The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  Once she was satisfied with the flames, Tia moved the small black kettle over the heat and turned to examine the cave more closely. She knew this place so well, yet it frightened her a little. This was Neris’s private sanctuary. In this cave the tortured workings of his drug-addled mind seemed to come alive. As she looked around, something else caught her eye and she moved closer to the wall to examine it.

  Neris had sketched a diagram in charcoal on the wall of the cave since yesterday. It looked like an eye, drawn by the hand of a drunkard. On closer inspection, she realized it was a series of concentric circles. The inner circle was quite large, while the one surrounding it was elongated and distorted. Superimposed on that one was a much smaller disk. Encompassing the whole diagram was another elongated circle that Neris had written over. Tia curiously traced the word with her finger.

  Scrawled across that circle was the word death.

  Mellie came to visit for the afternoon, full of bright chatter. She kept both Tia and Neris entertained for hours with her hopelessly romantic plans for the future. Neris adored Mellie. Tia often wondered if in Mellie, her father had the daughter he wanted, rather than the one nature had burdened him with. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Neris’s mind was gone. Belagren and Ella Geon had destroyed the father she might have had before she was even born.

  Neris was sleeping again when she left him, snoring softly on the bed as Tia pulled the knitted quilt over him. They had cooked him a meal of stewed vegetables and goat meat, and stood over the madman while he ate. Mellie was of the opinion that a bath wouldn’t hurt, but Tia was more concerned about her father’s eating habits than his personal hygiene.

  “We can go now,” she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Mellie’s young brow was creased with worry. Johan’s daughter was always worrying about Neris. He was like her favorite uncle, in much the same way that Mellie’s father, Johan, was Tia’s favorite uncle.

  Except Johan isn’t a wasted shell of a man with nothing to live for but his next dose of poppy-dust, she reminded herself.

  Tia envied Mellie her father. It didn’t seem fair that one man could be so strong and another so weak. She envied Mellie’s long dark curls and her dark Thorn eyes, and her happy nature, too. Tia could never recall being so optimistic, even when she was Mellie’s age. Perhaps the cynicism doesn’t come on you until you’re older. But was I ever so damn cheerful? Even when I was twelve?

  “Will he be all right when he wakes up?”

  “He’ll be fine, Mel. He’ll probably sleep for a day or more.”

  Tia checked the cave once more to satisfy herself that everything was as it should be, then led Mellie outside. She was surprised to find the second sun quite low on the horizon and the eastern sky beginning to redden with the coming evening sunrise. As she looked down toward the delta she saw something that made her forget all about Neris.

  There was a new ship rocking gently in the muddy waters of the bay. The shallow-drafted Makuan was anchored below, her deck swarming with tiny figures unloading netted cargo with block and tackle and lowering it into the longboats tied up alongside. The ship was painted a dark shade of blue above the waterline, her masthead carved into an elaborate, demonic creature that Tia was certain had never seen the light of day on Ranadon.

  “Porl Isingrin’s back,” Tia told Mellie, slapping her back so hard she staggered. “Now you’ll be able to stop fretting about your father.”

  Mellie smiled uncertainly. Tia thought she might be a little scared of Porl. He was a brusque, unforgiving man who had no tolerance for young girls with stupid questions. Tia pushed Mellie ahead of her down the treacherous path to the beach, wondering for the thousandth time why Johan had not yet returned to Mil.

  After they rowed back across the bay, Tia and Mellie walked along the sand beside the muddy water that lapped the damp black sand, calling out to familiar faces as they passed under the bowsprit of the ship. A number of sailors called down to them, a few making lewd suggestions to Tia that made Mellie blush.

  Although she acted as if she was offended, Tia had been raised here in the Baenlands and was intensely proud of the fact that she was treated just like one of the boys, despite her sex and her dubious ancestry. Tia didn’t know if boys thought her pretty and didn’t care, although Gaven Greybrook had told her earlier this year that she was the most beautiful girl on Ranadon. But he’d been drunk at the time, so his opinion didn’t count for much. One of the sailors yelled something complimentary about her legs that she didn’t quite catch as they passed the longboat. She scowled and made a crude gesture with her finger at the sailor without looking up, and continued on up the beach.

