Sword Destiny by Robert Leader Page B

stepped forward with him, his left arm thrusting sideways to form an iron-rigid bar across Ramesh’s chest. “No, my prince,” Devan said softly, but firmly. However, he was not looking at Ramesh. His warning gaze was fixed angrily on Rajar.
    Rajar turned to face them with his back to the throne. For a moment it seemed that he might have defied his uncle and seated himself, but he still did not have quite enough courage. He scowled and then took a half step forward, toward Devan but away from the throne.
    â€œWe are all agreed,” Devan said firmly. “The question of who succeeds your father must wait until the outcome of this war is decided.”
    â€œSo who rules Karakhor?” Rajar snapped. “My father left his mandate to Jahan and Kaseem. But the old priest is dying, he has been unconscious for three days—the life is ebbing away from him and he will never awaken. Now Jahan is also bleeding to death. Karakhor cannot be ruled by two old, dead men. Who now leads this war?”
    â€œJahan named me Warmaster General if he should fall,” Devan said flatly. “I lead this battle now. For the time being, the winning of this war is all that matters. Karakhor cannot afford to be divided by the dilemma of succession.”
    â€œThe succession must be decided. I am the oldest son of Kara-Rashna. It is my right to rule.”
    Ramesh bristled, but still the powerful arm of Devan was holding him back.
    â€œThe only clear right of rule is that of Kananda, the first son of the first marriage. If Kananda does not return, then we shall need the knowledge and holy lore of our Brahmins and priests to decide between the rival claims of yourself and Prince Ramesh.”
    â€œKananda will not return. Kananda is dead.” Rajar needed to believe those words so badly that he almost howled them in his frustration.
    â€œPerhaps.” Devan refused to be drawn into argument. “But even if Kananda does not return, we still cannot make this decision without the right guidance, the right prayers and the right sacrifices. Our learned Brahmins must search their histories for the correct precedents of lineage. There is no time for all of this while we must fight for the survival of our race and city with Maghalla.”
    Rajar glowered at Devan, but saw that his uncle was adamant. He looked around the hall and saw only nods of agreement from the gathered fighting men and looks of fear and apprehension on the faces of the priests. In the eyes of the young lords Gujar and Kasim, he saw cold opposition. He had no definite support, and while the daily struggle of battle embroiled them all, there had been no real opportunity to build any. He had never expected that Kananda would simply disappear into the stars or that his father would be fool enough to go out onto the battlefield and fight. The opportunity to claim the throne had caught him unprepared. He bit his lower lip and held back his curses, knowing that a show of petulance would bring him no rewards. However, he was determined to have the last word.
    â€œWhen Jahan and Kaseem are dead, my father’s mandate ends. Then this must be decided. Karakhor must have a king.” He turned baleful eyes upon the collection of hovering priests. “You should start your book-searching and holy rituals now.”
    There was a quick flurry of palm-clasping and nodding and Rajar was momentarily satisfied. Then his brief moment of triumph was dashed as a bed was carried into the audience hall by a mixture of servants and soldiers. On the bed lay Jahan, propped up by pillows and one elbow. Blood stained the sheet that covered him at the thigh and his face was pale, but the old hawk eyes were still fierce and bright. Behind him, propped on one side by his staff and supported on the other by the young acolyte Sahani, was the frail and exhausted, but at last awake and still-breathing, figure of Kaseem.
    â€œBy the grace of Indra, Agni and Varuna, we are