Thayet was reading the points that concerned the governance of Sarain. It was a little strange, seeing so many of the things that her father had fiercely opposed and fought against with steel and blood, written in neat black ink as they were truths to be held self-evident. “I would say that it was certainly a good proposal for Sarain, but I’m not sure whether it’s a good proposal for my daughter. Let’s not rush to any hasty decisions. We have no idea why this boy is being shunted off so far beyond the borders of his home.”
“I have to agree.” Alanna put in, “it seems too perfect. Trade routes. Generous treaties. Exchange of scholars. All in exchange for one young woman, as lovely as she is, Jon, Thayet,” she qualified, “I think there’s something that they’re not telling us about the Empire. Something that we haven’t even thought of.”
****************************
“Kalasin.” Justinia said firmly as they all returned to the suite. “Definitely Kalasin.”
Radanae raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I may not have it, but it’s leaking out of her like you wouldn’t believe. I can literally see it sometimes. Lianne has a little, but nowhere near as much.”
They both turned to Ambassador Lansherry. “It does run in the Conte line,” she said mildly. “I suppose, failing Kalasin or Lianne, the noble families of Naxen or Queensgrove, even the Champion’s daughter might do. I agree, of course, Princess Kalasin is our first choice. Any dissenters?”
Everyone shook their heads, then went off to change. Radanae and Justinia had the task of making sure that Princess Kalasin as a person would be suited to Yevgen. The main point of the exercise, even more than that of Sarain, would depend on it.
The Gift was dying out in the Empire. Once present in nearly all the aristocratic Houses, now it appeared very irregularly, and only seldom in sufficient strength to be useful (Radanae, who was typical of the present generation, could barely light a fire without fainting). No one knew why, though it was being replaced by a combination of wild magic and other forms of ‘talents’. The Gift was seen as another useful talent, and it had been certainly useful against Immortals. The few Imperial aristocratic Houses that still reliably produced Gifted individuals were hovering right on the very edge of in-breeding in order to maintain it.
There was a vital need for new blood. Of all the Royal families in the Eastern lands, though most had a trickle or two, only the Contes of Tortall were swimming in the Gift. King Jonathan was said to be a supremely powerful mage, able to sense every rock in his realm through magic and an awesome aritifact that Sir Alanna had found somewhere. All his children had reportedly inherited the Gift, though Queen Thayet showed no signs of possessing it. Radanae dismissed the awesome artifact theory, but accepted that the Gift could do many strange things.
While the proposal included that the throne, crown, or otherwise authority of rulership of Sarain would be passed down to Kalasin’s children, it also stated that they were all to be trained at the Knights’ Academy in Bersone. It wasn’t difficult to miss that their primary duty would be to the Empire.
In the future, it was hoped that more inter-marriages between Imperial nobles and those of the Eastern Lands would produce more Gifted knights, but it was early days yet. Better to try and organise this one match before trying for more.
*************************
“Kally?” Thayet knocked softly on the door to her daughter’s room. Kalasin was sitting on the window ledge, reading. She looked up. “Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
Kally made no reply, but slid off to stand by the window. “Have you finished your meeting with the Imperial Ambassador?” she asked coolly, guessing the reason for the maternal visit.
“The first one, yes. I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“So it’s me? You’re sending me to the ends of the earth to marry someone I hadn’t even heard of a few weeks ago?”
“We haven’t got to that stage yet.” Thayet soothed, though she knew very well that they probably had, only not explicitly. “These were the proposals put forward by Ambassador Lansherry.”
Kalasin took the sheet and read it. Halfway through, a single tear trickled unnoticed down her cheek. She wiped her eyes, “Point 18 (b) All eligible children of the marriage shall be educated at the Knights’ Academy in Bersone with the view of gaining Imperial Knighthood. Don’t you think it’s hilarious?” she asked cynically, “the one thing I’ve ever wanted, the one thing father’s ever denied me, is the one thing that, if I had it, would make me perfect for the one match that looks better than Kaddar. I wonder how he’s trying to wrap his brain around that?”
“He was being unnecessarily cautious then,” Thayet agreed, recalling the almighty row she’d had with Jon after he’d made the decision while she was away. “Remember, though, that it was in the middle of a very sensitive time and at any time we might have had to…”
“Sell Lianne or me to the highest bidder? Don’t worry, Father explained it to me. For the good of Tortall, he said.” She sighed. “I don’t think I’d be quite so annoyed if I knew that I had given it all up for the good of Tortall. But to find out, after all these years of noble self-sacrifice, that it really wasn’t necessary, isn’t very pleasant. Oh yes,” she said with a twist to her mouth. “I’ll do my duty,” she said it as though it left a very unpleasant taste. “That’s always the lot of a princess, isn’t it. I really don’t know why girls dream of it.”
