The Dark Citadel

by Michael Wallace

  Alas, the book was a silly, sentimental thing, filled with ornate language and ridiculous romantic sentiment directed toward a woman whose only virtue seemed to be that she had fine lips. Kallia pictured the object of the writer’s affection and laughed at her own imagination. Lips as red as a wild rose, full and sensual, yes, but the poet neglected to mention her bulbous nose, her raspy voice, and her nasty temper.

  Odd that such a book had survived the burning of the Veyrian library in the Tothian Wars, while so many others had not. She dropped the book on the bench and walked over to a fountain that bubbled nearby. Removing her slippers, she stepped into the cool fountain, letting the hem of her robe fall into the water. It was deeper than she’d expected and the water rose almost to her knees. Silver and gold koi brushed against her legs before fleeing for the safety of the lilies that grew from submerged pots further into the fountain.

  Something rustled in the brush just over her shoulder, and Kallia heard a hushed whisper, and at last she noticed that the gardens all around her had become suddenly noisy.

  Saldibar. It could only be the Grand Vizier and his men. Saldibar’s eyes were everywhere in the palace, penetrating every corner to watch her, ever since the assassins had come. He even sent a woman to watch her in the baths.

  When she complained to her father, he would shrug apologetically and tell her that it was the grand vizier’s job to keep the Saffa family safe.

  “Then tell him to watch Omar,” she had protested. “He is the next khalif. Nobody would bother to kill me.” Assassins might even attack Marialla, pretty enough that half a dozen lords in the Western Khalifates sought to marry her to their sons, but not Kallia.

  But Father was sick and growing weaker with every passing fortnight, and refused to consider the logic of her pleas.

  Kallia turned around slowly in her bench and the rustling stopped. “Saldibar,” she said, “I know that’s you. If you’re going to follow me, at least stop skulking in the bushes like the assassins you claim you’re protecting me against.”

  No answer.

  “Saldibar?”

  Kallia grew afraid. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. She had nothing to protect herself with, not even one of those ridiculous little daggers that Marialla insisted on carrying in her robes.

  “Saldibar! Is that you?” her voice sounded shrill in her ears and her heart pounded. How easy it would be for assassins to slip over the wall and into the gardens.

  She waded toward the edge of the fountain. And then the watchers came out of the trees and bushes. Relief flooded through her.

  It wasn’t what she’d feared. Instead of assassins, it was five of the palace girls, those same girls who teased her mercilessly at etiquette training and snubbed her at the palace feasts. They might come to tease, yes, but she was safe.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, breath rushing out. She didn’t like the way the bigger girls fixed her with narrowed eyes, or the guilty look that the three younger girls gave each other. They meant some mischief, of that she was certain.

  “What do you suppose the princess is doing?” a girl named Fashima asked.

  Fashima was taller than the others, the eldest child of the most minor minister in the entire palace. Before Kallia could get out, the girl reached into the fountain and put her hand on Kallia’s arm, digging fingernails into the skin.

  Kallia flinched, fear swimming up from the depths where it had hid just a moment earlier. “It was so hot out here, I thought I’d go wading. And then I saw the fish and—”

  Kallia wanted to get out of the water, but Fashima held her in place and she didn’t want to start struggling. Not yet.

  “So our little princess was too hot, was she?” one of the other girls said. She shook her head. “I’ve been under the impression that she came to the gardens to avoid us, because she is too good for us.”

  So that was it. Kallia had assumed that the girls had hated all of the khalif’s daughters, those girls who would someday rule over the palace, and already ruled during etiquette training. They only picked on her because she made the most convenient target, neither too young nor too old to bully. Or so she’d thought.

  But that wasn’t all of it. They’d misread her. They took her need for solitude as aloofness, assumed that she thought herself better than them. And when they teased her, and she withdrew further, it only proved their assumptions correct.

  “I think we’d better teach her some etiquette, hadn’t we?” Fashima asked the others, who nodded, solemnly.

