Kingshold

by D P Woolliscroft

  “What?” exclaimed Hoskin without realizing he had done so out loud. “I mean, you don’t have the new heir? Then what is the plan, my lord?”

  “I have decided I obviously don’t have all of the answers. A millennium of repeating the same mistakes is enough even for me to realize something is broken. So, what do you all think I should do? How should we choose the next leader of Edland?”

  “A tourney!” blurted Penshead.

  Hoskin rolled his eyes at the knight’s typical answer for any problem. Jyuth gave a little shake of his head.

  “It should go to the closest blood relative of Randolph. I think that is the Duke of Northfield, the old king’s brother.” Beneval’s suggestion was sound, but Hoskin knew the Duke of Northfield. He was seventy, had no heirs, and was unlikely to conceive any after a hunting accident when he was a teen—a boar destined for a sausage casing instead skewered Northfield’s.

  “We should declare martial law,” interrupted Uthridge without waiting for a response. “A leadership vacuum will lead to chaos. Our enemies will look to take advantage of this situation. I can lead the country in the interim, ensure it’s safe, and then transition to a new ruler in a year. However you choose to do it, I don’t mind as long as we have someone who’s fit and proper.”

  “What about you, Lord Jyuth? Why don’t you lead us now?” Aebur’s simpering tone and toadying up to whoever was in charge had begun already. He had been Roland’s favorite. Hoskin was having trouble keeping his breakfast down.

  “I’ve heard about something called elections in the city-states of the Green Desert,” began Lord Hoxteth, “a situation where the people as a group choose the overseer.”

  “Exactly!” Jyuth wheeled on one foot and pointed at the treasurer. “I don’t have faith in my ability to make decisions, and I don’t trust you six. So, we’re going to broaden the decision-making group to all able heads of household.”

  “What!” exclaimed Ridgton, aghast. “Are you saying all will be able to vote? Even the pond scum past the second wall? Preposterous. People won’t stand for it. Those animals don’t understand what this means and what their responsibilities would be.”

  Jyuth walked around the table to stand behind Ridgton’s chair and placed his hands on the shoulders of the sea marshal. Ridgton went as stiff as a board. “Admiral, we’ve known each other a long time. You know I don’t want to see the great unwashed involved in this process any more than you. So, there will be an entrance test. Something objective and easy to administer. Anyone who wishes to take part in the election will deposit one thousand gold crowns with me until after the election results have been counted. Should separate the wheat from the chaff, don’t you think?”

  Ridgton nodded, eager for the wizard’s attention to move on.

  “In exchange, each voter will receive one of my little demons. They will tell these pyxies their vote in the strictest secrecy, and the pyxies will then bring the overall tallied results to me.”

  More murmuring around the table, except for Hoskin, who stayed deathly quiet and kept looking at his hands resting on the table.

  “Gentlemen,” barked Jyuth, “my will on this is final. Four weeks from today, when we have the new moon coinciding with the solstice, there shall be an election for a lord protector of Edland. All men, women, and other races may stand for election, but the one who receives the most pyxies shall be declared the winner. All heads of household within three leagues of the royal palace shall be able to vote if they present themselves personally to me before the election day and deposit a thousand gold crowns into my safekeeping. And that is that. So, get back to whatever you were doing and make this happen.”

  Hoskin rose, and as he pushed his chair under the table, Jyuth called out, “Hoskin, get the message out. Posters and town criers before the end of the day. And, Hoskin? You others listen up, too.” He regarded Hoskin’s peers as they got up from the table. “Until after the election, Hoskin, you’re in charge. I don’t have the patience to do this every day, so you can instead. Don’t fuck it up. I would like there to be something left of the place to hand over to the new guy.”

