going up in flames.’
‘There’s nothing new about that, Mangaran,’ Asrana noted.
‘Asturia’s been smouldering since I was a little girl. Which particular
embers are glowing this time?’
‘I rather suspect that history’s going to call this “the nephew
war”,’ Mangaran replied with a gloomy face. ‘I have no living sons,
and my claim to the ducal throne is fairly specious. We did depose
Oldoran on the flimsiest of legal grounds that day, and the one who
should legally have taken his place was his eldest nephew, Nerasin.’
Asrana made a retching sound.
‘My sentiments exactly, Baroness,’ Mangaran said smoothly. Then
he went on. ‘Unfortunately, my eldest nephew isn’t much better
than Nerasin. He’s a foolish wastrel who’s up to his ears in gambling
debts. To put it bluntly, I wouldn’t put him in charge of a pig-pen.’
‘I’ve met him, Polly,’ Asrana told me. ‘His name’s Olburton, and
he’s at least as bad as Nerasin is. If either of those two succeeds
Mangaran here, Asturia’s going to simply disintegrate into little
clusters of warring estates.’ She looked rather coolly at her husband.
‘And there are those in Mimbre who might just decide to take
advantage of that, aren’t there, love?’
Mandorin sighed. ‘I do fear me that thou hast spoken truly,’ he
admitted.
‘And there are border nobles in Wacune who’ll feel the same
way,’ I added. ‘What is it about proximity to a border that brings
out the worst in people?’
Oh, that’s easy, Polly,’ Asrana said with a cynical laugh. ‘All the
world knows that the people on the other side of any border aren’t
really human, so whatever they happen to own rightfully belongs
to real humans on our side of the line.’
‘That’s a brutal view of life, Asrana,’ I scolded her.
‘True, though,’ she replied with a saucy toss of her head.
‘I cannot believe this is truly happening,’ Mandorin protested.
‘The hard-won peace which we all struggled so valiantly to wrest
from the jaws of unending war is now at the mercy of a pair of
Asturian popinjays.’
‘And to make matters worse, there’s not much we can do about
it,’ Mangaran mourned. ‘Fortunately, I won’t be around when it
happens.’
‘What an odd thing,’ Asrana noted thoughtfully. ‘Peace requires
rulers every bit as strong as war does. Mangaran, dear, why don’t
you leave a parting gift to poor old Asturia? Put a clause in your
will that’ll send both of these incompetent nephews to the
headsman’s block. A man with no head doesn’t have much use for a
crown, does he?’
‘Asrana!’ Mandorin gasped.
‘I was only joking, love,’ she assured him. Then she frowned
slightly. ‘It is a solution, though,’ she mused, ‘but why don’t we do
it before Mangaran’s been gathered to the bosom of Chaldan? A little
bit of poison in the right places would solve the whole problem,
wouldn’t it? Then we could poison our way through the ranks of
Asturian nobility until we finally found someone competent enough
to rule.’
‘A bit simplistic, Asrana,’ Mangaran chided.
‘The simple ones are the best, old friend,’ she told him. ‘We’re all
Arends, after all, and complications confuse us.’
‘I’ll admit that I’m tempted,’ Mangaran said with a wicked grin.
‘I’d strongly advise against it,’ I told them. ‘The introduction of
poison into politics always seems to spur imitation, I’ve noticed,
and everybody has to eat now and then.’
,poisons are very rare though,’ Asrana said, ‘and very expensive,
aren’t they?’
,Good heavens no, Asrana,’ I told her. ‘I could find deadly poisons
growing in flower beds right here in Vo Mandor, if I really needed
some. They’re so common that I’m sometimes surprised that half
the population doesn’t die off from accidental exposure to them.
There are even some ordinary plants that are a part of everybody’s
diet that have poisonous leaves on them. If you eat the roots, you’re
fine; if you eat the leaves, you’re dead. If you want to kill somebody,
use an axe or a knife. Don’t open that door marked “poison”. I’ll
keep an eye on things in Asturia, so please don’t all of you rush
into exotic solutions.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Asrana pouted.
