by C S Vass
“Fleeing?” Yelvin said. “You would be so quick to uproot people who have lived here for generations? Or those who have just arrived thinking they have escaped the terror of the Jagjaw Mountains? Where would we go? How would we get there?”
“To Tallium,” she said at once. “It’s far, but it’s a straight shot if we sail up the western coast.”
“Tallium is not a tenth of the size of this city,” Yelvin pointed out. “We could never get the population to settle there.”
“No,” Faela agreed. “But it could be a stopping point. After resting in Tallium they could go farther north, to the Frost Forest.”
“The Frost Forest?” Yelvin said, scratching his chin. “Tell me, even if such a thing were possible, even if all of the funding, shipping equipment, and willpower were there, who would make such a thing happen?”
Faela barely knew what she was saying, but something powerful had overcome her. This city was hell for those living here. She wouldn’t be able to forget it. She wouldn’t be able to deliver Kark’s message and return with Yaura to Black Wolf, or Iryllium with the other Dragons. She was here for a reason. She had to be. She would see it through.
“I would.”
Faela wasn’t surprised to hear herself speak the words. She was only surprised to hear that Tzuri-kai, red-faced and fuming, had spoken them at the exact same time.
Chapter 20
Windhaven was a secret unto itself. A happy collection of families living in sturdy homes made from the wood of tall evergreens that had survived for generations. Boldfrost’s silver paw could be seen above their elder’s house, but beyond that single flag, Brett might have thought he had stepped out of the realm completely and into a mysterious world untouched by the politics of Iryllium.
They had come upon the small collection of forest longhouses after days in the wilderness. Brett had concocted the plan long ago in the event the Prince would ever need to be swept out of the city in a hurry. He knew they would be safe there. Only one other person was aware of where they would go. So far, Windhaven had acted exactly as Brett had predicted and taken the group in.
That wasn’t the only luck that had been with them as they traveled.
Benjiko’s wounds had healed cleanly on the road, and food and fire only sped his recovery—at least of his physical wounds. The silver-eyed prince had grown very solemn, preferring to spend his evenings alone and outside, staring into the great town fire that burned every night while stars swirled above him. Brett was careful to make sure their identities were concealed, though he quickly realized that it was probably unnecessary. Nobody recognized Benjiko, and they seemed to respect Logun’s thrygta enough to keep a polite distance.
“Your friend carries a great sorrow,” Bantheor, the village elder, said to Brett on the third night of their stay. Windhaven’s elder was a tall man with great bushy eyebrows and a long beard that swirled like tufts of cloud down to his belt. He lived in a splendid longhouse with dozens of rooms for every member of his extended family, plus quarters for guests. Brett, Logun, and Benjiko each were given humble yet comfortable chambers of their own. Brett had joined Bantheor for their nightly supper with several dozen of the elder’s relatives, while Logun wandered on his own and Benjiko sat outside.
“He will be all right,” Brett said as he filled his cup with the sour wine that he had come to enjoy. “Once his injuries have fully healed, we will be on our way.”
Bantheor nodded and exhaled a massive plume of purple smoke that drifted over the dining hall. “It is a heartsick I have seen many times. He has either lost one whom he loves, or is separate from his home. Don’t worry—your business is your own. I will not pry. Your company is welcome here for as long as you need.”
“You’ve been very kind to us,” Brett said. He almost foolishly added that the Prince would be certain to repay his hospitality, but caught himself at the last moment.
“It’s nothing,” Bantheor said. “The snows of winter are hard. We in Windhaven know the value of helping a stranger. We also still respect the Shigata, particularly now when the world is sure to need them most.”
“My Shigata companion is humbled by your generosity,” Brett said politely. In fact, Brett had no idea what Logun thought about Bantheor. The Shigata spent his days wandering in the forest, returning very late and only sleeping a handful of hours before rising and returning to his woodland walks. Brett could only hope he was taking the time to work out some sort of plan that would get them back into Iryllium—for Paetrick’s sake if not for their own.
