The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 12

Poljyn Rudd. Kherlay Swylton.

Those were their names.

Tirnya could picture both of them: Poljyn, tall and lanky, with a broad, open smile that made him look about twelve years old; and Kherlay-Kherry, the other men called him-also tall and rail-thin, but dark and serious, determined to be a lead rider by the time he was twenty.

Her father assured her that every leader lamented the loss of soldiers under his or her command, and he made it clear that it never got easier.

"The day it becomes routine to lose even a single man," he told her, two mornings after her skirmish with the brigands, "I want you to quit, because it'll mean that you're no longer fit for command."

No doubt he thought this would help her feel better. And perhaps in some small way it did. She wasn't the first commander to lead men to their deaths, she knew, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. But grief clung to her like the scent of blood, and even as the days passed and her wounds healed and her strength returned, still her sorrow lingered.

Poljyn's family lived in the countryside, a good twenty leagues from the city. But Kherry had been born and raised here in Qalsyn, and on the fourth day after the fight, Tirnya felt well enough to make her way to the west end of the city, where his parents lived. She dreaded this task, but she remembered her father making similar trips to the families of lost men; it was one of the responsibilities of command.

She was still sore and a bit unsteady on her feet. Oliban offered to ride with her, and even to let her share his mount, but Tirnya felt that she needed to do this alone. She rode Thirus, holding him to a gentle walk. Word of her victory over the brigands and her wounds had spread through all of Qalsyn, and people in the streets called greetings to her the entire way. She waved in return, but said little.

Qagan, who had been Kherry's lead rider, had described for her how to find the Swylton home. It was a modest house on the back of a farrier shop near the end of a narrow, dusty lane. On the other side of the road there was an overgrown paddock where a few horses grazed. Otherwise, all was still.

Tirnya dismounted gingerly, walked to the door, and knocked. She had no idea what she was going to say to them. She might have asked for advice on that from her father, but she chose not to. She leaned on him for enough. This she'd do on her own.

No one responded to her knock, and she began to wonder if she ought to leave. But then she heard footsteps inside and at last the door opened, revealing a plain-looking woman in a worn shift. Her hair was black, just as Kherry's had been, and Tirnya saw hints of Kherry's features in the woman's bony face. Kherry had never spoken of a sister, but this woman appeared too young to be his mother.

The woman stared at Tirnya for an instant. "Captain Onjaef!" She took a step back and then called over her shoulder, "Chran! Come quickly!"

"Are you Kherry's mother?" Tirnya asked.

The woman offered an awkward curtsy. "I am, Captain. I'm Sholi Swylton."

A man appeared beside her, also dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was tall and thin, and he looked so much like his son that it took Tirnya's breath away just to see him.

"Captain," he said. "I'm glad t' see ya up an' about. When we heard ya'd been hurt… well, we feared fer ya."

"Thank you."

"Please," the woman said, stepping aside and gesturing for Tirnya to enter the house.

After a moment's hesitation, Tirnya walked inside. The house looked larger within than it had from the street, though it was still tiny compared to her parents' home. It was clean and tidy, and it smelled of fresh bread.

"Would ya like t' sit?" Kherry's father asked her.

"No, thank you. I can only stay for a moment. But I wanted…" She took a breath, her throat suddenly tight. "I wanted to say how sorry I am."

"Ya's nothin' t' be sorry far, Captain. It were an honor far 'im t' serve under yar command. Said so hisself, he did." The man smiled, though there appeared to be tears in his eyes. "I don' know if'n he told ya, but I served under yar pa." He pointed to a scar on his arm. "An' ya see this?"

She nodded.

"Yar pa give me tha' in th' tournament one year. Sixth round." He nodded, looking proud, and wiped at his eyes. "We shared that, Kherry an' I did. We both fought in th' service o' th' Onjaefs. Men like us could do far worse."

"Kherry was a fine man," Tirnya said. "The others all liked him, and I think he would have made a fine lead rider in another year or so. He was brave and smart."

"Yar very kind t' say that," Kherry's mother said, crying as well. Tirnya shrugged. "It's the truth."

They said nothing. As the silence grew, Kherry's parents looked at her, smiling through their tears.

"Well," Tirnya said, feeling uncomfortable, "I should probably be going."

"Course," Chran said, nodding once. "Ya've got things t' do. But we's grateful t' ya far comin' by."

