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CHAPTER NINE

"Your son is here to see you," Enrude said, the oldest of Kolhol's squires, and the most trustworthy, which was why the king kept him around much of the time. "He says it is urgent."

"Of course he does," Kolhol said. He let his pages finish dressing him, wrapping him in a thick saffron-hued tunic that helped with the chill of early morning, then he came out of his chambers and proceeded down the hall. The pages and Enrude followed. His son, Haggel, mostly kept to his own part of the keep. It had been that way ever since Haggel's mother had died, just about the time when Haggel was becoming a young man . . . of sorts. She had doted over Haggel. "Probably along to tell me he is finally doing well at his lessons."

"Anything is possible, my lord."

That was part of Enrude's charm—he understood the difficulties, and so the humor. Kolhol grinned only a little, then sobered as he entered the great hall where his son was waiting. Some mornings they missed one another—Haggel liked to sleep late, unless he had something big and, most often, disagreeable on his mind—that was surely the case today. A fine day already, Kolhol lamented, as he took to his chair.

Kitchen servants had put out breads and cheeses, and were just entering with a bowl full of freshly scrambled eggs. A handful of Kolhol's other servants and their families mulled about at tables along the right side of the room. Kolhol dismissed everyone and told them to wait in the gallery. Everyone but Enrude.

"A good day, my liege," young Haggel said, as he sat across from his father and began the morning feast without delay.

"A little chilly, but beyond that, I have not had a chance to notice," Kolhol said, noting the "my liege" instead of "Father."

"You need to get out of this old dark castle now and then," Haggel said around a mouthful of eggs. "It's bright and sunny outside. Just the sort of day that makes a man feel anything is possible. Anything at all. Tell me, do you ever feel that way anymore?"

Not a big man, Kolhol thought, taking a bite out of a thick slice of buttered bread, sizing up his son. The boy's proportions were at best average. Which was odd, since height and a strong upper body tended to run in the family—for that matter in most Grenarii families. Kolhol himself had a stout frame and good height, and he was still as robust as most men years younger. Kolhol's father had been even more intimidating and his father before him. And all of them wearing fine manes of thick brown hair.

Yet here was Haggel, built wiry and dark, even his hair, like one of the western barbarian tribesmen—the sort Haggel's mother had thought so intriguing once, long ago . . .

He has good teeth, though, Kolhol thought, watching him bite through crust and tear away chunks from the wheat loaves. Kolhol had lost several of his teeth, which made meals more difficult to enjoy and the choices fewer. But fewer choices and age seemed to go hand in hand—that was the kind of revelation in which no man took comfort.

"I feel different things on different days," Kolhol replied finally. "Then do whatever I please. This day, for instance, when I get around to going outside and having a look for myself, I might send for my bird and go hawking."

"No greater ambitions?" Haggel asked, studying his own bread now instead of his father's face, examining it as if it were a puzzle.

Kolhol was not eager to reply. He knew where this was going. As he knew well that his son had been waiting to broach the subject for weeks. He'd hinted around and had even been blunt about it a few times, as he was about to be now. Kolhol would have preferred getting into such an argument over dinner, when plenty of ale was on hand. But he liked to keep away from the ale at least until midday as it tended to make a man sluggish and lax. "I am in no hurry to invade and conquer Worlish."

Haggel's features twisted as if he'd eaten something foul. "Why not?"

Haggel glanced at Enrude before answering. Enrude made no expression at all. He would keep silent all the while his king and the young prince were speaking, as was expected. That usually suited Kolhol well enough, but just now he would have welcomed a grunt, or a roll of the eyes. "Because it is not yet time."

"When will it be time?" Haggel asked. "When will you be ready? During all your glories in these lands no one sat about telling you to wait. Yet now that it comes my turn, you keep me from—"

"From running off and getting yourself killed, and half my army in the bargain."

"Our army is more than adequate for the job. We have half again as many men as Andair, and all of them well trained. Perhaps they suffer from a lack of leadership."

