The Charnel Prince

by Greg Keyes

  “Anne is alive,” Muriele said.

  Fail nodded. “I dearly hope Anne is still alive. Nevertheless, there are other heirs to consider, and you know they are being considered.”

  “Not by me.”

  “It may not be up to you.”

  “I will die long before I see one of Ambria Gramme’s bastards put on the throne.”

  Fail smiled grimly. “She is a very political animal,” he said. “She has won over more than half the Comven to her cause, as you must know. Muriele, you must be reconciled, both with the Comven and with your father’s people. This is not the time to further divide Crotheny.”

  “Nor is it the time to return it to Lierish rule,” she said.

  “That is not what I am proposing.”

  “That is precisely what you are proposing.”

  “Muriele, dear, something must be done. Things cannot continue as they are. Charles does not—will never—hold the people’s trust. They know the saints have touched him, and in gentler times, they might not care. But terrible things are happening, things beyond our understanding. Some say the end of the world is upon us. They want a strong leader, a certain one. And there is still the fact that he cannot father an heir.”

  “Anne could be a strong leader.”

  “Anne is a willful child, and all the kingdom knows it. Besides, with each passing day, the rumor is growing that Anne shares her sisters’ fate. The dangers on your borders are multiplying. If you do not give Hansa the throne by marriage, they will take it by force. Only their hopes and the feeble worry that the Church might intervene have delayed them this long.”

  “I know all of this,” Muriele said wearily.

  “Then you know you must act, before they do.”

  “I cannot act rashly. Even if I were to marry Selqui, it would anger as many as it would please. More. If I spurn the offer from Hornladh, they might well join Hansa against us. There is no clear course for me here, Sir Fail.

  “Your course is made clear by your loyalties. Mine is made invisible by mine. I need real council, real options, not this continued pressure from every direction. I need one single person I can count on, one person who has no loyalties other than to me.”

  “Muriele—”

  “No. You know you cannot be that. Lierish seawater flows in your veins. As much as I love you, you know I cannot trust you here. I wish I could, but I cannot.”

  “Then whom can you trust?”

  Muriele felt a solitary tear start in her eye and roll down her cheek. She turned so he would not see it. “No one, of course. Please leave me, Sir Fail.”

  “Muriele—” She could hear his voice break with emotion.

  “Go,” she said.

  A moment later, she heard the door close. She went to the window, gripped the frame with her fingers, and wondered how sunlight could seem so dark.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OSPERO

  CAZIO STEPPED BETWEEN ANNE and Ospero. He didn’t raise his sword to guard, but he did keep it in front of him.

  “As I told those other fellows,” he said firmly, “these ladies are under my protection. I am no more willing to give them up to you than I was to them.”

  Ospero’s eyes tightened, and he suddenly seemed very dangerous indeed, even without the twenty-odd men gathered behind him.

  “Careful how you talk to me, boy,” he said. “There are many things you do not know.”

  “There certainly are,” Cazio responded. “I do not know how many seeds there are in a pomegranate. I do not know what sort of hats they wear in Herilanz. I’ve no understanding whatever of the language of dogs, and I cannot tell you how a water pump works. But I know I have sworn to protect these two ladies, and protect them I will.”

  “I’ve made no threat to your charges,” Ospero said. “On the other hand, they have become a threat to me. When swordsmen from Northside come into my town, I am very much concerned. When I am forced to act against them, it is even more my concern. Now I have to kill them all and sink their bodies in the marsh, and I need to know if anyone will miss them. I need to know who will miss them, and who, if anyone, will come to look for them. And most of all, I need to know why they came here in the first place.”

  “And the reward does not concern you?” Cazio asked skeptically.

  “We haven’t gotten to that yet,” Ospero said.

  “Nor shall we,” Cazio replied. “Now, kindly send your men away.”

  “Boy—,” Ospero began.

  “I don’t know who they were,” Anne blurted. “I only know someone wants me dead and is willing to pay for it. I can’t answer any of your other questions, because I don’t know the answers. I thank you for your help against those men, Ospero. I believe you are a gentleman at heart, and that you will not take advantage of the situation.”

