Pyrust sat and studied the ministers as they mulled over what he had said. Their surprise seemed genuine, and a few of the oldest of the ministers wore expressions of panic. They will likely have to die so more dynamic men may replace them. The others waited for him to continue, realizing the gravity of the situation but interested to hear what he had planned.
Minister Shir raised his head. “Highness, how certain are you of this information?”
“So certain that every Desei citizen capable of holding a pitchfork or paring knife is moving into Helosunde. Things are urgent enough that I have sent them here without sufficient training, weaponry, armor, or provisions. I know many will die, but I will not have Deseirion conquered.”
Pyrust held out both hands, one maimed, one mailed. “You will have to make a choice. You will surrender Helosunde to me entirely and issue calls upon your citizenry to support me. Your troops will move south with mine, through Nalenyr, to face the invaders. You will reap much glory and I shall be generous in my rewards.”
His mailed hand closed into a fist, then he extended his half hand. “If you do not surrender, I cannot move into Nalenyr or beyond. I will still face the invaders, but I will fight them here, in Helosunde. I shall lay waste to your nation, consuming every kernel of grain, burning every stick of wood, flooding the lowlands, flattening villages, slaughtering livestock and salting the fields where I do not sow bracken and thorns. I will make Helosunde an inhospitable wall warding Deseirion. What happens to you and your people will not concern me, because if you do not join me, you are allied with the enemy and therefore must die.”
Shir sat back on his heels while the other ministers kept their heads down. “Even if we accept what you tell us as true-and you have us at a disadvantage, so there is no reason you should lie-getting our people to join with the Desei will be very difficult. Generations of hatred cannot evaporate overnight, no matter the importance of the cause that unites us.”
Pyrust smiled carefully. “Your observation is wise, and has not been lost upon me. I have a solution. You know I took Duchess Jasai to be my wife. You know she is with child. You will elect her child as your next prince, and I shall make Helosunde autonomous beneath his rule. His mother shall serve as princess-regent until he is of age to assume the throne himself. I had sent you a message about this before, but apparently you did not believe it. The circumstances are real. The offer is real.”
Shir’s brown eyes tightened as he considered. Both men knew that Pyrust’s firstborn would also be heir to the Hawk Throne, so in his person both realms would be united. Then again, my son is not yet born, and many treacheries will live and die before he reaches his majority.
For a moment Pyrust realized how awkward a liaison between Jasai and Keles Anturasi would be. Materially it would mean nothing, for the Prince would claim the children and that would be that. He could and might well take other wives and have more heirs to play off against each other. Many treacheries. He slowly shook his head.
Shir nodded. “There is only one difficulty with your suggestion, Highness.”
“The matter of Prince Eiran.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Pyrust tugged his gauntlet on again. “It was this Council of Ministers which made him a prince. Unmake him.”
One of the older ministers sat upright. “That cannot be done.”
“No? I can think of a dozen ways.” Pyrust rose slowly and drew a knife from over his right hip. “In fact, I believe you were hoping I would terminate his reign at Meleswin. I did not simply to vex you. Now his existence vexes me. You do not want me vexed.”
Pyrust raised his right hand and brought it down. Soldiers stationed at the walls loosened ties so the pavilion’s walls flapped down. “I shall allow you to deliberate, but do not take too long. I can be patient when sufficiently motivated, but there has been little motivation so far.”
He strode from the pavilion and let the last flap slide into place. He motioned to the captain of the Fire Hawks. “Ten minutes, then go in and slay the old, fat minister in blue. Cut his throat, but try to keep the blood off the carpet.”
“Understood, Highness.” The man bowed.
Pyrust returned the bow, then walked up to the top of the berm. He studied Vallitsi, with its stout wooden buildings and low stone walls. He actually didn’t like it very much, and would be happy to see it washed down the river like so much debris. The only thing useful in it were the people-people with spirit, who had spent a generation learning how to fight against an organized host.
They are the treasure of Helosunde.
He felt the first patter of rain and watched the lake his men had created dance as drops struck it. Vallitsi’s reflection shattered on the water. Then the rain increased, and the lake reflected only chaos and the wrath of the gods.
He turned and found the Mother of Shadows there, huddled beneath a cloak. “Did you know of Koir Yoram’s death?”
“We had nothing to do with it. Koir overstepped himself and Vniel had him killed.”
“Not the question I asked.”
A low chuckle came from within the cloak’s hood. “I learned of it two hours before you did, but had no verification. We believed Koir to be in Vallitsi, so I had to wait and see if he would emerge.”
“Any other news from the south?”
“From Erumvirine, no. Those who do manage to cross the border are segregated. No news travels north, if there is any. Kelewan must be under siege by now.”
“And a long siege that will be.” Pyrust stroked his jaw with his half hand. “It would take nine regiments to seal it off, and nine times that many to be assured of victory without unacceptable losses. And then all you would have is a city, not a nation.”
“Perhaps the city is what is desired, Highness.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The assassin shrugged. “I mean that not every general considers the greatest gain when he begins a campaign.”
Pyrust laughed aloud, then wiped rain from his face. “Would you apply that axiom to me, Delasonsa?”
“Not on this campaign.” She nodded toward the pavilion. “Neither Cyron nor his nobles will come to you like dogs. You will succeed here, but only because you have Jasai and can offer the dogs hope with her child. Cyron will have nothing.”
Pyrust nodded. In The Dance of War, Urmyr counseled that one should always allow an enemy a route to escape. But circumstances conspired to deny that route to Cyron. He couldn’t flee south. North would be denied to him, and the west of his own nation had little love for him.
“Perhaps he will sail down the Gold River and follow his Stormwolf wherever it went.”
“Or perhaps the Empress Cyrsa will arrive and save him.” The Mother of Shadows slowly shook her head. “Both are equally improbable. Cyron will fight and many of his citizens will stand with him. Moriande may fall, but chances are just as good of its falling to the invaders as you.”
“If the invaders come north, you mean.” Perhaps the invaders only wanted Erumvirine, but the sense of that defied him. The forces they’d expended to take Erumvirine could easily have eaten up the eastern half of Nalenyr and could be surrounding Moriande even now. Nalenyr was far more rich a prize.
He looked at the assassin. “Why Erumvirine?”
“Not having met the enemy, my lord, I cannot guess his mind.”
“An invasion requires a great deal of planning. I would have expected probing attacks over several years before an invasion could be mounted, but these people came prepared. Either they had superior intelligence about Erumvirine, or something is chasing them, giving them no choice but to find a new home.”
“Given how swiftly they’ve eaten into Erumvirine, that may be the most dire idea of all. If they are fleeing, whatever chases them will swallow the Nine whole.”