The Land of Night

by Kirby Crow

  Scarlet nodded solemnly at that.

  How well he knows, Liall thought. I hope that one day he forgives me for bringing him here.

  “It was never any one thing,” Liall tried to explain, frustrated that he did not have a clear-cut scenario to present. “Like most family stories, ours is messy and incomplete. As boys, we were very close. He was the elder, but I protected him. I covered for him when he made mistakes, and I sheltered him from criticism and harm. We never had a true falling-out, and nothing was ever said, but in those few years before we became men, when bonds between brothers are so important and so fragile, we developed a rift. Nadei wanted fiercely to be king, and I never wanted it at all. I saw what power had done to my mother and I wanted no part of it, but none of that mattered, because Nadei believed I wanted what was his. It changed him.”

  Liall fell silent for a moment, gazing into the past, until he felt Scarlet’s hand on his.

  “What happened?”

  Liall shrugged as if it were a light matter, when it was anything but. “He ceased to be my friend. We rarely spoke. He cultivated his own circle of followers who found favor with him by denigrating me in small ways. Not that I was not equal to their games, but... I did not wish to play. They bored me with their intrigues and their gossip. I was even thinking about leaving Rshan, like the journeyman princes in the old days, when my mother betrothed me to Shikhoza.”

  Scarlet stiffened a little. Liall could not blame him. Shikhoza had gone out of her way to make Scarlet feel like the illiterate country lad he was, someone who would be better occupied tidying royal beds than sleeping in them.

  Liall gripped his hand. “I know she has behaved terribly towards you, but I want you to remember that she was not always like that. She was enough to make me give up my plans to leave Rshan, at least for a while. But then... well, I suppose she recalled who she was, and all the things she would never have as the wife of a lesser prince. Nadei was not very kind to her either, and then there was Vladei, who had sued very hard for Shikhoza’s father to let them marry, but the old man never thought Vladei would be worthy of her. Once Vladei realized he could not win Shikhoza back, he turned on her. He made her life a hell inside the Nauhinir, and she, in her turn, decided to make mine one.”

  “What did she do?” Scarlet whispered.

  Liall smiled a little, only because if he did not, he would weep. “She became Nadei’s mistress behind my back, though she hated him in her heart. I thought at first it was because she hoped he would marry her and make her queen, but I should have known she was subtler than that. No. She knew I loved her, so she slept with Nadei to make me hate him. She did want to be queen, you see, but not to Nadei. To me. Perhaps she did have some feeling for me after all, or maybe she just knew that Nadei was too susceptible to what others thought of him. He was easily swayed by opinion and gossip. In a king, that is a fatal weakness. She wanted me to take the road so many princes take to power: the quiet assassination of a rival.”

  Scarlet seemed to have stopped breathing. “Did you do that?” he quavered. “Liall, please tell me you didn’t.”

  Liall nearly became angry then. “No. What do you think of me? I laughed at her plots. I would never hurt Nadei.” Then he realized what he had said. “I mean,” he stammered. “I would never have... it was not intentional. There was,” he had to stop and take another deep breath, “there was a bear hunt. Nadei and I rode for the silver and blue, as always, and we killed the beast together, but there was some dispute over whose spear had actually ended the snow bear’s life. To this day, I swear I saw my own spear strike the bear in the throat and Nadei’s bounce off its flank and skitter up under its ribs. A severe blow, but not the killing shot. Credit for the kill, the blood honor, went to me, but Nadei loudly disputed it all the way back to the palace. When we were home and in the hall, he was still angry, still crying foul and saying I had cheated and lied to get the blood honor, that I had bribed men to say it was my spear that felled the bear, and that I had dishonored the hunt forever. I tried to laugh at him and make light of it, like I had been doing for years but... damn it all.” He ground his fist into his palm, not seeing how Scarlet shrank from him.

  “Suddenly, I was just so damned tired of him. He wasn’t a man ready to be king, he was a boy who imagined slights everywhere. I shouted at him and told him so before witnesses in the hall, when I could stand his insults no more. My mother was there and heard everything, and I think by then even she knew that we needed to have it out between us, so she did not interfere or send guards to pull us apart.”

  It was the next part that made Liall’s voice stopper in his throat. He tried to speak past it and could not, then Scarlet’s arms were around him, and suddenly he could say it:

  “We fought. I had been with the army in the Tribelands. I was a younger prince, not the heir, and could bear the risk of battle if I wished. Unlike Nadei, who was never allowed to be put into harm’s way. I was a trained soldier, so I was better with my fists. I won and he took it badly. He came at me with a knife,” Liall said into Scarlet’s shoulder. “I am battle-trained. He came at me and I turned the blade on him and drove it into his side, but... but too high. It pierced his organs and he died within a few minutes, right there on the crown dais, with my mother screaming his name.”

  Scarlet’s arms tightened around Liall. “I’m sorry.”

