Tifen raced over to stand before Jetekesh. “I will not allow a traitor to duel my king.”
Sir Palan smiled faintly. “A worthy argument, my son, but I will teach him, nonetheless. Now, unless you favor a licking as in days of old, move out of my way.”
Jetekesh pushed past his protector. “I take no issue with this man, Tifen. Let him teach me. I could gain no better instruction.”
Tifen looked stricken, but he bowed and moved silently back. It must be difficult for Tifen to reconcile his feelings toward this mighty legend and the accusations laid against him. Yet shouldn’t Tifen know the cunning manipulation of Queen Bareene better than most? Hadn’t he spent all fifteen years of Jetekesh’s life trying to shield him from the worst of her machinations?
Or did he not see the dangers?
Sir Palan and Jetekesh stepped to the edge of camp. Yeshton rounded the fire to stand near Tifen, who watched his king with furrowed brows.
“Is it true, do you think?” asked Yeshton, keeping his voice low. “Was the queen poisoning her lord husband?”
Tifen glanced at him. “Don’t you believe so? Why ask me?”
“Because I want to know what you believe.”
The protector fell still. “She is not a woman, but a creature born from the two hells to destroy Amantier. I believe her capable of anything.”
“Is that why you feel it’s possible she seduced your father despite his honor code?”
Tifen’s spine stiffened. “Whether you ask to sate your own curiosity, or to act as an agent on his behalf, I would request you keep out of my family affairs. My issues with my father began long before his public disgrace.”
Yeshton nodded. “Your message is clear, friend. But I must say one thing: Many years ago, when I was but a small child, my seaside village was destroyed by fever. It claimed the lives of my parents and my two older sisters. None of the neighboring towns would help for fear of catching the sickness. The port was barred, and ships would not sail near. Sir Palan alone braved the town to discover if anyone survived, and he found me.
“I was brought from Marsh Province to Kavacos, and from thence I became Duke Lunorr’s man and settled in Sage Province at Keep Lunorr. I was inspired by your father’s bravery and his common blood to become the kind of man he is: a knight for his actions, not for his birthright. That speaks to me of an honorable man, and one to whom I owe my life.”
Tifen’s face hardened as Yeshton told his story. The protector turned a tight smile on him. “I’ve heard many such tales from other young men. Do not mistake me, Sir Yeshton. I know that my father is an honorable knight, brave and true under the gravest threats. He does not waver. He does not bend. Queen Bareene likely did not succeed, nor did he wound her. That is clear enough. My personal grievances lie not with his knighthood. I despise him as a father. Always he would charge forth to rescue the unfortunate and right the wrongs inflicted upon peasants. But he was never there for me. What you describe is more of a father than I knew in all my life.
“Take him, Sir Knight. Claim him as your kin. Be to him the son he wanted, for I was only ever a disappointment; and in the end, he forsook me and left so that he could spy and skulk across Amantier, KryTeer, Shing, the Clanslands. Anywhere but his own home. All because my birth caused his beloved wife to sicken and eventually to die—so he feels. But I know differently.
“That most honorable and legendary knight broke my mother’s heart each time he went questing. Each time he left us behind, dissatisfied with us, eager for something bigger and better than we could offer to a restless spirit. In the end I know this much: Sir Palan sentenced his wife to death from loneliness.”
The protector spat the last words like they burned his tongue, then he turned and stalked into the night, away from the road.
Yeshton stared after him. The protector’s voice had risen as he talked, and Yeshton glanced toward the duel to find Sir Palan and Jetekesh standing still, eyes caught on the retreating figure. Sir Palan wore a shattered smile.
A cough broke the silence. Jinji climbed to his trembling feet and stumbled to Sir Palan’s side. “He gives voice to the anger of a young man he has never quite outgrown. Go to him, Palan. Speak the words you’ve longed to say.”
The old knight shook his head and turned from Jinji. “It is too late to make amends.”
Jinji’s strange eyes flashed and he caught Palan’s shoulder to whirl him back around.
“If your son were struck dead by an arrow on the morrow, Sir Knight, then it would be too late. Where there is life, there is a chance. Take it, rather than the coward’s easy path. Such has never been your way. Go.”
