Kings of Ash

by Richard Nell

They stopped only to drink. Kale spotted a man hawking water and nearly bowled through a dirty-looking boy in rags as he crossed the narrow street. Osco plucked coins from somewhere under his belt as Kale and Asna gulped down ladles of warm water.

  “Yes, good, drink thirsty travelers!”

  The stubbled, mostly balding vendor had dark-skinned guards beside his cart and barrel, but he smiled widely. They all wore armor too thick for the heat, holding clubs stained with old blood. Their eyes looked as wary as Asna’s.

  Osco paid what his eyebrows clearly thought a usurious price. He softened when he took his turn, tilting his head back to let the water coat his throat with a groan.

  “When we meet with the king, ask him to send my men water.”

  Kale nodded, thinking ‘they’re my men, too,’ but he said nothing. Again they picked their way through the chaos.

  Despite the weather, the people here dressed with grotesque modesty compared to islanders. Men and women seemed soaked in sweat and reeked of it—their clothes were stained yellow from necklines to armpits, backs to bottoms. They wore colors and fabrics meant clearly for fashion, not comfort. The men wore thick hats with dark dyes, their shirts wrapped too heavy to breathe, shoes enclosing their feet entirely. Women at least wore brighter colors, more like the peacock-river Subanu, but equally sheathed themselves in layers, till only faces and hands showed.

  It made Kale think of Li-yen and her dresses, then Lani and her immodest silks. Thinking of Lani was harder. She was a Kapule daughter, though she dressed and acted like his people now—a foreigner perhaps in her own land. Kale knew she may never see her home again, and may not even be alive.

  He wondered how his father would handle King Kapule if he were in Kale’s place. What would a man like Farahi do with Kale’s power? Would he demand Kapule’s help? Would he threaten to wipe out half the palace in a show of ‘divine’ strength?

  Kale supposed it was an option. With his spirit’s senses he found power everywhere here. It squeezed together beneath the earth, shimmered on the surface with the sunlight and the life, rhythmic and strong flowing in from the sea.

  The promise beyond the clouds made him shiver—power so vast just to sense it made him sweat with a thing he hadn’t felt since the day Amit died—an unreachable thing between intuition and understanding. It surged through him as he thought on all the people yet to die, the decisions and bargains yet to be made.

  Who was he to make such choices? Who was he to negotiate with kings and conquer islands and claim titles? His hands trembled and he wondered if Asna could feel his fear on his shoulder.

  They reached the palace near dusk. The gates were open wide but still daunting, and the silo Kale had seen from the clouds still had a small line of basket-wielding women. Guards stood or sat by tables in shade playing dice or gawking at girls, weapons leaning on fences. Kale nearly scoffed. What’s to gawk at? Their ankles?

  The trio walked through it all undisturbed. Here they became just more faces in a crowd full of travelers and tourists, merchants and bodyguards—a blend of foreigners so diverse and thick that even a Condotian mercenary strapped with iron was ignored.

  Kapule’s influence stretched to every port on the continent, and it seemed his court was filled by foreign officials. With Farahi’s ships and laws keeping seas safe for decades, coastal-trade had become the most prosperous business in the South, with Nong Ming Tong next to Pyu at its center.

  Not for the first time, Kale wished he’d listened more to his damn boring tutors. Even though they were Lani’s people, he knew little enough of the Tong. Between his father and Kapule, though, he knew they managed to export more rice than anywhere in the world. Only the Enlightened knew what the drought and loss of peace had done.

  They walked through the gates, then the courtyard that could have passed for a merchant-quarter, then through the inner doors flanked by men with spears. Finally they were challenged before the king’s hall.

  Men here were garbed in silk and linen, heavy with jewelry and surrounded by servants. Most drank tea and socialized on plush furniture, or sat at paper-filled tables arguing. The guard who challenged them looked more bored and short-tempered than concerned.

  “This area is off limits. Who are you, sir?”

  Kale had once felt a perhaps childish anger at not being recognized or given his due respect. But he didn’t feel it now. He summoned his father’s voice and tone, stood tall and proud despite the stiffness in his back.

