Winds of War

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “We must distill more information about the attacks,” Torsten implored. “Find out if that afhem was acting alone so we can pit them against one another.”

  “Nothing more.” Oleander shot Torsten a cold glare he knew was meant to silence him. As beautiful as she was, even Liam the Conqueror couldn’t wield a glower with such vinegar.

  Torsten swallowed the lump forming in his throat, but didn’t back down. He couldn’t. The Miracle King didn’t talk, and so the Queen Mother had been his mouthpiece. When Rand Langley failed to contest during his short run as Wearer, all who spoke ill in her presence found themselves on the wrong end of a noose.

  “He will declare his fealty,” Torsten said, “but first, please consider a tactful approach. The caleefs once fancied themselves living gods. Appeal to their dignity and we can use the truth to our advantage.”

  “Weren’t you there when Sidar Rakun bent the knee to Liam and renounced his deification?”

  “I was,” Torsten said proudly.

  “The greatest warlords in the world, and we crushed them. The Caleef knows his place, unlike some of us.”

  “My Queen… I—”

  Before Torsten could finish, the double doors opened. Light poured in, shimmering off the gold clothing and beads of the Caleef’s entourage. Wardric arrived to greet them and disarm the guards. When he was finished, he nodded at Torsten, who waved them to approach.

  Torsten glanced at King Pi who didn’t even budge at the sight of them. Oleander, however, grinned wide, her lips a dark shade of violet. Torsten turned back to the hall to watch the entourage of dignitaries and shirtless servants approaching. A handful of them carried the Caleef on a golden platform, plumed at the back with broad palm leaves, the veins painted gold.

  Unlike the rest of his people, Sidar Rakun wore all-black, head to toe. Even his dark gray skin had two bars of paint, black as the beaches his people came from, running down from his eyes to his chin. And though Liam’s longtime, defeated rival was as old as he had been, his dark hair didn’t show a touch of gray.

  They stopped in the middle of the hall. An afhem barked something in Saitjuese. From behind the Caleef’s chair, his Serpent Guard—the elite defenders of the Caleef and his afhems, masters of the Black Fist combat technique—silently fanned out to form a line on either side of him.

  Their name was well-earned. According to legend, they were just as slippery and impossible to strike as snakes—though Liam had little trouble. Golden leather armor covered them head to toe. Gilded masks, bearing the shape of a snake’s head, hid their faces from their hairlines to the tips of their noses. Rumor had it they filed their teeth into fangs, though their mouths remained closed.

  Servants lowered the Caleef’s platform. Two took his hands and helped him down. Torsten struggled not to roll his eyes. Last time he saw Sidar Rakun, more than a decade ago, he groveled on the floor and declared his mortality. Liam never needed a servant to hold his hand when he could still walk. Even after his legs failed him, he never needed to be carried or fanned. The man had dignity unto death.

  “So, it’s true,” Sidar said as he approached, staring at King Pi. His voice was deep and full of timbre, but Torsten knew it was all bravado. He’d heard his true voice when he’d surrendered the first time.

  Sidar stopped before the dais and stood tall. Oleander’s face twisted with rage.

  “You stand before Pi Nothhelm,” Torsten said. “Son of Liam Nothhelm, first of his name, the Miracle of Iam, and High King and Lord of the Glass Kingdom.”

  “’The Miracle King,’” Sidar said as if imitating someone. He remained standing straight.

  Torsten coughed and looked toward the Caleef’s legs.

  “Ah, yes, my apologies.” The Caleef bent his knee, though never allowed it to touch the floor before standing proud again. “I am so very pleased to see you well again, King Pi.”

  “Turns out no one believes in punctuality,” Oleander said, eyeing Torsten.

  “Your Grace?” Sidar said.

  “We expected you here yesterday on the day of my son’s coronation under Iam.”

  “We set out from Latiapur the moment we received Sir Unger’s galler bird. We ran into a few delays at Marimount, however. I wish I could have been here, but your son wears the crown of his father proudly.”

