The Sea

by A. H. Lee

  Chapter 18. Nothing Else for Later

  It took forty minutes for the vanguard of the border lords to reach the bottom of the valley and cross the open ground to Daphne’s encampment. Forty minutes for tired, hungry men to dress, arm, and organize themselves. Forty minutes for Daphne to brief her officers and advisors on their situation. Forty minutes for Roland to wake Sairis, explain to him what was happening, and get him dressed in dry clothes and onto a horse. After some debate, Roland decided to continue riding the horse he’d acquired and let Sairis stay on Cato. The destrier’s eyes were no longer red or smoking, but his teeth seemed a bit too sharp when he curled his lip. If Sairis has to run, I want him on this horse.

  Daphne rode up beside them as Sairis was climbing into the saddle. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Roland.”

  “I’m not leaving him here,” said Roland.

  “I could possibly be helpful,” offered Sairis. Roland could tell that he was having trouble waking up, but he held out his palm and flame blossomed, burning green around the edges.

  “That will not be helpful,” said Daphne bluntly. “These are our own people, our reinforcements for gods’ sakes!”

  “They abandoned us to die,” said Roland.

  “Uncle Winthrop, perhaps,” said Daphne, “but I’m not willing to declare civil war just yet. I do not want them to feel threatened.”

  “That should be easy as long as they don’t threaten us,” said Roland.

  Daphne shook her head. “The Crown cannot be at war with the border lords, Roland. It would cause unimaginable chaos. This is not a fight that can be won with swords or fireballs or walking corpses.”

  Roland opened his mouth to say something angry, something like, They crossed that line when they murdered Uncle Jessup.

  But Sairis spoke first, “Understood, Your Grace. And I will stay here if you think that will make it easier. I take it Anton is not coming?”

  “Anton is feverish and cannot sit a horse,” said Daphne, and Roland felt sorry for his anger.

  “That always happens after such a wound,” said Roland. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

  Daphne shut her eyes, and Roland was reminded of his own way of handling pain. She’s putting that away for later. She opened her eyes and nodded. “Sairis can come with us. But no threats.”

  “Understood.”

  Roland thought, however, that her actions belied her words. Daphne roused what remained of her army, and they marched at her back in full array when she met her uncle on the field moments later. She might not want a fight, but she was prepared for one. Unfortunately, Roland feared it would be brief. As the strength of the border lords continued to flow down out of the pass, he wondered whether even fireballs would stop them. He also felt a sick sense of helpless frustration. Where were all of you when my men were dying here this morning?

  Their pristine armor and clean weapons seemed like a taunt to the battered, bloodied remains of the army that stood behind Daphne.

  Winthrop Malconwy rode with a dozen of the most powerful lords at the head of the column, their banners snapping in the wind, the evening light catching on their armor. Roland wondered what Winthrop must be thinking as he spied his niece and nephew still alive. That wasn’t your plan, was it, Uncle?

  However, by the time he reached them, his face was stern and expressionless behind his beard. The men around him looked equally unfriendly. Daphne and Winthrop’s horses stopped a few paces from one another, and their people fanned out to either side.

  The wave had left vast swathes of standing water in the already-boggy ground of the valley. Their horses were wading through mud and shallow pools. The tramp of feet continued down the mountain behind them. Splash, splash, splash...

  There was a long, uncertain pause. No one hailed the queen. No one thanked the gods for her victory. No one offered apologies or explanations for their tardy arrival. No one said anything.

  At last, Daphne cleared her throat. “Uncle, you are late.”

  Winthrop inclined his head. “I am, Niece.”

  Roland could not help himself, “Your Grace,” he corrected, his voice tight with fury.

  Winthrop shot him an unreadable look and then continued to Daphne. “I am late because the necromancer Sairis escaped his bonds yet again, aided by the traitor, Marsden. They set a fort on fire and murdered my brother.”

  “I have heard Sairis’s version of this story,” said Daphne. “I believe you are mistaken. Sairis provided us with aid, without which I and my people would all be dead.”

