by Simon Brown
Perhaps Marin had been right to worry about Orkid’s feelings toward Areava. He shook his head. No, that would never happen. His devotion to Aman came above all else, including the queen’s children.
The woods became more dense, and low branches slapped the riders’ faces. They reached a shallow, fast-flowing stream along a narrow ford that continued the trail. Areava gave the order to dismount. Two of the guards remained behind to hold the reins; the rest held their spears in two hands and went on. They crossed the stream and continued up the slope, now so steep it was getting difficult for the hunters to keep their weapons steady.
They climbed for several minutes before there was another “Haroo!” from up ahead, closer this time, and more frantic. The party heard something coming toward them, thrashing the underbrush, but there was no sign of any beast. The conifers now crowded around them.
“It could be anywhere,” one of the guards said.
Areava ordered him to keep quiet. Everyone was listening so intently for any sound that would give away the position of their prey that when it actually came they all jumped. They heard the voice of an outrider cry “It’s here! It’s here!” and then the words were cut off with a scream.
“God’s death,” Areava breathed, and rushed up the slope with such agility that all but Sendarus had trouble keeping up with her. The scream died to an agonized whimper and a sound of breaking bone, then silence. A moment later the party burst into a small clearing. At first, they thought the clearing was empty, then Sendarus saw and pointed to the head of the outrider in a silver leaf bush. A long trail of blood led them to the rest of the man, his body gutted.
Areava was the first to pick up its spore. “Here.”
“Lord of the Mountain!” Sendarus cried. “It’s heading down-slope, toward the horses!”
Areava ordered four of the guards to follow the beast’s trail, then the rest of the party headed directly back toward the horses, shouting warnings to the guards left behind with their mounts. But they were too late. They all heard the screams of the horses and men, the sounds echoing around in the woods like the calls of lost ghosts. Areava shouted her family’s war cry, a long ululating shout, and rushed down the slope, heedless of branches and jutting roots. Sendarus kept up with her, his blood rushing in his ears.
Orkid called for them to wait for the rest of the party, but his cautioning words went unheeded. He ran as quickly as he could, but he was too stiff and too old to make any more speed. Amemun, puffing like a woman giving birth, was falling farther and farther behind.
Areava and Sendarus reached the stream to find the bear on its hind legs, the claws on its forelegs sunk deep into the chest of one of the horses, its terrible jaws clamped around the horse’s neck. Another horse lay dead on the ground, its throat slashed open, its blood pouring into the stream and turning it red. One of the guards was dead, opened up from neck to crotch, and the other lay in a heap nearby, his head bleeding heavily from a deep gash. They could hear the other horses galloping away down the ridge, heedless of falling, frantic to escape.
Areava leaped across the stream and charged the bear, using all her strength to drive her spear into the hollow between its shoulders. The beast spun around with such force that the head of the horse was torn loose, its body collapsing. Blood fountained over Areava. She tried to retreat, but her feet slipped and she crashed to the ground. The bear swiped the air where Areava had just been, overbalanced, and dropped to all fours, Areava’s spear wobbling in its back.
Before it could turn around to finish her off, Sendarus was by the princess’ side. He drove upward with his spear, catching the bear in its open maw. The beast made a horrible gargling sound and lurched up and back, its front paws scrabbling at the blade impaled in the roof of its mouth. Sendarus grabbed Areava by the arm and pulled her to her feet. They retreated, keeping the bear in sight as it thrashed on the ground. Both spear hafts snapped, but the blades remained embedded.
A guard appeared. He saw his princess covered in blood. Shouting in anger, he jumped the stream and lunged at the bear, but the animal’s movements were so frantic, he only caught it a glancing blow on one shoulder. The bear dug into the ground with the claws of its rear feet and swung around to meet the challenge, knocking the guard’s spear out of his hands. It lurched forward and cuffed the guard with one paw, raking him across the skull. The man screamed, falling to his knees. The bear stood to its full height, roared in anger and pain, and picked up the guard between its front legs.
