"ARE WE ready?" Lord Curane looked up at the small group that surrounded his table.
In the center of the table was a large map showing the manor house of Lochlanimar and the southern plains of Margolan. Wooden markers stood where the Margolan army would soon camp. The five men looked at each other and then back and him and nodded.
"As ready as we'll ever be." Cathal, Lord Curane's seneschal, answered him.
"Except?"
"Sieges are unpredictable things, m'lord. Many things can go wrong."
"That's what we have the mages for."
Cathal pursed his lips, carefully considering his words. "True enough. But it's easier to be the siege-bringer than the besieged. Once an army is encamped, our options will be limited."
Curane's voice made his annoyance clear. "We have provisions enough for months. The springs beneath the manor give us ample fresh water. The issue isn't our readiness—it's theirs. An army's vulnerable while it sets up camp. We can strike early and take them off.guard. The Margolan army is in tatters; its king is barely more than a boy. "
"He's a Summoner." General Drostan's gravelly voice commanded attention. "Martris Drayke did, after all, defeat King Jared's armies and Foor Arontala. He overcame the Obsidian King and laid the spirits of the Ruune Videya forest to rest. It would be dangerous to underestimate him."
Curane frowned. "Mage or not, he can die. All the better if he falls before his own army, so that they can see his defeat. Once Margolan's here, we can chip away at them at our leisure."
"This is business, gentlemen. Defeat the boy-king of Margolan, and Jared's son takes the throne. While he's a child, Margolan will need regents. We'll rule Margolan until he comes to the throne—and afterward, through a puppet of our own making."
Drostan leaned back. "Your man in Margolan failed."
Curane dismissed the comment. "We've shown Drayke's vulnerability. And we've neatly planted the seed that Trevath may be behind the attempt. So we may yet nudge our reluctant King Nikolaj into action."
Drostan frowned. "Play the Trevath card with care, Curane. King Nikolaj and Lord Monteith might strike a side bargain that you don't like."
"Let me worry about Lord Monteith."
"Neither Isencroft nor Dhasson would allow Trevath to take Margolan unchallenged—for reasons of trade and alliance as well as blood ties. Principality is likely to enter any war on the side of Margolan, and the king of Eastmark is kin to King Martris's betrothed. A full war beggars us all and invites attack from the Southlands or the Western raiders."
"Not everyone considers blood ties as lightly as you do." Cadoc's voice made the others turn. The air mage was dressed in gray robes the color of dark fog. His dark red hair looked like a bloody skullcap, giving his skin less color than a fresh corpse.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Curane snapped.
"You had no second thoughts about providing your granddaughter for Jared Drayke's pleasure when she was barely of marriageable age."
"I secured a dynasty."
Cadoc raised one eyebrow. "In the farmlands, men can be stoned for such arrangements. Kings and armies are not so bloodless as you suppose. Isencroft and Dhas-son may choose war over gold for those blood ties you find so useless. Gold won't buy everyone."
"It bought your service, didn't it?" Curane growled. "And you shed plenty of blood serving Jared Drayke. We'll see how much blood ties count. Martris Drayke can't possibly hold out against our mages."
"What of the Margolan wedding?" Drostan asked.
"I've got a man in position at Shekerishet. Not only will there be no heir in Margolan, but more than a few of the king's guests will go home in pieces. We'll see how much love the other kingdoms have for Drayke then."