The Crown

by Deborah Chester

  Frowning slightly, she did not correct him. The hold where she’d been born and lived the first eight years of her life stood no longer, thanks to the Thyrazene raiders who had burned it. The Choven were like birds, migrating according to old instinctual patterns of wind and land. Walls and towns might rise or tumble, but the land, forest, and rivers remained for them to follow.

  “There is trouble in your heart.” The youth tilted his head to one side, listening to a sound she did not hear. “Your quai carries sorrow.”

  “I have been stolen,” she said, seizing the opening he’d finally given her. “I know much sorrow and trouble. Will you take me from here and hide me among your people?”

  Looking startled, the youth actually stepped back. “Why would you join us? Our clan is small, our harmony careful. Why do you seek this?”

  “Because I have been stolen. I must get away from my captors and return to my home. Please, can you help me?”

  Confusion and alarm filled his face. Lea started to resume sevaisin with him, but he blocked the joining so swiftly her quai bounced back to her.

  “You ask many disharmonious things,” he said. “I must consult my elders before I could give you an answer.”

  “I understand,” she said, forcing her impatience under control. She knew she had handled this wrong. He was frightened now and unlikely to listen to any request. “Forgive me for breaking harmony. Will you carry a message instead? Talk of me to others in the migrations, so that word of me is carried to Light Bringer, my brother.”

  The youth’s expression grew solemn indeed. His slim shoulders hunched as he drew up his clenched fists and crossed them over his chest in a gesture of worry. “Light Bringer?” he whispered.

  “Yes. I am his sister.”

  “Light Bringer is our father. We honor him although he does not claim kinship with the People.”

  “He is not enlightened,” Lea replied. She and Caelan had argued that point many times, for she did not approve of his decision to conceal his Choven heritage. “But he is a good emperor and fights shadow.”

  “Can he not find you?”

  “No. I am guarded by shadow magic.”

  Hissing, the youth backed away.

  “Please!” she called to him, forcing her voice to stay low. “I ask this of the People as one who was born of them.”

  “You are not full blood.”

  “My mother was of the People,” Lea insisted. “You know this.” She extended her quai, and he touched it lightly but still blocked full sevaisin between them. “In kinship,” she said, “I ask for help.”

  “We are Gosha,” he replied, his eyes darting nervously. “We cannot fight shadow magic. We are not of the tribe of Otha, makers of protections and warding keys.”

  “This, I know,” she agreed although it cost her much not to argue. “Will the People of Gosha carry my message, the news of my plight from one family to another, from one clan and tribe to another?”

  He said nothing.

  “I do not ask you to change your migration,” she said. “When your tribe joins another in its journey, could news of me be shared?”

  He remained silent.

  “Do you know the tribe of Mu?”

  “Makers of jewels,” he said reluctantly.

  “Yes. They go often to the emperor. To Light Bringer.”

  “Never have I seen families of Mu.” His frown deepened, and with his fists still clutched to his chest he rocked slightly from side to side. “Our tribe comes to this desert to meet the nameid weavers called Druth of Jawnuth. Know you them, Lea of E’nonhold, sister to Light Bringer?”

  “I do not.”

  “They are born of this land. They are not of the People, but we count them friends.”

  Lea could no longer hear the mercenaries talking in the distance. I’m out of time, she thought frantically, aware that if she didn’t head back to camp now someone would come looking for her.

  Still, she dared not allow her urgency to show in her voice as she said, “There is the tribe of Kero.”

  “Builders.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Kero families sometimes walk with ours.”

  “They build for the emperor, for Light Bringer. They could carry my message to him. Would you tell the People of Kero of my troubles?”

  The youth spread out his hands in a gesture of apology. “Winter comes. Our migration goes far away from these mountains. How can this help your sorrows?”

  It was all she could do to stop herself from running across the stream to him and pleading for more than he could give. “Just let the message be carried,” she asked. “It is no more than the rain cloud shadowing the sun, its trouble to the People light and fleeting, barely disruptive to harmony.”

