The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  His whispers came out too sharply. “You’re a murderer. If only I had known.”

  “You knew what sorts of things we were doing.”

  “But fourteen innocent lives?”

  “The Segchyhah were never part of the plan. They do not fit into the massive, continent-sized puzzle that I am putting together.”

  “So I saved the fifteenth — I had to. My conscience forced me. I’m ashamed I didn’t do more.”

  “Where is he?”

  “You framed Kraek, let him take on that shame before he died an innocent man.”

  “Kraek was no innocent. He slew Shelwyn, meant to kill me and the rest of my congress.”

  “Your congress? Should I be calling you ‘your highness?’”

  “Balhenhill, I will not ask again. Where is Rynyr?”

  Balhenhill sighed. The prince and Theral distracted him, from the other side of the room.

  “That’s right, Justice Theral. Your reckoning has come. For betraying your vows, rebelling against the king, and slaying my favorite wedbrother in cold blood.”

  “You’re a monster,” Theral screamed through her tears.

  “Me? A monster? For obeying my father, my king, my god?”

  “You slew a royal congresser.”

  “Your husband? Congresser Gaer was a traitor. I was exacting justice on a breaker of the royal law.”

  “You are evil! I always knew it. When you were a boy, I saw you watch my executions. I would strike off some criminal’s head, and you would giggle with glee. I always knew you were a demon in human flesh.”

  “You know I’m the crown prince, right?” Yaangdhill pouted his lip. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that.”

  Drea pulled Balhenhill’s face towards his. “Where. Is. He.”

  Balhenhill looked at Theral, then back at Drea to whisper his own question. “What do you intend on doing with him?”

  “At this point, I’d ransom him to Representative Mihivy when the Segchyhah inevitably return. Keep him in a prison cell until then.”

  “Let me hide him then. I want him to return to his father, as you do.”

  “You don’t think a prison cell under constant watch is as safe as wherever you’re hiding him?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  Drea’s eyebrows raised. “That hurts me. You really don’t trust me.” He swallowed, let go of Balhenhill. “But I can say I earned it. You didn’t see Falhill’s expression as Gargant and Greishill dragged him into the belly of Harbinger. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I know how you loved him. Then why did you turn him over?”

  Drea’s eyes watered. “It was always my plan to keep him safe. But circumstances got in the way. Falhill let it slip to Yaangdhill, disguised as Rudrud, some weeks ago that he would still kill the king and Yaangdhill, given the chance. And Uandem was frankly intimidated that Falhill beheaded Kraek himself.” Drea sniffled. “And Falhill told me that he would never stop in the fight against those who killed his parents.” He muttered to himself at this point. “I shouldn’t have told the prince or the grand admiral that last part. It sealed his fate.”

  “My son is innocent!” screeched Theral, on the other side of the room.

  “Your son will be taken to Eangd and executed in the most undignified way our good grand admiral can imagine — as punishment for your sins.” Yaangdhill cackled. “And you’ll have to watch. Oh, I wish I could go with you and see the whole ordeal unfold. It’s going to be truly magical.”

  “Please,” she pled, “please let my son live. He has children. The eldest is only eleven.”

  “My wedbrother you slew — Bartemhill had an unborn babe on the way. Now, the boy will never know his father. Do not treat your rebel cause as some objective good. At least I follow the law.”

  As Theral shouted vile curses, Laebm raised his hand. “Shall I remove her, Your Highness?”

  “I suppose I’m done with her.” He flashed a toothy smile at Theral, and she wept anew.

  Laebm gently picked Theral up from the ground. “Come now, must not make a fuss.”

  But Theral writhed within Laebm’s clutches. “Let me go!” She pointed at Drea. “Traitor!” She glowered at Balhenhill. “I should have known you were on their side. Husband to a False Priest. Tell your witch wife to rot in the Eternal Desert, where she belongs.”

  Balhenhill’s eyes dried out, quick as a cough. “Wait.”

  Laebm stopped and allowed Balhenhill to step towards them. “What, Sailor?”

  Heart pumping like a hammer and anvil, Balhenhill looked to the crown prince. “You agreed with Theral that her son is innocent. But just this morning, I discovered that Alchemist Gaerhill had been collecting ingredients for poisons. He was scheming to assassinate you and Uandem and Drea and Laebm.”

