Lord of the White Hell Book One

by Ginn Hale

  “Well, I did better than Ladislo,” Nestor said. “He was two hundred and thirty. What about you, Elezar?”

  “Thirty-three,” Elezar replied proudly. “I came in right ahead of Morisio. Genimo took fortieth. He’s helping Scholar Donamillo treat a first year who took a nasty fall.”

  “What about Atreau?” Nestor asked. “I thought he’d be here by now.” Kiram hadn’t thought to look for anyone but Javier but now he noticed that of all the Hellions only Atreau was unaccounted for.

  “Poor bastard got completely fucked by some crazy girl who threw herself at him on the street.” Elezar shook his head.

  “Is he hurt?” Nestor looked suddenly worried.

  “No, he kept his seat, but he was pretty much out of the race once he had some love-struck trollop in the saddle with him. He said something to Morisio about riding her hard and putting her away wet.” Elezar flashed another of his crude grins.

  Kiram had no idea what Elezar was referring to. He glanced askance at Javier but then realized that Javier hadn’t heard any of the conversation.

  “Atreau ought to show up soon,” Elezar said. “Ahh, look! What did I just say? There he is.”

  Elezar pointed just as the trumpet sounded and Atreau was announced along with the last two other riders. Wild, feminine screams tore through the pavilion as Atreau walked past the stands. Gaudily-dressed women in the lowest row of the stands hurled flowers at him as well as kerchiefs. Kiram even thought that one woman had thrown out a pair of underpants.

  “The whores do love him.” Elezar shook his head.

  “It’s not just whores,” Nestor said. “Lots of ladies write him letters.”

  “I imagine that the number would drop significantly if they knew they would have to spend their wedding night queuing up in line for a turn at him,” Javier commented.

  “So, you can hear again,” Elezar said.

  “Sadly, yes. It’s louder than it was last year.” Javier surveyed the hundreds of people in the stands, then turned to Kiram. “I’ll take you around the fair after we’re done here. The fighting doesn’t usually last past third bell. After that, actors take the arena. You can see those Irabiim I was telling you about.”

  “All right, but I have to find the Laughing Dog—”

  “Wait! What’s this?” Elezar broke in on them, scowling. “We should celebrate your win at the Goldenrod.”

  Javier looked genuinely annoyed. “Not tonight. Master Ignacio won’t allow any indulgences until after the tournament. And in any case, Kiram and Nestor can’t—” The rest of Javier’s reply was drowned out by the resounding noise of several trumpets blasting out a piercing melody.

  “All bow before His Royal Highness Prince Sevanyo!” A man called from the pavilion entry.

  A sudden, perfect silence fell over the entire gathering. An instant later the quiet rustle of cloth became a reverberation through the pavilion as hundreds of people bowed down. It struck Kiram as strange to hear such a slight noise magnified so intensely by the sheer number of people making the same motion at once.

  Immediately, Javier caught his hand and pulled him down to kneel beside him. The Cadeleonians were all so much more formal than his own people. There was no nobility among the Haldiim and not even the oldest grandmother would demand that others kneel in the dirt before her.

  Javier kept his face lowered, not even glancing at Kiram. But he didn’t release Kiram’s hand either. His skin felt icy—an effect of muerate poison. Even so it seemed singular to Javier and made Kiram very aware of how long Javier’s fingers lingered, pressing against his own, and also of the precise moment when Javier released him.

  It was exactly as six young men dressed in violet liveries emblazoned with the white Sagrada stallion marched into the pavilion. The gold buckles on their highly polished boots jingled like bells. Kiram stole a glance up at them. They wore dueling swords, but also carried golden bowls full of flowers, from which they scattered fistfuls of rose petals across the ground. Behind them came six mounted guards, wearing light armor and riding black chargers.

  The trumpets raised a resounding note as the prince rode into the pavilion on a white stallion. Six more pages followed him on foot, carrying large gold globes, and behind them came another six mounted guards.