Kolhol tried mightily to hold his temper as he looked across the table. Haggel was eyeing him back, showing more backbone than was common for the boy. The same kind of unfounded self-righteous rot his mother was so capable of.

Haggel's full head of hair and short-cropped beard made him look more daunting—Kolhol had taken to shaving these past few years—but lately everything had gone to his head. Haggel seemed to think he was ten feet tall, and no one else in the world knew quite as much as he. Kolhol tried to remember if he had been that way at that age, but that had been nearer to thirty years ago than twenty, and near the bitter end of a war against the Thackish barbarians to the north, a war that had gone on for more than a decade and cost his father his life.

Kolhol had built a great kingdom from the ruins, and conquered all lands now known as Grenarii. He'd plundered lands to the north as well and extended the kingdom even further. But he had known war all his life, and seen defeat as well as victory. Haggel, having only been alive for seventeen years, only knew of victories, then relative calm.

"I will not be so easily provoked," he told his son, and perhaps himself. "What I see here is a boy turned to a young man who has ambition enough, but lacks experience and the wisdom that comes with it. I did not prevail against all our barbarian cousins and their allies by running off and getting men killed. It takes a good head as well as might. I used both, and still it was only luck that carried the day more than once."

"It was not luck that won the day," Haggel said. "And not might or cunning alone; it was the relentless pace you kept, never giving quarter, never letting up, never waiting or hesitating."

The boy had been filled with far too many stories told by noblemen, freemen and soldiers alike. True, Kolhol had never minded being known for his ruthlessness—those he had fought against had been the enemy, and they would have shown no mercy had they been the victors, he was sure—but even through the most ale-soaked memories he still knew it was the grace of the Grenarii gods that had seen him through, and he no longer wished to rely on the providence of gods, or luck. He'd been much more willing to die for his cause in those days as well, for the goal of conquering all Grenarii and uniting the ancient tribes. He was less eager to die for the sake of conquering Worlish. Or even continue discussing it.

"You will stop making stupid plans," Kolhol said harshly, through with bantering. "I made mistakes in the past, then learned from them. I can only hope you will one day do the same. The trick is to keep your mistakes from getting you and your army killed."

"I will crush any who—"

"Shut up and listen!" Kolhol howled, pounding the table with one fist. He waited till the words echoed back to him from the walls of the great hall. He took a long, deep breath. "Our army grows by the day, I am pleased with their training, and I have had my eye on Worlish for a very long time. There is little doubt it will be mine one day. Ours, one day," he corrected with a groan. "That day is not far off, but for now I lose nothing by biding my time and making my plans, by sending spies to look for weaknesses, and looking for a sorcerer who might even the odds. Andair has a powerful ally in Gentaff."

Haggel boiled at this, as Kolhol expected he would. "We have Tasche," the boy insisted. "A match for any man of magic!"

"So he is fond of saying," Kolhol muttered, shaking his head. He had suffered a run of charlatans these past few years. The rewards, protection and celebrity of being court wizard was lure enough for many a trickster. But more than tricks would be needed against one such as Gentaff. The boy had no idea. And for some reason known only to the gods, Tasche and Haggel got along. In fact they'd become inseparable. Kolhol looked at his breakfast and decided he wasn't hungry at the moment. Though he could see when he might be. Just after Haggel had gone.

He took no pleasure from the fact.

"Andair's wizard, Gentaff, is twice Tasche's age and has twice the reputation," Kolhol said evenly. "Men like him do not suffer fools gladly." He leaned over the table and glared at his son. "Neither do I. Do not underestimate Andair's army either. He has a large one now, with many lords who have sworn fealty to him. And mercenaries, more each day. As I said—"

"Which is why we should attack now!" Haggel interrupted. "Before he gets any stronger!"

Haggel was sweating. He sat with his jaw set, lips pursed, breathing like a bull in heat through his nostrils while he balled his fists on the table in front of him. He had small eyes set too close together. Kolhol didn't. An unintelligent look, the king thought; he had killed dozens like that in battles too many to count. Though possibly not enough of them . . .

