by S E Meliers
‘What is it about them that disturbs you?’ he asked, though in fact he suspected he knew. In the way of their people, the EAerymen were unshakable in their beliefs. The Monads had sent missionaries into the EAerys to convert the barbarians in recent years. The missionaries had been received with tolerance, but the conversion was unfruitful. The EAeryians had seemed amused by their preaching, and the Priests had eventually left unsuccessfully and disheartened when the mountains had simply become too cold to bear. No one was foolhardy enough to try to convert the EAeryian’s by force. If an attempt was made to invade, the EAerymen had the advantage of terrain, and, when provoked into fighting, were truly fearsome in ruthlessness and force.
‘Their timing, my Prince,’ Gallant explained, his tone suggesting it to be obvious. ‘Is it purely coincidental that EAerymen have not been seen in Amori for decades, until now, so soon after our invasion of the city? If it is not co-incidence, then what is their purpose in Amori at this time? Is it possible that the EAeryian’s covet Amori for their own, and send these men to spy and test for weaknesses in this time of transition when it may be assumed that Amori’s defences are at their weakest?’
Cinder sneered. ‘You see spies in mouse-holes,’ he said. ‘I am confident that these two are exactly what they seem to be – that much ale exposes even the most skilled of fraudsters. Maybe it is not coincidence, however, that the girl came to Amori. If I were trying to escape two skilled trackers, I would head for a city in turmoil where a strange face is not likely to stand out, wouldn’t you? That fits your theory on women: they are wily creatures.’
Gallant turned so that his face was momentarily visible in profile, the horrendous scar presented in full. ‘Perhaps you are right, my Prince. But I would feel more comfortable if we had a Hallow keep an eye on your guests while they are here.’
Cinder considered and shrugged. He could see no harm in the suggestion. ‘Fine, do so.’ He turned back to the scroll.
‘Talking of wily women,’ Gallant murmured. ‘How is the lovely Lady Patience, my Prince?’
Cinder pressed his lips together to keep his annoyed tongue in check. ‘She is respecting the wishes of the Monad,’ he said firmly. ‘Leave her and her children in peace, Gallant. She has shown herself dutiful to converting.’
‘Enthusiastically, one would assume from your noble defence, my Prince,’ Gallant was amused. ‘I take it that you find her pleasing?’
Cinder closed the scroll. ‘You forget yourself,’ he growled. ‘It would not be wise for you to provoke me further.’
‘Forgive me, my Prince,’ Gallant said with apparent meekness, however there was a gleam to his eye that Cinder had seen before: on the battlefield.
‘No,’ Cinder reprimanded himself silently: unwise, Cinder, to strike the wolf, lest it turn and bite you. ‘Forgive me. I am as prickly as a nettle today. I am just weary of being cooped up in this castle.’
Gallant steepled his fingers. ‘I understand, my Prince. But, I have good news; as the majority of the nobles of Amori are so narcissistic in nature, we will soon complete their conversion, and then can focus on the lower classes. Conversion will put an end to uprisings from the peasants, and once our presence in Amori is strong, we can afford to focus our attentions on moving Westward, with Amori acting as a supply route for our armies.’
‘Amori is our foothold to the West,’ Cinder agreed. ‘And my armies range across Rhyndel, soon to strike Lyendar and Truen. I cannot afford to join them until we are confident in Amori’s submission, else we will find ourselves surrounded by the enemy and isolated from our reserves. I must be patient.’ He watched the last of the sun slip below the horizon. ‘I am weary of politicking. I will eat in my rooms tonight.’
‘As you wish,’ Gallant bowed.
In his chambers, Cinder sent his servants for food and the Lady Patience. The food arrived first, which irked him, as the Lady had less distance to travel. He had the servant set it on a small table before the fire and took one of the two chairs there. Once the servant had poured him a goblet of wine, he dismissed him. The Lady Patience arrived as the servant departed. ‘You are late,’ he barked as she stepped into the chamber. ‘What took you so long?’
