Master of the Cauldron by David Drake Page B

learned a great deal about politics in the past year. Her brother was uncomfortable also, but by smiling and holding his position with bland insistence, he had an advantage over the less-disciplined Sandrakkan envoys. Their present loud squabble was an example of that, and their irritable fidgeting throughout had been made worse by an atmosphere charged with wizardry.
    â€œLady Lelor,” Garric said in a voice raised enough to end the bickering across the table.
    When everybody looked at him he went on, “Milords. We’ve decided the general form of Sandrakkan’s future place in the kingdom. The details can be worked out over the next days or if necessary months. The only outstanding point is the fashion in which I enter Erdin.”
    â€œWhat—” Marshal Renold said, then stopped.
    â€œMy preferred option is to cross the strait tomorrow”—he nodded toward the beach and the mainland visible beyond it—“with my bodyguard regiment, the Blood Eagles, and a single line regiment, one of Blaise infantry under their own officers. The remainder of the army will camp here on Volita until after—”
    â€œYour highness, that’s not safe!” Lord Attaper said, standing at the right of the table. Till he spoke, he’d been only another of the guards. “You need—”
    Garric turned without rising from his seat. “Lord Attaper!” he said. “Be silent!”
    One of the Blood Eagles dropped his spear with a clatter. He grabbed for it, fumbled, and finally picked it up in both hands.
    â€œRight,” said Garric in a quiet, shaky voice. The atmosphere worked on everybody, whether or not they were generally able to control their reactions . “That’s my preferred option, as I say. The other choice, milady and lordships, is for me to march in at the head of the entire royal army.”
    He licked his lips, forced a smile that Sharina could just see from where she sat, and continued, “In the first case I’ll crown Earl Wildulf on the steps of the temple in two days’ time.”
    â€œYour highness…,” said Lady Lelor carefully. “Earl Wildulf will be persuaded of the reasonableness of your arguments, I’m sure. But it may take some time—”
    Garric rose to his feet. “I hope Earl Wildulf will be able to send me an answer before the second hour tomorrow, milady,” he said, “because that’s when I’ll begin making preparations for the next stage of the proceedings. There must be extensive planning, as you can imagine. Whichever choice the earl makes.”
    Liane got to her feet. “All rise!” she said, putting a close to the negotiations on Garric’s behalf. Sharina stood gratefully in the coughs and shuffling of all the others under the marquee.
    The Sandrakkan envoys rose and started toward their waiting barge. The priestess paused, leaning over the conference table. “Your highness,” she said, “there was a foolish rumor that you weren’t really a member of the royal house. I can’t imagine who started it, but I’ll assure you that nobody who’s met you in person will credit it.”
    Garric watched the delegates leave. His back was straight, but Sharina could see tension in the way the muscles of her brother’s neck and shoulders bunched.
    Admiral Zettin was talking at Garric about plans and options. His tone was professional, but he was obviously exulting at the fact he’d been chosen to fill the seat that Lord Waldron vacated.
    Triumph had blinded Zettin, ordinarily a very intelligent man, to the obvious: Prince Garric was lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t listening to a word of his admiral’s self-satisfied babble.
    Liane hovered at Garric’s left side, afraid to touch him or even speak. Sharina stepped up to the table, brushing her brother with one shoulder and forcing Admiral Zettin back with the other. Garric’s