  “I am Ratama Kale Alaku, Prince, Sorcerer, and Regent of Pyu. Tell the king I bring his rains, and seek his help.”

  It took all his will to say this without turning red. He felt more than saw Osco’s subtle eyebrow raise.

  The guard before him kept well composed. He had the good sense or perhaps experience to wipe off any surprise or contempt.

  “Please wait here, Prince Ratama.” He motioned at a servant for refreshments, then pushed past waiting visitors with an impatient grunt, sneaking through the crack he made in the double doors.

  Kale followed him with his spirit. He wanted to watch Kapule receive the message.

  The viper-like bodyguard, long blade in hand, almost cut the messenger’s throat as he came in unexpectedly.

  “I’m sorry my lord, but an Alaku prince is outside. It is the youngest, I believe.”

  He then passed on Kale’s message precisely without inflection, and after a pause, Kapule dismissed a heavy-set, continental Northman with a wrist-flick. He smoothed his face in concentration, arranged himself on his pillows, and waved to proceed.

  “The king will see you now,” said the servant on return. “But leave your bodyguards here.”

  Asna’s hands moved noticeably on his blades, but Kale pat his shoulder.

  “I’ll be careful.” He reached for the courage he was faking, then held out his spirit’s hands and grasped the strongest threads he saw. With a gentle pull he whispered in both his friend’s ears with his spirit. “I have great power here. But if I need you, I’ll open the door.”

  The warriors blinked in surprise, but nodded.

  Kale readied himself to throw Kapule’s men away, but he truly hoped he wouldn’t have to. He followed his escort through the still-barely-cracked double doors.

  * * *

  The room smelled like freshly cut wheat, or maybe flour, and Kale thought that not an accident. He looked straight at the viper’s eyes as he entered, turning his head back to the shadows and staring just to throw the man off.

  The guard slithered forward once spotted, hands raised as if to search Kale for weapons, or maybe just strangle him. Kale wondered if all kings had men like this ,or Farahi’s ‘servant’ Eka at their call. Maybe just the successful kings.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kapule called from his pillow-throne. “Welcome, welcome Ratama. Always good to see a friendly face in such troubled times.” He rose and spread his arms, ambling forward to seize Kale as if he were a long-lost nephew.

  He even looks like a baker, now that I think of it. But he doesn’t announce me, or use titles. A bad start.

  “Loa, King Kapule, and thank you.”

  Kapule pulled back to arm’s length and inspected his guest as one might a gift, or a slave.

  “Not a whiff of Farahi! Ha!” He turned towards his pillow-mountain, making it half-way before looking back. “How is your father, young Alaku?”

  Kale blinked.

  “I…don’t know, your grace. I was hoping you could tell me if my father and brothers live.” And Lani, screamed his heart.

  The king nodded, then shrugged and climbed padded satin to his seat. “I’m afraid not. The invaders chase away my scouts, and my people aren’t much for Alaku waters.”

  The invaders. The way he’d said it—so casual, so obvious. Then it is real, truly real, Sri Kon has been taken by foreigners.

  Kale expected this, of course. Somehow hearing Kapule say it made things more visceral, and more imminent. But he’d come here for a reason.

/>   “I intend to drive off those invaders, my lord.” He hoped it sounded more confident than it felt.

  The farmer-king said nothing at first, just watching, his hand stroking a porcelain figurine of maybe a turtle by his chair. “I heard about your troubles on the road,” he paused, and watched Kale’s eyes. “My men say you trounced some bandit scum. My congratulations.”

  Kale blinked in confusion. He returned the stare and eventually understood, or at least thought he did—no doubt it was best not to officially have slaughtered a host of Naranians, and therefore not officially be the emperor’s enemy. Or in Kapule’s case, harboring said enemy. ‘Bandit attack’ seemed a wise fiction, though Kale had little patience for it.

  “Ah, yes. The two thousand ‘bandits’ who attacked a group of heavy infantry. They were no trouble.”

  Kapule smiled at this, and Kale hated the trace of pride he felt. He burned the memories of the dead and dying, the flaming trees and the march of terror.

