by Kate Sander
Armend nodded, “I understand.”
“Good,” she said as she stood up and lead him to the door, “I’m with you for action. I only have one price.”
“And that is?”
“When all this is said and done, if the opportunity arises, I get to kill my sister.” She strode out of the office, hips swaying as she walked. “Show yourself out, I’m busy.”
5
Armend
Armend arrived alone at the King’s and Queen’s quarters exactly at seven o’clock in the evening. Sebastian had the night off and his dear wife had taken ill.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Armend waited patiently, standing with his hands behind his back and whistling. A servant boy answered the door, “Ah Mr. Peace, sir. They are expecting you. Let me take you into the guest room.” The boy gestured, and Armend allowed him to lead the way.
Armend often dined in the guest hall with the King and Queen. It was more informal, and as Armend was pretty much a part of the family, it was used often.
The Queen was reading a book in a chair, and the King was draped across a nearby couch staring at a fire in the hearth, their hands lightly touching. The King and Queen rarely displayed intimacy in public. Their daring thought of peace was being poorly received and they had decided to be ruthless to each other in public. In private they were very much in love.
The Queen looked up from her book and, smiling, rose to greet him. Armend hugged her and gave her a light kiss on both cheeks. The King rose as well and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“Thank you for coming, Uncle,” Sol XVIII said. Armend patted him on the back awkwardly. “Come in, come in. Be welcome. I’ll have them bring you some food. We are having lamb today, if you approve.”
“Of course I approve! You always know my favorite.” Armend sat with the King and Queen. “How are your sons, Lady?”
“Sol is doing wonderfully in Carabesh,” she replied, replacing her book on the shelf. “I believe he has met a woman. He will be returning after this mess with the Melanthios is sorted out and I believe we will be having a wedding.”
Sol laughed, “My wife is often exaggerating. He makes no reference in his letters that he as met A woman. He merely states that he has met women.”
“Ah well,” said Armend, picking up some wine that a servant brought him, “A woman or women will make him happy. Or miserable. Or both. As a woman or women often do.”
The men laughed and Anita scowled, “Don’t encourage my husband, dear Armend. He has enough of these thoughts on his own. And I understand my eldest is only fourteen, but he mentions a certain woman more than the rest.”
Sol looked her deeply in the eyes and kissed her hand, “Titus is also doing well in the Sun Gods.” Sol said as the Queen rolled her eyes, “Not top of his class as he had hoped, but near the top. He passed his rookie trials last year. He didn’t say where his training was going to take him but we think he is enjoying it.”
“I blame you for not knowing where my son is,” the Queen said pointedly to Armend.
Armend shrugged and drank some wine, “It was decreed by Queen Sol V that one child from every family must enter the Sun Gods at ten and attempt the trials at sixteen. This wasn’t my doing. And I believe the Head of Peace who served Sol IX put into place that the stations and training locations should be kept secret from the families. I am just continuing the proud tradition.”
“You have no idea who put these traditions into place,” the Queen said, “It was all in the Dark Ages before the written word. Where war and darkness prevailed. We don’t even know if my husband is Sol XVIII. He could be the thirty-seventh for all we know.”
Armend shrugged, “You’ve got me there, my Lady. I am just going off of what the late and great Sol XVII told me.”
“Tell me again how you met him,” the Queen said, sipping on a glass of ale, “I always love this story. It may help me forgive you for not knowing where my son is.”
Armend let out an exaggerated sigh. “How often have I told this story? You must be getting tired of it.”
“Indulge me,” the Queen ordered.
Knowing he could not refuse, Armend took a sip of wine and began, “Well, as you know, it started thirty-five years ago. I was a young man who then preferred women to a woman.” Sol snickered and Armend continued, “I was travelling and drunk, so I don’t remember much of my life around that time. I do remember that one night I stumbled into an alehouse in a town by the sea. Inside, I began to drink with a man around the same age. We laughed and talked and sang throughout the night. As dawn approached, the man I was drinking with started mouthing off to some of the locals. And as it often happens at around dawn, in an alehouse, with young drunk men mouthing off, a massive brawl broke out in the bar.”
The King and Queen watched Armend attentively, sipping their beer. Armend had told this story countless times, it was never the same twice, but they didn’t seem to mind. “I saw the man knock three men and a very ugly woman unconscious with one hit each. I wasn’t very good at fighting myself, so I was of really no use. But the man was grabbed from behind by a giant. Largest man I’d ever seen in my life. And he was squeezing the very life out of him. So, being as smart as I was, I grabbed a glass off the table and smashed the giant in the head.” Armend paused for effect and the King smiled.
“I woke up six hours later in the local prison,” Armend said, “Apparently that big old giant punched me once and I went down. The man I was with was also arrested and was in the cell next to me. When I woke up he was yelling about being the King of Solias and they should let him go. I didn’t believe him. The King being arrested for a bar fight? But in a couple of hours we were out of jail with profuse apologies. Imagine those soldiers, arresting their own king. Your father was gracious, as he always was, and didn’t punish them. He told me they were just doing their jobs.”