Brett sipped his wine, lost in thought as Bantheor fell into conversation with some of his grandnieces about their upcoming weddings. What would be in store for Benjiko once they were ready to travel? Surely they could not go back to Iryllium. Demons in the castle. Boldfrost nowhere to be found. The Temple all but implementing a coup against the Prince!
“Excuse me,” Brett said, suddenly rising. “I’m going to walk outside for some air. I will be back.”
“You’ve had not a bite of food,” Bantheor said. Upon seeing the expression on Brett’s face, he relented.
Brett said the appropriate polite words and excused himself. He needed to think. Walking outside, he welcomed the chilly night air on the nape of his neck. A brisk breeze cleared his head as the Captain of Iryllium’s Guard made his way towards the central bonfire that burned every night at Windhaven’s heart. As expected, he found Benjiko sitting there.
“Benjiko,” Brett said. “There is food and fire inside. You need to keep your str—”
“Read this,” Benjiko interjected. The Prince was holding out a piece of parchment with some hastily scrawled words on it.
“What is this?” Brett asked, furrowing his brow.
“A messenger arrived not ten minutes ago. He had to return to Iryllium immediately.”
“From Iryllium?” Brett immediately seized the note and read:
Do not return here. City is stable. Chaos in the castle. Demons prowl the hallways. Many guards dead. Outsiders coming in, taking the soldier’s posts. No one knows from where. Tarsurian delegate left in hurry. Temple presence strong in castle. No one knows where demons came from. Boldfrost unreachable. Search parties sent to wilderness to find the Prince. Close friends suspect reports of his death coming soon. No more allies in Iryllium. I flee tonight. It is time to enact our most desperate plan. Join me with our youngest friend.
Brett’s face had turned as white as freshly fallen snow as he read the note. “What does this mean?” Benjiko asked.
Brett shook his head in disbelief. He felt as if an ice cold water were slowly creeping up his waist, chilling his lungs, stopping his heart. It couldn’t be. But he read the words himself.
“Brett!” Benjiko snapped, showing the first sign of emotion he had since they had left. “What do you know?”
Brett cleared his throat and glanced around. Seeing they were alone, he huddled close to Benjiko. “The note,” he whispered. “It was sealed when you received it, yes? You’re positive?”
Benjiko nodded.
“It came from Nicolai,” Brett said. “There is no doubt about that.”
“Then what does it mean? Obviously the Temple of Ice and Shadow is planning some sort of coup within the city walls. Damn it all, if only I could have kept closer to my father. He’s being used. It’s as plain as day. But how can you be sure Nicolai penned it? What’s this he writes about my death?”
“It was meant for me,” Brett said. “Nicolai believes that whoever is orchestrating this madness is going to fake your death, thus removing you as a potential obstacle for whatever they’re planning.”
Benjiko nodded solemnly. “Where is he going then? What is this most desperate plan? Who is your young friend?” Suddenly, anger flashed across Benjiko’s face. “You have some plot,” the Prince accused. “That much is obvious. You will tell me everything you know. Right now.”
“Of course I will,” Brett said, looking around wildly every few moments to ensure no
one was near them. “It’s just…you must understand. Benjiko, forgive me. When Nicolai and I made these plans, we had hoped beyond hope we would never need to enact them.”
Benjiko’s eyes glowed like molten silver. Brett had forgotten what strength they held, what a powerful sign Benjiko was born under.
“Tell me everything, Brett. That’s an order.”
Brett sighed. He had a feeling this was not going to be easy. “All right. It’s time for you to find out. Especially if Nicolai is as serious as he sounds. You see, those of us close to your father have always been concerned. You know this, Benjiko. His mental faculties are not there. He’s prone to forget things. Give in to strange conspiracies. See enemies where there are only loyal servants.”
Benjiko continued to stare, his face a mask.
