The Soldier King

by Violette Malan

  It wasn’t long before the pages were ushering them up a short circular stone stair on the western side of the fortress, through a thick wooden door padded with blue leather and into what was clearly the family’s private chamber. In addition to the door from the stairway, there were three windows with shutters in the wall opposite, and a smaller, lighter door to the left, in the far wall of the rectangular room. Dhulyn saw no fireplace, though an unlit brazier stood off to one side of the chairs gathered in the center of the room. Obviously the family’s summer sitting room, Dhulyn thought, and even now there was a chill in the air that made her glad of the thick rugs still on the floor.

  There were three people waiting for them, Dhulyn saw with interest as she made her formal bow from the doorway. Their hostesses were seated with their backs to the windows in large chairs upholstered on arms and seats with brocaded cloth. But beside them, clinging to the arm of Valaika’s chair and fidgeting with excitement, stood a slim young boy who had seen his birth moon perhaps ten times. This brown-haired, ruddy youngster would be the son and heir, she thought, Edmir’s cousin Janek. There was a smudge of dirt on the boy’s cheek, which told Dhulyn much that she liked about his parents. All three were dressed in loose trousers, long-sleeved tunics, and half boots, though there was no mistaking which one was the House, Edmir’s Aunt Valaika. She had the same strong features, though her nose was considerably more prominent. Her hair was much fairer than Dhulyn would have expected, with silver threads among the gold, her eyes a piercing blue, and her skin a golden brown not unlike Parno’s natural coloring. The consort, Sylria Jarlkevo, was taller, slimmer, with chestnut hair and ruddy skin. Valaika Jarlkevoso had a sword within reach of her hand; both her consort and her son carried only the knives at their belts.

  “Here they are, my House,” the page said when they were all in the room.

  “Thank you, Rudian. Welcome, Troupe Tzadeyeu. Before you sit down,” Valaika said, with a smile for her guests, “let me present my consort, Sylria, and our son, Janek Jarlkevo. He’s been dying to meet you since he heard there were players in the town.” The Jarlkevoso’s voice was very rough and low, with a Hellish accent buried deep beneath a few decades of living in Tegrian. So deep, Dhulyn thought, that perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t known the woman was Hellish.

  “And threatening to run off with you when you go,” the consort said. There was the educated Tegrian accent Dhulyn was used to hearing from Edmir.

  “We never take people from their homes, young man, until they’ve reached the age to be apprenticed,” Parno said with a smile as they all bowed their heads in acknowledgment of the introduction.

  “Please, seat yourselves.”

  Drawn up to face the two seated women was one backless armed chair with a cushion on the seat, and next to it a small wooden bench with a thin pad made of embroidered cloth. Dhulyn lengthened her stride slightly, to put herself in front, and took the chair for herself, seeing out of the corner of her eye that Parno had claimed the far end of the bench, leaving Edmir and Zania between them. Dhulyn did not have a sword with her—there would have been no manner of way to explain that—but she was more than armed enough, she thought, to deal with either or both of these women, and that included the remaining page, who was no doubt doubling as a guard.

  There were no refreshments on the table beyond a jug of water and a single clay cup. None of the cakes or pastries that Dhulyn would have expected, if they had really been invited to sing. She sat forward in her chair, adjusting her center of gravity to make it easier to lunge forward. She’d take the consort, she thought, and leave Valaika Jarlkevoso for Parno.

  “We did not know whether you took refreshment after performing,” the House said. “May we send to the kitchen?”

  “Something light, House Jarlkevo, would suit us perfectly.”

  Dhulyn suppressed a smile. She’d heard that courtly tone from Parno before. These were manners he’d learned from his own parents, in his own House.

  The House glanced up at the page who stood to one side of the door.

  “Rudian, fetch ganje for our guests, and jeresh, if you please,” she said. “And some of Cook’s cheese pastries, and apple tarts.” She waited for the door to close behind the page and, turning to Parno, spoke in an entirely different tone. “Would you be kind enough to check that Rudian has actually gone? Occasionally he oversteps.”

  Parno glanced at Dhulyn, his right eyebrow raised. She gave him the tiniest of nods, and he rose, and went to the door to listen.

