Shara said, “Once pressure is placed on the ice, we cannot let it be relieved until we are all across. I will go first, then you, followed by the other men. Petstra will cross by himself with Batu last.”
Batu retrieved Petstra’s sword and held the tip to the commander’s chest. Ryckair handed the knife to one of the men who continued converting saddle bags into knap sacks.
The sun dropped over the mountains on the other side of the valley. As it did, a full moon rose in the east. Shara got on her hands and knees and crawled over the arch. The ice held her weight. Ryckair crawled after her. As his full weight bore down on the frozen arch it began to crack. Flakes of ice and snow fell into the crevasse. Ryckair and Shara held still. The cracking stopped. They moved on. Another crack came.
Batu turned his attention away from Petstra for an instant. The commander slapped the blade of the sword aside and drove the toe of his boot into Batu’s groin. Batu cringed and dropped the sword. Petstra grabbed his pick and ran for the ice bridge. The Dharam, troops charged forward. Petstra pulled a pouch from his cloak and tossed it, striking Ryckair on the back and enveloping the prince in red powder. The commander recited a chant and struck the bridge just as the full moon rose over the hills. The ice arch cracked and fell in on itself. Batu looked up just as Ryckair and Shara plummeted into the crevasse.
BOOK IV
The palace at Meth
One week later
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mirjel knew the baby was gone as soon as she awoke from a coma induced by the Daro. She wanted to place her hands on her belly, to confirm her fears, but was unable to do so. There was no pain, no sensation of any kind. Everything was dull and hazy, except for her hand. Someone held it gently. She turned her head and opened her eyes to see Narech Yetig sitting at her bedside with his hands cupped around hers. She dropped into sleep once more.
When Mirjel awoke again the pain came. It ran cold and deep through her body like a cramping void. She cried out. Again, Yetig was there, holding her hand, speaking gentle words. A young Daro healer brought a cup of steaming liquid. “Drink, Highness.” Mirjel felt the warm fluid flow down her throat. She almost vomited. Then the nausea subsided and she settled down into slept.
The next day, Mirjel awoke again and looked around the room. Yetig lay on a couch in one corner. The healer sat in a chair, her head bowed in sleep. Lek sat by her mistress. The young maid smiled, then fell into sobs. “Oh, Highness, we were so afraid you would not live to see another day.”
Mirjel took Lek’s hand. “The babe?”
Lek averted her eyes. “A tiny soul rests in the Dragons’ Halls, Highness.”
Mirjel felt a cold wave spread out from her chest as her fingers tighten around Lek’s wrist.
The Daro healer and Yetig awoke at the sound of voices. The healer concocted a brew for Mirjel to drink. Lek was sent to fetch more firewood for the hearth. Yetig sat next to Mirjel’s bed. She looked over to him. “You held my hand.”
His voice came quiet. “I meant no offense, Highness.”
The Daro healer raised Mirjel’s head and brought a wooden bowl to her kips. The princess sipped the medication slowly. Before the bowl was drained, she could feel the effects of the drug taking effect. She said, “Narech.”
“Highness?”
“Thank you.”
Mirjel slept hours into the day, rarely stirring from her rooms. The exceptions to this malaise were the visits Yetig made. Then, she woke early, bathed for a span and suffered over what to wear. Her cheeks, usually pale, took on a rosy glow and her eyes brightened.
When Yetig arrived, they sat in her chambers or walked through the gardens and talked. Mirjel thought he knew only of battles and troops. She was surprised when he revealed a breadth of understanding for literature, trade, engineering and politics. As she listened she was fascinated by his descriptions of subtle ways to influence courtiers and even monarchs.
It was a cold but sunny winter afternoon as they strolled through the garden. Yetig allowed himself one of his rare smiles. “Flattery can be useful. It can also be dangerous. Those schooled in intrigue will look for it. You must allow such a person to thwart you in some way. Then, deny defeat. Angrily make an accusation of cheating, though refrain from personal attacks. Later, let it seem as if you have cooled off. Give a grudging compliment for having bested you. End with a slightly concealed smile. Your adversary is now ready for you to ask your favor.”