"Oh, I almost forgot." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins. "This is Kherry's share of His Lordship's reward for capturing the brigands. The men and I wanted you to have it. It's not much: about three sovereigns. But it's yours." She handed the pouch to Sholi, who merely stared at it.

"Tha's kind o' ya," Chran said. "An' th' men, too. Ya'll thank 'em far us?"

"Of course."

They walked her back to the door and Kherry's mother pulled it open. "We was hopin' ya'd win th' tournament this year, Captain," Chran said. He winked at her. "We even had a bit o' coin on ya."

"Thank you," Tirnya said, smiling. It still bothered her to hear people speak of her match against Enly, but somehow she didn't mind this time. "Ya'll win it next year. Ya wait an' see. Them Tolms can' keep it forever."

"Chran!" Kherry's mother said. "Ya watch yarself!"

"It's a'right, Sholi. Th' captain knows. We Swyltons, we came from th' Horn too, ya know," he said, nodding to Tirnya. "Came with yar family. We'd follow th' Onjaefs wherever ya led us."

Tirnya made herself smile, but she was a bit unsettled by the turn their conversation had taken.

"There's them tha' get wha' they deserve, and them tha' don't. An' tha' cuts both ways. Both th' Onjaef an' th' Tolm, they's them tha' don't, if ya understand me. Them Tolms has go' their city. Th' Onjaefs deserve th' same."

"Ya've said enough, Chran!"

He frowned at his wife, but then nodded. "Yeh, I have." He held out a hand, which Tirnya took. His hands were rough, callused, and very large, and when he covered her hand with his other one, it seemed that his hands had swallowed hers. "Thank ya, Captain. An' may th' gods bless ya."

"We're grateful t' ya far comin' t' see us," Sholi added.

"It was my pleasure." Tirnya winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

Sholi shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "We understan', Captain. Bless ya, an' go in peace." The woman took Tirnya's hand in hers for just a moment.

Tirnya nodded to them both before walking back to where Thirus was tethered. She knew they were still watching her and she had to make an effort not to seem to be in too much of a hurry.

She untied her mount, climbed slowly into the saddle, and nodded once more to Kherry's parents. Then she started back toward home.

Before she was halfway there, she realized that the only person waiting for her at the house was Zira. She turned and went in search of her men, who were training under Oliban's direction just outside the city walls. When the men saw her coming, they let out a cheer and stopped their training to gather around her.

"How're ya feelin', Captain?" Oliban called, as Tirnya dismounted.

"I'm fine," she said. And for the moment, away from Kherry's parents, away from her mother, surrounded by her soldiers, she truly was. "A bit sore still, but I'm better than I was." She looked around at all the smiling faces. "I owe you boys a bit of thanks, from what I hear."

"We was just afraid another captain would work us harder," Crow said with a grin. "They say Stri is pretty tough on his boys."

Tirnya laughed. "You just earned yourself an extra couple of hours out here, Crow. And your men, too."

The men in Crow's company groaned.

"That is, unless Crow cares to use the gold he got from His Lordship to buy me some ales."

"Gladly," Crow said with a laugh, as the men cheered again. "All right, youse," Oliban said. "Back at it with ya."

The men grumbled a bit, but not for long.

"It's good to see ya, Captain," Dyn told her.

And Qagan said, "Welcome back."

Tirnya thanked them and watched the soldiers get back to work. Oliban stood beside her and for a long time neither of them said anything. But once all the men were working again, he asked in a low voice, "How was it with Kherry's parents?"

She shrugged. "About like you'd expect."

He nodded, but said nothing.

Tirnya hesitated, wanting to say more, but unsure as to whether she should.

"Her father said something strange."

Oliban glanced at her. "Oh?"

She started to tell him more, but then stopped herself. "It was nothing really. He's… he must be having a hard time."

Her lead rider was watching her, looking curious.

Tirnya shook her head and looked away. "I shouldn't have said anything. Please forget that I did."

"Course, Captain."

They watched the men for a time.

"Has there been any more word on the pestilence in Qirsi lands?" she asked.

"The pestilence? Not that I know of, Captain. But I can have someone ask for ya. Perhaps someone in th' marketplace might know."

"No, that's all right. Thank you."

She watched her soldiers for another few moments and then turned to Oliban. "I'm getting tired. I should get back home."

"Yes, Captain. We're glad t' see ya."

