by Tad Williams
“Were Dawet dan-Faar not under the March King’s seal, one of the two of us would already be dead.”
Kendrick had clearly been caught by surprise, and just as clearly had not enjoyed it. “This … this speaks badly of the envoy, of course. Does it also mean his offer is not to be trusted?”
Hierarch Sisel cleared his throat. “I, for one, think the offer is honest, although the messenger be not. Like many bandit-lords, Ludis Drakava is desperate to make himself a true monarch—already he has petitioned the Trigon to recognize him as Hierosol’s king. It would be to his advantage to link himself to one of the existing noble houses as well. Syan and Jellon will not do it—even with the mountains between, Hierosol is too close to them, and they deem Ludis too ambitious. Thus, I suspect, his mind has turned to Southmarch.” He frowned, considering. “It could even be he planned this all along, and is the reason he took King Olin.”
“He wanted the ransom to begin to pinch before he offered us this other bargain?” asked a baron from Marnnswalk, shaking his head. “Very crafty.”
“All this talk of why and what happened does not change the facts,” snapped Earl Tyne. “He has the king. We do not. He wants the king’s daughter. Do we give her to him?”
“Do you agree with the hierarch, Shaso?” Kendrick looked at the master of arms keenly. He had never felt Briony s loyalty to the old Tuani, but he did not share Barrick’s grudges either. “Is the offer to be trusted?”
“I think it genuine, yes,” Shaso said at last. “But the Earl of Blueshore has reminded us of the true question here.”
“And what do you think?” Kendrick prodded him.
“It is not for me to say.” The old man’s eyes were hooded. “She is not my sister. The king is not my father.”
“The final decision will be mine, of course. But I wish to hear counsel first, and you were always one of my father’s most trusted councillors.”
Barrick could not help but notice that Kendrick had called Shaso his father’s trusted councillor, not his own. The master of arms grew even more stony at this slight, but he spoke carefully. “I think it a bad idea.”
“Again, one who does not suffer has an easy choice,” said Tyne Aldritch. “You have no ransom to raise, no tithe of crops to deliver. What does it matter to you whether the rest of us are crippled by this?”
Shaso would not answer the Earl of Blueshore, but Gailon Tolly did. “Can none of you see any farther than the boundaries of your own smallholdings?” he demanded. “Do you think you alone suffer hardship? If we do not give the princess to Ludis, as I think we should not, we all must still share the burden of the greatest hardship—the king’s absence!”
“What did our father say?” Barrick asked suddenly. The whole gathering had been like a bad dream, a confusion of voices and faces. He still could not believe his brother was giving the Lord Protector’s suit any consideration at all. “You read his letter, Kendrick—he must have said something about this.”
His brother nodded but did not meet his younger brother’s eye. “Yes, but in few words, as though he did not take it seriously. He called it a foolish offer.” Kendrick blinked, suddenly weary. “Does this help us to decide, Barrick? You know that Father would never allow himself to be bartered for anyone, even the lowest pig farmer. He has always put his ideals above all else.” There was a note of bitterness, now. “And you know he dotes on Briony, and has since she was in swaddling clothes. You’ve complained of it often enough, Barrick.”
“But he’s right! She is our sister!”
“And we Eddons are the rulers of Southmarch. Even Father has always put those responsibilities above his own desires. Who do you think is more important to our people, our father or sister?”
“The people love Briony!”
“Yes, they do. Her absence would sadden them, but it would not make them fearful, as they have been since the king has been gone. A kingdom without its monarch is like a man without a heart. Better Father were dead, the gods preserve him and us, than simply gone!”
A shocked silence fell over the table at this near-treason, but Barrick knew that his brother was right. Although everyone had tried to pretend otherwise, the king’s absence had been a kind of living death for the March Kingdoms, as unnatural as a year without sunshine. And now, for the first time, Barrick could see the strain beneath what he sometimes thought of as his brother’s guileless features, the immense worry and exhaustion. Barrick could only wonder what other things Kendrick had been hiding from him.
The other nobles took up the argument. It quickly became apparent that Shaso and Gailon were in the minority, that Tyne and Rorick and even Lord Constable Avin Brone thought that since one day Briony would be married off for political gain anyway, her maidenhead might as well be bartered now for something as valuable as restoring King Olin. However, few beside Tyne were honest enough to admit that part of the plan’s appeal was that it would spare them many golden dolphins as well.
Tempers frayed and the discussion became loud. At one point, Avin Brone threatened to knock in Ivar of Silverside’s head, although both were arguing in favor of the same position. At last Kendrick demanded quiet.
“It is late and I have not made up my mind yet,” the prince regent said. “I must think and then sleep on it tonight. My brother Barrick is right in one thing, especially—this is my sister, and I’ll do nothing lightly that will so greatly affect her. Tomorrow I will announce my decision.”
He stood; the others rose and bade him good night, although ill will was still in the air. Barrick was dissatisfied with many things, but he did not for a moment envy his older brother, who like a cattle herder’s dog had to nip at the heels of these vexatious bulls to keep them moving together.
