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death had reached the city, Catherine had, on his instructions,
gathered her court around her. In no uncertain terms she told them that she
fully intended to marry King Kylock, and anyone who objected to the match
should come forward now and let their misgivings be heard. One man made the
mistake of coming forward: Lord Carhill, one-time advisor to the duke and a man
whose only daughter was married to a well-to-do lord in Highwall. The minute he
stepped from the ranks, he was seized by the ducal guard. He was executed, then
and there, before the court. That night his sons were hunted down and beheaded,
and the following day his land was seized in the name of the duchess.
    The sting was
taken from the whole affair by one single calculated act of compassion.
Catherine had taken Lord Carhill's wife into the palace, publicly proclaiming
that the poor widow would never want for food nor shelter. This little
performance was for the benefit of the people, not the court. Catherine
might be firm, they said, but at least she is not without charity. Baralis
pursed his lips in distaste. The common folk were easily swayed by such showy
acts of mercy.
    In fact, public
opinion was the least of his problems. Catherine was seen to be a tragic
figure: her father murdered, a heavy responsibility newly fallen upon her
shoulders, alone in a world drawing perilously close to war. Of course, it
helped that she was young and beautiful. Beauty was yet another thing that
swayed the common folk. Baralis shook his head slowly. No, his problems were
not with Catherine and the people of Bren. His problem was with Kylock. What
would the new king do next? Maybor's eldest brat, Kedrac, was finishing off
Halcus for him, yet would he stop there? Was Annis next in line? And if it was,
when did he plan to take it? Baralis only hoped he left it till after the
wedding. Bren might support the marriage at the moment, but it was an uneasy,
suspicious support, easily shaken by unfavorable news. And never would there be
news so unfavorable as Kylock's overwhelming greed.
    There was such a
delicate balance to be maintained: Annis and Highwall were now certain to move
against Bren. The question was would they leave it until after the wedding, or
would they move before? Baralis received daily reports from the two mountain
cities, and there was no mistaking their intent: mercenaries, armaments, siege
engines, and chemicals were flooding into both cities. Tavalisk was underwriter
to them all. The chubby, interfering archbishop was seeing to it that Annis and
Highwall had unlimited funds with which to purchase the necessities of war. It
seemed the south was willing to pay a high price to keep trouble away from its
prosperous shores.
    Baralis sighed,
not deeply. All would have to be dealt with as it came.
    Then there was his
second problem: Maybor and his wayward daughter. Where were they? What did they
know or guess about the assassination? And what did they plan on doing next?
Would they quietly leave the city, content that they were at least alive? Or
would they try and make some claim upon Catherine's inheritance? Knowing
Maybor, it would most likely be the latter of the two; the lord of the
Eastlands had never styled himself a shrinking violet.
    Just then, Baralis
was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a commotion at his door. A few
minutes earlier he had been aware of a knock, but had paid it no heedCrope was
ordered to send everyone away except Catherine.
    A shrill scream
pierced the rain-clear air, and Baralis rushed across to the reception room.
    Crope was in the
doorway. Huge arms stretched out in front of him; he had a boy dangling by the
scruff of his neck. The boy was squirming and kicking with venomous gusto, but
Crope had him firmly in hand.
    "You kicked
Big Tom," accused the hulking servant. "Leave it out, Crope. It's
only a rat!" cried the boy. "You should count yourself lucky old
Thornypurse hasn't set eyes upon it. She would have had it squeezed