A Draw of Kings

by Patrick W. Carr

“It makes people tell the truth,” Adora said. “And it usually makes them drowsy.”

  He grunted. “No telling what it’s going to do to a horse.” He held out his hand. “It’s a good thing animals can’t speak. I don’t really want to know what a horse would have to confess.”

  Rokha tied her reins to the post of the nearest building. None of the rough dwellings were more than one story high. She stood on the rail and pulled herself up onto the gently sloped roof and disappeared. A moment later she reappeared, swinging down to land on her feet. “There’s no sign of pursuit. I think we can spare a moment to see if anything useful was left behind.”

  Adora found little comfort in Rokha’s words. No sign of pursuit might simply mean their enemies were just out of sight. Perhaps they had managed to kill the horses in the stable, but the malus hunting them would simply threaten villagers until others were provided. How much of a lead did they really have?

  They departed moments later with Waterson on Rokha’s mount leading his horse and the two women doubled up on Adora’s. Rokha’s search had yielded nothing, not even a stale crust of bread. A door creaked in the breeze as if lamenting the village’s desertion.

  34

  Blind

  MARTIN ARWITTEN, newly anointed defender of the faith and archbenefice of Illustra, stalked the halls of Escarion. Anyone entitled to wear the red of the benefice or the blue of the conclave bypassed him with a display of dexterity normally denied such sedentary men.

  Word had spread of his temper until even the servants avoided him.

  Gone. Both of them, Errol and Liam, gone. One of them would be, had to be, the next savior and king of Illustra, and he’d somehow been persuaded to let them out of his sight, away from Escarion, where they could have been protected until the proper time.

  Luis Montari walked beside him, his footsteps light, as though he bore no concern whatsoever over the fate of the kingdom. The secondus seemed to be the only man in Escarion who dared the archbenefice’s presence. That fact annoyed Martin on some level he couldn’t explain.

  “They should be here, protected,” Martin said.

  “We cast the question, Archbenefice,” Luis said.

  Even the use of his title annoyed him. Had Bertrand Canon ever felt so powerless in the midst of his authority? “I have learned to be distrustful of lots.”

  Luis grimaced as though Martin had offered a personal rebuke, but after a moment he nodded and relaxed once more. “Then what did Aurae say to you when we sent Errol and Liam forth?”

  Martin grunted. He hated arguing with the compact Talian at his side. He lost far too often. “Nothing. Aurae said nothing. I should have kept them here.”

  “If sending them out was wrong, wouldn’t Aurae have told you?” Luis asked.

  “You’re a very annoying little man to have around.”

  Luis’s face remained impassive.

  Martin fidgeted as he walked. Hints of ideas, troubling notions he could share with no one else, bubbled through his mind. “We are blind, Luis. We fight a war that cannot be won without divine intervention, and at the same time the craft that has served the church for centuries has failed us at the most crucial juncture.”

  “I know. Martin, I’m sorry that . . .”

  He put an arm on his friend’s shoulder. “No. No. I do not chastise you. Rather, I ask why?”

  “Archbenefice?”

  “Why are we blind now and only on this one question?” He pointed in the general direction of the conclave’s temporary quarters. “Our world still works in its fundamental ways. Every other question you cast yields an answer, but not that one.”

  “In some way our art has failed us,” Luis said. “No. We have failed in our art.” He laughed without humor. “Men and women all over the kingdom, from the poorest widow to the richest merchant, live searching for answers. I envy them. The answers have never been difficult; it’s always been the questions I’ve struggled to find.”

  Martin nodded, reaching out to open the door. “I am scheduled to address the Judica—” he sighed—“again.”

  Luis frowned. “You complain a lot for an archbenefice who’s exercised more power than any in recent memory. The Judica has approved every motion you’ve put before it, and most without debate. That’s almost sacrilege for a churchman.”

  Martin acknowledged the joke with a smile and its truth with a nod, but doubt filled him. Each of the initiatives he’d proposed before had obvious support from the book Errol had recovered from the Ongolese. “This one may encounter more resistance.”

