CHAPTER EIGHT

By the time Vars stalked into the great hall, it was already full to its stone-lined walls with people. There were so many there that the large squares of carpet that normally divided them up by rank had given way to only a general approximation. The nobles were there, and the leaders of the Houses of Merchants, Weapons, Scholars, and even Sighs. The doors at the far end were open, letting even more listen in, and setting the banners around the walls to flapping.

Almost as much as their mouths. Vars had never liked the hubbub of the court, and now, with so many voices talking at once it was all the more irritating for it.

“We must maintain a watch on the Slate,” a minor noble said.

“Why?” a knight shot back. “In case Ravin manages to build more bridges while we aren’t looking?”

“Exactly,” the first man said, apparently oblivious to his own stupidity.

“What we need is coordination between ourselves and your personal forces,” Commander Harr said. The commander of the Knights of the Spur stood there in full armor, gray beard halfway down his breastplate so that Vars found himself wondering if the man even slept in it. “We must leave no gaps in our defenses.”

“Meaning that we must shoulder the cost of this?” the leader of the House of Merchants asked, standing there in so many gold chains that just one of them could probably have funded the war.

“We must study what is happening,” the leader of the scholars said, severe in his dark robes and shaven head.

“We must up production,” the representative of the House of Weapons added.

At least the woman from the House of Sighs was quiet, seeming content to watch what was happening. Vars had no use for the opinion of a mere courtesan.

Vars stood in the shadow of the throne, listening to them go on, waiting for one of them to notice his presence. Seconds ticked by as they continued to bicker among one another, some saying that they should hold in place, others that they should advance. Beyond that, there seemed to be no agreement, with every faction having its own would-be strategists, its own ideas of what troops should go where, and how, and who should pay.

He could feel his anger building inside him, washing over even the fear of so many people standing in front of him. He stepped around to the throne, setting himself before it very deliberately.

“Silence!” he yelled. Even then, only some of them fell quiet. “If there is not silence here, I will see this hall cleared by the guards!”

Now there was quiet. In it, all of them stared at him. The anxiety that brought to Vars only made him feel worse. All those eyes staring at him only made him feel small, vulnerable, and Vars hated that.

“I am king now!” he bellowed, in defiance of those stares. “You’re all talking as if you’re deciding what to do about the invasion, but I will decide!”

“Your highness,” a count said, stepping forward. “With respect, this is a decision that affects the entire kingdom, and your father still lives. It is important that all of those affected should have a say.”

Vars glared at the man. “Really? And would you ask the peasants who work your land what they think?”

That seemed to take the man aback. “Your highness, we nobles are not peasants. Our position compared to yours is not as theirs is to us.”

“A king is addressed as your majesty,” Vars snapped back at him.

“But you are the king’s regent, your highness,” said another noble, whom Vars recognized as the Marquis of the Underlands. “While we must respect any decision made in this regard, it is also true that you have the position only as next in line to the throne. No final decision has been made.”

“No final decision about what?” Vars demanded. He could feel control of this slipping away from him.

“About whether you will be king,” the marquis replied.

Vars wanted to have the man beheaded for that, wanted to walk down there and strangle the man with his bare hands. Except… the marquis was a big man, and Vars could feel the fear rising in him, holding him in place, refusing to let him do any of the things that he so desperately wanted to do.

“Such talk borders on treason, my lord,” a voice said from the back. Vars breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized Finnal, pushing his way through the crowd. “And is not something that my father would support.”

The man backed away a little. “I meant nothing by it. Merely that the traditional roles of the nobility must—”

“The traditional role of the nobility is to support the king,” Finnal said. He swept a bow in Vars’s direction. “Please continue, your majesty.”

Buoyed by Finnal’s support, Vars could feel some of his confidence returning.

“We have information that King Ravin’s people are attacking via the Isle of Leveros,” Vars said. “My own sister risked herself to bring that information to us.”

Erin could count as his sister now that she’d done something useful. She would go back to being just his half-sister soon enough.

“We are aware of that,” Commander Harr of the Spur said. “The question is what we do to counter that. The military implications are complex, and—”

“The military situation is simple,” Vars said. “We have information that our enemy did not think we would have. We know that they are attacking to the north. They think that we are distracted fully by the attack on the southern bridges. Therefore we will go to meet them.”

“And what does that mean?” Commander Harr asked. Somehow, the old man had always had a way of asking Vars questions that made him feel as if he knew nothing. “What troops are we to send, and what to leave behind?”

“Why, Commander,” Vars said. “We send your knights.”

“All of them?” the representative from the House of Weapons echoed. “But wouldn’t that leave Royalsport undefended?”

“The guards will remain here, obviously,” Vars said. “And the private forces of my loyal nobles.” He looked around them to ensure that they were loyal. “But the Knights of the Spur will ride north to face the threat, along with as many soldiers as are able to travel quickly. We will attack them as they land, and take them by surprise.”

The brilliance of the plan lay in its simplicity, and its speed. It also meant that the fighting would take place a long way away from the capital. Vars could take the credit for the victory, without ever having to go near the fight. It was the best kind of plan all round.

