‘No, King Kiritan,’ I said as I glanced at Kane, ‘we were delayed.’
‘Well, then, we should rejoice that the Valari have sent a prince upon the Quest,’ he said joylessly. ‘We’re honored that Shavashar Elahad sends us his seventh son.’
I winced as he said this, and so did Kane. I felt many eyes upon me. Who knew which pair of them had seen the words to the last two lines of Ayondela’s prophecy?
‘It is good,’ King Kiritan continued, ‘that a prince of Mesh will seek to put aright the great wrong done by his sires in ages past.’
Great pain the kirax in my blood still caused me, but it seemed slight against the burning I felt there now. King Kiritan knew nothing of my purpose in making the quest. And it was wrong for him to say that the kings of my line had done wrong. Even so, I did not gainsay him. I thought it more seemly to respect the decorum of the moment even if he did not.
‘By my sword, by my honor, by my life,’ I told him, ‘I seek the Lightstone. For all of Ea and not myself.’
‘Very good, then,’ King Kiritan said looking at me closely. He held out his hand for a medallion, which he placed over my head. It seemed a great weight pressing against my chest. ‘Sar Valashu Elahad, accept this with our blessing that you might be known and honored in all lands.’
I bowed and backed away, glad to done with him. Then Atara stepped forward. I was very glad that in only a few more moments we would be free to leave the hall and set out on the next part of our journey.
‘Look, it’s the Princess!’ I heard someone exclaim as Atara threw back her cloak.
I thought it a strange thing to say. The granddaughter of Sajagax she might be, but I had never heard the chiefs of the Sarni tribes called kings nor those of their lineage called princesses.
Atara, clad in her bloodstained trousers and black leather armor studded with steel, caused the assembled nobles to wag their fingers and begin talking furiously. Other Sarni warriors, similarly attired, had already stood before the King. But they had been men; it seemed that no one present had ever seen a woman warrior, much less one of the Manslayer Society.
She stepped straight up to the King and looked him boldly in the eyes. Then she said, ‘Atara Manslayer of the Kurmak.’
The King’s ruddy face paled with shock; his lips moved silently as he fought for words. Queen Daryana, too, stared at Atara as did Count Dario and all the other nobles near the throne.
‘You,’ the King said as he held his trembling hand out to Atara, ‘have another name. Say it now so that we may hear it.’
Atara looked at me as if to beg my forgiveness. Then she smiled, drew in a breath and called out: ‘Atara Ars Narmada – of Alonia and the Wendrush.’
I gasped in astonishment along with a thousand others. How it had come to be that this wild Sarni warrior was also a princess of the Narmada line, I couldn’t understand. But that she was King Kiritan’s daughter couldn’t be denied. I saw it in the set of their square, stubborn faces and in the fire of their diamond-blue eyes; I felt it passing back and forth between them in fierce emotions that tasted both of love and hate.
‘It’s his daughter,’ someone behind me whispered as if explaining Alonian court intrigues to an outsider. ‘She’s still alive.’
‘Is she still our daughter?’ King Kiritan asked, looking at Atara.
‘Of course she is,’ Queen Daryana said as she dropped the last medallion back into its chest. She hurried forward past the King and threw her arms around Atara. Not caring who was watching, she kissed her and stroked her long hair with delight. Tears were streaming from her eyes as she laughed out, ‘Our brave, beautiful daughter – oh, you are still alive!’
King Kiritan stood very straight as he scowled at Atara. ‘Six years it’s been since you fled our kingdom for lands unknown. Six years! We had thought you dead.’
‘I’m sorry, Father.’
‘Remember where you are!’
‘Excuse me … Sire.’
That’s better,’ King Kiritan snapped. ‘Are we to presume, then, that you’ve been living with the Kurmak all this time?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘You might have sent word to us that you were well.’
‘Yes, I might have,’ she said.
The King’s eyes flicked up and down as he studied Atara’s garments. Then he said, ‘And now you return to us, on this night, in front of our guests, attired as … as what? A Sarni warrior? Is this how women dress on the Wendrush?’
