by Simon Brown
At last, Kumul slowed to an easy walk as he peered through the dark trying to recognize features and landmarks.
“It’s around here somewhere,” he whispered to himself.
For a few minutes more they kept on this way and then, with a satisfied grunt, he stopped and knocked impatiently on a door.
“Where are we?” Lynan asked.
Before Kumul could reply, the door opened and a man shorter than Kumul but just as wide came out on to the street. “Who the hell do you think you are, my friend, rousing me from my warm chair…” The man craned forward toward the constable. “… at this hour… Kumul?”
Kumul chuckled, a sound like a small avalanche of gravel. “Who else do you know who’s as big as me, Grapnel?”
The one called Grapnel laughed in turn and put his hands on Kumul’s shoulders, then noticed his companions. “You’ve brought friends, I see.”
“Can we come in? It isn’t safe out here.”
“Not safe? Who in their right minds would be after you?” Grapnel asked, but he ushered them inside without waiting for an answer.
They were crowded into a narrow hallway. Grapnel squeezed his way to the front and showed them into a living area. A bright fire was burning in a deep grate at one end of the room, and before it were mismatched chairs and a long table. The walls were made from whitewashed mud brick, and long beams supported a clinker-built roof.
Grapnel set chairs in a semicircle in front of the fire and bade them sit. He disappeared into an adjoining room, appearing a moment later with five mugs and a jug of home brew.
For the first time that night, Lynan saw that the close-cropped graying hairs at the back of Kumul’s head were matted with dried blood, and a red smear covered the nape of his neck.
Lynan turned his attention to Grapnel. Their host had a wide, swarthy face with two raised white scars, one on either cheek, which joined the corners of his mouth, giving him a permanent and macabre grin. His brown hair was cut as close to the scalp as Kumul’s, and each ear sported a large gold earring. Brown eyes were half hidden by drooping eyelids that made him look as if he would fall asleep at any moment. Although not as tall as Kumul, he still loomed over Lynan.
Their host poured beers for them, then sat back in his chair and waited for Kumul’s explanation.
“This is Captain Ager Parmer, late of the Royal Guards,” Kumul started, nodding in the crookback’s direction. “He was once a captain in the Kendra Spears.”
Grapnel leaned forward and peered at Ager’s face. “By all the creatures in the sea, you are Captain Parmer. And you’ve had hard times, I see.”
“And I remember you, Grapnel,” Ager replied. “You were Kumul’s lieutenant in the Red Shields.”
Grapnel nodded, and then looked at Jenrosa. “And you are?”
“My name is Jenrosa Alucar. I am a student magicker with the Theurgia of Stars.” She shook her head. “Or I was.”
Grapnel looked questioningly at Kumul.
“She was Prince Lynan’s companion tonight,” the constable told him.
“Good grief, Kumul,” Grapnel said, grinning slyly. “No wonder you’re in trouble.”
Kumul sighed. “And this is the prince in question,” he continued, indicating Lynan.
Grapnel shot to his feet, his chair falling over behind him. His cheeks reddened, making the scars stand out like welts. “Grief, your Highness! My apologies!” He glanced at Jenrosa. “And to you, ma’am.”
Lynan could not help a smile creasing his face, and he tried to hide it in his cup. Strong, bitter stout coursed down his gullet, almost choking him. Jenrosa blushed as deeply as Grapnel, but there was anger behind it.
“You misunderstand our relationship,” she said quietly.
Grapnel started apologizing again, but Kumul interrupted him. “And this, Your Highness, is Grapnel Moorice, trader and shipowner. One of your father’s most loyal and hard-fighting soldiers. And a friend.” Kumul took Grapnel’s arm. “Evil things have happened tonight. King Berayma has been murdered by conspirators, and now they’re after Prince Lynan.”
Grapnel’s mouth dropped open. “On our friendship, Kumul, are you telling me the truth?” Kumul nodded. “How much do you know?”