Tirnya left them there. She wasn't really tired, but she realized that she needed to speak with her father. No one else would know what to make of what Kherry's father had said to her. And probably no one else would understand why she was so consumed with tidings of the white-hair plague that the merchant had told her about the day of her battle with the brigands.

At home, she looked for her father, but Zira said that she hadn't seen Jenoe in hours. She then looked outside the eastern gate, where Stri often trained his soldiers. He wasn't there either. She finally found her father in the marketplace, of all places. He was speaking with a Qirsi trader, who was selling baubles and blades, but he left the man when she called to him.

Tirnya approached him, her questions about Kherry's father and the pestilence forgotten for the moment.

"What are you doing here, Father?"

He shrugged, looking uneasy. "Nothing, really. Just… just looking around." He frowned. "Can't a man come to the marketplace now and again?"

She'd rarely heard her father lie. He wasn't very good at it. "Are you buying me a gift?" she asked, smiling coyly.

"No," he said, seeming to dismiss the notion as foolish.

"Mother, then?"

He shook his head.

Tirnya's poor relationship with Zira notwithstanding, she felt a sudden rush of outrage. His discomfort, his transparent lies. Could it be?

"Father! Are you keeping a mistress?"

"Absolutely not!" he said, his outrage a match for hers. "How dare you even think it! I would never betray your mother!"

"Then why are you here?" she demanded.

Jenoe started to answer but then stopped himself, looking around the marketplace. Tirnya glanced about as well. People were watching them. Too late, it occurred to her that they'd been speaking in raised voices here in the most crowded part of the city.

He pulled her aside to a narrow lane just off the market.

"I would have preferred that no one hear that," he said, his brows knitted, his deep blue eyes searching the marketplace.

"I'm sorry," Tirnya said. "But I want you to answer me. What are you doing here? Why are you lying to me?"

"I haven't lied!"

She gave him a doubtful look. "You want me to believe that you're just here looking around?"

He avoided her gaze, running a hand over his dark beard, and for a long time, he said nothing.

"Father?"

"It's your fault," he told her, still staring off toward the market. "Mine?"

"You got me thinking the other night." He looked at her. "The night you were wounded. You probably don't even remember all that you said." Actually, she did. She recalled every word of it. "You mean about Deraqor? About my dream?"

"In part, yes. I was thinking more about the pestilence." He nodded toward the stalls and carts in the marketplace. "That's why I came here. I wanted to hear more about what's been happening on the plain."

"What have you learned?" she asked, trying to mask her eagerness.

"Not a lot. Though there are rumors that there was an outbreak in S'Vralna."

"S'Vralna!"

"It's just rumors."

"But if it's true," Tirnya said. She faltered, not certain what she had intended to say next.

Her father eyed her, a slight frown on his face. "If it's true, what?"

"Why are you so interested in this?" she asked, not ready yet to answer his question.

Jenoe shook his head and exhaled heavily. "I don't even know. Our family hasn't had any claim to that land in generations. This is all… idle curiosity."

"Is it?"

"What else could it be?" her father asked pointedly.

She looked around again, then pulled him farther down the lane. "I don't have to tell you, Father. You know already. That's why you're asking questions of merchants. That's why you're still thinking about the ramblings of a wounded soldier, even if she is your daughter."

"What else did you say that night? Something about a dream."

"Deraqor."

Jenoe nodded. "Right, Deraqor."

"You've heard what this pestilence does?" Tirnya asked. "It kills white-hairs. It attacks their magic and drives them to destroy themselves and their homes."

Her father looked troubled. "It's not right to revel in the suffering of others, even white-hairs."

"No," Tirnya said, "it's not. But they're the enemy. Yes, there's been peace for more than a century, but you know as well as I that the Qirsi will never be anything more or less than our enemy."

"So the fact that they're dying like this-"

"That they're dying like this is a tragedy. Make no mistake." She leaned closer to him. "But perhaps it's also an opportunity."

He shook his head. "I know where you're going with this, and I think you're mad."

"Am I? Is it wrong of me to want to take back Deraqor?"

"Deraqor is lost, Tirnya. It's been lost for a long time now."

"And you think we should give up on it forever?"

Jenoe looked hurt, as if insulted that she would suggest such a thing. "I never said that. Of course we shouldn't give up on it forever. It's our ancestral home. Someday we'll take it back. I want that every bit as much as you do."