“I cannot!” Sir Palan’s voice grew husky. “My son speaks truth. I did prefer the open roads and fierce battles to the quiet of home. I was restless. Mad with it! I couldn’t stay still when people needed me. I was a weak and ill-suited husband and father. That Tifen hates me is not upon him. I cannot blame the man. This is my burden to carry. I—”
Jinji’s quiet voice cut him off. “A knight’s calling is to answer a need; that is so?”
“‘Tis.”
“Where once you were restless and discontented, now age has settled your soul. Whether you were wrong or right to do as you did in years past has no bearing in this moment. Your son is in need, Sir Knight. The only question you must face now is this: Will you answer Tifen’s need? Will you fight for him now as you have fought ever for Amantier?” Jinji lowered his hand to his side. “Sir Palan, go to your son. Mend the rift. Do not live with regrets, for life is a fleeting gift, and we cannot know what will cause its end for each of us.”
Sir Palan stared into the darkness where Tifen had been swallowed in the lengthening shadows. He looked at Jinji. The furrow of his brow darkened his eyes. Jinji nodded, smiling.
The knight sucked in air, sheathed his sword, and strode after his son.
Jinji turned to Yeshton with a gentle smile. “Well done, Sir Yeshton.”
“Why am I commended?”
“You provoked Tifen to an anger he has long kept festering in his heart. Such a thing cannot be allowed silent reign. Having laid his soul bare, his tenderest emotions will give rise to the fondness he thought dead. It will bear him up and aid his father in his own quest to comfort both—” Jinji coughed into his hand, face contorted. He gasped for breath. “I think…I shall sit.” He limped to the fireside and sat upon his bedroll.
Rille trotted to his side. “Water.” She lifted the flask to him.
Jinji gave her his warmest smile and took a deep drink. “My thanks,” he murmured and wiped his mouth.
The little girl watched him with a light in her eyes. Yeshton clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. Lady Rille could care for whom she pleased, and certainly Jinji Wanderlust had earned his place in her heart. Yeshton was a soldier, not the knight she called him. He had no claim to any devotion.
He took his place near Rille and turned his attention to the fish cooking over the flames. He turned them over and threw on more logs. “We must bypass the keep, I assume?”
Jinji nodded. “If we can, I would prefer it.”
Rille shifted beside him. “I am not certain that we can. No matter the route I view in my mind, I see Keep Falcon in our path.”
Jinji lowered his eyes and nodded. “Come what may, we will endure it.”
Every evening Sir Palan drilled young Jetekesh in the art of the broadsword. Yeshton cooked supper while Jinji rested from the hard ride, with Rille nearby in case the storyteller needed anything.
What terms Sir Palan and Tifen had reached, none could say. The old knight maintained his cheerful attitude, and Tifen hovered close to Jetekesh as a protector should but said nothing to anyone. He wouldn’t look at Yeshton.
On the fifth night, one day’s ride from Keep Falcon, Prince Jetekesh was the first to shatter the unspoken rule.
He nibbled his fish for a while, eyes pinned on Tifen who sat beside him. His scowl grew into a full glare, and he flung his fish to the
ground. Yeshton stiffened and choked back a protest. What a waste!
“Tifen,” said Jetekesh, “you’re a fool, and I can’t abide to look at you. Get behind me.”
The protector’s eyes grew wide. “Sire, if I’ve done something—”
“Can’t you think what you’ve done?” Jetekesh jabbed a finger at Sir Palan. “I can guess what happened. Your father begged your forgiveness. He probably bowed before you, looking for all the world like a peasant, and you disdained him. Told him it was too late.” The prince’s voice caught. “You’re a stupid fool, Tifen. At least he’s alive! I can’t stand to see your face. Until you reconcile with the old knight, keep behind me. I can’t bear the pain of it, you piggish, self-righteous, pox-ridden clod. I despise you.” He snatched up the fish and began to eat again as his eyes glinted with unshed tears.
