Waern looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Don looked at him curiously.
"Do you really think, Mr. Waern, that you can sit here in peace? That if you ignore this whole mess, it'll go away?"
Jasu Waern spread his hands. "What dare I do? My brother was trying to do something. He is gone."
"True. He tried to clean up a little here and fix a little there. And that only in one city. He didn't come boldly out and demand. He was playing on the edge of the board, not in the center. A king could do much more than that."
Waern looked at him, shaking his head.
"Yes, I know about the succession," Don told him. "And why shouldn't you demand? You could get the support of the hill tribes. All you need do is ask."
"I have thought of that. Perhaps we should have done that—once. But now? After my brother's death? And what could the hillmen do against the weapons of the plains?"
Don smiled at him. "Would the hillmen believe the stories about your brother in the face of your personal denial before their own council? Would they accept such a thing about any of the Waernu unless it were proven by strong evidence? Yours is one of the clans, even yet, you must remember. And how about the honor of the Waernu?"
Jasu's face was suddenly drawn. Don continued.
"And would the plainsmen dare use their weapons against a legitimate claimant? For that matter, what good would their weapons be against a Federation Strike Group, even if they did use them?"