  “The crown is his own,” Oleander corrected.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it? It is a great pleasure to see you again as well, Your Grace,” he addressed Oleander. “I believe the last time I saw King Pi, he was this tall.” He held his hand just under his kneecap.

  Oleander stepped forward, her hand falling upon the arm of the throne. “Yes, I believe it was the day you wore the white of surrender to these very halls and cowered before my husband.”

  Torsten coughed from shock.

  “Your Grace, today is a day of celebration,” Sidar said.

  “No, yesterday was a day of celebration,” Oleander interrupted.

  “Ah, yes,” Sidar said, tipping his head slightly. “But Liam’s great son has returned to us. Iam smiles upon you again. Must we dwell on a bitter past?”

  “Iam smiles upon us all,” Oleander said. For once, Torsten agreed with her. Showing the godless Shesaitju the way of Iam after they were conquered wasn’t easy. Many of them still clung to their old ways of worshipping their ancestors and warlords.

  “Yes, of course. I will admit, I have struggled to feel his light since my heart was opened to him, but seeing your son alive and well, sitting right in front of me after hearing of his unfortunate fate…. It truly is a blessing.”

  “Enough pandering, Sidar. You are going to make me sick. Do not pretend you were only invited here to share a feast in the name of our new king. The Wearer of White sent for you because your people raided villages under the protection of the Crown.”

  “When I heard what happened, I prayed for the well-being of your people. Whoever raided your lands did so without my knowing.”

  “Ah, of course. Then who should I blame for killing my people?”

  One of Sidar’s afhems whispered something into the ear of another. They smirked.

  “I do not see the humor in this,” Oleander snapped at them. “What did they say?”

  “I didn’t hear, Your Grace,” Sidar said. “But my people would be wise to remain silent whilst I converse with their queen.” He glared back at his entourage, and they immediately fell silent.

  Torsten’s understanding of Saitjuese was rough, but it was enough for him to put together the comment. “I hear she kills her own,” they said. Torsten decided it was better not to translate.

  “Your Grace, have I done something to offend the young king?” Sidar asked, clearly in an effort to change the subject. “He has avoided looking at me since I entered.”

  Oleander wrapped her way around the throne and sat on the armrest. She ran her fingers through Pi’s hair, then stroked the crown. Pi continued staring blankly at the wall.

  “My son, your King, does not wish to look upon you until you swear fealty to him,” she said.

  “I do not understand your meaning, Your Grace.”

  “’Your Grace.’ ‘Your Grace,’” she mocked. “Are you so kind to all your friends before you stab them in the back?”

  “Your Gr—Queen Oleander. The Kingdom of the Black Sands remains loyal to Yarrington. Our lands have prospered under the rule of your late husband.”

  “Torsten?” the Queen said. He preferred Sir Unger in such a public setting, but she never was one for the ceremonial.

  “Yes, my Queen?” Torsten replied.

  “In your vast experience, do loyalists delay tax payment and then burn a handful of innocent farming villages to the ground, destroying crops that would help this city… oh, how did he put it… ‘prosper’ through the winter.”

  Torsten feared where her bluntness would lead, but there was only one clear answer: “No.”

  “Then you see why I hesitate to believe a word out of your mouth, Sidar.” S
he turned back to him, and Torsten saw him shudder slightly. “Perhaps you came here to discuss the weather, but you were summoned here to answer for your transgressions.”

  “Your Grace, you must understand,” Sidar said. “Storms in the Boiling Waters ravaged us this year and cost us greatly.”

  “How convenient.”

  “If the Master of Coin lists all discrepancies we will fulfill our obligations as we are able.”

  “You think I care about a few loose coins? You walk up to this throne, up to your holy King, as if nothing is wrong. You wear black when white is more appropriate. The smelting of your little platform would pay for all your discrepancies. But would payment and apologies put those villages back together?”

  “As I said, the perpetrator of those attacks is unknown to me.”

  “So, it is a mystery to you that one of your afhems is secretly raising a vast army west of the bay? What did you hear them call him, Torsten? Mosquito was it?”

  “Muskigo, Your Grace,” Torsten said.

  “Indeed.”

