Return of the Guardian-King

by Karen Hancock

  And Uumbra must have seen her reaction, for he laughed again and said no more.

  She watched the galley’s narrow prow loom ever higher before them, its banks of oars raised along its sides now, since it was at anchor. Big painted eyes gleamed softly on its dark hull, seeming to watch her as the longboat came alongside and a rope ladder tumbled down from the gunwale.

  Maddie thought she might throw up. Or faint. Oh, Abramm, where are you? Eidon . . . help me. Yet she could not think from which quarter any help might come. And then the longboat took a sudden sharp dip, and the light that had been creeping round the edges of her vision flared brilliantly across it. She gasped, and instead of falling into blackness as she’d expected, she saw a figure through brightness. A man whose form struck powerful chords of recognition. Tersius? No. Abramm! Gladness rushed through her in a giddy storm. He was coming. Just like before. He would do it.

  Then she saw him clearly, and the giddiness subsided.

  He stood between two columns of light—the amber one between him and her, the white one beside them both. His face was browned with the sun, his hair flowing well over his shoulders, his beard long as a hermit’s. His robe was dusty and tattered, his feet bare, his face gaunt. His eyes, though, shone like beacons of blue as they fixed upon her. She felt his fear for her, his desperate longing to come to her, balanced by something even more powerful— his desire to follow their God. The white column that was Eidon.

  “I’m sorry, love. I cannot come now. He has something else for me. . . .”

  Both columns vanished, and he was gone, but she felt the pain of terrible regret and also of his iron-hard determination to serve only one. It left her breathless with disappointment and weeping with pride. For she knew he’d been tempted and made the right decision.

  Oh, Father . . . I know I have you always. . . . Nothing is beyond your power.

  The transfer from longboat to galley-ship deck passed in a blur of darkness, wet rough rope, and hurting shoulders, but finally she stood before her husband’s greatest human enemy. The High Priest of Khrell and Supreme Commander of the Armies of the Black Moon: Belthre’gar ul Manus, son of Abramm’s dear friend Katahn.

  He looked like a bald version of his father, which struck a strange and unnerving blow to Maddie’s poise. Like Katahn, his build was short and powerful, and he had the same hatchet face, the same crescent scar on his cheekbone that was the mark of a Brogai lord, the same dark eyes. There the similarity ended, for where Katahn’s eyes held lights of kindness and the glow of a deep thinker, his son’s were flat and hard and angry. Even now that he had won everything, he still looked hungry.

  Back on the island, Ronesca’s wild screaming turned to rage again, climbing higher and higher up the scale as she screeched at whoever had the bad fortune to be in her vicinity. Maybe she even cursed Eidon—the words were impossible to pick out. Whatever pity Maddie had felt for her earlier had been consumed by the reality of the situation into which the woman had deliberately placed her. Wife to a man who already had a hundred of them, prize to her husband’s most powerful enemy, doomed to be used until her womb bore the desired fruit.

  The temptation to hatred was strong, but she put it away, Abramm’s example inspiring her now. Whatever wrong Ronesca had committed, it was done against Eidon first. She had paid sorely already. And would continue to pay as she watched her realm torn from her grasp. The Kiriathans would never forgive her for this. They would rebel. The Esurhites would take advantage. . . .

  Maddie let out her breath in a long, low sigh and tried to think of something she could do. But there was nothing. Whatever was to be done, Eidon would have to do it.

  Suddenly the wail cut off completely, so instantly silent that Maddie wondered if someone had cold-cocked her. Maybe they had. Captain Romney had looked surprised and none too happy with the role he’d played in this affair. Most likely he’d not been told what it would entail.

  She stood listening along with the Esurhites, but there was nothing to hear. Even the normal boat sounds had been smothered in the blanket of silence that had fallen upon them. Almost as if the world held its breath, waiting for something.

  Then it all came rushing back—the slap of the water against the hull, the ship’s constant creaking, the men’s thumping footfalls on the deck, the squeak of tackle.

  “That was odd,” someone muttered.