  One of the border lords spoke. “We have concerns, Your Grace, about battles won with necromancy.”

  “Would you prefer that I had died, my lord?”

  “Of course not, Your Grace. We would prefer that Commander Jessup had not died, either.”

  The barons were murmuring to each other and shooting glances at Sairis. Roland caught the words “poisoned victory cup” and “viper in our bosom.”

  Winthrop’s gaze settled on Daphne. “There is a concern among the lords, Your Grace, that the necromancer Sairis has gained undue influence over you,” he paused a long beat and added, “and especially over Roland.”

  Roland could sense Daphne’s sudden tension. He felt a sick sense of helplessness.

  Winthrop continued in a low voice that did not carry to those farther out. “As I’ve said before, certain irregularities in Roland’s habits have been noted by witnesses. I do not think we need to go into detail at this time. Please understand that I wish to preserve our family’s dignity.” He smiled and it was a nasty expression that did not touch his eyes.

  Daphne spoke through gritted teeth. “What are you proposing, Uncle?”

  “You will declare me regent,” said Winthrop, “until such time as we can be certain that you are not under the influence of magic. The lords and I have already spoken of this and agreed that it would be a good temporary measure that would satisfy them.”

  Roland snorted. As though Daphne would ever see the throne again.

  “A counteroffer,” said Daphne, “I will abdicate to Roland.”

  Everyone went still. Roland could hardly believe what he was hearing. No. “Daphne...” But she shot him such a ferocious expression that he shut his mouth.

  Winthrop seemed just as startled. “I do not believe this settles the question of the necromancer’s influence—”

  “You would prefer a male heir,” interrupted Daphne. “There has been too much change too fast in our kingdom. Very well. You will accept my marriage to Anton Lamont, binding us as allies, but not uniting our two countries in future generations. Roland will rule Mistala. Furthermore, if Roland chooses not to wed, the succession will pass to your children, Uncle.”

  That got Winthrop’s attention. Roland saw the unmistakable hungry gleam. He wanted to scream. You should be on trial for murder. Instead, you’re being given a chance to shape the next ruler.

  Daphne... You’ve trained your whole life to sit a throne, to govern. You enjoy it. You’re good at it! You are giving up your dreams and your future. To protect me from shame.”

  He could almost hear Daphne saying, “We are outnumbered, Roland, and our men are hungry and exhausted. The border lords could crush us. I am doing what must be done.”

  Think about it later, he told himself. Do what you have to do, and think about it later.

  No.

  Roland began to laugh. Everyone stared at him, but he kept laughing. Then he was weeping, tears running into his beard. Sairis ventured to put a hand on his shoulder. His voice came out in an uncertain whisper. “Roland?”

  But Roland just shook his head. He didn’t know how to say, I didn’t cry when my friends died. I only shed a handful of tears for Marcus. I didn’t cry when I got the news about Father. Or when I learned that at least one of my uncles doesn’t love me. My sister is about to pay a terrible price to keep a secret that everyone already knows. And I can’t save anything else for later.

  “You see,”
began Winthrop to the men around him, “this is the instability I spoke of—”

  “Men of Mistala!” bellowed Roland in his best battlefield voice. “My uncle is attempting to manipulate my sister the queen with a family secret!”

  “Roland...” began Daphne.

  At the same time, Winthrop growled, “Have a care, Nephew. If you wish to reign—”

  “I don’t,” said Roland and then shouted, “I am an invert!”

  The troops went so quiet that Roland could hear the distant sound of the surf. Alistair was right, he thought sadly. Poor fool. My own citizen, and I failed him. He wanted to make me different so that I would understand. He didn’t know that I was already different...that people like me can hide in plain sight. But the secret still comes at too high a price.