“I want to talk to you,” he told Kendrick as his brother left the chapel. The prince regent’s guards had already formed a silent wall behind him.
“Not tonight, Barrick. I know what you think I still have much to do before I sleep.”
“But . but, Kendrick, she’s our sister! She is terrified—I went to her chambers and heard her sobbing . !”
“Enough!” the prince regent almost shouted. “By Perin’s hammer, can’t you leave me alone? Unless you have some magical solution to this problem, all I want from you tonight is silence.” Despite his fury, Kendrick seemed on the verge of weeping himself. He waved his hand. “No more.”
Stunned, Barrick could only stand and watch his older brother walk back toward his chambers. When Kendrick stumbled, one of the guards kindly reached out a hand to steady him.
*
“That’s enough, Briony. I cannot tell you more—not yet. I still must think and talk on this entire matter You are my sister and I love you, but I must be the ruler here while our father is gone. Go to bed.”
Remembering Kendrick s words of only a few hours ago, thinking back on the whole terrible day, she lay sleepless in the dark—although, judging by the sounds, her ladies were not having the same problem: as always, pretty little Rose was snoring like an old dog Briony had managed to drowse for a short while, but a terrible dream had awoken her, in which Ludis Drakava—who in truth she had never seen; all she knew about him was that he was near her father’s age—had been an ancient thing of cobwebs, dust, and bones, pursuing her through a trackless gray forest. She had not been able to sleep since. She wondered if it was dreams of that sort which robbed Barrick of his sleep and health.
What hour is it? she wondered. She had not heard the temple’s midnight bell yet, but surely it could not be far away. I must be the only one in the castle still awake.
In other times such a thought would have been more exciting than troubling, but now it was only testament to the terrible fate hanging over her like a headsman’s ax.
Has Kendrick decided?
He had given away nothing of his thoughts when she had visited him in his chambers during the evening. She had wept, which made her angry with herself now. She had also begged him not to marry her to Ludis, th
en had apologized for her selfishness. But he must know I want Father back as much as anyone does!
Kendrick had been distant the whole time she was in his chamber, but had taken her hand when they parted and kissed her cheek, something he rarely did. In fact, the memory of that kiss now chilled her more than his preoccupation. She felt certain that he had been kissing her good-bye.
Pain was wearying. Perpetual fear became numbness. For a little while Briony’s mind wandered and she imagined all the things, good and bad, that could happen. Somehow her father could escape and Ludis would have no claim on the Eddons. Or she could find that the Lord Protector was a slandered man, that truly he was handsome and kind. Or that he was worse than the tales, in which case she would have no choice but to kill him in his sleep, then kill herself. She lived so many lives in that hour, both grim and fanciful, that at last she slipped into a true dream without knowing it— a kinder one this time, the twins playing at hide-and-seek with Kendrick, children together once more—and slept through the midnight bell. But she did not sleep through the shriek that came just a short while later.
Briony sat upright in bed, half certain she had imagined it. Nearby young Rose squirmed in her sleep, lost in some nightmare of her own.
“The black man . . .” the girl moaned.
Briony heard it again—a terrified wail, growing louder Moina was awake now, too. Something banged hard on the chamber door and Briony almost fell out of her bed in fright.
“The Autarch!” Moina squealed, plucking at the charm she wore about her neck. “Come to kill us all in our beds …”
“It is only one of the guards,” Briony told the Helmingsea girl harshly, trying to convince herself as well. “Go and take off the bolt.”
“No, Princess! They’ll ravish us!”
Briony pulled her dagger from beneath her mattress, then wrapped the blanket around her and stumbled to the door, heart fluttering as she called out to learn who was on the other side. The voice was not one of the guards’, but even more familiar as the door opened, Briony’s great-aunt Merolanna flapped into the room, her nightdress askew, her long gray hair down on her shoulders, crying, “Gods preserve us! Gods preserve us!”
“Why is everyone shouting?” Briony asked, fighting against growing dread. “Is it a fire?”
Merolanna stumbled to a halt, panting and peering short-sightedly. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Briony, is that you? Is it? Oh, praise the gods, I thought they had taken you all.”
The old woman’s words ran through her like icy water. “All ? What are you talking about?”
“Your brother—your poor brother.
The chill threatened to stop her heart. She cried, “Barrick?" and shoved past Merolanna.
There were no guards outside, but the passage was full of disembodied sounds, wails and distant shouting, and as she emerged into the high-ceihnged Tribute Hall, she found it full of people drifting confusedly in the near-darkness, calling questions or babbling religious oaths, a few carrying candles or lamps, and all in their nightclothes. The vast hall, strange even in bright daylight with its weird statues and other objects brought back from foreign lands, like the stuffed head of the great-toothed ohphant that hung above the fireplace and was as ugly as any demon in the Book of the Trigon, now also seemed filled with pale ghosts Steffans Nynor, wearing a ridiculous sleeping cap and with his beard tied up in a strange little bag, stood in the center of the room shouting orders, but no one was listening to him. The scene was all the more dreamlike because no one stopped Briony or even spoke to her as she ran past them. Everyone seemed to be going in the wrong direction.
