The King called out to me and ordered me back. I shouted, "On three, Duke Vidor," then counted down. The Duke slipped in past me and roared as he met talons and teeth with bright, sharp steel.
I slumped down to one knee and tried to control my breathing. My chest heaved like a ship on a stormy sea and I felt dizzy. I tried to wipe the sweat from my brow on my left sleeve but all I succeeded in doing was smearing my face with Dhesiri blood.
I closed my eyes for a moment and shut out everything but the sounds of battle. The two nobles grunted and groaned with explosive exertion, then barked out inarticulate cries of satisfaction when a blow was successfully or decisively struck. The Dhesiri squawked and gurgled at the front lines, and hissed expectantly in the ranks behind, as if they were repeating their last order over and over again to themselves. The swords made a thick, moist sound when they hit, very close to the sound of a hoe being raked through wet mortar.
The Duke cried out and my eyes snapped open. He reeled away and clawed at his left thigh. His pant leg was slashed open and a Dhesiri hung on with a dogged single-mindedness. The goblin had his teeth firmly sunk into the Duke's thigh. Vidor dropped to one knee and crushed the Dhesiri's skull with a blow from his sword's hilt, then faced the grim task of prying the goblin's jaws loose.
I darted forward and bisected a Dhesiri leaping at the Duke's back. The whole line surged forward and the King stepped in between Patrick and me to hold them back. We lost a half-dozen precious feet, but managed to check their advance long enough for the Duke to drag himself deeper into the corridor.
In the middle of the horde I saw the colony's remaining warrior. He hissed orders at the workers between him and us, and then back at the workers following him. This puzzled me for a moment, but I really did not have time to figure out the reason behind his action. I did regret the Duke's wounding, though, because it meant I could not stand back and use my sling to kill the warrior.
Then the curious problem of the warrior's orders back down the corridor solved itself. I heard men's voices coming down the tunnel. The warrior moved more toward us, and the Dhesiri he passed turned to face back down the tunnel in the direction of the Grand Gallery. In another minute Grand Duke Fordel came into view.
The King shouted the Hamisian war cry, "My blood for my country," and chopped away with renewed vigor. Count Patrick yelled from the sheer joy of seeing his father again, and the three of us pressed forward. Urgency numbed all aches and pains. Behind the Grand Duke fought other members of the hunting party, and with their support we felt, for the first time, we might actually breathe fresh air again.
I shouted to the warrior. "Stop the workers and we won't kill the Queen. We'll let you move her and make another warren elsewhere."
He looked at me with a hard cold stare. I nodded and King Tirrell joined me. The warrior hissed a command; the Dhesiri stopped fighting and withdrew. King Tirrell shouted an order and the Grand Duke stopped his men.
The workers streamed past our line to the throne chamber. Count Patrick helped the Duke limp toward the Grand Duke. King Tirrell joined me and we preceded the warrior to the throne chamber.
Even though the righting had stopped the workers still covered the Queen, and the workers streaming into the chamber joined their companions to safeguard her. The warrior hissed a new order when he reached the chamber and the armor dissolved to once again form the feeding and birthing line we'd seen when we first discovered the chamber.
The warrior stood taller than Jevin and had a darker green to his skin except on the arrowhead splotch of red between his eyes. His scaled flesh shone with a smooth glow and did not look to be cold as I might have suspected from a greater distance. "Where can we move?" he rasped out to the King.
The King squatted and drew a rough map of the area with his dagger. He placed an "X" at our current location then indicated a spot close to the border of Ealla and the Darkesh. I'd flown over it on my way to Hamis and knew it to be a semi-arid grassland that had few people living in it because the soil did not easily support agriculture. "Here no one will bother you, and you can feed on the wild horses that inhabit the plains."
The warrior nodded his understanding, then turned to me. "Why?" Despite the harshness in his voice, he managed to convey a certain disbelief behind the word.
I looked into his flat black eyes. "There was no more need for killing." I turned to walk away.
"Wait." He touched my shoulder. I turned back.
