by Simon Brown
“Right,” Ager said, and took three steps back.
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Lynan cried, turning to Kumul in appeal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the crookback move faster than he would have believed possible. Before he could do anything, he was on his back again, the tip of the short sword once more resting over his heart.
“You’re used to fencing with those who follow the same rules as you, your Highness,” Ager said. “But those rules don’t apply in a real battle.”
Lynan scrambled to his feet. “Again!” he ordered fiercely, and attacked before Ager was ready, forcing him back at the very first. Lynan’s attack was furious, but Ager had the skill to deflect every strike and blow. Nevertheless, the crookback gave ground until his back was against a wall and he could retreat no farther. Lynan redoubled his efforts, again and again almost finding an opening for his point. Though Ager kept up with him at first, eventually he started to tire.
“Your Highness!” Kumul called. “Enough!”
Lynan felt as if cold water had been poured over him. He dropped his point and stood back, his face white as a sheet. “Ager… I… I…”
Ager was actually grinning. “Don’t apologize. I as good as told you not to play by the rules. I’ve rarely met an attack with such ferocity behind it.”
Lynan nodded numbly. That his anger had so overwhelmed him made him feel nauseous. “Nevertheless, Kumul has always told me never to lose control of my emotions in a fight.”
Ager nodded, glanced at Kumul. “Good advice, but sometimes—just sometimes—it pays to forget that rule as well.” He returned his short sword to the basket and asked to see Lynan’s. Lynan handed it over, and Ager inspected it carefully. “I thought I’d seen this blade before. Most wonderful work.” Ager handed it back.
“It is all my father left me,” Lynan said simply.
“You are very skilled with it.”
“It is the only skill at the prince’s command,” Kumul said. “He has no time for any study except that of killing and war.”
Lynan looked offended. “I am fair at geography.”
“Like I’m fair at making pots,” Kumul replied. “You will be late for your other lessons if you don’t hurry.”
Lynan sighed and handed the sword together with its belt and matching dagger to Dejanus, who took it to the special cabinets reserved for the war gear of Usharna’s children and returned with Lynan’s dress knife.
Before he left, Lynan turned to Ager and said, “I’d appreciate a lesson with the short sword sometime.”
Ager seemed flattered. “I would be honored.”
Chapter 5
Orkid Gravespear was leaving the daily meeting of the queen’s executive council when he was intercepted by a messenger boy with the news that two visitors were waiting for him in his office. He thanked the boy and gave him a small coin for his trouble.
Instead of heading directly to greet his visitors, he paused in the hallway and looked out over the palace’s main courtyard. He was deeply troubled. It seemed to him that day by day the queen was losing her grip on life. The skin on her face was taut around her bony cheeks and high forehead, and her hands trembled so much she had trouble signing any document placed before her. He had served Usharna for almost half of his life and had grown to love and respect her. More than that, he knew that on her death certain events, long planned, would start almost of their own accord and with such momentum that nothing would divert their course. Plans he had been putting in place for over twenty years; plans the Twenty Houses had been putting in place for even longer. As chancellor, he enjoyed almost more power in the kingdom than any other mortal except the queen herself, and yet in the face of such momentous change he knew his authority—even his own life—could be cut short as easily as a rope severed by a sword.
He remembered he had visitors and shook his head to clear it. He entered his rooms, passed by his secretaries without a word, mumbled apologies to the two men waiting in his office, then stopped short. His mouth dropped open, and he went to one knee.
“Your Highness! I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I wasn’t expecting—”
“Stand up, Orkid,” said a gentle voice, and the chancellor obeyed. “There was never any such formality between us before, Uncle, and I do not expect it to start now.”
Orkid looked in wonder at the young man standing before him, as tall as himself, slender with youth, clean-shaven, wide-eyed and grinning. “You’ve grown, Prince Sendarus.”
“It happens, Uncle. And my father sends his warmest greetings.”
“How is the King of Aman?”
“Well when I last saw him, but looking forward to the day when he may see his brother once again.”
The two men looked at one another for another moment and then embraced suddenly and fiercely. When they parted, Orkid held him by the shoulders. “I was not expecting you for another month, but I am glad you are here,” he said.
“And no greeting for his mentor?” asked the second man.
Orkid glanced at the second visitor and received his second shock of the morning. “Lord of the Mountain! Amemun, you old vulture!”
Amemun, round and red-faced, his mound of hair and beard white with age, frowned at Orkid. “Must you always take the Lord’s name so lightly?”
“Only in your presence, faithful teacher,” Orkid replied, raising a smile in the old man. They clasped hands warmly.
“Now, sit down, both of you,” Orkid told them. “You must be exhausted after your journey.”
“True. These bones are not used to such a long expedition,” Amemun said, easing himself into a seat, “although the voyage from Nunwa was uneventful.”
“Unlike the last time you made it,” Orkid added. “I remember it like yesterday when you first brought me to Kendra as part of Aman’s tribute.”
“A terrible day for me,” Amemun admitted. “I felt like I was losing a son.”
“And I a father,” Orkid added.
