The Sleeping God (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 4)

by Guy Antibes

  The bartender snorted and turned to get another glass to polish. Pol could see a tiny smile on the woman’s lips. While they were in Bastiz, Pol wouldn’t be surprised if Fadden returned to this very inn.

  ~

  The palace must have once been a castle. The walls were stone, but nothing very ornate. He noticed a new wing that was built closer to the style of the cathedral, with high ceilings and high windows. It would be bright in that section on a summer’s day.

  Dinner was scheduled for late in the evening, so they had a chance to settle into very presentable rooms. All the furniture and the beds would compare well to Borstall Castle; in fact, the palace reminded him more of his childhood home than any others he had been in.

  There was no time to clean their clothes, so Pol brushed his off as well as he could and had begun to puzzle out one of the storybooks when he rose to answer a tapping at his door.

  “I am here to lead you to the East Dining Room.”

  Pol nodded and put the book down. He memorized how everything was arranged in his room to see if the King would have someone search their possessions. “I’m ready,” he said, once he had tweaked a shield.

  They walked to the new addition, and then into a smaller section of the new wing. The East Dining Room had tall windows, with doors inset that led out to a garden area. It was still early spring, so the garden was just beginning to green up. A long table set for twenty took up most of the space.

  In a few minutes, the room began to fill. Shira walked over to him, dressed in a green gown.

  “They found something to make me even prettier,” she said, turning around to show Pol. “A Sister wouldn’t wear this, but I like it.” She gave him a dazzling smile.

  Kell followed Loa into the room. The Shardian wore a yellow silk dress that accentuated her darker skin. He noticed that Kell couldn’t keep his eyes away from her. Pol turned to Shira when she placed her foot firmly over his.

  “Eyes forward,” Shira said.

  Pol got the message. He certainly didn’t want Shira mistaking innocent admiration for beauty with something else. That could divide their group, and they were barely halfway to Fassin.

  “The Prelate,” an old man in court clothes said.

  Dressed more formally, but still in dark red, the Prelate briskly walked into the room. He stopped and surveyed the crowd before joining Shira and Pol.

  “I am pleased to see you. The King had nothing planned tonight, so I suggested that he meet you and your friends.” The Prelate stopped as the King was announced

  The King of Bastiz approached the Prelate. He stood at Shira’s shoulder, a remarkably short individual, but Pol saw the blaze of intelligence in the King’s eyes.

  “This is the foreign boy and his girl, Homan?”

  The Prelate smiled at Pol and Shira. “I am sorry. I don’t even know your names.”

  “I am Shira from Shinkya and this is Pol Cissert, a former monk at Deftnis Monastery in the Baccusol Empire,” Shira said before Pol had a chance to open his mouth.

  “This is His Highness, King Ricord of Fistyra, and my formal title is the Prelate of Bastiz, but feel free to call me Homan.”

  The Prelate, Homan, had few pretensions. He reminded Pol a bit like an older Malden Gastoria, Pol’s first magician tutor.

  “We can sit. I want you and your friends clustered towards the front so I can easily converse with you. I would guess you have an interesting story to tell, since you arrived on a Bossomian ship from The Shards.”

  “Our tour has had its up and downs,” Pol said. He looked at Shira for guidance, but it looked like she didn’t have any, so he ignored the request for a story, sure it would come up again.

  “Homan says you are an educated magician.”

  “We are at Deftnis. The males in our group have all spent time at Deftnis. It’s a monastery dedicated to arms and magic.”

  “Monastery?” King Record looked a bit confused and looked to Homan to give him an explanation.

  “Yes. I think I know the Baccusol monastic system, but perhaps it might be better if you explained.”

  Fadden took up part of the conversation. “Monasteries are spread throughout the Empire. Most, but not all, are now secular institutions. They are attached to no particular faith, but there are exceptions.” Fadden looked at Pol and Shira. “Deftnis is secular and graduates both magicians and swordsmen, including a combination magician-swordsman called a ‘pattern-master’.”

