For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “I have a plan.” N’lahr looked over to her. “It will require an expenditure of effort on Elenai’s part. At least as great as that she used during that storm she faced.”

  She answered without hesitation. “Whatever it takes.” Even if using the hearthstones would alter her irrevocably.

  “I thought you’d say that.”

  “Is there to be fighting?” Ortok asked.

  “We’ll be fighting a lot of Naor,” N’lahr told him. “But you’ll have to follow behind. Once we get through the worst of the shifts it’ll be hard for you to keep up. We’re on horseback,” he added.

  The kobalin grunted and handed Elenai her empty winesac. “I can run. I want to kill Naor.”

  Kyrkenall rolled his eyes. “As much as I love a good scrape, I’m a little worried my friend here has lost his mind, because there are more than enough for all of us.” He spread his hands. “We can’t fight an army without one of our own.”

  N’lahr smiled thinly. “I’m going to get us one.”

  20

  First Flight

  The first attacks struck the night they fled Darassus. They allowed the squires to bed down for a few short hours before the dawn, and when it came time to rouse them they found six would never move again. In their sleep they’d been transformed into rigid, distorted, almost crystalline lumps of flesh.

  They lost five more the night after they dared a howling storm in the Shifting Lands to get through to The Fragments, when they mistakenly thought they were far enough away to be safe. One of them was a fifth ranker Varama had been mentoring.

  The assaults continued as they advanced into the wilds of The Fragments. For two nights Varama used the power of one of the hearthstones to weave a protective energy barrier about them, but on the second they were woken by the sentries to hear of three more casualties. The barrier had been breached.

  As yet there was no sign of physical pursuit. Apparently there was no need.

  “Why would there be. She can attack us whenever she wants all by herself,” Sansyra said. Varama had invited the last remaining fifth ranker into their meeting. Rylin had always sensed that the young woman disliked him, although her dour tone that night likely had more to do with their situation than any lingering resentment.

  Varama normally maintained a calm, pragmatic demeanor; even she, though, seemed drained and glum. She had called this middle-of-the-night meeting, yet so far she sat quietly. If Rylin didn’t know her better, he’d have described her manner as despondent.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “Why is she targeting the squires instead of us?”

  Varama answered. “Hasn’t she been talking with you?”

  “No.” That was startling. “How do you mean?”

  “She speaks to me, in dreams. She tells me that she’ll slay more if I don’t relinquish the larger, round hearthstone she called a ‘keystone.’ At first I thought she didn’t act against us because she hoped to turn us to her bidding. But I think it’s because she can’t move against us while we wear the rings.”

  “Even with so many hearthstones at her command?” Sansyra asked.

  “Perhaps not at such distance. But regrettably I have little sense of her powers. I’m stunned she can act at such range, much less find us so easily with all the hearthstones shut down. It may be that she’s so sensitive to them now she can detect them regardless, or she may be honing in on the keystone specifically.” Varama’s gaze shifted briefly to the pack at her side and he could almost sense her frustration that she’d had so little time to examine the thing. She’d yet to understand why it was so important to the queen. Especially as it seemed to house significantly less power than any of the other hearthstones in their possession.

  Her voice was strained. “I brought the squires along for protection, lest they be used as her pawns, or be slain in a fruitless attempt to stop us. But out of the seventy-three that rode out with us fourteen have perished.” She delivered her words with an edge of steel. “These young people are a finite and precious resource. They are carefully prepared, both before and after entering the corps, to serve their fellow citizens even to the end of their own existence. And Leonara has murdered them indifferently.” Her hands shook with anger as she finished.

  “You’re not to blame, Alten,” Sansyra said. “All of your choices—”

  Varama cut her off. “I miscalculated. I couldn’t know the extent of our queen’s current power, but I was well enough acquainted with her ruthlessness to factor in this kind of response.”

  Rylin dearly wished there were something more for him to do. He hated this helplessness more than anything else they were experiencing. “We’re going to have to separate,” he suggested.

