JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING BOOK I: MY SISTER'S KEEPER

by JANRAE FRANK

  The lapsed paladin, her hand on the saddle preparing to mount, turned back and clasped his huge hand in both of hers. "I have not lived this long by doing otherwise, my friend."

  Despite Aejys' objections, her three lieutenants, Tagalong, Hanadi, and Johannes, had marked their fighting units as separate from the others. Tagalong's Vorgeni wore black ribbons pinned to their shoulders in consideration of Brendorn's death; Johannes' people wore red ribbons as close to the color of his beard as they could find; Hanadi's guildsmyn wore green for reasons known to Hanadi alone knew. Only the hostlers, the drivers, and minor servants such as Eliahu did not wear Aejys' livery.

  The mage had put aside his drab pilgrim's robes for a pair of dark brown leather breeches and vest over a blue wool shirt with the cuffs rolled up half way to his elbows. A heavy wool cloak kept back the morning chill. He looked like a simple workingman save that his hands were soft and delicate. His eyes had a distant, thoughtful look. He had learned much about Aejys since the day of the duel. He knew the reputation of the Lion of Rowanslea, even from his realm in the farthest north. He had begun his pilgrimage more out of curiosity about the other realms than for religious reasons. Most of his life had been spent in study and contemplation and the rest in the day-to-day task of watching over his chill realm, caring for his people. There had been many small adventures along the way as he journeyed south, but nothing of great importance or serious challenge. Those who thought to bother him, ruffians, rogues, and the goblin tribes learned quickly to avoid the slender small man who wielded the ancient staff CallThunder. He was a man of subtle feelings and gentle passions, now gripped by an eagerness and expectation unfamiliar to him. Eliahu had seen signs of dark magics brewing in the lands of the goblins to the north east of the Kwaklahmyn lands and could not help wondering, knowing the reputation of the Lion of Rowanslea, but what this expedition might in some way be linked to them. To pit his power against such things would be truly a magnificent task and worthy of the newest High Mage of Winter. A sense of déjà vu brushed through him as if he walked in his ancestor's footsteps into legend with this journey. A small smile at once impish and irreverent touched his lips and rested there.

  Lancers rode at the head of the van, followed by units of mounted swordsmyn and archers all clad in steel corselets and hauberks with sky blue surcoats bearing Aejys' device of rowan trees within the ouroborus. The wagons came next and more mounted swordsmyn brought up the rear.

  Aejys, Tagalong Smith, and Cassana Odaren led. The three Sharani went clad in steel hauberks. Cassana and Tamlestari wore white surcoats with a device of the crimson rose framed by swords crossed at the hilts and overlapping the stem, which marked them as members of the Yarrendari Mar'ajante of Shaurone. Aejys' sky blue surcoat bore her rowans trees and ouroborus, the black armband with the lock of Brendorn's hair banded her left arm and the gray scarf of penitence her right.

  Hanadi rode just behind Aejys flanked by Tamlestari and Johannes. She still dressed in the long side-slit coat and loose-legged trousers of her folk, but now the coat was of black leather and the trousers of heavy cotton. A wide bladed tulwar hung at her hip and the sheath for the knife at her opposite side. A sharply pointed steel cap crowned her with a scarf wrapped around its base, the bottom, and ends wrapping her throat so that not a strand of her dark hair showed. Brundarad walked beside her horse, drawing the awed stares and frightened whispers of the gathering crowds. The Euzadi nomad had taken charge of the scouts, the best of whom was the huge shadow hound.

  Eliahu rode the lead wagon beside a Kwaklahmyn driver. He pulled his gray cloak around him against the chill and hugged his slender staff, his head lowered and thoughtful. The driver, seeing the line begin to move out snapped the reins. The horses threw their shoulders into the harness and pulled. The wagon moved.

  Young people threw flowers. The entire crowd shouted and called, wishing them a safe journey and a quick return. Aejys Rowan had been good to Vorgensburg and Vorgensburg wanted to be good to Aejys. The crowds trailed after them, thinning slowly out and falling away as the company took the old north road and vanished into the shadows of the dense spruce forest.

