Fields of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Erik and Perry retook their seats while the king of Béarn considered.

  For a long time, Griff said nothing. In deference, no one else spoke either, not even in directed whispers.

  Finally Griff looked up, pinning Saviar with his dark, wise gaze. “Representative of Renshai.”

  At a nudge from Weile, Saviar sprang to his feet. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “The North and the Paradisians have declared the proclaimed deal unbalanced against the side granted sovereignty over the land in dispute.”

  Saviar did not know what to say. The king had only repeated the events that had transpired, as if Renshai were too inexperienced and ignorant to understand from context. Realizing Griff was accustomed to working with Thialnir, he chose not to take offense. “So I heard, Your Majesty.”

  Griff’s gaze was intent and provocative. Suddenly, Saviar realized the king was not rehashing the conversation out of any disrespect for Saviar, or for Renshai in general, but to encourage him to say something clever. Under the table, Weile touched his leg again, this time with encouragement.

  The wisest men at the table had put the onus on Saviar, and he did not know what they wanted. It seemed urgent, though, and exceptionally important. His thoughts ran in frantic circles, seeking the common thread, the significant factor. When it finally came to him, it seemed so clear and obvious he could not believe it took him so long to figure it out. “Your Majesty, in the cause of peace and to make all sides happy in this dispute, the Renshai will agree to take what has been amply and vigorously designated the lesser side of the bargain. That is to say, we will give up all the responsibilities and benefits offered to us so you can bestow them upon the Paradisians instead. In exchange, we will accept the responsibilities and benefits Your Majesty offered to them.”

  Weile squeezed Saviar’s leg again and offered him a cocksure smile. The corners of the king’s mouth twitched, but he otherwise gave no indication he had anticipated or encouraged Saviar’s suggestion. Erik’s nostrils flared. A frown scored his features, and his eyes narrowed; but there was nothing he could do or say. Bitten by his own words, he could hardly claim the deal was biased against his side.

  Only then, Saviar realized this was the deal King Griff had been intending from the start. The only way the king could grant the Renshai the Fields of Wrath, without incurring the ire of the North, was to convince them that the winner of the land was the loser of the bargain. There was still one hurdle left.

  Griff’s head swung toward Perry. “Representative of the Paradisians.”

  Perry jumped up like a frightened rabbit. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Does it suit the Paradisians to relinquish all rights and title to the Fields of Wrath in exchange for land, homes, and full citizenship to either Béarn or Erythane?”

  Perry did not even glance at Erik for support this time. Saviar realized the Paradisians had everything to gain from the arrangement: free homes, free land, and the protection of a great kingdom, whether Erythane or Béarn. For them, it had never been about their self-proclaimed homeland. They had been pawns of the North, used as symbols of Renshai evil and oppression, whipped to a frenzy and willing to murder and die for the promise of money, land, and homes. Now, they had all of it, minus the constant killing, their ties to the North no longer useful or necessary, at least to the Paradisians. “We will sign this agreement and consider ourselves satisfied with the result.”

  Erik made a garbled noise. Though seething, there was nothing he could do or say. After his proclamation that the deal favored the side that received the new land, with both groups happy, he could hardly deny that the terms were satisfactory. The North would have no right or reason to call a foul, to exert trading or military sanctions against Béarn.

  King Humfreet waved for the floor. “Thank you, Sire, for handling this difficult situation. If it pleases you, Erythane will claim the new land only with the understanding that all citizens of Erythane are Erythanians regardless of prior affiliation. Whoever settles there will have the full rights and responsibilities of Erythanian citizens, including taxes; and, henceforth, will be known only as Erythanians.”

  King Griff motioned toward Perry. “Do you understand the condition my colleague has placed upon you?”

  Perry glanced worriedly at Erik but got nothing in return. “I’m not sure, Your Majesty.”

  Griff explained, “When you give up all rights and claims to the land officially known as the Fields of Wrath, there are no Paradise Plains. Your people are no longer Paradisians; you are Erythanians.”

