A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “Anything else you’ve neglected to tell me?” the king asked.

  Fear made Grayson talk very fast. He told the king about the ritual in detail. “They made those rat birds, sir. Made them from the sacrifice.”

  “That’s why the Jiir-Yeke take the Puru,” the king said. “But why was Rogedoth there, I wonder?”

  “I can watch him. Try to find out.”

  “No,” the king said. “Rogedoth wants you for himself, and you must stay away. Do not return to that pyramid again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I rather like that maid’s idea that you have a room to travel in and out of. I cannot have you frightening the residents of this castle on a regular basis. I will find you a room, and you will use it. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.”

  “Now, I do need your help with something right away. Empress Inolah is in need of assistance. The Ahj-Yeke have taken many Rurekans to their mines. Think you might be able to free them? Tomorrow, of course. After you’ve rested.”

  Grayson thrilled at the idea of helping more people. “Yes, sir. I can help them.”

  “Good. Now off you go.”

  Grayson didn’t need to be told twice. He popped to the great hall to help feed the Puru, eager to finish and be alone for a very long while.

  Inolah

  Inolah sat at a table with the Rurekan council, going over their list of concerns, the most crucial of which involved the abducted Rurekans.

  “Master Grayson has located the majority of our missing people in an Ahj-Yeke mine to the northeast of here,” she said. “He has already begun carrying people out. Some of the children have been separated from parents, and we’re working on reuniting—”

  The door burst inward, and a man entered, followed by a dozen others, Rosârah Thallah included. The Igote guards leapt to stop them, but some of the intruding party muttered words that knocked the guards to the floor.

  “Forgive me, Your Eminence!” said an Igote guard from behind the intruders. “I told him you were in a meeting, but he would not listen.”

  Inolah stood and took a closer look at the man leading the pack. It had been nearly twenty years since she’d last seen Barthel Rogedoth, but she recognized his ridged brow and long braid immediately. “How can I help you, Master Rogedoth?”

  “How dare you enter my camp and attack my men?” he spat. “I demand you return the prophetess to me immediately. And her rescuer too.”

  “Rescuer?”

  “Sir Kalenek Veroth,” Thallah said.

  Well, if this wasn’t an amusing chain of events. Inolah fought back a smile. She’d known all along that Kal had harbored feelings for the prophetess. “The order did not come from us, sir, but it pleases me.”

  “You celebrate the breach of my defenses, Empress?” Rogedoth asked.

  “Not at all, but I had it on my list to speak with you about Miss Onika’s unjust captivity. Do you honestly expect me to rage when an innocent woman has escaped wrongful imprisonment?”

  “I had good reason for holding her,” he said.

  “Do enlighten me,” Inolah said.

  The man ran his hand over his mouth, clearly unprepared to answer. “I did not forget you and Sir Kalenek are friends,” he said.

  “We were childhood friends, yes,” Inolah said, “though it’s no secret Sir Kalenek has long been banished from Armania. He serves Chieftess Charlon now. If you have questions about him, I suggest you take them to her.”

  “You expect me to believe it mere coincidence that Sir Kalenek just so happened to break into my camp only days after you arrived?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Inolah said. “I have no interest at all in your affairs. I came here to assist my son in his transition to regent. I’ve not seen Sir Kalenek since we were aboard the Seffynaw on the voyage across the Northsea.”

  “You may not be aware, Empress, but New Rurekau and Barthia have a treaty,” he said.

  “Since my arrival I have been discovering new surprises by the minute, and, yes, I was made aware of the promises Rosârah Thallah and Empress Jazlyn made to you. I have no desire that New Rurekau would break such a treaty unless you asked us to betray any of our long-term alliances. Surely you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  Rogedoth’s hands squeezed into fists. “You will regret your interference here, Empress.” He whipped around, his cloak flying out, and stomped toward the door.

  “I doubt that very much, sir,” she called out.

  His entourage scurried after him, and the Igote guards chased them out.

  Inolah waited until the last Igote kindly closed the door and she again had some privacy. Thallah had remained behind. “Sit, rosârah.”

