“Hail, Roat, god of justice,” Hal began again. “Look upon me with favor, great god Roat. Know that I have acted to further your ways among men. Know that I have tried to bring your wisdom to my actions.”
Words. Empty, formulaic words.
Was it justice for a man to be cut down, when he had merely acted in service to his king? Was it justice to forfeit a single life for the three score and ten who had been murdered by those impossible glass eggs? What about the twisted genius who had conceived of the eggs? What about the king who had commanded him? Where was Hal to find justice on a cold winter night, as his troops besieged a strange northern city?
And even that siege wasn’t certain to bring justice, in the end. Hal’s army was encamped outside the gates of Sin Hazar’s capital, spread out on the plain, just beyond reach of an expertly shot arrow. They had effectively cut off the merchants’ road into the city; they had severed Sin Hazar’s landward supply routes.
There was nothing Hal could do, though, about the sea. He had only a handful of ships at his command. They had taken up their positions in Sin Hazar’s harbor, but there were too few to cut off the Amanthians completely. Sin Hazar would be able to sneak in fish and supplies, run any number of craft around Hal’s blockade.
Realizing that his attention had wandered from his prayers once again, Hal stifled an oath. As if in reply to his scarce-swallowed curse, he heard cloth shift behind him. Farsobalinti must have entered, ready to help him prepare for bed. Fine. Enough of this kneeling, of this self-abasement. If the gods wanted to send Hal wisdom, they could find him in his dreams.
“Ach,” he spoke aloud, and settled one hand on the altar as he clambered to his feet. “Farso, it’s colder tonight than it was last night. Why didn’t we march south when we had the chance?”
“Aye, Your Majesty. If you had marched south, things might have been so much simpler.”
Hal whirled at the voice, the deep voice, so much deeper than Farso’s boyish tenor. “Tasuntimanu.”
The councillor bowed slightly, his broad face impassive. “Sire.”
“Where is Farsobalinti? What did you do to my squire?”
“Nothing, Your Majesty. I told him to take a walk, to go warm his hands over one of the campfires. I told him I would serve you this evening. I’ve come to speak with you privately, Sire. As one man to another.”
Hal started to call for his guards, but he stopped himself. If Tasuntimanu had meant to murder him, the earl could have cut Hal down while he knelt at prayer. There must be something else the councillor wanted to achieve. Hal took the precaution of moving behind the altar, placing the wooden stand between them. He wished that he had his sword at his side, but he had left the weapon across the tent, tossed carelessly onto his low cot when he had decided to pray. Hal forced a shrug into his words and asked, “What do you want, Tasuntimanu?”
“I’ve been trying to speak with you for nearly a fortnight, Your Highness.”
“I’ve been busy commanding a war.”
“Not too busy to meet with Lamantarino.”
“May he walk the Heavenly Fields,” Hal said piously, making a religious sign across his chest.
Tasuntimanu followed suit, but he spoke before his hand had dropped to his side. “Not too busy to meet with Lamantarino, or your other councillors.”
Hal sighed. “I did not mean to avoid you, Tasuntimanu.” He hoped that the honest fatigue in his voice would be enough to mask the lie.
“If I only wished to speak to you for myself, Your Majesty, that would be one thing. But I come on behalf of others. Others who cannot abide your silence.”
“Others?”
“Aye.” Tasuntimanu stepped up to the altar, settled his broad hands across the wood surface. Hal drew his own fingers back, reluctant to allow the nobleman so near his flesh. “I speak for the Fellowship, Your Majesty. I come to you in their name.” Tasuntimanu studied Hal’s face and apparently did not find the recognition he sought. “The Fellowship of Jair,” he prompted.
“I understood you, man.”
“You made promises back in the city, Your Majesty. You told Glair that you would seek my counsel before you took action.”
“I was not given the opportunity to consult you, Tasuntimanu. When I learned that Lady Rani had been executed, I needed to act immediately. I needed to bring my armies north, to avenge the lady. To preserve the honor of my kingdom.”
Tasuntimanu leaned forward and grasped Hal’s wrists. The king jerked back by reflex, fighting to free his hands, but the nobleman only tightened his grip. His spatulate fingers dug into Hal’s flesh, pulled the king forward until their faces were only inches apart. “Did you, Your Majesty? Did you need to ride north?”
