The Heron Kings

by Eric Lewis

  Only after the poor fellow was gone did his questioner lean forward over the table and its single flickering candle, revealing a face that might have been beautiful once. Still would be but for a long stretch of scar tissue that dominated the left side from brow to chin, legacy of the passionate kiss of a flame far greater than a candle.

  Vinian wove her finger in and out of the flame, slowly enough that the attendant standing wordless at the door might’ve noticed the distinct stench of overdone pork in the air. Pain is nothing. Control is everything. I. Am in. Control. She smiled and pinched the candle out.

  “Put a tail on that last one,” Vinian said. “That’s all for now. I have another appointment.” The attendant just nodded.

  Vinian left the interview cell and ascended a winding stair. The palace at Carsolan had many passages, some secret, others merely private. At ground level this one opened onto a little-known, seldom-used seaside dock built into the stone foundation. Vinian peered out into the harbor and in the predawn gloom spotted a tiny point of light making its way toward the dock. Right on time, she thought. She didn’t stay to meet it but continued to the top of the stair, a short hallway and finally a door that opened onto a small audience chamber. “He’s coming now.”

  Engwara – Queen to vassals, but to enemies Countess, or something worse – turned from the open window that looked down on the port city of Carsolan. The god’s-eye view somehow made the city less impressive rather than more, laid out in all its diseased glory. At least one couldn’t smell the shit and fish from here. A city fought hard for, like the rest of her kingdom. How much longer would the fight go on? That was one thing this meeting was supposed to answer, but Vinian could tell she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Yes, I thought I felt my stomach turn a bit. Best get this over with. I assume you’ve made your customary perch comfortable? Go on, then.”

  Vinian nodded with a mischievous smile. “I attend, Majesty.” She brushed aside an old tapestry to reveal a place carved out of the wall from which she could see and hear all that transpired, and Engwara turned back to her window.

  Engwara was a striking woman; none could deny it. Not beautiful, this one – years of the nobility breeding just a bit too close together made sure of that. The nose a bit too long, the jaw more than a bit too square. But still striking, the way an axe might strike a head off or flint might strike fire from steel. No enemy would ever be lulled into a false sense of security in her presence. Or a genuine one.

  That was certainly true of the fat banker from the Marimines Islands who now waddled through the door. Though fat, the man also reminded Vinian of a hungry wolf. He had thick lips, a broad beard, and a shaved or bald head and wore furs dyed to colors that you could make out even in the murk. Rich and foreign, Vinian thought, always the most troublesome combination.

  “Not even bothering to knock now, are you?” Engwara asked with irritation.

  The man wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his brow. “I did not,” he said between breaths, “see much point, Your Majesty. I am expected after all. And you’ve dismissed all your guards – not even a footman do I see to disapprove my manners. Your Majesty flatters me with such trust.” As he spoke he took in his surroundings and shivered. Snakes coiled and slithered over every boundary: the window, the corners, the doorway. Carved from rock they might be, but so expertly done Vinian couldn’t but imagine the banker took the choice of venue as some kind of message.

  “Hardly,” replied Engwara. “I owe you so much money I’m probably safer with you than with my own generals. I’m worth much more alive. Prying eyes, spying eyes – those I can’t afford.”

  “Of course, of course. Let no one say Carthagne Fadhlan ven Xedrusia does not appreciate the need for discretion, eh?” He produced a false, humorless laugh.

  “Do all Marimines have so many names?”

  “In my line of work,” he shrugged, “I find one needs many.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Honestly I’ve no idea, I just thought it sounded appropriately cryptic.” He pulled the furs even tighter around him. “How goes the war?” he asked as if he did not already know. As if he did not know the precise reason he was there. But the niceties must be observed nevertheless, Vinian thought.

  “It goes,” the queen replied. “It goes, and it goes and it goes on like some damnable saga song where only the bit players change.”

  “Ah,” said Carthagne, “like this new man of Pharamund’s. This Toricus?”

