The Eighth Warden Bk. 05 Ch. 13-14

"Two days? Four Roads is two hundred fifty miles away!"

"You've seen me run before."

"I didn't know you could run all day long!" Treya could sprint faster than she'd ever seen anyone else move, even Shana, but she'd never attempted long distances. Traveling with her friends, she'd spent most of her time in the saddle.

Shana grinned. "Now you know my secret. I'm just usually not in that much of a hurry. But you're strong enough—you should have some idea of what you're capable of by now. I take it you haven't been practicing? Again?"

Treya sighed. "It's hard to find the time. I spar a bit with the others, but they get nervous since I don't wear any armor."

"Well, I'm not in a rush. I'll stick around for a while and help you work on it."

#

Rusol flipped through the stack of papers trying to make sense of what he was reading. The seaborn ambassador had proposed building an enclave for his people in Larso similar to the one in Terevas, offering their deeper-hulled vessels a new location to dock. The Duke of Westport was adamantly opposed, insisting it was just a way for the seaborn to avoid his own city. Rusol suspected Westport was right, but the proposal offered to pay the same taxes and fees in the enclave as they would have elsewhere, and claimed the existing coastal ports couldn't handle the seaborn's largest cargo ships.

Rusol didn't know enough about the issues to make a decision, and wasn't sure whose advice to take. He needed someone familiar with the matter who didn't have a financial stake in the outcome. Perhaps he should write a letter to the admiral of Larso's tiny fleet of warships?

He was happy to set the whole mess aside when Field Marshal Tregood and Knight Commander Sir Noris arrived.

"Your Majesty," Noris said, the old man speaking in his hoarse, wavering voice, "We received a messenger from Priest Tibon at Fort Hightower. He writes with an update on the situation to the south."

"Yes?" Rusol asked. Noris could take a while to come to the point if he was allowed to ramble.

Thankfully, Tregood took up the story. "Now that the dragon is gone, Baron Hightower has taken steps to expel the hillfolk refugees from his domain. He no longer requires the additional soldiers we sent, so I've drawn up orders to return them to their previous postings."

Rusol nodded. "And the extra knights?"

"If you do not object, I will order their return to Telfort," Noris said.

"Maybe that'll quiet the complainers," Tregood added. Rusol controlled Sir Noris as well as all the high-ranking priests in the city, but some among the lower ranks had grumbled about a quarter of the city's knights being away—even though Telfort itself wasn't in any danger.

"You may issue the orders," Rusol said to Noris. "Is that everything?" It hardly seemed important enough for the two of them to have sought him out.

"No, Sire," Tregood said. "Tibon also says the mercenaries from Four Roads have laid claim to an old keep where the dragon had been lairing. They intend to clear the roads in the region and make them passable again. Perhaps our wayward squad of knights did some good after all."

Noris harrumphed. "Wayward? They never should have been there in the first place. The renegade commander has been expelled from the Order."

Rusol said, "If his knights were able to defeat a dragon with the loss of only one man, it seems the commander made the right decision."

"He disobeyed orders, resulting in the death of one of his own men. He could never be trusted within the Order again. And that doesn't even touch on allying himself with those mages." Noris, under compulsion from the hunter bond, knew Rusol was a mage, but he never seemed to connect that fact to his own ingrained dislike of magic.

Rusol just nodded, conceding the point, then turned to study an old map hanging on the wall behind him. Tregood had once argued for leaving the dragon alone so it would distract their neighbors, but now that it was dead, it seemed the man had changed his mind. Was he just making the best of a bad situation, or was there some actual advantage to the creature being gone?

Rusol wasn't familiar with the area—the dragon had come to the free lands a quarter of a century before he was born—but the roads in question were still inked in on the map. He couldn't see much benefit to Larso in having them open again. They looked to provide a faster route from southern Larso to Tyrsall, but that would help Matagor more than anyone else. Larso's own cross-continental trade went through the northern route, as did the bulk of the seaborn trade in northern Aravor. Seaborn trading vessels were faster than most ships, but it wasn't worth their time to circle around the entire continent to reach Tyrsall.

Then, with a frown, he took a closer look. Cargo from Matagor wouldn't have to pass through Larso at all. There were at least two routes around it, one of which promised a much faster trip along an almost straight line to Tyrsall.

Was that why Rusol's father had left the dragon alone? The knights could have hunted it down at any time in the past fifty years, but they'd never made any move to do so. Had it really just been because the free lands weren't worth bothering with, or was it because the creature's presence had forced more trade to go through Telfort?

