“You have done it all yourself?”
“He was my husband, Sholeh,” Lara said.
“You have done well, and Vartan would be proud,” Sholeh replied. “Where is that snake, Adon?”
“I slew him and his wife while Vartan was yet warm,” Lara replied.
Sholeh nodded. “It was well done, Lara. And they are buried?”
“Out on the plain in an unmarked place,” Lara said.
“I curse them both!” Sholeh said fiercely. “You will lead the Fiacre yourself now. It is your right, and you were half my cousin’s wisdom, I know.”
“Thank you,” Lara said, “but no. Liam shall be the new Lord of the Fiacre. You cannot be dissatisfied with him. The elders in their usual way wanted to meet in three days and debate the succession, but I saw they met last night instead. Liam was the natural choice. I will not remain with the Fiacre much longer. I am being called from the Outlands.”
“I will be sorry to see you go,” Sholeh told her companion. “But Liam is not the man to lead the High Council, I fear. Who will you put your influence behind? Roan of the Aghy? He would take it in a minute, you know.”
Lara shook her head. “Roan is too hot tempered. Rendor of the Felan would be my choice. He is a wise and thoughtful man. The responsibility will cause him to rise to the challenge of being head of the High Council. He will not fail the Outlands.”
“Roan will not be pleased,” Sholeh noted.
“We need a military leader as well,” Lara said with a smile.
“Damn!” Sholeh exclaimed. “We are losing a valuable advisor in you, Lara.”
“I will not leave the Fiacre forever,” she said. “My children will remain here with Noss and Liam. Bera must raise Cam. I won’t have my children in the same house as the son of their father’s murderer.”
“You’re right,” Sholeh agreed. “Now, if I can help you in any way -”
“You are family. I welcome your aid,” Lara responded.
The Fiacre clan came and went from the hall, paying their respects to their fallen lord. No one would be sent away. Every structure in the village was filled with the mourners, and many bedded down in the fields surrounding Camdene. One by one, Lara brought the other clan lords to her hall to pay their respects to Vartan. They would be guests within her home until the departure ceremony was concluded.
Roan of the Aghy at once noted the need for a meeting of the clan leaders. To his surprise and pleasure, Lara agreed with him.
“You cannot leave this matter for another day,” she told them. “Tonight when all have gone to their beds we will meet. Liam will stand in my husband’s place, but I will be at his side as I was at Vartan’s.”
The clan lords nodded.
“Word of this will spread quickly to Hetar. Before Vartan’s pyre is ashes you must send word to Hetar’s High Council that you have a new leader,” Lara continued.
Heads nodded in agreement with her. The day passed. The house of the slain leader fed all in Camdene. It was their responsibility to do so although the cook fretted that they were going to run out of supplies before it was all over. Lara assured him that if it became necessary she would call upon her magic to keep their larders full. Finally, the dark came. Fires burned on the plains surrounding Camdene indicating the campsites of many mourners. It was time.
“My lords,” she said to the clan heads who were sitting by the hall fire, “I believe the time is now come to open the discussions. No one can replace my husband’s leadership, but you must choose a new head of the High Council now, and send word of your choice to the City. You cannot allow Hetar’s government to believe the Outlands are in disarray, or weakened by Vartan’s murder.”
“I would put forth Roan of the Aghy,” Floren of the Blathma quickly said.
“Perhaps we should first ask the lady Lara if she has a preference,” Accius, the clan leader of the Devyn said. He was certain that she did have a choice, and he was curious to know who it was.
“I thank the great bard lord of the Devyn for his courtesy in soliciting my opinion,” Lara began, and several of the men smiled for they knew her well enough by now to recognize that she was about to surprise them with her own ideas. “Given what has transpired over the last five years it is obvious to me, nay, necessary, that we need both a head of our council, and a war leader as well. I have heard disturbing rumors of late that Gaius Prospero will soon crown himself emperor of Hetar. This man is no friend of the Outlands. Roan of the Aghy is a great warrior, equal to my own husband,” she flattered the horse lord. “It must be he you choose for your military leader. For head of the High Council, however, I will put my faith in Rendor of the Felan. He is not easily brought to anger. He is thoughtful, and his advisement wise. He is more than equal to the challenge of dealing with Hetar,” she concluded, her gaze sweeping them all.
“But he is not the warrior Roan is,” Floren said.
“Nay, he is not,” Lara agreed quietly. “And if there is war again, Roan will lead the Outlands, with your approval. But you need a man with a knack for diplomacy in treating with Hetar. Rendor made friends with the Coastal Kings years ago, and that friendship has never wavered. Indeed, it has grown stronger with the passing of time.” She arose from her place among them. “Let me go and fetch you refreshments while you discuss this among yourselves,” Lara told them. She glided across the room to prepare a tray of wine.
“You are silent, Rendor,” Imre of the Tormod said.
“I am astounded,” Rendor answered him.
“She said nothing of this to you beforehand?” Torin of the Gitta asked.
Rendor shook his head. “Nothing. I am as surprised as you are.”
“What think you, Roan?” Accius of the Devyn queried the horse lord.
“I think I have been neatly and nicely outmaneuvered,” Roan chuckled. “I do not like to admit it, but Lara is right. I am the man to lead you in war, but I am not the man to lead you in or to peace. Rendor of the Felan is that man.”
“My cousin would find it amusing that it takes two of you to replace him,” Liam told them with an engaging grin.
His companions laughed heartily, nodding in agreement.
“Can we agree upon this solution then,” Accius asked them. “Rendor for peace, and Roan for war?”
“I will call the roll,” Lara said returning with a tray of nine goblets. Passing them about she took the last cup, and began. “Rendor for peace. Roan for war. Petruso of the Piaras – aye or nay?”
Petruso, who was a mute, nodded vigorously his aye.
Lara called the others in sequence. “Imre of the Tormod?
“Aye!”
“Floren of the Blathma?”
“Aye!”
“Torin of the Gitta?”
“Aye!”
“Liam of the Fiacre?”
“Aye!”
“Accius of the Devyn?”
“Aye!”
“Roan of the Aghy?”
“Aye!”
“Rendor of the Felan?”
“Aye!”
“Then it is settled,” Lara said.
“Not quite,” Rendor told them. “You have not given us your vote, Lara.”
“I am not a member of the council,” Lara replied.
“Nay, you are not,” he agreed, “but you are the founder of this council, and in a matter as important as this one I believe you should have the right to vote.”
The other lords murmured in agreement with Rendor.
Quick tears sprang up behind her eyelids to sting her eyes. Lara nodded her acknowledgment of the honor they were giving her. “In the matter of Roan and Rendor, the founder of the council votes aye,” she said. Then she