Kumul shrugged helplessly. “For me, it started with Dejanus, Berayma’s Life Guard.” Kumul quickly explained how he had been fooled by Dejanus. “I think he thought I was dead; either that, or he had some other part for me to play before the night was over. When I woke, I was too groggy to think. I managed to reach the courtyard when Ager found me. We immediately went to Berayma’s chambers in case Dejanus meant him harm as well, but we were too late.”
“At first we didn’t know what to do,” Ager continued. “Kumul was still dazed. I left him there and went to give the alarm, but found out from a guard that it had already been raised and that the order was out for Kumul, Lynan, and Lynan’s servant to be captured or killed because they had just slain the king.”
“I knew Lynan could not have had anything to do with Berayma’s slaying,” Kumul said. “I also knew it was too late to make for his chambers—others would be well ahead of us—so I gambled that they would make for one of the stables.”
“How did you guess we’d head for the Royal Guards’ stables?” Lynan asked.
“They were closest,” Ager said, and shrugged apologetically. “By that stage we figured we needed some luck.”
Lynan then recounted what Pirem had said about the involvement of Orkid, then about their rush for the stables and Pirem’s death.
“Pirem?” Grapnel asked. “The general’s old servant?”
Lynan nodded.
“I am sorry to hear of his death. He was a good soldier. What happened next?”
“Then Kumul and Ager turned up.”
“Thank God,” Jenrosa said. “They saved our lives.”
“That’s half my job done,” Kumul said grimly. “Now that you are both safe for the moment, I’ll go back and kill Dejanus and Orkid.” He stood up to leave.
“You can’t!” Lynan exclaimed. Kumul had become his rock in the last two hours and he wanted to hang on to him for as long as possible. “They’ll be looking out for you! That guard who got away couldn’t have mistaken for you for someone else. As soon as you turn up, they’ll kill you or take you prisoner.”
“Not if I tell them what really happened,” Kumul said. “Most of the guards are good and loyal lads. The ones at the stables tonight must have been Dejanus’ favorites.”
“Good lads or not,” Jenrosa said evenly, “they’ll still kill you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, girl—”
“Think for a moment, Kumul,” she said sharply. “Who did Orkid and Dejanus blame for the king’s death?”
“She’s right, Kumul,” Grapnel said. “They’ll not ask questions. They’ll kill you to make up for failing to protect Berayma.”
“I can’t let the king’s death go unavenged,” Kumul said bitterly.
“But what better way to revenge him than ensuring their plot fails?” Grapnel said urgently. “Keep Prince Lynan out of their hands!”
“And help me reclaim my rights,” Lynan said.
Olio had been roused by a servant, and told that Areava wanted to see him urgently in Berayma’s study. Olio dismissed the servant and dressed quickly, wondering what all the fuss was about. Probably something to do with Lynan again. He wished his sister would let the matter go; she was becoming obsessed with Lynan and his inheritance of the Key of Union.
The palace was awash with guards and officials, each hurrying on some task. Olio’s curiosity gave way to a feeling of dread. Something was wrong for so many to be out and about at this time of night.
It must be Haxus, he thought. Its ruler has decided to take advantage of Usharna’s passing and invaded the north of the kingdom again.
There were several people milling about the entrance to the king’s rooms. Most stood as silent and white as marble statues. God, it is war,
then.
He entered the dark chamber and saw his sister and Orkid deep in discussion in front of a large desk. Areava, noticing him, moved forward to greet him. Her golden hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, and she was wearing linen breeches, leather jerkin, and riding boots; this was the way she dressed when she was at weapons training. Her brown eyes were deep and red-rimmed.
Olio caught a glimpse of a body slumped behind the desk. At first nothing registered, and then he recognized the long, blue cloak that fell from the corpse’s broad shoulders. He took a step forward and saw the floor was covered in blood.
“Olio—” Areava began, but he turned away from her, gagging. Areava waited for him to finish, came closer and put an arm around him.
“M-m-my God!” he wheezed. “It can’t b-b-be…”
“I need you, Olio,” she said calmly. “Stand straight.”