  Saviar considered that information. He doubted he could have gotten the Renshai to accept such a condition in the Paradisians’ place. He also realized it was different for them than for his people. Until a few months ago, the Paradisians were Erythanians and had been so their entire lives.

  Saviar knew Erik had to argue. Without the Paradisians, the North had no claim to the Renshai land, no wedge to declare the Renshai evil occupiers of innocents’ territory.

  As expected, Erik cut in, “Your Majesty, you’re asking them to give up more than their land. You’re asking them to sacrifice their very identity.”

  For the first time, Griff actually looked as if the words might have offended him. “Captain, that was not a condition of the compromise. The people represented by Perry were promised full citizenship, with all its rights and responsibilities. King Humfreet makes and enforces the laws pertaining to Erythanian citizenship.” Griff studied Perry who seemed bored with the conversation. The need to maintain the title of Paradisian interested him far less than it did the Northmen.

  Griff continued, “There is also the option of maintaining the cleared land as a piece of Béarn. We have no requirement that our citizens refer to themselves as Béarnides. They could still call themselves Paradisians, though to what purpose? The agreement calls for full relinquishment of any rights or claims to the disputed land. And, as you’ve pointed out, the North and Perry’s people will honor that promise.”

  Perry apparently followed enough of the conversation to insert, “Your Majesties, we have no problem becoming Erythanians again.”

  Erik whispered furiously into Perry’s ear. Though louder than usual, it came to Saviar only as a pointed buzzing. He could only imagine the berating Perry was receiving but suspected the significant part was a promise of monetary rewards for keeping the name the North had given them.

  For a moment, Saviar considered the possibility that the Paradisians would take the noble path. They had gained so much in the deal, and it did not harm them a bit to retake their former name. Having lived beneath the laws of Erythane for most of their lives, they would find them familiar, comfortable. Then, Saviar remembered the type of people Perry represented: the type whose loyalty went to whoever paid them, whipped to a hatred that made them willing to sacrifice the lives of their elders and children. Thus far, the Northmen’s promises had gained them sympathy, support, land, homes, money.

  Perry continued as if he had never paused, “. . . or living on Béarnian land. But we’d like to keep our name, so we prefer Béarn.”

  There was only one reason the Northlands would offer strong incentive for the Paradisians to keep their name. Clearly, they intended to reassert their “right” to the Fields of Wrath at a later date. Saviar smelled future trouble; but, for the moment, he reveled in the Renshai’s many victories. They had their land back, their long-time homes, and the Renshai were no longer prisoners awaiting sentencing. He caught Weile Kahn’s hand beneath the table and gave it a squeeze he hoped conveyed his thanks. For now, at least, the nightmare had ended.

  You can’t become worldwise without facing the world.

  —King Tae Kahn Weile’s son

  THE PRIVATE ROOM in Béarn Castle had been outfitted to Tae Kahn’s suggestions: a few benches along the farthest walls from the door and a dining table in the center of the room with a few chairs aro
und it. Situated on the fifth floor, also at his request, it usually served as a family dining room. Everything potentially dangerous had been removed, including lanterns and torches, the only light streaming through the single small window.

  Upon docking, Tae had sent Matrinka ahead to alert King Griff and instruct the servants to set up the room, while Captain tended the ship. After careful explanation, Tae and Subikahn had covered the heads of their guests and steered them, blindly, to the prepared room. Tae had done so for their own security. The ship had arrived in broad daylight, and many curious dockworkers, sailors and soldiers had already mobbed him, begging news. Tae could just imagine them recognizing Arturo and swarming him in his confused state, and Mistri would prove a curiosity certain to draw even more scrutiny. Tae had no way of knowing how either of his charges would react, and King Griff had every right to make any decisions regarding who knew of Arturo’s return and the arrangements for their unexpected, young prisoner.

