Yeshton sat tall in his saddle. “Well, Your Highness, there are worse ends than that, if you must choose.”
Jinji had climbed down from his horse and now walked on toward the village green. Yeshton signaled the rest to commence their ride, and Rille trotted ahead to collect the storyteller. Jinji shook his head.
“I’d like to walk a while.” He kept on.
Utterly mad, thought Jetekesh.
Yeshton held the horses to a plodding pace to match the storyteller’s gait, and they reached the village far later than Jetekesh liked. It was evening when they passed the first buildings and approached the well in the center of the village square. Peasants glanced their way, looking up from beating rugs, or chasing a wayward duck, or drawing water from the well, but no one inquired after their business. The chime of the blacksmith’s hammer rang across the green.
Jinji strolled to the well. “Good day to you, matron.”
The woman fetching water nodded back as she sank a dipper into her bucket and offered it to Jinji. “What brings you travelers so far south?”
“I’m a storyteller,” he offered, and took the dipper with a grateful smile.
The woman chuckled. “Not much use for tales these days, good sir. Or haven’t you heard fairy stories were outlawed by the queen?”
“I have heard that.”
The woman glanced behind her. “Heigh-ho, Mosill! We got a tale-weaver among us.”
The blacksmith’s hammer ceased to ring and a brawny man with a dirt-smudged brow stepped from the shadows of his shop, wiping his hands on his soiled apron. “That so?” He grinned and traipsed over. “I always did love me a good hearth story on a winter’s day. But alas, traveler, we’ve no use of stories in the summer months and into harvest. Days are shortening already, and we can’t be wasting no time. You might come back when the fields are bare and the night fires long.”
“Don’t forget it’s against the law,” the woman added.
Yeshton dismounted. “We’ve no intention of staying, good people. We’ve only stopped to buy some food to carry on our journey.”
The blacksmith and his wife looked over the company with wrinkling brows. “A troop of tellers?”
“No,” said Jinji, “but we travel together. These are my friends.”
Several other peasants gathered to listen.
“From where do you travel lately?”
“Northwest,” said Yeshton, his tone light, unguarded.
“Not from Kavacos?” asked the blacksmith.
“Not lately,” said Yeshton.
“But you’ve heard word from there, I’d wager.”
Yeshton nodded. “Unpleasant word, too. The king is dead.”
The blacksmith sighed. “So, then it’s true. And what of the other rumor? Is it true KryTeer is invading?”
Jetekesh stiffened. Invading? But Amantier was already conquered. How had no one heard that if they knew of Father’s death?
“I’ve heard the rumor, but I don’t believe it,” said Yeshton. “The same rumor spread like a grass fire last spring in Moss Province. KryTeer’s always invading, but nothing ever seems to come of it.”
The blacksmith chuckled. “True, true. Well, be welcome, travelers. We’ve wares to sell you if your coin is good enough.”
“It’s good enough,” said Yeshton, “if the price is fair.”
“We’d also like a bath,” said Jinji.
Jetekesh stared at him. So did the others.
Jinji only smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Sure, sure. No trouble. Looks like you could use it.”
“Our thanks for your hospitality.” Jinji bowed at the waist with hands steepled and pressed against his chest.
The matronly woman laughed. “You’re from Shing, are you? I do love their foreign customs. So pretty.” She chatted on amiably as she led them all to the stables adjoining the blacksmith’s shop, and from there to the bathhouse.
The woman swept Rille off to a separate bathing room, while the men found their way to a chamber rolling with steam. Yeshton collared Jinji.
“We’ve no money for this.”
The storyteller gently pried the knight’s hands away. “Villagers only charge the rich for the use of the bathhouse. Those of their own station are shown courtesy and pay nothing. It is an old custom, begun in Shing many centuries ago. Relax, Yeshton. We are among friends. These are my people.”
“You’re from Shing.”
“So I am. And should these humble folks be travelers passing through my own village back home, I would be one of their people, as they are mine. Humble farmers, tillers of the earth, workers in the field: we share a common bond that transcends borders or race. We are the earth’s children, and as such we are kin to one another.” He stripped off his buttonless vest and unfastened his shirt. “Shall we clean ourselves?”
