Sefiros Eishi: Chased By War (The Smoke and Mirrors Saga Book 2)

by Michael Wolff

  Until she looked down. Until she saw Nathan’s innocent face, crumpled in confusion. She wanted to drop to her knees. She wanted to hold him and hug him until the confusion evaporated into that beaming little smile so innocent it almost hurt to gaze upon. Too many eyes, though, and too many tongues. “Uncle Timothy was...Was...He was telling a story. A horror story.” Think Lansplex. Think! “He’s a...a bard! He tells stories for a living.”

  “Horror stories are mean.” He brushed by Christina before she had the time to hold him back. The boy and shook a finger at the faux-Timothy. “You shouldn’t do that to my guests. They were just hearing themselves talk.” Nathan didn’t crack under Timothy’s cold stare. “I don’t want him here. He’s being rude to my guests.” A jangle of mail sounded the appearance of guards. “Deliver him to the dungeon. I’ll decide his punishment later.”

  “Go, Timothy,” Christina added. The guards took his arms that would not budge despite the guards being twice as strong as the imposter. Christina could almost feel the scenarios clicking in her brother’s head. He’s going to kill them. Desperately she locked eyes with the imposter and hoped the message got through. Please. Please Timothy. Just do what they say.

  Timothy looked at her as though noticing something for the first time. Then silently, he allowed the guards to march him right out of the room. Christina dared not breathe, even when the imposter was out of sight. He might kill the guards. But she had to stay here. Death is the best kind of silence. The guards would have families to grieve over them. Everything depends on this feast. She had no choice but to face the vultures in human skin.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  Christina near jumped from her skin. “Nathan!” This was bad. Very bad. “Don’t scare me like that.” The boy caught her off guard. It wasn’t safe to be off her guard. Especially around these people. “You go on back to the guards now. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “I’m the Prince. I can do what I want.”

  Of all times to be petulant! It took an iron will to scan the chamber without a flicker of the desperation knotting in her stomach. Already she felt the prickling heat of curious eyes. What is she doing? She could hear them say. To whom is she looking for? This must be short; otherwise they would chain Nathan to whatever conspiracies they thought was happening. Her gaze met that of the royal jester – for the life of her Christina couldn’t remember his name – who virtually bounced his way to the family table. With a goofy smile, the jester reached down into his throat and produced an apple, an orange, and a plum from his jaws and began juggling. Nathan squealed boyishly when the first cycle of fruits suddenly became two, then three circles, composed of everything from baby rattles to robin’s eggs. He’s just a boy, Christina realized. No. Not now.

  “Jethro Kerr. It has been too long.” It had been too short, in fact. The great big balding man arrived just after the wedding, on his annual quest to hunt the finest game in all the royal forests...officially.

  “My Lady. It pains me to think of your loss. How do you fare today?”

  Christina smiled thinly. Unofficially there were a few giggling maids who enjoyed dallying with the giant, even if he could pass for a grandfather. He’d been fucking two or three of them while the slaughter began in earnest. Four, if some rumors were to be believed. “Much better. How has the game been faring?”

  “Modestly. It is less hunting than tracking nests, because of the snow.” Christina blanked out the rest of his tale with smiles and nods as she checked the ever-shifting crowd. Kerr was infamous, but even more famous was his cousin Veedis Kerr, Lord of the Breadbasket. Elder than Jethro by mere minutes, Veedis had the claim of ruling the vastness of Amden’s wheat fields. He, along with Bruce Tiberius and James Ni’on, ruled the Breadbasket, the source of Amden’s prosperity. They were among the most important allies to procure. Unfortunately, the three had grown to manhood amidst the courts and courtesans, where secret agendas were taught by a father’s knee. They knew all the games, inside and out. They had no weaknesses...officially.

  Only Veedis and Jethro grew up as wards in their uncle’s service. They learned to fight together, learned to shave together, learned to ride horses together, everything. There was even a rumor that they shared their first maid together. “I was thinking, Lord Kerr. You have done the kingdom a great service by your hunting.”

