The fury of helplessness and fear had been replaced by a burning anger towards her father, and a savage intent to pay him back for his interference in kind. They were sailing back to Wikuna, back to her father, and back to his world. Back to a world of intrigue and backbiting, where nobody could be trusted and anyone could be aiming a dagger at your back the instant you turn around. Where she had more to fear from her father and sisters than anyone else in Wikuna. Her fury had evolved into a cold, almost pure hatred, a hatred of her father and everything he stood for, a hatred of what she had left behind. And now she had to go back into it. Thrown back into the pit of fire, without the support and presence of her brother and sister to ease her pain or calm her fears. She was going back alone, so terribly alone.
Miranda had become a complete crutch for her. The mink Wikuni was her oldest friend, and without her siblings, she was the only one Keritanima could turn to with her thoughts and fears, the only ear she trusted to share her burdens. Miranda's quiet presence with her for so long had given her insights into Keritanima that only Tarrin and Allia knew, and she was able to calm Keritanima down, make her feel a little better, if only for a little while. Binter and Sisska tried to help, but there was only so much they could do. Their devotion wasn't to her, it was to their roles as bodyguards and protectors. They were fond of Keritanima, and she trusted them, but it just wasn't the same. Azakar--poor Zak. She didn't know him as well as she probably should, but it was clear to her that he felt lost. The only human on a ship full of Wikuni, facing their arrogance and scorn every time he turned around. Yet he stood up to it with a quiet dignity that impressed her, comfortable in the fact that he was a Knight, he had people who respected him...and he could probably thrash anyone on the ship except for Binter and Sisska any time he wanted. Azakar helped her in his own way by just being someone nearby, someone to play a game of chess with, or yell at when she needed to vent, or stand guard over her when Binter and Sisska weren't capable of it. That her Vendari bodyguards would trust him with her protection said everything that needed to be said about how they felt about him. He was a bit quiet, but then again, he had once been a slave, so being quiet and not drawing attention to himself were probably ingrained habits he'd yet to break.
Then Tarrin had contacted her. To say she was relieved was an understatement. For the first time in over a week, she had been truly happy, had felt complete relief. There was her absolute proof that Tarrin was alright, that he was going to be alright. To hear his voice, then hear Allia, had made her feel whole again, to feel close to those who were far away. She couldn't help but stroke the silver amulet around her neck any time she thought about her brother and sister. She hadn't contacted them since that day, but just knowing that she could, at any time, put her fingers to the amulet and hear their voices gave her a feeling of tremendous security. It wasn't a good idea to abuse the amulet, to make it plain that she had that ability. It would just give the spies watching her opportunities to try to separate her from her amulet, and that she absolutely would not allow. So long as they didn't know how she was communicating with her brother and sister, she was happy. The very thought of one of them taking her amulet horrified her. It was her only link to her family, to those who loved her, and she would defend it tooth and claw, defend it to the death.
Her mind free of the crushing fear and worry, it had turned to the other business at hand. Revenge. She wasn't foolish enough to deny the fact that vengeance was very much on her mind. This was something that she couldn't allow to go unpunished. Her father had abused her, neglected her, even tried to kill her. But to rip her away from the people she loved, to take her away from the only place where she had felt happy...that was just going too far.
When she got back to Wikuna, there was going to be hell to pay.
As much as the thought of barging into her father's study and frying him like a chicken appealed to her, made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, she knew it would never work. That was the easy way, the childish way, and it would get her killed. No, Damon Eram wasn't going to get away as easily as just dying. Keritanima intended to destroy him, to take away or remove everything he cherished, everything he held dear, everything he coveted in this world. And knowing her father, she already knew what those things were.
His crown, his power, and his fortune, in that order.
To completely repay her father, she intended to take away everything that he held dear. That meant that she was going to take his throne, destroy his network of power, then have him ostracized from the Eram house. Then she was going to fix it so he lived a long and miserable life, a life where his failures and his losses would howl in his brain and drive him mad with each new dawn, only so she could heal his madness and make him face it again the next day. Just killing her father wasn't good enough.