Jetekesh had never bathed in a common bathhouse, nor had he been in company with others when he scrubbed himself—except in Farmer Drinel’s hut—yet the experience here was not unwelcome. He sank into the hot water and let out a long sigh. Jinji and Yeshton joined him in the large, round tub. Tifen stood by, waiting his turn.
The storyteller looked at Tifen. “If you wait upon your prince, you will give away his good breeding, and we shall be charged a dear sum for the use of this chamber. Join us, Tifen, or we shall be truly broke.”
The servant unhappily obeyed. Jetekesh said nothing. Cleanliness was worth sharing, even if he bathed with a lordless knight, a disgraced servant, and an illegitimate peasant.
Mosill the Blacksmith, and his wife, Breya by name, insisted on the travelers staying in their home for the night. The village was too small to keep a proper inn. Few lords or ladies came so far south, and the next village over had a tavern already.
“We keep the bathhouse, they keep the tavern, and so we split the profits of any noble guests between us,” Breya had explained.
Dinner consisted of lamb, warm broth, mulled cider, and a tray of cornbread. Afterward, Breya showed her guests to the loft, where fresh straw served as their beds. Jetekesh hated the notion of insects and mice disturbing his rest, but he was sleepy from his bath and the warm supper in his belly, so he wordlessly climbed under the scratchy blankets he’d been given. He fell asleep almost at once.
Angry voices jerked him awake. It was pitch black. Someone shouted.
A rough knock rattled the door below.
Jetekesh rolled onto his side and dragged himself into a sitting position. Faint light flickered below, lighting his surroundings enough to make out Yeshton’s crouched frame near the edge of the loft.
The blacksmith’s deep voice shook the rafters. “…the meaning of breaking down my door in the middle hours of the night, Ilim?”
“Just bring him out, and we’ll leave right away.”
“And if I say no?”
“You can’t keep him for yourself, Mosill. We got a right—”
Angry shouts of agreement drowned the man’s words out.
Mosill’s voice rolled over them. “Don’t be daft! You think we’d see a single coin?”
More cries. Jetekesh’s heart clenched. Cold sweat pricked his forehead. They were after him. They’d discovered that the crown prince slept here, and they wanted the reward money Mother had posted for his safe return. Or perhaps the KryTeer Empire was after him, with or without his head attached to his shoulders.
“You won’t have him, and that’s final,” growled Mosill.
Breya’s higher voice joined her husband’s at the door. “We don’t betray our own, Ilim. Not ever.”
Our own? So, it was the KryTeer Empire who sought him.
A hand fell on Jetekesh’s shoulder. He quailed and whipped his head around. Jinji’s bright eyes were vivid against the dark. A finger pressed against the man’s lips. He leaned close.
“They are after me,” Jinji whispered. “You are not in danger, my prince. Be at peace.”
But of course! These stupid villagers h
ad no idea KryTeer had invaded the kingdom. No idea the crown prince had gone missing. They only knew that a storyteller had two hundred gold kana on his head. And, fool that he was, Jinji had admitted what he was. Why risk himself for his daft stories?
“Return to sleep, my prince. They will not get past the lord of this house.”
Jetekesh could hear Jinji’s smile in his tone. “You’re completely mad,” he whispered.
“Perhaps. But no harm will befall us tonight. Sleep.”
It was long after the angry voices retreated against the thunder of Mosill’s voice that Jetekesh laid back down and sought slumber. Long after Yeshton returned to his own bedroll and began to breathe deeply.
Jetekesh’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and as he waited for sleep, he watched Jinji sitting up against the straw. The storyteller rocked back and forth, back and forth. Finally, Jetekesh rolled over.
14
The Missing King
“Wake. Up. Cousin.”
Yeshton stifled a smile as he watched Lady Rille shake the prince like a ragdoll.
“Hurry, cousin. We need to leave before the village stirs. Get up, you sluggard!” She gave a frustrated little cry and sat down on the prince’s back. Hard.
