The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  * * *

  Accompanied by six of Béarn’s guards and four of Pudar’s, Tae’s trek through the castle corridors occurred at a far more leisurely and peaceful pace than it had earlier that day. The Béarnides at his either hand walked at a steady clip, but their furrowed brows belied the worry their stances did not. Clearly Matrinka’s doing, they handled Tae as gently as a royal infant, keeping themselves between him and Pudar’s men at all times.

  Another guard in Béarn’s colors opened the council room door as they arrived, gesturing for Tae to enter. All ten of his escorts retreated then, leaving him in Captain Seiryn’s capable hands. As the door clicked closed, every man and woman in the room stood, except for the king, the queen, and Pudar’s prince. Discomforted by the sudden attention, Tae skittered to the only empty chair, away from the already overcrowded table and against one of the side walls. He tried to maintain an aura of dignity but suspected he more closely resembled a frightened rat.

  Tae settled into his chair, and the members of the Council took their seats as well. Only the knights’ captain executed a formal bow, and Tae forced himself to meet Kedrin’s eyes squarely. Refusing to do so would make him look guilty; and, though he planned to confess to being so, he was not. The blue-white eyes seemed to probe Tae, questioning without condemnation. Suddenly, Tae felt an unlikely kinship. Kedrin had innocently faced the court for a similar crime and had also chosen to accept a punishment he did not deserve. Tae hated that he had played a role in that deception and only hoped it would go easier on him than it had on the Knight of Erythane.

  King Griff spoke first, as he must. “Prince Tae Kahn, do you know why we brought you here?”

  Tae turned his head to the king, unable to reconcile the deep voice and formal words to the childlike Béarnide he had rescued from the elves’ prison, though he had sat in on Béarn’s court many times. “Yes, Sire. I know.”

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Griff’s tone gentled in direct contrast to his demand. The soft brown eyes sought logic in the unthinkable.

  “I made a mistake, Sire.” Tae referred to his decision to eavesdrop, though he knew the Council would draw other conclusions. Deliberately, he swung his attention to Pudar’s prince. Leondis sat stiffly, expression unrevealing. “And give myself over to Béarn’s mercy.”

  If possible, the room went more silent. Tae’s explanation should have filled the hush, but he said nothing more.

  Leondis’ brows slid upward, widening his eyes until white showed nearly all around them. Though he surely anticipated a denial, he revealed no other evidence of surprise.

  Worried hatred might drive him to say something he regretted, Tae cast his gaze back to the only man who could truly understand: Knight-Captain Kedrin. Tae hoped his eyes sent a clear message of blamelessness. For reasons he could not explain, he wanted Ra-khir’s father to believe him.

  Copper-blond locks slid rightward as Kedrin cocked his head in consideration. He fingered the hat perched jauntily in his lap.

  Griff seemed not to realize that Tae had finished, and it took him inordinately long to speak. “Is that all you have to say on your behalf, Prince Tae?”

  “That’s all, Sire,” Tae acknowledged. He shifted in his chair, balancing on the ball of one foot with his knee bent, the other leg straight out in front of him. He assumed the position from habit, one he had shared with his mother, when she lived. He kept his eyes averted from King Griff; Eastern tradition dictated holding one’s gaze below that of the king and it did not matter that Béarn did not demand the same. The formality of the proceedings brought back lessons well-learned in childhood, though he had never actually met the king who had preceded his father. Eastern doctrine did not demand the same for the queen, however, so he met Matrinka’s gaze levelly. And trusted her advice.

  “Very well.” Griff addressed the entire company. “Apparently, the law is quite clear on this situation.” He glanced at Darris, who had surely informed him of such a thing. The bard had done little but pore over kingdom law between searches for Pica shards. In a clear attempt to spare the council another serenade, this one unrehearsed, Griff nodded toward the knight. “Please elaborate, Sir Kedrin.”