Mirjel stopped and looked at Yetig with her mouth open. “You’re talking about my father. You did that to him once.”
“Twice, actually.”
She laughed and pounded softly on his chest. “Fiend.”
“It was only politics, Highness.” They both laughed.
In Kackar, Batu and the rest of Ryckair’s men awaited news of their fate as they sat in the same cell they had escaped from earlier. Many weeks passed before a jailer stood before the cell and read from a scroll. “As enemies of the kingdom of Dharam, you are condemned to work the mercury mines in the eastern mountains.” Batu had faced death many times. Now, he felt a panicked terror as he recalled the stories told by guards of men crippled and driven mad by the fumes.
He formed a plan. When the guards came to get them they would charge in mass. Even if they were killed in their cell, it was better than dying in the mines.
Petstra appeared in the dungeon with a dozen Dharam guards. Batu imagined his hands around the commander’s throat. “Come to gloat?”
Petstra said, “I’ve come to retrieve you. In a gesture of friendship, King Masalta will allow you to accompany me to Carandir where you can give a full account of Prince Ryckair’s death.”
The commander threw powder into the cell. The prisoners slowed, then frozen in place. Batu was bound and placed in a wagon. A column of Dharam soldiers escorted them as they traveled south across a snow covered plain.
They reached tall cliffs overlooking the north bank of the Great River. At the bottom of a winding trail was a harbor where a town hugged the cliff face. Three Dharam rowing galleys unloaded goods at the docks. Many smaller vessels dotted the water. Next to them was a Carandir war frigate. Batu was taken onboard and chained in the hold.
On the voyage home, he listened to every creek of timber, remembering always the Sarte. The gill men did not attack. The ship returned safely to Meth where Batu was taken to the palace and sealed in a prison cell.
Petstra knelt before Reshna. “My Lord, mightiest among the servants of Baras. The spell is complete. The powder was cast and Ryckair Avar died as the full moon rose.”
Reshna stared at the smoldering fire in a brazier next to him. “So it has come to pass.”
“What of the key, Lord Reshna?”
“The ceremonial death now makes Craya the heir. The key will call to him. He must be made ready. See to it.”
It was a brisk but pleasant day when Yetig came to Mirjel in the garden. She and Lek were practicing swordplay. Yetig had begun to train Mirjel in the art of fencing with a rapier. “Your father has instructed you well in the broad blades,” he had told her. “The rapier is far better suited to court. Its use will teach you discipline and stamina, skills you will find useful.” Mirjel insisted that Lek also be instructed.
Mirjel and Lek wore breeches, thick leather jerkins, gloves and masks to protect themselves. Yetig approached and bowed. Mirjel looked into his eyes and felt the weight of the message he came to deliver. She lowered her blade and removed her mask. The narech did not hesitate. “I have received news this day, madam. Prince Ryckair Avar is dead.”
She no longer saw the flowers or trees around her. Everything was a bright blur. “There is no mistake?”
“I have just spoken with a man named Batu Kazmere who was banished with Prince Ryckair in the ship. Kazmere saw the prince fall into…”
Mirjel threw her hands to her ears. “Stop. Please. I don’t want to know more. Not now.”
He took her arm. “Your chambers have been prepared if you wish to
retire.”
Mirjel allowed Yetig to lead her to her rooms in the north tower. She lay down as Lek boiled water to make kan. Into it, the lady-in-waiting poured a generous helping of the sedative Yetig had provided. Mirjel drank the hot liquid. Her gaze ran across the room, seeing nothing in particular, until it fell on the harp that she had played for Ryckair when they first met. She dropped the cup, spilling the contents on the thick rug. “I have no more tears to shed, Lek. I’m simply empty.” The powder worked quickly and Mirjel drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was the first time Mirjel had been out of the place since the later stages of pregnancy. She descended the secret staircase leading to the palace within the palace while Lek stayed behind to tell any intruders that her mistress was under sedation in her chambers. It was hardly necessary. The Barasha paid Mirjel no heed now that Craya was the heir. Mirjel was certain Reshna would have had her and Lek killed if Yetig had not reasoned the she could still help placate and control Craya.
