Heartwood by Freya Robertson

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    Wincing, Valens brought his hand up to massage his forehead and Chonrad rolled his eyes as Procella’s arm drew back and her fist met Bertwald’s chin with a resounding clunk. The Wulfengar outcast fell heavily to the floor and lay there unmoving.
    Shaking her hand, the knuckles now bright red, Procella beckoned to the two Custodes who were standing guard at the doorway. They came over and picked up the limp body, carrying him out of the Curia.
    Procella’s eye caught Chonrad’s as she made her way back to her podium. He didn’t dare smile, but he saw her lips twitch briefly, and knew she had recognised his admiration.
    Everyone went back to their own podiums. Valens, his hands behind his back, his face serious, waited for the voices to die down. Then he began again.
    â€œWhere was I…?” he said wryly. “Oh, yes. As I was saying… Welcome to you all. We have asked you to come to Heartwood today to take part in a discussion about resources, and the movement of those resources throughout the lands.
    â€œAs you all know, there has been a steady decline over the past few years in the quality of the harvests, due to several unfortunate, unforeseeable issues – mainly bad weather, with too much rain in The Shining, and The Sleep hit exceptionally hard. This has combined with a widespread crop disease that has eradicated almost half of Laxonian wheat yields. There has also been a deadly cow sickness, which has taken a good quarter of our cows in all corners of the lands. Food, my friends, is in short supply, and we can only envisage it growing rarer.”
    One of the Hanaire Council members spoke up. “We need better lines of communication,” he stated. “If we do not know this is happening, we cannot address the problem.”
    â€œThat is not the main issue here,” said Raedwulf. “The issue is there is just not enough food to go round. There is little we can do about that.”
    The High King of Laxony, Hariman, frowned and said: “There is always something we can do. There are always those who have more and others who have less. It is a Question of evening out the provisions so they are more equally distributed.”
    Before Raedwulf could give an angry retort, Valens stated, “Part of the problem is the continuing aggression between the Twelve Lands. While there is war, trade and travel can only occur at a minimum, which means the grain from Laxony and the meat from Wulfengar are not exchanging hands. That is why we have to talk peace.”
    â€œWe are not at war,” said Raedwulf.
    â€œAre we not?” Hariman’s gaze was challenging.
    Raedwulf stared at him, then looked back at Valens. “We are not at war,” he repeated, “but I can see how it might look that way. The repeated taking of our trade vessels in Laxonian waters…”
    â€œâ€¦by pirate vessels,” Hariman stated.
    â€œSo you say,” snapped Raedwulf. “But what proof do we have you are not keeping the spoils?”
    â€œWhat proof do you have that we are?”
    Raedwulf glowered. “If piracy is rife off the Laxonian coast, why have you done nothing about it?”
    â€œWe have! We have increased the manning in our shore forts, and we have doubled the Coastal Watch, but we have a very long coastline and cannot cover every inch of every beach in Laxony all the time.” Hariman was clearly exasperated. “We have spies operating in the coastal towns, trying to find out where the smugglers are working from, but so far the people are keeping quiet. And our navy is not strong like yours; we do not have your ship-building skills.”
    â€œThat is because you can but stretch your legs and walk from Laxony to the mainland,” said Raedwulf enviously, clearly not believing the Laxonian High Lord.
    Hariman threw his hands up in defeat and looked to Valens, his face expressing his frustration.
    Valens held up a hand.