  Kiram studied the prince. He inspired so much awe and wielded so much power. If he wished he could elevate or destroy any man, woman, or child in this pavilion. He could do it on a whim.

  Kiram knew that many of his fellow students were nobles as well. In their own lands they could decide the fates of entire populaces with a few words, but at the academy they attended classes and took tests just like everyone else. They obeyed the rules of common scholars and accepted punishments for their misdeeds.

  The Sagrada heir was not restrained in any such manner. He had left his academy days far behind him. Kiram thought suddenly that Javier too would leave the academy. After next year he would be free to bring hundreds of people to their knees with his mere presence. Kiram wondered if he would choose to do so.

  Prince Sevanyo’s pale skin and dark eyes were testaments to his close relation to both Javier and Fedeles. There was resemblance in his long build as well. But the prince was not a young man; deep lines creased his forehead and the corners of his mouth. The sharp bones of his cheeks jutted up over gaunt hollows. White streaks shot through his black hair.

  As he shifted, surveying the gathered crowd, his entire body seemed to glitter. The crown on his brow shone, gold stitching flashed up and down his dark violet clothes, and dozens of cut jewels gleamed on his gloved hands.

  He hardly moved, but his mount immediately drew to a halt. For a moment, the prince surveyed the bowed heads of his gathered subjects up in the stands. His expression was distant and contemplative, as if he were regarding a foreign landscape. Then his gaze shifted to the students kneeling in the arena.

  Kiram quickly bowed his head, as the prince looked his way. He didn’t dare to look up again.

  “You may rise, faithful subjects.” The prince did not need to raise his voice. His words carried effortlessly through the silence.

  As everyone straightened, the pages standing behind the prince opened the gold spheres they held, releasing dozens of white doves. The royal prince sat in gleaming gold and darkest violet as white wings rose all around him, ascending into the heavens. It was a startlingly beautiful image, but also obviously contrived.

  “Where’s a cat when you really need one?” Javier whispered. Kiram stifled his laugh. Javier smiled at him with such open affection that Kiram had to look down at his feet to keep from blushing.

  “Javier Tornesal,” Prince Sevanyo called out over the noise of beating wings and dove calls.

  Javier stepped forward. His uniform was gray from road dust and blood and dirt clung to his hair. Still, there was something in his bearing—his utter ease—that made Kiram think he looked as regal as the prince.

  He paused to allow the prince’s stallion to nuzzle his bare hand. The horse clearly knew him.

  Prince Sevanyo smiled at him benevolently. “Well, cousin, I understand that I am to offer you a favor, but I cannot imagine what the Duke of Rauma would want for.”

  “Nothing so much as the royal prince’s health and happiness,” Javier said.

  “I am both well and greatly pleased,” Prince Sevanyo said. Then the prince pulled a massive ring from his right index finger and handed it to Javier. “Attend me for a little time.”

  Javier inclined his head slightly.

  “It would be a pleasure, but I beg for a dismissal. I have an obligation to the academy.”

  “The nature of this obligation?”

  “This is my third year and I am required to mentor an underclassman, my prince.” Pride carried through Javier’s voice. Prince Sevanyo’s expression showed both surprise and amusement.

  “You have an underclassman?” The prince raised his dark brows. “Is the boy without human fear or an unmitigated idiot?”

&nb
sp; “I assure you, he is no idiot,” Javier replied with a pleased smile. The prince studied Javier as if he had offered him a challenging riddle.

  “I must see this underclassman,” Prince Sevanyo pronounced at last. “Bring him. You will both attend me.”

  Kiram’s stomach clenched like a fist. Nestor gave a quiet gasp and Kiram looked at him.

  “As you wish, my prince.” Javier turned back to Kiram and beckoned him with a gesture, appearing utterly unconcerned.

  For a moment Kiram felt too afraid to move. All he could think of was King Nazario, and the countless Haldiim he had murdered. But then he forced himself forward. Javier watched him intently, as if his mere gaze could draw Kiram to him.

  He walked to Javier’s side and bowed deeply before the resplendent prince. The prince blinked at Kiram for a moment and then laughed.

