“It is in your hands.”
“Stop this insanity.”
“Be my queen.”
“Craya!”
The creature pressed its head into the cell. Ryckair stirred. Mirjel closed her eyes and screamed, “Yes!”
Craya shouted another order. The gate stopped. He pulled her back from the door. “Yes, what?”
“Yes.” She was crying now, the words barely discernable, “I will remain silent. I will give myself fully. Just let him go, Craya. In the name of all the dragons let him go.” She slid down the wall to the stone floor and wept.
Craya’s hands began to shake. He laughed, softly at first, then uncontrollably in near hysterics.
He composed himself and gave an order. Two Sinkarekans with large clubs entered Ryckair’s cell and beat the nose of the boar until the animal retreated into its pen beyond the wall. The gate dropped into place. The swamp men disappeared into the shadows.
Craya straightened his clothes. “Now, my queen, we will share the joy of our betrothal with my dear brother before his departure.” He took hold of her arm. “And to complete the effect you will tell him that you never loved him and that is why you are marrying me. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Anything. Just have it done with.”
“Good. Come my queen.”
They entered the cell. Craya bent down and placed a small berry in his brother’s mouth. Ryckair moaned and turned his head from side to side. Craya went to a barrel, scooped some water into a ladle and threw it into his brother’s face. Ryckair spit and coughed, then opened his eyes.
Craya made a mocking bow. “I trust you slept well, brother. It has been a long journey.”
“Where am I?”
“We are in the old prison complex. Don’t you recognize it?”
“What am I doing here?”
“I’ll let you discover the answer. You were always so brilliant in such matters.”
Ryckair’s head cleared. The attack in the swamplands came sharply back to him. “Dear Jorondel, the Barasha have risen.” The image of Narech Yetig directing the murder of Ryckair’s double flooded his mind. He looked up at Craya. “You can’t have joined them. I don’t believe it.” Ryckair tried to sit up and quickly found the limits of the chains holding him.
Craya knelt. “Believe, brother. Yetig and I will use the Barasha to purge the new nobility and make Carandir great again. Then, we will destroy the sorcerers. As for you, there is a long voyage in your future. I’ve brought a visitor to see you off.” He returned to his feet. “Come forward, lady.”
Mirjel walked into Ryckair’s sight. Her eyes were averted to the ground. Ryckair saw bruises on her face. “What have you done to her?”
“Done? Why brother, I have only the most honorable of intentions towards the lady Mirjel. You see, we are to be wed.”
Ryckair let the chains go slack. “Craya, turn aside from the Barasha. You seal your death as well as mine with this pact. You loved me once, brother. You know I have never stopped loving you.”
Craya wavered. From the past he heard the laughter and tears of two small boys as they held each other and shared secrets. He saw the truth of the Barasha’s web for a fleeting instant.
Ryckair said, “Fight them, Craya.”
The image of the crown came to Craya’s mind and he threw Mirjel to the ground near Ryckair’s head. “Tell him. Tell him who you really love, who you have always loved.”
Her voice was low and flat. “I love Craya. I have never loved you.”
Ryckair said, “Look at me. Let your eyes tell me this.”
She raised her head and tried to form words.
Ryckair pulled on his chains. “Say it!”
She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot. I wanted to buy your life with a lie. I love you too much. I will always love you. Forgive me. Ilidel forgive us all.”
She reached out to caress Ryckair’s cheek. Craya pushed her away before her fingers bridged the gap. He turned and smiled at Ryckair. “Yes. I think I like it better this way. My victory is complete, brother, and it feels so grand.” With a shove, he pushed Mirjel out the cell.
Ryckair tried vainly to sit up The iron door slammed shut. The sleeping spell returned and Ryckair fell back into an unconscious stupor.
Outside the cell, Mirjel walked numbly in front of Craya.
A lieutenant from Craya’s personal guard approached and bowed. “Highness, we have located a suitable ship, the Star Fire.”