  Commander Uumbra pointed past Belthre’gar. “Look, Your Eminence. You were right. Here they come.” And across the glittering sea came the Chesedhan galleys that had been stationed north of the island waiting . . . to rescue her?

  “They’re taking the bait.”

  Belthre’gar muttered something in the Tahg, and Uumbra shouted a command to the ship’s captain, who repeated it to the men, provoking a furious burst of activity. The oars slipped back into the water with a great thundering belowdecks, and the drummer struck a slow but quickening cadence. Meanwhile amidships the lids were removed from two iron cauldrons bolted on squat pedestals beside what looked like a catapult. Men hurried to scoop purple ooze from the cauldrons into clay jars, which were then placed onto the catapult.

  Once the ship started moving, a second round of commands rang out. The starboard-side oars lifted out of the water and held while the portside oars continued to work, turning the ship as she went. The galley’s prow slid around, angling away from the shore. As it did, her eye caught on the shimmer of a Light-cloak coming up on them from the north end of the island. It shielded a longboat full of men that looked as if it would catch up with them while they were still turning and the starboard oars were up and out of the way. They must be the men Trap had arranged as backup in case his worst scenario played out. Her heart leaped with hope as the galley continued to turn, and the gunwale blocked sight of her rescuers.

  No one else noticed the longboat’s approach, for all Esurhite eyes were on the approaching Chesedhan galleys. The Esurhite flagship turned until her portside was presented square to the Chesedhans. At Maddie’s side, Belthre’gar laughed and said something to the ship’s captain that, from his tone and the captain’s pleased response, must have been a compliment.

  She looked over her shoulder to see Brookes and young Corporal Henning hauling themselves over the starboard gunwale. A sudden breeze washed into her face, blowing out of the south and hitting the vessel broadside, the ship rocking slightly at its passing.

  Then a dark-tunicked soldier appeared at her side to grip her arm and drag her toward the open hatch ten feet away. She fought him, as behind her the sudden shouts of the galley ship’s crewmen suggested Brookes and his men had been discovered. Then another gust of wind slammed into them, again from the south, much stronger than the first. The deck tipped sharply, came back to level—and she saw a monstrous wave, higher than the mastpole, rearing over them, blotting out the star-speckled sky.

  It crashed down in a smothering wall of water that tumbled her headlong in its cold embrace. The deck vanished beneath her feet, and she hit something on her side, briefly—the gunwale, perhaps? Then it was gone, too, and all she knew was coldness and tumbling, coughing and sputtering as her face met air one moment, swallowing giant gouts of water as the sea closed over her the next.

  She fell into the darkness, shackles hindering her efforts to swim, the weight of her skirts and cloak pulling her down, down, down until she hit the strait’s sandy bottom. . . .

  The next thing she knew, she lay on her side in the darkness coughing water from her lungs in great phlegmy expulsions of air. Sand lined her mouth, and her lungs, nose, and throat burned. For a time it seemed she’d never stop coughing.

  She must have passed out again, for the next time she awoke, it was light and she was no longer alone—someone patted her back and held up her head so she’d not choke on her own expulsions of water. When at last she could stop coughing long enough to look up and blink away the salt and sand in her eyes she recognized Brookes, who knelt at her head, and Corporal Henning, who crouched before them both,
watching wide-eyed and pale-faced. He had a lump on his brow, and various small cuts on his face. At first she could not think what they were doing on the beach, then recalled they had been on the galley with her when it capsized.

  Her iron manacles sprawled across the wet sand not far away, and she realized they were back on the beach she’d been escorted from not long ago. A clear sky stained gold to pink to mauve arched overhead. She heard the cries of thousands of sea gulls and the susurrus of the waves far down the slope of the beach, along with the occasional distant shouts of men.

  With Brookes’s help, she sat up and peered at the sea, littered now with shards of wood floating toward the beach. Already a ragged line of debris, which included several bodies, had piled along the upper edge of the waves’ reach. Numerous vessels bobbed hull-up out on the sea of wooden shards, Chesedhan three-masters gliding among them on a freshening wind. The longer she looked, the more bodies she saw, drifting amidst the flotsam.

