I didn’t get a chance to confirm my suspicions until a half hour later, when we were flying with the Broadsiders back toward our base. Peg opened a direct line to me.
“So,” she said. “You had some questions?”
“I think I’ve figured it out,” I said. “You and your sons never actually had a falling-out, did you? You three realized that the pirates were too timid, too untested, to go up against the Superiority. You faked a schism.
“That let you control how your coalition fractured. You continued to pretend to be antagonistic to one another, so that when the time was right, Gremm and Semm could agree with you—and it would seem like they were authentically persuaded. Who else could continue to doubt the attack was a good idea if those two—who hated you—were willing to go along with it?”
“Smart,” Peg said. “Words. I hope it’s not so obvious to everyone else.”
“What happened with the champion?” I asked. “Why swap out to someone else at the last minute?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Peg explained. “Gremm called me in a panic earlier today. He’d agreed to a quick duel to warm up—he assumed Vlep could never recruit someone good enough to beat him.”
“Ah…” I said. “Then he lost.”
“Fool boy. Almost ruined two years of work. We needed a victory like this to galvanize everyone. They’re far more skilled than they think. Two years of sparring will do that.”
“You set all of this up on purpose!” I said. “The factions, the raids, the honorable-ish way of fighting—it was all to train the pirates without them realizing they were being trained! You wanted a low-stakes way to prepare them for the assault on Surehold.”
“I set them to recruiting too,” she explained. “Among the people tossed in here. Grew our numbers pretty well. That, and I led some tactical raids against the Superiority to test their defenses and steal ships. Every time my faction or one of the boys’ factions got too many ships, we lost a few to the others to keep them strong and training.”
Genius. Scud, I wished we had Peg in the DDF.
“Still hoped I’d be able to get Vlep’s group,” Peg continued. “He’s been a weed in my garden for far too long. We should be able to do our assault with five factions. I hope. Either way, you did your part.”
“My part won’t be done until we stomp the Superiority,” I said. “And I get to visit the portal in Surehold. You set the assault for three days away. Why wait so long? We should move now.”
“No need to grow umalitas, kid!” Peg said. “The other factions need time to prepare—and we just won a major victory! Tonight we party.”
“And then,” I said, creeping through the circle of chairs, “the evil member of Lion Clan grinned a terrible grin. ‘No, Simba,’ he said. ‘It was not mere chance that your father fell to his fate, but it was I who cast him to it! I killed him so that I might have his throne, just as I will now kill you!’？”
The crowd of Broadsiders gasped. To enhance the experience, I did Gran-Gran’s pantomimes—clawing at the air like a lion. I prowled back and forth before the audience. Maksim had turned on his starfighter’s floodlights, but narrowed and lowered the beams so they illuminated only me. We’d closed the blinds to create a dark atmosphere.
“Well,” I said, “Simba was so horrified by this revelation that he let his uncle advance, forcing him back, back, back to the very edge of the tower of the fortress! He had forgotten his training from the knights Timbaa and Pumon! In a moment he remembered their long sparring sessions, where he had been forced off the log and made to eat bugs as punishment.
“？‘Remember,’ Pumon’s wise voice said in his mind, ‘never put your rear toward an enemy. And never let them control your footing in a duel.’ Wise Pumon, the stout knight, now bravely fought the endless Hyena Clan hordes upon the wall below!
“Simba stood his ground, perched atop the tip of the tower known as the Rock of Pride Fortress. ‘You fool, Uncle,’ Simba growled. ‘For though you presumed to cast me to my death like you did my father, in reality you have ceded to me the high ground, granting me the upper hand in our duel.’
“Scar shouted and lashed out, but Simba’s training as an outcast among the Knights of the Lost Savannah served him well. His ghostly father appeared behind him, glowing like a halo of light. Mighty was the clash! Perched as they were, the entirety of the kingdom could see them atop the fortification! But Scar was an assassin, no trained knight, and his subtle ways could not uphold him in the full light of day and truth!