The moment he was out of earshot, Erin wheeled to face Gaelin. “What on earth were you thinking? You can’t show up out of the blue and expect to command the loyalty your father did. You almost drove him to revolt!”
Gaelin nodded shakily, trying not to show his fright. “If I’m going to do this, Erin, I’m not going to be a figurehead.
You asked me before if I was looking for someone to tell me what to do. Well, that’s exactly what Baesil had in mind from the moment he saw me. Mhoried can pull together to follow the Mhor – but I don’t think Mhoried would follow Baesil Ceried, who happens to have the Mhor’s heir stashed in his breast pocket.”
Erin rubbed her temples. “There must have been a better way to do that. And why did you insist on mounting an attack against his advice? Baesil Ceried knows more about fighting a war than you ever will.”
“The raid’s immaterial at this point. I asked him to do it, and he said no, so it turned into a demonstration of power.
He cornered me, so I stood my ground.”
“So? Find an excuse to cancel it in a day or two, and do what he suggests.”
“I don’t think I can, now.” Gaelin ran his hand through his hair and drew a deep breath. “I had really hoped to rest an hour or two once we got here.”
“Rest?” Erin laughed without humor. “There’s no such thing for the Mhor, Gaelin.”
Gaelin learned the truth of Erin’s words over the next three days. Each day, he was up an hour before sunrise, and each night audiences and councils of war ran long after midnight.
He was certain he could find three or four more hours a day if he only had some idea of what he was doing – he’d never seen his father looking as tired as he did when he glanced into a mirror. After a day of utter chaos, Brother Superior Huire surprised him by requesting the privilege of serving as his appointment secretary. “As you can imagine, the high prefect is extremely busy, too,” he said. “I’ve served as her chamberlain for years, and I believe I could help you.”
“I’m concerned Lady Iviena may have orders for you that might cloud your allegiances,” Gaelin replied warily.
Huire nodded. “Of course, my first loyalty is to the Temple.
But the high prefect told me to give you counsel and aid, and it seems to me I can do both by acting as your secretary.”
“Will you swear before Haelyn to keep secret what I tell you in confidence?”
“I will, my lord Mhor.” Huire’s calm reserve slipped for a moment, and a note of anger crept into his voice. “You may forget that I, too, am a Mhorien. Lady Tenarien of Riumache is my first cousin. When Baehemon burned her keep to the ground, he murdered dozens of my kinfolk.”
Gaelin designated Huire as his secretary, and within hours a semblance of order crept back into his life. The monk was intelligent and thorough, carefully organizing appointments and recording Gaelin’s pledges and requests, helping him keep track of what he said to whom. While Gaelin relied on Huire to help him manage his time and the day-to-day business of gaining control of Mhoried’s government, Erin helped him in his diplomatic correspondence and meetings with other nobles. She spent two days canvassing Mhoried’s counts and lesser lords, writing dozens of letters and dispatching messengers to all corners of the kingdom.
Late in their second night at Castle Ceried, she appeare d in Gaelin’s private chambers, dark circles under her eyes.
“I’ve dispatched letters to every lord worth writing and talked to every lord or envoy here,” she informed him. “Of the counts, Torien, Marloer, Ceried, and Hastaes acknowledge your coronation.”
“That means that I hold the counties of Torien, Marloer, Byrnnor, and Winoene,” Gaelin mused. “That’s only four out of ten. What of Tenarien, Cwlldon, and Bevaldruor itself?”
“I can’t say. They’re all occupied by Ghoeran troops, so their sympathies are probably of no matter.” Erin shrugged.
“Sir Vaerad Cwll is here with a company of sixty-odd Cwlldoners.
He may be the count, if old Count Cwll is dead. He’s on your side.”
“What of the lesser lords?” asked Gaelin. Just as the Mhor commanded the allegiance of the counts, each count had dozens of minor estates, titled peers, knights, and other such lesser nobles who owed him fealty.
“Almost all the lesser lords of the four counties you hold are with you,” Erin told him. “Asmall number from the overrun counties have joined your banner – like Vaerad Cwll – and a handful who didn’t shift their allegiance, though their counts turned their coats.”
“I have to find a way to bring more of these men to my side. Especially the ones who are backing Ghoere.” Gaelin buried his head in his hands and sighed. “How on earth do I do that?”
Erin only shrugged. “You knew this wasn’t going to be easy, Gaelin. It’s hard to convince people to join the losing side.”
When the army of Ghoere was two days away, Count Baesil sent footsoldiers north by tens and twenties, slipping out of the camp in small groups to maintain the illusion that all of Mhoried’s soldiers were still there. His men made a show of constructing earthen ramparts and fieldworks outside the castle, as if they were planning to engage Baehemon’s army from fortified positions. To add detail to the deception, Gaelin toured the defenses, pretending to inspect them.
While the army prepared to move, Gaelin found an increasing amount of time was taken up in dealing with matters of court. In peacetime, the Mhor heard cases of high justice, authorized the use of royal lands for private enterprises, granted special dispensations such as licenses and agreements, and juggled the fragile alliances and fealty of the lords around him. The routine business of the kingdom had consumed hours of Mhor Daeric’s time in the form of audiences, hearings, and meetings each day. Still, it astonished Gaelin that there were nobles, merchants, and royal officers who expected him to deal with these mundane affairs. “Doesn’t anyone realize that we have a war to fight?” he complained to Erin and Huire after one lengthy session.
Erin’s advice on this matter was direct. “Declare a royal stay on matters of state,” she said. “All permits, sentences, pardons, and other agreements are to continue in force until you declare the emergency has come to an end.”
Gaelin agreed wholeheartedly and had Huire prepare the pronouncements. Naturally, most of the petitioners were unhappy with this arrangement, but for the most part they understood the reasons behind it. Some ministers and officials persisted in trying to get Gaelin to review their troubles, but the royal stay reduced the torrent to a reasonable number of requests and interviews.
A similar problem existed with the handful of foreign diplomats who drifted into Castle Ceried by ones and twos.
These were people Gaelin dared not offend, and most had their own agendas they were determined to present, regardless of the demands on Gaelin’s time. Fortunately, most of the diplomats and ambassadors of Mhoried’s court remained in Shieldhaven, the recognized capital of the country, and bided their time – they dealt with neither Gaelin nor Tuorel.
Last, and certainly not least, Baesil Ceried thrust Gaelin immediately into the bottomless morass of problems involved in the war effort. The volatile old general, still smoldering with resentment, took a diabolical pleasure in browbeating Gaelin with a barrage of technical details and issues.
He claimed he was trying to school Gaelin in the art of war between nations and give him an appreciation for the obstacles that faced the losing side. Simply feeding the three thousand soldiers, camp followers, and courtiers who filled Castle Ceried and its surroundings was a problem of nearly insoluble dimensions. With the fall of Shieldhaven and the southern provinces, vast amounts of supplies had fallen into Tuorel’s hands. “Early spring’s a miserable time to fight a war,” Baesil told Gaelin. “The granaries and storehouses are empty from winter, and the first plantings won’t be ready for weeks. In fact, even if Ghoere’s army wasn’t coming here, we might have to move just to find food.”