  “Taurix,” Engwara corrected, “and damn you for making me speak the name. He’s a Chthonus loosed from the seventeenth hell, destroying everything in his path with no thought of what’s to come after. I’ve tried to answer him blow for blow, but….”

  “But a pale imitation of a demon is no match for the real thing.” Carthagne shuffled over to an armchair in the corner of the chamber and wedged himself into it. “I know very little about warring, but in the Isles we have a saying. Actually we have many, but one of them is if you can’t beat them, buy them.”

  Engwara snorted. “A man like that isn’t seduced by gold. Or land beyond what he’s already got.”

  “Ah, but there are many kinds of coin. You’ve only to find the right one. And speaking of coin….”

  “Yes,” the queen sighed, “I will require another loan.”

  “Another?” He said it with such flatness that not even the raising of his bushy eyebrows could produce the illusion of surprise. The niceties needn’t be convincing, after all. “My employers have already advanced Your Majesty a heavy sum to finance—”

  “All spent, every copper. And I’m leveraged far beyond already. I don’t understand it – we beat him back time and time again yet somehow Pharamund’s band of brigands manages to hang on! Some days I wonder if he hasn’t made some bloody bargain with the Bhasan emperor—”

  “Artabarzanes?” Carthagne interjected with what seemed to be genuine shock. “Surely that python hasn’t taken Pharamund’s side!”

  “I don’t know. I would think he’d consider it beneath him to take any side. But if we can’t come to some new arrangement there’s little chance your employers will collect on their investment, unless you have offices in the seventeen hells.”

  “Not yet, but rest assured we’re working on it. In any event, I’m afraid the bank’s faith in the inevitability of your cause is somewhat, er, lessened since we last met. There’s even been talk of cutting losses now rather than—”

  Engwara charged across the room, loomed over the banker with painted nails digging into the chair’s upholstery. “Don’t you dare tell me that, don’t you even pretend it, you grotesque pig! At a word I can have you gutted—”

  “Your Majesty, I can assure you that I am but a small part in a great machine, eminently replaceable. Nothing you do to me will alter my superiors’ position.” He paused a moment as the queen simmered above him. “However, your dedication to your cause is evident. It may be possible I can arrange the same amount as previously, but the terms would have to be more…favorable to the institution.”

  “More. How much more?”

  “Fifteen percent annually.”

  “What? That’s outrageous!”

  “So is taking two years and more to beat down a band of brigands. The best you’ve managed is a stalemate. This does not inspire confidence back west, especially now that you’ve begun killing off your productive classes and burning the farmland. Understand me, Your Majesty. The bank doesn’t give half a shit who wins your backward little war or runs your big backwater country. We’re in business to make money. A great deal of money over a very long period of time, and writing off your loan will sting us far less than it will you. So agree to our terms or not, it’s all much the same to me.” Carthagne sweated. He was indeed a trivial part in the machine, and no one would shed a tear if his miscalculating tongue got him drawn, quartered and
dumped in the harbor with the sewage.

  Engwara’s lower lip trembled. Finally she stood upright, backed away from the banker. “Fifteen percent is out of the question,” she hissed, every word dripping acid.

  Carthagne cleared his throat. “The, ah, exact rate might be open to some negotiation. I believe I could persuade the appropriate people to come down to, say, twelve percent.”

  “I can’t do more than ten.”

  “I said some. Don’t get greedy on me now. These people don’t hold my negotiating skills in as high regard as Your Majesty.” He looked the queen square in the eye. “Twelve.”

  She glowered over him, perhaps considering evisceration after all. But…. “Done.”

  Carthagne exhaled, worked his way out of the chair, leaving large sweat stains behind. “I’m so glad we could come to an understanding, Queen. Please forgive my intemperate words – I take my job very seriously. I’ll return soon with the necessary papers. Until then, by your leave…?”

  Engwara nodded sharply.

