The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

  He clumsily braced a hand on his knee and rested his chin on it. The look he gave her said he thought her daft. “There’s a reason the Nazarien have been celibate for so many decades, Tyla. No one would willingly marry into that faith.”

  Tyla looked away. He’d touched a nerve. “No, I guess not.”

  Earon narrowed his eyes on her. “What does that mean? Is this marriage unwilling?”

  “No, I’m willing. It just wasn’t my idea.”

  “The Nazarien’s?”

  When Tyla gave him an aggravated look, he nodded his head in understanding.

  “Right, Nazarien have never had an original idea in their lives,” he scoffed. “Then who?” His voice trailed away and he cocked his head at her. “Tarnow suggested it.”

  Tyla’s hand curled into a fist in the dog’s fur. “He made us promise it. Just before he left Adishian.”

  Earon looked into the fire. He sat beside Tyla so long, she wondered if he’d forgotten she was there. “Mind you,” he repeated. “I don’t like the Terrian, but I see the way you look at each other.” He shifted and studied Tyla closely. “Seems to me,” he said carefully, “promises should last only as long as the person who enforces them does.”

  Tyla didn’t answer, but she studied him in silence for a long time. Finally he reached for his crutches. “Help me up, Your Majesty. I think I’m ready for bed.”

  Tyla rose and pushed him into an upright position, affixing the crutches under his arms. Then she watched him stumble and blunder his way across the campsite to the tent he shared with Muzik.

  Somewhere in the midst of his crazy walk, Tyla mulled over the impact of his words. Promises should last only as long as the person who enforces them does. Oh, if only life could be that simple.

  * * *

  The Stravad and their charges arrived in Temeron during the early evening of their tenth day on the road. They passed under the gates of the city and were greeted by Temerian guards who removed their caps and bowed low to Tyla Eldralin. An envoy from the Stravad leader arrived moments later – five Stravad on black stallions, dressed in brilliant clothing of reds, greens and yellows. They dismounted and approached Allistar first, greeting him warmly. Then in turn, they bowed to Tyla and her four companions.

  Tyla gazed around her, at the cobblestone streets that curved away in the distance and the golden-hued cottages, their windows lit from within by candlelight and their chimneys puffing out white smoke. The Stravad people, who sat on their porches talking with their neighbors, began to gather at their front gates.

  Tyla’s name was spoken all around and each Stravad removed his hat and bowed to her. She was overwhelmed. She knew what it was to be Queen of Adishian and to have people bow in respect, but this was different somehow. In the beautiful faces around her (and all were beautiful), she saw her own features, she saw her own high cheekbones and golden skin.

  One of the emissaries drew her attention. He spoke rapidly and she caught only two or three words. She lifted her eyes to Jarrett who translated.

  “Camar welcomes you to Temeron, land of the Stravad.”

  Tyla inclined her head. “Thank you for the welcome. I’m delighted to have finally reached the homeland of my ancestors.”

  Allistar took over then. Tyla understood more of his pantomime. He indicated how weary they all were, and motioned to Earon, obviously explaining about his injury. Then there was much discussion about Kian. The dog was pressed against Tyla’s thigh, uncertain in the midst of so many people.

  Tyla shot a look at Jarrett again. “They’re fascinated by him, but they want to ensure the safety of their people.”

  “Tell them he will never leave my side,” offered Tyla and waited as Jarrett translated.

  This seemed to end the debate. They wound through the streets and the crowd of Stravad followed them. Tyla heard her name whispered among them and the names of her parents. She glanced at Jarrett and he offered her a smile. She felt so overwrought that she couldn’t return the gesture. She was both nervous and anxious. Now that the day had arrived, now that the meeting with her grandfather was only moments away, she wondered what he’d be like and what he’d think of her.

  Allistar pointed ahead of them at a large, gabled house. “Stravad Leader,” he said and Tyla understood that bit of Lodenian. Her heart beat a bit faster. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was also going to meet the equivalent of Stravad royalty.

