The other lands a-2

by David Anthony Durham

  Once he reached seventeen, she could step aside and see him crowned king. After that, none would challenge him. A ruling queen always had the option to step aside for a mature son. Corinn had studied the secession laws in detail, and likely knew them better than any senator. She doubted any of them could imagine her to be planning this, but planning it she was. They would be waiting for her death to move against him. She would act before that, though.

  The councillors were still squawking when she decided to change the subject once more. Cutting in to the conversation, she said, "I will not discuss this anymore today. If I choose to wed, you'll hear about it promptly, but my marital situation is not to be decided at Council." Several of the councillors looked ready to take exception to that, but she spoke over them. "Here is a thing I wish to speak of: we will bring horse culture back to the center of the empire."

  The room fell silent.

  Sire Dagon plucked his pipe from the corner of his lips. "Horse culture?"

  "Exactly."

  "And what horse culture would that be, Your Majesty?"

  "Surely, all in this room know of Acacia's ancient traditions of equine excellence. I've been giving it a deal of thought, consulting with knowledgeable individuals, and I've concluded that we should bring the noble practice back into the mainstream of Acacian culture."

  The truth was somewhat simpler than that. Aaden had given her the idea while they were riding in Talay. He had observed, quite casually, "One is taller on horseback. I like being taller." Watching him ride away, upright and easy in the saddle, reins held correctly as he had been taught, Corinn had been struck with inspiration. Her people, she decided, had once been horsemen-in some distant past, in the time of the early kings, perhaps. Wasn't Tinhadin famous for his love of his gray mare? Yes, certainly he was. Hadn't Valeeden once had to ride full out from Calfa Ven to Alyth, stopping only long enough to leap upon fresh horses offered by the peasants? She was vague on the details of these things, but she had not found details very important in convincing people of things they wanted to believe. Acacians had once been horsemen, she decided; they would be so again. One was taller sitting on horseback, just as the future king had said. Let the people feel taller.

  "Jason," Corinn said, "tell the Council about our horse culture."

  The scholar started again. He set a somewhat pleading look upon her, but when she returned it with an expectant smile, he found words. "Tinhadin was a horseman, it's true. And Edifus kept a great stable of stallions in the Pelos valley. Some here will have practiced the Eighth Form, in which horses play a part. The Akaran royals have always ridden-"

  Saden cut in, noticeably annoyed with the change of subject. "The royal family riding does not make for a horse culture. You know that, I'm sure. You know that the reason few people in the empire ride is that the royal family didn't want them to. Simple as that. Your ancestors forbade horses to Talayans outright." He nodded at Baddel, who did not acknowledge the gesture. "Thought riding would cripple them. Turns out it did nothing of the sort. They can run as far and as fast as any horse, farther over a span of days. At least, that's what I've heard. Tinhadin tried to take them from the Mein, but never managed it."

  "As I understand it," General Andeson said, "there are laws in the books expressly forbidding commoners to ride. Horses may pull carts or carry packs, yes, but only the military-and the nobles, of course-can ride."

  Corinn said, with a tone that suggested she would have said the same thing regardless of what they had said in between, "The past is behind us, and now I look to the future. I don't want my people to always walk the earth like peasants. Not all of them, at least. I believe we'll be stronger if more people know horses. Jason, develop a lore for the horse as well, something to feed the people. Elaborate on what you know and put it in writing. Understand?"

  The tutor started to sweep his hand to his chest, knocked his tumbler, caught it, and righted it dexterously. "Your Majesty, develop a-"

  "Lore. Develop legends. Heroes on horseback and such things. Seek out some of the old tales in the library. Find stories that include horses. If you can't find them, insert the horses. Plant the seeds. Add another layer to the lore and let it be spoken of in taverns and halls and told to children at night, that sort of thing. Get the people dreaming horses."

  Balneaves smiled crookedly. "Noble work, Jason. Go to it with gusto."

