The Night Holds the Moon

by Roberts, Parke; Thompson, Colleen

  With a shrug, he picked up the cutlass. 'Twas probably all for nothing, but his only daughter, Neshvann, sometimes spoke tidings of the goddess, and there was often foresight in his bones as well. The captain flipped a cap to smother his wall-lamp's smoky flame and then stepped out onto the deck.

  Neltinn froze at the sight of billowing ivory on the horizon. Aloft, a sailor tending to the rigging roused and shouted, "A bit of home to port, lads!"

  A cheer rose from the sailors.

  The ship raised the invitation of a green pennant above her mainsails as she drew nigh.

  "Tie up for trade and news, sir?" called the first mate, Hallordriam.

  The well-worn grip of Neltinn's cutlass felt smooth in his right hand. He called up to the man on watch, "Can you see the ship's name yet?"

  "Seawinds of Shador, late of Buktoz," called the man after a moment's consideration of the markings on the ship's foreflags.

  The captain smiled broadly and relaxed. The Seawinds! He had served that same ship as a young man. Could his former captain be there still, after all these years?

  The sailors aboard the Seawinds waved enthusiastically, though they kept their faces bent to their work. Neltinn chuckled to himself. If their dedication marked the captain, this must be the same Old Ghet.

  "Hoist up the green!" called the captain, and a pair of sailors raced to do his bidding. Someone called all hands to topside, and soon, every soul was roused from bunk or hammock to watch the rare approach of a sealane visitor.

  With an explosive thwack, a ripe fruit burst near his feet. Several more of the golden spheres were lobbed by strong arms across the narrowing breach in an old seamen's sign of friendship. A pungent scent rose from the bruised flesh of the ghet-fruit, putting Neltinn even more to mind of the man that he once served.

  Old Ghet, the men had called him, for he made them eat the citrus every watch, to keep them from the gum-bleeds. Neltinn hated the acrid fruit, but the old man taught him that a captain did more than lord the whips. He tended to the welfare of his sailors.

  Hallordriam laid a hand upon his sword-arm. "Something amiss, sir?"

  He had forgotten the cutlass. Chuckling past embarrassment, Neltinn stuck the weapon in his belt. "Only gulls' lies and an old man's fancies, I suppose. A taste of Buktoz ale would do us all no harm. Do you think they've a spare hogshead to barter?"

  Across the narrowing span, snatches of conversation drifted like flotsam between the ships. The first grappling hooks were thrown across, and Neltinn's voice boomed loud above the rest. "Is Old Ghet still aboard?"

  Like a dreaming man suddenly jolted into wakefulness, Neltinn/Neshvann saw the truth at last. The other sailors' faces, too dark even for long months of wind and sun. The piles of curved swords heaped at intervals along the Seawinds' deck. With eerie clarity, he heard the strange sailors' words -- "good" and "come" and "yes" -- but no answers to his query. No answers to the eager questions of his lads. And the heavy patter of the grappling hooks against the Fidelity's decks and rails, far too many lines thrown by far too many questing hands.

  Even now the ships were pulled together, and the Seawinds's crew began to leap down onto his deck in a steady, silent stream.

  "Cut the lines if you can, boys!" the captain shouted as he pulled the cutlass out. His poorly armed men rushed to heed his orders, though one by one they fell before curved swords.

  Neltinn slipped on the gore-slick deck and watched in horror as his first mate leaped to block the blade which swept down upon his neck. With a well-trained twist, the weapon cut a wide swath across Hallordriam's belly. The first mate stumbled and fell, clutching futilely at his spilling guts.

  Hallordriam! Faithful friend and steadfast seaman; Shador receive him, water and salt. His mate's sacrifice must not be in vain. Bellowing with grief and rage, Neltinn scrambled to his feet, his cutlass a wildly slashing blur. The Buktoz fell back before his onslaught, and beyond them, Neltinn saw his cabin boy step forward, arms raised in surrender. Young Jandiss, surely they would spare him. The boy folded as a Buktoz thrust, then twisted his short sword.