  “Patterns are what we philosophically base our magic on,” Pol said.

  “Our magicians use patterns as well, but without a philosophical element. Is that how you perceived the cathedral’s architecture?” Homan asked, looking at Pol.

  “It is. We have agents of the Emperor called Seekers who primarily use perceived patterns in actions and elsewhere to solve problems. The magician who taught me said good magicians work more with non-magical patterns that with magical ones.”

  King Ricord nodded. “A wise man. That gives me more insight into your Baccusol Empire than I have ever had, assuming the Emperor approves of these methods.”

  “Pol and I have been on Imperial Seeking assignments, Your Highness,” Fadden said.

  “Both of you are pattern-masters?”

  Pol nodded.

  “Yes, we are. Pol is a prodigy in the Empire. He was once a prince and trained to rule. He has taken that training and used it to serve the Emperor in a different way.”

  “Once a prince? I thought if you were born a prince, you died a prince or a king,” King Ricord said.

  “I petitioned for disinheritance, and my father granted my petition.”

  “You petitioned?” Homan said.

  “I grew up in a somewhat hostile environment, and I thought it was the best thing I could do at the time. As I look back on my act, I did the right thing,” Pol said.

  “The king knows about hostile environments. Don’t you, Ricord?” Homan said.

  “I do. Your act would take a greater act of inner strength than I have. We will talk more about that tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d be seeking advice from one as young as you, but it appears I can use your perspective.”

  “I am at your disposal, Your Highness.”

  Ricord nodded. “Now what brought you to Bastiz?”

  Shira raised her hand a little. “May I start? It might be more comfortable that way,” she said.

  She had been the storyteller before at the monastery in South Parsimol, and Pol looked forward to watching her again as she talked.

  The king flicked his wrist, indicating for her to continue. She started with meeting Pol at Tesna Monastery and gave a brief version of the short war between South and North Salvan and their escape to Volia. She ended with being abducted by The Pontifer and finding salvation at the Hole. She looked toward Pol to continue.

  “Perhaps as we eat,” King Ricord said. He waved to servants who brought out rolling trays of food. Each diner instructed the servants what to put on their plates.

  It seemed a little odd to serve himself, but he filled his plate as the Fistyrans did and took the opportunity to eat so he could relay the rest of their story without getting too hungry.

  “You may proceed, Master Cissert,” Ricord said.

  Pol started his story at Shira’s abduction and Namion’s lack of interest in saving Shira. He didn’t mention the names of those who helped them rescue Shira, and made light on the details of how he entered the Hole.

  “We have heard of Terria’s harem. That you were able to see what it was like inside and live to tell the tale is amazing,” Ricord said. “You used your magic to escape?”

  “It took more than magic and seeking out patterns to help me through.”

  Homan nodded, with his chin on a fist. ‘I have never heard of such productive magic before. Go on.”

  Pol rushed through their experiences at the Shards, except to say that Shira and Loa were in the cart that they used to escape the Magicians Circle fortress. He didn’t mention the unusual w
ards that they had to navigate.

  “Perhaps Loa can finish,” Pol said.

  She smiled uncertainly, but continued on in more detail than either Pol or Shira. She explained how the Magicians Circle viewed women and that she had been designated as the Star of the Circle. The magician’s duel on the docks at Wailua became the climax of her story, ending with Pol defeating one of the Circle’s swordsmen. As a coda, she mentioned meeting her father at sea, and then they had reached Bastiz.

  “I can hardly believe my ears. It’s out of a storybook. Heroes defending their ladies against dark forces,” King Ricord said. “And you are products of the Empire?”

  Fadden nodded. “Exceptional products, Your Highness, but I’m from Botarra; Loa is from the Shards; and Shira is from Shinkya. Pol still leads us to Fassin to view the Sleeping God and find his own beginnings.”

  The Prelate took the King’s arm. “I have been to Fassin, as you know. It has a charm all its own.”

  Pol didn’t know if that was a slight to the city, but he didn’t care. He finally felt that he moved closer to his goal.