  Nearer she saw the beaked prow of Belthre’gar’s galley ship, perched atop a stony outcrop at her beach’s end, painted eye staring at the sky, the bulk of its hull hidden behind the rocky spine. Her gaze came back to the men beside her.

  “What happened?”

  “A giant wave, my lady. It came out of nowhere. Bowled over the galley and washed you up here.” Brookes shook his head and stared at her in wonder. “The hand of Eidon himself delivered you, ma’am.”

  She looked from him to the others, then back to the sea and the beached galley ship.

  “Looks from here like we’ve lost a good portion of our navy,” Brookes went on, “but the Esurhite’s fleet lost more. They’re devastated.”

  “Fleet?”

  “There were hundreds of ships waiting out there. They meant to destroy us outright last night, madam. Deception piled upon deception.”

  Maddie looked up and down the beach, then pulled a wet strand of hair from her mouth and asked, “Have you seen Captain Meridon? He boarded the queen’s vessel with me, but he wasn’t there when we came ashore. . . .” She trailed off, alarmed by the sober look that came onto Brookes’s face.

  “No. We’ve not seen him, Your Highness. But we haven’t seen Lieutenant Whartel, either. He was supposed to have commanded a second longboat along with ours. Maybe they’re together.”

  A member of the Chesedhan royal guard appeared at the top of the hill, and as he approached, Maddie recognized Captain Romney, the tall, freckled officer of the queen’s guard who had himself handed Maddie to the Esurhites. Seeing her, he stopped in his tracks and stared down at her as a man stricken. “Princess Madeleine?”

  Seemingly unaware of anything but her, he started down the slope, but immediately her guardsmen barred his way. He regarded their shining blades in befuddlement, then looked at her again. “You’re alive?”

  “No thanks to you,” growled Brookes.

  “Let the captain approach,” Maddie said, before things got even uglier.

  They lowered their swords to let Romney through, and he fell to his knees before her. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I had no idea it would turn out . . . Oh, plagues, what have we done?”

  For a time no one spoke, and Maddie watched as more guardsmen appeared on the hill their captain had just crested. They descended slowly as Romney found his voice again. “The queen has been lost, madam. We found her body caught in one of the olive trees on the other side of the island. Her neck was broken. And the waves carried her sons clean away. We’re still looking for their bodies.”

  “Eidon’s vengeance,” Brookes said low at Maddie’s side. “Struck the witch dead for what she did to Princess Madeleine.”

  Dead. Maddie struggled to lay hold of the reality, feeling somehow as if she were still caught beneath the water. Everything seemed so dim and far away. How could Ronesca be dead?

  Captain Romney looked at the sand, his face red with shame. “Aye, he did,” he said softly. “And brought you back to us, though we do not deserve it.”

  She stared at him blankly, his utterance seeming no more than a string of random words.

  How could Ronesca be dead? I want to see the body! I won’t believe it until . . .

  Her eyes fixed on the corpses piled at the crest of the beach, at the others floating in from the sea. . . .

  “It is a fearsome thing to fall into the hands of He Who Lives.”

  The phrase from the First Word floated into her mind, and she shivered.

  Finally Romney said, “Ronesca is dead, Your Highness. And Leyton is captured. That means—” His voice broke again. He had to clear his throat. “That means, as the only surviving member of the royal line, you are queen of Chesedh, madam.”

  He bowed his head and added, “Long live the queen.”

  Around them the sea gulls called and the wind blew as the men stood stunned before her. Then Captain Brookes followed Romney’s lead and dropped to one knee, as well. “Long live the queen,” he echoed.

  In seconds all the others did likewise, as Maddie stood there, shivering fiercely, nausea and shock churning in her stomach. She had never felt so cold in her life. Nor so lost and terrified.

  I cannot be queen of Chesedh! Not without Abramm. Or Papa or Leyton. Oh, Father Eidon, what will I do?

  She wanted to run away, to tell them all she was not suited, could not do this . . .