Craya nodded his head. “Very good.” He wrote out a message. “Take this note to the Captain of the ship. Have my brother secreted aboard. He is to be left on an island in the western ocean, unhurt and in good health, with one year’s provisions. No one is to know my brother’s identity. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“You will say nothing of this to anyone, not even Narech Yetig. Do you understand?”
“I will remain silent, Highness.”
Craya said, “You see, my dear. I am a man of my word.”
She stood silently.
The lieutenant said, “What of the other one, Highness?”
The prince opened the slat of a second cell and peered in. There, lying unconscious on the floor, was Batu.
Craya stroked his beard, then made a change to the orders and folded the paper. The lieutenant dripped hot wax from a candle over the seam and Craya pressed his signet ring into it. “Take this man along with my brother. A prince, even in exile, should have a court.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mirjel pulled on her riding breeches and placed her ear to the door of her chambers. She heard the sound of Sinkarekan guards as they shuffled down the corridor of the north tower where she and Lek had been moved. Their rooms faced the Bay of Hasp and it was obvious Craya thought them incapable of escaping down the pinnacle of rock. All contact with her family had been cut off and she could not imagine what Craya had told her father. She was certain he was searching for her but knew he would never locate her.
Lek, also dressed in breeches, brought out several sets of bed sheets that had been knotted together. Mirjel opened a set of shutters and stepped out onto a narrow balcony where a wrought iron railing overlooked the water. She peered over the edge. The pinnacle descended fifty stories where waves from the Bay of Hasp crashed against sharp rocks. Three levels below was another balcony. She could only hope that its chamber led to an unoccupied and unguarded hallway.
The two women secured one end of the makeshift rope to the railing and tied a fire poker to the other for weight before lowering it. A stiff breeze blew the sheets back and forth across the face of the tower. Mirjel leaned over the iron railing. Lek stepped back from the edge. "My Lady."
Mirjel heard the fear in Lek's voice and said, "I'm fine, Lek. The poker is almost there." A gust of wind caught the sheets with a jerk. Mirjel was pulled forward halfway over the barrier. Lek screamed. Mirjel’s momentum dragged her forward and she found herself falling over the edge. She grabbed the railing and held tightly as her legs dangled. After several deep breaths, she carefully climbed up and eased over back onto the balcony.
Lek ran forward and put her arms around Mirjel. “Oh Lady, I thought you were dead."
Mirjel put her arms around Lek and fought to keep her own terror in check.
The poker had fallen several stories but it was still tied to the bottom of the sheets. Mirjel pulled them up as the wind died down. It took three more attempts before the poker settled on the balcony below. She climbed over the railing and down the sheets with Lek behind her.
The wind increased again and tugged at Mirjel’s clothes. She avoided looking down. From above, she heard her lady-in-waiting’s labored panting and said, “Lek?”.
Lek had stopped climbing and held tightly to the sheets with her eyes closed. “I can’t move.”
“We’re almost there. Slide down to the balcony.”
“I can’t.”
Mirjel climbed up and pressed her head against Lek’s feet
. “I’m here.”
Lek pulled her feet up and floundered as she fought to retain her grip. “Don’t touch me. Sweet Ilidel, I don’t want to die.”
“Can you climb back up?”
“I can’t move.”
“Lek, we have to go down.” Mirjel stopped and thought. “Put your foot on my head.”
“I can’t see.”
“Just do it.”
Lek lowered her leg until her right foot rested on Mirjel’s head.
“Good. Now keep pressing down on my hair. Don’t open your eyes.” Mirjel lowered herself slowly. Lek followed. Her foot never lost contact with Mirjel’s head.
Mirjel felt as if a span had passed before they reached the lower balcony. She held onto the sheets and crouched down so Lek could keep contact with her head. When Lek’s waist was below the railing, Mirjel moved aside. Lek fell to the balcony and curled into a ball. Mirjel cradled the young woman in her arms.
Lek shook. “I am so ashamed, lady. I have never been so high. I don’t know why I spoke so. Forgive me.”
Mirjel stoked Lek’s hair and kissed her forehead. “You are very brave. We’ll rest here for a while.”
