by JL Rowan
The Guardians responded to their waves by breaking into an easy lope.
All is well.
Arnon breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders and back. As Sklar and Faris ran down the hill to the campsite, he strode in long steps toward the Guardians, meeting Gaenbur at the base of the hill. They continued on toward the camp.
The great cat stepped slowly, his tail dragging along the ground. His ears drooped, and to Arnon's eye, he looked even more worn than he had after the first battle with the queen's soldiers.
"Are you all right?"
Yes. I'm merely tired - exhausted, in fact. We all are.
"What happened?"
Corrin sent an entire company of soldiers into the forest with the intent to annihilate the surviving Talithians.
Arnon stopped in mid-stride. "What? Why? What threat did we pose to her?"
We needn't have posed a threat. We simply exist--something, apparently, she does not desire that we do, especially while inside her realm. A wry tone tinged Gaenbur's mindvoice. She is nothing, if not thorough.
"Well, that is no longer an issue, thank the Lady." They had crossed beyond the boundaries of Corrin's realm sometime during the night. "Were any of you hurt?"
Not at all. The soldiers couldn't see us in the darkness, so rather than a frontal attack, we destroyed them from behind, one at a time.
"And with four hundred soldiers to a company--"
It took a considerable amount of time.
They ascended the hill to camp in slow steps. "And none of them saw you?"
From the first, they were far too frightened to pay mind to their surroundings. Once they noticed that their comrades were slowly disappearing, what little order they had broke down. The remaining soldiers fled for the clearing--and straight into our jaws.
Arnon shivered at the mental picture Gaenbur's words brought to mind. A glance at his friend told him Gaenbur spoke quite literally. Streaks of dried blood matted the fur about his face and neck.
"Did any escape?"
A few, but none of consequence.
They reached the crest of the hill. Camp lay at the base, and Arnon heard Gaenbur breathe out a sigh.
Is there any food?
"Some, but we'll need more to feed all of you."
We haven't the strength to hunt for ourselves.
Arnon rested his hand on Gaenbur's head and scratched behind one of his ears. "No worries, my friend. We'll do the hunting for you."
* * * *
Arnon grabbed half of a roasted field rabbit and a piece of bread and set off for a quiet corner of the camp. He and the other men had hunted through the day and into the early evening to gather enough meat to feed the ravenous Guardians.
Arnon knew how they felt. A day of hunting had set his stomach to rumbling. His mouth watered at the scent of the rabbit.
He spied Gaenbur, who was busy washing the faces of his two kittens. "May I join you?"
Do you mind being used as a climbing tree? Gaenbur said, as the two little ones pounced on Arnon's boots. Seledryth! Dariel! Leave Uncle Arnon alone. Let him sup in peace.
Arnon chuckled as he took a seat next to the small campfire. "It's good to see little ones playing again." He bit into his rabbit with a sigh of satisfaction. "How are you feeling?"
Better.
Arnon wiped his mouth. "Did I put the people in danger? Is that why she sent them into the forest?" The question had tormented him throughout the day. Perhaps if he hadn't returned to the village for supplies, the queen might never have given the surviving Talithians another thought.
I don't think so. Gaenbur stretched forth a paw to pull Dariel away from Arnon's food. Not directly, anyway. From what we could determine from the soldiers' thoughts, Corrin has little regard for religious beliefs, even her own. Unlike the soldiers, she never thought we had been killed by the souls of their dead, and their report of hearing Sklar confirmed that to her. It was only the strength of the soldiers' fear that kept her from sending them into the forest sooner.
Arnon raised his eyebrows. "What changed their minds?"
Gaenbur gave a mental snort. A threat of execution. Apparently, Corrin gave them a choice: the forest or the sword. I expect that, given the results of their excursion, no one from her realm will approach the forest anytime soon, regardless of the alternative--not that she would hazard losing another four hundred men.
"I can't believe she hates us so much. We've never done anything to her or her people."