  Grinning broadly at her friend’s obvious irritation, Mellie followed Tia to the thatched longhouse that was the closest thing the pirates had to a community hall. There was a steady stream of people going in and out as they climbed the wooden steps of the stilted house. It was crowded with villagers who, unlike the sailors on the beach, paid them no mind as they pushed their way inside. The press of people gave Tia a chance to calm her growing apprehension.

  There should have been two ships in the harbor. Porl Isingrin—the man sent to discover why Johan was so long overdue—had returned alone.

  Mellie grabbed Tia’s wrist impatiently and pulled her toward the other end of the building. An impromptu market of sorts was going on inside the longhouse as the pirates sorted through the haul coming off the ship. There were barrels of salted pork, bolts of cloth, cases of silverware packed in straw and piles of other loot that Tia did not get a chance to examine closely. The pirates’ last foray had obviously been a successful one.

  The women of the settlement were going through the haul with practiced efficiency. Some of the goods were earmarked for consumption by their small community; others were put aside for disposal in the markets of the smaller islands where the source of the goods was unlikely to be questioned. Some of the more valuable items were set aside for sale to their contacts in the Brotherhood, the organization that controlled most of the criminal activity in both Dhevyn and Senet. Dealing with the Brotherhood made Tia nervous. Their assistance came at a high price and they were not to be trusted. But as fugitives, the people of Mil had little choice about who they could trade with.

  Mellie dragged her forward until they reached a cluster of women involved in an animated discussion regarding the disposal of a trunk containing a number of books, all bound in dark, stiff leather, with their titles inlaid with gilt. One of the women seemed determined to claim the books for the schoolhouse, while another couple was arguing about the price such a haul would bring on Grannon Rock. Mellie shoved her way into the discussion. The women surrounding Porl fell silent and stood back to let her in.

  As they made room, a solid, dark-haired man turned his eyes on them and smiled at Tia with genuine warmth. It was a fleeting smile, though, and it faded to reluctance as his eyes flickered over Mellie. The man might have been handsome enough once, Tia supposed, until the Lion of Senet had tried to burn him alive. Now the right side of his face was a mass of scar tissue. His right eye was little more than a slit in the puckered skin of his ruined face, and the skin on his arms was shiny and red, stretched taut across his forearms.

  “Where have you two been? The ship’s damn near unloaded.”

  “I’m well, thanks, Captain,” Tia replied with a smile. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Porl shook his head and another glimmer of a smile flickered over his face, so quickly that Tia thought she might have imagined it.

  “Here, make yourselves useful,” he said. “Help Alasun take these books down to the schoolhouse. She can sort them out there.”

  Alasun was the tall woman with gray hair standing next to Porl. She seemed rather pleased that she had won her point about the books. The other couple, who had been advocating selling the books on Grannon Rock, muttered their disapproval and walked off.

  Tia sighed as she saw the pile Alasun had already unpacked f
rom the trunk. Why couldn’t she just leave them packed and take the whole damn trunk down to the schoolhouse? It was as if Alasun wanted to handle every book first. To assure herself they were real.

  “Captain Isingrin?”

  “Hold your arms out, lass, and we’ll load you up,” Porl said with a rather pained expression, obviously thinking the same thing Tia was.

  Mellie did as she was ordered. She held out her arms to Porl and the pirate bent down to pick up a stack of books. “Captain Isingrin?”

  Porl straightened up, ready to pile them onto Mellie’s outstretched arms.

  “Captain, where’s Papa?” Mellie asked. “Why didn’t he come back with you?”

  The books clattered to the floor. Porl muttered a curse and bent down to pick them up. With a knot of apprehension growing in her stomach, Tia realized how much he’d been dreading the question.