She reached the hall outside Barrick’s chamber but found it deserted, her brother’s door closed. She had only a moment to wonder at this before something grabbed her arm. She let out a small, choked shriek, but when she saw whose wide-eyed face was beside her she grabbed at him and pulled him close. “Oh, oh, I thought you Merolanna said . . .”
Barrick’s red hair was disheveled from bed, wild as a gale-blown haystack. “I saw you go past.” He seemed like one dragged from sleep yet still dreaming, his eyes wide but curiously empty. “Come. No, perhaps you shouldn’t.
“What? Her relief vanished as swiftly as it came. “Barrick, what in the name of all the gods is going on?”
He led her around the corner into the main hall of the residence. The corridor was full, and guards armed with halberds were pushing servants and others back from the door of Kendrick’s chambers. She suddenly realized her misunderstanding.
“Merciful Zoria,” she whispered.
Now she could see in the light of the torches that Barrick s face was not empty, but slack with horror, his lips trembling. He took her hand and pulled her through the crowd, which shrank back from them as though the twins might carry some plague. Several of the women were weeping, faces grotesque as festival masks.
The guards kneeling around the body glanced up at the twins’ approach but for a moment did not seem to recognize them Then FerrasVansen, the captain of the royal guard, stood, his face full of dreadful pity, and yanked one of the crouching soldiers out of the way. The prince regent’s room was full of terrible smells, slaughterhouse smells. They had turned Kendrick onto his back His face gleamed red in the torchlight.
There was so much blood that for a fleeting instant she could tell herself it was someone else, that this horror had been visited on some stranger, but Barrick’s groan destroyed the flimsy hope.
Her dagger fell from her hand and clinked onto the flags Her knees sagged and she half fell, then crawled toward her older brother like a blind animal, tangling herself for a moment with one of the guards as he mumbled a prayer. Kendrick’s face twitched. One blood-slicked hand opened and closed.
“He’s alive!” Briony screamed. “Where is Chaven? Has someone sent for him?” She tried to lift Kendrick, but he was too wet, too heavy. Barrick pulled her back and she struck at her twin. “Let me go! He’s alive!”
“He can’t be.” Barrick, too, was in some other world, his voice confused and distant. “Just look at him.”
Kendrick’s mouth worked again and Briony almost climbed on top of him, so desperate was she to hear him speak, to know that he was still her brother, that life was in him. She searched for his wounds so she could stop them up, but the whole front of him was soaking wet, his shirt in tatters and the skin beneath it just as ragged.
“Don’t,” she said in his ear. “Hold on to me!” Her brother’s eyes rolled; he was trying to find her. His mouth opened.
“. . . Isss . . .” A sibilant whisper that only Briony could hear.
“Don’t leave us, oh, dear dear Kendrick, don’t.” She kissed his bloody cheek. He let out a whimper of pain, then curled as slowly as a leaf on hot coals until he was lying on his side, bent double. He kicked, whimpered again, then the life was out of him.
Barrick still pulled at her, but he was weeping, too— Everyone is crying, Briony thought, the whole world is crying. Dimly, as though it were happening in another country, she could hear people shouting down the corridor.
“The prince is dead! The prince has been murdered!”
Guard Captain Vansen was trying to lift her away from Kendrick. She turned and slapped at him, then grabbed at the man’s heavy tunic and tried to pull him down, so full of fury she could barely think.
“How did this happen?” she shrieked, her thoughts as red and slippery as her hands. “Where were you? Where were his guards?You are all traitors, murderers!”
For a moment Vansen held her at arm’s length, then his face convulsed with grief and he released his grip. Briony scrambled to her feet, struck hard at his shoulders and face. Ferras Vansen did nothing more to defend himself than lower his head until Barrick pulled her off.
“Look!” her brother said, pointing. “Look there, Briony!”
Her eyes blurred with tears, she did not at first understand what she was seeing—two stained lumps of shadow on the floor beside the prince regent’s
bed Then she saw the Eddon wolf on the slashed tunic of one of the figures and the pool of blood a shiny blackness beneath them both, and understood that Kendrick’s guards, too, were dead.
7
Sisters of the Hive
DAYS:
Each light between sunrise
And sunset Is worth dying for at least once
—from The Bonefall Oracles
The smoky scent of the jasmine candles and the perpetual sleepy buzz of the Hive temple, the half-frightened, half-exalted breathing of the other girls, all the sounds and odors that surrounded her at the moment the world changed beyond all recognition would never again completely leave her mind. But how could it be otherwise? It would have been overwhelming enough just to meet the Living God on Earth, the Autarch Sulepis Bishakh am-Xis III, Elect of Nushash, the Golden One, Master of the Great Tent and the Falcon Throne, Lord of All Places and Happenings, a thousand, thousand praises to His name, but what happened to Qinnitan at this moment was beyond belief-—and always would be.