  “I’m afraid these are not bandits in Pyu,” said the king. He rose and walked to one of his many windows, sweat visible on his cheek in the light. “There’s a whole foreign navy. My scouts say they have five hundred ships—proper ships, mind you, as built by men of the sea.”

  Again the king looked at Kale, whose mind blanked at the number. Five hundred ships! From where? And who? And how did they approach or even build such a fleet and land without being noticed, or seen, or attacked?

  “It is quite possible that each ship holds a hundred men,” said Kapule. “If so, they might have…say…fifty thousand?” Here he shrugged, as if to say ‘a few more or less doesn’t matter’. “How many soldiers do you have?”

  Kale didn’t answer because he couldn’t understand. He was being told a fleet the size of Pyu’s entire navy—the most powerful fleet in the world—had simply appeared from nowhere. That an impossible force had been gathered in secret, fed, armed, and sailed in secret, into dangerous waters known only by the islanders. It was impossible. It was a thing that would take years, decades, and untold resources. And yet they are here.

  The king sighed and returned his gaze out the window.

  “I don’t doubt your courage. But, even if you had the ships, even if you managed to land, how would you fight such a force?”

  Kale took a deep breath because he truly had no idea. He felt his fear and anger surge then fall away through despair.

  But in that expectation of failure, that knowledge of having nothing to lose, he found something solid, something obvious. It was the same feeling beside Old Lo’s impossible wall. It was the knowledge, perhaps, that what was needed was insane, that what it demanded was unfair. In a way, this was comforting. It meant he must cheat.

  “I’ll fight them with magic,” Kale said at last, losing interest in the rules of etiquette or what his father might do. He waited until Kapule met his eyes. “As your ally, I want you to give my men food, water, shelter, and physicians for a week, and then enough ships and sailors to take them across to Sri Kon.” He didn’t wait for a response. “In return, I or whichever eldest Alaku is still alive will marry whichever daughter you please, fulfill your arrangement with my father, and your grandsons will straddle both thrones as intended.”

  Kapule glanced at his viper, and Kale wrapped his spirit’s arms around threads of power in the air. The king’s uniform of mirth strained at the jowels, drooping than snapping back in place as he forced a smile.

  “Straddle both thrones? What an interesting notion. Tell me, sorcerer and regent, what if you should just die? What if you lose my ships? How then do I benefit?”

  Kale knew this was reasonable, but he found he had no patience left. He whispered with his spirit in the king’s ear. “If honor and friendship are inadequate, then in payment I’ll summon your rains.” He stepped forward with his body as the king startled and spoke out loud. “If I live, I’ll return each year you need me, and your crops will be assured.”

  “My lord?”

  The viper bolted across the room to strike, perhaps unsure but seeing panic in his king and reacting.

  Kale wasn’t interested in a comparison of force. There was no comparison. With the smallest thread, he flung the guard back to tumble across the tiles, knife rattling away as the king’s gaze followed.

  “It would be much better,” Kale broke the silence, “to be my friend.”

  He waited, knowing in his heart he would take the ships, if necessary, and sacrifice five hundred Mesanites if it meant saving hundreds of thousands of his people from misery. These foreigners would have leadership—Kale could find these and rip them apart. If he must he would float above the others with a great storm of death until they fled back to wherever they came from. He need not kill them all.

  The king sweat visibly, but mastered himself. He raised a hand to calm his snake.

  “I am, as I have been for years, a friend to the Alakus. Of course I will help you. I have already helped you.”

  Kale was surprised to sense no deception in the man’s words.

  “Helped me how?”

  The Farmer-King managed a toothy grin. He came forward, slow and steady, draping an arm around Kale’s shoulders with all appropriate caution.

  “You have more men than you think, my young friend.”

  The king used his arm to urge Kale to the Southern window. It seemed it overlooked the harbor, which Kale had vaguely observed with his spirit, but didn’t truly inspect.

