The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  Jarrett took his seat, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and reached for his water glass, surprised to find a chip on the rim. He twisted the glass around and took a sip from the opposite side.

  “Glad you could join us,” boomed Muzik.

  Jarrett offered him a tight smile as a servant leaned over him and filled his wine glass.

  “Nervous?” continued the giant.

  Jarrett’s head lifted in surprise. “How so?” He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and his stomach took an unpleasant lurch.

  “Dinin’ with royalty.” Muzik lifted his own glass and saluted Tyla.

  “Muzik,” she scolded

  Jarrett cast a glance at her. “Now that you mention it, it does seem a bit inappropriate.”

  “This is an informal dinner. Tarnow and I regularly took informal meals with both Muzik and Dolan. Tarnow always said that no one need know what happens behind closed doors, as long as the doors remain closed.”

  Muzik lowered his wine glass and his eyes seemed liquid in the candle light. “Such a good man, our King.”

  Tyla smiled. “That he is.” She lifted her own glass, motioning that the others should do the same. “To Lord Tarnow, a kind and gentle King.”

  Even Jarrett found himself joining the toast. After that, they ate in silence, then once the dishes were cleared away, they continued to sit at the table, sipping sherry and enjoying the peace. Despite himself, Jarrett felt the tension leave him. It was nice to share a meal with people and not feel the need to fill the moments with conversation. His eyes chanced to meet Tyla’s and he smiled.

  She returned the smile, then made a motion at Muzik. “Has Muzik ever told you how he became Captain of the Blue Battalion?”

  Muzik choked on his sherry, then settled the glass on the table. “Your Highness,” he said warmly, his face flushed with wine, “if you persist in telling this story, no one will have any respect for me.”

  Tyla laughed and Jarrett couldn’t deny it was a pleasant sound. She leaned forward and her eyes took on a mischievous look. “Muzik was a castle guard for many years before he got his promotion. Often Rarick called Tarnow to Sarkisian to attend him. On one of these trips, Muzik was chosen to accompany them. Usually Tarnow went heavily guarded because brigands roam the desert and have grown increasingly bold over the years. Twice Tarnow’s entourage was attacked, but the third time, Muzik was the one to save him.” She smiled at the captain and Muzik smiled in return. “The brigands attacked in the middle of the night. Usually they wouldn’t have gotten near Tarnow, but it was late spring, everything was dry and they shot fire tipped arrows into the tents. Even the main pavilion went up in flames, the fire so hot that no one could get near it. Tarnow would have died, if Muzik hadn’t come roaring out of the night, drove into the tent and carried the King out over his shoulder.”

  Jarrett frowned. “How? If the fire was so hot...”

  Tyla giggled. “That is the best part. Muzik stripped down to his underclothes, doused himself in the horses’ water barrel and ran as fast as he could.”

  Muzik gave a wry smile. “Burned most of the hair off me...and I mean everywhere.”

  “When Tarnow came to, he was faced with a huge, hairless man dressed in sky blue underclothes. He immediately proclaimed him as Captain of the Blue Battalion and made him protector of the royal family.”

  Jarrett chuckled with them and studied Tyla. She seemed to be enjoying herself for the first time since he’d met her.

  “Now it’s your turn, Jarrett. Tell us a story about Terra Antiguo. I’ve always wanted to go there,” demanded Muzik.

  Jarrett’s smile faded. He couldn’t tell them a story of his childhood. There was nothing funny in any of that, and he couldn’t think of a single thing that would interest them in people they didn’t know. He reached for his glass and took a sip, stalling and hoping something would come to him. Replacing the glass on the table, his gaze locked with Tyla’s. She was waiting expectantly and suddenly he knew what he could tell.

  “I lived for many years with your uncles,” he said. “All good men, committed to running Terra Antiguo and ensuring her people are happy. Lawyan’s the Terrian leader. He’s the one who raised me.”

  He could see the confusion on Muzik and Kendrick’s faces, but he wasn’t really talking to them. Tyla was watching him intently and he knew she understood the part he was leaving out. “Then there’s Shad. He heads the schools and libraries.”