  “A Haldiim! How clever.” The prince swung down from his saddle and a page led his horse out of the pavilion. Just standing near the prince, Kiram was intensely aware of the dust, sweat, and grime that clung to his own body. While a rich fragrance of vanilla wafted off the prince, Kiram was sure his own scent was much more rank.

  Fortunately two of the prince’s pages brought basins of water and washcloths. Javier and he cleaned up quickly. The half-healed laceration running across Javier’s right ear and up into his scalp stood out strongly against his clean, white skin.

  “Let us take our seats,” Prince Sevanyo said. For the first time he seemed to take note of the pavilion of silent onlookers. “Certainly a tournament should be getting underway in this arena.”

  The words released everyone from their frozen silence. The war masters called their students to attention and marched them off the arena grounds and into the low stands reserved for them. There they hurriedly stripped off their uniforms and pulled on their leather fencing armor. Master Ignacio shouted out the orders while grooms handed out blunted dueling blades.

  All flurry of action and noise seemed muted and distant to Kiram. The prince’s guards surrounded them and they ascended the stairs up into the stands. The pages trailed behind them.

  The seats in the prince’s box were padded with purple velvet. The surrounding wood walls were gilded and painted with images of horses and armored men in battle. As soon as the prince seated himself, a page knelt to wipe the dust from his boots, while another page brought wine and a small pastry of some kind. Javier sat beside the prince and pulled Kiram down next to him.

  Not wanting to be caught staring at the prince, Kiram averted his gaze down to the arena below. First-year students from both schools assembled for the first contests. Six fencing rings had been drawn up and Kiram guessed the fights would be quick. The best of the first years would go on to challenge the second-year students.

  “So how did this come about?” Prince Sevanyo asked Javier, though he indicated Kiram with his wine glass.

  “This is Kiram Kir-Zaki. He won the Silver Leaf Challenge last year.” Javier stretched out in his seat. “Scholar Donamillo was so impressed with him that he petitioned for Kiram to be invited to attend the Sagrada Academy. Kiram accepted and now he’s my underclassman.”

  “I had heard that a Haldiim won the Silver Leaf, though I hadn’t imagined that he would be so young… ” Sevanyo studied Kiram, frowning slightly. “You are young, are you not? It’s hard to tell with you Haldiim. You all look like boys.”

  “I am seventeen, sir—Your Highness.” Kiram was horrified at his own gaffe but the prince just laughed.

  “Now, why do I know the name Kir-Zaki?” the prince asked.

  “His family makes the Kir-Zaki candies in Anacleto,” Javier replied.

  “Of course.” Prince Sevanyo looked delighted. “I am told that I have them to thank for the proliferation of Grunitos throughout the kingdom.”

  “Yes.” Kiram tried to sound steady. “Nestor Grunito says as much himself.”

  “You must get Javier to eat more of those candies, then. We are in need of Tornesal heirs, you know.”

  “The world needs more Tornesals like it needs another great flood,” Javier said.

  “I would be greatly displeased if Rauma fell into my brother’s hands, Javier.” The prince sounded suddenly very serious. Javier nodded.

  “It will not. Fedeles is my heir.”

  “Fedeles is not fit.”

  “He’s improving steadily,” Javier replied. “And I have no intention of dying any time soon.When I do, Rauma will pass to Fedeles’ children in the Quemanor house. Your brother, the royal bishop, will not have it.”

  Prince Sevanyo sighed. A page refilled the prince’s wine glass. He offered a glass to Javier as well but Javier waved it aside.

  Another page arrived and offered Prince Sevanyo a silver tray stacked with small pieces of creamy paper. Each of them bore the seal of some noble house or a merchant’s name. The prince chose several of them but told the page not to extend the invitations just yet.

  Kiram stole another glance down to the arena below, where pairs of first-year students dressed in thick leather cuirasses fought with blunted silver blades. Only the crests on their gauntlets designated which school they came from. Judges in white coats walked between the contestants, calling fouls and strikes. The fights were fast and most ended amiably. Javier watched them intently but the prince was obviously bored.