  A flicker of emotion passed over Sidar’s face. Whether it was confusion, guilt, or surprise the Queen knew, Torsten wasn’t sure. There was a reason Muskigo raised his army in the fog of the Fellwater Swamp. He didn’t want to be known.

  “My Queen,” Sidar whispered, “perhaps we should continue this conversation in private.”

  “Anything you want to say, you can say here in front of my son, your King, and his Royal Council. Do you admit the afhem called Muskigo was acting on his own authority when he attacked my lands?”

  “I was not aware of his intentions. I was led to believe he raised a fleet to answer the call of the Breklians who have been under the heavy hand of pirates.”

  Torsten studied his face as he talked. Either Sidar was the best liar he’d ever met, or Torsten had his answer. Muskigo was acting entirely of his own accord, and Sidar Rakun was as shocked as Torsten had been when he stumbled upon the army.

  “Strange, we’ve heard nothing of the plight of the Breklians,” the Queen sneered. “Unless my loyal Wearer and scouts are lying, he is camped in the Fellwater, preparing to ravage my kingdom even further.”

  “I swear to you in the name of Iam, this news comes as a surprise to me.”

  “Then, do you renounce him as one of your own? Will you raise your forces with us and remove the stain of his being from Pantego?”

  Sidar exhaled. “It is more complicated than you might think, Your Grace. His is a respected family that has walked the black sands for centuries.”

  “Then you endorse his slaughtering of innocents while my people mourned the loss of my husband?”

  “No, never, my Queen, but if I raise arms against an afhem I—”

  “Enough,” Pi said softly.

  Torsten thought himself hallucinating, but the Queen spun a full circle toward her son. Even the nearest guards broke their discipline and turned their heads.

  Sidar too was stunned speechless. Even had he not known of the boy’s lingering silence, for a ruler of Sidar’s age and stature to be addressed so boldly by a child was a rare thing.

  “Excuse me, Highness?” Sidar asked.

  Pi placed his feet beneath him and rose to a standing position on the throne. Torsten felt a chill so cold it was as if the doors had been opened and Winter’s Thumb had migrated south. The King’s eyes had been little more than a blank stare for months, but now they glinted with the same passion and vigor his father’s once did.

  “I said, that’s enough. Your queen asked a simple question. Will you declare the traitor an enemy and stand with us, or are you our enemy as well?” Even his voice had changed. It was smooth and confident, carrying across the hall like a practiced orator. He sounded like his father.

  Sidar stuttered over a response.

  “My Queen, perhaps the Caleef was right and we should proceed privately,” Torsten tried to whisper to her behind the throne, but she was too preoccupied staring at the hard features of her baby boy to hear him.

  “It isn’t difficult,” Pi said.

  “I can strip Muskigo of his title and demand he surrender,” Sidar said. “But I cannot order my people to stand against one of their own. You must understand.”

  “I understand that Afhem Muskigo is an enemy of the Crown, and unless you lie, a traitor to you as well.”

  “And he will be given the chance to remedy his mistakes. Please, Your Grace, I beg you not to act rashly. Be reasonable. Let us address this misunderstanding diplomatically before resorting to war.”

  “An act of war has already been committed,” Pi declared. “My foolish mother was merely too distracted to notice.”

  For the first time since he spoke, Oleander stopped marveling and winced, shaken by the harshness of his words.

  “My precious boy, certainly you don’t—”

  Pi held out a hand to silence her. Her lips sealed immediately, something Torsten thought was impossible.

  “Sir Unger,” Pi said. He turned to face Torsten.

  “My King?” Torsten could barely get the words out. A year as Wearer of White and he’d never actually had a conversation with the boy.

  “Until the Caleef reconsiders, he and his followers are to be confined to this castle. As of this moment, I declare the Kingdom of the Black Sands enemies of the Crown.”

  Sidar staggered back a few steps, then looked to the Queen. “Your Grace, I was invited here to celebrate your son’s coronation. This revelation complicates things, but I am prepared to discuss the situation peaceably. However, we will not stay here as prisoners.”

  Pi stepped to the edge of the seat where he stood a good head taller than Sidar and stared down his nose at him. “You will proceed to your quarters, or you will be forced there.”