  “Thank you, but I have no interest in this meeting,” the queen said.

  “You’re not invited to this meeting,” Inolah said, “but you will sit this instant and tell us what your game is.”

  Thallah sank onto a chair on the other side of Sir Iamot. “What do you mean?”

  “It has come to my attention that when Barthel Rogedoth first arrived, you greeted each other as fast friends. I want an explanation. Are you one of his loyal followers?”

  Father’s third queen folded her arms, and for a moment Inolah believed she might not answer. Then she slouched in her chair. “My history with King Barthel is long and complicated. Everything I’ve done was for my son.”

  “How does greeting Barthel Rogedoth with a kiss help Trevn? Or calling the man king?”

  Thallah wrung her hands. Gone was her self-assured mask, and beneath it lay the face of a mother in pain. “King Barthel commands the great shadir Dendron, who is terribly powerful and rules a swarm of lesser shadir.”

  “What does that matter?” Inolah asked. “Your son is king of Armania and is loyal to Arman, the One God, who made the earth and everything in it. A much greater ally than any shadir. Why do you collude with Trevn’s enemy?”

  Thallah furrowed her brow. “It’s to save Trevn that I do this. King Barthel promised not only to spare my son, but to give him land and title if he gives up the throne willingly.”

  What mad logic was this? “And you believe him?”

  “What choice have I? King Barthel is the most powerful mantic in the world.”

  Powerful liar, maybe. Lady Islah had exposed the truth about Rogedoth being a malleant, but that was Trevn’s information to use. “While I understand the maddening desire to save your child, I cannot comprehend such lack of faith,” Inolah said. “Trevn is a clever young man. He has surrounded himself with a host of wise advisors—the best there are, in my opinion. And as I’ve already said, he trusts in Arman. It matters not what kind of weapon or magic or number of fighting men or demons come against him. He will step aside for no one.”

  Thallah sneered. “I’ve never seen your god deliver anything but ridicule and failure to those who follow him. Your brother died, and so will my son if he carries on with this One God nonsense. There’s power to be had in this world, but if Trevn continues to refuse it—it will be to his demise.”

  “I find your opinions dangerous,” Inolah said. “General, would you please escort the rosârah to the dungeon?”

  “Gladly, Your Eminence.” General Balat stood, but before he could reach Thallah, she got up and jogged toward the exit. The guards at the doors stepped in her way and raised their pikes.

  Thallah whirled back and glared at Inolah. “You can’t arrest me! I’ve done nothing but help New Rurekau.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Inolah said. “And while I uncover all you have done here, I will hold you until King Trevn decides whether or not he wishes to charge you with treason against Armania.”

  The general grasped Thallah’s elbow. “If you’ll come peacefully, rosârah, I won’t ask the guards to bind you.”

  “After all I’ve done for your children, you would betray me?” Thallah fisted her hands, chest heaving. “‘People who think t
hey are wise when they are not are worse than fools.’”

  “I completely agree, rosârah, which is why I am doing this,” Inolah said.

  Her face darkened. “You’ll regret siding against King Barthel.” And she stormed out of the chamber. The general and the guards followed.

  Well, that was a lot of mischief made in the space of a few minutes. Inolah hoped that pointing out to Rogedoth that Kal served Chieftess Charlon would in no way put Ulrik at risk. She wanted her eldest son back home, but until she figured out how to make peace with Empress Jazlyn, he was safer dead.

  Qoatch

  King Barthel exited his tent with Sâr Shanek and Miss Amala. Qoatch followed. The sun had not yet set fully, creating a pale pink dusky sky overhead. Tonight the king had broached the topic of the boy’s future rule of Armania and his desire to help.

  “I might not have as many soldiers as Rosâr Trevn,” the king said, “but they will fight for you, if you wish it. As will the giants I’ve made alliances with.”

  “You believe Sâr Shanek should be king?” Miss Amala asked.

  “He is Sâr Janek’s son, lady,” King Barthel said. “The line of ascension should pass to Sâr Shanek before it goes to Sâr Trevn.”