“No!” Areava screamed. Before Sendarus could stop her, she rushed forward, retrieved the guard’s spear, and slashed at the bear’s face.
The bear dropped the guard and twisted around to face this new threat. For one instant it exposed its throat, and Areava did not hesitate. With a great shout, she hurled the spear into the exposed muscles and tendons, severing the animal’s jugular. Its forelegs pinwheeled uselessly in the air as it fell backward to the ground. There was a sickening crunch as the blade of Areava’s first spear was driven into the bear’s spine and snapped.
The rest of the party arrived in time to watch the creature thrash around one last time and then fall still.
Orkid saw Areava and gasped in horror. He rushed to her, but she fended him off gently. “I am all right. It is not my blood.”
“My God, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking of saving the guards!” she replied angrily, but then her eyes dimmed. “We were too slow for some.” Shock was setting in; her limbs were trembling.
Amemun appeared, saw what must be done, and tore a strip of cloth from his cloak. He wet it in the stream and started cleaning Areava’s face and hands. The guard whose life she had saved knelt down before her and thanked her.
Areava put her hand on his shoulder. “You tried to save mine. How could I do less for you?”
“This one is still alive!” Sendarus cried. He was bending over the body of one of the men left behind with the horses. “The head wound is horrendous, but he still breathes.”
While some of the guards left to recover the surviving horses and Orkid directed the others to making a stretcher from tree limbs and his own coat, Areava went to the stream to clean off the rest of the blood.
“If I don’t get this off before I return to the palace, I’ll give my mother a terrible fright,” Areava told Sendarus. He sat on the edge of the stream and watched her. “We killed a male, you realize. Maybe one of the biggest ever taken. Would you like a new prize for your father’s meeting hall?”
Sendarus shook his head. “It is your kill, Your Highness. Besides, it would put my other trophies to shame. Our bears are kept small by the harsh terrain, but here they seem to flourish. You were magnificent, by the way.”
Areava stopped her washing and looked up, surprised. Compliments were common enough from members of the court who thought they could curry favor through flattery, but Sendarus sounded so genuine she was embarrassed and did not know what to say.
Some guards returned with the horses they had managed to catch, including Areava’s. She retrieved a long coat from one of the saddle packs and pulled it over her. “There, that should stop the queen from thinking I’ve been disemboweled.”
Sendarus cupped his hands to help her mount, but she shook her head. “We’ve only recovered four horses, and we’ll need two of them to pull the stretchers for our wounded. One can carry the bodies of the two we lost, and the last can carry the head of our bear.”
“You are very generous toward your guards,” Sendarus remarked.
“I am a princess of Grenda Lear, Prince Sendarus,” she said. “My duty lies with serving my people.”
Amemun and Orkid were close enough to hear her. “She takes her responsibilities that seriously?” Orkid nodded in reply. “And I thought Sendarus was an idealist.”
“She is generous to all but her half-brother.”
“Berayma?”
“Oh, no. She loves Berayma dearly. It’s Lynan she has little time for.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the accidents of prejudice and history. Her father, Usharna’s second husband, betrayed Kendra—”
“I know all that,” Amemun said impatiently.
“Leaving Usharna free to marry Elynd Chisal. The queen was over forty years old. No one expected her to fall pregnant a fourth time.”
Orkid fell silent a moment, reliving the past.
“Go on,” Amemun urged. “What has this to do with Areava’s dislike for Lynan?”
“Areava discovered what her father had done. I was there when she confronted Usharna over the matter. Not only was she distressed that her father had betrayed the kingdom, but also that the fact of it had been kept secret from her. Areava felt that meant no one trusted her because of her father’s sins. It was a terrible time between the queen and her daughter, and it took many years for the two to become reconciled.”
Amemun shook his head in frustration. “What has all of this to do with Lynan?”
