by Sam Farren
“I'm not from around here. You can probably tell by my accent, but before I came here, I was in Kastelir. Do you know what they did to necromancers there? They burnt them, no questions asked,” I said, trying to explain my reservations, “People say it's different in Canth, in Ridgeth – in the rest of the world, really – but it's hard to believe, after being in Asar for twenty-three years.”
I'd expected Atalanta to offer me words of comfort, but it was Varn who took the task upon herself.
“Oi, Isjin would have our guts for garters if any of us messed with you,” she said, slapping a hand against my back. “Sorry you had to grow up with heathens, but don't tar us all with the same brush, alright?”
I smiled, earning a wink out of Varn, and my mind was already made up. I couldn't stay in Mahon, not when there was the slightest chance I could do something to help. There was a resistance in Kastelir. Returning wouldn't be for nothing, and we wouldn't stand alone.
“I'll really be able to come back here whenever I want to? I won't have to stay?”
“Well. Chandaran takes three days to reach, and it would be rude to spend no more than an hour in Her Majesty's presence. Let us say, then, that you shall be back in Mahon whenever you wish to be, so long as a week has passed,” Atalanta said.
I was giddy with something I hadn't felt in a long time.
“Okay,” I said, biting back my excitement. “I'll go with you.”
Varn was in no mood to waste any time. Practically dragging Atalanta off the beach, she led us through the quieter streets on the edge of Mahon, until the paved roads gave way to dry, cracked ground, and Canth opened up, flat and waterless. The town's animals were tended to on its outskirts, fenced in to patches of land where grass stubbornly grew in spite of the sun, and Varn headed directly into the stables.
After a fair amount of grumbling with the stable-hand, she returned with two jet-black horses and led them to a carriage stowed by the side of a dirt path. It had been a luxurious thing, once upon a time, but Varn and Atalanta had certainly got their money's worth from it; the red paint was cracked and peeling, and the royal family's sigil – the head of a hyena – had all but flaked off.
Varn harnessed the horses and Atalanta said, “Musashi and Fiennes. Two faster horses you won't find. Fiennes is mine; a gift from Her Majesty when I officially came into her service. Varn pretends not to pay extra attention to Musashi.”
I greeted them both with a pat on the muzzle, and as I saw Atalanta climb into the box-seat, I began to wonder what I was doing. I couldn't leave.
I couldn't disappear for days upon days again.
I'd been so eager to make myself useful that I'd almost gone about it in the most thoughtless way imaginable.
“Wait,” I said, drawing a deeper scowl out of Varn. “I can't go, not yet. I need to tell Kouris I'm leaving.”
Any momentary worry drained from Atalanta's features. Smiling in relief, she said, “Go, go! Do what you need to. We'll be waiting here,” taking me at my word.
I didn't move. Couldn't. No doubt Kouris would be at one of the taverns in the heart of Mahon, and though I'd dulled considerably over the last month, light still claimed me.
“I...”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and Varn put her hands on her hips, gawking at me.
“You've gotta be kidding,” she said, turning to Atalanta. “She's kidding, right? No way I'm going in there with her.”
“Nobody knows,” I said. “They've not seen me like this before.”
Varn pressed her palm to her face, groaned, and said, “Fine. Ain't gonna be anyone looking at me while I'm parading a necromancer through the streets. Let's get this over with.”
Atalanta placed a hand on my shoulder, heading off with a reassuring squeeze. Varn had been right. No one paid her any heed when they could stare at me instead, bemused, not certain of what they were seeing. The roar of taverns and restaurants and brothels died down, turned to murmurs that could only revolve around me, and the only reason I didn't turn and flee was because I was too afraid to.
Had Atalanta and Varn not been at my side I likely would've bolted through the first open door and hid myself. It wasn't until someone wondered out loud, said “Necromancer... ?” loudly enough for others to hear it that the pirates of Port Mahon started to understand what was before them. The murmur became a rumble and that rumble resolved itself as a roar; people drummed their hands against table tops, began shouting necromancer, necromancer for those who hadn't figure it out yet; and then people even began to whoop and cheer.