Yeshton had wondered whether Tifen cared for his young charge, or if he loathed him. The protector’s wounded face answered now: Tifen loved the boy. And was that so surprising? Tifen had been with him since Jetekesh’s infancy. Had seen the good and bad alike grow and flourish inside that body. Witnessed the struggle against two philosophies and hoped the king’s would win out in the end.
Tifen stood and silently moved to stand behind his lord.
Yeshton hid a smile as he ate. He hadn’t expected Jetekesh to bother himself on another man’s account, yet the boy was the only person here Tifen might listen to. Was it possible young Jetekesh was growing just a little?
Jinji cleared his throat. “Perhaps a story would chase away the cold.”
“Go right ahead,” said Jetekesh. “Why don’t you tell a tale of a stubborn son unwilling to forgive his long-lost father?”
Tifen bowed his head but otherwise remained stationary.
Jinji’s eyes lit up as his voice began to weave the magic of his words. When the storyteller had imparted his first proper tale back in the hut, Yeshton had seen a vision unfold before him as though he were within the story himself. This time was no different.
A castle of pure white, veined with gold and sparkling with crushed glass and diamonds, arose in Yeshton’s mind. Delicate towers stretched to meet the clouds.
The Hold of Valliath, so it was called. Banners streamed in a breeze that smelled of wildflowers and fresh clover. A fair woman with hair of palest yellow leaned upon the hold’s outer wall, between the merlons, to wave her handkerchief at a horse cantering along the road. The rider raised his arm in greeting, black hair tousled in the wind, eyes a striking pale blue.
Jinji’s lilting voice was like a flute, more music than words, as he unveiled a story of two lovers, one the maiden lady of the hold, the other a knight above the skill of others. Theirs was a love as abiding and deep as the old land itself. They were wed, and the knight became king upon the passing of his bride’s father. Nothing could diminish their devotion for each other, save death itself. Alas it struck. A greedy, cunning nobleman lusted after the fair queen, and he stirred war in the north to force the noble king away, where assassins paid by the cruel man took the king’s life at the very start of battle.
Yeshton heard the cries of sorrow through the realm of Shinac. The queen grew ill in her grief, but she fought for life and gave birth to her dead husband’s child: a son, heir of Shinac. The queen soon wed the greedy nobleman, for a queen could not rule alone, and her child was too young. Blinded by heartbreak, she did not soon enough see the corruption of her new husband until he was already crowned. From that moment hence, he revealed his true colors and tortured his new bride out of spite and jealousy, for the fair queen loved no man but her dead husband.
The wicked king also tortured the infant prince, and through the first years of his life, the little boy with fair hair and pale eyes knew no love save that of his gentle and brave mother, until at last she succumbed to pain and sorrow and joined her lost husband in death. The prince of Shinac, so young and sad, was left alone to face the torment of his stepfather, but his pain was cut short, for the magic of Shinac could not long endure the reign of a corrupt king, and the wicked man grew ill.
A single plant could spare the king, and this the tyrant knew, but he was too weak to obtain the plant himself. The young prince was commanded to bring the cure to the king’s bed, and thus he did; but then he merely stood above the bed, traveria in his fair young hands, and he watched the evil man die.
True night fell. The young prince remained in the king’s chamber until the candles burned out, and a shadow crept close. Yeshton reached out and shouted to warn the prince of danger, but no sound escaped his lips. He watched, helpless. The Shadow grew. Stretched. Consumed.
And the young prince of Shinac vanished.
Jinji’s musical voice faltered. Yeshton blinked and found he had been staring into the flames of the campfire. Tears tracked his cheeks, as though he cried the tears of the fair queen and her tiny son.
Jinji spoke again, his voice low and sad. “To this day, those loyal to the heirs of Shinac have sought the rightful heir of that land, but none have found him.”
“But Prince Sharo is looking,” said Jetekesh. Yeshton turned to find the prince’s face pinched with pain. “He will find the rightful prince, won’t he?”
“I do not know,” answered Jinji softly.
Prince Jetekesh scowled. “You should know. It’s your story. It’s your silly story!”