  “Finally, there’s your father’s brother, Shandar. I knew him the least because he was gone a good part of my youth. He stayed in Sarkisian as long as he could. He never gave up hope that your brother might try to contact him, but eventually, even he had to admit it wasn’t likely once your brother started training for the crown.”

  Tyla bowed her head.

  Jarrett knew he should stop, but a bigger part of him felt she should know the truth. “Shandar returned to Terra Antiguo, much older, tired, disappointed with the world, until Dolan contacted him. You should have seen how his eyes lit up, but by then it was too late. He was too old to undertake the venture and he was one of the most wanted men in Nevaisser. He knew he couldn’t risk coming after you, not for himself, but for your sake. He couldn’t chance having you captured because you were with him.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look up.

  “I think that’s enough, Jarrett,” said Kendrick.

  Jarrett locked eyes with the Nazarien, feeling his face heat again with aggravation. He started to tell him to shut up, but Tyla intervened.

  “Let him finish. I want to hear about my family.”

  Kendrick ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

  She gave an exasperated exhalation. “Tyla, remember.” Then she focused her gaze on Jarrett. “Continue.”

  Jarrett twirled the sherry glass, studying the liquid inside. “The three of them were obsessed with finding a way to help you. They even sent to Chernow. That was a matter of great debate, I can tell you.” He lifted a brow at Kendrick. Kendrick frowned. “Before they would tell the Nazar what they’d learned, they made him sign an agreement that your rescue would be a joint venture between our peoples and...”

  The doors to the dining room flew open and a man entered, flanked on either side by guards. He wore the uniform of Adishian with its blue crest and the emblem of the dog centered squarely on his chest, but the uniform was so badly torn and stained with filth and blood that it was barely recognizable. At his hairline, he bore a deep gash and his chin was covered with many days growth of beard. The lines of his face were drawn and his eyes had a haunted, ghostly look to them. Even so, Tyla recognized him instantly and her face was ashen.

  “Fasam,” she said, her voice steady, despite the look on her face.

  He crossed the room and knelt at her side, his head lowered. “Your Highness, I’ve come at the command of the Military Advisor, Dolan.”

  “Speak,” said Tyla, leaning forward in her chair.

  “I’ve ridden from the east bank of the Ethicon River where the battalion from Adishian engaged in battle with the forces of Dorland. We fought a great battle, but were driven back into the Kanyok narrows where we were attacked on the other side by a second battalion. The forces of Sarkisian finally arrived, but they came too late. Our casualties were great...”

  He paused and lifted his eyes to Tyla, swallowing hard. Jarrett tensed in expectation, but Tyla’s face remained emotionless. “I think you have more to tell me, Fasam,” she said calmly.

  Tears welled in the soldier’s eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath and continued. “His Majesty, King Tarnow, fell during the battle,” he said and his voice broke on a sob. Tyla’s eyes burned brightly in the candle light, but she said nothing. “He’s dead, Your Highness,” said the soldier and bowed his head once more, weeping openly.

  Tyla’s face took on a distant look and she was silent for a long while. Finally she stirred. “So it’s ended,” she said, then rose to her feet and faced the waiting guards. “Take
this man and see that his wounds are tended. Inform the chamberlain to make preparations for a royal funeral...” She paused and her voice faltered. With a visible shiver, she regained her stony detachment. “Tell him also to prepare for the arrival of Rarick of Sarkisian.”

  Kendrick jumped to his feet, his face livid with astonishment. “You don’t mean to wait for his arrival, do you?” he cried.

  Tyla turned and her eyes bore into him. “No,” she said, her voice as cold as the snow outside the window, “I intend to bury my King.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Tarnow’s body arrived in Adishian three days later and with it came Kalas, Prince of Sarkisian. He spoke to no one, but went directly to the Council chambers, flanked by his closest advisors and those from Adishian.

  Jarrett watched Kalas arrive from the top of the battlements, knowing that the moment he descended, he would be clapped in irons and thrown into the dungeon. Climbing down to meet his fate, he was not at all surprised when he was surrounded by soldiers wearing the black uniforms of Sarkisian. He was surprised, however, to be led back to his quarters and locked inside. He paced the confines of his room, moving from windows to door and leaning against it, listening for breathing on the other side. A return trip to the windows showed him Sarkisian soldiers spreading out into the gardens, blocking every exit from the castle.

