Shawna Thomas

by Journey of Dominion

  “I see.” The inconvenience won. Probably because he hoped to get rid of Tarak soon now that he was recovering. It didn’t matter. She’d gotten what she came for.

  The king stood. “I think if Lord Bredych was that concerned with his cousin, he would have arranged transport to take him home instead of leaving his care to me and my generosity.”

  “You have an excellent point, Your Majesty.”

  The king rose to his feet. “Yes. Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, a matter awaits my attention.”

  Ilythra rose and bowed as the king made his exit.

  * * *

  After the warm solarium, the corridors seemed cold and dark. She walked slowly down to the kitchen. The smells of herbed meat and freshly baked bread drifted into the corridor. The kitchen was a separate building, accessed by a small courtyard full of low-growing herbs, tomatoes and various vegetables. As she approached the door, a large woman stepped out, a white apron covering most of her dress. Flushed and red, her generous features gave testament to more smiling than frowning.

  “Can I help ye?” she asked.

  “Are you the cook?”

  The woman stepped down the stair into the courtyard, her eyes curious. “Aye.”

  “My name is Ilythra. I was told that you are related to one of Hilith’s traders.”

  “Isn’t everyone now?” A grin split her face. “Me sister’s husband.”

  Ilythra cocked her head. “Are you from here?”

  “Me accent? No. Me dad was a peddler. He met me ma back west. After I was born, he died. I speak in the manner of me mother’s people.”

  “I see.” Ilythra smiled. The sounds of the western coast brought with them a melancholy feeling. “Well, I know you’re busy with supper. I’ll cut to the core. Do you know if a noble can be a trader?”

  The cook scratched her jaw, her eyes focused on the wall above Ilythra. “I suppose. Routes can’t be bought, but a trader family could marry into a noble family.” The cook grinned. “Surein there’d be a fuss about that then. Wouldn’t there?”

  Ilythra nodded. She’d known it was unlikely Bredych was impersonating a trader. The penalty for that was a quick death. For that matter, though she wasn’t familiar with northern law, she imagined the penalty for impersonating a lord was similar. And probably a more difficult deception to carry for any length of time. So he was what he appeared to be. Interesting. Was his route farther south? Trader’s routes were inherited. They couldn’t be bought... But could they be traded? She didn’t know. Here in the north, he was a noble. She didn’t believe it was coincidence, but she didn’t sense or see any evidence of a trap. Why did Bredych kidnap Tarak? He couldn’t have known she’d meet up with Mohan. The questions were multiplying rather than diminishing.

  “When Hilith was here, did he meet with a noble, a Lord Bredych?”

  The cook visibly withdrew. “Not here. I’d have known. But elsewhere?” She shrugged. “I don’t follow the activities of the nobles or the traders. I keep to my kitchen.”

  “Thank you, for all your help.”

  “Can’t see that I did anything. Wait.” The cook disappeared into the gloom of the kitchen and came back carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle. “It’s for that nice Mohan who is helping you take care of the Poet.” The cook tilted her head and looked at Ilythra with open curiosity.

  “Again, thank you.”

  The cook shrugged her shoulders, nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Ilythra glanced at the narrow patch of sky between the castle walls. It would be time to eat soon; the castle’s inhabitants gathered in the dining room. It was a good time to check on Tashi. Ilythra knew she was avoiding Mohan, but she wasn’t ready to face the Benai.

  * * *

  Mohan held the water to his brother’s chapped lips. “Just a little?”

  Tarak shook his head, avoiding Mohan’s gaze.

  “If you don’t drink something, it will take you longer to get well, and you must get well before we leave this place and go home.”

  “Home is a chimera. You of all people should know that.” His brother’s voice held little strength.

  Mohan felt his eyes widen. “Home is where our people are.”

  “Your people. Never mine. I was accepted only by obedience to you.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “What is true, dear brother?”