“I really don’t think—” Commander Harr began, but Vars cut him off.

“We have the advantage,” he said. “Our foe believes that he has tricked us, and that he can ravage the north of our kingdom at will. That situation will not last long. He will anticipate that messengers will flow south after he lands. So we must act now. We throw everything at this in a decisive hammer blow to finish it. We put King Ravin’s head on a pike, and show him that the Southern Kingdom cannot strike at us, cannot kidnap my sister, kill my brother, all but murder my father!”

Vars didn’t care about any of those things, but if those below him did, he would use all of them to get his way.

Still, though, they argued. Where they should have cheered his plan, should have chanted his name, instead they fell into talking among themselves. There were so many people talking at once that Vars could only pick out fragments of it.

“The historical precedents are worrying…” the scholars’ leader said.

“Such a move would mean we would have to shoulder the burden,” a count put in.

“…not to mention the implications for the landscape they move through,” one of the knights said, as if ordinary knights got a say in all of this.

Even the woman from the House of Sighs seemed to think she could speak up, whispering to those next to her in words Vars couldn’t hear. To his surprise, some of them even nodded, as if someone from that House would ever know more about war than their king regent.

“…should wait for orders from King Godwin when he wakes,” a noble said, and Vars could feel his rage growing inside him.

Once more, Finnal stepped in, holding up his hands. “My lords and ladies,” he said. “We have had plenty of chance to discuss this, but the time has come to act. The king’s regent has made a decision for the good of the country, and it is up to us to act upon it. I say now, as a part of his family, and as his friend, I know that King Regent Vars has all of our safety at his heart. We must do this; we must strike at King Ravin’s forces to the north at once!”

That got a cheer, and Vars was grateful for it, even more so when he saw that the knights in the crowd were starting to move, heading for the courtyard to gather supplies. There was a strong sense of satisfaction that came from knowing that people were doing as he commanded, even if it had taken Finnal’s help to do it.

At the same time though, he was angry. Angry that people had talked over him, questioned him, looked down on him even though he was king now in all but name. It was a situation he couldn’t allow to stand, one he couldn’t allow.

He had to act.

CHAPTER NINE

King Ravin stood at the prow of his flagship, his armor shining like that of a hero, his crown set atop his dark curls and his hand resting on his sword, making sure he looked every inch the warrior king as his armada closed in on the coast near to the city of Astare.

He felt a surge of satisfaction. There was always a kind of joy in knowing that things had gone as he had planned them, whether it was the conquest of a hunted creature, a woman, or a kingdom.

He had felt the same satisfaction when he had taken the throne from his father so many years before, had felt a touch of it with each group of Quiet Men that infiltrated the Northern Kingdom at his command, each spy who brought back more details of the landscape, the villages, the supplies. He had planned every detail of the conquest to come, and now it was unfolding exactly as it should.

He knew his men would be watching him then, waiting for more commands. Already, a dozen of his ships were attacking the city, but the rest waited, held in place by his authority. Not a man would have dared to act without his command, and not just because they all knew that to do so was death for them and their families. Every man there knew that they only had a part of the whole, that only their king understood the whole of the plan.

That was as it should be. A king who gave away all the plans he had did not remain king for long. Look at his fool of a father, who had trusted Ravin with every thought, every idea. It had made the kingdom easy to unify when he was gone.

“Well?” Ravin said, turning back toward the deck of the ship. Commanders waited there, one from the fleet, one from the soldiers, and a third dressed in the ordinary clothing of the Quiet Men. There was also a scholar carrying a note from a messenger bird. Because he looked the most terrified, Ravin kept him waiting, pointing at the fleet’s admiral instead.

“Your majesty,” the man said. “The voyage from Leveros has produced minimal losses. The advance party has landed troops as you commanded, and is now back in position with the fleet. The other ships await your command to move in on the coast.”

Ravin turned his attention to the commander of the troops he had sent to Astare. “And you?”

The man bowed. “Your majesty, the assault on the city is already proceeding. It has minimal defenses, and we anticipate being in full control of it within hours. The men have been instructed to kill all who resist.”

“And my Quiet Men?” Ravin asked the third figure there.

“Are in place in settlements within the kingdom, ready to receive your troops on the march from Astare to Royalsport,” the man said.

King Ravin nodded. Finally, he turned to the frightened messenger. “You are going to tell me that my forces in the south have been defeated.”

It wasn’t a question, but even so, the man nodded. “King Godwin fell in the fighting, and Prince Rodry is dead, but they managed to recover Princess Lenore, and the bridge was destroyed with your forces upon it,” the man choked out.

King Ravin shrugged, and he saw the messenger’s eyes widen in surprise at that. “Did you think I didn’t anticipate any of this?” he asked. “The attack on the south was always destined to fail, and if they have recovered one princess, what do I care?”

Not that the princess wouldn’t be his in due course. Everything in the Northern Kingdom would be. He strode to the side of the ship, taking in the vastness of his fleet. So many men stood ready there, from all parts of his kingdom. There were tribesmen from the deserts and armored city dwellers, former pirates from the coast and slave legionnaires who had never known anything but violence. All wore the red of his colors now; all wore the same armor.