“Nicolai and I, our job is to keep the West safe. We spend our days thinking of the most unlikely, most terrible things that might happen and preparing for them while hoping that they never come to pass. Well, there is a plan for if your father becomes so compromised that he cannot be expected to continue to rule. A plan for if that happens and those of us who truly care about the West are thrust so far from the levers of power that we can’t possibly help from within Iryllium’s walls. Whatever is going on in that castle, Nicolai certainly seems to believe that we find ourselves in that exact situation.”
“And what is the plan for such an occurrence?” Benjiko asked, his voice as hard as steel.
“I am to take you to Frost,” Brett said.
“Frost? Why?”
“Because our young friend there is very understanding of the necessity for quick action in such a situation.”
Benjiko’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. Then understanding came into his eyes. “You bastards are conspiring with Lord Jeri Dantos.”
There was no point in denying it. “Yes,” Brett said simply.
“This, despite the fact that he’s held the title of lord for barely a year? Despite the fact that his family is streaked with imbecilities, embarrassments, and disgraces that run back through the centuries? Des—no! Let me finish! Despite the fact that Jeri fucking Dantos is a boy of nineteen winters who has yet to prove he’s capable of making a single decision larger than which minstrel he wants to listen to in the evening while he sips his wine? How could you do this, Brett? I never thought you a traitor.”
Traitor.
The word slapped Brett hard across the face as it was spoken. It was a word he had dwelled on himself quite frequently during the restless nights he had concocted this scheme with Nicolai. The worst part was that there was truth to it. Had Boldfrost gotten so much as a whiff of this plan, his head would have been on a spike faster than he could say the word guilty. Still, Captain Brett Ashford had made his peace with those troubles many moons ago.
He held his tongue while Benjiko fumed silently. “And what exactly is supposed to happen when we go for our meeting with Jeri Dantos?” Benjiko demanded.
“We plan for war, my Prince.”
Benjiko did not speak for many minutes. Staring into the fire, his silver eyes seemed to age by the moment as the Prince of Iryllium considered what Brett has just told him. Finally, he said, “It can’t truly be as bad as all of that.”
“My lord, there were demons in the castle. That is not something that would have been possible had we a competent head underneath the crown. The Temple of Ice and Shadow threatened your very life. The nation’s strongest Star-blessed have virtually disappeared from the continent, and no one knows a damn thing about where they are. All the while, Tarsurian ships have attacked our shores. If there is a time for action, surely it is now, before it’s too late.”
“Damn it all.” Benjiko stared into the flames, lip curled. “Why Jeri? What’s in it for him?”
“Believe it or not, my Prince, the Lord of Frost is an honorable man. I have met with him many times as the child of a lord, then as a lord himself. He has a strong desire for two things: to restore honor and dignity to his family name, and to serve the West as best he can. He is not the drunken lecher his father was. He is not the erratic, mood-swinging lunatic that his grandfather was. I have seen nothing from the boy but a noble heart and a strong head.
“Understand, Benjiko. Jeri Dantos does not see personal gain in this. He has not agreed to this most dire of contingency plans out of motivation for personal enrichment. He agreed because he sees much of his own father in yours, and much of himself in you. He understands that if this land is to be saved, you will be the one to save it.”
Benjiko scoffed. Each subtle sign of contempt his Prince demonstrated towards him was like a knife in Brett’s ribs. But Brett did not dedicate his life to making his Prince happy. He dedicated it to making his Prince, and his nation, safe.
“They will crush us like ants if we try this,” Benjiko said. “You know that. My father has Sylvester Shade. Denver Rockhelm. Powerful lords with vast armies that will not be swayed. He has the Temple at his side, with all of the strange magic they control. He has the damn Dragons, Brett! We cannot possibly be thinking of using force to overthrow him.”
“Benjiko,” Brett said seriously as the fire crackled before them. “I am not so sure that it is your father we would be overthrowing. Recent evidence suggests that someone else is pulling the strings. This could very much be a war to liberate your father, and it could be framed that way to the lords of the West. But only if we act fast. If they report your death in Iryllium, whoever controls the capital will call you a usurper and a liar should you rise up later.”