  Torsten was busy thinking of how to de-escalate the situation when he felt suddenly compelled to reach for his sword. It was like he wasn’t even in control of his own body, years of service instinctually willing his muscles to serve his king.

  He removed it a few inches from his back scabbard, and every Glass soldier and Shieldsman present followed his lead. The sharp rasp of metal hummed through the hall.

  A Serpent Guard sprang into action, hurried to the Caleef, pulling him down from the dais to be surrounded by his men. They were unarmed, but as the Serpent Guards dropped into fighting stances, Torsten knew they needed no weapons to be a threat.

  Torsten fully drew his claymore. His men did the same, surrounding the Shesaitju entourage with halberds and longswords. One young, overeager soldier stomped hard toward them. A Serpent Guard disarmed and turned his own weapon on him in a single motion.

  “Stop this!” Torsten barked. He moved before Pi and the Queen and lowered his voice. “Your Graces, I do not think this wise. He tells the truth about Muskigo, I am sure of it. Perhaps he can talk the rogue afhem down, but if we do this, war is certain.”

  The Queen remained too consumed with her son to answer. Pi, on the other hand, reached out and laid both his hands on Torsten’s shoulders. He may have appeared frail, but Torsten felt unexpected pressure from them, felt small beneath them.

  “Sir Unger,” Pi said. “Your name was featured in many great tales my father told me before his days of illness. I would hate to see one of our finest commanders exiled again for defying orders.”

  Torsten’s heart sank. The boy had been in a deep sleep when Torsten had been sent away by the Queen on a fool’s errand, yet somehow he knew. And to retrieve his worthless doll nonetheless. Now, as Torsten stared upon Pi’s face, despite the boy’s size, he saw a child no longer. The boy didn’t just sound like Liam, it was there in his eyes, too.

  Torsten turned to face the Shesaitju Caleef, unable to deny his new king. He could barely control his own breathing he was so overwhelmed, so confused.

  “Caleef Rakun, your king has spoken,” he said. “Order them to stand down, and there will be no bloodshed.”

  Sidar glanced back and forth. His men formed a wall around hi
m, but halberds closed in from every side. Wardric had taken up position with a contingent of Shieldsmen at the Throne Room’s entry. His sword was drawn, but he looked as tentative as Torsten knew he should be.

  Taking the Shesaitju leader captive—a man many of them still believed to be a living god—was an unsound decision only a fledgling king would make, one he knew he should counsel more vehemently against.

  “Stand down and come with me,” Torsten demanded.

  “It’s not too late to stop this, Oleander,” Sidar said. “He’s just a child; you are a queen.”

  Torsten felt a sudden surge of rage and energy. He stormed forward. One of the Serpent Guards went to impede him, but he grabbed the man’s arm before it struck his throat, snapped it at the elbow, and flung him into the others. Then he hefted his heavy claymore with one hand, extending it toward the Caleef’s neck.

  “He is your King,” he bellowed. “And you will stand down.”

  Sidar raised his hands in surrender and nodded for his followers to do the same. His men obeyed without question. Glass soldiers promptly aimed their halberds at the gray men’s chests and directed them toward the exit.

  “Are you all insane?” Sidar shouted. “My people will not forgive this!”

  Unable to control himself, Torsten grabbed the Caleef by the arm and yanked him along more roughly then he’d intended to. It wasn’t until they were nearly out of the room that his anger subsided enough for him to breathe again.

  Sidar continued protesting, cursing in common and Saitjuese. Pi remained standing on the throne. His mother stood to his left, stunned into silence, staring as blankly as her son had been only minutes earlier. But Pi looked to his right, smiling as if someone were standing in the empty space beside him telling a hilarious joke.

  IV

  THE THIEF

  “This is Winde Port?” Sora asked, clearly unimpressed.

  “Oh, I’ve missed this place,” Whitney drew a deep breath. He could smell the salt of Trader's Bay even from the other side of the city. They were on the main road heading in, Merchants Row. It was dotted with mobile trading posts and merchant caravans, not unlike the one they’d stolen.