Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [6]
Tremane simply waited, as any good and perfectly trained servant, for his master to continue. But his eyes narrowed just a trifle, and Charliss knew that his mind was working furiously. A current of breeze stirred the tapestries behind him, but the flames of the candles on the many-branched candelabras, protected in their glass shades, did not even waver.
“Your Duchy borders Hardorn; you will therefore be familiar with the area,” Charliss stated, his tone and expression allowing no room for dissension. “The situation in Hardorn grows increasingly unstable by the moment. I require a personal commander of my own in place there; someone who has incentive, personal incentive, to see that the situation is dealt with expeditiously.”
“Personal incentive, my Emperor?” Tremane replied.
Charliss crossed his legs and leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his hip joints. “I am giving you a unique opportunity to prove, not only to me, but to your rivals and your potential underlings, that you are the only truly worthy candidate for the Wolf Crown. I intend to put you in command of the Imperial forces in Hardorn. You will be answerable only to me. You will prove yourself worthy by dealing with this situation and bringing it to a successful conclusion.”
Tremane’s hands trembled, and Charliss noted that he had turned just a little pale. How long would it take for word to spread of Tremane’s new position? Probably less than an hour. “What of Valdemar, my Emperor?” he asked, his voice steady, even if his hands were not.
“What of Valdemar?” Charliss repeated. “Well, I don’t expect you to conquer it as well. It will be enough to bring Hardorn under our banner. However, if during that process you discover a way to insinuate an agent into Valdemar, all the better. If you take your conquests past the Hardorn border and actually into Valdemar, better still. I simply warn you of Valdemar because it is a strange place and I cannot predict how it will measure this situation nor what it will do. Valdemar can wait; Hardorn is what concerns me now. We must conquer it, now that we have begun, or our other client states will see that we have failed and may become difficult to deal with in our perceived moment of weakness.”
“And if I succeed in bringing Hardorn into the Empire?” Tremane persisted.
“Then you will be confirmed in the succession, and I will begin the process of the formal training,” Charliss told him. “And at the end of ten years, I will retire, and you will have Throne, Crown, and Empire.”
Tremane’s eyes lit, and his lips twitched into a tight, excited smile. Then he sobered. “If I do not succeed, however, I assume I shall resume nothing more than the rule of my Duchy.”
Charliss examined his immaculately groomed hands, gazing into the topaz eyes of the wolf’s-head ring he wore, a ring whose wolf mask had been cast from the same molds as the central wolf of the Wolf Crown. The eyes gazed steadily at him, and as he often did, Charliss fancied he saw a hint of life in them. Hunger. An avidity, not that of the starving beast, but of the prosperous and powerful.
“There is no shortage of suitable candidates for the Throne,” he replied casually, tilting the ring for a better view into the burning yellow eyes. “If you should happen to survive your failure, I would advise you to retire directly to your Duchy. The next candidate that I would consider if you failed would be Baron Melles.”
Baron Melles was a so-called “court Baron,” a man with a title but no lands to match. He didn’t