  “How long do you plan to stay in Bastiz?” King Ricord said.

  “A few days, anyway,” Fadden said. “I am teaching your language to the rest of the group. Shira and Pol learn a little more quickly.”

  Paki made a sound.

  “It’s true,” Loa said quietly, but loud enough for Pol, and likely, the King and Prelate to hear.

  The King smiled, amused by the interplay. “Please stay at my Palace, at least for a week. Homan would like to talk to all of you in more detail. He has a better mind for affairs of state than I.”

  Pol took that comment as dissembling. Homan would tell the King all about any conversations that they had. He looked at Shira and admitted that they all had withheld some of their secrets.

  “I’d like to, if we could, Fadden. A month-long voyage might seem like a rest to some, but I spent most of my time aloft in the rigging.”

  Homan’s eyes widened. “You did? But you were a prince.”

  “Were. I grew up weak and came into my strength recently. I enjoy physical activity.”

  Homan looked at Ricord. Something passed between them, but Pol had no idea. The Fistyrans had their own secrets, and they were welcome to them, as long as Pol could keep heading towards Fassin.

  ~~~

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ~

  Fadden, Pol, and Shira sat at a table with Homan, another priest, and Captain Deaz, who first escorted them to the palace. Pol didn’t know why they wanted to talk to them, but the Prelate thought it important enough to provide a tutoring session at the same time for Loa, Kell, and Paki, followed by a guided tour of the town to sightsee and to give the others exposure to the practical aspects of the Fistyran language.

  This particular meeting room was in an older part of the palace. The windows were smaller, the ceilings lower, and Pol realized he liked the airiness better.

  “We would like to present a few problems to you and then tell us how you might solve them,” Homan said.

  They discussed six scenarios during the day-long session, broken up with King Ricord joining them for lunch.

  Towards the end of the day, when the scenarios had been discussed, Homan sat back in his chair. In front of him were pages full of notes in a kind of Fistyran script which Pol had never seen before.

  “Would you care to comment on our session today?” Homan said.

  Fadden looked at Pol and Shira. “You brought us here to see how the Empire would solve these problems? Hazett III is likely more devious than any of us, but from an old Seeker’s point of view, we gave you solutions, but you can probably solve them better, knowing your country and culture.”

  Homan looked at Shira and raised his eyebrow.

  She made a face, but decided to speak. She started by shaking her head. “As you can tell, we think differently in Shinkya. Our issues with the magicians would never evolve in the same way. Magicians dominate the Shinkyan culture. The ability to work patterns defines who we are and where we rank.”

  Pol sat back. He had gotten a much better feel for the Shinkyan culture than anything Shira had told him outright. Looking at the pattern of her remarks, he could tell that she identified with the current ruling clique and saw things from a lofty position. She was no merchant’s daughter. Her parents, if that was the right term for a high-ranking Shinkyan woman, were very high up. She had previously slipped up implying she might be royalty, and her comments confirmed the fact in his mind.

  She was purposely trained to think and act independently, but she still spoke from a ruler’s frame of reference. No wonder the Sister she had met at Port Molla wanted her home. The interesting thing was that when the problems related to dealing with factions, Shira had a clear idea of internal strife in a royal administration. He had to admit her grasp of dealing with multiple threats was better than his.

  She finished her conclusions, and all eyes turned to Pol. He took a deep breath. “If you do nothing, Fistyra will still be in trouble.”

  “The scenarios, Pol,” Fadden said.

  “The scenarios are masks for the current state of affairs in Fistyra,” Pol said with a flash of insight.

  The Prelate sat up straighter.