Spring was approaching and the night air was pleasant as she crossed the Bay of Hasp on the small boat. She reached the underground wharf and hurried to the meeting room. Orane and Telasec were already there. They waited a span before Yetig arrived. He sat at the table. “I have come from a meeting with Reshna and Craya. It is taking longer to sober him up than expected. I expected the Barasha to summon a demon to frighten him into submission. Instead, Reshna is pandering to his ego. He speaks of an alliance between the Barasha and the house of Avar to rule all the lands where Craya will rule and they will serve.”
Orane said, “Does Craya believe them.”
Yetig shook his head. “I am certain he knows the Barasha want the crown to release Baras. He is most likely plotting in his mind without any co-conspirators. I think that is why he is delaying the search for the key, which is now calling him. He wants time to think himself out of the trap he has set himself in.”
Telasec said. “The same trap you laid.”
Yetig bowed his head. “I acted for the Crown, but I was wrong to try and use the sorcerers. I admit it.”
Mirjel leaned forward. “This is not the time for incriminations. We have all done what we thought best. We must work together. Let the past lie.”
They sat silently for a moment. Mirjel gave a sigh. “We cannot let him find the key.”
Orane said, “We cannot prevent it. It calls him even now.”
Telasec said “He could be abducted and taken far from here.”
Yetig said, “The Barasha would come for him. How could anyone stand before that?”
“Kill him,” said Mirjel. All heads turned toward her. “If he dies before he finds the key the crown will remain locked away, perhaps for eternity. That is the only way to confine Baras.”
Telasec said, “Is your anger so great you would kill your own husband?”
“I do not speak out of anger, honored mistress. There is no other way. I must make a pretense to see him. I will have Lek spread a rumor among the servants that Ryckair’s death has shaken me, as it has, and that I seek comfort and companionship. He will be suspicious, but his pride will betray him. Do the Barasha not think that I could be useful in manipulating Craya to their purposes? I am the only one they will allow to be alone with him. I will place the poison you gave Lek and me into a drink. I don’t want him to suffer, not even now. You must promise that if the Barasha take me you will protect Lek.
Orane and Telasec vehemently disagreed.
Yetig stood. “Her Highness is right. She alone can hope to approach him. There is no alternative.”
Back in the palace, Mirjel continued to issue secret orders to move grain, using what Yetig had taught her to conceal her actions. She and the narech met regularly. Sometimes they conferred on trade and harvests. At other times, they just talked about nothing in particular.
One evening, Mirjel sent Lek to the kitchen, leaving Yetig and herself to dine alone in her chambers.
Yetig raised a glass of wine. “I toast a delightful evening, with delightful company.”
Mirjel blushed. “It is I who am honored. More wine?”
“No, thank you. I fear I must be leaving soon.” He smiled. “We don’t want to start any rumors, do we?”
She stared at him. “Do we?”
Yetig set his glass down.
She looked away. “After the fall, I was certain I was going to die. The one thing that kept me from screaming was your hand holding mine.”
“It was the least I could do, Highness.”
She looked back to him. “No. Ignoring me would have been the least. When I lost the baby and…” Her voice faltered for a moment. Yetig reached out and squeezed her hand. She blinked away tears. “The Barasha no longer needed me. I was tossed aside. Forgotten.”
“Many did not forget.”
“They risked nothing to show me favor. You are constantly scrutinized.”
“We fight for the same cause, you and I.”
Mirjel lowered her head. “I know. A year ago I cursed you.” She closed her eyes and spoke in a near whisper. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Highness.”
“Please. I need to be with you. Everyone I ever loved is gone. The loneliness scares me more than the thought of dying.”