  Matrinka arrived before Griff accompanied, to Tae’s surprise, by a prince and two princesses. Barrindar, the oldest offspring of Griff and his third wife, held Marisole’s hand. Halika, Matrinka’s youngest, skipped in alone, scanning the room with curious dark eyes. Still shrouded, Mistri sat quietly beside Tae on one of the benches, stroking Imorelda who had settled into the little girl’s enormous lap. Arturo sat in a chair at the table, his covered head bowed, Subikahn standing behind him.

  Hoping Imorelda was still tuned to Mistri, Tae sent, *Give me a moment. I need to talk to Matrinka.* Rising, he took Matrinka’s arm and steered her to a corner to whisper, “You brought the children?” He added doubtfully, “Matrinka, I don’t think that’s a good idea. How will they feel when Arturo doesn’t know them? Did you prepare them for that possibility?” On the ship, they had discussed revealing Arturo and Mistri to Griff alone, seeing their reactions, and allowing the king the right to make any decisions regarding the situation before involving anyone else.

  Matrinka eyed Tae coolly. She had clearly considered the options and made her decision. “Marisole is the bard’s heir. She’s supposed to be learning how to handle difficult situations with grace, and she just returned a day ago from an equally difficult journey.”

  Tae’s gaze rolled to the youngest of Matrinka’s children. “And the others?”

  “Barrindar insisted on accompanying Marisole, and I saw no reason to stop him. He’s calm in a crisis and will support the girls, if needed. Halika is the only one who believed he was still alive, and she deserves to be one of the first ones present for his unveiling.”

  Tae could read a lot into Matrinka’s reply. Clearly, she had not yet told the prince and princesses why she had summoned them, which seemed appropriate. No one should have that information ahead of the king. It also substantiated what he had overheard months earlier outside Matrinka’s window. Seeing Marisole and Barrindar together confirmed them as the objects of Darris’ and Matrinka’s dispute over a prince and princess involved in an illicit love affair. Matrinka had not yet chosen to discuss the situation with Tae, and this certainly was not the moment for such a conversation. “Griff is all right with them being here?”

  “Griff,” Matrinka said stiffly, “is negotiating with elves at the moment. I am the queen of Béarn, and I have chosen to have these three present.”

  This was obviously important to Matrinka. She rarely invoked her title and spent far more time berating her friends for doing so. Tae could not resist reminding her of that fact. He bowed deeply. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  Matrinka glared, then curtsied. “It is as I wish, Your Majesty.” It was the perfect stalemate. Tae smiled. “Point taken.” Then, he sighed. “I’m mostly worried about security. We don’t know how either of them will react. It might be dangerous for young royalty.”

  Apparently, Matrinka did not share Tae’s concern. “I hardly think a three year old is a threat to any of them.”

  “Three-year-old giant,” Tae reminded. “Frightened and capable of unknown magic.”

  Matrinka talked over him. “No matter what he can or can’t remember, Arturo is still Arturo. He’s studied and careful by nature. Even if he does something crazy, we have a Renshai who can overpower him. When Griff arrives, Darris will accompany him, and he’s also trained as a royal bodyguard.”

  Practically instinctively, Tae realized. The bard bloodline seemed to assure reasonable ability with a sword as well as spectacular musical ability, with or without formal training, at least for the firstborn child. Matrinka had not spoken the words, but Tae knew she also trusted him to pacify Mistri. With his young charge safe, Arturo had little reason to act out violently.

  Tae’s thoughts returned to the sea voyage. It had taken days to leave the Kjempemagiska far enough behind that Captain could no longer spot them with his Box of Farseeing. Perhaps they had given up and returned to Heimstadr, but Tae doubted it. More likely, they had gathered their warships and were, at this moment, speeding toward Béarn only a few days or weeks behind them.

  But the journey had given him time to win Mistri’s trust and, ultimately, glean some information about the Kjempemagiska culture, if only on a very basic level and through the eyes of a young child. He had also spent significant time with Arturo. Though the Béarnide spoke little and seemed suspicious of any information presented, he did appear to be listening and considering. Mistri spoke for him frequently, and Tae had a low level understanding of how the two had met and bonded as well as how the Kjempemagiska thought of Arturo/Bobbin, their alsona servants, and the people of the continent. He had also picked up an enormous understanding of the island languages, verbal and mental. Though Mistri had a young child’s understanding of spoken syntax, her mental abilities, and the information accompanying the sendings, filled in the gaps. Knowing children, Tae had little difficulty adjusting his perception.