  But the words of abdication and refusal would not come, and she knew it was no accident. She’d been sold off to Chesedh’s enemies by her sister-inlaw, the queen, and now it had all been turned about. Ronesca was dead. A massive wave had decimated the Esurhite fleet. And brought her back with hardly a scratch to this very beach.

  Queen of Chesedh. Her scalp crawled, but warmth was slowly returning, and with it, her fear subsided. Eidon had called her to this duty, and he would see that she had whatever she needed to carry it out. Nor will you leave me to do it alone. You will always be here to guide me, won’t you? One moment at a time.

  So she lifted her chin and looked around, trying to think what Abramm would do. The answer came easily: First he would take stock.

  The situation was as Brookes had described it: The sudden wave had swamped a third of the Esurhite fleet as well as a good portion of Chesedh’s. It had also severely damaged the quays and structures all along the shoreline, the breastwork defense on the river, and about a quarter of the city of Peregris. The damage to the fleet, though, was the most alarming, for they had already been at a numbers disadvantage.

  The remnants now limped along, commandeering the swamped Eshurhite vessels if possible, sinking those too damaged to save. As for prisoners . . . They weren’t taking any, the reporting admiral had told her.

  “You’re just letting them drown?” she’d exclaimed in horror.

  He’d shrugged. “We’re letting all the galley slaves go. As for the others, we don’t have a place to keep them, nor food to sustain them . . . and we can’t just let them go to fight again.”

  He had a point, but she couldn’t bear it as a policy. “It would make us no better than they. Try to capture as many as you can.”

  He hadn’t liked it, but he’d agreed to it.

  The bodies of Queen Ronesca’s sons were found that same morning on the shore northeast of the island. They were brought to the palace, where preparations were made for them to lie in state with their mother. Maddie quickly passed the details of that operation off to others.

  The burning question of her day was what had happened to Trap. She’d immediately assigned Brookes to find out, and he’d returned shortly with the horrifying news that Meridon had been stabbed in the back and pitched off the stern of the queen’s galley after they’d left Peregris. Lieutenant Whartel and his men, were following along just behind when Meridon plunged into the sea before them. They’d picked him up at once, pressed the water out of him, got him breathing again . . . only to discover a knife wound. Seeing their original plan had already gone irrecoverably awry, and sensing that Trap was on the verge of death, Whartel had returned
to shore, and two of his men disembarked with Meridon under orders to find the royal physician as soon as they could. None had been heard from since.

  She could hardly believe Trap been stabbed in the back and questioned Whartel repeatedly on that point. He stuck to his story. At last she summoned Captain Romney.

  When she told him what had befallen her friend, Romney’s mouth gaped. Then his jaw firmed and his eyes turned flinty. “Captain Meridon was supposed to accompany you ashore, and we feared he’d make too much trouble for the handoff to go smoothly. Madam said she’d see that he was taken care of.” He shook his head. “She was so devout. How could she deliberately order such an act?”

  “She hadn’t been herself lately,” Maddie murmured, recalling with a shudder how hateful she’d been at the last.

  It was midafternoon before she finally found Trap. The two soldiers who had brought him ashore had avoided the royal residence on account of not knowing who exactly had tried to kill him. They had taken him, instead, to the home of a prominent physician. Because Trap had been bleeding internally, the physician had to cut him open to sew up the vessels and organs that had been damaged. He finished about the time they all got word that Ronesca was dead and Maddie had been made queen in her stead, and one of the soldiers hurried to the royal residence to tell her what had happened.

  In all the chaos, though, it had taken him a while to catch up with her, but when he did, she dropped everything and bade him bring her to the physician’s house at once. There the doctor explained what had been done as he escorted her up to the spacious second-story bedchamber in which the captain of her guard was recovering after his surgery.

  She entered to find him propped up on pillows, with a white linen bandage wrapped about his chest and a small tube sticking out from it dripping blood in a bowl.

  She was surprised to find him awake and aware enough that he recognized and smiled at her. “They didn’t get you after all. Or . . .” His eyes lost focus as a frown creased his brow. “Or do they have us both now?”