  The captain took a deep breath before speaking, his eyes fixed determinedly on the books he had dropped. “Ask your mother, lass. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  “Why can’t you tell me?” Mellie asked suspiciously.

  “I’ve not the time,” he scowled. It made his face even more distorted. “Now for once in your life, do as you’re told, child.”

  Mellie glared at the pirate for a moment, then ran off, pushing her way back through the longhouse to the front door.

  “You’d best go after her. She’s going to need a shoulder to cry on after she speaks to Lexie.”

  “Is Johan? . . .” Her heart was pounding. She didn’t even want to give voice to her fear.

  “Dead?” Porl shook his head. “No, it’s worse than that.”

  “How could it be worse than that?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make certain they would not be overheard, before leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

  “We think the Lion of Senet has him.”

  Chapter 11

  The whole town and every soul in the Keep turned out to catch a glimpse of the Lion of Senet’s arrival on Elcast. Everybody, from the duke and his family down to the lowliest beggar, was there to watch.

  His ship docked midmorning, but it took a long while to unload the horses and all the other trappings of Antonov’s large retinue. The crowd lining the road waited with growing excitement. If they didn’t love the Lion of Senet, there was not a man, woman or child alive who hadn’t heard of him, and everybody wanted to see him in the flesh.

  Marqel and Lanatyne found themselves an excellent vantage on the broad landing at the top of the steps outside the gatehouse in front of the Keep. They could see all the way down the sloping road toward the town, and right into the Keep’s courtyard.

  Kalleen had been crowing like a rooster since hearing the news that the Lion of Senet was coming to Elcast. There was also the welcome news that he would stay for the Landfall Festival and was bringing his sons with him. That meant there was a good chance either the prince or one of his brats would see their performance.

  There were only two ways to obtain one of the much-sought-after permits to perform in Senet. The first was to purchase the permit from the Mummer’s Guild, which was financially out of their reach. The second was to get the personal invitation from the Lion of Senet himself. The Lion of Senet was renowned for his generosity toward performers, and Senet’s capital, Avacas, was simply the most lucrative audience in the world. An impressive performance in front of the right audience and they could make a fortune.

  Marqel fervently hoped that Kalleen was right. If they got a chance to perform in Senet, the troupe would make enough money for her to retire from her career as a professional virgin. She leaned against the warm stones of the castle’s outer wall, and turned her attention back to the steps of the Hall, where the Duke and Duchess of Elcast, their sons and the Senetian Governor waited for the prince to arrive. The larger of Ranadon’s suns shone over Elcast, warming the morning as they milled about, chatting among themselves. Marqel glanced up at the sky for a moment. There had never been any darkness that she could remember. Night simply meant that the smaller sun was shining, casting its red light over the world.

  True darkness, she often heard Murry say, was in men’s souls.

  When the Lion of Senet finally appeared, Marqel was not disappointed. Antonov Latanya was a big, handsome man, just as people said he was, riding a magnificent white stallion with a high-stepping gait. The prince rode toward the Keep along the steep main road from the town at the head of his entourage, waving and smiling to the crowd, his white-and-gold cloak with its rampant lions catching the sun, making him almost too bright to look upon.

  Behind him, on two perfectly matched chestnut geldings, rode the prince’s sons, and beside them on a much smaller white pony, a dark-haired girl with large brown eyes and a rather bemused look on her elfin face. The rest of the large retinue were functionaries, she supposed, although she could not imagine needing so many lackeys.

  Marqel paid the little girl hardly any attention. The young princes, however, she studied closely. The older of the two was a young man of about twenty-four. He favored his mother’s side, she heard someone in the crowd remark. He was tall, but his hair was so dark it was almost black, making his skin appear translucent and wan by comparison. The “Crippled Prince,” she’d heard them call the heir to Senet, although from where she stood, she could see no sign of deformity.

  In contrast, his brother was a younger version of Prince Antonov. A tawny-headed, strapping youth with a ready smile and golden, laughing eyes, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Marqel watched him ride by wistfully.

