“Yesterday you were all for riding through the night to get here. Now you want to add another day to the trip while you go sightseeing,” Linst complained.
“I don't want to wait,” Tarja corrected. “I just think it would be stupid to reveal ourselves until we know we're in the clear. Besides, there's still a garrison in Testra. If they've heard of the surrender, they might want to join us.”
“Reluctant as I am to spend another day on this side of the river,” Denjon said, “I'm afraid I agree with Tarja.”
Linst glared at both of them for a moment then shrugged. “As you wish.”
When he left them, Denjon turned to Tarja. “Do you think he's having second thoughts?”
“You can count on it,” Tarja agreed. “Who's in command in Testra?”
“Antwon, I think.”
“I know him. He won't like the idea of surrender.”
“Not liking the idea of surrender is not the same as being willing to desert,” Denjon pointed out.
“Still, it's worth sounding him out. Every Defender we get out of Medalon now is another man we can put into the field later on.”
“Aye. And you'd best get some rest. You look ready to drop.”
“I'm fine.”
The practised lie came easily to him now. It was much simpler than trying to explain that he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop his mind from running around in circles, or prevent the confused images that flashed in front of his eyes, catching him unawares.
Something had happened to him. Something to do with R'shiel and her damned Harshini healing. But whenever he thought of R'shiel, a myriad conflicting and seemingly impossible memories surfaced. Some of them were real memories, he was certain of that. Others were like a nightmare. They were the ones where he imagined R'shiel in his arms. The ones where he loved her - not like the sister he had grown up believing her to be - but as her lover.
The absolute certainty that he would never feel that way towards his sister was the only thing that kept him sane.
CHAPTER 9
“The main wharf looks new.”
Teriahna chuckled softly at Brak's comment. They were walking along the waterfront of Talabar amidst the morning bustle of the busy port, for no better reason than the privacy such a public place offered. The sun beat down on them and the wharves were crowded with frazzled-looking merchants and bare-chested, sweat-sheened sailors shouting boisterously at each other as they unloaded their cargoes.
“Ah, now there's a story behind that,” she told him as they sidestepped a gilded litter carried by four muscular slaves. “The Princess Adrina tried her hand at sailing Hablet's flagship, the Wave Warrior, so the story goes, and ended up ramming the dock. If you believe the rumours that's why Hablet packed her off to Karien.”
“And if you don't believe the rumours?”
“Then he married her to Cratyn because Adrina, more than any of his children, is cast in the same mould as her father. If he was up to something nasty and needed an ally in Karien, Adrina would be the one for the job.”
Brak did not offer any further comment on Adrina. He had not told Teriahna the news he carried from Medalon. As far as anyone in Fardohnya knew, Adrina was still in the north. That Cratyn was dead, Adrina now married to Lord Wolfblade and that Hablet's eldest baseborn son was a casualty of the Karien-Medalonian war, was news he would prefer not to break until Adrina was safely across the border into Hythria, where Damin could protect her from her father's wrath.
“So, what do you know to be fact about Hablet's treaty with Karien?”
“Not much more than anyone else, I'm afraid,” she admitted. “He gave them the Isle of Slarn, we know that for certain, and there's been no shortage of timber for shipbuilding since the Princess left. According to the treaty, he's supposed to attack Medalon from the south come the northern spring, and he's certainly mustering his army for an invasion.”
“But?” Brak asked, sensing there was more she had not told him.
“But he's got his officers studying Hythria, not Medalon.”
“You think he seriously intends to invade Hythria?”
“He's never likely to have a better chance. He can't go over the Sunrise Mountains - Tejay Lionsclaw makes certain of that. The Hythrun defend their ports too well to risk a naval invasion, and until the Kariens declared war on their neighbour, Medalon had the Defenders to deter him from taking that route. But with the Defenders tied up on their northern border, and the Warlord of Krakandar up there with them, Hythria is wide open.”
Brak nodded. Adrina had said almost the same thing.
“Why is Hablet so determined to invade Hythria?” Brak asked. “It can't just be greed. He's richer than any man alive.”
Teriahna seemed amused by the question. “Don't you know? It isn't wealth that drives Hablet, it's fear.”
“Of what?”
“He doesn't have a legitimate heir.”
“That's not a reason to invade Hythria.”
“It is if you're afraid that your next heir is likely to be Hythrun.”
Brak stopped and stared at her, afraid she had already heard about Damin and Adrina, but then he realised that even if she had, Hablet had been planning this invasion long before the two of them met. “How could that be?”
“Hythria and Fardohnya have not always been separate nations, Brak. You should know that.”
“Fardohnya split from Hythria before I was born,” Brak pointed out. “And believe me, I was born a very long time ago.”
“They formally became separate nations during the reign of Greneth the Older Twin,” she reminded him. “That was about twelve hundred years ago.”
Brak nodded. “Greneth was the twin brother of Doranda Wolfblade, as I recall.”
“Ah, you do know your history then. Well, the split was quite amicable by all accounts. Greater Fardohnya, as it was known then, was a huge country; much too vast to govern effectively. Hythria was the largest province, governed by the Wolfblade family. Greneth married his sister Doranda to Jaycon Wolfblade, gave them Hythria to rule as the High Prince and Princess.”
Brak found himself impressed by Teriahna's knowledge, but no closer to the knowledge he sought. “I still don't see...”
“Then let me finish,” she chided. “As part of the agreement to separate the two nations, Greneth signed a pledge that in the absence of a male heir to the Fardohnyan throne, the eldest living Wolfblade would automatically inherit the crown. The agreement has never been revoked.”
“I've never heard of it before.”
“Well, until now, there's been no need to worry about it. Hablet is the first Fardohnyan King in twelve hundred years who's failed to get a son.”
“How many others know about it?”
“Enough that Hablet is worried. When your King keeps producing daughters, people start going through the archives. We only stumbled across it recently ourselves. Like you, we were curious about Hablet's obvious obsession with Hythria.”
“I'm still not certain I understand what he hopes to achieve by invading Hythria.”
“He needs to destroy the Wolfblade line. If there is no living Wolfblade, there is no heir. If there is no heir he can legitimise one of his bastards.”
“Wouldn't it be simpler, not to mention cheaper, to hire one of your assassins?”
“Are you kidding? Do you have any idea what we charge for assassinating a High Prince? Trust me, an invasion, even a prolonged one, would be cheaper.”
Brak smiled, not entirely certain she was joking.
“Anyway,” Teriahna continued, “he tried that, and we refused. Call it professional ethics, but we draw the line at kings and princes. The death of a ruling monarch tends to create unrest and draws unnecessary attention to the Guild and that's bad for business. We are strictly apolitical.”