Jacian was once again screaming, but this time from fear. When Garrity ceased swinging his sword and leaned upon it to catch his breath, the prince dropped from his tree and grabbed hold of the warrior’s tall, firm legs. Taken by surprise, Garrity caught his breath, but then broke out into a deep, full laugh. Everyone looked at him, for all, even Viol, were hearing him laugh for the first time. The warrior reached down and lifted the boy into his arms.
“We’re safe now,” he told him. “We’re going to be alright;” and the prince wrapped his arms around the large man and buried his head in his neck.
But Lavendier shivered.
* * *
When Merciec sought out Lavendier so he could wash and bandage her leg, she was gazing out, numb, into the forest, sitting under a tree away from the company.
“I couldn’t start the fire,” she said without looking at him. “I could not defend us.”
He nodded, pouring water onto a bandage. “I will teach you. I will teach you to fight.”
She sighed in relief, and tears threatened to flow, but for the first time in a long while, she resisted them until he was gone. For the first time, she did not want to look weak.
49
Fragile Balance
Ironically, as she grew more experienced with the short-sword, Lavendier began to fear more and more for her life. Every night before they retired to sleep, Merciec took her away from the others and trained her, and as they dealt blows, blocked, and evaded, she began to realize the full extent of the mortality of her life. That it is a frail and fickle thing, fractious at best, and even when perfectly kept, it whines, complains, and grows weary. In the next couple days, she completed her transformation from merely despising the discomforts of the journey, to genuinely fearing for her own life.
One day, as they trekked through the trees, the weary, struggling princess summoned the courage to ask him about her efforts.
“Have I improved at all?” she asked timidly. She had never been timid in her life.
“Yes. Your skills with the sword are impressive.” He nodded. “Yes. You have improved.”
Her heart swelled, and she smiled broadly in pleasure.
“However,” he continued, and her smile vanished, “I still do not trust you. I have given you means to defend yourself, but you are still very selfish, and liable to act on your own self-interest.” He caught the spark of fiery anger in her eyes, and smiling inwardly, went on. “In that way, you have not improved at all. You act from a fear of punishment, and that is not virtue, and I had hoped to see virtue in you.”
She seethed with passion, her hands shaking at his words, for those who have newly begun to practice virtue often believe they are overflowing with it and think themselves worthy of credit not even due a conscientious man.
“Yes,” he said, facing her flushed face, “I say that. You must learn to be virtuous and brave for their own sakes, and not your own.”
She tossed her head haughtily and walked ahead, and Merciec smiled to himself, nodding in satisfaction that this had aired out hidden vanities she thought she had eradicated.
That evening, Asbult was leaning against a tree just outside camp, watching Merciec and Lavendier as the soldier taught her to string a bow and shoot a target dead-center. He had been watching their relationship for a long time, wondering what value his sharp-sighted friend found in pursuing the lovely princess. But after only a few days out from Rarks, he realized their relationship was not based on attraction, and his curiosity increased. He worried at first that Lavendier had become the plaything of the archer, but Merciec was too good a man for that. And the princess, who had before posed a serious security threat, with her loud whining and indiscretion, was now not only quiet, but helpful. The change, whatever its cause, was for the better.
“But I want to perfect my fencing!” He overheard her and began to listen to their conversation. “I don’t think I’m good enough yet to not die.”
Merciec laughed hard at this and Lavendier pouted at him.
“You are already my equal!” he exclaimed finally, and she stood straighter in surprise. “And if you can master this as well, you may never need to meet an enemy in close quarters.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now shoot once more and then go eat your dinner.”
She shot, hit the target in the center, and headed back to camp with her eyes shining. She swept her hair over her shoulder when she passed her brother-in-law, and he raised his eyebrows. Her old spirit, the spirit he remembered from their childhood, was beginning to light again within her.
“She sure knows how to handle a bow,” he said to Merciec.
The archer’s boyish eyes danced at his friend. “Yes,” he agreed, “she has a natural talent.”
“What is your intention with all of this?” the prince asked abruptly.
Merciec looked at him openly. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me before.”
“I trusted your judgment. Besides, I did not note any harm in your relationship.”
“But you do now?”
He smiled, and shook his head. “Let’s just say that my curiosity has finally gotten the better of me.”
Merciec laughed. “Yes. Well.” He mused a moment. “The Princess Lavendier has not the same trust from me as her sisters. For the safety of the rest of the group, I took it upon myself to be her watch guard. But I will say – she has greatly improved recently.”
“I’ve noticed; she’s almost a different person. But be careful. You could be playing a dangerous game – she seems very attached to you.”
Merciec dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “She doesn’t think of me that way.”
“Romantically, no,” agreed Asbult, “although she might, if you’re not careful. But you have to understand something. Laven has not had a real relationship with a man, one that was not romantic, since she was fifteen. That has to leave a gaping hole in her heart – a hole she may very well expect you to fill. Be careful how completely you allow her to become attached.”
