Tales of King's Blades 02 - Lord of The Fire Lands

by Dave Duncan

  Raider seemed perfectly relaxed, enjoying

  the conversation. Wasp now understood his friend's interest

  in politics, and Ambrose was listening intently.

  "His hand was forced in Tenthmoon of that same

  year, when the Chivian ambassador presented

  an ultimatum. On pain of war, he demanded that

  the Lady Charlotte be returned immediately and her

  abductor handed over for trial in Chivial. You

  will forgive my mentioning, sire, that in Baelmark

  everyone assumed that the trial would be brief and the

  execution leisurely. It seemed an

  excessive response to an amusing caper, but

  since the alleged pirate was the most powerful earl

  in the country, Ufegeat had no choice but

  to summon the witenagemot. My father took Mother

  with him to Nor`eddael, which was Ufegeat's city on

  Wambseoc and the then capital of Baelmark.

  She took me, although not from choice, I

  suspect."

  Wasp's expanding grin shrank rapidly when the

  King noticed it.

  "Boy, that caper you are talking about cost the

  lives of five Blades and some men-at-arms."

  "I am aware of that, sire," Raider said

  somberly. "I have heard their deaths described in

  the Litany. If you will pardon a momentary

  digression, what is not known in

  Ironhall is that the other side lost

  twenty-five men in that fight, all of them slain

  by Blades. This was repeatedly charged against my father

  in the debate. Perhaps Commander Montpurse could have

  that fact added to the record."

  "I will see to it myself," the King growled. "The

  Commander will repeat nothing he hears in this room."

  Neither, Wasp suspected, would Wasp.

  "Thank you, sire," Raider said. "As for

  Gerard of Waygarth, I recall hearing my mother

  speak of him. I think she eventually repented of

  her anger and decided that he had acted from nobler

  motives than she had at first believed, but I

  never did hear what happened to him."

  No one questioned a monarch, and that comment darkened the

  royal countenance. "I really cannot recall at the

  moment." The King's show of indifference was very

  unconvincing. "Do you remember, Commander?"

  "Before my time, sire," Montpurse said.

  "According to Guard tradition, he died while

  resisting arrest. Bled to death from a large number

  of wounds, I believe."

  The threat might be moonshine, but it made

  Wasp shrink a little deeper into the corner of the

  settle. Raider hastily resumed his story.

  "Four earls found excuses to stay away and

  send their tanists. The ambassador presented his

  demands, the wise men mumbled cautions, the young

  firebrands thundered. My father made a masterly

  speech. With his life at stake, he somehow

  managed to convert the debate into a challenge and then

  won by the narrowest possible margin, eleven to ten.

  King Ufegeat was still throne-worthy, a man of

  strength, and he chose to fight rather than yield. The

  scops still sang even in my day of their battle.

  Father never claimed it was an easy victory, but

  in the end he managed to bring Ufegeat down. He

  spared his life, which was condemned as a piece of

  foolhardy sentimentality.

  "Had my father lost either the vote or the duel,

  he would certainly have died. He maintained--and I

  do not think he was entirely joking--that it was I who

  made the difference. I had been conceived in the

  dragon ship, on the voyage home from

  Chivial, and by the time of the witenagemot my mother's

  condition was known. Visible to the women, not the men,

  he would say; but it was common knowledge, and he drew

  attention to it in his speech. If the witan chose

  to knuckle under to the Chivians' demands, they would

  be handing over an innocent, unborn

  Cattering to hereditary foes. How could Baels

  ever descend to such shame? I suspect the earls

  were more worried about an outbreak of civil war than

  about me, but perhaps I made a difference. If I

  carried even one vote, I changed history, because

  of course the new king's first act was to make the

  Chivian ambassador eat his ultimatum in

  public, seal and all. Trade between our two

  nations ended and random piracy became all-out

  war."

  To the Baels, it was always Prince

  Ambrose's War. They believed he had fanned

  the indignation in the Chivian Parliament and

  bullied his ailing father into launching a conflict he

  had been resisting ever since he came to the throne.

  Ironically, King Taisson's health soon

  rallied and he reigned for almost a dozen years

  more. Long before he died, the Chivians were cursing

  him for what they called Taisson's War.

  There was never any serious prospect of the

  Crown Prince being allowed to see action, so the

  fleet he had promised Aeled he would bring

  sailed without him. It raised the peaks of

  Baelmark on the first day of Fourthmoon 338,

  and that night it was blown onto the reefs called

  Cweornstanas, the Millstones. Only a tenth

  of the men aboard ever made it home to Chivial.

  The rest drowned or went to the slave markets.

  From then on Baelmark had no fear of invasion and

  Chivial was fighting a defensive war.

