A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  The water was considerably cooler when we climbed out. Jae’nt swathed himself in a couple of towels and waited for me to join him. He handed me a towel, holding on to it as I took it. “You have grown truly beautiful, Meriq,” Jae’nt said releasing the bath sheet and smoothing back a lock of hair from my face. I took a step back from him.

  “You have become quite the complete soldier, haven’t you, Jae’nt”

  “What do you mean?” The prince laughed.

  “You appraise me, as most of them do.”

  “Does it offend you that men find you desirable, Meriq?”

  “No.” I wrapped the towel around me and moved towards the lounge.

  “What then?”

  “Quite frankly, Jae’nt, it bores me.” I replied shortly.

  “Oh.” The prince’s smug smile slipped a couple of notches. He shook his head and tutted. “Small wonder the men call you the Stone Virgin.”

  “I have that name for reasons best known to the soldiers,” I told him.

  “Yes. I’ve heard any number of them,” Jae’nt replied offhandedly as he followed me through to the lounge. We settled ourselves by the fire and I ordered more tea.

  Iannos appeared moments later with a tray and Aarin hovering behind him like a second shadow.

  “Are you still a virgin?” Jae’nt asked suddenly. Iannos set the tray down rather more heavily than he should have; shock etched on every line in his face. Aarin let out a grating, outraged growl and moved forward. I put up a hand, dismissing the servants with the slightest inclination of my head. “You are!”

  “And so?”

  “Ye gods, Meriq! I lost all three of mine practically the same day four cycles ago.”

  “When you were my age then,” I observed dispassionately.

  “Aye.” The prince grinned at me. “The first was to my war brother, Karl. The second to my captain,” the prince’s smile widened. “Now that was a real experience! Never since have I tasted nectar as sweet or felt as well filled as I did that night.” He gave me a broad wink pausing to take a mouthful of tea and rising slightly to lean over and take the last remaining bread roll from the pannier beside the couch. “The third I lost to a truly beautiful girl in Linkopas.” The prince gave me another wink that only narrowly missed being salacious. “She was arranged for me as thanks from the good captain. Of course, that was after I had taken the time to return his favours.”

  “Naturally,” I responded giving the prince a cool look. “Thank you for sharing that. I am certain that my life is now more complete for the addition of that intelligence.”

  The prince regarded me seriously for a moment before lapsing into an easy smile. “By Zoar! It is truly good to see you again, Meriq. It has been too long.”

  “Indeed,” I answered, topping up the prince’s cup.

  “Do you remember when we used to play throw down?”

  “If I recall correctly, I always beat you.”

  “Yes, like you did tonight—but then I was off guard.” the Prince said craftily, “You were always very quick on your feet and very strong, I recall.” He paused and then smiled. “Do you think you could still beat me in a proper throw down?”

  I looked the prince over critically. He was now a full head and neck taller than I, quite densely muscled, and obviously well-trained. And even though my own strength and agility was good, I laughed at the very thought of it. “I very much doubt it.” I told him.

  “Want to try?”

  “You are a Zetan soldier and I am wearing nothing but a bath towel. I think not.” I gave the prince a knowing look. I was not about to fall for such an obvious ploy. “Jae’nt, it has been wonderful to see you again, but I really must get some sleep, I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

  “Then I shall get dressed and disturb you no further.”

  The sun was scarcely in the sky when I was awoken by Iannos knocking on my bedchamber door. Aenar was in the reception room asking to see me on an urgent matter.

  “At this time of the morning, Provost Aenar, it had best be a matter of life and death.” I said gesturing for the man to sit. Aarin appeared like a genie from a bottle and set down a tray of rubyspike tea and some biscuits.

  “The King sent me,” Aenar explained, “He wishes you to attend him in the mid-morn.”

  I waited for more information, but none came. The king had given no indication as to why he wished to see me, only that I was to be prompt. I frowned slightly. It was not normal practise for any Zetan monarch to command an audience with his vizier, let alone state that he should be prompt. I thanked the soldier despatching him with the reply that I would arrive promptly in four sectas.

