Upon the Flight of the Queen

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “Archers,” he said.

  Again the officer sighed.

  “Which Altenerai were they?” the soldier asked him.

  He blinked. How much did the Naor actually know about the Altenerai and what they looked like? Probably they knew the names of all the famous ones. Maybe even a common fellow like the man he impersonated would be familiar with N’lahr and Kyrkenall and Decrin and Enada—all the great war leaders from the last war, really.

  “Describe them,” the officer commanded.

  He decided not to play thick this time. He wasn’t sure what happened to useless Naor footsoldiers on the battlefield. “One was dark haired. Handsome.”

  “Handsome?” the officer voice held a mild revulsion, and Rylin realized he’d offered a descriptor Naor probably didn’t use on other men.

  “Wicked swordsman. Blinding fast.” He supposed he was blinding fast as compared to the sorts of opponents the Naor usually faced. He saw the officer stiffen.

  “Was he older, with dark hair, and tall?”

  Who did they think he was talking about? N’lahr?

  Of course. They wouldn’t have heard of Rylin, so they assumed he was talking about the most famous Altenerai swordsman! He fought down a smile. Apparently that little joke he’d made to the Naor scout about being N’lahr returned from the dead had gotten through the ranks.

  Rylin nodded slowly. “Yes. It was him.”

  The officer and his underling exchanged a horrified look.

  Rylin straightened, risked a glance back toward the door. He still heard distant fighting, and the snorts of horses, but they seemed far away. The rest of the soldiers had moved down the corridor or up the stairs.

  “You said there were two more,” the soldier prompted.

  Rylin nodded as he listened carefully for the sound of Naor above. Footsteps had receded there as well. He was alone with these two fellows.

  The officer sounded impatient. “What did the others look like?”

  “Your name, sir? Regiment?”

  “I’m Commander Elchin of the Falcon Guard.” The man sounded insulted, exasperated. Probably he wasn’t used to being questioned by run-of-the-mill warriors from other tribes.

  Rylin lurched forward as if losing balance, and when the other soldier reached forward to assist, he drove his knife straight under his chin and into his brain pan. The man spasmed as blood sprayed. Close at hand, Commander Elchin was surprised enough for Rylin to seize him with one hand, trip him, and drive him headfirst into the overhanging staircase.

  The officer’s helm clanked into the stone and he groaned. Rylin finished him before he could react further, and in only a few more moments opened the secret doorway, heaved both bodies into the ladder shaft, closed it, and left the fortress with a much more useful semblance. He was now Commander Elchin of the Falcon Guard. At his hip was Varama’s pouch with its second semblance stone, hidden by the commander’s actual cloak. He also wore Elchin’s wineskin, and his own sword and knife, obscured by the same semblance that disguised his features.

  The wine was good on his throat, a strong, clean flavor. The Naor commander had been possessed of decent taste. He held off drinking more, though, for the trickle of liquid reminded him of just how hungry he was, and alcohol on an empty stomach wouldn’t do him any favors.

  More troubling was his worry over the semblances. One night, during their long ride, Varama had used her hearthstone to take the things back to full power, which was wonderful, but still only gave him a few hours.

  So, nothing challenging, really. He just had to wander into the dying city to gather intelligence, disguised as an enemy officer, hoping he wouldn’t be detected as an impostor or accidentally killed by his allies. And then he had to find his way back into the tunnels. After that would be the small matter of getting his people safely outside Alantris. He didn’t have a plan for that, yet, and hoped something would come to him as he explored.

  If it all went poorly, he could always stick with his fallback plan—die in a blaze of glory and take a horde of the hastigs with him.

  2

  The New Commander

  Tesra wished the designer of the exalt khalats had done more to distinguish them from those worn by Altenerai. She understood that the treated fibers naturally took on a blue shade, but surely the garments might have been tailored differently. All that distinguished the two kinds of armored robes was the red piping along the sleeves, cuff, collar, and edging, and that didn’t seem enough. Not when she stood on a dais in front of a room full of Altenerai squires.