She blanched, and he could see her gauging her options. ‘I apologise, my Prince. I was with my daughter,’ she said hesitantly. ‘She is still very young, and normally shares my bed as she is not yet weaned. The recent change to the sleeping arrangements dis-settles her.’
He was ashamed. ‘I am sorry, my Lady Patience,’ he stood and poured her some wine. ‘You are a good mother to your children. Please, sit. Join me for a meal.’
‘Thank you,’ her fingers were cold as she brushed his in taking the goblet. With fear? he asked himself, and wondered why it mattered to him if she feared him. ‘I am sorry my tardiness angered you,’ she said.
‘You do not need to apologise. The Monad blesses good mothers.’ He contemplated the fire, swirling his wine in his goblet. ‘I am irritable this evening. It is the idleness of waiting. I am not a patient man.’
‘I am named Patience, but I must admit that it is not a virtue I have always excelled at,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘Would you like me to serve?’ she gestured to the tray of food.
‘Yes, please,’ he found he liked watching her at the simple and domestic task - it was a balm to him. ‘You seem very patient to me,’ he said as she handed him a plate.
‘Ah, well,’ she settled back with her own plate. ‘That is having children. You must learn to be patient with children. They operate on a completely different set of priorities to adults. You may wish to walk a path in order to reach a destination promptly, however it is of extreme importance to them to explore each garden bed you pass. Or maybe you desire to complete a task and need them to play quietly whilst you do, but they are determined to hang on your skirts and see every minor detail of what you are up to. Or, maybe you wish to dress them, but they find they need to do it themselves.’
‘I am sure I would have been beaten if I had behaved so,’ he commented, mildly.
‘Surely not, my Prince,’ she was startled. ‘That would have been most unjust! You cannot explain to a young child the complexities of the adult world as to why what you are doing is more important than their own activities, so it is not misbehaving; it is just being a child.’
‘You are a good mother,’ he scrutinised her, and found that the idea of her as mother to a child of his pleased him.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
By the set of her lips, he could see that she hesitated to speak further. ‘What is it?’ he asked, in good enough humour to indulge her.
‘I would ask you a favour, my Prince.’
‘Yes?’ he wondered if she would be so unwise as to ask to end her obligations to him.
‘I understand that some members of the noble families of Amori are currently being held in the dungeons,’ she said, surprising him as her concern so far had never seemed to extend beyond the well-being of her children and sister. ‘I would ask if I could please go to the dungeons, to speak with them. Some of them have young children with them. I feel obligated to try to convince them that worshipping false gods not only endangers their own salvation, but that of their children. Children should not be in dungeons, either, it is not healthy for them.’
‘Indeed,’ he sipped his wine, bemused. Did she realise that the nobles and their children had most likely been tortured by the Priests, he wondered. He considered her across the table. The lovely Lady Patience, Gallant called her. Not a beauty, or, at least, not a beauty by the current standards of beauty which idolised willowy youthful bodies and doe-eyed innocence; Patience’s hips and thighs were well fleshed, her belly rounded, her breasts full and heavy. She had beautiful skin, strawberries and cream, and lovely honey blond hair, currently dressed in a simple braid and snood; but her eyes were too small, her nose too large, and her lips too thin to be considered a beauty. Somehow, though, it was her faults that appealed to him. She made his blood
rush from his head to more primal regions. He wanted to bury himself between those milk scented breasts and seek comfort.
Did he want the wholesome Lady Patience wandering amongst the tortured souls occupying the dungeons? ‘I do not think that would be appropriate,’ he said slowly. ‘The dungeons are… unsuitable for you.’
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘If they are unsuitable for me, my Prince, only consider how unsuitable they are to those children unfortunate enough to have heathen parents. It is not a child’s fault if they are taught to worship false idols, and yet they suffer for it. Please, my Prince, I must try to save those children for the Monad.’
He could see she was determined. The forced conversion using the torture of children had long sat ill with him so he could understand her, a mother’s, sentiments. However… ‘I would dissuade you from this path,’ he said. ‘Ask of me another boon.’
