by Kirby Crow
“It is the prophecy,” Ulan said, which was neither agreement nor disagreement.
“If I do this your way, I will fail,” Liall warned.
“You will succeed.”
“Oh, I might, if I had soldiers and weapons and supplies. I can't get Scarlet to the sacred mountain on my own. We might both die in the attempt. Where would your prophecy be then?”
Ulan made a rumbling noise. “I sense truth in your words, but I foresee trouble. Do what you must. The king shall return, and the magic will awaken in Rshan. There will be peace. We will be whole.” Ulan's moonstone eyes seemed to burn with opalescent light. “The Shining Ones were the power, the Anlyribeth were the channel, before the shedding of the blood of Lyr, when all was sundered, and the power lost.”
And just what power is that? Seeds of black doubt dropped into Liall's heart like the snowflakes falling on his cheeks. The snow melted and ran down his skin like cold tears. It does no harm to promise. “The land will be whole, or the Ancients? Do you plan to betray me, Ulan?”
“No.”
“I’m betraying my own people right now,” he said recklessly. “They will call me the Faithless King, the man who swore to rule and protect, and instead allowed our most sacred site to be violated, and all for something he called love.”
“No.”
“I swear to you, they would say it now, if they knew,” Liall insisted. “Because the Ancients asked it of her, my mother hid the truth; that the Ava Thule entered the mountain years ago. Ged Fanorl is too close to the Blackmoat, so the Setna must have known, too, and they’ve kept their silence. Why, I wonder?”
Ulan answered him with the same silence.
“You’ve never spoken to me of Vladei.”
“The cold prince,” Ulan murmured. “Colder now, in his tomb of ice.”
“Yes, that one. He and Melev tried to use the Ava Thule against us. Peace, you say? Vladei made a pact with them to make war against my mother. Half the rebels of Magur were Ava Thule. Look what happened there.”
“I have seen.” The light of Ulan’s eyes shuttered for a long moment. “I have seen them burning. The flames were high as trees, pyres like hills, teeth and finger bones peppering the snow.”
“Stop,” Liall raised his hand. “I don’t need to hear it again.”
“I am not Melev.”
Was that really the truth, though? Weren’t all Ancients of one mind? “Then tell me that I don't do this all in vain, that it's not merely a trick to reclaim your precious power of the Shining Ones. Tell me Scarlet will live.”
“He will live. He will live long, long...”
“Swear it.”
Ulan raised both of his knotted hands to the ceiling of the hollow. “I, Ulan, Farseer of Ged Fanorl, born of stars, swear that I speak no falseness. I wish no harm. The king will return. His t'aishka will live long and full. What was sundered shall be raised, Rshan shall be mighty in its people once more, and you, Nazheradei, ap kyning, prince of the blood, shall rule a new age.”
A cloud of mist formed from the long, anxious breath Liall exhaled, so that he saw Ulan's shining moonstones eyes through a white haze.
I can't ask for more than that, Liall thought. If he has lied, no words will pry it from him now, nor any threats. He knows I have no choice but to trust him. Who else could I turn to?
“So be it,” Liall said heavily. He gathered his cloak tightly about him and shivered, but not from the cold. A Hilurin inside the sacred mountain. Deva save us. There is no turning back now.
Ulan stared at him fixedly, unblinking. “But there is a price, O King. The price is peace.”
The Ancient seemed so sure that peace would happen. No, he thought. That it had to happen. “I cannot.”
“You are king.”
“King, yes. Not a wizard. The hatred between the Ava Thule and the Rshani is very old. We’ve been killing each other for centuries. I cannot simply wave my hand and make that blood disappear, nor do I want to.”
“What would it take for the king to make peace with his enemies?”
“Their submission,” Liall said at once, wondering when he began to take Ulan’s talk of peace seriously. “Their chieftains and leaders must bend the knee to the crown and swear that they and their peoples will obey Rshani law in all things, and vow to suffer the consequences when they do not. If they would do that....” he hesitated, damning himself for an idiot. “If they do that, their leaders would become vassal chiefs, and the people would become conquered subjects. Less than Rshani at first, but still citizens.” His own people would accept no less, if they would accept this unlikely scenario at all. “But first,” he added, “they would be required to earn their place among us, and by that, I mean they would be required to work and to abide peaceably with their neighbors. Lawlessness of any sort will be punished.” He took a step closer to Ulan, not wanting to cite specifics or to give out promises, but needing to be understood. “Punished severely.”