He looked hard at me. "Debt." He offered his club as, payment
I shook my head. "No debt."
He shook his head adamantly and tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Debt."
I nodded. I pointed to the Queen. "Give me a warrior's egg."
The warrior hissed sharply. The Queen hissed something at the warrior, and he hissed back. The Queen produced an egg, but it was larger than the others and reddish brown in color. A worker brought it to the warrior. He took it and held it out for me.
I laid my right palm on it and marveled at the warm, leathery texture of the shell. I concentrated for a second, then withdrew my hand. A simple black death's head now decorated the shell. The warrior within was still alive; I'd sensed life but only marked the shell. To draw the life out, which I did not want to do anyway, would have brought the black back into my tattoo, and that would have scuttled my mission almost before it began.
"West of here, in the valley"—I dropped to one knee and pointed out the spot on the King's map—"there is a compatriot of mine with a large bird. Give him the egg. He will give it to my masters. Now no debt."
The warrior gently took hold of my right hand with his left paw. His flesh was supple and as soft as leather, yet very dry to the touch. His forked tongue flickered out and scraped across my flesh. "I will remember you."
I nodded solemnly and bowed to both him and his Queen. Silently, respectfully, King Tirrell and I withdrew and rejoined our own people.
The servants standing around the pit greeted our return from the warren with thunderous applause. Someone thought to bring a cart for the wounded and we loaded Duke Vidor into it, along with one or two of the other nobles who'd been hurt in Grand Duke Fordel's party. They sped along ahead of us while the more hearty rode back to the camp at a pace that suited our exhaustion.
The servants had a full celebration started by the time we got there. First to greet the King was Keane, the Earl of Cadmar. He was a tall, blond, mustachioed man who was well known as a fierce warrior and able general. "My lord, I am so glad to see you are safe. I and my party arrived in your camp just as word came that you'd been recovered from the Dhesiri."
The King swung from his saddle, as did Count Patrick and I. Grooms took our horses away and the King turned to introduce me to the Earl. "Lord Nolan ra Yotan, this is Keane, Earl of Cadmar."
I took his extended hand. "I know of you, sir. You are the King's champion and were the victorious general at the siege of Jolis." He bowed his head, and I returned the gesture. "I take it you still have the Star of Sinjaria? "
I felt the shock run through his hand. The Star of Sinjaria was a brilliant emerald that used to be the centerpiece of the Sinjarian monarch's crown. After the siege the King had it reset into a medallion to commemorate the victory and gave it to the Earl. Popular legend maintained that Sinjaria would never be free unless a Sinjarian returned the gem to his homeland.
Keane narrowed green eyes so dark they looked olive and studied me. Instantly he rejected the idea that I'd been at the siege, because of my youth, then let a grin creep onto his features. "I still have it, Lord Nolan, it is quite safe within my baggage at Castel Seir."
The King draped his arms about both our shoulders and started us toward the large tent where feasting had already begun. "Keane, I'll not have you and Nolan at odds with each other. I owe both of you very much, and I would have you be brothers in that concern instead of enemies in any other."
The Earl and I both laughed and accepted the King's truce. Despite the camaraderie and go
od feeling for me, I felt very ill at ease. I was not wholly ready to be befriended by the men who had destroyed my nation. Worse yet, that part of me that was—a part that basked in the fact that Sinjaria's conquerors found me praiseworthy—grew stronger with each moment and each laugh. The familiarity the King showed me both grated on me and made me seek more of it.
The King swept the Earl of Cadmar and me toward his place at a table on a raised dais toward the north end of the tent. Servants poured each of us a goblet of wine and the King raised his cup on high.
"I toast your bravery, and offer my thanks!" he shouted to the assembly. The nobles cheered and drank, then returned to their feasting on venison and wild pig. I heard incredible war stories shouted out around mouthfuls of meat and shook my head.
The King beckoned a servant over and instructed him to bring us food in the King's personal tent. The Earl, Count Patrick, and I followed the King out to his tent and found a court wizard there already tending to Duke Vidor's leg.
