The Clan Wars Omnibus: Books 1-2 by Peter Morwood

Author:Peter Morwood [Morwood, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Venture Press
Published: 2016-11-24T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 1 - Troubles

The light was bronze-green, an underwater light, cold and remote. Bayrd Talvalin stared drowsily at it, toying with the image, visualizing himself deep beneath the surface of some still lake, far removed from the cares and concerns of an Alban clan-lord. It was an idle notion, and he knew it. Those cares and concerns hung around his neck like so many of the proverbial millstones, as impossible to set aside as any of the lesser responsibilities that came with marriage and parenthood.

And the ever-present menace of Gerin ar’Diskan.

It didn’t matter that Gerin had never called feud or clan-war, and that so far his loudly-voiced threats had been nothing but noise and bluster. The ‘so far’ was the problem. Until the man was dead and burned and his ashes scattered on the evening wind, Bayrd knew he could never truly relax.

Patience was a Clan Talvalin virtue – or vice; certainly there were enough who claimed it as such. But it was by no means the sole prerogative of the Talvalins, or the ar’Talvlyns before them, and the more Bayrd might have to lose, the more grim satisfaction ar’Diskan would have in engineering that loss. There was only one advantage about such a depth of personal animosity. It was no more than personal, a matter between Gerin and himself that hadn’t involved family, retainers or vassals on either side. To the best of Bayrd’s knowledge, the rest of the ar’Diskan’r regarded their Lord’s resentful attitude towards the Clan-Lord Talvalin as a waste of time that could be better spent increasing the prosperity of their own lines.

Bayrd hoped the rumours were true. There was more than enough trouble abroad in the Land to keep the most aggressive kailinin fully occupied.

As awareness replaced sleep he gazed at the pale, cool green light, abandoning imaginings, knowing what it was: the dawn of another day, filtered through the small panes of his bedroom window. He could hear the wind blowing even through the fortress wall, and it flung a spatter of raindrops against the thumb thick glass. They beaded for a moment, then streamed down like so many tears.

That glass had been an unnecessary indulgence. Or maybe not so unnecessary. It had been a demonstration of wealth – and yes, of pride. Maybe it even smacked a little of arrogance, that any man – and especially the lord of a newly-founded blood-clan – should put something so fragile into a fortress that even after six years was no more than halfway completed.

That was why Bayrd had done it.

The glass was hardly a weakness in Dunrath-hold’s massive walls, the windows in which it was set were far too small for that. But it was as much a show of unconcern as gilding on a battle-helm, or gemstones set into the hilt of a taiken longsword. Neither was necessary, both were done, and all three said the same thing.

I have confidence enough in my own strength that I can make use of more than stark utility.

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