by Karen Miller
“We’ve picked up a few strays along the road.”
“A few? Sounds more like half the duchy.”
“You’re not far wrong,” she said. “The people have rallied to Rhian’s cause.”
He felt a burst of relief, warm as summer sun. “That’s good. That’s wonderful. She’s winning the fight. Don’t you think it’s wonderful?” he added, seeing Ursa’s frown.
“I suppose,” she said. “But I can’t help wondering what’ll happen when we do reach the capital. There’s soldiers there, Jones. Marlan’s there, with his cronies. I doubt he’ll think Rhian and a rabble of subjects is anything to dance a jig about.”
“He won’t attack the people. If he does that, he’s lost.”
Ursa sighed. “He might not have to, Jones. One wrong word, one shove at the wrong time … trouble’s started from less than that. I should know, I’ve had to stitch up the results.” She picked up her book, smoothed a finger along its creased spine. “No sign of Hettie, I suppose?”
He shook his head, trying to ignore the clutch of panic in his belly. She hasn’t deserted me. I’m not alone. She did say she wasn’t always able to come . “No. But I’m sure I’ll hear something if it’s important enough.”
“Of course you will,” said Ursa … but she didn’t sound convinced. Then she shook her head. “Rollin’s mercy, Jones. Can you believe the things we’ve seen and done since the day you bolted into my workshop, convinced you were victim of some exotic brain-fever?”
Could he believe them? Hardly. He’d lived them and found himself half-convinced it was a dream.
And if Hettie’s right the dream’s not over yet. There’s greater danger still looming on our horizon . The thought was enough to freeze his blood. I’m exhausted, Hettie. Please don’t ask me for anything more. Please let me go home to Otto and my toyshop. Let queens and kings and warriors shoulder Ethrea’s burdens now .
“What is it, Jones?” said Ursa, alarmed. “Are you having a spasm? Have the megrims returned?”
“No,” he said, and managed a smile. “As you say, I’m still weary. I just need more rest.”
He stretched out again and closed his eyes. Let the sound of all those people cheering Rhian wash over him, in the hope they’d wash him into sleep.
But sleep eluded him. Instead his mind raced. Rhian. Marlan. Zandakar. Garabatsas. His burden of secrets. Truths concealed, as good as lies.
Please come back, Hettie. I don’t know what to do.
Marlan stared at the hastily written note Idson had sent him, then at the garrison runner who’d brought it.
“An army ? Is the man serious ?”
The runner paled. “Eminence, I don’t know what else you’d call it. There must be thousands, all trailing the qu— Princess Rhian and her retinue. They’ll reach town within the hour.”
“They’ll do nothing of the sort,” he snapped. “Return to Idson. Tell him to assemble his soldiery across Kingsway, near Castle Bridge. I will bring the Court Ecclesiastica to join him in due course. Rhian and her rabble will be apprehended before they set foot in the township, in full sight of the castle she will never enter again.”
“Your Eminence,” said the runner, and bolted.
Marlan climbed the stairs up to the Court chamber, seething.
That bitch would challenge me with rustics? With cowherds plucked shit-stinking from the byre? I should have beaten her harder. I should have beaten her to death.
He flung open the Court chamber doors, startling the assembled Ecclesiastica.
“Brothers!” he cried dramatically. “What we feared has come to pass. Blasphemous heretical Rhian has bewitched the populace. She and her rabble approach us now intending no good works. We must ride to meet her. We must throw her in the dust!”
As one man the Court Ecclesiastica stood. As one man it shouted: “God save Prolate Marlan! May Princess Rhian burn in hell!”
“Look, Rhian,” said Alasdair, pointing. “Kingseat Castle. You’re home.”
She was already looking. She knew this rising road like her face in a mirror. Every turn, every dip, every stone, every tree. The avenue they rode along, running beside the Ethling riverlet, had been her playground from the time she sat on her first pony. She and her brothers had raced each other here through all the long hot summers of childhood.
She knew exactly when to turn her head so Kingseat Castle would fill her eyes.