“But that can’t be true. She has her brothers and they are great men.”
“When Lavendier was twelve,” said Asbult, “her father died. Then Trinian left home when she was fifteen. She was abandoned twice – or at least, that’s the way she chose to see it. After that, she ran from relationships and clung to men whose nature it was to abandon her. The closer she gets to you, the more she will expect you to abandon her. And the more tightly she will cling. Don’t get me wrong – you are helping her. I just want you to understand what you’re in for.”
Merciec nodded soberly. Thus far, he had thought of the princess as a tigress, extremely beautiful and extremely dangerous. He had not thought of her as vulnerable.
50
Trinian Secures an Ally in Drian
After a harrowing day locked deep in the bowels of Korem’s throne room, dealing with an angry steward and disgruntled advisers, after two weeks of fielding advice from Astren and Gladier about how to deal with the god of Karaka, after an interminable time of missing his family, denying his guilt for sending them away, and struggling to find support for his own solutions, Trinian surreptitiously slipped from the castle and escaped to the outer rim estates of Drian. Clad still in his royal clothing and cloak, he took only his bridled horse and rode five miles to the outer wall of the city, where the properties nestled snugly against the outer wall, spaced amply apart with plenty of land sprawling between them. Here was the place of his roots – the land of his beginnings.
Standing at the brow of a hill and gazing upon the home he had chaffed in for so many years, the memories of his childhood suddenly washed over him in a flood. He remembered how he had first visited the center of the city when he was eleven, when his father took him to the market to sell their harvest. It was then, when he was still only a small boy, that he caught sight of the glistening silver armor of Drinian soldiers, and since that day, his heart was in the city. He had abandoned, in that moment, the home of hi
s ancestors, and latched upon the aspiration of fighting for glory, honor, and pride! How he had wanted to be a soldier! To be part of something great, to belong to a noble calling; to devote himself to honor, justice, and duty.
Now he had an empty pit in his stomach. He gazed dismally at the Nian house standing desolate. When he left for the army all those years ago, he never felt like he was abandoning his heritage, for his family remained behind to carry on the ancient traditions. Now, learning of his very distant heritage had somehow torn his family from the life and love and heritage of their near ancestors.
He had never wanted that heritage! He had not wanted the comfort and predictability that came with inheriting a legacy. Ever since he was a boy, he was attracted by the order and hierarchy of the army; it was based on merit; it was system wherein a man could rise based only on the courage and uprightness of his actions. Trinian had day-dreamed of ascending to each stage, of proving himself every step of the way and rising up by accomplishing great feats!
He turned his gaze across the landscape to the home of his friend Trigent, which was the next house to the north of the Nian family home. Green walls overgrown with ivy, a tower at each corner, and a large white gate at the front adorned his friend’s comfortable family home, and Trinian ached to live near his friends again, to live with his family, to start again the life that had failed. For it had failed. The things he yearned for had been taken from him. He had not risen in ranks according to his own merit. Fate had blind-sided him. He had been cheated of those accomplishments and skipped straight to the top of the ladder, expected to know everything, decide everything, understand everything. He had earned nothing.
He was so deep in his brooding that he did not notice Trigent until he rode up alongside him.
“I thought that was you. I spotted you from the fields, brooding here on your mighty steed. I suppose I should say, ‘Hail, your Highness, what brings you to our humble abode?’”
Trinian shook his head, and smiled wryly. “Never say that.”
“Trinian, I have not seen you for five years, but I assume that the line down the center of your brow still indicates when you are deeply troubled?”
Trinian looked at his friend, with his kind, concerned, smiling face, who was dusty from working in the fields, and whose blouse, tan and comfortable, fluttered in the breeze where it did not cling to the sweat of his back. No weighty matters of state on Trigent’s shoulders, no missing family to mourn, no heavy scepter in his hand, no tight, precise clothing of the court for him, and Trinian returned the smile. “Do you have an extra shirt?”
* * *
Trigent and Trinian sat in the large circular living room, with wooden rafters rising from the ground, meeting in the center of the roof around a small round skylight to embrace the union of inside and out. A comfortable fire roared on the hearth. Books lined the walls, ancient and new, tomes of family histories and farming records. It was a comfortable place, made doubly so by Trinian’s familiarity with it. In his youth, he had lived in this room almost as often as his own home. Though he had not been here in six years, his heart, for the first time in weeks, was at peace. He was not king here. Only a man, lonely and confused.
“The damage is not so bad here,” said Trinian, in reference to the gorgan occupation.
“No,” agreed his friend, handing him a mug of ale. “They didn’t have time to ravage the farmlands. Only the inner city.” Trigent poured himself a mug, and then settled into an armchair. “So,” he said, “tell me.”
“Where to begin?”
“Start with what broke the camel’s back, and then go further and begin at the beginning.”