  “Yes.” Varama nodded once, apparently satisfied he’d come to the conclusion she’d hoped. “Sansyra, I’m placing you in charge of the squires. You’re to divide the remainder into five squads and lead them to Alantris at a spacing of maximum visual distance. Use lanterns to signal. If you keep a good pace you should be there by evening.”

  “Yes, Alten.” Rylin saw her dark shape nod. “Do you think that she may be able to attack us while we’re awake?”

  “I think it a possibility we should entertain. But she hasn’t done so thus far, and placing the squires farther from Rylin and me and the hearthstones should improve your odds. Here’s a note detailing our findings. Share the contents with the five squad leaders and have them report only to Aradel. Destroy the writing and deny if others press.”

  Sansyra nodded her understanding and quickly roused the squires. After their departure, Rylin volunteered to let the exhausted Varama grab a little more rest. She hadn’t slept since the second attack. She returned to the fireside, kicked off her boots, lay down in her blanket, and was out almost instantly. Rylin smiled a little at the ease of it.

  She had adjusted much faster than he to life on the road. He hadn’t realized how soft he’d gotten. He missed warm sheets, well-cooked food, and regular sex. Not to mention heretofore unappreciated comforts like a lack of imminent threat of death, or an absence of seeing those under your command attacked when you had no recourse.

  He had to admit he wasn’t used to worry. And he naively hadn’t realized how much uncertainty would accompany adventure. It hadn’t been like this in the war when he’d been told where to go and had only to dull the doubt of his next encounter in the echoed bravado of his comrades. He recalled now that Asrahn used to say “body training is the easy part” of becoming a soldier. Rylin had associated that with encouragement to pay attention to the more dull bookwork that made up a fair portion of each squire’s day, but it seemed clearer now that Asrahn was referencing emotional discipline.

  He set about ordering his thoughts. Sending the squires ahead would seem to give them the best chance for survival, and the redundant plan for communicating with Aradel, former alten and current governor of The Fragments, would virtually ensure the truth would reach her. If Varama was right—and she almost always was—Kyrkenall and Elenai had already met Aradel and had started a campaign to convince the other four governors to act decisively about the queen’s conspiracy. He and Varama would serve as additional witnesses, a less-than-glorious role but contributory to the cause.

  That, though, assumed that all had gone well with Kyrkenall and Elenai. Denaven and his search party might have found them, and Rylin had few illusions as to their fate if that were the case.

  Not for the first time, his thoughts turned to Lasren. While he dismissed the idea that his friend had been part of the conspiracy, Lasren might well believe whatever Denaven told him, without question. He hoped he wouldn’t commit some grievous error before learning the truth.

  And he hoped he wouldn’t end up facing his friend in battle. If they were to come to blows, one of them would end up dead, and Rylin wasn’t entirely sure it would be Lasren. What he lacked in sorcery, his larger friend could make up for in superior reach.

  Rylin shook his head. Surely it wouldn’t come to th
at. He was starting to overthink everything. He’d have to decide on the demands of the moment. And right now, he and Varama needed a breakfast prepared.

  Eventually he sensed a predawn still in the air, an impending sense of excitement, as if the land knew the sun would shortly come. He took the porridge off the fire, scooped a hot helping, cleaned up what little wasn’t packed up, then woke Varama. As she got up, he headed off to get the lay of the land by new light.

  It felt good to move. Their camp lay only a few hundred paces downhill from a rocky outcrop that had commanded a fine view yesterday evening and would probably be brilliant this morning. He climbed up to it and stepped right to the edge. With that first red sliver of the sun warming the sky on his right, he could pick out sparkles reflecting in the swift-flowing stream running through the valley floor hundreds of feet below. He lingered, watching the color conjured from varied grasses and the tree-skirted hills rising one above the other, deciding this was one of the most splendid vistas he’d ever seen. He relished the sights even as he searched for signs of unlikely pursuers.

  “You’re a little close to the rim, aren’t you?”

  Rylin hadn’t heard Varama’s approach. She gripped a sturdy young tree several paces away and smoothed back a stray strand from her high blue forehead.