  “All clear,” he said, remaining by the door. “He’s gone.”

  Suddenly the boy Janek shot forward, holding out his hands to Edmir.

  “Edmir! It is you.”

  Dhulyn was on her feet, but Sylria had caught hold of the boy’s tunic and was hauling him backward. Edmir had also stood, his hands half raised, a look of luminous joy on his face.

  That’s how afraid he was, Dhulyn thought.

  “Just a moment everyone. Janek, stand back, please.” Valaika Jarlkevoso narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Tell me, young man,” she said. “Where did you learn that gesture of shrugging off the servant?” And she made it, the half shrug, half wave that Dhulyn had seen Edmir make a dozen times.

  Edmir licked his lips. “Aunt Valaika, I am Edmir.”

  The taller, younger Sylria lifted one hand to her mouth. Valaika Jarlkevoso, sister to the late consort, cousin to the Tarkin of Hellik, moved not one muscle, except to blink, slowly, like an owl. Dhulyn almost smiled. She could like this woman, she could like her very much.

  “You see? I told you!” Janek strained against Sylria’s hold on his arm.

  Finally Valaika unclasped her hands and placed them on the arms of her chair.

  “Turn around,” she said to Edmir. “Take off your shirt. Show me your back.”

  Edmir licked his lips again, and turned.

  There was no shock, no disbelief, or anger or even hope on the older woman’s face. Just a blank and careful mask.

  They had all changed out of their stage costumes before answering the summons of the House, and Edmir was dressed simply in woolen trousers, a linen shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves, and a leather vest laced up the front. Standing, he loosened the lacing of the vest and pulled it off over his head. The linen shirt he merely took by the lower edge and lifted as he turned to present his back to his aunt.

  “Come a little closer to me, you are out of the light there.”

  Edmir obliged by taking two short steps back.

  As Dhulyn watched, the older woman narrowed her eyes, focusing on the right side of Edmir’s back. After a long moment she made a noise in her throat, and, lifting her right hand, traced her finger in a short line just below Edmir’s right shoulder blade.

  “Embrace your cousin, Janek. Embrace the Lord Prince Edmir of Tegrian.”

  Now the boy launched himself forward, almost pushing Edmir off his feet with the force of his hug. Edmir laughed, taking his young cousin by the shoulders and holding him a little farther away.

  “Let me see you, Janek. However did you know it was me? I wouldn’t have known you, you’re so much taller.” There was great pleasure in Edmir’s voice.

  “We thought we had disguised him very well,” Parno said, still at his post by the door.

  “His face is the same,” the boy said, as the adults exchanged glances. “His face hasn’t changed at all.”

  “Valaika?” Sylria’s voice was a soft croak. The consort was clearly of two minds about what was going on in her sitting room.

  “Do you see this scar, my love?” Valaika’s voice was tight, and yet there was some triumph in it. She gestured Edmir forward and had him pull up his shirt again. Dhulyn’s feet twitched and she had to hold herself back from getting up and looking for herself.

  “I know this scar, know it well. And so I should, seeing as I’m the one who put it there. And I’m the one who sewed it up and swore you to secrecy, didn’t I?”

 
; “You thought my mother the queen wouldn’t approve of your cutting me during fencing practice,” Edmir said, smiling.

  “And I was right, she didn’t approve. How did she find out?” The question was clearly intended as a test, but the tone made it clear that Valaika was already satisfied.

  “Kera told her, not knowing it was supposed to be a secret. But it had almost healed by then, you’d taken the stitches out, so we didn’t get into too much trouble.”

  “Speak for yourself, boy, I was almost exiled.”

  Sylria held up her hands. “Stop. Janek, Valaika, stop a moment. Do you mean to tell me that this is Edmir? Your nephew Edmir who is declared dead?”

  “Edmir that we’re all in mourning for, yes.” Valaika stood. “Edmir.” She lifted her arms, hesitantly, as any aunt might do, Dhulyn thought, when confronted with a nephew she had not seen in years. As if the boy might have grown too big for an embrace.