  †

  CHAPTER 5

  LEGACY

  THE KING received me in his private chambers well away from the normal consulting rooms. His withdrawing room had been set for entertainment rather than consultation. The credenza was laid with breads, meats and wine and two couches bordered a low table set with tea and sweets for two.

  The man rose as I entered, motioned me to sit and settled beside me on the couch under the window. Reaching across me he poured tea and served the confections, leaning so close that I could feel the heat of his body. I regarded him somewhat bewildered. This was not at all a meeting of monarch with adviser.

  “Well, Meriq,” Janir said setting his cup down. “You have rejected numerous suitors and refused a prince. I wonder—would you refuse your king?”

  I set my cup beside his. “Would I refuse my king what?” I asked carefully.

  Janir leaned forward, placing his hand on my thigh. “I can make you rich, Meriq, and powerful. Powerful beyond your dreams.”

  “And in return?”

  “Lay with me and be my consort.”

  I went to move away but Janir’s grip on my leg tightened. I regarded him stonily.

  “If my king commands me.” I responded

  “So, wizard, you would make me a tyrant?” Janir rose and leaned over me. I rose with him, shedding my cloak as I stood.

  “It is your commands that will define you, majesty, not my obedience to them.”

  “So you would come if commanded, but you will not give yourself to me.”

  “I will not sell myself, Highness. No”

  Janir turned away abruptly and stalked angrily over to the credenza where he poured three goblets of wine. Turning back to me he smiled. “Good.” He tapped on the screen beside him. High Priest Zhartal emerged a heartbeat later and took the goblet Janir extended to him. The king turned to me proffering the second cup before picking up his own.

  “Well, Priest, what say you? Is he as worthy as I believe?”

  “Oh! Absolutely, Sire,” the high priest replied spreading his bejewelled hands like glittering fans. “There is no price on integrity.”

  “Then I am satisfied that I have found what I need.” The king gestured to Zhartal who reached inside his robe and withdrew a white crystal circlet. The king took it and held it over my head. I took a step back.

  “Sire, consider,” I said quickly, stepping back again as he approached me. “You cannot seriously intend to make me Ez’n. I am just a boy, ungirdled, unproven in battle, a-and only fifteen.”

  “Soon to be sixteen,” Janir stated matter-of-factly. The king reached out taking my arm and guided me to where Zhartal stood by the credenza.

  “Anubis’ final counsel to us was very clear,” Zhartal told me. “If Meriq sheds no tears on Kor-Sian give him my position at court.”

  “But you have already done that, highness.” I said, puzzled.

  “And now I am completing that bequest,” the king stated. “Today you become the my little dragon.” He regarded me with a clear amusement, smoothing my hair back behind my ears. “You see, Meriq, Anubis was Ez’n,” Janir told me.

  “He just never wore the circlet,” Zhartal added.

  Suddenly things became clear to me. All at once I understood why it was that Anubis above all others had the king’s ear, and why his counsel
and pronouncements carried such weight with the Senators and other nobles. And though it seemed now that the rank of Vice Roy was about to fall upon my shoulders, I could not help but question the wisdom of the king’s decision—and even the sanity of it. And as he handed me Anubis’ despatch case and a portfolio of petitions, I began to wonder how long my own sanity would endure.

  I set down the portfolio Janir had given me and picked up the goblet of wine and drained it, holding it out again to be refilled. The king smiled and obliged.

  “I shall need a clerk,” I said, more to myself than to anyone.

  Janir regarded me stoically. “Jae’nt has expressed an interest in that post, Meriq. What do you think?

  “I think he should apply along with any others who are interested in the position.”

  The king tugged the bell cord behind the credenza. His page appeared scant moments later.

  “I see you have inherited Anubis’ skill for the politic,” Janir observed.

  “Sire, evil tongues wag with or without cause. It is harder for them when there is no cause—and I do not intend to give them cause. If Jae’nt proves to be the better candidate then he will get the job and none will be able to comment.”

  Janir nodded. “Very wise, Meriq. I will have Karl draw up a list of suitable candidates for you.”

