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the tailor sent with the rest of your wardrobe.'
'And you told me I'd find out eventually. And so I have. I wear it tomorrow. I hide in bushes or
behind a tree in it. Ah, Dejarnemir!' He took her in his arms. 'Must it be so soon? My training seems
inadequate to the task.'
'You'll do well, cousin. The Baron would not have chosen you for the trip if he had no confidence in
you.'
He loosed her long enough to lead her to the couch, and when they sat down he held her close.
'What is Brisenthal, where, of what value? Who is besieging it and why?'
'I cannot answer all those questions, cousin. Lie back, put your head in my lap and relax.' She
stroked his hair. 'Brisenthal is in the south, farther - much farther - than the petty fiefdom that Feronak
bullies for wine. Brisenthal is on the very edge of the realm and vulnerable, you see, to attacks from the
southern Outlands. We should have taken them ere this, but we delayed, and now one of them has made
the first move against us. Eliander is the fellow's name - a count or some such, I'm not really sure. He
besieges Brisenthal thinking he can beat us back; he disbelieves in our might. Now we must teach him to
respect us.'
'But why is he attacking? How can he hope to defeat a realm as far-flung and powerful as this?'
'He is attacking because he doesn't wish to pay us tribute. We had asked for a small sum, something
he could easily afford, and he refused. I cannot guess why he thinks he can defeat us.'
Alaric sat up. 'Garlenon has been planning on conquering this Eliander's country?'
'Yes, but we've been busy elsewhere lately.'
'Why don't we just leave him alone?'
'But cousin, he besieges Brisenthal. We cannot allow that!'
'Can't we come to some sort of agreement that would be satisfac-tory to both sides?'
Dejarnemir smiled. 'Why should we? He will lose his country and his life, and we won't lose a single
man.'
Alaric leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin propped up on his interlaced fingers. 'How long
ago did Brisenthal belong to someone else?'
She shrugged. 'We acquired it when I was a child.'
'And the rest - all conquered, I assume.'
'Of course. Everything in this world is won by conquest.'
'I think I begin to understand Bralion. Will it go on forever, Dejarnemir, beyond our lives, beyond
our children's lives, till Gar-lenon rules the whole world?'
'Why not, cousin? That is a worthy dream for lords of power such as we.'
'We must breed quickly, then; it will take a vast number of Garlenons to rule the world.'
'Well, I am doing my share.'
He straightened, turned to face her. 'You're pregnant?'
'Probably.'
He gripped her shoulder. Then you must not go tomorrow!'
I ll go.'
Too dangerous, Dejarnemir!'
'Nonsense. There won't be any danger at all. I've done this before. Several times.'
'But not when you were pregnant?'
'No, but I'm not ill. I feel quite healthy.'
'Does the Baron know?'
'No, and you shan't tell him. I'm not certain anyway. It's very soon to be certain. I merely suspect.'
He looked into her eyes. 'Is it my child?'
She returned his gaze levelly. 'Yes.'
He hugged her. 'As the father of your child, I command you to stay here tomorrow.'
'You may not command me, cousin. I will do as I like. And if you tell the Baron, I will deny it.'
'You want to go?'
'Of course. I am a Garlenon and I do as my lord bids.'
'How well trained you all are!' He shook his head. 'I have not been here long enough, Dejarnemir.
I'm an outsider, far more than the children of the red houses. From infancy they are part of the family.'
She stiffened in his arms, drew back a little. 'Who told you that we take children from the red
houses and bring them into the family?'
'A woman in the courtyard,' he said. 'She spoke to me some days since, and the conversation
turned to children.'
'She was wrong,' said Dejarnemir.
'In what way?'
'I told you we were a pure strain, cousin. Quite pure. No half-outsider has been allowed in the
family.'
'But they are Garlenon children. What happens to them?'
She looked toward the fire. 'They probably would not pass the test anyway.'
Then&
'If the women have assumed the children are taken into the family, that is their foolishness.
We make no promises.'
'I see; they are killed.'
'What is an outsider child? There are many such in the world.'
Alaric leaned back, let his arms drop away from her. 'I should have realized that only Garlenon is
important.'
'The women are warned that they cannot keep their babies. No one forces them to become
mistresses of Garlenon men. They come to the red houses of their own free will.'
He thought of Mizella and the two children she had abandoned because they were an inconvenience
to her livelihood. He thought of the guilt and sorrow that plagued her memories. 'It seems a high price.
Do they lie to themselves because it is too high?'
'I am not lord of the House, cousin,' she said softly, laying an arm across his shoulders. 'Whatever I
may think is not significant.
I am a soldier, as you are. We must follow our lord's orders. Tomor-row, Alaric.'
'Tomorrow.' He gazed into the crackling flames. 'I never thought to be a soldier.' He looked up at
the sword. 'When Prince Jeris gave me that sword, he said I could sell it if I needed the money. Even he,
who practised single combat beside me in the courtyard of his father's castle, never expected me to
become a soldier.' He shook his head. 'Am I truly home?'
'You're tired, cousin. Come rest beside me.'
He let her lead him to the bed, and there he clung to her with his eyes closed. Later, he
dreamed of blood.
He woke groggily when the quilts were ripped away and a dozen hands grabbed him roughly. For
an instant, in the dim light of fading embers, he saw shadowy figures surrounding him, and then he was
engulfed in chilly blackness. He reached out, clutched at emptiness, encountered a cold stone wall. Only
his own breathing marred the silence.
He knew what had happened. Bralion was tolerated, his doubts outweighed by his innate loyalty to
the family, but Alaric was an outsider, an unknown, full of questions and quibbles - he knew another way
of life and could not be trusted to obey blindly. Fortu-nately, Alaric was a fool who would never suspect
that his family might rid itself of him as easily as of a newborn babe or an enemy count.
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