Cethe

by Becca Abbott

  “It’s harassment and nothing less. They know Grandfather doesn’t permit h’nara hunting.”

  “This isn’t the usual set of bastards. They’re fresh from Zelenov and I’d swear their commander is just waiting for the excuse to do as he wishes, Covenant be damned! If Grandfather were back, he’d send them off quickly enough, but we’ve not heard a word of him since before you went charging off, accusing him of abducting… ” Chris broke off, looking over Michael’s shoulder to Stefn before fixing an accusing glare on Michael. “Which brings us to — what the bloody hell has been going on? Where is the Old Man? Did you find him? And don’t think I’ve forgotten — you hit me!”

  “In the delta, yes and I’m sorry.” Michael nudged his horse forward. “You left the house unguarded with Hunters in the area?”

  “Of course not! Marin is in charge. Still, I’ll feel much better when we’re home again.”

  “You say these Hunters are from Zelenov?”

  “They’ve just been stationed at Creighton Abbey.”

  Michael frowned, stopping his horse to stare at Chris. “Creighton? Since when?”

  “Since two weeks ago, according to my information. Rumor says the Celestials didn’t care for Abbot Bell’s “soft” attitude toward h’nara so he was sent to Zelenov for prayer and reflection.” Chris smiled bitterly. “They’ve declared the Abbey a Cathedral and replaced him with a bishop. I hear his sermons are filled with lies about us.”

  Michael didn’t like the sound of it. Creighton had been a mid-sized abbey serving a collection of far-flung rural villages. Why go to the trouble and expense of upgrading it? “Who’s the new bishop?”

  “Merith Rayfir.”

  Michael did not recognize the name, but he intended to make inquiries as soon as he returned to Shia. The notion of a new Hunter presence in the long-neglected western hinterlands made him uneasy.

  He fended off Chris’ questions during the ride back, frustrating his brother to the point of sputtering silence. He needed more sleep, damn it! Where the hell was the old man? Had Michael been lucky enough to catch him with the wave?

  Stefn, whose sleep had been natural and refreshing, was noticeably alert. He said nothing, riding slightly behind the brothers. More than once, the feeling of eyes on his back made Michael look over his shoulder, usually to catch Stefn looking quickly away.

  Shortly before sunset, they climbed up onto the causeway, tired and hungry, only to find Hunters milling about at the bottom of the hill. Chris swore and rode to confront them. At once, the soldiers formed a line, forcing Chris to draw up short.

  “By the Covenant, you have no jurisdiction on this land,” he shouted at them. “Where’s your commander?”

  “He ain’t here,” one of the Hunters shouted back. “He went up to see His Grace. You can all just wait ‘til he’s done.”

  Michael was tired and angry at their presumption. How dare they set foot, uninvited, on Arranz land? He turned his head and murmured a spell. It was a small witch-charm, nothing more, but it was enough to spook the Hunters’ horses to stamping and rearing. In the ensuing commotion, he nodded to Chris, who grinned. They rode through the confusion and on up the hill.

  Four Hunters waited on the drive before the mansion’s front door. An officer wearing the stars of a lieutenant saw them and reached for his sword, striding forward to meet them. “Hold!” His gaze glanced off Michael’s hair. “Your Grace, I presume?”

  Michael didn’t dismount, but looked down at the lieutenant coldly. “You’re in violation of the First Covenant, Hunter,” he said. “Take your men and leave our land at once!”

  “Your Grace, we believe there are Penitents hiding in the marsh and… ”

  “Irrelevant. The First Covenant makes no exceptions. This land is sovereign by order and decree of St. Aramis himself. Chasing down escaped slaves is hardly an excuse for breaking the law.”

  “Slaves, Your Grace?” The lieutenant was offended. “They’re nothing of the kind! They are Penitents, sinners who made a solemn vow of service to the Church in exchange for salvation! Simply because, in a moment of weakness and sin, a few seek to break that vow… ”

  “A vow they were tortured into making!” burst out Chris.

  The Hunter’s jaw tightened. “For some h’nara, sir, the evil desires caused by their naran blood is the torture! In the end, such fugitives always thank us for saving them from themselves.”

