Father is gone.
Stabbing pain doubled him over his saddle.
Tifen’s mare came even with his. “Should we stop, my prince? Are you ill?”
Jetekesh scowled and straightened. “Don’t harass me. I’m bearing up.”
Tifen’s mount fell back.
In the afternoon, a summer storm rolled across the sky, darkening the woods. Rain pelted the ground as the wind picked up and thrashed the branches of the trees, ripping leaves from their bows. The fragrance of pine and moss and loam filled the air, rich and deep. Kyella had supplied each traveler with a woolen cloak, and now Jetekesh pulled the cowl over his head, for all the good it would do. He was already drenched.
Yeshton didn’t let them stop. No one said anything. Jetekesh pretended not to mind, but resentment festered in his chest, building up as evening crawled closer.
When the knight called a halt, dusk had fallen, and the storm had moved west. Leaves still dripped with rain, and the ground was a muddy mess of puddles and twigs. Yeshton unrolled a canvas and tied its four corners to several trees to make a sort of shelter. He spread a second canvas across the forest floor beneath. That was it. That was the only protection from the elements.
Jinji sat within the shelter and drew his knees up to his chest. He lowered his head to his knees and sank into himself, shaking and wilted.
A pang assaulted Jetekesh’s chest. His gaze lit on Yeshton. He stalked to where the knight attempted to make a fire from damp kindling. The man looked up, grey eyes sharp as flint. Jetekesh spotted Rille slink closer from the corner of his eye, and he glared at her, then turned on Yeshton.
“While I realize that avoiding KryTeer soldiers on the road forces us to travel cross country in the woods, and there’s some urgency in distancing ourselves from Kavacos, why, pray tell, could we not stop to rest for a midday meal? Were ghosts chasing us? The Drifting Sands are weeks away yet. What haste could there be?”
Rille marched forward. “Are you really that daft? Of course we must hurry. This isn’t a pleasure trip or a fox hunt. We’re running from the enemy. That implies haste, does it not, cousin?” She showed her teeth in a friendless smile.
Jetekesh drew his lips back in a snarl. “Running to the point of exhaustion will only slow us down in the long run, cousin. And besides, no man looks more guilty than he who runs. If we appear calm and at our ease, we’re less likely to draw unwanted attention. That’s basic strategy.”
“Except,” said Yeshton, “we’re already being followed.”
Tifen moved from where he’d been caring for the horses. “It’s true, my prince. Someone has been tailing us all day.”
Rille looked between them. “Then that is why we haven’t stopped?”
Jetekesh glowered at her. So, she had been wondering the same thing, yet she still came to her precious knight’s defense. “Why did no one tell us?” He glanced toward Jinji, but the storyteller’s head remained lowered. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep.
“And worry you when you’re already overwhelmed with grief?” Yeshton abandoned the kindling. “We won’t have a warm supper, I’m afraid.”
Jetekesh glanced at the damp tangle of twigs. “Is a fire wise? If we’re being followed…”
“Then it doesn’t matter if we give ourselves away. The Bloody One already knows where we are.”
Jetekesh moved away from the center of camp and Tifen shadowed him. The prince looked up into his protector’s green eyes. “If one of KryTeer’s knights has already tracked us down, why hasn’t he attacked?”
Tifen shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my prince. I had thought the KryTeer demons killed on sight of their prey, but this one must be under orders not to engage for the present. Perhaps he is attempting to ascertain our purpose in traveling southward.”
Jetekesh snorted. “Well, I wish him good luck. I can’t ascertain why. None of us can.” He glanced toward Jinji Wanderlust. “I suppose it will prove interesting in the end, whatever the outcome. We follow a madman, Tifen. I wonder what he’s truly after.”
Tifen shrugged. “I’ve heard legends of gold hidden in the cruel sands of that vast desert, my prince. Perhaps he seeks that.”
Jetekesh frowned. “I doubt it. He appears not to care for money, or he’s the finest liar I’ve ever met.” He laughed. “What a thought that is, with all the liars at court. Could Wanderlust really best them all?”
