Night of Rain

by J. C. Owens

  The houses grew ever larger as they progressed up the main road, and it was quite evident that this must be an area of the nobility. The colors were the same though, brilliant colors and white trim. Surprisingly enough, most of the people they passed were well dressed, but definitely not on the scale that Isnay was familiar with in Persis. He glanced back at the king and his lack of identifying regalia or priceless clothing denoting his rank. The people they passed bowed their heads or put their fist against their heart, but beyond that, did not pester their king with any sort of recognition. Their lack of interest seemed to indicate that their monarch was often among them, not a distant, mysterious figure.

  So very different than the system in Anrodnes.

  The king seemed to grow impatient with the silence. He glared at Isnay again. “You speak of rogue provinces within the empire. I expected the vaunted emperor to have better control of his lands, especially for a ruler whose powers are so legendary.”

  King Dransin’s words held an ironic twist that could not be denied. It was up to Isnay to catch his attention and hold it, to show a depth of honesty that would be difficult to refute. “There is much and more to tell you. Would you prefer to wait until we reach the keep, Your Majesty?”

  “I prefer to hear the truth. Now. The castle is full of gossip and intrigue enough. We can speak out here as men.” He looked Isnay over, his gaze taking him in from head to toe but his expression revealing nothing…except perhaps daring Isnay to protest. “As it should be.”

  Isnay bowed his head. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I am sure you have heard that the Choosing was called in Anrodnes.”

  The king waved a hand impatiently. “I heard. Don’t understand the why and how of it, and can’t say I care.”

  Isnay almost smiled, amused despite himself. This man could definitely use a diplomat or two to speak for him. He would definitely find himself in hot water with the countries he dealt with in the future if he displayed this bluntness. This refreshing bluntness. Isnay had dealt with all manner of leaders and the give and take, maneuverings, and veiled references were wearing, to say the least. Bhantan might have been peaceful in the past, but this young king did not seem to fit the mold that his father had created.

  “The Choosing set in motion the events that have led to all that has happened,” Isnay replied gently. “Among the candidates was Raine Yoldis, the youngest son of the ruling family of Odenar. His oldest brother, the current ruler, accompanied him to Persis. Little did we know at the time, but that brother had left orders to invade Bhantan.” He leaned forward to meet Dransin’s eyes squarely. “It seems he believed that Odenar was too far away to have to conform to Anrodnes laws. He thought that the emperor would be pleased to add another country to our tally after the fact. He believed Raine Yoldis would be chosen and would convince the emperor to let Odenar control your illenium mine.”

  Dransin’s hands clenched into fists, but he said nothing.

  Isnay continued when it was evident that the king was not going to comment yet.

  “An event took place at Persis that convinced the Imperial Heir, now the 38th Emperor Taldan Anrodnes, that something was very wrong back in Odenar. He sent a contingent of specialized troops along with several diplomats. What they discovered upon arrival was that the Odenar army was missing. It didn’t take long to figure out where they would have gone.”

  “At that point, the new emperor sent his youngest brother, Imperial Prince Zaran, to lead the second contingent of our military. Upon their arrival, they arrested all the ruling family, as well as other leaders, before joining with the previous troops. Prince Zaran Anrodnes ordered pursuit, attempting to intercept the Odenar military before it could cross your borders. We were far too late.”

  “And now my country burns because your emperor cannot control his own empire,” King Dransin snarled.

  Isnay had no time to respond because they had finally reached the high walls that surrounded the main keep. The massive gates—with beautifully ornate black iron hinges that covered half the face of each thick wooden surface—opened soundlessly, perfectly balanced.

  Isnay was impressed. The feeling of meticulous upkeep in every aspect of the capital city was noteworthy. Persis was such a fast-growing city that some of the older quarters got left behind. At home, the original fortress was surrounded by a plethora of buildings created over the years at the whims of different emperors. Here, the original fortress was the palace.

  The palace itself was an unrelenting gray, its stone incredibly resilient, for it hardly seemed weathered despite the age of the structure. Everything within the massive courtyard seemed utilitarian, no-nonsense. The only relief from that gray were long, soft-white marble steps leading up to the main doors into the palace itself. There were no guards there, and the king opened one of the massive doors himself, gesturing them inside with brisk efficiency, scowling with impatience.

  Isnay found himself almost smiling. The thought of the king of Bhantan opening his own door to the palace as though it were a lowly cottage was amusing. Certainly, the man put on no airs. It was refreshing and yet worrisome at the same time. Because the peaceful nature of Bhantan was unlikely to continue in the wake of Odenar’s invasion. Things would change, and Isnay thought it a shame. It felt unique here, so different from anywhere in Anrodnes.

  The interior of the palace was a pleasant surprise. Far from the dark, outdated place it had seemed from the exterior, inside it was a place of light. Huge skylights lined the ceiling far above them, and tall, narrow windows followed the line of the stairway that led to higher floors. The floor was marble veined with light gray lines, and it showed little wear despite the thousands of feet that had have trodden over its surface. The walls were painted in the same bright colors as were the homes, and the scenes depicted were not those of battles past, as they were in Persis, but of everyday life, with almost every panel having a horse within it. So it was true then, the fabled love of horses that Bhantan held.