"Then let me ask you this, Father," she said. "When will we have a better chance?"

He didn't answer and Tirnya pressed her advantage.

"Qirsi are dying. Their cities are being destroyed. They must be terrified. This may be the best opportunity we'll ever have to take back not only Deraqor, but all the lands between here and the Horn."

"You're talking about starting the Blood Wars again. People here aren't ready for that."

"They never will be. It's up to us to convince them that this is the time." Jenoe didn't say anything, and Tirnya wondered if he'd had enough of this conversation. But a moment later he surprised her.

"Actually, it's not up to us. It's up to the sovereign. And it's up to His Lordship to present the idea to him. We'd just have to convince Maisaak."

"Do you think we can?"

"I don't know, Tirnya." He shook his head again, his lips pressed thin. "You haven't convinced me yet, and there's no one in Qalsyn who wants to take back Deraqor more than I do. My grandfather used to tell me stories about the city that his grandfather told him. I've dreamed of leading an army back into Deraqor since I was a child." He looked at her and smiled. "Just as you did the other night."

"We could do it, Father. We could do it together. I know that my men would follow us all the way to the Thraedes, and I'm sure Stri's would, too. With you leading us, I don't think there's a man in this city who wouldn't fight beside us."

"I need to think about this more," Jenoe said. "The Fal'Borna won't give up Deraqor easily, and even if we take it, they'll just turn around and try to take it back. There's a good chance we'd be starting down the road to another hundred years of war. It'll start with Deraqor, but before long they might well be fighting in Naqbae, and down along the Ofirean shores. This could spread through all the land. Are we really going to risk that? The sovereign would be mad to let us."

Tirnya wanted to say that she was willing to risk it, that she'd ride to Ofirean City herself to convince the sovereign. At that moment she would have done nearly anything to make her dream come true. Now that she knew her father was even considering this she was ready to ride to war immediately, never mind her healing wounds. But she knew that her father had a point, and that a mature leader had to look beyond warlust to examine the possible consequences of every battle. And she knew as well that he was watching her now, gauging her response to what he'd said, measuring her abilities as a commander.

"I'm aware of the risks," she said. "And to be honest I don't know if they're worth the reward. It may be that I can't think about this with an open mind. I'm an Onjaef. I want Deraqor back and I'd lead an army across the Silverwater tomorrow if the sovereign and His Lordship gave me leave to do so, regardless of the consequences."

He smiled at her, looking proud. "That's a more candid answer than I'd expected."

Tirnya arched an eyebrow. "I'm not certain how I should take that." Jenoe laughed, but then quickly grew serious once more. "His Lordship will think this is folly."

"What about the sovereign?"

He shook his head. "Over the years, the Kasathas have usually deferred to their lord governors in such matters. And Ankyr is still new to his power. I think if we can convince Maisaak, the sovereign will follow his recommendation. Even in this. But I'd be very surprised if His Lordship entertained the idea at all. He'll see it as a waste of men in pursuit of our family's ambition and desire for vengeance." He grimaced slightly. "He probably wouldn't be far off the mark."

"I'm a soldier, Father," she said. "I don't claim to know as much about such matters as you or Maisaak. But there's more to this than our ambition. We'd be taking back lands that ought to be held by the sovereignties. And not just any land. The plain around the Horn and along the banks of the Thraedes is some of the most fertile, valuable land in all the Southlands."

"True."

"And I think we might also consider how long this peace will last even if we do nothing."

"It's lasted a long time, Tirnya. More than a century."

"Yes," Tirnya said. "But you know as well as I that this has always been a truce of convenience and not a true peace. The Blood Wars went on as long as they did because the hatred between the clans and the sovereignties runs deep. They ended because neither side had the stomach for more war."

Her father shook his head. "You're not helping your cause arguing so. What you say may well be true, but that only serves to convince me that this attack we're talking about would lead to an ever-widening war. This is a dangerous idea."

"You're missing my point," she told him. "This peace will only last until one side or the other sees some advantage in attacking again. If we wait-if we let this opportunity pass by-then the next advantage might be theirs."

Jenoe seemed to ponder this.

"The Qirsi have always been stronger than we have, Father. We have the greater numbers, but their magic is more than a match for our armies. I'm sure that others would be offended to hear me say that aloud, but you know it's true. We won our share of battles, we had our moments of glory.