Tifen offered a shrug. “Well, sire, if you know them to be liars, it appears likely.” His eyes slid toward the storyteller. “Is he a fugitive from justice in Shing, do you think, my prince? To abandon his home for lands where he is unwelcome—what could have compelled him to come to Amantier when a price is on his head?”
“I told you,” said Jetekesh, “he’s a madman.”
“The mildest of his kind I’ve ever seen.”
“Perhaps.” Jetekesh studied the slumbering man. Jinji had called himself a coward last night. Was he on the run from something? His father was from Amantier, he’d said. But there was no marriage. Jetekesh could surmise what that meant.
In the years before Shing was integrated into the KryTeer Empire, Amantier had occupied the country for a time. It was a poor land, full of farmers and shepherds, with a weak government after a century-old revolt against its ancient monarchs from which it had never recovered.
In times long past, Shing had been large, prosperous, powerful. It had also been corrupted, worshiping many gods rather than the One God. Now it was nothing, its heritage fading—the One God’s punishment for Shing’s wayward traditions. The people were easy to control now. During its occupation, Amantier had sent middling lords to bully the Shingese into submission. Those same lords had enjoyed all the fruits of that lush and strange land, including its women.
Jinji’s mother must have been one of them. A lord had his way with her, and then returned to Amantier without a backward glance, leaving the young woman to raise his child alone and without his knowledge.
Jinji Wanderlust was illegitimate by his own admission. Disgusting.
Jetekesh trudged back to Yeshton and Rille in the middle of the camp. “What shall we eat for supper, if we can’t cook anything?”
Yeshton untied a knapsack. Bread, cheese, cold cuts, a few apples. “Kyella packed this for us. She said it would rain. She’s always right about the weather.”
“A happy skill for a farmer’s daughter,” said Rille as she bent to snare an apple. She brought it to her lips and paused. “Do you fancy her, Sir Knight?”
Yeshton glanced at Rille with a wry smile. “She’s like a little sister to me, but I’m aware of her affection. It has yearly grown into something different from my own feelings. But it will pass. Already I saw it waver while we guested in her house.” His eyes flicked toward Jinji. “As becomes a farmer’s daughter, she is more attached to peaceful men than to men of war.”
Rille laughed. “She begins to favor Jinji Wanderlust?”
“And why not, my lady? He’s a handsome fellow, if I’m any judge of a man’s beauty, though I don’t claim to be. And he’s a gentle soul, which should suit women best, I think.”
“What suits women fully depends on the woman, I should think,” said Rille before she bit into her apple.
Jetekesh cast around for a place to sit but found none. He stood instead and ordered Tifen to serve him. The man brought him a large chunk of bread, meat, and cheese. Jetekesh’s eyes strayed toward Jinji again. “I should think the girl would want one of her own people, not Shingese filth. Besides, he’s illegitimate. She should be more selective. But then, perhaps a farmer’s daughter can’t afford to be choosy.”
Silence fell across the little clearing. Jetekesh looked up from his meager meal to find them regarding him with dark gazes. “What now?”
“You shouldn’t accuse a man of what you don’t know to be true,” said Rille. Heat bloomed along Jetekesh’s ears as she went on. “Just because he’s half-Shingese and half-Amantieran does not mean—”
&nb
sp; “He speaks truth,” said Jinji.
Jetekesh stabbed a finger at the storyteller. “There, see? He told me himself.”
Jinji staggered to his feet and limped to join the others. He stooped to choose an apple lying on the knapsack, straightened up, and rubbed the smooth surface with his thumb. “My mother raised me in Shing. She never told my lord father of my birth. That is the Shingese way. She was a proud woman, descended from ancient emperors. She did not love me. She did not want me. I was her great shame. I am, as Prince Jetekesh says, illegitimate. If this fact is abhorrent to any of you, you may abandon your journey with me and be on your way. I would not blame you.” He bit into the apple.
No one spoke. Jinji returned to his place beneath the canvas and ate his fruit.
