Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “Fa! Race you to the great tree!”

  He looked up to see that Rinli had already set her sorrel into a canter, and a gallop couldn’t be far behind. He sighed and kicked his bay mare into a nuanced canter. He’d brought the mare out on this ride to work her a bit, and an uncontrolled gallop was the last thing the poor girl needed.

  He used to purposely let Rinli win these races. These days, however, he’d begun allowing her to lose when she didn’t try her hardest. She needed to learn how to get up after failure. A Thristan child shouldn’t be soft. In this case, however, he knew that even if he had allowed his mare to run her fastest, Rinli’s sorrel would have outdistanced them.

  “Your mare is slow,” the girl said through her triumphant laughter as he joined her at the huge tree that dominated this area of the park.

  “Aye, she needs some work,” he conceded.

  “Do I have to attend the closing dinner?”

  And there it was, the blunt Rinli whine and the reason why she’d asked him to join her on this ride. “Yes. You have two years of heeding your mother’s wishes yet to go. And although she and I both saddled you with this responsibility, the fact that you fulfill nearly all of the prophecy’s conditions wasn’t and isn’t anyone’s fault.”

  “‘Nearly all’?”

  Korin maneuvered his horse to stand right up beside hers. “Well, we have yet to see the death and rebirth of a leader.”

  “Oh, that. The Thristans I’ve talked to don’t really believe that part anyway.”

  “I didn’t used to believe in the prophecy at all. Then I pouched you.”

  “And my mother used me to gain the peace.”

  “Rin, your objections to the contrary, that was a wise and successful play on her part.”

  She pulled away from him. “I’m not convinced.”

  “I am. You’re smart. Despite your complaints, you’ve observed and learned from the leadership qualities in others. You’re no fool, that’s certain. I see a great leader in you. And that’s not a thing one can predict in a six-month-out child.”

  “Not to hear her tell it. She saw ‘everything.’”

  “Whoa.” Korin realized Rinli’s understanding of the One-Day War and what followed was flawed somehow. “What exactly do you know about the truce and the treaty?”

  “The battle raged for several hours,” Rinli recited, as though it was a story she’d memorized. “Finally, Empir Ariannas emerged from her tent and rode onto the battlefield. Her eyes were black, blinded by the gryl, but she could see everything clearly. She spoke of a child, Mantar’s Child, and Korin the Thristan confirmed their daughter’s—”

  “Stop. Right there. And that’s what you’re basing your personal story on?”

  “It’s the way The People tell it.”

  Korin rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. “And you never questioned what ‘everything’ meant. Oh, Rin. The Thristans were amazed that she could see, literally, see. It’s true that at that moment she had some ability to predict a small portion of the future and act on it, but she is not and never has been a sooth. And once the gryl left her and her physical sight was restored, she lost your so-called ‘everything.’ Do you understand?”

  “So…”

  He watched his daughter struggle with this. He’d had no idea how her interpretation of those early teachings had complicated her thinking about her mother. “Listen, she saw a way of stopping the killing. She and I both knew there’d be consequences and that those consequences would fall on you. We weren’t simply putting the destruction off to another day; we hoped to find a peace that would hold for generations. And if…and I do mean if…this amazing child I offered her could provide a bridge to that, well, we were both willing to take the risk.

  “Was it fair to you? No. But you’re not alone. Your mother endured similar manipulations of her fate, and until that day on Bellin Plain she didn’t understand why the sooth had taken her from her parents, left her believing she was an orphan at Solsta, sent her to a world nothing like our own for seven years, and then forced her into the infirmary where the woman—”

  “What?” Rinli shook her head. “‘Sent her to a…I don’t…”

  Damn. He’d promised Lisen that Rinli would never know about her mother’s years away from Garla, and now it had slipped out. Damn. He wished there were a way to shackle the words and hide them away in a cave where Rinli need never hear them, but they were out, free. No grabbing them back now. “Leave it be. When council is over, you and she can talk. I don’t understand it myself, so I’d rather she explained it to you.”