  Aejys' wounds ached in the cold despite her clothing and the soft leather jerkin beneath her mail. She thought of her warm parlor and the pleasant company of her people at the Cock and Boar. By the end of the day her regulars would be back in the common room taking their supper and a tankard. They would probably be discussing the day's events and her leaving. She could hear their voices in her memory; feel the warmth of companionship she had enjoyed for nearly five years. She had enjoyed owning the tavern, building the inn beside it. It was the most pleasant her life had been since long before the Great War. She already missed it. All the little rumors about her origin had been quelled by the Odarens' arrival and the revelation that she had indeed been the Lion of Rowanslea. They would probably still be talking about it when she returned. If she returned.

  She knew that Margren had prepared many nasty surprises for her journey, otherwise the God would not have advised her to take a force of arms along. Aejys wondered what effect she could ultimately have when she reached her childhood home. She could take no direct action. Oh, she could argue and demand, reason and persuade, but she could not take direct action herself to regain her daughter. Her vow bound her. And her ma'aram could be a stubborn woman. There had to be some solution that she had not thought of yet. Her liege-god would not send her on a fool's errand. A tremor of trepidation ran through her: What could she really do?

  Aejys shook free of the feeling. She took out her pipe, filled, and lit it. She nudged Gwyndar with her knees and the big wynderjyn moved out. Her people rode beside and around and behind her. The journey was begun.

  She had no choice, really. She loved her child, her only child, and she had promised Brendorn. If there was atonement in this for having abandoned her child, her family, and her people in Rowanslea, then at least she would have that, but it was small comfort. And her vow formed a rock in her stomach, for she felt certain there would be no way to keep it and her life would be forfeit. She did not fear death, nor did she go looking for it. She feared a useless death, one that accomplished nothing ... to throw away her life for the good of nothing and no one. Aejys thought again of her little tavern and longed to be back there. Her life had had purpose and pleasure and now that was all gone.

  * * * *

  At midday Hanadi's guildsmyn scouts broke from the others and rode ahead to spy out the paths. The company moved at a moderate pace dictated by the wagons. Gwyndar, sensitive to the slightest touch of her knee, moved steadily without need of reins so that Aejys could take out her pipe and smoke in the saddle. They took the west fork late in the day and made camp at twilight.

  * * * *

  The company turned north again at the end of the second day. They crossed the tussocked hills that were little more than piled up masses of tumbled, broken rocks, boulders, and outcroppings with a thin layer of soil scattered over. Tall spiky grasses with purple plumes clung to every patch of exposed earth. The six wagons struggled with shepherd's paths that were almost too narrow and the root-shattered remnants of abandoned roads that once carried trade from the coast across the great marshy basins of Cherdon'datar into the mountains of Vallimrah and eventually into Shaurone itself. Eliahu's wagon got a wheel caught between a boulder and a rock.

  Jeord, a huge mercenary, rode up and dismounted. Jeord's bushy blond hair was caught at his neck in a long bristling tail. Two inches of matching square-cut beard framed his face like coarse yellow wire. His bright blue eyes gleamed with a reckless intensity as he took a spread legged stance, seized the spokes in his hands and lifted the wagon, shoving it clear. Eliahu shook his head in wonderment at the display of strength. Jeord curled his lip in a sneer as he nodded to the cook, then mounted and kicked his horse into a gallop to resume his place in the vanguard.

  The riders ranged out now around the wagons as they found their own paths down the steep, rugged hills. T
hey descended into a rock-strewn valley. The stretches of green were broader, but the rocks could easily have held ambushers and worse. Hanadi and Brundarad took the point.

  As the shadows of afternoon lengthened toward evening, one of Hanadi's scouts, a small dark woman, darker than the Sharani, rode up signing Aejys to follow. Aejys pressed Gwyndar into a gallop, waving Cassana and Tamlestari to accompany her. They rode across the valley until they came in sight of Hanadi. The Euzadi knelt checking something on the ground. Aejys' heels thudded lightly against Gwyndar's sides to get his attention.

  "Let's see what she's got, boy," Gwyndar turned without breaking stride. "What is it?" The lapsed paladin asked, springing from the wynderjyn destrier. She pulled off her gloves, tucking them in her belt as she walked.

