by Anthony Ryan
“You have everything you require, Highness?” he asked.
“Save my freedom.”
“A salient matter we’ll get to shortly. I thought you might like to know your subjects refused to leave. They were offered passage to the Realm in accordance with our agreement but steadfastly declined to take it.”
“They are unharmed I trust.”
“We quartered them downstairs, quite unmolested I assure you.” He rose and went to the veranda, standing aside and indicating for her to join him. They stood regarding the darkening city for a time, Ell-Nurin’s eyes frequently returning to her face. After a moment she took the scarf from her head and stepped closer to him, angling her head to display the full spectacle. “Please, my lord. Feel free to take a good long look.”
“My . . . apologies,” he said as she stepped back, tying the scarf back into place. “I merely wished to confirm . . .” He paused, grimacing in discomfort. “I saw you once. It was after the war, you came to the Varinshold docks to present rewards to one of your brother’s ships, returned from a long exploration of some kind.”
“The Swift Wing,” she recalled. “The first Realm vessel to sail as far as the southern ice wall, though it took them five years to do it.”
“An impressive feat, but one accomplished by Meldenean sailors near twenty years ago.” He turned back to the city as more and more lights appeared in the blocky mass of shadows. “How do you like the view?”
“A pretty place.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re about to tell me about my father’s terrible crime and the greatness displayed by your people in building beauty from the ashes of destruction.”
“Tales of your perception are clearly not exaggerated. However, I was also going to ask if you could offer any reasonable explanation as to why he did it.”
“Your raids were becoming more than a nuisance,” Lyrna said simply. “He couldn’t afford the Realm’s trade to be adversely affected, not with a long-dreamt-of war to plan.”
“So he was planning it even then? Our city was burned to the ground in service to a war not destined to take place for over a decade?”
“I suspect he had it planned before he even finished building the Realm. It was the glorious summit of his reign.”
“Utter defeat was glorious?”
Utter defeat was the point. “A young man’s dream turned into an old man’s desperate gamble. Perhaps, my lord, you would do me the courtesy of answering a question of mine. Just how did he persuade the Ship Lords to carry his army to the empire’s shores?”
“A lot of gold, a ship-load of bluestone and a promise: Untesh was to be ours when the war was won. One of the richest ports in the Erinean given over to the Isles. The Council thought it worth the risk, plus if it failed, they would have the pleasure of witnessing the ruin of the army that destroyed this city. All decisions taken before I secured my own Lordship, I hasten to add.”
He remained silent for a time, his foxlike face drawn with a mix of sadness and worry. “Will you fight?” Lyrna asked.
“What choice do we have?”
“Several. The Isles are rich in ships. Gather your people and flee, find refuge in Alpiran lands. The Emperor may be willing to forgive past indiscretions in return for such a sizeable and capable fleet. Or sail far away to a new land. The crew of the Swift Wing spoke of vast tracts of empty coastline in southern waters. It was one of my brother’s more lofty ambitions to send settlers there, if ever the treasury could yield enough coin to fund it.”
“Is that what you’ll tell your people when you return home? Leave the land of your fathers and just run away?”
“Does that mean you intend to release me?”
“The time when we could be select in our allies is past. Since your father’s crime we have not been idle, knowing that sound intelligence is the best defence, we sent spies to every port in the known world.”
“Hence Captain Belorath’s mission to capture the encoded book.”
“Quite. It was not easy placing an agent so close to the Council-man’s son. Luckily his greed worked to our advantage. We’ve also long maintained spies in your Realm, though I’m sure this is no surprise to you. They tell us the Volarian campaign is far from complete. Alltor still holds out against siege, slavers are afraid to journey beyond Varinshold’s walls and their armies find burnt crops, dead livestock and spoiled wells everywhere they tread. It seems you may still have some kind of Realm to return to, Highness. Though I can’t say for how much longer.”
“Then return me there. When I’ve won back my Realm our strength is yours. You have my word.”