  “Those strange words she says sometimes—they’re from that other world.” Rinli’s eyes had widened—whether in amazement or because she’d caught her mother in a lie, Korin couldn’t tell.

  “Let me talk to her first.”

  “She didn’t want me to know. Another place where she left me behind. And you have to tell her first so you can apologize for telling me.”

  “Don’t take so much pleasure in it, Daughter.” These were the times when Korin glimpsed in small part the totality of Lisen’s relationship with the girl, and it did not bode well for their future as mother and child.

  “Race you to the barn!” And Rinli tore off, her horse in full gallop, back to the stable. Korin urged his mare into a trot and from there to a canter. No point in even trying to win the race; he’d already lost—both the race and, he feared, the dream to reconcile his daughter and his spouse.

  On the ride back, he thought about the two women. Too much alike, he decided. Both stubborn and brilliant, but where in Lisen a sweet humility resided, in Rinli an overwhelming sense of her importance rose up to play. It was the double-edged shindah of her birthright and her knowledge of it—she couldn’t be Mantar’s Child and remain ignorant of what that meant. It was going to be one Destroyer of a couple of years, now that she was about to step up as the Thristan Protector, and Korin wondered if he could handle what was coming.

  Lisen will find the balance, he always told himself though, for once, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KNIFE IN ONE HAND,

  SWORD IN THE OTHER

  The fire burned late into the night, and Lisen didn’t want to move. Her feet up on a footstool, her body nestled into a comfortable chair, she took a swig of the Tuane wine Nalin had graciously brought with him tonight, and she sighed. “Did it seem longer than usual to you?” she asked her Will.

  Nalin, resting his right stump freed of its prosthesis on his own footstool, took a deep breath. “Council? Not really. The usual two weeks, just as tiring as it always is. Of course, for us, it’s more of a two-month ordeal.”

  “True,” Lisen replied. After the closing dinner two nights ago, nearly everyone had left Avaret yesterday morning, including Bala, Linell and Alabar. Avaret had slipped into the between-session quiet that Lisen found she appreciated more every year. She yawned. “I am tired.”

  “That two-week ride back from Thristas less than a month before Council couldn’t have helped.”

  She shook her head. “No, though the visit itself was certainly stimulating. The desert’s vista of warm tans and browns is filled with a richness that no one who’s never left this side of the Rim can appreciate. It amazes me every time I come through the Pass. And The People of Thristas… But you’ll see, come September. You are still planning on riding with me to Rinli’s investiture, aren’t you?”

  “Creators help me, I am. Bala thinks I’m mad to even attempt it.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’re riding to war.”

  “I hope not.” He paused, took a swallow of wine. “It would certainly be one way to cripple the Garlan supremacy.”

  “How’s that?” Lisen asked. Her brain wrestled with its exhaustion to understand him.

  “Get you, your spouse, your children and your Will all in one place and rid themselves of all of us.”

  “There would still be Nas.”

  “Nasera isn’t going?”r />
  “He informed me yesterday, saying that now that Council had adjourned, he felt it was time to advise me that he would not be attending. He claims to be concerned about the survival of the royal family.”

  “And you?”

  “We’re so close to finalizing this under the truce, why would the Thristans want to jeopardize that? I mean, it would only cause more problems.”

  Lisen watched as Nalin downed the last of his wine, then reapplied his prosthetic foot. He paused when he’d finished and looked at her.

  “Heading out?” she asked.

  “It’s late, and I’ve got an early departure for Seffa in the morning.”

  “And thus, the last ritual of Council comes to an end.” This moment sitting quietly and sharing some wine had always served as the finale to the Council ordeal for the Empir and her Will.

  “As usual, my Liege, it’s been a pleasure,” he said as he stood up. She, too, rose from her chair.

  “Of course, it has,” she countered. “What with squabbling holders, cranky councilors and litigant brothers, it’s been nothing but fun.”