Majestically cradled in the open space created by the river Eth’s splitting in two, the hereditary seat of the House of Havrell dominated the land. Its grey and cream stone blocks were bathed in bright sunshine. Its dozens of windows winked in the light. Rhian swallowed tears to see it. Was it her imagination or could she smell her mother’s gardens perfuming the breeze? No Havrell flag flew on the battlements, but she’d soon remedy that.
Some way ahead was Castle Bridge, that crossed the Ethling and led into the castle grounds. She had to breathe hard for a moment, so overwhelming was the urge to abandon her retinue, abandon her people, and send her stallion galloping over it.
I’ll sleep in my castle bed tonight. Let that sweet promise sustain me through what is to come.
Alasdair said, “Soon, my love. We’ll reclaim the castle soon. Then no man will ever force you from it again.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Nor woman, either. Our children will play here, Alasdair, and our children’s children. It will be our family’s home until the end of time.”
They were riding so close together he could rest his hand on her knee. “It’s nearly over,” he said softly. “Only Marlan to subdue.”
Yes. Only Marlan . “Thank you for standing with me. Thank you for believing.”
His fingers tightened, caressing. “I’ve believed in you from the first day we met.”
“I think if you didn’t,” she said, covering his hand with hers, “we wouldn’t be here.”
Trailing behind them, the brave, hardy people of Kingseat who’d refused to let weariness, blisters, thirst or heat sway them from seeing her all the way home. She loved them so much she had no words to express it. Perhaps some three thousand good souls … if it beggared her Treasury she’d find them a fit reward.
“We should stop soon,” said Alasdair. “We must decide how best to enter the town, given—”
He broke off as a shout went up behind them. It was Zandakar. “Rhian! Wei!”
She twisted round in her saddle. “What? What is it?”
He kicked his stallion alongside her. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring. “Rhian wei smell? Rhian wei hear? Many men! Many horses!” He pointed ahead. “There!”
Even as he spoke, the sound of a horse neighing. Another horse joined it. One of their own horses replied. Then a chorus of whinnies. Zandakar was right. Many men . The dukes jogged their own horses up to join her.
“Marlan?” said Edward, his eyes slitted, his face grim.
“It has to be,” she replied, her belly tightening.
“He doesn’t dare risk letting you into town,” said Rudi. “He knows its citizens will rally to you, just like the rest of the duchy has.”
Twisting round in her saddle again, she looked at the great horde of her subjects walking in her wake. Surely it was her duty to keep them safe.
“This is their kingdom, too, Rhian,” said Alasdair, softly. “They have the right to fight for it. They won’t thank you for denying them.”
He was right. She couldn’t deny them.
But if Marlan spills a single drop of their blood not even God will save him from my revenge …
She looked at Zandakar, silent beside her on his beloved Didijik.
I’ve missed him. I’ve missed dancing my hotas. I’ve missed laughing with him as we trained. Somehow, without meaning to, I made him my friend.
“I don’t want bloodshed if it can be avoided, Zandakar. They must be the first to offer violence, zho? ”
He nodded. “Zho.”
“Bring the rest of the escort up with
my bodyguards. Do not so much as touch your blade without a sign from me.”
“ Zho, Rhian hushla, ” he said, and wheeled Didijik away.
She looked at Alasdair. “Well. Are you ready?”
The smile he gave her was reckless. “Not at all. Are you?”
Her answering smile was knife-edged. “Oh, Alasdair. I am.”
She led her people onwards, around the avenue’s next sweeping bend. It took them out of their shallow valley … and revealed the extent of the force ranged against her, cutting off her access to the township beyond.
Marlan was dressed in his most impressive vestments. Ropes and rivers of gold shone in the sun. His eyes were a cold glitter. In a show of humility, he bestrode a white mule.
You humbug. You mockery. You haven’t drawn a humble breath in your life.
Behind him stood the Court Ecclesiastica, splendid on horses, their vestments almost as grand. Ranged on either side of them, Commander Idson and some one hundred skeins of mounted Kingseat guards, unsheathed swords in their hands. It broke her heart to see them. They should have been standing for her.
Helfred sat beside his uncle, mounted on a donkey. His robe was putrid, his hands bound before him with rough rope. Even at a distance she could see his mouth was gagged, his face swollen, cut and bruised.