  “Oh no, Sire. That will never do! Were I to appoint, and it turned out to be Jae’nt, there would be a scandal. A neutral party shall carry out the interviews and appointment. Have Karl send the list to Zhartal.”

  “Me?” The priest looked almost terror-stricken. “But I know nothing of these matters, Ez’n.”

  “Well then, now you know how I feel. I shall expect your selections within the settan.” I said imperiously. “And now if your majesty would excuse me,” I added picking up the tracts and papers, “it would seem I have work to do.”

  I left them then with Zhartal still flapping about his assigned task and Janir in gales of laughter.

  The sun was just setting as I pushed the last of the petitions aside. I stood up and stretched, rubbing the stiffness out of my neck. As I left the study Aarin appeared with wine and a selection of meats. I put up my hand.

  “I am going out, Aarin,” I told the youth, “I need fresh air.” And, I thought, some fresh company.

  Tonight my friends would be celebrating Kaernotayne, a winter festival dedicated to the God of the Hunt. They would be baking the last catch of forest pig, a small, spiny creature that inhabited the undergrowth and scrub of the Zetan forests and steppes. This was a major festival for the men, and there was no small skill involved in cooking the meal, for one mistake could be fatal. The spines of the forest pig carried a lethal poison and if it were not cooked properly it would release the poison into its own flesh with dire and sometimes fatal consequences to whoever ate it. But most of the men were skilled at preparing the meat and there were rarely any unfortunate accidents. There would be baked roots and pulses, crisp legumes fresh from the soldiers’ allotments and glass houses, and there would be good wine and, most importantly, good company.

  In the courtyard frost was already settling on the parapets and border stones of the planters and the flagstones had become icy and treacherous underfoot. A light mist drifted along the ground making it seem that the pacing sentry was in fact floating between the barrel towers of the main gate. I left the shelter of the ambulatory and cut across the atrium suddenly acutely aware of the cold of the mist on my feet. Had I realised the winter mists were falling that night I would have worn boots, but it would not be long before I reached the barracks at the foot of the Palace wynd that cut through the houses straight to the parade ground and archery range.

  I had just cleared the main gate, returning the salute from the sentry, when a familiar and unwelcome voice brought me up short. I turned quickly to find Crown Prince Balten emerging from the shadows of a buttress.

  “You are late abroad, Ez’n-Kyr.” He spoke as if the very title were choking him.

  I stood looking at him expectantly. He gave a sneer of a smile and then bent his knee as protocol demanded.

  “It is my habit to roam late, Highness, as you well know.”

  The Prince went to rise but I froze him with a glance. I was determined that he would not flout protocol with me as he so frequently did with both his father and his grandfather before him. “Indeed.” Balten looked irked, and I had to admit to enjoying his discomfort. “Shall I escort you to your destination, Ez’n-Kyr?”

  I would rather be escorted by a triad of King Snakes, I thought—I would certainly be safer in their company. I said, “My thanks, Prince Balten, but I have no need of an escort.” I would have added “and you know that, too!” but I decided not to push matters further. “Forgive me, Crown Prince, you must be most uncomfortable down there on the cobbles. Rise.”

  The Crown Prince gave me a smile that only narrowly missed being venomous and hauled himself to his feet. I bade him a hasty goodnight and headed down the little alley.

  The barracks was full of laughter and song when I arrived. The long Zetan winter would not soon be over; in fact it was but halfway through. The men, however, were very much in festive mood. My cloak disappeared from my shoulders almost as soon as I was through the door and a tankard of apple ale was thrust into my hand as I past one of the refectory tables.

  Dthor-Aid’n occupied his customary place near the ingle nook weapons rack while Aenar, Maegor and Faedron were ensconced at a table nearby.

  “Meriq! Meriq!” Faedron shouted over the din, “You came.”

  “Of course I did. Did you think I would pass up the chance of celebrating Kaernotayne with my friends?”

  “Here!” Faedron thrust a largish clay ball into my hands. “It’s fresh from the coals and done to perfection.”

