"If we can manage it," said Duraugh slowly, "we can pull a lot of the lords of Shavig behind your standard while you are at Hurog. If the Hurogmeten follows you, they will as well."
"You assume I want the throne, then?" Kellen said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Everyone froze—even Tisala, who'd been staying out of the conversation by sipping her tea, halted mid-sip.
"No," I replied sharply, when it appeared no one else would. "We assume that you will do as you were born to do: protect your people as Jakoven has failed to do. But if your time in the Asylum has rendered you unfit to rule, I would rather you stop now than continue what your brother has begun."
Oreg stared into the night, smiling at nothing.
Rosem put his hand on his sword and would have stepped between us had not Kellen put a hand on Rosem's shoulder. "Peace, old friend, he's right." Kellen nodded respectfully to me. "Locked up in a cell," he said, "it's too easy to forget what I have been fighting for. I want everyone here to understand what that means, though. Rather than injustice, there will be war. Civil war. Brother fighting against brother." He gave an elegant hand movement that asked us to include himself in his last statement. "The ties that bind us together might be ruined forever, leaving the Five Kingdoms broken before her enemy's sword. And, from what Alizon's letters and messages have told me, we probably will not win. Make certain before we start what cannot be undone that Jakoven's sins are such that they are worth the cost you will pay."
I shrugged my shoulders and said before my uncle could speak, "Jakoven has declared war upon Hurog and we must fight. With your banner before us, we have hope of winning; otherwise we fail. I would rather fight a war for my rightful king than a war for survival. But for Lord Duraugh, Tosten, Beckram, my sister, myself, or any who have the blood of Hurog strongly in their veins, we have no choice." I opened my mouth to tell them why, but Oreg got there first. Just as well, because my slow tongue was making my audience restless.
"The cost of doing nothing may be higher yet. Jakoven seeks to bring upon us a cataclysm as bad or worse than the one that destroyed the first empire." Oreg's voice was full of the mysteries of the ages. He could do that when he wanted to, pull the cloak of his years around him until the weight of time beat upon his audience like a mallet. "He has been trying to pull the secrets of the Imperial mages out, and he dabbles in things he knows nothing about. Farsonsbane destroyed civilization on this continent until the people deserted their cities for the wastelands. For nine and a half centuries the Bane was hidden, but Jakoven has found it again. If he lives long enough to unlock its secrets, we'll wish the Vorsag had invaded and sold us all as slaves."
Oh good, I thought, glancing around at the faces reflected in the firelight They really needed something more to be frightened of.
"He doesn't know how to use it yet," I said. "But he's convinced that the answer lies in the blood of Hurog. So you see that it is not some notion that you are the rightful king that sways Hurog to your support. Nothing so tenuous as honor or the belief in a cause. Hurog fights for survival—which makes us your staunchest supporters."
Kellen smiled at me. "Your sword will cut my enemies as well as any zealot's. I just wish I had a hundred more lords with cause to fear Jakoven."
"Ward can bring you most of Shavig and a fair portion of Oranstone," offered my uncle with unfounded confidence.
Kellen looked at Duraugh with interest. I looked at him with disbelief.
"Shavigmen have long memories," Duraugh said. "They fought against Oranstone in the Rebellion because Fen, Ward's father, fought. Most of them will fight shoulder to shoulder with Ward because he is the Hurogmeten—and because no Shavigman worth his salt ever turned down a good fight."
"Myth," I contradicted Duraugh flatly. It was dangerous to allow Kellen to believe that. "Shavigmen are men like anyone else. They fight when they have to and are not about to follow a callow boy blindly. You've been to the same Shavig council meetings I have."
Tosten smiled blindingly and laughed. "When you hear respectful tones from a Shavig lord, it's time to run," he quoted smugly. "Ward, don't you know you've given Shavig a hero for the first time since old Seleg died and the dragons died with him."
"Hero?" I choked. "If Orviden calls me a puppy one more time, I just might bite him."
Kellen stared at me for a moment. "The council meets, I believe, next month. Can you get them all together sooner?"
"You are well-informed," said my uncle approvingly. "But my son Beckram and Ward's sister, Ciarra, just had a new baby girl, the first of her generation. Reason enough to hold an informal celebration at Hurog."
"Fine," I said. "To celebrate my niece's birth I'll see to it that the lords of Shavig attend. If they understand what Jakoven holds, they'll see that they have no choice."
Rosem said, "Alizon has the support of most of Oranstone—but they are tired of warfare there. Things are better since the Vorsag were driven out, but there are still many Oranstonian lords who have very little power over their own lands."
"Avinhelle is behind Jakoven," said Tisala. "But there are a few men I believe will support Kellen where they haven't supported Alizon." She turned to Kellen. "Remember, we haven't told them that we intend to put you on the throne rather than Alizon, yet. Seaford will split, I think, from what my people have overheard. And there are several powerful Oranstonian lords who are making noises of support for Alizon, but may not support Kellen."
Kellen raised his cup to me and said, "May we all outlive this year." Soberly cups were raised and drunk.
I dreamt I was back at the Asylum that night, but fortunately I woke up before I woke anyone else. The camp was quiet when I got up and went for a walk.
When I got to the broken wall that looked out over Estian, Tisala was already there.
"What keeps you up so late?" I asked, careful to keep my face in the deeper shadow so she couldn't see the remnants of my nightmare there.
She glanced at me, and then returned her gaze to the city below us. She shook her head. "Have you ever felt like you've stepped into someone else's story?"
"No," I said, intrigued. "Whose story have you stumbled into?"
"I'm not sure right now. Kellen's? Oreg's? Yours?" She looked at her hands where they lay on a broken stone block, capable hands that could wield a sword with rare skill.
But she wasn't seeing what I did. She was looking at her left hand. The scarring was bad—even in the dim light of stars and moon I could see that.
I took her hand in mine; it was damp and tasted salty when I kissed it. I didn't think she'd been sitting in the dark sweating.
"It took something away, didn't it," I said to her tear-wet hand. "I didn't really understand before."
"What did? What didn't you understand?" she asked, trying to get her hand back.
I held on tighter. "Being strapped down while someone hurts you. Being helpless. Even out of the walls of that cell, I'm not free of the Asylum—any more than the torturer's death freed you of his tormenting."
She stopped struggling and stared at my face. Finally she reached up and touched my cheek, tracing the path of my tears, invisible in the darkness.
After a moment she turned back to look at the lights.
"It makes you feel filthy and small," I said, then laughed painfully. "I'm not used to feeling small."
"And guilty," she whispered. "As if you should have been able to stop it like the hero in one of Tosten's songs."