  She was forever noticing things he hadn’t, so Rylin took a long look at the rock he stood upon jutting into the abyss. It seemed securely rooted to the cliff side. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, I think you’ve probably seen all you need to see,” Varama said. And that, too, wasn’t especially normal, because she didn’t make a habit of useless talk.

  “I think you’re afraid of heights,” he said slowly. He couldn’t help the grin rising on his face.

  “Not exactly.”

  “No? So this doesn’t make you nervous?” Rylin raised his right leg and extended it over the edge.

  “You look foolish.”

  “Really?” He hopped back and forth from leg to leg. “Don’t tell me you don’t like dancing?”

  “You’re not the least bit funny.”

  Seeing her expression, he had a hard time leaving off, but stepped toward her anyway. “That’s the most I’ve smiled in days. It’s nice to see you have some weakness, after all.”

  “I am overly patient with idiots,” Varama said brusquely. “Now come along.”

  Rylin turned for a last look from his vantage point. And froze. To the northeast a large column of black smoke climbed toward the heavens. It might have been a wildfire, except that there hadn’t been any lightning last night. And it was far too large to be a cookfire.

  He felt an ominous foreboding. “That cloud looks an awful lot like one from the war.”

  “When the Naor were burning villages,” Varama confirmed behind him. “They’re here.”

  He stared, and his hands tightened into fists. Could they be this unlucky?

  “Our squires.” Varama said nothing more.

  “The smoke’s well east of here,” Rylin said, hoping that meant Sansyra and the others hadn’t blundered into a huge Naor force.

  Varama caught his attention a second time. “Look. Directly ahead.”

  How had he missed that? There, suspended on currents of air, was an enormous bird.

  No. Not a bird. A ko’aye. He hadn’t seen one of the famed creatures since his early squire days, when they were dangerous and capable war allies. Long tapering wedges backlit by the dawn glare kept the creature afloat, stretching more than twelve times the length of its narrow, flexible body. A slender, oval head was thrust forward, clearly focused upon them as it glided closer.

  “There’s no rider,” Varama said.

  The ko’aye hadn’t really understood the peace agreement forged with the Naor after N’lahr’s death, especially why the Altenerai couldn’t help them drive the Naor from their hunting grounds. They’d vowed never again to ally with Altenerai, and some had reputedly sworn vengeance against them, which is why seeing one wasn’t entirely reassuring. Rylin’s hand drifted to his hilt as the thing closed on their position.

  “It’s Lelanc,” Varama decided. “Aradel’s. Get away from the edge.”

  “I’m not going to fall.” He stared, not for the first time wondering how Aradel had maintained her bond with her war mount when no one else had.

  “She needs room to land, so get back.” Varama sounded faintly annoyed, as she always did when she had to repeat herself.

  Rylin stepped quickly aside, for the wyrm was even now closing on the cliff’s edge. He noted that the graceful flier was wearing an odd-shaped saddle.

  Lelanc latched her front claws to the outcrop Rylin had recently quitted and beat her wings madly as her lower half swung under the rock and impacted the supporting earth with a ground-shaking thud. The stirred air rushed past Rylin as he backstepped toward Varama to cede more space. The wind rider pulled herself up, still flapping as back talons audibly scratched stone. Once the majority of her weight was above the edge, she folded her wings and lowered her swanny neck, so her head hung only a few feet before the two Altenerai.

  A ko’aye was both vaguely birdlike and lizard-like, with toothed beak and feathers, but Lelanc’s strange wide eyes struck him as preternaturally lucid and sharp, their ruddy orange color so bright it practically glowed. She was mostly a warm russet color with white and darker brown markings, but her underside was a creamy ivory. The tapering tail, and its wickedly barbed end, dangled out of sight beneath the precipice.

  Lelanc dipped her crested head respectfully and spoke in a voice marked with clicks and whistles, as the sounds were shaped deep in her throat. The effect was oddly musical. “With pleasure I come again into your company, high-browed crafter.” Her unwinking eyes met their own with disquieting intensity.