  She wasn’t completely sure why she felt a little like an impostor. It was the martial corps who had shown themselves corrupt. Kyrkenall had gone on a murderous rampage and killed two exalts and two Altenerai. And Rylin … She felt her face flush. He’d lied his way into the heart of the Mage Auxiliary, breaking one of the fundamental tenets of his oath as an alten. Then he and that weird alten, Varama, had broken into the Great Hall and stolen not only a supply of hearthstones, but the queen’s special keystone, badly injuring Exalt Thelar in the process.

  It had taken the concerted efforts of two healers to fix his arm, although as he stood quietly beside her, stern and grim in his own khalat, there was no knowing he’d been injured at all.

  She was at fault for introducing Rylin into Thelar’s training session, where he’d deeply embarrassed the dignified exalt by outthinking him during a duel. Afterward, Thelar had returned to treating her with icy, proper formality, which was his practice with all but a handful he considered close. That retreat was more painful than Synahla’s blistering rebuke and even Rylin’s betrayal, for she had no idea how long their working relationship would remain damaged, and whether repair was even possible. Synahla, at least, had accepted part of the blame once she’d cooled down. Thelar really wasn’t talking to her anymore, and the silence as they waited for the arrival of the commander had grown strained.

  She and her fellow exalt stood on the raised stage of the assembly hall in the third- and fourth-rank dormitory building, behind the stables. It was smaller and better appointed than the dorm for lower ranks. Most of the squires remaining in the city were actually first or second rank, yet there were so few of them, Commander Synahla had ordered the gathering here, lest the vast empty space in their own building further demoralize the troops.

  The smaller hall hadn’t made any appreciable difference in the manner of the thirty-odd squires facing them at parade rest. Though they were well-groomed, garbed in their immaculate gray dress surcoats—rank denoted on shoulder and left breast with red chevrons—the best that could be said for them was that they seemed subdued. Rylin and Varama had galloped off with the vast majority of the squire corps, and those left behind looked downright disheartened. Tesra felt for them. They could hardly be blamed for the actions some of their commanding officers had taken.

  To left and right of the squires, the assembly hall benches had been stacked in an orderly fashion, under fading mosaics of fabled events from the Altenerai annals. On Tesra’s right, robed Herahn bent one knee before Queen Altenera, who stood before him in old-fashioned armor and gazed proudly at the first sapphire rings, presented by the sorcerer on a silver platter.

  A mosaic of Jessaymyr stretched along the wall to Tesra’s left. The famous alten was central, bright hair streaming behind as she charged a rank of shadowy shapes with burning eyes while Kerwyn launched a blazing arrow from a nearby hillock.

  Tesra heard the door open behind her, and she and Thelar turned as one, snapping to attention. Commander Synahla, leader of the exalts, had entered the room. Dark haired, violet eyed, she would have exuded authority even if she hadn’t worn the exalt khalat. She didn’t look as though she felt the least bit uncomfortable in her uniform.

  She strode forward, her highly polished boots beating sharply upon the old stage boards. Her glance swept over her two exalts, and she paused briefly to return their salutes before halting to stare at the squires, now standing at full attention.

/>   Thelar and Tesra turned to face the squires with her.

  Synahla kept the young men and women at attention for a while longer. Finally she nodded. “At ease.”

  They shifted back to parade rest, hands behind them, feet a shoulder-width apart. The highest-ranking squire, a fifth-ranked man with short, curling brown hair, stood at their upper right, and he pivoted sharply to inspect the lower rankers before taking up parade rest himself.

  Synahla stepped to the slim lectern in center stage and addressed the squires. “Thank you for coming.”

  Tesra, as Synahla’s adjutant, had commanded their attendance, so the thanks was a formality. The squires seemed to accept orders from exalts under the circumstances, even though the question of rank priorities between the older and newer corps had yet to be formally settled by the queen.

  Synahla continued. “We are at a difficult time in the history of the Altenerai, and of Darassus and the realms themselves. Many outsiders are saying that the loyalty of you squires has to be questioned, given that so many of your leaders have proven traitorous.”