The wizard had cut away Vidor's pants and had washed the wound off with wine. Two slightly rounded lines of fang marks dotted the Duke's thigh top and side, and thin lines of blood traced from the deepest holes.
The Duke smiled bravely. "It hurts, but not as much as it did before I pried the goblin's jaws open."
I seated myself on a bench and a servant pulled my boots off. I ripped open my own pant legs and peeled off my hunting tunic. "At least Dhesiri have no venom."
The wizard nodded. "I will spell the leg numb for several days and help the healing speed up. You will be fine." He turned to deal with the King before he finished with the Duke, but Tirrell waved him off.
"Tend the Duke and then worry about Nolan and Patrick. I've no serious injuries."
The wizard did as he was commanded, enchanted the Duke's leg, then came to me. I winced as he washed my cuts off with wine. The wizard shook his head. "You do not need my healing arts, your cuts will not scar."
I nodded. "No, but I will need a new pair of boots and more clothes until I reach Seir."
The Grand Duke, who trailed in behind the servant carrying food and wine, joined the others in laughter. "You shall have whatever you need, Lord Nolan. And when we reach Castel Seir there will be banquets in your honor."
The King stood. "If my lords will excuse me, I will take Lord Nolan back and find him some appropriate attire. Please," he waved at the steaming platter of venison, "enjoy yourselves until we return." He walked to the back of the tent and held a flap open for me. Beyond I saw a smaller tent.
I preceded the King and sat in the chair he pointed to. It was a comfortable campaign chair made of three pieces that could be taken apart for easy storage or movement. The decoration on it was simple, yet highlighted with gold leaf to add an air of opulence to it. While it might have seemed ostentatious, I suspected the King paid no attention to its aesthetic value; he kept the chair around because it was practical.
The King let the flap drop and walked across the deep blue carpet to a battered old chest. He opened it, took a look at me, and selected a shirt and pair of pants. "They might be a bit large for you, as I have filled out over the years, but I think you will find them serviceable."
I ripped the rags from my legs and pulled the clothing on while the King walked to each corner of the tent and lit a lamp. When the last one was burning he drew his dagger and scraped one of the scratches on his leg until a drop of blood collected on the blade. He held the blade in the flame and suddenly a blood red curtain shot from one lamp to the next and surrounded us.
He smiled at me. "Now no one can overhear us."
I nodded, ignored the fierce itching on the back of my left hand and finished buttoning my new green tunic before I sat again. The King pulled another of the campaign chairs around and sat facing me.
"Nolan, I know you have been sent to protect me. I am most grateful that you arrived when you did. I also realize you may feel that what you did was merely in keeping with your orders, but I want to reward you."
I started to protest but he cut me off. "I'll not reward you for saving me, because I know your Master frowns on that sort of thing. Instead I want to acknowledge your bravery and to thank you for saving the others." He paused for a moment and I did not interrupt him. "In saving Count Patrick you prevented my uncle's heart from breaking. In fact you may have saved all Hamis because both our deaths would have put a devastated Fordel on the throne, and he would not have been able to rule."
I slumped back in the chair and closed my eyes. The King's words were easy to ignore, but the emotions woven through them pounded at me and crumbled walls I'd spent years building. The depth of his love for his uncle and cousin chipped away at the image of him I'd carved and polished since the day I'd left the farm.
Every step I took toward Talianna, with the image of my grandmother's blood-rune burning incandescently in my brain, helped me distill my grief into utter loathing for King Tirrell. Because of him, my country lay in ruins. Because of him, my family lay dead. He was a monster, and it was my duty to someday bring him to justice, return to him everything he'd given me, and take from him everything he'd stripped from me.
Even as I'd agreed to accept the assignment in my desire to avenge Marana, I'd known I'd not leave Hamis with King Tirrell on the throne. All I had to be was careless and I could accomplish my Talion mission along with my personal mission. And even if the nekkeht slew me, I'd die happily if I knew King Tirrell was dead before me.
