Lord Lorn Makar smiled and it was a cold grimace of intent. “We have that something, Brigadier. We shall murder our king and my son will take his place.”
Moravin did not move a muscle. He finally understood Linus Makar’s strange ‘illness’, the one no healer on this world or another had found a cure for. Suspicion was now fact. What astonished him most, however, was Lorn Makar’s willingness to cede position to his son Brant.
Sighing impatiently, Holi Ker leaned towards him. “Fenn, now is the time to set the soldier aside. Listen now. We have the line of succession in place; we have the means to end the rule of our current king, and we have the faith behind every action. All we need to see this done is the might of the army and that is where you and your son become important.”
Slowly Moravin inclined his head. “I see that. What of the declared heir? Linus’ son Enris has the right to the throne.”
A small laugh erupted from Lorn. The coldness in it set Moravin’s teeth on edge. “Enris is dead, Fenn, whether he is buried already or still breathing. That backwater world he vanished on? It will soon be dead also.”
Moravin glanced at the two men in turn. A priest and an alchemist were asking for the might of the army; now there was mention of a faraway world.
It meant war.
He enjoyed war.
Leaning closer, the Brigadier murmured, “Tell me more.”