  The house was large, much larger than the cottages, and rose three stories tall, flanked by a wide veranda that stretched across the front and disappeared around the sides. The front yard was lush with vegetation and the tops of enormous trees could just be seen hanging over the rear of the house. At every window hung flower boxes, choked with winter crocuses of innumerable colors. A faint patch of snow could still be seen nestled against the chimney, which blew forth white smoke like the cottages of the Stravad.

  On the veranda were many people who stood in a line watching the approach of the party. Tyla scanned the faces for her grandfather, but saw only Stravad. They halted at the front walkway. Allistar and the Temerian guards removed their caps and bowed, then stood silently at attention.

  Tyla studied the people on the veranda, her hand absently stroking Kian’s fur. No one moved, in fact the street was suddenly quiet, despite the press of the crowd at her back. The dog looked up at her and whined. Tyla swallowed and started forward, Kian at her side. Before she reached the first stair, one of the Stravad stepped forward. She halted and waited as he descended and stopped before her.

  He was young, or so it seemed, although Stravad often didn’t show their age. She stared into his handsome, nearly flawless face and felt his importance. Finally he extended his hand. “I am Farad, Stravad Leader of Temeron,” he said in Nevaisser.

  Tyla accepted the hand, relieved to hear him speak her language. “I am Tyla Eldralin.”

  “Welcome to Temeron, Tyla. We have long awaited your arrival,” said Farad, his handsome face lifting in a smile.

  Tyla returned the smile. “And I’ve been looking forward to this moment also. It was a long journey and we often thought we’d never make it.” Tyla glanced around again. “Temeron is as beautiful as I imagined.”

  “We consider ourselves lucky,” said Farad. “With time I think you will come to feel the same way.”

  Tyla inclined her head.

  He motioned behind him and two older men stepped forward. He shifted back to Tyla and his smile grew wider. “I would like to present to you the past Stravad leader, my grandfather, Thalandar.”

  The tall man with snow-white hair took Tyla’s hand and brought it to his lips, bowing deeply over it. Tyla dropped into a curtsey, but her attention was riveted on the other man. His hair was black, streaked liberally with white and his eyes were a faded grey, filled now with tears. He stood ramrod straight, but Tyla could see the tremors of emotions passing through him.

  Thalandar released her and stepped back, motioning for this second man to come forward. Tyla’s vision blurred with her own tears and she took a step closer to him, ashamed by her disheveled appearance. She knew who he was as surely as she knew her own name.

  “Grandfather,” she whispered in Lodenian, one of the first words she made Jarrett teach her.

  His composure broke and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then he opened his arms to her. Tyla rushed forward and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her own arms around him as tightly as she could.

  * * *

  “You’ve got to guard the crops. If you don’t there will be trouble,” said Manx. He rose from his seat at the council table and leaned forward, punctuating his words with his hand. Dolan’s eyes shifted to Kalas where he sat at a folded table in the middle of the room. The table was strewn with maps, charts, and empty teacups.

  The other council members murmured in agreement – the few that remained. A number of them had refused Kalas’ offer and two had succumbed to the less than hospitable conditions in the dungeon. Dolan was surpri
sed at how enraged Kalas had been when he’d been told of their deaths. His violent reaction had felt real enough to Dolan, but the Nazarien wasn’t taking the bit just yet.

  “Those crops were planted for the people. I’m going to guard them against the very citizens they were grown for?” Kalas asked.

  “Yes,” said Manx forcefully. “If you don’t, the gardens will be stripped bare.”

  “As long as the people get fed…”

  “It won’t feed the people, it’ll go to those Lawries. Do you want that? Do you want the Lawries to have the crops you planted? They’ll sell them for profit and weapons.”

  “I’m trying to bring the Lawries to our side…”

  “You won’t do that by giving them another hold on the people. The man who holds the food supply holds the people.”

  Kalas’ head lifted and Dolan could see the realization dawn on him. He slumped back in his chair and briefly closed his eyes. “You realize that once I guard the crops, the soldiers may have to use force.”

  “Of course,” said Manx.

  “Against your people?”

  Manx straightened and stared down at Kalas. “Any man who would rule knows he may have to use force against his own people at some point. That’s the burden of leadership.”