  Luis’s brown eyes showed his concern. “Do you want me to cast for you?”

  A sudden diffidence grew in Martin at the request. “No, my friend. The proposal needs to be made whether they approve it or not. Let them tell me their answer in person.” He stepped into the hallway. “But you can walk with me.”

  As they approached the temporary meeting hall, Luis continued to his quarters and Martin’s page, a distant cousin of Duke Escarion, stepped in beside Martin. The lad, eleven or twelve, reminded him a bit of Owen, wide-eyed at everything, and coltish, with skinny arms and legs that moved more than necessary as he walked. A pang of loss and regret pulled at him before he suppressed it. Owen would be happy with Ablajin’s clan. They’d already given him more love and acceptance in a few weeks than he’d received his entire life in Bellia.

  “Are the benefices all here, Breun?”

  An earnest nod that sent his brown hair flying answered him. “Yes, Your Excellency. They’ve been waiting for you.”

  That surprised him. “Am I late?”

  “No, Your Excellency.” The hair swayed in the opposite direction. “It’s just now set to ring Nones.”

  “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”

  The boy tugged the door open with that same look of earnestness. Martin stepped through and walked between the rows of red-garbed men to the low dais and the seat that awaited him. With three raps of the staff, he called the Judica to order. “We are here met in the presence of Deas. Speak no word that is not true. Utter no truth that is not complete. You are adjured by the three, Deas, Eleison, and Aurae.”

  One of his first motions had been to rewrite the liturgies and protocols to remove the word unknowable from in front of Aurae. Sometimes he still stumbled over its absence. He seated himself on a chair built to impress rather than comfort and squirmed, but the seat refused to yield. He leaned forward, hoping the movement would be interpreted as earnestness. “My fellow benefices, I called you together in order that we may consider our plight and safeguard our posterity regardless of the outcome of this war.”

  Kell rose. “Archbenefice, surely you do not countenance the possibility of defeat.”

  Martin sighed. Kell’s reaction summed up the opinion of many in the Judica. “I think we are unwise if we do not. I choose to believe that we will be victorious, that Deas will give us victory, but that choice is up to Him, is it not? The Merakhi have swept over the earth like a tide as they have before.” He paused to let them recall the bit of history his words would surely bring to mind: Magis’s sacrifice and death.

  “We await the revelation of our own Magis,” he continued. “But we cannot fully know the mind of Deas. What if he does not appear?” Now he needed to steer their thoughts toward his goal. “I believe the soteregia will be revealed, though he is unknown to us at present, but I would not have whatever remnants of the church that survive live in the darkness we have endured.”

  Benefice Kell stood again, the few tufts of hair that had yet to surrender their purchase on his head waving with the movement. “What do you propose, Archbenefice?”

  Martin would have preferred to keep the Judica in suspense a moment longer, but he could not appear hesitant. “I propose that we commission every church functionary not occupied with the war to copy the book, and that those copies be sent forth with laymen appointed to keep them safe. The book must survive. We cannot lose it again.”

  The import of his
proposal struck the Judica with the force of a thunderclap. Kell fumbled for his seat, and the benefices reeled in silence. Benefice Michay, whose jurisdiction included Escarion, gaped at him, his mouth moving without sound.

  “You would trust the book of history to any peasant who knows how to read?” Kell asked.

  Martin shook his head. Oratory would not avail him now. There could be no dissembling or maneuvering; Kell had stated the fear of the Judica in plain terms. “We, the Judica, must remain here, close to the fighting, in the hope that when the conclave, or Deas, reveals the identity of the king, we can crown him.” He paused and let his gaze sweep the hall. “We have no surety that we will survive, but the book must.”

  “But to distribute copies must surely dilute the church’s power,” Michay said. Like every Gascon, his words leaned on each other, giving his speech a seductive rhythm.

  Martin nodded. “I understand, and I agree that may be a possibility, but for centuries we referred to the loss of the book as ‘Magis’s Folly.’ My benefices, can we afford to repeat his mistake? If the Judica becomes a casualty of war, the book must survive.”