  Carthagne Fadhlan ven Xedrusia of Bank Isle-Euderico bowed as low as his shape would allow and turned to depart. Before he crossed the threshold Engwara called out, “One thing, banker. A bit in a machine you may be, and I queen of half a backwater country, but if you ever speak to me like that again I’ll have you ripped open and use your blubber to light my lamps. Are we clear?”

  Carthagne smiled one last time, nodded. “Crystal clear, Majesty.”

  When he was safely gone, Vinian emerged from her hiding place. “Could’ve spared that last bit. Threats after the fact are a sign of weakness.”

  “Yech, what happened to your finger?”

  “Nothing,” replied Vinian. “It was exactly as I expected. Well, almost. Fifteen percent! I almost have to admire the gall.”

  Engwara slumped on her couch. It was less comfortable than the armchair, but the banker’s stink would have to be scrubbed away first. “He’s a greedy pig. He did make one point – we’ve got to deal with Taurix. Ludolphus is no match for him, nor the jumped-up fops leading the rest of my army.”

  Vinian shrugged. “You could take the field yourself. The scandal alone would be inspiring.”

  “Don’t tempt me. No, we must find a way to neutralize him. It was a mistake to attack Ólo, it forced his hand. He wasn’t committed to Pharamund until then.”

  “I suppose that’s probably true. War strategy’s not exactly my department, Majesty.”

  “Wrong,” Engwara said sharply. “As my spymistress, everything under moon and sun is your department.”

  The reprimand stung Vinian harder than the candle had. Her cheeks flushed in the morning light, making her scarred side a streak of red lightning. “Well, here’s a thing under moon and sun, Majesty – your childbearing days are approaching their end, and if we don’t finish this war soon you’ll have a dynasty of one even if we should prevail.”

  The queen gave Vinian a venomous look. “That’s unworthy, even for you. What I need is help winning the here and now.”

  The spymistress thought for a moment. “Actually, now that you mention it….”

  “What?”

  “I just concluded a very interesting interview that might take care of our problem.”

  “Ooh, intrigue. Can’t wait to hear the details.” A rumbling din floated up from the walls of the city. Both women looked down to see the fortified gate begin the long process of opening. “But it seems I must,” said Engwara. “There’s Ludolphus now. Managed to elude Taurix for one more day, I see.”

  “Stay. I’ll go down and meet him,” said Vinian.

  The queen smiled. “You and he have spent some time together, I’ve noticed. Is there something between you?”

  “Ha! The general’s a bit old for me. No, we’re natural allies – both baseborn.”

  “Sounds like a peasant uprising brewing. I’d best be careful.”

  Vinian made a perfunctory bow. “With your leave, Majesty.”

  “Mhmm.” Engwara waved Vinian away, staring listlessly at her armchair.

  By the time Vinian made her way down and out of the palace, the sun had risen and Ludolphus’s column was marching through the gates. On each side of the paved boulevard a few of what passed for prominent citizens of Carsolan – guildsmen, publicans, the more expensive prostitutes – stood waving and cheering the arrival, perhaps in some vain hope of attracting attention and favor. Most commoners just stared without emotion and only grudgingly moved out of the way. They would never have dared even last autumn, Vinian thought with a frown. When the commons no longer fear death, we’re in trouble. And such attitudes in a city that hadn’t yet even come under siege….

  Vinian waded against the flow of citizens, dodging baskets of fish and fleetfooted children. The ranks of armored men and horses, like a troop of iron centaurs, turned to examine her. Vinian found a forest of cautious pikes leveled at her face. Please, you’d only improve it with those, she thought while brushing aside the nearest tines and stepping forward. “Hail, general!” she called out to the lead centaur with the green horsehair crest atop his high helm. “Her Majesty sends greetings and welcome. What news of great victories?” Her words were pitched so that only the two of them perceived the tinge of sarcasm that rode along with them.

  The gray-stubbled man hefted the helm from his mailed shoulders, not bothering to unstrap it, so gaunt was his flesh. “News? Aye, spymistress,” he said with a tired grin, “we’re here and not bleeding out in some godsforsaken ditch somewhere. I’ll take that victory any day.”