  News of the disaster--or good fortune, depending

  on point of view--was proclaimed in

  Waro`edburh on the very day Queen Charlotte

  gave birth to Atheling Radgar. Her labor was

  hard and he was never to have any brothers or sisters,

  but the babe was healthy and the mother survived. The omen

  of the timing was widely noted and Baelmark rejoiced

  that her King had an heir to continue the line of

  Catter.

  Like many thegn-born, Radgar grew up speaking

  Baelish to his father and another language to his

  mother without realizing that there was anything unusual about

  that arrangement. His mother was beautiful, and his father

  wore a sword--little else mattered.

  His first world was his parents' favorite country

  home at Hatburna, a sheltered glen

  on the southern slopes of Cwicnoll, and

  especially their private cabin, which stood a little

  farther up the valley than the main buildings and which

  his father forbade anyone else ever to approach. It

  was no larger than a ceorl's hut, a single

  room with a stair up to a sleeping loft. The

  boy's earliest memories were a composite of many

  late, gloomy dawns with rain beating on the roof

  louder even than the distant drone of the waterfall

  and his parents' voices drifting down, while he

  lay snug in bed wondering whether it was safe

  to climb out into the chill air and totter upstairs

  on his short legs. If all went well they would

  pull him in between them and all three would cuddle

  together for a long time, for life ran slow in a

  Bael
ish winter. Rarely he would be sent away

  again. If they were talking, the decision rested on his

  mother's voice, which might be happy or angry, for

  his father's was always the same deep, reassuring

  rumble. If they were playing tickling games, as was

  frequently the case, he could be certain of a warm

  welcome if he waited until they had finished.

  Even when living in Waro`edburh, in the royal

  quarters on the north side of Cynehof, King,

  Queen, and atheling slept in close proximity.

  Mother had an adjacent cabin where she entertained

  friends and where her maids lived; Father had one on the

  other side where he held private meetings.

  Uncle Cynewulf, the tanist, lived in the

  largest with Cousin Wulfwer and a varying succession

  of women, and others nearby were occupied

  by Chancellor Ceolmund, Marshal Leofric, and

  numerous house thegns. Leofric's son Aylwin

  was Radgar's age and became his best friend as soon

  as they were old enough to admit friends into the scheme of

  things.

  In summer he ran wild, growing brown as

  old leather, and every summer his world expanded. At

  three he had a pony. At six he was sailing

  boats with Aylwin and a dozen others, all

  amphibious as frogs. About then he began

  to realize that he was different: he was royally

  born. They were sons of thegns, coerls,

  loetu, or thralls, but he was an atheling. The

  only difference that made, his father explained

  frequently, was that he must be the best at everything.

  This he staunchly believed and not infrequently

  achieved. Around then, too, he began recording

  distinct incidents, single events that would remain with

  him when he left his childhood behind.

  There was the time he fell off a cliff and

  broke both legs so badly that they took a

  week to heal, even with the best enchantment.

  There was the time he almost killed Aylwin, although

  Aylwin outweighed him handily. He was not

  to recall what had caused the fight nor even the

  fight itself, but he remembered his father's terrifying

  anger. "You are an atheling!" the King said. "You

  must learn to control that temper of yours. You cannot

  even save it for battle as other men may, because you

  will be a leader and leaders must be able to think clearly

  at all times." Radgar never forgot the beating that

  followed--not the pain, but his father's tears when it was

  over, when they embraced and wept together.

  "Promise me, son, that you will never make me do

  that again!"

  He did, though. Older boys who tried

  to pick on the King's son discovered that they had

  roused a dragon. On three separate occasions

  his opponents had to be taken to the elementary for

  healing and one lost an eye in spite of it.

  Eventually the unwisdom of provoking him became

  known, and his father realized that beatings were not going

  to solve the problem.

  There was the time he and Aylwin took a

  sailboat out through Leaxmu`ed and back in through

  Eastweg in a nor'wester. They had just turned

  eight. Their hysterical mothers insisted they be

  punished for that stupidity and so they were, if a

  few halfhearted slaps on the butt could be

  counted as punishment. Somebody told

  Sigebeorht the scop the story, and that night in

  Cynehof he sang it to the fyrd as if it were an

  exploit of legendary heroes. The thegns put the

  pair of them up on a table and cheered and pounded the

  boards as if they had just come back from a great

  foering with half the wealth of Chivial. That was

  worth all the beatings in the whole world. Mother was not

  amused. Father got very drunk.

  Then there was the first time he met Healfwer.