  “I did not mean to do it,” Liall vowed. “I swear I did not mean to. It happened so fast, I...”

  “Quiet. I know. I should have known.”

  Scarlet held him for a long time while Liall inhaled the scent of Scarlet’s skin and listened to the sounds outside the room: a clink in the dining nook, the soft fall of footsteps echoing on stone, wind on the casements, servants going about their duties, Nenos giving orders in his gentle voice. These were sounds that he had grown up with and thought never to hear again. Like Scarlet’s trust, they were gifts he had been given back, and now he must take care to guard them.

  “Liall, what’s going to happen now?”

  “I honestly do not know.” Liall kissed him and got up heavily. “I have to speak to Alexyin, find out what he plans to do. He was the queen’s advisor and—”

  Liall turned sharply when he heard Scarlet gasp. Scarlet had turned to look at the large casement that dominated the room, and now he rose and moved toward it, gripping the edges of heavy drapery in each hand. The storm had broken and the sky cleared to show a black dome glittering with stars, and Scarlet stood gazing out, his head tilted back as he stared in stunned awe. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if he scarcely dared to breathe.

  “Is this magic?” Scarlet asked at last, his voice daunted and overcome with wonder. He had been told countless times that there was no magic in Rshan.

  They will call this an omen, Liall thought, and moved to stand with Scarlet, tilting his head back to watch with Scarlet as the opalescent streams of light chased each other across the indigo canvas of sky.

  Scarlet watched, wide-eyed and awed into silence, and Liall smiled to see his admiration. Colors, colors, colors. One after the other in a vast cascade sparkling above the land, like a shimmering silken veil that descends and descends but never seems to touch the ground. The ostre sul, the lights in the darkness, which Liall had seen it more times than he could remember, but never like this, never with such a man beside him, who artlessly accepted a flawed world as the price of living, and committed his whole heart to love while still reserving his selfdom. Unlike Liall, Scarlet had always known who he was. Liall had been the one who was lost and needed convincing that he wanted to be found at all.

  Who was the man Scarlet loved? Was he a displaced prince or a bandit Kasiri? Or, as Scarlet had once accused, was he like Cadan, a dark soul only needing the right set of downfalls to turn him into a brigand and murderer? Liall realized then that he had tried so hard not to be Prince Nazheradei that he had misplaced himself. Some part of him had been fast asleep since his exile from Rshan, perhaps only waiting for the ri
ght catalyst to rouse it or the right soul to share a life with. He no longer had to fear his own dreams.

  In some dark and frightful corner of Liall’s mind, a bit of sun grayed the deep night, and he saw Nadei with the knife in his hand before his brother lowered the blade and closed the door between them forever. Liall had finally faced the true and naked memory of him, without denial, without excuse, and so the price of the past was paid.

  Scarlet craned his neck to look at Liall, the question bright in his dark eyes.

  “Yes.” Liall cupped Scarlet’s cheek as the lights painted glimmering ribbons of silver in his black hair, smiling to hide the staggering sense of relief as Nadei’s face grew dimmer and dimmer in the grayness. “That is what it is, t’aishka. Magic.”

  “What does that mean?” Scarlet begged, suddenly earnest. “T’aishka.”

  Liall bent to kiss him, long and possessively. “Forever beloved,” he answered at last. “One who I would love from life to life, in whatever existence awaits us beyond the Overworld. One I believe I have known before, many times.”

  Scarlet looked up at Liall searchingly for a long moment before he poked Liall in the arm. “Romantic.”

  “Entirely guilty, I fear,” Liall grinned, and then became serious again. “We should plan on a journey,” he murmured, his fingers stroking Scarlet’s face. “After a new heir is named and the kingdom settled.” Excitement and new hope touched Liall’s voice. “A fresh start for us.”

  “North?”

  “We’re as far north as one can get in this world, my love. I was thinking south.”

  Scarlet gave Liall a narrow look, but his mouth quirked. “Sailing there, are we?”

  “Months and months, yes.”

  “What’s south of Byzantur?”

  Liall’s blue eyes twinkled. “I had a notion to explore the Southern Kingdoms. Artinia and the like.”

  “Artinia,” Scarlet breathed.

  Liall nodded, gently tucking a lock of Scarlet’s dark hair behind his ear. “Artinia. That is little more than a fragment of a tale among Hilurin, is it not? Like a line dropped from a fable, the barest bit of story some tale-spinner thinks can be cut without incident.”

  “Is it real?”

  “So the mariners say,” Liall smiled, teasing. “Of course it is real. Have you not learned by now that all fairytales have some measure of truth in them?”

  “And we’re going?”

  “We go together, or not at all. I have found that the company of a certain redbird is all I need to make life worth living again.”

  Scarlet seemed to think about it for several moments. “Masdren is going to be cross with me.”

  “For?” Anxiety tinged his tone.

  “For breaking my promise to settle down and become a proper Hilurin. That’s twice now. He’ll be very cross indeed this time.”

