David Weber - War Maid's choice

A knot of men stood waiting as the courser swept through the gateway, ducking her lordly head to clear its intricately carved and painted lintel, and came to a graceful stop. Even she was sweating heavily after her driving run, but she stood tall and proud as Leeana swung quickly down from the saddle and bowed deeply to the redhaired man at the center of the small cluster.

One or two of his companions-predictably-looked more than a little contemptuous as she gave her monarch a “man’s” greeting, though just how they expected her to curtsy in riding breeches was beyond her.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “I apologize for intruding without an invitation.”

“Indeed?” Markhos’ tone was cool but courteous, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. “Given the news your companion sent ahead and the message you bear, invitations would seem to be the least of our concerns.”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” she agreed, and reached into her belt pouch. One of the armsmen at the King’s back stiffened as her hand disappeared into the pouch, but he relaxed again-slightly-as it emerged again with nothing more threatening than a piece of paper. “From Lord Warden Lorham, Your Majesty,” she said quietly.

The King accepted the hastily written message with a small nod, broke the seal, and scanned it rapidly. Then he handed it to Sir Jerhas Macebearer. The Prime Councilor read it as quickly as the King had, his face tightening, then passed it across to Tellian, in turn. Leeana watched from the corner of her eye as her father read it, but she’d never moved her own gaze from King Markhos’. The King’s blue eyes were intent, narrowed with concentration as he looked back at her measuringly.

“It would seem Lord Lorham confirms everything your courser already relayed to Baron Tellian’s brother,” he said, ignoring-as law and custom alike demanded-the fact that “Baron Tellian” was also her father. “He says, however, that you were the one who found Master Brayahs?”

“That’s so, Your Majesty,” Leeana confirmed. “Gayrfressa”-she reached up to lay one hand on the mare’s shoulder-“smelled the smoke, and we went to investigate.” She shrugged ever so slightly. “We found him, but it was Arm Shahana who healed him. I think he might very well have died without her, and he would never have regained consciousness in time to warn us if she hadn’t been there.”

“How fortunate she was there, then,” a slender, golden-haired man of perhaps thirty-five said. He was richly dressed and an inch or so shorter than Leeana herself, and his tone, as he stressed the adverb, was nicely seasoned with a courtier’s venom.

“I agree,” her father said in a very different voice, and the blond-haired fellow’s blue eyes flashed as they locked with Tellian’s. That flash might have been anger, Leeana thought, but it could also have been…satisfaction.

“My Lords.” King Markhos said the two words quietly, and the two men looked at him instantly. “Master Brayahs is a valued servant of the Crown, Lord Golden Hill,” the King continued softly. “Anything which preserves him for future service to the Kingdom is, indeed, fortunate.”

“Most certainly, Your Majesty,” Golden Hill replied.

Markhos held his eye a moment longer, then shifted his attention equally to Macebearer, Tellian, and a man Leeana recognized as Sir Frahdar Swordshank, the commander of his personal guard. Swordshank had just finished reading Trisu’s note for himself, and he passed it to another of his officers as he returned his monarch’s gaze.

“Suggestions?” the King inquired.

Tellian started to reply, then stopped and looked at Swordshank. The Guard commander looked back at him, and the baron gestured for him to speak first. No one could have called that gesture discourteous, but there was an undeniable curtness to it.

“My opinion remains the same, Sire,” Swordshank said. He twitched his head in the direction of Trisu’s note. “We know very little, other than that Master Brayahs believes sorcery has been at play in Halthan and that it’s apparently been used to influence Baron Borandas’ seneschal.”

“Forgive me, Sir Frahdar,” Sir Jerhas said a bit tartly, “but we also know sorcery came within a hairsbreadth of killing Master Brayahs when he attempted to wind-walk to us here to warn us of what he’d discovered!”

“You’re correct, of course, Milord.” Swordshank gave the Prime Councilor a respectful half-bow. “The question, however, is whether that sorcery reacted to his attempt to reach this particular place or to his attempt to reach His Majesty, wherever he might have been.”

“In either case, it was obviously intended to prevent him from warning the King,” Tellian pointed out in what struck Leeana as an oddly neutral tone.

“Granted,” Swordshank said, giving the baron the same abbreviated bow. “But we have no way of knowing what else might be afoot.” His gaze lingered for just a moment on Tellian’s before he looked back at the King. “I think we must assume Lord Trisu’s fear that this is a part of some larger and more complex plot is accurate, Sire. That being the case, I would greatly prefer to keep you here, safely inside these walls, until Lord Trisu and Arm Shahana arrive to bolster our strength. With only forty men, I fear we might find ourselves hard-pressed to protect you properly if we should meet an organized attack in the open. Especially if that attack might be supported by sorcery.”

“Surely your armsmen should be able to protect His Majesty long enough to get him to safety at Hill Guard!” Sir Jerhas retorted sharply.

“With all due respect, Sir Jerhas,” Golden Hill said, “no one can predict where even a stray arrow may strike, far less one which might be aimed at a crowned head. Indeed,” he looked sharply at Tellian, “Baron Tellian himself can testify to that, given his experience earlier this year.” He returned his gaze to Macebearer. “Here, at least, His Majesty is within a wall, protected from that hazard. Once Sir Frahdar has been reinforced by Lord Trisu’s armsmen, we would be far better placed to move His Majesty safely to some place of greater security.”

He’d managed to avoid mentioning Arm Shahana, the Quaysar Temple Guard detachment, or Kalatha’s war maids quite handily, Leeana observed. That was the first thing she noticed; then she saw the way her father’s nostrils had flared ever so slightly and the tiny, almost invisible muscle tic at the corner of his right eye. She’d seen that tic only rarely as a child, but she’d known to brace herself whenever it put in an appearance, and she wondered exactly what had brought it on this time. Then she realized it had been Golden Hill’s last five words.

‹ ‘Some place of greater security’ than Hill Guard, is it?› she snapped silently to Gayrfressa, and the mare tossed her head.

‹ That’s what Dathgar was suggesting,› she agreed. ‹ I don’t understand why, though. He’s my King, too, even if he does have only two-feet! I say let’s take him someplace we can protect him properly! ›

‹ They’re afraid Father might be behind it,› Leeana told her flatly. The courser’s single ear pricked in astonishment, and Leeana reminded herself not to look up at her. ‹ I haven’t seen Swordshank since I ran away to Kalatha, and I’d never actually spoken to him even then, but I’ll bet you he’s not one of the war maids’ greater admirers. And if this Golden Hill is who I think he is, he’s one of the King’s gentlemen-in-waiting…who just happens to be one of Baron Yeraghor’s lords warden from the East Riding. I’d say it’s crossed Swordshank’s mind that Father might be the one trying to influence Borandas. The idea’s ridiculous, but in all fairness, it’s his job to worry about even ridiculous things where the King’s safety is concerned. And if he is wondering about Father’s possible involvement, having me turn up with a warning may only have made him even more suspicious. That’s what Golden Hill’s playing on, and it wouldn’t surprise me very much if he’s actually party to whatever’s happening! ›