“I suppose a shepherdess would look at the clothes, the Palace, and the food and decide that marriage is a decent enough swap. On the other hand, princesses look at the freedom and the fresh air, and decide that the weather, the scanty food and the sheep are a fair trade. I remember when I first came to Tortall – the freedom to do whatever I liked, for the first time in my life.”
“Then you met father.”
“Then I met your father.”
“And everything changed back again.”
“No. Everything changed forward. If you are genuinely set against this marriage, we shan’t force you into it. We haven’t got the details, and, frankly, we haven’t an idea what the Imperials want out of it except you or Lianne.”
“It worries you.”
“It worries all of us.”
“Don’t bother about it,” Kalasin folded up the bit of paper and returned it to her mother, “it sounds a damn sight better than Cathak, Scanra, Galla or Maren.”
**********************
Chapter 3 – Fun and Games
Dama Ryane, who was a talented amateur artist, had sketched a selection of portraits of Princess Kalasin to send back to Bersone. Granted, they had all been done in the best possible light, but everyone agreed that the princess was a beauty, and Ryane had confessed that she would have been hard pressed to draw her in an unflattering manner. With any luck, the portraits and the passage of time might make Yevgen almost reasonable about the prospect.
It was not that Prince Yevgen was unpleasant, or spoilt. No one could survive twelve
years at the Academy, and their Trials of Knighthood and be at all precious or squeamish, or lack a sense of humour. Radanae was good friends with him and his sisters. He was, however, an incurable romantic, and the sort of idealist who didn’t quite believe in the harshness of the real world. Part of that was due to being a prince, of course, and rather more sheltered than his peers. Complications from some injuries suffered at the Trials (though he was fully healed now) had prevented him from gaining the military experience that had solved that problem in his sisters.
Dressed in their formal gear for an evening with the Court, they prepared to deliver their first report back to the Empress. Once, this would have been achieved by a mage attached to the delegation, but the Gift was rarely strong enough now. To compensate, Imperial engineers had designed a series of devices to take the place of full mages, most of which required only the slightest nudge of Gift in order to activate. However, this was only a temporary solution, as no one could tell if or when the number of Gifted Imperials would decrease further. The Gifted one who needed to activate it would have an enormous headache afterwards, but it couldn’t be helped. One of the Honour Guard picked the short straw, and held the small square of metal with a grimace.
There was a blurring of the air between the Ambassador and Sir Deryn, and a swirl of purple fog, which resolved into the Empress Vanaria, apparently sitting at a desk and looking directly at them.
The standard greetings out of the way, Lansherry delivered her initial impressions of
Tortall.
“A fairly competent executive. There appears to be the usual power struggle between
conservatives and progressives, with the twist that the king, queen and their close friends happen to be the progressives. They appear to have a powerful Mage class, and a small, but adequate contingent of knights.”
“How many knights?” Vanaria had a clear, no-nonsense contralto voice.
“Few at Court. From observations at their Academy, I would say no more than twenty a year. The contingent of formally trained officers and elite guards seem quite small too.”
The small head-and-shoulders image nodded with definite satisfaction. “Good. We will still have superiority of numbers even if there is a wide alliance between all the lands west of the Roof. Standard of training?”
“Reasonable. Certainly better than their neighbours. They have a few up to Honour
Guard standard. The country will be stable for the foreseeable future. The heir appears to be about Yevgen’s age, a competent, if dull sort. There are four other potential heirs after him, including the two princesses.”
“Have you had an opportunity to observe either of them yet?”
“Princess Kalasin is present at court, while Lianne is rarely seen at social functions due to her age. Princess Kalasin seems an intelligent, pleasant young woman, and has a great deal of the Gift. The Tortallans seem to be agreeable to the initial proposals.”
Raised eyebrows. “That’s good. Very good. If they’re difficult about it, offer to throw in preferential trade status, Naval co-operation in the Inland Sea, and ‘gifts to show our gratitude for their hospitality’. I was thinking some Gavrillian destrier geldings. Dama Radanae,” the Empress said, mock-sternly (she had known Radanae since before her naming. Radanae’s mother had given birth prematurely while at Court), turning to her “Might I remind you that your parents are ridiculously stiff-necked in their insistence not to sell breeding stock. I hardly think that the Gavrillian reputation is going to be ruined by sending a few mares and a stallion or two to the other end of the world.” She smiled, to show that she was joking. Radanae bowed, understanding the joke.
