Wolf's Blood (9 page)

Firekeeper turned back to listen as Harjeedian took his leave.

“I am not needed to brief the gate watchers,” he said. “Instead, I will go and speak with Urgana.”

“What?” Derian asked. “You mean about Firekeeper’s request?”

Tiniel, who had not been part of their earlier discussion, looked puzzled. Firekeeper found this interesting. Isende had known something of their plans, but clearly Isende had not told her brother.

“Precisely,” the aridisdu said. He looked over at Truth, but the jaguar did not warn him away from his projected course. “When we spoke before, I said I would need an omen to guide me in my decision. Moments later, Skea gives us this report.”

“How is omen?” Firekeeper asked.

“You tell me that we may need to bring in reinforcements someday, but that we cannot because we cannot risk exposing anyone new to querinalo. Moments later, we are reminded that despite our precautions we are still vulnerable. That is omen enough for me, and Truth does not gainsay it.”

Truth said,
“Tell him for me. Truth does not gainsay it.”

Firekeeper did so, and Harjeedian nodded.

“So I go and I will do my best to convince Urgana to aid us. I cannot promise, for I will not order her against her better judgment, but I can be persuasive if I try.”

Blind Seer panted silent laughter.
“Oh, yes. We remember. Indeed, you can be nearly as persuasive as the Meddler.”

THAT EVENING, KING Bryessidan told his wife over their private dinner table what Amelo Soapwort had discovered. He told himself that this confession came not from weakness but from political sensibility. He would need his wife’s cooperation if he was to carry out his current plan.

Despite the songs the minstrels loved to sing, kings did not marry for love, especially kings of kingdoms whose neighbors had not forgotten former warlike impulses, and who wanted to remind the heir apparent not to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Soon after being bottled in for the second time, King Veztressidan found himself politely besieged with offers from his erstwhile enemies to provide a wife for his then fifteen-year-old son and sole heir. Many young ladies, and many not so young, had visited the Kingdom of the Mires, straining royal hospitality with the need to properly entertain them.

Of this, too, did the conquerors approve, for they felt the resources expended on gifts and banquets would not be available for other, more martial ventures.

Bryessidan acted as he was expected to do, grateful that his father did not betroth him to a stranger. Veztressidan did, however, make quite clear that the choice of a bride was not to be Bryessidan’s own, but did say that, if it were at all within his power, Bryessidan would not be wed to someone he despised.

“After all,” Veztressidan had said, dripping a little more of the very fine brandy one suitor had brought with her into his cup, “if this marriage is to encourage mutual respect and unity of purpose …”

Bryessidan had grinned. Those phrases kept recurring in formal speeches of introduction, to the point that the Mires’ court wondered if all the foreigners crafted their speeches over one table.

“Well, if there is to be anything like respect and accord,” Veztressiddan had said, “you must at least tolerate the woman.”

And so, for accord, Bryessidan had been married a moonspan after his seventeenth birthday to a woman two years older than himself. Gidji, whose surname translated as Daughter of the Hammer, came from a people who were as tall, big-built, and fair as the people of the Mires were slim, fine-boned, and brown.

Gidji was a princess of high standing among the Tavetch. The only reason she had not been married before was that her affianced husband had been killed shortly before what would have been their wedding day. Custom required that even princesses wait a year after such a tragedy before forming another alliance, especially when the deceased was well born and well placed, and his family might be offended if his memory was discarded too lightly.

Indeed, Gidji being given into a foreign marriage was considered prudent by her family for more than one reason. Not only would it secure them the much desired eyes and ears within the court of the Mires, but it would assure that the family of Gidji’s former betrothed did not find reason to object to her marrying into any other family than their own—a thing that Gidji’s royal parents, seeing how presumptuous their would-be in-laws had become as soon as the betrothal had been announced, were eager to avoid.

Bryessidan did not learn all of this until after he and Gidji were wed, of course. At the time he met her, all he knew was that she was two years older than him, and had a tragic past. From observation he garnered that she was tall enough to look him in the eyes when they danced, even if his boots had heels and her slippers were as flat as possible. He liked the look of her shining golden hair, and found her sky-blue eyes rather interesting. Mires folk had, almost to a one, brown eyes, though green or hazel did surface occasionally.

He also knew that Gidji had opinions, and wasn’t afraid to voice them, but since that was a quality shared by most of those women sent to court him—after all, what use would a timid mouse be to a land that was hoping the new princess and someday queen would continue to think kindly of her birth land?—this did not bother him in the least.

Married at seventeen, Bryessidan was the proud father of a daughter at eighteen. Although the crown of the Mires had passed from father to father to father since Grandfather had stolen it, there was no direct ruling that the heir must be a son. Still, almost everyone agreed a son would be a good idea. Bryessidan and Gidji managed this before he was twenty, and another two children after that. As far as politics were concerned, the marriage was a roaring success.

What had happened almost despite Bryessidan was that the marriage was a personal success as well. Gidji was the first person to tell him to his face that his temper was atrocious. He’d lost it with her once, soon after their marriage, over some minor thing. King Veztressidan had summoned Bryessidan to a private audience and given him a thorough dressing-down.

“The only thing I’ve asked from you as my son and heir,” Veztressidan had said, “is to marry and make that marriage work. I find you a pretty girl about whom the poets are already writing songs, a smart girl, who is clever enough to see that her value as your wife is higher both here and at home than it would ever be if she had married in her own land, then I learn you were yelling at her like she was some chambermaid who had misplaced your pillow.”

