"There's going to be a war, boy," he said.
I nodded. "So there is, and I'll have been here for a while before the king sends troops."
He smiled up into the sky, though his eyes were sad. "Why are they always so young? Boy, the king's not going to send troops. He'll wait until the Vorsag have slaughtered us all. Then he'll close flanks on them and make them fight from the wrong side of the mountains."
It made sudden sense. I'd known there would be war, just from listening to Garranon explain the situation in Oranstone. If I'd seen it, anyone with any eye to strategy knew it, too. Axiel had said King Jakoven was a strategist. He was also a cold-blooded bastard.
I could extrapolate even further. If Luavellet, isolated in his village, knew what the king was up to, it stood to reason that the Vorsagians knew it as well. Were they just after Oranstone? If so, they'd try to take the mountain passes and then dig in. If not, they'd split their forces and attack on two fronts, probably on the Seaford coast—unless King Kariarn was an idiot. What that meant for me, I wasn't sure yet.
"You just paid your debt to us," I said after a moment. "You'll have to let us pay for the supplies."
That evening we sheltered from a rainstorm on the oiled drop cloth Luavellet had provided. There was no question of practicing in the slick mud. If it persisted, I'd have to come up with something, but we took the night off. Axiel retold a few more battle stories, then Tosten brought out his harp. With Ciarra leaning against his shoulder, my brother proved he was right to give up coopering in favor of the harp. His music wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
Penrod produced a small soldier's drum from somewhere and joined in. Bastilla sang in a pleasing, if thin, alto, but it was the blending of Axiel's bass and Tosten's golden tenor that completed the magic. I hadn't heard its like since the last time I was at court. I leaned against one of the trees the tent rope had been tied to and relaxed, closing my eyes. Someone pulled a damp blanket around my shoulders.
"Careful," Penrod said in hushed tones. "I don't think he's slept since before the fight."
9—ESTIAN: BECKRAM, ERDRICK AND GARRANON
My father always said that Jakoven was an evil, sly, dangerous coward. If it hadn't been for the cowardice and the annual sovereign's tithe the king demanded, I think the Hurogmeten might have liked the high king.
"Just for one night," implored Beckram. "Ciernack's brought in an Avinhellish sword dancer."
Erdrick crossed his arms and sat on his bed. "That's what you said the last time we switched places. It took three days."
"Please, Erdrick." Beckram smiled winningly. "You do it so well."
"I don't do it well," said Erdrick in driven tones. "You know I don't." He saw the triumph in Beckram's face and knew he should have stuck to a simple "No." Now the argument had slipped from his willingness to his ability.
"Your court manners are flawless, and you know it. Everyone is expected to be on their best behavior tonight. You can even retire early with a headache or something."
"You aren't ever on your best behavior," snapped Erdrick. "If you start now, everyone will be suspicious."
"No," Beckram sounded unexpectedly grim. "They'll just think I've put on airs since the king confirmed Father's hold on Hurog."
"It's not your fault. You tried," Erdrick left the bed and touched his twin's shoulder.
Beckram rubbed his hand over his face. "Then why did the king smile at me when he made the announcement? I should have left well enough alone. Waited until Father could talk to him."
"Father wouldn't have done any better than you did."
Beckram smiled to acknowledge Erdrick's support, but the warmth didn't touch the desperation in his eyes. "I put my foot in it somehow, Erdrick. You know it, and I know it." He rubbed a spot on his linen sleeve. "All else aside, Erdrick, I just can't face them tonight. I need to go somewhere I don't have to play games. Just tonight. I need to take my mind off the king, off the queen, off of Father. He's worried sick about Ward."
"So are you," commented Erdrick.
Beckram's eyebrow rose in disbelief. "I don't even like him."
"You envy him," corrected Erdrick shrewdly. "Stupid or not, he's a good man. You like him better than you like yourself."
Beckram flushed with temper. "He's an idiot. If he hadn't been a moron, none of this would be necessary."
"Father will straighten it out," Erdrick said. "Father's good at this sort of thing."
Beckram nodded and gripped his twin's hand. "Thank you, Rick. Wear my blue and gold outfit; everyone knows it. They'll look at you in it and see me."
Erdrick watched Beckram stride energetically back to his room and wondered how he'd ended up agreeing to this. He reviewed the conversation in his mind and couldn't suppress a grin when he realized that he hadn't agreed to it. Trust Beckram. Erdrick put the book he'd been reading back on the shelves. He'd hoped to finish it tonight, but it looked like he'd be strutting with the court peacocks instead.
Garranon ducked under Haverness's sword blade and drew his arm back to deliver a mortal blow, but Haverness's knife swept out of nowhere to touch his throat.
"Your fight," Garranon said with a smile to show he held no grudges. Actually, he was pleased he'd managed to fight the old man off as long as he had. Stupidly forthright Haverness might be politically, but few could compare with his swordsmanship.
Haverness withdrew his knife and sheathed it. He looked at Garranon grimly. "Now you will tell me what this was about. I trust you didn't call upon me in your father's name for a bout of sword and knife?"
Garranon looked around the training grounds. Though the ancient room was empty, he said, "Let's walk." That way no one could listen in.
The old man stiffened. "You play games."
"I grant you that. But I'm the one at risk if the king finds out why I've approached you. Please, walk with me."
After an insultingly long hesitation, Haverness sheathed his sword and gestured for Garranon to lead the way.
Garranon didn't talk as he strode down the halls that would bring them, eventually, to the gardens where the sound of running water would cover their voices. No one they passed looked twice; their weaponry and sweat gave answer to why the newly named Champion of Oranstone would walk with the king's favorite.
The smell of sweet blossoms was almost overwhelmingly strong when they left the musty halls for the gardens at the heart of the keep. It was early yet, and the gardens were deserted.
"Are you serious about taking a hundred men to defeat the Vorsagians?" asked Garranon abruptly.
Haverness's eyebrows rose in mild inquiry. "I am his majesty's most obedient servant." If the old man felt bitterness, Garranon couldn't hear it in his voice.
"Who is going?" Garranon almost winced after he asked the question. That hadn't been what he'd meant to ask, and he wasn't surprised when Haverness's face went blank.
"My clerk has a list, but I can't recall offhand."
Garranon waved his hand in dismissal and sought another course. "What I wanted to know is, do you have space for me? In my father's day, Buril had three hundred trained men. I cannot do so well, but there are sixty arms-men, and I can gather another hundred raw recruits."
"Oh, is that what you think I'm doing?" whispered Haverness almost to himself. His features hardened into a cold mask.
"It's what I hope you're doing," replied Garranon steadily. "It doesn't matter if the king knows it or not, though he seems to be more concerned with his queen's affairs right now. He cannot withdraw his approval now."