  “I doubt that,” said Michael. “Regardless, I insist you leave at once.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the lieutenant replied, “but I must insist… ”

  “That was not a request, Lieutenant!” Michael turned to Chris. “Summon the guard.”

  “Finally,” muttered Chris. With a short nod, he wheeled his horse around and rode off, disappearing around the side of the house. The lieutenant frowned, watching him go. “Your Grace… ”

  “You are in violation of the First Covenant,” Michael repeated. “You will leave now, or under armed escort. The choice is yours.”

  The officer thought about it and reached the correct conclusion. He didn’t much like it, judging from his sour expression, but he bowed stiffly. “As you wish, Your Grace. Rest assured, however, I will bring this matter to the attention of the Council. We will not tolerate your defiance forever!” Shouting to his men, they mounted up and trotted off.

  Chris returned in time to see them disappear through the gates and down the hill. He looked disappointed at their easy capitulation. “They’re getting bolder. Next time, though, they may not mistake you for Grandfather.”

  “Next time, the old man had better be here, where he belongs.”

  Chris gave him a puzzled look, but Michael wasn’t in the mood to explain. He yawned.

  The front door flew open and Marin came out. He carried a large pike and scowled after the Hunters. A wide-eyed Annie peeked out from behind him. “Are they gone?”

  “Aye.”

  She flew out and down the steps to the drive. “Thank Loth, you’re safe! When we heard about the wave, I was so frightened!”

  Michael, dismounting, reeled under her exuberant hug. “Of course, we’re all right! See? Not only are we unharmed, we’re starving and filthy and in desperate need of your domestic talents.”

  “Ooh!” Her eyes lit up. Michael watched her gaze slide to Stefn who, in spite of his dishevelment, was still damnably pretty. “I’ll have Betty fix something straightaway and have water heated for baths. What in the world happened to you? Did you get caught in it? Was it terrifying? It’s so strange, a wave this time of year. Betty said it was an evil omen, then those horrid soldiers came. What did they… ”

  Michael let her words wash over them and hustle them up the steps, into the house. She ran off to see to the servants, still calling questions after him, while he continued up the stairs to Stefn’s room.

  “In,” he ordered.

  Stefn walked through the door without looking back. Michael shut it after him. He reached automatically for the key, then realized he didn’t have it. The hell with it. He continued down the corridor to his own room and was asleep when the footmen brought the bathtub.

  PART VIII

  …It has rained for two weeks straight, my dear sister, and we are near to our wits’ end here. The entire crop is ruined, the wheat flattened, and grain rotting from the wet. Never have I seen such foul weather! Our tenants will hardly have the means to feed themselves through the winter, never mind pay their rents and taxes! If they cannot pay, rest assured, we will be hard-pressed to come up with our taxes and tithes.

  The Church says the endless storms are Loth’s judgment for tolerating the heathen nara in our midst. I am beginning to think they are right. We did not have such vile luck before they arrived in our midst! There are five such tenants and several of that ilk in service on the estate. I am seriously considering evicting them all in hopes of reversing this ill-fortune!

  Excerpt from a letter from Lord Langston of Belmont

  to his
sister, Lady Colford of Withwillow,

  Year of Loth’s Dominion 1228

  Severyn wasted no time in seeking an audience with his brother. The answer to his polite request came back at once: refusal. Arami was “too busy” this week. Would he kindly come back later?

  No, he would not. Severyn immediately strode through the palace to the royal wing where his brother and sister-in-law had their lavish, private apartments. The guards made only a half-hearted attempt to stop him. Such was the low esteem in which they held his wretched brother. Severyn knew he should be encouraged by the fact that they were more than willing to take his orders, but for some reason, it only made him sad.

  On his way up the stairs, however, he met the Queen coming down. With a shock, he recognized the man accompanying her.

  “Good afternoon, Eleanor,” he said, stepping aside on the landing.

  “Severyn!” she exclaimed, looking none too pleased to see him. “I didn’t expect to see you here! Weren’t you going to Tantagrel?”

