My band of companions were also well-entertained. Kele and Quatervals said the whole company was constantly showered by romantic proposals, gifts of more money and goods than they could ever hope to carry away and were so pampered by the servants in their commodious quarters they feared their limbs would wither from lack of use.
Kele shook her head in weary amazement. “Keep have’n t’pinch meself, Lord Antero,” she said. “Folks actin’ like we was th’ Old Ones ’stead of them. Gonner get one’a me mates t’ bedevil me ever’ mornin’ so’s I don’t ferget I’m just Kele.”
Quatervals had similar comments. “Now I see what it’s been like for you all these years, my Lord,” he said. “Not sure I like it. When my duties’r done I favor a bit of time to myself. Thinkin’ on whatever needs thinkin’ on. And I like to walk when I think. Put the head down and charge along until I run out of walkin’ room or brains. But you can’t do that when you’re famous, my Lord. People come up and want to talk to you. Shake your hand and invite you to dinner... or bed. And that’s all very nice, and all very kind and I like a tumble more than most, thank you very much, lass, but can’t you see I’m presently occupied?”
As any merchant knows the best source of information about the habits, customs and secrets of potential customers are the men and women who meet them daily — his employees. Although I as yet did not know what goods I had to offer, I knew the day would come when I might have to sell or die.
So I asked them both: “What do you make of these people?”
“First I thought they was lubbers through and through, my Lord,” Kele said. “Nice, kinder stupid, but not that nice and not that stupid, if yer can catch that bit’a driftwood when it floats by.”
I shook my head. I missed it by a league.
“Okay, let’s try a new set’a signal flags, my Lord,” she said. “Th’ Tyrenians I meet fall over the deck t’ make certain I’m happy. But if I was a bad’un they’d toss me over the side quicker’n fish oil through a gull.”
“Good,” I said. “They have spirit... unlike their king. Go on. What about the, ahem, stupid part?”
“They’re kinder stupid, my Lord,” Kele said, “’cause they won’t face facts. They’re inna starin’ march wi’ the demons and ever’one knows demons don’t blink. All scaly balls, ’n no eyelids. ’Stead’a lookin’ fer what’s on the horizon th’ Tyrenians study the deck fer ever’ speck ’n put it in a log book wit’ lots’a other specks. And they reorganize that log over and over ’til she’s pretty near perfect ’n they know ever’ speck in ever corner of th’ ship. ’N any day now, when she’s perfect... maybe they’ll scour ’n varnish.”
“It’s sort of like they’re frozen, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “Like they’ve nearly lost confidence in which way to go. And so they walk the same path ’til it’s worn out in fear they’ll lose the direction. ’Course who can blame ’em with the king they’ve got? Never know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. Also, when you’ve been at war off and on so long you tend to live your days as they come — ’cause you know there’s not likely any comfort in tomorrow.”
Kele nodded, saying, “Which brings me course back t’ the not that stupid part, my Lord. They don’t like King Ignati much. Trust him not at all. So whyn’t they hoist him off th’ throne? These’r fierce folk ’n they don’t swim in schools like fish hopin’ th’ sharks notice their sister afore they spots them. Got a mind of their own, they do, my Lord. Thick-skulled as they be. But still they let th’ king be king.”
I shrugged. “Why do you think that is?”
“Who would replace him, my Lord?” Quatervals said. “They love Prince Solaros but they think of him more as a favorite nephew than a leader. They know he’s too young, too green and too bold.”
“A dangerous medley,” I said.
“We all sang that cracked-voice tune at one time, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “Anyways the Tyrenians think the Prince is gonna make a first-rate king. Someday. But he’ll be needin’ a lot of seasonin’. ’N then, I’ll tell you, Lord Antero, they’ll follow him into the Hall of th’ Doomed itself.”
“If they live long enough to see the day,” I said.
Kele grunted and Quatervals said, “There is that, my Lord.”
The two of them eyed me for an uncomfortable moment. Then Quatervals, who knows me best, baited the question and made the cast.
“We’ve been sort of wonderin’, my Lord,” he said. “Now that we’re here and all. Now that we found what we was lookin’ for and it isn’t ain’t anythin’ like we expected. And considerin’ further that we maybe’ve got a whole bunch of demons breathin’ on our necks...”
“You want to know what we’re going to do next.” I said.
Quatervals sighed. “Yes, my Lord. We’ve been wonderin’ about little things like that.”
“Not so small,” I said, “and not so simple that we ought to act in haste.” I felt a little like Tyrenia’s indecisive king. “Lady Greycloak, as you know, is engaged in vital investigations. And I have been charting the political map quite carefully. Te-Date willing, a plan should make itself clear quite soon.”
“That’s good to know, me Lord,” Kele said.
“Yes, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “We’ll pass the word to the others. They’ll take comfort in that.”
But as we parted none of us felt at ease.
* * * *
Janos’ greatest criticism of me was that he thought I was too soft-hearted.
“Mercy is a much over-rated virtue,” he once admonished me. “It blurs the eye when you stand over your defeated enemy. It slows you, spoils your aim and bleeds the anger you require for the final thrust. All these things are needed most when your enemy is at your feet. For if he is worthy of your hate he will save just enough of himself to strike out as his life flows away. Mercy may make your dreams less bleak, my friend. But I’d rather dream bleak than not dream at all.”