"I will take Worlish when I am ready, and you will be a part of it. If you live, you will have lands enough for any two men. But first I must know in my heart that we will win. That we can crush them swiftly. That it is their blood, not ours, on the ground when it is done."

Haggel pounded his fists on the table with a double thump. "I have no doubts, not one, that it will be so!"

"You make that clear, but know this—when you invite trouble it is usually quick to accept."

Haggel's expression grew pained. "That makes no sense." Kolhol stared at Haggel just long enough to realize the boy was serious. He glanced at Enrude again, who rolled his eyes this time. Kolhol had all he could do to keep a straight face. "Do not trouble yourself over it," he told Haggel. "And do not trouble me with more talk of war this morning—I wish to finish my meal in peace!"

Kolhol snarled smugly to himself at his choice of words, then stuffed eggs into his mouth, and promptly bit his tongue. He winced, then looked up and decided Haggel had missed the point anyway.

"One day," Haggel muttered as if to himself, but loud enough to be sure he was heard, "I will do as I will."

"And I promise to bury you proper after you have," Kolhol grumbled back.

Haggel finished his meal in two gulps, then stalked off. When he had gone, the squires and servants that had earlier been about were summoned to return.

Amid the bustle of this, Enrude approached and bent to his lord sovereign's ear. "I did not like the look of him today," he said, while attempting to sound as respectful as possible. "More so than usual."

"Nor I," Kolhol said.

"Your son grows more restless by the day; it has been that way since early spring. He spends too much of his time among your best warriors, and all the more consorting with lords of every rank, usually over plenty of ale and roasts."

"They appreciate good food and my best ale when it is given," Kolhol said.

"The more generous Haggel is, the more inclined to him the lords become."

"But they owe no fealty to my son. He is a joke to most of them, which brings me no pleasure, but I will lose no sleep over it."

"He spends the rest of his time with Tasche," Enrude went on, apparently not the least dissuaded. "They speak in whispers and behind closed doors, and often leave the keep together. They disappear into the countryside. Sometimes for days at a time. I have been having them watched, as you instructed. They visit with the heads of families that once held power before you defeated them, and they are not above engaging freemen or pages. Even some of your court squires have been found in their company, cloistered away in some corner or other. Most are only playing the game, as you say, letting whatever grace might fall upon them fall—or they are planning for the future, one in which young Haggel might be ruler. But some, for reasons of greed or ignorance, are loyal enough to Haggel himself, I think, at least on the face of it."

Kolhol had already suspected much of this, but now he was faced with it, and it left a very bitter taste in his mouth. "Keep a list. When I grow tired of all their plotting, dreaming and scheming, I will have a few of them chained, killed and hung from a gibbet for the crows to pick at. That will quell the rest of them. Sometimes I think Haggel is still irked over the fate of his good friend—what was his name?"

"Indem."

Kolhol nodded. The princely son of one of Kolhol's largest and loudest nobles, and always with Haggel. But his father had fought bravely and well for his king and his lands until the day he died, with honor, fighting a wound that finally would not heal. Indem, though at least the size of his father, had little control over his temper and even less good sense. On a winter hunt two seasons past, an argument had erupted, and Indem had seen fit to challenge Kolhol at sword point. Kolhol had thrown his own blade aside and grappled with the prince hand to hand. Indem had made the error of picking up a fair-sized rock and pitching it; it struck Kolhol's arm as he tried to block the impact and opened a gash just above the elbow. While Haggel watched, Kolhol, driven by anger and blood-lust, had leaped at Indem and broken his back in an instant. At his own request, Indem's squires had killed him after that.

Kolhol regretted the incident, but it was Indem who had picked the fight and then made it a dishonorable one.

"Haggel was indignant after that, but Indem's death marked the end of their friendship," Enrude said. "Dead, he could serve Haggel no more. Why would Haggel ever consider him again?"

Kolhol knew as much, but it was hard for him to remember such ethics. Friends and enemies were each worth remembering. Only a fool . . .

He stopped himself. "I see your point," he said.

