10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Laughing, Challen leaped the steps and grasped her friend's shoulders and pulled her to her feet. The two hugged and began a silly dance in the cramped aisles. Fortunately, she had closed the door when she entered the archives. Belten and Oyen couldn't see the First Concubine acting like a giddy little girl.

  "Oh, I could strangle Elzan!” Haneen blurted, when they had finally settled into the niche where they shared meals and studied together. “But I shouldn't talk that way, should I? It could be treason. All these years, I thought he was a scribe's son who couldn't decide what he wanted to do!"

  "Thank the Mother I wasn't the only one he fooled.” Challen shook her head. “I wish you could have been with me."

  "Not in the chamber, I hope."

  "Don't be silly. There was just so much they kept from me. So much that has been lost or hidden. Most people think the Sacred Marriage is all pleasure for the king, don't they?"

  "Well, of course. Beautiful, pampered young women brought to him at every solstice.” The young scribe frowned. “It's not?"

  "Elzan said he was warned, but it wasn't enough. It can't be described. It isn't all priestly talk, when they say the Mother inhabits the Bride. I was ... pushed aside. Given visions and messages and warnings, while the Mother ... she said she was purifying him. Preparing him for the days ahead. Haneen, the truth of the Sacred Marriage has been hidden. I'm sure it's the same with the Three. Until the priestly conventions and fancy phrasing are pushed aside, we won't find the truth to recover the Three and save Bainevah. Will you help me? Help us?"

  "Always. Ask to have me assigned as your personal scribe. Then I won't have to spend my time on others’ research projects.” A sparkle lit her eyes. “And won't Mohash and Terlok and all their friends be in a snit!"

  * * * *

  At mid-afternoon, Haneen left the archives to ask to borrow a scroll Cho'Mat had taken. Challen was alone when there was a knock on the archives door. A soldier in the uniform of the Host of the Ram opened the door and looked in.

  "Lady, we are to take you back to the palace,” he said, bowing slightly to her. “The prince's orders."

  "Of course.” Challen reached for her cloak, then paused to write a note to Haneen. “What happened to Belten and Oyen?” she asked, as the two new guards led her out to the sedan chair.

  "Their duty shift is over."

  "Oh.” She made a mental note to ask Elzan about things like schedules for guards and protocol. He was Crown Prince; she refused to embarrass him with little displays of ignorance.

  She was so caught up in reviewing what she and Haneen had found, it wasn't until she reached the palace and stepped out of the sedan chair that she noticed the change.

  The one that carried her to the Scribes Hall had a sapphire blue ram's head, Elzan's sigil. Each prince had his own gemstone. This sedan chair had no sigil at all and the bearers were not the same men, either.

  Silence is a tool and weapon, her father had cautioned her once. Silent and alert, gather details so your enemy does not know you are aware of him until you strike. Do not strike until you know you can break free.

  Something was very wrong, and Challen knew she had let herself fall into a trap. The soldier had said “the prince,” but he should have said “Crown Prince,” or “Prince Doni'Nebazz.” She was not going to Elzan.

  Worse, in the brighter light of the courtyard, Challen saw that the two men had no shadows.

  She let the soldiers lead her through doorways, up stairs, down hallways and prayed they would soon enter a portion of the palace she recognized, so she could flee and not make things worse by getting lost.

  "What's this?” a young male voice said.

  By his resemblance to Elzan, Challen knew the young man who stepped into the intersecting hallway ahead was a prince. He couldn't be more than seventeen, she decided, with the first fuzz of beard shadowing his cheeks. He wore riding leathers trimmed in fur and carried a heavy cape over one arm.

  "A new concubine, Highness,” the lead guard mumbled.

  "A new concubine?” The prince smiled as he looked Challen up and down. “When will you be available?"

  "I am First Concubine to Prince Doni'Nebazz.” Challen tried to sound affronted, not frightened. “No one touches me but him."

  "Elzan's concubine? What are you doing in this part of the palace?” He turned to the two guards. “You aren't—"

  The soldier leaped, drawing the long, double-edged dagger all guards wore indoors. Challen shrieked warning, but the prince had dropped backwards, slung his saddlebags off his shoulder and knocked the guard's blow aside.