  “A great service?” Jethro laughed. Great services were done by highborn men, not of those from the common bloodlines of third sons. “I hunt for mine own pleasure, milady.”

  “And rid the kingdom of such dangerous beasts.” It was true. Kerr only hunted the fiercest creatures his travels came across, for the challenge, if not the bragging rights. “The manticore, the lion, the greatwolf...”

  “The greatwolf.” Kerr’s eyes became cloudy as he relived the memories. “Lazarus was so pissed.” And why not? The so-called Khatari failed to slay the beast of his own sigil. In his own lands, to boot. “I still have the wolf-pelt in my chamber. Stretched out like a carpet and nailed right next to the banner. A glorious sight.”

  Christina didn’t care if the man fucked the beast on those cold lonely nights. “A man of your valor is lost to Amden. You should be on the frontlines, leading your own retinue.”

  “Retinue.” It was a joyful sight to see, the scales tipping in Kerr’s mind. The natural paranoia of secret agendas warred with the hunger of stepping out from his cousin’s shadow. Very joyful.

  Christina waited until the scales tipped in her favor. “The kingdom needs you.”

  “No.” Some part of the hunter was resisting. Best to wither it now. “I cannot. Only knights are allowed...”

  “Your blood is as red as any man. As any man here.” Now for the final strike. “Oh, very well. If knighthood stays your hand, then I suppose I must knight you.”

  “Knighthood? No, I couldn’t...” Yes, I could, said his eyes. Give it to me. Christina almost laughed. This was entirely too easy. With a glare, she cut the harpers from their songs and waited for the confusion to simmer just shy of eagerness before climbing to her throne. Nathan met her there, plump as a plum. His smile was so bright it almost hurt to look at him. They had discussed this before; she schooled Nathan in every step of the plan. The sheer naivety he radiated soured the mood and put spurs into her guilt. He’s just a boy. And a king. A means to an end.

  “Jethro Kerr.” A servant gave her a sword; she lay it on Kerr’s shoulders as she recited the vow. “Do you swear to uphold the Laws of God, the King, and the Realm?”

  “I swear.”

  “Do you swear to brand your soul if these vows are broken?”

  “I swear.”

  “Virtue is your right hand. Patience is your left. Your eyes are Justice, and your heart is Duty. You kneel as Jethro Kerr. Rise as Sir Jethro Kerr.”

  Everything unfolded pretty much as Christina predicted. The gossip whispered through the room like arrow shafts. Kerr wanted to exude in his newfound glory but was ushered from the chamber anyway. All knights had to spend a day in church, to reflect on the duty bestowed upon them and to pray for the strength to carry out God’s will. Any slight on the ritual was a quick way to anger the guardians of the calling. Men of import had words keener than any dagger.

  Christina eyed Veedis Kerr stride from the chamber in poorly-disguised haste. Either Veedis went to congratulate his cousin or to call him a fool by succumbing to secret agendas. It didn’t matter which outcome; the Queen had stratagems for both possibilities.

  “Announcing Sir Ronald Jekai.”

  Like a pendulum all eyes turned to the arched gateway, half in confusion and half in curiosity, like a bird charmed by a snake’s eyes. At first glance Ronald’s golden cloak seemed made for a man twice his size. The features visible were caught between
wiry and muscular, as though his body had just begun to fill out. But his eyes had a cold authority that his father never had. Christina felt a chill at the base of her spine. At least the vultures would slow him down.

  But it seemed Christina was denied even that small assurance. The ladies of high court gasped at thumping his shoulders. The lords fared little better when they rose to defend their ladies’ honor; a few seconds later they joined their mates sprawled on the glistening marble. Impossible. The Queen steeled herself for Ronald’s charge. This was not going to be pleasant.

  “Milady Queen.” Ronald surprised everyone by dropping to one knee and cradling her hand with both of his. The chorus of whispers rippled through the chamber. Young Jekai sees no other worthy of his admiration. Christina cringed inwardly. The Solvicar made a great deal of enemies with the gesture, and a man that made enemies too quickly needed constant tempering; almost to the point of uselessness.

