“Succession? Intrigues?”
Lady Kalira explained the words as best she could, and eventually Sterren thought he understood.
“But why me?” he asked. “Isn’t there anyone here who could be warlord?”
The noblewoman snorted in derision. “Your ancestors,” she said, “were about the worst line in the whole family at providing enough heirs. It doesn’t help that warlords tend to die young, in battle.”
That statement, when the unfamiliar terms had been defined, did little to help Sterren’s peace of mind, but he made no comment.
“After you,” Lady Kalira continued, “the next heir is the old warlord’s third cousin, your third cousin twice removed. That’s only the seventh degree of consanguinity. You’re an heir in the third degree of consanguinity. That’s a pretty big difference. And besides, you’re young and strong...”
Sterren took this as flattery, since he knew he was relatively scrawny.
“She’s past fifty. If she had a son, well, that would be the eighth degree, but it might do. Unfortunately, her only child is a daughter. Unmarried, even if we allowed inheritance by marriage instead of blood.”
An attempt to explain the new words this time was unsuccessful until, exasperated. Lady Kalira rose and crossed to the desk, where she found a sheet of paper, a pen, and ink, then leaned over and began drawing a family tree.
Sterren, still seated, watched with interest as she ran down the history of Semma’s nine warlords.
The first, Tendel, was the younger brother of King Rayel II, born almost two hundred years ago. His son, also named Tendel, followed him, and a grandson after that, but this third Tendel managed to get himself killed in battle early in the disastrous Third Ksinallionese War, before he could get around to marrying and siring heirs. His brother Sterren inherited the title as Fourth Warlord, only to get himself killed three years later in the same war.
This first Sterren had been kind enough to produce five children, though three of them were daughters, and the younger son died without issue. The elder son succeeded as Fifth Warlord. His only child became Sixth Warlord, and in turn produced only one son, the eventual Seventh Warlord, before meeting a nasty end after losing a war.
Sterren, Seventh Warlord, was only twenty-one when he inherited the title and lived to be seventy-three. He was something of a legend. He broke with tradition and, instead of marrying a distant cousin, married an Ethsharitic woman he found somewhere.
They had three children, though the second one, Dereth, died in infancy. The eldest, Sterren, eventually became the Eighth Warlord, and the youngest, Tanissa the Stubborn, ran away with an Ethsharitic trader in 5169 and was never heard from again.
She, of course, was Sterren of Ethshar’s grandmother. And since her brother never did get around to marrying or producing children, that made Sterren the Ninth Warlord.
The next-closest heir was Nerra the Cheerful, a granddaughter of the Fourth Warlord’s eldest daughter, not exactly an obvious choice.
Lady Kalira put aside the sketchy genealogy after that and continued her explanation without further prompting. Sterren listened politely, following the unfamiliar words as best he could.
When it had become clear that old Sterren was finally dying, the royal genealogist, unaware of Tanissa’s son and grandson, had needed over an hour simply to determine who the heir should be.
He had noticed the notation in the records of Tanissa’s elopement and had reported it, along with his conclusions, to the king and his advisors. After considerable debate Agor, the castle theurgist, had been called in; he in turn had called up Unniel the Discerning, a minor goddess, who after much coaxing had, in her turn, called upon Aibem, a more powerful god, who had, finally, informed everybody that although Tanissa was dead, her grandson was still alive and well.
After that, of course. Lady Kalira and her little entourage had been sent to find Sterren and bring him back to Semma and they had done just that. Lady Kalira, who was not anywhere in the line of succession for warlord, had gotten the job because she was the heir presumptive to her cousin Inria, Seventh Trader. Inria, eighty years old, could not have made the trip herself.
When Lady Kalira had finished, Sterren nodded. “And here I am,” he agreed. “Now what do I do?”
“I would think that would be obvious, you’re to take command of the army and defend Semma.”
“Defend Semma?”
“Protect it from its enemies,” she explained.
“What enemies?”
“All enemies.”
“Semma has enemies?”
“Of course it does, idiot! Ksinallion, for one, and Ophkar, for another.”
Up until that moment, Sterren had entertained a vague hope that his unwanted new job would turn out to be a sinecure, with a title and pay and no duties. He suppressed a sigh of disappointment.
It came as especially bad news that both Semma’s larger neighbors were considered enemies, but at least, he told himself, he hadn’t arrived in the middle of a war.
“Do you think that... that a war may come soon?”
Lady Kalira grimaced. “Much too soon,” she said, “from the look of you, and what I’ve seen in the barracks of late.”
Had his knowledge of Semmat been good enough for the job, Sterren would have made a retort about being glad to relinquish his position as warlord, which he hadn’t asked for in the first place, if she thought someone else could do better.
Instead, he asked, “What do I do now? Today?”
“Well,” Lady Kalira said, looking about the chamber, “I suppose you’ll want to settle in here, maybe clean up a little. I’ll have Dogal fetch water and something to eat; I don’t suppose that you’ll want to come down for lunch. You’ll be expected to eat at the high table at dinner, of course, to talk to his Majesty and meet some of the people here, the princes and princesses, for example, but I think you can leave all that until dinner. For this afternoon, I would recommend that you take some time to learn the situation here, talk to your officers, maybe look over the barracks, that sort of thing. You’re the warlord; you must know more about it than I do.”
Astonished, Sterren said, “But I was never a warlord before!”
“It’s in your blood, isn’t it?”
“Not that I ever noticed,” Sterren replied.
Lady Kalira ignored that, as she turned to the doorway and called, “Dogal, go down to the kitchens and get wash water and something for Lord Sterren to eat, would you?”
Dogal bobbed his head. “Yes, my lady,” he said, and then quickly departed.
“Alder, here, will help you unpack, if you like,” she suggested.
Sterren nodded absently. Alder stepped into the room, carrying the bundle of possessions that Sterren had collected from his room back on Bargain Street. He deposited it upon the bed and began untying it.
“My officers, you said,” Sterren said. The phrase carried an impression of power and authority, and he felt a sudden surge of interest.
“Yes, of course,” Lady Kalira replied.
“I suppose I should meet them, talk to them.”
“Yes.”
The thought of all those stairs came to him, and he asked, “Could you send them up here?”
“Of course, Lord Sterren,” Lady Kalira said, with a faint bow.
The bow startled him. Lady Kalira noticed his surprise, and explained, “Lord Sterren, I think I really should tell you that as warlord, now that you have accepted the position and that the king has acknowledged you, you outrank me. In fact, you are now one of the highest-ranking nobles in Semma. Historically, the warlord and the foreign minister are equal in rank and second only to the king and his immediate family, with all others, steward, treasurer, trader, all of them, your inferiors.”