Free The Forge in the Forest by Michael Scott Rohan

Bryhon sat stroking his curling beard, his long pale face calm, expressionless, with only the faintest glimmer in his narrow eyes.
    "B-but my lord Kermorvan…" stammered the younger Marshal. "There was no thought of… We need you, the city needs…"
    "Lad, lad, how can this be wise?" barked Kathel, and then, because he knew his man, "How can it be honorable? To toss away your life on such a shallow venture, when your city needs you? That way east, it's a hundred deaths, plain and fancy. Chance is we'll never see you more! And then, if you're right—I believe you, mind—if the Ekwesh do come back—"
    "Then trust to the northerners!" said Kermorvan curtly. "That defense I leave you, if only you are honorable in accepting it. And you, Kathel, shall hold the Northern Marches in my stead. Hearken well, for that is my herald's fee, my price for peace. I exact it as a pledge from all present—you, Bryhon, most of all. You shall decree and depose an oath that from tonight you shall no longer close your gates against the northerners, but treat them with honor and justice. You shall admit them as citizens and equals, subject to the same rights and laws. And you shall allot them land in the country to settle and grow food for themselves and the city; we have it, and to spare, since so many were slain."
    "But if they bring more Ekwesh among them?" shrilled a youngish man in ornate green robes.
    "Now they are on guard, I think you may leave it to the northerners themselves to stop that rat hole," said Kermorvan, with grim humor. "Remember, a mere likeness of skin will not deceive them! What better guards could you wish? Enough, then! Will you swear? Or are you so eaten away by old hatreds that you will see the city fall to slake them?" He spoke to the assembly at large, but his glance fell clearly upon Bryhon Bryheren.
    The tall man shrugged, and met Kermorvan's gaze with a grin. "I'll swear," he chuckled with jovial contempt. "It may just be worth a few northerners to be rid of you. We might even civilize them, in time. I'll even suffer a merchant to be Marchwarden, in these upended days. Why, I'll go so far as to wish you success in your venture, scant though I fear the profit will be."
    "Strange how once Bryhon has sworn, the mood of the syndics eases," Elof muttered to Ils, as he heard them take the oath without a word more in dispute. "And yet his followers are no majority."
    "They have been more concerned with avoiding clashes between Kermorvan's faction and Bryhon's," she whispered back. "At any cost, for it might upset their own comfortable lives. Who was right, and what was best for the land, that walked a long way behind. Small wonder the Ekwesh caught them napping."
    The session lasted only a little longer, time enough to make formal the decree and to install Kathel Kataihan as Warden of the Northern Marches. For all Bryhon's jibes, he was a popular choice; from his travels he knew the northern borders better than most, and though not a warrior he had made a wise commander in the siege. But that he was so easily accepted marked the hold Kermorvan had gained upon the syndics.
    "You see, I learned my lesson well among your folk, Ils," he smiled as he met them on the steps outside. "That one may get what one wants by bending before a wind, as well as standing up to it."
    "You did well," said Elof soberly. "The northerners are deeply in your debt. But the cost to you…"
    Ils nodded fiercely, forgetting her aches. "To exile yourself again, and so soon—did I not say these men were ungrateful? Among my folk you had more honor than this!"
    Kermorvan threw back his head and laughed, a rare thing in itself. Then, still chuckling, he rested his forehead against a cool pillar. "And to think one of my ancestors forbade nobles to perform upon the public stage! Do you not see? Why else do you think I maneuvered Bryhon into demanding it? This is what I want!" And indeed he looked happier and more carefree than he had for many a day.