Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  The beast had taken Ren’s measure and withdrawn, but for what reason? It had faced the tallest and boldest of the black shields. Why had it paused at the sight of Ren?

  “Did you see that?” said Kollen. “The thing looked right at us and turned around.”

  Indeed, the creature had turned around, and leapt at Gneuss’s soldiers. A dozen or more thrust out their spears, but it severed the shafts and tore through their armor. If this continued, the creature would slaughter half their force before they subdued it.

  The horn felt suddenly heavy in Ren’s pack and that buzzing sound rattled in his ear. Something had stirred within Ren. I have a weapon, he thought, and it is unlike any other. He lifted the crooked horn. Curling barbs dotted the shaft. It looked like a mud-slathered stick, a twig with too many branches. Ren knew otherwise. The staff was shorn from a god, or something like one.

  Horn raised, he went chasing after the nameless creature.

  He worried the beast would lash him with its tail, that its claws would sever his hand from his body before he even had a chance to strike with the ivory staff, but the nameless thing refused to assault him. When Ren advanced, the beast withdrew. The pair executed a subtle dance: Ren following, the creature retreating, slashing at the kingsguard and slaying them with ease. It was quick to attack, but it would not strike at Ren. That much was clear. Ren advanced, and when the creature was at last forced up against a wall, the kingsguard hurled a dozen spears at it while Ren thrust the horn into its back.

  Thinking the task was done, he stumbled backward, but the creature yet lived. It stood defiantly, thrashing about, but something in that last blow made its movements slow. It snarled, twisting this way and that, trying to pull free of the horn, but the bone sword was riddled with barbs and little bifurcating tusks. It would not loosen.

  Froth dribbled from the creature’s maw.

  The kingsguard retreated and the beast ceased its contortions. Its body was at last limp, near lifeless, the glimmer fading from its silvery eyes. It heaved one last breath and Ren caught the creature’s eye. Again, the beast offered him a questioning glance, the eyes of a hound whose master had betrayed him. It gazed at him with a strange sense of familiarity, just as the statues in that garden had done. Once more Ren felt that odd buzzing, that screeching noise that threatened to overwhelm his consciousness. He felt suddenly dizzy. Something was happening to him. The statues in the garden, the black creature. They were somehow connected. He guessed they were pieces in some puzzle, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to put them together.

  “For a bastard,” Kollen interrupted his thoughts, “you’re quite handy. Good to have in a pinch. How’d you manage that?”

  Ren shrugged, his head still pounding. He could explain nothing.

  It took three of the kingsguard to free the horn from the nameless creature’s back. They returned it to Ren, holding it up with an odd kind of reverence, as if they were returning a holy relic and not some crooked horn caked in mud and wet with the fallen creature’s blood.

  Ren snatched at the horn. He wasn’t certain why he was so eager to have it back. He simply wanted it, as if it were a part of him, something that he desperately needed to hold.

  “That was a feat,” Carr said.

  “It was more than a feat, it was a king’s work,” Gneuss said. “The old blood, that’s what that was.” The others seemed to agree. Some nodded, others gathered around Ren.

  Maybe I haven’t learned how to lead these men, but at least I’ve proven I can fight. It was a small start, but maybe that was how things worked. Gneuss had once been a thief, but he’d impressed the king and earned a position among his honored soldiers. Ren had done something similar and everyone had seen it. He hadn’t found a way out of the Hollows but he had saved a good number of the kingsguard. The soldiers slapped his back and knocked him jokingly. They’re treating me as their brother. After all this time, he’d earned a bit of respect from the men. He savored it. Even Kollen had a look of awe on his face, but he quickly wiped it away. Carr did nothing to hide his admiration, and neither did Tye. Gneuss gripped Ren’s shoulder manfully and gave it a good squeeze, his eyes on the bloody horn. “You’ve done well, bastard.”