But the fact is the Fal'Borna pushed us hack steadily for the better part of five hundred years before the final truce. They took the land on the far side of the K'Sand, they took the Horn, they pushed us farther and farther from the Thraedes, and finally they gave us no choice but to flee across the Silverwater. Next time, if we give them the chance, they might push us back to Ravens Wash." She smiled. "But right now, we're the stronger ones. Just this once, wouldn't you like to beat them? Wouldn't it be a boon to every Eandi in the Southlands if we could take land from the Qirsi?"

Even before her father opened his mouth, Tirnya knew that she had won. She could see the surrender in his eyes.

"I'll arrange an audience with His Lordship," he said.

Tirnya was so pleased she nearly shouted like a child, and in a corner of her mind she wondered when she had grown so eager for war. "Thank you, Father," she said, keeping her tone measured.

He raised a finger in warning. "I make no promises. I won't speak in favor of this to Maisaak. You'll do the talking yourself. And if he refuses, that's the end. Do you understand?"

"He won't refuse," she said.

Jenoe started to walk out of the lane. "I'm less certain of that than you are," he said, glancing back at her. "But we'll see soon enough."

Enly was training with his men, working up a good sweat despite the cool air and light rain, when the summons came.

As soon as he'd seen the man-a young soldier wearing a white baldric over his blue and green uniform-he'd known. Immediately he'd felt his mood souring. This had been a good day. His men were training well; it seemed the sting of having lost out on so much gold to Tirnya's company had finally started to ease for them. And Enly had received word that Tirnya was recovering well and would bear no lasting injury from her encounter with the brigands. He couldn't have been in finer spirits.

The summons changed everything. He could only assume that any of the other captains in Qalsyn would have found it unsettling to be called before the lord governor. They were soldiers; His Lordship was their commander. To be summoned thus was rarely a good thing.

That he was Maisaak's son only made matters worse. He often wondered if Berris would have felt the same way, if his older brother had lived long enough to be made a captain in Maisaak's army. Berris had gotten along with their father better than Enly ever did. Not that Berris and Maisaak had been close; no one was close to Maisaak, except maybe their mother. But Berris understood how to make the old goat happy. He knew the right things to say, he fought in his tournament matches with tactical precision, he rarely disagreed with their father's decisions, and if he did he kept his thoughts to himself. In short, he was boring, and Maisaak liked boring.

Enly's sense of humor, his willingness to flout convention, his daring technique in the ring, all of which made him so popular with his men, and with many of the court women, served only to irritate his father.

Perhaps that was why being summoned to the palace irked him so. More often than not it meant he had done something-who knew what?-to anger his father. Again.

So, though he saw the palace soldier approaching, Enly ignored him and continued to train, throwing himself into his swordplay with such abandon that the man he'd been working with was suddenly forced to retreat several steps. His father's guard stopped a few strides away and just stood there, waiting for Enly to notice him. Enly pretended not to.

"Captain Tolm?" the man said after a few moments.

Still Enly didn't look at him.

"Beg pardon," the soldier started again, speaking more loudly this time. "Captain Tolm? Sir?"

The man he was training kept glancing toward the guard, looking confused, not to mention tired. At last Enly relented. He broke off his attack, raised his sword in salute to his soldier, and turned to his father's man.

"Yes, what do you want?" he demanded. Before the man could reply he went on. "My father wishes to see me, is that right?"

The guard nodded. "Aye, sir."

"And did he tell you anything beyond that?"

"Only tha' he wanted ya right off, sir. He weren' in a mood t' wait."

Enly sighed. "Of course he wasn't." He wiped his brow on his sleeve. "Fine then. Tell him 1'll be along just as soon as I can."

"Aye, sir." The man turned smartly and hurried back toward the palace.

He sheathed his blade, watching the man walk away. Then he turned to look at his men, who were eyeing him now. "The rest of you…" He shook his head. "The rest of you can do as you please until patrols begin."

The men cheered, making him smile in spite of himself.

He waited until his soldiers had dispersed before making his way back to the palace, not because he had to, but rather because he didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of thinking he'd been in any rush to obey the summons.

He thought briefly about changing his clothes, but his father had wanted him there without delay, so he'd have him as he was now, sweat and all.

The guards at the palace gates bowed to him as he passed. Among his own men he tried to be nothing more or less than their captain. Surely none of them forgot that he was a Tolm, the lord heir at that. But with time he had managed to build a rapport with his soldiers that was similar in most respects to that of other captains with their companies.