  “Lord Jekai,” she said. “I feared you would not come. The fighting intensifies daily.”

  “So it does, my Queen. But when my sovereign calls, so must I obey.”

  If it were any other man, Christina thought he lusted after her. There was no heat in his eyes. That made him even more dangerous. “How is your father?”

  “Still ill, I fear. The bottle is always near his hand, though he has his better days.”

  “Tell him all the kingdom prays for his health. The Realm sorely needs a man of his pedigree.”

  “I will send him your kindness. If you will excuse me.” Christina was glad to see his back. The fool made Timothy almost human in comparison.

  The feast started soon after. From somewhere high on the rafters a chorus of bells laughed. The gossip was cut off like a knife, and silence ruled save for the shuffling of people getting seats. The lords and ladies had the tallest chairs – some of them bearing a vague resemblance to the royal throne – and were followed by the family members of succeeding importance. In their silks and satins, they surveyed the chamber one last time and smiled with the notion of exaggerated superiority.

  A cluster of pages emerged from hidden passages hefting big, fat rolls of braided lace. On silent command, the rolls unfurled into banners, which the pages made a giant circle around the tables so that everyone could get a good look of each House history. Christina looked at the House heads and suppressed a snort. The histories were pretty things to look upon at first glance. Anyone with half a brain saw that each “history” was but a variation of the “creation myth.” To hear how the bards played it, each House was a direct descendant to God and the one House responsible for all the niceties of civilization, culture, and life in general.

  The only thing worse than reading the banners was to hear the bards sing of it. Boys. Must it always be boys? This lot seemed fresh from the chorus; the tale was spiked with sound of cracking voices.

  After the banners and histories made their way from the room, the food began its own crawl to the dinner plates. Courses of fish were served first. Each House received the finest morsels available, which wasn’t surprising since the plates were designed with the House’s personal taste in mind. Being the Queen, Christina was offered the best of the best. Tradition more than anything dictated her appetite. Every eye was on her as she delicately plucked the fish and examined it from all angles. She could almost see the sweat beading their brows. It wouldn’t do to eat a food the Queen herself hated.

  Nor would spitting the damn thing out, even when the fish threatened to twist her face. Sitting there, sucking the juices off the most vile-tasting things, Christina was tempted to shorten a few heads at the trash they served. Duty’s shadow loomed over her, however, and so Christina swallowed the food and asked for seconds.

  Almost immediately the order was doubled and tripled as eager-eyed noblemen did their best to consume the same delicacies without appearing as crazed animals. Christina dared not to smile – she didn’t want any noble to get the wrong idea – but inside she was beaming.

  The meals were served in time with the entertainment. First the meat came. Suckled pigs were introduced on silver platters, with golden apples stuffed in each mouth. Scented herbs ringed the platters, arranged delicately to mimic the sigil of every visiting House. Baby pigs were served with long, thin spits for the guests to nibble at their own discretion.

  The pigs’ entertainment was a troupe of play hands enacting various battles of ancient lore. Some battles were in twos and threes, others were one-on-one. From her seat on Nathan’s right, she knew the little king’s favorites were the mock-tourneys where squires in tin armor jousted on small ponies. Christina had requested that entertainment removed. The lances were frail and fake, and yet Christina shuddered at each pass. All it would take was one mistimed blow, and the faux-Queen saw Nathan screaming, a pincushion of wooden needles and blood in his little body. He would look at her with one eye; the other was impaled in a slender splinter. Red rimmed bubbles popped from his lips, his breath laboring in desperate heaves, until finally the life drained from the Prince and he was no more.

  It was a flash, and the world was normal again. Everyone was enjoying their meal, and Nathan was bouncing in his seat to see the mock-tourneys. Christina had to grip the prince’s arm to keep him in his seat.

  “There are those who to snuggle a wench

  And desert the bed come the dawn.