Since Mangaran was going on to Vo Wacune anyway, Killane and
I accompanied him, though my seneschal – if that’s the proper term
– was quite uncomfortable in the presence of so many Asturians.
Hereditary animosities die hard, I’ve noticed, and peace was still
something of a novelty in Arendia.
Mangaran’s ‘Nephew War’ wasn’t too hard to defuse, since the
people attracted to either camp were the sort who talked a good
fight but tended to fade back into the woodwork when trouble broke
out. I had Mangaran track down the more vocal adherents of both
Nerasin and Olburton, and after I’d had a few pointed interviews
with the more prominent partisans on either side, the whole business
cooled down noticeably. one does have a certain reputation, after
all, and I was fairly free with some threats that I probably wouldn’t
have carried out even if I’d been sure just exactly how to pull them
Off.
The rulers of the three duchies took that to be some sort of sign
from on high, and whether I really wanted the position or not, I
became the semi-official presiding officer at the meetings of the
Arendish Council each summer.
Things went on in this fashion for some years, and by dint of a
mixture of persuasion, threats, and sheer force of will I was able to
maintain the shaky peace in Arendia.
Young Alleran grew up during those years, and he was married
shortly after his eighteenth birthday. I’d stayed rather close to
Alleran during his formative years and had gently led him astray.
His parents, Kathandrion and Elisera, had done their very best to
raise him as full-bore Arend – all nobility and no brains – but I
tampered just enough to keep his strain of common sense intact.
Asrana’s observation during the meeting at Vo Mandor was still
very apt. A ruler during peacetime must be at least as strong as one
who’s presiding over a war, and nothing helps to make a ruler
strong quite as much as common sense.
I had an unlikely assistant in my campaign to contaminate
Alleran’s pure Arendish understanding. Though Alleran was
ostensibly visiting his ‘Aunt Pol’ – that particular title’s been following
me around for centuries – I found that more often than not, he
spent his time with Killane, and who better to give instruction in
practicality than a master builder? Between us, Killane and I turned
out a young man eminently qualified to rule. He could ‘thee’ and
‘thou’ with the best of them, but his mind didn’t stop functioning
as soon as the first archaic syllable crossed his lips.
No matter what you might choose to believe, I had nothing
whatsoever to do with his choice of a bride. That decision was dictated
almost entirely by politics. Alliances between equals are almost
always cemented by marriages. The bride’s name was Mayasarell
one of those concocted names usually arrived at by mashing the
names of several dead relatives together – and she was a lovely,
dark-haired girl. She and Alleran were not exactly desperately in
love with each other, but they got along fairly well, and that’s a
reasonable basis for a good marriage, I suppose.
The years continued their stately, ordered pace, and the annual
meetings of ‘the Arendish Council’ at the Great Fair gave me plenty
of opportunity to head off assorted idiocies before they got
completely out of hand.
I think it was after the council meeting in 2324 that I made one
of my periodic surveys of the land of the Arends. It was not so much
that I distrusted the information I was receiving, but it’s always a
good idea to have a look for yourself in these matters, so Killane
and I joined the party of Duke Corrolin of Mimbre and rode on
down to the golden city on the banks of the River Arend.
I found nothing particularly alarming in Vo Mimbre, so after a
week or so, Killane and I left to go on to Vo Mandor to look in on
Mandorin and Asrana.
It was on the morning of our second day out when Killane and
I had a conversation that was becoming increasingly necessary.
It wasn’t long after sunrise, and my seneschal and I had ridden
up a fairly steep hill, and we stopped at the top to rest our horses
in the golden morning sunlight.
‘Meanin’ no offense, Lady-O,’ Killane said a bit hesitantly, ‘but
could we be after havin’ a bit of a chat?’
‘Of course. You look troubled Killane. What’s bothering you?’
‘I’m not th’ cleverest man in all th’ world, me Lady,’ he said, ‘but
a man Would have t’ be an absolute dunce not t’ see that y’ ain’t
exactly ordinary.’
,Why, thank you, Killane.’ I smiled. ‘Go ahead and say it, my