Yetig walked around the table and brushed aside strands of hair from her face. “You spoke the truth about us. For me to have sat with you at all was dangerous. For me to become your lover could be fatal.”
“I don’t care.” She jumped up and kissed him. Yetig held her tightly as he passionately returned the kiss. His beard crushed into her face. He took her in his arms and carried her to bed. They made love with passions now unbridled.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms. Mirjel wanted to give him a special name, a secret name. He thanked her but cautioned her to always name him formally lest a lapse of thought have her show him affection outside her chambers. None could know of their affair.
The narech stayed until near sunrise. They made plans for him to return that evening. If inquiries were made, they would say that they were discussing court business.
After he left, Mirjel squirmed beneath the tussled bedding. She felt alive for the first time since Ryckair rode to the swamplands in the east. A heady exhilaration poured through her. She found herself giggling and couldn’t stop. It was as if she were watching someone else and this only made her giggle more. The thought of Yetig returning that evening brought a hot flush to her cheeks.
From the back of her mind came the image of Ryckair. She gazed into the hearth where the dying embers of the previous night’s fire cooled. Did she still love him? Yes. She always would. But, she had lived with the hope of his return for too long and now he was dead.
Mirjel was not certain if she loved Yetig. He was a comfort and a strength that she desperately needed. Perhaps she was now lost to love. Yetig was right. She was the leader of a powerful monarchy. Her actions, her thoughts, her being, had to be focused on that. All else stood in waiting. Yetig could guide her, mold her and satisfy her passions. Still, she wept for a span until falling asleep with Ryckair’s face in her mind.
Telasec pulled the scarf tightly over her face as she crossed a street in Meth. It was not particularly cold that day. Still, no one would take notice of an old woman bundled up against a chill.
Her destination was an inn that stood just beyond the walls of the old city. Crouched over, she walked through the central square with its grand fountains and marble buildings. These housed the residence of the baron of Lanteler and his central administration.
On the other side of the square, in smaller buildings of granite, were the municipal offices. Since the coming of the Barasha, Ackella had resided there as Lord Mayor. He enjoyed sauntering about with a band of militia, arresting those he called vagrants and levying arbitrary fees and taxes on merchants.
She avoided the wide boulevards in favor of the back streets. Once, these were teeming with commerce. Now, many shops were shuttered and those that
were open had few customers.
She reached the city walls and crossed the bridge that spanned the Peret river. The roads within old Meth were laid out with thought and purpose. Outside the wall, the city sprawled haphazardly into farmlands with roads that meandered between buildings large and small.
The inn she sought rose three stories tall. Next to it stood a wooden stable filled with the carts and wagons of farmers journeying to market.
She was there to meet a man Orane had sent to Karaken to gauge what support they might expect from the desert kingdom if an open revolt came against the Barasha. Orane and Telasec sought to build an army from many lands to fight an enemy that would soon dominate them all, even if Baras was not released.
Her contact was a man who would be wearing a blue cloak with a light gray hood pulled over his head that had a red patch sewn into it. She spotted him on the other side of the room. Walking past, she cleared her throat once. He coughed twice and sneezed. Telasec said, “My uncle had a cough like that last month.”
Instead of giving the coded response, the man pulled his hood back and Telasec found herself staring into the face of Ackella. He sported a gold, brocade patch over his missing eye. Ten armed soldiers surrounded her. Ackella said, “You should be more careful when making discreet inquiries.” The guards grabbed her and dragged her to the palace.
Orane entered Mirjel’s chambers though the secret panel. He said, “Have they made her talk?”
Yetig shook his head. “Not yet. She has great strength.”
Mirjel made the sign of the covenant. “We have to get her out.”
Yetig said, “Reshna has his own men guarding her.”
“She cannot hold out forever,” said Orane. “The Barasha will eventually learn of our plan.”
Mirjel paced the floor. “Where is she being held?”
“The new prison complex,” said Yetig.
“Master Orane, do any of the secret passages connect to it?”
Dragons Unremembered Page 21