Radanae’s parents, like the other generations of Gavrillians before them, were famous for the quality of their destriers. Their herds were small, but indisputably the best in the Empire. No one could match them, largely as they never sold their best stock, keeping them for breeding, and sold only geldings, though they would occasionally give a fine mare as a gift. A Gavrillian stallion was never allowed out of Gavrillian hands.
“We’re sending portraits of Princess Kalasin and other bulky non-sensitive material back overland and by sea. We’ll transmit the other documents the usual way.” Vanaria nodded in agreement. The ‘other way’ was by device-enhanced magic, which left the Gifted one who triggered it comatose for several hours.
Sir Deryn was starting to make involuntary sounds of pain, which meant that it was time to cut off the communication. The Empress abruptly vanished, and Deryn dropped the device and collapsed on the table. Justinia and a few others carried him to his bed to sleep it off.
**********************
The party was magnificent. It was technically hosted by the heir, Prince Roald, and his betrothed, Princess Shinkokami of the Yamani Empire (the actual title, Radanae knew, was a lot more complicated, but she simply couldn’t be bothered recalling the whole thing), but the guest list was the same as it had been the previous evening. Roald was quiet and polite, and so was Shinkokami. Their marriage had been arranged by their elders, and Radanae couldn’t help but thing how much easier things would have been if Yevgen was as co-operative as Prince Roald appeared to be.
She was fairly certain Prince Roald hadn’t needed armed guards to make sure he didn’t do anything romantic like break out of his room and become a travelling minstrel rather than submit to an arranged marriage. Yevgen couldn’t sing anywhere near as well as he thought he could, anyway.
She picked up a glass of fruit juice from a nervous squire who stared at her, then
wandered around. Justinia was deep in conversation with Sir Alanna looking rather
comical as she towered above the diminutive King’s Champion. Sir Basiano, the
mountain warfare specialist, was comparing tactics with a woman introduced as the
Commander of Queen Thayet’s pet unit. Ambassador Lansherry was explaining the role of the Senate in the Empire (a technically elected body that supposedly represented the people, but in reality the land requirements for a Senator meant that it was dominated by knights with a sprinkling of wealthy merchants. Radanae’s father was one such knight-Senator) to Sir Gareth and an elderly man he bore a striking resemblance to. Duke Gareth of Naxen, then, Radanae decided, the King’s uncle and the Prime Minister’s father – a former Prime Minister himself.
She spotted Princess Kalasin alone outside, looking thoughtful, so she wandered out to the balcony. Thinking fast, she breathed a deep sigh as soon as she exited, as though she didn’t know that anyone was outside, then wandered to the opposite end of the balcony, but made sure she was well within the Princess’s line of sight.
She walked up to the walls and looked up at the moon, thinking it extraordinary that even so far from home it still looked exactly the same, even though the constellations of stars looked very odd. She heard a sound beside her, and pretended to be shocked when she whirled around to see Kalasin.
“Your Highness!” she bowed, “Forgive me, I did not think that there was anybody else out here.”
“Dama Radanae,” Kalasin nodded, “I dislike springtime functions at Court, and I often need some fresh air and space to think,”
Radanae made other noises about not being particularly sociable either, but tilted her head and put on an interested expression so that Kalasin would go on.
“Springtime is when all the new knights go out on their assignments,” she explained,
“and they spend their last days at Court at the parties. This year…this year is the first time that I’m here and I can look at them and think that I could have been among them. This would have been my second year as a knight, if I had been allowed to train. Did they tell you that? When I was a little girl, there was nothing I wanted more than anything in the world than to be a knight. It was the only thing I had ever asked of my father. It’s also the only thing he’s ever denied me.” Kalasin stopped to sip from a delicate crystal wineglass. Radanae wondered how many she’d had. Rislyn, Berenice or even Yevgen would never be so direct if they were sober. “He said that it would damage my prospects for an alliance. Nobles don’t want to marry female knights, he said. He had planned for Kaddar of Cathak, as I think you already know. It was common knowledge until Kaddar came to his senses. Ironic, don’t you think?”
A few odd little notes finally made sense, especially the undercurrent of the previous
evening. Radanae had also found the perfect last argument to sway Kalasin in favour of the match, even if her parents were still reserved on the issue. But first, Kalasin had to be comforted.