“I am a king,” Hal lashed out, “anointed before the Thousand Gods! Remove your hands, or I will call my guards.”
“You were a member of the Fellowship before you were king,” Tasuntimanu replied, but he loosened his grip. “We remember the oaths you swore, even if you have forgotten them.”
“I forget nothing, my lord.” Hal flexed his arms and let his cloak fall more naturally about his shoulders. “Nothing.”
Tasuntimanu studied him for a moment, shaking his head with grim disapproval. “This did not need to be so difficult, Your Majesty. If only you had permitted me to speak with you earlier, before we traveled this far north. Before you set siege to Amanthia.” The nobleman stepped back, letting his weight fall on his heels. “The Fellowship of Jair commands all its members not to interfere with its business in Amanthia. You must order your men to break camp at dawn. Break the siege and return to Morenia.”
Hal started to laugh with incredulity. “Break –” he began, but trailed off as he realized that Tasuntimanu was not smiling. “You’re actually serious! You think that I can just ride south for the winter and ignore the fact that my brother is a traitor behind the walls of that city. You think that I can just forget that they executed Rani Trader! Rani, and presumably another member of the so-called Fellowship, Mair.”
“You’re the king of Morenia. You can do whatever you want.”
Hal spluttered in disbelief. “Do you realize what my men would do? How long would I last on the throne of Morenia, Tasuntimanu? I’d be cast down before we got back to the city.”
“You exaggerate, Your Majesty.”
“Not by much.”
“It may be difficult, Your Majesty, but you must accept my word that it is necessary. We could have avoided this unpleasantness if you had listened to me in Morenia. If you had permitted my counsel before.”
“There was no way to avoid this!” Hal hissed. “Bashanorandi would have turned traitor whether I sought your counsel or not! Rani Trader and Mair would have been murdered by that Amanthian monster if I prostrated myself before Glair or not! Your Fellowship could not change what has happened here!”
“My Fellowship, Your Majesty?” Tasuntimanu let his own voice spark. “It is our Fellowship, Sire! Our Fellowship. And it is our plans that you will destroy if you persist in this siege. Years of hard work, a treasury emptied of gold, all for naught! All so that you can get your vengeance for a treacherous bastard, a Touched wench, and a dead and buried merchant brat!”
Not buried, Hal wanted to argue. Not consigned to a frozen northern grave. Surely Sin Hazar must have granted Rani a pyre.
Granted a pyre. Purifying fire. Murder for hire.
Hal managed to focus his attention past the voices, concentrate on the true thrust of Tasuntimanu’s words. “Years of work and countless gold? What has the Fellowship done, Tasuntimanu? What have you orchestrated, and only now deigned to tell your king?”
The councillor glanced at the tent-flaps, as if he had just remembered that the night was passing, that the stars were rising and setting, and dawn would come all too soon. Dawn, or Farsobalinti, or some other petitioner, to take away Halaravilli. A light kindled in Tasuntimanu’s eyes as he replied, “The Fellowship, Your Majesty. It’s larger than you think. We have brethren
in all the kingdoms, east and west, north and south of Morenia.”
“Glair said as much.”
“Aye. But she stopped short of telling you that the Fellowship has a plan, a dream of uniting all the kingdoms under one leader. We await the Royal Pilgrim to gather all the lands under the banner of Jair. The Royal Pilgrim will guide all his people in the ways of the Thousand Gods.”
Hal heard the words, heard the worshipful tone, but he wasn’t impressed. He had surmised at least that much of the plan when Glair first told him of the Fellowship’s shadowy reach. “And how does my treacherous brother fit into your schemes? How can it possibly help the Fellowship to let Bashanorandi live? To let two ladies’ deaths go unavenged?”
“Prince Bashanorandi is a tool, Your Majesty. As were Rani and Mair. As are you and I. We all pale in significance to the Fellowship, to the power of Jair. Blessed be the Pilgrim.”
“Blessed be the Pilgrim,” Hal muttered in annoyance, making the appropriate sign to spur on Tasuntimanu’s confession.
