The Destined Queen

by Deborah Hale

  She began to lower the staff.

  Delyon dashed to the base of the pillar and extended his arm. “I will try, Highness. If it is long enough.”

  Maura doubted it would reach all that distance, but before her fingers came in contact with the ivory hawk’s head, she felt a tug at the bottom and heard Delyon say, “I’ve got it! I cannot believe this. I am touching the Staff of Velorken.”

  Her sense of urgency swamped her sense of wonder. Maura let the staff drop into Delyon’s reverent hands, then she descended the pillar, half climbing, half sliding. Grabbing the staff back from him, she set off through the dim maze of passageways beneath the castle. Hope and confidence radiated through her with every breath and every pulse of her heart.

  As she burst up to ground level, a ruddy glow in the east warned her dawn had come. A more ominous sound also heralded the sunrise. From beyond the edge of forest came the roar of combat.

  Where was Rath? As Maura’s gaze swept the courtyard, Songrid raced toward her.

  Before the Hanish woman could speak, Maura asked, “How long has the battle been going on?”

  “Not long. Just since first light.”

  “My husband—where can I find him?”

  Songrid pointed toward the great hall. “That way. He and Lord Idrygon were—”

  Maura did not stay to hear the rest. She raced to the great hall and found it deserted except for Rath and Idrygon.

  “You see?” Idrygon cried when he saw the staff in her hand. “I told you not to risk joining in the fray while there was any hope of the staff coming to us.”

  Something compelled Maura to drop to one knee as she held out the staff to Rath. He stared at it with a look of aversion, as if she were offering him a death-mage’s wand. After an instant’s hesitation he reached out and took it from her.

  “Quickly,” urged Idrygon. “Make our wish. Wish death on the Han! Not only the ones on our shores, mind—all of them. That is the only way we can insure our freedom.”

  A cry of protest rose to Maura’s lips, but Rath beat her to it. “Are you mad? How can I bring about the destruction of a whole race?”

  “If it is your wife you are worried about,” said Idrygon with the air of one granting a great concession, “then make it clear you wish death only on full-blooded Han.”

  Behind her, Maura heard Delyon cry, “What about Songrid and others like her?”

  “Aye,” said Rath. “Women, elders, infants? I cannot have that kind of slaughter on my conscience!”

  “Weren’t you once an outlaw?” Idrygon demanded. “Have you never had blood on your hands before?”

  “Of course I have—too much of it.”

  “Surely this will be easier. You need not put your own life at risk. You need not watch them die. At this very moment, the Han are slaying our men. You must stop it!”

  Rath shook his head. “Not that way.”

  For a moment, Idrygon looked as if he meant to fly at Rath in a rage. But he managed to control his temper before it burst out. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of persuasive reason. “Do this and I will grant your dearest wish, sire.”

  Rath gave a weary sigh. “Even if I would make such a bargain, you have no idea of my dearest wish.”

  “I have watched you close enough these past weeks to guess,” said Idrygon. “Once this rebellion is over, you do not want the burden of ruling this troubled kingdom. You do not feel equal to the responsibility. You would rather settle down to a simple, peaceful life in some quiet village. Am I right?”

  Rath did not answer. He did not need to. The longing in his eyes and the set of his rugged features ached with his true feelings.

  “Rid our land of this menace,” pleaded Idrygon, “and you need be king in name only. Sign a few documents, make the odd ceremonial appearance. For the rest, you may live as quietly as you please with your family, while I tend to the practical cares of running the kingdom on your behalf.”

  Rath’s gaze sought Maura’s. “Aira, convince me what I must do. I fear I have not the strength of will.”

  She knew how this offer must tempt him, for she felt the pull of it on her own will. Idrygon was a born leader, under whose rule the Vestan Islands were a haven of peace and prosperity. More than once since meeting him, Maura had wondered why destiny had not chosen him as the Waiting King.

  But she had seen another side of Lord Idrygon, also—like the other face of this enticing bargain—ruthless and hungry for power.

