The Rose Sea

by S. M. Stirling

  Bren smiled. "I claim," he called, in the same ringing tones, "as a free Tykissian gentleman and nobleman of the Empire, the right of appeal to my sovereign."

  The beginnings of an uproar quieted. Voices shouted approval. Willek ground her teeth.

  "The Emperor is unwell," she said shortly.

  "She's well enough to go on campaign," Bren pointed out.

  "And if she's well enough to do that, my lord Grand Admiral, she's well enough to hear a case."

  And you're not the Regent, not yet, he added to himself. From the way she looked around her, Willek was thinking that too. Back home, where she could control access to the Throne, her authority was nearly absolute. Not here.

  He turned and marched toward the carriage at the regulation pace, head up and helmet tucked under one arm. The life Guards opened smartly to let him pass.

  "My Emperor," he said, dropping to one knee. "I appeal to your justice."

  Shemro IV looked less ancient close up. Not much older than my mother would be, if she'd lived, Bren realized, with surprise. The grey-blue eyes blinked at him, looking slightly misted, then focused with an effort of will.

  "Who—" she said.

  "Silence as the Emperor speaks!" the officer of the life Guards bellowed, satisfaction in her voice. "Hear the Voice of the Crown!"

  "Who are you, young man?"

  "First Captain Sir Bren Morkaarin, Majesty," he said firmly.

  "You look… very like someone I once knew. Who was your father?"

  Bren felt himself flush. "I… I don't know, Majesty. My mother said he was a nobleman and that she'd tell me when I came of age, but she died before then."

  Shemro nodded. "Is that an eidolon of him?" she asked, indicating the small crystal on his chest "Let me see it; my eyes aren't as sharp as they once were."

  Bren rose and pulled the silken ribbon over his head. It wasn't until he had handed it to the Emperor that he remembered. Only my blood kin in the first degree can see that image! The spell was keyed to the tiny coils-of-kinship in his cells, by blood-magic.

  Shemro gasped, looking down into the crystal. "It's Eartin!" she said. "My—"

  She gasped again, this time in pain, and sank back on the cushions of the coach; Bren caught the eidolon as it slipped from her fingers toward the ground. Shouts of alarm rang out as the Emperor twisted helplessly on the embroidered seat. Bren stood, stunned and helpless. Eartin. The Emperor's younger brother. Dead these thirty years. His eyes widened. Exactly his own age. Impossible…

  Willek was beside him, staring, one hand clasped in a tight fist.

  "Arrest him, he's attacked the Emperor! Conspiracy, treason, arrest him! Brigadier Multin, do your duty!"

  She turned and grabbed for him herself. He struck, once, and she folded over and staggered away, wheezing, through the line of Life Guards; none of them looked quite ready to lay hands on the Grand Constable of the realm. A man with brigadier's flashes was moving forward, a squadron of Shillraki mercenary dragoons at his heels. Half a dozen of the Life Guards had leaped into the carriage, holding the Emperor and forcing a leather strap between her teeth. The rest crossed their halberds protectively around the coach and team. Beyond it was chaos, as officers and officials shouted, argued, pushed—a few had even drawn swords, deeply illegal in the Imperial presence.

  "Guard the Emperor," Bren said shortly to the life Guards officer. "And remember."

  "I heard," she said, nodding. "But this isn't the time or place, not with a battle going on."

  "More than one," Bren said.

  The color party of the XIXth were forcing their way through the throng towards him, none too gently. Karah guided her horse toward him, prompting its bared teeth and menacing hooves with her legs, and swung the Tseldene mount she'd captured to his side. He vaulted into the saddle.

  "Gentlefolk!" he shouted, drawing his sword at last.

  A little of the clamor died down. One of Multin's mercenary dragoons raised a carbine, only to find half a dozen Tykissian swordpoints pressed to his torso.

  "Gentlefolk of Tykis," Bren shouted. "You've seen me falsely accused. I won't shed the blood of Falcon and Wolf myself, not while we're at war with the hereditary foe. You know who carried the field this day—think on it. Until then, guard the Emperor from her."