  But no. Edmir immediately stepped forward into his aunt’s arms. The two clung closely together, and Dhulyn thought she saw Edmir’s shoulders shake. Only at that moment did she understand how afraid Edmir must have been, afraid of the possibility that his aunt, too, might no longer know him.

  Now Sylria stood also, but only to lower herself to one knee. To her this was no mere nephew, but the Lord Prince of Tegrian.

  “You’re so much like your father . . .” Valaika’s voice faded. “But what did you do to your hair, you miserable brat.” Valaika put her fists on her hips. The tension broke. Both aunt and nephew began to laugh, Edmir brushing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Out of the corner of her eye Dhulyn saw Zania watching everyone closely, as if memorizing what they did, and how they looked when they did it. Actors, Dhulyn thought.

  “Stand up, Consort Sylria,” Parno said from the door. “The servants return. And you do not kneel to players.”

  “But Val . . .” The woman was already rising to her feet as she spoke.

  “In a moment, Syl, they’ll have their reasons.” The House turned to Dhulyn, “which I’m sure they’ll tell us.”

  As Parno walked back to his seat, filling the air bag of his pipes as he came, Edmir and the Jarlkevo women sat down. Zania hopped to her feet and took up a position to one side of the company, where she would be seen immediately by anyone coming in the door. With a nod to Dhulyn, Zania started singing the “Spring Enchantress,” beginning in the middle of a verse, and gesturing to Dhulyn to clap. When the servants entered a few moments later, one carrying a large tray, they were just reaching the rousing finish of the song, and Valaika was clapping along in counterpoint to Dhulyn.

  “But do you know any Hellish music?” Valaika said, once Zania had taken her bows and sat down again.

  “Why do you suppose I’ve brought my pipes, House Jarlkevo,” Parno said. “It’s the best accompaniment for Hellish songs.”

  “I’m not so sure I agree,” Valaika said, waving the servants forward. “But take some refreshment first, and then show me.”

  The second servant fetched another low table from under the middle window and set it between the seats. From the tray they took a jug of ganje, still steaming from the kitchen fire, and a small stone bottle well-corked, two cups made from the rare and expensive Tenezian glass, and four ceramic mugs. When all had been set out on the table, the servants stood back.

  “I thank you, and send my compliments to the kitchen. Hellish music is not to everyone’s taste, I know,” Valaika said. “So you have my leave to be elsewhere.” She laughed at the evident disappointment on their faces. “Go on now, I hope to persuade the troupe to favor us with an evening of music, perhaps a dance—” she snapped her fingers. “In fact, prepare chambers for them—you’ll stay the night at least—the small suite in the north wing.”

  “But House Jarlkevo, our caravan—”

  Valaika raised her hand. “Can be moved here in the morning. No, I won’t hear it. I’ll keep you until I’ve heard every Hellish song you know, and taught you a few of mine.”

  “Perhaps Janek . . .” began Sylria.

  “Sylria, no!” said the boy.

  “If you’re to stay, young man, it must be quietly,” Valaika said. “The first sign of yawns or sleepiness and you’re off to bed.”

  The consort made room for their son on her own chair. It occurred to Dhulyn that she herself must be occupying the boy’s usual seat.

  The servants grinned and bowed, leaving easily enough now. Valaika was by no means the first Noble House Dhulyn had met, but she was the first to speak to her servants in this free and easy manner. Was it all the Hellish who were like this, or was it just Valaika herself? If the latter, it was easy to see why she had left her sister-in-law’s court. Queen Kedneara had the reputation of being a tyrant when it came to protocol. Among other things.

  When the door had closed once again behind the servants, Valaika turned back to her nephew.

  “Not the best rooms, I’m afraid, Lord Prince, but if you must keep up this masquerade, anything else would give you away. I can’t give you better than I would normally give to traveling players.”

  Parno got back to his feet. “I’ll play as softly as I can,” he said, as he headed to the door.”

  “Oh, come now,” Valaika said, her brow furrowed. “We have more important things to do than indulge my taste for the music of my homeland.”

  “Certainly,” Parno said. “But don’t think for a moment that the servants have gone far, or that others won’t be along shortly—curiosity if nothing else will bring them. Best they hear music coming from this room. At least for now.”