Jetekesh sputtered and shot up, long hair a tangled mop, eyes like daggers. Rille toppled off him with a faint grunt. She picked herself up and straightened her plain frock. “Good morning, cousin.”
Jetekesh glanced toward the tiny hole that served as a window to the loft. “It’s still dark out.”
Rille followed his eyes. “Yes. After last night’s incident, we thought it best to get an early start on our journey. Breya is making us breakfast. Hurry.” She flitted to the ladder.
Yeshton’s smile won. In his way, Jetekesh was good for his cousin. He brought out the fire Rille had inherited from her father. Duke Lunorr had been a just and exacting man, honest to a fault, and fair to all no matter their station.
The prince slithered from his bedding like a slug. Best leave him to it.
Below, Jinji and Tifen helped Breya scoop up mounds of eggs, fat slices of bacon, and more cornbread.
“Pour ale for everyone,” ordered Breya.
Yeshton pushed aside his hair and set to work. He glanced around for Rille as he set the tankards on the table. His heart spasmed. “Where did Rille go?”
“Out to feed the horses,” said Tifen.
Jinji set the last plate on the table and glanced toward the door. “Should she have gone alone?”
Jetekesh clambered down the ladder rungs. “What’s for breakfast? I’m half-starved.”
Breya chuckled. “All growing boys are.”
Yeshton sprinted to the door and peeked outside. There! Rille ambled back from the stables, calm as a summer’s day, and met his eye through the sliver in the door.
“I don’t know any passwords.” Her face was grave.
He cracked a smile and opened the door. When it shut behind her, Rille caught his arm.
“Sir Knight.”
His muscles tightened. “What happened?”
“The horses are gone. Not just ours. All of them. The stable was wide open when I got there, and every stall had been opened. I would guess someone didn’t want us to leave.”
Tifen crept close. “What do we do without horses?”
“Is there trouble?” asked Breya across the room.
Prince Jetekesh looked up from his plate.
Jinji continued to break his fast.
“The horses have been set loose. All of them.” Yeshton folded his arms. “That leaves us one option. We walk.”
“A pleasant pastime,” said Jinji. “While I do enjoy horses, I find I prefer my own two feet better still.”
“Saints curse those fools,” Breya growled. “I’m terribly sorry about your horses.”
The color had drained from the prince’s face. “We must walk?”
“Afraid so.” Yeshton gestured to the food. “Eat, but quickly. We mustn’t waste good Breya’s cooking.” He smiled at the woman. “We got off lucky if the horses are all we lost.”
Though Jinji was the first to eat, he was the last to finish, the only figure in the room unperturbed by the danger that dogged them. He set aside his fork at last and nodded. “Our thanks for your service, good woman, and to your husband as well. May the blessings of Shinac and the good earth guard your home.”
“Shingese blessings are so pretty,” said Breya, grinning. “Good travels to you, storyteller. May the One God guide your feet to safe paths. And to the rest of you.”
The party slipped from the house under the shadows of predawn.
Mosill waited near the stables. He guided them behind the shops and houses to the edge of the village where a stream ran. “Carry on along the bank for a time before you rejoin the road. Even so much as a day. It will delay you somewhat, but better that than capture.”
“Many thanks,” said Yeshton. He pressed several coins into the man’s palm. “I wish I could do more.”
“If you could, it would mean only half as much. Farewell, strangers.” Mosill turned and headed back for the village.
Yeshton slung his pack over his shoulder and started southwest along the stream. “Keep up.”
Jinji set the pace. His slow, steady gait kept them from making good time; but then, the company’s destination was of little consequence to Yeshton. He only cared that Rille wanted to follow Jinji. In the end, time mattered little.
No one crossed their path as the company trotted along the stream bank. Jinji paused around noon to eat a light meal, and the rest followed his lead. Yeshton settled down beside Rille, who nibbled on a slice of cornbread Breya had provided. Yeshton cut off a chunk of cheese from its wedge and sampled a strawberry.