The soldiers of the palace guard, however, were another matter. Here there could be no doubt but that he was Maisaak's son and eventual successor. Probably that was as it should be, but after all these years, it still bothered him.

Reaching the door to his father's presence chamber, he stopped and waited while one of the guards there announced him to Maisaak. A moment later, the door opened and the guard bowed, gesturing for him to enter.

"You're late," Maisaak said, before the door had closed behind Enly, before Enly had even spotted him by his writing table. "I sent for you before market bells."

Enly bit back the first words that came to him. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I was working the men, and had one last drill to finish."

"Well, we haven't much time. They'll be here shortly."

"They?"

Maisaak frowned, making his square face look even more severe than it usually did. "That fool of a guard didn't tell you?"

"He said only that you wanted to see me."

"Jenoe and Tirnya have requested an audience."

"She's well enough to come here?" This time Enly had been unable to keep from saying the first thing that came to him.

His father's frown deepened and he shook his head. "Either marry her or have done with it already. But either way, I need you to think clearly for a moment, not as her suitor, but as lord heir."

"What is it they want to discuss?" he asked, ignoring the rebuke, and refusing to admit that Tirnya had no desire to marry him.

"I was hoping you might know," his father said.

"I don't. I've barely seen her since…" Since the tournament, he'd been about to say. But he didn't want to bring that up again either. Talking to his father was like stepping through a briar patch: for every thorn avoided four others drew blood. "It's been some time now," he said.

"Well, nevertheless, I'd like you here when they arrive. I know Jenoe well enough, but your insights with respect to the girl might be of some use."

All he could say was "Of course."

For a time, as they waited for the marshal and his daughter to arrive, neither of them spoke. Maisaak went back to perusing the scrolls on his writing table. Enly wandered the chamber, looking idly at the baubles on his father's mantel and the ever-growing collection of daggers his father kept in a glass case in the corner of the great room.

Eventually his father looked up at him again, his brow creased. "You must be hungry."

"Thirsty, actually."

"Of course." Maisaak picked up the small bell on his table and rang it. Almost instantly, a young servant appeared in the doorway and bowed. "My son desires water," said the lord governor. "And with our guests arriving soon, I'd like food and wine brought as well."

The boy bowed a second time and withdrew, having said nothing. Maisaak had well-trained servants.

"How goes it with your company?" his father asked, sounding oddly formal.

"Very well, thank you."

"And their spirits?"

Enly had to laugh. "Their spirits would have been much improved if we had been the ones to earn your gold for killing all those brigands."

"Yes, well," Maisaak said sourly, clearly not seeing the humor in this matter, "I think the less said about that the better, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

They fell silent once more until Enly's water arrived, and with it the food and wine. A few moments after, someone knocked, and at Maisaak's invitation, one of the guards stepped into the chamber.

"Yar Lordship, Marshal an' Captain Onjaef," the man said.

"Send them in," Maisaak said, sounding desperate for any new guests, even the one man in Qalsyn he hated most.

Tirnya entered the chamber followed by her father. She looked pale-the cut he had dealt her in the tournament had healed over, but the scar stood out starkly against her skin-and she moved slowly, without her usual grace. And yet, even while still recovering from wounds that had nearly killed her, she remained lovely. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands fell over her brow. Her eyes, blue-grey, the color of smoke from smoldering embers, found him immediately. She gave him a puzzled look, as if to ask why he was there.

Enly shrugged, then looked away.

As usual, Jenoe cut an imposing figure. He was a good deal taller than Maisaak and he still had the trim muscular build of a champion swordsman. He caught Enly's eye a moment after his daughter had and nodded in greeting.

The two of them, father and daughter, halted in front of Maisaak's writing table and bowed to him.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us, Your Lordship," Tirnya said.

Enly and Maisaak shared a quick look. Usually the marshal would have spoken for them, not his daughter.

"It's my pleasure, as always, Captain," Enly's father said, a smile fixed on his lips. "I take it you're recovering well."

"I am. Thank you, Your Lordship."

"I'm glad to hear it. You're to be commended for the performance of your company. They handled themselves quite well, even after you were wounded."

"You honor us, Your Lordship."

Maisaak turned to Jenoe, his smile growing ever more brittle. "You must be very proud of her, Marshal."