The councillor’s words fell more rapidly as his religious fervor rose. “We may all be tools, but we pale in significance next to Sin Hazar. The Amanthian king is strong, you know. He is fearless, and he rules his kingdom with an iron fist, with plans to advance his holdings far and wide.”
“You need hardly remind me,” Hal said dryly. “I’m aware of my enemy’s strength.” He paused for a moment and felt a tumbler click into place. “Wait! What are you saying? Does the Fellowship intend Sin Hazar to be its Royal Pilgrim?”
“No!” Tasuntimanu’s protest was almost too hasty; he exclaimed like a man awakening from a nightmare. His breath came faster as he protested, “Not Sin Hazar! He would be too strong, and he does not walk the paths of the Thousand Gods.”
“Then why preserve his kingdom? Why forbid me to fight him?”
“The Fellowship has already arranged to do away with Sin Hazar. All our actors are in place. If you call Sin Hazar out to battle, you risk upsetting plans that have been more than a decade in the making.”
“But if I don’t stop him, who will?”
“The Yrathis.”
“What?” The answer was so unexpected that Hal could not believe that he had heard properly. “Tasuntimanu, you listened to our spies’ report this afternoon. Sin Hazar has surrounded himself with mercenaries – there must be seven hundred of them. Even the Fellowship can’t have bought off seven hundred Yrathi mercenaries.”
“Not seven hundred, Your Majesty. We only needed to turn a handful. Fewer than a dozen, all told.” Hal felt the confusion on his face, knew that he must look like a fool. Tasuntimanu leaned forward and enunciated his words as if he spoke to a child, but he packed a lifetime of passion into each word. “We bought the men closest to the throne. The Fellowship has purchased Sin Hazar’s own guard.”
A chill convulsed Hal’s spine, but he could not say what made him more afraid – the notion that the Fellowship had enough funds to corrupt Yrathi mercenaries, or the thought that the Fellowship could penetrate clear through to a king’s – any king’s! – inner circle. “But will that be enough?” he forced himself to ask. “Will Al-Marai be any easier to manipulate, for your purposes?”
“Al-Marai?” Tasuntimanu looked confused.
“Of course. If you eliminate Sin Hazar, then his heir will take the throne. His brother is next in line.”
Tasuntimanu laughed mirthlessly. “How little you know of these northerners, Your Majesty! Al-Marai is a lion, a soldier. He’ll never sit on the Amanthian throne. Sin Hazar’s crown will pass to the male child closest in a swan’s line of descent. If Sin Hazar dies without issue, then Amanthia passes to –”
“Bashanorandi.” Hal traced the answer a heartbeat before Tasuntimanu could complete the diagram. “Felicianda’s son would take the throne.”
“Aye. And Bashanorandi will be a weak king. He’ll be a king the Fellowship can manipulate at will. When we open the door to war with the Liantines in a few years, Amanthia will fall like a child’s toy soldier.”
Hal listened to his councillor, to a man discussing the toppling of kingdoms with the dispassion of an equerry setting forth thoroughbred bloodlines. “So when Bashi dragged Rani up here.…”
“The Fellowship rejoiced. We had thought we would have to tempt Bashanorandi to flee north, maybe even abduct him and drag him here. You see, after two years of doing nothing in your court, Bashanorandi seemed to have accepted his fate. Some of us argued that you must be forced to banish him, regardless of any sentimental notions you harbored in your father’s memory. But First Pilgrim Jair blessed us, in his infinite wisdom. Bashanorandi made his move, just as we cemented our bonds with the Yrathis. We’ve hardly needed to pay a month’s extra wages to keep the mercenaries in our employ.”
A mechanical part of Hal’s mind noted the gloating tone in Tasuntimanu’s voice. A fine bargain the Fellowship had struck, and economical besides! How admirable for the Fellowship. “But Bashi did not come up here alone. He abducted Rani and Mair.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tasuntimanu sounded perplexed.
“And Rani Trader and Mair belonged to your Fellowship!”
“They were sworn to our ways, yes.”
“But did they ever know the sacrifice they made? Did they ever know your plans for the Amanthian throne?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty. We weren’t ready to share the dream of the Royal Pilgrim with all our members. It would have become common knowledge in a fortnight.”