  “That is untrue!” Laebm roared.

  The prince craned his neck. “Gaerhill Graymatter? Poisons? And how did you find out this information?”

  “I’d prefer to tell you in private — keep my source anonymous.”

  Balhenhill could barely understand Theral’s vicious cries. “Your witch wife! We all know! Burn her! Burn her at the stake! She sees lies! It’s not true!”

  Uandem scoffed. “Get her out of here, General!”

  Laebm shook his head. “It’s untrue. Kraek had mentioned to me that Gaerhill only intended to incapacitate the congress — not you and Yaangdhill.”

  Balhenhill pursed his lips and clenched his fists. “After Kraek’s head rolled, plans changed.”

  Theral yelled shrill curses and convulsed. Laebm released her and fell back. Theral charged for Balhenhill, but Gargant and two other Old Coasters tackled her before she could attack him.

  Before anyone else could speak, the Twisted Prince shouted, “It seems Gaerhill Graymatter is not as innocent as I believed. Though he did assist me in the capital some years ago, it cost a slick silver, so I owe him no debt.” Yaangdhill chuckled like a girl babe. “I shall think of a fitting punishment for the alchemist.”

  Laebm seemed oddly concerned for Theral’s son. “You’ve already condemned him to die.”

  “Yes, but that was Theral’s punishment. I suppose I ought to send Gaerhill’s eldest to the Bloody Courtyard.”

  “No!” Theral cried and didn’t stop until the Old Coasters dragged her from Drea’s manse.

  Uandem gestured to Laebm. “Follow them. See she does not escape their grip like she did yours.” And Laebm obeyed with a grunt. His wife’s vision lingered in the back of Balhenhill’s mind, so he was glad to see the back of the Lionheart.

  Balhenhill couldn’t breathe. Drea laid a hand on his back, but it was Yaangdhill and Uandem who Balhenhill stared at. “Now I am very interested,” the prince sang, “in who your source was.”

  I need to find Balhenhadn, he thought, his shoulders weighed down as if with iron. I need to wrap my arms around my wife. But he knew his sins were heavier than a hug could remedy. His black sins. Eleven years old. That was not him, he had to tell himself. Eleven years old.

  But Balhenhill had to continue in his firm belief that everything he did worked towards a greater good. Hrashhill couldn’t fill its children’s bellies through the winter. But the Segchyhah provided. Hrashhill couldn’t stand against the full might of Yaangd’s navy. But the Segchyhah offered protection. Hrashhill couldn’t function without a king. King Drea, the commonfolk whispered. Balhenhill had to admit that Kraek had had the right of it, at least in that respect. King Drea. Is that who I serve? He knew just the words to entice me. He manipulated me — treating Balhenhadn with common decency she hadn’t known since leaving Meireer to train as a Brave Priest.

  It was too late to switch sides now. Balhenhill had condemned a child to die, and his father and grandmother would have to watch. And besides, what side was there to switch to? Kraek lay underground, short a head, while everyone he trusted sat in Uandem’s hull. Falhill sat among them as well. The Segchyhah left as swiftly as Ganjinhill had led them here. No other ambassado
r returned with aid. None remained to oppose the Drysword. None remained to oppose the Unholy King.

  The prince Yaangdhill called for him to sit, but Balhenhill could not move. “Sailor, sit with us.” Balhenhill tensed every muscle in his body and lifted his right leg. Then the left. He began to walk. Walk towards Yaangd’s own seed. Each step, he reaffirmed his abominable decision.

  He sat before the handsome prince. The Twisted Prince spoke words of praise and gratitude, but Balhenhill could only hear the voice of an eleven-year-old boy.

  How easy it is to end a life.

  Chapter thirty-four

  The Other Side of the World

  Tower peaks began to protrude from the western horizon. For the first time in a month, humans could be spotted on the shores — fishermen, farmers, children at play. Their skin was pale compared to any Hillite. The morning sun shone just as it had on the other side of the world.

  Falhadn leaned against the banister of the vessel Beautiful Yaangdhadn, which had carried her from Enesma, to Independence, and now to Pereadoc. She looked out at all this new world had to offer.