Rhian pinched her lips tight. “Gentlemen,” she said, not taking her eyes from the prolate, “I’m going to speak privately with Marlan. Alasdair, ride with Zandakar and our armed guard. Be ready to react if there’s foul play. Edward, Rudi, Adric—fall back to the people. Make sure they don’t panic.” As Adric tried to protest, she held up one clenched fist. “ They are your people too, Adric! Prove to me you’re worthy of them!”
Without waiting to see her orders being followed, she nudged her horse into a slow canter … and rode to finish things once and for all.
“Prolate,” she greeted Marlan, drawing rein. “You stand in my way. Take your Churchmen and your misguided soldiery and yield this royal road to me. I would ride into my capital and be greeted by my people.”
Marlan spat on the ground between them. “No.”
Unsurprised, she looked more closely at poor battered Helfred. “So much for family feeling. You do my chaplain a grave disservice. He came to you in good faith with my offer of clemency. I am not encouraged by the manner of your reply.”
Marlan’s lip curled in a sneer. “It is not my intention to encourage you. You are an abomination in the sight of God. Your disobedience is grievous and damages this kingdom.” He pointed past her to the people of Kingseat, shifting and pushing to see what was going on. “Look at the souls you’ve ensnared in your wiles. They are all denied God for you. They will die in the dark. Were he alive your father would bleed at what you’ve done. You and your … husband … will surrender into my keeping and face the righteous wrath of my Church.”
Ignoring him and his preposterous pronouncement, she smiled gravely at Helfred. “Chaplain, your sufferings on my behalf will never be forgotten.”
Unable to speak, Helfred nodded, blinking.
Marlan’s fist crashed against the side of Helfred’s head. “This offal is not for you to thank or notice! Henceforth you will see nothing I do not permit you to see!”
She throttled fury. “Marlan, you have no authority over me. I am Ethrea’s queen and you are my subordinate, not the other way around. From the day you took office you tried to circumvent my father. If not for him you’d have strangled Ethrea in your greed for wealth and power. You failed to defeat Eberg. You have failed to defeat me. Prolate Marlan, I relieve you of your duties. You are not fit to be prolate. You are not fit to keep swine.”
“And you are a harlot ! Not fit to rule a midden !” Marlan was spittled, panting with rage. “Idson! Take her!”
“No!” Rhian screamed, wrenching her horse round on its hocks. At Marlan’s cry Alasdair had spurred forward, Zandakar two heartbeats behind, her lethally trained bodyguards and her soldier escort hard on their heels. No—no—no—no —She turned back to Idson and his men, closing in. “You fools, don’t die for Marlan—get back—sheathe your—”
It was no use. The sane world disappeared in a clash of swords and horses and pain. She didn’t have a sword, she only had a knife, men were shouting, howling, she heard horses roaring, Marlan cursing, Alasdair’s voice crying “Rhian! Get away!” She was bleeding, or someone was bleeding, there was blood on her arm and on her horse and on her blade. She was trapped in the madness, sliding from the saddle. If she fell in this chaos she’d be trampled to death.
And then an enormous cry went up, not from the battling soldiers… but from the people of Kingseat who’d come to witness her triumph. It was echoed by the most venerables of the Court Ecclesiastica.
“A miracle! A miracle!”
The words halted the battling soldiers mid-slash. Or maybe it was God who halted the bloodshed. Broke the combatants apart and dropped the swords from their hands.
Panting, weeping, Rhian half-fell, half-slid from her horse into the road. Idson’s soldiers were falling to their knees. Her own soldiers, well-used to burning men, backed their horses away and waited, unperturbed.
Wreathed in sweet flames, Dexterity walked into their midst.
“Shed no more blood in a cause without merit,” he proclaimed, his voice subtly changed as it always changed when God set him on fire. “Let brother not slay brother for the man who has lost his way. Let your hurts be healed, let your hearts fill with peace …”
He waved one incandescent hand. Every soldier cried out as their battle-wounds were mended. Rhian felt the heat flash through her, felt the pain in her slashed arm and thigh vanish.
Oh, Dexterity. You have saved me again.
