by Kel Kade
The woman laughed again, perhaps not taking him seriously, since he stood at least five paces from any people or furniture. Then again, she was the Great Mother of the Adana’Ro, so she may have found joy in the belief.
She said, “Then, I am glad we had the foresight to ensure your cooperation.”
The great mother raised a hand, and Xa appeared on one of the balconies to Rezkin's left. He was surrounded by two women in red scarves and one in blue, all with their swords drawn. Rezkin knew what would come next. The jeng’ri would not be parted from his charge. On a balcony to his right was Frisha. A single black-clad warrior stood behind her. Her face was pale, but her gaze remained strong. Rezkin looked back to the great mother, careful to school his expression to one of indifference.
“You should not blame him,” she said. “The jeng’ri is good, but he is not better than a dozen Adana’Ro. He killed four of ours before we incapacitated him. He serves you well. I do believe he would have died to protect your woman.”
“You needlessly sacrificed four of your people. I did not come here to kill you.”
She said, “We will never know. After your show at the Black Hall, we had to be sure.”
“I told you why I came. You have not yet said what it is you want.”
“You have been avoiding us,” she said.
“On the contrary, I have engaged your people every time they chose to interact. They lost.”
“So I have heard,” she replied. “I still find that difficult to believe. It is more likely you used some trick to enchant them. What is your talent?”
“I am not a mage,” he said.
“You lie,” she snapped.
He shook his head. “You bear the talent. Do you feel any of the power in me?”
With determination, the woman stood and stepped down from the dais. Unlike her warriors, she wore a long, airy, diaphanous robe that danced on a non-existent wind. She circled him several times, her spiral tightening until she came to a stop so close her breasts nearly grazed his chest. She looked up to search his icy gaze. Her callused fingers caressed the bare skin of his arm and then trailed across his shoulder to rest on his chest.
“No, I feel no power from you. It is impossible. You could not have scaled the cliff without it. And … you are warm. You should be wet and frozen.”
Rezkin grasped her hand and held it tightly as he generated a small potential ward. He allowed the tiny ward to dance along her skin, spreading in a prickly wisp up her forearm. Her green-gold eyes widened as she tried to pull back her hand. She was strong, but he was stronger, and he did not release her.
He said, “I am not a mage.” The great mother’s wind and tendrils of power lashed at him, but he held firm as he leaned in and said, “I am something more.”
His potential ward silently crackled and snapped, releasing energy along the fringes of its form. The woman yelped as it burned into her skin. The smell of scorched flesh reached his nostrils as she squirmed and yanked her arm, but she did not call for assistance from her people. When the marks blackened and began to bubble at the edges, he finally released her. It was the first time he had used a potential ward in such a way, and he was surprised that it had worked as he had intended.
The great mother beckoned a young man who rounded the statue, presumably from a hidden corridor. He hurried to her side, and Rezkin felt the trill of power as the healer prodded at the wound. The blisters healed quickly, but the blackened lines remained.
“What have you done to me?” she hissed.
“A reminder of your duty,” Rezkin said. He pointed to the archaic script on the ceiling above the throne, an exact match to the scorch marks on her flesh. “Do you know what those symbols mean?”
She glanced up and then looked at him. With confidence, she said, “It is Jahartan for Riel’sheng dak ro, meaning grantor of death to save the innocent.”
He hummed under his breath. “Actually, it is Adianaik, and it means in service to the Gods. It was universally understood, at the time, that the will of the gods was to protect the innocent. The inscription is a reminder to all that it was the responsibility of the knights who served their respective gods to eliminate those who threatened them.”
“It is the same thing, then.”
“An interpretation rarely holds the full meaning of the intent,” Rezkin said. “Either way, it is something you have forgotten.”
He nodded to where Frisha stood on the balcony at the mercy of her captors. The great mother scoffed and returned to her seat in a huff.
“I have difficulty believing she is ro, considering that she is betrothed to the Raven and protected by the jeng’ri. Regardless, I have no intention of harming the girl.”
“So long as I cooperate,” said Rezkin.
“Your cooperation was guaranteed. We can tell you where to find what you want in exchange for a price. Her presence was merely an assurance that you would not attempt to kill us before we made a deal.” Her lips turned upward into a playful smile. “And we were curious. What kind of woman does the supposed Riel’gesh desire?”
Rezkin sighed in boredom. “I never said I desired her. She was a means to an end—one that is no longer relevant. The betrothal was called off before you took her.”
The woman’s smile fell, and she glanced at Frisha, who was looking at Rezkin in shock.
“Is that so?” the great mother said. She drew her fingers along the glyphs burned into her arm. “You seem very protective of one who means so little.”
He tilted his head. “I was not protecting her. I was protecting you.”
“How so?”
“You are sworn to the code of the Adana’Ro, who follow the path of the Riel’sheng. I take oaths quite seriously. If you break your oath, I will kill you. Shall we move on to negotiations?”
“Very well, but there is nothing to negotiate. We want one thing. If you want the sword, you will bring her to us.”
“Her?”
“Oledia.”
“You wish for me to kidnap Queen Erisial’s daughter?”
