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Pug and Miranda glanced at one another, then at Nakor, who nodded. ‘It’s been a long time since I tried to forbid you a risk,’ said Pug. He took Magnus’s hand as Miranda and Nakor joined hands, and Nakor grabbed Magnus’s arm. Pug gripped Guide’s arm with his free hand and found it unexpectedly cold.
Suddenly they were standing on a plateau miles from where they had been a moment before. Pug looked at his son and saw Magnus’s expression was pained, and perspiration was beading on his forehead. His pale complexion was drained of what little colour he normally possessed. He shook his head slightly and said, ‘I’ll be fine in a moment. If we have to do it again, I can adjust. This is not the easiest adjustment I’ve made, but it’s not the most difficult either.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Nakor, then he pointed past Guide. ‘Who’s that?’
Guide didn’t look, but said, ‘That is Pepan the Thrice-cursed.’ Then he vanished without a word.
The being left before them was as alien a creature as any of them had met, and in demonic form Nakor and Miranda had met many. He, if gender could be determined, was as miserable-looking a creature as any had seen. His head was three times the size of a normal man’s, but the body was slender and seemed barely able to hold it up. A bulbous stomach protruded so far that only the lower portions of spindly legs where it sat could be seen, and the arms were almost withered.
His face was long, from an almost hairless pate to a long, broad jaw, and a nose covered in pustules and scabs was at its centre. Rheumy eyes of pale blue surrounded by jaundiced yellow shed a constant stream of tears and heavy lips generated a constant flow of froth and bubbles.
Miranda said softly, ‘I’ve seen worse.’
Nakor said, ‘I’m older than you. No you haven’t.’
The creature seemed unaware of them until Pug ventured closer. ‘You are Pepan?’
‘That’s what Guide said,’ snapped the creature angrily. ‘Do you see anyone else here?’
Nakor pressed forward, his insatiable curiosity pushing aside other considerations. ‘Tell us why you are called the Thrice-cursed.’
‘Listen and be wiser for it, mortal!’ shouted the creature. ‘In this world once was I a man among men, a king among kings, a being of power and wealth, wisdom and beauty. Did I sit upon thrones and did subjects tremble at my beauty? Yes! Did I possess all that any man might desire? Yes!’
Pug saw Miranda about to interrupt and slightly shook his head to indicate he wanted to hear this tale: perhaps there was knowledge to be gained here.
‘In my arrogance I did conspire to elevate myself beyond the wealth and power I had, to rise to the heavens and seek a place among the gods.’
Nakor grinned, and nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘In my vanity, I did create engines of destruction unmatched in the history of my people. Nations I conquered to gather mighty armies around me: those who were vanquished served or died.
‘Then in the tenth age of my reign, I came here to the Tent of Heaven, and led my hordes up the Path of the Gods, to the top of the tallest mountain on this world!’
Nakor glanced around, for they were on what had once been an undersea plateau. ‘I see no mountain, Pepan.’
‘Washed away by the ocean, for no sooner had I approached the Gates of Heaven to demand my due as the newest of the gods, they picked up the entire mountain and thousands of my soldiers fell screaming to their deaths. Then, for my vanity, the gods cursed me by washing away all knowledge of me, sweeping my people into the sea with me, while I was chained to that very mountain. I listened to their screams of terror and pleas for mercy, until there was only silence.
‘Then I knew the price of vanity, perhaps the worst of all sins, for alone I waited, eons passing as the waters wore away the very rocks to which I was chained. The sea became my home and I abided.
‘Above, time passed; I had but scant knowledge of it, only suggestions carried to me on fickle tides. A strange scrap of fabric, unlike any I had beheld, drifted close and I seized it. I wondered who had woven it and what manner of creature now walked in the world above me. I treasured that fabric until the salt of the water had faded it and the very fabric wore away.
‘Once a ship passed directly above, blocking out the faint light of the sun as it passed. I wondered who voyaged upon it, from whence they came and where they were bound.
‘As the mountain wore away, sections sheared off and I was carried deeper into the depths, until no light reached me from above.’
Miranda said, ‘That is far more than three curses; that’s damnation without ending.’
‘But there you are wrong, mortal!’ shouted Pepan. ‘For after a time I found peace, an acceptance of my lot. I was content to let my mind go void, to simply be in harmony with the rhythms of the sea.