  "I am glad you think so." Corinn rounded on him. "I have a part in this for you, too." Indeed, she had a part in it for almost everyone here. To different individuals she assigned responsibility for acquiring breeding stock, finding good pasturelands, hiring trainers, contracting architects and builders and blacksmiths. The list of needs was extensive. Corinn spoke with enthusiastic seriousness. Rhrenna duly wrote it all down. The councilmen looked about as if each was hoping another would call the whole thing a joke. But none did, and at the end of the session Baddel walked out mumbling, "As the queen wishes. The stallions shall stud. The mares shall birth. And the people shall ride."

  And the councillors shall scurry about like worker ants, she answered, although only within the safe confines of her head.

  Later that afternoon, she had one more meeting. This one took place in the privacy of the lower wing of her offices, on an open balcony that looked out over the sea. It was a small space, cut into the rock and hidden from prying eyes from above. She chose it because the man she was to meet could ascend an outer stone staircase unnoticed. It was that type of meeting. Clandestine. It was possible it was even dangerous, but she did not believe so.

  Delivegu Lemardine, her agent, was faithful in his own way-faithful to the coin she paid him and to the knowledge that his service might fund a life of whatever vices he enjoyed. He had once aided Rialus in his covert designs, and Rialus had introduced him to her. She did not trust Delivegu, but that was not unusual; she did not trust anybody. Unlike most people, Delivegu had proved useful on more than one occasion.

  Senivalians were not known for walking quietly, but in that Delivegu differed from his countrymen. He was up the stairs and but a few feet from Corinn before she knew it. He was dressed showily, as ever, in an open-necked shirt with a brigandlike flare in the sleeves tucked into his snug-fitting trousers; his knee-high black leather boots were laced to shape around his calves. Though he was padded around the belly with a few extra pounds, never had a man looked more comfortable with his body. Indeed, he luxuriated in his size and in what appeared to be natural strength. His face was composed of an unsettling combination of blocky, masculine features and feminine touches, as in the petite pucker of his lips. He was, in his own way, frustratingly attractive.

  "Your Majesty," he said, bowing, "I am your servant in everything. In absolutely everything." He held the position a moment, and then rose. "If I may say, you are a vision of-"

  "I don't have time for flattery," she snapped. She cupped her hand around a stone resting on the balcony. "Tell me, and then go."

  Delivegu smiled. He always smiled. He seemed to find the world and everything in it amusing-insults as much as praise. "The blacksmith was strong. I'll give him that much. Not just in his arms, though those were formidable. For a moment when I first confronted him I thought he might have me. Ever thought you were about to be skewered on a red-hot sword pulled from the flames? Not a pretty-"

  "To the point, Delivegu. To the point."

  "Yes, well, I lived, as you can see. And I beat the brute to within an inch of his life and then questioned him."

  "By what method?"

  Delivegu cocked his head, demure, but when she pressed him he detailed his procedure readily enough. The initial beating had been coarse, and for the questioning he chose methods meant to coerce the mind as much as the body. He started by asking his questions gently. Why, he had asked, was the blacksmith's name in a note shot out of the sky by a Marah on night patrol? The man had watched a messenger bird dispatched from the lower town, and rightly guessed it carried some covert correspondence. When the missive was det
ached from the bird's leg, only one word could be made out on it: his name. The rest of it was coded gibberish.

  The blacksmith had shut his lips and focused his loathing through his eyes, refusing to answer.

  "He didn't care for me much," Delivegu said, combing his fingers through his black hair.

  A monkey came loping up the steps and seemed startled to find them there. It chirruped a greeting and sauntered past them, looking much like a noble out for an evening stroll. It stopped some paces beyond them and stood intently scratching its rump.

  The means of coercion had to be improved upon. He had flattened the man's hands in a vise and had driven nails through the finger bones. He had dunked his head in a bucket of water until he passed out, revived him, and did it over and over again. He had stripped the man's brawny body naked and, using a candle, burned the hairs from his body, dripping hot wax on him the entire time. "That was amusing," Delivegu said, "but not effective. Nothing was. I even put a weight on his manhood and promised to make a little cut if he didn't speak true."