  Kalas leaned his elbows on the folded table and braced his head in his hands. Dolan met Manx’s eye. The council member shrugged and took his seat again. The other council members leaned back, waiting. Since he’d called the council back together, Kalas had refused to assume Tarnow’s throne. At first, Dolan suspected it was all for show. After all, hadn’t Kalas wanted Tarnow’s throne his whole life? But now, Dolan wasn’t so sure. Kalas didn’t seem to be fond of making the sort of decisions he was forced to make as King.

  “You need to come to a conclusion soon. None of us want to sit here all night,” said Manx in annoyance. His audacity had sharpened in the dungeons. Dolan didn’t blame him. He himself had lost a lot of his Nazarien subservience down there as well.

  Kalas looked through his fingers, then rubbed his hands across his face. His eyes shifted to Dolan, begging him for advice. Dolan wasn’t about to give it. Kalas needed to make this decision.

  “Guard the crops,” he finally said, his voice heavy with the import of his words.

  The council members heaved a collective sigh and began dispersing. No one stopped to offer any comfort to the young would-be King. Dolan waited until they left, then he crossed to the folding table and pulled out a chair, sliding into it.

  Kalas’ blue eyes never left his face the whole time. They studied each other for a long while, then Kalas exhaled. “You do realize I’m no good at this, right?”

  Dolan arched his brows. “It’s rather obvious. If I may be so bold, why won’t you assume the throne? Why is every decision so difficult for you?”

  “It’s not my throne.” He shifted and studied it. “It rightfully belongs to my sister.”

  Dolan cocked his head in surprise.

  Kalas laughed. “You thought I was going to say Rarick, didn’t you?”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “I never believed that throne was Rarick’s.”

  Dolan’s brows rose. “Somehow I’m not sure Rarick would approve of your latest moves. I don’t think he left you here to plant crops and feed the people.”

  Kalas slumped in his chair. “No, he left me to suppress the Lawries.”

  “Ah,” said Dolan. That did make sense. “What made you change that plan?”

  “This was always the plan. I know you think I hungered after Tarnow’s throne, but that wasn’t it. I wanted to rule with my sister. I wanted to rebuild the kingdom with her.”

  Dolan drew a deep breath. “She’s gone,” he said levelly. “And you’re here. Seems to me you’re going to have to assume that throne.”

  Kalas rose to his feet and paced away. “That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t how I envisioned it.”

  Dolan gave a grunt of disgust. “Well, I didn’t envision serving the enemy either.”

  Kalas turned to face him. He studied the Nazarien warrior for a long time. Dolan wanted to squirm, which surprised him. He’d certainly been away from the trainings of his youth for a long time. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Even now. I’m still the enemy.”

  Dolan met his gaze. He tried to summon up the fury he’d felt when Kalas pulled him from the dungeon. He tried to draw forth the anger he’d felt as he watched over Tarnow’s body. But oddly enough, it wasn’t there. Somewhere in the last few weeks, he’d lost his moral outrage. He still didn’t think he trusted Kalas, but it was getting harder to dislike him.

  “I just don’t know,” he said finally, looking away. “I’m not at all sure how I see you and I wish I was. What I do know is you’re going to have to assume the throne.”

  Kalas returned to the chair and sank into it. “I don’t know anything about ruling kingdoms. All Rarick taught me was how to fight wars. This was supposed to be my sister’s realm. She was the one who knew how to manage the kingdom, how to feed and protect the people, not me.” His eyes shifted to the maps and he reached out, running his finger along the edge of one. “When we were children, we talked about it. We dreamed about what we’d do when we inherited Sarkisian, how many changes we’d make.” Kalas looked up and pinned Dolan with his gaze. “I clung to those memories all these years. That was the dream that gave me hope. Now it’s gone.” He shoved the map away in frustration. “I wasn’t taught how to manage people. I was only taught how to kill them.”

  Dolan swung his head away in disgust. Eldon’s bloody star, he didn’t want to listen to this. It made more of the barrier crumble inside of him. He tried to remember Tarnow’s face, Tarnow’s voice, but it was being replaced daily by the young man across from him.