He did as she ordered. He saw how pale her own face was. “When? Who?”
Areava turned to Orkid, who came to them. The chancellor’s coat and hands were encrusted with blood. His fingernails were black. Olio could not help retreating a step.
“Who did this?” Olio asked.
Orkid cast down his gaze. “We have reason to believe it was Prince Lynan, your Highness.”
“No!” Olio shouted automatically. “That’s not p-p-pos-sible. Lynan would not have done this.” He faced his sister. “Areava, you know this isn’t p-p-possible—”
“Olio, listen to me. I didn’t want to believe it at first either, but the evidence is overwhelming. Listen to the chancellor.” She nodded for Orkid to continue.
“We believe it was a conspiracy between Lynan and the Constable of the Royal Guard.”
“Kumul, too!”
“And Lynan’s servant, and that crookback captain our mother healed,” Areava said. “Others were undoubtedly involved, but we don’t know who at this stage. What we do know is that Kumul, Lynan, and the crookback were seen escaping from the palace in the company of a young woman.”
“A young woman?”
“We don’t know her name yet, but her clothes identified her as a magicker,” Orkid continued. “They killed four guards, Your Highness. I have a witness to the fact. Lynan’s servant was also killed in the struggle.”
“None of this m-m-makes sense,” Olio said to himself.
Orkid placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is a terrible crime, and made worse by the station of its perpetrators. We are all in shock, but your sister is now Queen of Kendra. She will need your support, your steady hand. Let Dejanus and me take care of apprehending the murderers.”
Areava took Olio’s face in her hands, made him look at her. “Olio, the world has turned upside down for us. First our mother’s death, and now this. But I will not shirk from my new responsibilities, and neither must you. You possess the Key of the Heart, and the kingdom will need healing.”
He glanced again at his brother’s corpse, still trying to comprehend what had happened, and nodded uncertainly. “What… what do you want m-m-me to do?”
“Stay by me, brother,” Areava said. “Just stay by me.” He felt her lean against him then, and understood what she herself must have been through. He put his arms around her.
“I am always at your side, sister,” he said softly.
All eyes were on Lynan. He realized what he had just said, and although he knew it was his fear and anger and frustration speaking, he also realized it expressed his heart’s desire. He was as surprised as his companions.
“I intend to claim what is mine by right,” he said forcefully. He glanced at Kumul. “And when I do, I’ll give you Dejanus to do with as you wish.”
Kumul studied the prince’s young face for a second, then nodded slowly. “And Orkid?”
“He’s mine,” Lynan replied.
Kumul smiled approvingly. Lynan felt his hopes flicker for the first time that night.
“Excuse me,” Jenrosa said mildly, “but how do you intend to reclaim what is rightfully yours when the Royal Guard is probably scouring the city for your hide? And while you two are planning the downfall of the conspirators, what am I to do?”
“The first thing all of you will have to do is escape Kendra,” Grapnel said.
Lynan saw the grief and horror in Jenrosa’s expression. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “It’s my fault this has happened—”
“Oh, enough,” she snapped. “I know it isn’t your fault, but I had a good life as a student and I don’t fancy spending the rest of it on the run with three outlaws, one a prince of the blood possessing a head certain people want to cut off, and two others as inconspicuous as a pair of beached whales.”
Grapnel laughed and slapped the table with a large hand, spilling beer from mugs. “What a jolly team we’ll make!”
“We?” Kumul asked.
“Of course. You’re going to need my help to get clear of Kendra. One of my ships is in port, so I can smuggle you out of the city.”
“You’ve done enough for us already by giving us shelter tonight. I have no wish to place you in any danger, my friend,” Kumul said.
“You’ve already done that by coming here. It’s in my interest to make sure you get clear away.”
“But get clear away to where?” Jenrosa demanded.
“Where can Lynan—any of us—safely go?”
“Safely?” Grapnel said. “Probably nowhere for any length of time. But there must be some place you can stay until the immediate danger is over.”