Allia had often remarked that revenge was an art form, and those who performed it well were honorable. She would make her sister proud of her.
Of course, Damon Eram would be expecting such tactics. At least the attempt to overthrow him from the throne. That was why she had to start on another track. Undercutting his power was a good first step. Her ordered round of assassinations before she left the Tower had proabably done half of that job, and he most likely still wouldn't be fully recovered when she got there next month. What it was going to take to get him would be a bloodbath, a bloodbath of monumental proportions. She would have to eliminate absolutely anyone that supported him on the throne, leaving nothing but a nobility full of those seeking his throne in its stead. After that was done, she would see to it that he lost his crown.
It was so ironic. She had fled from Wikuna, had orchestrated one of the most elaborate and convoluted plots ever conceived, just to get away from the responsibilty of the crown. But now, the only way to ensure that nobody came after her after she was finished was if she was sitting on the throne. No matter who took the throne, they would see her as a threat, and try to kill her, or kill them as a way of getting at her. And she wasn't going to be bringing a pack of assassins back to her brother and sister. No, when she went back, there would be no spectre of Wikuna hanging over her. The only way to assure that was if she was the one doing the commanding. The throne would be the only safe place for her, the only place where she could protect her family.
All those years of planning to avoid the throne, and now she was coming back to take it.
The nobility would not like that. Her past plans were now salt in her wounds, and they would make it more difficult to hold the throne, especially if she wasn't there to babysit them and keep them out of trouble. They hated her, mainly because she had went out of her way to make things that way. No, she would have to do something about them too. But not until after she dealt with her father. Their threat looming over him would be central to her own plans to strip him of his crown.
The throne was the key. Sitting on that throne, she could drive the last stakes into her father's heart. She would be the matriarch of the Eram house, ruler of it, and she could have him and her sisters stripped of their titles, disowned, and cast out without a penny to their names. They would always be royalty, however, and would always be there to challenge her for the crown. But there were ways to persuade them that such lofty aspirations could be hazardous to their health.
Killing her father wasn't enough. When she was done, he was going to wish he had never ignored her warning to leave her alone.
She felt the presence of someone very large behind her. The fact that she didn't hear the clattering of claws told her it was Azakar. She glanced behind her and saw him. He was wearing a simple brown doublet and some rugged leather leggings, a heavy wool cloak over his shoulder to ward off the rain, but he had that wickedly huge broadsword belted at his waist. To anyone else, it would be a two-handed sword, but he whipped that thing around in one hand like it was a twig. She often forgot how awesome Azakar was, since he himself was dwarfed by her Vendari bodyguards. "Binter sent me up here to get you," Azakar said quietly to her. "You've stood out in
the rain long enough."
"You don't have to look out for me, Zak," she said quietly, looking back out over the ocean again.
"I'm a Knight," he said bluntly. "One of my jobs is to protect Sorcerers. You happen to be the only one around, so that makes you my responsibility. Now come in out of the rain, or I'll carry you back down to your cabin."
"You're exaggerating, Zak," she said wistfully. "I'll be down in a few more minutes. I need time to think, that's all, and I do it better up here."
"Then I'll wait for you," he announced.
She looked at him, looked at the resolute look on his face, then snorted. "Oh, alright!" she snapped. "Let's go, already!"