  It began when Aylwin outgrew his pony and was

  given a horse. Radgar complained to the highest

  authority about the unfairness of this. Obviously

  an atheling should be better mounted than his thegn, although

  by then he knew enough not to put his grievance in those

  terms. He just said, "Father, I need a horse."

  King Aeled did not even look up from

  the dispatch he was studying. "You can have a horse when

  you can read."

  Radgar withdrew to consider the terms. They

  seemed irrational--what had reading to do with

  horses? On the other hand, there was no trap

  involved that he could see. Anyone could learn

  to read; he had just never tried, that was all. He

  found his mother writing letters. Despite the war, she

  still corresponded with friends in Chivial, sending the

  mail through Gevily.

  He said, "Mother, teach me to read ... er ...

  please."

  "Yes, dear. Bring me a book."

  She was not surprised? That made him

  suspicious, but he brought a book. Soon she

  was surprised. For three days he gave her no

  peace at all, and in the end she squeezed him in

  a big hug and said, "You are a wonderfully

  clever boy. Go and show your father."

  He marched into Cynehof, where the King and

  Uncle Cynewulf and Chancellor Ceolmund

  were conferring with the Gevilian ambassadors. He

  went to the high table where the men sat, deep in

  conversation. He waited.

  After a few moments his father frowned at him and

  said, "What do you want?"

  "A horse."

  The King passed him a sheet of paper. He

  read the first paragraph aloud, slowly but without a

  mistake. The King took it back.

  "Which horse?"

  "Cwealm."

  "He'll kill you!"

  This reply opened dazzling prospects, because

  Radgar had been so certain of outright refusal that

  he had a list of six backup choices ready.

  "You asked me!"

  "I should know better by now. Show me you can

  manage Steorleas and you can have Cwealm."

  Steorleas had been his third choice. Radgar

  yelped, "Yea, lord!" and sprinted for the door,

  wondering why the men were suddenly laughing.

  He showed that Steorleas, despite his name, could

  be steered. Again he demanded Cwealm, this time as a

  matter of right. To his astonishment--and his mother's

  horror--Father consented. To everyone's astonishment

  and relief, Cwealm also failed to live up

  to his name, in as much as he did not murder

  Radgar, or at least he had not done so

  by the end of the first week when he and Aylwin went

  riding up into the hills. He was considerably

  bruised, but alive. Undoubtedly his string of

  successes had made him overconfident and he was

  looking for another challenge.

  As they climbed, distant peaks came into view

  --Seolforclif, Hatstan, and Fyrndagum--and

  also other major islands, Hunigsuge,

  @thaerymbe, and Wambseoc. The land grew ever

  more rocky. When at last they reined in, they had

  reached Baelstede, a bare shoulder of mountain where
>
  men had kept watch for invaders in the days long

  past. Ruins of their shacks stood there still, but one

  glance showed that there was nothing there worth exploring.

  Aylwin was pointing. "Eastweg!"

  Some of the glints of open water in the maze of

  islets below certainly represented parts of the

  channel, although there was room for argument as to which.

  Ten-year-olds could not resist exploring any

  room for argument, but before the discussion could become

  heated they became chilled.

  "We'd better move the horses," Aylwin

  said.

  "Yes."

  They turned to study the prospect they had been

  ignoring. The ground was a rubble of sharp black

  clinker, falling away sheer on two sides and

  rising vertically on another, but there was a defile

  in that cliff. They could go back down the trail

  they had just come up, or they could go into that defile--

  they had no other choice. The gap, which was visible

  from the town far below, was called Weargahlaew and it

  was one of very few places in the whole shire

  forbidden to them. There was no room for argument on

  this--Weargahlaew was off limits. Even a few

  months ago, that would have been the end of the matter, but

  there comes a time when a boy realizes that some

  restrictions apply only to small boys and he

  has outgrown them.

  The wind wailed through the cut, a sound to make a

  scalp prickle; but the more Radgar stared at the

  gap and the very faint track leading to it, the more he

  managed to convince himself that he had gone there once,

  maybe more than once, a long time ago. He

  realized that Weargahlaew was why he had come.

  "Let's go and look."

  Aylwin had been waiting for this. "They'll

  take Cwealm from you!"

  "Why? There aren't any wolves near here."

  "Then why is it called that?" Aylwin

  said ominously.

  Hloew could mean "cave" or "grave."

  Wearga meant either "of the wolves" or "of the

  outlaws"--intriguingly vague. It was true that

  there were scary stories of Chivian outlaws

  lurking in the hills, either prisoners who had

  escaped before they could be enthralled or castaways

  still at large since the Great Wreck in the year

  Radgar was born. It was also true that rank

  disobedience like this might lose him Cwealm and the sun

  was not far from setting, but when Aylwin put the

  matter in terms of danger he was left with no