by Tim Jones
"Do not let that young one have Dinazhe's room," said Hathilt. "There may be snares there which will trap any magician who probes too deeply."
"Including you?"
"I will not enter that room. But I have one more thing to tell you. As Dinazhe returned to whence he came, I was able to send something through with him."
"What?"
"Call it a thought. A thought I dare not yet think, lest Dinazhe detect it."
"What use is it, then?"
"I will think it for you, when you are ready to challenge Dinazhe. And you will have to challenge him. You cannot truly rule while you are under another's heel. When you are ready, look for me in Axalekso."
And on that tantalizing note, the interrogation ended.
X
Kendik stood at the front door of the palace, surrounded by tiles, and watched the t'skrang delegation march down the hill. They had agreed to return to their encampment by the Opthia, strike camp, and leave. Kendik had every confidence that they would keep to their agreement, and he saw relief in every t'skrang stride, a jaunty swish to every t'skrang tail, at the thought of leaving that muddy field and returning to the lives they loved: lives of music, piracy, and the intimacy of the niall.
They were going, and leaving him behind. Watching them, Kendik realized that he would rather have them encamped on the plains, near enough to buttress his shaky hold on power. Without them, what was left? Four friends to set against a town full of people who, if they thought of him at all, thought of him as a traitor. One magician he couldn't fully trust, and another against whom he was powerless.
And an empty stomach. It was late afternoon, and he had not eaten since breakfast. He wondered what the builders would be having for dinner this evening, and whether he might join them. But no; there was no escape that way, not any more. He sighed and called for his majordomo.
In his latter years, Tesek had dined in his room, alone but for his food tester. The majordomo was surprised and pleased that Kendik preferred to dine somewhere a little more public. The dining room near Kendik's quarters was pressed back into service, and within half an hour, Kendik, Anarya, and Atlan—plus the food tester—were ensconced there.
"Your health," said Kendik, raising a glass. His beloved smiled back at him. Atlan did nothing for a moment, then suddenly, jerkily, raised his glass as well. A little wine slopped over the brim. The food taster rushed forward with a cloth and wiped it up.
The food was delicious: roast meat, roast vegetables—and no fish! A t'skrang would have found it unpardonably bland, but Kendik could stop caring, for a little while, what a t'skrang might think.
Good food, good wine, good company. What could be better? But Kendik's heart was still heavy, and he saw that Anarya was doing no more than put a brave face over her own sadness.
"Sezhina?" he asked her. She nodded.
"I promise that I will go after her, as soon as I may. But I must at least start to put this town back on its feet, first. The people do not even know that they are free to go outside the walls."
"How do you know she is still alive?"
"Dinazhe must have some reason for taking her with him. Perhaps he fears me, though I do not know why. Or perhaps he fears you."
"He is right to do so," said Anarya. "I am prepared to wait a little, but not too long. Then, if you are not ready to come with me, I shall go after her myself."
Kendik nodded. He would not expect any less of her.
"The path to Dinazhe might pass through Axalekso," he said, and told her what had happened earlier in the day.
"We may each have our own path," she replied. "What is the next step on yours?"
"Speak to my people. Give them something to cheer about, I hope."
The rest of the meal passed in silence. If Viknis had been there, Kendik would have asked for music, but he had no desire to hear strange minstrels sing strange songs. Before long, the plates were cleared from the table, Anarya and Kendik were getting ready for bed, and Atlan, with a loyalty he could neither express nor question, was preparing to spend another night curled up in front of their door.
XXX
The streets of Borzim were quiet, and the river mist stole along them almost unhindered. In a quiet street, a cloaked man of under average height, with dark eyes and a snub nose, hurried through the fog on soft feet. He was wary, but he did not see the face of the boy, unable to sleep this night, who watched from a window. The boy saw the man, and blinked, and looked again. The man had been swallowed up in the mist, but Natrass had seen that face before, and he had not forgotten. His overriding thought was that Duke Kendik must be warned. His mother had told Natrass that Duke Kendik was now the ruler of Borzim—imagine that! The boy thought about going to the palace now; but he did not know the way, and besides, the cloaked man might find him somewhere in the mist and darkness. Tomorrow, he would set out. He returned to his bed and lay, face set with determination, until sleep claimed him at last.