She hates anyone who defies her.
Arnon paused to soak up the juices of his meat with a bit of bread. "Now what? We can't very well stay here, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to go back--though we could use the supplies."
We'll press onward for the capital tomorrow, Gaenbur said. It's a two-day walk from here. With the hunting parties, we'll have enough supplies to get us there, and once there, we can petition Orontes for more.
"I hope he grants our request for land." Arnon offered Gaenbur a wry smile. "I'm growing tired of all this moving around."
Gaenbur chuckled. As am I, my friend. As am I.
* * * *
Kartha, capital city of Anshaar, lay below them in a valley. Arnon had never seen anything so big.
The Talithians had moved off the Road as they approached Kartha. They set up camp in the fields so they would remain overlooking the city. Nine hundred people couldn't go to the palace to petition Orontes, so most would remain outside the city while a delegation from the Council went into the city.
We'd like you to join the delegation, Arnon, Gaenbur said.
"Me? But I'm not on the Council--I'm not even a Guardian."
No, but most of the people of Anshaar have never seen a Guardian, and it is our experience that they would rather deal with a human.
Arnon felt his hopes fall. "If Orontes does not wish to deal with you, how will we ever convince him to give us land?"
Orontes is quite comfortable with us. It is the crowds of people that stand between us and him that concern me. It will be better if you come with us, in case there are those who mistake us for snowcats or panthers.
"How could anyone mistake you for a common, feral beast?"
Believe me, many do.
Arnon snorted. The very idea that such majesty could be mistaken.
It will be of great help if you would come with us. You may not be a Guardian, but you've led the people well in this crisis, and your work is not yet done.
Arnon's face softened, and he smiled at his friend. "Of course, I'll go."
They took the most direct route to the palace, through the very heart of Kartha. Arnon tried not to stare as they walked through the city, but he could not help gazing in wonderment at all the strange sights: two- and three-story buildings, modern smithies, mongers of all sorts, food stands and carts that held fares he'd never seen before. And people--there were more people pushing and crowding in the streets than he had ever seen in his entire life, and all of them talking, all trying to be heard over each other.
Arnon never realized how much he valued silence until the moment when he could no longer hear himself think; never realized how much he loved the simple smells of his village until his nose was assaulted with so many scents of sweat and food, refuse and industry, that his stomach churned.
Overwhelming, isn't it? Gaenbur said.
He nodded absently, his gaze fastened upon the deep richness of a bolt of purple cloth that lay amongst a peddler's wares. The color rivaled that of the darkest violets, and reminded him of Janna. She had loved that color. They'd never had enough money to afford such cloth, so Arnon had picked violets for her when they were in season, and she'd always pressed them.
He forced his attention back to the present. Although the streets were crowded, people gave way as the Guardians moved among them; gave them a wide berth, in fact, staring at the cats with as much wide-eyed wonder as Arnon stared at the sights around him. On more than one occasion, he found himse
lf forced to stand between the Guardians and a person who reached for a blade.
When they arrived at the palace, they declared their business to a palace official, and were directed to a small room and told to wait. Before long, a blue-robed man came to greet them.
We will go to the Throne Room, Gaenbur said. I will speak for us. Follow our example.
Arnon felt slightly gut-sick and entirely out-of-place. While Gaenbur and some of the other Guardians had visited the palaces of neighboring kingdoms before, he was a farmer, not a courtier or a diplomat. He had a sudden wish to be anywhere else but there.
When the doors to the Throne Room opened before him, there was nothing left for him to do but go through them. He followed the Guardians inside, keeping his eyes on them lest he miss some subtle cue.
They walked halfway to the throne and stopped to bow. Arnon wished he could make himself disappear. His homespun clothes, while common amongst his people, were as out-of-place in Orontes' court as silk in a cow stall. His face grew hot as he became suddenly aware of how filthy he was, and he shrank into himself. He could feel the stares of all present crawling over him like insects. Forcing his discomfort down, he gathered his courage and examined his surroundings.