As usual Janos was correct. But I did not change my ways. I am not the same cold, hard metal Janos was. Still, I have reached a much greater age than he. Although it’s true I’m soft-hearted, I am no fool. When I stayed my hand and let Cligus and Modin live I did not make the mistake of clutching my son’s viperous soul to my bosom. I let them live, yes. But I made certain they were caged and defanged.
Janela and I were given spacious and luxurious quarters near the Prince’s rooms. At my request he made certain those quarters included chambers suitable for imprisoning Cligus and Modin. They shared three large rooms with no windows and only one door leading out. I had the door exchanged for one made of heavier material — which could be barred from either side.
Quatervals, my most trusted and able man, was in charge of guarding them. He kept one man posted on the inside and one without — changing them frequently so they would always remain alert. Quatervals also made spot checks both day and night and berated any guard who so much as yawned while on duty. To make doubly certain I stepped in to check on them myself from time to time — usually using their comfort as an excuse.
The only flaw in this arrangement was that by keeping them close my son preyed more on my mind. At odd moments — and always without warning — I would recall him as a child. I’d remember him at innocent play in the garden or sprawled at the feet of Omyere as she piped a joyful tune. We had such hopes for him, such dreams, such long discussions in the privacy of our bed, spinning fanciful scenes of his later life when he would grow from our golden boy to a golden man.
Similar things must have been on his mind, for one day when I entered he seemed glad to see me. Modin, as usual, turned his scarred, blind face away. When I tarried he hissed a curse and demanded his servant lead him from my presence.
“Is all well?” I asked Cligus. “Do you lack anything I can have fetched?”
He glanced after the wizard’s retreating form and made a wan smile. “Only better company,” he said. “He made such a great wind when we had the upper hand. I never knew a wizard wh
o talked so much... except maybe Palmeras. But now he’s met defeat, if he talks at all it’s only to curse or complain about his injuries.”
A rush of anger nearly overtook me. I wanted to snarl: “That is the company you chose! Be damned to you!” Then I felt sad and said nothing.
“I had a lovely dream last night,” Cligus said. “Do you remember the time when I was a boy and was taken very ill?”
I nodded. I recalled it well. It was before we had mastered the sorcery we’d gained from Irayas and had few defenses against seasonal disease. Cligus caught a summer chill that lingered many weeks despite all our efforts to cure it. I had already lost one wife and a child to a plague so I was possibly even more frantic than Omyere. Gradually he recovered, but while doing so he spent many weeks confined to his nursery — fretting to go out and play but too weak for us to allow it. So we plied him with treats and amused him with games and toys to make his confinement more pleasant.
“Mother used to make my meals with her own hands,” Cligus said, smiling in gentle reflection on Omerye’s many kindness’. “She’d concoct the most amazing delicacies that never disturbed my poor stomach. But my favorite dish was the simplest.”
“Toasted cheese,” I said, caught up in his reverie and smiling back. “And soup made from the tomatoes we grew in our garden.”
“With butter and pepper floating on the top,” Cligus added.
“Yes,” I said. “I left it off when I fetched it to you once. And you curled your lip and wrinkled your nose and said, ‘Where is the butter and pepper?’ Your manner was that of a learned gourmand whose taste buds had been offended by a peasant kitchen.”
We both laughed.
“When I woke from the dream,” Cligus continued, “for a minute I thought I was that sick boy again, kept in his nursery by kind and caring parents. At any moment there’d be a tap at the door and mother would enter with toast and melted cheese and rich soup to dip it in.” He sighed. “Then I realized where I was and... Ah, well. Life certainly takes its twists, doesn’t it?”
And I replied, quite softly: “If you’re asking my forgiveness, you can have it. I’ve forgiven villainy before. Besides your mother would have demanded it. But if you are asking me to relent as well...” and my voice turned harsh... “I will not!”
Cligus flushed, angry. “You think I’m asking you to forgive me? I piss on your forgiveness! You are to blame, sir. If you had dealt with me fairly none of this would have happened. I was merely reminiscing with someone who knew me. With someone whose many faults do not include poor conversation. And as for asking you to relent... Why would I waste my breath? The only thing I ask of you, sir, is to join me for supper. And turn your back long enough for me to insert my dinner knife!”
I shrugged and left, allowing him the last word.
As I passed the sentries guarding my son I thought of Janos. And wished to the gods I could pluck mercy from my breast.
* * * *
Some weeks after the parade the Prince summoned me to his quarters. I had been there many times since our arrival but it was always to discuss my adventures or to listen to his views — so passionately held that they had small merit.
This time, however, Solaros surprised me.
As I was ushered in he was pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed in thought. Vakram sat by the table that bore the globe.
When he saw me, the Prince broke off his pacing, saying: “Lord Antero! How glad I am to see you! I badly need your advice.”
I asked him what had happened and he said: “My father has been visited by emissaries from King Ba’land.”
“I was expecting as much,” I said. “I assume they are here concerning Lady Greycloak and myself.”