  With a heavy sigh, Dolan leaned forward. “I know how to manage people,” he said quietly. “You only need to ask.”

  * * *

  Jarrett watched as Tyla descended the stairs in the Stravad Leader’s house. She’d bathed and then someone had given her a proper gown and done her hair. It curled around her shoulders and framed her face in luxurious black curls, set off with a string of emerald pycantra. Jarrett felt an ache when he looked at her, he loved her so.

  Kendrick broke away from the crowd of dignitaries to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. He held out his arm to her and she took it, offering him a warm smile. It was the sort of smile Jarrett wanted for himself.

  The Nazarien steered her toward her grandfather, who stared at her raptly, then took her hand and brought it to his lips. She beamed at him, clearly delighted to know him, but the minute he started talking to her, she looked around for Jarrett.

  Jarrett sighed. He didn’t want to be reduced to her translator, but that was the only position she would allow him now. He moved to her side in time to hear Kendrick trying to explain what Tash was saying.

  Jarrett bowed low to the man he admired almost as much as he did Tash’s sons. “My lord Haldane,” he said, nudging Kendrick aside. “Let me present myself. I am Jarrett Murata of Terra Antiguo.”

  Tash had been frowning at the Nazarien, but his face lit when he heard Jarrett’s introduction. “Jarrett Murata?” He held out his hand and shook Jarrett’s vigorously. “I am delighted to meet you. I have heard so much about you from my sons.”

  “The honor is mine, sir. Your sons have always spoken of you with the greatest respect, and I cannot tell you what they mean to me.”

  Tash laughed, patting the back of Jarrett’s hand with his free one. “Young man, I believe I owe you my undying gratitude. You are responsible for bringing me my granddaughter.”

  Jarrett felt a pang of guilt. “Actually, I didn’t act alone.” He placed his hand on Kendrick’s shoulder and drew him in front of Tash. “This is Kendrick Andel. He partnered me on our journey.” Glancing around, he spotted Muzik, unobtrusive, but always within feet of Tyla’s back. “And this is Muzik Andrada. He has been Tyla’s protector for more
than a decade.”

  Tash greeted them both warmly and thanked them for their service. Jarrett translated, despite the furious look he received from Kendrick.

  “There was another Human traveling with you?” questioned Tash.

  “Yes, Earon. He was injured in the journey, shot with an Orahim dart. He has been moved to the clinic to receive treatment.”

  “I’ll have to pay him a visit then, and thank him as well.” Glancing down, Tash motioned to Tyla’s side. “What happened to the magnificent animal I saw you with earlier?”

  “Kian?” Jarrett questioned Tyla.

  “He’s resting in my room,” offered Tyla. Jarrett knew that she had been following the conversation, but he wasn’t sure how much she understood. Then it occurred to him. There was an easier way for her to understand more without the need for double translation. She could simply read the thoughts from his mind, and then she wouldn’t be interfering with her grandfather or anyone else who didn’t know about it. He sent the thought to her. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t reject him.

  In fact, she gave him a nod of agreement. At that moment, Farad and Thalandar approached them. “Dinner’s served,” said Farad in Nevaisser. He spoke it fluently with hardly a trace of accent. Jarrett wondered where he’d learned it so well. Farad offered his arm to Tyla and led her to the room.

  Jarrett followed with his companions. Because of his ability to translate for her, Jarrett was placed at her right side, but Muzik and Kendrick were relegated to the other end of the table. Of course, Tash took the seat on the other side of her with Farad at one end and Thalandar at the other. Besides Farad and Thalandar, the other chairs were occupied by Farad’s family, his wife Dorsette, his father Senerdan and his mother, Jelian.

  As soon as everyone was seated, servants moved to fill glasses and offer aperitifs. Tyla looked at the foreign food suspiciously, but for Jarrett it seemed familiar. He telepathically explained what each dish was, but she was more interested in the conversations around her. Particularly the stilted conversation of her grandfather. Tash hardly touched his own food, so fixated on his granddaughter was he.