  A call rang out from the far side of the chamber. It was Edric, and he was standing at the mouth of the cave. “Find cover,” he cried, though, in truth, it was too late for any of them to find shelter. The whistling of a sling followed close on his words. Most such weapons carried bullets made of stone or metal, but these yokes held something a bit less solid. The red soldiers lobbed heaps of entrails at the kingsguard. Coils of rotted viscera splattered on the stones, and the men retched at the sight of it.

  “It’s your morning meal,” cried out of one of the soldiers in red, a tall man with a cleft palate. “You’ve all done a wonderful job of making it through the night. You’ve even slain Mered’s favorite toy, so we thought we’d send you a little something to eat. We’ve been nibbling on biscuits and honey, but we guessed your lot would enjoy something a bit meatier,” the soldier japed. The men filled their pouches once more and launched heaps of offal into the air. One sling bore the severed head of a Harkan scout. They launched three more before the army parted and the red-robed pair, Admentus and Demenouk, appeared at the far side of the black river. Ren’s heart sank at the sight of them. There would be no escape, no smugglers’ routes to lead them out of the city.

  Admentus and his scribe stopped just short of the black stream, wriggling their noses at the stench and looking eager to be done with this business. The ransoms gathered around Ren. Gneuss stood at their backs, a hand placed again on Ren’s shoulder, his touch warm, almost comforting despite the circumstances.

  “The guard can take care of itself, so don’t go making some sacrifice on our behalf. Someone’s got to live through this,” Gneuss said, muttering that last part.

  “If we leave,” Ren said, “they’ll storm this place and…”

  “I know what’s coming. This moment’s about you folk, so get on with it,” Gneuss said, voice cold, emotionless.

  “Come now! Time to leave!” Admentus cried. “I don’t suppose any of you want to spend another night in the Hollows. From what I’ve heard it wasn’t a pleasant one, though I wouldn’t really know. I spent mine in a feathery bed, dreaming sweet dreams, just like you’ll be doing tonight. Come, boys.” His words echoed with surety. He seemed to think they would accept his offer, so he held out a hand and gestured for them to come forward.

  “Give us a moment,” Gneuss said.

  “A moment. Nothing more.” His words were as cold and hard as iron. The time for talk had come and gone.

  “Go,” said Gneuss, “all of you, just go. What comes next is just a bunch of dying and I’d rather not see children slaughtered.”

  “No,” said Ren. “I stay, but everyone else goes. Adin needs treatment. Down here, in the Hollows, he won’t last another night. Take the litter and take yourselves along with it.” Ren made certain to look each of the ransoms in the eye.

  No one said anything. There was too much pain, too much regret, the moment too charged to permit any of them to speak. Maybe they just wanted this all to be over, so they bent their heads and went about the task. Kollen and Tye lifted Adin’s litter and carried him toward the bridge. Adin took hold of Ren’s hand as he passed.

  “Ren,” said Adin, “I … I don’t want to go, I…”

  “It’s not about wanting,” said Ren. “I went all the way to Feren just to save your miserable ass. I won’t see it tossed away.”

  Adin grimaced. He hurt, but Ren could not be certain whether it was the wounds that pained him or his leaving. “I’ll come back,” said Adin, his voice faint. “I’ll march with every fucking soldier in Feren and I’ll come back for you. I’m not even a proper ransom. They set me free, remember, so perhaps they’ll do it again.” Adin spoke the truth, but Ren did not think he would find his freedom, not immediately.

  “Goodbye, Adin.” Ren said the
words he thought he’d never say. “Please, you have my blessing. Share the sun’s fate and all that.”

  Kollen tossed Curst onto the litter, as the soldiers had done once before. Carr went too, and since Ren had not known the boy, he only shrugged as the ransom passed. Tye and Kollen held the litter. A bridge led them over the black river, but they did not cross it. Only Carr made his way to the far side. Kollen and Tye simply laid Adin atop the bridge before coming back to where Ren stood.

  Confused, perhaps, Admentus spoke out, “Come now,” he said. “The rest of you better gather your things and make your way across the bridge. I won’t ask again.”

