Harshini

Damin turned to him and smiled with languid smugness. “I, too, am court'esa trained, my Lord.”

Tejay clapped her hands and laughed delightedly. “Ha! You deserved that, Cyrus! I say let's finish with this pointless argument. We all know how we plan to vote and I doubt that anything said here today has changed any of our opinions. It certainly hasn't changed mine. Order the vote, Kalan!”

Cyrus glanced around the table, calculating his position. He had lost Tejay - that was obvious - and Foxtalon was quite taken with the idea of learning the secret of gunpowder. Narvell had never been in his camp and it was clear where Rogan's loyalties lay. He threw his hands up and sat down heavily.

“Have your damned vote then. This is a farce!”

“Then I will take your votes, my Lords,” Kalan agreed with a frown at Cyrus for disparaging the validity of the Convocation. “Lord Bearbow, how does Izcomdar vote?”

“Wolfblade.”

“Lady Lionsclaw? How does Sunrise vote?”

“Wolfblade.”

“Lord Falconlance? How does Greenharbour vote?”

“Eaglespike.”

“Lord Hawksword? How does Elasapine vote?”

“Wolfblade.”

“Lord Foxtalon? How does Pentamor vote?”

Toren fidgeted uncomfortably, staring determinedly at the table in front of him. “Wolfblade.”

Damin breathed a sigh of relief. With five of the seven Warlords on his side he had more than he could have hoped for a few days ago.

“Lord Eaglespike? How does Dregian vote?”

“Eaglespike,” he snapped angrily. “For all the good it does.”

“Lord Wolfblade? How does Krakandar vote?”

“Wolfblade.” He didn't need to say anything else.

“Then I declare Damin Wolfblade is the High Prince of Hythria. Long live High Prince Damin!”

“Long live High Prince Damin!” the others echoed, with the notable exception of Cyrus and Conin.

Cyrus pushed his stool back and rose to his feet. “This is a sad day for Hythria, my Lords. You have just handed our nation over to a man who is under the thrall of a Fardohnyan whore. You will live to regret this decision. Come, Conin, let us together commiserate on the death of our nation's independence.”

Lord Falconlance stood and followed Cyrus wordlessly. The doors swung open as they approached, and swung shut behind them when they left the room. The tension flowed out of the room with the departure of the Warlords.

“Anyone care to wager that Cyrus' idea of commiseration involves a civil war?” Rogan asked of no one in particular.

“I don't think I care for the odds, Rogan,” Tejay said.

“Kalan, as High Prince, I want command of the troops belonging to the Sorcerers' Collective.”

The High Arrion did not even hesitate. “They are yours, Damin, along with anything else you need.”

Rogan smiled. “You see, there's an advantage to keeping things all in the family. How long do we have, do you think?”

“Until sunrise, is my guess,” Damin replied. “I suspect they'll be waiting for us when we open the city gates in the morning.”

“Then we won't be opening the city gates,” Narvell predicted grimly.

“What about the harbour?” Tejay asked. “Cyrus and Conin have enough ships to blockade it.”

“I issued a warning to the fishing fleet this morning before I left the palace. Any boats that want to leave will be gone by now. As for the rest, if the demon child is to be believed, help is on the way. We won't have to hold out for much longer than a couple of weeks.”

“Help? What help?” Foxtalon asked suspiciously.

“The Fardohnyans.”

“The Fardohnyans! You can't trust them!”

“And I don't,” Damin told him. “But I do trust the demon child.”

“I hope your trust is warranted, Wolfblade,” Rogan warned. “We are placing a lot of faith in that slip of a girl.”

He smiled at the description. “That 'slip of a girl' has the power to destroy a god, Rogan.”

“She also has the power to destroy us,” Kalan reminded him ominously.

CHAPTER 32

The siege did not bother the citizens of Greenharbour at first. If anything, they considered it something of a novelty, a variation from the normal humdrum of their everyday lives. Crowds gathered at the walls each day, hoping for a chance to climb up to the ramparts and see the armies of Greenharbour and Dregian massed below. A few enterprising souls even began charging admission, after doing a deal with the guards on the walls, and they did a roaring trade until Damin got wind of it and had the entrepreneurs thrown in gaol.

By the second week the shortages began, and then the novelty quickly wore off. There was fresh water aplenty, but Greenharbour was a large city and it wasn't possible to store enough to keep the population fed for long. The city housed almost fifty thousand people, and relied on the bounty of the sea, as well as the numerous farms outside the city, for produce. With the harbour blockaded, there was no daily catch, and with the gates closed against the armies of Lord Eaglespike and Lord Falconlance there was no produce getting through. Damin heard reports of a loaf of bread costing a hundred times its normal value.

They fared no better in the palace though, because Damin had distributed most of the palace stores quite publicly on the seventh day of the siege, in the hopes of avoiding a hungry population storming the palace in the belief that food inside was being hoarded for the High Prince and his family.

Cyrus and Conin were carrying out typical siege tactics, he knew. They made no effort to attack the city. They didn't have to. It wasn't the threat outside the walls that would undo them, but the internal unrest. Damin had stationed troops to defend the walls of the city, but the bulk of his forces were employed simply keeping the peace. As the siege dragged on, he grew less and less tolerant of the opportunists and malcontents. He had begun by throwing them in gaol. This morning he had ordered three men beheaded for hoarding grain and then selling it at inflated prices. He did not regret their passing. As their heads dropped into the baskets beneath the executioner's block his only thought was, That's three less mouths to feed.

He had fifteen hundred Raiders in the city, comprising the three hundred men each Warlord was permitted. The Guards of the Sorcerers' Collective, although competent, had no combat experience to speak of. He had placed the Raiders on the walls and kept the Collective Guards for civil matters. They were well suited to the task. They knew the city and the people knew them. In total, he had two and a half thousand men, but no idea when, or if, help would arrive. There were close to ten thousand camped outside his walls.

A knock at the door disturbed him, and he looked up in annoyance. The elegantly carved desk in front of him was littered with parchment. Lernen never seemed to have to deal with this much work. He was beginning to wonder how his uncle had found time to indulge his wide variety of perversions. Damin had barely found time to eat or sleep since becoming High Prince.

“What?” he called angrily.

The door opened a fraction and Adrina's head appeared. “Do you have a moment, Damin?”

“No,” he replied unhappily.

She opened the door all the way and entered the study with the Harshini, Glenanaran, at her side.

Damin rose to his feet with a frown. “What is it now, Adrina? Are the peasants storming the Sorcerers'