“‘Tisn’t mine, Your Highness. I do not craft these tales. I merely see them, and know them, and tell them. What I have told you is past. Prince Sharo is in the now of days, and so I see his search. But I do not know whether he will be the one to find Prince Ehrikai, heir of that realm. I hope so. I dearly do, for Prince Sharo is the last of that ancient line, cousin to the rightful king of all the fae and beautiful. Should he fail, Shinac will lose its magic before Ehrikai’s return.”
Sir Palan leaned forward to stoke the fire. “Tell me, tale-weaver. What was the shadow that stole him away?”
“A dark thing,” drawled Jetekesh. “Not here at all, but upon some distant star. Isn’t that the right of it, Wanderlust?”
“So it is,” said Jinji, eyes dancing with firelight. “But he escaped that shadow long ago. Still, he is lost, seeking, ever seeking.”
“Seeking home?” asked Yeshton. His voice was loud in his ears.
Jinji looked up. “Nay. Seeking self. Lamenting his loss of it.”
A fanciful thought sprouted in Yeshton’s head. He smiled. “Do you too seek the lost prince, storyteller?”
Jinji turned his gaze to rest on Yeshton. He sat silently for a moment or two. “I know where he is. I needn’t seek him. I must instead await his return.” His eyes traveled back to the fire. “…If there is yet time.”
Jetekesh sighed. “But if you know where he is, how does Prince Sharo not know? Is it some great secret? Can you not communicate with your stories or something?”
Jinji stared into the flames. “I have not the power to tell Sharo…yet.”
Jetekesh snorted. “Of course not.”
Against the following silence Yeshton heard the pop and hiss of burning logs and the faint song of crickets. The trees whispered in the wind. Something rustled in the grass near the road. He tensed and darted to his feet.
“Easy now,” said Sir Palan. “No shadows will swallow you up, Yesh.”
“Something was out there.”
“It was Hethek,” answered Jinji. “He came to hear my tale.”
Every eye speared the storyteller. He just smiled.
“Tomorrow we will likely meet Lord Milgar’s men upon the road, and Hethek’s purse will be two hundred kana heavier. We had best sleep.”
Yeshton started toward the road. He must find Hethek and strangle the pompous peacock before he came near Keep Falcon.
Quick steps sounded behind him. Jinji’s hand fell on Yeshton’s shoulder. The soldier started. How did Jinji muster enough strength to move so lithely?
“Do not go, Yeshton. Stay with us tonight. With or without Hethek’s interfe
rence, the road will be well guarded. He is not the only one upon our very heels. Should he be compensated for his trouble, it matters not to us.”
“The little snake,” said Rille. She crossed the camp to grab Jinji’s wrist. “Let Sir Yeshton go. Hethek doesn’t deserve compensation for selling you out. He deserves to have his ears removed from his head for his trouble.”
Jinji laughed. “Do not be so thirsty for blood, Lady Rille. Trouble comes to all. We needn’t decide another man’s fate; we should worry after our own. Come. Both of you. Let us rest.”
Yeshton exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. He and Rille returned to the fire. He could feel her sulking, and the knowledge soothed him a little.
He turned to the storyteller. “You’re a reckless fool, Wanderlust.”
Jinji’s eyes twinkled before he laid on his bedroll and turned over.
Not for the first time, likely not for the last, Yeshton wondered what Jinji intended once he reached the desert wastes.
21
Fairy Wings
Two dozen knights stood upon the road, lances lowered. Against the noon sky fluttered the banner bearing a falcon in flight.
“Which of you is Jinji Wanderlust?”
“I am he.”
Yeshton shut his eyes and choked back a moan. If Jinji allowed himself to be captured over and over, did he have a goal at all? Or just a mad desire to infuriate every noble in his path?
The lances lifted and the head knight inclined his head. “Lord Milgar requests the pleasure of your company at Keep Falcon, Master Teller. Your friends are likewise welcome. We have come to escort you.”
“That is kind of you. My thanks.” Jinji’s smile was as bright as the sky overhead.
The knights rode at a fast gait, penning the little company in on every side, until Keep Falcon lay in sight. It was a high, hulking beast, made of thick grey stone with parapets and two turrets. The design was crude and functional. A moat surrounded the fortress, green with algae.
The drawbridge rumbled as it lowered.
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