  Jarrett continued pacing until darkness fell outside the windows. Then came a knock at the door and the lock was turned. He halted in mid-stride, turning toward it, his muscles tensing. A page poked his head inside and gave Jarrett a half-frightened look. Jarrett could just see the guards waiting beyond the boy.

  “Prince Kalas summons you to the dining room,” said the page, then ducked back into the hallway.

  Jarrett strode for the door, not even bothering with straightening his uniform. As he left his quarters, he was flanked immediately on either side by soldiers. He felt only a little surprised to see both Tyla and Kendrick waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

  They didn’t exchange any words as they descended. As they wound through the passageways of Kazan, Jarrett could hear distant wails coming from the entrance hall. Tyla was strangely subdued, her face drawn and her eyes heavy.

  As they entered the dining room, Kalas rose to his feet and crossed to Tyla’s side, bending to kiss her cheek. Kalas couldn’t be considered tall, but he was a handsome man with jet-black hair. The Sarkisian Prince was six years older than Tyla, but this fact wasn’t evident in his face. He had the distinctive Stravad traits, high cheekbones and wide forehead, and an ageless quality to his features. His skin coloring wasn’t as dark as Tyla’s, but his eyes were a vibrant blue.

  He smiled warmly and embraced her. “It’s been too long, Tyla,” he said.

  Tyla sustained his embrace with cold indifference. “At least a year, Kalas. It seems you bring tragedy with you every time you come.”

  His expression fell and he glanced at the two men who waited patiently behind her. “Tyla, I understand your grief, but you must know we came as soon as we could...”

  “Convenient, though, that you came too late,” she said and pressed past him to take a seat.

  Kalas looked again at Kendrick and Jarrett, then smiled. “Welcome,” he said, extending his hand, “I’m Kalas, heir to the throne of Sarkisian. We’ve had news you’d come. You’re both Nazarien, right?”

  Jarrett shook his head. All of Kalas’ warmth was lost on him. “I’m Terrian. He’s Nazarien.”

  “We weren’t given your names, I fear,” said the Prince.

  Jarrett felt Kendrick’s gaze shift to him. “I’m Jarrett Murata and this is Kendrick Andel.”

  “Once again, I welcome you,” said Kalas, motioning toward the table. “Please take a seat and dine with us.”

  Eyeing the soldiers at each end of the room, Jarrett deliberately moved to the seat closest to Tyla. Kendrick shot a look at him, but Jarrett ignored it. This was one time when he didn’t give a damn about the claim the Nazarien had on her.

  Tyla turned to the Prince and her voice was chilling. “Why hasn’t Rarick come himself to secure his new spoils?”

  Kalas sighed and leaned back in his chair, drawing his glass of wine with him. He sipped at it deliberately and then placed it back on the table. “My sister is distraught over the death of her lord.”

  Jarrett frowned, but didn’t say anything.

  “Tyla,” Kalas said, turning to face her, “Adishian is not spoils of war. Sarkisian and Adishian have and will always be allies. I can assure you that Sarkisian shares Adishian’s grief in losing her king. Father also shares your grief in losing your husband.”

  “Why hasn’t he come then, Kalas?”

  “We’re at war now, Tyla. No one wanted this conflict to escalate into battle, but it has and it requires Father’s attention at the front lines. Once he feels everything is secure, he’ll come himself to share your grief.” He leaned forward then and took her hand. “You must know what a great sacrifice it was for me to leave the front lines, but Father felt it important that you and Adishian should have at least my support during your darkest hours.”

  She regarded him coldly for a moment. Jarrett had never seen her eyes so bitter. “There it is, isn’t it, Kalas? You are to rule Adishian in Tarnow’s place.”

  Kalas stiffened, and for the first time, anger darkened his face. “You promised me once that you wouldn’t do that unless you told me first. Do you remember your promise? Or has all that we once meant to one another slipped from your mind?”

  “I have never forgotten what we meant to one another, but you have forgotten. You’ve taken my people and me hostage under the auspices of an alliance. Any promise I may have made to you regarding our thought exchange is void in this light. I will do whatever is necessary to know what the future of my people will be.”

