Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  Queen Bareene was buried behind the keep without pomp or ceremony. Aredel denied King Jetekesh’s request for a stone to mark her grave.

  His reason was simple. “In KryTeer an unfaithful woman is drawn, quartered, and burned into ash to then be mixed in bitter wine and imbibed by the men with whom she dallied. Be thankful I haven’t the time to spend on formalities.”

  Aredel also oversaw the execution of Queen Bareene’s traveling companion. Sir Foan was buried beside the queen, having been spared the aforementioned formalities himself.

  Shevek saw to the organization of a caravan for the journey to the Drifting Sands. They would leave the next morning and travel through the heat until eventide, when they should reach the border of the wastes. Aredel found himself annoyed that the journey must be delayed, but preparation was important. There was always risk near the desert, and especially now. He could taste the approaching army on the cool winds tonight. Lord Father had sent Anadin at last.

  “You are grim,” said Jinji, coming up behind Aredel on the keep’s outer wall.

  Aredel glanced at him. “And you are pale. You should be resting.”

  “I have rested all day.” Jinji leaned against the nearest raised merlon. “What troubles you this night, Prince Aredel?”

  “So formal.” Aredel tried a smile, but it felt heavy and he let it fall. “My father is sending Anadin to kill me.”

  Jinji’s brow drew. “Will he reach the keep soon?”

  Aredel shrugged. “You’re the one with true sight. You must tell me if anyone knows.”

  “That is not how my vision works. I’m afraid I am not useful in this matter.”

  Aredel turned from the storyteller and leaned against the crenel to stare out into the growing shades of night. For a time neither man spoke. Wind danced with the banners overhead. The murmur of the watch floated in the air. Torches guttered against the keep’s imposing face.

  “Are you afraid?” Aredel asked at last.

  “To die? No.” Jinji pushed free of the merlon and moved to Aredel’s side. He sagged against the crenel and stared down at the moat. “Not anymore.”

  “But you were?” Aredel glanced at Jinji to study the man’s profile. “Why? You of all people have no cause to fear death. What sins have you committed?”

  Jinji’s faint smile was wry. “A coward’s sin, perhaps. I have been running.”

  “You had no choice.”

  “That isn’t what I mean. That I’ve made powerful enemies does not frighten me. My own feelings do. Aredel, sometimes…” He drew a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel so angry. So resentful.”

  Aredel turned away and fought against a laugh. “Oh, Jinji. How human you sound. You condemn yourself for the very thing that makes you so endearing to me. If another man harbors the same anger or resentment, you soothe and comfort him and tell him all will mend itself in time. But you aren’t allowed these same feelings? And all this time I’ve thought you a humble man.”

  “Not so,” said Jinji. “I am a proud creature. I demand much of myself, and it is a torment.”

  “You were such a man on the day we met, but not now. Now you are caught in your memories as you look back upon your life, aware that it is winding down. But you conquered your demons long ago, my friend. These feelings you have fled from—they don’t exist any longer. The wrath in your eyes has burned away. Only injustice reignites that long-ago fire, and only in the matters of those around you. Do you still hate your father?”

  Jinji sighed. “No. No, thank the spirits of the earth. I reconciled with him at his graveside.”

  “He is dead?”

  “For two years now.”

  “Hashab keep his tainted soul,” spat Aredel.

  Jinji laid a hand on his shoulder. “No need to speak ill of the dead.”

  Aredel laughed. “So you also said that day in Shing. But your tone is kinder now. How we’ve both grown. You, into the meek lamb of summer days. I, into the ice-crusted fortress of bloody conquest. We could not be more different from one another than we are.”

  “And does that matter?” Jinji leaned further out on the crenel and pointed at a distant dark line. “There, Aredel. The southern road. My path is straight before me. And, as you promised yesteryear, we shall go the last stretch together. I had not thought it possible at the time, for I’d just learned you were the high prince of KryTeer with a separate destiny upon your broad shoulders. But destiny is a strange thing: not set in stone like the works of man, but vast and endless, like the distant stars whose guiding flames endure long after death.” He turned his eyes skyward, but the heavens were cradled in clouds that hid the stars from view.

