Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  My neck hair lifted, and I shook myself to get rid of the eerie sensation. Pretty as it was, I’d be glad to sell that loot and be rid of it.

  I found the ladder going down, and soon had joined Kuraf, Kee, a grinning Nill and several others on the big platform. We ate an excellent hot meal of cakes and baked fruit, then Kuraf cleared everyone out but a tall, dark-haired young man, Kee, and myself.

  Below, her followers gathered on the grassy turf, with targets set on the opposite side of a clearing. And there, in the dappled sunlight of early morning, they began practicing, some with swords, and some with quarterstaffs. Kuraf seated herself at the extreme end of the platform so she could watch them below, yet see me.

  “We’ll discuss your route,” Kuraf said, “but first some straight talk, young Hrethan.” Her eyes narrowed to points of cool gray scrutiny.

  The tall young man moved to flank me, his hand on the hilt of a long knife. Sidling quick glances from side to side, I noticed at least two possible escape routes. Escape through the trees, that is. I wasn’t about to take on all those drilling warriors below.

  But trees were my old friends. I could move very fast in them.

  I turned back to Kuraf, who said, “If a Hrethan has become a liar and thief there’s a reason, and don’t think I am unsympathetic. Howsomever. His highness’s life depends not only on your speed, but on your completing the journey even if it’s difficult. His cousin may not dare to kill him now, but that will last only until he’s sure of his hold on Alezand. We’re going to be spending our time harrying his forces, to keep that hold unsure—but we must know that someone goes to the capital. You agreed mighty quick last night, and you have not been Alezand’s partisan.”

  “A blood-oath will get her there,” the young man said quietly. “And will enable a sorcerer to trace her if she doesn’t.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe so. But even for a good purpose, blood oaths are too close to blood magic, and I will not use such. Yes, I know they are legal, but there are different sorts of law, one might say. Though I bow my head to the old laws of the land, it is this law I obey first.” She thumped a fist against her chest, glanced down at the warriors as the clack of sticks and the ring of steel echoed through the glade.

  The young man flushed, made a gesture of peace by pressing his palms together, and sat back.

  Kee crossed her arms, giving me a scornful glance; we were eye to eye, and it occurred to me that she assumed I was her age. “I can make it alone, Grandmother,” she said. “I don’t see the need for any of this. Or for her.”

  “You would make it,” Kuraf confirmed. “But you’d never get into Erev-li-Erval.”

  “Try me,” Kee retorted. “I can get into any city.”

  Kuraf smiled. “I make no doubt you could sneak in, child, but that is more likely to earn you a stretch in a dungeon than an audience with Aranu Crown. And you cannot risk speaking to any of the toadies who hold audiences for lesser folk: any of them could be under Lendan’s pay, and you’d not know it beforehand.”

  “So he’s part of the empire?” I asked. “He called himself a Prince of the Golden Circle. I’ve traveled a lot of places, but never heard of that land.”

  Kuraf called down, “You four, there. Archery now. The rest of you, keep drilling.”

  Then she turned back to me. “How much do you know about inheritance in the empire?”

  “Nothing,” I said, biting back a And I have less interest.

  Her smile increased briefly as if she could read my mind. Below, arrows twanged. “Did you know that the emperors and empresses choose their heirs?”

  I shrugged.

  “In some lands, it’s the eldest child. In the empire of Charas al Kherval, for the past couple of centuries, the ruler chooses whoever he or she thinks is best suited. Usually, but not always, among their own children. The ones unchosen were given the title ‘Imperial Prince or Princess of the Golden Circle,’ which doesn’t come with any land or holdings, but means they had precedence directly after the rulers at court.”

  I gazed in surprise. “So Geric Lendan is the empress’s son?”

  “No, he’s descended, third generation, from a prince who was not chosen. Now, as the generations went by, the sons and daughters of the Imperial Princes and Princesses of the Golden Circle were also called Princes and Princesses of the Golden Circle. Not Imperial Princes and Princesses, which meant they still had precedence over dukes and the rest, but behind their parents. Unfortunately, as you might imagine, by that third generation there were rather a lot of Princesses and Princes of the Golden Circle cluttering up court, which was fine, but some of ’em inherited a sense of privilege along with their fancy titles, and no sense of service. Unlike the rest of court.”