"Yes, I am. Your Lordship is most kind."

The servants had placed the food on the large table in the center of the chamber. Maisaak took his place there now, gesturing for the others to join him.

"Come, have something to eat."

"Thank you, Your Lordship," Tirnya said as she and Jenoe sat on opposite sides of the table. Enly sat at the end across from his father. A servant poured wine for them all, and Maisaak took some greens and fowl for himself before passing the platter to Jenoe.

"Well," Maisaak said, after a brief lull in their conversation, "I'm sure you didn't request an audience just so that I could feed you. Why are you here?"

Again it was Tirnya who answered, though not before she glanced uncertainly at her father. Jenoe merely gazed back at her, his expression revealing nothing.

"Perhaps Your Lordship has received word of the pestilence outbreak in the Fal'Borna clan lands."

Maisaak did nothing to mask his puzzlement. "Yes. Yes, I've heard something of it. Not much, but from what I've been told it seems the outbreak began west of the Silverwater and has spread westward across the plain." A hint of fear appeared in his eyes. "Is it headed this way now?"

"No, Your Lordship," she said. "Not as far as we know."

"Gods be praised for that," Enly said.

Jenoe nodded his agreement. "Indeed."

"From what we've heard, Your Lordship," Tirnya went on, "this is a strain of the disease that strikes only at white-hairs. It makes them ill, it robs them of control over their magic, and in the end it kills them."

The lord governor's eyes widened. "I knew of course that it was sickening the Qirsi. But you're saying that it has no effect on our people? You're certain?"

"Quite, Your Lordship. Several peddlers, Qirsi and Eandi alike, have said much the same thing. It seems we're immune, and the white-hairs are not."

"Interesting," Maisaak said, sounding genuinely intrigued. "But why bring this to my attention?"

Again Tirnya glanced at her father, and again Jenoe did nothing more than return the look.

"Because, Your Lordship," she replied, facing Maisaak again, "I believe this white-hair plague, as the merchants are calling it, offers us a unique opportunity."

Maisaak's eyebrows went up.

And as Tirnya began to describe for them just what it was she had in mind, Enly's must have as well. Her proposal struck him as audacious, perilous, and foolhardy. After a time, Enly stopped staring at her and turned his gaze to her father, watching for Jenoe's reaction to what she was saying. Surely the marshal, a man Enly had always respected despite the rivalry that existed between their two houses, couldn't approve of this folly. He had to see the danger.

But Jenoe made no effort to stop her. Could it be that both of them were blinded by their desire to reclaim the Onjaef ancestral home and their need to avenge the defeat of their forebears?

Tirnya spoke passionately for this invasion of hers. Her cheeks, which had been ashen when they entered the chamber, now were flushed, and there was a look in her eyes that Enly had seen there previously only in the tournament ring, and on two memorable nights in his own bed. What frightened him most, as he continued to listen to her, was that she made a certain amount of sense. If one managed to ignore the fact that she was talking about restarting the Blood Wars, it would have been easy to be persuaded by her reasoning.

At first, after she finally finished, no one said anything. The four of them had even stopped eating, though Tirnya took a quick sip of wine, her hand trembling slightly as she raised the goblet to her lips. As the silence stretched on, she looked at her father and then at Enly. Her cheeks were red still, but it seemed that this was now more a product of discomfort than ardor.

"What do you think of all this, Jenoe?" Enly's father finally asked, turning to his rival.

"This is Tirnya's idea," the marshal said. "I told her I'd accompany her to your palace, but that's all."

"Yes, I gathered as much. But now I'm asking your opinion as a marshal in the Qalsyn army and the man who would probably lead this assault. What do you think of this?"

Jenoe shrugged, taking a bite of fowl. "I'm not sure what to think of it," he said, after swallowing his mouthful.

"Come now," Maisaak said, frowning. "I should have added a moment ago that you're also the person with the most to gain should this campaign succeed. And you want me to believe that you have no thoughts whatsoever on the matter?"

"With all respect, Your Lordship, that's not what I said. Precisely because I have the most to gain, I'm not sure what to think of it. It strikes me as terribly dangerous. And yet, I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't intrigued by the possibilities of such a gambit."

"How many men do you think it would take?" the lord governor asked.