  “I’m standing right in front of you,” Kallia said. Her temper flared. “You can speak to me directly.”

  She put her foot on the flagstones at the edge of the pool, determined to force her way from the water to stand on even footing with the girl holding her arm. Fashima pushed back and when Kallia’s wet foot met the stone, she slipped backwards, flailing to save her balance. Fashima’s eyes opened wide, as she lost her balance, falling forward into the pool.

  The girl landed on top of Kallia, slamming her head under the water. Her head hit the stones at the bottom of the pool and lights flashed in her head. For a moment she was disoriented, clawing for the air and reaching the bottom of the pool. She came up spitting water with the taste of pond scum thick in her mouth. In her panic, she flailed against Fashima, still lying on top of her.

  “Get out of my way!” Fashima screamed, pushing wet hair away from her eyes.

  The other girls laughed, and this only enraged Fashima more. She grabbed Kallia by the hair so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “You want to swim like a fish? Then you’d better learn how to hold your breath.” She spoke directly to Kallia for the first time.

  “No, Fashima. I—”

  The girl shoved her head under the water. Kallia fought and clawed at Fashima’s hands and arms. At last, the girl pulled her out of the water, and Kallia gasped for air. She tried to pull away, but the bigger girl held her fast.

  “Not bad. Pretty good, in fact,” Fashima said. “But that’s not nearly enough time.”

  “Let me go,” Kallia begged. Her heart pounded in terror. “Please.”

  “Fashima,” one of the other girls said, sounding nervous.

  Kallia’s head went under the water again. This time, she yanked herself free, heedless of the tearing pain at the roots of her hair. But when she scrambled from the pool, two girls pushed her back into the water, and Fashima forced her head under the water again. Kallia struggled harder, but couldn’t pull herself free. Her lungs burned. Spots flickered in the back of her eye sockets.

  A single, cold thought penetrated the haze. She was going to die. Not by assassins, but by jealous girls from the palace. It was absurd, really. The black spots spread.

  And then her head was yanked from the pond. She sobbed for air. The grand vizier pulled her from the pool. Saldibar shoved the girls out of the way as he dragged Kallia out of the water and set her on the warm flagstones surrounding the pool before leaning over her with a concerned look on his face.

  “She started it,” one of the girls said in a shrill voice. “She pulled Fashima into the pool.”

  Saldibar turned to her. “I wonder if you would tell the same story to the torturers guild.”

  The other girls looked terrified, but not Fashima. She stepped from the pond and wiped water from her face. Water ran from her robe into the pool. A smirk played at her lips.

  “You play a dangerous game, my child,” Saldibar said, his voice cold. “One word of this to the khalif and your life is forfeit.”

  “No, you play a dangerous game,” Fashima said. “The khalif is practically a dead man. And his son Omar Saffa will be the next khalif. Perhaps you don’t know yet, but Omar and I are betrothed. By the time the khalif’s body sits atop his tower of silence in the desert, my husband will wield the scepter of Balsalom.”

  Kallia looked to Saldibar in horror. She would leave Balsalom rather than be ruled by this girl.

  Saldibar said, “Ah, so Omar has told yo
u that, has he? He’s told such tales before, I believe, to bed a pretty young girl.” The grand vizier shook his head. “It’s quite sad that the khalif’s son cannot satisfy himself with his harem.”

  Fashima smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. “The choice is yours, old man. You may tell the khalif and risk your life.”

  Saldibar gave a slight smile. When the girl turned to go, Saldibar snapped his fingers in the air. A man appeared suddenly from the path behind, a two handed, straight barbarian sword in hand. He knocked Fashima to the ground, put his boot on her chest and raised his sword overhead. She screamed.

  “Shall I kill her?” the man asked.

  He was a tall man, but young, a barbarian named Whelan who had served as the grand vizier’s bodyguard for the past year. Saldibar had told Kallia that the man fled some kind of trouble in the Free Kingdoms.

