Inheritance

by Simon Brown

  Areava laughed bitterly. “Her mortality? It is her heritage that makes me afraid, Father. She leaves behind a kingdom that is entirely loyal to her but not to the throne.”

  Father Northam looked at her blankly. Areava shook her head in frustration. “When she dies, she takes with her all the goodwill owed her, Father. The merchants and generals and magickers and even the church will not know where they stand when Berayma becomes king. Nor will any of the kings and queens who come under Kendra. Only the Twenty Houses will be sure of their position, for Berayma has made clear where at least some of his sympathies lie.”

  “But, Areava, why should anyone want things to change? There is peace in the kingdom now, and there will be peace in the kingdom after Usharna. Berayma will not change the good administration she established. You know he will rule fairly.”

  Areava shook her head. “For the kingdom’s wisest man, you understand so little of the real world. With a new ruler, everyone will try to maneuver closer to the throne, to benefit themselves and their friends. Queen Charion will try to take trade from King Tomar, the merchant guilds will try and reduce the influence of the theurgia, Haxus will try and take a bite from our northern territory…”

  “Your mother went through the same turmoil when she first ascended the throne, and came through it,” Father Northam argued. “So will Berayma. The people will not want to destroy the prosperity they enjoy.”

  “There will always be those disgruntled with the share they receive. When my mother became queen, she was forced to marry into the Twenty Houses. There was no center of resistance, no rallying point. But this time there will be. This time there will be Lynan.”

  “Lynan?” Father Northam said, obviously surprised. “This is about Lynan?”

  “Am I the only one who can see how destabilizing it will be for Berayma to have Lynan at a loose end, an heir to the throne whose father was a commoner and a soldier? Lynan will become the focus of every disgruntled citizen and every conspiracy.”

  “He is so young, so… so uninterested in being the center of anything, let alone a conspiracy against the throne.”

  “It does not need his compliance. His very existence is enough.”

  “But, Areava, you said yourself that his father was a commoner. The people won’t follow him, or pay attention to anyone else trying to raise him up.”

  Areava sighed deeply. “Do you know what will happen to the Keys of Power on Berayma’s succession?”

  “He will inherit them with the throne—”

  Areava shook her head. “Your Father Powl could tell you. He understands the politics of the palace far better than you.”

  “I am not Prelate because I understand politics—” he started to reply.

  “Exactly. That is why my mother allows you to hold the office. She does not want a prelate who plays at politics as well as religion.”

  Father Northam opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself before he made the lie. Of course that was why Usharna had given him her support. He had known this ever since the queen had allowed the church to base itself within the palace walls, but it was a truth he hid behind what he believed was the greater worth of his faith, their work among the poorest of Kendra’s people, and their quest for knowledge from all corners of the queen’s kingdom.

  “My confessor would tell you that Usharna was an only child—”

  “I knew that, Areava—”

  “Which is why she inherited all the Keys.”

  The primate’s eyes widened with sudden understanding that came from a memory from his own youth. “Only the ruler inherits the Key of the Scepter, the ‘Monarch’s Key.’ The ruler’s siblings inherit the other, lesser Keys.”

  “And this time the queen has four children, so each will receive one,” Areava said.

  “You mean Lynan will possess one of the Keys of Power?” He was genuinely surprised. “Which one?”

  Areava shrugged. “That is for the queen to decide, and if she dies before she makes known her will it will be for Berayma to decide.”

  “But surely the tradition can be changed?”

  “The queen could do so, but only at the risk of destabilizing the kingdom just as Berayma is about to inherit it. The Twenty Houses were the queen’s opponents for so long because she received all the Keys. That is why they twice forced her to marry within their ranks. It was only after she had been ruler for nearly twenty years that she could marry without their blessing, and when my father died, she chose that trooper-made-general, Chisal. Usharna would not risk alienating the Twenty Houses now when she is too weak to isolate them. And if the decision is Berayma’s, who is a friend of the Twenty Houses, Lynan will still get his Key. Now do you understand why I am afraid of him? Common blood or not, as a holder of one of the Keys he becomes a symbol beyond his own birthright.”

