The Seer - eARC

by Sonia Lyris

  At first Tayre thought a peculiar, sudden rain shower was falling, catching sunlight. Perhaps a fast dust storm had come upon the field.

  But the truth was more astounding yet: it was raining gold.

  Absorbed as they were in killing each other, it took some moments for the Arunkin, the Teva, and the deserter army to take note.

  As tiny flakes of what seemed sparkling sunlight floated slowly down to the field, some Arunkel soldiers stopped in open-mouthed shock. Thus distracted, many were slain by their single-mindedly focused attackers before they, too, noticed the strangeness falling around them and slowed their butchery.

  Shouts took on a distinctly different tone as soldiers looked around in wonder and the dust and flakes began to cover the ground in gold.

  Horses—shaota and Arunkel alike—shook their heads and snorted to clear the dust from their nostrils.

  In minutes the battle had stopped. Many soldiers were now on hands and knees, sweeping up the flakes, stuffing handfuls of it into their pockets. Others simply stared at the sky in amazement or at the ground uncomprehendingly.

  A warbling trill from one Teva was taken up by another and another and then all, an eerie sound that carried across the field. The hundreds of Teva pulled back and fell silent, gathering at the edge of Ote, where a figure stepped out of a long building.

  Taller than the surrounding Teva, he looked very much like the Lord Commander of Arunkel. At his side stood three Teva.

  He held up a long pole. At the top was a white flag.

  The battle was over.

  Tayre had no idea how, but he was certain the seer had brought all this about. He smiled at this thought and climbed down the tree to get on his horse and leave Otevan before the remaining Arunkel army did.

  He had finally decided what to do with all he now knew about the Houses and their various treasons. While he didn’t need the money or the influence, he was intrigued by the young queen and her consort’s efforts here and wanted to see what they would do next. So he had decided to merely let the Houses know that their work had been seen.

  Sometimes a little light on the board could make for a far more interesting game.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Innel and his company were the first to arrive at the palace. The full army, under Lismar, would follow.

  Lismar was not particularly happy, but Innel was confident she would learn to be, once he made clear to the queen that her counsel had been crucial to his success at Otevan. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. It was necessary.

  He dismounted, one-handed, his right arm still tightly wrapped. He wondered if his shoulder would ever be right again and dimly remembered someone saying it wouldn’t.

  One problem at a time.

  He handed the reins to the stablemaster. First, he decided, the queen. No, first the Teva.

  As twenty and some Teva riders entered the courtyard behind him, the stablemaster’s eyes went wide.

  “Guests of the crown,” Innel told the stablemaster, hoping that the collected stablehands now gaping at the small, striped horses and their dismounting riders would gather their wits and soon be useful. “The shaota are guests as well,” he told them all loudly. “Don’t restrain them. Keep crowds away. Let the horses do what they like, go where they will. Unlimited food and water. Do you all understand me?”

  Mute, awed nods.

  Jolon and Mara stood near him, looking around curiously.

  “We will get you settled,” he said to Jolon. “Then we will meet with the queen.”

  “And renew our treaty, Arunkin.”

  “And renew our treaty, Teva,” Innel said.

  He now understood the written histories of the Teva. Or rather, the lack of written histories of the Teva. Why the Teva treaties ended up renewed. Why the old king had warned him not to make enemies of them. The various insurrections around the empire, who was behind them, and what it would take for the Anandynars to gain Teva support again.

  Yes, some things were best left out of the histories.

  He left the stables, taking the walkway to the palace, trailed by Nalas and twenty Teva. Heads swiveled to follow him, mouths dropped open. Srel dashed and ducked through the tangle of people surrounding him to reach his side. The smaller man’s gaze quickly ran across his visitors.

