Richard Baker: The Falcon and The Wolf

He resembled an old, proud eagle, with a fierce but deliberate strength of character in his face and gestures. The Mhor was dressed in a fine gray doublet that resembled Gaelin’s in cut and fashion, but on his breast the emblem of a silver falcon was embroidered on a black patch. He glanced up as Gaelin entered.

“Hello, Father,” Gaelin said quietly.

“Hello, Gaelin. You’re looking well. It looks like you’ve filled out some.”

“I have, I think. You are well?”

A bare, wintry smile creased the Mhor’s face without touching his eyes. “I am,” he replied. “Come, let’s have some brandy against the cold.” He indicated a great, padded chair by the fire, and lowered himself into its companion. Gaelin drew a decanter of Coeranian brandy and a pair of glasses from a nearby cabinet, joining his father by the fire. For a long moment they sat together in silence, until the Mhor cleared his throat to speak again. “How are things in the northern marches?”

“Well enough, for now,” Gaelin replied, glad of the opportunity to speak without addressing the issues that lay between them. “The goblin raids were bad this winter, but we’ve seen the last of them for this year. We’ll need more towers and garrisons along that border soon – too many goblins got past our pickets this year.”

The Mhor frowned and sipped at his brandy. “I told my father the same thing when I was your age, Gaelin. Every year I put more men in the north, and every year the goblins grow bolder. I fear a war with Markazor may not be far off.” The Mhor returned his attention to the fire, as the candles flickered in the draught. Gaelin waited, watching his father in silence.

After a long time, the Mhor spoke again.

“Gaelin, as you’ve probably guessed, you’re not here to tell me how the skirmishes in the north go,” he began. “Your time as a Knight Guardian is at an end. Like your brother and myself, and most of the Mhorieds for a number of generations, you’ve won your place as a leader of Mhoried. There aren’t many kingdoms that require their heirs and princes to learn how to ride, how to fight – and most importantly, how to lead – the way we do. There are a number of good reasons for this, which I’m sure you’ve memorized by now.”

Gaelin recalled his first lessons with Lord Anduine, the knight with whom he’d first trained. Anduine believed that the why of being a knight was even more important than the how, and Gaelin had mucked out plenty of stalls learning those lessons.

“In any event,” Daeric continued, “it’s time you moved on to different responsibilities. You’ve learned how to be a follower, and that’s the first step of learning how to lead.”

“I had hoped to remain with the Order,” Gaelin said carefully.

“I think I’ve done well with the Knights Guardian.”

The Mhor laughed with little humor. “I thought you might say that. It’s a noble sentiment, Gaelin, and one I’d probably have in your place – but there are more important duties for you to attend to. You are far too valuable to spend your days fighting as a foot soldier in Mhoried’s borderlands.”

Gaelin felt his shoulders tensing. This discussion was taking a turn for the worse. “The Knights Guardian are more than soldiers, Father. It’s not a waste of my time to devote myself to the Order. Isn’t that what you had in mind when you made me a squire?”

The Mhor ran a hand through his silver hair. “I know that serving as a knight is no small thing, Gaelin. Once I stood where you stand now. But there are hundreds of young lords and nobles who can serve in your Order, and I have only two sons.” He fixed his gaze on Gaelin. “By tradition, you’re granted seven years to be your own man, to look out for no one but yourself, but those years are done now, and I have need of you.” With a heavy sigh, he rose and stared out the window into the snowy night. “I thought we were done with this years ago.”

Gaelin looked away, fighting down the cold anxiety in his stomach. He drained the brandy in his glass, but the warmth of the liquor did not dispel his unease. “All right. What would you have me do? I have no skill for statecraft or diplomacy. ”

The Mhor pulled his gaze away from the falling snow and faced him. In anger, he grew colder and more distant, his face setting into a stonelike scowl. “Seven years ago, you didn’t know how to be a knight,” he said. “In time, you learned. I know that thoughts of the throne are far from your mind, Gaelin, but I think it would be good for you to spend time here, with me, learning how to rule. I’ve only two sons, and should anything ever happen to Thendiere, I want to know that there’s another who can take the oaths as the Mhor.” He measured Gaelin with his piercing gaze, until the prince began to feel uncomfortable. “It’s a matter of duty, Gaelin.

You have a duty to Mhoried to make yourself ready. Who would rule in Shieldhaven if I died and Thendiere couldn’t take my place?”

Gaelin ground his fists. “That will never happen.”

“Even if I agreed, Gaelin, I am compelled to ask you to prepare yourself. It’s my duty to ensure that Mhoried will not be left without a Mhor. And it’s your duty to stand ready, should anything ever happen to your brother or myself. I thought that seven years as a Knight Guardian would have helped your sense of responsibility.”

“I’ve learned more than you thought I might.”

“You’ll stay, then?” The Mhor’s gaze refused to release him.

“I will.”

“And you do so of your own free will, not because I am forcing you to do so?”

Gaelin grimaced. “Of my own free will,” he said.

The Mhor did not press his victory. “It may be more important than you think, Gaelin,” he said, relaxing and turning away, his hands clasped behind his back. “You may not have heard, but Thendiere was nearly killed in Riumache a few days ago.”

“What? How?” As the crown prince, Thendiere was the Mhor’s right hand. He traveled constantly, speaking with his father’s voice. Like Gaelin, he had trained in the Knights Guardian, although Thendiere had always been as responsible as Gaelin had been rebellious.

“He was thrown in a joust and broke his leg,” the Mhor said, measuring Gaelin’s reaction. “A very bad fall. The priests tended him immediately, of course, but he’ll need some time to recover.”

Gaelin shrugged. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“Aye, but some accidents are more convenient than most, wouldn’t you say?” the Mhor said darkly.

It took a moment for the weight of the Mhor’s words to sink into Gaelin’s mind. “You believe someone made a deliberate attempt on Thendiere’s life?”

“I’ve no proof of it, but I have to consider the possibility.

We’ve few friends, Gaelin, and many enemies. The goblin kingdoms north and east of us have no love for any Anuireans.

They’d just as soon lay waste to this land from Riumache to Torien’s Watch. West of us lies Alamie, an ally racked by civil war, and Ghoere is just across the Maesil. Lord Baehemon’s here right now, in fact.”

“So I’d heard. What does Baehemon want with us?”

The Mhor scowled. “I’ve no idea, but I expect him to bring it up soon. We’ll be entertaining him with a banquet, and I want you by my side.” His face grew hard. “If Baehemon had anything to do with Thendiere’s accident, I want him to see that I’ve another son.”

“I’ll be there,” Gaelin said.

“It’s growing late,” the Mhor said. “I know you’ve been traveling all day, and you probably want to get some sleep.”

Gaelin let out a small knot of breath he’d been holding clenched under his breastbone and headed for the door. Before he left, his father stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.