He didn’t stop riding even once that night, not to stretch his legs, not take a meal, and not relieve himself. It wasn’t the threat of Ijell lawmen pursuing Raelen that spurred him on, but his desperate need to reach Aiestal’s army before they attacked Haeshala. The army’s commanders had no idea that their orders hadn’t come from the king, or even a human; but from an Allosian warmonger as part of his machinations to destroy the human race.
Morning found Raelen riding hard on a dirt road that snaked its way over a hilly plain. He was following the unmistakable tracks of the thousands of men, oxen, and wagons that were his army. He was tired, and falling asleep in the saddle, but his duty drove him on, and he used it to stave off collapse.
To his complete astonishment, another rider appeared and overtook him before matching his pace and riding alongside him. The rider was a young woman, a few years older than Raelen. She had a head of golden curls, beautiful blue eyes, and wore a fine riding dress, the sort the ladies of his father’s court always wore on hunting days–dresses more fashionable than functional. The woman was his sister, Saranna–his dead sister. Dead after she’d hurled herself from one of Duke Eidol’s castle towers.
“You are very brave, Rae,” Saranna said.
Raelen smiled. Though he knew she was dead, the oddity quickly faded, and it felt completely normal that she would be riding alongside him. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. It pained him as he wanted to tell her all that had happened since she’d died. He wanted to tell her of how he’d finally mastered the akami Gryyth had been trying to teach him for years. He wanted to tell her of his disastrous courtship of Lord Akell’s niece. He wanted to tell her father was killed and Aiested destroyed. But no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t have the power of speech.
Saranna flashed one of her familiar ruby-lipped smirks like she knew what he was thinking. “We haven’t much time.”
Raelen nodded, still disturbed he couldn’t say anything; but it sounded like Saranna was in control. Perhaps she had bound his tongue?
“You ride into danger.”
Raelen opened his mouth, but Saranna waived at him to be quiet. Not that he could’ve made a sound anyway.
“Just listen, Rae,” she snapped. “You will face him again, but this time he fights with the power of death itself. You cannot fight him the way you did before. To touch him is death. His power cannot affect itself, so arm yourself with it, but don’t partake of it.”
Raelen didn’t understand.
“I have to go now,” Saranna said. “Know that I love you, and that I am at peace.”
Raelen nearly fell out of the saddle as he startled, the sharp spasm snapping him out of sleep. His ghern was still trotting along, though it had strayed a little off the path he’d been following. Something on Raelen’s periphery caught his attention and he turned his head just in time to see a small ball of white light streak away and disappear into the trees.
“A dream?” Raelen said aloud, relieved he could speak again.
It had to be a dream, yet it’d seemed so real. It wasn’t like the other dreams–or sometimes nightmares–he’d had about Saranna since she died. Those always had a kind of cold, detached quality to them, though they too would sometimes feel real. This was warm, vivid, and Raelen could swear he smelled a trace of white thorn on the air–Saranna’s favored perfume. Most of all, he had felt Saranna’s personality. In his regular dreams, she always seemed to him an echo, or a distorted copy of his beloved sister. This Saranna had been crystal clear.
And what had she been talking about? You will face him again, but this time he fights with the power of death itself. You cannot fight him the way you did before. To touch him is death. His power cannot affect itself, so arm yourself with it, but don’t partake of it.
Raelen reined in his ghern and stared after where he’d seen the ball of light disappear into the trees. He was tempted to ride in that direction, to chase after the light for it could be no coincidence that it had appeared when it did.
Seiro.
Raelen was king now. He had to sacrifice personal wants and wishes for the good of the kingdom. Is that what his father had done? Is that what he’d meant when he said, “If you want to someday wear this crown, then you need to grow up and learn what it really means to rule, what it means to make the hard decisions.”
Could he have mistaken his father’s shrewd and seemingly cold-hearted decisions for apathy and hardness when they had, in fact, been sacrifice? He’d always believed his father to be a tyrant, and perhaps the man died as such, but what if there was more to him? What if Raelen’s father’s actions had been sacrificial? What if the old king had acted against his feelings and conscience in trying to do what was best for the kingdom? What was best for his son?
Raelen shook his head as if to physically shake the thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t get distracted by grief or questions, not now. Raelen had to stop a talis war. He snapped the reins of his ghern and trotted it back to follow the trail of the army.
It was dusk when he nearly rode down a black-robed man standing in the road. He was older, with long wisps of white hair falling from a balding head. Even so, he managed a very spry leap out of Raelen’s way just in time to avoid being trampled. Raelen hadn’t even had the chance to shout an apology before he was pulled from the saddle and slammed onto his back.
The hard landing expelled the air from his lungs, and he gasped as he looked up to find a slitted, silver helmet peering down at him. The armored knight quickly raised his visor to reveal two very wide eyes.
“My prince!” the knight blurted out. Then he fell to one knee at Raelen’s side, not to help him up, but in panicked deference.
Raelen wanted to slug the man, first for pulling him down, and second for being so surprised by his identity that he wasn’t helping him to get up.
No man should kneel at the feet of another man, Gryyth’s voice echoed from memory.
