(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters

by A. C. Ellas

  “I want to wait for Jisten,” said Jethain stubbornly. “Your lover…hey! If you can’t mate with us humans, then you and Araken can’t be lovers!”

  “It thinks!” Scorth smiled as if to take some of the sting from his words. Jethain debated telling the man that his fanged smile didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of being reassuring, it made the recipient feel like they were in danger of being eaten.

  “But you’re soul-bonded!” wailed Jethain. “Araken told me so! All the ballads say that only lovers can soulbond!”

  “All the ballads lie,” snorted Scorth. “And when was the last time you saw a soul have sex?”

  Jethain was confused. “Then what is the nature of your relationship to my brother?”

  “Soul bonding without sex. Should I write that down for you?”

  “How can you soul bond without sex? That’s the part I don’t get.” “Humans! Do you do nothing but screw and write?” Scorth asked. “And write bad ballads?”

  “Only some of us write bad ballads,” said Jethain, starting to enjoy the demon’s odd humor.

  “While the rest screw and write books?”

  “And compose bad poetry,” affirmed Jethain. “I assumed that the bad poets were writing the bad ballads. There are two populations of bad writers? Amazing!”

  “They are often separate. The worst is when the bad poets and the bad balladeers get together. Then you end up with ridiculous songs about dragons stealing slaves.”

  “The worst,” Scorth concluded. “I tore out the throat of the last person who sang it.” He licked his fangs for emphasis.

  “I wonder what the dragon did with the slave,” mused Jethain. “Did he eat it? I can’t imagine the slave was a virgin…”

  “Humans taste terrible. I have it on good authority.” “I hope you aren’t speaking from personal experience!” Jethain hastily added, “Although ripping out the throats of bad minstrels is acceptable.”

  “No, I learn from the mistakes of others of my kind,” Scorth said.

  “Ripping out throats?” Jisten asked from the doorway.

  “Jisten! There you are! Did you know that Scorth isn’t Araken’s lover?”

  “Why are you even discussing that?” Jisten asked cautiously. Jethain blushed and stammered, “The subject of uhm, compatibility came up somehow.”

  Jisten eyed Jethain. “Somehow? And what else was said?” Jisten looked at Scorth next.

  Scorth grinned fangily. “Souls don’t have to have sex to bond.” “Ah, the soul-bonding came up,” Jisten sat in the chair next to the bed. “Hence the throat ripping of bad minstrels.”

  “You humans, always mating. It’s amazing that you find the time to write bad songs. Or is that part of the mating ritual?” wondered Scorth. “Does singing bad songs help acquire mates?”

  “I’m beginning to think Araken keeps you around for the comic relief,” said Jethain once he’d finished laughing.

  “Only after a sufficient amount of alcohol has been consumed,” Jisten said. “Speaking of which, my prince?” Jisten gestured to the wine bottle.

  “Please,” said Jethain warmly. Jisten poured two goblets and offered one to Scorth as well. Scorth declined with a shake of his head.

  Jisten set the goblet on the bedside table. “Perhaps S’Rak will want some later. It’s his bottle, after all.”

  “Where did Araken go?” asked Jethain, because to not ask might seem odd since his brother had been sleeping in the room earlier. Now Jisten was present, and Rak was gone.

  “The stable, to check on—I almost forgot!” Jisten said. “Nielle foaled!”

  “What?” Jethain sat bolt upright. “When? Is she okay? Was it a colt?” “A fine colt,” Jisten said. “Would have died with his dam if not for S’Rak.”

  “What?” Jethain nearly screeched. “Tell me everything!” He’d been waiting a year to see that foal.

  “Lie down and I’ll tell you about it.” Jethain grumbled, but he complied, snuggling against the black furnace.

  “The foal was breech,” Jisten said. “Bharis was at his wit’s end.”

  Jethain winced, stomach in a knot. “Couldn’t turn it?” “He tried. Asked S’Rak to try. Even S’Rak couldn’t turn it.” Jisten smiled, drawing out the story.

  “What happened?!” Jethain squirmed. “It was the dam or the colt, for S’Rak wasn’t sure he could save both. The stable boys were arguing, but S’Rak made up his mind. He was forced to break the colt’s legs to save Nielle.”