  “You made good time,” said Vinian while she jogged alongside the general’s charger.

  “We had good motivation. King Milksop’s new marshal seems to hold some personal grudge against me for not having lost the war yet. Chased my ass up the Sellinacs and down the Talphus, and woulda got us but for a forced night march. These old bones’ll sleep for a week.”

  Vinian nodded. “Don’t get too comfy, I may have a new task for you. Come see me after you’ve rested.”

  “Oh, no, I’ve heard about your ‘interviews’. Don’t think I care to put myself through that.”

  It was just a joke, but Vinian winced all the same. Someone blabbed. I’ve gotten sloppy. “No, nothing like that,” she said with a forced smile. “I think you’ll like this one. Might take care of Taurix for us once and for all.”

  “Now that I can get behind.” Ludolphus yawned. “But later. After I make my report to the queen I intend to get behind a pretty young wench, under a blanket and over a bottle, in no particular order.”

  * * *

  To travel from the south of Argovan to the north at the peninsula’s midpoint was a journey of about two weeks by horse. Another route, cheaper but twice as lengthy, was to sail the Lacaryc Sea westward hugging the coast, swing north around the swamplands known lovingly as The Bastard, then back east into the Bay of Pelona. One ship among many laid anchor in the port town of Everwest, where the scars of back and forth conquest couldn’t keep business from thriving beneath the fox-head banners of Pharamund. New splashes of plaster made from Pelonan gypsum already covered the city’s terraced buildings painted with brilliant red or blue rooftops, so desperate were its inhabitants for the illusion of peace.

  Long after dark, six men disembarked from the ship and went directly to a particular tavern on a particular street. The next day the headless body of a well-known mercenary captain was found floating in the harbor, half eaten by fish and gulls and identified only by its flamboyant clothing. The day after that a deal was struck with the mercenary company itself as they drew near to the city. It was not a hard sell, for it involved promotions all around. The day after that the company marched to the gates of Everwest and laid down halberds, shields, bows, swords and axes all on cue. The castellan opened the gates and in they marched through the town to the seaside fortress. The gates closed, and while their n
ew captain shook hands with the castellan the company pulled concealed knives and with shocking ease massacred most of the garrison. Those who managed to surrender were put to work maintaining the notion that nothing had changed. The red banners yet waved when more ships dropped anchor and supplies and troops spilled out, along with a hefty bonus in gold for the doubly turncoat mercenaries. At a stroke, Engwara’s forces had retaken Everwest and were within spitting distance of targets like Ólo, Vin Gannoni and Phenidra, and no one had any idea.

  Chapter Eight

  Regards

  The destruction was complete; not a shack stood erect. The village green was now only green in the very middle, with the rest a hundred shades of gray and brown. The eerie silence was made more so by the honks of geese flying north for the winter, gray ghosts against a gray sky. Alessia walked among the ruins with a dropped jaw and Ulnoth next to her, dead-eyed. A new binding covered his hand but rust-red stains already soaked through.

  And there were bodies. Of course there were, but she’d seen plenty of those before. Most looked to be the fleeing queen’s men, stripped of anything of value. Most, but not all.

  “It’s—” Alessia started to say, but couldn’t find words. “It’s—”

  “It’s what they do,” Ulnoth said. “They get everyone in the end. Just like the man said.”

  She didn’t know what he meant by that and didn’t ask. She’d tended his wound with what supplies she had, then spent the night cowering against a tree with few words passing between them. Now in open daylight she knew him for younger than first she’d thought – his eyes had aged him. “What happened to you, was it like this?”

  Ulnoth nodded. “Queen’s men. My farm, and others. My w-wife, daughter…burned. And worse.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “And I,” he continued, “weren’t even there. I was in town. Screwing my girlfriend…drinking…feeling sorry for myself.” He dropped to one knee to hide his welling tears. Alessia put a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. “It was my fault.”