Hanraen dodged his father's knife effortlessly, sweeping down with his own at the same time, which his father also danced away from. "I still don't see why we're doing this," Hanraen complained.
Haredin stood up from his fighter's crouch and slipped his belt knife back into it's sheath. "I've told you already, Hanraen. You're the logical choice for Lord Heir and you're going to have to know how to defend yourself."
"You don't know that. He could choose anyone from your family. You've all got the Blood," Hanraen insisted. "Why me?"
"Because you're his nephew. And because he's owes me. If I hadn't decided to become a smith, he wouldn't have become Lord Holder when our father passed away," Hanraen's father explained. "And 'why me?' is hardly the attitude you should have. It is a great honor to be in your position."
"Yeah, sure. If all honor gets me is a bunch of people kissing up to me so I'll do them a favor when I'm a Holder then I'm not interested in it," Hanraen scoffed.
Hanraen didn't wait to hear what his father had to say. He whirled around and left the courtyard where they'd been practicing. He was too angry to speak. Haredin was always telling his children to take charge of their own lives and here he was, planning out Hanraen's.
It wasn't just that he didn't want people kissing up to him, it was that being a Lord Holder simply didn't appeal to him. The most important decisions he wanted to make were what to say to a certain holder's daughter the next time he saw her to explain why he'd missed their date.
Unfortunately for Hanraen, his uncle, Lord Tiyrn, was also interested in the idea of him becoming Lord Heir, and, as Hanraen was walking back to his quarters, Tiyrn confronted him. "Where you headed, m'boy?" the Lord Holder boomed.
"I was just headed back to my quarters," Hanraen replied. "Did you need something?"
"Just to talk to you about a rather important matter," Tiyrn replied. "Walk with me to my study. We can talk on the way."
Hanraen followed obediently, listening to Tiyrn drone on and on about being a Lord Holder. After a few minutes, he simply learned to tune it out. No point in listening to it. He'd never be a Holder anyway.
When they finally arrived at the Lord Holder's study, Hanraen found himself ushered inside. Tiyrn sat down in an ornately carved chair behind an equally intricately carved desk and indicated for Hanraen to take the just as ornate chair facing his desk. "So, Hanraen. I suppose your father has told you of my expectations?"
Hanraen returned Tiyrn's gaze. "He's told me that he thinks that you'd choose me as your heir."
"What a perceptive man," Tiyrn chuckled. "Ever since Taridys died, I've had my eye on you, Hanraen. You've got all the qualities of a leader. First-" Tiyrn was interrupted as Hanraen's silver flit Ziri appeared, scolding Hanraen furiously.
 Ziri landed and continued her scolding until she noticed Tiyrn chuckling at her. She stopped abrubtly, glared at the Lord Holder, and climbed up to her usual perch on Hanraen's left shoulder, still glaring at Tiyrn.
"First, as I was going to say before that little lady dropped in," Tiyrn inclined his head towards Ziri, "you have her. A flit makes a good companion for a Holder. I'm sorry I haven't Impressed one myself. Makes the people think that you've got some connection to dragonkind, and they feel that much more protected by you. Second, you're a good swordsman, I've seen you fight at Gathers. You'd be able to win any fights challenging your leadership. Third, people follow you. You may not notice it, but everyone else certainly does."
"I don't know about any of those things," Hanraen replied, "but whether they're true or not I don't think I'm the right man for the job."
"Wherry-teeth," Tiyrn scoffed. "You're the only man for the job, as far as I'm concerned, and that'll put you ahead of the competition when I go."
"But since that won't be for some turns, there's time for another kid to grow into the job," Hanraen insisted. "I don't think I'd be the best choice."
Tiyrn smiled. "I like your optimism, boy, but I'm headed towards my eighth decade and I don't know how long I'll last. I've got to name an Heir, or else there'll be a lot of bloodshed over it, and that's the last thing I want."
Hanraen was about to reply when there was a knock on Tiyrn's study door. "My Lord, I need to talk to you," the voice of the elderly steward said. The steward sounded worried, so Tiyrn called him in.
The Steward, Tharin, had aged well, but it was obvious how much stress he was under. He had run the Hold for as long as anyone could remember and it had obviously taken its toll on the man. Right now, however, he looked especially nerve-wracked. "What is it, Tharin?" Tiyrn asked.
Tharin's eyes flicked breifly to Hanraen. "There is a brush fire ripping through one of the fields. We've got it under control, but I think you should come see the damage.
Tiyrn sighed. "Never a dull moment. Hanraen, you can leave, just think about what I told you." Tiyrn followed the Steward out the door, leaving Hanraen to do just that.
The Lord Holder's words were in the back of Hanraen's mind for the rest of the day as he went about his duties. At one point, he was assigned to lead a crew cleaning up the fire. Hanraen looked at the destruction with horror. They'd never be able to meet their tithes with this loss. Another reason why he didn't want to become Lord Holder. He didn't envy Tiyrn dealing with this trajedy.
Hanraen went to sleep early that night, thoroughly exhausted. When he awoke the next morning, his world had changed drastically...
|
| |