  He took his cane, and she followed him out of the sitting room and into her office where two candles burned on her desk. She escorted him to the door to the hall, but he paused and stopped her from opening it for him.

  “Be safe, my Liege,” he said, as he always did.

  “You as well, good friend.” It was a ritual they’d played out after each and every one of thirty-three sessions. She wanted him to go home, at least as far as Seffa for now, and be a parent to his children and a spouse to Bala. Enough of him serving as her Will; he should be with his family and belong only to them for the next couple of months. “Now, go.”

  “Aye, my Liege,” and he nodded smartly. When he looked up again, his eyes sparkled with blue fire, and a broad smile opened up his face. But as soon as he allowed her in, he closed her out again and opened the office door. A guard there saluted, fist to chest, and as the door closed behind the departing Nalin, Lisen sighed. Though not as difficult as when she sent Korin and Rinli off to Thristas twice a year, her farewells with Nalin always tasted bittersweet. But, after all, both he and she were simply people who needed time with loved ones outside the realm of the realm.

  With heavy footfalls, she stepped to her desk. She had a few letters yet to write before she could close the door on this session. She sat down, inked her quill and began to compose one of four letters to each of the members of the panel of judges. She could have dictated one letter to Jazel and had her write each one out in her delicate hand, leaving the signature to Lisen herself before they went out. But these people had served under difficult circumstances, and they deserved more than what her friends on Earth would have called a “form letter.”

  Dear Melanda,

  With this Council session behind me, it is time for me to thank those who served as judges in the Ba trial. You were especially—

  She looked up at a thump in the stillness of the late hour. Was Nalin returning? No, it didn’t sound in the least like Nalin’s distinctive footsteps. She set her quill down slowly and looked around. Another thump, the door from Jazel’s office blew open, and she found herself facing a masked person with a knife in one hand and a sword in the other. Piss. An assassin.

  Korin poked his head in to check on Insenlo. Asleep, as usual. He moved on to Nasera and found him trying a tunic on.

  “To sleep,” he ordered.

  “I’m thirteen,” the boy protested.

  “And your mentor will be expecting you to be rested when you return to your studies now that Council is over. Bed. Now.”

  Nas tried to stare him down, but he hadn’t yet perfected his technique. Korin’s one eye easily won out over Nasera’s two, and he dropped the tunic on the floor and crawled into his bed.

  Korin then headed to Rinli’s room. She sat at her desk, writing. “Rin.”

  “Fa?” She looked up at him and smiled.

  “Done soon?” he asked, having accepted that any control he’d once held over his eldest had dissolved a long time ago.

  “Yes. Just writing to Madlen.”

  “You may end up delivering that letter yourself. I don’t know of anybody scheduled to head out to the Pass any time soon.”

  “It’s all right. I hold them to give to her when I get back home.”

  Korin nodded and started to turn, intending to close the door behind him. But…what? He gasped as a feeling of something unwelcome spread through him. He whirled from Rinli’s door, leaving it open, and tore down the stairs at a run. At the bottom, he nearly barged into Holder Corday on his way out of the palace.

  “What is it?” the holder asked as Korin ran past him.

  “I don’t know,” Korin shouted back as he ran towards Lisen’s office. “Something. A feeling.”

  The usual guard stood at the door, but Korin slammed the door open without acknowledging the guard’s presence.

  He stopped, realizing he carried no weapon, so he appropriated the guard’s sword without request or apology. No time.

  As Korin oriented himself, a person—gender unidentifiable due to a mask—swiftly closed the gap between themself and Lisen. She stood frozen in horror at her desk. Korin, senses heightened, heart pounding, made for the desk in the hope of gaining the upper ground on top of it.

  Chaos enveloped Lisen, but all she knew for certain was the assassin had reached her, grabbed her from behind and placed the knife at her throat.

