“Why too late?”
“Even if Murmandamus weren’t coming to crush us, this nation couldn’t last another two generations. This city is dying. As best I can judge, two decades ago, there were perhaps fifteen thousand souls living within the city and in the surrounding countryside. Ten years ago, it was eleven or twelve thousand. Now it’s more like seven or perhaps even less. Constant warfare, women of child-bearing age being killed in battle, children dying when a steading or kraal is overrun: it all adds up to a declining population, a decline that seems to be accelerating. And there’s more. It’s as if years of constant warfare have sapped the strength from these people. For all their willingness to fight, they seem somehow indifferent to the needs of daily living.
“The culture is twisted, Arutha. All they have is struggle and, in the end, death. Their poetry is limited to sagas of heroes, and their music is simple battle chants. Have you noticed there are no signs in the city? Everyone knows where everyone else lives and works. Why signs? Arutha, no one born in Armengar can read or write. They don’t have the time to learn. This is a nation slipping inexorably into barbarism. Even should there have been no Murmandamus, in another two decades there would be no nation. They would be as the nomads of the Thunderhell. No, it’s the constant fighting.”
“I can see how that could give one a sense of futility. What can I do to help?”
“We need relief. I will gladly turn the governance of this city over to Brucal -”
“Vandros. Brucal retired.”
“Vandros, then. Bring Armengar into the Duchy of Yabon. These people fled the Kingdom, ages ago. Now they would not hesitate to embrace it, should I but order it, so much have they changed. But give me two thousand heavy foot from the garrison at Yabon and Tyr-Sog, and I’ll hold this city against Murmandamus for another year. Add a thousand more and two thousand horse, and I’ll rid the Plain of Isbandia of every goblin and Dark Brother. Give me the Armies of the West, and I’ll drive Murmandamus back to Sar-Sargoth and burn the city down with him inside. Then we can have commerce and children can be children, not little warriors. Poets will compose and artists paint. We will have music and dancing. Then maybe this city will grow again.”
“And will you wish to remain as Protector, or as Earl of Armengar?” asked Arutha, not fully rid of his distrust.
“Damn it,” said Guy, slamming his hand down on the table. “If Lyam has the brains of a bag of nails, yes.” Guy sagged back into his chair. “I’m tired, Arutha. I’m drunk and tired.” His good eye brimmed. “I’ve lost the only thing I’ve cherished in ages, and all I’ve left is the need of these people. I’ll not fail them, but once they’re safe . . .”
Arutha was stunned. Before him Guy bared his soul, and what he saw was a man without much reason left to live. It was sobering. “I think I can persuade Lyam to agree, if you understand what his attitude toward you will be.”
“I don’t care what he thinks of me, Arutha. He can have my head, for all of it.” His voice again betrayed his fatigue. “I don’t think I care at all anymore.”
“I’ll send messages.”
Guy laughed, a bitter, frustrated laugh. “That, you see, is the problem, dear cousin. You don’t think I’ve been sitting here for the last full year hoping a Prince of Krondor might blunder into Armengar? I’ve sent a dozen messages to Yabon, and toward Highcastle, outlining in detail what the situation here is and what I’ve proposed to you. The difficulty is that while Murmandamus lets anyone come north, no one - nothing - goes south. That Beasthunter you found was one of the last to try for the south. I don’t know what happened to the messenger he escorted, but I can imagine . . .”He let the thought drift off.
“You see, Arutha, we’re cut off from the Kingdom. Utterly, totally, and unless you’ve an idea we’ve not thought of, without a prayer.”
Martin awoke sputtering, spitting out a mouthful of water. Briana’s laughter filled the room as she tossed a towel at him and replaced the now empty water pitcher. “You’re as difficult to wake as a bear in winter.”
Blinking as he dried himself off, Martin said, “I must be.” He fixed her with a black look, then found his anger slip away as he regarded her smiling face. After a moment he smiled in return. “Out in the woods I’m a light sleeper. Indoors I relax.”
She knelt upon the bed and kissed him. She was dressed in tunic and trousers. “I must ride out to one of our steadings. Care to come? It is only for the day.”
Martin grinned. “Certainly.”
She kissed him again. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, clearly confused.
“For staying here with me.”
Martin stared at her. “You’re thanking me?”
“Of course, I asked you.”