When Lek recovered enough to stand, they silently opened the door to the chamber and moved down the empty corridor. They descended a servant’s staircase that emptied onto a corridor next to a window. The north gardens were just below. They turned a corner and surprised a patrol of Sinkarekan guards wearing Carandir uniforms.
One had sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve. He grabbed Mirjel by the arm. Another seized Lek. Mirjel bit the sergeant’s hand. He yelped and released her. She grabbed the hilt of his sword and thrust it into the side of the Sinkaraka holding Lek. The others turned and fled. Mirjel grabbed Lek’s hand and ran back down the corridor away from the Sinkaraka. The sergeant shouted, “Come back here, cowards.” She tried the handles of doors she passed. All were locked.
Lek said, “There are stairs ahead that lead to the kitchens.”
Two tall Sinkaraka opened a door ahead of her and stared as the women ran forward. One drew his sword. The other took out a dagger. Mirjel released Lek’s hand and ran with full force. The Sinkaraka with the dagger took a step back. The one with the sword swung at Mirjel’s head. She easily parried the blow. The Sinkaraka stepped back and stabbed at Mirjel's chest. He had some training, but it did not match hers. Still, he was muscular and exhibited great stamina. The battle raged on. The Sinkaraka with the knife turned and fled. She was certain the others would be on them in moments. The remaining Sinkaraka showed no sign of slowing. Mirjel let his blade clash against her sword, then pulled back quickly. The Sinkarekan's sword continue down toward the floor. Mirjel cut into his wrist. He dropped the sword and cradled his hand.
Panting, she turned to Lek. Five Sinkaraka stood in the passage. One held a knife to Lek's throat. The sergeant took a whip from his belt, “Drop your weapon or she dies.” He spoke Carandirian with no trace of an accent, indicating he had learned the language early, likely as an apprentice in a human community.
Had she been alone, Mirjel would have charged, but it was impossible to reach Lek in time. She dropped the sword to the floor. “I am the daughter of the co-regent. You will let me pass.”
The sergeant gave a short grunt. “Prince Craya has offered two gold crowns for whoever’s fortunate enough to prevent your escape.”
“Craya will flail the skin from your bones if you touch me.”
The sergeant turned his gaze on Lek. “No one will touch you, lady.”
Two of the Sinkarekans slammed Lek against a wall. A quick knife stroke ripped open the back of her bodice and shift. The Sinkarekans held Lek while the sergeant raised his whip and raked it across her back. She screamed and tried to pull away.
Five times the whip tore into Lek’s flesh until a voice shouted, “Enough”.
Narech Yetig marched down the hallway with a squad of Carandirian regulars. He yanked the whip from the sergeant’s hand. “What is this?”
The sergeant placed his hands on his hips. “Orders directly from Prince Craya. All acts of sedition are to be dealt with at once.”
Yetig seized him by the throat. “I issue the orders in this palace. They do not include flailing defenseless courtiers.” He looked to a young officer standing beside him. “Lieutenant, have them taken to the parade grounds and give each one twenty lashes. Then, strip them of their uniforms and dump them at the Karaken border.”
The condemned Sinkarekans pleaded for leniency as they were dragged off, saying the desert would kill them. Lek was placed face down on a litter and taken to the Daro. Yetig said, “Her wounds are superficial. They will heal quickly. With proper treatment, they may not even scar. Many a soldier has taken worse.”
Mirjel shouted, “Lek is not a soldier.”
“She will know justice for the hurt she has taken. Her tormentors will be dealt with as traitors.”
“And what about the other traitors in this palace, Yetig? How are they punished?”
“You play at matters that far exceed your depth, My Lady. I alone have the courage to save Carandir. I do not wish you harmed. That is not necessary to achieve my goals. But, be warned. I act for Carandir first and will sacrifice my own life and that of anyone else for my monarchy. You will now return to your chambers.”
One of Yetig’s men placed his hands on Mirjel’s arm. She shook herself free and walked regally down the hall. Six soldiers fell quickly in step around her.
Yetig watched her departure. “Lieutenant, assign members our own troops to guard Lady Mirjel.”
“Is that necessary sir? After all, she is merely a woman.”
