Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  Yeshton and the rest were led across the moat and into the bailey. A statue adorned the center of the sheltering grounds, perhaps a depiction of Cavalin the Great, hero of a long-ago age. His gaze flicked across the bailey, and he found a small contingent hard at work polishing armor, grooming horses, stocking weapons.

  Yeshton glanced at the head knight. “You look ready to march to war.”

  A wry smile twitched on the knight’s lips as he dismounted. “Lord Milgar commands us to be in constant readiness in case of any attacks.”

  Yeshton dismounted as well. “Are you expecting any?”

  The knight shook his head. “But Lord Milgar declares that there shall be, and so we are prepared.”

  “From KryTeer?”

  A laugh broke from the knight’s lips. “No, young man. From the desert.” He leaned close, eyes sparkling. “Haven’t you heard? The fairies are coming.” He pulled back, winked, and strode to Jinji’s horse to help him down. Yeshton followed to aid Rille.

  The company was led into the keep proper. The interior was bare, dusty, and poorly lit by slivered windows along a corridor that ended before a high, narrow chamber swathed in the red colors and Crowned Rose banners of Amantier. A long, crude table occupied the center of the room. At its far end sat a withered old man, white hair haloing his head. He stood, smoothed his lordly raiment, and raised his gnarled hands.

  “Welcome, Jinji of Shing. I have ached to meet you.”

  The storyteller strode ahead of the company until he stood before Lord Milgar. He steepled his hands and bowed at the waist in Shingese fashion. “I am honored by your warm hospitality, my lord.”

  Lord Milgar stooped to grasp Jinji’s wrists until the Shingese man straightened. The lord stared into Jinji’s face, old eyes darting back and forth as though he searched for some great secret. Finally, he smiled. “It is true. You see, don’t you?”

  Yeshton and the rest came to stand with Jinji, and the soldier glanced at the storyteller to find his expression drawn in pity.

  “My lord,” said Jinji quietly, “you should sit down, I think.”

  “Nonsense.” The lord pulled away. “I am pleased by your timing, Master Storyteller. Most pleased. Indeed, it could not be better. The delegates arrived just days ahead of you. Just days.” He stepped back, wavered. Steadied and clapped his hands. “Bring them in.” He looked again at Jinji, a broad smile on his lips. “You will be very glad to meet them.”

  “Who are these delegates?” asked Sir Palan.

  Lord Milgar’s smile stretched into the wrinkles of his face. “Why, the fairies, Sir Knight. The fairies from Shinac, of course.”

  Yeshton exchanged a glance with Sir Palan. What had the old man mistaken for the fae and fantastic? Doors to the far side of the chamber swung open. The rows of banners hanging from the high rafters rippled as the delegates paraded inside. Rille gasped. Blood drained from Yeshton’s face. His heart quavered. Hands clenched into fists.

  Three men strode across the Hall, bloodred armor glittering against the gloom; skin rich and dark; long black hair adorned in gems. Curved swords hung from their waists. Cloaks of crimson streamed behind them. Blood Knights of KryTeer, admitted into Keep Falcon by the mad old lord.

  The three Knights halted beside Lord Milgar, whose eyes danced with the wonder of them.

  “Do you see them, Master Jinji?” whispered Milgar. “Magnificent. Behold their wings.” He reached out to stroke the nearest cloak.

  The middle Knight studied the company, dark eyes sharp as steel. His gaze lingered long on Jinji. A smile slid across his lips and he raised his arms. “It has been a very long time, Jinji of Shing.”

  Yeshton jerked his head around.

  Jinji’s face glowed. “Aredel, you look well! It has been much, much too long, my friend.” He walked forward and embraced the KryTeeran.

  They laughed. Pulled back. Examined one another.

  “You’ve grown so thin. And pale.” The Knight shook his head. “Did I not say the air of KryTeer would be best for your condition?” He brushed his ring-bedecked fingers against Jinji’s hair. “It has turned so white. You cannot carry on this way.”

  Jinji laughed again. “But I must and shall. And you will not interfere, as you promised.”

  The man called Aredel shrugged his hands. “So I did, and so I have not. But tell me, have you found your blessed Shinac yet?”

  Jinji’s eyes were bright as a fire. “I am nearly there.”