Chapter 22
All morning, the word had gone out around the town. Guards, servants, even Kendik's majordomo Kullik; all had been sent out to notify the Name-givers of Borzim that their new ruler would address them in the central square. Those who could read were informed by public notices pasted up on walls. Natrass, who was as proud of his ability to read as his parents were of teaching him, saw one of the notices on his way to the palace and decided that his best chance of talking to Lord Kendik was after his speech. His mother and father were both too busy to attend—they had discovered that there was a great, and smelly, void in Borzim when it came to the mysterious arts of plumbing, and had gone into business together to fill the gap—so Natrass and his brothers were deputized to represent the family. Natrass considered telling his siblings about the man he had seen, but he did not want to share the credit with them. Still, he was glad to have his brothers around him as he waited for Lord Kendik to address his people.
XXX
Kendik stood in the portico of the guardhouse, as much in shadow as he could contrive. He moistened his lips nervously. All other terrors receded to the back of his mind, while the terror of public speaking rushed to the forefront, mocking him with its promise of public humiliation.
He wished Anarya were with him; he wished his mother was here so he could hide behind her. But Anarya had opted to stay at the palace, sharpening her sword with a determined expression on her face and looking for training partners. "I will be your consort in private," she had said, "but I am not yet ready to appear as your consort in public." His mother still had no inkling of the remarkable events that had befallen her son since he set off in search of adventure—a search that could fairly be said to have succeeded. He made a mental note to ask Kullik to contact her at the earliest opportunity. He was sure she would want to see the palace, and compare notes with his majordomo on how her son had been behaving.
But he had neither of them. Instead, the silent Atlan stood by his side. Even that was a comfort, but, if Kendik's nerve failed him, he could not expect Atlan to step in and take over the public speaking duties.
Kullik rejoined him. "Sire, the stage is ready, and the crowd is growing restless. It is time for you to speak."
The walk from the guardhouse to the makeshift stage felt like the walk to the gallows. He mounted the three steps as if expecting to see a noose at the end of them. He was closely followed by Atlan and a bevy of guards, who took up positions around him in a semicircle. At his insistence, none of them were clad in black.
He stared at the crowd, and the crowd stared back at him. The Ishkarat siege had not lasted long enough to cause severe privation, but it had started to bite. The clothes he saw were dull, patched, and scruffy, the faces pinched with worry and the beginnings of hunger.
Most of the faces were human, but there was a scattering of other races too—even a few t'skrang, who did not appear to be attracting any unwelcome attention from their neighbors. There were ripples of conversation. Off to his left, not far from the front, he saw a famili
ar face: Viknis, who was waving at him encouragingly. Kendik lifted a hand in return, and immediately felt better. Qualia would be out there somewhere too. He was not without friends in Borzim.
"People of Borzim," he said. To his own ears, it sounded like a frightened squeak. He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again, more deliberately, hoping he could remember everything he had planned to say.
"People of Borzim! I am your new ruler, Duke Kendik."
There was a faint ripple of applause.
"The death of Lord Tesek was a tragedy. He built this town up from a few huts by the river, and his role in the history of Borzim can never be diminished. But it cannot be denied that his commitment to the growth of Borzim led him to make some powerful enemies. The proof of that has been visible from the town walls of late."
A few nods.
"People of Borzim, it pleases me greatly to tell you that this threat to your town is at an end. As I speak, the t'skrang army and its ork auxiliaries are withdrawing from their encampment by the River Opthia. The t'skrang are returning to Lake Vors. The orks are seeking out their next engagement, but it will not be with us. The siege of Borzim is lifted!"