  “Soon.” Severyn bowed and looked to her companion. “Good afternoon, Your Eminence. It’s been quite a while since you’ve graced Lothlain Palace with a visit.”

  Mazril Locke, Archbishop of Tanyrin, and Severyn’s brother-in-law, smiled, extending a lean, white hand. Severyn kissed the air above the large signet ring.

  “Since the Conclave was in Lothmont, how could I miss the opportunity to visit my dear sister and brother?” the cleric asked.

  Locke and his sister did not bear much resemblance. While she was small and thin, with wispy brown hair, he was tall and well-built, his hair black as midnight and eyes just as dark. They both shared strong, regular features, but where it gave her a sharp, unpleasant appearance, it imparted upon the archbishop a look of strength and erudition.

  “And how do you find Arami?” asked Severyn, hair rising on the back of his neck.

  Mazril Locke was a Dragon of Loth, a knightmage reputed to have enormous lothrian power. There were those who said he commanded the forces of fire, air and water with the same strength as the vanished naragi, but Severyn had personally never seen a demonstration of such magic.

  Brother and sister exchanged glances. Eleanor’s lips thinned. “As you would expect,” she said tartly. “I don’t know why you’re going up there, Severyn. He’ll likely be in no condition to speak to you!”

  “I find my brother’s vice as unfortunate as you do,” replied Severyn honestly. “It might be in the best interest not only of Arami, but of us all, should he be deprived of the foul stuff.”

  Eleanor looked surprised. She opened her mouth, but it was her brother who spoke. “An admirable suggestion, Your Highness. How would you propose to accomplish it?”

  “Finding his source would be a good start,” replied Severyn. “The stuff is illegal, after all.”

  “An interesting suggestion,” said Locke. “Have you any ideas? Do you know where he’s getting it?”

  “No,” admitted Severyn. “What of you, Eleanor? Has he ever confided that to you?”

  “Of course not!” she sniffed. “He knows very well what I think of his dreadful habit!”

  “By the way,” Locke said, “I understand congratulations are in order!”

  “You’ve heard then? Miss Eldering has graciously consented to be my wife.”

  “Whatever possessed you to choose her?” Eleanor demanded. “Amanda Sheldrake is imminently eligible and wealthy besides.”

  “And a woman of great generosity to the Church, as well,” added the Archbishop. “Her brother is Bishop of Aganlough, a cousin and a man well-positioned on the Celestial Council.”

  “Have you seen Miss Eldering?” asked Severyn.

  Eleanor sniffed, but Locke grinned ruefully. “I have, indeed. The Earl was Sworn to the Church, so naturally, I presided over Miss Stefanie’s Confirmation when she turned eighteen. A charming girl, absolutely delightful.”

  “I agree. I have nothing against Mrs. Sheldrake, of course, but being merely Crown Prince, the matter of my wife is, fortunately, left to me.”

  “Really?” Eleanor replied tartly.

  “That is not to disparage the choice of the Church in their selection of Arami’s wife,” Severyn hastened to add, bowing. “How could I find fault with such a paragon of beauty and wifely loyalty as you, Your Majesty?”

  Her eyes snapped, but Severyn kept his expression as sincere as he could manage.

  “Bah,” she said finally. “Come along, Mazril! I have several appointments yet this morning. Severyn, my dear, if you will excuse us?”

  “Until we meet again, Your Highness?” Locke bowed, smiling apologetically.

  Severyn watched him follow his irate sister down the remainder of the stairs to vanish through the door into her quarters. Then he headed on up to his brother’s apartment.

  Arami wasn’t any happier to see him than the Queen had been. Severyn found him still abed, clutching a snifter in his shaking hand.

  “Dammit! I said no visitors!” he snarled when Severyn came in.

  “I need to talk to you before I return to Tantagrel,” replied Severyn, ignoring him. “Loth, Arami! Can’t you put that damned thing down long enough to talk to me?”

  “The hell with you!” was his brother’s loving reply. “I haven’t had any for three days! Say your piece and get the hell out!”

