by N M Zoltack
The Mean Bear was closer toward the richer section of Atlan, much farther out than Rase normally ventured. His feet ached from walking all day, and instead of meandering about the tavern as he typically would do to spy whom his first target might be, he chose a spot at one of the few relatively empty tables and sat.
A serving girl stood by a few moments later. “Do you have coins?” she asked. “I don’t mean to ‘sinuate you don’t, but my master—”
“I do. I just… I’m not hungry or thirsty at the moment. It’s been a long day.”
She smiled. Maybe fifteen or so, her belly was growing, perhaps a little rounder than Maxine’s back at his shack of a home. “I know all about long days and being too tired to eat or even sleep. The mind doesn’t always want to stop, does it? So many worries and wonders about the future.” The serving girl rubbed her belly. “My husband is so happy, though, that he got me with child already. His first wife, they were married for three years, and she never once gave him a son or daughter. She died a year ago from a sickness. Not sure what kind, but…” She sighed and then laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally prattle on like this. How about some ale?”
“I—”
“On me for listening. Now, I might come ‘round and talk to you some more,” she warned. “My husband won’t be home until late tonight, and I like to talk, and there’s not much chance when I—I’ll be right there with your ale, Viggo! Excuse me.”
The serving girl bustled off, returning far quicker than Rase would have thought. She moved with a fluid grace despite her size, turning this way and that so to protect her belly and the child growing within.
How old was her husband, he wondered. It was rather common for the brides to be younger than the grooms. If Rase were to get married one day… first, he needed to live in an actual house, not a building that hardly had four walls and barely a roof.
He sipped his ale, which was far more potent than he was normally served, and glanced about at those sitting nearby. They did not water down the ale here.
“Are you certain you can get away with it?” a man whispered. The telltale marks of burning by the sun covered his face, his hair so fair it was nearly white, yet he appeared to be no older than perhaps thirty.
The other man, slightly older, his complexion more tanned, nodded. “The fool never had a deed drawn up. There’s nothing for him to contest. The land will be mine, and the mill will start construction within the week.”
“Are you certain you don’t want to build something else?”
“Such as?”
“A smithy? A place for fletchers to work? Something that will be more prosperous come the war?”
“People will always need to eat,” the tanned man reasoned. “It doesn’t matter which side wins the war on that account either.”
“You don’t honestly think we’ll lose, do you?”
“The Vincanans know nothing but fighting. They are bred for battle. Honestly, it’s a small wonder they never rose up against the Lis themselves or against the Riveras before now. Jankin might have had peace during his reign, but I don’t think it was because he sat on the throne.”
“Hush now, Berard Duerrg. Those words will get us hanged.”
“No more so than claiming land I don’t truly have a claim to.” Berard grinned, his teeth shockingly white compared to his complexion. “Just before the Arlingway River is where the mill will go. Yes, it’s rather out from the city than I would prefer, but the river is the best location for a mill. The soil is more fertile there, and the grain and flour will be the best Atlan has ever seen, mayhap even all of Tenoch.”
Rase could hardly believe it. That land Berard was stealing away belong to not just any man but a baron—Baron Godric Ackles, the same baron who refused to help Rase and his family. It was on the outskirts of the baron’s holdings, so it might be some time before the baron would learn about the man’s encroachment.
Interesting. Although Berard’s coin pouch looked rather heavy as the man stood, Rase remained sitting, still musing over this information.
That wasn’t the only confidential matter Rase learned that night. He spied a man and a woman kissing, nearly hidden in an alcove by one of the walls. From the woman’s dress, she was a peasant, but the man was perhaps a baron or earl. The two were both wed to others, and Rase lingered about the man until the boy learned the baron’s name—Baron Dolaidh McInness.
Throughout learning all of this, Rase eyed coin pouches, but he never stole any that night, did not even attempt to. While secrets could not provide his family with food, perhaps they could eventually prove to be even more valuable.
31
Olympia Bai
The people of Maloyan were not the most trusting of sorts, and Olympia felt as if she was not able to make any progress with the lot of them. None wished to even speak with her, and that Bjorn Ivano ignored her as well. If it weren’t for her need to gain allies before heading southward, she would attempt to convince the tourney winner to travel with her.
If it weren't for the man being the tournament winner, she would have purchased a horse and been gone from here long before now. However, traveling with Bjorn would mean she had his support, even if he did not know precisely who she was just yet. That reason alone was why she pinned her hopes on the man.
Still, this day more than the previous ones, she felt anxious and uneasy, wishing to be gone from this place. Perhaps the cold was getting to her, but she longed to move, to be active, to fight to regain her crown even if she did not mean to use a sword to do so. She stood just outside a stable, listening to the horses neighing and the stable hands bickering over whom was to do which chore.
She smirked to herself as Bjorn exited the stable. His brown hair was cut even shorter than the last time she had seen him. When he saw her, his dark eyes pierced through her.
