King's Blood

by Jill Williamson

  Amala

  Lying in bed in the new honor maiden’s chamber, Amala couldn’t sleep. She had listened to the queen weeping through the wall for several hours before she finally fell silent. Amala felt responsible. Sir Kamran DanSâr had been arrested for poisoning the royal family, and she had let him in! It was her fault the queen was ill. Her fault the prince had died.

  “Amala? Do you hear me?”

  Amala froze, terrified by Kamran’s voice in her head. Should she try to make shields around her thoughts? She had taken the training with Hrettah and Rashah, but had paid little attention and never practiced. “Do not speak to me,” she thought. “What you did was horrible. You are an evil man, and I am glad you are going to die at first light.”

  He chuckled. “If I am going to die, so are you.”

  Terror ran up from the pit of her stomach and clogged her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “You helped me, Amala. You let me into the royal chambers. And if you don’t help me escape, I will tell everyone that you were my accomplice.”

  “I can’t!”

  “It’s very simple. There are only three guards at night, and they take turns patrolling the corridors while the other two play dice down the hall where the torches are brightest. If you enter when I tell you and go where I say, my shadir will be your eyes and help you avoid them.”

  Shadir? He was a mantic? She should have guessed as much. Harton was a mantic. The man they wanted as king was too.

  Amala gritted her teeth, disgusted that she could find no way to refuse. “When am I to come?”

  “I hang at dawn. If you are to help me, you must come now.”

  Amala climbed out of bed. “I am on my way.”

  “Thank you, Amala dear. Oh, and do be quiet.”

  Amala crept through the dark castle and down the stairs into the dungeon, hating herself with every step. She could not go on living here, knowing that she had helped a man kill the baby prince. The guilt grew heavier each second. She was a traitor. A horrible person. She wanted to die.

  She had put on two dresses and packed a bag of things. Left it just inside the stairwell. She would run away with Kamran. Agree to serve King Barthel. It was her only chance at any sort of life. And Master Harton would be there.

  “Stop,” Kamran said, making her jump. “Go back to the turn in the steps. Hurry!”

  Amala spun around and ran silently on her tiptoes, back up the second flight of steps to the landing. She paused. “Is this good?”

  “Yes, wait there for just a moment.”

  Her breath sounded very loud, and she tried to quiet it. Something clanked in the distance. Chains, perhaps.

  “Now. Go! Run right down the stairs and across the lengthwise corridor.”

  Amala was already halfway there. She passed by the lit corridor and into a dark one. She slowed and reached her hands out to the walls, scared she might run into something or someone.

  “There is an empty cell on your left just up ahead. Go inside it and wait for my instructions.”

  Amala couldn’t see anything. She ran her fingertips along the cold stone walls, and when her hand fell away on the left, she felt around until she found the door jamb, then crept slowly inside. “I’m in the cell. Kamran?”

  No answer came.

  She waited, nervous about the loudness of her breathing. Footsteps paced in the distance and slowly grew nearer. Amala held her breath, not trusting herself to be silent enough otherwise.

  Light suddenly illuminated the space around her, spilling in through the open doorway. It revealed a heavy wooden door with empty brackets. Sharp angled shadows painted the floor and shifted slowly as the light came nearer and the footsteps grew heavier.

  Movement in the corridor. She drew back, her body stiff with fright. It had been a man’s sleeve and his hand, holding a torch. He passed by, his steps like rocks scraping over stone. She cringed and closed her eyes, praying he would continue on without seeing her.

  “It’s safe to continue. You will come to a T. Turn right, and I am at the door at the very end. Hurry now.”

  Moving as fast as she could in the darkness, Amala rushed down the corridor until her hands fell away from the walls on both sides. Figuring she had reached the T, she turned right and crept along.

  “A few more steps . . . And stop.”

  Amala stopped.

  “Remove the beam from the door.”

  Amala reached out. The side of her fist struck a wooden door. She patted the door with both hands until she found the beam. She heaved it off the brackets, surprised by how heavy it was. She set it behind her, and it made a dreadful sound against the stone floor. She cringed, then shrank back at the sound of the door scraping open.