  “Is that Prince Kirshov?” she asked her companion, pointing to the young Prince. The movement must have caught his eye. The golden-haired prince turned and looked straight at Marqel. He winked at her with a grin before turning his attention back to the rest of the parade.

  “Aye,” Lanatyne agreed. “I hear the Lion of Senet pledged his service to the queen as a sign of his goodwill toward Dhevyn.”

  “So who’s the little girl?” Marqel asked.

  They had ridden close enough for her to see the glint of a golden coronet hiding in the dark curls of the girl on the white pony.

  “Princess Alenor, I think.”

  “Isn’t she the heir to Dhevyn?”

  “Queen Rainan sent her to be fostered in Senet.”

  “Fostered!” a man in front of them scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Marqel turned her attention to the future Queen of Dhevyn and found herself unimpressed. She cast her gaze over the rest of the entourage and spied a small blonde wearing an elaborately embroidered red robe astride a docile looking gray mare. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but there was something about her that caught Marqel’s eye. Beside her was another tall redheaded woman similarly robed in red. Their sleeveless red tunics marked them as Shadowdancers. Behind them rode a younger Shadowdancer branded with the rope tattoo on her left arm, as Marqel was. Feeling an inexplicable bond with the women, she found herself staring at them. “Who are they?”

  “That’s the High Priestess Belagren riding the gray,” the man in front explained, obviously rather proud of his knowledge of who was who in the Senetian court. “I think the one next to her is Ella Geon. Don’t know about the other one.”

  “I never thought I’d lay eyes on the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers,” Marqel said, with a hint of awe.

  “The Lion of Senet never travels anywhere without his spiritual adviser,” the man remarked.

  “Spiritual adviser?” Lanatyne chuckled knowingly. “I would have thought a better title would be—”

  “Lana!” Marqel hissed warningly. She had heard Lanatyne’s opinion of the Shadowdancers before. It was widely rumored that Belagren was Antonov Latanya’s mistress. Marqel wasn’t sure she believed the things Lana said about them, but even if she did, here was not the place to repeat them.

  Prince Antonov and his entourage reached the entrance to the Keep as the nobles w
alked out to greet them. The Duke of Elcast was a solid, stocky man with gray hair and a barrel chest. The duchess was much younger than her husband, a tall, slender woman with dark hair and a distant air about her. She trailed a pace or two behind the duke and the governor. Tovin Rill, the Senetian Governor, was a big man, tall and well built, dressed in an elaborately embroidered blue silk coat that made everyone around him seem dull by comparison. Behind the adults were the sons of the duke and the governor. The older Provin boy was a stocky lad who looked just like his father. The younger one was taller, more like his mother.

  The rest of the welcoming party waited as the Lion of Senet greeted the Duke of Elcast like an old friend. Wallin seemed pleased to see the prince. The duchess was much more reserved, almost to the point of being rude, but Antonov did not seem to notice. In fact, the prince’s manner left Marqel a little puzzled. From what she had heard, there was little love lost between Elcast and Senet, yet the Duke of Elcast obviously counted the Lion of Senet as a friend. Two of the Senetian guards lifted the older prince from his saddle and remained beside him as the greetings took place. The Crippled Prince appeared to be unable to stand unaided.

  “And look at these boys!” the prince declared as the duke’s sons stepped forward. “What are you feeding them, Wallin? That can’t be Rees! And this must be your youngest, Dirk! Look at them! They’re growing like weeds.”

  “Good Elcast air and food, that’s what makes them grow, your highness.” Duke Wallin laughed.

  “Well, we shall have to stay a goodly time with you and see if this Elcast air can work the same magick on my three charges,” he declared with a cheerfulness that, even to Marqel, sounded a little forced.

  Marqel glanced back toward the princes, curious if Prince Antonov was referring to the Crippled Prince. Misha’s face was pale and pain stricken. She doubted he was talking about Alenor, although she did look quite frail. It certainly wasn’t Kirshov. She’d never seen anyone healthier.