‘Angry gods at last took note of my peace, and chose then to inflict the second of my curses. A day, a month, mere moments, I do not know how long passed, for time had become meaningless to one dwelling blind in the depths of the sea, but suddenly the waters receded and I was again in the light and air! Fire rained down from above, and majestic clouds of flame and ash tore across the heavens as war on a scale unimagined by mortals raged across the land. Engines of destruction vast beyond my imagining, making my proud fleet seem like mere toys, cruised the skies, delivering obliteration to all below.
‘Mortals in armour unlike any seen before hurried across broken lands with lances of red light and fire-belching engines on treads, destroying all before them.
‘Then hordes of demons appeared, sweeping mortals away as a scythe shears grain, and answering them was a host of angels, swords aflame, horns sounding notes so pure that I was reduced to weeping at the first note.
‘This world was torn asunder and oceans vanished as energies hotter than a star burned across the lands. And yet I abided.’
He fell silent for a moment, and to the four travellers it was unclear if he was merely organizing his thoughts or experiencing some emotion at the memory of this unbelievable narrative.
‘So, in sum, my second curse was to watch any shred of a thing I might have loved destroyed in the war between gods and men.’ His voice softened. ‘A war I began. Ages passed and my third curse was made apparent.’
‘What is that?’ asked Nakor.
‘Upon this world remain scattered remnants of nations, which I gathered.’ He pointed to the assembled bits and scraps he had cobbled together to make a shelter. A bit of something served as a chair; there was also an ancient-looking table. Shreds of fabric had been woven together into a quilt. Pepan himself wore a simple breechclout that was revealed when he finally stood up.
‘For uncounted days I wandered, gathering what I could find, always to return here.’
‘Why here?’ asked Magnus. ‘There must be more hospitable places on this world.’
‘Not really,’ answered Pepan. ‘And this is where the gods left me. This is where I am to abide. I no longer rebel but I do question.’ Raising his eyes to the sky, he shouted, ‘I was a sinner, All Father! I admit my transgressions, All Mother! I sinned most of my days!’ His voice broke. ‘But not every day. I lived but a few score years, yet I have paid for my sins for an eternity.’ With a sob, he whispered, ‘Enough, please.’
Just as Pug and the others were verging on sympathy for the abject creature, Pepan erupted in a howl of rage. ‘And my third curse, most hateful of all, making me the gatekeeper!’
‘Gatekeeper?’ asked Nakor.
‘See you then, mortal, that the ultimate jest piled upon me by the gods is that when those who wander this destroyed world, or who fall here from some other realm, when at last they find their way here, I am obliged to help them on their way. I cannot, even out of lonely spite, keep them here to mitigate my endless sorrow through pleasant discourse, nor may I exchange tales of lives spent in other realms, but rather I must endure solitude.
‘For upon your arrival, I began to feel pain, and with each passing minute the pain increases. It will not cease until I send you on your way, returning to my isolation. I may not end the suffering by my own hand or the hand of another,’ he sobbed. ‘Alone on this world I am immortal and indestructible.’
‘Why endure the pain?’ asked Magnus. ‘Why tell us your tale? Why not just hurry us along?’
‘The pain is a price worth paying to interrupt my loneliness,’ Pepan said, weeping openly. ‘Now it must end.’
He waved his hands in precise pattern and a vortex appeared in the air. It was obviously an opening of some sort, but as they readied themselves to leap through it, Pepan held up his hand. ‘Wait!’
‘What?’ asked Pug.
Pepan closed his eyes, tears now streaming down his cheeks. ‘Each of you must follow a different path.’
‘We must split up?’ asked Miranda, obviously not happy with the idea.
‘Apparently,’ said Pug. ‘If someone laid a trap for the four of us, then it’s literally set for the four of us.’
‘It waits for all of us,’ said Nakor. ‘Yes!’ His expression turned gleeful. ‘You do not spring a trap on soldiers when only the scout is there: you wait for all of them to gather.’
Pepan’s expression now contorted into one of abject pain. He waved a hand and the size and colour of the vortex changed, growing smaller and tinged with orange energy. ‘You!’ he said, pointing at Nakor.
Without a word, Nakor leapt into the vortex.
Again Pepan waved his hand and the colour of the vortex changed to a faint, shimmering blue. ‘You,’ he said, pointing at Miranda.
She glanced at Pug and Magnus, hesitating for a brief moment, then with a quick nod she leaped into the swirling air and vanished.