  The man behind Challen lunged at her. She turned, jamming her elbow into his gut. His wide-eyed shock turned into fury and his eyes went black as he drew a long knife.

  "Lady!” the prince shouted, and swirled his cape off his shoulder into the face of the guard, blinding him. She yanked the dagger from his suddenly lax fingers. The prince turned to face the other guard who came at him now.

  Challen gripped the knife, knowing she was out of practice. It was one thing to practice with her father, using a wooden blade. Could she stand against a man determined to kill her, with a real blade that could draw her blood or his?

  "Run, Lady!” the prince shouted. “Guards! Ho, guards! Treason!” His voice cracked as the guard caught him in the gut and knocked the air from his lungs.

  Challen lunged at the man. Her blade hit the fire-toughened leather padding his shoulders and turned sideways, stabbing his neck. The man bellowed and twisted, knocking her off her feet.

  "Guards!” the prince shouted again. He ducked under the flailing man's arms and yanked the blade from Challen's hand. “Lady, run!” He put himself between her and both men. “Guards! Treason!"

  "Guards!” Challen shrieked, but she didn't run.

  The word of the Mother never fails, she heard her father say in multiple memories.

  If she was to be part of the continuing Prophecy, Challen realized, she would be protected. She would not be permitted to die. Why fear, when she had so many weapons at her disposal?

  "Too frightened?” the second man sneered. He shifted his knife to his other hand and advanced on her.

  The first man knocked the prince down. He outweighed him, a head taller than the boy who fought with everything he had.

  Fury wiped away Challen's fear.

  "Go back!” she ordered, putting iron into her voice. The soldier laughed. Challen narrowed her eyes and thrust all her will at him.

  His leather breastplate burst into flames. He took four more steps, raising the knife to plunge into her—then he shrieked unholy terror and stumbled backwards.

  The first man saw his partner burst into flame and jerked aside as he lurched across the corridor directly at him.

  "Guards!” the prince shouted, and propped himself up on one elbow. Blood spilled through the fingers of the hand pressed against his chest. “Treason!” he tried to roar, ending in a cough that brought blood from his mouth.

  "Guards! Treason!” Challen shrieked, and dropped to her knees next to the prince. “Take my hand. I am a healer."

  She kept part of her concentration on the guard stumbling down the corridor, blinded by the flames covering his body. His partner had vanished. The stink of burnt flesh filled the corridor in a greasy, grayish haze. The man tried to scream, but the flames leaped up to his face and hair and he reared back in agony. Challen imagined he had swallowed flame.

  What had she conjured?

  "What is your name, Highness?” she asked, and turned all her attention to the prince bleeding on the floor next to her.

  "Mynoch. Please, I don't want to die,” he whispered, and would have blushed in shame if he hadn't lost so much blood.

  "You will not. Now, listen to me.” Challen nearly burst into tears as a wave of palace guards poured down the corridor.

  "It's about time those slugs got here,” Mynoch whispered.

  "Indeed. Listen, my young hero. I will take you to the healing lands.�
�� She closed her eyes and called up the golden healing energy. Challen put all of herself into the effort, knowing she and the prince were safe now.

  Lady Mayar magically appeared with the palace healers, who took over the healing haze Challen held around Prince Mynoch. She had to grip Challen's shoulders and shake her to break through the tight focus necessary to heal the prince.

  "No. I can't. I have to—” Challen gasped, twisting to free herself of the woman's hold.

  "Enough, before you hurt yourself, child.” Lady Mayar wrapped her arms tight around the younger woman and bodily pulled her away from the wounded prince. “He is in good hands. Think of Elzan's worry, if you will not care for yourself."

  That broke through. Challen nodded and went limp. She tried to look over her shoulder to see the prince as Lady Mayar helped her stand. She couldn't see him for the bodies grouped around him and the smoke still filling the air.