“Are you following me?” he demanded.
“I would never,” she assured him. “It is not as if we have spoken for some time.”
“Then why are you here?” He crossed his arms and squinted.
“Why are you here?” she asked pointedly. “Because of a horse?”
“You are thinking of traveling south without me.”
“Only if I cannot convince you to come with me.”
“There are plenty… There are a few here who would appreciate the coin far more than I. Ask one of them to accompany you.”
“How many others have ventured all the way down to Atlan?” she countered, noting his slip.
Maloyan seemed to be a prosperous city, and she had even ventured to see its pyramid. The masonry was remarkable, the inside far warmer than the world outside. Unfortunately, the looks and sneers she received had Olympia leaving earlier than she would have wished. She had enjoyed looking at the rooms inside, the vast amount of treasures within. At least the Duke of Maloyan was wealthy, and he must be a somewhat considerate man as anyone seemed to be able to come and go within his pyramid. Although his guards had eyed her suspiciously, they had allowed her entry after all.
“Not many,” Bjorn admitted stiffly.
“But you would rather I ask another to go even though that person and I may become lost.”
“I do not care if you reach your destination.”
“And my coin—”
“Will not change that fact.”
“Very well. I will find another to take me.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The people here are proud. They might not like your foreign coin.”
She bristled. “Be that as I may, I will not delay any longer. I will head to…”
Closing her eyes, she tried to recall the few maps she had seen. What was the nearest city to Maloyan? Not until much farther south in Cilla. There had to be numerous villages and small towns along the way as well as the mountain stream.
“I will head to The Beck of Newforte,” she said, feeling triumphant. From there, she could replenish supplies and then move onward to Cilla.
“I do not doubt that yo
u have your reasons for wishing to head southward,” Bjorn said slowly.
She glanced at him curiously. His tone had changed.
“And I know that the people here are not the most tolerant of strangers in our mountains,” he continued. “Even so, I do believe you would be better off staying here.”
“For how much longer?” she asked coldly, pulling the wolf skin tighter around her shoulders.
“Until you seek to return to Xalac, if you can.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?” was the only curt word she could utter.
“War is brewing,” he said. “A Vincanan was killed in Atlan. Worse, in the castle itself. Tenoch Proper is on the brink of utter destruction, even before this matter. War is coming, but there was already a war of a political nature brewing.”
“How so?” she asked, feigning both ignorance and indifference.
"I know Xalac is far removed from Atlan, but had you heard that King Jankin died? As did his baby and his son… The older princess was made queen, but she is too young yet to rule in her own right, so the king's new wife—I should start again. Queen Aldith was the first to die, while giving birth to the babe. King Jankin then married to a noblewoman from Etian named Sabine. Both Sabine and Rosalynne are queens now, with Sabine the ruling one.”
“And because there are two queens and the threat from Vincana, I should stay here,” Olympia said.
“It is for your safety—”
"You do not care for my safety," she snapped. "You do not know who I am, and so you do not care about my wellbeing. I understand that, but do know this. I am no fool and nor will I suffer one. If you do not help me, that will be to your detriment.”
“You speak as if you have some sort of claim to power,” he said idly. “What do you fancy yourself as? The Queen of Xalac? Has the isle ever had a queen? I thought before Jankin forced the islands under his rule that Xalac had an oba.”
“Perhaps so,” Olympia said. “But I was not on the isle when an oba would have ruled.”
“You were born after Jankin arose to power.”
“Not quite,” she murmured, “but you are not wrong to say that I have power. No claim, Bjorn Ivano, not unless you consider a true claim worthy.”
Bjorn sighed and wearily rubbed his head. “I am famished. I went for a ride to—”
“To clear your head from all the doubts plaguing you concerning the reason why you were chased out of Atlan?” she demanded.
“You have no right—”
“I am not wrong, am I? Whatever crime you committed,” she said in a rush, hoping she was not going too far in her speculation, “I will pardon you.”
Bjorn laughed and laughed. The sound was both mocking and yet deep and pleasant. “You do not know that of which you speak.”
“Actually, it is you who do not know to whom you speak, and once you do, you will not be able to apologize to me enough, nor turn right back around and saddle up two horses.”
The tourney winner just appraised her silently, waiting.
Olympia inhaled deeply. Was it truly time to divulge her secret?
32
Bjorn Ivano
The young woman before Bjorn was rather lovely, and she did not seem to realize that not all of the stares she received from the men of Maloyan were because they wished the outsider would leave.
Yes, she was strikingly beautiful, with her elegant, small nose, straight long raven-colored hair, and wide, high cheekbones. Her dark eyes were troubled as she hesitated.
Bjorn sighed again. He did not have time to worry about this foreigner and her fabled power. None could pardon him for his crime. He had killed a man in the queen’s name, and it wasn’t until Bjorn returned to Maloyan after having seen the opulence of the castle that he realized just how poor the plight was of many.