Again the colour changed, this time to a brilliant white, and Pepan pointed at Magnus. Without hesitation, Pug’s son jumped into the magic portal.
One more wave and Pepan said, ‘I am to tell you one thing, magician.’
‘What?’ asked Pug. He watched the vortex turn dark until it became a black maw.
‘This is the beginning of the end. You will meet your companions again, but only at the most dire moment, when you must all be ready to sacrifice everything to save everything.’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘Go!’ commanded the wretched creature, and Pug obeyed.
He ran and jumped, crouching as he entered a cone of darkness.
• CHAPTER TWO •
Confrontation
SHIPS DOTTED THE HORIZON.
Hal stood on the battlements of the royal palace at Rillanon, at its heart still a castle, but one which had not seen conflict for centuries. This portion of the ancient rampart, a large, flat rooftop of thick stonework, had once supported war engines defending outer walls long torn down to expand the royal demesne. A fortification that once hosted massive ballista had been converted to a garden, one lush with flowers as summer faded. The stone merlons had been replaced in centuries past with a stone balustrade cleverly carved to be both strong and graceful. Yet the footing beneath Hal’s boots felt as solid as the palisades of Crydee Castle had. And given the forces gathering below, he wished those long-gone outer walls were once again in place here in Rillanon, with ballistas and trebuchets instead of fading blooms.
He let out a slow breath. It was hard to find ease, despite the rigours of the past few weeks fading into memory as troubles associated with fleeing Roldem with the Princess Stephané had been replaced by troubles on a far grander scale. His personal distress over knowing he would never have the woman he loved had been made to seem a petty concern in the face of the threats now confronting his nation.
Yet he was constantly haunted by her memory, along with his friend Ty Hawkins, who had spirited her away from her home and brought her safely to the Kingdom. All of it seemed unreal at times, yet other times it was vivid. Every detail of Stephané was etched in his memory: the grace of her movement, the laughter as she found delight in small things, her worry for those she loved. He struggled to let go, even though he knew that to wallow was to prolong the pain.
He glanced around, and saw his brother Martin was looking his way. Martin inclined his head: a wordless gesture asking if he was all right. Hal returned a slight nod. Their brother Brendan, standing beside Martin, had his attention fixed on the ships in the harbour. Hal turned his attention that way as well. Nearby stood Lord James, Duke of Rillanon, and his grandson Jim Dasher.
Rillanon’s harbour was south of the palace, at the bottom of the hill. Sails had been appearing on all quarters of the horizon for days: hundreds of ships from every port on the Sea of Kingdoms. This ancient island nation had seen fleets such as these, but not in living memory. War had not touched this soil, the ancient home of Hal’s ancestors, in centuries. The prime motive for conquering the surrounding islands and nearby coasts for Hal’s forebears had been fatigue from continuous clashes with minor warlords and raiding clans across these waters. The constant need to defend the home island had turned a relatively peaceful community of fishermen and farmers into the most effective army north of the Empire, creating the second largest nation on this world.
It had been a triumph of the Kingdom of the Isles that this city and the king’s palace could do without the massive defence works, as the king’s navy for centuries had become ‘the wall around Rillanon’. Now that navy was divided. No man could look out upon that sea, and the many sails upon it, and judge just who they were defending: Edward, Oliver, or some other faction. That irony was not lost on Hal.
He couldn’t find ease because he could smell war coming on the afternoon breeze. And unlike the struggle against Kesh, this was the war to be most feared by any noble in the Kingdom: a civil war.
Hal knew the Kingdom’s history well. A determined ruler named Dannis had united all the clans of the island, and his descendant, Delong, had been the first conDoin ruler to establish a foothold on the mainland. After the sack of Bas-Tyra – a rival village that had risen in power to challenge Rillanon – he had not returned to the island stronghold, but had forced the ruler of that city state to swear fealty to Rillanon in exchange for his life and the lives of his followers, creating the Kingdom of the Isle’s first mainland duchy and elevating Bas-Tyra to the rank of second most important city after the capital. That first victory had led to many others, as Rillanon and Bas-Tyra’s combined might had overwhelmed Salador and the southern coast. Only the Eastern Kingdoms, with the help of Roldem, had stemmed that early Kingdom expansion.
Now the ruler of that city stood to Hal’s right asking, ‘What is Oliver thinking?’ Duke James of Rillanon looked at both Hal and the man on Hal’s left, James’s grandson, Jim Dasher Jamison, head of the Crown’s Intelligence Service.
