The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [2]
Golden eyes met his steadily. "Aye. I do. I doubt I'll live to see it happen, and I scoff at the notion his rising will at one magic stroke restore peace and bounty to the land-I think it'll bring us a war leader who'll have to swing his blade mightily for years to hammer Aglirta together again. But there is a Sleeping King, waiting to be awakened. Somewhere."
The young bard-to-be muttered, "Yet I'm hardly apt to go tripping over him outside the gates, am I?"
Old lips twisted wryly. "True enough, young lion. The corpse of a brigand, or the farmer he knifed, perhaps, but not a snoring monarch."
Flaeros stared at him, eyes growing large. "What? Just how dangerous is the Kingless Land? Should I buy a sword on the way back to my room?"
The old man's smile thinned. "Oh, it's safe enough here in Sirlptar. Life's not bad upriver, either, if you belong-firmly under the gauntlet of this or that whim-ridden baron or Tersept. Wolves and worse roam the fallen baronies. I'd not head into the forest without a blade, no-but then, were I you, alone and new to Aglirta, I'd not go out into the forest at all. A blade stops no arrows."
Flaeros shook his head. "I'd heard Aglirta was beautiful but dangerous; one had to be careful. You make it sound as if 'careful' means bring your own armed host, loyal mages and all!"
The old man smiled and propped one battered boot up on a chair. A flourish of his arms seemed no more than a stretching of old limbs, but Maershee appeared before Flaeros could draw breath, as if summoned up out of the empty floor by a spell. Setting sparkling goblets of sweet-smelling wine before them both, she vanished again without a sound.
"These are interesting days in Aglirta," the old man replied calmly, "what with the fall of the Golden Griffon-Baron Blackgult, that is, who ruled the barony of Blackgult-and the rise of his old rival Silvertree."
"Another baron?" Flaeros hazarded, sipping. This new wine was like the juiciest berries he'd ever tasted, drowned in liquid fire.
The old man nodded. "There's an Aglirtan saying you'd do well to remember: 'Never trust a Silvertree.' He's made swift work of pillaging Blackgult and almost built himself into a new king of the Kingless Land, with at least three barons on the verge of kneeling to him."
"Almost? Will he rule it all?"
The lionlike mane of air shook in a firm no. "Faerod Silvertree's cruelty has ever clouded his long sight. He's made foes of a thousand men by declaring them outlaw. With a price on their heads they'll have no choice but to take to the woods and raid farms for food. Much blood will smoke on the snow, come the cold."
"I never knew Aglirta had 'thousands of warriors.'"
"Men whelmed from all over Asmarand who fought in vain to conquer the Isles of Ieirembor for Blackgult," the old voice explained. "Now they're trickling home-to find homes and farms gone, and friends turned against them. Aye, the wolves'll be busy this winter."
Flaeros looked across the room. Through a diamond-shaped window, he could see the darkness of full night, hiding the river Silverflow endlessly sliding past behind tall, crowded houses. Somewhere out there in the dark, not so far off, desperate men with drawn swords were creeping…
"Why do that?" he asked suddenly. "Why turn so many battle-ready warriors into your foes? Is this Baron Silvertree mad?"
Heads turned. With a kind of cold thrill Flaeros realized his words had come out a trifle more loudly than they should have done.
The old man, however, smiled easily. "Some have claimed so, but I find it does a man better to use the word 'cunning' instead, and act accordingly."
As their eyes met over raised goblets, he added, "If a baron began hiring armaragors without warning, rulers up and down the Coiling would rise in alarm and do the same. All would be thrust closer to bloodshed, all would have to spend coins in plenty-and coins are something that barons never do seem to want to part with."
Flaeros snorted. As if other folk liked to see coins roll