  Valaika pushed her hands through her graying hair and took the glass of steaming ganje her consort was holding out for her. “Forgive me,” she said. “I am not thinking clearly.” She paused as Parno took up his position at the door and began to play softly, having removed the drones from the pipes.

  “It’s not every evening the nephew I thought was dead is returned to me alive,” Valaika continued under the cover of the music. She turned to Edmir. “But now, how is it we were told you were dead? How did you escape from the Mercenary Brothers?”

  Edmir pressed his lips together, wagging his head from side to side. “It isn’t just one thing they’ve lied about, Aunt, it’s everything.” He looked at Dhulyn. “Shall I . . . ?”

  “Allow me,” Dhulyn said. For her role as the queen in Edmir’s play, Dhulyn had worn the long blonde wig that had been made from Zania’s mother’s hair. She pushed her fingers under the lower edge, at the back of her neck where the wig had not been glued, and began to loosen and dislodge the glued edges above her ears. In a moment, the wig was free and she pulled it carefully off, revealing her shaven scalp, and, what was more to the moment, the blue-and-green tattoo of her Mercenary badge.

  “Caids bless us,” Sylria whispered.

  “I am Dhulyn Wolfshead, called the Scholar,” she said. “Schooled by Dorian the Black. There by the door is my Partner, Parno Lionsmane, called the Chanter, for reasons which are obvious. Schooled by Nerysa Warhammer.”

  “Was nothing we were told the truth, then?” Valaika’s words were bitten off, and she looked from Dhulyn to Parno and back again as if she would demand answers.

  “My turn,” Edmir said. Dhulyn nodded, giving him a stage flourish with her hand that Zania had taught her. This was not a report being made to a Senior Brother, and over the last moon Edmir had shown himself more than skilled at telling a tale. She settled back in her chair, rubbing off the residue of the glue that still clung to her temples and forehead before she replaced the wig.

  With the accompaniment of the softly playing music, Edmir began.

  “We lost the battle at Limona.”

  Parno had run out of Hellish tunes and was enjoying a cup of jeresh by the time Edmir finished telling the tale of the last moon’s adventures. There had been no chance of Janek falling asleep, the boy had been spellbound by his cousin’s adventures. Dhulyn had to admit, Edmir had left nothing pertinent ou
t, though he’d glossed over the part involving the Muse Stone, and had made things sound far more interesting than they had seemed at the time.

  Valaika had remained quiet throughout the narrative, the narrowing of her eyes and clenching of her jaw her only reactions to what she was hearing. Sylria had exclaimed once or twice, notably at the point where Tzanek, Lord of Probic, had not recognized Edmir.

  “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go,” Edmir said, as he reached the end of the story. “And so I came to you.”

  Valaika pounded the arm of her chair with her closed fist. “And you say this is Avylos?” she questioned, through gritted teeth.

  “Who else?” Dhulyn said. “A magic that has never been known to fail, fails the only time the Lord Prince calls upon it? Nisveans refuse to release him, when letting us return him would achieve the same results as returning him themselves? An old childhood friend genuinely fails to recognize him? The whole country knows he’s dead within days—when does news travel that quickly? If this is not the Blue Mage, what is it?”

  “And let’s not forget Probic,” Parno said.

  A short silence fell over the room, even Janek holding perfectly still, though his eyes were alive and round with excitement.

  “The queen . . .” Sylria looked around. “I may be prejudiced, but surely she wouldn’t countenance this strike against one of her own children.”

  “If she needed an excuse to invade Nisvea . . .” Edmir fell silent, his eyes bleak.

  “Nonsense. Any excuse would do for that. I don’t like the woman, never have, but nothing will persuade me that she would put one of her children in harm’s way, let alone connive at his murder.”

  Dhulyn was looking at Edmir and from the expression on his face, his aunt’s words did not convince him.

  Evidently, Valaika saw it, too. “I know what you are thinking, Nephew. Your mother the queen is a self-absorbed, arrogant woman, the more so since your father is no longer here to laugh her out of her natural tendencies. But you forget that she sees you and your sister as part of herself. Less than herself, without doubt—she would never put your needs before her own—but you would still come before anyone else in the world. Anyone.”