  Jethain flinched and moaned, and his heart felt broken, but he nodded. “Is Nielle okay?”

  “The colt was born and S’Rak called down his power to heal the exhausted mare,” Jisten said. “The colt hung onto life while his mother was healed. When S’Rak finished, he found he did have enough left in him to save the foal.”

  “He healed them both?” Jethain felt thunderstruck. “They’re both okay? Help me up! I want to go see them!”

  Jisten groaned. “Sun scorch it,no, my prince!” “Is he red like his sire, or black like his dam? Jisten, I’m sick and tired of this bed! I want to see Nielle’s colt!”

  “I will bring the colt here before I let you out of this bed!” Jisten challenged.

  “Then bring him!” Jethain replied. “I’ve waited almost a year to see him!”

  “As you wish, my prince.” Jisten stood up and saluted formally. “You are every bit the horseman I took you for the day we met,” said Rak from the doorway. He led Nielle into the room, the black colt with Saber’s white feet and blaze trotting at her side.

  Jisten sidled over to Rak. “Most impressive.” “I am sure the servants will be cursing my name for a week to come,” said Rak with a grin.

  Jethain’s eyes were glued on the mare and foal. He carefully got out of bed and took the three steps to the mare. Then his hands did the inspecting.

  Rak stood back and winked at Jisten. “The stable boys told me how much Jethain had been looking forward to this foal. So I thought, now that he is stronger, there was no reason to deprive Jethain of the pleasure of seeing them.”

  Jisten nodded, a rare true smile on his face as he watched the prince and his horses.

  Chapter Seven: Council Meeting

  “Son, I know you are the crown prince, but skipping council meetings is not one of your prerogatives,” Owain said as he laid a ringed hand on Rak’s shoulder.

  “I was indisposed,” replied Rak, resisting the urge to thrust that hand off him. The king had cornered him on the way back from returning Nielle to the stables, and he hadn't been quick enough to think of a graceful dodge. “If you require my attendance, hold the meetings at night.”

  “Hmm, that might discourage Lord Breavey,” Owain mused. “He arises when the sun does and goes to bed soon after dinner. He is a pain in my royal ass.”

  “And also, I am not the crown prince. Jethain is very much alive.” “Yes, you’ve kept your half-brother alive. Very dedicated of you,” Owain approved. “Strong, smart, powerful.”

  “That is my place. His is to sit on that gaudy chunk of metal.” Owain laughed. “You can reconfigure it. The queen did, and it looks worse for the wear, I think.”

  Rak ran a hand through his hair, damp from sweat and high humidity. “I think it suits Jethain just fine. He will sit on the throne, and I shall dwell in the shadow he casts.”

  “Son, son.” Owain shook his head. “That will never do. Jethain is too weak to hold the throne. We’ve been over and over this. Now, the council meeting. I’ve soothed Peneron and Maziel is on your side. Baorik is in love with your gold and silk. Kion is a lost cause. I don’t know why or how you’ve alienated Virien, but that must change. To that end, I will see to it personally that he attends the next council meeting.”

  “Jethain is not too weak to hold the throne, for I am his brother and his ally and I will defend him, to the death if need be.”

  Owain shook Rak slightly with that hand on his shoulder. “Bah, just take the throne, son. It’s yours by birth and
by right. No death needed.”

  “I cannot, Sire.” Rak gripped Owain’s shoulder in return. “Listen to me, please. I am a high priest of Zotien. That takes all of my time and attention. I would be a very, very bad king, even if my vows permitted it, which they do not.”

  “We’ll speak of this later,” Owain conceded. “If you insist,” said Rak, wishing his father would just concede defeat. “When is the next council meeting? I need to make certain Jethain and I attend.”

  “Ah, it starts when we get there,” Owain said, his expression thoughtful. “Hmm, shall I change it to after dinner? Lord Breavey will be asleep.”

  “I will send a message to Jethain,” said Rak. Trelo crawled out of his hook and clicked expectantly. Rak stroked the lizard, jotted a quick note, which the lizard took and flew off with.