  Drawing nearer and nearer, more buildings came into view. Squat brick edifices, tall wooden turrets, cobblestone strongholds. A circular structure of many-colored bricks wore a white dome roof upon its wide pate. “That,” Salyryd told her, “is the Segchyhah embassy. Many colors of brick for many nations, yet a solid white roof for the Segchyhah people who hold it all together.”

  The sea oscillated — a brighter shade of blue than the waters in Old Coast or Hrashhill. The hills undulated until the ground rested flat at the city limits. A trio of curtain walls protected Pereadoc from its eastern border. Outside its walls, farmers tilled arable land as far as the eye could see. The fleet of Hillite ships the congress gifted to the Segchyhah had to steer clear of doggers and other smaller fishing vessels.

  “The Segchyhah who trekked by foot should be here within two weeks,” Salyery guessed. “The winds didn’t favor us, and we had to sail around the Cat’s Claw Peninsula. We’ll have our meeting of the Representatives as soon as they arrive.”

  Cleric Sharanhall knelt at the prow, immersed in morning prayer. Falhadn felt an unfamiliar desire to speak with her god. Hrash above, she prayed in her head, help me to be the best Representative I can be. I don’t know if you can hear me in my head, or if you have any power on this side of the world, but please don’t let anything get in the way of me making my place in the annals. Thank you for everything I’ve accomplished in my life and everything I will accomplish. Her spirit felt refreshed. She was proud of her prayer.

  “Representative,” a gruff voice called from behind. Falhadn and Salyryd turned to find a brawny, middle-aged, noseless man Falhadn had gotten to know over the past lunar cycle. “When we disembark, might I ask where we will be headed first?”

  “Yes, thank you, Ylgartz,” Falhadn answered. She looked to Salyryd. “I believe our apartments are only three blocks from the port.”

  Salyryd leaned towards Ylgartz. “It’s the Grafot Building. You know the way?”

  He nodded once. “Yes, Representative Salyryd.” And Ylgartz held two fingers to his forehead. “Representative Falhadn, I should gather my belongings. Do I have your leave to—?”

  “Yes, Ylgartz. Prepare for docking.” Falhadn smiled at him, but Ylgartz only nodded and left. Falhadn gently hit Salyryd’s arm. “If I can make Ylgartz smile, you owe me a diamond choker.”

  Salyryd’s eyebrows raised. She chuckled. “I’ll take that wager. And just to see you try will be reward enough for me.”

  Ylgartz the Indigo was a Segchyhah with long black and white locks. Pushing forty, he had proven his mettle on the battlefield in the Sack of Eldenaa. A few thousand Shrih deserters had found refuge in the cliffs surrounding a Doam river. After a few years, they lusted for the blood of weaker men. The deserters charged, twisted swords drawn, into several Doam communities, pillaging and worse.

  A few hundred Segchyhah had wintered in the Doam capital Sardin. When they heard tell of the atrocities, the foremost Segchyhah in Sardin considered it unsafe to retaliate. Ylgartz knocked him out and led two hundred Segchyhah and Doam through blizzards and long nights.

  Ylgartz marched on every day — even after the tip of his nose turned blue then black. His face was colored indigo when his host reached the Shrih deserters. Ylgartz took them by surprise, and his fighters cut down five times their own number. After his victory at the makeshift cliff town called Eldenaa, Ylgartz did not wish to command ever again. But his heroism earned him the sobriquet Ylgartz the Indigo.

  “I’ve had personal guards before,” Falhadn mused, “but they’ve always been for the man in my life. My father hired a guardsman Jeulfynhall, but he was my father’s man. And the congress back in Hrashhill had a ‘congressional guardsman’ Rudfynhill, but he served the congress. He only protected me because I was Falhill’s wife. But Ylgartz is my man.”

  “With your addition, we now have as many women as men who serve as Representative. I get the impression that your home is not as evenly balanced?”

  “I mean, there are some female congressers, and a handful of female governors, but Old Coast hasn’t had a regnant queen in a millennium. And female inheritance is…discouraged.” Falhadn grinned. “Nevertheless, thank you for setting me up with Ylgartz.”

  “He is a proven soldier.”

  “And Nahyra, too. I know she served as your main assistant. It was very kind to gift her services to me.”

  “Nahyra knows how the wheels are greased,” Salyryd said, tittering. “And I want to ensure the Hillite Representation has every resource available to succeed.”