  Kedrin rose to the occasion, clearly having prepared himself for this eventuality. He stood to deliver the oration. “I believe two statutes apply to this matter, Your Majesty.” His gaze shifted ever so slightly to include Darris, who nodded. “One states that in the event of major conflict between visiting dignitaries, the rulers of the respective countries shall be contacted and given the opportunity to express their opinions on the matter.” He added carefully, “Not in those exact words, of course, Your Majesty.”

  Griff gave a single, encouraging gesture.

  “The second, Your Majesty,” Kedrin continued, “grants immunity from prosecution to visiting royalty, or its representative, in any situation short of murder.” He sat to indicate he had finished.

  “Immunity!” Boshkin shouted, instantly waved silent by Prince Leondis. Murmurs traversed the room.

  “Sire,” Leondis said with all the composure his servant lacked. He scratched at his injured shoulder. “Surely, this would qualify as an act of murder.”

  Tae looked directly at Matrinka now, deliberate accusation in his expression. If Darris had known the immunity law, then she had also. She could have placed Tae totally at ease and told him he risked nothing by arguing his innocence.

  The king’s face crinkled in response to the Pudarian’s words. “Prince Leondis, your being here . . .” He paused, clearly struggling for words. Then, Darris whispered something, and Griff continued, “. . . denies that qualification. Without a corpse, there’s been no murder.”

  “An obvious attempt, Your Majesty.”

  “Perhaps so, Prince Leondis.” Griff balanced delivery against content to avoid offending either party. His “so” emerged definitive enough to draw attention from the “perhaps” that suggested doubt, yet not so much as to verbally convict Tae. “But I’m afraid it still clearly falls into the ‘situation short of murder’ category.”

  Leondis avoided staring, though he still managed to broadcast disbelief. “Your Majesty, you’re saying you’ll mete no punishment at all for the attempted assassination of a royal visitor?”

  “I’m saying, Prince Leondis, that Béarnian law directly forbids it.”

  Leondis managed to keep his tone civil, though it surely took great effort. Beneath the table, his hands twitched in his lap, more nervous to Tae’s assessment than angry. “Sire, sometimes old laws outlive their purpose. Perchance the time has come to change it.”

  “Maybe.” Griff easily accepted the possibility. “But even if we did so, only the law in effect at the time of the incident matters.”

  Leondis sucked in a deep breath but did not argue that point. “Sire, there is the assassination of my brother to consider. Clear murder there, Your Majesty.”

  Matrinka chose to answer while Griff mulled his reply. “Prince Leondis, I believe a sentence was carried out for that crime, and Pudarian law does not allow two.” She looked at Tae. “Nevertheless, the guilty party was rooted out, tried, and executed in another kingdom.”

  Tae nodded.

  Leondis dropped an argument he could not win. “Please, Your Majesty, Your Ladyship. I’m not asking you to pronounce punishment against your law. I merely beg extradition, so Pudar can exact discipline consistent with its own law.”

  Griff’s massive, leonine head waved slowly back and forth. “Extradition, Prince Leondis, is a form of punishment. It is also out of the question.” Darris nudged his king, who ignored the warning. “Let’s imagine for the moment that the situation were reversed. Would you wish extradition to Stalmize?”

  “No, Sire,” Leondis admitted. “But what criminal would wish to face justice?” He looked pointedly at Tae.

  Tae resisted the urge to glare, instead attempting to inspire guilt with a look of innocent pity. They both knew he was blameless, not of wrongdoing, but
of the crime the prince had claimed.

  Richar leaped in. “Prince Tae doesn’t seem particularly concerned about facing justice.” The young minister of foreign affairs had grown close to Tae in the months the Easterner had served as his only charge. He did not voice the obvious, if erroneous converse, that an innocent man would not worry.

  “With all respect due,” Leondis countered. “He had reason and means to know Béarn’s law.” He stopped short of accusing Darris or Matrinka of informing Tae. No convention forbade them from doing so. “A man who cannot be prosecuted for his crimes has no reason to fear the law. Or to temper his actions.”

  Tae did not bother to proclaim his ignorance. Anyone who needed convincing would not believe him, and the truth did not matter to Leondis.

  Darris cleared his throat, redirecting the proceedings from conversation inspired by the king’s rhetorical question.