Rille stomped her foot. “How silly it is to blame a man for his birth! It’s the same as blaming a loaf of bread for not being a cake when the baker chooses its ingredients!” She flew to Jinji’s side and sat beside him.
Jinji laughed and ruffled her hair. “I thank you.”
She beamed up at him, cheeks flushed.
Jetekesh turned away. He would not associate with filth, even if his cousin found it acceptable. She was a child and not heir to a throne. He mustn’t be sullied by his associations.
He stalked across camp and sat on a patch of wild grass beneath a beech tree. Tifen joined him but remained standing.
As Jetekesh ate, his muscles stiffened and his heart ached. So far from home, in company far beneath his station, he didn’t doubt every inch of this journey would be misery like the two hells.
13
Children of the Earth
The next several days continued much as the first, though Yeshton did call for rests. Rille had insisted on them for Jinji’s sake. While Jetekesh was irritated that accommodations weren’t made on his behalf, he chose not to complain. Whatever the reason, a rest was still a rest.
Jinji Wanderlust’s cough worsened, and shivers racked his frame as the five huddled each night under the canvas shelter, with naught but cloaks to keep them warm. Rille grew more anxious as Jinji’s health declined.
But Jinji insisted he was all right. That the journey must continue. Rests must be few and infrequent. Jetekesh despised his nobility of spirit. Let the man drive himself into an early grave if he wanted, but he shouldn’t try to take the rest of them with him! Jetekesh longed for a decent bed, a decent meal, a decent set of clothes. Already his boots, the only remaining articles belonging to him, were caked in mud, and ruined from moisture.
Tifen looked as unhappy as he felt. The man’s brown hair hung lank and matted after several intermittent storms. During each meal he picked at the bread like a fierce beast, trying to remove the moldy bits before he ate the hateful fare.
It grew colder as they pushed southward, away from the pleasant climes of northern Amantier. Jetekesh’s tutors had explained that the further one rode from the invisible line they called the equator, the colder it got – except, of course, the phenomenon called the Drifting Sands, where it was hot and miserable even so far south.
Why, why, must they go south?
Summer had already reached its summit and would begin winding down. Even at their present pace, it would grow very chilly before they reached that awful desert scape.
He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in Amantier. He wanted to go home, to crawl onto Father’s bed, curl up beside him, and never move again. But Father was dead. Already entombed. Mother must be distraught. Not because of Father’s death—way out here Jetekesh couldn’t fool himself on that point—but because her precious son was lost to her. But she couldn’t imagine how miserable the truth was.
Fourth night on the trail, Tifen whispered the question plaguing both of them.
“My prince, why do we remain with this party? We could sneak away in the night and head east as you wanted. We could reach Peregrine Fortress within a fortnight and muster your forces. Even if we could not attack the KryTeer head on, the fortress is strong; with enough men we could last there for years.”
Jetekesh whispered back the answer they both knew. “For two reasons, you daft creature. First, we’re being followed by one of the Bloody Ones, who can’t have an interest in anyone but ourselves. If we sneak away from the knight’s protection, we’ll never reach Peregrine Fortress before we’re captured or killed. Second, we don’t have the necessary supplies or a knowledge of the terrain to survive even should we avoid the Bloody One.” He paused. “And third, now that I come to it, there’s some doubt we would sneak away undetected in the first place; and I seriously doubt they’d let us go, though I can’t imagine what good we are to them.”
Tifen didn’t argue the point. Why would he? Miserable as this entire experience was, there was no way around it.
The fifth day dawned bright and cheery. Jetekesh despised it. The warmth eased the tension of the others, however, and Yeshton struck up conversation.
“Last time I came this far south, I was in training as a lad. I hunted with Duke Lunorr and his knights to hone my woodland skills.”
“Aye,” said Tifen, from the rear of their trotting line. “Once I came to these same woods in such a party as well. I was a squire then, with hopes of knighthood one day, before—well, things changed.”
“What changed?” asked Yeshton.
Jetekesh glanced back at his servant. “Indeed, what did change, Tifen?”