  “Cry out and you’re dead,” the assailant threatened with a voice that sounded female.

  But before her attacker could take any further action, before Lisen could center and employ the push, she heard the running rhythm of sandals slapping on the floor and then landing on the desk beside her. She couldn’t move her head to look up to see who’d arrived so quickly, but she recognized the sandals on the desk inches away. A rage of relief swept through her. Korin.

  He said nothing, made no threat nor ordered the assassin to stand down. He simply bore down from above with his sword, and the next thing Lisen knew, her attacker’s arms had relaxed their hold on her. The knife, as well as the sword in the assassin’s other hand, clattered to the floor, followed immediately by the assassin herself. Lisen’s breath came in gasps as she brought a hand up to where the assassin’s knife had rested at her neck. She’d felt no breach to her skin, but in times of shock, pain often failed to register immediately. Nothing, she discovered. No wound, no blood.

  Behind her, she could hear Korin kicking the villain’s metal armory aside. “It’s a woman,” he announced. “She’s dead.”

  Lisen whirled around, dropped to the floor and reached out to touch the woman, as Korin straightened up from where he’d knelt. He’d pulled back the scarf that had hidden her face, and Lisen placed her hand lightly on the woman’s cheek to try to catch a hint of who this woman was, or had been, before her soul drifted off into famar. Ill prepared, she couldn’t grasp the woman’s essence before it had slipped away.

  “Damn,” she muttered as Korin took her by the waist, urging her up and away from the dead assailant. He released his sword, allowing it to drop to the floor, and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Creators,” he whispered, his hot breath warming Lisen’s ear while the rest of her body shivered. “What would I have done if I’d lost you?”

  Looking over his shoulder, she saw a single guard, presumably the one stationed at the office door, Nalin standing right behind him. She was about to wiggle her way out of Korin’s arms when he released her voluntarily. This was a moment better left for private.

  He turned to look at the body of the assailant again, and Lisen lifted a candle to light up the scene. Blood had puddled all around the woman’s upper body, the greatest amount around her head like a shiny, deep-red halo. Lisen’s stomach lurched, but she held its contents in check.

  “We need to get you out of here,” Korin said. “She may not have been alone.”

  As he said this, two guards arrive
d from elsewhere in the Keep, followed in short order by three more and Commander Tanres herself who went directly to Lisen, Korin and the body.

  “I don’t think I have to worry about my safety at the moment,” Lisen said softly to her spouse, gesturing to the gathering of guards.

  “My Liege, I take full responsibility,” Tanres said as she squatted down outside of the blood pool to study the assassin’s inert form.

  “Of course you do,” Lisen replied. “You always do. But we can discuss that later.”

  “Aye, my Liege,” Tanres said, her attention focused primarily on her assessment of Lisen’s dead attacker.

  “I want guards to check on the children and then to take up stations at the doors to all of the children’s rooms, including Elor’s,” Korin ordered.

  “Especially Elor’s,” Lisen added. “I want to know personally if he is still in his bedchamber upstairs, and then I want him to be sequestered there until I issue further instructions.”

  “Do you think…?” Korin began.

  “I don’t know what to think. Except I think I’d like to move into another room now, let the commander and her investigators do what they must.”

  “Of course,” Tanres said, looking up at Lisen. The commander rose, stepped over to the contingent of guards that continued to grow, slowly filling the room, and began issuing orders. Lisen paid little attention. The smell of the blood had begun to insinuate itself into her nostrils, and her stomach had begun to churn again.

  Korin helped guide his spouse from the room where the assassin lay into the private dining hall on the other side of the Keep. It was a neutral space and far removed from the turmoil still boiling in her office. After waiting while a guard cleared the hall and its adjoining kitchen as safe and another guard stationed herself at the door to the park outside, Korin escorted Lisen to her usual place, then sat down on one side of her while Corday took the other. Korin heard the sound of running feet moving up the stairs and into every other room in the palace. The Guard was locking the Keep down.