by Simon Brown
“What I want from you is help to find my brother, the outlaw Prince Lynan,” Areava continued. “Can you provide that help?”
Edaytor spread his hands. His cloak billowed out behind him, and he now desperately wished he had dressed less formally when Areava’s messenger had come for him in the hour before dawn. “It isn’t that simple, your Majesty. Our arts are dependent on so many conditions, so many nuances—”
“Yes or no, Prelate,” Areava interrupted. “I haven’t the time for explanations. Is there a way that one of your magickers can track down Lynan’s movements since last night, or find him for me now?”
Edaytor was about to spread his hands again but stopped himself just in time. “I cannot answer it so simply. I will have to consult my colleagues, the maleficum of each of the five theurgia. I know of no way this can be done without a good deal of preparation. However, new incantations and pathways are being discovered all the time.”
Areava looked down at her hands, knotted together on the desk. She had never felt this tired before in her life. There was so much to be done in the next few hours, and so few people she felt she could rely upon to help. Orkid and Olio would offer whatever assistance they could, but she knew it would still not be enough. Who among the leading citizens, the chief bureaucrats, the merchants and traders, the generals and admirals, the Twenty Houses, and yes—the theurgia—could she trust?
“Consult with your colleagues, then, Prelate,” she said at last. “But come back to me with an answer before noon today.”
Olio nodded to Edaytor, and he got the hint. “Of course, Your Majesty. Right away. Before noon.” He scurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Areava sighed deeply and rested back in her chair. “Useless. Absolutely useless. How did he make magicker prelate? I’ve met novices with greater wit than he has.”
“That is exactly why he is p-p-prelate,” Olio answered, without any trace of irony. “Why p-p-place someone with real authority over m-m-magic in a p-p-position where they will not be able to p-p-practice their arts? B-b-by all accounts Fanhow was a m-m-mediocre stargazer with a p-p-penchant for administration. No one ran against him for office, and he was voted in unanimously.”
“Stargazer? He was a member of the Theurgia of Stars?” Areava asked. “So was this woman Lynan escaped with…” She scrabbled among the papers on her desk for Dejanus’ note which held the woman’s name.
“When Fanhow made p-p-prelate, Jenrosa Alucar was five years old. I doubt he holds any loyalty to her, or even to his old theurgia.”
Areava nodded tiredly. “You are right, of course.”
“You are exhausted,” Olio observed. “You m-m-must rest at some point.”
“Yes, but not this point. We must secure the throne.” She glanced up at her brother. “And that means securing Lynan. While he is alive, the conspiracy still lives.”
Olio’s mouth tightened. He could find no reply to Orkid’s accusations, but what he had come to accept in the middle of the night, however begrudgingly, seemed increasingly absurd to him in the light of a new day.
Before he could answer, the doors to the study opened to let in the chancellor. Areava looked up sharply. “What news?”
“None yet, your Majesty. Dejanus is supervising the Royal Guards as they scour the city, but there are so many places to hide. Who knows how long your brother and his fellow traitors have been planning this operation? They could have a dozen bolt-holes prepared.” He set a thin, leather-bound book in front of her on the desk. “The list you asked for.”
“What list?” Olio asked curiously.
“Of those who may have some reason to be involved in a plot to overthrow Berayma,” Areava answered for the chancellor, and opened the book.
Olio looked over her shoulder and scanned the first page.
He stood back, shocked. “Orkid, you can’t be serious! These are p-p-people who have been loyal to the throne and the kingdom all their lives!”
“Loyal to your mother, your Highness, which does not add up to the same thing,” Orkid answered. “At any rate, the list does not contain those who are traitors, only those who are known to hold some grudge against the late king, your sister, or yourself.”
For a moment, Olio was speechless. There was no way Orkid could have produced this list in the last few hours. The chancellor was staring at him fixedly with his dark eyes, and he had to avert his gaze.
“Xella Povis?” Areava asked, pointing to a name on the second page. “The head of the merchant guild? I know for a fact that she was a good friend of Berayma’s. Why is her name here?”
“A good friend of your brother’s, yes, but I know she has opposed you several times on issues concerning your late mother’s policy of subsidizing shipbuilding.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Olio said fiercely, still not daring to meet Orkid’s gaze. “If you wrote down the name of every person in Kendra who ever had a bad thought about our mother or Berayma or Areava or me, the list would be ten leagues long!”
“It may well prove to be of no consequence,” Orkid agreed patiently. “But if I err on the side of caution, I will not be ashamed of it. My duty is to your sister, and not to the niceties of polite society. I have included the names of all those of whom I have knowledge concerning some possible matter of dispute between them and a member of the House of Rosetheme.”
Areava sighed. “Very well, Orkid. Thank you for your efforts. I will read the document and inform you of any action I consider necessary.” She checked the shadow cast by the hour stick near the study window.
“I have an appointment with Primate Northam in a short while.” Orkid’s eyebrows lifted in inquiry. “To make arrangements for Berayma’s funeral,” she added testily.
Orkid cast his gaze down to the floor. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will inform you immediately of any developments regarding the search for Prince Lynan.”