She blinked. Now, he thought, now she will ask to be spared her duties to me. ‘I cannot think of what to ask,’ she said instead. ‘You have already granted me the safety of my children and my sister, which has lightened my heart greatly. I only wish I could spare other children of Amori the suffering of being heathen.’
He had to admire her. She would probably try to gain entrance to the dungeons on her own if he refused he realised, and may just persuade someone to let her through. He could, at least, control what she was exposed to, in granting her wish. ‘I will speak with Gallant,’ he decided. ‘He will escort you,’ and ensure that she saw what was only suitable for her to see, he concluded silently. ‘You will obey him in all things whilst you are there, this you will pledge to me,’ he added, frowning repressively at her.
‘Thank you, my Prince,’ she smiled.
Shade
‘Are you sure?’ he demanded, harshly. Like a map out-folded, in a sickening rush, land spread out before him in a patchwork quilt of geography; the regularities of tended field, the spider webs of road and houses, the meandering waterways, the gentle roll of hills and the jagged peaks of mountains. This bird’s eye vision of the lands of Lyendar disturbed his stomach and set a pulse hammering painfully above his left eye. The vision centred and zoned in on a dark patch unnatural to the landscape. ‘Ah,’ he said, displeased. ‘A well situated position; nicely done. You may go now,’ he dismissed the spirit that had brought the vision, and was returned jarringly to reality as it departed.
Song placed a goblet of wine at his fingertips. ‘Thank you,’ he said to air as she whisked away. He frowned mildly, wondering what was different about his chamber. Song threw open the shutters during his reverie, causing him to recoil from the sudden sharp light. Whilst he had been in Death, he decided, taking stock of the room in the bright light, she had made his bed, picked up his clothing and papers, and probably also refreshed his chamber pot. And, apparently, admitted Honesty, who stood by one of the now open windows, hands neatly clasped behind his back.
The door snicked shut as Song exited on some mysterious task.
‘She is very efficient, as well as lovely, your servant girl,’ Honesty observed having followed her exit with his eyes.
‘Obviously,’ Shade sipped the wine. ‘I must speak to her about letting people into my chambers without my express permission however. And she is not a servant, she merely deigns, for reasons unknown to me, to perform the menial tasks that I tend to neglect, when she is not otherwise occupied.’
‘Your doxy, then,’ Honesty shrugged indifferently.
Shade knew it to be a deliberate attempt to irritate him, as was being in his chambers uninvited. ‘I would be very careful about what you say about Song,’ he warned mildly. ‘Over the course of our association, I have come to believe her to be not quite as human as she appears.’ Timely as ever, Song re-entered the room bearing a tray of roast chicken, vegetables, and fresh baked bread. His stomach rumbled it’s appreciation of her. ‘Ahhh, thank you,’ he said as she placed the tray on a small round table set close to his chair. ‘Is it midday already? The time flies when one walks the paths of Death. Will you join me, Honesty?’
‘No, thank you,’ Honesty poured himself a goblet of wine from the pitcher Song had left. ‘I find your décor unconducive to an appetite,’ he nodded to the two animated skeletons that stood restive against the wall; and shuddered as he sipped his wine. ‘A good year,’ Honesty raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘However did you manage to get better wine then is served at my table?’
Shade shrugged. ‘You could ask Song, though I find she is reticent about her sources.’ Song smiled at him as she took a seat by the window and picked up her basket of mending. The sunlight glinted off the dark coils of plait as she bowed her head, dextrous fingers industriously weaving the sleeve of one of his shirts back into place.
‘She is a mute is she not?’ Honesty watched her covetously. ‘That is advantageous for you; to be spared the natter and demands that accompanies her gender.’
‘Before I became associated with Song, I would have agreed with you, but life has is ironies, and I would love nothing more but to hear a whisper of sound from her lips, for reasons I cannot share,’ Shade took a bite of chicken. ‘Mmmm - excellent. Are you sure you will not join me, Honesty? Song brought ample.’
