Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [133]
What if Charliss wanted to be rid of him? How better than to embroil him in a conflict he could not win?
Had he been set up to fail from the beginning? Tremane ground his teeth as he pursued that thought. He had been under the impression that he was the Emperor’s own choice for successor. Charliss could have been lying, or he could have changed his mind between now and when he had left. He could not ignore the possibility that Charliss now favored one of his enemies.
Could Charliss realistically get rid of him if he succeeded, against all odds and the Emperor’s own opposition?
Probably not. A victory here would make him too popular to get rid of. Charliss would be forced to name him as his successor. And once I am back in Court, at his side, I think I can repair any damage that was done while I was gone.
That left him with new problems, though. I am going to have to assume that there will be interference with my orders and requisitions once the orders reach the Empire. Supplies will come in slowly, not at all, or not enough. Reinforcements may not come in time. So I will have to assume the worst and issue my orders well in advance, for more than I think I will need, once our communications are back.
And if communications could not be restored? That was another possibility.
I will have to plan to at least hold my ground with no help. A grim prospect. I have to find a way to throw as much interference in the ranks of the valdemarans as I can....
Well, what had made them able to turn the tide against Ancar? What was enabling them to hold their own now?
If this was their doing, where had the magic come from?
Allies.
He ran his finger around and around the rim of the empty goblet. The new allies—that was how Valdemar was holding her own. So find a way to make those alliances fall apart, and Valdemar would probably have enough trouble at home to prevent any more interference in the situation in Hardom.
He grimaced again, but this time with distaste. He used spies, he gathered unsavory information, but there was one aspect of this game of empire that he hated. Nevertheless, to buy himself time, he would use it, because he must win the game or die. It was not only his own life that lay in the balance of whether he won or lost, but the lives of all of those who had linked their fortunes with his. If he fell, his family and all their retainers fell as well.
He rang the bell that summoned one of his servants. There was one certain way to ensure that the tentative alliance of Valdemar, Karse, and Rethwellan melted away like snow in the summer, and that was to put one of his own agents into play. It was time for his Spymaster to go to work.
It was time for his Spymaster to make use of those little copies of that souvenir of Valdemar that had come into the Emperor’s possession.
“Send me Lord Velcher,” he said to the man when the servant arrived. “Tell him that I finally have need of his particular services.”
Thirteen
Karal sat quietly on his bed, his legs crossed beneath him, waiting. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady.
Ulrich would have said he was “meditating,” of course; in fact, that was precisely what most of his teachers would say he was doing. Karal felt uncomfortable with that word. It implied that he was trying to touch the Sunlord in some way. It also implied a certain quality of “holiness” he felt equally uncomfortable with.
He certainly didn’t think he was very religious, even if he was an acolyte of the Sunlord. He hadn’t really wanted to be in Vkandis’ Service. It had just turned out that way, due to fate, Vkandis’ Will, or luck.
Still, he was being visited by a Firecat, and he had agreed to give An’desha some kind of moral support. So while he really didn’t want to call any further attention to himself, it seemed to him that if he was just quiet enough, and patient, Vkandis might, well, dribble some kind of guidance into him.
So he waited, keeping his mind as free of thoughts as he could, hoping for a dribble, and trying not to ask for one.
Nothing came, though,