King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  These pirates are escorted by an unfamiliar swarm. I asked one of the slights who his master was, and he said Dendron.

  “Did you see Dendron?” Jazlyn asked.

  I did not. But we are without enough evenroot. He could destroy us both.

  “Your Eminence, we must go,” the guard said to Ulrik.

  “What say you, lady? Are you coming or staying?”

  “Where are you going, Emperor?” she asked.

  “To the Gillsmore, my vice flagship.”

  She nodded at Qoatch, and the eunuch fetched a satchel holding her last vial of evenroot from the cupboard.

  “First sense I’ve seen out of her in a long while,” Rosârah Thallah said.

  Ulrik and his great-aunt took off with the guard, moving aft down the lengthway. At the stairs they descended two levels, then followed a crossway until it ended at a door. The guard opened it, and Gozan saw the sea where the wall should be. There was no furniture inside. Only a small dinghy attached to lines that were threaded through a set of davits. The outer wall of the cabin consisted of two plank doors that had already been opened outward. Two men wound cranks that extended the davits out over the sea. Once the men had cranked them to their full extent, the Igote pushed the boat to the opening.

  “It is ready, Your Eminence,” a soldier said.

  “Rosârah Thallah, Ferro, and Queen Jazlyn first, if you please,” the young man said.

  The Igote obeyed, seating the passengers per the emperor’s instructions. Soon the dinghy was filled with Jazlyn and her ladies, Qoatch, Rosârah Thallah, the emperor, his young brother, and a dozen staff and Igote. Two men remained behind to work the boat fall.

  “Lower us,” the emperor told them, and the men set to work.

  “What about the rest of my people?” Jazlyn asked.

  “There are eight of you here,” Ulrik said. “I have saved forty percent of your people and left ninety-eight percent of mine behind. I have done the best I could for you, lady.”

  Jazlyn turned her attention to Gozan. “Go back and see what these pirates do. And keep them from noticing our getaway.”

  Gozan was not eager to return to Dendron’s swarm, but his curiosity got the best of him. As long as he took the appearance of a slight, no one should pay him much attention. He let his form disintegrate to vapor and swept back toward the Baretam. The pirates had led the passengers to the main deck, sorting the able-bodied men from the elderly, women, and children. Igote who continued to fight were being killed and thrown overboard. Gozan saw the boy Burk, who had traveled with them through Rurekau. He lay down his Igote blade and joined the pirates.

  The boat fall at the stern was heavily guarded, but no one had thought to stand watch over the rails themselves. A second boat of Igote had been launched from the bow. Gozan saw no sign of Dendron or any mantics issuing orders to the swarms of shadir.

  The leader of these raiders would likely be in the imperial cabin, so he passed through the wall and found he was right. A crowd of terrified servants huddled behind a grand dining table. Before it, a man with no lips held a sword to the throat of a servant. Three other servants lay dead at the man’s feet.

  “Tell me where he is!” the lipless man yelled.

  “The emperor has an escape plan for when his ship is attacked,” the servant said. “Only his private security guards know what it is. You may kill us all and still learn nothing.”

  At this the lipless man snarled and sliced the man’s throat. Several women screamed.

  “Bring me another,” the lipless man said.

  “Enough!” An older man entered the imperial quarters. “He has either fled the ship or hidden himself somewhere. Meelo, take some others and man the crow’s nest. Look for longboats that might have recently launched. Joben, take a squad to look over the railings for anyone lowering themselves into the water. Satu, organize a full search of the ship. Check the lady’s hole in the stern, inside every mattress and trunk, and under every bed. If he has escaped, I will be very upset. Go!”

  The men scattered.

  Gozan followed the lipless Meelo to the lookout, doing what he could to slow the man by whispering taunts into his ear, telling him he should go back and argue with the leader, speak his mind.

  Meelo growled, annoyed by Gozan’s influence, yet he kept his pace all the way to the mainmast.

  “Get up there,” he said to a boy. “Be quick about it.”

  The boy obeyed and turned out to be a swift climber. Gozan shot ahead of him and, from the crow’s nest, took note of the emperor’s dinghy. It had reached the Gillsmore and was circling around the stern. Good. By the time the crew set about hoisting the boat, it would be hidden from the pirate’s view.