  “Srel,” he said, happier to see the smaller man than he would have thought possible. “I need—” Where to start? “Rooms for the Teva. Honored guests, so the best. Let me see . . . Cahlen is in chains in one of the approaching wagons and not at all happy about it. Get her to her room. Gently, if you possibly can. You’ll need a lot of men. Guards on her door until I can plead her case with the queen.”

  “Ser—”

  “The seer . . .” Innel slowly climbed the steps to the palace’s kitchen entrance, finding himself out of breath, pausing a moment. “She’s not far behind, escorted by a good many guards, but not to keep her restrained. To protect her.” Though he doubted she needed it. “Give her”—What? He and the seer both knew now that he could no longer hold her. He had decided to stop trying—“whatever she wants. Anything. Food, horses, carriages. The location of her family.” He resumed his march forward into the palace, his entourage surging forward with him.

  “Ser?” Srel sounded surprised.

  From his other side, Nalas spoke up. “I’ll see to Amarta’s family, Lord Commander. Let me check on them and make any necessary arrangements.”

  Innel nodded. “Do so. Also, I want—”

  “Ser,” Srel interrupted. “A number of people are demanding to see you the moment you arrive. The queen is foremost among them.”

  There would be wild speculation at his arrival with the Teva, never mind the shaota, the striped horses straight out of children’s tales. When the seer arrived—when the army and Lismar arrived, for that matter—the rumors would burn through the palace like a fast fire.

  The truth, he realized, would have a hard time slipping in.

  Probably for the best.

  “What do they say, Srel?”

  “That the Teva have joined the empire. Willingly. Unwillingly. That they won a great battle. That you did. That the fortune-teller walked through walls of stone to lead you to victory. That you found a treasure trove at the bottom of the Rift. That you made it rain gold. That you saved the queen’s life all the way from Otevan when she was attacked a week ago. No, no, ser—she’s fine. But you should see her first.”

  Innel took a deep breath. He stank of horse and days on the road. “Let me clean up.”

  “No, ser. You don’t have time. The Houses are lining up to see her. They are most insistent. You should be there.”

  The Houses were wasting no time. Now that he had evidence against a number of them—and that apparently no secret—they would understandably want to see the queen before he did.

  A glance behind told him that in addition to his guard he was being trailed by a crowd of aristos and clerks, all acting very important and necessary. Along the halls, people in all colors—green and cream, red and black, some from the Houses—all flattened against the walls to let them by.

  One flight up. Another pause to recover his breath. Another hallway. Another set of stairs.

  The queen’s seneschal met them. No words from the pinched-faced gray-haired man, only a silent nod of acknowledgment to Innel as he led them to the lesser of the queen’s audience chambers, the very one in which Innel had set down his brother’s body, years ago.

  Innel paused, saw the Teva delegates off with Srel, and went inside alone.

  She sat on the raised dais in a chair of wood and bronze, one hand draped down over the side, her fingertips on the head of one of the dichu dogs. Chula. On her other side, Tashu lay on his belly, ears up, watching Innel.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with a quick bow. “I need to tell you . . .” Where to start? “Otevan. No, the Houses—”

  The queen’s seneschal stepped into the room, shutting the door behind as he spoke.
<
br />   “Forgive me, Your Majesty. House Etallan’s eparch has arrived. You said to send her in. What is your wish?”

  “Send her in,” Cern answered. Then to Innel: “Etallan waits poorly.”

  In came the eparch, her husband the Minister of Chimes, Tok, and another ten of them, all dressed in the charcoal and light orange of Etallan. They held before them a wide-eyed young man, hands tied, lips wide around a thick gag. He was grunting and shaking his head.

  Innel drew his sword left-handed, a reverse grip.

  “You don’t want to do that, Lord Commander,” the eparch said to him with a flat stare.

  “I accuse you and your House of treason,” Innel said. “You are responsible for smuggling gold from Otevan, across the empire and into Perripur. You counterfeited Arunkel coin, and brought it to the treasury as legitimate tax revenue, undermining the queen’s currency.”

