“Councillor Verin. I do not believe this is the time or place for brawling, whatever the provocation. I would rather you enjoy revelling in honour my father rather than mounting a battle in his honour.” Markos gave the man a warm smile and placed gentle but firm hand on the man’s shoulder. The action conveyed Markos’ intent with quiet clarity.
The councillor bowed. “Of course, Markos. My apologies. For a moment I forgot myself.”
“A very easy thing to do in heated debate—and especially when my old friend Aldrigan over there is passing out his vintage liquor.”
Jae’nt turned to Zarin, leaning forward to offer him a hand up. “Are you hurt, sir?”
The colonel slapped the prince’s hand aside.
“Go and see to your boy-slut. I have no need of your hand. Your mere presence defiles me and the fact that I now owe you a life shames me beyond measure.”
The venom that dripped from the man’s every word clearly shocked the prince and he took a step back. “You are welcome, Commander. Rest assured I will not shame you a second time.” So saying Jae’nt hauled Tariq to his feet. The kalthar twisted from Jae’nt’s grip and turned to his father.
“That was horrible—even for you. If mother was alive she would be as shamed by your conduct as I am.”
“She would be more shamed by your corruption.”
Tariq bristled. “I am not . . . .”
Jae’nt took hold of Tariq’s hand. “Leave it be, ‘b’zaddi. Leave it be. Come we have a dance to learn and I would dance it with you before the night is out.”
Markos strolled casually up to Zarin. “Provoking someone as volatile as Councillor Verin is a rather stupid and more than obvious ploy, Zarin. My father loved you as a brother. Can you not just give him this one night and put your hatred for Jae’nt and Tariq aside. He approved of them. He even told me to give them his and mother’s betrothal rings before he rode into battle.”
I was not deliberately eavesdropping but I had not yet fully moved from the site of the initial disturbance.
Zarin looked aghast. “He told you to give those petachim The Twins?”
“As he told me to give the Lord Consort his Star Stone gorgette, and Lord Ez’n his decorative shiv.”
“Then he is not the king I thought he was,” the colonel answered, turned his back on Markos and headed towards the exit.
“Did you truly expect that he would pass the Star Stone to you, Zarin?”
The commander did not react. He just kept walking.
Markos stared after the man for sometime before shaking his head rather despondently before turning to make his way back to speak to his other guests. He paused when he saw me. “I take it you heard all of that.”
I gave the king a non-commital shrug. “I will have heard only what you say I have heard, Markos.”
The young king smiled at me. “Then you heard it all. You wizards miss nothing anyway.” He sighed heavily. Zarin was man of good heart. I cannot believe something as insignificant as Tariq falling in love should sour him so.”
I took Markos offered arm casually and strolled back towards the high table with him. He paused again turning to look at me. “How do I save a man so intent on destroying himself?”
“You cannot,” I said simply, “He has set himself on a dark path and only he can take himself from it.”
“I might understand his objections if Tariq was merely slything some raw recruit or hoplite for just the thrill of pursuing something forbidden. But he’s is in love, for Morgul’s sake, with a powerful, honourable warrior and a Prince. If one of my sons ended up in such a situation I would be singing praises to the heavens for the blessing. Just as I was when Kylos and Aenar found each other.”
“You are as strange and profound as your father, Markos.” I told him.
“Mayhap. Of course, I was not so joyous when you and Dthor found each other.”
“I think you should not set yourself on that path.” I laughed.
“He certainly should not,” Dthor said smiling as he joined us, “Morla might have to find itself a new monarch sooner than He would like!”
Markos laughed. “Ye Gods, Dthor, have you developed wizard’s hearing as well. It must be the Ez’n enchanting you.”
“Like you, Markos, he did that to me when my gaze first fell upon him.”
With the revels and the feasting recommenced we settled at the tables clapping along to the music until Markos signalled to the musicians. The men rose and left to be replaced with a Zetan ensemble. At a signal from Markos they began to play. I recognised the piece immediately for it was the first dance Dthor and I shared on our first official night out together. Markos turned to me. “It is a full cycle is it not since you and your Consort danced this. Tonight I should like you to dance it for your anniversary and in honour of my father who respected and admired your commitment to each other. If you please Lord Ez’n.”
Dthor rose first taking my hand and guiding me to the floor. We began as we had that first night with careful stiff formality. Dthor smiled at me “You are dancing as we danced the first time. I cannot believe you can hold such a memory.”
“We shall surprise them all yet, my love.”
We moved slowly into the dance gradually gathering speed with the music until we reached the point I remembered that Dthor had criticised my rigid formality and as he turned me I dropped into the oversway so freely it almost set him out of step. He grinned at me, “Much better,” he whispered, as I sprung backwards over his forearm. We whipped quickly in the spins. I felt as if we were flying around the dance space. I could hear the spectators whistling and shouting and banging tankards on the tables. And as the music reached its climax and Dthor spun me away snapping me back to him and pulling me across his chest he released his grip catching my right arm as I rolled down him and pulling me to a halt just as the music ended.