  “What do you expect her to say?” Idrygon’s question crackled with scorn. “Do not forget, she is one of them.”

  “Mind your tongue!” cried Rath, shaking the staff at him. “Do not goad me to waste my wish on you!”

  Idrygon paled and jammed his lips shut, shooting a blistering glare at Maura.

  What counsel could she give Rath? Maura asked herself. Idrygon’s bargain tempted her as fiercely as it did him, yet the price of it chilled her heart. Her travels had taught her that many Han bore no guilt for the evil their leaders had inflicted upon her people. But if she urged Rath to show mercy, would it be a betrayal of her Umbrian heritage?

  “Do not fear to embrace your destiny, aira.” She ignored Idrygon’s murderous scowl. “You may be a better king because of your flawed past. When I fought the Echtroi at Beastmount, I learned that I have the capacity to be a better queen because I do not crave power. I believe the same is true of you. The best leaders are those who would serve their people, not dominate them.”

  “Sire…” Idrygon protested.

  “Silence!” cried Rath. “Let her speak.”

  Perhaps she’d already said too much. Too often since their destinies entwined she had compelled him to follow her lead. But this was no longer her destiny alone. She had no right to take the responsibility and freedom of decision from Rath. Even for the sake of all that hung in the balance, she could not deny him the choice and the chance to be a hero of his own making.

  Her next words were some of the most difficult she had ever spoken to him. “The choice must be yours, aira. I have faith you will take the right course. Whatever you decide, I promise you my love and support.”

  “My lords!” One of Vang’s men burst into the great hall. “I am bidden to fetch you, now. The Han are trying to set Aldwood ablaze!”

  Maura’s gaze flew to Rath. She saw his hand tighten around the staff, and she prayed the Giver would guide him.

  Idrygon moved so fast, she was not even aware of it until he pulled her toward him, a short blade flashing in his hand. Clearly he did not trust the power of his bribe alone to sway Rath. He must add a threat, as well.

  “Do not cross me, outlaw! Or you will be one king without a queen!”

  Though Maura knew Idrygon was quite capable of doing what he threatened, a flare of righteous anger seared away her fear. Having struggled with her decision to give Rath a free choice, she would not let anyone take it from him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Delyon rush forward. “Don’t do this, brother!”

  “Stay out of this, you pious fool!” cried Idrygon, his attention diverted for the instant Maura needed.

  “I’ve made better men than you sorry they grabbed me.” She leaped up, driving the crown of her head hard against Idrygon’s chin.

  He gave a muffled bellow of pain and his grip on her slackened. Maura spun out of his reach while Delyon knocked the blade from his brother’s hand.

  “Now, Rath!” Maura cried. “Use the staff!”

  So much hung on his decision. So many lives on both sides. And he had run out of time to weigh his choice. The only thing Rath knew for certain was that he had neither the ability nor the right to wield such fearful power. Did any man?

  Clutching the Staff of Velorken, he made the only wish he could trust, though he could not guess what would come of it. “Giver, let your will prevail. That is my wish.”

  Maura threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad I did not sway you. I would never have thought of that. But w
hen I heard you speak, I knew it was right!”

  If only he could feel so certain. If only he had felt something. A surge of magical power from the staff, perhaps, or some inkling of what his wish had wrought. But Rath knew nothing, felt nothing.

  Had he wasted a wish that might have saved his people? Or had the Staff of Velorken been only a hollow myth, luring them to venture the impossible?

  “Traitor!” cried Idrygon, diving to recover his fallen blade.

  Rath thrust Maura behind him and raised the staff to defend them both.

  The instant Idrygon grasped the knife, he let out a scream the likes of which Rath had only heard from victims of the death-mages. He had no time to puzzle what it meant.

  He turned to Maura. “Go! As quickly as you can. Take Songrid and make your way out of the forest. Then go south to Prum. Folks there will take care of you.”

  One last time he kissed her. “I must go to my men and do what I can.”

  “So must I.” Maura clung to his hand with a grip he had not the heart to break. “Let us not waste time arguing.”