  “Innel,” said Cern warningly.

  “Etallan was at the helm of the infusion of forged coin and gold into Arunkel, Your Majesty. I have proof, from marked tools to witnesses. These are traitors.”

  “We deny it,” Tok said, hands raised in a gesture of placation. Or surrender. “A moment’s consideration, Cohort brother: it was my revelations that sent you to Otevan in the first place, from where, I notice, you have returned victorious. As we knew you would.”

  “Innel,” Cern said again, her voice a growl. “Watch yourself.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the eparch, dipping her head to Cern. “We are grateful for your royal wisdom. We deny any wrongdoing. However, we must confess that unbeknownst to us, one of our own, this one, named Eregin, has had dealings—indeed a sort of twisted alliance—with some persons at Otevan.”

  Some persons. Carefully not naming the Teva, now that it was clear Innel had reconciled with them.

  The eparch pushed the man sharply and he stumbled forward. “Your Most Excellent Majesty,” the eparch continued, “and Lord Commander. We present him to the crown for Your Majesty’s justice.”

  “What?” Innel croaked.

  “Alas,” the Eparch said, “that he took upon himself to inveigle with those at Otevan, his actions so terribly ill-considered . . .” Her expression was a show of sorrow and distaste, copied by the rest of Etallan as if practiced. “He stole mining and minting equipment. Others helped him, of course, but they were blameless, taken in by his charm and bribery.” She scowled at the gagged man, who shook his head, wide-eyed.

  “Do you think us such fools as to believe—”

  “Innel,” Cern said sharply. “If they say this is the man, we must accept that.”

  “But he is a scapegoat, Your Majesty. Nothing more. A sacrifice. Let them get away with this, and what next?”

  “What next?” Tok echoed. “Next we stand behind the crown, just as the crown upholds our charter. No one, least of all Etallan, wants the queen’s reputation tarnished by this”—A wave at the bound man— “beast. Thus do we demonstrate our loyalty.” He bowed deeply.

  “We need the Houses,” Cern said softly to Innel, “as they need us.” She did not look pleased, but she met his look evenly. “Put away your blade, Innel.”

  She was right. Through the centuries the Anandynars had ruled only with the support of the Houses. If it came to open conflict, which it never would, the crown would have a hard time standing against Etallan.

  But now it was also clear Etallan would not prevail, either. They had made their play and it had failed. This bound man was their gesture of conciliation, their admission they had lost.

  How to make sure they would not soon forget? His mind raced with possibilities.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, exhaling, letting himself slump as if he were complying reluctantly. His head dropped. Looking down, he gauged distance, set his expression to seem bitter and resolved, shuffling forward a little as he did. In the rounding of his shoulders, his blade tip dropped down and back.

  So many hours and days and years spent in study. The Houses and their histories. Warfare and weapons.

  Swinging at posts wrapped with straw, over and over, to learn to slice the straw but not the wood. Later to cut the post clean off.

  It was a barely possible move at the best of times, what he was considering, even if it were his strong hand. To miss would paint him as rash and ineffectual when his reputation was already poised, ready to topple one way or the other, what with the costly win at Otevan. Even with the Teva’s treaty renewed and the mine’s destruction.

  Flawless. It would have to be flawless, timing and motion exactly right, even though it was his weak hand. If he was not absolutely sure, it was beyond foolish to even try.

  Low to high, left to right.

  The seer’s words suddenly came to him, making perfect sense.

  He took a loose grip toward the pommel of the sword, turned his hips just so, inhaled and in one motion stepped forward, right foot compassing behind and touching down exactly as the blade in front found its target. As the metal sliced through neck and vertebrae the man’s head came off his body, his knees buckled, back arched, and the bloody, open neck sprayed backward across Etallan’s eparch, Minister of Chimes, and Tokerae, spattering their faces and clothes.

  Innel’s sword finished its arc.

  There was no resistance as his blade separated head from body. It was an ideal cut.