  He sighed. “This night seems endless.”

  Jetekesh shivered as he and his companions stepped out into the chill breeze of early morning. He exchanged a glance with Rille as they were left to stand beside a wagon. A long procession of wagons, soldiers, servants, and a large, screened palanquin lined in gold gleamed in the dawn light. Jinji stood beside the palanquin, speaking with someone hidden beneath a heavy cloak. The storyteller broke from his conversation to look toward the prisoners, and Jetekesh jerked his head away.

  The crunch of footfalls against the gravel drive came near. Jetekesh resisted looking until curiosity drove his gaze back toward the palanquin. Sure enough, Jinji strolled toward him, eyes smiling.

  “My friends, I am glad you are free of the dungeon.”

  “No thanks to you, traitor,” said Tifen.

  Jetekesh nodded his vehement agreement.

  Jinji’s smile softened. “I do not blame you for your feelings, Tifen, son of Palan.”

  The protector stiffened.

  “Easy now,” said Sir Palan, stepping forward. “No cause to squabble. It will only harm us.” He looked down at Jinji with a grave frown. “You deceived us, Jinji.”

  “That, I never did.”

  “Jinji speaks the truth,” said Rille. “His friendship with the Blood Prince did not cause our capture. I know it.”

  Jetekesh snorted. “You guess it only, cousin.”

  Footsteps crunched behind the party. Jetekesh glanced toward the sound to find the Blood Prince striding their way. He was dressed in bloodred armor and his dark eyes appeared the same red color under the morning sun.

  “Jinji of Shing speaks true, Amantierans. He did not expect me to be here ahead of your company, nor did he wish me to keep you imprisoned. It is at his behest that you will travel now with us to the Drifting Sands.”

  Jetekesh whirled back to face Jinji. “Why? Why have us come?”

  The storyteller’s eyes filled with something like pain. He opened his mouth to answer, but coughs broke through his words. He doubled over and sank to his knees, gasping between fits.

  Jetekesh stared, alarm ringing in his mind. The Blood Prince trotted past the party and knelt beside Jinji. He murmured soothing words until the fit passed. When Jinji lifted his head at last, Jetekesh was startled to find his hair whiter than before; indeed, it was more white than black now.

  “We must move,” said the Blood Prince. He pulled Jinji to his feet without any effort. “Shevek, Ledonn, get the prisoners into the wagon.”

  Jetekesh allowed himself to be herded. Mother was dead; he’d been told so the day before. She had tried to kill Jinji, and for that she’d been cut down. Now Jinji was dying. That was no longer in question. It was only a matter of when it would occur.

  Just as well. Jetekesh slumped down in the wagon and buried his head in his hands. He envied them. Why must everyone leave him behind?

  Feet thumped past him into the wagon, and he glanced up. Rille sat nearby. Tifen took Jetekesh’s other side. Sir Palan claimed a place across from him, along with Sir Yeshton. Jetekesh buried his face again. Another set of boots sounded against the heavy wood of the rocking wagon-bed.

  Would Jinji ride with them after all?

  Jetekesh looked up.

  The cowled man stood before him, outlined by the golden sky above. “Kesh?�
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  Jetekesh recoiled from the familiar nickname. His back slammed into the wagon’s high wall. Who would dare to use Father’s pet name for him?

  The man knelt and Jetekesh could see into the shadows of the cowl. A man’s face. Father’s face. Impossible.

  The ghost smiled. “Hello, Kesh.” A finger lifted to his lips. “Don’t react. Few know of my presence here, and Prince Aredel insisted it remain that way for now. But I’m here, Kesh. It’s really me. The rumors of my death were false.”

  “Impossible.”

  Father shook his head, a smile on his lips, color in his skin. “Not so, son. I’m better now. The Blood Prince saved my life.”

  “Your Majesty,” whispered Tifen, and he shifted to drop into a low bow.