  “All right, so back to Geric Lendan,” I said, as arrows thudded into the targets below.

  “I’m coming to him. So Aranu Crown, who spent a lot of time among privileged, spoilt Golden Circle princes before she came to the throne, decreed almost first thing after she put on the imperial crown that henceforth, the Golden Circle will be reserved only for the empress’s children who are not chosen as heir. And their children will carry no titles, unless they marry them.”

  “So Geric Lendan is not really a prince?”

  “Oh, he’s a prince, but he’s the last generation who will have that title, outside of Aranu Crown’s own children. Any children he has—and I find that a daunting thought—won’t inherit land or title. Unless he annexes land. So that’s what he’s trying to do.”

  Thud! Was this display an everyday occurrence, or a hint?

  “Now. To you.” Kuraf’s hand waved between me and the dour young man. “My son wants your oath. But as I said, I mislike forced oaths, with or without magic. I ask you, therefore, to tell us now: do you go to the capital, or shall we give you your freedom and food for a day’s march?”

  I hadn’t really thought of the future. That was not my habit. I had always dealt with each situation as it arose, with my independence of foremost importance. On the other hand, conflicting feelings pulled me toward the promise. I did not like the idea of Hlanan and Thianra captive, and I resented the contempt in Kee’s face; amid the cloud of strong, but unidentifiable, feelings drawing me toward a yes was a distinct desire to make her admit she was wrong to judge me.

  So I said, “The capital is where I’d find my folk, they told me. I guess I’d be going there anyway. Why not combine it with your errand?”

  “There will be danger on this venture,” Kuraf said. “Geric Lendan will have all roads east watched.”

  “I’ve seen danger once or twice,” I put in.

  Kuraf smiled. “Yes, I’ll wager you have.” Her brows rose, and her face eased a little. “Then there’s an end to it,” she said. “Come here, you two. Let’s discuss your route.”

  Her son grunted, and crossed to a low carved chest. He opened it, drew out a rolled paper, and spread it carefully on the table before Kuraf.

  “Here we are,” Kuraf said, pointing to a mountain area with letters carefully painted on it. “And, to the east, Namas Ilan—” She frowned up at me. “Can you read?”

  I shook my head.

  “I have the map by memory,” Kee said shortly. “Erev-Li-Erval lies east. Which road is best?”

  “None of the eastern ones,” the son said. “Lendan will have spies on every road. You’ll go west at first. You don’t want to go south to Keprima.”

  I shook my head, remembering the disaster at that inn. I still had no idea who “she” was who had paid for us to be attacked.

  “You’ll have to get down to Letarj, and sail north,” he said at last. “Then cross through Liacz—”

  “But that land is very warlike, Uncle Coran,” Kee protested.

  “Most of Liacz’s warriors seem to be south of their border these days. If you are circumspect, you ought to be fine. The most important thing is, that route will be unexpected, lessening the chance of your being hunted by any of these contract soldiers in gray
. Cross the mountains, drop southward and enter the capital from that side.”

  “That will add weeks to our journey,” Kee said.

  “Not as much as you’d think. The sailing is a matter of days, and by crossing the Kertean Mountains in the north, you avoid having to cross the Anadhan range, which is much fiercer.”

  “And no one can hide in the plains,” Kuraf added. “You must make haste. But we will do our best not to allow Lendan the leisure to plot pursuit, I promise you that.” She turned to me. “Questions, Hrethan?”

  “What about Thianra and Hlanan?”

  “We will try to rescue them, of course,” she said. “If we hear any word. But Lendan has little use for a scribe or a minstrel.” She shrugged.

  Lest I think that a good thing, the dour-faced son rumbled, “If he hasn’t killed them outright, we’ll spring ’em.”

  Hlanan—Thianra—killed? The idea hurt so much that I was taken aback.

  “We know they can take care of themselves. We shall act as if they have.” Kuraf folded her map with a quick gesture. “Anything else?”