She returned to her large suite in a foul humor. Sailor's Pride wasn't a warship, it was a personal conveyance ship. Its only job was to carry the rulers of the Eram house from one place to another, and because of that, the ship was much different from a standard clipper. It had a very tiny hold, and that space had been converted into rooms and barracks for the crew, the soldiers accompanying the rulers, and the rulers and their guests. Keritanima's cabin, or suite of three rooms, took up the entire stern of the clipper. Two rooms wasn't much on land, but on a ship, where space was a precious commodity, it was an immense chunk of floorplan. The rooms were large and extravagantly decorated, with gilded gold furniture, tapestries from all over the world, Eastern carpets, and Tellurian lamps and lanterns for light. The bedroom she slept in, with its marvelous stained glass windows looking out in the stern, was large enough for ten people, the bed itself large enough for four, and it spanned the entire width of the stern. There were chests and armoires, even a privy and a closet, all of them filled with expensive clothes and jewelry bought for her when they put into Dayisè for supplies. Clothes she wouldn't touch. She still wore the same dress she'd had on when they captured her, and she had no intention of wearing their clothes. Miranda was in the middle of making her some dresses from material she managed to get in Dayisè. She was there, in her favorite chair, her fingers moving with their amazing speed and precision as her needle and thread joined together two pieces of dark satin that were her dress. Binter and Sisska sat nearby, engaged in another game of chess, and Azakar took her wet cloak and hung it by the door before removing his own. Her friends, her only friends, on the entire ship.
"Highness," Miranda said calmly without looking up. "I'll have this dress finished in about an hour."
"Thank you, Miranda," Keritanima said with a huff of breath. "Binter, Sisska," she called.
The two Vendari looked at her in unison, two sets of dead black eyes that sent chills through the opponents they faced in combat. Keritanima absently touched the Weave, weaving together that weave of Air and Divine power that formed the wall of silence, the Ward that protected their conversations from being overheard. Wards and Illusions were the only weaves a Sorcerer could create that didn't dissipate when they stopped concentrating on them, but even those weren't permanent. She then wove together the complicated weave of Air, Fire, Mind, and Divine power that formed an Illusion. She wove it so it would appear as a wall of impenetrable blackness and laid it against the walls of the cabin, then adjusted it so it could only be seen from the other side looking in. To everyone in the cabin, it was invisible, but to someone standing on the outside looking in, they would see nothing but pure black. "Which of you has more rank in Vendari society?"
"I do, your Highness," Sisska answered immediately.
"How much?"
"I am kithas," she answered, a little uncertainly.
A kithas? Impressive. That meant she was blood-related to the sashka, or Great Chief, of the Vendari, a monarch that was subject to the Wikuni throne. "What I'm about to say won't be repeated again, alright?" she asked, and everyone nodded. "When we get back to Wikuna, I want you to go back to Vendaka, Sisska. I want you to go back there and organize something for me."
"What do you wish arranged?"
"I'd like a large complement of Vendari warriors to come to the Palace," she answered. "Vendari that will be there to protect the crown. At least ten thousand."
"This I can do, but it will look strange to the sashka that this comes from the Princess, and not the King."
"Then don't tell him who gave the order," she said. "Tell him the truth. That the house of Eram is calling up Vendari warriors, as is its right under the compact between Wikuna and Vendaka. And Sisska, I don't want you to repeat that to anyone but the sashka. I want it kept quiet."
Miranda gave Keritanima a searching look, and then she began to laugh. "I knew it!" she proclaimed.
"Knew what?" Azakar asked curiously.
"Kerri isn't going to go back and just play around!" she laughed, pounding her feet on the floor. "She's going to overthrow her father!"
Azakar gave Keritanima a shocked look, and even the Vendari looked a little taken aback.
"Is this true?" Binter asked bluntly.
Keritanima gave Binter a direct stare, her expression serene but determined. "He's gone too far, Binter," she said plainly. "And I mean more than just what he's done to me. The throne has lost its honor."
Binter and Sisska nodded sagely. "This is true," Binter agreed. "The throne of Wikuna has lost much honor. But to take it just to avenge yourself against your father brings even more shame to it."
"Who would you prefer on the throne, then? Him, or me?"
The simple question caused the massive Vendari to blink. Then he gave a toothy grin. "My personal preference would be you," he replied honestly. A Vendari couldn't answer any way other than honestly. "Your time with Tarrin and Allia has taught you humility, compassion, and respect. You would be a worthy and honorable Queen."
"Then I can count on your silence?"