Ulan bent his head in a gesture that looked like submission. “So be it.”
Deva’s hell, have I just made a bargain? As improbable as it was, Liall knew that Ancients did not make vows lightly. He half-turned to go.
“One matter, mighty king... Jochi, of the house of Sul.”
He stopped. “What of him?”
“Separate him from the Anlyribeth. Do this now.”
“Why?” Even though he thought the action wise, he felt he owed Scarlet some manner of protest on Jochi’s behalf. “They've grown close in these months. Scarlet relies on him. I’ve removed Jochi from his position, but why should I deny my t’aishka the company of his friend?”
“We have foreseen troubling things. The brotherhood knows of much that they do not reveal. He is a danger.”
“To Scarlet?” Liall asked quickly. He could not believe it of Jochi.
Ulan made a burring hum deep in his wide throat. “To everything you hope for. We have seen it. Setna are a danger.”
All of the Setna, or only Jochi? There were four Setna in his company, but Ulan had not singled out the others.
“One thing more,” Ulan said, unfurling from the shelter of the rock like a vine separating from a tree. He slowly extended one long, knotted hand to Liall.
“A gift. It will speak to you when your t'aishka is in danger.”
Ulan dropped a small cylinder into Liall’s palm. It was no bigger than a silver whistle he had played with as a child. One side of the cylinder had been cut away and a thin piece of clear glass inserted. Liall looked closely and saw a silvery liquid suspended within in the glass. He shook it and the silver swirled and settled in the lower half of the glass.
“Hold it high in the wind when you are exposed to weather,” Ulan intoned. “When you can no longer see the silver within the glass, your t’aishka is in grave danger.”
“In danger from whom?” Liall wondered if this was some magic of the Ancients for rooting out enemies.
“From what,” Ulan corrected. “It is a weather gauge, great King. No magic. Only knowledge. With this tool, you will know when the cold turns lethal for Anlyribeth. You will not need it after you reach Ged Fanorl.”
And why is that? Liall wanted to ask, but the gift was precisely what he had been hoping for. He bowed his head. “I thank you, Ulan.”
“Remember the Setna. Cleave him from the Anlyribeth. Keep the magic safe,” Ulan said as his eyes slowly closed. Their pale light vanished like drawing the shutters on the moon. He seemed to melt backward into the shadows.
“I will inform Jochi that he is forbidden Scarlet’s company.”
“At once,” came like a forgotten echo.
“At once,” Liall agreed, giving promise for promise.
It does no harm to promise. No harm at all.
Starhold
HE SLEPT for many hours, and all through his slumber the wind howled over the keep like a pack of wolves, drifting into his dreams as fluid shadow-shapes that pursued him over a barren landscape. He jolted awake with that
noise in his ears and was vaguely unsettled when he realized the wind had stopped.
He stretched and groaned. Every muscle was stiff and his body felt like it had been beaten with hammers. All that from a little climb. He really had been sitting on his arse too much in the palace.
Servants had left a kettle steaming on the brazier and a silver cup of che with a lid beside his pallet. The pale light streaming through the apex of the round tent told him nothing, since the sky never grew truly dark this time of year. Nightshore, Margun had named this space of the year, with Greentide still to come. He could not guess the hour, but from the noise outside his ger, he guessed it was an early one. He drank the che greedily and poured more. The bells tied to the canvas flap chimed and Margun entered.
“You're awake, ser.” Margun bowed.
“And hungry.” He eyed Margun’s empty hands and made a noise of disappointment.
“I'm glad to see that the climb did not tax you too badly.”
“No worry, I'm used to walking. Just a little rusty, is all. Have you seen Jochi since we arrived?”
“No, ser. Not at all.” Margun poked his head outside the shelter to give a brief order.