  "Barbarians!" Neltinn roared. But his cutlass bit too deep in Buktoz bone, and though he swiftly wrenched it free, foreign steel was faster still.

  o0o

  They did not all return at once. An old man began to weep. Next, a girl moaned softly. Sounds of grief filled the plaza, as one by one, the watchers were reanimated. They took no heed of those still stonelike in their midst, but spoke amongst themselves in reverent murmurs.

  "Every man and boy aboard the Fortune," whispered Zendriam. "All hands. May Shador receive them, water and salt."

  "The Fortune," Heratinn echoed numbly. "I--my second cousin, Fawril; he was there. Shador, such a brutal death! Why? He had surrendered. He carried no weapons."

  "Fawril," said the superior. "I saw, when they hauled him aloft."

  The king reached slowly for his neck, as if he expected to feel the rope burns on his skin. "What happened… after?"

  "They murdered them all. My brother… they slit his throat."

  "Shador drown them!" Zendriam cursed. "Did you see all those ships, when we were boarded? Lord Val Torska was right. The Buktoz are headed here. It's war. And we haven't much time."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Though the seas may fall calm

  Though the sails may fall slack

  Only fools and lads laugh

  In the eye of the storm.

  -- sailor’s song

  "It's an outrage! By Shador, I won't have it!" thundered Baron Sandicrest, as he pounded one meaty fist on the long, wooden council table. "It's too many! Didn't I lose enough to the Buktoz on the seas? I need men working the fields--I won't have them conscripted!"

  "Lord Councilor Sandicrest--"

  "Don't you Lord Councilor Sandicrest me, Oakfellow! I noticed how few of your own you're volunteering!"

  "Riverweal is Lhant's breadbasket," retorted Duke Oakfellow. "Our crops must be tended so that Lhant can eat."

  "You mean so that Lhant can fill your coffers buying your grain!"

  Heratinn watched in dismay as the council meeting once again devolved into a shouting match. He did not attempt to quell the bedlam. He had tried before and it had resulted in the first of the council's only two united efforts: a sarcastic reminder that he had no say in the matter. By law, only the Council of Lords could declare war and conscript an army. Though he sat in a place of honor, most of the councilors no longer afforded him any. Oakfellow had even ignored his request for the floor.

  Val Torska, too, appeared to have given up. In the middle of the last fracas, (which spawned the second united effort when the councilors agreed that more men should be conscripted from Tarska, since the people there were idle anyway) he had simply gotten to his feet and left--something that the highlander had never done before, even during the most scathing bouts of mockery he had endured the previous month.

  "I am ashamed of this Council!" Heratinn announced at last, pushing his chair away from the table. No one heard him above the din; only his two elite seemed to notice his withdrawal. They followed him from the chambers at a respectful distance.

  Once in his apartments, Heratinn called for his valet. Aswinn did not answer, but his manservant might be on any one of several dozen daily errands. One arm already free of his robes of state, the king stepped into his bedchambers and found himself instantly surrounded by ten officers of the Royal Army.

  Two more officers stepped from the wardrobe: Shendiss Starmap, the Commander of the Royal Elite, and General Hommil, Commander of the Royal Army.

  So, at last they had come to take it from him, all of it. He felt shame that he had done no better, shame and a curious sense of pride. Though he had suspected this might be the cost, he had labored honestly, within the framework of the law, to bend the council to his will. Even in his failure, he surpassed the madness in his blood. He had not become Hulgmal.

  He shrugged aside his fatigue. There were things that he mu
st know, even now. "So, it is a coup--for the good of Lhant, I suppose you'll tell me. It has long amazed me how much evil men will tolerate when it is for the greater good. I only wish to know one thing before I die. Which one of you will rule Lhant in my stead?"

  "We have asked," Shendiss replied, "Caldan Val Torska."

  Caldan. He was surprised, but only for a moment. It was, after all, the count who had first predicted the attack. "What makes you think that Val Torska will do better with the council than I have? He's a Tarskan, and now a usurper, too."

  "The Council of Lords no longer matters," said Shendiss. "What does is that we believe in Val Torska's ability to lead us in our defense of Lhant. You will abdicate in his favor." Shendiss placed a document on the writing desk and pulled out the chair. "Now, Your Majesty."