Hal heard the explanation – clear, simple, beyond debate. Part of him wanted to cry out, to denounce the Fellowship’s folly. They were twisting people’s lives! They were manipulating living, breathing people, people who were sacred to the Thousand Gods!
But another part of Hal was numbed by the beauty of their plan. Conquer Amanthia from within. Set a puppet on the throne. Use the Amanthian caste system against the kingdom. How much the Fellowship saw.… How much they understood!
“And if I challenge Sin Hazar, then all your plans fall apart.”
Tasuntimanu nodded, and a smile broke across his broad face for the first time during this exchange. Hal felt as if he were a slow pupil who had finally grasped a lesson, a sensation that was only heightened by his councillor proclaiming, “Precisely, Your Majesty!”
“If I conquer Amanthia, then it becomes part of Morenia. I take Sin Hazar’s throne. Not Bashanorandi.”
“You see why we cannot let that happen! Not with the outlay from our treasury to purchase the Yrathis. Not with the years we’ve spent measuring the Amanthians. Not with our plans for the Liantines.”
Hal saw more than that. He saw the unspoken threat behind Tasuntimanu’s words. If the Fellowship intended to let Hal stay in power, if they intended to let him rule Morenia for his natural life, then they would be content to let him add Amanthia to his kingdom. They’d be content to let him win the current battle and revel in the spoils.
The Fellowship had other plans for Hal.
The king shook his head in disbelief, wondering how he could have been so foolish, how he could have trusted the shadowy body of plotters. He forced himself to say, “And you expect me to concede, just like that.”
How had he ever believed in the Fellowship? How had he trusted their machinations? Yet, even as he marveled at their manipulative evil, Hal realized that he had long known the Fellowship’s willingness to tinker with monarchies. He’d accepted their assistance blithely enough when his own throne was on the line. He’d welcomed the Fellowship when they had helped to destroy Felicianda’s treacherous plot in Morenia.
Enough. It was time to end this farce. Hal planted his hands on the altar and squared his shoulders as he leaned toward Tasuntimanu. “I’ll never give in to your Fellowship, Tasuntimanu.”
“Your Majesty?”
“You are right. I should have spoken with you more in Morenia. I should have spoken with you often on the long trail north. I should have made it perfectly clear that I will never – neve
r! – permit the Fellowship to dictate how I rule my kingdom.”
“Your Majesty, you must not say such things. It is dangerous to speak in absolutes.”
“Dangerous? Let me explain danger, Tasuntimanu. It is dangerous to threaten me. It is dangerous to foment rebellion. It is dangerous to speak treason to the king of all Morenia!”
Tasuntimanu reacted faster than Hal had thought possible. One moment, the man was standing before him, fat and placid, his pudgy hands easy at his side. The next instant, he had unsheathed his sword and lunged across the altar.
If Hal had not reflexively stumbled backwards, he would have been decapitated by Tasuntimanu’s blow. “Guards!” Hal bellowed, putting all his rage into the cry. “Guards! To me!”
Tasuntimanu gasped like a madman, swinging his sword wildly. “Danger! Danger, you say!” He upset the altar and swiped again at Hal, who darted behind a camp chair. The king fumbled for his knife, desperate to make his way to his bed, to his own sword. He had no breath to waste in calling again for his soldiers. Tasuntimanu bellowed, “You have not known danger, Halaravilli ben-Jair!”
The councillor smashed through the camp chair, tangling his blade in its slotted back. Hal leaped to the side and tripped over a chest, a low casket that supported a map of the Amanthian capital. Hal fumbled for a weapon, for a pointer, anything at all. His fingers closed around a clay oil lamp, jostling the wick and splashing hot oil onto his palm. For just an instant, he recoiled from the searing kiss of the wick, and then he hurled the lamp toward Tasuntimanu. Droplets of oil cascaded through the air, raining down fire on the councillor.
As Tasuntimanu roared in rage and pain, Hal lunged over the chest, scrambling at last toward his cot and his sword. Then, the tent was full of armed men, echoing with the clatter of commands, the clang of sword on sword. “Beware!” Hal exclaimed from the cot, even as one of his soldiers sprawled on top of him, protecting him from the Fellowship’s insane messenger. “He’s mad!”
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