‘He’s not thinking,’ Jim said sourly. ‘Or he’s thinking that some here might object to a foreign-born king, so he’s brought along a few friends.’
Hal glanced at his two brothers, and Martin nodded. Hal knew what Martin also understood: somehow the three conDoin brothers were about to take a part in all this, but what that part would be had not yet been revealed.
The ‘friends’ were the bulk of the army of Maladon and Simrick, bolstered by a substantial number of levies and mercenary companies which were now encamped, as they had been for a month, beyond the walls of the city. The old military grounds lay to the east of the harbour, having once been the staging area for Rillanon’s conquering armies waiting to board ship. Not in a generation had they been used as originally intended, having been converted to a shanty town and impromptu market. Oliver had cleared the area, displacing many of the poor and working poor, and had camped his army there.
Many polite messages had been exchanged between those inside and outside the walls, and the longest interregnum in the history of the Kingdom was underway. By tradition, the Congress of Lords met for the election of the new king three days after the dead king’s internment in the vault of his ancestors.
But for the first time in history, more than a month had passed since the death of a king without the Congress of Lords being formally convened. One excuse or another had been provided, and each faction negotiated furiously behind closed doors, over quiet suppers, or in dark back alleys, but everyone knew exactly what was really taking place: every claimant to the throne was desperately seeking a resolution to the succession without losing their position and without plunging the nation into a civil war it could ill afford. And for the time being, those two goals seemed mutually exclusive.
The senior priests of the Temple of Ishap in Rillanon, the most venerated order in the world, would formally conduct the ceremony, but only when summoned by the Congress to do so. Since the ascension of Lyam the First, no dispute had existed in the line of kings from Lyam to his nephew Borric, to Patrick, then Gregory.
Now, no heir had been proclaimed, and no clear ties by blood were forthcoming. Politics had seized the nation by the throat. Three factions had asserted themselves, all with roughly equal and valid claims, none of which was seen as compelling by those gathered on the balcony this afternoon.
The army gathered outside the city was nominally an ‘honour guard’ for Prince Oliver of the Grand Duchies of Maladon and Simrick. In terms of straight bloodline succession to the late king, he was perhaps the most entitled, his mother being the king’s sister, but she had wed the Prince of Simrick and he had been raised in the twin duchies. To most people in the Isles, that made him a foreigner.
The two other factions were the supporters of Chadwick, Duke of Ran, and those of Montgomery, Earl of Rillanon, Lord James’s first counsellor, and Hal’s distant cousin. Neither could counter Oliver’s claim, but together they could confound the Prince of Simrick’s attempt to take the throne.
Lord James sighed, looking his eighty-plus years of age. ‘If the Keshians decide to abandon the truce and sail into any port in the Kingdom save this one, they’d have nothing but a few fishing smacks and rowing boats to oppose them.’
Hal was forced to appreciate the old duke’s observation. Every warship in the royal fleet on the Kingdom Sea was in the harbour, most of the heavy ships armed with ballistae and small catapults had their weapons trained on Oliver’s army, while beyond was every city’s ducal squadron, and other ships flying the banners of noble houses. Many of those ships were contracted, ‘privateers’ barely more than pirates paid by various coastal nobles to create small zones of control in their coastal waters to extort fees from passing merchantmen. That practice over the years had created the need for the deep-water ships now employed by the navies of the Kingdom and Roldem, as well as the major trading houses in both nations. No matter how often the Crown had warned the local nobles this practice was frowned upon, they had persisted.
Hal said, ‘I trust Oliver brought a lot of gold with him, for he will be paying a great deal for those cut-throats he’s hired to leave without sacking the city for booty.’
Lord James grunted in agreement. ‘If Edward’s bunch were here …’ He let the thought go unfinished. Either Oliver would leave with his tail between his legs, or he would be forced to attack with the Prince of Krondor in residence in Rillanon. Had Edward been in the city, the chance of his being elected king as a compromise became too high for Oliver to wait. Edward had no children of his own, nor was he likely to, but he could name the heir and, after things had calmed down, abdicate, and Oliver knew he had no chance of the crown if Edward named anyone else as heir.
Edward and the western lords had ridden from Krondor for the Congress, but once word reached them of Oliver’s landing on the Isle of Rillanon, they had halted, and were now encamped between Malac’s Cross and Salador. Martin and Brendan had elected to leave Prince Edward’s army and continue to the capital, to learn Hal’s fate. Hal was grateful to have them at hand.