Rich tapestries decorated the walls, and the polished wooden floors shone with the reflected light of dozens of candles. Several well-dressed men and women stood around the edges of the room, observing the delegation with naked curiosity, whispering to each other behind their fans and kerchiefs.
And the gold. There was more gold in that one room than Arnon had imagined existed in the whole world. From the throne itself, to the baubles that decorated the courtiers' clothing, the room practically glittered, even in candlelight.
As for King Orontes, he looked as normal a middle-aged man as any might look--graying hair and a slight paunch around the middle--except for the gold crown on his head and rich robes about his shoulders. Unlike the others, he was smiling at Arnon and the Guardians. He beckoned them forward. Arnon waited for the Guardians to move before he stirred.
"I'd been told that large, black cats had been spotted on the Road," Orontes said, "and I knew it had to be you." He favored them with a broad, toothy grin. "Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"
It is I, Gaenbur, your Majesty.
From the ensuing gasps that ran throughout the room, Arnon knew that Gaenbur had spoken so that all might hear him.
Orontes' smile softened. "Gaenbur, my friend. I haven't seen you since you were merely a youngling. How may I help you? Something dire indeed must have happened to have brought you to my door unannounced."
It is dire, your Majesty, and we do need your help.
"Then speak."
Gaenbur recounted their tale to him, ending with a request for provisions for the people, and a more permanent refugee status within their borders. By the end of the story, Orontes' smile had bent to a deep frown.
"This is disturbing news indeed." Orontes' foot twitched as though he wanted to rise and pace about the room. "Corrin is not a friend of our people any more than she is a friend of yours, but I never thought she would have done something such as this. We've underestimated her." He frowned for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought, before he spoke again. "Of course, your people shall have all the provisions and shelter they need. I'll see to it immediately."
Thank you, your Majesty.
"As to seeking refuge, I will need to speak with my council. We have a meeting later today, and I will bring it up with them then."
Arnon couldn't help but notice the significant glances exchanged among the courtiers. He could not read what they meant, but he had a sinking feeling that it did not bode well for the Talithians' cause.
Gaenbur bowed his head. Of course.
"And I insist that you stay in the palace as my guests until all matters have been settled."
You are too kind, Majesty.
"Nonsense." Orontes beckoned to the blue-robed man who had shown them in. "Take my guests to the best suites in the palace." He faced Gaenbur. "If you need anything, Rodin here will see to it."
Thank you again, Majesty.
Orontes brushed off Gaenbur's gratitude with a wave of his hand. "It's nothing. We shall speak again soon."
They bowed to the king and followed Rodin out of the Throne Room and through a veritable maze of corridors to a set of large oak doors.
"These are your suites," Rodin said, opening the doors for them. "If you need anything, pull that rope over there, and I will attend you." He left them, closing the doors behind himself.
Arnon let out a long breath and sat in the plainest-looking chair he could find. In his mind, he heard Gaenbur chuckle.
What did you think, Arnon?
"I'd rather have stayed with the camp, thank you. I feel like a dung bird in the Courts of Arana."
He heard dry chuckles from all three Guardians.
Gaenbur padded across the room to look out a window. I've spoken to Sidra and told him to prepare for the arrival of supplies. I expect we shall hear from Orontes soon enough regarding our refuge, and I doubt it will be good news.
Indeed, Dara said.
Zedric nodded his agreement.
Arnon felt his heart sink. "Why?" He'd had a bad feeling when he'd seen the surreptitious glances among the courtiers, but what did he know about the politics of great kingdoms? The Guardians, however, were rarely wrong in their judgments. "Did you read something in his thoughts?"
We had no just cause to read his thoughts, Dara said, but even so, I could sense something was wrong.
Gaenbur stretched his front legs before him and yawned. Yes, and I expect that we soon will find out what it is.