  Ospero graveled out a laugh, and many of his men echoed it. “I’m no gentleman,” he said. “That, above all, you can be sure of.”

  Cazio raised his sword deliberately.

  “You don’t want to do that, boy,” Ospero said.

  “I think I know better than you what I want to do,” Cazio replied haughtily.

  Ospero nodded slightly. Then he moved with astonishing speed, dropping and whipping his leg out so that he clipped Cazio’s leading foot. Cazio spun half around, and Ospero stood and almost lazily took his sword arm and twisted it so the sword fell clattering to the ground. As if by magic, a knife appeared in his other hand and flashed up to Cazio’s throat.

  “I think,” Ospero said, “you’ve need of a lesson in respect.”

  “He’s in need of many lessons of that sort,” a new voice said.

  “Z’Acatto!” Austra shouted.

  It was indeed the old man, shuffling down the street toward them. “What do you plan to do with him, Ospero?” z’Acatto asked.

  “I’m just deciding whether to bleed him out quickly or slowly.”

  “Do your worst,” Cazio gritted.

  “I’d say to do it quickly,” z’Acatto advised. “He’s likely to make a long-winded speech otherwise.”

  “I can see that,” Ospero mused.

  “Z’Acatto!” Cazio yelped.

  The old man sighed. “You’d better let him go.”

  Anne braced herself. She knew that despite his appearance, z’Acatto was a mestro of the sword, and also that he had a deep love for Cazio. He wouldn’t let the younger man die without a fight. Could she summon the power of Cer again, blind Ospero, and make him drop the knife? She would have to try, for all their sakes.

  But to her surprise Ospero took the knife away and stepped back. “Of course, Emratur.”

  Cazio looked shocked. “Emratur?” he asked. “What is this? Emratur?”

  “Hush, boy,” z’Acatto muttered. “Just be glad you’re alive.” He turned to Ospero. “We’ll need to talk in private,” he said.

  Ospero nodded. “It would seem there are things you did not tell me.”

  Z’Acatto nodded, too. “Cazio, take the casnaras back to the room. I’ll join you there shortly.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue for once,” z’Acatto said bluntly.

  Ospero’s men dispersed as the two older men walked off together.

  Cazio watched them go, sighed, and sheathed Caspator. “I wish I knew what that was about,” he said.

  “What was that name Ospero called z’Acatto?” Anne asked. “Emratur? I’ve never heard you call him that.”

  “Come on,” Cazio said. “We’d better do what he said.” He started walking.

  Anne followed. “Cazio?” she persisted.

  “Cazio’s just saved our lives,” Austra reminded her. “Again.”

  Anne ignored her. “You looked surprised,” she said.

  “It’s not a name,” Cazio grunted. “It’s a title. The commander of a hundred men.”

  “You mean as in an army?”

  “Yes, as in an army.”

  “Was z’Acatto an emratur?”

  “
If he was, I’ve never known it.”

  “I thought you had known him all your life.”

  They had reached the steps to their apartment, and Cazio started up. “I have. Well, sort of. He was a servant of my father’s. He taught dessrata to my brothers and me. But sometimes, when I was young, he would leave for months at a time. I suppose he might have been off fighting. My father had many interests in those days. He might have commanded a hundred men.”

  “But z’Acatto still serves your father.”

  “No. My father fell on hard times, and eventually was killed in a duel. I inherited z’Acatto, along with a house in Avella. They are all that remain of my father’s estate.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Tears welled in Anne’s eyes. In the excitement, for just a few moments, she had forgotten to grieve.

  Cazio stopped, looked a little puzzled at her expression, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It happened a long time ago,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to cry.”

  “I just recalled something,” Anne murmured, “that’s all. Someone I lost.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at his feet and then brought his gaze back to hers. “I’m sorry to be so brusque,” he said. “I’m just—well, I wish I knew what was going on. I thought something was strange when z’Acatto got us lodging here, that he must have known Ospero before—it was too easy, and he even gave us credit. Now I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what it means.”