  The beach was busy, cluttered—the sand more tan than white. Warehousing and docks spread out as they did in Sri Kon, though here Kale knew the sea sloped faster. Shipping was constrained further out and bottlenecked by access to the shipyard, vessels lined up to load or offload goods, pay their fees, and tie in to spend the night. The shipping ranged from small fishing boats to huge freighters—classic hulled, oar-powered galleys, to double-sailed outriggers in the Pyu style. He saw nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

  In fact he was about to ask Kapule to explain himself, then he saw them—far off down the coast, flagless, lashed together in clustered rows on smaller, older looking docks. There were Pyu warships.

  He saw scouts, rammers and fire ships, even the biggest flagships meant for boarding and command. There were a hundred, maybe more, though it was hard to tell.

  “They’re your father’s,” said the king. “At least half his bloody fleet was away when the attack came, out on some damned bloody ill-timed ‘training exercises’, so they say. Most ended up here.”

  Kale felt his heart beat down to his toes. “How many men? How many marines?”

  The king glared. “More like how many greedy, pot-bellied stomachs!” He shifted and scratched his own ample gut. “Ten thousand,” he shrugged, “maybe more. Pigs and whoresons, the lot of them. I’ve been feeding them for months, ally, not to mention putting up with impregnated peasant girls, angry fathers, and drunken brawls. And you can be very sure my bean-counters have kept track of every grain. Every little expense!” He jabbed the air with a finger.

  Kale felt suddenly sheepish about hurling the guard across the room. He resisted the urge to hug the man, and the king seemed to notice the change, and grinned.

  “And, just so it’s all abundantly clear, I’ll give you five-thousand more of my best marines on my own ships, with enough food and water to keep you supplied.”

  The king watched as Kale tried and failed to respond, as if amused. He softened his face and squeezed with his plump arms in an almost embrace.

  “Your father is a wily, black magic wielding sea-lizard, Kale. Once perhaps he was my enemy. Today he is my friend, my ally, and yes secretly perhaps my family. And if that clever cockroach is dead I’ll eat my hat.” He smiled encouragingly. “Now let’s get you on that island with your army, and your…magic. You’ll rally the city, yes? There should be local lords and many thousands ready to rise up when they see you. You’ll overwhelm the bastards and show them a good island navy, neh?” He gave a fatherly back-pat. “Now, would
you like to meet your men? I’m sure they’d like to see their prince.”

  Kale nodded, still stunned from the rising and falling through despair and hope. Half the fleet was gone, perhaps, so the chances his friends from marine training were dead were also half.

  “After we see to the Mesanites,” he answered, resisting the urge to send his spirit to look for his friends now. He knew the men would be scattered and hard to find and maybe somewhere in the city. And he’d need his full attention for Kapule. Men are most vulnerable, he heard his father say, when they feel safe. Even now he held onto cords of power—it was not a lesson he’d forget again.

  Kapule’s friendship could turn to betrayal in an instant, no matter what was said, or sworn, or done. Kale needed to watch for Naranian assassins, too, lurking in shadows, or enemies of his father who might still kill an Alaku even as their homeland burned.

  And if I die, it all falls apart. Because perhaps I am the last of my kin.

  With a small, thin thread, he flung open the doors to remind Kapule what he was dealing with.

  “Gather my men by their ships, I’d like to address them.” He stopped and waited for the king’s attention. “When I’m finished, I’ll summon your rains.” He paused for the challenge that didn’t come, and was thankful for that. “Warn your people, my lord, and tell them to watch the skies. The monsoon may not come gently.”

  The Tong king nodded slowly because—Kale supposed—what else could he do? Sane men didn’t claim such powers before a monarch.

  “If I promise them rain,” said the king, “five hundred thousand men, women and children will stand waiting in the streets until it comes.” His eyes hardened, boring into Kale as if digging for the moisture there. “Gods and spirits help us both if I’m lying.”

  Kale nodded slowly, trying not to feel as if he was mad to promise such a thing. He knew the city was already on the brink of riot and chaos, and that Kapule did all he could to prevent it. Kale wondered again at the ‘Seers’ imprisoned or perhaps killed somewhere beneath his feet, but burned the thought, and walked towards his men.