“Well, I could have done with a little adventure on this trip,” Sendarus said. “I was bored from the moment we left Pila. I couldn’t wait to leave my father’s palace and see more of the world. Instead, all I saw was the highway to Nunwa, and then leagues of empty ocean until last night when we could make out Kendra’s lights on the shore.”
“How is your new pupil shaping up?” Orkid asked Amemun.
“New? It’s been ten years since the king placed his Highness under my tutelage.” He regarded the prince with a skeptical gaze. “Impetuous, perhaps, but a quick learner. His head is filled with romantic notions and what he calls ‘noble’ ideals. Other than that, he makes a passable student.”
“Passable?” Sendarus exclaimed. “The Lord of the Mountain himself would struggle to meet your standards.”
Amemun’s eyes rolled in his head. “You are here less than five minutes and already you blaspheme as readily as your uncle.”
“Just as well,” Orkid said, suddenly serious. “You are in the heart of the kingdom, now, and the Kendrans do not like being reminded other gods are worshiped in their realms. They are so certain in their power they believe their own deity is the single, true creator.”
“They do not let you pray to the Lord of the Mountain?” Amemun asked.
“As long as I refer to him as God, and by no other title, they are pleased to turn a blind eye to my worship, pretending that I have conformed.”
Amemun nodded, but his expression showed his displeasure. He had little time for such self-righteousness. “Then you must learn the trick,” he told Sendarus.
“Surely we will not be staying long enough for it to matter,” Sendarus said lightly, making nothing of the glance exchanged between Orkid and Amemun.
“You must be tired,” Orkid told the prince. “My secretary will show you to a room where you can rest, and in the meantime I will arrange for proper chambers to be prepared and notify the queen’s private secretary that you have arrived.”
Sendarus was about to object, not
feeling the slightest bit tired and eager to see something of the kingdom’s capital, the greatest city in the world, but he saw Amemun looking at him with his grave brown eyes and knew the sights and sounds of Kendra would have to wait.
“As you say, Uncle.”
“Where are your servants and baggage?”
“Still with our ship.”
Orkid called in his secretaries and gave instructions. Two of them bustled out to collect his guests’ retinue and belongings. The third led Sendarus to Orkid’s own chambers to rest.
“So Marin had decided that his own son should be unaware of his part in Kendra’s future?” Orkid asked Amemun after all had left.
Amemun refused to meet Orkid’s gaze. “The future is so uncertain, Orkid. The king did not want Sendarus’ hopes raised.”
Orkid sighed deeply. “Old friend, I know when you are lying. You cannot meet me in the eye, and you sound apologetic.”
“I never sound apologetic!” Amemun declared hotly, and having declared it lost all his huff in an instant. “Well, when I’m apologizing for others, perhaps I do,” he conceded.
“So what is the truth?”
“When I said earlier that the prince’s head is full of foolish notions, I was not being sarcastic. Marin is afraid his son would refuse a role he felt was dishonorable in any fashion.”
“We can’t let nature take its course. If Aman’s dreams are to be realized, we must all take our part whether or not it brings us honor.”
“The king has no intention of letting nature take its course. He wants you to dig a furrow for it.”
“Ah.” Orkid stood up and went to his window. He beckoned Amemun to join him. “Do you see the size of this palace? Its population almost equals that of Pila itself. I can dig a hundred furrows, but in Usharna’s court they would be no more than scratches on the surface.”
“Nevertheless, the king does not want Sendarus told of his part in our plans.”
“Then the sooner we introduce him to the queen and her family the better,” Orkid said.
“How much time do we have?”
“Before the queen dies? It could be tonight or next week, or next month. She is the strongest person I have ever known, but she is very ill.”
“And how long after her death before the first part of the plan is put into effect?”
“As soon as possible.”
“The pieces are all in place?”
Orkid nodded. “Assuming nothing unexpected happens between now and then.”
Amemun looked alarmed. “What do you mean? Surely the opposition would not move before the queen’s death?”
“Against the queen herself? Of course not. But against us or those perceived as our allies? It has already happened. Disaster was averted only by good fortune, and that none of my doing. You must understand, Amemun, now is the most dangerous time for the plan, not what comes after the queen’s death—that is only when it is most dangerous to us.”
Areava felt listless. She wandered about the palace like a ghost, through its great halls and rooms, its balconies and towers, its gardens and enclosures. At every window she paused to look out, seeing the great city spread out before the palace like a tapestry, catching glimpses of the harbor or Kestrel Bay beyond it, or seeing the craggy heights of Ebrius Ridge or even sometimes seeing the mountains of distant Aman.
Of their own accord, her feet led her eventually to the courtyard, and from there to the palace’s west wing, now the priory for the Church of the Righteous God. Priests bowed to her as she walked by, but knew from her expression not to talk to her. She passed sleeping cells and the royal chapel, confessionals and the refectory. Eventually her journey ended in the church library.
This place and not the chapel is closest to God, Areava thought. She was surrounded by ranks of books and manuscripts, old wooden shelves and reading desks, the smell of ancient dust and earnest study. Here she felt a part of the quest for knowledge, a quest more holy than any other she could imagine because it implied a quest for truth irrespective of its beauty or desirability. She could feel peace in the chapel, contentment in the palace gardens, but here, among all this gathered learning, she felt most alive and in the presence of something sacred.