  Fiercely as he yearned to protect her, Rath knew this choice must be hers. He acknowledged her words with a grim nod, then they ran from the hall together with Idrygon’s howls and curses ringing in their ears.

  A deafening chorus of such sounds greeted them when they reached the fringe of Aldwood. Vang Spear of Heaven came striding toward them with a dazed look, as if someone had hit him very hard on the head with something solid.

  “What is all that?” Rath hollered to be heard above the din coming from beyond the forest.

  “It’s the Han.” Vang shook his head. “They’ve all gone clean mad! We were in the midst of the battle when they all threw down their weapons and began stripping off their armor—howling like lankwolves at a full moon. Even the death-mages dropped their wands. No one knows what to make of it.”

  Rath turned to Maura, torn between contrary urges to laugh and weep. “Do you reckon this could be…”

  “…the will of the Giver?” Maura’s lips trembled as they curved into an astonished smile.

  “One way to find out.” Warily, Rath touched the tip of his finger to the hilt of his sheathed knife.

  “Slag!” He pulled it back again, shaking it to ease the pain. “It feels like a red-hot coal! That must be why Idrygon dropped his dagger.”

  Maura rummaged in her sash. “I have some fresh merthorn leaves…”

  “It can wait, aira. We must act now. Who knows how long this boon of the Giver’s may last?”

  Rath ran out onto the heath crying orders at the top of his lungs. “Do not touch anything metal! It will burn you. Archers, take to the field and surround the Han! Do not shoot unless they attack you! Bring rope to bind the prisoners!”

  It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, then the men nearest him took up the cry, echoing his orders. Rebel archers burst from the cover of the forest, followed by men toting rope, strips of cloth, even bits of harness to secure their prisoners.

  Rath and Maura followed. They had gone only a few steps, when a riderless horse trotted up to them and stopped.

  “Look at the way it is staring at the staff.” Maura ran her hand over the beast’s smooth, muscular flank. “Do you reckon it’s safe to ride?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Rath climbed into the saddle while the horse stood quiet. He patted it on the neck, then offered his hand to Maura, who scrambled up behind him.

  She gazed over the battlefield where many other beasts were running free. “Why do you suppose the metal bits on their harnesses do not burn the horses?”

  Rath shook his head. “I cannot guess, aira. Magic has always baffled me.”

  They rode around the battlefield, where Rath urged his men to show restraint toward the Han. “This is a boon from the Giver! Let us show ourselves worthy of it. Let us strive to live by the Precepts and honor life—even the lives of our enemies.”

  He glanced back when Maura tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Stop and let me down,” she bid him. “The herbs in my sash will not go far with such a horde, and they may refuse my help, thinking it weakness, but at least I can offer.”

  She was right. Most of the Hanish soldiers refused, cursing her, even as they writhed in pain. But shortly after the rebels had secured all their prisoners, a cool shower of rain fell, providing the Han with relief whether they wanted it or not. It also cooled the discarded weapons and armor until they were safe to touch and cart away.

  That night, while Aldwood Castle echoed with songs of victory, Rath and Maura slipped away from the celebration to return the Staff of Velorken to its rightful place.

  When she slipped down the pillar into his waiting arms, they indulged in a long, tender embrace in which exhaustion and wariness were tempered with profound relief and gratitude.

  “What now, aira?” she whispered, resting her head against his chest.

  Rath leaned back against the pillar. “We must march our prisoners to the coast and put them back on the ships that brought them here.”

  “Are you not worried they might return to attack us again?”

  “Not right away. I doubt even they are warlike enough to mount an invasion without armor or weapons—which I plan to hurl down the deepest shafts of the Blood Moon Mines.”

  “What of the Han left behind in Westborne?”

  “Aye, they must be dealt with, too.” Rath looked weary but hopeful. “Without the Giver’s help this time. I pray they will not put up too costly a fight.”