With a slow turn of his head Yetig surveyed his junior officer. The lieutenant said, “What I meant sir, is that their escape was simply lucky. They are scared now. What can they possibly do?”
“I remind you, Lieutenant, that a mere woman brought you into this world and I assure you that a mere woman can remove you from it as well. Never underestimate any enemy.” He turned to stare back down the corridor. “And you are certainly wrong about one thing. Lady Mirjel is no mere anyone. In her is the courage to make Carandir great again. Were that she had been born queen a century before, there would be no need for the Barasha or the weakling Craya. This is a woman of danger, Lieutenant. A woman to be watched. See to the guards. I must report to Lord Reshna.”
He walked to the south tower where a set of double doors were guarded by four soldiers. They snapped to attention at the narech’s approach. Yetig returned their salute as he entered the chambers.
It had once been a chart room where battles were planned. Now, it was dark and smoky inside. The maps were gone and the cases dismantled. The room was filled with couches, tables and braziers. Thick drapes hung across the windows that blocked out all sunlight.
Reshna sat in a high backed chair and stared intently into the glowing coals of a metal bowl. Yetig knelt. The sorcerer took a handful of powder and threw it into the embers. A hiss issued from the brazier as swirling clouds floated up above the lip of the bowl. Reshna raised a hand and the smoke dissipated. “Prince Ryckair is aboard a ship. Why is this?”
“Meddling of Craya, Lord Reshna. He has bargained his brother’s life for the attentions of Lady Mirjel. I regret to report that she has learned of our plans through him.”
“That is of no consequence. Ryckair must die by the ceremony.”
“He shall. I have send Petstra to deal with Craya’s bumbling.”
Reshna studied the curling smoke. “Excellent.”
Since Petstra had encountered Nur and Willet in the eastern swamps two decades before, he had risen to the rank of naval commander and become a part of Yetig’s senior staff. The narech was shocked when he learned that Petstra was a Barasha priest, yet recognized a way to use him, though he wondered how many other officers held such secrets.
He bowed to Reshna. “By your leave.”
Reshna said, “Yetig.”
The narech rose slowly. �
�My Lord?”
“You despise Craya, don’t you?”
“He is a fool, yet he shall be useful.”
“Do you also despise me?”
Without hesitation Yetig said, “I serve the Barasha, whose presence serves Carandir.”
“Yes. So you do. Go now.”
The captain of the Star Fire did not know the identity of the prisoners in his hull. Petstra only said that they were traitors. Neither did he challenge the last minute assignment. Petstra carried a totem with Yetig’s mark that gave him absolute authority over the mission.
The ship sailed west on the Great River, far from sight of land. Unlike the rowed galleys that plied the banks, the Star Fire was a true sailing vessel built for deep water.
Petstra lit a lantern and led two men below deck. He unlocked a hatch and stepped into a storage locker where Ryckair and Batu lay unconscious. Petstra hung the lantern from a hook and took a leather pouch from a satchel. He hefted it while inspecting the sleeping prince. The other two stood guard. None of them noticed that Batu was beginning to wake.
The commander said, “The prince must be brought top side and revived just before the full moon rises. Once he is anointed with powder I will recite the enchantment and kill him. He must not be harmed until the ceremony is complete.”
“Aye, sir. What about the other one.”
“Dump him overboard when you bring up the prince.”
Batu felt as if he were waking from a terrible drunk. His head hurt and his teeth ached. He had no idea who the unconscious man in the hold was. He was unbound and considered surprising the soldiers, but as he moved his head he realized he was still too dizzy to fight.
Petstra and the soldiers returned top side, leaving the glowing lantern in the storage locker. It cast a pale illumination in the cramped space.
Batu shook Ryckair. “Hey you. Wake up. Everyone’s gone crazy.”
Ryckair lay face down so that Batu did not see the dragon shaped birthmark glow for an instant as the prince awoke. He shook his head and sat up.
Batu said, “What’s going on?”
Ryckair stood. “We’re aboard a ship heading for the open ocean and a deserted island, I fear.”
Dragons Unremembered Page 10