  “Then you don’t trust z’Acatto?”

  “I don’t think he would ever betray me, if that’s what you mean,” Cazio said. “But his judgment is sometimes poor. He let my father get killed, after all.”

  “How was it z’Acatto’s fault? What happened?”

  “I don’t know what happened, but I know that z’Acatto feels guilty about it. It was after that he started drinking all the time. And he doesn’t have to stay with me—I haven’t the money to pay him. Yet he does, and it must be out of guilt.”

  “Maybe he stays out of love,” Austra suggested.

  “Hah,” Cazio replied, waving the possibility aside with his hand.

  “But who is Ospero? I thought he was just our landlord.”

  “Oh, yes—he’s landlord for most of the Perto Veto. He also controls a lot of what happens at the docks. And the ladies I escort. They call him zo cassro, around here—’the boss.’ Not a pocket gets picked without him knowing about it.”

  “He’s a criminal?”

  “No. He’s the prince of criminals, at least in this quarter.”

  “What are we going to do?” Anne said.

  “Until the right ship comes along, and we have enough to pay passage for it, there’s nothing we can do. They’re looking for you everywhere now. We’re safer here than anywhere. If z’Acatto knows what he’s doing.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Austra said.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Anne didn’t say anything. She knew very little about z’Acatto other than that he stayed drunk most of the time. Now, as it turned out, Cazio didn’t know as much about the old man as he thought he did.

  It might be true that z’Acatto would never betray Cazio. But that didn’t mean Austra and Anne were safe—not in the slightest.

  PART II

  FRESH

  ACQUAINTANCES

  The Year 2,223 of Everon

  Late Novmen

  Prismo, the first mode, is the Lamp of Day. It invokes Saint Loy, Saint Ausa, Saint Abullo, and Saint Fel. It evokes the bright sun and the blue vault of Heaven. It provokes optimism, ebullience, restlessness, brash behavior.

  Etrama, the second mode, is the Lamp of Night. It invokes Saint Soan, Saint Cer, Saint Artumo. It evokes the Moon in all of her phases, the starry sky, gentle night breezes. It provokes weariness, rest, and dream.

  —FROM THE CODEX HARMONIUM OF ELGIN WIDSEL

  Prismo, the first parry, is so called because it is the easiest one to do on drawing the sword from its sheath. The riposte is awkward.

  Etrama, the second parry, is named this for no particular reason, but it is a strong parry against flank attacks.

  —TRANSLATED FROM OBSAO DAZO CHIADIO (“WORK OF THE SWORD”), BY MESTRO PAPO AVRADIO VALLAIMO

  CHAPTER ONE

  A JOUST

  I THINK THIS MAN wants to kill us, Hurricane,” Neil told his mount, patting the stallion’s neck. Then he shrugged, took a deep breath, and studied the sky.

  He’d always reckoned the sky was the sky—changeable with weather, yes, but essentially the same wherever you went. But here in the south, the blue of it was somehow different, bolder. It went with the rest of the strangeness—the rambling sun-drenched fields and vineyards, the white-stuccoed houses with their red tiled roofs, the low, gnarly oaks and slender cedars that spotted the landscape. It was hard to believe that such a region existed in the same world as his cold, misty homeland—especially now, with the month of Novmen half-done. Skern was probably under a kingsyard of snow right now. Here, he was sweating lightly beneath his gambeson and armor.

  The wonder of it did not escape Neil. He remembered his awe at first seeing Eslen, how big the world had seemed to a boy from a small island in the Lier Sea. And yet these last months the world had seemed to shrink around him, and Eslen Castle had become little more than a box.

  Now the world seemed larger than ever, and that brought for him a sort of melancholy happiness. In a world this spacious, the sadness and fears of Neil MeqVren were not so large a thing.

  Even that mixed pleasure brought with it a certain amount of guilt, however. The queen lived in constant danger, and leaving her for any reason felt wrong. But she had chosen this road for him, she and the shades of Erren and Fastia. Surely they knew better than he what was the right thing to do.