The great mother waved her hand, and a black-clad small-woman bearing a tray laden with a pitcher and two goblets came to her side. “Oledia will come willingly. She has written to us several times requesting entrance to the sect. She wishes to learn the skills and develop the strength necessary to claim her mother’s throne, presumably upon Erisial’s death, although I would not put it past her to make the attempt sooner.”
“So, I am to help her escape her mother’s grasp?”
The woman shook her head as she poured liquid into two goblets and took one of them. “No, of course not. That would be too simple, and you know we are perfectly capable. You must bring Oledia to us with her mother’s blessing.”
“Erisial would never grant her daughter to the Adana’Ro.”
“No, she would not, which is why you must convince her. It is the only way she will be permitted to join us and still return to Kielen to claim the throne.”
Rezkin said, “The Riel’sheng do not seek crowns. You are meant to serve, not dominate.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “You are said to be the Riel’gesh, yet you have laid claim to two thrones.” The small-woman with the tray stopped at his side, and the great mother nodded for him to take the goblet. She said, “We do not seek the crown of Lon Lerésh, only to gain influence with its next bearer. Oledia will be released from her duty to us if she is successful.”
The great mother raised her goblet and stared at him expectantly. He peered into the metal cup. The golden-pink liquid was slightly syrupy and smelled of nectar. With a sigh, he raised the goblet, as she did hers, and together they drank.
Rezkin remained alert on the walk back to his comrades in the dark. His focus was split between the potential dangers of the desert wilderness, their proximity to the sanctorium, the jeng’ri who followed only a few paces behind, and his contemplations over how he might convince the queen of Lon Lerésh to part with her daughter so that he could deliver her to a
sect of assassins.
“You didn’t mean it, did you?”
His attention fractured once more to include a new line of focus. Frisha had finally broken her silent protest.
“Which part?” he said.
“You know which part,” she snapped from beside him.
“I assure you that what I meant for the Adana’Ro I also mean for the jeng’ri who is walking behind you.”
Frisha glanced back and seemed to understand his meaning.
Xa said, “You know I can hear you.”
“Yes, and now neither of you know to whom I am being most sincere.”
A silhouette, a large, imposing figure, stepped into their path. Farson’s voice carried in the darkness. “I am no longer the only one who understands what it means to never trust anything this man says.”
Rezkin said, “According to the Rules, Striker, you should never trust what anyone says.”
Farson grumbled, “That may be true for you, but the rest of us have to function in a society where a certain level of trust must be granted.”
Frisha said, “Well, I choose to trust you, Rezkin. I do not believe you were using me.”
Xa stepped up beside her and said, “I trust that the Riel’gesh would not weaken himself with useless sentiment.”
“Yet, you both cannot be right,” said Farson.
“But they could both be wrong,” Rezkin added.
The others fell silent as they walked, presumably to contemplate his statement. Finally, Frisha said, “You are intentionally confusing us.”
“Yes,” he replied. Changing the subject, he asked Farson, “Why are you here? You should be in the ward with the others.”
“The mages could not keep that type of ward active for so long. It fell a while ago, replaced with something less threatening. We have been taking turns scouting in case we needed to prepare for another ambush or you required assistance. The camp has been moved to a better location. It is just around this bend.”
Farson snuck back into the darkness, and Rezkin strode into what appeared, from outside the ward, to be a dark camp. Once he crossed the threshold, however, he was surrounded by ethereal light emitted by blue fluorescent swirls dancing across the interior surface of the ward. He was followed by Frisha and Xa, whom most of the others still knew as Lus.
“Frisha?” Malcius exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be waiting on the ship.”
Frisha huffed. “I was—until a group of assassins swarmed the ship and kidnapped us.”
“See?” Malcius snapped. “This is why you should not have come.”
“You’re going to blame this on me?” Frisha said. She balled her fists. “You know what your problem is, Malcius? You always blame the people you’re supposed to care about for everything bad that happens.”
Malcius stomped toward her. “That is because the people I care about keep getting themselves into trouble!”
Frisha’s retort died on her lips as Rezkin whipped the veil from his hips and began dressing.
Malcius said, “Rezkin, must you do that here? There are women.”
“Oh, no, he’s fine,” Reaylin said. “We don’t mind.”
Rezkin looked at Malcius as he strapped a few previously hidden knives to his legs, knowing he would have to adjust them later so his opponents would not know their exact locations. He said, “You would prefer I go outside the protective ward to dress?”
“No, I guess not, but they—”
“Have already seen. If they do not wish to see more, they may look away.”
Malcius stormed over to Yserria, who was seated beside Reaylin, and said, “You are a knight. Have you no decorum?”
Yserria bounded to her feet to meet Malcius’s hostile stance. “Firstly, Malcius Jebai, my oaths said nothing about not watching a man dress; and secondly, it is none of your business where I look!”
Malcius fumed as he stormed to the edge of the ward and sat with his back to the group behind the rock on which Brandt was sitting.
Shezar stepped closer to Rezkin and said, “That one is always angry.”
“Yes,” Rezkin said as he pulled on his pants.
The striker said, “It will get him killed.”