“Life always stacks the cards, as my people say,” Radanae began, “it punishes you for making plans be unravelling them at the first opportunity.” She shrugged.
“Tell, me,” Kalasin’s voice was bitter, “will the fact that I’m not a knight damage my
chances with his Imperial Highness?”
Radanae wasn’t going to tell her that knighthood was a non-issue because Yevgen didn’t want to marry anyone, whether they be a goddess or a street-child.
“No,” she demurred, “While women of noble birth who aren’t knights are the exception rather than the rule, it’s true, there are always those exceptions, and they’ve always been very much respected. Healers, priestesses, barristers. There are not so many of them now as there once were, it’s true, and my friend Dama Justinia would like to think there aren’t any at all.”
Kalasin looked puzzled. Radanae knew then that Justinia had been exaggerating again, or simply got carried away with baiting the training master or some other Eastern conservative. She was like that.
“Justinia’s mother isn’t a knight – she’s a coroner with the Bersone murder courts – that’s why Justinia can’t claim membership of the House of Ferox, which is much higher ranked than the House of Zevran – that’s her father’s House.” The little snippet of personal information made Kalasin open up a little.
Kalasin chuckled, and relaxed a little. “I suppose, no matter who we are, we’re never
quite satisfied with it.”
******************
“Very good.” Lansherry said the next day, during a tournament as Radanae told her of the conversation with Kalasin the previous evening. “Honorary knighthoods are certainly not without precedent, especially in alliance-marriages. We’ll add it to the possible additional sweeteners.”
They sat in the stands watching Imperial and Eastern knights face each other with lance and occasionally sword. The overall standard of the Imperials was better, despite the weeks at sea with little opportunity to practice, but that was to be expected. Lansherry had been scrupulous in not mentioning it, but each of the Honour Guard and even the aides were in the top tenth of Imperial knights. While only the top ten knights had formal ranked honorifics like Justinia, everyone in the top two hundred knew their rank, and everybody else below that had a fairly good idea anyway. Radanae, who had placed ninety-eighth in her trials, was the lowest ranked of the lot. There were a few carefully calculated losses, of course, to salve Eastern pride. Quick research had come up with which Eastern knights to ride their lower ranked members against. Sir Alanna, of course, and then Sir Raoul, the enormous commander of the King’s personal bodyguard, Lady Keladry, a new female knight, regarded as one of the most technically accomplished young warriors in Tortall, Lord Wyldon the Training Master (who was said to have the best technique in the Eastern lands. Radanae was inclined to agree), and a few others.
All the Honour Guard and about half the aides were competing – thirty five Imperials in all. Radanae and another three women remained with the Ambassador. It was safer. Radanae herself hadn’t had more than a few half-hearted jousts with real opponents in the two years since she’d been knighted. She’d trained as a light cavalry officer and scout (a polite name for a field spy) before Lansherry had burst into the North-Western barracks and hauled her off as her new Ambassadorial Secretary without so much as a by-your-leave.
They used similar rules in the Eastern Lands, three passes, first to knock someone off their horse, or whomever was decided by the judges. There were more outright wins than there would have been in an Imperial tournament. It was not a criticism, but Radanae wondered if they might change if they used an Imperial training technique of smearing the training yard with dung, skunk oil, and other unpleasantly pungent substances. One was much less likely to fall off when one knew what one would be landing in.
They’d sent a few of the sneakier aides in to suggest pairings and shuffle the schedules around. They had a fairly good idea of the various political power struggles at the Tortallan Court (they were nowhere near as complex at those at the Imperial Court, Radanae was vastly relieved to know) and knew which knights they needed to defeat or be defeated by in order to maximise their advantage at the Tortallan Court.
Justinia, and several of the top-ranking female knights faced the highly conservative
factions of the court, being reliably certain of a win. The male knights, in the main,
jousted the moderates and progressives, winning about three out of four, and were picked to lose against Sir Alanna, Lord Wyldon and other highly famed Eastern knights. The lower ranked female knights lost against Sir Raoul and Lady Keladry, and won against the more ordinary unaligned knights.
Everything went approximately according to plan. There were a few unexpected losses, though luckily it was not to Justinia or her group, and a completely unexpected win by Sir Tomas against a very competent Sir Nealan of Queensgrove. Dama Ryane had to be ordered to fall from her horse against a squire named Owen of Jesslaw, when he proved to be better than expected, and Ryane was starting to look like a suspiciously good jouster for a desk knight (she’d actually ranked thirtieth in the year above Radanae’s. Were it not for her eye for detail and talent for blending perfectly into shadows, she would have been stuck as a junior garrison commander or cartographer on some distant border posting).