“And I believe it, but it seems time is our enemy.” He took a small roll of thin paper from his sleeve, holding it out to her. Another code, simpler than the Volarian cypher.
“VF sailed from Varinshold,” she read.
“A pigeon brought it this afternoon. We have spies, as I said. It was dispatched two days ago.”
VF: Volarian Fleet. “How long until they arrive?” she asked.
“With a fair wind, two weeks.”
“My lord, if there was anything I could do . . .”
“There is, Highness.” His gaze was fierce with conviction. “You can redeem your father’s crime and give these islands its Shield back.”
◆ ◆ ◆
“So that’s the Wensel Isle,” Harvin said, peering at the small outcrop of rock rising from the waves a half mile distant. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Show some respect,” Iltis snapped. “You are privileged to look upon the birthplace of the Faith.”
“Not quite, brother,” Lyrna said. “Merely the site where the first catechisms were penned.”
Iltis bowed in contrition. “Quite so. Forgive me, my Queen.”
Stop doing that, she wanted to say, finding she much preferred his less-awed self. They had all begun to act much the same way since her identity became known. Murel was the worst, so stuttering and tongue-tied Lyrna felt tempted to slap her.
“I can’t see anything,” the girl said, leaning against the rail and peering at the rock.
“The Order House is carved into the rock,” Iltis explained. “The oldest in the Faith’s history and vault of the original catechisms. Even the Meldeneans respect its sacredness and leave the brothers in peace.”
The Sea Sabre had weighed anchor after a two-day voyage from the Isles, the seas had been kind up until this morning when the waves began to rise as they approached the Wensel Isle. Captain Belorath had advised that the waters surrounding the Isle were ever troubled, so many hidden reefs and conflicting currents making it a notoriously difficult channel to navigate. Is that why he chose it? Lyrna wondered, watching the waves crash against the rocky mound. Less chance of visitors.
Belorath strode up to her and bowed. “The boat is ready, Highness.”
“Thank you, Captain. The other matter we discussed?”
He nodded and beckoned to one of the crew who brought a canvas bundle and a small wooden chest, placing them at Lyrna’s feet with a clumsy attempt at a bow. Lyrna raised her gaze to the five people with whom she had suffered so much, realising any chance of friendship was lost for good. It had always been this way. Such things are not for us, Lyrna, her father had said as she watched the other children of the court run and play and laugh. We are not them and they are not us. They serve, we command and in commanding serve them in turn.
She crouched down and undid the bundle, revealing three swords of the Asraelin pattern. She stood and gestured for the men to take them. “This ceremony is normally more elaborate, and perhaps and at a later date we can arrange a more formal occasion. But for now, good sirs, I merely ask you a question. Your answer is your own to make, to be made without regard to prior obligation or fear of recrimination. Will you pledge yourselves and these swords in service to the Unified Realm?”
They were already dropping to one knee before she finished speaking. She was startled to see Iltis’s sword was shaking a little as held it up before his bowed head. “I will, Highness,” he said, quickly echoed by Benten and Harvin.
“You honour me,” she told them. “I hereby name you Swords of the Realm. All previous crimes and indiscretions are pardoned by the Queen’s Word.” She moved to Iltis. “Stand up, brother,” she told him as he continued to kneel.
He rose, standing at rigid attention and swallowing. “Lord Iltis . . .” She paused, realising she didn’t know his family name.
“Adral, Highness,” the big man said.
“Thank you. Lord Iltis Al Adral, I name you Protector of the Queen’s Person, until such time as you wish to return to your Order, of course.”
“That time will never come, Highness.”
She smiled and moved on to Harvin. “Don’t have a family name, y’Highness,” he said. “None that I know of anyways.”
“I see. In that case it’ll be Lord Harvin of the Broken Chain, until you find a name more to you liking.”
“Think I like that one just fine, y’Highness.”
“It’s just Highness, my lord.”