  Before she could ask, he added, “Then there is Idrygon. I do not know where he has disappeared to, or when he may return to plague us again. In truth, I am glad to be rid of him. It would tax my poor wisdom to decide a fitting punishment. We owe him a great debt for all he did to prepare for this rebellion, but that does not excuse other things he did…or tried to do.”

  Maura sensed there would be many problems in the years ahead to tax Rath’s wisdom and his patience. “Are you sorry you did not make a different wish upon the Staff of Velorken, aira?”

  Rath shook his head as he lifted his hand to stroke her hair. “I doubted I had it in me to be king. But I reckon as long as I strive to be worthy of a queen like you, I cannot go too far wrong.”

  Epilogue

  Venard, one year later

  The Council of Citizens listened with interest as Admiral Gull reported on a new fleet of ships under construction in Duskport.

  “If the Imperium is daft enough to send troops against us again, they’ll be in for a nasty surprise. Until then, and hoping that day never comes, our navy will be fitted for merchant duty between the mainland and the islands.”

  Gull passed around scrolls with drawings of ship designs and began to speak eagerly of materials, dimensions and rigging.

  A warm sense of satisfaction stole over Rath as he listened to Gull and glanced around the chamber at so many familiar and trusted faces. This had been the secret to ease the burden of kingship and temper the unhealthy lure of power—letting his people govern themselves, with him as a kind of overseer and mediator. It was a role he could live with and in which he could find fulfillment.

  Not that the past year had been without its challenges. There were still outlaws who would rather prey on others than earn their bread in the many kinds of lawful work opening up around the kingdom. Though Rath had done his best to encourage reconciliation, there had been reprisals against Hanish folk like Songrid who had chosen to remain in Umbria, as well as zikary who had collaborated with the Han. There were still folks who braved the dangers of the abandoned mines to harvest and sell slag. Those who were caught could expect no lenience from the king.

  Progress was being made, too, Rath reminded himself. Under Maura’s patronage, healers and teachers were being trained and equipped. The growing and gathering of herbs was being encouraged. Led by Delyon, a revival of the Elderways was gaining momentum. By the time one of his children was ready to take the throne and give him and
Maura a well-deserved rest, Rath expected—

  Interrupting that thought, a matron of the royal household slipped into the chamber quietly and whispered a few words in Rath’s ear. Immediately he sprang to his feet and followed her out into the gallery.

  “Rath!” Delyon slipped out behind them. “Is something wrong? My brother…?”

  Rath shook his head. “Still no word of Idrygon. Do not take offense if I say I hope it stays that way. A masterful man, your brother. Not one I ever wanted for an enemy.”

  “I know. But if not Idrygon, what summons you away from the Council looking so anxious?”

  Rath had kept walking as he talked, now his long stride picked up further speed. “One thing that frets me worse than Idrygon or even the Han—the baby is coming!”

  “Is that all?” A look of relief spread over Delyon’s features. “A joyful occasion, to be sure, the birth of an heir.”

  “Easy for you to say, my friend.” Rath rubbed the damp palms of his hands on his tunic. “Wait until your turn comes!”

  Waving farewell, he hurried off toward the family quarters with less than regal haste.

  As he entered the birthing chamber, he heard Sorsha Swinley’s voice, hearty and capable. “It won’t be long now. A few more pangs and I reckon you’ll be ready to squeeze that baby right out.”

  “Not long?” Striding to Maura’s side, Rath grasped her hand and cast a reproachful look at Sorsha. “How long has she been laboring? Were you not told to summon me as soon as it started?”

  “So you could do what, Highness?” The farm wife gave a vexingly unruffled chuckle. “Hang about and be as much nuisance as most men at a time like this? It has only been a few hours, and for a blessing, it should not go on much longer.”

  “Do not blame Sorsha,” Maura bid Rath in a weary whisper. Her hair curled over the pillow in a damp, ruddy tangle. Her face glowed and so did her eyes. How could he deny her anything when she looked so beautiful, ripe with his child?

  “I gave orders you were not to be called until my time was near. In this, a queen’s commands overrule even a king’s.”