  I say nay to such coldness

  For temptation is the weak man’s confident.

  The true honor lies in love.

  Though a chasm of worlds lies between us,

  Nothing can defeat our destinies.

  Fate will draw us together

  Though by days or decades, it matters not.

  Our love will be pristine and pure.”

  “My love will be pristine and pure,” Nathan announced when the song was done. The court was full of smiles; everyone had the foresight not to smirk. Wait until he’s a man grown, they were thinking. Then we’ll see who’s pristine and pure.

  Christina carefully hid her gaze. Her first lover had been carefully chosen, as were the succession of men that followed throughout the years. They weren’t “pristine and pure.” She had hardly given the matter any regret – the act, too, had an agenda backing it – and yet now, with Nathan’s big eyes on her, she felt soiled. All she could do was nod and smile at the boy’s angel face.

  “Lords and Ladies of Amden! I have a message!”

  Christina gawked. Ronald Jekai had ascended the dais as if it were meant for him all along. The two muscular bodyguards at either side of the dais – and the quivering guards with eyes full of hate – were mute testimonies of the ease the young Solvicar had arrived at such a holy seat.

  “What is he doing? That’s my seat.”

  Christina kept Nathan still with a slight squeeze. Inside she was furious. Not only had she failed to notice Jekai’s bodyguards, but Ronald’s stature came naturally to the dais’ presence. More naturally than anyone than anyone she’d seen, herself included. Christina tightened the reins of her anger. Let’s see what he has to say.

  “Lords and Ladies of Amden, you all know who I am. It is my sad duty to inform you that my father has taken ill due to my brother’s death.” Hushed whispers chased the silence. “I am nowhere near the man my brother was, and my father’s shadow was equally long. It is up to me to shoulder the responsibility for protecting this Realm. But I cannot do it alone. I need your help.

  “In a few days, a Coicro representative will approach you. It will be at an inopportune time. While you are in your bath. While you are having dinner with your families. Or a business meeting. Or out hunting. Or riding horses. It doesn’t matter. They will come and announce themselves. They will plant themselves right in the middle of your
activity. They will talk to you, and they will tell you the same things I say to you now. They will demand the time of violence is past and will be brokering treaties. They are the honorable servants of the Realm and all they want is a peaceful end.”

  Christina frowned. In one fell swoop the young Jekai had placed himself in league of the Coicro. Reminding oneself that the enemies had faces, names, children was the quickest way to hesitation and doubt. Neither belonged on the battlefield, for suspicion killed far more than steel and skill. There was something more; Christina could almost taste it.

  “The Coicro’s answer to my father is the Lord Gerald Connell. I know this man. My family had the honor of housing him in the summers. He’d been on his daily pilgrimage to the Holy Land; spreading the Word of the Lord to everyone he met. You know this to be true, all of you. You have sheltered him just as my family did. You know his passion. My father often said that Janos Shann could convince the sun to rise at midnight. You know of all this.

  “I beg you to think on this. Connell’s passion reaches no bounds. He sets a goal and completes it with as much fervor as he preaches. Imagine that passion applied to the war. He and his army believe that the Coicro cause is for the greater good. There is no dissuading him. He will bring down anyone who will stand in his way. All those who “chooses” to side with the apostates will be given no quarter. Those who make themselves neutral will be just as damned in his eyes.

  “We need reason to counter faith. We need free-thinking men to fight against the hypocrisy Shann will ultimately bring down on us. Only you can rise and destroy the shackles that bind you. Only you can help the kingdom you call home. If we do not unite, then we will fall.” Jekai whirled on his heel and retreated from the room.

  Clever boy. Turning the very faith of the enemy against them. There was even a little truth to it, too. There was no conversation about Gerald Connell that did not include his faith and devotion. Faith had kept his family smiling even as they were tossed aside by their masters. Devotion blinded men more than anger. Anyone not in the thrall of devotion – even a shred of indecision would do – would meet his end swiftly. All for the cause of the Lord. The young Solvicar merited further watching.