  Chapter 6

  Captain Ager Parmer of the Royal Guards studied himself in the reflection of one of the tall windows that illuminated the Long Walk, the palace’s chief promenade, connecting the throne room to the queen’s private rooms and offices. He could not believe how well the uniform had been made to fit. That dark, wire-haired woman Kumul had found to measure up Ager and then sew and stitch the blue jerkin and pants was a miracle worker. He spun on his heel and admired himself in left profile, but his high shoulder spoiled the view. Ah, well, he told himself, not everyone can be Kumul’s size and shape.

  The wide double doors to the throne room opened wide. The queen appeared, followed by her entourage and a bustle of guests. Ager shouted a command, and his own detachment of guards formed in front of the party and led the way down the Long Walk to the official dining room, a long space filled with the biggest table Ager had ever seen. Despite the room’s name, the queen herself ate there only if she had a large number of guests, preferring her own sitting room for most meals. Ager and his men spaced themselves evenly along the wall and stood at attention, the blades of their long spears glistening a foot above their heads.

  Ager watched Usharna sweep by, looking frail but still regal and completely in charge. She was followed by her family and chief officials, then her special guests—some nobleman and his party from one of the provinces, Ager had gathered—and finally by representatives of Kendra itself, such as the mayor and heads of the major merchant guilds. Attendants, polite and bowing, made sure everyone sat exactly where they were supposed to and then brought in large platters and bowls which they set on the table between the guests.

  The nobleman, Ager could now see from his long formal coat, was from Aman. Seated between his countryman, Orkid Gravespear, and the Princess Areava, Ager thought he was a pleasant-looking youth with a quick smile and an open face. He noticed that several of the guests, relatives of the royal family from the Twenty Houses and including Berayma’s cousin and friend Galen Amptra and his father the duke, were looking with some displeasure at the visitor and the easy familiarity he was showing toward Areava. The princess, for her part, seemed to enjoy the attention of the foreign prince, talking with him animatedly and occasionally even laughing softly, something Ager had never heard her do before.

  Perhaps she is just a good actress, Ager thought. Kumul had told him that, unlike Berayma, Areava held a great antipathy toward the Twenty Houses; so, knowing their dislike of commoners, provincials of any class, and clerics, she might be paying special attention to the Amanite prince simply to irk them. If that was the case, it was working. And good for you, Your Highness, he thought. Anything to put a burr under the seat of a nobleman.

  As the meal progressed, Ager noticed that some of the Twenty House nobles were glancing at him and whispering comments to one another. The queen noticed it as well. She gently tapped the table with a knife and immediately got everyone’s attention.

  “I notice, Duke Amptra, that you and your accomplices are whispering between yourselves. Is it something we should know about?”

  The duke, an overweight man who suffered from gout and, Ager would bet, a few varieties of p
ox, looked in surprise at the queen. He was not used to being addressed like a schoolboy, and the word “accomplices” suggested the matter was something decidedly underhanded.

  “Your Majesty, merely small talk, chitchat, asides of no consequence…” His voice trailed off and his double chin wobbled.

  His son leaped into the breach. “Your Majesty, we were merely discussing the splendid uniforms of your Royal Guards.”

  “Really?” She took time to survey the uniforms herself. “I notice nothing different about them, my Lord Galen; as far as I can tell, they are the same uniform worn by the guards in my father’s time.”

  Galen swallowed hard. “True, but it is often the way with everyday things that suddenly you will notice their special… umm… qualities?” He ended his statement as a question, and knew it was a mistake.

  “Qualities,” the queen said, carefully chewing over the word. “Such as?”

  “The color, your Majesty,” Galen said quickly.

  “Like the sea that surrounds Kendra,” his father added.

  “Ah, the color.” The queen nodded.