  “Sorrow is sorrow. I grieve for you.” He paused, thinking things over. “If I went to my elders—”

  “Would your elders not praise you for granting aid to one in trouble?” she interjected quickly.

  “I do not know.”

  “Are your elders close by? If I could speak with them, ask them to take me between and hide me there—”

  The youth looked shocked. He crossed his wrists, looking sharply here and there into the woods as though anxious to go. “You would bring shadow to us? Is this the way of friendship?”

  His rebuke, however mild, shamed her. Lea looked down swiftly, biting her lip in an effort to compose her mixed emotions. She’d known it was wrong to ask such a thing. And now he knew her to be a coward.

  She lifted her gaze slowly to his, fighting back the tears that burned her eyes, for she did not want to use such wiles to persuade him.

  “Oh,” he whispered, staring at her. His quai stopped resisting hers and resumed sevaisin briefly, just enough to share his compassion with her. “It is disharmonious to be afraid. I am sorry. I am sorry.”

  She shook her head. “I am the one who should ask pardon of you.”

  Slowly he lowered his arms to his sides. “My elders will know what is best. Their wisdom will decide whether we carry the burden of such a message as yours to the far north and back again or whether we should tarry in this land and speak to the weavers in Kanidalon. They cross paths with many. They know the shouting ones.”

  “Soldiers?”

  He nodded.

  Gratitude filled Lea. She smiled at the youth. “I give you my thanks.”

  “It pleases my quai to tarry near Kanidalon,” he said shyly. After slight hesitation, he drew a slender ribbon of deepest blue from the folds of his garment. “This is my token. I am intended for a nameid maiden. We are in courtship.”

  Lea’s smile faltered slightly, but she forced herself to be courteous. “I share in your happiness and wish you a long life together,” she said as custom required. “May your courtship prosper.”

  He held the ribbon aloft, watching it flutter in the breeze. “Your blessing honors me,” he replied. “Now I must go.”

  Lea looked down at the long, beautiful feather. “May I bestow this gift on you?” she asked.

  He made a gesture of refusal. “That is your blessing. You have need of it.”

  “It would honor me to share it with you and your intended.”

  He hesitated, but she held out the feather with a look of appeal. Smiling, he ducked his head shyly and stepped into the stream toward her.

  There came a swift whistling through the air, and a metal star thudded into the Choven’s chest. His large brown eyes flared wide, and he seemed suspended in midstep, his arms outflung in shock. Blood welled around the star, bright and bubbling as it stained his clothing. Bewilderment spread across his face before it puckered with intense agony. He fell facedown in the stream, his blood staining the clear water. The blue ribbon of courting flowed away, and the pa-crane feather—dropped by Lea—swept downstream after it.

  Chapter 2

  The shock of na-quai hit Lea. She felt the youth’s death as though the throwing star had pierced her heart. The whole world seemed to break as
the tranquil jaiethqual of this clearing shattered. Agony poured through Lea. Crying out, she staggered back on legs that suddenly could not support her and collapsed on the ground.

  An earth spirit rippled the ground next to her, bumping her in gentle agitation. Desperately she dug her hands into the soil until she touched it.

  Rough, gritty energy flowed around her, absorbing her agony until she was released from the lingering connection with the boy. Spent and gasping, Lea lay limply on the ground. Her mouth tasted of soil, and she felt cold as though the hand of death touched her still.

  Her fault, she thought. Her fault that the young Choven had died. She should have let him go the moment he first flinched from her quai. Curling up, she began to cry.

  Footsteps crunched across the hard ground to her. A scuffed boot toe nudged her shoulder.

  “No,” Lea whispered.

  He nudged her again.

  Lea stared up at the commander silhouetted against the sky. His face was in shadow although his eyes glowed like fire. He wore death like a cloak, and carried violence as his shield. Loathing him, she choked back her tears, and could not bring herself to speak.