“Your father invited me home with him. We travelled for a few weeks and really got to know each other. When we got here, I met you.” Armend spoke directly to the King, “A tiny little two year-old blond boy, snot on his nose, no mother in sight. Your father told me she had died bringing you into the world. I believe that’s why he drank so much. We had a chat and I convinced him to start staying home with you, instead of going off and getting arrested in some small sea town. Shortly after he made me the Head of Peace, and you started calling me uncle.”
The King grinned and raised his glass, “To my father. He died far too young but he was a King’s King.” They all raised their glasses and drank. Armend’s mouth was dry and he finished his glass.
“Now then,” the King said, “You must be wondering why my wife and I invited you to dinner.”
More like demanded me to dinner, Armend thought, and as I don’t want to be hung for treason, I accepted.
“I believe we have a traitor on the council,” the King finished.
Armend feigned shock, “A traitor,” he gasped, “Who?”
The Queen answered, “We’re not sure. We know that our talks of peace and diplomacy have been poorly received and that the council favors action. However we don’t think there has been any blatant treason. We believe there are whispers when we are not present. And whispers often become talk, and talk often becomes action. And any talk or action would be treason. Sol and I don’t want to start hanging council members. Solias is on the brink right now, and outright violence against any members of this city could cause civil war. Especially since we are preaching non-violence against the Melanthios.”
“I will not go down in written history as the King that allowed Solias to revolt,” Sol said. “And as much as I love my father, I will not follow in his footsteps. The genocide of an entire race due to a trifle disagreement is not my intention. The Melanthios are a part of this country as much as we are.”
Armend sat back in his chair, “What do you want me to do?”
“We want you to whisper to us the whispers of others,” the Queen replied. “We don’t want whispers to becom
e treason. We also don’t want to change council members. Sol XIV decreed that a council membership is for life and we agree. You’re the only one we can trust for this.”
Armend nodded, “As you wish. But I do not want the council to suspect me. I will whisper when they whisper and do as they do. But I will arrange to write a raven to you when I figure out who is whispering the most.”
The Queen nodded, leaned across the table and gripped his hand, “I knew we could count on you.”
Armend smiled, “Of course you can count on me. I am your uncle, in every sense of the word but blood. You can trust me above anyone else.”
The meal of lamb and potatoes was brought in and the group soon feasted and drank. Armend slipped out of the quarters a few hours later, quite drunk. He saw Sebastian slip into the shadows behind him. That man is too worried about me, Armend thought to himself as he stumbled a little and giggled.
He couldn’t wait to see his wife.
6
Senka
Drip, drip, drip.
Senka woke with a groan, face down on her cot. Blood leaked slowly from her face, ran down her arm hanging over the side of the cot, and dripped to the floor.
Drip, drip, drip.
She tried to roll or push her body up, but she couldn’t. Every part of her body was in terrible pain. Not able to keep her eyes open as the agony clouded her vision, she slipped out of consciousness again, this time to a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. One that she never wanted to revisit. She tried desperately to stay awake but she couldn’t fight it. With a groan, her head dropped back to the stone and she was swallowed into darkness.
She woke in a fit of gasps, breathing heavily. Blue above her. The bluest thing she’d ever seen. A lonely cloud meandered through her vision. The sky. She was lying on her back, staring straight up at the sky.
A tickle on her back. Grass. She was lying in some grass. A quick look down and she realized she was naked. Instantly uncomfortable, she scrambled to her feet. The world spun, her head swam and she sat down heavily on her butt. Putting her head in between her knees, she tried to control her breathing.
Where was she?
She couldn’t remember. Anything. Just darkness before this moment. No name. Nothing. She couldn’t even remember what her face looked like. A cold panic set in. With no self-control, she started crying and shaking, her breaths uneven and shallow. The words “panic attack,” came to her mind, but she didn’t know where that phrase came from.
“Look around. Center yourself.”
Trying to listen to her own voice, she looked around. She was sitting directly on the top of a grassy hill, surrounded by fir trees.
The dark forest filled her with dread and her panic attack got worse. She tried hard to remember how she had gotten here, but it was just blank before she woke up.
Nothing. Nothing is there. Nothing to remember. Who was she? Where was she?
Wind blew across the hill and rustled her hair gently, gradually bringing her back to normal.
After a while the self-pity had run its course. She stopped panting and gasping and started to get her breathing under control. Lifting her tear streaked face, she took a good look at her body. It was kind of frumpy but there was smooth skin everywhere. Nothing seemed broken. No blood pooling on the ground. She could move her fingers and her toes. There was no pain anywhere.
A searing thirst hit her. She needed water. Sun beat down on her and she could feel her pale skin burning. Shelter and water. That’s what she needed. She could figure all this out later.
Standing up, she walked to the edge of the thick forest. The breeze rustled the trees gently. The tall trees blotted out the sun. There wasn’t a lot of brush on the ground, but she couldn’t see anything that looked like a path. She listened. The forest was deathly quiet. Her heart beat faster as she stared into the dark. Fear.