The man’s brow furrowed, and a frown pulled at his mouth. The prince studied that face. He’d known Tifen all his life. The man had always been there, as far as Jetekesh recalled. But this was the first time he’d really looked at his protector. Tifen was middle-aged, perhaps in his fortieth year, with hints of grey at his temples. I didn’t know he was so old. Despite that, Tifen was spry, slender, even youthful in his face and limbs. He’d not have made a very impressive knight, to say the least.
“My father was disgraced, Your Highness,” said Tifen. “He lost his lands and titles after a…scandal…and I thence became a servant. My skills with a sword saved me from a life of drudgery, and your Lord Father instead acquired me to protect you, my prince. That was when you were just born.”
“You’re the son of a disgraced knight?” asked Jetekesh. He’d not have guessed Tifen had any royal blood, yet few outside of nobility were granted the title of knighthood.
“It was Sir Palan, wasn’t it?” asked Yeshton. He’d slowed the party’s pace to a crawl.
Tifen scowled at the ground before his horse. “Yes. Though I would ask you not to use that name in future, Sir Knight. He is dead to me.”
“I can well understand your feeling,” said Yeshton. “Though it’s a pity, as the knight’s reputation was one I deeply admired as a lad. One of the few knights granted his title through skill rather than bloodline in this era.”
Tifen snorted. “And lost the same way.”
Jetekesh looked back and forth between the two men. “What did he do?”
Silence fell.
“I was young, Your Highness,” said Yeshton. “I don’t know the particulars…and rumors are always exaggerated.”
“It’s not spoken of, my prince,” said Tifen, his eyes fixed on some distant tree past Jetekesh’s head. “If you please, that’s all I’ll say.”
“It is not what I please. I asked a question and I’ll have the answer.”
“Oh, don’t you get it?” cried Rille from her horse. “It involved your Lady Mother. Why else would they skirt the issue? Or did you never consider that such a woman could enjoy whomever she pleased while it suited her, and then cast them aside in disgrace when she grew bored?”
Jinji rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lady Rille, please. Delicacy would do you well.” He craned his neck to look back.
Jetekesh’s cheeks must have been the bright red of a cherry, as hot as they burned. How dare Rille insinuate such vulgar nonsense about his mother? His head lowered and his fingers tightened against the reins.
The company rode in silence.
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Jetekesh’s mind tripped against Tifen’s tale. He too had heard stories of Sir Palan, who twice chased off an entire company of KryTeeran Warriors without losing a single knight in his company. The man was a legend. He was also dead, so the official records stated. But was it possible the knight had been banished for dallying with the queen instead? Preposterous. He wouldn’t believe it. How could a child know such a thing?
He reined in his horse. Everyone ahead slowed and stopped.
Jetekesh hoisted his head high. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying, cousin. You’re all lying.”
Rille shrugged. “Fine, cousin. Order it so. But truth isn’t subject to royal decree.”
Jetekesh’s heart leapt. Steam rose from the bathhouse near the borders of the sleepy village. Finally, warmth, food, cleanliness. He reeked of pine needles and mud. His stomach rumbled at the prospect of mutton, cheese, ale and, most of all, a fresh change of linen.
“We will visit the village for supplies,” said Yeshton before the company rode from the timberline into the field-dotted open, “but we can’t stay at the inn overnight, and we must ride cautiously.”
“Whatever for?” asked Jetekesh. “We’ll hardly be recognized in this forsaken realm. And I shan’t move a muscle from this village until I’ve soaked an hour in that bathhouse.”
“A bath does sound pleasant,” sighed Rille.
Jetekesh glowered at her but held his tongue. For once they were in accord.
“Sorry,” said Yeshton. “No bath.”
“Why not?” demanded Jetekesh.
“We’re travelers, penniless by our looks, and only the rich stop to cleanse themselves in those fancy contraptions. We’ll draw too much notice.”
Tifen and Rille looked as crestfallen as Jetekesh felt. He protested, but Yeshton was firm. No baths.
“I’ll die of this filth,” was Jetekesh’s final effort.
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