Arnon seldom found fault with the code of ethics that governed the Guardians' thought-sensing abilities, but his impatience in this situation made him wish that it weren't quite so strict. As it was, he idly wondered if Gaenbur knew more than he revealed.
A few hours later, when Rodin brought them their evenmeal, Orontes was with him. The king was dressed in simple brown linen rather than rich silks, and only wore a thin band of gold around his head instead of the jewel-encrusted crown that earlier had graced his brow. Arnon felt much more at ease in his presence than he had before.
"I thought I might be social and join you for evenmeal," Orontes said cheerfully, but even Arnon could see that his smile was forced. The Guardians had been right. Orontes came bearing bad news.
We would be honored, Majesty.
Arnon had to hide a smile as he watched Rodin arrange the meal. While Talithians were used to the raw-meat diet of the Guardians, it was clear from the way that Rodin gingerly handled the platters of freshly-killed goat and deer that he was uncomfortable with the unorthodox eating habits of his sovereign's guests.
Once Rodin had left and they had settled down to their meal, Gaenbur spoke again. You have ill news for us, I think.
Orontes sighed heavily, all trace of cheer gone. "I'd forgotten how perceptive Guardians are." He sipped from his goblet. "I do not forget how your father saved my life, Gaenbur, and I swear by your goddess that if I could help you, I would."
Arnon's ears sharpened at the mention of Gaenbur's father. As a child, he'd heard the stories of how Ergon, while on a state visit to Anshaar, had rescued the young prince from drowning.
We sensed that something deeper was amiss.
Orontes raised an eyebrow. "More than you know. Two days ago, an attempt was made on my son's life."
Zedric broke the moment of stunned silence. Was it successful?
Orontes breathed a great sigh. "No, thank the gods."
Arnon leaned forward, his body tense. "You have caught the attacker?"
Orontes' eyes were haunted. "It was Shansor, my...other son."
Arnon could only stare.
Your other son? Gaenbur sounded shocked.
"Yes. His mother is a maidservant to my wife."
I must confess to astonishment, Majesty. I did not know.
A g
host of a smile spread across Orontes' face. "No one did, not even the boy. At least, not until a few days ago." He paused for a moment to eat his stew, but to Arnon's eye, he seemed little interested in the food.
"Unfortunately, he overheard his mother and me speaking together about him, and he demanded to be acknowledged as my son." Orontes shook his head and sighed. "He's fifteen, and brash, and couldn't understand why it was impossible to do as he asked. The following morning, he tried to kill Darian."
Orontes gave up picking at his food and dropped the fork on his plate. "He thought that if Darian were out of the way, I could claim him as my own." With a weary sigh, he rubbed his eyes. "He was angry, and perhaps even a touch mad at the time."
Where is young Shansor now? Dara said.
"In the dungeon," Orontes said. "The council is calling for his death. In truth, I love that boy more than I love Darian. I don't want to see him harmed. I've been resisting their demands with every fibre of my being. "
Majesty, I'm sorry to hear this, Gaenbur said.
An apologetic smile stretched Orontes' lips. "Needless to say, the council is not particularly inclined to support any proposals I bring before them. They turned down your request as a way to punish me."
But is not your word law? Zedric said.
"Yes, it is. But Darian has the support of the council and the nobility, and I must have their support as well if I am to rule. If I override them in this matter, they may very well decide to make Darian king."
But that would mean-- Dara's eyes grew round at the implication of Orontes' words.
"Yes." Orontes' shoulders slumped in defeat.
Arnon gaped. "Surely they would not assassinate you, Majesty!"
Darian would know it would not be mere coincidence, would he not? Gaenbur said.
"Darian is none too pleased with me at the moment. I can't blame him, really." Orontes drained his cup. "But I owe a debt to your father, and thus, to you. I did not come entirely empty-handed: I have a possible solution to your plight."
Oh?
"The truth of the matter is, you're not going to find an established kingdom to take you in and let you live as you please. That is what you want, isn't it? To remain sovereign rulers over your people?"