  He was coming out.

  Oh, gods, why had she helped him? Why had she ever thought him to be honorable and kind? A friend?

  She couldn’t go with him. She would stay here and say nothing.

  But what if someone found out what she’d done? Going with Kamran was her only chance. She would never make it if she ran away on her own.

  She couldn’t see him, but she felt his presence brush up beside her, crouch. She tensed, waiting for the noise as he picked up the beam, but it barely made a sound this time.

  Kamran quickly replaced the beam, then took Amala’s hand and dragged her along.

  Light appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. Amala could see where the stem of the T veered off to the left. The light grew brighter. She heard the guard’s footsteps coming.

  Kamran jerked her into the stem of the T. A few rushed steps, and they were in the empty cell. He grabbed her waist and swung her to his other side, holding her there. She wanted to squirm away—didn’t like the way his hands controlled her. Light filtered into the cell. Again she held her breath and waited for the loud footsteps to fade. Before she was ready, Kamran pulled her onward. The next thing she knew they were ascending the steps.

  At the top, when he paused at the doorway to peek out and check the way, she reached down and grabbed her bag.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “I’m coming with you. I packed some things.”

  “You’re not coming with me.” He darted out the door and raced down the corridor that passed by the kitchens.

  Amala gave chase. “You owe me,” she thought, but he had disconnected his mind from hers.

  Movement at the end of the hall sent him ducking inside the kitchens. Amala followed. Just inside the door he grabbed her arm, yanking her beside him.

  A serving man was filling a kettle with hot water from the cauldron in one of the hearths. Once he’d carried it out of the room, Kamran pulled Amala past the brick hearth ovens and to a door on the outer wall.

  Then they were outside the keep, in the cool night. The sky was cloudless and filled with bright stars. She felt as if they were watching her and would tell the gods all she had done. How could she go with this man? This murderer?

  How could she not?

  He paused behind a butcher’s cart and released her hand. The smell of blood turned her stomach.

  “This is where I leave you.”

  “No!” She grabbed his arm with both hands and held tight. “I am going with you.”

  “You are going back to bed.”

  “I can’t stay here, listening to the queen sob over the baby I helped kill.”

  “It’s a very long way, Miss Amala. You’ll only slow me down.”

  “I’ll scream if you don’t take me with you.”

  “You scream and we both die.”

  “I’ll follow you, then. But without your help, I might accidentally make too much noise or bring attention to the direction you went.”

  He groaned. “Mikreh’s teeth, woman.”

  “Please, Sir Kamran.” She wanted to say again that he owed her. That he had tricked her into murdering a baby, ruined her life. But she was hesitant to make him angry.

  “You must do exactly what I say. And if you don’t like w
hat happens to you, blame yourself.” Kamran took her hand and led her around the circular keep toward the boat gate.

  Wilek

  On and off Wilek slept, catching a few minutes here, waking in a rush of sorrow, then dozing off again. Beside him, Zeroah slept soundly, and for that he was thankful.

  He prayed that Arman would strengthen his wife, for though she had claimed to feel better, she did not look it. The poison had deteriorated her body so much it reminded him of how she’d looked after coming out of Charlon’s trunk. She was thin and pale and weak, struggled to breathe, and now was broken by grief as well.

  Please help her, Arman. Spare her life. I cannot bear to lose another.

  The more he thought and prayed and fumed and spun, the more he knew he must act swiftly. The enemy would not stop with Prince Chadek’s death. They would come after Zeroah and Trevn and the sârahs and himself. And if Rogedoth succeeded in his attempts to take the throne of Armania, even more innocents would die. He would bring back human sacrifice, legalize magic and the owning of slavs.

  Rogedoth could not be allowed to prosper. He must be destroyed, and soon.

  A knock. Dendrick entered and strode to the bedside. “Forgive me for waking you so early, Your Highness.”

  “I was already awake. What is it?”

  “Kamran DanSâr has escaped.”