  She let that statement hang fire for a moment before providing reassurance. “I think these fears are exaggerated. I know each of you has worked diligently for years to reach your current position. And I know few are as selfless as those who serve the throne as members of the Mage Auxiliary or the Altenerai Corps. So I want you to know that I will do my utmost to quash any rumors about your loyalty.” Synahla paused to consider her listeners for a moment and brush a lock of hair from her brow.

  “But you yourselves must not lend credence to these rumors by any of your own words or actions. It’s come to my attention that some of you have openly expressed criticism of the Mage Auxiliary.” She gripped the lectern edges. “I understand that some rivalry is inevitable, but it should remain good-natured, for we are all working for the glory of our queen and the safety of the realms. Some of this loose talk involves fallacious rumors that could be detrimental to all of us, and a few of them smack faintly of treason. I am certain that you are familiar with all or most of the accusations.”

  Tesra certainly was, and frowned that squires thought that the exalts plotted to usurp Altenerai power, much less that they had somehow framed the discredited Altenerai for crimes they had manifestly committed. Crimes Tesra herself had witnessed.

  Probably Synahla did not expect a response of any kind, for she certainly hadn’t invited one. But the fifth ranker took a single step forward, coming to full attention, and put his hand to his chest in salute.

  Synahla paused with mouth partway open, staring at him. Tesra wondered what that measured look on her face meant, and whether she would ignore or chastise him.

  She addressed him coolly. “There is something you wish to say, Squire Elik?”

  “Yes, Commander. With your leave?”

  Only the briefest quirk of the commander’s eyebrow betrayed her irritation. She gave permission with the faintest of nods.

  Elik resumed parade rest, left hand behind him, right hand sweeping toward his fellows. The alert blue eyes in the fifth ranker’s broad face briefly caught her own. Like all squires, he was fit and muscular. His short brown hair curled naturally, and his chin had a pronounced cleft.

  “I have spoken to the squires at some length, Commander,” he said. “They have pledged focus upon their training and their duties, and will leave rumors lie. They recognize that unfounded accusations weaken the bonds that unite us. I wish to apologize, on behalf of the squire corps, for permitting gossip to gain footing among us. We will be vigilant henceforth.”

  Tesra saw only a sincere desire to please upon the squire’s open, intelligent features. She had liked his pluck, and looked to Synahla for her reaction.

  Synahla bowed her head in polite acknowledgment. “Those are nice words,” she said, then added, “and I believe them heartfelt. I thank you for attempting to address the situation, but I think you are overmatched, owing not to your character, but to your inexperience.”

  Elik’s brow wrinkled, but he said nothing further.

  Synahla continued: “You cannot be blamed for that. But it is further evidence of the poor judgment of your commanding officers that they left a fifth-rank squire in command.”

  The exalt commander summarized for effect: in truth the departing Altenerai had abandoned their positions leaving no one in charge, and the fifth ranker had simply done his best in the absence of official orders.

  “Which brings us to my next point,” Synahla said. “Until Commander Denaven returns with the loyal Altenerai, effective this moment forward, I am placing Exalt Thelar in charge of the remaining Altenerai Corps. Some of you may be familiar with Exalt Thelar, for I am told he sometimes called upon the late Alten Asrahn. And you are likely aware that before joining the service of the exalted, he himself was a squire of the fourth rank. Thelar, would you like to say a few words?”

  Synahla stepped aside and beckoned Thelar forward.

  In profile, with his proud hooked nose and dark, brooding eyes, he appeared very much like some hero of legend. Thelar looked out on the squires and gathered his thoughts for only a moment.

  “I thank you, Commander. Squires, I do not intend to supplant the legitimately appointed officers of the Altenerai Corps, but to aid them in this troubled time, and to ensure that its traditions, so exemplified by Asrahn Red Sword, are instilled in today’s squires.”

  Tesra couldn’t recall the last time someone had actually referred to Asrahn by his sobriquet, and struggled not to roll her eyes. Sometimes Thelar’s formality bordered on the ridiculous. In her own squire days, they’d called the Master of Squires Asrahn Hard Ass. Behind his back, of course.