The jousting was held in the afternoon. That evening would bring the first formal
showing of Imperial martial arts, and comparisons with Eastern techniques. Radanae
watched with interest Shang and Yamani fighters, both of whom demonstrated techniques that were at once similar and vastly different to Imperial unarmed fighting. A few knights and squires were eager to show off their fencing skills and Keladry of Mindelan performed an intricate, dangerous dance with what appeared to be a light halberd. Radanae, whose interest in weaponry, save her beloved rapier, had never quite managed to reach appropriate knightly levels, described it as a ‘stick with a knife stuck on the end’.
Justinia brought the Court to a standstill with a demonstration of the paired daggers, the traditional duelling weapons of a female knight, though whether it was because of her undoubted skill, or the way she looked in the close-moulded ceremonial armour was anyone’s guess. She was followed by other members of the Honour Guard, though the aides sat in the audience. Lansherry was looking at the reaction of the Tortallan Court and the rest of the Ambassador’s with great satisfaction. From the co-respondence from other Ambassadors, other Honour Guards and delegations were having the same effect.
While the Empire had a formidable armed force, they had found out long ago that
diplomacy and intimidation was far more economical in preventing their neighbours from invading.
**********************
“I still don’t understand what they could possibly want,” Sir Myles was sounding more worried the longer the Imperials were at Court. I’ve had more information from my agents. Imperial harvests are in surplus. There’s no pressing political concerns because after five hundred years of power, the Delmaran – yes, I finally found out the name of the Imperial House - Empresses have learned that the trick to another five hundred years is to change with the times, and to listen when people have concerns.” He paused. “They seem to exemplify the policy that the people will be happy so long as they have bread to eat, shelter over their heads, entertainments to bet on, and the freedom to wander into a pub, get roaring drunk, and say what they like. The only motive I can see is the one professed, a desire to have a stable Sarain. But, begging your Majesty’s pardon,” here he bowed to Thayet, “they needn’t give a damn about Sarain. If trouble did creep over the border they have both mountains and men to defend themselves. There’s no gossip about Prince Yevgen,” he added.
The King and Queen breathed sighs of relief.
“He’s seen as a respectable young man, a decent fighter, a good commander, and, were it not for his two elder sisters, possibly a decent Emperor. He hasn’t much of a chance of that, I have to add. Two elder sisters, both renowned fighters and commanders, and several female cousins with good claims who comprehensively out-qualify him. But, I digress. No scandalous tales. No indiscreet dalliances. Not even the slightest hint that he would want to displace Rislyn and Berenice – those are his sisters, by the way – Berenice is his twin, and Rislyn is three or four years older. Yet, the Empire sends one of its most respected stateswomen halfway across the world with a hand-picked escort to negotiate a marriage for the young man with a princess whose dowry…is fairly insignificant, as far as the Empress is concerned. Sorry Jon.” He added, knowing that Kalasin’s dowry was the largest in the Eastern Lands. “Kalasin’s only advantages, compared to say, a marriage with one of the Imperial noble Houses – like Ferox, Carloni or Gavrillian, all of whom have candidates his age, would be her Tortallan and Saren bloodlines. That’s hardly
worth a full-scale delegation, preferential trade status, naval co-operation, sharing of
knowledge, guarded trade routes and low tariffs. There is something missing, and I don’t know what!”
It was the first time any of them had seen Myles upset.
Owen of Jesslaw, Lord Wyldon’s squire, was serving them refreshments. He looked
nervous. “If I may, speak, my lords, ladies,” he coughed. After a few years as Wyldon’s squire, he had managed to keep his foot out of his mouth long enough to utter a few sentences.
They nodded.
“There was something funny going on at the tournament this afternoon. I would swear that the gi…I mean, the lady knight I was jousting against let me win. We met really hard the first two times, and both lances broke – I could barely stay in the saddle, but one of the others came and spoke to her before the third and then…my aim was off, I know, sir…I barely touched her shield, and she came right off. Then I had a look tonight when everyone was doing all the fancy stuff. The really good female knights – this afternoon, they were the ones who kept dragging Groten, Stone Mountain, Fenrigh, Tirrsmont – that lot through the mud. It was as though they knew they couldn’t lose. The male knights…well, they were all right, but I saw the ones who lost to Sir Alanna and my lord a day ago on the practice courts. They were good, but they weren’t anywhere near the best. They were the ones who probably wouldn’t win, even by luck. Same with the female knights who lost to Sir Raoul and Lady Keladry. They weren’t anywhere near as good as the ones who were pitched against the conservatives.”