  Flawless.

  A stunned silence took the room. As the blood-splashed faces of House Etallan took on expressions of complete shock, Innel drew the flat of his blade between his sleeve and side to clean it, then sheathed it.

  His action was either well-done or he was in a great deal of trouble. He turned to his queen and dropped to one knee to wait and find out which it was.

  The torso of the man named Eregin had fallen to its back, legs splayed. The head had rolled and came to rest at the wall, dribbling blood along the way.

  In the stillness that followed, Innel could hear his own breathing and the snuffling of the dogs, who were sitting up, ears forward, noses twitching.

  Cern stood from her throne of wood and metal. She looked at him a moment, then at the group from House Etallan.

  “Now you have it,” she said with a voice like steel. “My justice, meted out. Take the body of your kinsman and go.”

  The eparch urgently motioned to two of her family. When they hesitated she snapped her fingers at them, expression tight. They took the body by the arms and dragged it out the door. At her further direction, her husband, face gone white, looking profoundly ill, took the head by the hair and followed.

  Innel stood as the family bowed and hurriedly left the room. Tok was last to leave. He paused and looked at Innel.

  “The queen’s colors suit you, Tokerae dele Etallan,” Innel said.

  For a moment Tok seemed confused by this, then he smiled weakly and nodded, wiping his bloody face on his sleeve.

  When the door closed and they were gone, all that remained was a splattering of blood on the floor and the trail where the head had rolled.

  Cern took a long, deep inhale and slowly let it out. She looked at him. “That was”—she seemed momentarily at a loss for words—“daring of you. You took quite a chance.”

  “Are you pleased with me, Your Grace?”

  Her expression answered him, the small, growing smile on her face. Before she could speak, the door opened again.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but House Helata’s eparch has arrived. What is your wish?”

  “Send him in,” Cern said, giving Innel a measuring, sidelong look. “It seems to be a good day to speak with the Houses.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Someone’s here!”

  Pas jumped up from where he had been sitting and began to run the length of the long, shadowy room, from bed to door and back again. If nothing else, the room gave him a stretch in which to run, which he seemed to need rather often. Dirina wondered if she would ever become accustomed to these outbursts of motion. Amarta, she was sure, h
ad never been this mercilessly full of energy.

  He paused at the door, ear to the wood, listening. For a moment she held her breath. Then he dashed to the bed again and back.

  It was a comfortable bed, she had to admit. A very comfortable captivity in which they were kept.

  Still it would be awfully nice if someone would tell them something. About Amarta. About anything. The last person who had spoken with her at length had assured her that they would be taken good care of, and that he would be back soon, to say more. He had not yet returned.

  A bright sun shone outside, hinted at by splashes of light high on the other wall. For reasons that made no sense to her, their captors had made sure that they could not see out.

  Did they think she would break the thick glass and drop a full story to the grounds below? Or was it to prevent them from longing more keenly for freedom than they already did?

  Regardless, unlike light, sound carried perfectly well from outside. Between the estate dogs barking, and voices below in the courtyard, they knew there had been an arrival. Usually it was a delivery of supplies for the house. But it could be a visitor.

  Dirina climbed up on the chair and then atop the heavy wooden table they had weeks ago moved up against the boarded-up windows, stepping between the plates on which were the remains of their most recent and, she had to admit, delicious meal. She looked through a crack between the boards and down into the courtyard.

  “Mama,” Pas said from below. “Is it him? Is it her?”

  “I can’t tell.” She sighed, climbing back down.

  Her. Amarta, he meant. The reason they had been yanked out of their beautiful, warm Perripin home, abducted by a mage who didn’t seem to care about Dirina’s warning that Maris would come after him, who had forced them to a hard ride through what must have been the entire length of the empire. He would answer no questions, the annoying Perripin mage, regardless of how she asked or addressed him. But it took no special insight to know her sister was the cause.