  “Go, Tye.” Ren blurted out the words. He put his arm around her, stealing one last embrace. “Go on,” he commanded. “Spend your days in a cell. But one day they’ll set you free and then you can have whatever you desire—a life, and a husband, perhaps.” That last bit hurt Ren the most.

  He was giving her away.

  He would never leave the Hollows, but she could get out. He took her by the shoulders and pointed her toward the bridge.

  Tye would not budge. Her eyes were red and glossy and she’d bitten something off her lip. She clearly had something to say, but from the look on her face, she knew it would pain him.

  “What is it?”

  Tye glanced at the bridge. “I’m not doing it.” She paused again, reluctant, but she went on. “I’d rather fight it out down here than go back to those cells. They know about me, Ren. You know that—right? I’m a girl, and they all want to stick their pricks in me.” She shouted it out for everyone to hear. “There’ll be no safety for me in the priory. No. I don’t care about dying in this hole. I’d rather take a sword than suffer a month beneath the sun or half a lifetime in a cage. I’m staying.”

  He gave her another push.

  “No, Ren. I won’t.”

  “Dammit, you have to,” he said.

  A hand gripped his shoulder. It was Kollen. “I don’t think the girl’s going.” He said it softly, so no one else could hear him.

  “Fine,” said Ren. “She stays. Your work is done, Kollen. Take your leave. Go and be an asshole somewhere else.”

  Kollen’s hand had not yet left Ren’s shoulder. “No. I’m also staying. See, Hark-Wadi, you’re a bit of an asshole, too, and as you’ve often noted, so am I. We’re quite alike, the two of us. Stubborn and all that. I’m never going back to one of those stinking cells.” To make his decision known, Kollen turned to the red army, dropped his breeches, and aimed a great piss in their direction.

  It was answer enough.

  Admentus rejoined the ranks of his men, shaking his head a bit as he did it. The soldiers draped the ransoms in heavy woolen blankets and offered them cups of amber and strips of hard meat as they led them away. Ren thought he spied a bit of fruit, too, a meal like the one he so desperately wanted.

  “We’re done here,” Admentus said, the red army forming ranks in the distance, ready to commence with their attack. “We only wanted the tall Feren, but we’ll take the others. We needed him alive and the Harkan dead.” His eyes met Ren’s. “I suppose we’ll have both accomplished in short order.”

  12

  A new banner hung in the King’s Hall of Harkana. Merit was certain of it, and this was not the only change she noticed. In her father’s day, lamplights flickered high in the corners of the room, but that had been the extent of the illumination. As she walked into the chamber, torches blazed from every wall, and two great braziers churned with flame, one on each side of the throne, and the banner had changed. In fact, the changing of the cloth bothered her almost as much as the boy who sat beneath it. The cloth was foreign, much like the king.

  Just the sight of him on the throne, pompous and smirking, made Merit want to draw her short sword and cry out to every trueborn Harkan in the room for assistance—assuming there were any. The boy certainly did not belong on the throne, and the men who surrounded him didn’t seem to belong here either. Feeling uneasy, she fingered the pommel of her sword, but a guard slipped the blade from her grip before she had a chance to draw it, which was probably best for Merit. Acting rashly seldom led to favorable ends, so she exchanged her anger for calm and addressed the boy politely. “I’m told you are a king?” It was a question. She desired some explanation for how and why this boy had come to sit upon the throne. He gave no answer, so she asked, “Are you the bastard son of Arko, the one that went on that hunt? Did you slay the deer?” She cocked her head as she spoke. Merit already knew the answer. Shenn had met Arko’s bastard, so when he saw the boy he gave Merit a subtle shake of the head, letting her know that this was not the boy he’d met on the hunt. She hardly needed the confirmation. Arko’s bastard would have already strung her up for treason. But aside from making her wait at the gates, this king had shown no obvious resentment toward Merit or her husband. So who are you? she wondered. And how did you take the throne?

  “Sister,” he said. His tone was bright, almost friendly, but it left an ill feeling in her gut. He had no right to address her as such, but he went on speaking. “I am not the man you think.”