“Alright, Felheim!” someone called out, “Was wondering where you'd got yourself to!”
They didn't care. Or they did care, but only in a way that made their night brighter. No one stopped me, no one jumped in front of me or tried to drag me away; how much easier the last month would've been, had I trusted them enough in the first place.
It wasn't difficult to find a pane, even in a town as busy as Mahon. Kouris was sat outside Siren Song, surrounded by a flock of pirates I didn't recognise, but who certainly seemed to know her. They caught sight of me before she did, and faced with their raised brows and wide-eyes, Kouris glanced over her shoulder.
She grinned wider than anyone else had, and not because I was a necromancer. Because I'd finally managed to drag myself out of the hut.
“Alright, Varn,” she said, smirking over my shoulder. “What's managed to bring you back here?”
“Nothing,” Varn grumbled, arms folded across her chest. “... business.”
“Aye, I'm sure,” Kouris said, more than familiar with Varn's attitude. “I take it you're Atalanta, then?”
Atalanta had already rushed over to shake Kouris' hand, and with a bow of her head she said, “I'm terribly glad I have this chance to meet you, dragon-born, even if I can't stay for more than mere minutes. Do allow me to buy you a drink the next time we happen to be in the same port.”
“Not about to turn down a free drink. You picked a good one there, Varn,” Kouris said, and turned to me. “What's going on, yrval?”
Tugging on her sleeve was enough to get her to rise to her feet, and Kouris followed me over to a quiet corner. All eyes were still on me, but at least no one could overhear us.
“Atalanta and Varn came to find me. The Queen wants to meet me. I've no idea how she knows what I am, but I've got to go,” I said, words rushing out of me. “I can ask for her help, Kouris. Even if it doesn't work, even if she won't help us, I have to try. It's the best chance we've had so far and I can't waste it.”
Ears twitching, Kouris said, “Alright, yrval. Let's be off.”
“I think I need to do this myself!” I said, wincing. I didn't want Kouris thinking that I wished to be without her, but I'd spent so long relying on her, on the others. It was finally my turn to do something for them. “It'll be fine. Atalanta said I don't have to be gone for more than a week, and Varn seems... well, you know Varn, don't you? So it'll be okay. I'll go to Chandaran and talk to the Queen, and I really think—”
“Yrval,” Kouris said, gently cutting off my ramblings. “It's alright. You can do this.”
I bit down on my lower lip, grinning because she was, and when she opened her arms, I barely hesitated. I wrapped my arms as far as they'd go around her, holding her as tightly as she held me, and leant back enough to place both hands on her face. Tilting me back, she pressed her lips against mine, tusks brushing against my cheeks. I laughed through my nose and she eased herself back, reluctant to let me go, but doing so anyway.
“Go on. Go have a word with that Queen for us,” Kouris said, shooting Varn a look that made her hold up her hands defensively.
Back at the carriage, Varn hoisted herself into the back, falling down on one of the padded benches. I sat opposite her, preparing myself for the jostle of the road. It'd been a long time since I'd gone anywhere that couldn't be reached by boat, and I worried that I'd traded away sea-sickness for another sort of discomfort.
Atalanta took the
reins and guided us out of Mahon, and I felt every loose pebble and bump the wheels rolled over. Eyes closed, I told myself that it couldn't be as bad as being on a ship during a storm, that I'd spent most of my old life on roads like these, and my stomach just about managed to settle. I caught a glimpse of Mahon as it vanished, and the sea became nothing more than a dark strip below the horizon.
“What's with Kouris?” Varn asked. “She your girlfriend?”
“What? Kouris? No,” I said, tilting my head towards Atalanta. “Is she yours?”
Arms folded across her chest, Varn leant towards me and said, “Yeah? What of it?”
Eyebrow raised, Atalanta glanced back and said, “Aren't I lucky?”