  “None of that for now, Tifen,” said Father. “Formalities will give me away. I am merely a foreign guest of the Blood Prince at present. Best to call me Setwesh, as Prince Aredel does in company with others.”

  Jetekesh reached out. He caught the cloak in his hand and tugged. Father reached up and took his hand. Squeezed it. It was his hand. His smile. His blue eyes.

  With a cry, Jetekesh threw himself against Father’s chest and sobbed. “I thought…”

  “I know,” whispered the king, wrapping his arms, so strong and steady, around Jetekesh. “But I’m here now, Kesh. I won’t leave you again, not for many years to come. Shh.”

  The wagon rolled forward with a jolt and a shout from the driver. The caravan was underway.

  Jetekesh didn’t care. He could go anywhere now, be anywhere, even in the very heart of KryTeer, and he wouldn’t fear or complain. Father was alive. Jetekesh wasn’t alone. The dearest man in the world was here, holding him, soothing him. Alive.

  The desert shone like gold in the sunset. Jetekesh had never seen its like before. When courtiers back home mentioned the southern wastes, the prince had always pictured a barren land, cracked and dead. But the Drifting Sands were dazzling beneath the red-streaked evening sky.

  A Blood Knight herded him and his companions from the wagon. Already High Prince Aredel and Jinji stood at the border into the desert, where wild grass ended all at once and sand began. The wind too was strange. A faint breeze stirred in the grassland, while within the desert high winds howled and thrashed, lifting the sand to dance against the sky.

  “I would venture to call this more than mere drifting sands,” murmured Sir Palan. “Why not raging sands or a desert tantrum?”

  Yeshton grunted his agreement.

  Lord Milgar wandered nearby. “The fairies are unsettled.”

  Jinji spoke to the Blood Prince, but his voice was too soft for Jetekesh to hear.

  Prince Aredel nodded and turned to face the caravan. “Set up camp here.”

  “What happens now?” asked Sir Yeshton of the old knight.

  Sir Palan shook his head. “‘Tis any man’s guess.”

  A faint moan brought Jetekesh’s attention to Rille, who stumbled as she held her head.

  Sir Yeshton stepped to her side at once. He caught her arm to steady her. “My lady?”

  “Sir Knight, I saw a force of great strength descending upon us from the northwest. It will soon be here.”

  Sir Yeshton looked up in alarm. “Should we tell the Blood Prince?”

  Sir Palan’s face was lined with worry. “I’m unsure.”

  “He is coming toward us,” said Tifen.

  Father stepped from the concerned circle and approached Prince Aredel.

  “Trouble is coming this way,” Jetekesh heard him say.

  The Blood Prince nodded as Father’s voice lowered until his words were indistinct. Jetekesh stared. Was Father bespelled somehow? To warn the Blood Prince, to confide in him Rille’s secret sight, was ludicrous.

  The king and the high prince approached Rille.

  “How far off?” asked Prince Aredel.

  Rille shook her head. “I don’t know. But close, or I would not have seen it just now. I most often see threats when they are very near.”

  The Blood Prince nodded and moved away, steps firm even in the tall grass. “Jinji, when must you enter the desert?”

  “Near noon tomorrow, I believe.”

  “Very well.” Prince Aredel moved away to bark orders at his soldiers while servants pitched great tents in bright colors. Fine foods were unloaded from the other wagons and toted into the shade of the tents while musicians unpacked instruments.

  It was like a royal outing back home, and for a moment Jetekesh could almost pretend nothing had changed since then. But the banners flirting overhead were the red and black of KryTeer, rather than the gold and red of Amantier, and the music was the strains of foreign lands, unfamiliar and peculiar. The food was a mixture of Amantier and KryTeer cuisine.

  Jetekesh, Father, and the rest of the prisoners were permitted to sup with the Blood Prince, his two attendants, old Lord Milgar, and Jinji Wanderlust in the largest tent. The canvas doors had been tied aside, and strange, lightweight netting hung in the doorway to keep away insects and invite the breeze.