Benjiko was flabbergasted. Tongue-tied, the Prince of Iryllium tried to find his words. “Th—there’s no—I’m not a bloody mirage. People can see me!”
“Most people don’t know your face, my Prince. And the lord’s that do…if we wait too long, then they might find it more in their interest to deny you.”
“They wouldn’t…the scoundrels! Gods be damned, how can this be happening?” Like the pillars of a building suddenly giving, Benjiko collapsed into his own hands and sobbed. Brett’s heart ached for the Prince. All of this had happened so quickly. He should have done better. He should have prevented this madness from taking place. He suddenly remembered that Benjiko was only a man of eighteen years. Suddenly, the Prince did not seem so tall and strong.
“Benjiko,” Brett said gently. “I know it is hard. But you’re my leader. I will follow and support you as best as I am able to. We’re in this together. I won’t abandon you, no matter what. I swear it.”
Solemnly, Benjiko nodded. Drying his eyes he simply said, “Thank you, Brett.” They shared a silence for several more minutes, undisturbed until Logun emerged from the wilderness and stepped into the ring of light provided by the fire, blood splattered all over his face and armor.
Chapter 21
It was a sight that Godwin had not seen since the final days of the Bloodwater Wars. Sun warriors, the bright celestial symbol of Emperor Julius Hercinium splayed brightly across their chests, supped peacefully with Mexdon Boldfrost’s wolves in the hall of Denver Rockhelm. The feast hall held about one-hundred unlikely dining companions, but now there wasn’t the slightest hint of animosity between the Gaelleans of the East and West.
Saebyl’s lord sat at the high table, cracking open massive crab legs with his powerful hands. Lord Rockhelm was a tall, spearlike figure with sharp grey-green eyes and a receding blonde widow’s peak. At the age of sixty-one, he had ruled the city in the North Shield for many decades with both prudent wisdom and a justice that at times flirted with cruelty. He was a lord with loyalty absolute to the law and King Boldfrost in that order.
Godwin picked at his turnips without enthusiasm. He was unsettled by the coalition they had found waiting in Rockhelm’s castle, and while Robert was at his side, the easterner had fallen quickly into conversation with his fellow countrymen leaving Godwin to stew in his thoughts.
“Ale sir?” the serving woman asked him. Godwin glanced at his tankard and realized he had drained it w
ithout realizing. Nodding, he accepted. Not wanting to talk to one of the other guests without understanding the situation better, he had contented himself with drink rather than conversation.
As the serving girl poured, Rockhelm rose at the head of the table and shouted for order. Silence descended upon the hall, smothering them like a thick blanket over a weak fire. The harpist who had been playing in the corner quickly muted the singing chord that had been ringing moments ago.
“We welcome the delegates from Andreji with open arms,” Rockhelm said in his quiet, powerful voice. Many a man who heard the Lord of Saebyl realized that true power was when one could speak softly and those present would strain their ears to hear. “Commander Octovos, our feast and fire are welcome to you and yours. Conduct yourselves with accordance to my peace, and you will find fast friendship here. To Andreji!”
Lord Rockhelm lifted his tankard, and the hall rushed to join him. Godwin watched as the man beside him, Commander Jon Octovos of Andreji, rose in response.
“We are grateful for your kindness,” Commander Octovos replied. Twenty years Rockhelm’s younger, Octovos looked as if he could have been Rockhelm’s son. Long braids of blonde hair tumbled past his thin shoulders. Eyes as green as forest leaves observed the room that stared back at him. “As you all well know, I have dedicated my reign as Commander of Andreji to these important peace-keeping missions that are essential to the governing of a free world. I will bring news of your hospitality, reasonableness, and warmth to the Imperial Senate, where we shall continue to plant the seeds of friendship. But for now, let us content ourselves with a drink to honor our hosts. To Saebyl!”
“Saebyl!” the feast hall roared in response as one-hundred tankards raised and slammed against the wooden table. As the rulers of the two cities seated themselves, the room returned to its noisy celebrations, and Godwin returned to his thoughts.