  Attentive to his bard/bodyguard, King Griff returned to protocol. “Any further discussion on the matter?”

  Prime Minister Davian seized the floor. “I believe the law is clear. We send messages to Pudar and Stalmize detailing the situation as we know it.” He glanced at Tae, as if to remind the Eastern prince that he had not actually given his account. “While we’re awaiting their replies, Prince Tae receives full immunity as per the law.”

  Stodgy Saxanar claimed the floor next, his glance at Leondis apologetic. “I would add only that we enhance the security of Prince Leondis to his satisfaction and within our capabilities.”

  “Thank you,” Pudar’s prince replied. “But I’m quite satisfied with Béarn’s security.” Though his tone sounded sincere, he clipped his words from an irritation that had nothing to do with Saxanar’s suggestion and everything to do with Davian’s.

  Tae relaxed. Those not already swayed to his side by friendship rigidly followed the course of law or of their more experienced peers. Impossible as it had seemed when he waited in his room anticipating the worst, it appeared he would receive no punishment at all.

  The king would not conclude without the knight-captain’s direct opinion. He motioned for Kedrin to speak his piece, though the knight had not requested it.

  Kedrin rose and bowed. “I suggest we leave things as they are and reconvene when we have heard from the countries involved. Until then, Stalmize’s crown prince must go free.”

  Tae suspected Kedrin had deliberately chosen the title to remind the others of Tae’s status, but it caught him more off-guard than them. Since his father had not announced him the successor, no one had ever referred to him as the crown prince before. Yet, he suspected, Kedrin assumed the right to do so because Weile Kahn had no other children and had not specifically denounced Tae.

  No one challenged the assertion, though Leondis frowned and others seemed lost in thought.

  Kedrin continued, “I believe the parties involved should approve the messages before they’re sent and, as always, have the right to send one of their own separately to clarify.” He added, clearly for Leondis’ satisfaction, “I do not believe we should consider the matter wholly ended until such time as we have reviewed any reply.” He made a flourishing gesture to denote his conclusion.

  Griff acknowledged it, and the knight retook his seat while the king glanced around the gathering. “Does anyone oppose the plan as outlined by the prime minister, the minister of courtroom procedure and affairs, and the captain of Erythane’s knights?”

  Thialnir grumbled something unintelligible but did not seek recognition. Likely, he would have preferred something on the order of trial by combat, but he had to stand behind the father of a Renshai. No one else spoke, though several shook their heads. Every eye shifted to Prince Leondis.

  Responding to the attention, Leondis spoke his piece. “I believe I’ve made it clear I don’t agree with immunity in this case, but I accept the suggestion of the council to grant the kings their say. I will, of course, allow my father to fully speak for me.”

  At that point, the gazes shifted to Tae, who quailed. Even if he could speak so eloquently, he could barely stand the attention. Unlike Leondis, he would never place his fate solely in his father’s hands. Weile Kahn had made many bad decisions in the name of teaching, including sending Tae away at fourteen with the intention of reclaiming him at twenty if he survived the crime lord’s many enemies. Nevertheless, Tae held one advantage over Leondis. Weile Kahn would not care whether or not the event had occurred. He would take his son’s side over the prince of Pudar for reasons that had nothing to do with justice. “I’ve already placed my fate in Béarn’s hands.”

  “Done, then,” Griff declared. He dismissed the council with a series of movements of his right hand. Tae watched the ministers file out, little more at ease than at his entrance. Crafty King Cymion would not accept the council’s answer as easily as his son, and Tae suspected the worst of the battle was yet to come.

  CHAPTER 21

  Devils’ Play

  The years of wandering that honed our skills and defined the tribe of Renshai, during which we slaughtered our way across every land of Midgard, have turned, in time, from greatest glory to vastest shame.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  ELFIN magic sent Tae and his companions to a plane of desolation. While El-brinith crouched, working her locating spell, Tae surveyed this new world to which the search for Pica shards had brought them. The week since his ordeal had passed more like a month. He had spent most of it cooped up in his room with Subikahn, avoiding all visitors except Matrinka, Mior, and the servants who claimed the baby for feedings. Now he stared out over a brown wasteland beneath a gray shroud of clouds and believed this place perfectly defined his mood.