  Chapter 3

  Snake Belly Visions

  The journey south and east from Kingshold—over the Arz Sea, and then across the northern reaches of Pyrfew, the independent city states of the Green Desert that clung to the edge of the Sea of Night, to eventually arrive at this sweaty, stinky jungle—had taken roughly a week. Neenahwi’s preferred form for a long journey like this was a goose, the wing span and aerodynamic body making the flight smoother and less arduous than if she was to take one of the other forms she used for shorter distances or for hunting.

  In the days when she lived on the plains of Missapik, what seemed a lifetime ago, the arrival of geese heralded the beginning of winter. The large birds weren’t native to the prairies or the hills bordering the lands of her tribe. They came from the east and disappeared to the west, only pausing to rest and take on water. Those would be a frantic few days each season, to see how many birds the tribe could take down with arrow and spear, while remembering to be respectful of the strength in those wings and what it could do to a hunter if they got too close.

  Years later, after the destruction of her clan, the death of her parents and the estrangement of her brother, Neenahwi had noticed many of these large brown geese spent much of the year around Kingshold, her new home.

  As she had mastered the ability to change her form, the goose had been the second one she had sought to master, so she knew she could always fly home at any time. The first being the wolf, to be able to remember the spirit animal of her tribe.

  Nearly twelve years had passed since then, and she had yet to make the long journey back. Who knew what was left of her homeland since Pyrfew had started the steady shipment of slaves and resources from what these easterners called the Wild Continent? But that land still called to her, still drove many of her actions. If she were to trace her steps, even this journey was driven by her need to one day go home and right wrongs.

  Neenahwi sat cross-legged on the damp earth by a campfire she had coerced to life, using magic when the humid air had foiled traditional means. She could tell her destination was close, but she meant to find out more.

  She wore a simple silk robe of purple, wrinkled from being in the pack she had carried as she flew. Transformation only affected her physical body, so clothing was always an issue, and Neenahwi had decided a few years ago that being naked often created problems when dealing with easterners. So, she had crafted a small leather pack to use for travel, wearable over her neck while in the form of a goose, and able to carry a few small essentials. The silk robe being chief among them and the smallest item of clothing she could pack.

  Her hair reached down to the middle of her back. When in Kingshold, she would braid it to keep it out of her face. Here in the jungle, she settled for the old methods and used fresh mud from the bank of a small stream to slick it back and hold it in place. Neenahwi’s skin was olive brown with thin scars slightly visible on her arms and face from a life that had held a certain number of challenges.

  One of the snakes she had caught after landing, constrictors that were far from fully grown, was already dressed and roasting over the fire. The second squirmed in her grasp as she moved one hand closer to its head.

  “Stay still! Bloody snakes!” grunted Neenahwi through clenched teeth. They were always much harder to handle than rabbits or squirrels or raccoons. The squirming (and the fangs on some) was unwelcome, but the results were frequently worth the effort.

  One hand held the snake below the head, pushing it close to the earth, while her other hand gently placed a large rock on it to keep it belly up. A second large rock pinned the tail down, and she pulled out the small steel knife she had brought with her. She had learnt how to read the entrails at the feet of Greytooth, her clan’s old shaman, how to answer questions or see shadows of the future. She had loved her old teacher once, but now his memory was fractured like a
n image on running water, and her skills greatly surpassed what the shaman knew.

  Shaman, witch doctors, hedge wizards. They were all the same. They all had some connection with the unseen energies that powered this world and connected all living things. But they relied on crutches to make their magic. Ceremonies or drugs to set their minds at just the right angle to grab hold of the threads and weave.

  What set real magicians apart was mental discipline, even though she had to admit she didn’t know many (mainly just her new father). Magician, mage, wizard, sorcerer. She had heard all the labels applied to her father. But it all came back to the confidence to grab the world with a metaphysical hand and mold it, and the practice to be able to use the mind like a tool that was readily available and didn’t require a roomful of acolytes singing in harmony to get in the mood.