  “I do hope he’s in a reasonable mode,” Owain said. “He can go on and on at times.”

  “Let us speak with your council,” Rak then said.

  Owain strode ahead, towards the council chamber. Rak straightened his stole and rewrapped his sash to buy himself time. Then he walked in and took his seat at the foot of the table. He wished Jethain would hurry, but as the councilors gathered, Rak began to think his note had been disregarded. He also wondered where the king had gone, because for all his talk of attending meetings, his seat stood empty.

  “His Majesty asked me to stand in his stead for this meeting. He was called away on an urgent matter involving the newly arrived diplomatic party from Zoth.” As Virien finished speaking, his eyes rested on Rak. His smile was not a pleasant one. The meeting got under way, and Rak tried to stifle his boredom as the councilors droned on about tax revenues, the planting season, the demands on the guilds, the problems in the exchanges, and numerous other necessary topics.

  Rak stood when it came his turn to speak, and announced, “As a gesture of goodwill, we have destroyed the hive of the katrami flies that so menace your people.”

  “You’ve done no such thing,” Kion sneered. “And we have no way to check your lying tongue.”

  “I do not lie,” replied Rak in an ice cold voice. “I have a witness. Your Captain of the Guard, Jisten, was there.”

  “That half-breed Lythadi?” Kion’s laugh was nasty and several councilors shifted uneasily.

  “He’s a Valer,” Maziel said in a tired tone. “There’s a difference?” Kion sneered. Two men laughed, but one covered it with a cough.

  “You wouldn’t say that if Jethain were here,” Maziel said.

  “Jethain would be here if his halfbreed Captain were half competent!” Rak stared at Kion for a long moment. Then he turned to Lord Peneron. “What incompetent moron permitted this vile excuse for a human onto the ruling council of Koilatha?”

  Peneron smiled, and replied silkily, “That would be Chancellor Virien, I believe.”

  Virien glared at Rak, but Kion erupted. “I claim insult!” Kion slammed his hand down. “My champion will disembowel you!”

  “Your champion? You are too much of a coward to answer your own challenges?” Rak sniffed in disdain.

  “I am far too important,” Kion replied. “Your self-importance is only in your own head. I far outrank you, and I answer my own challenges. The real issue is that you are terrified to cross blades with me. You know it would be your death.”

  “Lord Kion is wise to be terrified to cross blades with you,” Baorik said. “Now onto the trading!”

  “Indeed, we are not here for our own amusement and pride,” Maziel said. Rak stared at Baorik. “That man has called me a liar. I am insulted. He will either apologize to me and retract his foul-mouthed remarks, or he will meet me fairly in challenge.”

  “Fair challenge in Koilatha is using a champion, High Priest,” Maziel said in a conciliatory tone. “And you will be forever fighting if you rise to Kion’s bait. Now, on to your purpose for speaking here?”

  “I have destroyed the hive of the katrami flies,” said Rak, coldly. “I expect that should be worth something to you, to your farmers. If alliance is what your kingdom desires of Okyro, you will have to outlaw slavery first.”

  Kion sneered, “You came crawling to us, demon.” “I came to you for a simple trade agreement. Grain for silk. But your list of demands grows.”

  “You are the one making demands, demon,” Kion said. “You are a threat who will drain our fair land.”

  “Kion, please stop the name calling,” said Maziel. “It’s beneath you.” “Our kingdom has used slaves since the founding,” said Peneron. “Why should we change? The system works very well.”

  “And trade is good,” said Baorik. “Slavery is wrong,” said Rak, pressing the issue. “It is evil. How can you think that denying a man his free will is right?”

  “That’s stupid,” Deviol said. “Yes, let’s allow everyone to exercise their free will. Murderers and thugs will abound.”

  “Most men prefer a free meal over free will,” Breavey said. “We have our free will. We do not murder or rob.” Maziel looked pained. “Please, S’Rak, can you move on?”

  “That would lead to chaos,” Peneron observed. “Aren’t you dark priests against chaos?”

  “They are all of the night, evil and chaos,” Kion said. “My son is learning the pure path of the light.”

  “You devalue life, and the gifts of the gods, when you put someone else in a collar,” said Rak.