Across the room I saw several Sarni warriors, with their drooping blond mustaches and curious blue eyes, pressing closer.
‘Some of them do,’ Queen Daryana said. Standing next to her daughter, it was clear to see that they were of the same height and strong cast of body. They were both strong in other ways, too. The Queen seemed as unafraid of her husband as Atara had been of the hill-men. To King Kiritan she said, ‘Did you not hear her name herself as a Manslayer?’
‘No, we tried not to hear that name. What does it mean?’
‘It means she is a warrior,’ Queen Daryana said simply. Then a great bitterness came into her voice. You take little interest in my people beyond seeing that they remain outside your Long Wall.’
‘Your people,’ he reminded the Queen, ‘are Alonians and have been for more than twenty years.’
In the heated words that followed, I pieced together the story of Atara’s life – and some of the recent history of Alonia. It seemed that early in King Kiritan’s reign, to protect his southern borders, he had felt compelled to cement an alliance with the ferocious Kurmak tribe. And so he had sent a great weight of gold to Sajagax in exchange for his daughter Daryana’s hand in marriage. The Kurmak had made peace with Alonia, and more, had checked the power of the equally ferocious Marituk tribe who patrolled the Wendrush between the Blue Mountains and the Poru, from the Long Wall as far south as the Blood River. But there had been little peace between King Kiritan and his proud, fierce, headstrong queen. As she would tell anyone who would listen, she had been born free and would not be ruled by any man, not even Ea’s greatest king. And so for every command or slight the King gave her, she gave him back words barbed like the points of the Sarni’s arrows. It was said that King Kiritan had once dared to strike her face; to repay him, she had cut the scar marking his cheek with her strong, white teeth.
‘The King,’ she said to Atara, ‘has told me that your grandfather and grandmother, and your mother’s brothers and sisters and their children – all the warriors and women of the Kurmak – are not my people. If he cut out my heart, would he not see that my blood remains as red as theirs? But he is the King, and he has said what he has said. And this on a day when he has invited all the free peoples of Ea into our home to go forth on a great quest as one people. Is this worthy of the great man you love and revere as your Sire?’
It was also said that for many years, King Kiritan had given Daryana coldness in place of love. And so she had given him one daughter only and no sons.
I wondered why Daryana hadn’t fled back to the Kurmak as Atara had done. In answer, almost as if she could hear my thoughts, she said, ‘Of course some might say that since gold has been paid in dower to my father, that I now belong to him who paid it. A deal is a deal, and can’t be broken, yes? But I hadn’t heard that the Alonians had entered the business of buying and selling human beings.’
At this, the King flashed her a look of hate as he said, ‘No, you’re right – that is not our business. And you’re also right to say that a deal cannot be broken. Especially one that was agreed upon freely, and as we remember, enthusiastically.’
Queen Daryana’s eyes were full of sadness as she looked at Atara and said, ‘Choices must always be made; seldom can they be unmade. I might have joined the Manslayers even as you have. But then I wouldn’t have lived to bear such a beautiful daughter.’
Atara, who was blinking back tears, bowed her head to her mother and then looked down at the floor.
‘Yes, a daughter,’ the King s
aid as if he had bit into a lemon. ‘But how is a king to secure the continuance of his line and the peace of his lands without sons?’
Queen Daryana’s eyes were like daggers of ice as she told him, ‘It’s said that the King doesn’t lack sons.’
It was said – I learned this later from the Duke of Raanan – that King Kiritan had multiplied to himself many concubines, if not wives. And many of these had borne him bastard sons, whom he kept hidden in various estates among his domains.
Now the King’s face grew as red as heated iron. His hand closed into a fist, and I was afraid he might strike Daryana. The Sarni warriors, I saw, were pulling at their mustaches and smiling at Daryana’s defiance of him. Everyone was now watching King Kiritan, who must have felt the shame of their wondering how he could rule a kingdom if he couldn’t even rule his own wife and daughter. But it seemed that he could at least rule his wrath. He looked down at his fist as if commanding it to relax and open. Then he turned to Atara and held this open hand toward her.