  "Manticore spoor," Hanadi said, nodding at the remains of a half eaten great horned mountain goat. Beside it were large cat prints easily sixteen inches across. "If luck is with us, we should be well across this valley and out of the open before this creature comes seeking another meal. They are almost as fond of mynflesh as they are of horse. I do not wish to lose either."

  "Nor do I," Aejys agreed, running her finger around the rim of the print. "I'd say it's about half a day old."

  "As do I, Aejystrys Rowan. And the creature will be hungry again come nightfall."

  "We'll not camp until we reach the mountain's shadows."

  "Huh!" Hanadi nodded. "And Brundarad, he will be back by then with more news."

  Aejys kept them moving until well past dark when they sheltered in a hollow thick with spruce. There a small stream spread like a white veil through a succession of tiny rapids and pooled against the rock face.

  Aejys walked through the camp as the myn bedded down their horses beside their tents and Tagalong supervised getting Aejys' modest tent up. She spoke to each of the myn, getting to know them, learning their names. A line formed at the cook wagon where Eliahu dipped up stew and filled flagons with ale.

  "Just one flagon each, Eli, remember," she told him as he filled her dish. "The water from that stream is pure and good. And," she added, letting her voice carry, "I'll be drinking that when I finish this."

  He nodded, smiling politely. "Of course." The Winter Mage noted that she did not have to take her meal like the common soldier, she could have sent Hanadi or Tamlestari, who acted as her orderlies when they made camp, to fetch her meals; most leaders would have. Aejys truly had the common touch. She established herself as merely the equal of the myn and then dared them to match her courage and audacity.

  She carried her stew and flagon to the central fire where the sweet tones of a woman's voice rose accompanied by the delicate notes of a skillfully played lute. The soldiers were seated on the ground, listening while they ate. A slender guildsmyn played the lute with nimble fingers while a woman sang. The singer, a tiny, chocolate skinned person, glistening black hair a mass of dense shoulder-length ringlets, looked scarcely large enough to lift the sword she wore at her shoulder, much less wield it. She sang Oak of Sorrows about two young lovers who became separated during the War of Three Queens.

  "Do not be fooled by her size," Hanadi whispered softly at Aejys' ear. "She is Jaqui of Treth. You have heard the name, I am certain."

  "Indeed," Aejys replied just a tad surprised, for Jaqui of Treth had ranged the northlands beside the Thunder God's daughter in the years preceding the Great War and gained a mighty reputation. "I thought she no longer rode these lands."

  Hanadi glowed with smug satisfaction. "She does not. She stalks her homelands and the continent of Jedrua. I have her on loan from a southern chieftain."

  "I never dreamed she was one of yours," Aejys replied, astounded.

  "She is not actually. She is the ally of a friend and it cost me two favors to get her."

  "I am honored. I thought only I remained of..."

  "Hmnph! Do not flatter yourself that you are the last. Several heroes still live, Aejystrys Rowan," Hanadi's voice turned haughty. "And I have collected a few of them for this sortie."

  "I owe you, Hanadi," Aejys said, resisting the urge to ask which others rode under her colors. Aejys did not like to question too closely or press for information any sooner than she had to since that generally put people on their guard: Hanadi would make things known when the time was right so long as Aejys minded her own business. Aejys usually knew when to push and when not to. Nonetheless, she would have Tagalong and some of her people discretely circulate and gather the names of every one in Hanadi's company. Tagalong, Aejys felt certain, already knew most of them anyway. She rose and started for the stream.

  "Yes, you do," Hanadi responded softly, adding to herself as Aejys walked out of earshot, "And I will take my pay in favors when the time has come."

  * * * *

  The streambed was thick with tulles where it pooled among a small knot of willows. The cry of a red-tailed hawk broke the stillness and Aejys could almost feel the birds and small animals shivering in their hiding places. That hawk's long tail enabled it to turn at a twig and flash in a different direction with incredible swiftness. And it was beloved of Willodarus, the God of the Woodlands. She wondered if its cry was an omen as she knelt amid the rushes, setting her bowl and flagon down.