Canth was a flat, arid land. Ancient mountains had begun their descent back to the ground and the few trees that survived the onslaught of the sun twisted up towards the sky, branches bare. Villages cropped up around scattered oases, but it wasn't until the river Qart came into sight that I began to see cities and towns. The river was wide and fast-flowing, bridges cutting across it every five or ten miles, and square, sun-baked houses were interspersed with patches of green. It was the only place vegetation would grow, this far from the jungles lining the coast, leaving the rest of the country deserted.
We took the fast route, not the scenic one. We rarely came within a quarter of a mile of the river, only stopping in order to take an inn for the night. I was resistant to the idea, at first, but Varn hooked an arm around mine, giving me no alternative. The innkeepers were happy to give a room to those in Queen Nasrin's service, and looked at me warily until one of them explained what I was.
I wasn't told to leave. The innkeepers clasped my hands and insisted – insisted – that we take our rooms for free. Varn and Atalanta would sit on their side of the tavern table, talking endlessly, Varn allowing herself to smile whenever she forgot I was there, but my thoughts wandered and I made for poor company. I touched little of my food, and when it came to sleep, found I had no more luck doing so in a bed than I had on the road.
I found myself climbing from my room's window, and spent the nights sitting with Musashi and Fiennes.
On the way to Chandaran, I discovered that moving forward was something entirely distinct from bravery. I was doing what I knew I had to, and I was terrified. Had the carriage's wheels not rolled across the dry ground, I never would've gathered the strength to walk of my own volition. It wasn't the thought of what awaited me that scared me so; I had met with Queens before. I had kissed a Queen, short days ago. Had I stayed in Mahon, entirely motionless, I would've been no less scared.
“What's she like?” I asked Atalanta, sat beside her in the box-seat. “Your Queen, that is. If I'm going to meet her, I should probably know something about her.”
“Why, Her Majesty is all that a Queen ought to be. Merciful and just, as powerful as she is beautiful, and – of course – endlessly wise,” Atalanta replied playfully. “Her Majesty is a good woman, Rowan. She's the first ruler in centuries to think of Canth before her own comfort. Her family has sat on the throne for eight generations, each one hoarding more and more wealth within the palace, going further and further to ignore Canth's plights.
"The country, unfortunately, isn't fond of having a Queen. I feel that half the citizens would prefer an infant to sit on the throne, could they call him their King. When I was six, I told my father that I was indeed a girl, and that I was to be called Atalanta, from that point on. And do you know what he said? He turned to my brother, laughed, and said Thank the gods she figured that out. We coulda had a traitor in our midst. Terrible man, but hardly extraordinarily so.
“Still, the palace used to have ceilings of gold. Can you believe that? Her first act as Queen was to have them stripped away, melted down, and used to aid cities at the mercy of a famine.”
That was something. If she was willing to break down her own palace to help her subjects, then perhaps she'd be willing to help me, if it meant healing the masses.
“How long have you worked for her?”
“Five years. From the day of her coronation,” Atalanta said, holding the reins out and encouraging me to take them with a smile. “I have known her for a lot longer, however. Twenty years, I believe. Ever since she was sixteen. Prior to serving her, I was a bounty hunter, often contracted by her father.”
Loyalty, then, was nothing new to her. I gripped the reins, finding it easier to relax with a task to focus on.
“What about Varn?” I asked, still marvelling at her ability to fall asleep whenever and wherever she chose.
“Varn has been with us for two years. I was sent to investigate what turned out to be a minor incident in Port Mahon, and had the pleasure of meeting her,” Atalanta said, glancing back at her. “I returned several times, of my own choosing. Somehow, Varn found it within herself to leave her ship and her crew behind. I hear the pirates still aren't terribly pleased by it.”
“They're kind of bitter,” I said, remembering Reis' words. “But I think they're still too scared of her to do anything about it.”
“Rightly so,” Atalanta agreed.
Chandaran came into view early that afternoon. It was situated alongside the Qart, where the river was so wide that boats headed back and forth across it. At a guess, Chandaran was half the size of Isin, though it covered almost as much land; the buildings were low, rarely more than two stories high each, all of them the colour of sand. I'd accepted the fact that not every settlement could be as colourful as Mahon, and as we headed through the grid of streets, I felt excitement growing within me.