  Ra-khir came toward him as Tae knew he would. He had denied the knight audience on more than one occasion with shallow excuses that likely caused his friend pain. He had let the guilt for that fester with the anger, self-pity and disappointment, attending only to the joy his son brought to a life otherwise dark. The solitude had bought him too much time to brood over events he could not affect; and the gentle press of wind against his face seemed a comfortable change despite the landscape, though it brought a faint odor of smoke. He both welcomed and dreaded his friend’s approach, glad to return to familiar events yet not wanting a reminder of that which he had tried so hard to escape considering.

  Tae deliberately wandered several steps away from the party, as much from delay as to keep any conversation private. Ra-khir quickened his pace, catching the Easterner’s shoulder. “Tae.”

  Tae stopped, not bothering to feign surprise. They both knew even the depths of despair could not keep him from noticing another’s presence. “What can I do for you, Ra-khir?”

  “Tae.” Now Ra-khir looked back to the others. Chan’rék’ril knelt beside El-brinith, while Kevral, Andvari, and Darris stood over them. Not far from the group, Rascal crouched, watching. Ra-khir kept his voice pitched low so only Tae could hear. “Kevral and I appreciate your concern and your assistance.” He sounded upbeat, sincere, yet Tae sensed a coming “but.”

  Tae made no comment, but he did continue to return Ra-khir’s regard.

  “I know you did what you did because you care about us—”

  Tae felt the need to interrupt. “I didn’t stab the prince of Pudar.”

  Ra-khir stared. “Neither did I,” he finally managed.

  Confused, Tae insisted, “You were going to ask me that, weren’t you?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  Tae met Ra-khir’s green eyes, finding honest bewilderment. “He accused me of it.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why . . . ?” Tae started and stopped. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  “I know the truth,” Ra-khir said matter-of-factly. “Matrinka told me. Why would I doubt my queen?”

  “Maybe because she got her version of the events from me.”

  “Why would I doubt you?”

  Tae blinked several times in succession. “Is this the same young man who
claimed he would never travel with me? Who called me a thief, a traitor, and a liar and tried to get me to battle him to the death? Twice?”

  Ra-khir smiled. “The one and, I hope, the only.”

  “You don’t doubt me?”

  “Not anymore.” The knight shrugged. “When circumstances change, I change my mind. What do you do?”

  Tae ignored the rhetorical question, too shocked to accept Ra-khir’s trust. “You don’t doubt me at all. Not even a little?”

  Ra-khir rolled his eyes. “Tae, is this incessant repetition relevant?”

  “I don’t know,” Tae admitted, not the one who had initiated the conversation. “You tell me.”

  “It’s not.” Ra-khir glanced across the plain of dark earth, then back at Tae. “I just wanted to ask you not to interfere. Please leave the matter of the coming baby to Kevral and me. We can handle it.” He added more emphatically, “In fact, we’re the only ones who can or should. Your involvement is only going to get you in trouble.”

  Tae found irony in the understatement. “You mean more trouble.”

  “If you like.”

  Tae nodded sagely. “Matrinka put you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “She expressed her concern,” Ra-khir admitted. “But, no, she didn’t ask me to say this if that’s what you mean.” He returned doggedly to his point. “So do you think you can stay out of it?”

  Tae thought about Ra-khir’s words longer than should have seemed necessary. His friends deserved the truth. “I honestly don’t know,” he finally said. “I didn’t go there to meddle—at least, I don’t think I did. But when the opportunity came up, I just couldn’t resist.”

  “Tae.”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the future.” Ra-khir gave Tae a look of earnest reproach. “Resist.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ra-khir sighed deeply, not liking the answer. “We’ve come a long way since I wanted to kill you. If you put me in a position where I have to, I’ll do what I have to do. Even if I hate it.”

  Tae’s eyes narrowed, and he sought clarification. “You’d kill me over this baby?”