  Yeshton’s fists clenched until his palms ached. Why did Jinji speak to a Blood Knight, calling him friend, laughing with one of the conquerors of his country?

  “You are a traitor.” It was Jetekesh’s voice. High and quavering. The prince shoved past Tifen and caught Jinji’s sleeve to wrench him around until their eyes met. “You sold us to the enemy! Traitor!”

  Jinji’s eyes widened. “Sire—”

  “Ah. You are Prince Jetekesh,” said the Blood Knight. His tone was cold once more. “I have wished to meet you for several weeks now.”

  Jetekesh’s chin thrust up. “I will not acknowledge the Bloody Knights of KryTeer.” He turned away.

  The Blood Knight gave a low laugh. “A spirited boy. That is good. You will need it when your mother arrives to fetch you.” He flicked a hand toward one of his companions. “Arrest them. All but Jinji.” He turned back to the storyteller. “You have saved me a lot of trouble, my friend. I thought I would have to chase them across Amantier for a few months, but you’ve such a way of attracting people.”

  Nausea writhed in the pit of Yeshton’s stomach. His hand went for his sword.

  “Please, Your Highness,” said Jinji, eyes fixed on the Blood Knight called Aredel.

  Aredel. Yes, that was the Blood Prince’s name! Yeshton had heard Duke Lunorr say it once, like a curse word. This was High Prince Aredel of the Bloodfold of KryTeer. Jinji Wanderlust knew him. They were friends. So Jinji was a spy for the KryTeer Empire. He had betrayed them. Brought them all this way, only to hand them over to the enemy.

  Yeshton’s vision seared red. He started to draw his sword. He would kill Jinji for his betrayal. He would rip him apart!

  The sword rang out as it clattered to the flagstones. Yeshton’s fingers tingled from the force that had struck the weapon from his grasp. The Blood Prince’s sword hovered before his eyes, naked, bright against a strand of sunlight overhead.

  “None may harm Jinji of Shing,” said the KryTeer conqueror in a quiet rumble. “He is under my protection.”

  Yeshton lowered his empty hands. His eyes sought out Rille. She stood stricken, pale as death, staring at Jinji in a silent plea.

  Jinji was speaking, but no one heeded him. Not Prince Aredel or Jetekesh. Not Tifen, red faced and trembling. Not Sir Palan or the two Blood Knights who fought him, swords drawn and flying through the air. Not Lord Milgar, awestruck by some fantasy only he could see in the violence.

  Yeshton could hear nothing. All was mute.

  It had all been pointless.

  Jinji had sentenced them to death.

  22

  Unfolding Visions

  As Jinji of Shing entered Aredel’s appropriated study, the Blood Prince couldn’t help but smile. Jinji always stirred affection within Aredel’s heart; a rare feeling for the war-hardened man, and a welcome one. He made him feel almost human.

  Jinji approached the desk with gravity in the lines of his pale face. He stopped beside the wingback chair intended for guests.

  “Welcome, my friend.” Aredel gestured to the chair. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  “I will stand,” said Jinji.

  “As you please.”

  “I am very cross with you.”

  Aredel’s smile grew. “Not much angers you. It must be quite a thing I’ve done.”

  Time had not been kind to Jinji. While he was a comely man, the prolonged illness of his body had marred Jinji. His flesh was ashen, his frame too thin, his hair—once a glossy black—now streaked heavily with sno
wy locks. His movements were slower, more ginger.

  “You must not keep my friends,” said Jinji. “Be merciful and let them go.”

  “You would say that of any prisoner I possess, I don’t doubt. But I cannot adhere to your wishes in this matter. My word to you is unbreakable, and so I will not trouble you or allow any KryTeeran to hinder you. But the others are of Amantier, and I have conquered this land. Prince Jetekesh is a tool too great to release, even for your sake. I’m sorry, Jinji. You may go as you please, but the rest will remain here.”

  Jinji sighed and sank into the chair. He looked so weak, so delicate, like he might break apart and float away. Not at all like the strong and clever man Aredel had met five years ago near the shepherd’s hut in Shing.

  Jinji covered his face with his hands. “They think I have betrayed them.”

  “That is regrettable.” Aredel laced his fingers together and set his hands on the desk. “I will inform them it is not so.”

