“I’ll have it brought here,” Bowspear said.
“Good.” Harlmut gently steered Candabraxis toward one of the smaller rooms at the back of the main hall. He felt a flash of triumph. This was the first time he’d had the last word with Bowspear in months. Now he and the wizard could have a quiet chat.
He opened a door into the room that had been King Graben’s private office. The walls had been paneled with Grabentod oak, and hunting trophies—the heads of deer, elk, and other animals— hung beside military banners, swords, shields, and other spoils of war. A heavy oak desk to one side held papers—cargo manifests, land grants, and other business Harlmut worked on late at night. Thank goodness he had never married, he thought, or there wouldn’t have been enough hours in the day.
“Please,” he murmured to Candabraxis, gesturing toward one of the two deep, comfortable chairs beside the fieldstone fireplace. He stirred the logs with a poker, and soon amber flames rose. Once the wizard had seated himself, he said, “I prefer tea in the winter months, but you might prefer something else. We have warm spiced ale, mulled apple cider—”
“Tea is fine,” Candabraxis said.
Harlmut rang a bell, and a second later a boy appeared in the doorway. He ordered their drinks, then joined the wizard by the fire.
“About Captain Bowspear …” Candabraxis began.
Harlmut sighed. Already it came to that. The tension between the two of them would have been palpable to one as well trained and powerful as a wizard. No doubt Candabraxis had already sized up the situation and guessed the problems Harlmut faced.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “There is no love between us, as I’m sure you noticed. Just as you no doubt already know that King Graben is a prisoner of Müden’s royal marines.”
“And that Bowspear wants to be king.”
“He said that?” Harlmut leaned forward eagerly. If so, and if Candabraxis would act as witness, he could arrest Bowspear for treason. Bowspear had always been careful with his plans in the past, but if he’d made a mistake here—
Candabraxis was shaking his head, though. “No, but I could see it easily enough. He is a man of great ambition.”
“And greater luck.” Harlmut sank back into the other chair. “He is by far the most successful of Grabentod’s Raiders. And his men—and half the city—worship him.”
“I remain curious, though. It seems to me that this whole situation could be resolved with King Graben’s return.”
“True,” Harlmut said, nodding.
“And according to Bowspear, you’re completely loyal to King Graben. So why haven’t you ransomed your king back?”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Harlmut forced a laugh. “Müden doesn’t want our money. They could buy and sell all of Grabentod from their household accounts without noticing. What they want is safe passage for their ships.”
“Yet clearly they don’t have it.”
“No.” The steward shrugged helplessly. “We simply cannot afford to give Müden safe passage. Our economy is based on raiding—it would collapse without it. I cannot allow our people to starve. As you can see, it is a difficult situation.”
“I’m sure Müden feels the same way. But surely something can be done. Have you explored other options?”
“Exhaustively.” Harlmut sighed and shook his head. He’d spent the first year of King Graben’s imprisonment sending proposal after proposal to Müden. All had been rebuffed. “No success.”
“Perhaps you could trade someone for him….”
“I’ve thought of that, too,” Harlmut said. “None of Müden’s important merchant princes are careless enough to venture within reach of our ships. Hired captains, young nobles, those we catch aplenty—and all the while Müden’s ruling merchants sit in their palaces and count their money.”
“Still,” the wizard mused, “there must be someone.
Müden’s bloodlines have connections far across Cerilia. Perhaps another suitable person can be found. I have a copy of Morweit’s Peerage. I will study the problem for you and let you know what I find.”
“Then you truly will remain in the castle as my guest?”
The wizard chuckled, a light and pleasant sound to Harlmut’s ears. “What you mean to ask,” Candabraxis said, “is whether I’ve accepted Bowspear’s patronage.”
“Since you put it so bluntly—yes.”
“And I will be equally blunt. No, I have not accepted his patronage. But I do not think I will accept your king’s yet, either. At least, not until I meet him.”
Harlmut’s shoulders sank. “That may be a wise move,” he admitted. “According to my few loyal spies, Bowspear planned to seize power in the coming week. I could not have stopped him.”
“He will not try,” Candabraxis promised. Despite his soft voice and polite manners, Candabraxis was a man of deep morality, Harlmut saw. “At least, not while my loyalties are in doubt.”
Harlmut raised his eyes to meet the wizard’s gaze. The regent recognized a deep strength of character there, a sense of justice and propriety that mirrored his own. But such impressions were, perhaps, too fleeting to weigh in the balance against the ambitious pirate. Bowspear had been working toward his coup for years now.
“I wish I could be sure,” he murmured.
Four
Parniel Bowspear felt like smashing something.
As he stomped from Castle Graben and descended the long road toward the docks, a rage like none he’d ever felt before washed over him. He could have wrung that wizard’s neck—and Harlmut’s, too, while he was at it.
Candabraxis and Harlmut had taken one look at each other and gotten as cozy as old friends. Now the two of them would be drinking and joking together, laughing at what a fool they’d made of him. He scowled.
How easily he’d been charmed, he thought. He’d have to make sure it didn’t happen again. Surely someone in Grabentod could provide him with a protective amulet or talisman of some sort….
Taking a series of deep breaths, he forced the white-hot rage to cool. The wizard’s presence changed nothing. Wizard or no wizard, Grabentod would be his. It just might take a little longer.
He felt light fingers on his belt and whirled, one hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. The thieves guild might be small in Grabentod, but it existed, and he knew the touch of a cutpurse when he felt it.
He found a dirty-faced boy of perhaps eight or ten standing there and looking solemnly up at him. Some street urchin, he thought. He felt no pity or sympathy; life was hard, and it was about to get harder for this little would-be thief. Hard faced, he drew his short sword. He’d give the boy a scare he wouldn’t soon forget.
Then he realized the boy wasn’t holding anything. Bowspear felt his purse and found it right where it belonged. And something extra seemed to be inside it.
“From Haltengabben.” The boy grinned suddenly, then turned and dashed up a narrow alley-way.
Haltengabben. It translated roughly as “Stand and Deliver” … the name used by the woman who ran the Temple of Ela and, through it, the thieves guild. Over the last month, he had met with her half a dozen times. She had wanted assurances that, should his fortunes change suddenly for the better, her place in Grabentod would remain secure. Of course it would, he’d said with a cool smile. He’d never had much sympathy for the thieves guild—after all, he did the same work, but openly and respectably—but he recognized the importance of its support. He would need the guild’s favor to keep the crown.
Bowspear glanced around. A few old women talking on the corner had turned to stare at him, so he resheathed his sword and resumed his walk. Idly, as if reaching for a sweet, he removed the small pebble the boy had placed in his pouch.
White. That meant she wanted to meet with him again. What could she want now? They’d settled everything last week, or so he’d thought.