“Think up a better threat, Daddy,” she whispered back. “You’ve already done that.”
He let her go and held her at arm’s length for a moment. She met his gaze evenly. Her mother had been like that. Fearless and ambitious. It was such a pity her ambition had run away with her. Had she learnt to control it, she might not have lost her head... But Adrina was everything her mother was and more. He felt overcome with love for his child. Hopefully, the feeling would soon pass.
He took her hand and ceremoniously placed it in Cratyn’s hand. The crowd went wild. Hablet suspected it had more to do with the idea of Adrina finally getting married than any affection for the Karien groom.
“May the gods bless this great union!” Hablet boomed. “May Fardohnya and Karien, from this day forward, live in peace!”
The crowd cheered, although most of them knew Hablet’s declaration had little to do with his own feelings. By law, no Fardohnyan could declare war on the house of a family united by marriage. That law included the King. The Kariens knew about it too, which was no doubt why they had put aside their prejudice and accepted a foreign bride. A Fardohnyan queen was a small price to pay for the guarantee that Hablet was unable to make war on them.
Cratyn squirmed a little as he stood there holding Adrina’s hand. His daughter smiled and waved to the people. They liked the princess. She was an astute politician and had made a point of being generous to those lesser creatures outside the palace. She was a tyrant around anyone else, but the people remembered her small kindnesses and were probably genuinely sorry to see her go.
The guard snapped to attention as the Karien Prince and Adrina walked down the dock towards the ship. Hablet watched them leaving with some relief. As they boarded the gangway, he waved his hand to the Captain of the Guard. Tristan dismissed his men and came to stand before his father.
“You can come back next winter,” he told the young man brusquely. “I should have forgiven you by then.”
Tristan grinned. “You are too kind, Sire.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. You’re lucky I didn’t send you to the eastern passes.”
“To be honest, Father, I would have preferred that you did. I’d rather fight Hythrun bandits than play toy soldiers in Karien.”
“I need you to look after Adrina.”
“Adrina doesn’t need looking after.”
“Well, keep an eye on her, then. And don’t get mixed up in her schemes. I want you back in year, boy. I expect you to stay out of trouble.” He hugged his eldest bastard with genuine affection. “I’ll have a legitimate son by then.”
Tristan shook his head wryly. “Father, don’t you worry sometimes that one of us might want the throne for himself?”
“There’s none of you strong enough to challenge me, Tristan.”
“But if you were to die before you name your heir...”
Hablet laughed. “Then you’ll have Adrina to contend with, my boy, and I’m damned certain none of you are strong enough to challenge her.”
Chapter 10
“Knights. About five hundred of them.”
Damin handed Tarja the small hollow tube he was using to examine the golden plain below. It had taken them most of the morning to climb up to this vantage on the side of the mountain that overlooked the border. Although rocky, the ledge was comfortably wide and he, Garet and Damin were stretched out on their bellies as they watched the tents of the enemy below, occasionally brushing away curious insects come to investigate the intruders.
Tarja put the tube to his eye and was enthralled to see the distant figures of the knights, their white circular tents and impressive entourage, grow larger through the lens. Damin called it a looking glass.
The knights camped on the Karien side of the border did not bother Tarja nearly so much as the infantry Jasnoff could throw against them. The knights were impressive, but they would be a minority in the final battle. More worrisome were the countless foot soldiers that the Kariens could muster. They had yet to arrive at the front. The knights below were as much an intimidating show of force as a serious vanguard of any incursion over the border. With a sigh, he moved the looking glass around to examine the fortifications on their side of the border.
The Defenders only hope to keep the conflict manageable was to force the Kariens to attack down a path chosen by the Medalonians. Trenches filled with sharpened stakes scored the plain like sword cuts in the red earth. The ground was pockmarked with holes dug to hamper the movement of the heavy Karien destriers. Mangonels, protected by earth mounds, stood silently out of Karien bow range, waiting for the coming battle like giant insects. But they had a vast front to cover and their defences looked woefully inadequate from this height.
“I thought there’d be more of them,” Garet remarked as he took the looking glass from Tarja to study the Kariens.
“Ah, now that’s the problem with a feudal government,” Damin remarked sagely. “You have to waste an awful lot of time getting your army together. You have to call in favours, bribe people, marry off your children, and convince your Dukes that there’s a profit in your war. Monumental waste of time and money, if you ask me. Standing armies are much more efficient.” The fair-haired Hythrun frowned at Garet’s surprised expression. It was obvious that Damin neither liked nor trusted Garet Warner. “I’m not a complete barbarian, you know, Commandant. Even Warlords need an education. What were you expecting my tactical assessment to be? Me Warlord. Me kill Kariens.”
Garet smiled thinly. “Not exactly.”
Damin grinned suddenly and pushed himself backward along the ledge. He sat against the cliff, leaning comfortably in the shade, with his long legs stretched out in front. He crossed his booted feet at the ankles as he took a long swig from his waterskin.
“You underestimate me again, Commandant,” he said, offering Tarja the waterskin as Garet turned to face him. “But, for your information, I was educated by the finest tutors in Hythria. And I’m right. The Kariens don’t keep a standing army, for all that they can field a huge one, once they finally get organised. It’s a fatal flaw. Jasnoff’s vassals owe him sixty days each a year, which means that by the time they get here, it will almost be time to go home again, but they’re stuck here while the Church supports the war. Even fighting for the glory of the Overlord starts to pale when it’s costing you money and there’s no plunder in sight.” He swatted idly at an annoying insect. “You Medalonians have the right idea. Toss the nobility, promote on merit and keep a standing army.”
“Toss the nobility? If Hythria adopted that policy, you’d be out of a job.”
Tarja wondered if he should warn Garet about the inadvisability of getting into a discussion about the merits of various systems of government with this man.
“Worse, Commandant, I’d be the first in line to be beheaded. My uncle is the High Prince of Hythria. I’m his heir, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” Tarja asked.
“Taking the Hythrun throne isn’t going to be easy, and keeping it will be even harder. The other Warlords think I’m a bit... precocious. There may come a time when I call on Medalon for assistance. Assuming the Kariens and their Fardohnyan allies don’t come pouring over your border to wipe us all out.”
Tarja had wondered what the price of Damin’s assistance would be. “I’m sure Medalon will remember your aid when the time comes.”
“You’re very free with your promises, Tarja,” Garet remarked. “You’re not the Lord Defender yet.”