Raelen rolled onto his side, coughing. “Help me up, soldier.”
The knight snapped out of his stupor and helped Raelen to stand. “I beg your forgiveness, my prince. Had I known it was you, I―”
Raelen silenced him with a wave of his hand. “You were doing your duty”―he paused to scan the man’s breastplate for a sign of rank―“captain.”
The old man in the black robe hurried over, but froze when he saw Raelen. “My prince!”
“Don’t you dare fall to prostrate yourself too, Paisen!” He’d recognized the old man as one of Aiested’s polymaths. “Where is our army?”
“An hour’s ride north,” Paisen said.
“And so why are you out here?” The question escaped Raelen’s mouth when he saw what Paisen was holding; an octagonal cut amulet atop which was a large Apeira shard–a dousing stone. They were well-finding.
It was standard practice for an Aiestali army, or any army really, to travel with a few well-finders. The discovery of a buried well could provide a basecamp and could mean the difference between victory and defeat, especially when a large contingent of your army bore weapon talises.
“We were―” Paisen began.
“Find anything?” Raelen interrupted.
Paisen nodded. “We didn’t, but Lord Eskeba did. That’s why the army turned north.”
“Have we engaged Haeshala yet?”
“No, Your Highness.” Paisen’s answer evoked a sigh of relief from Raelen.
“Praise Rasheera!” He turned to the knight. “We’ve set up camp around a well, then?”
The knight nodded. “I shall lead you to it.”
Raelen closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. Divine Mother, but he was tired. And without Gryyth’s transference of strength, his body wasn’t as tough as it usually was. Raelen pressed a hand to his side, the answering pain suggesting at least one broken rib.
“You are a credit to your battle masters, captain.”
A half-buried Apeira well rose out of the side of a large hill surrounded by dozens o
f flags, hundreds of tents, and thousands of men. Raelen’s transference band awoke, and he was relieved to find his connection to Gryyth strong. As long as Gryyth lived, he would have access to the Ursaj’s phenomenal physical strength, so if the connection was present, it meant his mentor and friend yet lived.
He tapped the transference band to strengthen his body, and the pain from the broken rib faded. As it always did, white fur grew beneath his dirty tunic, not enough to cover his chest, but enough to be itchy and uncomfortable. He tried not to scratch at his chest as he was led on a winding path through the bustling camp. It wasn’t all the way set up, so the soldiers he passed were mostly distracted by their work, though a few stopped to stare. He hadn’t been sure they’d recognize him with several day’s stubble and the road dust clinging to his hair and clothes. And if they were close enough, they’d be treated to the stink of ghern. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a bath, but there wasn’t time.
It took half an hour to reach the command tent at the center of the camp. Here the soldiers guarding the entrance immediately recognized Raelen, wordlessly saluted, and then moved out of his way. He pushed through the split in the canvas and entered upon a scene of high-ranking soldiers surrounding a table with a map rolled out. Several argued as they leaned over the map, pointing to landmarks Raelen couldn’t see from his current vantage. He folded his arms and just watched. Eventually one of the captains glanced at him, did a double take, and then bowed. The others looked around in confusion until they too saw Raelen and did as their companions.
“Prince Taris,” said the full-bearded general at the head of the table. Oddly, the man didn’t bow.
“General Vesarr Rahkanas.” Raelen nodded.
Vesarr was the son of Aiestel’s chief general, Osarr Rahkanas, a man now dead by the treachery of the polymath Loeadon. Raelen hadn’t considered he’d have to be the one to inform Vesarr that his father had fallen. Then again, with the destruction of Aiested, he’d be surprised if the other commanders hadn’t lost loved ones too.
“What are you doing here?” Vesarr asked, and Raelen thought he caught a note of irritation in the man’s tone. That was odd.
“Aiested has fallen,” Raelen said without preamble.
That evoked gasping and wide-eyed glances from the captains surrounding the table, some of whom froze in the middle of rising from their knees.
“Surely not,” Vesarr said.
“I was there.” Raelen unfolded his arms and walked up to the table. “Our Apeira well went dark and then shattered, destroying the palace. Further, some dark power rains emerald-colored lightning down on the rest of the city, destroying buildings and killing our people. We had no choice but to abandon the city.”
Vesarr frowned, and if Raelen didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the general looked skeptical. Well, it was a remarkable report with tragic implications. Perhaps he needed time to fully digest the information.
A dozen questions assailed Raelen, and Vesarr had to call his council of captains to order before there was quiet again. Raelen picked that moment to shake them further.
“My father is dead.”
This time no questions came. Instead, all the captains stared at Raelen with eyes wide and mouths agape, and a few looked like they weren’t sure if they should bow a second time.
“That makes me king, and as such, I am taking command of this army, and ordering an immediate return march to Aiested. We have thousands of refugees to look after.” Raelen pointed to a thickly built captain standing at his left. “Captain, relay the order to strike camp. We’re going to travel through the night.”
He pointed at a taller man standing farther down the table. “Captain, you―”
“I am afraid I cannot allow that,” Vesarr cut in.
The entire command tent fell quiet.
It took Raelen a moment to find his voice. “You cannot allow?”