  No! Wilek leapt from the bed. “How did this happen?”

  “The guards are still questioning witnesses, but it appears that Lady Amala assisted. She has fled with the prisoner.”

  Amala? Confusion clouded Wilek’s mind. He hurried into his wardrobe, and Dendrick instantly set about dressing him. Wilek struggled to make sense of the news. When he could not, he released a scream of frustrated rage. “I wanted him dead!”

  “He tricked her; I’m certain.” Zeroah’s soft voice startled him. She stood in the wardrobe’s doorway in her long nightdress, her minibraids loose and hanging in long coils down to her waist. The tears that welled in her eyes softened Wilek’s anger. “Sir Kamran was always well liked by the ladies. Clever with words and compliments. Maids often went out of their way to do him favors.”

  “She will discover his true nature soon enough,” Wilek said, motioning for Dendrick to continue dressing him.

  An hour later Wilek rode Foxaro west with Rayim and a group of guards, using Barek Hadar’s hounds to track Kamran’s trail. His half brother had taken a longboat from the castle to shore, then stolen two horses from the guardhouse stables and rode west-southwest. At first Wilek had assumed he was heading across the land toward Rogedoth’s islands, but when he did not adjust his course, Rayim stopped and circled the horses.

  “He is riding toward Magos,” he said.

  Wilek growled, frustrated. They couldn’t go to Magos. Not with Charlon and her great shadir. “How far ahead is he?”

  “Several hours,” Rayim said. “We won’t catch him, and I doubt the Magosian Chieftess would hand him over.”

  “She would not,” Wilek said. Nor could he send his men to Magos, where they might discover Kal and attempt to bring Sâr Janek’s killer to justice. “I will deal with this another way.”

  Wilek turned his horse and started back. Before he had worked up the courage to voice this news to Kal and tell him of Lady Amala’s betrayal, King Loran spoke to his mind.

  “My uncle has sent an army of pales to the continent. They are camped outside New Sarikar. A herald arrived this morning with a missive demanding that I surrender the throne to its rightful king. A negative answer will be considered a declaration of war.”

  Rogedoth was here? Hinckdan had not told Wilek he’d left. “I will speak with Hinckdan to see what I can learn.”

  “I need more than clues from your spy, Rosâr Wilek. I need your help to stand against him. Can I count on you?”

  “Absolutely,” Wilek said. “We can reach you in three days, though we will try for two.”

  “I shall do all I can to hold out until then.”

  The time had come to protect the innocent from the threat of evil. “Sir Kamran will have to wait,” he told Rayim. “King Loran is under attack.”

  “None of the island armies have left,” Hinckdan said. “Could it be Fonu’s squadron of giants?”

  “King Loran said nothing of giants. He specifically said a pale army.”

  “I will see if I can learn anything, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Hinckdan.”

  Wilek stood with Rayim and Dendrick on the edge of a field near the castle, observing the ranks as they assembled to march. “Hinckdan knows nothing,” he said.

  “That is unfortunate,” Rayim said.

  “Rogedoth must still suspect he is a spy, though I don’t see how.” Wilek feared for the young man’s safety. “I wish we could call him back.”

  “He might still learn something valuable by eavesdropping,” Rayim said.

  Hinckdan had almost been killed once. After what Kamran had done to Lady Pia . . . “Have you any update on Lady Pia, Dendrick?” Wilek asked.

  “Master Vento said she will recover. Sir Kamran meant to punish her, not kill her.”

  Lady Pia had been found in Kamran’s chambers, bound and gagged. She had been assaulted and disfigured, yet her first words when freed were to warn that Kamran planned to poison the royal family.

  If Wilek had only remembered he hadn’t heard from the woman, there might have been time to save Chadek.

  “Look who comes, Your Highness.” Rayim nodded toward the castle bridge.

  Oli Agoros, escorting Miss Onika, her dune cat, and her honor maidens toward where Wilek stood.

  Wilek had been too busy to consult Miss Onika about his plans. He sent a brief prayer to Arman to give him wisdom and patience.

