. I might point out, however, that if you hadn't rounded up every member of the Sorcerers' Collective and had them thrown in gaol when you assumed the throne, my King might have considered sending someone to Fardohnya. As it is, you've a lot of explaining to do.”
Hablet tugged on his beard unhappily. “They were Hythrun spies.”
“And the others you killed when you inherited the crown? What was their crime?”
“You've been around long enough to know what happens in Fardohnya when a new King takes the throne. Why quibble about it now?”
“Your barbaric practices don't concern me, Hablet. Interesting though, that they were never practised when there were Harshini in the Fardohnyan court.”
“That's because the Harshini are so damned squeamish. Now, did you want something in particular, or are you just going to stand there and chide me for things I did thirty years ago?”
Brak's eyes darkened and he waved his arm, drawing a chair from the side of the room across the polished floor with an uncomfortable screech. When the chair magically arrived at his side, he sat down and leaned back, smiling at the Fardohnyan King.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will have a seat.”
Hablet's eyes widened. He had never been confronted with true Harshini power before. His day-to-day dealings with the gods involved bribing the temples and praying for a legitimate son.
“What do you want?”
“You and I need to have a talk about your heir.”
“I'll name my heir when I'm good and ready,” Hablet declared. “And no black-eyed bastard from Sanctuary is going to make me appoint someone I don't want.”
“I wouldn't dream of it, Your Majesty, however circumstances have arisen of which you are not aware, and they will radically affect your choice.”
Hablet squinted at him “What circumstances? Ah! I have it! You've discovered that stupid law about leaving my crown to a Wolfblade, haven't you? Well you can go back to Sanctuary and tell Lorandranek, or whoever the hell sent you here, that Talabar harbour will freeze in high summer before I let a Wolfblade set foot in Fardohnya, let alone sit on my throne.”
“I wasn't sent by Lorandranek, Your Majesty. He's been dead for over twenty years. Korandellan is the King of the Harshini now.”
“I don't care if the damned First Sister of Medalon is King!”
“I was sent here by the demon child.”
“The demon child? Are you drunk? The demon child is a legend made up to frighten children. Lorandranek never sired a half-human child.”
“Perhaps if you hadn't been so hasty throwing the Sorcerers' Collective out of Fardohnya, you might know that he did.”
“Who is he then? Where is he?”
“Her name is R'shiel.”
“A girl?” Hablet laughed with genuine amusement. “Why would the gods invest such power in a female?”
“Perhaps they don't share your prejudice.”
“Perhaps they're not as smart as they think they are,” the King scoffed.
“I don't suggest you say that in Jelanna's hearing,” Brak warned. “Maybe that's why the Goddess of Fertility has denied you a legitimate son. She must know what you think of women.”
“Don't you threaten me with my beliefs,” the King warned. “I am a faithful servant of the Goddess.”
“So I've heard,” Brak agreed with a wry smile.
“So, this demon child... this girl... sent you here to tell me who to name as my heir?” Hablet laughed scornfully. “I don't know what's funnier - that she thinks she can dictate to me, or that you actually thought I would listen to you.”
“You'd better listen to me, Hablet,” Brak warned. “There will be no legitimate son for you. Your heir will be as the law decrees - it will be Damin Wolfblade.”
“Over my dead body!”
“Exactly,” Brak pointed out simply.
“I'd rather give my crown to that simpering Karien idiot Adrina married than name that Hythrun barbarian my heir.”
“That might prove difficult,” Brak murmured, but Hablet wasn't listening to him.
“Anyway, you're mad if you think the people of Fardohnya would ever accept a Hythrun King!”
“They would accept a Fardohnyan Queen.”
“Oh! So now you want him to marry one of my daughters, I suppose!”
“No need,” Brak said, with a smug smile. “The demon child has already taken care of that minor detail.”
Hablet stilled warily. “What do you mean by that?”
“Ah, now those would be the circumstances I spoke of,” Brak said, brushing a fleck of dust from his yellow silk trousers as he deliberately drew out the silence.
“What circumstances?” Hablet demanded.
“Cratyn is dead, Your Majesty. Your daughter has remarried.”
“Remarried? Who?”
“Perhaps you'd like to hazard a guess?” he suggested. He was rather enjoying Hablet's discomfort.
“No!” the King cried, leaping to his feet, his face almost as crimson as the silk-panelled walls. “I'll not tolerate this! I'll disown her! Damn it, I'll invade Hythria and bring her back!”
“Your House is now united with the House of Wolfblade. You will honour the peace between your Houses and do no such thing. As the Wolfblade House is the ruling House in Hythria, it is now beyond your reach. You can't invade them and you can't make war on them.”
“This is intolerable!”
Brak smiled serenely. “I'm sure you'll learn to live with it.”
“Get out! Get out of my palace! Get out of my country, for that matter! Take your damned Harshini manipulations and your demon child and get the hell out of Fardohnya!”
Brak drew on enough power to blacken his eyes again, rose to his feet and loomed over the Fardohnyan King.
“You will abide by the law. You will name Damin Wolfblade your heir and you will give your blessing to his marriage to Adrina.”
“Never!”
“Then be prepared for the consequences, Your Majesty,” Brak warned. “You defy the demon child at your peril.”
CHAPTER 20
It was obvious that Cyrus Eaglespike and his cronies were in control of Greenharbour. The streets, while not exactly deserted, were unnaturally free of the normal bustle of commerce that one would expect in the greatest trading port in the south. There were no soldiers from the Sorcerers' Collective in evidence and no sign of the Palace Guard either. Although the guards made no move to prevent Damin and his force entering the sparkling white city, their breastplates were embossed with a soaring eagle.
R'shiel looked around with interest. She rode at Damin's side at the head of a column made up of three centuries of Krakandar Raiders. Narvell Hawksword followed Damin's men with three hundred Elasapine Raiders, while further back, Rogan Bearbow rode at the head of his own entourage. Between them they had brought close to a thousand men south to claim the High Prince's throne. Adrina was riding in the coach a little further back in the column with Princess Marla. She had refused to ride since Krakandar, although she declined to give a reason. Damin was convinced it was simply to make things more difficult for him. R'shiel knew the reason but figured it wasn't her place to say. Besides, she had promised Marla she would say nothing yet. No doubt Adrina was being subjected to her mother-in-law's intense scrutiny as they travelled together. R'shiel wondered with a faint smile just who would emerge the victor from that small, but important, skirmish.