  Still, he ought not to enjoy himself.

  He heard shouting, and realized that the man in the road didn’t care to be ignored in favor of the sky.

  “I’m sorry,” Neil called back, in the king’s tongue, “but I can’t understand you. I am not educated in the speech of Vitellio.”

  The man replied with something equally unintelligible, this time addressing one of his squires. At least Neil guessed they were squires, because he reckoned the shouting man to be a knight. He sat upon a powerful-looking horse, black with a white blaze on the forehead, and it was caparisoned in light barding.

  The man also wore armor—of odd design, and awfully pretty, with oak leaves worked at the joints, but lord’s plate nevertheless. He carried the helmet under his arm, but Neil could see that it was conical in shape, with a plume of bright feathers arranged almost like a rooster’s tail. He wore a red-and-yellow robe instead of a tabard or surcoat, and that and his shield bore what might be a standard—a closed fist, a sunspray, a bag of some sort—the symbols meant nothing in the heraldry familiar to Neil, but he was, as he had been reflecting, very far from home.

  The knight had four men with him, none in armor, but all wearing red tabards with the same design sewn on them as the shield. A large tent had been erected by the side of the road, flying a pennant with the sunspray alone. Three horses and two mules grazed in the pastures along the side of the rutted red road.

  One of the men shouted, “My master asks you to declare yourself!” He had a long, bony face and a tuft of hair on his chin trying to pass for a beard. “If you can do so in no civilized language, then speak what babble you will, and I shall translate.”

  “I’m a wanderer,” Neil replied. “I may tell you no more than that, I fear.”

  A brief conversation followed between the knight and his man; then the servant turned back to Neil.

  “You wear the armor and bear the weapons of a knight. In whose service do you ride?”

  “I cannot answer that question,” Neil said.

  “Think carefully, sir,” the man said. “It is unlawful to wear the armor of a knight in this country if you do not have the credentials to do so.”

  “I see,” Neil answered. “And if I am a knight,
and can prove it, then what will your master say to that?”

  “He will challenge you to honorable combat. After he kills you, he will take possession of your armor and horse.”

  “Ah. And if I am merely masquerading as a knight?”

  “Then my lord will be forced to fine you and confiscate your property.”

  “Well,” Neil said, “there is not a large difference in what I call myself then, is there? Fortunately I have a spear.”

  The man’s eyes went round. “Do you not know whom you face?”

  “I would ask, but since I cannot give my name, it would be impolite to require his.”

  “Don’t you know his emblem?”

  “I’m afraid I do not. Can we get this over with?”

  The man spoke to his master again. For answer, the knight lifted his helmet onto his head, couched his lance beneath his arm and lifted his shield into position. Neil did the same, noticing that his own weapon was nearly a king’s yard shorter than his foe’s.

  The Vitellian knight started first, his charger kicking up a cloud of red dust in the evening sun. Neil spurred Hurricane into motion and dropped the point of his spear into position. Beyond the rolling fields, a cloud of blackbirds fumed up from a distant tree line. For a moment, all seemed very quiet.

  At the last moment Neil shifted in the saddle and moved his shield suddenly, so the enemy iron hit it slantwise rather than straight on. The blow rattled his teeth and scored his shield, but he swung his own point to the right, for his enemy was turning in a similar maneuver. He hit the Vitellian shield just at the edge, and the whole force of his blow shocked into the knight. Neil’s spear snapped, its head buried in the shield. As he went by, he saw the Vitellian knight reel back in the saddle, but as he turned, he discovered that the fellow had somehow managed not to fall.

  Neil grinned fiercely and drew Crow. The other knight regarded him for a moment, then handed his lance to one of his men and drew his blade, as well.

  They came together like thunder, shield against shield. Crow beat over and rang against the Vitellian’s helm, and the strange knight landed a blow on Neil’s shoulder that would certainly have taken the arm off if not for the steel it was sheathed in. They tangled like that for a moment, horses crushing their legs between heaving flanks, but they were too close for hard blows.