Areava stood up. “Do that.” She turned to her brother. “Olio, you had better come with me. After all, this meeting with the primate is a family affair.”
As Orkid turned to leave, Areava called him back. “By the way, I want the Key of the Scepter. It was still around Berayma’s neck when he… when his body… was taken away.”
“Then it must still be with him. I will give orders for it to be collected at once and brought to you.”
As Orkid left, Areava whispered to Olio, “For without that Key, what authority have any of us?”
Lynan did not know how long it took him to fall asleep. He knew he had stayed awake longer than the others because he remembered hearing their snoring and snuffling and thinking how loud it was. He had never slept in a room with other people before, and found it most distracting. He also remembered the fire going out, leaving the room in unrelieved gloom. But one moment he seemed to be staring into the darkness, and the next he was blinking as bright sunlight poured into the room, trying to blind him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and moaned as the memory of the previous day’s events flooded into his mind.
Jenrosa appeared, squatted by his side, and shoved a mug of hot cider into his hands. “Drink this, and when you’re ready, pull on your boots; there’s porridge waiting for you in the kitchen, but it won’t stay warm forever.”
Lynan thirstily quaffed the cider and followed Jenrosa into the kitchen. There was a large pot containing something gray and glutinous bubbling away on a stove. He scooped some into the bowl Jenrosa handed him and swallowed a mouthful. It tasted better than it looked.
“Good,” he mumbled to Jenrosa as he wolfed down more.
“Kumul made it.”
“Where is he? And where is Ager, and our host?”
Even as he asked the question, Kumul and Ager entered through the back door carrying armfuls of firewood. “Grapnel has gone to hear what is being said on the streets,” the constable said. “He should be back soon.”
Lynan returned to the main room with Kumul and helped him start a new fire in the hearth. Then, together, they loo
ked out the window and onto the narrow street. Across the way was a baker’s shop with a stall outside; business was already brisk—a queue extended some way down the street.
“I wonder what has happened to Areava and Olio,” Lynan wondered aloud, his voice unhappy.
“There’s nothing we could have done for them,” Kumul said matter-of-factly. “Anyway, we’ll know soon enough. Here comes Grapnel.”
The front door opened and Grapnel entered. He quickly closed the door behind him and made sure it was locked, then waved Lynan and Kumul away from the window. Jenrosa and Ager heard Grapnel come in and joined them. Grapnel looked into their faces, and his own grim expression made their hearts sink.
“The news isn’t good. Word’s out that Prince Lynan murdered Berayma, then was forced to escape from the palace before he could kill Areava and Olio. Areava is now queen, and has ordered that you be found and brought to her for justice.”
“My God! Areava is part of the plot!”
Grapnel shrugged. “Possibly, but remember, your Highness, that Orkid and Dejanus can argue their case with her, arrange the evidence any way they like. She may be innocent of any wrongdoing, yet still believe you guilty of the crime.”
“Then I have to see her,” Lynan said emphatically. “I will convince her of the truth.” He gathered his coat from the floor and made for the door. “The sooner I go to the—”
Grapnel held him by the arm. “You wouldn’t make it to see the queen,” he said. “Dejanus would make sure you were brought to her with your head already removed from your shoulders. Even Kumul couldn’t get you past the Royal Guards at the moment. They are devastated that they failed to protect Berayma, and are determined to prove themselves not only by killing you and Kumul, but by ensuring no one gets to see the queen without her explicit permission.”
Grapnel turned to Ager and Jenrosa. “They know you two escaped with the prince. Warrants are out for all four of you. The Royal Guards have already started searching house to house. We don’t have much time.”
“Do you have any ideas?” Kumul asked.
Grapnel nodded. “Look down the street,” he said, pointing to the window. Kumul did so and saw a long wagon covered in an oilskin parked outside an open warehouse. One of the sorriest-looking nags in Kendra was hitched to the wagon.
“Yours, I assume,” Kumul said.
“Aye, and full of bolts of cloth. I have a ship leaving for Chandra this morning, and this is the last part of its consignment. I’ll get you down to the docks hidden under the oilskin.”
Lynan looked up at Grapnel. “Then I am leaving the city?”
“You have no choice,” Grapnel answered evenly. “You need to find a place where you will be safe for a short while, and where you will have enough time to plan your next move.”
“Surely someone will be watching the docks,” Kumul said.
Grapnel laughed. “Of course. An eel called Shehear, a snitch who does occasional jobs for the chancellor’s intelligence network, is already down there waiting for something to happen. First sight of you lot and he’ll be hurrying as fast as his legs can carry him to find the nearest detachment of Royal Guards.”
“So what’s the point?” Jenrosa demanded.
“As soon as you’ve boarded my ship, Shehear will be off. That’s when we’ll transfer you to the ship’s shore boat. It has a sail, and is easy to row if the wind dies on you. You can follow the coast until you are well past the city. Meanwhile, the ship itself will head northeast, hopefully drawing all the attention.”
“But I know nothing about boats!” Lynan declared.
“I know how to sail one,” Ager said. “I’ve been second officer on too many merchanters to ever forget.”
“And I can navigate,” Jenrosa added confidently.
“Fine, but where will we go?”