  The second dinghy that the Igote had launched from the bow was headed in the same direction as the Gillsmore but was much farther behind. Gozan drifted alongside the climber, whispering into his ear.

  Go carefully, he said. The fog has left the rigging slick. Don’t want to fall. Hold tight!

  The boy’s grip on the futtock shroud slipped, and he gasped, holding tight and cursing Randmuir of the Omatta and his son, whoever they were.

  By the time the boy reached the top and got a good look at the surrounding waters, the emperor’s boat had long since rounded the side of the nearest ship. The Igote boat had covered half the distance, and the climber yelled down the location of the craft.

  Gozan considered his job complete and returned to the main deck to see what the pirates would do with this information. There he found a common shadir mustering a swarm for a non-magical attack.

  “Hwuum, lead your swarm to the boat and do what you can to slow it.”

  “Yes, Mikray,” the blue-and-yellow slight said. The group of shadir shot away toward the dinghy.

  Gozan studied the common giving orders. He’d heard much of Mikray, who presented himself to humans as the god of fate and fortune. What human had he bound?

  “Shama,” Mikray said, “return to the Amarnath and ask the mantics to wield a wind to stop the boat.”

  Gozan followed Shama, curious about the number of mantics this Amarnath carried, employing so many shadir. Perhaps Gozan should join them. He longed for a human with evenroot who craved power and destruction, yet he didn’t want to be subservient to any shadir. Gozan had loved the freedom and power he wielded over Jazlyn once she left Tenma and journeyed to Lâhaten. Destroying that ancient city had been one of his grandest moments. Gozan liked his freedom and wanted to keep it if he could.

  The swarm approached a ship of average size, though considerably higher quality than the pirate ship. It flew through the ship’s walls and stopped in a luxurious cabin.

  It had been over a century since Gozan had seen Dendron. He stood beside a throne on which sat an elderly human male. The man appeared strong, fierce, and exuded a level of self-absorption that Gozan hadn’t felt since being in the presence of High Queen Tahmina. He was talking with a middle-aged woman. Both wore crowns. More kings and queens, Gozan supposed. Beside the queen hovered the common shadir known as Iamos, who currently held the form of an elderly healing woman.

  Three famed shadir in one swarm? Gozan could not help but be impressed.

  Both humans glanced at the swarm. Mantic rulers? Interesting. The one Mikray had called Shama approached the throne.

  “What is it?” the human king asked.

  “The emperor escaped on a dinghy,” Shama said. “Mikray requests the mantics wield a wind to hinder its progress.”

  “Mantics are needed,” the king said to a tiny yellow slight. “Fetch Yohthehreth and Lau. Tell Lau to bring a bottle of root juice.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The slight sank through the floor.

  Gozan followed it, keeping as far back as he could, not wanting to be seen. The slight moved down one floor and through several rooms before stopping in a small cabin that was ornately decorated. Only one man occupied the cabin. Gozan saw no shadir.

  “King Barthel requests your immediate
presence in the throne room,” the slight said. “Yohthehreth as well. He also asks that you bring a bottle of evenroot juice.”

  The man jumped to his feet, grinning. He was short and bald but for a thin priest’s braid that curled down the middle of his back. “Tell the king we’re on our way.”

  The slight flitted up through the ceiling. Gozan let it go and instead followed the man, who exited the cabin and let himself into a room across the corridor. “Rogedoth wants us to do magic. I sensed from the messenger this is urgent.”

  An older man sat at a desk, dressed in white robes. His ashy gray hair had been bound in a bun at the nape of his neck, and a short beard hung from his chin. He stood and pulled a chain from the neckline of his robe. “Since when is anything Rogedoth wants not urgent?” He walked to a cabinet that lined the wall and used the key to open the door. Inside, bottles wrapped in packing cloth stood side by side. There were at least thirty behind this door alone.

  Evenroot juice.

  The man in white removed one bottle and closed the cabinet, relocking it and tucking the key back into his robes. “Best be off, then. He’s in the throne room, I assume?”

  “So said the shadir.”