  “But Rosâr Wilek declared Sâr Trevn to be his Heir,” Miss Amala said.

  “Wilek stole the position from his brother Janek,” King Barthel said. “He was not a popular king, nor is Rosâr Trevn. The people need a king who will give them what they want. I believe Sâr Shanek is that man.”

  Miss Amala smiled at the prince. “I think so too.”

  “What has King Trevn done wrong?” Shanek asked.

  “Besides accept a crown he doesn’t deserve?” King Barthel asked. “He forces his people to renounce the gods and worship no deity but his own. He also refuses to assign his nobles the land their titles deserve.”

  Shanek’s brow sank and he looked at Miss Amala.

  “Nobles are distant relations of royalty, right?” Miss Amala asked.

  The king frowned at the young lady. “Sometimes, though more often they are families of rank, distinguished by a title that has been passed down from generation to generation.”

  “Titles like duke or earl?” Miss Amala glanced at Shanek, who was listening attentively.

  “That’s correct,” King Barthel said. “Such titles were created by the king to set apart a family as one of great importance. Though the way Rosâr Trevn has been treating his nobles, you’d think them no better than commoners.”

  “Who are everyday folk,” Miss Amala said.

  Shanek glared at Amala and whispered, “I know that.”

  The king quirked an eyebrow. “You are very astute, my sâr.”

  “So,” Shanek said, “if I am king—”

  “When you are king,” the king said, smiling.

  “When I am king,” Shanek said, “I must let the people worship their gods and give land to the nobles? Then I will be a good king?”

  Qoatch winced at how the prince dangled his ignorance before the great viper Barthel.

  “That would be an excellent start, my prince,” King Barthel said. “Now come. I’m eager to show you my camp.”

  The king led the young couple on a tour, introduced them to some of his officers, and showed them the horses, including one giant horse the king had received from the giants in a trade. They ended back in the king’s tent, where a second throne had been set beside King Barthel’s. It was made of freshly sanded pine, decorated with carved flowers and scrolls, and cushioned in green velvet.

  “Do you like it?” the king asked Shanek. “I want you to have a seat worthy of your station when you visit.”

  “Oh, Shanek, it’s beautiful!” Miss Amala said.

  The boy traced his finger along a carved vine in the headboard. He seemed to be fighting a smile. “I like it.”

  “Sit, try it out,” King Barthel said, eyes glittering as the boy sank onto the green cushions. “I’m sure you and the Chieftess have an excellent plan for infiltrating Armania, but might you be open to suggestions? I served Rosâr Echad loyally for many years. I well know the way things work within their government.”

  Shanek frowned. “We don’t have a pl—”

  “What would you suggest?” Miss Amala asked.

  “Time is of the essence,” the king said. “Rosâr Trevn struggles to earn the respect of his nobles, but he is known to be charming. Given time, he will worm his way into their hearts. He should be deposed before he gets that chance.”

  “How?” Shanek asked.

  “There are many ways,” the king said. “Our armies could combine, and we could march on Armanguard.”

  “I don’t have an army,” Shanek said.

  “Ah, well, I’ve seen how you can carry people. If you were to abduct Rosâr Trevn and bring him here, I could kill him. Or you could, if you preferred.”

  The young prince gaped. “Kill him?”

  “It would make a fine story for your ascent to the throne,” the king said. “Or perhaps you could take his wife. If she were missing, he would be distracted and—”

  “Queen Mielle is my sister,” Miss Amala said.

  Qoatch hadn’t known that.

  King Barthel drew back. “I had no idea, lady,” he said. “Have you any other siblings?”

  “None living. Sir Kalenek Veroth was married to our eldest sister and raised us after she died.”

  The man who killed Sâr Shanek’s father? Warden to both the queen of Armania and the woman poised to take her place? Jazlyn would love this.

  “Lady, I am grieved to hear of so much tragedy in such a young life,” the king said. “That you and Sâr Shanek have become close in spite of the dark past between you shows strength of character and mercy. What a wonderful example of bringing peace out of violence.”