“‘Tis a fair day in Shinac as well,” said Jinji, eyes riveted on the sky above. “Even now, Prince Sharo rides east along Araliass Bay, that crystal depth of truest blue, ever hunting for the true king of Shinac: his ancient cousin. In the air far above his head wings the great dragon Taregan, who dubbed the prince Dragonfriend not so long ago when they rescued six maidens fair from the cruel clutches of Lord Peresen.”
Yeshton stretched out on the grass and watched the clouds gliding by overhead. He smiled. “What could the lord want with six maidens fair? Most men hardly want one after a while.”
“He meant to sacrifice them,” said Jinji with sorrow in his tones. “The use of a maiden’s blood would be enough to grant a dark wish. But Peresen’s wish was too great for only one maiden’s lifeblood to answer.”
“That’s a dark tale, storyteller.” Yeshton turned his head sideways to study Jinji. “Aren’t your tales for children?”
“The tales of Shinac belong to all,” answered Jinji. “And perhaps the darkest of them are most important to hear, for we must know the warning knell of evil before it tolls.”
Rille spoke up. “What was Peresen’s wish?”
Jinji picked at the leaves of a strawberry. “Not was, my little friend. What is his wish? That is your question.” He sighed. The pallor of his skin was stark under the sunlight and his eyes sparkled like shades of the ocean. “He wishes to rule Shinac, but not just the human realms. He wishes to enslave all creatures, even the magical. To oppress the dragons, the fairies, the elves, the fae things of the sea. And not only that. He wishes to return to our realm, the world we call Nakania; and here too he desires to rule over all, not as a king or an emperor, but as a tyrant overlord, where none is more than a slave to his every whim.”
“Quite a bleak future for us, should he succeed,” said Yeshton. “Just the sort of story that belongs to a troupe of players. It’s enough to ingratiate ourselves to our present circumstance by comparison.”
Jetekesh sat up. “It’s just that line of thinking that makes my Lady Mother want your head removed, Wanderlust.”
Yeshton sat up as well. “And that should be cause to push us along. We’ve rested enough for one day. Those villagers are likely not far beh
ind.”
“They aren’t following,” said Jinji as he unfolded his handkerchief. Coughs broke in his chest as he held the cloth to his mouth. His body shook against the assault, until he gasped for breath and wiped his mouth. His eyes glinted with tears, but he smiled. “The angry men last night were drunk, and thus became a mob. Today the sun shines upon their shame and they know better than to pursue us. Likely they will try to recapture our scattered mounts and return them to the stable, hoping to make amends, not yet aware that we have gone ahead. Should we return to the village in a few weeks, they would treat us as Mosill and Breya did.”
Yeshton shook his head. “That so? Well. Perhaps the storyteller knows best. Let’s get moving.”
Rille climbed to her feet, Jetekesh just behind her. Tifen hovered near his master. Jinji rose last and stumbled before he righted himself.
Yeshton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still ill.”
“I will be fine.” Jinji squinted at the sun. “We can reach the ford of the Chaos and Minderen creeks by nightfall if we keep a steady pace.”
Yeshton started. “You know the names of this place? You’ve traveled here before?”
Jinji’s eyes brightened as his smile deepened. “No indeed, Yeshton. The creek told me so.”
Jetekesh snorted. “Of course it did. Answer me a last question about this Lord Peresen who wishes to rule all Nakania, Wanderlust. Is he the man you mentioned before, the one who stole the true king of Shinac away all those years ago? The darkest soul ever known, or whatever you called him?”
Yeshton caught a flash like fear in the storyteller’s eyes.
“No,” Jinji said in a whisper. “Lord Peresen is not the Dark One. Perhaps he may be called a servant, though he himself does not know it. The Dark One has many servants in many countless worlds. No, Prince Jetekesh, Peresen is not so dark as that. He is greedy.”
“King Jetekesh. And that’s rather sad, isn’t it? Otherwise Prince Sharo would’ve been close to achieving his goal.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Indeed, Prince Sharo had hoped so. But alas, he was far wrong.”
Crownless Page 9