"It is Haggel's closeness to Tasche that troubles me most," Enrude said, whispering even more quietly now, as if the walls themselves had ears. Enrude was even older than Kolhol and perhaps a bit too apprehensive these days. Age did that to a man. Which was why Kolhol still fought in tournaments and went on the hunts, and still spent the night testing his stamina with a maiden or two on a regular basis. One day age would defeat him, but not without a fight. And one day Haggel might be king, but not without proving himself, which seemed less likely than ever. As for Tasche . . .

"Tasche?" Kolhol scoffed. "There you worry too much."

"It helps keep us well."

True enough, Kolhol thought, but still he shook his head. "Tasche is a toad at best, a fraud at worst!" he said in a raised voice certain to be heard. He couldn't be sure what rumors were circulating, what amount of poison had been spread to the ears of his court by Tasche, his son, or others who might have reason. Then he lowered his voice again, and turned his head to Enrude's ear. "He and Haggel deserve each other, but I doubt the two of them could rout a clutch of angry children without taking casualties."

"Your son is your problem, but it would grow smaller if you were to have Tasche beheaded in the meantime."

A proper solution, Kolhol thought, but without any court wizard at all he lacked an effective deterrent against every hedge witch, alchemist and apprentice mage that lurked in the shadows. Tasche is at least better than nothing, Kolhol thought. Though in truth even that small wisdom was becoming hard to accept. Kolhol belched eggs and bread and gulped down the smoked herring that had just been warmed and set before him. When he was finished, he summoned the servants back and waited while the table was cleared.

Next the king sat back while one of his barons and a steward approached the table, bringing news of renewed flooding in his region—a problem in eastern Grenarii this spring, but one Kolhol had thought was passed. He promised to send men to help in any way they could.

Others waited to see him next, the day was off to a good and rolling start.

But it got no further before a young page came running into the hall with news that the scaffolding had given way on the new tower, and most of the masons had fallen to their deaths. A tiny fish bone stabbed at the roof of Kolhol's mouth, punctuating the report. He winced, then he spit on the floor. A truly fine day already, Kolhol lamented, for the second time. "Ale!" he shouted to the servants nearby—perhaps it was close enough to midday after all.

* * *

"The old bastard!" Haggel snarled, kicking at the chair nearest to him as he strode into the upstairs counting room, where Tasche sat waiting. No one else was about. Haggel spent a moment examining Tasche, the table, the floor, letting his blood boil down, then he sat with a thump.

"Your father is well?" Tasche asked, boorishly. He pawed at his beard, which was thin below his chin from constant wear.

"The fittest fool in the land," Haggel snorted. "By the time he decides he is ready to take Briarlea, he and Andair will be dead of old age, and I will be too old to care."

Tasche laughed, though it was not a sound Haggel particularly enjoyed, so breathy and hollow, and especially odd coming from a man whose head seemed a bit small for his body—a body that was most distinctly a plump blob. Haggel shrugged off much about Tasche. He wasn't much to look at or listen to, but he had other traits Haggel found valuable.

"You can laugh, but I cannot. I am more than ready to take my place at my father's side, and Grenarii's army is past ready to crush whatever forces Andair can put to the field. Wait, and one day they will come for us instead. Yet he sits, and he waits."

Tasche kept grinning, a small grin on a small, round face. "Which is why we are not!"

Haggel nodded. Well, that was the plan. A plan that was nothing short of extraordinary, and one he and Haggel had been hatching for more than a year now. It involved a spell that Tasche had been working on for many years, as far as Haggel knew. Something that was sure to put an end to his father's stranglehold on progress, one way or another. Haggel didn't care which way, not anymore. He had feelings for his father, probably at least as many as his father had for him, but if conquering Worlish and seizing the glory that would come with it could only be had by sending his father to his well-deserved rest among his ancestors and the gods, well, that was his father's choice. And the will of the gods, no doubt.

"You will be well rewarded," Haggel said, grinning back at his accomplice, "if you can do what you say."

To which Tasche grinned all the more, until his eyes seemed to close. "I am nearly ready," he said. "As soon as we can find someone who is fitting, I will be able to begin."