“Don’t you see? Her father had destroyed the natural order by betraying his queen, his wife, the mother of their two children. He had betrayed his own country and his own nobility. Then Usharna compounded the act by marrying a commoner, by raising to royal status someone who was basely born. The product of all these tumultuous events was Lynan. He exists only because the natural order was destroyed by her own father, and while Lynan lives, that natural order can never be restored. Tafe Amptra and Lynan Rosetheme give lie to the universe she believes in.”
“Which explains her hatred of the Twenty Houses,” Amemun said, almost to himself. He looked at Orkid. “But does she actually hate Lynan?”
Orkid shrugged. “She claims not to, and probably believes that is true, but it is hard to credit when you hear her mention his name.”
Amemun asked no more questions. It seemed ironic to him that Usharna’s family was the kingdom’s greatest strength and at the same time its greatest weakness, a weakness his own people would soon exploit. The knowledge gave him a grim satisfaction, but no joy.
The sun had been down for two hours and Queen Usharna’s maids-in-waiting had finished dressing her for bed. She was exhausted, and the pain in her chest was worse than it had been this morning. She stood before her bedroom’s single large window, which gave her a view out over great Kendra and the placid expanse of Kestrel Bay, wondering if she would see another dawn. She angrily closed off the thought. In her reign of nearly a quarter of a century she had worked diligently on behalf of her kingdom and its people, allowing herself no time for self-pity or the enjoyment of those luxuries that were hers by right, and she would not start indulging in them now.
But still, I could do with more time. There is so much left to be done. Usharna laughed softly at herself. There will never be enough time, you old fool. Kendra is far too harsh and demanding a mistress.
She told herself that no one was indispensable, and even a ruler could be replaced as easily as an old gown. Then the truth awoke in her again that she was being dangerously immodest. After a quarter century of stable, prosperous and, with the exception of the Slaver War, relatively peaceful rule, she did not know if Grenda Lear was ready for her successor. For that matter, she wondered if he was ready for Grenda Lear.
Perhaps, she told herself, Berayma would never be ready.
Thinking of him filled Usharna with sadness. Nearly thirty years of age, a large and powerful man with a generous heart and a disciplined mind, he was a hard-working king-in-waiting; but also he was stern, too slow to make up his mind, too inflexible once his mind was made up and, worst of all, he was an ally of the Twenty Houses. The nobility had been the queen’s most steadfast foe in all the years of her reign, and it had taken her more than half of that to build up the support she needed to keep their demands and strictures at bay, to keep the Twenty Houses under her control. Usharna loved Berayma dearly, but she was afraid he would never rule with the decisiveness and agility Grenda Lear required. Her greatest fear was that he would allow the Twenty Houses to destroy the kingdom, unless the kingdom destroyed him first.
A sharp pain stabbed into her heart and her breathing stopped. “Not now!” she cried. “Not now!” She clutched the four Keys of Power that hung around her neck, and felt new strength surge through her. With immense relief she felt the pain disappear as quickly as it had come, and her lungs sucked in air.
Tonight, she thought. It must be done tonight.
Usharna raised her head slowly and again looked out the bedroom window. South of the bay, in the distance, she could just make out the coastline of the subject kingdom of Lurisia, the empire’s wealthiest and most economically important domain, and the first conquered by the armies and navies of Kendra all those centuries ago. Keeping Lurisia’s merchant captains happy was one of her most arduous tasks, and one example of how the Twenty Houses could trip up her son with their stupid prejudices and petty hatreds.
A sound from below distracted her. She looked down at the palace’s main courtyard and saw Areava returning with her hunting party. Seeing that horses carried wounded and dead, she desperately searched for her daughter. At first, she could not see her in the poor light, but to her great relief recognized the coat she was wearing. The party was bedraggled, without enough mounts to carry them, but they carried with them a trophy, a head so large Usharna could see it even in the dark. And she saw, too, that Areava was deep in conversation with the visiting Amanite prince.