No sign of Jochi? Scarlet wondered where the man had gotten to. He had not seen Jochi since that last day in Sul. Surely, Liall could not still have doubts about him? Scarlet glanced about the shelter. “The Kasiri make round huts like this. Yurts, they call them.”
“We call this a ger, my lord.” Margun reached for one of the support poles and rattled it. The canvas moved a little but did not wobble or seem unsteady. “The weight is balanced much better than a yurt. It's also lower and can stand up to a high wind. The laced poles reinforce the structure.”
Scarlet yawned and stretched. His boots had been removed and taken away. For cleaning, he supposed. Otherwise, he was fully clothed and his shirt and cloak were rucked up together, tangling him in yards of fabric. He unpinned the snow bear brooch and laid the cloak aside. “A ger, you say? Well, it's warm enough, anyroad. How about some food?”
“Already seen to, ser. I’ll fetch it.”
Margun ducked out and Scarlet yawned again and scratched his ribs. “I feel like I could eat a horse all by myself,” he murmured. He drank more of the che and found that one of his packing trunks had been stored inside the ger. In the trunk was a clean shirt and virca and one of the soft towels from the palace. He made use of a brass pitcher of cool water on a washstand to bathe his face and arms, then combed his hair and rummaged again in the trunk for new socks. He didn't see any other luggage and he was surprised that someone had dragged the trunk all the way up here just for him.
And I shouldn't be surprised at all. Liall is their king and they think I belong to him. He'll forever be a bandit Kasiri to me, but to them, he's royalty. He smiled. Didn’t Liall just know it, too? And he had accused Liall of arrogance when he was still a bandit! He wondered if all that swagger had been present when Liall was a boy, or if it was something he affected later, when he found himself a common man among the kraits.
The bells of the ger chimed as Scarlet was finishing the laces on his virca. He turned just as Ressilka entered, carrying a tray in her hands.
He gaped ungraciously for a moment, anger and jealousy kindling in him, but then he reminded himself that Cestimir had truly loved this girl.
“Lady Ressilka,” he said uncomfortably. “Welcome.” He tried not to look as dismayed as he felt. And just what in three hells are you doing here? he wanted to add.
Ressilka curtsied while balancing the tray. “I have brought your breakfast, ser.”
“Um, thank you,” he muttered. “You didn’t have to.” He found himself staring at his feet as she put the tray down, and jerked his chin up. He would not shrink from her like he had done when meeting Shikhoza for the first time.
Ressilka smoothed her pretty gown and smiled at him, and he noticed that she had silver roses pinned in her hair.
She’s prettier than Shikhoza, he thought. But warmer. Shikhoza is ice. Ressilka is fire. Liall has always loved that about me.
“I thought we should talk,” Ressilka said. “It would make matters easier for both of us, I believe.”
“Matters,” he echoed.
She nodded. “I won’t insult you by pretending ignorance. We both know that my father intends to marry me to the king.”
“The king might have something to say about that.”
She clasped her hands together. “And you, ser.... what do you have to say about it?” When he hesitated, she took a step closer to him. “Please, I want to know how you feel.”
“You want to know how I feel about someone telling me to my face that they intend to take my love away from me? Fucking angry, that’s how.”
“But I don’t want to take him away,” Ressilka said, her brow furrowed. “I truly do not. I only wish to share a part of his life.”
“A really big part that I’m now occupying,” he said flatly.
“But you’re not. Not truly, my lord. You are his lover, but not his mate. Not the bearer of sons. Only a woman can fill that role, and if there must be a woman then I am the one it should be. Please understand that I have trained for this purpose my entire life. I know that I would be a good wife and a loyal queen.” She lowered her eyes. “Forgive me for speaking the truth.”
Scarlet shook his head. “Nay. I don’t think I will.” He was too hurt and too damned angry to answer her with the words he wanted to use. He knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t!— speak to Ressilka like that. Maybe he could have if Cestimir hadn’t loved her. If Cestimir hadn’t died that day, leaving him alive to take all the damned blame just for not being killed.