Vesarr glanced around the tent. “Leave us,” he ordered.
It took a moment for the command to sink in, and Raelen thought the general was going to have to repeat it, but the men saluted and obediently filed out of the tent leaving only two guards flanking the entrance.
“You too,” Vesarr said as he waved the men away.
The guards saluted, disappeared through the slit in canvas and Raelen found himself alone with the general.
“You had better have a good explanation for this, Vesarr.”
Vesarr sighed, straightened and stared Raelen directly in the eyes.
“Your father ordered that we not turn back for any reason.”
“Not even if your prince commands it?” Raelen snapped.
Vesarr met his eyes. “The king’s orders were explicit.”
“I am your king, now.” Raelen strode up to the table.
I am a clear brook flowing among the trees.
I am a meadow of clover in summer.
I am the moon silently watching the night.
“Are you?” Vesarr said. “I spoke to the king myself. He said that we had an Allosian adversary hiding in the court, one with the power to change his appearance. He said that I was not to trust anyone who might contact me with orders contrary to his, no matter who it was, even if it was you or the king himself.”
“You think I’m the Allosian imposter?” Jenoc had used the fact that his efforts had been discovered to his advantage. It was a brilliant stroke.
Vesarr sighed again. “It fits.”
Raelen couldn’t argue that. Damn that fey wizard.
“Use your speaking stone to hail Aiested. You will see that no one is there to answer.”
Vesarr shook his head. “I was commanded not to contact the king until after our assault.”
Raelen pounded a fist on the table. “Don’t you see? It’s the perfect plan for ensuring we start a war!”
Vesarr slowly nodded. “Perhaps.”
Raelen ground his teeth. “You know I could tear you to pieces Vesarr, should I wish.”
Vesarr casually laid a hand on his sword. “It’s possible.”
A casual glance at the amethyst shard embedded in the clear spherical pommel told Raelen that the weapon was a talis. “But if you truly are my prince, then I know you to be a man of honor, a man who wouldn’t murder an innocent soldier for simply doing his duty.”
Raelen ground his teeth. He could do it. He was already drawing on the transference band. If he wished, he could smash through the table and tear Vesarr’s heart out before the man could draw another breath.
…if you truly are my prince…
Raelen’s reputation as an idealist was well known among the lords of the court. It was something that frustrated his father. Is this what he meant about learning to make the hard choices? The kingdom–no, the entire world was at stake–and one man stood in his way of saving it. Raelen had a duty to see that Jenoc’s plan was thwarted, and he bore the lives of uncounted innocents on his shoulders.
He almost attacked, but an echo of Gryyth’s voice stopped him. “You will teach Seiro to your people, cub.”
He knew what his father would do, what he would expect Raelen to do. King Raeleth Joran Taris the eighteenth would kill this dutiful, honorable man without a second thought, all in the name of the greater good.
I will not be like my father.
“I am your prince,” Raelen said. “And you are right. I cannot kill you.”
Vesarr’s tight jaw line relaxed, and he drew in a deep breath.
“I will surrender myself to you, General Rahkanas.” Raelen rolled his sleeve up to the shoulder, removed the transference band from his bicep, and laid it on the table. Immediately the pain of his broken ribs stabbed at him, and the white fur on his chest disappeared. It was all Raelen could do to not double over.
Vesarr leaned over the table and reached for the talis. Raelen put a hand on it just as Vesarr was reaching for it. He could feel the talis offering Gryyth’s strength to him, but he resisted it.
“I have but one request,” Raelen said.
“And that is?”
“Send scouts back to Aiested to confirm my story, and hold off your attack until they report back.”
Vesarr took the transference band, and straightened. “That would take weeks. Delaying our attack is out of the question.”
“General―”
“However,” Vesarr cut him off. “I will send my fastest scouts to investigate your claims. They will report back via speaking stone, and if what you say is true about the destruction of our capital, I will halt the attack.”
It was the best Raelen was going to get. “Thank you, Vesarr.”
“Until then,” Vesarr said, “I hope you will understand that I will need to keep you here under guard.”
Raelen had been expecting that. He nodded, resigned to his fate but at peace within. He had made the correct choice by following Seiro, he could feel it. He just hoped his desire to keep a clear conscience and set the example didn’t end with the destruction of his people or the world.
“And then there’s Leena. I got her two years ago from widow Daisys. She’s the mildest of my cow– definitely the opposite of Bess. She’ll bite and kick if you get too close. It makes milking her hard.” Maely chuckled. “One time my brother, Mulladin, was trying to suck milk straight from her udder when…”
Gryyth released a gravelly sigh.
“Gryyth?” Maely made them stop. She had an arm hooked around the Ursaj’s waist to help steady him as he walked. “What is it?”
“You talk a lot, cub.”
Maely grit her teeth. She’d been worried the bear-man had been overwhelmed by another wave of pain caused by his blistered chest. The stubborn creature had refused to take anymore of Sharor’s poppy extract because of his determination to fast, and so was experiencing the full pain of his burns.
“Well, what else are we supposed to do?” she snapped.
“The journey to the meeting place is meant to be a time of quiet introspection.”
The Lure of Fools Page 62