Hmm, not a bad thing, she thought. He is an intelligent and likable fellow. Areava could do worse. She laughed bitterly. God, she herself had done worse twice over, not finding true love and a worthy companion for her endeavors until she married Elynd Chisal. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her third husband, a man who was frank to the point of rudeness, with a vocabulary that scandalized the court, and a propensity to wear the plainest of clothes. But she had loved him more than she had loved anyone except her own children. Thinking of Elynd made her think of Lynan.
A son she never thought she would have. She grimaced. A son to whom she should have shown more kindness, but for his own good and for his own protection she had kept him distant and apart not only from herself but from his siblings as well. It had been, she realized now so late in her life, a wrong decision, and she desperately wished there was some way she could make up for it.
But there was not enough time, and now upon Lynan’s young shoulders would fall an unexpected and unfair burden. She closed her eyes briefly, automatically murmured a prayer to a God she had never been sure she believed in, and grasped the Keys even tighter.
The pain in her chest started again, and this time would not go away.
Chapter 7
Lynan was woken by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“Hurry, your Highness,” said Pirem’s voice. “It’s the queen, she’s callin’ for you. She’s callin’ for all of you.”
Standing next to Lynan’s bed, Pirem was holding out Lynan’s tunic and breeches. “You haven’t much time. Your Highness. The others are already gathering like vultures.”
Lynan looked as sternly as possible at the old man. “Is that how you see us, Pirem, as vultures?”
“Not you, Lynan, no.” Pirem tried smiling, but the effort was too much for him and he grimaced instead. “Nor your siblings. But many in her court are as ruthless as you are easygoin’. If you don’t hurry, your mother will be dead before you can get there an’ you’ll not even receive her blessin’, an’ if that happens, your life won’t be worth a handful of bird shit, pardon the expression. Now hurry!”
Lynan hurried out of bed, his sleep-befuddled senses at last comprehending Pirem’s message. His mother might not live to see morning, and she was calling all her children to her side to publicly declare who could rightfully claim descent from her. He tugged on his breeches, found his boots under his bed, and pulled them on. He scurried out of his room and down the cold stone hallway to the other side of the palace and th
e queen’s apartments. Pirem scuttled behind, handing him his tunic, then his belt, and finally his dress knife, his gasps for air rattling in his old throat.
When they reached the royal quarters, Lynan waved Pirem back, slowed to a quick walk, and straightened his tunic. As he turned the last corner to Usharna’s bedroom, he met a section of the guard. They stood swiftly to attention, dipping their spears slightly as Lynan passed. He stopped at the entrance, caught his breath, and pushed aside the heavy doors.
It was a large room, with the head of the queen’s huge four-poster bed set against the west wall. Built into the east wall was a fireplace which was always kept burning. Rough wool tapestries covered the cold stone, and exposed pine rafters in the ceiling gave off a sweet fragrance.
Berayma’s long, dark body was bent over his mother, his face showing great pain and grief. Lynan knew, as did everyone else in the kingdom, that Berayma cared for little in this world and what love he carried in his heart was reserved almost entirely for his mother. Lynan felt a pang of guilt that he did not feel the same way about the old woman, but then he reminded himself she had showed him scant affection in his seventeen years of life.
Standing at the end of the huge bed was Areava, tall and as fair as Berayma was dark. She had her mother’s face and eyes, but while her hair glowed like sun-ripened wheat, the queen’s was colder than a winter moon. Next to Areava, demure and slight, awkward in the presence of his mother, stood Olio. Olio looked up when Lynan entered and offered him a sad nod.
The queen was propped into a sitting position, several pillows between her and the bedhead. Her skin was gray and dry, her eyes sunken, and her long white hair fell loosely over her shoulders like a mantle of snow. Lynan had never seen his mother’s hair let down before, and he could not help staring at it.