"I am less worried about my father and even Andair than I am about Gentaff. Are you sure we can stand against him?"

"You worry too much about him."

"My father fears him too, I think."

"I am Gentaff's equal," Tasche scoffed, pulling nervously at his beard again. "I am eager for the chance to prove it."

Haggel nodded. "There is much each of us will prove to those who doubt."

Tasche grinned again.

The cost would be high, but acceptable. Soldiers were trained to fight and die, after all. Even while Gentaff was reputed to be one of the world's great mages, it was hard to imagine him being much the better of Tasche. Haggel had seen him work, and before Tasche he had known several others, court wizards to his father. Tasche was easily their better, and no doubt Gentaff's. The spell Tasche had been building to ensure their victory against all who opposed them, including Andair and his famous sorcerer, was more incredible than any Haggel could have hoped for.

"We must give Grenarii a leader with the will to lead," Haggel said as he got to his feet, to no one in particular, to everyone in the world.

"It so happens, I know precisely who that is," Haggel said, as the two of them stood together, then turned and left the counting room. They headed toward the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. "The only question had been when. A question that will soon enough have an answer."

So be it, Haggel thought. After all, his father had enjoyed a good and glorious life—hadn't he? How many times had the king himself said that nothing of value comes without some kind of payment. Which, Haggel accepted, meant someone had to pay, though he recalled no specific mention of who had to pay. . . .

"I have knowledge of a man," Tasche said, still pulling the tips of his beard as they walked. "He wishes to meet with us in secret, but I am told he can be relied upon to provide what we need, for the right price."

"Just the man we have been looking for."

"I think so. He travels everywhere. It is said that if anyone knows where to find the sort of person we are looking for, it is he. With your leave, I will send a messenger to him."

"A swift messenger. I have a strong hunger for action, and I do not wish to wait to satisfy it, or wait and miss the best chance we have."

"You are young, my prince," Tasche said, though he bowed respectfully as he spoke. "Even if . . ."

"And you are old," Haggel said, sneering long enough to be sure Tasche would see. "Are you making excuses already?"

"I am not sure what I meant," Tasche yielded.

"Forget it. Let me know the instant we are ready."

Tasche bowed again and tried to let Haggel go first down the stairs. But as Haggel started down it occurred to him that there was no sensible reason for him to go first.

"After you," Haggel said.

"No, after you, my lord," Tasche said.

Haggel thought he was probably making something out of nothing, but that was preferable to taking chances. After all, if a father could not trust his only son, who could the son truly trust?

"I insist," he said, and held there until Tasche nodded and went ahead of him instead.

With his mind at ease again, Haggel reflected further on the messenger idea, and managed to turn the whole idea around in his mind, where it presented him with a more appealing possibility. "Tasche, I was just thinking, why wait for a messenger to go?" he said.

"Why not?"

There was barely enough room in the hallway for the two of them to go side-by-side, and Tasche had a way of swaying and tossing his bulk with each step as he walked, causing one to be bumped intermittently by undulating flesh. Haggel opted to continue walking half a step behind.

"It will take a long and boring time, which I have had enough of, that is why. We will have to decide many things once he returns in any case, after which we will have to decide what to do, then perhaps what to do after that."

Tasche stopped in his tracks and pivoted enough to display a completely puzzled look. Haggel shook his head in frustration. "Where can we find this informant of yours?"

"He is a traveler, which is what makes him valuable, but he can often be found in a village in Worlish. The messenger we chose—"

"All the better."

"Better for what?"

"We will need sufficient gold, proper clothing, a few men who can be trusted and then a false reason for our absence." Haggel let a grin find his lips as the idea bloomed and grew enormous in his mind—and showed its many shades of danger, exhilaration, glory!

"What are you saying?" Tasche asked.

Haggel focussed. Tasche looked ill. He would get over it. "Forget the messenger," Haggel said. "We are going ourselves."

* * ** * *

Enrude entered the bath followed by two pages, both carrying large painted pottery jugs filled with hot water. Once the water had been poured carefully around the king into the stone bath, further warming the water already there, the pages were sent away.