Bryessidan took the rebuke without a word. The one person he never, ever lost his temper with was his father. Nor did he try and find out who had reported him. He was well aware that the weather had been fine, and the windows open.

He also took the rebuke without a word because Gidji had already made perfectly clear that she would not tolerate his raising his voice to her.

“I am your wife,” she had said, her voice low, level, and yet leaving no doubt why she was a fit Daughter of the Hammer, “but not your slave. If you wish me faithful and devoted, treat me well. If not, I’ll cuckold you so that you’ll never be sure if your children are your own, and assure that you are a laughingstock in your own court. Do you understand me?”

Bryessidan did. He also remembered the lesson of how his grandfather had come to power, and that a king could not be weak.

He remembered that his marriage had been meant to secure his throne, not to threaten it, and for the first time in his adult life he was ashamed of his temper, not proud of it. He realized he had been proud of the fear his temper generated, but now he saw that had not been fear of him, it had been fear because as the king’s son he was, to a degree, untouchable.

This didn’t mean Bryessidan conquered his rages all at once, but he no longer saw them as making him distinct and powerful. He recognized the fear that underlay them. The fear of seeming weak.

“And so, Gidji,” Bryessidan concluded, bringing his full attention to the present, “although I have arranged the means by which our shipments may yet go through, still, this is not a problem we can lightly ignore.”

“No,” Queen Gidji agreed, toying with her spring chicken poached in wine. “We cannot. Have efforts been made to secure our gates on this side?”

Bryessidan nodded. “Amelo sent me a note reporting that precautions similar to those he had observed on the Nexus Islands were being put in place on our gates. Since you were born in another land, I wished to consult you on the best way we might go about inquiring whether any of the others who use the gates have encountered similar difficulties.”

“That would be a good thing to know,” Gidji agreed. “For one, it would give us an idea how long the new regime has been in power. For another, it would reassure any who might have found themselves blocked that we are not in collusion with those who are creating the obstacle.”

Bryessidan had been so absorbed in contemplating the insult to himself and his goals that Gidji’s second point had not occurred to him. However, it was so obvious once pointed out that he did not think he could admit to the oversight without seeming weak.

“True,” he said, “although I am not certain if any words of mine would reassure, given that I still labor beneath the shadow of my father’s reputation and ambitions.”

Gidji smiled. “True. Since you became king, I have had letters and gifts from people I had not heard from since our first child was born. I think they are fishing to see if your new power has given you martial ambitions.”

“And you have reassured them,” Bryessidan said.

“I have only told what I know,” Gidji said. “Is there something more of which I should be aware?”

Bryessidan shook his head. “There is nothing more. This problem with the gates is the first great challenge to occur since my father’s death. I wish to deal with it in a fashion that will achieve two things: first, to renew our access to facilities that are ours to use by right of treaty; second, to do so without arousing the suspicions of my father’s enemies that I have become their enemy.”

“You will have my help in this,” Gidji promised, “and that of my birth land as well, if I have any say. May I report with all honesty that you have no part in this interruption of the gates’ services?”

“Except for being inconvenienced myself,” Bryessidan agreed.

“And you have no impulse toward conquest?”

“None,” Bryessidan replied, then with a sudden return of his anger added, “Although if my way continues to be thwarted, I might have an impulse toward reclaiming the Nexus Islands. Apparently, we are not safe with them in any other hands than our own.”

“Not safe?”

“We have been assuming that whatever problems occurred there were internal, but what if they are not? Every land that has an active gate employs a small contingent of Once Dead to operate it. What if the invaders come from the Nexus Islands themselves? We have always assumed that the large number of Once Dead on the Nexus Islands would make conquering the Islands impossible. That was their own claim, and they showed with convincing force that they could support it. What if they were wrong?”

“What if, indeed?” Gidji mused. “You are right. This is a difficult matter. Perhaps it will resolve itself within a few days, but we must take precautions and make preparations in case it will not. I will begin considering how best to approach our associates.”

“And I,” said Bryessidan, “will inspect our own gate. I have Amelo’s word that it has been secured, but for too long have I trusted our own Once Dead and their associates. Time for a few of my own guards to be stationed in the gatehouse. I will tell Amelo that they are there to make sure he and the other Once Dead are safe.”

Gidji pushed her plate from her, appetite for action replacing that for food.

“Then we act!” she said.

“Oh, no,” Bryessidan answered, pushing back his chair in turn. “We are merely reacting. We are not the aggressors. Remember that, my queen. The Kingdom of the Mires is cowed, quelled. and obedient to the common will. Never would we be aggressive.”

“Unless driven to it, of course,” Gidji said.

“Unless driven to it.” Bryessidan agreed.

V

  THE NEXT DAY. Harjeedian reported that he had finally managed to convince Urgana to speak with him. The older woman had proven surprisingly stubborn. saying that her mind was made up and she did not wish her faith troubled further. However. Harjeedian was at least as persistent, and had managed to convince Urgana that she owed him the chance to discuss a matter so close to the heart of their united creed.

Given the prickly situation, Harjeedian did not wish to be accompanied on his visit to Urgana.

“Our discussion will be largely theological,” he said, “and would quite possibly bore you.”

“And you’d like to keep from reminding her that there is the least secular interest in the matter.” Derian said with a slight grin.

There were times Derian had trouble accepting his new role as one of the local governmental heads—if the uneasy alliance they had formed with the Old World residents of the Nexus Islands could even be termed a government—but he knew that Urgana would see him as such.