The adults stared at him, then thought. Raoul scribbled on a piece of paper in front of him. Alanna peeked – it was wins, losses, who had lost to whom, and how.
“You’re right, Owen, thank you,” the Knight-Commander said. “There were fourteen
female knights, twenty-one male of the Imperial contingent in the jousting. The other five, including the Ambassador, watched. This gets interesting. The conservatives that Owen mentioned – all were dumped on their rumps on the first pass by only five of those female knights – coincidentally enough, three of them have been introduced with titles like Duxa Prima, Duxa Quinta, and Duxa Septa. The male knights, though good overall, had mixed results, pretty much what I would expect from a trained, hand-picked force who hadn’t been able to train for several weeks at sea. The remaining female knights had only a pass or two each, and won on judgement, or were unhorsed by the very good progressive knights. That’s not chance.”
“Yet another mystery,” Myles sounded very disgusted. “And I want their training school if they can work out the alignments in the Court in a few days.”
“So there are spies there?”
Myles looked at Gary as though he was being deliberately thick. “I would say that
they’ve all had some sort of training in espionage. All the aides, probably, will have had further training, the Ambassador herself, certainly, and with our luck a good chunk of the Honour Guard will also have been trained as assassins.”
“Well, so it’s not land they really need, nor money, nor connections,” Baron George
crossed out a few words he’d scrawled. “All they really want is one of the girls, and
they’re prepared to pay a lot for her. They’re even willing to bolster your agenda in Court for her. So what does Kally have than no other Saren noblewoman has?”
“Thayet for a mother,” Alanna snapped, “Jon for a fa….wait a minute. Numair, has there been any magic in the Envoys’ wing in the last day or so?”
A nod. “Yes. It was a standard communication-spell, though it was unfamiliar to me, so by the time I managed to probe it a little they’d cut off. There was nothing untoward in it, no sign of stealth-shielding.”
Alanna sat back into her chair. “Just a thought,” she held up her hand, “I had thought that since it’s common knowledge that all of them have the Gift, they may simply want useful Imperial cousins with it. But since they have magic of their own, it doesn’t seem a good reason. So we’re back to a stable Sarain. Why?”
“Trade, possibly,” Gary pondered, “but we’ve done without it for so long. If what Sir
Myles says about the size of the Empire is true, and if their noble classes can produce fifty times the number of knights we can…oh, all right, twenty-five,” he said after Alanna coughed, “since they call on more female knights, they wouldn’t bother. Transport costs would simply render the exercise uneconomical.”
“And I don’t think conquest is their goal,” Myles chipped in. “They seem to prefer
expanding further east, south, and north, but very rarely west unless an opportunity like Sarain presents itself. The Roof Of The World, apparently, is a very major obstacle to their fighting style.”
“Which is?”
“Remarkably like ours, as a matter of fact. Dominated by knightly heavy cavalry, with significant support from mounted archers and light cavalry. They appear to use infantry only after the cavalry and artillery have forced significant holes in their opponents defences. This, I must say, is from famous military treatises freely available in their bookstores, so things may have altered slightly since then. However, seeing the display this afternoon, I would say that knightly heavy cavalry remains a part of their structure.”
Jon shook his head. “There don’t appear to be any motivations apart from the obvious, which makes me uneasy. It’s a very good offer,” he exchanged glances with his wife, who looked irritated at his choice of words, but said nothing, “very good,” he repeated, “which makes me all the more nervous.”
Thayet nodded with approval.
“All the advantages seem to be on our side. As Myles says, there are no lack of
candidates within the border, there are no serious misgivings about the Prince, and there are no significant issues of concern within the Empire. From a personal perspective,” he paused, not knowing how to pick his words without resulting in expressions of abject disgust from wife, Champion or old friends, “there are far worse possibilities.” He settled. “From a political perspective, it’s an offer too good to be true. Which means, it generally is.”
******************
Chapter 4 – More introductions
It was a few weeks later when two riders crossed from the Roof of the World to Sarain. They looked remarkably alike, a young man and woman of about twenty, with pale blond hair and dark eyes – the woman’s blue, the man’s brown. Dressed plainly, but warmly, they rode well-bred, but hardly flashy horses, and bore their weapons with the air of those
well versed in their use.