"What is it?" Kolhol asked. "You have that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The one that means you've got something worrisome to tell me."

"Very well, I thought you should know that Haggel and the wizard Tasche have taken leave of the castle. They took only a small guard with them and left no word as to where or why they left."

"I can think of very few reasons why this might matter to me or anyone else, though I suppose it should, and there are those few."

"I wondered whether you wanted them followed?"

"Unnecessary," Kolhol replied, waving his wash cloth dismissively. "He has been his own man for some years now, and gone off on his own often enough. If it was an honorable mission he would brag about it, tell me at least, but he does not."

"That proves nothing."

"Perhaps. Be sure I am told the moment they return. While they are gone, I intend to interrogate some of my lords and squires, so as to know the lay of things with them. If Haggel and Tasche are up to something, there will be those in their camp who will run to ours once confronted."

"Do you worry that Haggel may be forging too many alliances?" Enrude asked.

"No," Kolhol said. "Though I will ask. Yet there is a greater question. Perhaps in spite of himself the boy is right in one thing: I do want to take Worlish. It must be done, sooner or later, but I do not want to send half my army to their deaths in the effort. So I have been waiting until I could field a force large enough, all of them well trained and able to do what they must, and for a sorcerer who I am sure will be Gentaff's match. Yet I may never find such a mage, and if I wait too long my army will grow overready and become a hazard to itself."

"As you say," Enrude replied.

No fool, that Enrude, Kolhol thought, not for the first time. "One other thing."

Enrude waited attentively.

"See if you can find that wench I spent the night with four days past. I fear she is in need of a bath as well."

Enrude kept his visage in order as he nodded, bowed, and swept back out of the room.

* * *

Tasche led the way as they crossed the border on horseback well to the east of the Lengree River. Under cover of darkness they entered the northernmost province of Worlish, part of the region known as Briarlea.

The four men Haggel had brought along were well-armed and loyal to their prince, and the sort that seldom asked any questions, which was something Haggel prized. He would have preferred to go alone—just he and Tasche—but a few good swords would be needed if all went as planned, and they could be handy to have about in any case. Haggel was eager to fight, but not the least bit eager to die like a fool.

As they walked the road beneath the overcast sky, barely able to see, Haggel grew anxious over the thoughts that kept running through his head. So many choices, chances and possibilities. But how could he choose a path without knowing where it might lead? He knew what he wanted, and he had every confidence in himself for when the time came, and that would be enough. But that still left him with nothing to do in the meantime except plod along on horseback while thinking about it all, until . . .

His horse stumbled in an unseen hole in the road. He feared it might go lame, but it began walking again without any apparent problem. "Are we there yet?" he asked, not for the first time. But it had been a while.

"No," Tasche said. "Must I repeat myself? It should be nearly sunrise when we meet him. Until then, I suggest we each keep quiet. The horses' hooves make more than enough noise without any help from us."

Yours in particular, Haggel thought. The rather presumptuous Tasche was mounted on one of the king's strongest horses, yet even that brute gelding seemed to be having a time of it carrying Tasche's ridiculous weight. The man practically spilled over either side of the poor animal, and his legs were twice as thick as the horse's. He thought to levy an insult or two, but restrained himself under the circumstances. He didn't want to get into a pissing contest with a sorcerer in the dark of an enemy's lands. Not that Haggel was afraid of who might overhear them, but again, why tempt fate? "How far off would you say sunrise is?" Haggel asked.

"Not far," Tasche said dryly.

The walking went on for what seemed a very long time. Haggel thought it might go faster if they could talk, but without any real exchange required; idle chatter, at least for now, was probably ill-advised. So instead he daydreamed, and mumbled to himself a little, until they rounded a bend in the road and Haggel saw a small fire burning a little more than a hundred paces away. No one was about, but just behind the fire stood the remains of a cottage—three walls and a mostly fallen in roof.

"There," Tasche said.

"It's still dark," Haggel muttered.

"It doesn't matter," Tasche said. "We have found him."

 

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