  Saldibar turned to Kallia. “Do you wish to kill her, my mistress?”

  “No,” Kallia said, rising quickly to her feet. “Please, don’t hurt her.” She laid a hand on the barbarian’s arm. “Please, Whelan.”

  The man put his sword down, but rage still burned in his eyes. “As you wish.” Fashima climbed to her feet, face pale.

  “Very well,” Saldibar said to Fashima. “Kallia’s mercy has saved your life. Now go, before she changes her mind.”

  Fashima fled, and the other girls followed. Whelan helped her to the stone bench beneath the fig tree.

  “Now, my young mistress,” Saldibar said, turning back to Kallia with stern eyes. He picked up her poetry book and turned it over in his hands before handing it back to her. “Tell me what happened.”

  Kallia told him everything. Saldibar kept his thoughts hidden, but she could see Whelan burning with the indignity. At last he sputtered, “But you are the princess. How could they do this to you?”

  “Because I am afraid of them,” Kallia admitted. “They have tormented me for years. Since my mother was killed and father poisoned.”

  She had considered begging help from her father, or from Saldibar. She had dismissed the idea, thinking it would only make the situation worse. But how much worse could it have got? Not worse than drowning, she mused.

  “Much the same thing happened to your father when he was a child,” Saldibar said, twisting the oiled tip of his beard between thumb and forefinger. “Alas, when he took up the scepter, he meted a swift and savage punishment for his tormenters. I trust you will behave more prudently, my mistress. You are no longer a child and the time shortly comes when you will take your proper place in the palace. You will not fear them again, I promise.”

  He sighed. “What worries me more,” Saldibar continued, “is how this could have happened without my knowledge. I watch you night and day to keep you safe.”

  “I know,” Kallia said, frowning. “Why do you think I spend so much time hiding in the gardens? To be alone for a few minutes, is all. But I thank the brothers that you followed me today.”

  “I didn’t,” Saldibar said. “I only came to find you because your father wishes to speak with you. Come, we must change your clothing. I don’t want you to look like a child today.”

  #

  “My child,” Father said in a quiet voice when she entered his chambers. He no longer slept in the tower rooms, but in the garden rooms that had been her mother’s favorites. He reclined on a rug and pillows at the center of the room. The light spilled in. “Can you spare a few minutes for an old man?”

  “Of course.” She drew closer and had to fight the urge to draw back in shock and horror. The poison continued its slow march, turning his once strong features into a mockery of sagging flesh. His hands trembled and he spilled his wine at meals; Kallia’s sister Marialla giggled that he soiled himself at night. Marialla thought Father funny enough until he helped her to her seat at supper, and then her face showed her disgust. No, Marialla preferred to cover her eyelids with kohl and her body with heavy perfume and fine clothes so she could spend her days in the garden flirting with the sons of the viziers.

  But today was different. Today, Kallia could see death across his face, a darkening in his eyes that muted the familiar spark. He had given up. At long last, he had stopped fighting the poison. He would die soon.

  Saldibar and Whelan followed her into the room, but stayed near the door, the latter with his hand on his sword, which hung over one shoulder, barbarian-style.

  The khalif tried to rise to his feet, but she restrained him gently and kissed him on both cheeks and embraced him. Even sitting down, he wobbled in her arms and she could feel his bones standing sharply beneath his robes. She wanted to weep to see her father reduced to this hollow shell, with the Harvester shadowing his movements, but she couldn’t show such weakness. He needed her strength more than ever. Every day she spoke to his physics and wizards, begging them to do more. By the brothers, she had to give him hope again.

  Kallia joined him across from the rug, pulling a pillow to lean against. A servant brought her wine and a bowl of olives, then retired from the room, leaving the four of them alone.

  He smiled again. “That sour expression doesn’t become your face, my dear.”