Scarlet stared at her, his heart aching. She was so lovely, so earnest. He could almost believe her. “Do you really want to know how I feel?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes. Yes, please.”
Before he could tell her, the flap was thrust back with a jangling of bells.
Liall stood there. He glanced at the tray. “The rules of my Court go wherever I go, Lady,” he said, his voice level and cold. “None who are not of my personal household are permitted to be alone with my t'aishka. This is an insult.”
Ressilka’s mouth trembled, and Scarlet wondered if it was from fear or outrage.
“Liall, don’t—” he began, but one look from Liall stilled him. He bit back what he wanted to say.
Margun entered with the promised breakfast tray in his hands. He looked between Liall and Ressilka with alarm.
“Margun, escort the lady away from my ger,” Liall said. “She is not to return, on any account. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sire.” Margun hastily put the tray down and reached to take Ressilka’s elbow, then seemed to recall who she was. He stood aside and held the flap open for her. Without another word, Ressilka gathered her skirts and swept by them, leaving the scent of roses behind.
Liall glared at the tray Ressilka had brought, his mouth tight, and Scarlet could tell he was wrestling with his own reaction.
No harm done, he wanted to say. He sensed it would be unwelcome. He waited out the moments uncomfortably until Margun returned.
Liall stepped very close to Margun, almost nose to nose. “That will not happen again.”
Margun made no excuses. Even though he has one handy, Scarlet thought. I sent him for food. He knew he should say something, but didn’t, wanting to see what Margun’s answer would be.
Margun bent his neck submissively. “No, sire. It will not.” He bowed lowly and retreated.
Liall turned to Scarlet. “What did she say to you?”
Scarlet lifted one of the bowls on Ressilka’s tray and saw that it was hot bread and porridge. He heard Shikhoza’s voice hissing peasant food into his ear. “I think she was trying to be nice.”
“She wanted more than that. Ressanda’s daughter wouldn’t play handmaiden to you just to be nice.”
“How long has she been here?”
“She arrived before us
. I would have told you last night, but you were asleep.” Liall’s mouth was tight. “She came to deliver her father's fealty, as she calls it.”
“Baron Ressanda has done what you asked?” Scarlet realized how he sounded and snapped his mouth shut. I’m a bloody mockingbird.
“It appears the red bastard has come to his senses,” Liall said. “Ships have arrived. More soldiers. Supplies as well, enough to provision us until we reach the Blackmoat. There's nothing keeping us here, now.” He approached and slipped his hand under Scarlet's chin. “You look tired.”
“More stiff than tired. And hungry, and now worried.” Scarlet patted Liall’s hand and pulled away. He inspected the dishes Margun had delivered. “Have you eaten?” He found a seat on a planked bench so high that his feet swung free.
Margun had brought eggs, fruit, cheese, and rough, black bread that reminded him of the waybread Linhona used to pack for his travels. There was also salted pork and a dish of tiny fishes in salted oil.
Scarlet picked at the fish and bread as Liall stood watching with a troubled expression. “I never thought I’d like fish again,” he said. “I needed the sleep, too, I think.”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about, t’aishka.”
“Oh, there’s plenty, but I’m not going to discuss it on an empty stomach.” He patted the spot next to him on the bench. “Come and eat.”
After a moment, Liall sat down and helped himself to a handful of the dried fruit.
Scarlet let a few moments pass, trying to decide if he was angry or hurt or just scared. He had expected Ressilka to be more like Shikhoza, now that she scented a crown again in her future. He didn’t know how to react to a rival who wanted to be his friend. “Did you sleep?”
Liall grunted a negative, peeling the flesh from a cherry stone with his teeth.
Scarlet sighed. “All right, let’s talk.”
“What did she say to you?” Liall asked at once.
“She wanted to know what I thought of you marrying her.”
“Damned woman. I told her—”
“What? Did you tell her no? I don’t think you did.” Scarlet lost his appetite abruptly and dropped the bread onto the tray, instead taking a long drink of the che. “She came here to make peace with me because she thinks she’s going to be your wife and we’ll be living in the same house, as it were.” Never mind that it’s a palace. “I can see the sense in that. It’s practical.”