  Kalas listened calmly and then broke into a laugh. “Why do you persist in believing Adishian is being occupied by Sarkisian?” His eyes drifted to Jarrett as the Terrian scrutinized him. “Let’s change the subject.” He lifted his wine glass and pointed in Jarrett’s direction. “Tell me what’s brought you here, my friends.”

  Tyla leaned forward then, her face flushed with anger. “Friends!” she said, “Since when is Sarkisian friends with the Nazarien. Have you forgotten your bounty against their lives?”

  Kalas’ eyes shifted to her and as he spoke his voice was strained in his effort to control his anger. “Tyla, there is no bounty against Nazarien in Sarkisian. That’s merely a rumor started by the Lawries.”

  Jarrett glanced at Tyla, then turned to address the Prince. “What are these Lawries? We’ve heard that name before.”

  Kalas sighed. “The Lawries are a group of miscreants, who spread rumors about false atrocities Sarkisian has apparently done, such as this one about the bounty. They’ve also infiltrated some of our smallest protectorates in both Adishian and Sarkisian to stir up violence and malcontent among the citizens. They follow the teachings of Dall Rill, a sort of folk hero of theirs, who died during the first war with Dorland.” He paused and cast a warning look at his sister. “All in all, they’re simply troublemakers for the sake of making trouble. Their strongest weapon is their ridiculous rumors, which they use to turn the citizens against the ruling class.”

  Tyla glared at him. “And are the Orahim and their poisons also rumors, Kalas? Do explain that rumor to this man here?” she said, pointing at Jarrett.

  Kalas took a deep breath to steady his growing frustration. “Tyla, when Father arrives, you’ll be better served asking him.”

  Tyla shook her head with a caustic laugh. “Why do you persist in calling him Father when he isn’t your father? Talar Eldralin is and always will be.”

  Kalas’ handsome face contorted in a flush of fury. He rose and grabbed Tyla under the arm, dragging her to her feet. Both Kendrick and Jarrett rose with them, but the guards quickly intervened with drawn swords.

  “Don’t ever use that name in my presence again, Tyla,” said th
e Sarkisian Prince. “Talar Eldralin was not my father, nor will I ever lay claim to such! He was a villain and an adulterer.”

  Tyla’s eyes were illuminated with a vicious light. “Talar Eldralin was my father, Kalas. How then can you claim me as your sister?”

  Rage overcame him and he threw her from him. Jarrett caught her and held her close. Kalas struggled with himself for a moment and then swung to face the guards. “Take the Queen of Adishian to her chambers and see she is fed there, then have my meal brought to me in the Council room, immediately.”

  He fixed his eyes on Jarrett. “You and the Nazarien may go wherever you choose. Despite what my sister may think,” he said and placed particular emphasis on the word sister, “you are not prisoners of Sarkisian.”

  Jarrett held Tyla’s trembling body as the Prince left the room. Despite what Kalas had said, the guards standing all about them didn’t give him the impression that he wasn’t a prisoner. He wondered where Muzik was and if they might still have a chance to escape before Rarick came in the next few days. But the guards didn’t give him enough time to decide. They wrenched Tyla away and soon he and Kendrick were left alone in the brightly lit room.

  The Nazarien took a seat again, his expression strangely distant. “What now?”

  Jarrett stood in the doorway, watching them drag Tyla away. “I don’t know,” he said. “If only we’d been able to persuade her to leave a week ago.” He turned and fixed his gaze on Kendrick. “But none of that matters now, does it? We’ve got to get her out of here before we all wind up dead.”

  Kendrick nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen few people so angry at the mention of a name.”

  Jarrett took a seat beside him. “Not everyone in Nevaisser thinks Talar Eldralin was a hero, Kendrick.”

  “But his own son...” He paused and shook his head.

  “Kalas wasn’t raised by Talar, in fact, he probably remembers little about him, except what was told to him by Rarick, and I can assure you that it wasn’t flattering news in the least. When you are constantly subjected to the hatred of one person towards another, no matter who that other person may really be, you grow to share some of the same feelings and you may even become ashamed of who you are.” He sighed and his eyes drifted to the fire. “It’s a terrible thing to be ashamed of yourself.”