The sight of people going about their daily business, dragging goats to market or fetching water from the wells that dotted the streets, mingled with the smell of spices sold on the back of carts, and all the sounds that rose into the air became part of the background. I wish I'd taken more of it in, but there was only one thing on my mind: the palace.
People stared at me, but I no longer cared to indulge my unfounded fears. I was there. I'd made it.
Like everything else in Chandaran, the palace was a low building, all of it on one level, save the four towers on the corners. A plain, dreary looking fence circled the perimeter, patrolled by a handful of guards. Even if Queen Nasrin was eager to donate what she could to her people, she couldn't compromise her own safety.
The gates were opened at the sight of Varn and Atalanta, guards snapping salutes as we rolled by, and Musashi and Fiennes guided us through the large, unattended gardens. Fountains and ponds had been left to dry up and stubborn weeds twisted into the cracked stonework.
Inside, it wasn't much different. The guards at the front doors of the palace were left to attend to Musashi and Fiennes, and Atalanta led me through the bare, dim corridors. As we headed through the palace, I didn't see a single portrait lining the walls, though the stone was discoloured where frames had once hung. The carpets that remained were threadbare and hardly any better than the stone floors, and not a single torch was lit where it didn't need to be; nor were there any ornaments lining cabinets that were no longer there.
“Her Majesty is busy,” a guard stationed outside of an unremarkable door said.
“Her Majesty will be busy kicking your head in if she knows you wasted our time,” Varn said, catching up to us. Half a second later and the guard was stepping to the side, clearing his throat. He glanced over and saw me for what I was, and instead of looking upon me with awe, something between respect and apprehension mingled in his expression.
Having bigger things to worry about, I ignored it.
Atalanta held the door open for me and I stepped in, followed by the pair of them. The room was nothing short of cluttered. Bookcases lined the walls, broken up by windows letting in a stifling breeze, and in the centre of the room, a low table was covered in what looked like a year's worth of letters and scrolls. A chaise lounge ran behind it, occupied by a striking looking woman in a bright orange sari.
She was incredibly lean, with braided hair trailing down to the feet
tucked up beneath her, and she bowed forward, glued to the letter she was writing.
“I'm busy,” she stated flatly, not looking up until she'd finished reading the sentence we'd caught her in the middle of. Her stern expression faded at the sight of me, skin and eyes unmistakable, and she broke out into a smile. “Ah. So there was a necromancer to be found. Welcome, welcome. Do excuse the mess, won't you.”
Queen Nasrin's pleasant greeting helped me to relax, but my jaw was fused shut. Where did I start? What should I say? Would it be better if I made my intentions clear immediately, so that she didn't feel as though she'd been misled?
Seeing me struggle for something to say, Varn took it upon herself to introduce me.
“This is Rowan of the Northern Woods,” she said.
“That's not...” I began, voice louder than it had any right to be around a Queen. I tried again in a whisper. “That's not my name. I'm not Rowan of the Northern Woods.”
“You grew up around the woods, right?” Varn asked, and I nodded. “And you're from the north. What's the problem?”
“The south! I'm from the south of Felheim,” I protested.
“North of us,” she said, shrugging. “What do you want from me?”
I shook my head, deciding that of all the ways I didn't want to argue with Varn, doing so in front of a Queen ranked chief amongst them. Thankfully, Queen Nasrin seemed amused by our back and forth, so I said, “My name is Rowan Northwood, Your Majesty. I came here because Varn and Atalanta extended the invitation, hoping that I might be able to help you, in exchange for—”
Queen Nasrin's demeanour changed in a few short words. She rose to her feet with a rush of fabric, and stared down at me.
“In exchange for? You came here to ask something of me?”
I cringed, biting the inside of my mouth. I'd barely managed to introduce myself, and yet I'd already said the wrong thing. Perhaps Kouris ought to have come with me after all.