  Challen's knees tried to fold only a few steps down the hall. She clutched at Lady Mayar's supporting hand. The journey passed in a disjointed series of images; a vague awareness of more stairs and several hallways. The lamps grew more numerous, the hallways wider, the paint on the walls more colorful.

  "I'm sorry,” she managed to say, fumbling at the wall to keep herself upright when her knees seemed to go boneless.

  "You overspent yourself, child. First at the temple and now on Mynoch. Sit.” Lady Mayar sounded almost amused.

  Challen let the woman guide her to a low couch in a narrow room that was pleasantly warm, decorated in bright colors, cozy with plants miraculously green. It seemed she only blinked and Lady Mayar returned with a cup of wine, which she pressed into Challen's hands. She sipped it and began choking.

  "Ah, now, just sit still and let yourself catch up,” the woman soothed. She smoothed her long robes under herself and sat next to her.

  "It's my fault,” Challen whispered.

  "Indeed it is not."

  "They were trying to ... they were taking me somewhere. Probably to their master. Prince Mynoch was in the wrong place."

  "He risked himself to help you, which is an amazing thing, considering the mother he had. Hush, child, and finish.” Lady Mayar tipped the cup up to Challen's lips again. “That's better,” she soothed, when the cup was finally empty.

  "If I had simply set fire to them when I realized what was happening—"

  "There is no such thing as ‘simply’ setting fire to someone,” she said, pressing one slim finger to her lips. “It takes concentration. I daresay you had little chance to gather your wits long enough to create the flame. Am I right?” She smiled and took her hand away when Challen nodded. “And, if you are like your mother, the talent comes more easily when you are irritated, rather than frightened."

  "I wish Mother were here.” Challen didn't feel the least bit ashamed of the soft moan that escaped her lips.

  "As do I. She could give the scribes an image ... Oh, what fools we have been. I know you have inherited your mother's gifts. If Naya was a mind scribe, then so must her daughter be. That man who escaped shall not be free for long."

  "What?"

  "Do you remember I told you how your mother put images into the heads of those trained to receive them?” She stood and caught a hand under Challen's elbow, making her stand. “Naya was an asset when she served among the horse soldiers during that final campaign at Bayitia, against Dreva."

  "My Mother was a horse soldier?” Challen gasped.

  "She worked with their spies. Naya took jobs in the enemy camps, washing dishes and clothes and cooking food, to study the commanders and listen to their plans. Then, she would put what she knew into images and send them to the scribes who could receive them, who would tell the King."

  "You think I can do the same? I've never been tested."

  "Yes, and more fools we. Or perhaps that is all to the good. If your enemies knew you could do such a thing, they might not have tried to kidnap you. Death would be safer for them."

  They stepped out into the hallway, turned to the right and walked only a few paces down to a door on the opposite side. “These are your rooms now,” Lady Mayar explained. “Across the hall from mine."

  "They are?” Challen knew she sounded rather pathetic, and tried to blame her scrambled wits on her shock and the wine.

  "I wanted you next to me, but I realized Elzan wouldn't be comfortable. Nebazz always insisted I come to his rooms because mine were next to his mother's rooms. The walls are too thick to hear anything, but men are so easily intimidated.” Her eyes sparkled, prompting Challen to laugh, though the sound hurt her head a little. “That's better.” She tapped on the door with a freshly painted blue ram's head on the lintel. It swung open and O'klan gaped to see Challen standing there.

  "Lady—come in, Priestess,” he said, bowing as he stepped backwards to usher Challen and Lady Mayar into the suite.

  "O'klan, someone tried to kidnap Lady Challen,” Lady Mayar said as they sat down. “We need a receiver scribe, to make images to identify the men who attacked her."

  "Immediately.” The eunuch bowed and hurried out the door.

  "If I inherited my Mother's gift,” Challen couldn't resist saying.

  "I'm sure you did."

  An hour later, Challen sat back amazed and stared at the accurate sketch of the soldier who had escaped. She wasn't quite sure how it had been done. She had felt an odd tingling inside her head, not quite in her sinuses, but behind her eyes and stretching behind her ears when the two scribes entered the room. They had smiled when they saw her, acting for all the world like she was someone they had expected.