  “My pardons, Your Highness,” Oli said when they reached them. “But Miss Onika insisted on speaking with you at once.”

  The sun shining on Onika’s hair made it seem white. Wilek took in the blind woman’s crumpled brow and winced, dreading what censure she had come to deliver. “Speak, Miss Onika. You have found me.”

  “You aligned yourself with Sarikar without asking of Arman? Without consulting me?”

  Wilek’s face heated at the boldness of her public attack. “Armania has a treaty with Sarikar. When either are in need, the other must offer aid.”

  “You told me you did not trust King Loran’s prophets,” Onika said. “That only Wolbair spoke truth. What says Wolbair of this attack?”

  “I have not heard from Wolbair. I know only what Loran has told me. He is under attack. He has asked for help. We will set out at once to keep our word.”

  Her glassy eyes seemed to look right through him. “The death of your son and the escape of his killer is not the real reason you go to war?”

  That made him angry, and he fought to keep his voice calm. “Rogedoth is a traitor to Armania, sentenced to death by my father. I have been seeking a way to attack him for months. Arman has finally provided one.”

  “You think Arman made Rogedoth’s army attack Sarikar? Arman does not move his people around like clay figurines.”

  No, that wasn’t what he’d meant. “Miss Onika, I must keep my word to King Loran. To accept evil without protest is to cooperate with it, and to stand by and do nothing is cowardly.”

  “Your fight is not against Pontiff Rogedoth and his army of mantics,” she said, “nor is it against the Magosians or the Tennish. Your fight is against the forces of evil that followed us to this land.”

  “Those forces are allied with Rogedoth. Do you have a prophecy for me, Miss Onika?”

  A deep breath. “I do not.” She swallowed, and tears welled in her eyes. “This frightens me. I am not often frightened by Arman’s silence.”

  Never had he seen the woman so vulnerable, and it terrified him. He did his best to ease her fear. “I will not act rashly. I promise you that. Duke Canden, prepare the prophetess to join me on this campaign. I will need her wisdom.”

  “Shall I come along
as the head of her guard?” Oli asked.

  “No. Her guard will do fine without you. I need you here to help my wife. She must be trained to shield her mind. She has put it off for far too long.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Oli said. He returned to Onika’s side, took hold of her arm, and led her back toward the keep.

  Wilek watched them go, feeling uneasy. “Am I making a mistake, Rayim?”

  “The only mistake I see you making is constantly fearing you will make one. Trust your instincts, Your Highness. You are not a fool.”

  Wilek nodded and again took note of the ranks. He wished he could readily accept Rayim’s advice and carry on, but the death of his son, Kamran’s escape, Amala’s betrayal, and Miss Onika’s fear drowned out what little confidence he had.

  That midday Wilek penned a proclamation, a physical copy of which Dendrick sent to all of Armanguard, Er’Rets point, and each of the smaller Armanian settlements. Oli Agoros voiced the words to Trevn, King Loran, and Emperor Ulrik, who did not respond. Oli instead voiced the proclamation to Rosârah Thallah, who said that Ulrik had fallen ill, and she would inform him the moment he recovered.

  For months the threat of impending conflict between this nation and its former Pontiff has been ever present. In his lust for conquest and domination of all, Barthel Rogedoth has persisted in his attempt to take control over peoples and nations to which he has no legal claim. He has loosed the forces of evil upon us all with no regard for the sanctity of free will. He would take freedom from every man, woman, and child, be they from the Five Realms or natives of this new land.

  The realm of Armania will not allow this aggression to continue. War against the perfidious Barthel Rogedoth and his rebellious allies will commence three days hence.

  Kalenek

  Kal wasn’t himself. He knew that much. Charlon had altered the compulsions against him. He could now speak with Wilek when he voiced, but he could say nothing of Magos or the actions of any who lived here, including himself. When he tried, his thoughts froze. So when Wilek voiced him for an update on Kamran DanSâr and Amala, Kal had to get creative in his answer.