King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Kal tried to imagine such a thing. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Miss Onika has her honor maidens, and now she will have plenty of guards. But she also needs someone to watch her back. To listen and be vigilant. Who seeks to befriend her? Who despises her? Who fears her? I want to know everything. And you will tell me.”

  Hope surged within Kal. That he would be able to remain close to both Wilek and Onika . . . “So I am really more of a onesent.”

  “Yes, and my spy. But to the world, I shall call you High Shield of Arman, a new office created for the protection of the True Prophet. I want everyone to know that Miss Onika is revered and special to our realm. She is the reason we lived through the Five Woes! She deserves the very best we have to offer, even my own man—my best man. As High Shield of Arman, no one would dare cross you.”

  Kal doubted that very much, but he cared deeply about Wilek and Onika, and dared not refuse. “What about you? An attack was just made on your life. You will need a proper shield.”

  Wilek sighed. “I must give Harton the chance.”

  Kal had misgivings about Harton. “Can you trust him?”

  “I believe so. He acted as my shield in your absence and did as well as anybody could. He saved my life against Barthos, as I’ve told you. It would be wrong to pass him up.”

  “His morals are questionable,” Kal said. “And being Rurekan doesn’t help.”

  “That’s why I intend to make Novan Heln my backman. At your word, he is as moral as a Sarikarian.”

  Kal chuckled. “I know that to be true. Heln is a fine man. I feel better already knowing he will be Harton’s shadow.” And conscience. “But if I sense that I am at all putting Miss Onika at risk, you must promise to replace me.”

  “Fair enough,” Wilek said. “Let me know if you become concerned. And I will talk with Captain Alpress. He will not bother you again.”

  Kal returned to his tent and found Miss Onika and Rustian waiting outside with Jhorn.

  At first glance most people assumed that Jhorn was a dwarf, but the man had lost his lower legs in the war. They now ended just above the knee, where his pantlegs were sewn shut over the stumps. Jhorn had a dozen or so hair twists that hung down to his shoulders and a beard he had braided into one long plait that coiled like a pig’s tail. He was sitting on a red cushion on the ground outside Kal’s tent, holding a set of glossy carved canes across his lap. These were used to vault himself around.

  The sight of the legless man slowed Kal’s steps, instantly reminding him of the war and worse—filling him with guilt and fear. He wanted to leave, hide from anything that forced him to face his own failures, but today was a day for confessions. And he owed Jhorn a big one. Had Onika told the man already? How Kal had lost Grayson the day the Woes hit?

  “Sir Kalenek!” Jhorn said, smiling. “I am glad to see you on your feet. Onika has been concerned for your well-being.”

  “Only Onika?” Jhorn must want to kill Kal for having lost the boy.

  Jhorn waved a hand. “Oh, I didn’t want you to die either.”

  “Sir Kalenek.” Onika reached out, feeling the air. “Are you well?”

  Kal took her hand and squeezed it. “I am here, Miss Onika. I was only grazed. You felt the scars on my face and will know what I mean when I say the wounds there were far greater.”

  “I wish you had not been wounded at all.”

  “It was my fault, but I have rectified it as best I could. Come inside, both of you, and I will explain fully.” Kal did not want the entire camp to hear his news.

  They entered Kal’s tent. Jhorn leapt through the small space with ease and settled onto his red cushion on the floor beside the fire. Rustian led Onika to the cot, and Kal helped her sit. Kal remained standing between them. In Onika’s presence, his nose suddenly acquired an increased sensitivity to the rank smell of his lodgings. Perhaps he should have remained outdoors in the fresh air. Best get on with it so that Miss Onika could leave as soon as possible.

  “I have resigned as Sâr Wilek’s shield,” he said. “My affliction, as you once called it, Miss Onika, is a danger that nearly cost him his life.”

  “I am sorry, Sir Kalenek,” Onika said. “I know how much you care for Sâr Wilek. But you did what you had to, and that is admirable. Honesty is the first step to freedom.”

  “So you agree with the physician, then, that a life of peace is all that’s left for me?”

