Gail Martin - The blood king

Tris leaned forward to catch every word, acutely aware of how sheltered he had been as King Bricen's second son. Tiredly, he smoothed back a stray lock of white-blond hair that fell into his eyes. Anxious to learn, he willingly ceded the discussion to the professional soldiers. Darrath presided over the arguments with seasoned tolerance, adding his own impressions of the companies wintering in the area.

They determined that Harrtuck would command the mercenary troops, and ate their meal embroiled in debate over how best to contain Jared and his army. Hant said little, observing the discussion with an uncanny silence, as if he were analyzing the essence of each of the people at the table. His dark

eyes darted from speaker to speaker. Finally, Hant held up his hand for silence.

"Have you considered," Hant began in a tone that clearly said he knew that his suggestion had not, in fact, occurred to them yet, "that there is an alternative to taking Margolan by force?"

Harrtuck frowned and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "How do you propose to do that? March in and ask Jared to kindly step aside?"

A cold smile flickered at the corners of Hant's mouth. "Something like that, only perhaps less civilly. I suggest," he said, "that the armies be engaged, but not cross into Margolan."

"And just what good will that do?" Soterius demanded, running a hand back through his short-cropped, russet hair.

"You were the captain of the king's guard, were you not?" Hant turned his cold stare on Soterius, who nodded. "Were your troops cold-blooded killers?"

Soterius looked troubled. "Margolan's army was a disciplined fighting force. But they weren't monsters."

Hant templed his fingers in thought. "Do you know these men personally?"

Soterius nodded. "Many of them. I'd recognize even more by sight, although I couldn't put a name to the face."

"Then if they aren't bewitched, might some of them accept the chance to stop the evil that grows in your homeland, if they thought they had a chance of winning?" Hant asked.

Soterius paused as he thought, his dark eyes sober. "I believe so," he replied, "unless Jared's killed the good men and replaced them with his own ilk." He was silent for a moment. "One of the hardest parts will be figuring out which soldiers have done the killing and looting-either on their own, or on Jared's orders."

"Orders or not, every soldier is responsible for his own choices," Vahanian's tone spoke of bitter experience. "The soldiers you want will be outlaws by now-if they haven't been hanged. The ones still in uniform are the enemy."

"I have no desire to see Principality and Margolan locked in a war that may last for years," Darrath said. "I believe I see where Hant is leading. If you were to slip into Margolan and recruit its troops against Jared, we may never have to march paid soldiers against your people. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Once again Soterius paused, then looked at Tris and looked back to Darrath. "I am."

"I'll go with him," volunteered Mikhail to everyone's surprise. The vayash moru seemed unperturbed at their reaction.

"I'd be glad for the company," Soterius replied.

"And what of the mercs?" Harrtuck demanded.

"The mercenary companies would hold the borders as a second line of defense," Darrath replied, leaning forward as he caught the spirit of Hant's proposal. "You can contain Jared between Margolan's northern border and the river, and patrol the border." He paused, looking at the map. "The magicked beasts Arontala sent to keep Tris from reaching Dhasson should cut Jared off to the east until they're dispelled."

"We don't know what is going on in Isencroft," Kiara added. "Carina's brother, Cam, would certainly

have asked father to support Tris, but there's no way to know what father will be able to do."

"Perhaps there is," said Staden from the doorway, where a page had urgently beckoned for his attention. He stepped aside to reveal a tattered and dirty messenger. "This rider arrived from Isencroft not half a candlemark ago. Whatever news he carries must be important, if it was worth so hard and dangerous a ride."

Eagerly, Kiara and Carina sprang from their seats to meet the exhausted rider halfway across the room. From a pouch under his tunic, the messenger produced a sealed parchment which Kiara took with trembling hands. "Look," she said to Carina, "it's in father's handwriting."

"Read it!"

Kiara read the missive in silence, her auburn hair falling around her face, framing an expression growing by turns more serious and then relaxing, until she looked up, her dark, almond-shaped eyes shining. "The potion the Sisters sent with Cam made father able to bear up under the wasting spell," she announced excitedly. "He's taken back some of his duties. And he's sent the army to the Margolan border to aid the defeat of Jared Drayke, given the limited resources of Isencroft."

"There's more. He sends his greeting to King Staden," she said, glancing at their host, "and wishes to give his official recognition to Martris Drayke, son of Bricen, the rightful king of Margolan." She looked to Tris with amazement.

"Then we have him!" Mikhail said, rearranging the small wooden markers on the map of the Winter Kingdoms that stretched across the table.

"Mercs to the northeast, the river and Dhasson to the east, Isencroft to the west. Trevath, to the south, has reason to be wary of interference. Jared will be bottled up on all sides, while we turn his own army against him."

"Aye." Harrtuck's voice was sober. "And no small number of refugees will take up arms as well once they know what's up, I wager. More than once I've seen a well-trained army fall to a mob of farmers with a cause and a sickle."

"What you're proposing makes sense," Tris said slowly. "But what would you have me do? Wait behind the lines until Jared is defeated?" He shook his head, his green eyes worried. "That won't work."

Darrath regarded him once more in silence, and Tris thought he glimpsed the faintest flicker of approval in the hard-bitten man's eyes. "What is it you would do, Prince Drayke, if not wait?"

"I have to confront Arontala," Tris replied, meeting Darrath's unyielding gaze. "I have to return to Shekerishet and finish the matter." "Alone?" Darrath mocked. "Not alone. I'll go with him," Kiara replied. "So will I," Carroway added. "I've got an old score to settle myself," Vahanian drawled. "Count me in." "Me too," Carina said.

"Assuming you could cross Margolan alive," Darrath said. "What then? Will you march up to the doors of the palace and demand to be let in?"

"No," Tris said, shaking his head. "I've gone over this time and again since we left the palace, and there's only one way in." He paused. "From above."

Vahanian raised an eyebrow. "You can fly?"

Tris grinned. "No. I don't need to. Shekerishet is built out of a steep cliffside. No one has been able to attack from that angle, so Jared won't expect it now."

Darrath cleared his throat. "I don't doubt your prowess as a Summoner, Prince Drayke," the older man said. "But if no one has scaled Shekerishet's cliffside walls before, how will you do it now?'

Tris exchanged knowing grins with Soterius. "Well, it would be a little more accurate to say 'no one at war with Margolan' ever climbed the cliff successfully. I once bet Ban that he couldn't do it, and he took the bet on the condition that I climb with him. He's from the highlands, and they're half mountain goat out there. We made it to the top and dropped in on the highest parapets, all before lunch. Neither Jared nor father ever knew, and we didn't say anything about it ourselves, since father frowned on that sort of thing." He chuckled. "In all its history, Margolan never was at war with the highlands."

"And you believe you can do it again?" Hant asked, leaning forward.