  “They shan’t believe you.” Jinji dropped his hands and straightened to meet Aredel’s eyes. “You healed King Jetekesh, did you not?”

  Aredel chuckled. “As astute as ever. It is true. I healed the king just in time. Traveria. That is what almost killed him.”

  “I know. The queen…” Jinji’s soft murmur was nearly indistinct.

  Aredel shook his head. “You are the cleverest man I’ve ever met. I wish you would return to KryTeer with me. You would be revered as a god.”

  “It is not cleverness that affords me this knowledge, and no such gift should be awarded so. I merely understand people.”

  “The humble shepherd emerges.” Aredel leaned forward. “I beseech you one last time: Come to KryTeer. Let my House care for you until the end. It would…grant some peace of mind. Do it for me, if not for yourself.”

  Jinji’s eyes found the candlelight. Those warm, discerning eyes; so strange in a Shingese; so unsettling in all they saw and all they hid. “I must refuse, Aredel. My quest bids me to enter the Drifting Sands, where I hope to find what I seek.”

  “The Drifting Sands have been searched for innumerable years, Jinji. There is no hint, no remnant of Shinac. Stronger men than you have tried and died in that harsh climate. Give it up.” He knew his words fell on deaf ears. Even above himself, Jinji was the most stubborn creature Aredel had ever met.

  “I must go.” The light of Jinji’s eyes burned like fire. “Come with me. Come to the border of that realm and see if I am not right.” He leaned against the wide chairback. “My strength is almost spent. Time grows short. Lord Peresen will soon make his move. I sense it.” His eyes closed. His breaths hitched in his lungs.

  Aredel studied the storyteller’s face. Jinji’s disease was a brutal one. Even in KryTeer, where cunning healers discovered cures each day for rare illnesses, this one, so rare itself, yet had no hope. It began in the lungs, much like the White Death, but it stayed contained. It brought fevers. Nightmares. Weakened limbs, as though nutrition could not be absorbed into the body. The strain of it turned hair lank and grey. In a year, or sooner, the victim died of a kind of starvation of body and spirit.

  But Jinji was different. He had lived five years with the disease, and something kept him moving. His hair, too, turned white rather than grey, and his eyes had not lost their strength. It was as though something buoyed Jinji up until he reached his goal.

  Aredel longed to take Jinji to KryTeer, far from the legends of Shinac, far from the chance to find what he sought. Perhaps it would prolong Jinji’s life.

  But Aredel knew better than that. Jinji was close to the Drifting Sands. So near to his heart. No one could take him from here now.

  “I will come with you,” whispered Aredel, though Jinji had fallen asleep.

  Jetekesh wouldn’t talk to anyone.

  Yeshton brooded in a corner of the keep’s dungeon.

  Tifen paced.

  Sir Palan paced too.

  Rille watched them as she wiped tears from her eyes. It made no sense. Not any of it.

  Jinji wouldn’t betray them. He would not.

  She stamped her foot. Against the stone floor, the sound was a mere scuff. “I won’t believe it.”

  Yeshton turned toward her, the only one obligated to listen. “My lady?”

  “Jinji wouldn’t do that, Sir Yeshton. He only wants to find Shinac; I’m certain of it.” Compassion lit in the soldier’s eyes as the hard lines of his face softened in the torchlight. She scowled. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but the man led us straight into the arms of KryTeer. He knows the Blood Prince. They’re friends.”

  She folded her arms. “So are we. We’re his friends too.”

  Tifen spoke up. “We were tools. A means of ingratiating himself to his prince. Don’t forget, Shing was conquered by KryTeer several years ago. He owes the emperor of KryTeer his fealty.”

  “It’s just like Mother said.” Jetekesh turned from the wall. “She said he was a spy of KryTeer, selling sedition. Making up those horrible stories about lost princes and ugly peasants. And fairies who live in willow trees. Ha!”

  “But they weren’t horrid stories.” Rille stalked across the small dungeon room, clapped her hands to Jetekesh’s face, and jerked his head up to face her. “They were beautiful tales. So beautiful I could see them. Couldn’t you? How could a spy of KryTeer conjure such a thing? Jinji didn’t betray us. Just because he knows the Blood Prince doesn’t mean he meant to lead us to him. How could Jinji possibly know he would be here ahead of us?”