  “Only this,” I said, pointing to the green silken tunic Hlanan had given me the day before. “Feels good to wear, but I don’t want to travel in it—”

  “I’ll trade you!” A moment later Nill, who’d obviously been listening from above, dropped down onto our platform, holding out a homespun tunic that laced up the front. “Take this. I’m almost grown out of it.”

  “It’s a swap,” I said.

  Nill grinned, plainly thinking he was getting the best of the bargain.

  Kuraf descended the ladder with the agility of a much younger person, and began lecturing her archers as I changed.

  A short time later I watched Nill carry the silk up the ladder again, feeling an odd hollowness inside. Was this regret? I laughed at myself for this sudden and unwanted wish to burden myself with wardrobe just because something had been a gift. Or maybe it hadn’t even been a gift, just something someone had left behind, and Hlanan had brought it because everyone else was busy.

  Face the truth, I told myself. Hlanan had been kind because it is his nature to be kind. It had nothing to do with you. The surprise was my discovering that what he thought of me actually mattered. No, this couldn’t possibly be the silly sickness coming on me. He was just a scribe, an ordinary fellow with ordinary brown eyes and brown hair, and a very nosy manner.

  Kuraf turned away from her archers and called, “Those packs ready, Nill?”

  “Coming,” Nill shouted down.

  “Let’s go find your mounts,” Kuraf said to Kee and me.

  A short time later we rode away on the backs of long-haired, short-legged hill ponies. Each of us carried a saddlebag full of journey-food, and a flask for water. They’d also given me a heavy brown cloak. Kee wore a long knife at her side, twin to her uncle’s. They hadn’t asked if I needed a weapon, and I didn’t mention the knife in my waistband.

  Kee took command of our expedition from the start. “This way,” she said when we departed, and she led her pony up a difficult trail out of that valley. The huge trees were very soon out of sight—and within a short time I had lost the valley as well.

  Our trip around the side of the mountain was largely made in silence. I was happy enough for it to be so. The higher we rode, the happier I became: the air, crisp as new wine, the light pouring clear and blue down the mountainside, gradually deepening in shades of green, violet, and then a thousand shades of gray and black as the stars emerged so bright overhead I could have reached up to pluck them. And in the morning, the sunlight spilled, yellow as fresh-churned butter, over the distant peaks, gradually striking fiery glints in striated levels of multi-colored rock thrust up at slanting angles, some covered by growth, and some not.

  That first morning, as we set out, Kee looked around, then said softly, “They say Charas-al-Kherval, the imperial city, is just like that.

  “Is it in the mountains, then?” I asked. “I’d love to see that.”

  She gave me a quick look, her expression closing over, as if she regretted the friendly words.

  Once again she sank into silence. So I turned my attention to the birds spiraling upward, the new and ancient rockslides, sudden springs and waterfalls, and the quick dash of long-legged animals of varieties I did not recognize.

  “I’m thirsty,” I said. “Shall we stop at one of these springs?”

  For answer Kee looked around, then led us to a path under a rocky outcropping over which fell a trickling waterfall. Leaning out to catch water in my hands, I drank my fill. Kee knelt silently at the side of the bubbling stream and drank, then she stood aside while the mounts slurped noisily at the water.

  When they were done, she mounted wordlessly and clucked at her pony to pick up its pace. I tried again once we’d reached a long downward slope that afforded us a view of gentle hills and wide valleys.

  “Where are we?” I asked. “I’m lost.”

  “South,” she said over her shoulder. “In Forfar.”

  “That I guessed, but where exactly?”

  “That mountain back there marks the border between Zhin and Forfar.”

  “So we’re not anywhere near Imbradi?”

  “We are west of it,” she said. Not surly, not friendly. Just—flat.

  “So when will we reach Letarj?”

  “If we reach the border by tomorrow night—that’s the river Fara—we should make it to the harbor in three days.”

  “Do we have to go all the way down to Letarj?” I asked, recalling the lines on the map, and trying to calculate distance in my head. “I know it’s a big harbor, but wouldn’t it be quicker to follow the Fara and find some kind of transport at Fara Bay?”