  The older man opened the door for the younger. “After you, Lau.”

  Out they went.

  Gozan remained for a time, staring at the cabinet, longing for just one bottle of root juice to carry back to Jazlyn. If they were on land, he might find a way to entice a new mantic to his service and convince him to steal one and take it to Jazlyn. But the distance was too great, and the mantics on board this ship seemed too powerful to be tricked.

  It was hopeless.

  He might as well present himself at the Gillsmore and report to Jazlyn what he had learned about this King Barthel and his—

  “Who are you?”

  Gozan spun around. Leaning against the wall opposite the cabinet stood Dendron, the great shadir.

  Gozan still held the form of a slight. He bowed deeply. “I am Chelo, great one.”

  Dendron laughed, a moist sound that raised Gozan’s hackles. “Chelo died in the Great War. I killed him myself when I discovered he was a spy for the High Queen of Tenma. There is no need to hide your true self from me. I sense your power is great. To whom are you bonded? Or are you without a host?”

  “I am Zitheos,” Gozan said, shifting into the black fang cat form that Zitheos preferred. Priestess Omarietta had been in Tenma when the Five Woes had struck, so choosing the form of Zitheos seemed a safe choice. “My human is dead.”

  “One of the Tennish priestesses? Did she die in the Five Woes?”

  Gozan saw no reason to keep the facts secret. “Priestess Omarietta died by the hand of rebels. The humans called it the Eunuch Rebellion. The eunuchs called themselves Kushaw. In the confusion of the Five Woes, they killed many of the Great Ladies of Tenma.”

  “What became of the other Tennish shadir?” Dendron asked.

  “I am uncertain. The carnage of the Five Woes absorbed me for many days. When the rapture faded, I found myself alone. I bound a novice mantic and made my way north with him and a group of Tennish refugees. We ended up in Larsa and bought passage aboard a Rurekan vessel. Pirates just now overtook it. When I saw the number of shadir, I grew curious as to who controlled such a swarm and came to see for myself. My mantic has little evenroot left. I have been growing restless.”

  “Evenroot is rare in these times,” Dendron said. “It was fortuitous that my human had been hoarding it in secret long before the Five Woes became reality. I suspect that once land is found, by that fact alone he shall become ruler over this rabble.” Dendron narrowed his eyes. “What ship did you say you came from again?”

  Gozan knew he could risk no more. “I didn’t,” he said and vanished.

  It had been a risky move, facing Dendron in such a way. Gozan shouldn’t have done it, but the temptation had been too great. For too long he had been idle. By the time Gozan passed the dinghy of Igote that had been blown off course, two more dinghies had reached them and taken the soldiers captive. Gozan slowed to study the soldiers, pleased to see that three of them were young enough to at least be mistaken for Emperor Ulrik. It should give the Gillsmore enough time to move on. Or if they were followed, to prepare for an attack.

  On the Gillsmore Gozan found Jazlyn installed in a cabin no bigger than she’d had aboard the Baretam. He was about to share an adapted version of his exploits and discoveries in regards to Dendron and King Barthel when Masi and a swarm of his own shadir appeared before him.

  “Where have you been?” he roared, relieved to finally see them.

  “We have found land, master!” Masi said, bowing low. “Magon’s shadir have gone to report to her.”

  “How far? Is it big enough for all?”

  “With a strong wind it’s as many as two weeks’ sailing to the west,” Masi said. “They are islands, but some are as big as Tenma once was. A local shadir knew nothing of our ways—nothing of evenroot and bonding with humans. His land has a magic of its own, vastly different from ours. I do not think we would be welcomed there.”

  “I do not care,” Gozan said. Once the fleet landed, King Barthel’s evenroot would be unloaded and Gozan could find a way to steal some for Jazlyn. “Tell me everything in detail. Go slowly, Masi, and leave nothing out.”

  Kalenek

  Kal sat alone on the stern deck, watching Shanek toddle across the smooth wood. Every few steps the boy would pause to look behind him, then shriek and run as if being chased, giggling madly. Occasionally he’d turn around and become the chaser. Kal marveled at how well Jhorn had taught Grayson to ignore the shadir.