  Mohan’s temper began to rise. Where the hell was Ilythra? He needed her common sense and her distance right now. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Ilythra was angry. No, she was afraid and she’d attacked the only person she could. Him. Instead of seeing it for what it was, he’d answered anger with anger. With a little distance he knew his ire hadn’t been entirely directed at her. He felt guilt. She was suffering, and he could ease it.

  It was as simple as breaking a generational oath of silence.

  He stared at his prone brother without really seeing him. The Benai were a people of councils. He could think on his own, but breaking a Benai oath was a responsibility too large for his shoulders alone. It wasn’t that he was superstitious, but Mohan wasn’t sure what would happen when or if he did.

  He blinked and focused on Tarak. The nobleman must have filled his brother’s head with all kinds of foolish things. Tarak lay against the pillows, his skin only slightly darker than the ivory fabric. Despite his words, he seemed calm, accepting. Mohan decided to try another tack.

  “Remember when we decided to build a kite? Mashi had just hung her undergarments out to dry, and I thought they’d be a perfect size?” He waited, but Tarak continued to stare at nothing. “We got it airborne.” Mohan grinned. “I think I couldn’t sit down for a week after Mashi complained to Father that we’d exposed her underthings to all of creation.” Mohan glanced toward Tarak. “You wrote a poem about it. Do you remember?”

  “Shades of green across the azure sky... No.”

  Mohan blinked. Tarak never forgot his poems.

  “Ah, but remember when we camped at a village at the foot of the mountain, and you and I found the berry patch? We’d never seen them before. Small red berries growing close the ground?” Mohan prompted then continued when Tarak continued to stare at nothing. “Every morning we went down and ate until we were sick. Then one day after dinner, we heard Father and some of the townspeople arguing. Father said his people would never have stolen an entire crop.” Mohan shrugged. “How were we to know they weren’t wild berries? Anyway, after the townspeople left, Father tanned my hide. He’d known who did it all along.” Mohan patted Tarak’s shoulder. “They were good berries.”

  Tarak continued to stare past Mohan.

  “When we get home, we’ll throw a feast. Jale has been waiting for an excuse to slaughter that pig of his, and I have some berry wine hidden away.” Mohan continued speaking but with a growing sense of dread that maybe Tarak was beyond his reach.

  * * *

  Ilythra paused before Mohan’s door. She owed the Benai an apology and maybe an explanation, though he probably already understood the reason for her outburst. But it would have to wait a little longer; she had too many other things on her mind.

  She opened the door to her room and began to pace. What did she know about Bredych? She had a name and a kingdom. He held Crioch. As unlikely as it sounded, he had a trade route in the south beyond the mountains, but lived east of the plains as a noble. He kidnapped Tarak, and they must have spoken of her unless Tarak could have gotten his information elsewhere. She shook her head. Doubtful.

  If he lived here, what was he doing on the Faisach? Even if one hurried, it would take the better part of one year to travel that distance. It was impossible for someone to be two places at the same time. Wasn’t it?

  Ilythra sat on the bed. Further speculating was fruitless. She simply didn’t have the information she ne
eded. And there was only one place to find it. “Greton.” She spoke the word aloud with a thrill of fear and excitement. There was a stone keeper in Greton. Not the one she wanted to find first, but that didn’t negate the success of finding one. Her task wasn’t just to find the stones, she needed to reunite them. That meant Bredych’s stone too. Maybe he knew where they were. It was a possibility.

  Not for the first time, she longed for Zeynel’s wisdom, his inner peace to calm her own turbulent emotions. What would he do? Would he caution her away? Would he try to find this Bredych, confront him? She shook her head. No, he would commune with Teann, seek an answer and if none came, he’d say that in itself was an answer. To Ilythra, it sounded like circular reasoning. She rose and resumed her pacing. Zeynel had searched for the Wanderer for centuries. She did not have his patience and she felt anything but peaceful now. An intense longing for her mentor filled her, stronger than she’d had since his death. She needed his advice.

  “My time for leading is over.” She could hear Zeynel’s words in her mind and slowed her step. Was he out there somewhere? A child? A baby? She shook her head. Even if he was, he wouldn’t know her. Would he?