  Grudging acceptance showed itself in the way each man sighed, nodded, or closed his eyes. Stubborn they might be, but each one of them had witnessed enough upheaval within the past year to recognize necessity, however grim it seemed.

  “My benefices,” Martin said as he rose from his seat and took the staff of office in hand, “I would put the motion to a vote. I propose to have the book of Magis, the history, copied and sent from here by horse and ship to every corner of the earth. If Illustra falls, the history of Deas, Eleison, and Aurae will survive. Please stand if you agree.”

  In the end they all stood, as he’d hoped they would. Many of them bore cheeks stained with tears of loss, and Benefice Ripani of Talia wept openly. “We have authorized schism within the church, Archbenefice.”

  “Perhaps not,” Martin said. “It may be that if we embrace this change instead of fighting it, much may be saved that would otherwise be lost.”

  Ripani’s jaws tightened. “It is devoutly to be wished.”

  Martin returned to his seat and opened the Judica for deliberation of other motions. Several benefices stood at once, asking for permission to set their concerns before their fellows. Martin would have laughed to himself were the situation not so dire. The Judica possessed topics without number that needed discussion. He inclined his head toward Benefice Michay. “Speak no word that is untrue or incomplete.”

  Michay, one of Errol’s few supporters in the Judica even before that cause became popular, cleared his throat, his fine features and light-colored hair giving him a youthful air despite three-score years. “I hesitate to burden the archbenefice and the Judica with my request.”

  Martin cut him off with a chuckle. “You have been adjured. If you were truly hesitant, you wouldn’t have popped out of your seat as if it held coals.” The rest of the Judica laughed. Martin waved them to silence. “My fellow benefices, let us put aside our pretenses and speak honestly with each other. We’re not fooling each other, and it is certainly true that we are not fooling Deas. Though I am sure it will surprise you, Benefice Michay, to hear me say it, speak plainly.”

  Michay nodded, his wry smile pulling his mouth to one side. “In truth, Archbenefice, I am hesitant to bring this particular petition before you since you have already addressed the matter.”

  A hint of foreboding sent prickles running the length of his arms. “What matter might this be?”

  The benefice shrugged, his face lined with apologies. “The priest Antil, of Earl Stone’s village, has sought me out as his advocate since I administered his orders.” He shook his head. “Though I hardly remember the occasion.”

  Impatience gnawed at Martin’s belly. He should have squashed Antil like a bug. Despite Errol’s gesture of mercy, he should have had Antil thrown in the dankest prison Escarion possessed. “What does Pater Antil desire?”

  Blond eyebrows drew together over gray eyes in puzzlement. “I can only repeat what he has said, Archbenefice. He claims that Princess Adora has conferred upon him the honor of being her personal priest.”

  “This is true,” Martin said.

  “He has also said that you have forbidden him to leave Escarion.”

  “Also true,” Martin said. “Please hasten to the point.”

  Michay nodded. “It seems that those two commands are now at odds.”

  The sense of foreboding in Martin’s gut intensified. “Explain.”

  “Pater Antil says that the princess has left Escarion on an unexplained errand to the west.”

  Martin bolted from his seat, a burst of sudden anger heating his face. He snapped an order to the church guards at the door. “Bring him.”

  They blinked at him, obviously unaware of who he meant. “Bring who, Archbenefice?”

  Martin gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort not to yell. “Bring me that little toady of a priest, Antil. And I want readers, fast ones, here as well.” He snapped his fingers. “Yes. Bring the secondus.”

  Martin fumed while he waited. Gone. All of them were gone. Illustra’s survival rested on the edge of a blade, and the keys to its survival had mounted horses and scattered themselves across the province. He growled a few unarchbenefice-like phrases that would have shocked Cruk. Several members of the Judica looked at him with startled expressions, then averted their gaze. What was Adora thinking? This had to be Errol’s fault. She’d never exhibited such erratic behavior before meeting the little urchin.