  Then, satisfied that a lesson had been taught, she turned to the visiting prince from Aman to ask a question when another voice, sniggering, said: “And their shape!”

  There was the sound of muffled laughter. Usharna’s head snapped up, and her angry gaze returned to the representatives from the Twenty Houses. She noticed that Duke Holo Amptra and his son looked hideously embarrassed. Next to them, Minan Protas, who had only recently succeeded to his family’s dukedom, was desperately trying to swallow a giggle.

  “Duke Protas, you are referring to something in particular?” Usharna asked, her voice so cold that Berayma and Orkid, sitting on either side of her, edged away.

  Protas was counted a bluff, arrogant fool even among his own kind. He pointed to Ager, who was standing as erect as possible and looking straight ahead at an invisible point on the opposite wall, and said: “Not something, Your Majesty, but someone.” No longer able to contain his mirth, Protas broke out in a strangled guffaw.

  No laughter joined the duke’s. The queen silently waited for him to finish. Finally, Protas realized no one else was enjoying the joke and brought himself up with a wheeze.

  “Duke Protas, how old are you?” Usharna asked solicitously.

  “How old, your Majesty? Let me see. I would be over forty. Yes, I would own to that.” He smiled at the queen.

  “Shall we say forty-five?”

  Protas considered the number for a moment and nodded. “Close enough.”

  “Then you would have been thirty when the Slaver War ended.”

  Everyone watched Protas do the math in his head. After a long pause he nodded again. “Yes, your Majesty, that’s about right.”

  “With what regiment did you fight?”

  Where there was silence before, there was now a dread and expectant hush.

  “Umm, no regiment, your Majesty. I had onerous duties to perform under my father, the late duke.”

  “Tending the vineyards in your estates in Chandra?”

  “My father’s estates, your Majesty. Well, mine now, of course—”

  “So while men of Kendra such as Captain Parmer over there risked their lives in ridding Grenda Lear of the vile curse of slavery, you watched grapes grow?”

  Protas blinked and the color drained from his face. Even he realized his patriotism and manliness had just been brought publicly into question by his queen. He felt the mixed emotions of shame and rage. He opened his mouth to curse the woman, but something in the look of the crookback Captain Parmer—who now stared at him directly—and the restraining hand of Duke Amptra on his arm, told him to leave well enough alone. He had been ambushed. In shock, he settled back in his seat and bowed his head.

  Usharna turned again to Prince Sendarus and, as if on cue, everyone else resumed their conversations as well.

  Ager, staring straight ahead again, could not help swelling his chest just that extra bit further, filling up his blue guard’s uniform, and almost forgetting he was a crookback at all.

  Sendarus had watched the public humiliation of one of the kingdom’s premier nobles with amazement. His own father, the first among equals among the Amanite aristocracy, would never have dared even to attempt such a thing. In Aman, kings could still be challenged to combat for a personal slight. Apparently, things were different here in Kendra. He wondered whether or not that was a good thing.

  When it was all over, Usharna had turned to him and asked if he enjoyed hunting. For an instant, Sendarus thought she was alluding to her humiliation of the duke, but he gathered his senses in time to reply: “In the mountains around Pila, your Majesty, I often hunt the great bear. I have two heads hanging from the walls of my father’s meeting hall.”

  Usharna was impressed. She realized she had underestimated the strength and skill of this young man. In many ways, in his build, in his manner of speech, and in his readiness to smile, he reminded her of Olio. She decided she liked him. “Did you know that many years ago, in the time of your grandfather, Aman sent several great boars to Kendra. We released them in the woods of the Ebrius Ridge just north of here, and now hunt them ourselves. They provide a greater challenge than the boar and wild dog my ancestors used to hunt.”

  “We could go on a hunt tomorrow!” Areava said excitedly, her brown eyes sparkling.

  Sendarus greeted the idea enthusiastically. The queen agreed, and promised she would arrange a party to accompany them.