  He pointed the sword at Willek, then brought it around to slap the haunches of his horse.

  "I'll be back."

  Willek paced inside her tent. Her own guard had allowed the Morkaarin bastard to retreat in safety, the Life Guard had prevented her any chance to attack—and Eartin. The bastard was Eartin's son? An heir, when she'd been sure there were no heirs.

  She needed answers. She'd not touched the bloodstone in a long time, but she needed it now. She needed to know what happened in the many places where she could not be, and she needed to know what to do to counter Morkaarin.

  She told the guards outside her tent she was in no means to be disturbed, and she made her preparations, and she called for the demon. A weak one came, weak and snivelling, satisfied with her littlest sacrifice and easily intimidated. For once she would have preferred a stronger monster, but hell sent forth its minions on its own schedule.

  "Show me," she hissed "Show me the Morkaarin scion—Eartin's son. What does he do now?"

  When the pictures flashed before her, they were confusing. Morkaarin and the XIXth trekked through a jungle, and gods and demons threw their bolts, sometimes at the XIXth, and sometimes at each other; Darkist and a huge force, taking cannon and lighter weapons, went up the same jungle river in boats; and then she saw it. An island in the middle of a rose-colored sea, and a temple in the center, and in the temple something—something that even the gods bowed down to. And Morkaarin was first to that rose-red sea.

  "No," Willek snarled "No. He won't be first."

  She called her officers, delegated authority as necessary, and issued her orders. She would leave most of her army behind to fight in Tarin Tseld, would let her generals run things. A few of her best people would go with her—go into the jungle, dragging the Emperor and such weapons as they could manage. They were going in light and fast, though. Time was everything. Willek didn't know what the prize in the temple was, but she knew she was going to get it. The gods had their fingers in this—Tarin Tseld and the whole of an empire had become, suddenly, the lesser prize.

  The three moons touched at the sky's zenith at midnight, and their light shimmered down on Tarin Tseld. It insinuated itself into the camp where Willek lay, and danced along the parapets of Darkist's palazzi, and crept across the bare ground where Amourgin slept curled next to Eowlie, and where Bren and Karah lay.

  It cast eerie shadows and brought forth illusions and spectres and left indelible tracks in among the dreams of the sleepers—dreams of a golden icon far to the south, a plaything of the gods left behind and nearly forgotten; dreams of power beyond imagining, power for the taking; dreams of jungles and mountains, and of a rose-red sea.

  The voices of their gods whispered to the sleepers, "Go, make haste."

  And when they woke from dreaming, each of the god-touched knew the answer to an age-old puzzle waited… and that the first to reach it would command the rest.

  As one, they made their plans.

  As one, though by different routes and different means, they headed south.

  "Sor." Ddrad twisted his hat in his hands and would not meet Bren's eyes. "Sor, I've followed you, man an' boy, these fifteen years. And yer mother before you."

  Bren nodded absently, and shifted his grip on the reins; he was walking and leading his mount with the reins looped over his wrist.

  "Then, sor, I don't believe m'eyes when I see you runnin' from a fight!"

  Bren turned, grinning. "Don't believe your eyes, then," he said. "I'm not running; I'm going to the armory for a weapon."

  The sergeant's eyes were baffled.

  "Look, Ddrad, you have known me all my life. Did you know me for a liar?"

  The older man shook
his head.

  The moonlit road to the south lay open before them, and on either side the rustling corn was silvered by the light into a wilderness of triple shadows and pale gold. The wind was cooler, but the pavement and the stone and the very earth around them gave back the day's heat. The tall cypresses by the wayside cast a slow flicker of shadow as they advanced. Behind them the steady tramp of hobnails on the hard-packed crushed rock of the road sounded like a drumbeat to the empty land.

  "Call the halt."

  A bugle note sounded, and the steady tap of the pacers drum turned to a ruffle.

  Bren swung into the saddle and turned the horse to face the troop. "Karah, Amourgin, by me," he said. "Soldiers, stand easy."

  They relaxed, leaning on pike and musket "Comrades," he went on. "I know you, and you know me."