And the people of Borzim cheered. Real cheering, from the heart. As the admiration of the masses washed over him, Kendik drank his first, rich draught of the pleasures of power.
"Farmers are now free to return to their fields. Whatever crops are left should be harvested, for Borzim does not have all the food it needs. From tomorrow, those from the plains villages who have come to shelter within our walls will be able to return to their homes, and I will send guards out with them to help in the rebuilding that will be needed.
"Though everyone will be pleased to see the siege lifted, not everyone will be equally pleased with the agreement we have reached with House Ishkarat. Our foresters will have to obey new restrictions, and I will meet with them separately to discuss these. We will have to take more care with what we pour into the river. There are those among us who understand such matters much better than I, and—"
The crossbow bolt missed Kendik by the breadth of a finger. The guard standing directly behind him was not so lucky. He took the bolt in the shoulder, and screamed in agony. As Kendik was pushed to the ground by the nearest guards, who covered him with their bodies, he had time to see the man who had taken the bolt arch backwards, foam frothing from his mouth. A strangled scream escaped his throat. By the time the man's head hit the ground, he was dead.
Kendik waited for another shot, but none came. The crowd was a roiling cauldron of commotion and speculation. From its northern edge came screams. Atlan jumped off the stage and began to wade through the crowd. He was much too late; a figure erupted from the back of the crowd and ran off towards the West Gate, outdistancing his pursuers.
"We must get you back to the palace!" said his majordomo, tugging at Kendik's sleeve.
"No," said Kendik. "I will finish my speech." He rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. Behind him, guards were dragging their unfortunate colleague away. Kendik faced the crowd.
"Clearly I should keep this brief," he said. It was meant to be a joke, but he saw several heads nodding vigorously. "Thank you for remaining. I am young. I am not yet experienced in ruling a town or its people. I will need your help. Together, I hope, we can make this a place of which we can all be proud."
They cheered again, if a little more uncertainly this time, and he walked away steadily towards the guardhouse. His shoulders were tensed, but he made it off the stage and through the door alive.
The scene inside was all too familiar. A line of the insulted and the injured waited, with varying degrees of patience, to address their complaints to the guards on duty, who either ignored them entirely or fobbed them off with vague promises of action at some indefinite future date. "No, you bloody well listen to me!" he heard one of the guards say. Kendik had heard that voice before. "Don't come here wasting my time with rubbish like that. I knew your father, and ...". The dwarf's voice trailed off into some anecdote, occasionally accompanied by muttered protests from the unfortunate petitioner. For a moment, Kendik thought of slipping into the queue incognito and approaching the counter with some spurious complaint against the new ruler of Borzim, just to see what the dwarf's reaction would be. He began to laugh, then clamped down on himself, fearing he might never stop.
In any case, incognito was no longer an option. Eyes were turning towards him, including those of the guards. The dwarf's diatribe faltered and he straightened up in his chair.
"Carry on, carry on," said Kendik vaguely, slipping for a moment back into the first incarnation of his Duke Kendik persona. Then he said to his escort, "Before I return to the palace, there is a prisoner I wish to visit."
"I must protest," said Trekaldis, the stern Commander of the Falcons, who had appeared at Kendik's elbow. "The prison is no place for the ruler of Borzim to be seen."
"Oh, but I've already been seen there," said Kendik. "You imprisoned me there, remember? And I told you that I would be launching a personal investigation into the condition of the prisoners once the negotiations with the t'skrang were over."
"Yes—but, the assassin—"
"Is unlikely to be hiding in the cells," said Kendik. "Take me there."
Accompanied by Trekaldis, Atlan, and the prison commander, who was now dressed in brown and blue rather than black, he was duly taken down the stairs and into the underground world below. Though he returned as lord of all he surveyed, not as anxious visitor or terrified prisoner, he still feared that the Falcons would turn on him and throw him into a cell to await torture.
