A Darkness at Sethanon (Riftware Sage Book 3)

Guy nodded, pushing aside his cup. He still stared off into the distance. “I have need of you.” He turned to face Arutha. “I have need of the Kingdom, at least, and that means Lyam.” Arutha motioned for Guy to continue. “It makes little difference to me personally if I possess your good opinion or not. But it is clear I need your acceptance as the leader of these people.” He lapsed into thoughtfulness. Then he said, “I thought your brother would marry Anita. It was the logical thing to do to bolster his claim. But then, he was King before he knew it. Rodric did us all a favour by having one lucid moment before he died.” He looked hard at Arutha. “Anita is a fine young woman. I had no desire to wed her, only a need at the time. I would have let her find her own . . . satisfactions. It is better this way.” He sat back. “I’m drunk. My mind wanders.” He closed his eye, and for a moment Arutha thought he might be drifting off to sleep.

 

Then Guy said, “Amos told you how we came to Armengar, so I’ll not repeat that tale. But there are other matters I think he did not touch upon.” Again he was silent. Another long period without words was followed by – “Did your father ever tell you how there came to be so much bitterness between us?”

 

Arutha kept his voice calm. “He said you were at the heart of every conspiracy in court against the Western Realm, and you used your position with both Rodric and his father to undermine Father’s position.”

 

To Arutha’s astonishment, Guy said, “That’s mostly true. A different interpretation of my actions might give a softer label to what I did, but my actions under the reigns of Rodric and his father before him were never in the interest of your father or the West.

 

“No, I speak of . . . other things.”

 

“He never spoke of you except to brand you as an enemy.” Afutha considered, then went on, “Dulanic said you and Father were friends once.”

 

Guy again looked at the fire. His manner was distant, as if remembering. Softly he said, “Yes, very good friends.” Again he fell into silence, then just as Arutha was about to speak, he said, “It started when we were both young men at court, during the reign of Rodric the Third. We were among the very first squires sent to the royal court - Caldric’s innovation was to produce rulers who know more than their fathers.” Guy considered. “Let me tell you how it was. And when I’m done, maybe you’ll understand why you and your brother were never sent to court.

 

“I was three years younger than your father, who was barely eighteen, but we were of a size and temper. At first we were thrown together, for he was a distant cousin, and I was expected to teach manners to this son of a rustic duke. In time we became friends. Over the years we gambled, wenched, and fought together.

 

“Oh, we had differences, even then. Borric was a frontier noble’s son, more concerned with old concepts of honour and duty than in understanding the true causes of events around him. I, well . . .” He drew his hand down over his face, as if stirring himself awake. His tone became more brisk. “I was raised in the eastern courts, and I was marked to command from an early age. My family is as old and honoured as any in the Kingdom, even yours. Had Delong and his brothers been slightly less gifted generals and my forebears slightly better ones, the Bas-Tyras would have been kings instead of the conDoins. So I had been taught from boyhood how the game of politics is played in the realms. No, we were very different in some ways, your father and I, but in my life there has never been a man I’ve loved more than Borric.” He looked hard at Arutha. “He was the brother I never had.”

 

Arutha was intrigued. He had no doubt Guy was colouring things to suit his purpose, suspecting even the drunkenness was a pose, but he was curious to hear of his father’s youth. “What, then, caused the estrangement between you?”

 

“We competed, as young men do, in the hunt, gambling, and for the affection of the ladies. Our political differences led to hot words from time to time, but we always found a way to gloss over arguments and reconcile ourselves. Once we even came to blows over some thoughtless remarks I made. I had said your greatgrandfather had been nothing more than the disgruntled third son of a king, seeking to gain by strength of arms that which could not be found within the existing Kingdom. Borric saw him a great man who planted the banner of the Kingdom in Bosania.

 

“I held that the West was a sap upon the resources of the Kingdom. The distances are too great for proper administration. You rule in Krondor. You know you govern an independent realm, with only broad policy coming from Rillanon. The Western Realm is almost a separate nation. Anyway, we argued about that, then fought. Afterward we relented in our anger. But that was the first sign of how deep were the differences we felt over the policies of the realms. Still, even those differences did nothing to lessen the bond between us.”

 

“You make it sound a reasonable disagreement between honourable men over politics. But I knew Father. He hated you and his hate ran deep; there must be more.”

 

Guy again studied the firelight for a time. Softly he said, “Your father and I were rivals in many things, but most bitterly for your mother.”

 

Raymond E. Feist's books