  The stone walls seeped with damp chill. The light through the window grew rosy, and a cool breath of wind filled the air. The sun was in the west. Ilythra pulled the coverlet off the bed and draped it over her shoulders to fend off the chill. She took a deep breath, hoping to still her turbulent thoughts. Teann. Okay, Zeynel, we do it your way. The blanket still wrapped around her, she crawled to the middle of the bed and sat. The darkness behind her eyes shimmered. Enveloped by a familiar vertigo, she watched the stars dance and shared the joy of their movement. Her pulse slowed, her breathing becoming deep and powerful. She was part of the stars and they were part of her. In their harmonies, she found rhythm and whirled down to earth with their light, the light of endless years, to touch upon a single grain of sand on a beach. Yes. Here was beauty and completion, wholeness. She breathed, and creation breathed with her. Yet this was not what looked for; she was avoiding the very thing she sought, and that was not possible here. “And in the end to pass the test.”

  She looked into the starry lights. “What test?” Her voice, riding the breeze, drifted through trees and leaves, echoing her question. “What test?” The question echoed until it faded to silence.

  She faced east to a pool of darkness that seemed to shun the starlight. She stood and then stood again, and again, each time taller until she towered over the highest tree and then the mountains. Darkness in the east grew, spreading tendrils toward the stars, capturing their light. East: Greton and Bredych. Was this her answer?

  Fear. It was all around her, closing, choking. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Ilythra!”

  She opened her eyes and gasped. She was still sitting in the middle of the bed, but the light had disappeared. For a moment all she knew was vertigo and panic. The darkness had come. The cool night air filtered in through the open window and she breathed deeply, trying to focus on Mohan.

  His eyes wild, he held her sword. “I can’t find Tarak.”

  Chapter Eleven

  King Erhard of Greton stifled a yawn as he gazed down at the two peasants standing before him. They were arguing about a pig. A pig! They both claimed ownership and were looking to him to solve the problem. A sigh escaped. Were the townspeople really so simpleminded? Didn’t they have anything better to do than waste his time over stupid issues?

  Of course, to be fair, if he wasn’t holding court and hearing the day’s petition, he’d be pacing his rooms waiting for word. Where was Bredych? What was taking him so long? Had he secured the deal?

  The peasants had stopped arguing and were looking at him with imploring gazes.

  “Kill the pig, split the meat.” He turned to his steward, Konrad. “Next?”

  “But Your Majesty! The pig is not full grown.”

  Erhard glanced at the man speaking as though seeing him for the first time. He was of average height, long dark hair secured back from a narrow face. It struck Erhard that the peasant had missed his calling. He looked more like a scholar than a farmer.

  He focused his attention to the other man, a rather rotund person who looked like he’d eaten his share of pig and had begun to take on their physical characteristics. The second man definitely looked like a pig farmer. “How long until the pig is full grown?”

  The second man ran a hand over his sparse hair. “After harvest, Your Majesty.”

  Of all the...what was that, two moons? Three? He pointed to the first man. “You keep it this moon.” He pointed to the round man. “You keep it next moon, then bring it to the castle butcher, and he will make sure you each get half.” Erhard hesitated. “If I hear any more on this matter, you’ll get only a third as I’ll take my share as tax.”

  Erhard fought a smile. Pig tax; that was funny. He wondered what Bredych would think.

  As the men bowed, turned and left, Konrad stepped forward. Erhard considered asking Konrad if he thought the pig tax was funny but changed his mind. Konrad had no sense of humor.

  “Your Majesty, the next supplicant claims a Rugian stole his chickens.”

  Erhard groaned. He preferred to let Bredych handle anything involving the Rugians. He claimed it was because the counselor had a way with them, and it was true. It was equally true that they scared Erhard. He reasoned it wasn’t really his fault, and it couldn’t be called cowardice. He’d been weaned on stories of Rugian cruelty. And in spite of Bredych’s assurances, from the look of them, they hadn’t mellowed much with time.