Jenoe narrowed his eyes in thought, as he played idly with his wine goblet. "Probably every man under my command, and then some. But a lot of that will depend on how hard this pestilence has struck at the Fal'Borna. If only a few of the septs have been hit, we'll have a hard time of it. If the damage is more extensive, we may meet with little resistance until we reach the Thraedes."

Enly couldn't keep still any longer. "Pardon me for speaking out of turn, Father. And, Tirnya, forgive me for saying this, but what you're suggesting is madness, pure and simple. The Blood Wars are a blot on the history of the Southlands. They did unspeakable damage to both the clans and the sovereignties; especially to the sovereignties. To start them again…" He shook his head. "It's madness. There's no other word for it. I find it hard to believe that you'd support this, Marshal. And I'm shocked, Father, that you haven't dismissed the idea already."

Maisaak took a breath and nodded. "Well, Enly, I appreciate your candor, and I'll consider what you've said." He looked at Tirnya. "Captain Onjaef, what do you say to that?"

She regarded Enly coolly for just an instant before facing Maisaak again. "Nothing, Your Lordship. I've made my case. I'll stand by it."

The lord governor nodded and grinned. "Very good." He stood, forcing the others to do the same. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Both of you," he added, with a glance at Jenoe. "Obviously I'll need to give this a good deal of thought before I send any messages on to Ofirean City. And we can do nothing, of course, without Ankyr's approval. And if he does allow us to go forward, I'll want to send missives to the other lord governors to see if we can put together a larger force. If we're going to do this, I don't want to be undermanned. I'll let you know what I've decided. In the meantime, speak of this with no one."

Tirnya was practically beaming. "Yes, Your Lordship. Thank you." She bowed, as did Jenoe, and then left the chamber, her father hurrying to keep up with her.

As soon as the door closed, Enly whirled toward Maisaak. "Father-!" The lord governor raised a finger, silencing him. He had his head cocked to the side, as if he were listening for the Onjaefs' footsteps. After some time, he lowered his hand and nodded. "All right, go ahead."

"You can't be considering this!" Enly said. "She's blind with battle lust!"

"And Jenoe? What about him?"

Enly shrugged. "You said it yourself: He has the most to gain should they somehow manage to succeed."

Maisaak smiled. "So it might seem."

"I don't understand."

The lord governor sat back down and resumed his meal. "I agree with you," he said between mouthfuls. "It is madness. Even if this plague has weakened the Fal'Borna, they still have their magic, and they remain fearsome warriors. I doubt the entire Qalsyn army could defeat them, even with the great Jenoe Onjaef riding at the fore."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

Maisaak stared at him as if he were simple. "Do I really have to explain it to you?"

It hit him like a fist in the chest, stealing his breath and making his entire body sag.

"You want them to fail. You'd send ten thousand soldiers to die if it would rid you of the Onjaefs."

"I don't like your tone," Maisaak said, his expression hardening. "And to be honest with you, it wouldn't matter to me if they succeeded or failed. If her idea works, Jenoe takes back Deraqor, and he can spend the rest of his days defending it from Fal'Borna raiders. If they fail, Jenoe will die, or at best return here disgraced and broken. Either way I'd be rid of him."

"The sovereign will never allow this."

Maisaak laughed. "You have much to learn about House Kasatha. They're fools, the whole lot of them. I suppose at some point in the past they must have been somewhat more, or they'd never have managed to become Stelpana's ruling family, but Joska was greedy and small-minded and ambitious to a fault, and Ankyr is no better. If I tell him the invasion is a hopeless waste of men, then yes, he'll reject the idea. But if I tell him about this plague, and the opportunity it presents, and if I remind him of the wealth of the Horn and the lands around Deraqor, he'll give his approval. He might even send us gold to help pay for the war."

"You want to be rid of them that badly?" Enly asked, appalled by what he was hearing.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. You're so besotted with the girl that you don't see the Onjaefs for what they are."

There was nothing Enly could do here. "I'll talk Tirnya out of it," he said, starting for the door. "I don't care if you give me a direct order never to speak to her again."

Maisaak laughed. "No wonder you couldn't keep her in your bed. You don't understand that girl at all. You could no more talk her out of this than you could teach her to fly. She's made up her mind, and the more you try to dissuade her, the more determined she'll be to prove you wrong."

Enly wanted desperately to fire back a retort, something that would silence his father and wipe that smirk off his face. But he could think of nothing to say, and in the end he simply left the chamber.