Including the man he had slain.
Bjorn had hoped that when he won the tourney, he could bring both honor and wealth to his hometown, but he had gone far beyond what his duties had entailed. He had been hoping to court Rosalynne, to become king one day. Ambitious? Perhaps but his reasoning had not purely been selfish. From what interactions he had with the older queen, Bjorn knew she should not be crowned for long. She was the one who was driven by ambitions, and Bjorn knew better than most just how deceitful she was, how terrible the lengths she would take to ensure she had the crown. Rosalynne needed to be the one and only queen, and to do so, she must wed.
But she had not wed Bjorn or another, and now, war was coming, and Bjorn was facing a war within himself. Each time Olympia Bai pleaded with him to accompany her to Atlan, a large part of him wanted to give in. He should try to right every wrong he had committed against the city, the crown, and the kingdom. But if he returned, he had no doubt that Rosalynne would have him tried and then executed, perhaps the first one she would give the order to in her own name.
And Bjorn very much wanted his head to remain attached to his neck.
The foreigner made no move to speak further, and Bjorn shook his head.
“Olympia—”
Without warning, she tossed back her wolf skin and swiftly removed her dress as well. Bjorn knew he should avert his eyes, but she was wearing a surcoat. Her fingers traced the plum tree and the white six-pointed stars.
“Do you know what family crest this is?” she asked, her voice far softer than any other time she had addressed him.
Wordlessly, Bjorn nodded.
She quickly put on her dress and then the wolf skin. Swiftly, she seized his arm and began to walk away from the stable as if afraid someone might overhear them.
“I know this will not be easy for you to accept,” she said. “Not many knew my mother was pregnant. My father had every reason to be paranoid, but that did not save him or Mother in the end. Jankin slaughtered them, but I was born first. From what I was told, she was killed in bed, the same bed that had already been wet from giving birth to me.” Olympia wrinkled her small nose and blinked back tears, not from sorrow. Rage. Bjorn noticed the tightness of her jaw, the clenching of her fists.
At the very least, the young woman before him had a fighter’s spirit, something Bjorn had been told her parents had both lacked.
“You mean to say—”
“I am Olympia Li.” The words were hardly audible.
“And you think this story and the surcoat alone are proof.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Indeed I do. What more do you need? I am sorry I do not have a vial of blood from my mother or father, or would you prefer to see the murder weapon? I was a babe when I was swept out of the castle and onto a boat. I am not even certain if my mother ever held me, if my father ever got to lay eyes on me.”
She was trembling. Her rage at his questioning was admirable.
“I am sorry,” Bjorn said. “I never heard any whisper that the queen had been pregnant.”
“It was kept a secret, as I said.”
“How rather convenient for you.”
“Decidedly not considering others may think as you do.” Olympia stiffened. “Have you any alchemists here? Perhaps one could—”
“You have been begging me to take your coins. An alchemist most certainly would.”
“I would never bribe—”
“I do not know you. I do not know if you would bribe a man or not.”
“I have confided in you who I truly am—” Olympia cut herself off and exhaled deeply. “Just possessing this surcoat alone would be a reason for Queen Rosalynne to kill me, would it not?”
Startled that she knew the queen’s name, Bjorn nodded.
“Why then would I dare to have it, dare to wear it, unless I believe and know this to be true? I have stayed in hiding all of these years, waiting for the moment that I might take back the crown. It is my birthright—not Rosalynne’s, and that Sabine woman has such a tenuous hold on it that I can scarcely believe she has been a thorn in Rosalynne’s side for so long.”
“Men can be lured by beauty,” Bjorn muttered.
“And y
ou? You think Sabine is beautiful?”
“As is Rosalynne,” he said defensively. “What of it?”
“To choose one’s rulers based on their appearance is folly.”
“But to believe one because of a surcoat in her possession is wise.”
Olympia’s lips parted. “You truly do not believe me.”
“I do not know what to think.” He turned away from her.
“What further proof do you need?” she asked, a hint of desperation bleeding through her words. “I can only tell you what I myself was told—”
“And what if you were not told the truth?” he muttered.
“I know this will not be enough for you, but I know it in my heart. I am Olympia Li, and I am meant to rule over the land.”
“Over Tenoch? Over Tenoch Proper?”
“Over Dragoona,” she said firmly.
Bjorn nodded slowly, more to himself than to her. Yes, he was convinced that Olympia was Li, but now what should be his course of action?
Without an army, she would never be able to gain the throne. If she thought her name alone would rally people to her cause, she was mistaken. Yes, he knew his plan. He would turn Olympia over to whoever would win the war. Bjorn hoped the victor would be Rosalynne. Deep down, he still wished to be her king. Being a champion wasn't enough.
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