  He checked himself—that was unfair. Errol Stone was no longer an urchin, and the fact that he possessed the ability to bring out the best and most extreme in people could hardly be cause to blame him.

  A pack of readers moved into the hall, and minutes later Luis entered the Judica a few heartbeats before Antil arrived, stiff and formal, wearing his stoicism as if it could somehow keep him from the realization of his sins.

  Martin surrendered his contemplation of Antil to address the readers. “Adora has left. I want to know where she is and where she’s headed.” The blue-robed men, friends he now snapped orders to, removed to a corner and conferred, blanks and knives ready.

  Martin regarded Antil once more. “When did she leave?”

  “About three days ago, Your Excellency,” Antil replied.

  Pressure built behind Martin’s eyes, and he squinted against the pain. “And when did you bring your petition to Benefice Michay?”

  A hint of a smile, small and vindictive, creased the callous lines of Antil’s face. “This morning, Your Excellency.”

  Martin clenched his jaws to keep from screaming. “You let her go? And what were you thinking to wait so long before informing us of her departure?”

  Antil’s smile grew. “As you have pointed out to me, Your Excellency, I am but a lowly priest, perhaps the lowliest in your service. It is not my place to gainsay Her Highness.” He pursed his lips. “When she did not return, I grew concerned that the princess might suffer for lack of her priest to torment. Nobles become irritable when they are deprived of their amusements.”

  Martin leaned forward from his seat to peer down at Antil. “And some priests as well.” Martin waited for the jibe to hit home. Antil’s face stiffened, resuming its masklike exterior. Martin leaned back. “I have decided on your penance, Pater Antil, a portion of it, at any rate. You will accompany a pair of guards to retrieve the princess. You are adjured to do everything in your power to ensure she returns safely to Escarion.”

  Benefice Michay stood, waiting to be recognized.

  “Yes?” Martin asked.

  “Pater Antil’s story is known to most of us within the Judica, Your Excellency. I move we compel him to do as you have instructed.”

  Martin looked across the sea of red robes assembled before him. “Please stand to indicate your assent to Benefice Michay’s motion.” A tide of crimson swelled upward.

  He met Antil’s wide-eyed stare, t
he look of a cornered animal, and sighed. “No, my brothers. Compulsion is wrong. Magnus used it in the extremity of his need. Unless the kingdom is threatened by a rogue reader, I will not resort to it.” He called to Luis. “Which direction did the princess take?”

  Luis turned the lot in his hands. “She’s headed southwest, Your Excellency. We should have the village within the hour.”

  Martin nodded. “Pater Antil, you have your orders. You are adjured by Deas, Eleison, and Aurae. I don’t trust you, so the watchmen will have specific orders regarding disobedience.”

  Antil’s answering glare held rebellion.

  35

  Rout

  ERROL STARED into the bowl-shaped basin that interrupted the Cruor Gap. A half mile from the western entrance, the depression might have been big enough to contain a small village had it offered access to running water. Barren, it still presented a stern beauty to the eye. Three hundred paces away, on the other side of the basin, beyond reliable bow shot, Merakhi forces milled, seething like a cauldron over too much heat.

  “This is as far as we can go,” Arick said. He pointed, indicating the interruption in the cliffs that offered his bowmen a clear range of fire at the enemy.

  Errol nodded at the obvious conclusion. Arick boasted few peers with a bow, but if Errol fell, leadership would have to pass to another, and the man before him was not a tactician. “What’s our best estimate of their numbers?” He didn’t want to ask the question. The forces opposite them easily surpassed the ten thousand they’d been told to expect.

  Arick shrugged but his gray eyes squinted as he focused into the distance. “It’s tough to say for certain, Captain. The gap narrows, and there are Merakhi and spawn filling it as far as we can see.”

  His reticence illustrated another reason Arick would not lead—the bowman found it difficult to commit to anything less than absolute surety. “Give me an estimate.”

  “Twenty thousand. Perhaps more.”

  Errol nodded. They couldn’t afford to advance. To venture into that bowl meant slaughter. “Our numbers?”