Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

influence of Geoffrey’s charisma spell?”
    “Probably,” he replied. “If I were my father, I certainly would take no chances as far as Kisrah or any other high-ranking mage was concerned.”
    “Can you break it?”
    She felt him shrug. “I don’t know, but that was my thought as well. If my father is truly dead and can work no more magic, and if he chose to ensure that Kisrah never be a problem as I believe he would have—I might be able to.”
    “It would be easier to get his cooperation if he didn’t attack me every time I said something nasty about his predecessor—and I don’t know how else to proceed.”
    “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

    Aralorn finally found Kisrah in the bier room with her father. He’d arisen earlier than she’d expected, and she’d missed him at breakfast. A few questions to scattered servants had sent her to her father’s bier.
    He looked up at the sound the curtain made as she entered and watched her with a hooded glance from his seat on one of the tables meant for gifts and flowers. He looked a bit like a gaudy bouquet in a combination of mauve and emerald that offended even Aralorn’s indifferent sense of style, but the bright array made the little room less somber.
    “Lady Aralorn,” he said, acknowledging her entrance after he’d returned her stare for several seconds.
    She bent and kissed her father’s slack face, taking a moment to reassure herself that he still lived, before turning back to the Archmage. “I visited the death goddess’s temple yesterday,” she said without preamble.
    “I know,” said Kisrah. “Correy told me.”
    She toyed with the front of the Lyon’s shirt, straightening it carefully where it had been pulled askew. Finished, she turned to the Archmage. “I owe you my apologies, sir. I have been rude. I know that you have come to help my father, and I’m sorry to be so secretive. My only excuse is that the last few days have been nerve-racking at best, and I’ve been a spy for long enough that questions make me nervous.”
    “You sought me out to apologize?” asked the Archmage with a touch of wariness.
    Although she noted that he hadn’t accepted her apology, Aralorn smiled and shook her head. “Not primarily, though it needed to be done. There are things that we should speak of, but outside of the keep walls. Would you ride with me?”
    Kisrah gazed at the stone floor. “Where is your wolf? I was under the impression that he went everywhere with you.”
    She pursed her lips thoughtfully and added a little bait. “That’s one of the things I need to speak with you about.”
    The Archmage leaned back against the wall. When he spoke, it seemed off the topic of discussion. “I fought a campaign against the Darranians with your father once, did you know?”
    “Yes,” she answered.
    “Battles are odd things,” he said in musing tones. “Sometimes it seems as if you do nothing but hack and slash; at other times it seems as if you do nothing at all for weeks at a time. During the former, you learn a lot about your comrades by their actions; during the latter, you learn about them from their speech.”
    His gaze rested on the Lyon’s quiet figure. “Your father is ferocious, tireless, and absolutely honorable. But more than that, he is cunning, always thinking—especially in the thick of battle, when everyone else is lost in bloodlust. He taught me a lot about how to judge men, to choose leaders and followers. He knew every man in our group and used them according to their strengths, and he tried to know as much about the men we fought as he did our own.” He reached out and touched the Lyon’s still face. “I learned to love him as much as I ever did my own father—as I expect every man to fight under him felt.”
    While he spoke, Aralorn half sat, half leaned against the bier. When he paused to make sure she was listening, she nodded.
    “While we waited for battle, we talked, your father and I. He told me something of you. He told me you’d fought with him against brigands here at Lambshold and said he’d rather have had you beside him than any three men. He’d have brought you to fight by his side as he did Falhart if it hadn’t been for his lady wife. He said you were clever, devious, and deadly—said you could outthink and outride any man he had with him, including himself.”
    “You have a reason for all this praise, I trust,” said Aralorn.
    Kisrah nodded, and a sudden grin lit his face.