  The king sat, but he did not lift his pen. He had never thought much of his heritage. In fact, when he had, it had seemed little more than a tiresome burden, but now he became acutely aware that he was the last of the House of Sheldwinn, who had ruled Lhant for so well and so long. It was true that his mother had been insane, but before her, there had been centuries of relatively peaceful, unbroken rule. Sheldwinn's sons had made the island prosperous, and by their sides, the spiritual descendants of King Sheldwinn's daughter, Saire, had helped to bind its people into a mighty nation with the Flute.

  That great age was over, thought Heratinn bitterly, destroyed by nothing more than the petty bickering of a handful of pampered lords.

  He glared at Shendiss. "I see that treachery and disloyalty have become fashionable within the Royal Elite Guard."

  "Members of the Royal Elite swear fidelity to their charges alone. As commander of the Royal Elite, my charge is not you, but Lhant. I do what I do now because I believe it is best for her," Shendiss replied stiffly.

  "Of course," sneered Heratinn. He signed the document without bothering to read it. No doubt he had confessed to some great crime against Lhant which made his abdication--and his execution--necessary. There was no need to know the exact charges. The study of fiction had never interested him.

  "I would like to see your 'king' while that is still a possibility," Heratinn requested.

  To his surprise, Shendiss nodded his assent. "He thought you might."

  Caldan could not have been far away, waiting, no doubt, for news of his victory. Within moments, the highlander and his hounds had swept into Heratinn's bedchambers. Ignoring him, Val Torska addressed Shendiss.

  "You know what to do."

  That swiftly, he and the Tarskan were left alone.

  "There was a time I considered you a friend," Heratinn said coldly.

  "I still am."

  "Do not mock me with a claim of friendship! I ask better of my friends than treason!" With trembling hands, he put away the Royal Seal. "I wish to hear, before my execution, the reasons for your betrayal. I think, in honor of a time when I offered to stand by you against my own mother, that you owe me the true tale."

  "The true tale… Yes, what any ethical historian might ask for." The councilor pulled up an ornately high-backed chair, but did not sit in it. Instead, he folded his forearms across the back and studied Heratinn appraisingly. "Lhant's circumstances call for a leader who can be strong, who is willing to do whatever is necessary, no matter how abhorrent, to save her. Your own virtues were your downfall.

  "As for your execution, I hope you will not make that necessary. You see, Heratinn, everybody has their price. Your life was mine, and it was a hard one for Starmap, Hommil, and the others to pay. Your existence jeopardizes everything that they have worked for. They risk their positions, all that they are and have, for the good of this isle."

  "And what price must I pay," asked Heratinn scornfully, "for this generous 'boon' you offer?"

  "Do not obstruct me," the highlander answered mildly. "Because if you do, I will kill you. It is that simple."

  "I've never found the idea of martyrdom appealing." But neither am I so naive as to believe you only spare me from a sense of mercy.

  "I go to disband the council."

  "Go, then. I'm sick of the council and of you."

  "As you wish. I require this, however." Caldan pocketed the Royal Seal.

  Heratinn's face twisted with fury and grief. "I suppose you'll want this, too." He snatched the crown from his head and hurled it down. The ancient crown of Sheldwinn, rimed with costly jewels, landed on its side and rolled for half a foot, where it rocked, glittering. "Pick it up, then, Traitor."

  Caldan stood before it for a moment, then with impassive deliberation, slowly crushed the ring of soft, heavy gold beneath the heel of one black boot. A pearl popped from its setting and skittered across the floor, caroming off the wall to roll beneath the bed. It sounded like a boulder in the silence.

  Heratinn stared at what had once been the proud symbol of authority in Lhant, now ground to a twisted ruin under the contemptuous highlander's heel.

  "That was only Sheldwinn's crown," the usurper warned him coldly. "Have a care that I am not forced to do the same for his house."

  o0o

  "By Shador, never!" Baron Sandicrest batted away the document that Hommil held before them. "I won't bend my knee to some Tarskan savage!"

  The other councilors shouted in accord. Hommil gestured, and another dozen soldiers pushed into the crowded room.

  "Sheathe those blades!" Oakfellow thundered. "By charter law, no weapons enter council chambers!"

  "We are finished with that charter," Shendiss told the First Chair flatly.