"We are at your command, Highness," Sisska told her. "Command it, and it will be so."
"I'd prefer your blessing," she said earnestly.
"Our blessings are irrelevant."
"Not to me," she said. "I know that guarding me has been something of a chore for you, but I see you as more than just the people that keep me whole. You're my friends, and I won't do this unless you agree to it."
Binter and Sisska looked at each other, then they stood. Sisska answered for them. "Then you have our blessings, Highness," she announced. "We will help as much as our Code permits."
"All you have to do is get those Vendari warriors to Wikuna in three months," she replied. "That's all I ask of you."
"They will be there," Sisska said with an eloquent nod.
"What about me?" Azakar asked.
"With Sisska going home, I'll need you to take her place," Keritanima told the young Knight evenly. "Sisska oftens accompanies Miranda. That'll be your job when we get back. You just go with her and keep someone from sticking things in her, or shooting her. Until then, Zak, I need you to be silent. What we're about to start could get all of us killed if word leaks out."
"I can keep quiet, Highness," Azakar assured her. "On my honor as a Knight, I'll not betray your trust, by word or by deed." Binter and Sisska gave the young Knight approving looks at that, and Keritanima knew that he had only improved his standing with them that much more. Honor was life to the Vendari.
"I take it you want me to help you with the plan?" Miranda asked.
Keritanima nodded. "I've already got the framework thought out," she answered. "I just need some help with the particulars."
"I do hope you're not going to just kill him when we arrive."
"Oh, no," she suddenly seethed, holding out a hand with her short, sharp claws exaggerated. "He's going to pay for what he's done to me. I'm not going to kill him, Miranda. I want him to be alive to taste defeat. When I'm done, he'll wish he was dead."
"At least Tarrin and Allia didn't spoil you that way," Miranda said with a teasing smile. "Let me finish this dress, and we'll talk about it."
Life aboard a ship on the open sea was a tedium of monotony. Every day, the same view awaited them, and often the same meals were served. The people they saw were the
same people day after day, and the sounds and smells aboard a ship rarely changed from the norm of daily business. But for the crew and the Marines aboard Sailor's Pride, the norm became abject terror.
It came from many sources, but the prime source of it was Princess Keritanima-Chan Eram. All she did all day was sit on a stool near the bow with a writing slate in her lap. She would sit there for hours on end, ignoring food, ignoring the weather, only leaving when darkness forced her below decks. She would sit there with a blank piece of parchment, a Tellurian pen, and a frightful look of seething hatred burned across her features. To the collective knowledge of the entire crew and Marine complement on board the ship, she did not once put pen to paper and write out even one word for nearly ten days. The men had no idea what she meant to write, but many of them quietly speculated that it was going to be a list of the people she was going to kill when they returned to Wikuna. Others thought it was going to be a will, but most of them believed that she intended to take her father with her when she died. That she was furious enough to kill anyone who irritated her was plainly known aboard ship, and anyone with even half a brain avoided the bow like the plague. It got so bad that the ship's captain, a bandy old bull Wikuni called Longshanks, ordered the foremast's sails furled and the spinnaker drawn in. He couldn't get sailors to go tend them, and he wasn't about to have them flapping in the breeze like a harlot's petticoats hanging on a line.
But then the fury left her face, and she began to write. Nobody could get close enough to see what she was writing. Nobody was that crazy. The girl seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to know when people were watching her, and whenever she sensed it, she stopped writing and covered her work with a leather portfolio cover. Many sailors refused to even speculate, for they believed it was a list of soon to be deceased individuals, and they didn't want their names added to the bottom of it. They did get just a bit curious when she just wrote, and wrote, and wrote. For days, she wrote, at a pace that seemed desperate at times, penning page after page after page of some unknown, mysterious literature. She kept those penned pages with her at all times in a small satchel that never left her sight, and the contents of that satchel became the object of intense curiosity as the time passed, and the sailors and men got more accustommed to their rather unusual passenger.
The Questing Game Page 52