  “I have preferred men since I became old enough to think of such things,” continued Roland loudly. “I was in love with Marcus Kinnic—an excellent soldier as you all know. I wished to have a committed relationship with him as most men wish with their beloved, but he was taken from me in battle. I learned recently that my own uncle, Lord Winthrop, had him poisoned because he would not agree to spy upon me. Commander Jessup had proof of this. Lord Winthrop murdered him for it and tried to blame this on Magus Sairis.”

  Now the talking broke out. It buzzed like angry bees through the ranks, a ripple that ran out and out from those who were close enough to hear Roland’s words to those who hadn’t caught everything.

  Winthrop had turned an unpleasant shade of puce. “Roland, you have brought shame on our family!”

  “No, that would be you, sir,” said Daphne. She was smiling at Roland, her expression amazed and a little uncertain, almost fragile. Roland had never seen that look from Daphne before.

  In a softer voice, Roland said to her, “I thought I was protecting you by keeping this secret, Daphne. But I wasn’t. I was protecting myself. I’ve been letting you protect me for far too long. I’ve given other people a weapon they could use to hurt us. No more.”

  He turned to Sairis, who was watching wide-eyed. “It has been a year since I lost Marcus,” continued Roland to the troops. “I did not think I would find love again, but I have. Magus Sairis has endured extensive persecution from my family, and yet he risked his life to save Daphne and me when Hastafel attacked us in the palace. He has been a kind and trustworthy friend in spite of all the abuse that has been hurled at him in my presence. He has repeatedly gotten between me and deadly magic, and he recently turned the tide of a battle that was lost when our reinforcements did not appear. I love him and will continue to do so, and I will challenge any man who impugns his honor.”

  Sairis actually blushed. By the end of the speech, he’d fixed his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of Cato’s ears.

  The lords were muttering furiously. Winthrop kept interjecting things like, “You can’t possibly believe any of this,” and, “They are under a spell!”

  Roland backed up a little to lay a hand on Sairis’s shoulder. “Sorry to embarrass you,” he murmured, “but it had to be said.”

  Sairis swallowed, nodded, patted his hand.

  Roland raised his head high and gazed out over the men. A few looked back. Most looked quickly away. He saw carefully neutral expressions punctuated by flashes of curiosity, shock, or disgust. He also caught a few knowing smiles and even a few looks of frank admiration.

  Some of these people will tell their own truths this evening because I was brave, Roland realized. I was the only one who could do this. Because Daphne is right. I am untouchable. I am the premier knight of the realm. No one can hurt me with this secret unless I give it power. I can make the world safer for people like me, like Sairis, like Marsden, like November and Hazel. Perhaps even like Alistair. But only if I am willing to suffer a little embarrassment, some disrespect from fools, a bit of disgust from old men. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d expected.

  One of the lords turned from the huddle to glare at Daphne. “Is there any proof of these accusations against Lord Winthrop, Your Grace?”

  “There are letters in his own hand to Marcus Kinnic.”

  “I have them right here,” said Roland.

  “And I think,” continued Daphne, “that if you will listen calmly to Sairis’s version of events in the fort, you’ll find it enlightening.”

  “He’s a necromancer!” howled Winthrop. “He has seduced my nephew into unspeakable depravity!”

  “Yes, we’ve established that,” snapped one of the lords. “However, I believe this situation is best settled by a trial before a jury, where we can see all the evidence and decide for ourselves.” He turned to Daphne. “Your Grace, I hope you realize that we were under certain assumptions when we arrived here today...”

  Daphne gave them all a tight smile. “I will consider this a misunderstanding, my lords, as long as my men can promptly receive food, shelter, and medical care. I’d also like to know what happened to Magus Marsden, who is certainly not a traitor.”

  “He has not been seen since the fire, My Queen, though there was an attempt to take him prisoner.”

  Lord Winthrop was staring around with a baffled expression, as though he couldn’t quite understand what was happening. Roland kicked his own horse forward, reached his uncle and said, “You will surrender your sword, sir. You will be under guard until your trial. Count yourself lucky if we do not chain you like a common murderer.”

  Winthrop seemed to swell like an angry toad. “How dare you?” He reached for the hilt of his weapon, and Roland drew his own blade in one smooth movement.