  Prince Sevanyo leaned forward a little to study Kiram. He didn’t quite look at Kiram’s face but instead seemed to be gazing at his hair.

  “It really is quite an amazing color,” Prince Sevanyo commented. He reached past Javier and caught a curl of Kiram’s hair. Kiram froze in place. The prince pulled the lock of hair straight and then released it to bounce back into a spiral.

  “You know, one of my ancestors had a cloak made entirely from Haldiim scalps,” Prince Sevanyo said quietly. “I used to play with it when I was a boy. It really was the most beautiful thing. The leather was soft as silk and the hair looked just like long curling ribbons of gold. I loved it madly. When I turned ten I was told where the hides had come from.”

  A cold sick feeling gripped Kiram. Javier scowled at the prince but said nothing.

  Prince Sevanyo took another sip of his wine. “I cannot tell you how horrified I was to discover how that cloak had been made. I could not bear to even look at it, much less touch it again. I burned it and then I cried all night. To this day I am not sure whether I was crying because I lost something I loved or because I had loved it in the first place.”

  Kiram had no idea what to say in response. But the prince didn’t seem to expect any answer.

  “I have not met many Haldiim in my life but whenever I do I am always struck by the thought that I am at last admiring those lovely curls as I ought to have in the first place. It’s as though I am seeing the owners of those scalps reborn into better lives. That’s what your priests would say, isn’t it?”

  Kiram wasn’t sure but the prince seemed intent on this so Kiram nodded and the prince smiled.

  “Even if you Haldiim are denied our holy heaven, I would like to believe that your souls can find some kind of peace.” The prince sat forward again but to Kiram’s relief he didn’t reach for his hair. “I am told that your dead are reborn into other forms and if they have been wronged they can return as a curse.”

  “Yes.” Kiram wished that Javier would say something but Javier just leaned back in the seat and looked tired.

  “How do you Haldiim lift these curses?” Prince Sevanyo’s expression was intent and his tone very serious. “Without the solace of heaven how can you put an angry soul to rest?”

  Kiram glanced to Javier, but Javier only shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” Kiram admitted. “I’m not from a religious family, Your Highness. We never discuss these matters. I’m sorry.”

  “Not religious?” The prince looked stunned for a moment then gave a short laugh. “Did you hear that, Javier?”

  “I did,” Javier replied. He gave Kiram a quick apologetic look.

 
“Tell me,” the prince said to Kiram, “if you are not religious, then what do you make of Javier and the white hell, young Haldiim?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Kiram replied.

  Beside him, Javier sighed. “When he thinks of me at all, he thinks I’m an ass who keeps interrupting his work for the Crown Challenge with annoying, superstitious babble.”

  Prince Sevanyo raised his brows.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Javier replied firmly and something unspoken seemed to pass between Prince Sevanyo and Javier. The prince sighed and took another sip of his wine.

  “The Crown Challenge. That will be quite an accomplishment.” The intensity dropped from Prince Sevanyo’s voice leaving only a polite interest. “I suppose it’s good then that you are receiving a proper Cadeleonian education. My father loves to retain geniuses at his court. No doubt he will want you there. He is quite sure that we are moving into a new age of mechanist wonders, but I cannot help but find them eerie—mechanisms without life or souls, moving about like living things.”

  Kiram had heard the same sentiments before, generally from older people. He considered his reply, but then Javier caught his arm and pulled him forward to the edge of the box.

  “Watch out for this one, Kiram.” Javier pointed to a young man in one of the fencing circles. He looked tall for a first-year student and his face was oddly expressionless.

  “Ariz Plunado?” the prince asked.

  Javier nodded.

  “Bland thing, isn’t he?” Prince Sevanyo commented.

  Kiram found himself in agreement with the prince. Not even the reddish tint of Ariz’s hair lent any character to his appearance. He moved quickly, but without grace or emotion.