“Probably,” Rezkin replied.
“We should counsel him.”
“You may try, but I believe this is something he must work through for himself. Then again, I have difficulty understanding these outworlders at times. I could be wrong.”
“I have not yet known you to be wrong,” Shezar said with a smirk.
Rezkin strapped on his sword belt and replied, “I am often wrong. I simply choose not to speak of it to others.” With an edge of frustration in his tone, he said, “I was wrong about what Privoth would want, and now we are stuck going to Lon Lerésh.”
“The sword is in Lon Lerésh?
“No, it is not. We are set to yet another task. They want Oledia.”
“Who is Oledia?” Reaylin asked, obviously having been paying as much attention to their conversation as she was Rezkin’s body.
“Queen Erisial’s daughter.”
“Another princess?” she exclaimed.
“She is not a princess,” Rezkin said. “In Lon Lerésh, the crown is not passed down the family line, and the offspring of the rulers bear no more power or respect than any other member of a powerful house. Lon Lerésh is ruled by women. The women are the heads of the houses, and they maintain and control all matters of politics, business, and the personal lives of the members of their houses. For a woman to climb the social ladder, she must defeat someone higher than her, either through financial, political, or physical means. Accepted methods of defeat in specific matters are strictly governed by cultural tradition. To become queen, a woman must kill the sitting ruler.”
Reaylin said, “So any woman can assassinate the queen and claim the throne?”
“Technically, yes, but she would not remain queen for long. If she does not have the support and strength of the highest houses behind her, she will be killed by a rival. You have played Queen’s Gambit?”
“Yes, my father taught me when I was a child,” Reaylin said. “I hate it.”
“It came from Lon Lerésh. It is a game of strategy best won when your opponent cannot make any moves against you without destroying him or herself. When played with multiple players, one must manipulate the board so that any move by any player will be harmful to the other players. The player in the lead takes the Crest, and the other players are relegated to fighting each other to remain in the game.”
“I know,” Reaylin huffed. “I never win. Either a player has to sacrifice herself for someone else to have a chance, or the other players gang up on someone, which was always me, by the way.”
“I wonder why,” Frisha muttered.
Rezkin said, “The crown of Lon Lerésh is won in much the same way as the game. It might be easily gained through murder, but it is not easily kept. Queen Erisial has worn the crown for six years, which is a long time by Leréshi standards.”
Malcius glared at Yserria as he stood to rejoin them and said, “What you are saying is that the Leréshi are a bunch of conniving, backstabbing women who are not to be trusted.” He looked at Rezkin. “Great. When do we go?”
“You will stay with the other men on the ship. I will go alone with Yserria, Reaylin, and Mage Threll.”
“That is absurd,” Malcius exclaimed.
“Yes, it is,” Farson said as he stomped through the ward. “She is not going in there alone.”
Shezar also spoke up. “I am prepared to stand at your side.”
Rezkin looked between the two strikers skeptically. “You two desire to go into Lon Lerésh?”
Both shifted uncomfortably, and Shezar said, “I do not desire to go there, but I will suffer the consequences to serve my king.”
“And I will not let my niece go alone,” Farson said.
“She will not be alone. Knight Yserria and Reaylin will be with her, and she
is a capable mage in her own right. You, however, will be a liability.”
“I will go,” Wesson said.
Rezkin looked at him in surprise. “You understand the danger?”
Wesson scratched his head and shrugged. “So long as they do not know the strength of my power, I think I will be okay. I am not exactly their type.”
Malcius exclaimed, “What are you all talking about? Why would you take them and leave us behind?”
Rezkin said, “I told you, Malcius. Women rule in Lon Lerésh. Any woman may claim any man as her consort.”
“You mean as her husband?”
“No, it is extremely rare for a woman to declare a man to be her husband. To do so would mean that she recognizes him as her equal, and he would have the right to claim half her property and engage in business on behalf of the house. A consort has none of those rights. He is her companion, lover, and sometimes champion, but he is not her equal.”
“So, he is her slave?” Malcius said with disgust.
Yserria said, “No, men hold the same position in Lon Lerésh that women do in Gendishen and most of the other kingdoms, including Ashai.”
“It sounds like slavery to me,” he said.
“It does, doesn’t it,” she snapped.
“It is the accepted culture in Lon Lerésh,” Rezkin said. “Men vie for positions as consort to powerful women, conduct most of the activities requiring physical labor, and serve in the military. Men unsuited to physical labor raise the male offspring and perform domestic chores.”
“So, any woman can claim a man. What if he is already taken or does not wish to be claimed?”
“The woman to whom the consort belongs is called his matria. If he has not been claimed, he belongs to his head of house, or matrianera, which would be his highest-ranking female relative. If a woman attempts to claim a Leréshi man, his matria has the right to challenge the claim. The matria may make a financial deal if the exchange is accepted, or she may name terms for a duel. The matria will name a champion, which may be the man in question if he does not accept the claim, and the challenger will also name a champion, usually a male from her household or another of her consorts. The terms of the duel are determined by the matria being challenged. If the challenger does not agree to the terms, she may withdraw her claim.”