  “Daphne has forbidden me to challenge you to single combat,” he snarled. “But please do give me an excuse.”

  Winthrop was breathing hard now, his eyes flicking around the group. Roland thought he would say something else, but he seemed to think better of it and subsided. He did not resist when one of the men beside him unbuckled Winthrop’s sword belt and tossed the weapon to Roland.

  They were interrupted by the desperate blaring of a signal horn. The note was so high and so strident that Roland felt certain the sentry had missed something and was trying to make up for lost time. I suppose I did have everyone distracted...

  He turned, half expecting to see troops pouring out of the Rim Forts, perhaps with sorcerous reinforcements. Instead, he saw a lone man. He carried a white flag, and an enormous black wolf loped beside him.

  Chapter 19. Vengeance

  Sairis had to give credit where it was due—Hastafel did not lack for courage. He was alone except for his demon, facing thousands of men who would love to see him shredded. And yet he moved with no sign of nerves. Of course, thought Sairis, he put all his fear and self-doubt in the sword, so perhaps that’s not so impressive after all.

  The sorcerer had already skirted the carnage before the gates of the southern fort. He stopped when he found a clear spot amid a vast swath of standing water, like a shallow lake. He rammed his white flag into the mud, bade his wolf lie down at his feet, crossed his arms, and waited.

  All along the lines, bowstrings went taut, but the white flag made them hesitate.

  Daphne was craning her neck, standing in her stirrups. “Sairis, what is he doing?”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt he’s surrendering.”

  “Should we shoot him?”

  Sairis shrugged. “I doubt arrows will harm him, and he might retaliate.”

  “Should I challenge him?” asked Roland.

  “No,” said Sairis and Daphne at the same time.

  Daphne scowled in concentration. Then she snapped out orders for troops to circle around behind Hastafel, cutting him off from the fort.

  “Is it safe to talk to him, Sairis?”

  “No. But it might be the only way to end this.”

  Daphne nodded. She turned to the barons and said, “Well, my lords, it appears that you are not too late to share in the glory of our victory. Although using an entire army to crush a single sorcerer may be overkill. Let’s go finish this.”r />
  Sairis didn’t think the barons looked excited about their opportunity for glory. However, there wasn’t much they could say, and orders flew for the troops to march after the queen as they all converged on the figure of Hastafel, who looked as though he were standing on a sheet of still water. It reflected the golden light of sunset like a mirror.

  Roland had taken charge of Winthrop in the absence of anyone else to do the job. The duke’s initial outrage had subsided, and he was affecting a haughty air of disinterest. Sairis was sure he was planning his legal defense and what favors he might be able to call from his many friends and contacts.

  As they drew closer to the solitary figure, Sairis got a better look at Hastafel. He was dressed in furs and leather. No sign of a weapon.

  Daphne and her entourage stopped about twenty feet away, and troops fanned out to either side, forming a rapidly closing circle. Hastafel watched without apparent concern. He’d clearly fought in the battle today. His leather armor showed scars of recent use. His black hair was streaked with silver that he’d made no effort to magic away, and it ruffled in the sea wind. Even standing there alone, he looked like a leader, a hero even. Sairis understood why mountain tribes and abused peasants had followed him, why they’d believed that he would save them and unite the Shattered Sea under one ruler. Perhaps you really were a hero a decade ago. You just never knew when to stop fighting.

  The wolf stood up, its red eyes flicking around Daphne’s retinue. It did not growl or bristle. It just stood there, waiting.

  Sairis was a little disconcerted when the warlord looked directly at him and smiled. “Ah, the apprentice.” His voice was a low rasp—the voice of a man who has been shouting for hours. “For a moment this morning, I thought they’d let Karkaroth out of his tower. I seem to have underestimated you rather spectacularly, Magus...Sairis, isn’t it?”

  Sairis’s mouth ran away with his brain as Cato came to a stop. “Well, I was the best they could do.”