  Corinn betrayed no discomfort. "And?"

  "And… begging your royal pardon, but he still didn't speak. I kept my promise and that was that. He died not long after. Who wouldn't? Without a prick the world's a miserable place." He paused a moment, glancing at Corinn.

  She was not sure if the amusement in his eyes was from speaking to her with such lurid candor, or if it was his own recognition that she, being a woman, was just as prickless as the blacksmith.

  "If he'd had a family, I could have used them, but he was a single man, friends to many but none who seemed right for that purpose-"

  "So you learned nothing," Corinn said.

  "I wouldn't say I learned nothing. In fact, I did learn something, something quite important."

  Corinn rounded on him as if she might hurl a stone at him. "Tell me, then, before I get angry." She had a notion that she could sing something vile, something to undo him right here if she wanted to. He seemed to feel that possibility as well.

  Delivegu bowed his head, backed away a step, and took the pleasure out of his voice. "At the beginning he denied any knowledge of any conspiracy. By the end, though, he did not deny that there was a conspiracy, he just refused to tell me anything about it. Indeed, he took his pleasure from spitting his refusal in my face. What I mean, Your Majesty, is that he proved there is some conspiracy afoot. You are not wrong to suspect as much. Quite the contrary."

  In annoyance, she flicked her wrist and sent the stone twirling toward the monkey, which had sat down as if it were sharing their conversation. The creature jumped nimbly away, screeching as it did so, contorting its face into an expression very much like human effrontery. It grunted and bared its teeth, but it also withdrew even farther when Corinn bent for another stone. Delivegu watched it all with amusement.

  Corinn glared at him. "This is foul news. Why do you take such pleasure in delivering it to me?"

  "I take no pleasure in the news itself. If I am enthusiastic about it, it is because I have helped shed light on the presence of rats in the basement. Oh, and I got the bastard's name." He said the last bit as an afterthought but could barely hide his pleasure with himself.

  "What name?"

  "The blacksmith didn't give it up intentionally. He let it slip once, when he was babbling to himself. Ever heard of Barad the Lesser? He used to foment trouble in Kidnaban. It seems he's expanded his ambitions." Delivegu grinned again, wider this time. "First the name and then the man. Tell me the truth: I do good work for you, don't I? May that always be true."

  Corinn did not have to respond to this. Rhrenna-the only other person who knew whom she met here on the balcony-descended the staircase, one hand lifting her dress so that she could move faster, the other holding a rolled parchment. She glanced at Delivegu for just an instant and then focused on the queen. "A message," she said. "It's about Mena."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Mena awoke with a hot hand grasping her skull, searing her where it squeezed. She was on her side, and when she tried to swat the thing she realized through a rush of pain that her left forearm was broken. In the dim light of the predawn hour she stared at the strange droop of the limb, bent where it should have been straight, limp where it should have been firm. It was most definitely broken. Realizing that, she also knew that no physical being held her. It was just the pain from bashing her head on stones in the hillside. The burning on her thigh was from an impact abrasion. The soreness in her shoulder was from when she had dislocated it. She remembered the complete agony of it and the sweetness of relief when the tumbling motion of her fall had reset it. The rawness in her throat was from sleeping in the jumbled position in which she landed, with her mouth open to the dry rasp of a Talayan breeze. She knew a lot of things, but they were so cluttered in her head that she could not grasp the entirety of it.

  Instead, she focused on a small thing. The little finger of her left hand had snapped at the base and canted off to the side in defiance of its siblings. It was red and swollen and did not really seem to belong with the others. It was a minor injury in some ways, but the unnatural shape of it captured all Mena's attention, forced her to focus through the pounding bands squeezing her skull. Slowly, she reached out and took the finger in the palm of her other hand. She held it a long moment, awed at how fat it felt. Then she twisted it back into position. As it popped into place she exhaled a jagged curse-not so much at the finger as at the searing splinters of pain that shot up her forearm and into her shoulder and throughout her entire body.