There was a sudden, breathless silence and then the whole place erupted in cheers. Revellers pulled the woven flowers from there arrangements and hurled them at us. Some threw gold coins, several of the shield maidens tossed reinforced stays from their corselets to us; something of an honour according to Markos. I decided I would not explore what significance such an action might have but I suspect it was an overture of some sort. Archers threw darts and some even broke the heads or flights from their arrows and tossed them to us.
Markos took our hands and guided us back to our seats. “I would say that was a resounding success.”
I nodded an acknowledgement to a Morlan page as she set a basket containing all the tokens she had gathered from the floor on the table before use. Dthor passed her a gold coin, smiling at the shock on the young girl’s face.
“My Lord is too kind,” she said, giving a low courtesy and scurried off quickly—either to show her good fortune to her fellows or because she thought Dthor might reconsider his generosity.
“It was something of a shock, Majesty. But I thank you for the opportunity to dance with my Consort. It is something we have not done for some time.”
“I know,” Markos answered, “That is why I arranged it. That and because my father asked it.”
I gave Markos a dark look. He merely cocked his head.
“Voice it, Meriq—please—before your brain explodes.”
“The more you speak of this Wake and its arrangements the more I get the feeling that your father planned his death in battle.”
“It took you this long to work it out? You disappoint me, little wizard.”
“No Markos I worked it out when he asked you “if not now, my son, when?” I just cannot work out why.”
“Well,” Markos answered in a tone so reminiscent of his father’s that I almost shuddered, “I am sure that will become evident in the fullness of time.”
†
CHAPTER 35
PRIEST TO KING 4—PINNED
(Choctaw Move)
JANIR WAS sitting quietly in a corner of his withdrawing compartment when I arrived for our morning meeting. H
e was so caught up in thought that he scarcely acknowledged my arrival, giving me but a glance before returning his gaze to the view from the tent window. I frowned slightly. Given the position, there could be scarcely much to hold his interest. True enough he would not be overlooking the latrines, but I imagined that the view of the catering tents and corrals was, like as not, equally uninspiring.
“How fare you Ez’n?” The king asked suddenly, pulling himself from his reverie and focusing fully on me as I pulled up a chair opposite him.
“I continue well—and more than strong enough.” I answered.
“You are certain?”
“Do not distress yourself on my behalf, Sire. Should the need arise we will find a way to make you indisposed until I have recouped what I may need.”
“Another flux, I suppose? I seem good at those.”
“Anything that will not arouse suspicion.” I replied cunningly.
Janir did not really need a state meeting with me, so he said. Apparently Markos would be joining us shortly as he had requested a meeting with the pair of us to discuss assistance and support in Tariq’s coming Trial by Eternal Charter. I nodded. Our support for Tariq as Jae’nt’s declared Consort could not be questioned. Janir had given royal assent months back. Keelan had merely agreed it was so because Jae’nt was nothing to do with Morla and as far as the late king had been concerned neither Tariq nor his brothers were in the Morlan Army—they had joined the White Guard whether they had the cloaks to prove it or not.
The king frowned. “Markos is not his father,” the monarch observed, “I feel the more I know him, the less I know of him. In many ways he is far deeper, certainly more cunning and—I think—far more dangerous to those who thwart him.”
On every one of the points raised by the king I found I had to agree. Markos was most certainly not struck from the same mould as his father. Witnessing the execution of the M’rgaerdjinn priests when they exceeded but a hair’s breadth of what he considered their proper reach had brought the differences even more clearly into focus—as had his brutal sentence for the men who defiled his father’s body. The spectacle had been the subject of discussion for several days now and still showed no signs of abating. The fact that he had declared the process to be the future sentence for treason and desecration of the fallen was also still on the lips of many. It was, as Markos had suspected, mainly the nobles amongst his entourage who were expressing the most consternation, but then I reasoned that they were probably the one who were most likely to have reason to worry given the amount of calumny that existed in the ruling classes throughout any kingdom.
Markos was preparing something, on that both Janir and I agreed. Furthermore we both agreed that whatever it was neither of us was likely to discover his plan until he was ready to divulge it; and neither of us believed that he would.
Our discussions were interrupted as Jalin appeared in the doorway carrying a tray of refreshments. The king’s breakfast had been set out with the most obvious affectionate attention and I noticed with a smile that the side of the plate bore three ruby spike flowers as decoration. The plate of meats and cheeses for the guests were no less attractively set but were absent any floral garnish.
Janir’s eyes followed mine to the flowers. “Ah,” he said, with a small smile, “Jalin believes I should always have something beautiful to look upon as I eat.” He took the page’s hand gently. “And of course, if he would remain and break fast with me I would not need the flowers.”
Jalin coloured slightly and bowed. “And then my king would chide me because things would be left undone. Like informing you that King Markos is without. May I bring him in?”
“Of course, Jalin,” Janir laughed. “Now—be off with you serf and be about your work before I have you flogged!”