  Well, that was for certain.

  “I was born of Sarra Amunet,” he said. “I am the true son of Arko and his queen, but I wasn’t raised in Harwen. I’m afraid I missed whatever childhood we might have shared. Instead, I was brought up by my mother, in total seclusion, in the city of Desouk.”

  “And do you have some proof of your parentage? Is my mother here?” Merit would not bend the knee until she was certain of the boy’s identity.

  “Our mother is in Solus. And your proof,” he said, standing, revealing that one of his sleeves was empty except for the shadow of something small within it, the outlines of an odd little arm. “This is your proof,” he said. “If Mother had shown me to her king, he’d have thrown me to the jackals. She didn’t fancy that, and she didn’t want me to be raised in the priory, so she sent the other boy. The bastard son of Arko served in my place, the boy who was born the same week. She sent him to the Priory of Tolemy, and our father never knew the difference. Even when he named Ren his heir, he did not know his true identity.” The boy forced his lips into a small, slender smile. “All that is in the past though—isn’t it? Harkana has its rightful monarch, and we are better off for it. Ransoms make poor kings—do they not?”

  “True enough,” said Merit. He made a decent case, but she wasn’t convinced. This boy is not Harkan. He was not her brother, but could she prove it? That was the question. He was already on the throne. But how did he take it? Did he simply march into the city and sit his ass upon the empty chair? There were too many questions here and too few answers to make any sense out of them.

  “But the horns,” she blurted out. “Surely you must undertake the hunt, as my father did and his father before him.”

  “With this arm? Do you think I’m a fool? I’ve heard about the hunt and what it entails, the high cliffs and narrow defiles. I could never attempt that, not with this withered little thing for an arm, and I haven’t the constitution for a long journey or the murdering of beasts. Why do you think Mother hid me in the first place?” His reply was not entirely unreasonable. She understood the logic, but she did not accept it. To be a king meant something in this land; one did not acquire the Horned Throne easily. She’d kill an eld herself if it would earn her the chair, but the task was already done. The boy in Solus had the horns, or so it was said.

  “Traditions are not easily set aside,” she reminded the boy who sat on the throne. “To do so might sow unrest among the common folk, and the warlords as well.”

  “Well, perhaps that is where you can assist me, dear sister. You were raised in the Hornring—I think that’s what you call it. Surely Merit Hark-Wadi can act as my emissary and explain the uniqueness of my position.”

  That you are an imposter, she thought, and an outlandish one at that. Her mouth moved as if to speak, but she held herself back once more. She maintained her queenly composure. It’s what she was goo
d at. In contrast, nothing about the boy suggested the power or presence of a king. He looked like some minor dignitary, or, worse yet, some lowly servant sent to carry out a duty he’d rather not perform. He sat limply in the chair, the great horns making him look small and insignificant.

  In the silence that followed, the boy’s blank expression resolved into something harsher, the lines of his young face hardening at the eyes. He pursed his lips.

  “I’ve had some time to consider your arrival,” he said, and it was indeed true. The boy had made her camp outside the city. “I have an idea of sorts. I think it’s a rather good one, though I doubt you’ll agree with it, not at first. Nevertheless, we Harkans must stand together and we ought to embrace my reign. I’ve come up with a rather novel way of completing this task. Come forward.”

  He motioned to Merit, but she did not move. She stood alongside Shenn, wishing he were in better shape, that he were his old self, strong and reassuring, ever deft in combat.

  He could offer no help, so all she could do was shrink away as the guards came to fetch her. Two of them held her by the arms and brought her before the king.

  “Two things,” said the boy. “First, kneel and pledge yourself to me. Do it in front of all who have gathered.”

  This is wrong, she thought, and completely without precedent. She was still queen regent as far as she was concerned, and even if she wasn’t, she had no need to swear anything to this child.

  “Perhaps we should wait,” she protested. “Shouldn’t there be a proper coronation?” Surely the boy had not had time to perform one. “We must summon the warlords, the seven. The men must pledge oaths to you. It’s our way.”