Martin and Brendan were housed in an inn not too far from the palace and had arrived in time for Lord James’s calling his grandson and the brothers to this garden. Silence fell as the old duke was lost in thought as he studied the arriving warships, and Hal recalled his reunion with his brothers.
After commiserating for the first time together over their father’s death, talk between the brothers had turned to their various adventures, from Martin’s defence of Crydee and Ylith, and Hal’s escorting the princess to safety. The reunion had been short and bittersweet, for as relieved as Hal was to discover that their mother was alive and well, being cared for by the elves in Elvandar, the narration of their father’s death was hard for him and despite his best efforts, he found tears running down his cheeks by the time Brendan finished. Martin had heard the story before, but his eyes shone with wetness as he watched his brother endure the tale. Hal embraced his brothers for a long moment, then promised that when they could, the three of them would gather for a quiet meal to honour their father, if fate permitted, in their family’s hall in Crydee.
Hal then suffered through an awkward few moments as Martin stood before him professing his love for Lady Bethany of Carse, who returned his affection, and got halfway through a painful pleading of his cause, coupled with a declaration that he was willing to sacrifice it all for the good of the duchy and the kingdom, should Hal insist on marrying Bethany. Hal finally let his love for his younger brother win over the temptation to torment him, and said that he had no problem with Martin marrying Bethany should her father, Earl Robert of Carse, not object. The relief on Martin’s face was almost comic.
Hal did not tell Martin that his heart belonged to another anyway, a woman whom he could never aspire to wed. He just wryly observed that Martin and Bethany were a perfect match, because she did so well those things that Martin lacked skill at, like archery, hunting, and riding. Martin endured the teasing in good humour, being overwhelmed with relief and gratitude at his brother’s reaction to the news. He had left Hal muttering about how he was going to ask Beth’s father for her hand. Her father had been furious with Martin when he discovered Bethany hadn’t left for Elvandar with the other women, but had remained in Crydee to fight. He seemed to ignore his daughter’s part in all of it, and focused his wrath on Martin.
Now Hal and his brothers stood on the rooftop of the palace, contemplating the next move in this game of kingship. Jim said, ‘Everyone’s getting ready for this party. My agents in Salador tell me there’s no shortage of garrisons from the west gathered on the Fields of Albalyn.’ Those fields lay between Malac’s Cross and Salador, and were historically vital for any military conflict in the region. They were athwart the King’s Highway and no other clear passage to the town which marked the boundary between the Eastern and Western Realms was available.
‘Why would the western lords bring their garrisons?’ asked Hal.
Lord James fixed the young Duke of Crydee with an expression that was a mix of amusement and pity. He nodded once to Jim who said, ‘In case there’s a war. Edward ordered the garrisons to accompany him, rather than return home after the truce with Kesh.’ He let out a long sigh, as stress overtook his usual calm. ‘Edward’s many things, but a political fool is not one of them. It may be we need elect kings who have no wish to rule, for Edward would be a near-perfect monarch under which to reforge this cracked kingdom of ours.’
Hal leaned against the balustrade, his knuckles slowly turning white as he gripped harder and harder. ‘Wasn’t the last war enough for a while?’ he said slowly.
Jim glanced at his grandfather, who nodded once, then motioned for the others to leave Jim and Hal alone. When they were alone, Jim said, ‘You really don’t understand, do you?’
Hal felt tired to his bones. Without Stephané he felt empty. She was now safely in her father’s palace on Roldem, once order had been restored in Roldem, and the three conspirators behind the war had been uncovered and removed. Quietly, he said, ‘I know that I’m a duke without a duchy, that the title came to me far too many years too soon, and my mother is far enough away that I may not live to see her again. I know I spent most of the war hiding and fleeing, rather than leading men into battle, and I feel a lesser man for it.’ Jim seemed on the verge of objecting, but Hal shook his head. ‘I know I served, and I would give my life for the princess and for the Kingdom, and I took men’s lives to do it.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Yet it all feels pointless … now.’ He had been about to say ‘without Stephané’, but he knew that sounded like a whiny complaint. Besides, if anyone knew how he felt about her, it was Jim. ‘So now you have something I need to hear,’ Hal continued, ‘because men of ambition wish to rule, and men of character seem significantly absent. And I suspect that you are also about to tell me what I need to do.’