  Their answer came in a growl. He nodded. "From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for the trust you've shown me, coming when I called. But you're free children of Falcon and Wolf, and you deserve to know the truth."

  He paused, watching their faces. Scarred veterans, fresh-faced plowgirls, all looking at him with more than the moons' light in their eyes.

  "I've never known who my father was. My mother died before she could tell me; she left me this eidolon of him—" he held it up. "It's blank to all but those of my close blood kin. And I thought I didn't have any. Until, not two days ago, I was before the Emperor. You know why I was there."

  They growled again at the memory of victory. "The Grand Admiral tried to have me arrested. The Emperor, Three favor her, took this eidolon in her hand—and she saw the face of her brother, Eartin."

  A mass catch of breath. He held the eidolon up. "My father's name was Eartin Strekkhylfa!"

  Sheer silence fell for a moment, then an explosion of cheers that startled sleeping birds out of the roadside trees and the grainfields.

  Ddrad stepped forward. "Then strike for the Empire, sir—my lord Prince," he said. "Lead us!"

  The soldiers howled and shook their weapons, and the officers knelt to lay their swords at his horse's feet.

  "Comrades," he said again. "I thank you again. And I will take up my right—not least, to rescue my fathers sister, who is in the power of the traitor Willek Tornsaarin. But not here, and not now. The Grand Admiral has followers enough to make a fight of it, and if the Imperial army fights itself here on foreign soil, who'll benefit but the southrons? And—" he paused "And, the gods themselves have taken a hand in this. Father Solmin."

  The priest came to stand by the commander's stirrup. "I swear," he said, signing himself, "by the Three and my oaths to my Order, that the First Captain—the Prince-Heir—speaks the truth. The Emperor acknowledged him; and then she was struck down by evil magic, blood-magic of the foulest kind. And that night, visions were granted the Prince-Heir by the Three themselves."

  The troops sighed in awe. The priest went on:

  "Long ago—very long ago—in the time of the Old Empire, the wizard-emperors of An Tiram had a mighty talisman. They didn't make it, it was older even than the Old Empire, but it gave them great power. Power to make a channel to the Other World, and call the gods themselves down into this world of men. It made them invincible in battle, for with it they could call on the One of a Thousand Faces to bring madness and death to their enemies.

  "A priest of the Three, from Old Tykis, took the talisman and fled south, far south with it. There he hid it and bound it fast around with powers the wizard-kings could not break. Then came the Judgment of the Three, when the Old Empire fell and our ancestors came south over the Shield Mountains to make that land their own. Only here in the south, in Tarin Tseld, did a fragment of the Old Empire survive."

  "Ever since then the talisman, the Theophone of the Gods, has lain protected. But those protections wear thin, and soon the Theophone will be loosed among men again, for good or ill."

  He drew a long breath: "I believe—the captain says, and I believe him—that he and his companions have been given a vision. If they take this talisman, the Three will be unbound and all will be well with Their people. But if Darkist or the traitor Willek seize it first, then there will be a long night of evil as bad as the Old Empire, or worse."

  Silence fell with the moons' light Bren added: "And they're both after us now. Not with armies, but in parties light enough to travel fast. Are you with me?"

  A moment passed, while the stolid faces before him struggled with what they'd been told. Ddrad answered:

  "That we are, sor. Against men or devils."

  CHAPTER XIV

  Amourgin felt a quick cold shudder down his spine when he stepped beyond the light of the fire to check on the horses. His stomach knotted and doubts whispered into his mind. You're on a fool's mission, the little whispers said. You'll die in the service of a power-hungry, bloodthirsty fool. Escape while you can.

  He looked beyond the field in which they camped to the thin lines of trees that bordered it. Those trees would make good cover—he could keep low, double around beyond the XIXth and head north. No one would catch him. All of them were too intent on their insane trek south… and really, it wasn't as if he'd chosen to be on this mission.

  Yes, the niggling fears whispered. North. North is safe, north to An Tiram—you'll be safe in An Tiram.