  “We save the lives of the starving,” Baorik said. “And many haven’t the sense to use free will.”

  “You destroy lives, and families, and think nothing of it. Men and women are not mere beasts, to be bought and sold and used. Can you not see how very evil that is?”

  “We are wasting our time discussing evil with a servant of evil!” Kion pounded his fist on the table. “He seeks to destroy us by undermining our country’s stability.”

  “Afraid for your profits?” asked Rak. “Or afraid that if you didn’t hold the power of life and death over your servants, they would rise up and kill you in retribution for your abuses?”

  “That thought hardly helps your cause, S’Rak,” observed Maziel. “See? He will rouse a slave revolt and we will be slaughtered in our beds!” Kion turned to Virien. “Do something!”

  “Outlawing slavery is not an option on the table,” said Virien. “Drop it, dark one.”

  “Slaves can be freed, if they prove themselves worthy,” said Baorik. The door opened and Jethain entered with the careful walk of the ill. Captain Jisten was at his heels, hovering at the prince’s elbow rather than in his usual guard position a half pace back.

  “Always good to see you, Prince Jethain,” said Maziel. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” Jethain said. Rak waited for the prince to take his seat before he answered the head of the merchants. “It is the rare slave who earns his freedom. Most are thanked by force-wedding them and chaining them to a peasant hut to toil the fields until they die of exhausted age.”

  “No wonder you need grain, high and mighty one,” Breavey said. “No one to till.”

  “Prince Jethain, did you look over my paper protesting the new tariff on outkingdom goods?” asked Baorik.

  “Yes, I read it. We can discuss it after the envoy is done.” “We will never finish if he prattles on and on about slavery,” Baorik grumped and pushed his chair back.

  “We might lack in grain, but we have many things that you do not.” Rak nodded to Jethain in greeting.

  “We didn’t come groveling to your country,” Kion said. “I do not grovel,” snapped Rak. “If you do not want silk, herbs, or gold, then you do not need to participate in the agreement.”

  “We want to talk about those things,” Baorik took on a conciliatory tone. “Perhaps we can skip to it?”

  Rak inclined his head to Baorik. “We require a set rate of exchange.” “A set rate?” Baorik looked displeased. “We told you last time that was not feasible.”

  “Our trade operates on supply and demand,” said Peneron. “Why isn’t th
at acceptable, dark one?”

  “A set rate protects both parties,” Rak replied. “From gouging.”

  “Not if demand ceases, or supply fails,” Baorik pointed out. “Considering that we are offering a rate that is advantageous to you, what is the real issue? Is it really that impossible to not charge more for your grain every time we come?” Rak looked frustrated. “If supply is low, we buy less. We are not demanding a set amount of tons of grain. We are demanding a set value on a ton of grain.”

  “The rate is advantageous,” Maziel said. “I would be happy to harvest my fields for the price.”

  “And the reason for hammering this out as a trade agreement is mere convenience,” Rak added. “We can order our buyers to approach individual nobles if we must. But the money offered would not be as good.”

  “You’ll break the exchanges!” Baorik whined. “The exchanges?” Rak was incredulous. “Who ever heard of buying and selling grain a year before it is even planted?”

  “You would divide us, demon,” Kion said. “You can see his ill intent even now.”

  Jethain gave Kion an annoyed look. “Your prejudice is well known to this council. There is no need to repeat yourself.”

  “I cannot make a mule listen to me, but there is hope for the others,” Kion answered.

  Jethain flicked a finger in a rude gesture. Then he said to Rak, “I understand that your people need the grain, but I can’t let you break our economy.”

  “Do you know that a set rate would break your economy? It seems to me that it would enrich you, not break you.”

  Baorik looked unconvinced. Jethain ran fingers through his hair. “We should study the issue,” said Peneron. “Prince Jethain, why don’t you have your scholars research it?”

  “Always a good idea,” Breavey agreed.

  “Concur,” said Baorik. “Very well,” said Jethain. “We will put the issue to the scholars and see what they think.”

  Maziel said to Rak, “Perhaps the best you can do at this point, S’Rak.” The young noble looked sympathetic and he smiled gently.