  Arami looked terrible. Pasty-white, sweating, he nonetheless had wrapped himself in several heavy quilts and blankets. He fumbled with his matches, finally succeeding in lighting one.

  “What did Locke want?”

  “Eh? Ask him.”

  “He won’t tell me.”

  Severyn waited impatiently for Arami to heat the pelthe. The king took a deep drag of the vapors, then fell back against his pillows, eyes half-closed. He sighed gustily.

  “He wants to deploy Hunter units at all the abbeys.”

  “Did you agree?”

  “Of course. Why should I fund more troops to protect his damned Churches?”

  “There’s no need for more troops, Arami! You know the Council will only levy more tithes against the people!”

  Arami gave him a sullen scowl.

  “You know the situation in the East. He can’t afford to maintain his armies there and he’s trying to foist them off on us! You haven’t already signed their Petition, have you?”

  “No, it ain’t been written up yet.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I said I would.”

  “I’ll lend you two thousand gold.”

  Arami’s eyes flew open. A crafty look appeared on his sallow features. “Three,” he said.

  “Fine. Three. But no more, damn it!”

  “Eleanor will bitch at me.”

  “So?”

  Arami frowned and reached for another match.

  “Direct the Petition to me at Tantagrel,” urged Severyn. “I’m commander of the Royal Guard, after all. Suggest they negotiate directly with me for more troops.”

  “Oh, that will go over well,” Arami said sarcastically.

  “So? What do you care?”

  Arami thought about it. A tiny, unpleasant smile appeared on his face. “Three thousand? They couldn’t very well hold funds over me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Three thousand won’t last very long, though.”

  “It would if you stopped using that stuff.”

  “Mind your own business,” sneered Arami. “If you don’t want me to sign their Petition, then give me the money and leave me alone.”

  “Where do you get it, anyway?”

  A crafty look appeared on his brother’s face. “As if I’d tell you,” he jeered. “Don’t forget, little brother. I’m the king! Now — since you’re here, you might as well write me out the cheque.”

  Severyn, three thousand gold poorer, had hoped to leave straightaway for Tantagrel and his long-postponed duties. Alas, infected by pelthe and buoyant goodwill, the next day, Arami announced a ball to be given in his honor. At first, the kin
g insisted it be in celebration of his betrothal. Reminded of Miss Eldering’s recent loss, however, he quickly declared it a birthday ball, never mind Severyn’s birthday was still two months away.

  While there was no question but that Severyn would attend, his friends cravenly begged off, claiming the need to visit their respective parishes.

  “My brother has been in charge, unsupervised, for the past three months,” Eric pointed out. “Loth alone knows how much damage he’s done in that time. We’ll meet you back in Tantagrel in a week or two. Oh, yes, happy birthday.”

  “Cowards,” he fired back, but he could not begrudge them the time when he asked so much of them already.

  The ball was as lavish and excessive as he’d feared. Arami had probably spent at least a thousand of Severyn’s money on the decorations and food. As he and his brother stood in the receiving line, it appeared as if every nobleman and court official in the West had come.

  “You are prodigiously popular, brother,” muttered Arami after an hour.

  “You invited them, did you not?” Severyn smiled and nodded to a small, plump woman introduced as the Lady Leonie Mortimer and her husband, Sir Charles of Van.

  “I didn’t expect them all to come, and at such short notice, too. There are more people here than at my last birthday fete!” Peeved, the king greeted a couple more guests, then abruptly disappeared.

  Severyn smiled apologetically at the dismayed old gentleman left bowing to an empty spot. “His Majesty is indisposed. So good to see you again, Lord Climer.”

  Most of these people knew exactly what was wrong with Arami. Most had ended up in Severyn’s Little Court at one time or another, their Petitions shoved aside by the king.

  When the receiving line disbanded, Severyn made no effort to hunt down his brother. He intended to make good use of this unasked-for ball to test the waters of discontent. Although not as adept at court-speak as some, he was soon listening to the frankest conversation yet from Tanyrin’s aristocracy: the disgust with Arami’s vices, the worry over high taxes, and a growing unease at the ambitions of the Church.