  “The lass has a fair point.” Sir Palan’s voice.

  “Don’t you start,” Tifen growled. “Your allegiance is also in question.”

  Yeshton moved from the corner. “Now is not the time for us to lose our tempers. We need to think rationally and try to escape.”

  The soldier’s voice struck a familiar chiming note inside Rille’s head. He had triggered a vision, as voices sometimes did, when a Keyword was spoken. Not unlike Jinji’s unfolding stories, an image formed in her mind’s eye, and Rille saw clouds of sand billowing before her. She tasted salt. Wind stroked her hair. The banner of KryTeer and the banner of Amantier stood side by side, while between them rose a great tree.

  Rille sank to her knees. Yeshton crouched at her side.

  “My lady?”

  “Never fear, Sir Knight. I think we will not be long in this dungeon.” She smiled. “Jinji will yet take us to the Drifting Sands. I have seen it.”

  23

  The Curse

  Queen Bareene stepped down from the coach and looked up at the looming fortress before her. Soldiers flanked the path that led to the oak door of Keep Falcon, their armor brilliant in the morning sunlight. She smiled and allowed Foan, a capable and lovesick knight who traveled with her, to guide her up the few steps.

  Here at last. A source had told her that her son hid within the keep. Thank the saints he’d had the sense to hole up here, though it was a strange destination to be sure. The Amantieran flag above the keep assured Bareene she had gotten here before any KryTeer Knights. She would show the Blood Prince that she was every bit as clever as he. Perhaps even more clever.

  Old Lord Milgar waited inside. “Fair as the fae princesses of Shinac, my lady queen,” he crooned.

  Bareene offered a tight smile. She had outlawed all mention of that blasted fairy story! But Milgar was senile and couldn’t help himself. Keep your temper, Bareene.

  “You are too kind, my lord.” She glanced around the Hall. “Where is my son? I’ve come to bring him home.”

  Milgar’s vacant smile stretched. “I have no sons here, Lady Queen. Only the fairies.”

  She fought to keep her expression composed, but her voice sounded strained even to herself. “Of course you have no sons, but mine came to see the fairies, Lord Milgar.”

  Steps echoed across the Hall behind Bareene.

  “He is not with the fairies, Your Majesty.”

  That voice! Bareene whirled to find Jinj
i crossing the room. The Shingese peasant stopped before her and bowed.

  “Jinji Wanderlust. I’d heard you would be here.”

  “Your Majesty, you look well.”

  That was more than could be said for the storyteller. He was so thin and haggard Bareene feared he might drop on the spot, gasping his last breaths.

  “Never mind myself,” said Bareene. “Where is Prince Jetekesh? I’ve come for him. He fled before he understood the situation in Kavacos.” She smiled, showing teeth. “And you will return with us, Wanderlust. I believe you missed your trial.”

  Jinji shook his head. “I cannot return to the capital, Lady Queen. Nor shall you take Jetekesh back with you. He will come with me to the Drifting Sands.”

  Bareene tilted her head to one side, fingers flexing. “Your impudence will be your death, taleteller. What right have you to keep my son from me?” She drew near to Jinji. He wasn’t tall; she barely had to look up into his eyes. “I understand now. My son didn’t flee; he was taken. You kidnapped the Crown Prince of Amantier. You will burn for this, Jinji of Shing.”

  “He will not burn for any reason, Bareene.”

  The authoritative voice was like a stab wound in Bareene’s chest. She spun, skirts rustling, to find High Prince Aredel standing beside Lord Milgar. What was he doing here? Why had none of the guards alerted her to his presence?

  Foan’s hand went for his blade, but he hesitated. Bareene could understand why. Amantier was a conquered nation; to defend his queen against the heir of KryTeer was now treason.

  Aredel strode forward and halted a few feet from her, his tall frame imposing in the dimly lit chamber. “You were not allowed to leave Kavacos, yet you disobeyed me.”

  “I came for my son.” Bareene’s mind reeled. Why would Aredel be here? How had he gotten here ahead of her? The barges, of course! She had refused to ride in one, for it was filthy. But the Blood Prince wouldn’t bat an eye; the people of KryTeer loved boats of any kind.