Lynan sighed, then pulled the Key of Union from out of his tunic. He looked at it sullenly, his earlier bravado gone now. I wish now that I’d never seen this thing, he thought glumly.
“What will Areava’s position be?” Grapnel asked Lynan. Lynan looked up in surprise, overwhelmed by sudden guilt. He had been so involved in his own plight he hadn’t given a thought to Areava’s situation, or Olio’s. Had the assassins been after them as well? If so, surely they’d be dead by now. A groan escaped from his lips.
“I fear… I fear that they must be dead with Berayma. I only escaped through good fortune and the courage of my servant…” His voice faltered. He could still hear Pirem’s cry as he fell beneath the swords of his attackers.
“You may be wrong about your siblings,” Grapnel said. “The conspirators must know the kingdom, not to mention the Twenty Houses, would not tolerate one of them ascending the throne. They need a Rosetheme, one of the royal successors. There are no other claimants that I know of.”
“You can’t mean that Areava or Olio were involved in the assassination of Berayma?” Lynan declared. He glanced up at Kumul, seeking his support, but the constable’s face was unreadable.
Grapnel shrugged. “I’m not a magicker, Prince Lynan. I can’t see into the minds of others. All I know is that the conspiracy, to work effectively, must be wider than simply Orkid and this Dejanus, and the conspirators must place either Areava or Olio on the throne. A kingdom must have a ruler the people will accept, or there will soon be no kingdom.”
“Areava…?” Lynan said aloud, but more to himself than the others. “But she couldn’t kill Berayma.”
“There are some who love power more than anything else in the world, your Highness,” Kumul said darkly.
For a while no one said anything. Finally, Grapnel sighed and stood up. “You must stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning I will go out and see what is happening. We will be in a better position then to determine what to do next.”
Grapnel got some rags and vinegar to clean Kumul’s wound, then gave his guests rugs and blankets to put on the floor before the fire. The four tried to rest during the night, far too much had happened, too much was at stake, for any of them to find sleep at first. They talked for a while, but the conversation soon died of its own accord.
Lynan, cocooned by the silence, tried to make sense of what had happened to him over the last few days. From being the invisible son of a distant mother and deceased soldier, he had suddenly become a recognized heir and prince of
Kendra, the greatest kingdom known to history, then prey to the scheming of royal assassins, and finally—probably—made an outlaw in his own land.
It seemed so unfair that everything that happened to him occurred without his determination or agreement. He was a small, storm-tossed boat trying to keep afloat in political waters for which he had no map or compass. He was adrift, in danger of sinking, and without the means or wherewithal to do anything about it.
A new feeling sparked in him then, and he recognized it as anger. Not the flaring emotion that came with loss of temper, but a revolt against the huge injustices heaped upon him by a world that did not care if he lived or died. It was anger as foundation, the beginnings of something solid upon which he might start building his own life according to his own terms, and he held on to it as if it was a life raft. Even as the thought occurred to him, he was struck by its irony. Before he could do anything for himself, he had to find a way out of his present predicament, and for that he was again relying upon the actions and motivations of other people.
How could he ever repay their loyalty? he asked himself, and the answer came almost immediately. By winning back his birthright.
Chapter 12
“It’s not your sympathy I want,” Areava said evenly. The man standing in front of her desk, bedecked in all the finery of his office as magicker prelate, the chief representative of all the theurgia, swallowed hard. Edaytor Fanhow’s first audience with the new queen was not going at all well. Instead of being ushered into the throne room, as he had expected, he had instead been taken to her new private chamber, the very room in which Berayma had been murdered if the amount of dried blood on the floor was any indication. There were two guards standing on either side of the desk and another pair near the doorway. Fanhow had thought that offering condolences on the tragic and barbarous death of Berayma would soften the cold stare the queen had regarded him with since he had first entered the room. He glanced up to Olio for some sign of empathy, but the prince’s face was set as hard as stone.