  Had Grayson made it to the Malbraid? Was he still growing from the root the Magonians had given him? Would Kal recognize him if he saw him again?

  Shanek lost his balance and fell to his backside, which was padded in thick cotton wraps. Though it had happened dozens of times this morning alone, each instance made the boy’s eyes pop in surprise. His bottom lip poked out and trembled, and he twisted his head around to find where Kal sat on a bench beside the stern rail.

  “You’re fine,” Kal told him. “Get up and try again.”

  Such encouragement produced a toothy smile. The child pushed himself to standing, caught sight of something Kal could not see, and his legs took off again.

  Kal already loved the boy, though he tried to distance his affection with logic. The women were raising Shanek DanSâr to usurp the Armanian throne. Kal must keep that from happening. As a trained assassin he should have killed the boy and ended the impending disaster Shanek-the-man was certain to become. Yet each time he looked into those wide gray eyes, he found he could not harm one hair on the child’s head.

  Shanek had been alive but two weeks and looked to be two years old. Mreegan had commanded he be fed evenroot with every meal, and it was working. Shanek’s body was growing faster than his mind could be trained. If he kept up this rate, Kal worried he’d be a man before he could even speak clearly.

  Kal wanted to ask Chieftess Mreegan to lessen the boy’s evenroot, but he doubted she’d believe his concerns had merit.

  He had lost his freedom when he’d helped Grayson escape. At the Chieftess’s command and Kal’s shame, Charlon and the other maidens had tattooed a slav rune onto the back of his neck to punish him, though they had thankfully left his hair and clothes alone. While only Charlon was permitted to command him and she had not yet taken undue advantage of that power, Kal knew he must tread carefully. He could not risk being parted from Shanek.

  The boy fell, and this time he began to cry. Kal reached out to him, “You’re all right, Shan. Get up. Come to Kal.”

  The boy crawled the rest of the way. Chubby hands clutched Kal’s feet and moved up his legs until Shanek was standing and holding on to Kal’s knees. He buried his face in Kal’s lap, looked up and flashed that toothy grin, then hid his face again.

  “I see you,” Kal said. “You can never hide from me, Shanek DanSâr. I�
��ll always find you.”

  Shanek continued his game, oblivious that his life was not his own to live. Poor lamb. Kal’s heart twisted, and he pulled the child onto his lap and hugged him. Shanek giggled and hid his face in Kal’s tunic.

  Footsteps padded up the stairs from the quarterdeck. Charlon’s head appeared above the coaming, and each step revealed more of her as she ascended. She looked haggard and thin, nothing like the shrewd woman who had managed to steal Shemme’s child.

  “Did you do this, Shan?” Kal asked. “Did you keep Mother up all night?”

  Kal’s use of Mother caught the boy’s attention, and he whipped his head around. “Mahn!” He grabbed Kal’s beard and ear and pulled himself to standing on Kal’s thighs.

  “Ow!” Kal turned the boy so he stood facing out.

  Shanek, completely confident in Kal’s grip, leaned dangerously far, reaching for the only mother he knew.

  Charlon ignored the child’s eagerness and sank to the bench beside Kal. Shanek climbed into her lap, and she habitually tucked him into the crook of her arm without a glance or word of greeting. Shanek found each of her hands and turned them over, demanding, “Mohk,” each time.

  “Are you ill?” Kal asked.

  “I fear I might be.”

  Shanek climbed to standing on Charlon’s lap and took her face in between his chubby hands, looking intently into her eyes. “Mohk, Mahn. Mohk.”

  “It’s not time for your feeding,” she said, resituating the child back on her lap.

  Shanek arched his back and screeched.

  “Ugh. I have no patience for fits today.” Charlon pushed Shanek off her knees until he stood on the deck, hands clutching the foxtails of her skirt. “Deal with him, Sir Kalenek.”

  Though she likely hadn’t meant to command him, Kal felt the compulsion tug at his gut. He scooped up the bawling child, drew a biscuit from his shirt pocket, and offered it with one word. “Bite?”

  Shanek instantly quieted and grabbed the little snack with both hands, shoving it whole into his mouth as if he’d been starved for a week.