  Just then, the olive-skinned man walked in front of Falhadn. The man with the scar across his left eye. This man had given Falhadn unwelcome attention back in Hrashhill, two separate occasions. When she saw him board Beautiful Yaangdhadn, she wanted to say something. But she didn’t want to make a fuss. Now, the man bared his teeth with a wide, menacing smile. He looked Falhadn up and down, then continued his leisurely gait.

  “Who is that?” Falhadn asked, trying to contain her trepidation.

  Salyryd spotted the man Falhadn pointed out. “Arfwa’erim, a Shrih commander. Betrothed to Representative Feedra’anam. When outside of Shrih Su, you don’t have to add their suffix. You can call him Arfwa, and the Representative Feedra.”

  “Arfwa,” Falhadn tasted the name. “I don’t like him.”

  Salyryd looked mildly surprised. “Have you spoken with him?”

  “No. But he gives me the most blood-congealing looks — ever since I first saw him outside Independence.”

  “Shrih culture is very different from our other member nations. A militaristic people, scientific leaders, but… Suffice it to say they are often equated with snakes. And the comparison is apt.”

  Ambassador Ganjinhill descended from the prow of the ship where he had greeted Sharanhall. “Good morning, Falhadn.” That’s Representative Falhadn. “And a fine morning for docking.”

  “The weather is impeccable. The warm ocean wind staving off the autumn chill.”

  “Representative Salyryd, good to see you as well.” Ganjinhill touched two fingers to his forehead and went on his way.

  After he had left earshot, Falhadn whispered, “How long until he doesn’t resent me?”

  Salyryd tittered. “Ganjinhill? He’s harmless. Maybe a tad jealous. But he remains Hrashhill’s ambassador to the Segchyhah.”

  “An empty title, when there is a Representative.”

  “Do you think he would have been a better choice?”

  Falhadn swallowed. “No. The congress chose wisely.” She recalled that Ganjinhill was not even the second choice, but the third. Cleric Sharanhall received the second most votes to become Representative.

  On her way below deck, Falhadn and Salyryd separated. Salyryd went to speak with the helmsman. But Representative Feedra’anam stopped Falhadn before she made it to her quarters. “Representative Fal Falhadn, on you
r way to collect your belongings?”

  “Representative Feedra’anam? Sorry we haven’t really spoken on our journey this past month, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “And I hope you can keep your eyes off my husband-to-be.”

  Falhadn stood speechless — not so much embarrassed, but genuinely confused.

  Feedra’anam continued, “I see how you look at Arfwa’erim. He does not want you.” Her accent conjured the image of a human snake hybrid. “Shrih men do not breed outside their kind. Please, do not begin our relationship on the wrong foot.”

  That prospect has passed. “I have never and will never pursue a relationship with your betrothed.”

  The Shrih Representative smiled but squinted her green eyes. “I am excited to see you again, at the meeting of the Representatives.”

  “And you as well.” Falhadn touched two fingers to her forehead. “I had better start packing.”

  Feedra’anam began her saunter in the opposite direction. “Watch out for slithering eyes, Fal Falhadn.”

  Falhadn inhaled, exhaled. What do I need to do, she deliberated, to make an enemy into a friend? She made for her quarters.

  “Oysters! Fresh oysters!” called one merchant. “Exchange your coin here!” called another. “Voyage to Farles! One berth available aboard!” and “Geodes from Wothavorm! Amethyst and opal, sapphire and salt! Straight from the far off land of Wothavorm!”

  “Excuse me, miss,” a small boy said to Falhadn. He carried a crate twice his size, singlehanded, headed for a trade cog. On its hull were Thuvaeir letters, Falhadn knew, but she could not tell what it said.

  Everyone who had come to Pereadoc by ship disembarked and dispersed. Salyryd flew off with her assistants. Feedra’anam lingered about the docks with her assistants. Arfwa’erim, however, walked not with his betrothed, but with a small Panthir man. His eyes met Falhadn’s, and he stuck his tongue out.

  Past the docks, Falhadn and her five Hillite companions followed noseless Ylgartz and lithe Nahyra to the Grafot Building, where their apartments hid inside two stories of yellow brick. Two Segchyhah pikemen stood watch at the front entrance, but they recognized Ylgartz and Nahyra without a second thought.