  Where had it all gone wrong? When did Margren start hating her? She remembered coming home from school at harvest break and struggling to hold the chubby child on her knee. A seven year old not quite big enough to comfortably take the three year old on her lap. Margren had been precocious, remembering the ballads and texts to the smallest word and trying to write her own before she was eight. She had a gift for things Aejys did not even attempt. Aejys remembered listening to Margren's poems and songs while they sat with their ma'arams before the hearth in Kaethreyn's study. Margren had such a sweet voice. Margren joined Aejys at school and the older child had always made it a point to intervene if the older children of the nobility picked on her for as a younger child she was heir to nothing. The priests and teachers insisted on treating them all equally at the school, not allowing any deferment based on birth or rank. Aejys knew that sometimes that meant a sensitive child like Margren got the bad end of the stick. So Aejys had checked on her and kept track of her. Aejys always tried to be her champion. Then one day Margren came to her rooms and screamed at her, told her that she could take care of herself and to stop getting in her way. Aejys had been thunderstruck. She could not even think how to respond. A few days later Margren went home ill. Margren never came back to school. Kaethreyn arranged for an armsmaster and tutors to attend Margren at home. Aejys rarely saw her sister after that except for vacations or when they both chanced to be serving at the Saer'ajan's court. She would see Margren talking to people they both knew and when Aejys tried to join in Margren would leave, sometimes in tears, or simply go silent and glaring. It made Aejys ache. Aejys had always tried to be straight forward, believing that if they could just talk about what was bothering Margren they could set things right between them. But Margren rebuffed her or launched into a litany of how cruel Aejys was, how little she really cared about Margren and their family. And Aejys finally gave up and got on with her life. Where had it all gone wrong? Aejys had tried asking people close to Margren. But their answers never made any sense, or they refused to talk about Margren at all saying they could not take sides. But Aejys had not been asking them to take sides; she had been asking them to explain, to help her make things better. Now Margren had become her deadliest, most implacable enemy and Aejys still did not understand where it had all gone wrong.

  A tall, large form detached itself from the shadows as Aejys rinsed her bowl out and filled her flagon with the sweet cool waters.

  "I never dreamed you would bring so many females," said Johannes, moonlight gilding his beard with silver as he squatted beside her.

  Aejys could smell the rancid sweat on him so different from the sweet scents that adorned Sharani and sylvan males. She disliked having him so near. The lapsed paladin moved to a drier spot among the
trees to sit. "You didn't?" she questioned, not bothering to school the skepticism from her voice, "You knew I'm Sharani. That we go to a Mar'ajante of Shaurone and you did not imagine that I would bring large numbers of women?"

  "And you knew there were no females in my ranks," Johannes responded, rising to his feet. "The women of the coast are not warriors. They know their place in the world."

  "Are you suggesting that it's a problem?" Aejys set her tankard and bowl aside, taking out her pipe. She filled and lit it. She realized that she was beginning to dislike Johannes already and to credit some of the baser tales about him.

  "That's a pretty piece singing back there and some of my soldiers had thoughts."

  Aejys pulled her pipe from her lips and smiled thinly. "They would be dead if they tried."

  "By you?"

  "By her. That, if you didn't know, is Jaqui of Treth."

  "Ahhh, yes," Johannes replied, pulling at his beard thoughtfully. "My fellows would come off with the short end of that stick ... but not all..."

  "Johannes, I don't know what your game is, or why two days out you want to start it now, but let me assure you, all of the women in my household are professionals. Most of them equal to Jaqui. If you want their names, go ask them."

  Johannes frowned as he thought for a moment on that, and then started to back off. "I will caution them."

  "Oh, and Johannes, several of them are ha'taren. You want to go figure out which, be my guest. Look closely at every dark skinned woman and ask yourself if they might be Sharani. Because if they are, they're ha'taren as in Ha'taren Guard." So far as Aejys knew there were only three Sharani in the whole camp, but it would do him good to wonder.

  "But the little thing with the blond roots..."

  Aejys erupted in hardy laughter. "You are speaking of the daughter of the Breesya. That's Tamlestari Odaren Desharen."