  Perhaps he read her feelings in her face, for abruptly he turned and splashed across the stream to the floating corpse now snagged on rocks. He gripped the back of the youth’s colorful tunic and half-dragged, half-flung him onto the bank. Rolling him onto his back, the commander bent over him, only to abruptly straighten.

  “Choven!” he said.

  Whether he was surprised or disgusted, Lea could not tell. She kept her fingers in the soil, feeling the rough comfort of two more earth spirits who had joined the first. With their comfort, she regained her strength.

  “I am a coward,” she thought to them. “I have caused an innocent’s death and broken harmony.”

  One of them bumped her repeatedly until she finally sat up. It bumped her once more, hard, and when she righted herself her fingers brushed against a tiny stone lying in the loosened soil.

  The moment she touched it, she felt the special hum of gli-energy. Her fingers closed quickly on the stone. It was an emerald, a mere sliver compared to the magnificent jewels in the necklace the commander had stolen from her. But however small, the little jewel gave her fresh hope. The earth spirits did not judge; they simply gave her what they could. Now, despite what had happened, she no longer felt helpless.

  The commander—having retrieved and cleaned his weapon—came back, splashing through the water with long strides. His face looked as grim as granite. Swiftly Lea concealed the gli-emerald in her pocket, praying he would not sense it and take it away from her.

  “On your feet,” the commander said harshly.

  She scrambled up, jerking away when he reached for her. “There was no need to kill him. How could you do that to a harmless Choven?”

  Nothing—not the slightest vestige of shame—flickered in the commander’s gaze. “We’re breaking camp. Come on.”

  Lea stood her ground. “He is to be buried, not left here to pollute the stream. He must have the four sayings of—”

  “Gods! Am I to waste half the day digging a hole that won’t hold out scavengers?”

  “You murdered him!”

  “What of it?”

  “By law, by all custom and decency, they are never to be harmed.”

  “Then he should have kept away from you. What were you about to give him? A message for your brother?”

  A tide of heat rose through her face.

  He nodded. “I thought so. Blame yourself, not me.”

  “I take the blame I deserve. You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “Then he should have stayed on his side of the stream.”

  The heat in her face became fire. “Is that why you killed him? Because he was crossing to me?”

  “You were handing him a message.”

  “No, a feather!”

  The commander blinked. “What feather? I saw no such thing.”

  She held her hands apart. “This long. A tail feather from a pa-crane.”

  “A what?”

  “A pa-crane. That’s what he—” Choking, she gestured at the dead youth. “That’s what he called it.”

  “No such bird exists. Pa-cranes are a myth.”

  “It was there,” she said, pointing. “I saw it fishing.”

  “You saw a dream the Choven put into your mind.”

  She sighed, well aware of the difference between visions and reality. If the commander hadn’t seen the bird or the feather from its exquisite plumage, it was because shadow blinded him to such beauty. “And you,” she said sadly, “killed a Choven boy for no reason.”

  “Oh, I had a reason.”

  She flushed. “At least honor his death.”

  “Why should I?”

  She gasped. “Because he has died in violence. His quai is not—”

  “Mael’s plague on his damned quai. I’ve no time for Choven superstitions. Come along.”

  “I owe him a proper final rite.”

  “You owe him nothing.” The commander’s gaze narrowed. “Do you think delaying me will save you? It won’t.”

  “You enjoyed killing him, didn’t you?” she said in a low, angry voice. “It gave you pleasure.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think that if you make me hate you, giving me to the Vindicants won’t hurt so much.”

  In answer, he gripped her sleeve, pulling her along without directly touching her. “Think what you like,” he said gruffly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But it does matter! You aren’t one of them—”

  “I don’t want to hear that. You had your chance before, and you didn’t take it. Don’t start puling to me now.”

  “But—”

  “Be silent! Or I’ll muzzle you.”

  She choked back her protests, aware that he was perfectly capable of silencing her with magic.