  Aenar slid a plate of roasted roots and baked vegetables towards me, raising his tankard in a toast as he did so. One of the companions set a large bowl of salad beside my plate and topped up my tankard.

  I nodded my thanks, cracking the clay against the splitting stone in the centre of the table. A cloud of steam erupted from the vessel releasing the full fragrance of the herbs and spices within. True to Faedron’s word, the forest pig was indeed cooked to perfection and the spined skin fell away held completely and securely in the clay shell, leaving only the sweet white flesh beneath.

  This year the men had stuffed the pigs with sweet nuts, mushrooms and some rare Medran spices giving the flesh a warm, fragrant flavour.

  Faedron threw himself on to the bench next to me. “It is so good to see you this night, Meriq! My stars and moons what’s that on your head?”

  “This?” I asked pulling the circlet off and waving it at him, “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Maegor echoed. “I would not call the Ez’n’s circlet “nothing”.”

  “Well, it’s nothing to me,” I answered, “except perhaps a nuisance. Oh do sit up straight you two. You look ridiculous.” This as the couple sat with their heads almost touching the table in attempt to keep them lower than mine as the Law required.

  “But the Law . . .” Faedron began.

  “The law will have to change or everyone will end up beheaded for treason.” I considered briefly. “Well, everyone with the exception of small children and midgets.” I stuffed the circlet into my tunic.

  “You can’t do that!” Aenar said as he joined us.

  “Forgive me, Aenar, but as the viceroy of Zetaria I can, within reason, do pretty much as I please. Now for goodness sake sit up properly, you’re attracting attention.”

  “Yes Ez’n,” the men chorused.

  “Meriq will suffice. It always has,” I answered rather stiffly.

  Zhartal seated himself carefully folding his robes across his lap. As Iannos set down the refreshments and poured the tea the High Priest pulled a scroll from the small linen satchel he carried. It had been just five days since I set him the task of selecting my scribe and he had now narrowed the selection to four hop
efuls.

  I examined the list carefully, noting that Jae’nt’s name appeared next to a girl from the House of Kildan at the top of the list.

  “Well, you see, Ez’n, it is really quite difficult. Both the Prince and this Kildan girl are admirably qualified. Yes! I was astonished by that too,” Zhartal offered, noting my surprise. “The Prince has an excellent hand, and he knows stenodact. I have no idea where he learned it—or how.” The priest looked perplexed for a moment. “Or even why,” he mumbled. He came fully back to himself. “The Kildan girl knows a different form and is slightly faster at transcription. Only slightly faster, Ez’n” the priest added rather too pointedly for my liking.

  “Could you please stop calling me Ez’n and use my name? You always did with Anubis.”

  Zhartal’s mouth twitched downwards slightly at the edges, as though he was choking on a fish bone. “But you are not Anubis, Ez’n-Kyr,” he answered after a while. “It seems somehow improper to address you any other way. Please do not ask it of me.”

  I shrugged turning my attention again to Zhartal’s shortlist. “You do not seem overly keen on this Kildan girl. Why is that? Is she not properly qualified?”

  “Oh yes, Ez’n! More than properly! But she is a little—well—

  homely . . .”

  “And how is that significant, exactly?”

  Zhartal fidgeted his robes self-consciously. “I am thinking of appearances,” the priest began but I cut him short. At this point Zhartal was not the only one thinking of how things might appear.

  “I take it you have had several visits from Jae’nt, then?”

  Zhartal looked thoroughly uncomfortable, as if he had been caught out in a lie. “Oh, Ez’n! You have no idea how the Prince has plagued me.”

  I gave the priest a sympathetic smile. In fact I had a very good idea of how much the Prince might have been tormenting him. As a boy Jae’nt had been an insufferably bothersome little brute when he wanted his own way. As a young man with more experience and soldiering and a greater awareness of his royal status behind him, I could only really begin to imagine the manipulations he was employing to beleaguer Zhartal. But it was really quite clear to me—and uncomfortably clear to Zhartal—that, plain looking or not, Myrna Kildan was the stronger candidate. Besides which, she was being employed for her skills in the office, not for how alluring she might look sitting behind her desk.