‘It has been said,’ he told her, ‘that we know little of your grandfather’s people. Especially this Society of Manslayers, as you call it. Would you please tell us more?’
This Atara did. Everyone in the hall pressed closer to hear stories of women warriors riding their ponies across the Wendrush and killing their enemies with arrows. By the time Atara told of being left naked in the middle of the steppe with nothing more than a knife to work her survival, and hinted at other fiercer and more secret initiations, the King’s lips were white and pressed tightly together.
‘A hundred of your enemies,’ the King said, shaking his head. He looked at Count Dario and Baron Belur who stood near the throne. ‘Few of even my finest knights have slain so many.’
They haven’t been trained by the Manslayers,’ Atara said proudly.
The King ignored this slight against Alonian arms, and said, ‘Then none of these women may marry until they’ve reached this number? Are there no exceptions?’
‘No, Sire.’
‘Not even for one who is also the daughter of the Alonian king?’
‘I have made vows,’ Atara told him.
‘Do your vows then supersede your duty to your Lord?’
‘And what duty is that?’ Atara asked as she looked at Prince Jardan of the Elyssu. With his curled brown hair, he was a handsome man and a tall one – though the webwork of broken blood vessels on his red nose hinted of weakness and craving for strong drink. ‘The duty to be sold in marriage to the highest bidder?’
It was well, I thought, that Atara had fled her home at the young age of sixteen. I saw that she vexed King Kiritan even more than did her mother. Again, his hand closed into a fist as he ground his teeth and his whole body trembled with rage. Because I couldn’t allow him to strike her, I readied myself to rush forward and stand between them. But the King’s guards saw my concern, and readied themselves to stop me. King Kiritan saw this, too.
When did the sanctity of marriage come to be so little regarded?’ he said to Atara. He cast me a dismissive look, then glowered at Maram and Kane. ‘Is it right that you should forsake such a blessed union to take up with a ragtag band of adventurers?’
‘Hmmph,’ Atara said, ‘you may call them that, but my friends are –’
‘A bald, old man, a fat lecher, a mercenary and a knight of little name.’
Atara opened her mouth to parry his careless words. But warrior of the Manslayers though she might be, I could not allow her to fight my battles for me. I threw off my cloak then so that the King could see my surcoat and the silver swan and seven stars shining from it.
‘My sires were kings, even as yours were, King Kiritan,’ I said. ‘And their sires were kings when the Narmadas were still warlords fighting the Hastars and Kirrilands for the throne.’
Now the hands of Count Dario and Baron Belur snapped toward the hilts of their swords. A dozen other knights grumbled their resentment of what I had said. It was one thing for the King’s own wife and daughter to dispute with him, but quite another for an outland warrior to shame him with the truth.
‘Sar Valashu Elahad,’ the King huffed at me. ‘It’s said that your line is descended, father and son, from the Elahad. Well, it’s also said that the Saryaks claim descent from Valoreth himself.’
‘Many things are said, King Kiritan. And one of these is that a wise king will be able to tell what is true from what is false.’
‘We tell you this then. You Valari are as prideful as you ever were.’ His eyes flicked toward Atara, and he added, ‘And as bold.’
‘It’s boldness that wins battles, is it not?’
‘We haven’t heard of any notable battles you’ve won of late,’ he said. ‘It would seem that you’re too busy fighting among yourselves over diamonds.’
‘That might be true,’ I said bitterly. ‘But once we fought for other things.’
‘Yes, for a golden cup that does not belong to you.’
‘At least the cup was won,’ I said, recalling the white stones I had found on the Hill of the Dead the day before. ‘At the Sarburn – you will have heard of that battle.’
‘Indeed we have,’ the King said. ‘Eighty-nine Narmada knights fell there that day.’
Ten thousand Valari are buried there!’ I said. ‘And their graves aren’t even marked!’
‘That is not right,’ the King said with surprising softness. And then a note of bitterness crept back into his voice. ‘But you can’t blame my people for not wanting to honor outland warriors who invaded their land for plunder.’
The Valari did not die for plunder,’ I said.