  “Amala is part of my family now,” Sâr Shanek said, which made the girl smile.

  “I’m glad of that,” King Barthel said.

  “I cannot condone kidnapping my sister or killing her husband,” Miss Amala said. “Shanek, it’s not right.”

  “I won’t hurt Amala’s family,” Shanek said.

  “Of course we don’t have to kill anyone. I . . . If we tried . . .” The king paused, clearly flustered. “Taking the throne of Armania will not happen without incident.”

  “Maybe Shanek could relocate Rosâr Trevn and my sister,” Miss Amala said. “Put them safely away where they can live quietly?”

  “An excellent suggestion, lady,” the king said. “That would be ideal.”

  “I can’t do it,” Sâr Shanek said.

  Miss Amala blinked her large brown eyes at the young man. “Of course you could.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never been to Armanguard.”

  “Kal is going there. Isn’t that what Nwari said? That he helped Miss Onika escape from here and took her to Armanguard?”

  King Barthel began to cough and took a sip of wine.

  Sâr Shanek turned his dark brown eyes on the king. “If he is in Armania, I can go to his side.”

  “He can only travel to a place he has been or to a person he knows,” Miss Amala explained. “Those are his limitations.”

  “How intriguing,” King Barthel said. “Would you be willing to go to Sir Kalenek? Once you are inside the castle, you could carry Rosâr Trevn and his wife to a secure location.”

  Shanek grimaced. “I don’t know what he looks like.”

  “I have allies there who could help you,” King Barthel said.

  “You could do it, Shanek, I know you could.” Miss Amala took hold of his hand.

  The prince gazed at the girl, then nodded once. “I will try it, but only if I have a sword and shield and learn better to use them.”

  “I can supply weapons now,” the king said. “Father Lau, take our future king to the armory and let him pick out a sword and shield. Then introduce him to Captain Orbay and have the captain assess his skills thus far.”

  “Right this way, Your H
ighness,” Father Lau said.

  Shanek and Amala got up to leave, but King Barthel caught hold of the young woman’s arm. “Miss Amala, might you be interested in meeting my tailor? If it would please you, I’d be happy to commission a few dresses on your behalf.”

  She smiled broadly. “I’d like that very much, Your Highness.”

  “Excellent. Lady Mattenelle and Qoatch will come with us. The rest of you stay with the future king.”

  The group parted. King Barthel offered Miss Amala his arm and led her toward the tailor’s tent. Qoatch followed behind with Lady Mattenelle.

  “My dear, I’m so glad to have gotten to know you both,” the king said.

  “It has been a pleasure,” Miss Amala said.

  “Sâr Shanek will be king of Armania,” the king said, “but getting him there won’t be easy. I confess my magic is not what it was. Someone stole most of my evenroot. It seems betrayal surrounds me. I don’t want that for Sâr Shanek. He must have a staff he can fully trust.”

  “I agree,” Miss Amala said.

  “It does my heart good to know that he has your excellent guidance,” the king said. “If you are willing to confide in me, I’ll better be able to foresee potential hazards he might face. I will also supply him with what mantics I can, though as I’ve said, my root supply has greatly diminished. I will not have access to magic forever.”

  “Perhaps you could learn to use the new magic that Chieftess Charlon wields?”

  Qoatch flinched, but before he could interject or change the subject, Barthel had jumped on the topic, and soon the silly girl Amala was sharing all she knew. Jazlyn would not be pleased.

  “I am surrounded by betrayal,” King Barthel said to Qoatch long after Prince Shanek and Amala had departed. “She left you here to spy on me, didn’t she?”

  Qoatch said nothing. He’d spent the evening in King Barthel’s tent, listening to him rant about the horrible way Empress Jazlyn had tricked him.

  “Silence from you. Silence from her,” the king said. “That’s all the proof I need. She knew about the new magic, knew I had a supply of new evenroot on Islah, and went to claim it. Deny it, eunuch. Tell me it is not so.”