The toymaker spread his arms wide, and the unconsuming fire flared to new heights. Marlan’s white mule panicked, throwing him to the ground. With a snarl the denounced prolate lurched to his feet.
“Trickery! This is trickery!” he shouted as his venerables fell back, amazed. “You credulous fools, she turns to hedge-witchery and heathen practice to make you believe she is chosen by God! This is nothing . This is nonsense . Look at that man there, a man with blue hair!” His shaking finger pointed at Zandakar, side by side with Alasdair. “He is behind this, you can be sure of it!” He swung round to Idson, who stood transfixed. “Arrest her, Commander! Do you hear me? Arrest her! ”
But Idson, ignoring him, slowly dropped to his knees.
Dexterity halted an arm’s length from rage-spittled Marlan. “O Man, you must listen,” he said. “Turn aside from your wickedness. Repent your black sins. Rhian is God’s chosen, she is the true queen of Ethrea. Acknowledge her sovereignty before you are condemned.”
“Her sovereignty ?” Marlan was screeching, his urbane mask stripped away. “I acknowledge her bastardry! She’s a bitch and a whore! She is queen of nothing but shit! And you . What are you ? Some tricked-up pretender set to frighten little boys?”
“Prolate Marlan, be wary.” Dexterity’s voice was sorrowful now. “You stand on unfirm ground. God watches you … and God despairs.”
Marlan was almost dancing in his fury. “God? God? You fool, there is no God ! There is man and there is nature and in between a paper shield, the desperate scribblings of other fools who can’t bear to live alone!”
His outburst shocked cries from the Court Ecclesiastica. Helfred was staring, still safe on his donkey, tears running unbridled down his face.
“Marlan, I command you, say nothing more!” said Dexterity. “Unless you wish to ask Rhian’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of that power you so wantonly deny.”
Marlan laughed, then looked around him at his venerables, who were kissing their jewelled prayer beads and their Rollin medallions. “You credulous cretins! Can’t you see this is mopery? This is illusion and you are stupid to give it credence! Look! I shall prove it! I shall show you the truth !”
Rhian saw what he intended a heartbeat before he did it. She hated him, pass
ionately, but still she leapt forward. “No, Marlan! Don’t do it! ”
But Marlan ignored her, as he’d always ignored her. He seized Dexterity by the hand … and burst into flames like dry kindling in a firestorm.
Unlike Dexterity, he was not protected by God.
When it was over … his last hideous screams faded to silence… and she’d finished retching herself empty of bile … she staggered to where her prolate had burned.
All that remained of him was a scattering of ash. Even as she stared at it, a warm breeze sprang up without warning … and the ash was blown away.
Still serene, still inhuman, Dexterity drifted to Helfred, who had tumbled from his donkey and was kneeling on the ground. Dexterity’s burning finger touched his bindings and his gag. They fell to pieces and he was free. Then Dexterity’s palm touched Helfred’s hurt face and it healed in an instant.
Dexterity smiled. “Chaplain, be upstanding.”
Dazed and silent, Helfred stood.
“Helfred, you are God’s chaplain no longer. For your service to him, for your service to Rhian, be now Ethrea’s prolate … despite your tender years.”
Rhian choked. My prolate? Helfred? Oh no … don’t I get a say?
Next, Dexterity looked at the venerables of the Court Ecclesiastica. To a man, without speaking, they slid from their horses and abased themselves in the road.
“Proud servants of God, you let yourselves be led astray. Here is your new prolate, who will keep your feet upon the righteous path. Here is your queen, who is lawful in God’s sight. You are forgiven. Do not misstep again.”
The venerables gabbled promises and kissed their prayer beads again.
“Rhian of Ethrea …”
She stepped forward, aware of Zandakar watching. Of Alasdair watching, letting her stand alone as Ethrea’s queen. Aware of her dukes and her people, crowding closer, awed and hushed and knowing they witnessed history.
“Rhian of Ethrea, this is your time,” said Dexterity. “A darkness is coming. You are tasked to defeat it. The free world trembles. Its fate is in your hands.”
“ What? ” she said. “What darkness? What do you mean? How can the world’s fate be in my —”