  When Lady Mayar commanded, Challen calmed and centered herself as her father had taught her, and recreated the face of the guard in her mind. The tingling faded to an occasional tickle behind her ears. One scribe closed his eyes and rested his hands on his partner's shoulders, and that man began to sketch furiously. In moments, the face had appeared on the parchment.

  "This one is not a guard, Lady Priestess,” the younger scribe said. “I have seen him often around the palace, but he does not wear a uniform.” He glanced at Challen and his frown of concentration eased. “Lady Naya was my teacher. I thank the Mother you are her daughter in truth."

  "Thank you,” Challen whispered.

  "You're safe now, Lady,” O'klan said. He had stood behind her the whole time, his hands resting on her shoulders.

  "From now on, I will question every guard who comes for me, and never go anywhere without you,” Challen promised.

  "Indeed, you will not,” the eunuch scolded. “I will put a gold chain around your pretty little ankle and the other end around my wrist and I will not let go until I chain you to your prince and he will not let go until he gives you to me again."

  "How boring."

  That earned a chuckle from Lady Mayar and grins from both scribes. Challen felt the last bit of frightened tension leave when the scribes packed up their ink, pens and parchments and departed. Lady Mayar left to take the sketches to the King. Challen would likely have to repeat her story many more times before this matter was closed—if it ever closed—but for now she was safe and could rest.

  She sighed and stretched out on the couch. O'klan locked the door and sat on the end of the couch to watch her.

  "What are you thinking now, Lady?"

  "I wish Elzan truly was a simple scribe and nobody cared what we were to each other and the Mother had no need for us."

  "The world would be a much darker place if that were true."

  "I know.” She sighed again. Then a faint smile brightened her eyes. “But Elzan holds me in the dark, and kisses me, and we keep each other warm. O'klan, I'm so tired of being cold!"

  "Put on more clothes, silly girl.” O'klan bustled into the next room; probably her dressing room. “How can you become queen if you don't have the sense to stay warm?” Then he let loose his big, booming laugh that threatened to shake the walls and brightened the very air.

  "Queen?” She stared at nothi
ng as the idea reverberated through her mind. For the first time, the word actually seemed real, and to apply to her.

  "Of course, queen. Your prince is the Crown Prince. If I am any judge of young lovers, you hold his heart in your hand and his eyes will never stray. He will make you his wife as soon as the law permits. You will be Queen of Bainevah."

  "Oh. My.” Challen shivered a little, but she smiled.

  She was still smiling when Shazzur arrived. O'klan led him to the room Challen had designated her workroom. There were shelves to fill with scrolls, and a long table and wall space to assemble her loom, which had been in storage in Shazzur's house.

  "Have you heard how Prince Mynoch is?” Challen asked after she had hugged her father, glad for the bruising tightness of his embrace.

  "Amazing is how I would describe him. Did you know his mother was a diplomatic gift from Chadrasheer?” Shazzur said as he sat down, holding onto her hand. “He is a hero, now. Elzan is in a quandary because of it. He owes Mynoch for protecting you, and yet his brother very clearly opposes Elzan. Mynoch has always been a quiet boy, staying in Shadrash's shadow. He may just come out a better man for today's events."

  "You think Shadrash was the instigator, Father?"

  "He is my first suspect, yes. It will be interesting how palace politics re-align themselves in the next few days.” He squeezed her hand. “The place is in an uproar now over the audacity of your enemies, on the very heels of the Sacred Marriage. You and Elzan have impressed quite a few people."

  "I killed a man with fire, and I nearly let a boy die to protect me!"

  "No, not for that, child.” He shared a longsuffering look with O'klan. “Elzan's devotion to you. When he heard, he wanted to fly from the Council, but he didn't. He made decisions and gave orders and he stayed at his post, though it visibly tormented him to leave your care to someone else. The people are most impressed, both that you have captured his heart so completely, and that he puts Bainevah first despite his love for you.” He chuckled. “He insisted rather vehemently that I see to your welfare.” He caught hold of her hand and held it, making Challen turn to look at him. The Seer gazed long into her eyes.