But now my resolve to see him dead slowly dissipated. Once I'd thought him a coward who hid behind armies, yet in the warren he fought beside me and matched me stroke for stroke. I'd believed he was callous and uncaring but now, and in the warren when he sensed my fatigue and called me back, he showed concern for both family and an utter stranger. Twice he had put himself in danger to save me, something the King Tirrell that lurked in my imagination never would have done. He was highborn, and needed to acknowledge no peer within his realm, yet he accepted me, an untitled peasant from a rebellious nation, as though he thought our bloodlines of equal nobility and antiquity.
Try as I might to hug the promise I'd made to my dead grandmother so tightly it could not escape, it shrank away to nothing. What she had believed of King Tirrell might have been true of him in his early days—even up to the moment before he found himself trapped in a Dhesiri warren, but it was not true now. I had wished for the death of a phantom, a construct I'd cobbled together from painful memories and sinister stories. The fury and hatred in the blood-rune had animated it the way a rhasa soul animated a dead body. In very much that same way I realized that my image of Tirrell was no more real than a nekkeht was alive.
Knowing I had discovered the truth, and hating myself for it, I relinquished my grip on the vow. My only regret in doing so was the fading of my grandmother's image. I saw my mission with new eyes—mine instead of my grandmother's—and I decided that as long as I had life, I would do everything I could to insure King Tirrell would live.
I opened my eyes. "Please, I could name no reward you could grant. Saving the lives is more than enough reward for me. If you must reward someone, reward your cousin. His tracks led me to you."
The King rose and patted my shoulder. "As you wish, then, I will reward the Count. But please understand how indebted I am to you." He snuffed one of the lamps and the curtain curled away as if greasy smoke.
"Come, Lord Nolan, let us join the feasting for at least a short time. If you are as tired as I am, you'll retire soon. And tomorrow you can join us and hunt the mountain leopard."
Wearily I levered myself to my feet. "Lead on, my king, your wish is my command."
* * *
In Hamis succession is strictly figured by order of birth, so both Kings and Queens can and do rule. Still, no child is acknowledged as heir until eighteen years of age. At that time the child is started on a monthlong series of rituals in preparation for coronation as the next ruler of Hamis.
King Tirrell's eldest child was his daught
er, Zaria. In keeping with custom, she undertook a Dreamvigil during the first full Wolf Moon after her birthday. After a special meal, priests gave her a sacred Dreampillow, conducted her to the easternmost tower in Castel Seir—the Moon Tower—and locked her in for the night.
That night she dreamed of a mountain leopard, and the priests and sages rejoiced over this excellent omen. They immediately worked the animal into her coat of arms and people predicted great things because the reigns of all other Queens who'd dreamed of a mountain leopard during their Dreamvigil had been long and prosperous.
The King laughed as he explained all this as we set out that next morning. "She was not overjoyed at hearing the other Queens averaged seven children each, but she was pleased by the animal the goddess Shudath saw fit to visit her with."
I nodded and patted Wolf on the neck. He stamped and blew steam, impatient to be off, but we had to wait for Count Patrick and the Earl of Cadmar. The other hunters were not awake—most of them had not yet gotten up from the floor of the feast tent—and the four of us agreed an early hunt might well be for the best.
The other two joined us quickly enough and we set out from the camp. We'd decided to do without beaters because most of them were still unconscious and they'd not been very successful so far in the hunt. In addition Count Patrick recognized our general location from the Princess's description of her dream, so we knew the mountain leopard had to be close by.
Eager to track the cat, I rode in the lead on Wolf. Mountain leopards are known for their power and solitary habits; very few ever get taken by hunters. Unlike the leopards in the plains, this cat's coat is made up of large patches of brown fur bordered by the more common tan fur. In the lowlands the beast is called a clouded leopard and the pelt is very valuable.
Count Patrick directed us toward the nearer of the Twin Mountains and I agreed with his choice of hunting area. I'd flown over it the day before and had seen deer and antelope, which the cat is supposed to hunt, so it seemed a likely area to start. Very quickly Patrick pointed out an oddly shaped rock the Princess had mentioned seeing in her dream, and excitement rippled through our company.
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