Markos sauntered in, throwing his cloak to Jalin as he passed. The youth blushed almost over the whole of his body. It seemed that some in the campaign were never going to adjust to the Morlan battle dress.
“I do not believe for one heartbeat that you would ever willingly allow pain to touch that boy, Janir.” Markos said as he settled beside us.
We ate for a little while in silence before Markos made a comment on the excellent quality of the smoked meat and preserves.
It was a mere means to open conversation regarding the forthcoming Trial. Markos made it clear that he knew we would support Tariq and testify if required by the Aergin. But as with most things—and especially those involving fanatical priests—things were unlikely to be simple. The Eternal Charter was a granting of absolute authority over things moral. The only arbiter of what was morally acceptable was . . .
“Oh let me guess,” Janir growled sarcastically, “The High Priest himself. Perfect!” he added as Markos merely nodded.
I shifted round slightly to face Markos more fully. “So in effect you are saying that nothing we say is likely to change anything and the Aergin is still just as likely to condemn the Consort of Zetaria’s Prince Royal to death.” This was more statement that question for it was abundantly clear to me that Zarin would have already been working his poison to ensure the outcome.
Markos merely shrugged. “Short of Divine Intervention I would say you have the measure of it, Lord Ez’n.” The young king said. “Which sort of brings me to my other reason for visiting.”
The Trial was something of a major State Event and Markos was concerned that neither his squire nor his current seneschal were particularly well-versed in matters of this nature. “I was wondering therefore, Majesty, if I might prevail upon you for the loan of Jalin who is very skilled in the matters of etiquette. He would be required to set up the Court Bench and oversee the preparation of the Priests’ refreshment, rest and meditation area and attend me during the proceedings. From you, Ez’n I wondered if I might request the use of Myrna to record the proceedings.
Janir and I exchanged glances. I shrugged. “Consider it agreed,” we both said together.
“Many thanks my friends,” Markos said cordially. “I do not wish to appear ungrateful but I should take them now so that I can prepare them in the way things need to be done. I am determined that if this base charade is to occur at all it will be done in strict accordance with the protocols and rules governing it. And the Aergin can slythe himself till he rots if he does not like it.”
So saying, Markos rose and took his leave. Janir and I stared after him and the king began to laugh. “Not much love lost there then.”
“None whatsoever.” I agreed.
The marquee for the Qor-hadthin was a massively impressive structure formed as it was from six tents stitched together. It had taken an entire cohort of men four days to erect and the artisans a further five to decorate and furnish according to tradition. The duration of the works had been a source of immense frustration to the Aergin (and probably a source of much amusement and perverse enjoyment for Markos) who had clearly expected to simply conduct business, have Tariq castrated, filled with gold and disposed of in short order.
I arrived in the huge canvas salle at Markos’ invitation so that I might see how things were to be set and how the whole Trial would be conducted just as the High Priest was voicing his frustration to the young king.
“Aergin Voltax,” Markos said with almost patronising patience. “This Trial is subject to rules and protocols just as any other. I did not compose either the legal or the religious exigencies governing this process; my ancestors and your predecessors did. We are both bound by these edicts so stop this pointless bleating and see to your own preparations.”
“You are a disrespectful young man,” the priest hissed.
“And you are a useless parasite whose sole purpose is to destroy beauty. Neither of us can do anything about the other—unless, of course, you forget which of us is king.”
I looked at Markos and shook my head at him as he smirked after the departing priest. He certainly knew how to vex a man. Markos laughed at me. “I had a good teacher, Meriq. Take your ease. Watch the process, it wou
ld please me.”
Jalin appeared next to me silent as a kayet carrying a tray of rubyspike and Morlan spice cakes. I had developed quite a liking for the odd, spicy little treats and would prevail upon Karyn or Thaze to procure them for me whenever the Morlan bakers were cooking them. Eventually Karyn took to bringing her own to me whenever she made them for Thaze.
I sat quietly watching while Markos scurried about pointing here, shoving the odd worker there and about to get him where he was needed. At Markos’ signal eight hoplites in full armour materialised from a transept and huddled around their king listening intently as he issued their orders and as they saluted and broke away from him he pointed back to the transept from which they had emerged. “Now remember,” he said, “Two at the door and you two at haft and head. Nothing crosses that at any time and nothing obscures that doorway.”
The men nodded and took position. Markos barked a couple of words in Morlan. The men adjusted the grip on their spears and shifted position slightly. The king nodded his approval and then signalled the other four to the opposite transept positioning himself in the centre of the floored area so that he could ensure the men were positioned exactly the same as their counterparts. The arrangement took on a symmetry that was all at once impressive and oddly intimidating; but that, I assumed, was the point.
Several artisans appeared bearing two intricately wrought bronze braziers and presented them to Markos for inspection and approval. The king walked slowly around each one picking at the odd piece of leftover mould trace with his poniard. Eventually he nodded instructed the women the ensure that not one speck of moulding clay was to be seen anywhere on the artifacts. “They are to be flawless beyond flawless, my ladies, in honour of Morgul who shall be with us. Do you understand this?”
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