“Grey Gull, Highness,” Benten said when she moved to him. “Fisher folk take the name of their family’s boat. Boat might sink or get scrapped, but the name never changes.”
“Lord Benten Al Grey Gull it is. You and Lord Harvin will answer to Lord Iltis from now on. Your sole concern will be my protection. The Realm needs a head to wear the crown, you will ensure I keep mine.”
She lifted the small chest from the deck and turned to the women, both of whom were already on their knees. Lyrna opened the chest and held it out to them. “Not the style I would have chosen, but they’ll do for now.” The rings were both identical, simple silver bands inset with small bluestones, the best the Meldenean jewellers could offer at short notice. “A queen needs her ladies. But the choice is yours and the road ahead long and fraught with danger. So think well before you answer, will you stay at my side?”
Murel took the ring immediately whilst Orena was more hesitant. “My Queen,” she said. “My life before . . . It was not noble. I shouldn’t wish to besmirch your patronage with my reputation.”
“I think such trivia is behind us now, my lady,” Lyrna said.
Orena blinked away tears and took the ring. “Dunsa was my husband’s name. I should like to use my own, Vardrian.”
“Lady Orena Al Vardrian. Rise and take your place.”
Lyrna extended her hand to Murel, who took it and pressed a kiss to the fingers, weeping openly. “H-Harten, my Queen.”
“Lady Murel Al Harten.” Lyrna took the girl by the arms and gently pulled her to her feet, pushing the hair back from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You really have to stop crying.”
◆ ◆ ◆
The warden of the Wensel Isle greeted them on the flat section of carved rock that served as the island’s dock. He was an elderly brother of the First Order, wearing a once-white robe now grey with age and use, matching the extensive beard that swung from his chin like frayed rope.
“Grave news indeed, Highness,” he said when Lyrna had related her reason for coming. The sight of her face and word of the Realm’s troubles seemed to concern him no more than a bad turn in the weather.
He introduced himself as Brother Lirken as he led her up the carved steps to the Order House, hewn from this rock some seven hundred years ago. A few other brothers waited there, greeting her with bows but no sign of particular interest. Most soon returned to reading their scrolls or sitting in silent meditation. They were all of a similar age to Brother Lirken, making her wonder how they managed to subsist in such a harsh place.
“The rock pools supply crabs and mussels aplenty,” Lirken said in answer to her question. “And we gather seaweed at low tide. It’s surprisingly hearty if cooked properly. I can bring some if you are in need of nourishment.”
“I’m afraid I must decline, brother.” She cast her gaze around the chamber of elderly brothers. “Is he here?”
“Atheran Ell-Nestra does not live amongst us, Highness. In the months since he came here we’ve had no more than a few moments in his company. Come, I’ll take you to him.”
She followed the old brother through the Order House and out onto an uneven track leading along a narrow ridge to a promontory some two hundred paces away. “You would be well advised to keep low, Highness,” Lirken suggested. “The waves sometimes sweep over the ridge.”
Iltis stepped forward, the only escort she had chosen to bring. “This route is too treacherous, Highness. I’ll go and fetch him back.”
“No, my lord.” Lyrna stepped onto the track, finding the rock more damp than she would have liked. “This is something best done myself, I think. Wait here for me. I believe Brother Lirken can show you the original parchments of the first catechisms.”
“Indeed I can,” Lirken said, suddenly enthused. “You are a scholar, my lord?”
Iltis’s face was as hard as the surrounding granite. “I was a brother of the Fifth Order. Now I’m not. I shall wait here for my queen’s return.”
Lyrna suppressed a grin at the old brother’s discomfort and started along the ridge, keeping low as he advised. She was halfway across when the first wave came, smashing into the rocks and raising a tall cascade of spume, crashing down on her with considerable force as she sank to all fours, clinging to the stone. She got to her feet when it subsided, thoroughly drenched, and stumbled on. She was obliged to suffer two more near drownings before reaching the promontory.