  He followed the king’s passage through the strangely silent halls. There were no voices, no sign of servants or those who lived within the palace moving about. Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness, and Isnay shivered. It was so different than the almost crowded conditions of the Persis palace.

  Dransin led him to an area where seating was scattered over a brick terrace. The king pulled an ornate, wrought-iron chair around and sank onto it, glaring at Isnay until he pulled his own chair close.

  The king’s companions had followed them in silence, and they ranged around the terrace, obviously keeping an eye on the intruders. One leaned in to whisper something to the Bhantan monarch, then slipped away, back into the palace.

  “First, I must apologize beforehand, for the Anrodnes army has passed your borders in pursuit of the invading rebels. The empire’s forces are helping those they can along the way, but their main mission is to find the Odenar contingent and destroy them. There was no time to send a message to you asking your permission before they crossed. It is my understanding from missives sent to us by Prince Zaran that they have sent messengers to inform you of events, but given the distance they would have to traverse by land, I would imagine they have not yet arrived. Therefore, I was sent to speak to you directly.”

  “You still expect me to believe that the army of Anrodnes, now within my very borders, has no other intent but to retrieve rebels?” The words were pure ice, nothing of concession within the harsh tone. “Once here, I do not see you leaving. It will be one thing, then another, and then you will be overseeing us for our own protection. Don’t think I haven’t studied your history. I am not a fool to see your offer of aid as anything but a precursor to occupation. After all, we are conveniently next door to your conquered territory of Odenar. I have read the texts on that bloody takeover. Forgive me if I have no faith in the ability of Anrodnes to do anything at all in a peaceful, non-threatening manner.”

  Isnay nodded in appreciation of the king’s honesty. “I would expect nothing less, You
r Majesty. You are ruler of your lands, protector of your people, and if you were not concerned by our presence, I would be seriously questioning your fitness to lead.”

  Dransin’s brows shot up at his words. He eyed Isnay more closely, as though he had suddenly seen him as more than a mouthpiece of the empire, more than an extension of Anrodnes.

  “With the ascension of our new emperor,” Isnay continued, “I believe there is a time of great change coming upon Anrodnes and her territories. I can tell you, although you will surely doubt me given our history, that part of those changes will include a strengthening of the outer borders of existing territories, of working on what needs to be addressed within the lands that currently exist. My emperor believes that further acquisition and expansion are not what will benefit Anrodnes at this point.”

  Dransin leaned back in his chair, eyes hooded, his grip relaxing upon the arms of the chair so that his hands lay lax upon the wood, a signal perhaps that he was opening slightly to Isnay’s information.

  He was silent, and something about that silence let Isnay remain quiet and cease his attempts to outline the current situation. In reality, there was little more he could say. He was not current on what was happening in the attempts to corner Odenar’s rebels. So much could have changed in the time since their last message. His mission was to prevent a larger war and get this king to accept their relief supplies while easing his fears that Anrodnes had designs upon his nation. There was no way to soften the past or excuse their history. The only thing to be done was to attempt to flesh out the possibilities of the present and the intentions of the new emperor. Not easy when Taldan’s plans had never been implemented before, not within Anrodnes, and not within any other country they were aware of. His insights and unending attempts to improve the lot of all citizens of the empire put them in a unique space. For the most part, most countries changed slowly, and changes of leadership put any advancements on hold or eliminated them altogether.

  Isnay could foresee that in Taldan’s reign, other places would begin to see them as something to emulate, rather than fear. But that time was not now, not in this crisis.

  Dransin’s gimlet stare never wavered, his silence pressing upon the occupants of the brick terrace.

  Isnay admired a man who could take his time with his own thoughts, who did not leap into conversation without due consideration. It denoted a wise person, much though the earlier hot-tempered display had denoted otherwise.

  There was far more to this young king than floated upon the surface.

  * * *

  Dransin

  Dransin wanted to fling the diplomat out on his ear, wanted to laugh in his face and deny his pretty words. The man was a master of deception or he wouldn’t be in the position of ambassador. Head diplomat of Anrodnes was not a position given to a fool.

  Word of the attack had arrived via messenger only that morning, and he had been planning a supply train to the ravaged areas ever since. But he also needed soldiers to help protect the supplies meant for his people, and right now he was in a bad position. He couldn’t fight the invading army directly. He hated the feeling of helplessness that ate away at him. He was desperate to get out there and help his people, to save lives and end this madness. Now this. The sheer gall of an Anrodnes diplomat showing up at the capital with a paltry offering of supplies, supplies that would take days to get to where the attacks had taken place. Though he was not above taking the offering…once he confirmed the ships were filled with food and supplies and not soldiers of the empire, of course. But that did not mean he believed in the spirit behind the honeyed words the diplomat was offering.

  This was the empire’s fault, however you viewed the matter. If this was a feint to bring them into possession of Bhantan without an all-out war…

  This was a nightmare. His throne hadn’t even been secure yet when the invaders had begun tearing through his country. His sister wanted the throne, had the desire and more than enough ambition to rule. Now an ambassador from the empire was here. Would this help him secure his throne? Or would it be the final push his sister and her new “advisors” needed to push him out of power?