So Trinian told of the River Rordan. How he had learned that his family was traveling through enemy land, that a high god wanted his throne, and that he had neither the man power nor the divine strength to ward him off. And on top of all that, how he felt trapped by meaningless customs and blind ignorance, and how there was no one at court to support him. “I’m stifled. All I want is to protect the kingdom, but I’m foiled at every turn. Astren seems to doubt every proof I have found of our danger; and when he does believe me, he wants to bury his head in the sand or run far away. But there is nowhere to run!”
Trigent asked no questions, made no observations, but listened silently, and when Trinian finished, he sat with his hands before his face, his fingers pressed together in a thoughtful posture. “What does Gladier, the wizard you told me of, say about the high god?” he asked.
Trinian let out a burst of breathe, “That’s really what’s most frustrating. He says nothing – whenever I ask for his counsel, he shakes his head and says he will not give it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
Trigent rose and stood beside the hearth, leaning on the mantel. “What’s going to happen when the enemy’s army returns? He occupied the city once, he can do it again. How are you going to prevent that?”
“That’s the question!” Trinian cried in frustration.
“What do you want to do?”
Trinian had been afraid to ask himself the question, and now he answered slowly, all in one breath, like he had been holding it in for a long time: “I want to visit Justice and Mercy and find what they know, and as I go, I want to gather an army to defend Drian.”
“And what does Astren say about the army? Surely he knows it is too small to defend the city, were the enemy to return?”
“Astren does not think much of the army. But when he does, he hopes that the enemy has been depleted. Since there is no news from Mestraff, he assumes there are not enough gorgans to carry on the raids, and the council agrees with him. But this is a fool’s hope. As king, as protector of the city, I must prepare for the worst, not the best, scenario.”
“Then why don’t you gather an army? Why not visit the goddesses?”
“I would. If Gladier would only give me counsel.”
“And are my words,” said a new voice, “to guide you for the rest of your life?” Both men whirled to see Gladier standing in the doorway, laden with a stack of notebooks.
“What?” Trinian was utterly astonished. “How did you know where I was? I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”
Gladier dismissed that with a wave of his hand as he set down the volumes on a table. “Oh, I can always find you if I want to. But about my research. I’ve been very busy ever since that River god incident, thinking and looking into things…. But we don’t hardly know everything yet. We do know that he’s a high god; he has the power to utterly devastate a large piece of land; and he commands fearsome creatures that can be killed.
“But what we don’t know is whether he himself can be killed.”
VIII
KNOWLEDGE
“It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are still alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them.”
- George Eliot
51
Knowledge of High Gods, Natural Gods, and Mortals
The wizard’s pronouncement fell like a gong into the round room, reverberating the worst fear of the king. Rordan had hinted that Power could not be killed, and Trinian had tried not to dwell on it. Now he went to the window and leaned against it, his chest constricting and his breath coming in short gasps. Frustration built tight inside Trinian, and eventually he cried out, “But there’s nothing to do then. We would have to surrender!”
“No!” cried Trigent. “Never. We would die ourselves first.”
Gladier was scanning through his notebooks, pulling out evidence he had found and building it into a pile. “Your friend is very dire, your Majesty.”
Introducing his two friends seemed the easiest answer in the moment. “Gladier, this is Trigent. My childhood friend.”
“Yes, I know. But we don’t have to give up hope – even if Power is invulnerable. Look here, come.” Trinian left the window and all three men gathered around the documents. “There are many go
ds and goddesses, you know. Those of the natural order, who reign over their individuals places:” He opened a heavy volume filled with rich paintings. “In the heavens there are the high gods. Thirteen, that we know of.” Gladier listed them, “Fate, the oldest; Power and Peace; Terror, Resolve and Joy; Despair, Truth, Destruction, Famine, Plenty;” he was pointing to the illustrations of each on the pages before him, “Death, Solitude, Charity, Passion, and Hope.” Each illustration looked unique: some of the figures had multiple limbs, some resided in the clouds and others floated over the earth, and some were surrounded by the tools of their trade; for example, Death sat on a throne of skulls and held a mace in his hand, and Charity wielded her Blade of Love. “They are indifferent gods,” explained Gladier, “always have been in the long history of Minecerva – they do not hold mortal life sacred.”
He paused, letting that sink in. Then he got to his point. “But if one of these gods has decided not to be so removed, if he is not satisfied with ruling the heavens, then perhaps it is true for the other gods as well.”
There was a brief beat, and then Trinian demanded, “You think other gods will rise against us?”
“Or for us. Who’s to say?”
“But if they are for us, then what have they been doing?” demanded Trigent, in sudden anger. “Do they not have a responsibility to stop Power?”
“Good, good, you are asking the right questions,” exclaimed Gladier excitedly. “That’s the whole point. Not all the gods can hate mankind, you know. If they did, we would be dead already. So this is what I think. I think Fate is allowing this to happen to test us. Power, in order to enter the mortal realm, must have to abide by its rules, and that means–”
“He can be killed,” finished Trinian.
“I do not say that. But we may be able to cut off his ability to affect us here below.”
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