  She brought forth her concentration, quickly releasing other unrequited thoughts, and then divided her consciousness in her meditating mind. Two Neenahwi’s in one shell, both calm and at peace. One aspect of Neenahwi held the knife over the exposed lighter skin of the snake belly that continued to squirm away from its bound position. The other aspect of Neenahwi saw the energy of the nagual, the little ball of red light hovering around its heart.

  It was an odd fact: certain energy sources were better for certain tasks than others. She didn’t know why, but snakes, calves, and virgins had long been the sacrifices of choice for the uncultured magic worker; their selection, chosen by experiment or even luck, did not dim their suitability.

  She watched detached as her arm struck down and drove the knife into the snake’s body, and as she did so, the red ball of energy leaked out in tendrils from the wound. Greytooth would have used invocations and chanting to channel and spin this energy into the needed Thread, but she knew those words did nothing.

  Her mind was in control, and it seized the living mana, pulling it forcefully from the beast’s body and stretching it into a long, fine filament. One end connected to her forehead, and she cast the other out before her as if she was fishing with a rod. The thread flew through the air and appeared to catch on something in the distance, the end wavering in her sight…

  …the jungle camp disappeared, and a stone door, hidden beneath overgrowth, appeared…

  …now a dark cavern, lit by torches; two humans, naked with tattoos on their arms and faces, feeding a captured jungle cat kept in a bamboo cage…

  …across to the other side of the cavern where two tattooed naked women knelt before another woman, almost blue from ink inscribed in her skin…

  …something hung around her neck…

  …a red stone on a dull iron chain…

  …tainted green meat forced into the mouths of the kneeling women…

  …smoke from censers, stinging the eyes…

  …a wet red mist exploding into the air…

  The vision was brief but useful. Neenahwi knew they had what she wanted, and a few foolish demon cultists should not pose much trouble.

  Nevertheless, she wouldn’t take anything for granted. An approach in stealth at night would be best. And so, she looked forward to having a good long sleep on a full belly of snake.

  Shit, I’m not ready for this. Neenahwi’s mind raced. No one had been on watch when she had entered the caverns through the stone door she had seen in the snake vision. That in itself was not too concerning, so she had crept down the tunnel, walking barefoot and able to feel every contour of the floor. She sidestepped three different alarms: crude but effective bone and string contraptions that would create quite a racket for anyone blundering through them in the dark. Neenahwi did not make a habit of blundering around.

  No one was on guard at the end of the passageway either, which seemed more unusual; someone should be on watch during the night, especially with five of them. She wondered if they were even more amateurish than she had anticipated, which wouldn’t be a bad thing; five cuts of the knife in the dark were better than a fight any day.

  That was when she saw a glistening darkness on the wall opposite, by a tunnel leading from the chamber. As she stared, it became apparent it was blood, and what she had first mistaken for lichen and mold on the rocks was bits of flesh and hair.

  Shit! What did those idiots do?

  Neenahwi’s hand went to the quiver tied to her waist by a thin cord. She pulled out three identical arrows: sleek pointed tips without barbs, a foot of thin steel, flights made of sharp razor blades instead of feathers.

  Stepping slowly forward, she crossed the chamber and into the short tunnel, being careful not to be heard. From the dark, she could see the cavern beyond, a large hexagonal space, apparently carved by some sentient creature, with tunnels at each angle. She counted three bodies around the room and saw a fourth cultist leaning against the wall across from her. He moaned, pawing at his pale face, losing blood from a leg that ended without a foot.

  In the middle of the room, contained within a circle protected by runes, stood a large figure, female from the waist down with the broad chest, long-taloned arms, and the head of a jungle panther. The demon—because that was clearly what the cultists had done, gone and summoned an actual demon, and likely a queen by the size—paced her circle of confinement looking for ways of escape.

  It seemed like the cultists had set the circle warding correctly, a pentagram with a binding rune at each corner, but they must have done it with them on the inside. And once the demon had appeared and attacked, the cultists had been tossed across the cavern. The remains of the one Neenahwi had seen on the wall would have been smashed into it with tremendous force.