  “Why would any man seek a life of violence?” she asked.

  Rustian stalked over to Kal, rubbed against his leg, and purred. Kal stroked the dune cat’s back. “Violence is the only life I’ve ever known.”

  “I don’t know what Arman has planned for you, Sir Kalenek,” Jhorn said. “But he wants to help you heal from your pain. There is no reason to suffer the way you do. I can help you, if you’d only let me.”

  “Another time,” Kal said, not in the mood for Jhorn’s mystic theories on reliving his past. Certainly not when he had one more confession to go.

  Jhorn shrugged as if Kal were only bringing misery upon himself. Perhaps he was.

  “What will you do now?” Onika asked.

  “Assist you, if you will allow it,” Kal said. “Sâr Wilek has asked me to be your onesent. I am to choose a squadron of guards to protect you while I act as your eyes.”

  “It’s about time,” Jhorn said. “That brother of his has me most concerned. He’d like nothing better than to make Onika his mistress.”

  “Jhorn,” Onika said.

  Jhorn folded his arms. “I’m not afraid to say what must be said.”

  “I promise that Sâr Janek will cause her no problems,” Kal said, realizing his promise would mean very little after his next confession. “Now I must say something to you, Master Jhorn. I don’t know whether or not Miss Onika has told you, but I have searched far and wide and have found no trace of Grayson. I take full responsibility for having lost him.”

  Jhorn’s expression stiffened, like chiseled marble, and his words seemed forced. “Onika says this was Arman’s will, so I am determined to trust the God, though it tears me up inside.”

  “You raised the boy,” Kal said. “He is like a son to you.”

  “No, Sir Kalenek. It’s more than that. He is my son.”

  “But you said . . . How?” Kal asked.

  “Years ago I worked as one of Rosârah Laviel’s guards. She and Rogedoth made me an offer, paid me handsomely to carry on an intimate relationship with her sister Darlis—no questions asked. Weren’t no chore to me—the woman was a beauty and I was a foolish young soldier. Thought myself blessed by the gods to have drawn such an assignment. I had no understanding of what they were trying to do.”

  “And what was that?” Kal asked.

  “Rogedoth had heard the legend of the root child. He used his younger daughter as an experimental subject, made her take evenroot while she and I carried on. And when she got pregnant, he made her take root then too. And that’s where the real damage is done, turns out. Root affects the child in the womb, making it grow faster. And, as Rogedoth hoped, gives the babe special abilities.”

  “So when you took Grayson from the sick ward . . .” Kal said, recalling Jhorn’s story of abducting the boy from Rosârah Laviel.

  “I was rescuing my own son. I knew by then how they meant to use him. I couldn’t let them. Which is why I didn’t want to come with you to the Seffynaw. I was worried Rogedoth and Laviel would recognize me and guess who Grayson really was. But Empress Inolah told me they were gone, so I came.”

  And found Grayson gone. “Are you certain the boy has powers?” Kal asked.

  “Oh yes, though I’m not sure they’re as impressive as Rogedoth had hoped they’d be. You saw how the water didn’t affect him,” Jhorn said of the time Grayson had fallen into the poisoned red lake. “Also, he can speak any language—whether or not he’s ever heard it before. He can see into the Veil, actually enter it. I’ve trained him to pretend he can’t so that mantics and shadir
won’t notice him, but sometimes the creatures there take him by surprise. Shadir are beyond ugly, in their natural form.”

  Kal knew that much. “So the whole time we traveled with Priestess Jazlyn, he could see her great shadir?”

  “Yes,” Jhorn said. “And that beast was by far the most powerful shadir Grayson had ever seen—that he remembered, anyhow. Rogedoth had a great shadir. I saw it years ago when I’d taken evenroot with Darlis. Grayson might have seen it as a baby.”

  The news floored Kal. When he’d heard that Rogedoth was a mantic, he reasoned that the man must have had a shadir. But he’d never considered the Pontiff had bonded with a great.

  Kal would have to make sure Wilek knew this right away.

