A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,52

him.

“My lord,” the commoner continued, “the land had been in my family for a thousand years.”

Gareth sighed, trying to tune it all out. These stupid peasants had been going on about some land dispute for he did not know how long. He could barely follow it, and he’d had enough. He just wanted them out of his sight. He wanted time to be alone, to think about his father, about any details of the murder that could be discovered. About whether the witch would reveal him. He had felt profoundly uneasy since their confrontation, and was feeling increasingly paranoid that a conspiracy was tightening around him. He wondered incessantly over whether he would be found out. Ousting Firth had allayed his fears somewhat, but not entirely.

“My lord, that is not true,” said another peasant. “That vineyard was planted by my father’s ancestors. It encroached on his territory only through growth. But our territory, in turn, was encroached by his cattle.”

Gareth looked down at them both, annoyed at being jolted from his thoughts. He did not know how his father had put up with all of this. He’d had enough.

“Neither of you shall have the land,” Gareth said finally, annoyed. “I declare your land confiscated. It is now property of the King. You may both find new homes. That is all—now leave me.”

The commoners stared back in stunned silence, mouths open in shock.

“My liege,” said Aberthol, his ancient advisor, who sat seated with the other councilmembers at the semi-circular table. “Something like that has never been done in the history of the MacGils. This is not royal land, that much is certain. We cannot confiscate land from—”

“I said leave me!” Gareth yelled.

“But my Lord, if you take my land, where shall I and my family go?” asked the peasant. “We have lived on that land for generations!”

“You can be homeless,” Gareth snapped, then motioned to his guards, who hurried forward and dragged the peasants from his sight.

“My liege! Wait!” one of them screamed.

But they were dragged from the room and the door slammed behind them.

The room hung with a heavy silence.

“Who else?” Gareth yelled, impatient to be done.

A group of nobles stood there, in the wings, and looked at each other hesitantly. Finally, they stepped forward.

There were six of them, barons from the northern province, aristocrats, dressed in the blue silk of their clan. Gareth recognized them instantly: the annoying lords who had burdened his father throughout his rule. They controlled the northern armies, and always held the royal family hostage, demanding as much from them as they could.

“My liege,” said one of them, a tall, thin man in his fifties with a balding head, who Gareth remembered seeing from the time he was a boy, “we have two issues to put forth today. The first is the McClouds. Reports are spreading of raids into our villages. They have never raided this far north, and it is troubling. It may be prelude to a greater attack—a full scale invasion.”

“Nonsense!” Orsefain exclaimed, one of Gareth’s new advisors, who sat to his right. “The McClouds have never invaded, and they never would!”

“With all due respect,” the lord countered, “you are too young to remember, but there have, in fact, been McCloud attempts at invasion, before your time. I remember them. It is possible, my lord. In any case, our people are alarmed. We request that you double your forces in our area, if for no other reason than to appease the people.”

Gareth sat there, silent, impatient. He trusted his young advisor, and also doubted the McClouds would invade. He saw this request merely as a way for the northern nobles to try to manipulate him and his forces. It was time to let them know who ran the kingdom.

“Request denied,” Gareth stated. “What else?”

The nobles looked at each other, unpleased. Another one of them cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“During your father’s time, my liege, taxes were raised on our province to muster the northern armies in times of trouble. Your father had always promised to reduce taxes back to what they were, and before his death, the law was about to go into effect. But it was never ratified. So we ask to you to fulfill your father’s will and lower the taxes on our people.”

Gareth resented these barons, who thought they could dictate to him how to run his kingdom. Whether they liked it or not, he was still king. He had to show them who wielded the power here. He