There was a narrow ascending path carved into the irregular pillar of granite, leading to a cave from which a thin column of smoke could be seen rising. The path was sloppy with moss and she stumbled several times before reaching the cave. The view of the surrounding ocean was impressive at this height, the curve of the earth discernible through the occasional break in the weather. Below her the Sea Sabre bobbed on the waves like a toy. Sunlight broke through the clouds to bathe the small plateau and she wrung out the headscarf she had been obliged to remove on the ridge, tying it back into place to ward against the paining heat. A noise caused her to turn to the cave, making out a shadowed figure against the dim firelight inside.
“You have chosen an uncomfortable perch, my lord Shield,” she said. “But a fine view.”
The man who emerged from the cave was tall and broad across the shoulders, long blond hair trailing in the wind as he stood regarding her in silence.
Just as pretty as the spies said, Lyrna thought, noting the handsome features beneath the beard.
“You know who I am,” the Shield said after a long moment. “Who are you?”
“Queen Lyrna Al Nieren, of the Unified Realm.” She bowed. “At your service, my lord.”
Pale blue eyes searched her face for a moment before he turned away, returning to the cave without a word. Lyrna hesitated, wondering if she should follow him inside; however, he re-emerged soon enough bearing a steaming earthenware cup. “I just brewed some tea,” he said, holding it out to her. “The only luxury I find I can’t do without.”
“My thanks.” She sipped the beverage, raising her hairless brows in appreciation. “Very nice. From the southern Alpiran provinces is it not?”
“Indeed. One of the few lands whose ships always enjoyed immunity during my pirate days. In return they would deliver a year’s supply to the Isles, just for me.” He watched her sip more tea, arms crossed, the brisk sea wind ruffling his threadbare shirt. “I had the brothers send the Ship Lords’ messenger away,” he said. “Now they send you. Or have you usurped your brother and seized the Isles, I wonder?”
“My brother is dead. Killed by a Volarian assassin the night my Realm was invaded. She burned me with Dark-born fire, as you can see.”
“A terrible thing. My con
dolences.”
“Your own people will need your condolences soon, for the Volarian fleet sails to seize their islands as we speak.”
“They are fierce and well supplied with ships. I’m sure the battle will be a grand sight to see.”
“Ship Lord Ell-Nurin seems convinced of their defeat if you are not there to lead them. Captain Belorath also. He sailed the Sea Sabre across the entire Boraelin faster than any ship before to bring warning of the invasion.”
“My first mate always was the finest of sailors. Please send him my regards.”
She saw the hardness of his gaze then, the anger simmering away inside. “Lord Al Sorna is renowned as the finest warrior ever born to the Unified Realm,” she said. “Defeat at his hands carries no dishonour.”
“Defeat implies there was some form of contest,” he replied in a quiet tone, turning back to the cave. “Enjoy the tea. Leave the cup when you go, I only have the one.”
The cup shattered on the lip of the cave as he ducked his head to enter, turning to look upon her furious visage with narrowed eyes.
“It seems,” Lyrna said, “I have suffered many trials to come here and beg aid from a man who has suffered no more than humiliation, wallowing in self-pity whilst his people face ruin and enslavement.”
“Humiliation?” he asked, then began to laugh. “That’s why you think I’m here? Did your own people ever shun you, Highness? Did they turn their gaze from you at every opportunity, teach their children insults they were too craven to hurl themselves? Watch men you sailed with for years spit on your shadow? All because you failed in a murder they had lusted after for a generation. I did not exile myself, I was exiled. I am here because I can go nowhere else. My face is known in every port from here to Volaria, and I’ll find a well-earned noose waiting in every one.”
“Not in my ports,” she said. “I’ll pardon every ship you ever ransomed, every scrap of treasure you ever stole. Even every murder.”
“I never murdered. Never killed a man save in a fair fight.” He drew up short as something drew his gaze out to sea. Lyrna turned to see a familiar sight. The red shark was back, it’s full size revealed for the first time as it circled the Sea Sabre with slow flicks of its tail.