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But for all of that, he was still only nineteen years old, and he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment at the thought that his adversaries’ caution—or cowardice—might deny him the opportunity to show what he could do.
“Do you think they’ve given up for good, then?” he asked after a moment, trying valiantly (though with imperfect success) to conceal his disappointment.
“No, Milord.” Sir Yarran leaned closer to his titular commander so that he could speak without shouting—and with less chance of being overheard.
“Milord,” he continued in the patient voice he and Festian had used to train generations of eager young armsmen, “there’s two sides in any fight, and neither one of them’s got any real interest in losing. Which means that whatever you may want the oily bastards to do, they’re going to be trying to think up something you won’t want them to do.
“Now, we know that whoever these … people are—” he avoided mentioning any names, despite the voice-drowning background hubbub “— they’ve already shown us as how they’re pretty damned determined to make Lord Festian look like he can’t find his arse with both hands, and to make your uncle look foolish for having picked him to replace Redhelm in the first place. I’m thinking it’s not so very likely that they’ll just decide it was all a bad idea and that they ought to go home and behave themselves. And even if it happened that they—or some of them—were begi
Trianal barked a laugh at the very thought, and Yarran nodded.
“Aye, and if you and I think that, don’t you think those on the other side might be thinking the same? Which means their best chance to get out of this with their skins whole is to succeed in what they started out to do in the first place. And they’ll not do that by sitting home on the other side of the Bogs and letting Lord Festian put Glanharrow back in order.
“So I’m thinking that what they’re doing right this minute is either sitting back and waiting to see just how long Milord Baron is prepared to leave you and your armsmen here to support Lord Festian, or else thinking about whether or not they want to reinforce their side. Or it might be they’re doing both of those at the selfsame time.”
He shrugged, and his expression was noticeably more grim as he drank another large mouthful of his ale.
“So the answer to your question, Milord,” he said finally, letting his tankard thump back down on the plain, plank tabletop, “is that, aye, I think we’ll be seeing them again. Maybe sooner than we’d like.”
“Well, at least we’re rid of her at last,” Dahlaha Farrier said. She pouted into the mirror above her dressing table, leaning close to examine her faultless complexion critically, and her golden hair gleamed under the lamplight.
“You’re rid of her,” Varnaythus corrected. He sat comfortably slouched in an armchair, watching her primp for an evening with Trisu’s cousin Triahm. The first evening they’d spent together since Dame Kaeritha’s arrival at Thalar Keep.
“What do you mean?” Dahlaha’s eyes shifted, gazing at his reflection in her mirror, and there was an edge of something—petulance, perhaps—in her tone.
Varnaythus simply looked back at her blandly. She’d already made it obvious that she resented his return to Thalar, and he saw no reason to let her guess that he resented it as well, probably more than she did. And although he had no intention of admitting it to her, he’d been more than a little frightened when he got the instructions that sent him back. He’d had no desire at all to get any closer to a champion of Tomanak than he had to, and especially not at a time when that champion’s suspicions might well have been aroused. So he’d been delighted to discover that Kaeritha had left Thalar several hours before he himself arrived back there.
“I only meant that Dame Kaeritha hasn’t indicated that she’s about to resign her interest in Trisu’s dispute with Kalatha,” he said. “Unless I very much miss my guess—” which, he knew from his gramerhain, he did not “— she’s on her way back to Kalatha to reexamine their copies of the documents. After all, the fact that she didn’t denounce either side as forgers and liars before she left suggests to me that she isn’t prepared at this point to uncritically accept the validity of either side’s documents.”
“Well, of course not,” Dahlaha agreed a bit snippily. “Obviously one set has to be false. But that’s fine. My Lady’s webs are carefully woven, Varnaythus. In the end, it won’t really matter which side Tomanak’s precious champion condemns for creating the forgery. I’ll admit, it will work out better if she blames Trisu, especially because she’s a woman herself, but either outcome will suit Her needs and plans quite well.”
“I know that,” Varnaythus said, watching her with unobtrusive intensity, “but my point is that she hasn’t blamed anyone. She hasn’t even so much as whispered to anyone here in Thalar that she might suspect that anyone’s committed forgery. To me, that suggests that she isn’t about to leap to any conclusions, or issue any hasty rulings.”
“And what of it?” Dahlaha asked, hunching one shoulder impatiently. “It doesn’t matter to Them if she takes a few days, or weeks, to make her decision. In the end, she has to decide for one side or the other, Varnaythus.”
“It does make a difference in at least one sense, Dahlaha,” Varnaythus said patiently. “Their plan requires a certain degree of synchronization. You do recall that They have multiple strands to their web, don’t you?” Dahlaha’s blue eyes were dagger-sharp as she glared at his reflection, and he smiled ever so slightly. “It would be nice if your Lady and Krahana could see both of Their plans come to fruition at as close to the same time as possible. Otherwise,” his smile disappeared, “it’s possible that if either plan fails, the champion of Tomanak that one should have snared will be available to reinforce his —or her—fellow. Do you really want Bahzell Bloody Hand down here supporting Dame Kaeritha?”
Dahlaha’s face had lost all expression at the mention of Bahzell, rather to Varnaythus’s amusement. Not that he would have been any happier than she at the prospect of confronting him. For all of Dahlaha’s contempt for Sharna and the deceased Tharnatus, the brutal effectiveness with which Bahzell had dispatched not simply one, but two of Sharna ’s greater demons made the prospect of facing him a frightening one. Varnaythus knew that as well as Dahlaha did; what amused him was the obvious twinge of fear she’d felt at the words “the Bloody Hand.” However fitting they might be, Varnaythus knew the song the cognomen derived from … and who its author was.
“No, of course I’d rather not have to deal with two champions instead of one, regardless of who they might be!” Dahlaha said tartly after a brief pause. “But if Krahana’s Servants do their jobs properly, it won’t come to that, will it?”
“No,” Varnaythus agreed in the same obviously patient tone. “At the same time, however, you do realize, don’t you, that Jerghar is thinking exactly the same thing about your Lady and you.” He grimaced. “I don’t suppose I can really blame either of you for that, but I do wish you could remember that it’s my job to keep both of you ru
“All right,” she said with a shrug. “You’re right, I should remember this is a web with more than one strand. And that They chose you to look after all of them. On the other hand, I also know you enjoy being a pain in the arse, Varnaythus. Don’t bother to deny it—you and I both know it’s true.”