They’d ‘cheated’ – Kay’s term, not her twin’s – on some of the longer, more deserted parts of their journey west from Bersone. Imperial citizens may have known of the various ‘special talents’ of their ruling family, but that didn’t mean that they always kept them in mind. By using those talents, and taking the fastest routes possible, whether by boat or horse, they’d reached Yevgen’s new home in a fraction of the time it had taken the invasion force less than a year before.
Prince Yevgen of the Imperial House of Delmaran, gazed out at the barren plain that had once held thriving pasturelands and farms. Charred remains and rotting vegetation showed the evidence of heavy fighting. He’d been agreeable to his mother’s original proposal that he take over the governance of this newest, outlying province, and relations with the realms west of the Roof. Neither a military career, though he was a good fighter and tactician, nor politics particularly appealed to him, as it had to his sisters.
He had not, however, originally been agreeable to the small attached condition that he’d have to marry the granddaughter of the last Warlord, a Tortallan princess. It smacked too much of horse-breeding and despotism, he’d said. His sisters had sighed, humoured him by letter for a little, and finally, when they were both home, Rislyn from her political manoeuvrings in some testy southern provinces, Berenice – whom everyone called ‘Kay’ – from her garrison command in the north, taken him aside for a little talk about political expediency and international history.
He still didn’t agree with their logic, but knew there was little real choice. The Saren lowlanders, and their K’mir neighbours, held (from an Imperial perspective) a ridiculously high regard for pedigrees. Even Yevgen had to agree that the task of governing would be easier with someone who would at least be held with some sort of emotional regard by the people. Princess Kalasin was the daughter of Thayet jian Wilima, now Queen of Tortall, who, in turn was the daughter of the last Warlord and his K’miri wife. That was about as much as Yevgen knew about his proposed bride.
He was aware that Kay knew more. He was also not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing his curiosity. Kay had stayed with their mother and elder sister for longer than he after he’d stormed out when the plans were first put to him. It was she who chased him down and dragged him back to put his point across, reasoning that, yes, perhaps their mother wouldn’t listen, but at least he wouldn’t have behaved like a spoilt brat. She was also receiving all the co-respondence from Bersone. His ‘special talents’ were limited, like most Delmaran males, while both his sisters had inherited them in greater quantities.
Kay shaded her eyes and looked at a few dots of horsemen on the far horizon. Her eyes had the slightly unfocused look she wore when she was using someone (or something) else’s eyes to scout. She came back to herself, and nodded to her brother. “That’s our escort. Ready to go?”
Corus
Radanae was scanning the latest correspondence from Bersone. It was a quiet afternoon, with the Ambassador in highly sensitive talks with the Tortallans, where no aides were invited. As such, Imperials were flopped all over the suite, most of them bored.
Justinia was letting Ryane give her a manicure. That was a sure sign that both of them were probably close to being comatose with boredom. The delegation in Tortall had settled into a comfortable routine. The morning meant practice, first among themselves, then with the Tortallans and whoever else was around, then the aides would be needed to help with the talks. After lunch, the Ambassador had more sensitive discussions, where there was, at most, just Radanae, but more commonly no aides at all. Evening meant more parties and functions, which became more elaborate as the wedding between Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami neared.
The Ambassador planned to have all the issues finalised by the wedding, and the majority of the delegation would return to the Empire afterwards. If the Tortallans wished it, she would leave a small, symbolic party behind to help organise the details of the marriage of Kalasin and Yevgen.
Most of the sticking points concerned the betrothal arrangements. At first, Radanae had thought that unusual, given the generous Imperial offers, before she figured out that the generosity was making the Tortallans uneasy. Arranged marriages were unusual enough in the Houses than any such proposal had to be accompanied by very generous terms. It seemed that in the Eastern lands, where such things were more common, the proposed were looking frantically for a catch.
She continued with the letters. Most of the other delegations, who had simpler issues like trade to discuss, had already finished and were their way back. The Maren delegation was being unbearably smug, because a junior Maren prince (one of King Barnesh’s numerous impoverished distant cousins) had unexpectedly fallen head-over-heels in love with one of the aides. To add insult to injury, she was just as ridiculously smitten, he was a moderately powerful mage, and willing to leave Maren and return with them to the Empire. The Empress (or more accurately, probably Rislyn, who at twenty-three was now deemed able to handle day-to-day matters) was pleased enough to offer them a fief on the Sarain/Maren border, places at court, and considerable other privileges.
Rislyn and Berenice had taken their ‘baby’ brother aside, and presumably told him the hard cold facts of life. Whatever they said, it worked, because reports said that he and Kay and gone to Sarain to oversee the rebuilding and to start planning a new government.