  “From the scenarios, your greatest worry is about the magicians taking power, since they have more influence in the countryside than the Church. I think there is a threat there, but the real threat is a war between Botarra and Bossom. I noted that they are in your scenarios as local factions. You are a vassal state to Bossom, that is clear. They take your best and brightest magicians, who would also be your clearest thinkers. I wouldn’t be surprised if many of your priests have magic abilities that you hide from others. If your magicians side with Botarra, Fistyra becomes a battleground and leads to the destruction of your prime asset, the agricultural source for Botarra’s food. If your magicians side with Bossom, then the coming war with Botarra will be fought at your common border.”

  Homan’s eyes lit up. “What if South Parsimol doesn’t ally with Botarra?”

  “The probability of a war of expansion will be reduced,” Pol said, “but not eliminated.”

  His own words provided the insight that told him that Hazett, his Emperor, sponsored Namion’s revolution. It wasn’t an alliance that Namion was spoiling, but the continent-wide war that the alliance would start. He sat back thinking.

  Pol looked at Homan. “Have you heard anything from South Parsimol about an indication that the alliance won’t happen? The Pastor and Pontifer Terria looked very close the last time I saw them.”

  Homan chuckled. “You know about the revolution in South Parsimol?”

  Fadden looked sharply at Pol. He must have finally figured it out. “We knew one was possible when we left,” Fadden said.

  “So if the revolution breaks down, what do you suggest we do from Bastiz?”

  Pol pursed his lips. “Think of a way to slowly win back the countryside, and it won’t be through force of arms, and you probably can’t do anything if Botarra invades soon. You don’t want to antagonize the farmers. You want to bring them along to feel more patriotic about King Ricord. Social issues, tax reduction, health care. You mentioned the magicians educating the farmers. You might want to take that over from the magicians, who are likely teaching with a bias.”

  “Everyone teaches with a bias,” Shira said.

  “I didn’t say people didn’t.”

  Shira gave him a kick under the table.

  Pol turned to Homan who was stifling a smile. “Get your own biases out there, but don’t try to indoctrinate everyone and make them religious in nature. I assume most Fistyrans at least give lip service to Mother Phairoon?”

  The Prelate nodded.

  “Then leave it at that. Too heavy a hand will only build a barrier of suspicion, and the pattern to build influence in the countryside will be too blunt, and that will lead to rejection.”

  “It should be blunt,” the other
priest said.

  The pattern burned in Pol’s mind. “If that is how you feel, then be prepared to live with magicians influencing the countryside. If you force the farmers to kneel, they won’t bow their heads The magicians can provide help and healing, and if you are together, it will help bind the country,” Pol said. “Otherwise, the farmers might welcome the Botarrans with open arms.”

  “You have exceeded my expectations,” Homan said.

  “I doubt it. Those are just my thoughts,” Pol said. “I’m not a Fistyran.”

  Homan nodded. “Don’t worry. I know my culture, but I needed perspective. I thought that a young man who could figure out how our cathedral brings in light, could do the same thing for a problem that has plagued Fistyran kings since we first allied with Bossom. I agree. We are their vassals.”

  “Do the Bossomian post troops at your border with Botarra?” Pol asked.

  “No. Should they?”

  Pol didn’t really know, but he extended the pattern to include Bossom in considering Fistyra’s defense. “If you are vassals, what are you getting out of your relationship with Bossom? Do they have troops at your border with them?”

  “Not really,” Captain Deaz said.

  “So they don’t contribute to your security. They don’t let you trade with other countries. Your relationship with Bossom is something you should think about, but not until you resolve your relationship with the magicians.”

  Holman thought for a moment. “Next week I’ll be leaving for an annual meeting, the Council of Malcia, between different factions of Fistyra, including the Church and the Magicians Guild.” The Prelate looked at Fadden. “It’s on the way to Missibes, the Bossomian capital. I imagine that’s your next destination. Would the six of you be my guests? You can depart for Bossom from there.”

  Fadden looked at Pol, who nodded. “We would be happy to. I don’t think it would be prudent for us to represent the Empire, since we don’t.”

  “Nothing like that,” Homan said. “Just observers, like you evidently were today.” He smiled at Shira and Pol. “I have learned much. Captain Deaz would be pleased to take you to a typical restaurant in Bastiz with a few of his officers.”