Rusol turned to Tregood. "Why didn't you warn me that killing the dragon would open a direct road between Matagor and Tyrsall?" he said, his voice cold.

The Field Marshal blinked in confusion. "Your Majesty? Why would that matter? We're not at war with either kingdom."

"Nine-tenths of Matagoran and Terevassian trade with Tyrsall passes through Larso, you idiot! How did you think we were paying for the mercenaries?"

"Do you mean taxes?"

Rusol's vision went red, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the elder magic. "Yes, taxes! If we had killed the dragon, then we would control the roads, but instead you gave it away to the freelanders!"

Of course, taxes and trade weren't the Field Marshal's concern. Those were matters for the Chancellor, but it had never occurred to Rusol to seek his counsel. In fact, he'd hardly put any thought at all into the ramifications. He'd just taken Tregood's advice, assuming the man knew what he was talking about.

The Field Marshal spoke in a placating tone. "I apologize, Your Majesty, but I believe we still hold some influence in the region. The mercenary who took over the keep is from Larso, and I'm sure he'll be amenable to an arrangement. He was a knight once, and he's the son of one of the Black Crow barons."

Sir Noris scowled. "He was never a knight," he said. "He was a trainee, and was expelled for being a wizard."

"That doesn't change anything," Tregood said. "If he wants to play a fake lord in the free lands, we can negotiate with him. He won't want to anger his homeland—he'll agree to anything we ask. Perhaps we could even claim the region as our own by offering him a baronetcy."

"Absolutely not," Noris said. "Corec Tarwen violated our laws. He's a mage and a traitor. He can't be trusted."

Everything seemed to slow to a halt.

"What was that name?" Rusol asked.

"Corec Tarwen," Tregood said. "One of Lord Ansel's younger sons. From his concubine, I believe."

"Corec," Rusol said, his insides going cold. Tarwen had never mentioned having a son in exile for using magic, but everything else fit. The Larsonian name, the timing of Corec's return to Aravor, the fact that Yassi had seen him in a war camp, the demonborn assassin he'd sent. And when the assassin had failed, he'd come to the region himself.

The other two men exchanged glances.

"Your Majesty?" Tregood said. "Is there a problem?"

"A problem?" Rusol snapped. "Is there a problem? You told me not to send the knights after the dragon, and now there's a warden on our border!"

Tregood furrowed his brow. "A warden, Sire?"

"He's taunting me! He sent her to make sure I knew he was coming!" No, that was wrong. Corec had sent the assassin to kill, not to warn. Rusol tried to force the rage down—he was starting to sound like a madman, even to his own ears.

"Who?"

He ignored the question. "Don't bring the extra knights back to Telfort. Leave them at Hightower. And ..." He stopped to think. The knights crossed the border regularly, but any large movement of soldiers would be a problem. He'd taken control of the army's leadership, but that didn't mean he could start a war without the lords' backing. "Tell Captain Benis to recall the mercenary army from the northern border. Send them to Hightower as well. All of them."

The mercenary army reported directly to Rusol, and he could re-deploy them without raising fears amongst the populace.

"Sire, Blue Vale is still building their strength. I don't advise removing the mercenaries from their positions."

"Blue Vale doesn't matter anymore!" Rusol said. "We have to stop the warden before he invades!"

"Do you mean Corec Tarwen, Your Majesty?" Tregood asked. "He's hardly a threat—he's only got a few dozen men."

"Men and mages," Rusol reminded him. "Enough to face a dragon."

Why had his father allowed these two to remain in their positions? Tregood had demonstrated his incompetence and Sir Noris was too old for the job, yet Marten had never asked them to step down.

With a sinking feeling, Rusol realized the answer. Marten had tolerated them because they were bureaucrats who could keep things running smoothly. In the event of a war, Marten himself would have made all the important decisions. He'd sent Rikard to the knights and then continued his older son's education himself, but Rusol hadn't received the same training. He'd already been led astray by Tregood once.

If he was going to launch an attack against Corec, he'd have to be cautious. He'd caught Leonis unprepared, but that wouldn't be the case this time. How did two wardens do battle? Sending their bondmates to kill each other was too much of a risk, particularly considering how little information Yassi had been able to provide. No. The answer was in Tregood's words—Corec only had a few soldiers. Rusol could overwhelm him with numbers.

The mercenaries and the Hightower knights were a start, but he needed troops he could trust completely. A hundred of his compelled knights from Fort Northtower would do the job. Without Yassi, he couldn't track their movements, but the modified version of the hunter compulsion allowed them to retain their own minds. As long as he issued the right orders, they'd be able to adapt to new situations on their own.

And that gave him another idea.