send into the IaosianForest for Ezra’s treasures. But those he’d already paid for. They required nothing more of him.
But Moburu might be right. That was the worst of it. He had gotten used to treating Moburu as a partner, a son in the way other fathers treated their sons.
It had been a mistake. He’d shown indecision. Moburu was surely already plotting for his throne. Garoth could kill him, but Moburu was too valuable a tool to throw away carelessly. Curse him. Why hadn’t his brothers turned out? Moburu needed a rival.
The Godking lifted a finger. “I’ve changed my mind. Think out loud for me, son. Make your case.”
Moburu paused for a moment, then swelled with self-confidence. “I’d admit that our armies could probably counter the wild men from the Freeze. Even if the clans stay together, our Vürdmeisters would tip the balance in our favor. But to do that, we have to send every capable meister north. Quite honestly, there couldn’t be a worse time. The Sisters grow suspicious and frightened. Some of them are saying they need to fight us now before we grow any stronger. We know the Ceurans will seize any weakness to come pouring over the border. They’ve wanted Cenaria for hundreds of years.”
“The Ceurans are split.”
“There’s a brilliant young general named Lantano Garuwashi who’s gathering a large following in northern Ceura. He’s never lost a duel or a battle. If we send our armies and our meisters north, attacking us could be just what he needs to unify Ceura. Unlikely, but possible.”
“Go on,” the Godking said. He knew all about Lantano Garuwashi. Nor was he worried about the Sisters. He’d personally arranged for their present political crisis.
“It also seems the Sa’kagé is much better established and more capably led than we had believed. It’s obviously the work of this new Shinga, Jarl. I think it shows that he’s moved into a new phase of—”
“Jarl is dead,” Garoth said.
“That can’t be. I haven’t found any sign—”
“Jarl has been dead for a week.”
“But there haven’t even been rumors of that, and with the level of organization we’ve found . . . I don’t understand,” Moburu said.
“You don’t have to,” the Godking said. “Go on.”
Oh, Moburu looked less confident now. Good. He obviously wanted to ask more, but didn’t dare. He floundered for a moment, then said, “There are rumors that Sho’cendi is sending a delegation to investigate what they call the alleged Khalidoran threat.”
“Your sources call it a delegation?” Garoth asked, smiling thinly.
Moburu looked uncertain, then angry. “Y-yes, and if the mages decide we’re a threat, they could return to Sho’cendi and come back with an army by spring—the same time all our other threats may materialize.”
“Those delegates are battlemages. Six full battlemages. The Sa’seuran believe they’ve found and lost Jorsin Alkestes’ sword, Curoch. They think it may be here in Cenaria.”
“How do you know that?” Moburu asked, awed. “My source sits just outside the High Sa’seuran itself.”
“Your brother told me,” the Godking said, pleased with this turn of the conversation. He was back where he belonged. In control. Alive. Moving the world on the fulcrum of his desires. “He’s one of the delegates.”
“My brother?”
“Well, not a brother yet. Soon. I suppose you can guess his uurdthan. It is somewhat more difficult than your own.”
Moburu absorbed the insult, and Garoth could see it sank deep. “He is to recover Curoch?” Moburu asked.
Garoth smiled his thin-lipped smile. He could see Moburu thinking. A son who recovered Curoch would be highly favored, highly powerful. Indeed, one of Garoth’s ulcers had Curoch’s name on it. If any of his sons recovered Curoch, that son might not hand it over. Curoch would give him enough power to challenge Garoth himself. Moburu would think of that immediately. But Garoth already had plans for that. Many plans, from the most facile—bribes and blackmail—to the most desperate—a death spell that might throw his consciousness into the murderer’s body. That was not a spell one could safely test, so the best thing was to keep the sword out of his sons’ hands.
“But you have raised some excellent points, son. You have become valuable to me.” Oh, how it grated to say that to this half-breed. Son! “I will grant your wish. You will build me a ferali.”
Moburu’s eyes widened. Oh, he had no idea. “Yes, Your Holiness.”
“And Moburu?” Garoth let the silence sit until Moburu swallowed. “Impress me.”
36
You want us to flee, and you won’t say why? Is that supposed to impress me?” Lord Vass