  She snorted. “Obviously you know nothing about Fara Bay,” she said. “It’s a terrible place, a pirates’ haven.”

  She kicked her pony into a trot, and that was that.

  I jolted along behind her, never quite catching up. The scenery changed slowly to a sameness of low brush and occasional copses of spreading oak. Twice gazelles sprang gracefully across our path, running toward the dark line of forest to the east. Kee kept her eyes forward and her mouth closed.

  So I decided to use this opportunity to practice shimmers. I’d never been able to make them while doing something else—like moving—and my recent adventures had shown me that I needed them most when I was on the run. So I sat squarely on my pony, tried to shut out the grassy hillside moving slowly past, and made rainbow bubbles.

  Two things startled me, making the bubbles blink into nothingness.

  One: the colors were brighter and the sizes much bigger than I had intended, which was something I’d never experienced.

  And two: something at my waist glowed warmly, like a shaft of sunlight through glass. Casting a distracted glance at Kee, whose back was squarely to me, I yanked my tunic up and pulled out my stash. I ran my fingers through the loot until they discovered a fading warmth in the diamond stones of Kressanthe’s necklace.

  I pulled them free and held them up against the sky. The half-circle of stones swung glittering from my fingers, the colors dancing in a curiously compelling way. It took an effort to pull my gaze away. I slipped the thing about my wrist and made another shimmer—and the stones against my wrist warmed.

  I held the necklace up. Deep within each of the gems on the sides of the central big one colors darted, like crazed fireflies. The big one—the one you’d expect to throw the most rainbows of light—shone steadily like a prism on a cloudy day. Except the center, in which gleamed a tiny pinpoint of blue, almost like an eye.

  As I watched the blue faded out. When I made more bubbles, the blue leaped into life, burned coolly and bright, then dwindled out.

  So I tried a big shimmer, almost as big as that fake ship I’d made to scare away the Skull Fleet from Rajanas’s yacht. A thousand butterflies swooped against the sky, all colors from pale lemon to velvet-black.

  The pony took one look and shied, snorting fier
cely.

  I tried to catch myself, but the pony was too fast. I found myself looping through the air, the wind whistling past my ears. Instinct made me curl up in a ball. When I landed I somersaulted a ways down the path, coming to a stop in a prickly bush.

  Fast hooves thumped near, stopped, and Kee’s head blotted out the dizzily circling sky. “Are you all right? What happ—” Her breath caught, her gaze on something near my head.

  I turned, saw the diamonds blazing with color a hand-span from my nose.

  “What’s that?” she breathed.

  “Necklace,” I muttered.

  Her mouth opened, then her gaze hardened. “Oh. I see. Something you stole, no doubt?”

  “What do you know about it?” I muttered, getting to my feet and trying to dust myself off. My limbs trembled like water had replaced my bones, but otherwise I was unhurt.

  “Nothing. And I don’t want to,” she said. “I just know I’d rather starve than steal.” And when I said nothing, she added flatly, “I’ll fetch your pony.”

  She rode a little ways off, and I walked slowly down the path. My mood of experimentation had given over to a vast, angry discontent. Why was I here anyway? I didn’t need this sniff-nosed girl, or her thorn-tongued prince either, for that matter. What’s to keep me from cutting and running, I thought irritably as I restored the necklace to the sash, and made sure Nill’s thick brown tunic was pulled well over it.

  I stopped, and scanned the eastern horizon longingly.

  Thus I spotted the speck against the sky a moment before a panic-driven mental flash blasted its way into my mind. Slavers, the slavers will have Hlanan. You must go fast, Tir’s cry ripped through my aching head.

  And both ponies shied when Tir swooped out of the sky, cawing in distress.

  13

  “The Scribe’s aidlar,” Kee cried, struggling to regain control of both ponies.

  I ran to catch the dragging reins of my mount. Tir flapped about my head, cawing in distress. Slavers! Slavers! Tir’s panic stabbed into my mind again and again. Frightened by the bird, the snorting pony reared, and Kee hovered nearby demanding to know what was wrong.