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.”
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