  Realizing he had gone silent too long, Tae pursed his lips and nodded. “As long as you know the risks, I have no right to countermand you.”

  “I know the risks,” Matrinka assured him.

  Tae returned to his seat beside Mistri.

  Imorelda yawned and stretched; the last remnants of a purr rumbled away. *She fluffed my fur all the wrong way. And she folded my tail. And she pulled my whiskers.*

  Tae looked at the cat. Despite her complaints, her move from Mistri’s lap to his appeared casual and unhurried. The silver-and-black stripes lay in their regular soft array. *If that’s the worst that happens to you, you’re one lucky cat.*

  *You’re the worst that happens to me. You beat me and squash me and drown me and burn me . . .*

  *And yet,* Tae pointed out, *you’re still with me.*

  *Only because you need me.* Imorelda lashed her tail but settled into Tae’s lap. *Without me, you’d have been dead a long time ago.*

  Tae could scarcely argue. *So true, my love. So true.* He had missed their conversations, even if they did tend to consist mostly of her complaints and denigration. She clearly meant them all with love.

  Mistri groped blindly for Tae and caught his thigh, then his arm. She squeezed, the cover muffling her voice. “Can’t you hear me?”

  Reluctantly, Tae pointed out, *And I’m afraid I still need you to translate, Imorelda. This will be stressful for everyone, but especially for Mistri. She may well be our key to winning this war, to saving us all from dying horribly. She has to trust me, and to do that, she has to be able to communicate with me.*

  Tae had already explained this to Mistri several times on the ship, but he dutifully did so again. “When I’m close enough, I can always hear usaro. But I’m the only one on the continent who can hear anari, and even I’m sometimes deaf to it.” An analogy occurred to him. “Don’t you have deaf people at home? People who can’t hear anything?”

  Mistri shook her head, then stopped mid-movement. “Some alsona old or head-hurt or no ear, can’t hear usaro. Everyone hear anari.” She touched t
he covered sides of her head. “Don’t need ear.”

  Tae was certain he did not want to know how alsona became “head-hurt” or lost their ears entirely. He switched to anari, for Mistri’s sake. As they used the Heimstadr languages, no one could overhear them either way. *I’m not sure what’s going to happen here. Matrinka’s bringing Bobbin’s father, the king, and his bodyguard, Bobbin’s sisters and one half-brother. None of them know he’s still alive. I don’t know how they’ll react.*

  *Happy?* Mistri suggested.

  *Definitely,* Tae confirmed the innocent assertion. *But also confused and, possibly, suspicious. He’s lost weight, and he’s not acting like himself. Matrinka doesn’t have any doubts; she’s his mother. But others may not feel as secure about his identity.*

  *Are you sure Bobbin is this prince man?*

  It was a legitimate question, one Tae had already pondered several times. Imorelda’s insistence that every human had a unique smell had clinched it for him. *Bobbin can’t hear anari, can he?*

  Mental silence followed. Hidden, Mistri’s features gave Tae no clue. Finally, she spoke, *No.* Another hesitation. *Is that why he’s so . . . animally?*

  Tae knew he had reached a breakthrough. For the first time, he dared to wonder if Matrinka might be right, if the Kjempemagiska response to them would change if they understood their assault involved intelligent beings. Tae shook the idealistic thought from his head, sheer madness. The alsona closely resembled the people of the continent, spoke both of the Kjempemagiska languages, and lived among them, yet the magical giants still had no qualms about enslaving and torturing them. *It’s certainly why he doesn’t understand a lot of what you say to him—he only hears what you say in usaro. And until he’d heard it for a while, he didn’t understand what you said aloud, either.* Once again, Tae sent a concept of differing languages with his words. It might take Mistri several repetitions and explanations to understand an idea that did not exist in her culture.