  His glare held hers for a moment longer before he shifted his gaze away. Glancing up at the rising sun, he winced as though the light hurt him, and hurried her back to camp.

  The men were waiting, ready to go. Lea felt the force of their eyes upon her. Someone murmured low. Another nudged his neighbor with a sharp elbow. They all smirked as though they thought the commander had been enjoying a dalliance with her in the woods.

  “Attention!” rasped out a hoarse, strangled voice.

  The men snapped to stiff silence.

  Fomo—second in command—led the commander’s saddled horse forward. Rugged and vicious, the former centruin was a battle-scarred veteran who carried a whip to enforce his orders. He never looked at Lea except with flat resentment, sometimes even hatred. She would as soon have handled a poisonous snake as spent a moment alone in his company.

  The commander took the reins Fomo handed him. “Did the scout return?”

  “Aye. The road looks clear toward the pass. Said a patrol goes through twice a day.” Fomo coughed and spat. “It’ll be tight, getting through without stirring ’em up.”

  “If we make the pass, they’ll never catch us in the Broken Spine country,” the commander replied. “It’s worth the risk.”

  “Sir—”

  “Hold my stirrup.”

  Glowering, Fomo obeyed, and the commander mounted swiftly. His horse champed and shifted, lather dripping from its bit. Its ears were flat to its neck, and its eyes rolled back until the whites showed. He controlled it with the same uncompromising authority as he controlled his men.

  Lea’s gentle heart felt sorry for it, for she well understood its fear of such a rider. A man with no soul, who did not even cast a shadow in the morning sunlight. A man who seemed to have no heart as well.

  The commander glanced down at her as though he could sense what she was thinking. His dark eyes were too bright, too angry in the pallor of his face.

  Shadow magic is destroying him, Lea thought. Cruelty did not come naturally to him; he’d learned it, just as he’d learned how to handle a sword and command m
en. She believed he could have been a fine, valiant man. Instead, he persisted in clinging to the sour bitterness of disappointed hopes. By his own choice and lack of courage, he refused to change. His stubbornness was going to cost them both dearly, she thought, and for what purpose, except to cause more suffering?

  “Hand her up, Fomo. Gently.”

  With a grunt, the centruin lifted her, and the commander caught her by the back of her gown, hoisting her in front of his saddle. His arm went around her to hold her securely, and she shivered from his touch.

  “You should wear your cloak.”

  She frowned, thinking, He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t care about me. It isn’t kindness, only seeing that I’m alive and well when he delivers me for payment. If he cared, why did he not stop before it was too late?

  Turning her head, she sent him a beseeching look of appeal. His dark eyes were as dark and impenetrable, however, as the obsidian basilisks in the Imperial Palace.

  “We’ll cross Ismah Pass today,” he told her. “By nightfall you’ll be delivered to the Vindicants.” His gaze swung away and he raised his arm. “Eh, men? Vindicant gold in your pockets tonight!”

  Their cheers rang in the air. And only Lea was silent.

  Chapter 3

  In the race to reach Ismah Pass before nightfall, darkness won.

  During the day, the commander pushed his men hard, leading them at a steady trot along dusty mountain trails.

  Lea could sense nothing from him save angry prickles of temper, like a hedge of thorns keeping her out. His proximity was a torment to her, his taint of shadow magic nearly unbearable to her senses.

  Lea stayed silent and asked no questions. Despite her cloak’s protection and the bright sunlight, she felt cold and dispirited. The death of the Choven youth still distressed her. Her anger with the commander weighed heavily on her heart, for it was not her nature to lose her temper or hold grudges. Yet how to forgive what he’d done? How to accept it? She did not think she could.

  It was past midday when trouble crossed their path.

  As the road climbing Ismah Mountain twisted steeply, the men were put under orders to keep quiet. Sound could carry a long way through the canyons of this desolate land, and the commander was clearly on the alert for patrols despite his scout’s report. The road inclined so steeply that the horses struggled, and the men trudged at a slow pace, breathing heavily, their heads down.