  He sifted through his memories of the studies on Anrodnes he had undertaken as a youth, when he had been determined to protect his country from the menace the Anrodnes Empire represented. His father had never agreed with his concerns, preferring to see Bhantan as a bastion of peace that other countries respected.

  His father’s shielded views had frustrated Dransin completely. Their relationship had always been strained because of the matter. King Frandil saw his son as a warmonger in his calls for a standing army and heavier border protection, especially next to Odenar. Dransin saw his father as a dreamer with deliberate blinders on, something that could not help but lead to ruin.

  As his father’s health had declined the year before, it was with great reluctance and an evident lack of faith that he passed the throne over to Dransin. The only reason Dransin had taken the throne at all was because he was the firstborn and first in line according to Bhantan law. Although the nobles were already restless, and if he lost too many of them, the same Bhantan law that had put him in power could see him deposed as well. The pressure on him was crushing.

  But it was his father’s lack of faith that had hurt, deeply, so Dransin had stuffed down the emotions, and bulled his way forward. He ran into opposition at every turn. He’d had to fight for every scrap of cooperation as the regions held out for concessions in taxes or other recompenses. It was frustrating beyond belief, putting his plans to defend Bhantan far, far behind schedule. Now, barely a month after the first fort in the planned chain along the Odenar border had been finished, his fears had come horribly true.

  Odenar had attacked. The fort was simply bypassed. Without the planned chain of forts, the single bastion had been of little use. The invaders had razed entire villages to the ground, killed every person without mercy, pillaged, looted. Dransin held no illusions about where they were headed and why. He had attempted to explain to his father why their discovery of illenium had made them a target, but the former king had refused to listen. Now the people had paid the ultimate price for his father’s lack of insight.

  So even though he wanted to throw this diplomat, this Isnay Mretom, out of his kingdom, he would do nothing so rash. He knew he had already revealed too much of his fiery temper. A skilled diplomat could use that against him. He needed to regain the upper hand.

  He leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed, his words clipped as he spoke to Isnay.

  “You weave a lovely picture of your new emperor. Yes, I know of the quality of Taldan Anrodnes’s teachings. I had always wished that we could send some of our physicians to your schools. Yet over it all lays the threat of what Anrodnes plans, of what new territory will be taken if you are given the slightest encouragement.”

  Isnay bowed his head, a degree of understanding in his eyes that Dransin distrusted.

  “I can only reiterate that the new emperor has no intention of conquering Bhantan. What has occurred is entirely at Odenar’s will. We are here to set things right.”

  Set things right? With a surge of bitterness, he knew what the true result would be. All those nobles and courtiers who had stymied him at every turn would now point the finger at him, the new king, and blame him. His sister would use this against him for her own ends. She had foreign advisors as part of her retinue, and they had only sown division when unity was needed. Meanwhile, his country burned and his people suffered.

  All of it for illenium. The mine had been a blessing until it turned into a curse.

  He wanted to jump on his horse and ride to fight the invaders himself. Without an army, he was stuck here, trying to organize relief caravans, sending people to find the survivors and bring them back here.

  Isnay seemed to sense his frustration, his need to do something. “Please, your majesty. Let us help. Tell us what is needed.” Isnay’s tone held gentle persuasion that grated on Dransin’s nerves.
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br />   He eyed the diplomat, admiring the calm manner the man maintained so effortlessly. The rage and fear that coursed through Dransin since the invasion eliminated the least hope of any sort of composure. He knew he was making anything but a good first impression.

  He drew a deep breath, gathering his patience and his thoughts. They had no protection. On the off chance that this story was the truth—that the empire did not want to seize his kingdom, that they came only to stop this invasion—would it not be best that he worked with this man? If, a very big if, this diplomat was not lying, then he would be a fool to demand that Anrodnes leave the country.

  And really, what power did he have that would make the empire listen to anything he might say?

  “I’m riding out tomorrow with the caravan that will take the supplies to where they are needed,” he finally answered. “If what you say is true, if your words anything but a lie, then you will ride with me. It will do the empire good to know exactly what their lack of foresight, their inability to rein in a far away territory, has created.”

  The diplomat tilted his head, yet there was nothing mocking in the action. It seemed more an attempt to discern his reasoning. “It will be dangerous. We have absolutely no reason to believe that Odenar would respect your rank. Indeed, they might seek to kill you, to destroy all resistance or leadership.”

  Dransin gave a snort of disgust. “My sister would love that. She would follow the path of appeasement.” He surged restlessly to his feet and stared down at Isnay. “I do not trust you in the slightest, but at the moment I’m without resources or army to drive these invaders out. For the sake of thousands of lives, I pray you have the least bit of conscience.”

  Isnay got to his feet, meeting his angry gaze with a look of compassion so deep it almost toppled Dransin’s mental shields. Almost.

  “I know you have no reason to trust us,” Isnay said. “Only seeing will create believing. Let me show you the truth.”