"No doubt," an older knight put in. "But I'm sure you can see why the accuracy—"
"Peace, Festian!" Mathian turned to glare impatiently at the older man, who clamped his jaw tight. Sir Festian Wrathson commanded Glanharrow's mounted scouts and skirmishers. He was also twice Mathian's age and more, and he'd seen more battlefields than Mathian had formal dinners. And unlike the unblooded young whelp who held Glanharrow in fief from Baron Tellian, Festian did know the difference between the hradani clans, and he felt quite sure that the fellow in front of them was no more a Horse Stealer than he was, whatever accent he might ape.
Mathian glared at him a moment longer, until he was certain Festian wouldn't interrupt again, and then turned back to the hradani.
"You were saying?"
"I was saying as how Bahnak will be after marching on Churnazh within the week," the hradani replied. "And he'll be taking all of his men with him, too, for whoever wins this one will end up lording it over all the clans."
Sir Festian didn't care at all for the glitter in the spy's eyes, but Mathian didn't seem to notice it. Perhaps that was because of the sudden fire blazing in his own eyes.
"I don't suppose you've brought any proof of this, have you?" he made himself ask, and the hradani hooted with derisive laughter.
"Oh, aye! I thought as how I'd just be bringing along a copy of Bahnak's secret dispatches so as to have something to lend his guardsmen for light reading when they caught me!"
Mathian's jowls flushed, but he only nodded. He gazed at the hradani for a moment longer, then raised one hand and flicked it at the door.
"My steward will pay you," he said curtly, and turned to stare into the fire hissing on the hearth.
The hradani grinned sardonically at his back, swept a mocking bow to Sir Festian and Sir Haladhan, and left. Silence lingered in his wake for several minutes, and then Mathian turned back from the fire and looked at Haladhan.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"I think the same as you," Haladhan replied. "This may be the last opportunity we'll have before it's too late!"
Haladhan's deep voice was even lower than usual, throbbing with passionate enthusiasm, and Festian hid a mental grimace. He had no doubt of the accuracy of Haladhan's first sentence. The young knight was Mathian's first cousin, but if he ever had two kormaks to rub together it would be the first time he did. He was far more handsome than his wealthy cousin, and much more muscular, but if Mathian had declared the sun would rise in the west tomorrow, Haladhan would have said the same thing... only louder. Which made it all the more unfortunate that Mathian had promoted Haladhan to the rank of Marshal of Glanharrow, his senior field commander.
"True. True... perhaps," Mathian murmured. He raised his right hand to rub his jaw, and the ruby signet of the Lord Wardens of Glanharrow flashed like blood in the candlelight. "But if it is an opportunity, it will have to be acted upon quickly," he mused.
"Milord," Festian began, "before we do anything, wouldn't it be wise to—"
"I'm thinking, Festian!" Mathian said, and the older knight clamped his jaw once more, wishing—not for the first time—that Sir Gardian hadn't gotten himself killed so idiotically. No one had ever accused Gardian of thinking things through, but at least he'd occasionally been known to listen to advice if someone shouted it loudly enough!
"How many men could we assemble?" Mathian went on after a moment, directing the question at Haladhan.
"I'm not certain," his cousin said. He scratched the tip of his nose. "I suppose it would depend on the condition of the roads. It's still a mess out there, especially—" he darted a sharp glance at Mathian "—north of Glanharrow."
"True enough," Mathian grunted. "We'll just have to see how many of the minor lords we can get messengers to."
"I think—" Haladhan began, but Festian interrupted him.
"Forgive me, Milord," he said very firmly, "but should I understand that you actually contemplate moving against the hradani on the basis of this spy's information?"
"And why should I not?" Mathian demanded, looking down his nose at the older knight.
Because we've had peace with them for over five years and you're about to change that, you young idiot! Festian thought. And just because you've been fortunate enough never to fight a real war against them doesn't mean that those of us who have fought them are looking forward to it! But he couldn't say that, of course.
"Milord, you are Lord Warden of Glanharrow," he said instead, "and I am your sworn man, as I was your father's. But this is a very serious step you contemplate. At the very least, you should discuss it with Sir Kelthys. And Baron Tellian must be informed."
"Of course I shall inform Baron Tellian!" Mathian said sharply. "But as you yourself say, I am Lord Warden here. As such, I have every right in the absence of direct orders from Baron Tellian to call up the levies of Glanharrow on my own authority in time of emergency, do I not?"
He glared at Festian, obviously waiting for an answer, and the older knight sighed.
"You are, and you do, Milord," he said. Of course, "emergency" is supposed to mean that someone else has launched an unprovoked attack upon you, you fool. But you do have the right... and I don't have the authority to forbid it.
"Good!" Mathian snorted, but then he went on in a slightly less sharp tone. "As for Sir Kelthys, however, you're quite right. Please dispatch a messenger to ask him to join us here as quickly as possible."
He nodded dismissal, and Festian rose, fighting another surge of anger. He was no page to be sent scurrying about on errands, and he suspected that one reason he was being dispatched was to let Mathian and Haladhan put their heads together unhampered by his presence. Yet there was no courteous way to avoid obeying, and so he only bowed sharply and left.
He stalked down the castle hall, and those he met took one look at his face and stepped quickly aside. He knew they were doing it, but he didn't really care—not when those two young idiots were bent on what could only lead to disaster. Mathian had spent his life paying far too much attention to ballads and not enough to serious history. His mind was full of banners and gallant charges, and he'd managed to forget that Horse Stealers under the current Prince of Hurgrum's grandfather had sacked Glanharrow Castle itself and burned it to the ground. But at least he'd agreed to talk it over with Kelthys first. Festian tried to cling to that, for it was the sole positive aspect of the evening so far.
Sir Kelthys Lancebearer was a second cousin of Baron Tellian. Born a third son, he'd been a landless man, but one whose skill at arms—both in personal combat and as a strategist—had won great renown. He'd spent fifteen years commanding Sothōii cavalry forces attached to the Royal and Imperial Army, and he'd returned to the Kingdom a wealthy man. When Baron Tellian "suggested" Mathian bestow the manor of Deep Water upon Kelthys, the Lord Warden of Glanharrow had had little choice but to agree. And in fairness to the Baron, the transaction had worked out quite well.
Deep Water wasn't the largest of Glanharrow's holdings, and the manor had fallen into decay under its previous master. Under Sir Kelthys' careful husbandry, however, it had once again become a prosperous and productive steading whose rents enriched Mathian's coffers, and few lords of Mathian's rank had ever been blessed with a vassal with Kelthys' experience and skill. Indeed, Festian rather suspected Tellian had pushed the arrangement expressly to insure that Mathian had an older and wiser head to ride herd upon him. Yet Festian was also positive a certain rancor lurked under the surface pleasantries of Mathian's relations with Kelthys. Part of it was understandable enough. Given Mathian's comparative youth and lack of military experience, the younger man was bound to feel uncomfortable under the eye of a subordinate who was a proven veteran. But there was more to it than that, more even than Kelthys' relationship to Baron Tellian, for Kelthys was also a wind rider... and Mathian was not.
Festian knew how that rankled the younger man. The gods knew he had always longed to be a wind rider, but the coursers chose whom they would, and no power on earth could make them accept any rider against their will. Mathian knew that as well as anyone, yet that didn't keep him from resenting his vassal's good fortune.