The Eighth Warden Bk. 04 Ch. 05-06

"How do you still not understand after all this time? It doesn't matter what the law says if the people believe differently! My great-grandfather changed a single law, and because of that, the monarchy lost popular support until my father's time, giving the priesthood more power. Larso was founded by the Church--kings come and go, but the Church is constant, and most of our own soldiers are among the faithful. The people see me as an extension of the Church, but if I take action against it, a rebellion might start within our own royal guards!"

"More excuses," Sharra said. "I'm glad it was Rusol at North Tower and not you. It's a good thing he didn't fall for your nonsense the way Rikard did."

"Enough!" Marten growled, his eyes flashing red as he stalked toward her, his fist raised. "Don't talk about Rikard ever again! I've had enough of your constant sniping! He's been in his grave for five years!" He stopped when he realized what he was doing, and unclenched his fingers with visible effort, the red fading from his eyes as he got the demon rage under control.

Sharra had shrunk back against the wall. "But Marty, I'm just--"

"Get out!"

Rusol's mother stormed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Marten shook his head. "How can she be so blind?" he muttered, staring after her. "The change has to come from within the Church or it'll never work, and I'm so close to convincing them. You understand that, don't you, Rus? Do you realize why what you did is so dangerous?"

"I was careful," Rusol said, trying to keep his voice steady. He'd killed a warden; he could surely face his father's disappointment. "I took steps to make sure a blessed priest won't discover the compulsion spells."

"Can you guarantee that?"

Rusol hesitated. "No."

"Do you know how many people will die if we go to war with ourselves? Our first duty is always to the people of Larso. Even if we won the war and exiled the Order, the people would never trust us again. You couldn't be king once they know you're a mage, not without slaughtering the tens of thousands of civilians who would rise up against you. Do you want to become a tyrant?"

"The clans would follow us."

"Would they? We haven't exactly done much for them over the past three hundred years. And even if they trusted our blood ties over our actions, the clans still in Larso are few and scattered. Except for the witches, they're just like any other farmers and villagers. They're hardly an army. No, the best way to save lives would be to cede the eastern half of Larso to the Church--from Telfort to the Black Crow Mountains--and take the coastal cities and clan territory for ourselves. The western cities have always been less provincial, more accepting of magic."

Rusol couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to cut Larso in half?"

"No, I don't want to!" Marten shouted, slamming his hands down on his desk with a thump. "It's an absolute last resort if the Church discovers the royal family is full of mages! We take the rich half of the country, and let the Church try to support and protect the poor half while they lose out on three quarters of the tax income."

"Three quarters?" Rusol had known the coastal cities were rich, but he hadn't realized how wide the difference was.

"Of course. Ninety percent of our trade goes through the ports, and if the Black Crow mines want to continue using our ports, we can start taxing them, too. Why do you think I never conquered the hillfolk? The hills would cost us more to support than they could possibly provide in revenue. Everything is carefully balanced, Rus! I've told you that over and over! If you upset the balance, we'll lose everything I've been working for!"

"I'll see to it that it doesn't come down to that."

"But you can't be sure," Marten said more quietly. "That's the problem. We're so close. The next step is to get the Church elders to vote on removing all criminal sanctions for mages. Between the men I've turned and the ones I've managed to convince, I believe we can win that vote, now that most of the blessed elders have been shuffled off to the outlying regions. After the sanctions have been removed, it'll be harder for the priests to argue against fully legalizing magic. Your mother doesn't know what she's talking about--there's no reason to end doctrinal law completely. It's doctrinal law that created the monarchy."

"I'll do whatever I can to help," Rusol promised. "Whatever you need me to do."

Marten sighed. "I suppose that's the best I can hope for at this point. I need to think about this for a while. I'll see you at supper."

Rusol had clearly been dismissed, but he stopped at the door. His father had to know the whole truth. "There might still be a threat from Blue Vale," he said.

"You think they'll want revenge for killing Leonis?" Marten asked. "Are they organized enough to put together a fighting force?"

"He only brought one or two of his bondmates with him. The others were just regular priests."

"How do you know?"

Because I'm still alive, Rusol thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, "When a bondmate dies, the rune on the warden's arm burns itself into a scar, but three of Leonis's scars were old. Two were more recent. Magnus killed one of them--we know because the man's own rune reappeared on his forehead after he died. We're not sure about the other. Some of the bodies were burned too badly for us to check. But three of the runes were still alive, so Leonis still has three bondmates who could rally his troops."

Marten tapped his fingers on his desk. Rusol waited for another explosion, but it didn't come. Instead, his father said, "I suppose we should have expected that. We made an assumption without evidence. There was no real reason to believe that all eight of the priests he traveled with were his bondmates." He thought for a moment. "We'll be stretched too thin to try to wage war against them up in Blue Vale, especially without knowing what sort of army they can assemble. I suppose you just found your first use for your new troops. They'll have to patrol the northern border more carefully than usual, to watch for any trouble. Send half of the mercenaries up there to support them, and see if Yassi can find out what they're doing."

"Yes, Father."