‘No, thank you,’ Honesty sighed, patience concluded. ‘So, are you going to disclose the outcome of your enterprise this morning?’
‘Ahhh,’ Shade considered the young Lord. ‘Well, I am afraid I have not obtained the answer to your question, my Lord, as I became diverted.’
Honesty groaned and clutched his hair in angst. ‘How - ’ he started to complain.
Shade swirled his wine in his goblet. ‘It appears that Amori has fallen to the Shoethalians.’
‘Amori has fallen!’ Honesty was agape. ‘That is simply not possible. Charity-?’
‘- Charity is not among the dead, although the dead are surprised by that fact,’ Shade shrugged his puzzlement. ‘But, he is no longer in control of Amori. The Priests of the Monad appear to be in control – although there is also a Shoethal Princeling in residence. I am a bit confused about the power structure, actually.’
‘Dear Goddess! We need to contact Truen and set forth to resecure Amori before- ‘
‘It is too late, my Lord. There are several Shoethalian armies of truly considerable size surrounding Truen. They are not in the position to go to anyone’s aid.’
‘Then, we march to Truen’s aid!’
‘Also not possible I am afraid,’ Shade finished his wine, ‘as we also appear to be surrounded.’
‘There has been no report!’ Honesty refuted. ‘And we have regular patrols in the surrounding area.’
‘They are about a day out,’ Shade picked up a carrot and bit off the tip. ‘Outside your patrols but close enough to cause us concern as they considerably limit our options. I imagine someone from one of the villages will make their way here in the near future to tell us of attacks on the countryside, by which time the army will probably already have been sighted by your patrols. There is good news, however, my Lord,’ he offered with compassion because he did like Honesty, most days.
‘Pray, tell me,’ Honesty said grimly.
‘We have advanced notice of their attack. There is probably time to bring the villagers and local farmers into the walled citadel and with them the fruits of the early harvest. You have time to decide whether to try to harvest what remains in the fields, burn it to prevent the invaders from making use of it, or leave it in the hopes it will still be there when the siege is over to keep your people from starvation’s door. There may also be enough time to send some of the noble women and their children to safety, if you are quick enough and they have a bit of luck. And, most importantly, you have the most powerful Necromancer in the known world and his possibly fey courtesan currently residing with you – so you have the power of Death on your side,’ he bared his teeth in a death’s head’s grin.
Honesty considered. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘We have to make wise use
of this advance knowledge. Can you place on a map where the armies are located? The terrain might give us an advantage. And a messenger needs to be sent westward. If Truen and Lyendar fall, the Shoethalian armies will not stop with us. It may be that Guarn will offer us support in order to prevent their eventual attack. I must call the council to session immediately,’ he started for the door.
‘I will follow anon,’ Shade replied. ‘There are a few things I need to take care of here, first.’
Honesty compressed his lips and started to argue before reconsidering. His experience with the Necromancer was that argument only produced further delay. ‘Very well, my friend, but do not be tardy,’ he conceded, supressing his initial response.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Shade turned to Song. ‘You, of course, know what to do?’ he asked. She set her mending aside, nodded serenely, and left the room. He went to his chest, and drew from it a plain wooden bowl. Unremarkable to the eye, to someone with magic, it was exceptional for its resonance. He drew forth an athame and with it made a small incision on his wrist, hissing with the pain. Into the bowl he let spill five drops of blood, and to this added a half glass of wine, swirling the liquid around the bowl to mix. ‘Damn waste,’ he mourned the wine.
The response was immediate, but not vocal. He did not have that particular talent and, to his annoyance, had to respond aloud, further emphasising his lack. ‘Lyendar,’ he said, in response to a question. ‘And how do you propose I do that?... …. Mmmm…. … Very well… How diverting … I will… How will I know? … Aha… I shall do my best, farewell.’ At the conclusion of his conversation, the liquid in the bowl dissipated in a red haze. ‘Interesting,’ he decided, setting the bowl carefully back into its wrappings in the chest.