  "We shall see about that," Oakfellow countered. "The people of Lhant won't stand for a Tarskan traitor as their king."

  Val Torska walked into the room, and the councilors who had been seated now leapt to their feet.

  "Usurper!" cried Duke Gold.

  "Treasonous dog!" spat Sandicrest.

  The highlander ignored them. "Gentlemen, Lhant is now under martial law. As regent of the isle, I hereby proclaim the Council of Lords to be stripped of all authority and dissolved as a legislative body. You are dismissed."

  "By Shador," howled Sandicrest, "just because you have a warm spot in the bed of a highly-placed whore doesn't mean you can storm in and order about the true lords of Lhant!"

  "Mind your tongue, Fiozir," the highlander cautioned softly. "I want no bloodshed, but one more slur against Saire Elzin and I will cut that lying organ from your mouth."

  The baron opened his jaw to protest, but a vision of his bloody tongue, still squirming, on the floor, quickly snapped it shut.

  "Count Val Torska," said the Duke of Azinhill, "I beg you to reconsider. Surely we can work within the law and solve our problems in a more gentlemanly manner. I understand your displeasure with this council. We have treated you poorly in the past, I will admit, but now, let us speak as friends across the table, in the interest of Lhant."

  "Azinhill, you were always a master with words. Master these two: Your Majesty. Make no mistake, it is now my rightful title. As for the rest, I do not care for sudden friendships. A dog too quick to wag his tail poorly guards his master's house.

  "You have five minutes to clear this room. Commander Starmap."

  "Yes, Your Majesty!"

  "After, kill anyone that remains here."

  "Yes, Your Majesty!"

  The new king of Lhant turned on his heel. He did not even wait to see that his orders were obeyed.

  o0o

  "Caldan!" Pugs prancing around her feet, Elzin gleefully ran to meet him. She grinned and threw her arms about his waist. "You're here early. Did the other councilors finally behave themselves today?" When the highlander did not reply, Elzin pulled away from him to peer into his face. The fatigue that had settled on his features ever since the Queen's death had been replaced by something very close to exhaustion. She noticed then that he was armed, and a thin thread of fear drew tight little stitches down her back. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

  "I cannot say, Elzin. It may yet be."

  Three things he t
old her in quick succession. What he said, had it been written, would not have made a paragraph, but it staggered her so badly that she nearly missed the chair he helped her into. The Council of Lords, disbanded. Heratinn, deposed. And Caldan, now king.

  "Oh, Caldan," she moaned, "what have you done?"

  "What was necessary."

  He had killed the Queen, and he had overthrown both king and council, Elzin thought with wonder. He made it sound so simple, as if he discussed the milling of grain or the mending of fences. Something within him reduced all matters to 'what was necessary,' and the thought frightened her deeply.

  Still, she laid one hand gently on his shoulder to give him comfort. He looked so weary she could do no less. She trusted Caldan's knowledge of the council; if its members remained locked in petty arguments, who would stop the army of Buktoz? Surely, he had done this awful thing for Lhant.

  But at what cost? Caldan had taken what was Heratinn's by law and history. Elzin recalled the tearing at her center when the assassin knocked the Saireflute from her grasp, and a low moan rose from her chest.

  Poor Heratinn! Whatever happened to ex-kings?

  Please, Goddess! No!

  "Caldan, don't let them hurt him! Please--" She sank to her knees so swiftly that the impact jarred her. "Please tell me he's all right."

  He took her hand and laid it on his cheek. "That was my bargain with the others, that he be spared." With a sigh, he laid his chin back across his sword. "Yet, I can promise nothing, Elzin. Every moment that Heratinn lives he is dangerous--to the others, to me, to everything that we strive to accomplish. Only he could motivate a strong resistance. The others will kill him if he is uncooperative. They must. If he returns to power, their lives are forfeit. And if he splits Lhant into factions over who will be king, the king we will ultimately serve will be Gorbagg of Buktoz."

  As much as she hated it, she knew he was right. "You can't afford any doubts about who is king now. I'll arrange a ceremony. Tonight you'll rest here. I'll take care of everything; don't worry. You won't be disturbed." She kissed his nose and smiled, though tears still rode her cheek. "Not even by me."