  “Sâr Wilek thinks Grayson might be aboard the Vespara,” Kal said. “He has sent out several ships to find both the Vespara and Pontiff Rogedoth’s Amarnath. If Grayson is aboard either, we will find him eventually.”

  Jhorn met Kal’s gaze, his expression grave. “If Grayson is aboard any ship with mantics, Sir Kalenek, it might be too late.”

  Wilek

  I am honored, Your Highness.” Novan bowed and departed the tent.

  Wilek took a deep breath. He could scarcely believe all that had happened since coming to the island. Losing Kal that morning had been a terrible blow, but it had all gone much smoother than he would have thought possible. Harton had eagerly accepted the promotion to High Shield, and Novan Heln seemed just as enthusiastic about serving as Wilek’s backman. Wilek was glad of it, but still sore over the situation. Why would Arman let this happen? Why not heal Kal? The man deserved healing ten times over, in Wilek’s opinion.

  Dendrick poked his head into the doorway of Wilek’s tent. “The empress is still waiting, Your Highness,” he said.

  Sands alive, he’d forgotten he’d summoned Inolah. There were simply too many issues demanding his attention. “Send her in.” Once he dealt with this final thread, the entire ordeal involving Kal’s resignation would be patched up.

  A moment later Inolah arrived, looking completely exhausted. Her pregnant belly seemed bigger than ever, and Wilek wondered if he might be assuming too much in asking her here now.

  “Are you certain you have time to see me?” she asked.

  Her teasing tone brought a smile to Wilek’s face. “Forgive me, sister. Just when I start to think I am clearing away parts of the workload, a host of new problems falls into their place.”

  Inolah eased herself onto the chair across from his. “If you are so busy, I can’t imagine why you would waste time talking with me.”

  “It is purely selfish. I have news and a proposition.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, but first the news. In order to make it clear to everyone how much I regard and trust the prophetess Onika, I have given her my High Shield. Sir Kalenek Veroth will serve her now and take charge of her personal guard.”

  “You feel she needs such protection?”

  “I do. There has been grumbling about her already. If we do not find land soon after we depart, I will trust her word above any other. Many will think that foolish and will panic. I fear she might become a target for those wishing to send me a message.”

  “But why Kal? There are dozens of other decorated soldiers you could have chosen.”

  “Well, now. This next part stays between us.” And he told her about Kal’s malady and how this “promotion” and change of duties was Wilek’s way of keeping him close. “He is too wise to force into retirement, and I cannot do without his friendship and counsel.”

  “Poor Kal,” Inolah said. “I knew that he had suffered losses from the war and that he’d been hurt, but I had no idea it ran so deep.”

  “He cannot abide our sympathy, Nolah, as I’m sure you can imagine. Now, whether that fool son of yours knows it or not, you also are far too valuable an asset to ignore. I would like you to be Miss Onika’s companion.”

  “That’s all? Seems little for so valuable an asset.”

  “It’s very important. She is the True Prophet who has been foretold for centuries. She is young and beautiful and very outspoken, and I must protect her in every way I can.”

  “How can I refuse? With a new baby coming, I will likely be too busy for anything more taxing.”

  He hoped he wasn’t taking advantage of her. The pool of people he could trust was small, indeed. “I have one more request, though I don’t think it will tax you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What else could there be?”

  “Our young cousin, the Duke of Canden, Oli Agoros. He may not look it, but I suspect he is suffering greatly.” Wilek told her about the night their father had sacrificed them to Barthos, who had turned out to be a cheyvah beast. “Oli lost an arm in the fray, yet I am unscathed. He is aimless and morose. He has no purpose, even though I put him on the Wisean Council. His family turned traitor to the crown, he has abandoned his friends—claiming to despise them—and he thinks shadir are haunting him with the intention of feasting on his soul.”

  “Shadir?”

  “He was part of the mantic cult I told you about. This was another reason he sought to end his life by volunteering as a sacrifice to Barthos. But, Inolah, he is a clever man, funny. I really like him. He could be an asset to the realm if we can pull him back from the abyss, so to speak.”

  “So you want me to fix him.”

  “His mother has abandoned him. Your son has cast you aside. I thought . . .” He shrugged.