  Varama answered with an incline of her head. “With pleasure I greet you, catcher of winds. How fare your nest mates?”

  Lelanc opened her beaked mouth to let out a mournful trilling noise. “All ride the red winds.” She arched her neck a little but kept her head on level with Varama’s. “And have you a mate now, and hatchlings?”

  “No.”

  “I sorrow for you, then.”

  Varama extended a hand toward Rylin. “This is Alten Rylin. He would be your friend.”

  Lelanc’s head tilted, and those glowing eyes fixed upon him. “That is a fine thought,” she said after a time. “Who does not have need of friends? But it is hard to know among you humans. Your scents do not show me the truth of your words.”

  “If you recall, Lelanc, I always spoke truth to you,” Varama said. “He would be a true friend.”

  Lelanc bowed her head with great solemnity. “I will believe you.”

  Rylin found Varama’s introduction strangely touching. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lelanc.” He presented himself with a courtly bow.

  Lelanc responded with a regal nod.

  “We’re looking for Aradel,” Varama said, as though visiting a neighborhood rather than fleeing to an uncertain sanctuary.

  “I guessed this when Rylin signaled from the cliff side.”

  “Signaled?” Rylin repeated, and then the matter was clear to him. His little cliffside jig.

  “Yes. I diverted. I was surprised to hear no whistle.”

  “Mine is at our camp. We weren’t expecting to see you today,” Varama said. “How is Aradel?”

  “She is on the ground, looking for Naor. I seek them from the air.”

  Varama sounded resigned. “How many Naor? How close?”

  “There are many numbers. As near as that smoke.” She indicated the ugly black column with a turn of her head. “Aradel stopped to talk with fleeing friends and sent me aloft to seek enemies. I should not tarry.”

  Rylin let out a little sigh of relief. That burning was miles off their intended route. Probably the squires were all right, for now.

  “We need to speak with Aradel,” Varama said.

  “Then come with me.” The creature nodded to the
battered sorrel seat strapped to her back.

  Varama shook her head quickly.

  “I’ll go,” Rylin volunteered.

  Lelanc thrust her head at him. “You, whom I have just met, wish to sit upon my back?”

  Rylin understood immediately that he’d committed a breach of courtesy. “I apologize for my effrontery,” he said quickly.

  Lelanc considered him with unwinking eyes and then stretched her head closer to Varama. Two small arched nostrils above her beak flared, and then she withdrew her head. “I think you must travel the horse trail, Varama. I recall that you fear leaving ground. Look for Aradel in the valley north. Take the higher opening, for the Naor are nearer the lower. Rylin, have you ridden the air before?”

  “Never.” His heart sped at the thought, and he wasn’t sure if it was unease or excitement or both.

  “If you wish to trust me, then I suppose I will trust you. Do you have weapons?”

  Rylin assumed she meant some that might be effective from the air, as his sword was plainly at his side. “In the camp. I’ll get them.”

  “Hurry.”

  By the time he returned, Lelanc had clambered up and around to stand on solid ground looking out over the valley, head snaking to east then west.

  While she scanned the sky, Rylin and Varama attached his bow sheath and quiver to the saddle. He strapped their only two javelins sideways across his back, then Lelanc again called that they must hurry.

  “I’ll do as Lelanc suggested,” Varama said to Rylin, speaking quickly, “and be along as soon as I can manage. Tell Aradel what we’ve learned.”

  “All of it?” Rylin wondered if he needed to explain, but Varama’s sharp-eyed gaze let him know she understood the implications of his simple question.

  “Every last detail.”

  He nodded.

  “The talking must cease and we must fly,” an impatient Lelanc insisted.

  “I’ll help him with the saddle.” Varama motioned Rylin forward.

  As Rylin climbed into place, he found the wind rider too wide to straddle, necessitating that his legs be slung with knees bent to either side of the saddle itself. Only his booted feet touched the wind rider’s short body feathers.