“Why am I so important to him?” asked Gaelin, half to himself. “What’s he want with me? Does he hope to hold me as a hostage against my father?”
“There’s another possibility,” Erin said, close behind him.
He twisted in the saddle to look at her. “It could be that he wants to claim the power of your bloodline by killing you. If you were to die by his hand, he’d gain a portion of the power of your line.”
“Bloodtheft,” Gaelin said. He had viewed bloodtheft as a thing of stories and legends. But… even if it was not common, it was still true that a noble’s divine heritage could be wrested away by a blooded rival.
He stared down at his hands, trying to imagine the divine spark or essence that flowed through his veins. Gaelin had never thought much about it. His extraordinary ability to recover from injury had only manifested four or five times in his life, but now his wrists seemed to itch with the hidden risk they contained. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. When we were attacked on the river, the brigands were trying to kill me. There was no attempt to take me alive. In fact, they only retreated when they were certain they’d mortally wounded me. If Ghoere – or whoever was behind them – wanted my bloodline, he would have to kill me by his own hand.”
Erin leaned forward to keep her words quiet. “If you were dead, that would be one less Mhoried to slay if he wanted to extinguish the entire line.” Killing the last living scion of a bloodline conferred all of that line’s power on the victor, instead of the portion one could claim by slaying an individual.
Erin paused, and then finished her thought. “Ask yourself what could happen if your brother and father were to fall into his hands.”
“You’re suggesting that Tuorel wants nothing less than the annexation of all of Mhoried and the power of the Mhoried blood?” he said slowly. “But why start with us? Why not Elinie, a land he’s already defeated? Or Roesone or Endier, lands far less able to defend themselves?”
“Tuorel intends to build his strength as quickly as possible,” Erin said. “Therefore, he’s going to seize the most powerful bloodline he can reach – why go to all the trouble for a bastard line like Daen Roesone’s, or a weak one like Richard Endier’s?”
Madislav’s face was inscrutable in the shadows beneath the trees. “Erin may be right, Gaelin,” he said, his voice deep and slow. “The facts fit. He would not be caring whether you are dead now or later.”
“No, you’re both missing one important piece of the puzzle,” Gaelin said. “If Tuorel’s out to divest my family of lands and power, he must also have Thendiere and the Mhor in his hands. They’re surrounded by an army of loyal guards and servants.”
“Aye, they are, but Tuorel knows where to find them,” Madislav said. “You, he must look for.”
Erin forced a smile and swung herself up into the saddle.
“Then we are just making sure that Gaelin is not to be getting found,” she said, doing her best to mimic Madislav’s rumbling basso. Suddenly, she cut off their laughter with a flash of her hand. “More riders are coming.”
Again, they retreated into the covering darkness. Gaelin mounted too, sitting on Blackbrand well behind a great oak.
This party came from the crossing as well, but they were riding without lights, and it seemed like a great number of them.
“More horsemen? How many Ghoerans are riding around here, anyway?” Gaelin breathed quietly.
Erin stood in her stirrups, peering toward the road. “This is a larger party than the first,” she said. “They’re turning this way. Wait, there’s Ruide. He’s leading them.”
“Are they in Ghoeran colors?” Madislav asked.
Erin sat back down and cantered out to meet the approaching horsemen. Madislav and Gaelin exchanged a look in the shadows. “Guess not,” Gaelin said, and he followed Erin out onto the road.
In a few moments, they greeted a bedraggled Ruide, surrounded by five dozen Mhorien guards. The men had a tired, nervous look to them, and Gaelin could tell at a glance they’d seen fighting recently. Several horses with empty saddles were led by the men at the back at the column, and others wore bandages or splints over wounds. They were led by a young officer not too much older than Gaelin himself, with a long ponytail worn highland-style and a crooked grin. The captain’s arm was in a sling, and he had a small cut over one eye. When he caught sight of Gaelin, he bowed from the saddle.
“My lord prince,” he said. “Captain Maesan of Riumache reporting, sir.”
“Riumache? You’re one of Lady Tenarien’s men?”
The captain nodded. “She told me to tell you the Mhor received your message. He asked the countess to send some guards after you, since it would have taken an extra three or four days to send a party from Shieldhaven.”
Madislav caught Gaelin’s attention. “Does he know yet?”
The prince turned back to Maesan. “You know that Ghoere has invaded Mhoried?”
A shadow crossed Maesan’s face. “We heard,” he replied.
“It’s the talk of the heartlands already. We’ve been riding away from the fight for two days now, and it hasn’t been easy.
If we hadn’t found you, my lord prince… it would have been hard to go home empty-handed, knowing we’d missed the fight.”
“I know you were following orders, Captain,” Gaelin answered carefully. He gestured at Maesan’s wounded arm. “I see you haven’t missed all of the fighting.”
The captain pointed back the way they had come. “There are several parties of Ghoeran scouts and guardsmen scouring the old river road.”
“A squadron of cavalrymen rode south not ten minutes ago.”
Maesan spat. “We fought the first two bands we came across, but after that I detoured to the pike to avoid trouble.
It wasn’t in my orders to ride around Alamie sparring with Tuorel’s troops wherever I happened to find them. Though I didn’t think to see them on this side of the Maesil.”
“Nor did I,” Gaelin said. He rubbed his jaw as he considered Maesan’s news. Tuorel had him marked, that was for certain.
He realized the soldiers as well as his riding companions were waiting for him to speak. Gaelin tugged on Blackbrand’s reins and turned the horse toward the north. “Let’s get a few miles away from here, and then we’ll camp till sunrise.”
Maesan saluted and called, “All right, boys! We’re on our way home!” With a few barked commands, he turned the column around and formed them around Gaelin and his party.
They circled the town, staying well out in the fields, and picked up the road again on the other side of Taeren Crossing.
After that they picked up the pace and rode about five or six hours more, until Maesan’s men were almost falling from their horses in exhaustion. Gaelin finally called a halt at moonset.
Another day of hard riding brought the Mhorien band to the town of Iered, across the Stonebyrn river from Mhoried.
Leaving Maesan’s troops camped outside of the town, Gaelin rode ahead with Ruide, Madislav, Erin, and the captain to hire the boats they needed.
They glimpsed the ivy-grown towers and the crumbling walls of Iered Castle, but in the fields outside the town itself they found an encampment of Alamien soldiers. Gaelin guessed that three or four hundred men were quartered here.
Is Duke Alam sending a force to our aid, he wondered, or is he taking steps to keep the fighting on Mhoried’s side of the Stonebyrn?
A few moments later, his question was answered as a young Alamien officer led a squad of a dozen halberdiers to Gaelin and his companions. The officer surveyed their party, and then addressed Maesan. “Captain, am I correct in assuming that you are in command of your column?”
Maesan, without glancing at any of the others, replied, “You are, sir.”
The young officer – a lieutenant, if Gaelin read his insignia correctly – nodded. “I must inform you that your men are not permitted to enter the town, sir. There are Ghoeran troops here, and we have been ordered to make sure your war stays on your side of the river.”