  “Oh, I see,” Inolah said. “You thought we might fix each other. Well, for you, brother, I shall try. But in my experience, young men don’t much appreciate strange old women butting into their business, even if they are distant relations.”

  “Which is why I intend to place him under Kal on Miss Onika’s staff. Kal will find some official use for him. You make sure he shows up each day.”

  “Between Kal and me, the young man doesn’t stand a chance,” Inolah said.

  Another problem potentially solved. “Thank you, Inolah.”

  “I do not look forward to more sailing.”

  “It is a great disappointment,” Wilek confessed.

  “How long will we remain on the island?”

  “Another night, at least, though likely two. I must wait for your son’s answer before determining which Armanian people will remain here. For now, we are refilling all the freshwater casks and gathering as much fruit and game as this island has to offer. Some of the commoners have requested grass for weaving baskets and mats, so I’ve let groups come ashore to cut it.”

  “I hesitate to add more to your list,” Inolah said, “but I feel you should be aware of the growing problems between Rurekau and Tenma. It is rather juvenile, I’m afraid, but will explain why Ulrik refuses to leave his ship.”

  “Do not apologize. Understanding his position would help me a great deal.”

  “It began innocently enough,” Inolah said. “A couple of Rurekan sailors requested that, Tennish or Rurekan, the young boys help out around the ship to keep them busy and out of mischief. Ulrik found this a reasonable request and commanded that it happen. High Queen Jazlyn heard about it and reversed his order for her people—though there were only three Tennish boys involved. She claimed that her people were passengers, invited by the emperor, and need not work.”

  “Seems petty,” Wilek said.

  “Ulrik was angry, but admirably let the matter go. This left the three Tennish boys bored with nothing to do, so they began helping around the ship anyway, in spite of the High Queen’s command. It seemed for a while as if the priestess would let this pass. Then Tennish women began seducing Rurekan sailors. Before anyone realized what was going on, nearly half the members of the crew had been tattooed as slavs under the control of the High Queen.”

  Wilek shivered and massaged the back of his neck, where he still bore the tattoo of a Magonian slav. “How awful.”

  “This left Ulrik’s crew divided against itself—half loyal to their emperor, the other ha
lf at the mercy of the Tennish queen. Ulrik did nothing for over a week. When Tenma’s founders’ day came along, he hosted a banquet in the High Queen’s honor. While he entertained her and her people and lavished them with praise, he had also ordered a search of the ship. His men seized every bit of evenroot they could find in the High Queen’s cabin and added it to his own stash of powder, tubers, and plants he has hidden in a secret place.”

  The hairs on Wilek’s arms stood on end. “Grounds for war, from a Tennish perspective, especially considering how rare evenroot is now.” The hallucinogen had been valuable to mantics before, but now that they were at sea and could grow no more, it was priceless.

  “The High Queen declared war on Rurekau, only now she claims she does not have enough evenroot to do any serious magic. Ulrik is too paranoid to leave his ship for fear she will find the evenroot in his absence, nor will he permit her to come ashore.”

  “Wouldn’t he be better off with her gone?”

  “I think so, but he is smitten with her. She claims that Rurekau is abusing her people and threatening their way of life, but she cannot be trusted. Her shadir is a great. The power it can wield . . .” Inolah shook her head. “Together they caused Mount Lâhat’s eruption. They killed Nazer. They destroyed Lâhaten and all who could not flee fast enough. She and her creature are ruthless. I am not sorry that Ulrik has taken her evenroot. I wish he would destroy it all.”

  “The High Queen will find no sympathy from me,” Wilek said. “A mantic abducted me and kept me prisoner—”

  A commotion outside his tent brought him to his feet just as Harton ducked inside.

  “You must come right away, Your Highness,” he said. “Randmuir Khal of the Omatta is here asking to see you.”

  A chill settled over Wilek. He had known he would have to face Rand someday. The man would not have taken Teaka’s death easily. “Send him in.”

  “I think it’s better if you come out, Your Highness,” Harton said. “He brought an army, and our men are holding them back.”