  An Tiram? He shook his head and stared back at the fire—saw it as a menacing fiend, claws reaching out for his throat. By the gods! He shivered and clutched the amulet at his wrist and murmured a warding spell. In an instant, fog lifted from his mind, and the little voices quieted, and the flame demon became nothing but a cheerful campfire again.

  He looked to the north.

  It was to be devils, then, and not men that tried them first.

  He woke Father Solmin. "Something coming in," he whispered. "It got past my amulet—subtle but very strong. Almost convinced me to desert."

  The priest sat up and stretched his arms out to his sides, fingers splayed He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "Don't feel anything," he said after a long moment.

  Amourgin nodded "I didn't, either. But just beyond the campfire, I started feeling… doubts. I'd appreciate it if you'd walk out to the edge with me and see what happens. I've spelled myself…"He winced as Father Solmin gave him a hard look. "… Ah, sorry, Father. It seemed necessary. And when I did, the doubts and the shivers left me."

  The priest stood and brushed himself off. "Very well. Let me take a few tools with me, and I'll see what I can find for you."

  The priest walked with him out past the flickering circle cast by the firelight. Amourgin stopped and watched while the priest took a few more steps.

  "Oh." Father Solmin fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a small, pale stone. He held it in the palm of his hand.

  Amourgin could see the other man beginning to tremble. "You feel it now?"

  The priests voice was soft. "Oh, yes. I certainly do." He said something to the stone, and it began to flicker. "Oh, indeed…" He looked up. "Very good, corporal. You've caught something that could have destroyed us in short order. Willek has sent us a… a gift. A very clever one, too, I'm afraid. It will take the both of us, and the smiling fortune of the gods, to fend it off."

  Amourgin nodded, but said nothing.

  "She's bypassed the warding of the amulets very cleverly, by convincing the amulet spirits of her rightful claim as head of the armed forces. Thus, her sendings come at us because we look to the spirits like deserters. I had forgotten that particular implication of backing someone other than Willek." He sighed and stared mournfully at the amulet around his own wrist. "We're going to have to magically establish Bren's rightful position as heir to the throne before we can turn this."

  "Our only other option is to ward each man and woman individually, and I have neither the power nor the supplies to maintain that land of a spelling against the forces both Willek and Darkist can bring to bear. I don't know about you."

  "I have neither your skill nor experience," Amourgin said quietly. "My magical abiliti
es are small—though they have served to save my own life on occasion, I'd hardly think to try saving the world with what I can do."

  Father Solmin nodded, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought as much. I dislike asking this—I know of both your affiliation and your… loyalties—but I give you my word I will not pursue any knowledge I gain from you at a later date. Are there any others among the XIXth who use mage, and who could be convinced to help us?"

  Amourgin studied the man. He discovered that he actually believed the man—Father Solmin really would not have turned in other magicians to the Inquest Council had Amourgin been able to bring them forward He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed "I wish I did."

  The priest gave him a shrewd look. "No? Well, I hadn't thought I'd felt any others among us. We'll do what we can with what we have, then."

  "Shall I bring the captain?" Amourgin asked.

  The priest was squatting in the dirt, spreading out his tools in a circle around himself. "Yes. Quickly, too." He indicated the light that glowed from his sensing stone. It throbbed and pulsed, and Amourgin could see the fire at its heart growing brighter as it did.

  He ran quietly through the dark, to the flag at the heart of the camp that marked the place where Bren slept As he ran, he noted a few men and women beginning to wake, looks of confusion and fear in their eyes. The spell is getting strong enough to draw them from their sleep. This could become a rout, he thought. The XIXth could disappear into the darkness before we can break this spell.

  He ran faster.

  Bren was already awake when he got there.

  "Something's going on."

  Amourgin was blunt "We're under attack by Willek. Father Solmin needs you at the periphery."

  Bren questioned him as they ran, and Amourgin explained what he knew. When they reached the priest, the First Captain understood as much about the danger as Amourgin did.

  "Corporal, I need you to draw the captains blood and spill it into the brazier as soon as I've brought up the amulet spirits. As soon as you see the first flicker of light—you understand?"