  “Don’t you remember? You gave all of your beauty to Marialla.” Her words sounded more careless than she’d intended, and she regretted them immediately.

  Truth was, she was worried, and had been ever since Saldibar told her to dress like a woman after the incident at the fountain. She guessed what was coming, and it brought a nasty taste to her mouth. He meant her to marry, to send her away from Balsalom for political reasons that would help her brother Omar when he gained the scepter.

  If her impudent words bothered him, he did not show it. “Marialla is a vain, foolish—no, all of my children are vain, foolish peacocks. All of them but you, my child. You are the best of them, the best by far.”

  His words shamed her further. How poorly the others treated Father that her own, weak devotion meant so much.

  Father said, “I only have a few more months to live. “Kallia opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a hand to stop her. “Shh, child. I don’t have time to argue. Yes, I’m dying, but there’s one detail that I must settle before I go.”

  Kallia bowed her head. “Of course.”

  “Then you know. Yes, I thought you would. Do you accept this burden?”

  “If necessary, Father, I will do anything for you.”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. It trembled again. “Thank you, sweet child. I know how you feel, that you would rather not take this life upon yourself. But you will wield the scepter with honor and –”

  The scepter? Kallia’s eyes flew open in shock. “What? No, Father, no. Not this. Please, Father.”

  It was the khalif’s turn to look surprised. Doubt played across his forehead. “But I thought you knew.”

  “No, I thought you meant—” She stopped and breathed deeply to pass the trembling fear that overtook her. It was a trick she would master in the years to come. “Father, Omar is the next khalif. Not me.”

  “Omar? Fa!”

  “But I don’t want it. He does.”

  Father was angry, but not at her. “That’s precisely the problem. They all want it. They want the scepter and the banners waving at the head of their procession. They want the power to command a thousand men, to build towers to themselves that will last a thousand years. And if I give it to them, they will destroy Balsalom.” He sighed, then repeated the ancient saying in the old tongue, “They are fat of body but starved of soul.”

  He continued, “Just as I was for so many years. No, don’t argue. I was a fool and another generation of fools will simply complete what I started. That’s why I’m making you the khalifa.”

  “But the laws, the customs say that Omar must be khalif.”

  “The laws and traditions be damned. I will do what is best for Balsalom.” He lifted his hand to stem further argument. “No, child, I have decided.”

  Father rose to his feet and stepped into his
slippers, then left the rooms, walking swiftly and looking invigorated. Kallia sat on the pillows, stunned.

  Saldibar followed the khalif, but Whelan lingered. He took her father’s place on the pillows and ate an olive from her father’s bowl. She was surprised to see him take the khalif’s place so boldly. His tongue was as thick as any other Eriscoban’s, but he was usually very quiet and polite.

  “Kallia, your wisdom surpasses the ancients. May you live forever and may your reign bring peace and prosperity upon Balsalom.”

  “There is no need for niceties between us, Whelan. Speak freely.”

  She expected him to complain of the khalif’s decision. Or maybe even to warn her not to hasten Father’s death, as if that could ever be her intention.

  He smiled. “I thought it best to begin with formalities. Having said that, I’m pleased that Saldibar and your father made this decision. Indeed, you are the only choice they could have made.”

  He looked into her eyes with startling boldness. He was younger than she’d thought, barely more than a boy. It had been his eyes that deceived her. Those eyes had seen much pain, she was sure.

  And there was something else on his face. She’d seen it so many times in Marialla’s admirers that she was sure. This man loved her.

  “Whelan,” she said, coming to a decision. “Will you stay by my side and serve me when I am khalifa?”

  He opened his mouth, but hesitated before speaking. “I would dearly love to, my queen. But the naked thorn waits my visit at the Citadel.”

  She shook her head, confused. “What do you mean, the naked thorn?”

  He paused, as if considering whether to confide in her further. “I have a daughter in the Free Kingdoms and I must return to help care for her.”