‘Nevertheless, Aramesh did take the Lightstone for his own. Just as he took for himself the crown of Alonia.’
At this, many grumbles of anger rolled through the room.
‘He ruled, it is true, but for three years only until the Red Dragon’s work was undone and he saw the kingship restored. It’s nowhere recorded that he took the crown.’
‘What right does any but an Alonian have to rule Alonia?’
‘Some might say that if he hadn’t ruled,’ I said, looking around the hall and up at Kiritan’s jewel-encrusted throne, ‘there would have been nothing left for your sires to have ruled.’
‘What was left of the Alonians’ great sacrifice at the Sarburn,’ King Kiritan asked, ‘after Aramesh took the Lightstone back to Mesh and kept it behind his mountains?’
‘He did not keep it for himself,’ I said. ‘He invited all to come and behold it. And in the end, Julumesh surrendered the cup to Godavanni, even as you have told of here tonight.’
‘We have told of how the cup was lost. By Valari selfishness and pride.’
The cup was lost,’ I said. ‘Which is why some of us have vowed to regain it.’
‘We do not see many Valari here tonight,’ the King said, looking out at the masses of people packed into the hall. ‘And why is that?’
Because our hearts have been broken, I thought.
The King, answering his own question, said, ‘Your land is long past its time of greatness. Now you Valari care for little more than your diamonds and your little wars. It’s almost savage the way you glorify it: every man a warrior; your duels; meditating over your swords as if they were your souls. No, we’re afraid that the Valari’s day is done.’
Because I had nothing to say to this, I stared up through the dome at the stars. Then Atara touched my shoulder, and we looked at each other in a sudden, new understanding.
‘Well, what’s this, then?’ the King said, glaring at us.
But neither Atara nor I answered him; we just stood there before three thousand people looking into each other’s eyes.
‘You,’ the King said to Atara, ‘will remain here now that you’ve returned.’
‘But, Sire,’ Atara said, turning toward him, ‘I’ve made vows to seek the Lightstone. Would you have me break them?’
‘You’ll do your seeking in Alonia, then.’
Atara looked at me as she s
adly shook her head. Then, to her father, she said, ‘No, I’ll go on the Quest with Val, if he’ll have me.’
‘If he’ll have you!’ the King thundered. ‘Who is he to take you anywhere? To take you off to oblivion or death?’
‘He has saved my life, Sire. Twice.’
‘And who has given you life?’ the King shouted. Quick as a cat, he turned to me and pointed his finger at my chest. ‘Tell us the truth about what you want of our daughter!’
The first thing a Valari warrior is taught is always to tell the truth. And so I looked at King Kiritan and told him what my heart cried out, even though I had never said the words to anyone, not even myself: ‘To marry Atara.’
For a moment, King Kiritan didn’t move. It seemed that no one in the hall dared breathe. And then he shouted, ‘Marry our daughter?’
‘If she’ll have me,’ I said, smiling. ‘And with your blessing.’
King Kiritan laughed at me then: a series of harsh, cutting sounds that issued from his throat almost like the barking of a dog. Then his face purpled and he began raging at me: ‘Who are you to marry her? An adventurer who hides himself in a dirty cloak? A seventh son who has no hope of ever becoming a king? And a king of what? A savage little kingdom no bigger than many of my barons’ domains! You think to marry our daughter?’
In that moment, as King Kiritan’s outraged voice thundered from the stone walls of his hall, I pitied him. For I saw that he resented having had to marry beneath himself, as he surely thought of his union with Daryana. And now he hoped to ennoble his line more deeply by marrying Atara to the crown prince of Eanna or possibly Prince Jardan of the Elyssu. Even Maram, I supposed, as a prince of the strategically important Delu, would have been considered a more suitable match than I if not for his lustful ways and friendship with me.
I saw another thing, too: that the King, unlike lesser men, was not at the mercy of his terrible rages. Rather, he summoned them from some deep well inside him like a conjuror, and more, wielded his wrath precisely as he might a sword to terrify anyone who stood against him. But I had lived with swords all my life. And I had one of my own.
The Lightstone: The Ninth Kingdom Page 42