  The type of mistake you only make once.

  The blue-furred face of the demon sniffed at the air, eyes turning to where Neenahwi lurked in the shadows. “I see you, mortal. I have no fight with you. Come out into the open and let me free. I will bring you such wealth you never dreamed of.” The voice was deep and proud. The R sounds vividly reminded Neenahwi of her cat at home, the sound it made when she rubbed behind its ear.

  “Demon,” Neenahwi called, “I am not as foolish as those scattered about this cave. I have imprisoned and killed your brethren before, and I have no interest in doing so today. You are bound, and you can stay bound for all I care.”

  Neenahwi stepped out from the tunnel and ambled toward the runed circle. The cat beast turned to face her fully and proceeded to bang her claws against the shimmering shape of force surrounding her. She spat and snarled at the affront of being caged.

  Oh shit.

  Around the cat’s neck was the gem she had traveled such a long distance to obtain, the object of years of research. She was not going to let it stay imprisoned with the demon. So now the question was, would she have to do this the hard way or the really hard way?

  She split her mind once, one aspect staying focused on the demon, the other focused on the cultist at the back of the room who was not yet dead but getting close.

  In humans, some thought the equivalent of the red ball in the snake as the soul, and it might well be, but it was still the same basic magic that could be used by someone skillful enough. And as Jyuth had taught her, all magic had to come from somewhere, and it was better it came from someone else other than you. So, she weaved a thin thread of mana from the cultist to her, and then back to the cultist, creating a delicate lattice across all of his body, the blood flow slowing from the wounded leg as it became encased by the invisible energy.

  “Maybe I have been too hasty, oh queen of lies, countess of codswallop. Tell me what you will give me. Tell me how you think we can make a deal…”

  The rage in the demon subsided, and the feline head tilted to one side as it considered Neenahwi afresh. The look it gave her reminded her of the camp cats from when she was a child—hoping for a treat from the dinner bowl. She needed to stop thinking this thing was like a tabby.

  “Your words are mocking human, but you should know, in your language you would consider me royalty. I have thousands of minions who do my bidding and fight my wars.
I’m not to be fucked around with—”

  “That may be, but you seem to be short of minions right about now,” interrupted Neenahwi, “and I’m pretty sure they don’t know where you are. It won’t take long for one of your ambitious captains to see there’s an empty throne that needs keeping warm.” As she spoke, Neenahwi twirled one of the arrows nimbly in her fingers, the other two clasped in her left hand.

  “What are you going to do with that, girl?” asked the demon. “You have no bow! And these walls that stop me from getting out stop you from getting in. If I were free, you would only have time to loose one before I would be upon you. But, of course, if you were to free me, I would guarantee your health. And I would grant you one wish. You can name any item, any amount of money, and nothing in this world could stop me from bringing it to you. I, Barax, would be your ally against any foe.”

  “How will you bind this oath, Barax? I don’t trust you, and I’m sure you don’t blame me for that. I know what I would have for payment, but I still call you a liar.”

  “I swear with blood,” said the demon. A claw raked deep furrows across her chest, brown ichor seeping out. “With eye”—a yellow nail put out an eye from the panther’s socket, and then pulled a canine from her mouth—“and with fang, and that I will be permanently banished to this annoying mudball for all eternity if I break my word. Your health is safeguarded, and your reward is assured. There, I have spoken binding words; now free me!”

  Neenahwi considered the situation for a moment and gave a shrug. That little show was more than she had expected. Maybe it would turn out fine after all.

  She nodded toward the body her other aspect had been concentrating on, which, even though she had stanched the bleeding, was rapidly nearing death. The cultist lurched upright as if a marionette, a small whimper coming from him, but his eyes not opening. The unconscious cultist stumbled over to the side of the circle imprisoning the demon, and then began rubbing out the runes with his one remaining foot. He balanced on the other stump of a leg, the shuffling action looking like a drunkard trying to dance at a wedding.