David Weber - War Maid's choice

Trisu’s eyes hardened in instant, automatic rejection, and his mouth opened. But then he paused, mouth still open, looking at her. Silence hovered for at least ten seconds before he drew a deep breath and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said, and Leeana saw her own surprise at his response mirrored in Balcartha’s eyes. He obviously saw it, too, and he flashed his teeth in something which bore at least a passing resemblance to a genuine smile.

“At this moment, what I care about are swords and hands to wield them,” he said. “I’ll worry about whether or not they’re ‘proper’ hands later.”

“Good, Milord,” Shahana said. “But we’re going to need at least two other horses.” Trisu cocked his head at her. “We’ve got to send word to Balthar and to Sothofalas,” she said.

“Agreed.” He looked at her for another long moment, then inhaled sharply. “To Balthar and Sothofalas…but not to Toramos.” The silence crackled with sudden tension, and he smiled even more mirthlessly than before. “If I’m being unjust to Baron Cassan, I can always apologize later. For now, we all have more important things to worry about. And my loyalty and my oaths are to the Crown and”-he met Leeana’s eyes very levelly-“to the Baron of Balthar.”

“Well said,” Shahana said quietly. “But even if yours is the closest wardenship, it’s going to take time for us to get there.”

“True,” Trisu acknowledged. “And that’s why at least one of us won’t be riding with the rest of us.” Shahana frowned, and he raised his hand, pointing at Leeana. “If you have a wind rider, Milady, you don’t hold him-or her-back when speed is of the essence.”

Master Varnaythus took another sip of truly excellent wine and leaned back, glass in hand, to contemplate the images in the heart of his gramerhain. Malahk Sahrdohr had joined him in his working chamber once more, finished at last with his assumed identity as Mahrahk Firearrow. Today was the day their plans came to fruition…or didn’t. Either way, “Firearrow’s” utility would be limited in the aftermath.

“Arthnar’s men are only five miles from Chergor,” Sahrdohr reported, looking up from his own gramerhain, and Varnaythus smiled.

There was anticipation in that smile, and more than a trace of relief. Keeping all the necessary balls in the air simultaneously had been more taxing than he’d anticipated, even for a juggler as skilled he was, but he’d managed to pull it off after all. In fact, everything was coming together-down on the Ghoul Moor, as well as here on the Wind Plain-literally simultaneously. That was a piece of work his Lady was going to appreciate, given all the scores of things that could have gone wrong along the way.

His own stone showed Trianal Bowmaster’s army, moving steadily down the course of the Hangnysti River…towards a rendezvous with a rather nastier handful than they anticipated, he thought smugly. It wouldn’t be so very many hours before they were finding out about that, and in the meantime, things were shaping up very nicely farther to the north

Shaping up despite the fact that something damned nearly did go wrong, he reminded himself. I don’t know what it was, but that miserable busybody Brayahs must’ve twigged to something. Bastard. He grimaced. I wonder if it was something Myacha noticed?

He didn’t know, and it was possible he never would, given the fact that Brayahs was dead and wouldn’t be around to do any explaining. It seemed likely, though, for the more Varnaythus had studied the baroness, the more he’d come to the conclusion that she was very strongly Gifted indeed. With the proper training-and attitude-she probably could have found her own place on the Council of Carnadosa. So it was quite probable she had noticed something and pointed Brayahs at it.

Not that it mattered. Oh, if Brayahs had somehow figured out what had happened-and convinced Borandas of it-his plan for enlisting the North Riding as Cassan’s ally had probably been knocked on the head. That would be inconvenient, although it might not matter all that much in the long run. In fact, he’d realized once he’d had time to think it over, it could even work out better than the vicious political fight to name Cassan or Yeraghor regent he’d anticipated. It might even lead to open civil war between the factions…assuming either Tellian or Trianal survived to lead their faction, at any rate. And his smile was thin as he contemplated how unlikely that was.

Well, I know Tellian, at least, isn’t going to be around much longer, one way or the other, he reminded himself. And the odds aren’t looking very good for poor Trianal at the moment, either. In fact, it could be that if Brayahs and Myacha have convinced Borandas of the truth, he might end up taking over for Tellian, and he’s nowhere near the soldier Tellian was. The wind riders would still side with him, though, and with his…limited talent leading one side and Cassan and Yeraghor leading the other, any Sothoii civil war could go on forever. It might even turn into something like that neverending mess in Ferenmoss! He smiled almost blissfully at the thought, then shook regretfully free of it. But the really important thing is that whatever Brayahs might have figured out or suspected, he didn’t get to the King or Tellian to warn them.

That was the one thing which might still have defeated that prong of their strategy. No matter what happened with Arthnar’s assassins or Cassan’s men, Markhos and Tellian and everyone with them would still die…as long as they remained at Chergor. Nothing this side of direct divine intervention could prevent that, and the theory behind his trap spell had obviously been correct. He’d felt the moment when it discharged, blotting Brayahs-or some wind-walker, at any rate-out of existence when he tried to reach Chergor.

And that’s worth knowing, too, he reflected. It’s about time we started getting a handle on how to deal with the Phrobus-damned magi! And now that I know it worked, I suppose I’m going to have to go ahead and share my research with the rest of the Council after all. Pity. I hate to give up the edge over the others, but the Lady wouldn’t approve of my holding it back if we’re as close to a major cusp point as I think we are. Then again, with my notes as a starting point, maybe we can come up with a way to just kill all the bastards and be done with it!

He smiled at the thought, sipped more wine, and returned his attention to the gramerhain before him. His viewpoint shifted and swooped about dizzyingly, but he was accustomed to that, and his smile went cold and cruel as he found Anshakar, Zurak, and Kimazh haranguing their army while shamans pounded their massive drums and no less than fifty thousand yammering, leaping, bounding ghouls salavated for their promised prey.

Not long, he thought. No, not long at all now.

Sir Tellian Bowmaster leaned back in the comfortable chair, contemplating the chessboard while he considered how best to respond to his opponent’s move.

Markhos Silveraxe, King of the Sothoii, had all the fierce drive to win one might have expected in the scion of a warrior dynasty, and quite a few of his courtiers, Tellian knew, would have made sure that winning was exactly what the King accomplished. The more adroit would have contrived to lose in a fashion which disguised their intentions, but all too many of them would simply and cheerfully have thrown the game and then gushed fulsome compliments on Markhos’ skill which both they and the King would have known were as insincere as their desire to win had been.

And the King would have accepted the victory, smiling as if he were completely unaware of what they’d done. But behind his smile he would have marked them down for what they were…and he would never have fully trusted them again. Markhos was not a perfect monarch-few monarchs were-but susceptibility to sycophancy had never been one of his failings.