  She lay on her back, breathing, holding still so that the pain might forget her and slip away. The gray sky above her was scalloped with high clouds tinted pink by the rising sun. They looked soft. They reminded her of something. As she tried to think what, a few moments passed, and then she raised herself awkwardly. Things to do. She had things to do. Despite and because of her pain, she had things to do.

  Over the next hour, Mena limped about, gathering the supplies she would need to splint her arm. There were no trees nearby, and she did not yet want to raise her eyes and look beyond her immediate surroundings. Instead, she found several slim lengths of stone, along with ribbons of mossy turf that she sliced one-handed with her short sword. She was not far from a small stream. Its gentle gurgle called to her, and she hobbled toward it, cringing at the thirsty convulsions of her parched throat.

  She stood beside the stream for a longer moment than she wished, unsure whether to drink from it or tend her arm first. Eventually, she did both. She unbuckled her sword belt, let it drop, and contorted her way out of her clothing. She stepped into one of the deeper pools wearing only her eel pendant, the one she had found gripped in a child's withered hand at the base of Maeban's aerie. The water bit her with cold, but that was good. She would be wet all over, but that was good, too, good to wash the filth and sweat and blood from her body. Letting her broken arm float, she scooped fingerfuls of water into her mouth with her right hand. She did so slowly, pausing to breathe between swallows, not rushing.

  When she was as numb as she could bear, she crawled from the stream and-still naked and grateful for the touch of the morning sun-tended her arm. The flesh was not broken, but she could see the misshapen bone beneath her skin, which was bruised in blooms of ugly blue and green and red and yellow. Laying the limb on the ground, she worked around it, a one-armed being caring for a separate entity to which she was bound. She positioned the moss as padding, and lined the stones around it to make a splint. She used a length of string from her waist to bind it tight, a slow, slow process that left her fingers aching, hard as it was to tie with only one hand. She pulled on her left hand as she pressed the splint down with her chin, an attempt at straightening the bone, and then tightened the strings again.

  By the time she was finished-dressed again, with the arm in a sling fashioned from the long ribbon of fabric that had been her belt-the sun was high and strong, and she was sweating from her efforts. Was the bone set straight? She coul
d not be sure, but it was the best she could do. She might have looked to her small injuries as well, but that would just be avoidance of the more important thing. She knew these actions were small details, delays before she faced what she had to face. Her body would be bruised and battered for some time, but with the arm splinted she had no reason not to raise her eyes and look for it-for the foulthing.

  Climbing up to a ridgeline and trudging along it toward a higher vantage, Mena took in the country around her. It was a temperate landscape of sharp, grass-covered hills. The soil was shallow, and the rocky frames of the slopes protruded here and there. She could not be sure, but she thought they had flown west, into the hills of northern Talay, perhaps not far from Nesreh and the western coast. She remembered glimpsing the sea on the distant horizon. That was before the beast-and she with it-had crashed to the earth in fatigue.

  What a strange flight that had been. It had gripped her, hadn't it? Or had she gripped it? Had it wanted her with it, or had she wanted to be with it? She was not sure. She would have thought it a dream if the world around her were not so real and the pains in her body were not so acute. She remembered the moment it yanked her into the air, the way the earth fell away, as if she and the beast were motionless, but everything and everyone below them had suddenly dropped. At least, that's one way she remembered it.

  On the other hand, she remembered the incredible, ear-battering sound of it. She had clawed up the tail like it was a rope. Up and before her, the foulthing flew. The beast itself had been silent, but everything else was a confusion of noise and wind, of flapping wings and erratic flight. The swinging weights smashed into her several times before she got her short sword free and managed to cut several of the ropes. This made it easier for the foulthing, she knew, but any one of those stones could have brained her. Besides, the creature did not truly seem to have much life in it. Each wing-beat was a display of power, but between them came long moments in which the wings seemed on the verge of dropping. She clung to the flying creature, sure that they would come crashing down any second, near enough that her troops would never lose sight of her.