The prisoners, who had no notion who he was, paid him no attention whatsoever, though the sight of black clothing among his retinue caused many of them to cower away to the furthest corner of their cells.
The cell Kendik had once occupied had new inmates now, and another cell was being hacked out of the rock beyond it. But, in the cell one nearer to the hub of the prison's wheel, the old man was still huddled in his rags.
"When I was your neighbor," Kendik said to him, "I never learned your Name."
The old man staggered to his feet and approached the bars. He was shockingly thin. "I gave orders that the prisoners were to be better fed," said Kendik to the prison commander. "This man is starving."
"He won't take the food," said one of the guards. "'Hunger strike,' he says. Wants the 'restoration of democracy', or some such."
"Neighbor?" said the old man. "Can't say as I remember you. Wait a minute ... yes! You gave me an apple and a couple of carrots. Very nice they were too. Then you escaped, or so I heard. Killed half the guards, was the rumor. The Falcons will get you for that, laddie. They don't forget. Name's Fekor, by the way."
"Silence!" thundered Trekaldis. "How dare you—"
"Let him speak," said Kendik.
"Well now! Ordering the butchers about. I heard one of the guards saying old Tesek got what he deserved, and some kid had taken his place. That would be you, would it?"
"Yes," said Kendik.
"Strategy, or luck?"
"Mainly the latter," Kendik admitted.
"How about that Wizard? He still around?" asked the old man.
"I don't know where he is, but I don't think it's in Borzim."
"Got rid of him, did you?"
Kendik hesitated. "Not exactly," he said. "But he's choosing to keep his distance."
"Far in the distance is the best place for that one. Gave me the shivers, he did."
"He had a hold over Tesek. He does not have a hold over me," said Kendik, and wondered as he said it whether he was telling the truth.
"Suppose you expect me to bow the knee to you now you're the ruler?"
"Not especially."
"Good, because I won't. One lord's no better than another, in my opinion. I'd burn the palace down if I could, with you in it. Well, no—that wouldn't be right. I'd give you a minute to get out. Where's that girlfriend of yours?"
Beside Kendik, Trekaldis ope
ned his mouth to protest, then shut it again.
"Sharpening her sword, I believe."
"Lovely lass, but there's something not quite right about her, if you ask me. Still, bet she keeps you warm at night, eh?"
Rulers weren't supposed to blush, so Kendik pretended that he hadn't. "Why have you stopped eating?"
"I'm demanding the restoration of democracy, like he said."
"It's unlikely to happen before you starve to death."
The old man shrugged. "It's all the same to me. I may as well starve to death anyway. Better than being stuck here."
"If I let you out, what would you do?"
"Start gathering an army of the dispossessed. I'd stop for a bite first, if I were in funds."
"Do you have somewhere to live?"
"Course I do. I've got a house near the East Gate, 'less it's been sold out from under me. Probably full of squatters by now. Still, that would give me a ready-made army of the dispossessed, right there sleeping on the floor."
Kendik turned to the guards. "Here's what you're going to do. First, free this man. Second, take him somewhere that sells decent food and buy him a meal—don't worry, I'll pay." To show his bona fides, he handed over a small pile of coins. "Third, escort him home and ensure he has a bed for the night." He turned back to Fekor. "I don't expect gratitude, but I do expect that minute's warning."
"Seems fair," said Fekor. "Where are the keys?"
All the way back down the corridor, Trekaldis remonstrated with him, warning that such a conspicuous act of mercy endangered justice, that it would lower the morale of the guards, that the other prisoners would expect nothing less for themselves. Kendik ignored him. At last, he had been able to use his power to do something good. Besides, there was one more cell he needed to see. As he reached the hub, his stride faltered, but he made himself go on.
"This way," he said. The nearer they got to the end of this particular corridor, the worse he felt. Sweat broke out on his skin. His stomach roiled and knotted. The barred cells were replaced by win-dowless rooms. Here was the door. Behind it was the room in which they were going to torture him, until Sezhina cut them down.