Walking around the base of the hill, she surveyed the forest. Trying to figure out the safest course of action. When she had gotten back to her original starting point, she realized it had all looked the same. No paths, no sound of water. Just thick fir trees blotting out the sun and mossy ground. The thirst hit again. She needed to go into the forest.
Mustering her limited courage, she ventured into the shadows. It was dark and cool. Appreciating being out of the sun, but still self-conscious about her nakedness, she picked her way slowly through the forest. The moss helped guard her feet, but the soft soles were soon hurting with every step.
Water. The need was desperate. Absolute. All consuming.
She walked for about twenty minutes. Picking her way slowly, trying not to step on rocks or branches. A little trickling of water reached her and she headed towards it. It started to get louder, and she began to run.
A river materialized out of the forest and, without any thought to anything else, she shoved her face into the cool, clear water.
Senka wrenched herself out of the dream. Those memories only led to misery. She didn’t want to remember. Her master had taught her to fear nothing, but she feared her past. Ineptitude and weakness, that’s all she’d find in her history.
Agony in her face like nothing she’d ever experienced, even the last two years of torture. Blood was still dripping, and with it her energy. Already weak from starvation, this small, steady flow could eventually kill her. She braced her hands against the stone cot and slowly pushed her body into a sitting position on the stone.
“Aargh,” she mumbled as she managed to sit herself upright. Head swimming, eyes glazing over, she rested her head against the wall and waited for the room to stop spinning and the nausea to pass. It didn’t, and she leaned over to retch. There was nothing in her stomach, so she dry heaved for a while. After the violent fit was over, she propped herself against the wall and closed her eyes.
She needed to see what the damage was. There was no reflective surfaces in her cell, so she used the tips of her fingers to probe the wound on her face. It ran from the hairline on the right forehead, across her nose, and down to the chin on the left side. It was burnt closed from when it was cauterized, so her face was a mess of swelling and blisters. She was lucky that it missed her eyes.
Her eyes teared up and she tried to convince herself that it was the pain, but that was a lie. Never beautiful, but she had, at one point, classified herself as pretty. This cut would leave her horribly scarred and disfigured for life.
Angrily wiping the tears from her eyes, she thought Get your shit together. She was most likely going to die, and she was worried about her looks. With painful testing, she was able to blink and move the muscles in her face, so there was no permanent nerve damage. A glint caught her eye from the door. They’d left herb and tea for her.
She lowered herself off the cot and fell to the floor. Her legs weren’t able to support her, so she pulled herself weakly to the little tray left by the food door. With many rests and grunts, she managed to drag the supplies back to her cot and clambered on. Opening the lid, a stinky green paste greeted her. She slathered the cut and applied the herb thinly to the other various punctures and cuts on her body. Instant, cooling relief.
The tea smelled like a known pain killer. So Intelligence doesn’t want me dead yet. The tea would put her to sleep. Memories. That’s what would happen. Horrible, distant memories that needed to stay buried where they belonged. She considered not drinking it at all, but her body was so tired from the pain that she would probably pass out without it. And that would mean no painkilling benefits and the same, horrible dreams. Taking a moment to compose herself, she drank the entire cup of cold tea in a few gulps. This was all penance for her wrongs.
That was all the energy she had left. The room swam and she lowered herself down to the cot as sleep overtook her.
The water tasted good. It was clear and cold. Coughing and spluttering, she raised her head and water dripped from her brown hair into her face. She dipped her hands in the water and started to drink in cold, long draughts. Once her stomach was distende
d, she sat back on her heels and actually took note of her surroundings. The river flowed fast in front of her, lined by a rocky bank on each side.
She figured she would just stay by the river. That seemed like a good plan. Stay by the river where there was clean water and probably food nearby. Now she just needed something to cover herself with. That seemed like the most important.
Turning to go, she jumped and froze as terror ripped through her.
Standing behind her, staring at her with bright green eyes was a huge mountain lion. Its head was low and its enormous shoulders were slouched. It growled and bared its teeth. Bright claws glinted on its front paws. It must have been stalking her for a while, and if she hadn’t turned it would have mauled her while she was staring at the river. Around the mountain lion there was a shimmer of light. Confused, she squinted, revealing a red hue and was hard to see unless she focused. The lion stepped forward and the red light was forgotten. Panic set in.
Thoughts jumbled in her head, but she knew if she turned her back to run she was dead. Growling menacingly, the lion stepped forward again. Ten feet. That’s how far she was away from certain death. She wondered if it could swim. Then she wondered if she could swim. The cat raised its hackles and she backed slowly into the river. Death by drowning seemed like the better option. The icy water pulled at her feet and ankles. A snarl and a massive paw swiped at the air. She turned and dove into the river.
It wasn’t as calm as it had looked and it was deeper than she imagined. Rushing water immediately grabbed hold of her. Struggling against the current, she thrashed and flailed until she managed to get her head above water. She was slammed against a rock, bringing stars in her vision. Dazed and near drowning, she had completely forgotten about the lion. It was her versus the water for survival.