Areava selected a tall, thin book from a shelf and sat down in one of the study cubicles to read it. It was an atlas and geographical commentary compiled over a hundred years before by Brother Agostin, one of the church’s most famous missionaries. Her finger traced the outline of the continent of Theare, from its northern shores around the nation of Haxus, and then along the east coast past Hume and Chandra and the Horn of Lear—where sat Kendra—down to the swollen belly of Lurisia in the south, and then west along the desert plains of the Southern Chetts before heading north past the Oceans of Grass—the home of the Northern Chetts—and back to Haxus. In the top right corner of the page was the unfinished outline of the Far Kingdom, a place of mystery and danger, never visited by any from Grenda Lear. The Sea Between was too wild and unknown for anyone to cross it, and any who were foolish enough to try disappeared without a trace. The coastline in the atlas was conjecture only, shaped by rumor and legend.
She wished she could absorb all the knowledge of the book by touching it like this, and so in her own lifetime read every volume within the library. She sighed. The things she wanted most were never possible.
“I thought I would find you here,” said a light voice behind her.
Areava did not turn, but smiled and said: “You have never had any trouble finding me, even when I did not know where I was myself. You know me better than I do.”
Father Giros Northam, Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, pulled over a chair and sat down next to the princess. He craned his long, wattled neck to see what book she had out. “Agostin! How wonderful! I read him often. I have always hoped that one of my brethren would fancy taking up his walking staff and traveling his road. The map could do with more detail, and the commentary undoubtedly needs updating. Alas, these days the brethren are all too spiritual for such a mundane and secular task. They prefer chanting in the chapel and preaching in the pulpit.”
“I wish I could take up the task,” Areava said. She touched the map again, imagining herself on the road without responsibility or care.
“Perhaps one day you will,” Father Northam said gently. He was a large man, big-boned, with the largest feet and hands Areava had ever seen on any man. Gray eyes regarded her affectionately.
Areava shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“I suppose every book you read takes you on a journey of some kind.” Areava said nothing. “Why are you here now?”
“To read your books, Father.”
“Perhaps. But sometimes you come here because you are troubled. This is your refuge and your confessional. What is troubling you?” Areava shook her head. “If you do not tell me, I cannot help you.”
“I cannot lie to you.”
“That is not an answer.”
Areava stood up and replaced the atlas on its shelf. “It’s the only one I can give you.”
Before she could leave, Father Northam caught her arm. “When you were only five years old, I found you here. Your father had died, and instead of mourning with the rest of your family you came here to hide away from the world, and you looked as if you carried all its troubles on your young shoulders. I look at you now and see that five-year-old girl again. You know you can tell me what is wrong. I have always been your friend, Areava, and never your confessor.”
“Perhaps it is a confessor I need. But Father Powl would not understand either.”
“My secretary is a very understanding man, Areava. That is why I assigned him to you.”
“You know more about me than you do about your own secretary. Father Powl is a great scholar, but as a confessor he listens too little and holds forth too much.”
The priest looked bemused. “For God’s sake, child, what is it you think you have done?”
“It is wha
t I have not done, and am afraid to do, that is my sin.”
“You cannot sin through omission. God the Righteous understands us well enough to forgive our desires and condemn only our actions.”
Areava gently eased the priest’s hand from her arm. “It is a sin I may still commit. We who are born to rule must sometimes carry out mean actions to achieve great things. It is our privilege and our curse.”
“That was glib coming from you.” Areava breathed in sharply. He had never spoken so hard to her before. “Forgive me, your Highness, but we read many of the same books. Those were not your words, but those of your grandfather. Old Duke Amptra held convenient opinions about right and wrong but thankfully was never in a position to put them into practice. Do not make the mistake of thinking that his noble rank gave him a noble mind. Look instead to your mother, the queen, for your model.”
Areava blanched, as if she had been slapped. The priest’s words struck deeper than he knew. Her grandfather may never have had an opportunity to put his ideas into practice, but his son Tafe—her father—did. No one ever talked to her or Olio about their father except in the most general and cautious terms, but through the books she had read, through the gossip and careless remarks she had overheard and by diligently applying her intelligence to the mystery, she had slowly discovered the dark truth. In that terrible civil war between the throne and the Slavers, her father had played one side against the other to further the interests of his family. When his duplicity was discovered, Usharna confronted him and forced his confession using the Keys of Power. By the time she had finished with him, he was nothing more than a smoking, burned-out hulk. Two immediate results had been the dramatic reduction in the influence of the Twenty Houses, which the Amptra family led, and soon after Usharna’s marriage to Lynan’s father, Elynd Chisal.
“Ah, I see now.” Father Northam’s words broke her reverie. He smiled sadly. “You are afraid of losing Usharna. That is why you have come to the library today. Here you can enter all the worlds in these books, all the histories and all the legends, and in none of them must you ever confront the mortality of your own mother.”