Succession

The old chieftain put down his goblet, and sighed. “You might as well come out, Harmen.”

Harmen's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't made any noise, he knew that. He had been watching from a safe spot for almost an hour now, and had made no sign or sound that could possibly have given him away. He caught himself wondering if the old stories were true, that the old man was part nightcat after all. He hesitated, then rose, and stepped into his master's view.

“Come,” the old man gestured. “Sit.” The table was laid out for one, but there was an extra chair by the chieftain. Harmen sat, eying his master warily. The chieftain sighed an old man's sigh, a rustle of dried leaves and old regrets. “I have to say, I was beginning to wonder if you had any ambition at all, boy,” he said conversationally, “When I was your age I'd already stabbed my chieftain in the gut and put two kingdoms to the sword.” He took a mouthful of bread, and gnawed on it for a while as Harmen watched in silence, his mind racing. Had he been told out? Impossible. The old man was expecting it. But then, why...

“Now... my old chief, Two Tigers, he strangled the man before him. And he'd beaten his predecessor in hand-to-hand combat, because that's what they did in those days. And now...” he paused for breath, swirling the half-empty wine goblet in his hand absently, “Now, well... poison. I feel almost disappointed, you know that? I don't mean from dying, mind; I'd been waiting for that. It's just... well, it's a mean way to die, kinda poor, do you see? Not exactly what you'd call a warrior's death.” The old man shifted his weight, grunting with age and effort.

“Now I don't want you to think I'm coming down on you, m'boy. I always knew you'd be the one, but I always kind of expected you to look me in the eye when you did it. I thought maybe you'd march in here, swords drawn, tell me to reach for mine or never be seen on your turf again. I'dve fought you, of course, but that's only because that's what you do, you see. I couldn't be an exile. But we'd fight, and I'd get a couple of licks on ya, something to remember me by, and then you'd win, and everyone would see it and that would be that.” He took another sip of the tainted wine, and ruminated on it.

“But now you come in the dark, and poison my food and drink, and then hide – hide! -- to make sure your treachery takes effect. Well, it is; don't trouble yourself to that. You don't get where I am today without being able to pick up on things. I can feel it goin' to work on me already... won't be long, I suppose.” He closed his eyes, and groaned quietly, sagging a bit.

Suddenly he looked very old. “Is this where things have come, then? People skulking around and letting powders and seeds do the work for them? Well, maybe it's for the best. I've had a damn lot of blood on the tip of my sword, and now that I look back on it, not much good has it done me. Will you be like the princes of Saar, who spend all their days plotting and scheming against each other? Will there be no one who can look a man in the eye and take him in a fair fight? I guess that's how it goes... people like me to build an empire, and people like you to keep it. Very well.”

The old man allowed himself a smile. “But I'll tell you this: your time will come too, my boy. There will be someone behind you with an ambitious gleam in their eye. You'll start watching for it, sooner than you think, yes. Oh, you won't have to worry about some young warrior challenging you to a death duel; no, whoever does you in, they'll be a clever one. You'll know, too. You'll see it in their eyes and say to yourself, this is the one. And from that time on, it's just a waiting game.”

Harmen sat quietly by his master, speechless. He thought about the old man's words, and wondered if he was truly ready. He wanted to rush back to his rooms, find the antidote hidden away beneath the tile floor, and rush back to... no. It was too late; and besides, the old man would never forgive him.

The chieftain stirred, and spoke. “I think it's time, now... yes. I can feel it. Go and fetch some guards, or whatever your plan is. It's all yours. Now, go, and leave an old man to die with his thoughts.”

Harmen got up and left without a word. At the doorway he hesitated, and looked back. The chieftain – the ex-chieftain, he corrected himself – was paying him no mind, gazing off to the middle distance, a faint smile on his lips. Harmen wondered what he saw, what was it that amused him so, but could not see what it could be. With a shrug, he turned, and hurried out into the corridor.