  Liall threw his arms around Scarlet with a growl and lifted him off his feet. “So you like to frighten your lover, do you? I thought you were reconsidering.”

  “Never. You won’t be rid of me that easily,” Scarlet chuckled. “We can send word to him, can’t we? And to my sister in Nantua. Oh, Annaya will never believe it all!”

  “We can send word and a barrel of gold to go with it, if that’s your pleasure, my t’aishka,” Liall answered, laughing. Liall buried his face in Scarlet’s neck and inhaled his apple-sweet scent. “Oh, my dear one...”

  There was a knock at the door, and outside in the hall rose the sound of many voices.

  Scarlet sighed as Liall set him down reluctantly. “Do you want me to see what they want?”

  “No.” Liall walked to the door, frowning. “I will send them away.” He entered the common room and called for Nenos, but the servant was in the outer foyer, and when Liall opened that door he found Nenos overwhelmed by a great crowd of men and women who packed the wide hall outside the apartments. Ressanda was in the forefront, standing beside Alexyin and Khatai Jarek. Golden-eyed Jochi was there, too, pale and bandaged with his arm in a tight sling, but on his feet. Liall stood staring at them, and they all fell silent as one. Ressanda was first. He went to one knee and bowed his head.

  “Hail Nazheradei, King of Rshan na Ostre.”

  To run from something your entire life, to think you have escaped it utterly, and then to have it overtake you in the space of an instant. For one long moment, Liall literally could not breathe.

  “No,” Liall whispered, stricken. “Not me, Ressanda. Never.” He held out his hands beseechingly to his old teacher. “Alexyin, please. I cannot...”

  “There is no other,” Alexyin said, also falling to his knees. Liall had never seen him look so old. “It is you, or our kingdom dies now. The barons cannot agree on another, and there will be war.”

  Jochi caught Liall’s eye and nodded, a gentle expression of understanding on his features. “It must be,” he said. He leaned heavily on Alexyin’s shoulder to kneel as well. Jarek bowed shortly, as a soldier should to her ruler, and knelt heavily on the polished floor, her armor creaking.

  Liall scanned the faces behind Alexyin and Jochi, barons and nobles all, and saw they were right. There were many expressions: hope, dislike, excitement, greed, outright hate. Everything hinged on his answer. If he declined in favor of Ressanda or some other worthy noble, the frail truce with Eleferi would be broken. New allies would become new enemies. Even Shikhoza would turn on her recent display of alliance and become a mortal enemy if she sighted the possibility of the crown again. The realm would be torn apart.

  “The council of Barons has convened and decided,” Ressanda intoned like a prayer, his head bowed. “We are in agreement. You are our king.”

  Ressanda’s daughter, Ressilka, elegantly knelt at her father’s side and made a humble obeisance to Liall. The crown of her red-gold hair shone in the lamp light: Ressilka of the royal blood, who had been destined to marry a prince, and someday must, if the line of Camira-Druz was not to die out entirely.

  Slowly, Shikhoza’s hand rose and settled on Eleferi’s shoulder, and they knelt as one. “Hail, King Nazheradei,” Shikhoza proclaimed in a cool voice. Her gaze was shrewd. She knew that Liall had little choice, or none at all.

  Eleferi’s head was bowed with Shikhoza’s, obeisant and humble, but Liall knew their hearts were not turned, only their public policy, and for a moment he utterly despaired, feeling trapped and breathless, until he felt the warm touch of a smaller hand in his. Liall looked down to see Scarlet at his side. Relief and gratitude flooded him.

  “I’m here,” Scarlet said simply. His grin was a pedlar’s grin, endlessly confident and proud and honest. “I’ll always be here, Liall.”

  Liall gripped Scarlet’s fingers tight in promise. “And I will always be yours,” he vowed. “I swear it.” Liall turned to the watchers. His thumb brushed the back of Scarlet’s hand in a private caress. “It is the old way,” he announced in a ringing voice that carried down the halls. “My t’aishka is Hilurin, and he has the magic of the Anlyribeth. If any man objects to this, I will answer him with my sword.”

  None spoke a whisper, and Liall drew himself up taller, though inwardly he felt as if the very earth had rattled under his feet. “And this is not the end of the changes to come. As king, my brother Cestimir would have led us –not forward into a new world that our people fear so much– but back to the old one, where we welcomed many nations to Rshan and feared none, and we were known and respected by all. It is time we remembered who we are.”

  “Hail, King!” Ressanda called out in his deep voice, raising a fist to the air as if daring anyone to silence him.

  “Hail, King!”

  Other voices took up the call inside the palace, echoing far down the stone corridors and in towers and salons and chambers. The sound rose like a wave, falling like a choir or a patter of rain: Rshan’s ancient plea at the death of monarchs, the sunrise after shadow, triumph after defeat, the mourning call of a kingdom pleading for a king.

  * * *

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  Kirby Crow, The Land of Night