  Rubbing his temples, Erhard said, “Compensate the peasant double for his loss. Offer him our sincerest apologies and tell him during this time of adjusting to each other’s cultures, misunderstandings are inevitable, blah, blah.” He turned to the scribe, dutifully writing down all of Erhard’s decisions. “Strike that last if you value your job.” Then to Konrad. “You know the correct terms. I have a headache. How many more?”

  “One or two.”

  “Good. You handle it.” Erhard rose and walked out of the hall toward the staircase. The Rugian probably had stolen the chickens. The peasant was lucky he hadn’t taken more. He shook his head. Bredych had said that the Rugians were key to his kingdom’s advancement, and Erhard had never known Bredych to be wrong...about anything.

  A servant stood outside the door to his rooms.

  Erhard didn’t glance in his direction. “Wine.”

  The servant opened the door and stepped aside. Erhard entered the room. Instead of taking over his father’s chamber, he’d had several smaller rooms joined by inner doors. He glanced around. Tapestries lined the walls and softened the stone. A thick carpet muted his step. He sat in his favorite chair before a fireplace just as the servant appeared with a carafe of wine and a single cup. Erhard waited while the servant poured the dark red liquid into the glass, and then accepted it. He wouldn’t drink until after the servant left his sight. The first sip was always the best. He liked to savor it.

  Erhard gazed at the fire reflected in the glass, lightening the liquid to almost a rose color, and smiled. He sniffed at its delicate bouquet and then sipped, holding the liquid on his tongue, letting the flavors mature and exploring their nuance.

  One of the things he inherited from his father was a taste for wine—not any wine, the best. He gazed at the flames. Perhaps, once trade had resumed, they could send out their wine. It had been a long time since he’d left the kingdom, but he doubted there was better wine anywhere.

  Glancing across the room, he spied the Crist table and wondered if his son, Aclan, was still at his lessons with the captain of his guard. The wine soured his mouth. That was another issue he’d have to deal with sooner rather than later, and a nasty one. Rothit had been a childhood friend, but of late, Erhard had caught the captain watching him with something like suspicion.
Indignation flared and warmed Erhard’s skin. Bredych had never liked Rothit and had counseled against his appointment as captain, but Erhard had insisted. Erhard drained his glass. He regretted his decision now. Rothit had begun to make him very uncomfortable. Bredych would know what to do when he returned.

  The king sighed. Yes, when Bredych returned, everything would be easier.

  * * *

  Ilythra followed Mohan back to Tarak’s room. The first rays of morning shone on an empty bed, the coverlets were pushed down and an indentation remained on the pillow where Tarak’s head had lain.

  “He was asleep, I dozed, and when I woke up he was gone.”

  She studied the bed, her frustration mounting until she saw Mohan’s strained face. “He can’t have been gone long.”

  Mohan pulled on his boots. He froze, his eyes wide. “My knife is gone too.”

  She glanced around the room. Mohan’s sword lay on the table next to an empty pitcher. Her sword was on the bed where Mohan had laid it. Either one of the servants had stolen the weapon, or... “Where do you think he went?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t acting like himself last night. At first I thought it was whatever that man did to him, but...” He glanced up at Ilythra. “I tiptoed in to bring you your supper, but you were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you. Thought you might need it.”

  Sleeping, no. She must have been deep along the paths of Teann not to hear Mohan enter.

  “Where in the name of the old ones could he be?” Mohan stood.

  “Let’s split up. I’ll take the left, you take right. We’ll meet in the great hall.”

  Mohan nodded and followed Ilythra out of the room. Without a word, he left, knocking and opening each door he faced. She heard a muffled, “Sorry, wrong room,” as she turned the corner. The rooms on her side of the corridor were empty. When she reached the curved stairs, she paused. The king and his family occupied the floors above. Would Tarak have gone that way? She dismissed it. The king had guards posted at the stairwell and probably around his chamber. If Tarak had tried to enter the royal domain, there would have been a commotion as the guards seized him. She headed down.