  Seated upon plush cushions over an ornate rug, Jetekesh ate with a relish, despite his wariness in company with the enemy. He avoided any food he didn’t know, after Tifen reacted strongly to a dish he described as terribly spicy. Father too had a healthy appetite, and Jetekesh’s heart soared as he watched the king put down several heaping platefuls.

  Jinji was solemn where he sat at the head of the tent, at a long table set on short legs over an intricately woven rug. Jetekesh watched the Blood Prince try to converse with the storyteller several times, but while Jinji answered softly, his eyes always returned to the desert view beyond the screen. As Jetekesh studied him, Jinji blinked and turned his head. Their eyes met. The storyteller smiled. Jetekesh looked away. What did it matter to him if Jinji was lost in his own thoughts? Why should he care if the man looked downcast and afraid?

  “Shall we have a story?” asked Prince Aredel.

  A murmur of pleasure sounded from the KryTeeran attendants and soldiers throughout the tent.

  “I should like one,” said Father.

  “Aye,” agreed Sir Palan.

  Rille beamed at Jinji.

  Yeshton and Tifen held still, and Jetekesh joined them in their silence.

  The storyteller tore his gaze from the desert wastes. “A story? This night?” He shifted. “If you so wish it, I must comply.”

  For a long while Jinji sat so still, Jetekesh wondered wildly if the storyteller had died of his illness. But Jinji moved then, a smile spreading across his face, lighting his eyes, coloring his cheeks. His voice was the light, lilting music of birds in flight as he spoke of the two lost knights of Shinac.

  “Years ago, they served Prince Sharo faithfully, until the day Sharo’s father, King Darint, banished his son and heir from the kingdom. Devastated by the decree, the knights set out to reunite with their prince and serve him once more, for they could not abide the corruption of the wicked king.

  “Alas, King Darint perceived their desire and called a witch to him. He commanded her to keep the knights away from their prince by whatever means necessary. The witch was promised great wealth if she did so; thus, she agreed. The knights were cursed to forget what they wanted most to find, and thus they would search forever but never discover their prince, even should they meet him upon the road.

  “Pleased, the king ordered the witch to depart from his court, but he would not pay her. In anger, the witch secretly altered her curse. She could not undo its magic, for it had already been woven, but she could weave into the spell a means to overcome its magic. Forever would the knights seek what they could not remember; and if upon finding their prince, they again faithfully served him for his own merits, then would the curse be lifted. They would remember him once more.

  “And so, the knights traveled hither and thither, unaware of their curse, unable to recall their quest, but determined nonetheless to see it through. For many years they served those they encountered along their
journey, but always they just missed crossing the path of their beloved wandering prince. Until this very night. Tonight, they meet their prince upon the road, though they do not yet know him for who he is.” The imagery of the two bright-eyed, aimless knights in broken armor faded away. The storyteller bowed his head.

  A heavy silence followed. No one moved until the Blood Prince waved his hand.

  Musicians struck up a song. The evening slowly passed into night. Two servants entered the tent and handed out blankets to each prisoner.

  “You will sleep here,” said Ledonn as he approached the rug where Jetekesh and the rest sat. Guards stood at the door. The night air was cool, but not cold.

  The Blood Knights moved off to their sleeping quarters.

  Jetekesh heard the distant cry of the desert sands. Even before he shut his eyes, he began to dream of the two Shinacian knights walking side by side along a forest path, lost, forgetful, but boldly striding on. Just ahead, a white-haired, youthful, tall, and comely man came around a bend in the path, and he stopped to smile fondly at the knights. Waiting.

  25

  Beyond the Arch

  Jetekesh’s eyes fluttered open.

  Soft breaths rose around him in the dark.

  He sat up. Brushed his hair back and glanced around. What had awakened him? A faint light danced in his peripheral vision, and he craned his neck to find a candle against the black night.

  “Your Highness.” It was Jinji. The candle bobbed closer, and the storyteller’s face became visible. “Will you come with me?”

  Jetekesh recoiled. “Where?”

  “To the Drifting Sands.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “No. Now.”

  “Why?”

  Jinji fell still. “Please.”