  Thelar nodded to Elik. “I see that Squire Elik has reminded you of your duty. I will do my best to communicate your heritage. He and I shall work to ensure that emphasis is placed henceforth upon honorable conduct. We shall resume regularly scheduled training within the next hour. First, though, I believe the commander has a few more words.”

  He traded positions with Synahla.

  “Thank you, Thelar.” The exalt commander pushed back her hair once more as she resumed the lectern. “Until Commander Denaven returns from his mission, you are to refer to Thelar as ‘Commander.’ I fully expect that you will prosper under his leadership.” Synahla paused, looked over her audience and then continued. “While I have full faith in the future of the Altenerai Corps, I believe we need to make absolutely certain that all lingering issues have been addressed. Which is why I wish to call forth two squires. Donahla, of the second rank. Hamar, of the third rank. Please step forward.”

  The third ranker, a tall, tanned man, took two steps from the front line. Donahla, a short-haired brunette woman, walked from the back. His manner was grim, almost challenging, and hers was furtive and uncertain. She drew next to him, glancing at him as if for solace. Not finding any, her gaze flitted to the two commanders, then to Tesra, who sadly met her eyes. Then the young squire fixed her gaze upon the middle distance, and she had marshaled her fear into determination.

  Synahla looked sternly upon them both for several long breaths.

  “My inquiries have led me to the two of you, who seem to be at the dead center of the most malicious web of lies. There is nothing honorable about those whom you have defended. Any of their past deeds have been overshadowed by their crimes. And you must realize this.”

  Tesra saw that Hamar’s mouth tighten in anger.

  “I can’t imagine what either of you hoped to gain by your actions. I am giving you this one chance to speak the truth and apologize. Hamar, you may address me first.”

  The squire’s eyes widened. His mouth worked back and forth, though he made no sound. And then, quite suddenly his expression cleared. “Commander, I always looked up to Alten Rylin, and I liked Squire Elenai. But it appears I was wrong about them. I … was trying to impress my fellow squires with defense of the rebels. But I realize now that I didn’t understand the serious damage my comments could
cause.”

  This was a remarkable admission, especially given what Tesra herself had learned from the stubborn young squire’s records. His assessments recorded that he was habitually reluctant to change his opinion once it had been formed.

  “Thank you,” Synahla said, almost purring, and Tesra caught the barest twitch along the last two fingers of her left hand, gripping the lectern. Only another spell caster might have guessed she worked a spell, and even then, perhaps only one familiar with Synahla’s habits.

  She was weaving. Curious, a little apprehensive, Tesra opened her eyes to the inner world and beheld a breathtaking amount of energy linking the young squire to the commander. That Synahla could exert so much power without looking at all taxed was impressive. And a little alarming. But why was she casting a spell?

  “I wish to say that I support you fully,” Hamar continued. “And I’ll not only refrain from further such speech, I’ll report similar behavior by my fellow squires.”

  Tesra was aghast. Altering the perceptions of an enemy on the field of battle was one thing. But Synahla somehow worked the impossible and changed the very thoughts of someone as they spoke. And this was no enemy, but a young man whose only crime was that he didn’t want to believe the terrible truth about the Altenerai Corps.

  “Thank you, Squire,” Synahla said, and her gaze shifted to the young woman.

  If anything, Donahla appeared even more resolved than she had previously. Perhaps only Synahla and Tesra understood why the young woman’s eyes were rounded. She had to have sensed something amiss with the young man beside her.

  “Squire Donahla?” Synahla prompted.

  The young woman was quiet. She blinked once, and then her eyes calmed. Watching through the inner world, Tesra saw that it took an even greater expenditure of power to control Donahla’s thoughts.

  “Commander, I’m dreadfully sorry,” the woman said softly. She raised her hand to her face and wiped at her eyes. “I shouldn’t have listened to what Hamar was saying. I didn’t mean to question that proclamation you’d posted. I know that you and the queen are working to protect us all. I just … it’s hard to believe that people we liked could take such terrible actions.”