Grapnel shrugged. “I have no answer to that, your Highness, but you haven’t time to ponder it here in Kendra.”
The Key of the Scepter shone dully in the sun of a new day. Orkid held it up by its chain, admiring its solid and functional beauty.
“The key to all power,” he murmured softly. His free hand clasped it tightly. “The power to dissolve a kingdom, and to create it anew.”
He closed his eyes, reminding himself to remain patient. So many decades of planning were now reaching their culmination, it was difficult for him to resist the temptation to force events to a faster pace.
But history will not be rushed. My people have waited this long, they can wait a few years more.
He unclasped his hand, noticing then the dried blood on his palm from the Key. He grunted, surprised he had not noticed it before. After all, he had himself removed it from Berayma’s gory neck after the body had been removed. He wiped his hand on a cloth, and was about to clean the Key itself but changed his mind.
Areava wants it, and so she will have it, stain and all. This will be a sign for her, if she is clever enough to read it.
He put the Key back into the pocket behind his waistband. When he had first handled it, he had half expected to feel its power, its influence, but there had been nothing. He patted the waistband over the Key and wondered again about its significance. During the Slaver War he had witnessed Usharna using the combined keys to wield great magic—calling storms to protect Kendra’s harbor, bringing confusion to the enemy’s armies—but always at such great cost to herself that it had taken years, maybe decades, from her life. He had always assumed that the power stemmed from the chief Key, the one he now possessed, but in his hand it was nothing more than a pretty golden trinket. Alone, was it nothing more than a symbol, then? He wished he had been able to convince Usharna to forget tradition and leave all the Keys with Berayma instead of scattering them among her children. It would have made so many things easier.
He put it out of his mind. There was still much to be done, and little Lynan, poor orphan and dupe, was still free. Everything about the plan had worked until the prince had escaped in the company of Kumul. Orkid was much more afraid of Kumul than Lynan. The constable was respected by too many people in the kingdom, and his reputation as a soldier was second only to that of Elynd Chisal.
At least the Royal Guards would give him short shrift in their present mood. They would do anything to revenge Berayma, and to prove their loyalty to Areava.
He smiled grimly to himself. It struck him as ironic how Areava had become, in one sense, a new Key of Power. Orkid allowed himself a small smile. She was one key he would never surrender.
Usharna had given Primate Giros Northam possession of the palace’s west wing. Although not an enthusiastic adherent of any faith, Usharna appreciated the benign effect the priests had on much of the population of Kendra. The god they worshiped was a distant entity, long ago evolved from some primitive spirit of the sky, unlike many of those deities worshiped in some of the kingdom’s outlying and less civilized provinces. The actual name of this god was known only to the primate and his chosen successor, and the religion it inspired had as its main objective the easing of poverty and the bringing of comfort, which had conveniently made it a valuable ally in Usharna’s long struggle to destroy slavery in her realms, the same struggle that had cost the lives of her last two husbands. Besides, Usharna could not be sure the priests were wrong about the existence of their god, and if it indeed existed, it would do no harm to cooperate with its acolytes.
Northam had turned the square in the west wing into a cool garden, an oasis of peace apart from the normal bustle of the palace. The largest of the rooms had been turned into the royal chapel, and the others had been set aside for the library, the refectory, and priests’ cells.
Areava and Olio met Primate Northam in his private office, but as soon as the main business of arranging Berayma’s funeral was over, the three walked into the garden and sat under a large summer tree, its drooping branches protecting them from the climbing sun.
“It is a matter of whom to trust,” Areava told Northam. “I was not taken into my mother
’s confidence as much as Berayma. I don’t know who her closest confidants were, nor whom she turned to besides Orkid for advice. There is so much to be done, and I’m not sure on whom to rely.”
“You trust no one?” Northam asked, a little surprised.
Areava laughed lightly. “Olio and Orkid, I trust. And you, of course.”
Northam nodded. “Perhaps I can offer some help, even though I was never a member of the court circle, as such.” He glanced up at Olio. “You are right to place your faith in your brother. He is, I think, an upright man with a good heart.”
Olio smiled and bowed mockingly to the primate. “You are generous.”
“As for any others…” Northam paused to collect his thoughts. “I have had very little to do with the chancellor, but I know he was trusted implicitly by your mother. Xella Povis, from the city, I always found honorable—”
He stopped when he saw the look exchanged between Areava and Olio. “There is something wrong?”
Areava quickly shook her head. “No. I, too, have always felt the merchant could be trusted.”
“And I,” Olio agreed firmly, casting a glance at his sister that Northam could not interpret.
The primate mentally shrugged and went on. “I know one or two magickers from the theurgia that are worthy officials. Prelate Fanhow is honest enough but tends to the bureaucratic.”
“And among the Twenty Houses?” Areava asked, swallowing her pride.
“Good and bad, as you’d expect. Many of the older members of the Houses became… accustomed… to your mother; I think you can expect their good will and devotion to carry on to her successors, for a while, at least. As for the younger members, much will depend on how you include them in your administration. I would expect some to be ambitious, which may be to your advantage, but keep a close eye on them.”
Areava seemed to ready herself to ask another question, but said nothing.