Solaros shook his head. “Your names weren’t mentioned,” he said.
Vakram’s long face was split by a cynical grin, exposing his long, thick teeth. “Your presence,” he said, “is certainly known, Lord Antero. It has been the unspoken current beneath all the discussions.”
The Prince looked at him a moment, then nodded. “I suppose it was,” he said slowly. Then: “My father has been papering together a truce with the demons for some time. The negotiations came after King Ba’land agreed to cease hostilities, which is a jest for so many reasons and more violations then I care to number just now.
“Regardless, my father has made one concession after another, which as you know is the source of my disagreement with him. From his viewpoint, however, much progress has been made and the demons’ final demands met. And the truce required only the formality of signatures.”
“Allow me a guess,” I said. “King Ba’land has sent his regrets, claiming new matters have come to light that require renegotiating the entire document.”
Lord Vakram neighed. “What a wise fellow you are! Those are nearly that devil’s exact words. Weren’t they, your Highness?”
The Prince ignored him, saying, “Ba’land’s emissaries have informed us he is presently drawing up a new treaty with the additions, which they will shortly present to us.”
“I assume these additions,” I said, “are not negotiable.”
“Nothing is negotiable,” the Prince said.
“What nerve!” Vakram said.
“Furthermore,” Solaros went on, “they expect us not only to agree but to sign the treaty formally at our annual Creator’s Day, when we honor the ancient founders of our kingdom and the gods who blessed us.”
“Very canny,” I said. “The demons intend to smother your most symbolic day with symbolism of their own design. If your father agrees it’s as good as a surrender.”
Lord Vakram slapped his forehead. “I hadn’t thought of that!” he said. “The bastards!”
“Well I certainly had,” the Prince huffed.
“Do you think your father will agree?” I asked.
“He hasn’t said no,” Solaros said. “I would have thrown them out. Immediately!”
Lord Vakram’s wide eyes swiveled forward. “But that would also mean immediate war, your Highness,” he said.
The Prince’s features grew very hard for one so young. He said: “That is why I asked to see you, Lord Antero. My most pressing goal is to convince my father to refuse. And when — not if — that happens, there will be war. I want us prepared to wage it.”
Vakram seemed surprised, his lips drawing back over his teeth. “What are you suggesting, your Highness?” he asked.
The Prince replied: “That I want Lord Antero to help us in that task.”
“I am no soldier,” I said.
“I know that,” Solaros said. “But you have wide experience and knowledgeable soldiers in your company.”
While I chewed this over he said: “I caught your comments to my generals at the parade. At firs I didn’t see what was beneath them. Frankly, when I did, I was irritated. My pride was hurt. I may command all my father’s forces — in his name. But at heart I am a charioteer, and a charioteer is kin to the stallions who carry us into battle, all courage and speed and quick reactions to a continuously changing terrain. We fight where you aim us and do not think of the consequences, much less the plans that lead to those consequences.
“So I was slow in understanding your implied criticism. Which is that we fight by rote. And that we are defenders, not attackers. I can see that now. And I mean to set it right.”
“What you are suggesting, your Highness,” Vakram broke in, shedding the last of his jolly nature, “would be considered madness if it came from another source.”
“If insanity is called for,” the Prince said, “so be it! From now on we will train as if it is an enemy who opposes us, not tavern friends.”
“But your generals will never agree, my Liege,” Vakram said. “There will injuries. And think of the morale of the men!”
“Be damned to morale!” the Prince replied. “If what the demons conspire to achieve comes to pass we’ll be considering the morale of slaves instead of soldiers.”
V
akram champed off a retort and bowed his head.
Then the Prince said to me: “Will you do it, Lord Antero? There’s time, although barely, to get ready. If a confrontation comes it will be at the Creator’s Celebration. Which is some months away.”
I said, yes, we’d teach them how Orissans make war.
* * * *
My agreement may have endangered the morale of the Tyrenians but it certainly had the opposite effect on my company. When I called them together to explain what was to be done my remarks were greeted with much enthusiasm.
As if they had been given an magical command Quatervals and his ex-Scouts snapped to as one.
“First thing we do, lads,” Quatervals said, “is get ’em off the parade ground and show ’em the Scouts way, which no man has ever seen in a book.”
“Me bottom’s gettin’ lardy with all the sittin’ and the sippin’ we been doin’,” Kele said. “I may be a sea farin’ woman but me and me captains got a trick or three that’s confounded more lubbers’n not.”
Towra and Beran made loud noises of agreement.
“If’n they wants t’ know how t’ sneak,” Pip said, “cain’t find a better sneak master’n me.”
The Cyralian brothers got into a heated discussion on flaws they’d seen in the use of the archers and before I knew it the whole lot of them had forgotten I was there and were arguing the fine points such instruction might include.
When training commenced I thought the hardest part would come not from the troops but from foot-dragging generals. No general enjoys instruction, even when the order comes from their commander and Crown Prince. But such was the stature of myself and my fellow voyagers among their own men that their objections were drowned out by the loud cheers of the soldiers when the Prince assembled them for the announcement.
Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) Page 43