Kay would stay until, as she put it, ‘things were limping along’, or when Yevgen and Kalasin were used enough to each other to rule. She would return to her promising military career, and supporting Rislyn (Kay had been Duxa Seconda, only narrowly defeated by Justinia in the final rounds).
Radanae and Justinia had received a few personal letters from the Princess, with whom they had shared rooms and tents over the last fourteen years. Berenice’s sense of humour was much better suited to the military woman than the princess. She didn’t quite have Rislyn or Radanae’s taste for political intrigue.
The Ambassador came into the suite, and various aides and guards picked themselves off the floor and furniture to help her. “Almost finished,” she breathed as someone poured her a cup of tea. She looked exhausted, probably exasperated by her efforts to conceal that exhaustion in front of the Tortallans. “Trade routes, trade agreements, Inland Sea, Sarain, even bringing in Tortallan architects for the new Palace, all of that’s done, most of the betrothal contract’s done – except where the wedding’s going to take place, and the guestlist.”
“You mean the fate of a country rests on a pack of invitations?” Justinia, ever the military woman, sounded amazed.
“Basically,” Ryane shrugged. “Don’t do that!” she snapped as Justinia made to run her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit, “you’ll get polish all over it!”
“What do the Tortallans want?” Radanae asked, curious.
“They want it here, of course, so they can meet Yevgen.”
“What’s the problem?” Justinia asked. Most Imperial Houses held the wedding at the bride’s familial estate. They had been expecting to drug Yevgen senseless (he got terribly seasick when travelling on water by conventional methods) and drag him Tortall eventually. He would have come with the delegation had he not decided to be Yevgen.
“There isn’t one,” Lansherry took a sip of the tea, “but we have to sound as though there is, or they would think it odd. We’ve already taken up enough time allaying their suspicions about us. Here, it takes place at the groom’s home, especially if he’s got responsibilities in governance. Princess Shinkokami didn’t even meet Prince Roald for several weeks after she came to Tortall, and his Highness has never been to the Yamani Isles.”
Several of them paused at that, admiring the courage of the two involved, and finally
thought about the mess from Yevgen’s perspective.
“Kalasin?” Thayet probed her daughter gently as Kalasin stared at the same page of the betrothal contract for several minutes. They were in the princess’s rooms with the latest draft of the proposed document. Jon sat some distance away, looking surprisingly awkward in the pretty room, somewhat unsuited to Kally’s real character. The only indication that the room didn’t belong to a typical luxury-loving convent darling was the wealth of dog-eared battle treatises on one of the bookshelves, and a longbow and glaive in the weaponsrack next to a never-used loom.
Kalasin and Thayet were at an embroidery table more often used as a desk. The heavy stack of paper was divided into the ‘read’ and ‘unread’ piles, with ‘unread’ much thicker. Kalasin was not present in what Thayet derisively referred to as the ‘haggling’ (though never anywhere her children could hear, for obvious reasons), and the information she had on her future came filtered through her parents and neat black script.
Kally shook her head, picked up a quill and initialled the numbered points of the contract and the bottom of the page without really reading it. She went through the rest of the document in similar fashion, laid down the quill and stood up. “Looks fine to me,” she said quietly, then walked over to the window. By her request, her view was not of the carefully tended garden that most other ladies seemed to prefer, but the Royal Forest. She started to laugh. “Sixteen points about how much interference the Empire may take on Lowlander-K’mir blood feuds and twenty on naval patrols on the Inland Sea. One point about a wedding of some sort. I hardly think it’s my place to give my approval.”
“Kally…” Thayet began.
“I’ve already agreed, mother,” she said, turning around and sitting on the window seat with an inelegant thud. “As Lianne says, no matter what this Prince Yevgen is like he can’t possibly be worse than King Barnesh.”
The four times widowed, back on the marriage-market King Barnesh of Maren was certainly older than Jon, and it was questionable whether he was much younger than King Roald, Jon’s late father.
Jonathan winced. It was definitely true that aside from Emperor Kaddar, there were really no personable eligible males among the Eastern royals – except his own sons, of course, but that wasn’t the point. A twenty year old prince, from a mysterious land that produced thousands of female knights, described as handsome, with no known deviations, combined with full joint rule and authority, certainly would look a very attractive prospect in comparison.
“And if worse comes to worse, item 76 provides that I’ll have the same powers he does. We can just sign laws and ignore each other.”
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