Jim was also quiet for a moment, then said, ‘You’re not a stupid man, Hal. You’re of the blood royal—’ He held up his hand to cut off the young noble. ‘Spare me the oft-repeated history of your ancestor’s pledge to absent his line from succession. It was a pretty speech: I’ve read the transcript of the entire ceremony that put Lyam on the throne, and it was vital then to prevent just the sort of mess that’s happening now, but there is no legal justification for it. I’ve asked both the court historians and the Priests of Ishap, and there is no precedent that permits the renunciation of that blood tie. Martin was free to not claim his cousin Rodric’s crown, but he could not bind unborn heirs to such a burden. You are of royal blood.
‘Had your ancestor Martin rejected his brother’s giving him the title to Crydee, and your father and his father before back to Lord Martin, all remained commoners, perhaps, that would have set a precedent. But he accepted and held the title and passed it along.’ He shrugged.
‘Are you saying I should put myself forward for king?’
‘Hardly, but I’m trying to stress to you that you are not simply a rustic noble without lands to rule, but rather a player with coins in the game.’
‘This is why it is taking Prince Edward such a very long time in getting here? Not just because Oliver’s landed his army?’
‘Edward wishes to be king less than any prince in the history of the Kingdom, but he’s being hard-pressed by the western nobles to claim the crown.’
‘Why?’ asked Hal.
‘It’s as my grandfather said. It would consolidate the western realm’s authority and strip supporters away from Chadwick and Montgomery, perhaps forcing them to broker a deal.’ Jim ran his hand over his face and Hal saw deep fatigue had taken its toll on the duke’s grandson. ‘At worst it holds off a war a while longer; at best it gives a legitimate hope to avoid bloodshed if Chadwick and Montgomery throw their weight behind Edward. With those three combined, even Oliver’s not ambitious enough to risk destroying his twin duchies in a futile attempt to seize the crown without backing. But there are a lot of “ifs” here. And it begins only if Edward can be convinced to take the crown.’ Jim smiled and some of the vigour Hal had taken for granted since first meeting him returned. ‘Edward has no sons, but he has three daughters, married to eastern nobles who could never return to their marriage beds if they didn’t support their wives’ father for the throne. It was one of Gregory’s wiser moves selecting an eastern noble to rule Krondor after the previous disasters. Those three nobles have vassals and allies who will follow them. No one of power would then support Oliver once the move to Edward began. So Edward is the perfect compromise candidate.’
‘What does this have to do with me? I’m a duchyless duke, now that Crydee is occupied by the Empire of Great Kesh.’
‘You’re still a duke,’ said Jim, ‘and you’re related to the crown by blood. Your support of Edward is vital. It will also keep you from being a false banner behind which others might rally to broker better terms for their interests. Not everyone who was trying to find you was an agent of those mad demon servants who were thrusting us into war. There are a few eastern nobles who would love to install you as a guest in their castles until you came to support Oliver, Chadwick, or Montgomery. If Crydee supported their candidate, others in the west might consider it prudent to follow suit.’
‘Father warned me eastern politics was something to be feared as much as war,’ said Hal.
‘Smart man, your father.’
Hal said nothing, still hurting inside every time he found himself asking what his father would have done in his place.
‘We need to be in Salador sooner rather than later,’ said Jim.
‘Why? Can’t I merely announce my support of Edward, then be on my way? I want to travel to Elvandar and find my mother.’
‘She is safely cared for. Nothing short of a global disaster would put her at risk in Aglaranna and Tomas’s court. No, that will have to wait until the situation here is resolved. And to support Edward, you need to journey to his side.’
‘Why does he wait?’ asked Hal.
‘He rests his forces on the Fields of Albalyn, preparing the ground for battle. He hopes for the best but is getting ready for the worst. Edward is neither a warrior nor a tactician, but he surrounds himself with the best in the west. Vanderal of Yabon is the Western Realm’s best commander with the loss of your father. Fredrick of Tyr-Sog is as fine a cavalry commander as you’ll see. If Oliver seeks to answer this question with arms, Edward prefers a battleground of his own choosing. Oliver knows he cannot sit on this island if Edward will not come to him.’ Jim smiled. ‘If he seizes the capital but the Congress does not confirm him as king, that makes him a usurper, nothing more. Edward would control the mainland and Oliver would sit here until he rots or runs out of food. The few farms on the island and all the fishermen here will not sustain that host for long. And he’ll run out of gold: he has an army only as long as he can pay it.