  “Your Majesty, do you think it wise to let them hunt at this time of the year?” Orkid asked, clearly concerned. “The great bear is most dangerous at the end of summer when the males are fighting for a sow.”

  “But it is also the most exciting time to hunt the beast!” Areava countered.

  The queen nodded. “Indeed, and I wish I had the strength to come with you. If you are so concerned, Orkid, you can pull yourself away from your duties for a day and accompany them. I know you used to enjoy the sport as much as me.”

  “I will gladly go with them,” Orkid conceded. “But I should warn the prince that hunting the great bear here is different from hunting it back home. In Aman, the beast has learned to retreat into the heights when harried, but here they have learned to use the woods to keep themselves hidden. They enjoy ambushing unwary hunters and travelers, and have acquired a taste for horse meat.”

  “The greater the challenge, the greater the victory,” Sendarus said without conceit.

  “Ah, the courage of youth,” Usharna said. “But Orkid is right, this is a dangerous time of the year for hunting the bear. I will send some of the guards with you.”

  “What a magnificent woman!” Amemun said for the third time in an hour.

  Orkid, riding by his side, smiled to himself and nodded. There were some things he despised about Kendra and its suzerainty over his homeland, but Usharna made up for almost all of it. Twenty years ago, when he had been Sendarus’ age and the younger brother of Aman’s new king, he had been sent to Kendra as part of his home’s tribute. More hostage than guest, he had hated everything about the city then, but he worked hard—and according to the plan he and Marin had worked out together—to place himself in a position of trust with the kingdom’s new ruler. Back then, Usharna was not only a sole child but a woman, and her ascension to the throne had not been a sure thing. The fact that her father had himself passed on to her the Keys of Power, and the fact that in Kendra’s dim past it had been ruled by another queen, gave her the opportunity to prove herself. And prove herself she did. And Orkid had helped her, first as a minor court official and then as chancellor. But, brutally honest with himself, he knew she would have flourished with or without his assistance. She had the ability to choose good men and women for positions of power, either on her executive council or as leaders of the various organizations tied to her, such as the church, the merchant guilds and the theurgia. Regrettably, she had been less fortunate with her husbands.

  “I never t
hought I’d live to see a monarch—a woman, no less!—thrash a nobleman like that,” Amemun continued. “I can see why you are so devoted to her, my friend.”

  Orkid heard something crash through the brush up ahead, and looked around anxiously for any sign of danger. It turned out only to be an outrider rejoining the hunt trail. He exhaled in relief and relaxed the grip on his bear spear. It had been a long time since he had been on a hunt, and the tension was getting to him.

  “Are you equally devoted to the daughter?” Amemun asked suddenly.

  “What do you mean by that?” Orkid asked.

  “I mean, do you see Usharna in Areava?”

  Orkid frowned. He was not sure he liked the line of questioning. It sounded like something Marin would ask, not his old tutor. He laughed aloud then. Of course, it was Marin asking him. Amemun was acting as messenger again.

  “I see Areava as the key to our plans in Kendra.”

  Amemun nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

  There was a “Haroo!” from up ahead, and the sounds of horses being kicked into a canter.

  “That’s it!” Orkid cried to Amemun. “They’ve found our quarry! Hurry, or we’ll be left behind!”

  The two men dug in their heels and their mounts surged up the trail. The low brush gave way to scattered conifers that towered over them, reaching for the sky. They caught up with the main group, now scattering among the trees to take up flanking positions on either side of the royal party. Somewhere ahead, one of the outriders had seen or smelled one of the great bears and given the call.

  Orkid and Amemun reined in their horses to a walk and hefted their spears under their arms, the blades pointed toward the ground in front of them. They eased up next to Sendarus and Areava. Orkid stole a glance at the princess, and had to admit she reminded him of the young Usharna. In her youth, the queen had possessed the same long hair the color of summer corn and the wiry frame that held surprising strength and speed. Areava was taller, more angular, but he knew as she got older she would lose height and become rounder, and so be the mirror image of her mother.