Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  “Who is?” Yeshton’s voice.

  Rille turned, triumph in her face. “Which do you think Jinji more resembles? A sweet lamb or a wild stallion?”

  The soldier hesitated, looking between each face. “Uh, well. I always thought him a fox, myself. He seems gentle, but he’s cunning and even manipulative when it comes down to the heart of matters.”

  Rille made an indignant sound. “You’re all blind. He’s nothing but meek and gentle.”

  “Who is?” asked Anadin as he strode across the deck to join them.

  “Jinji,” said Rille with heat.

  The second prince of KryTeer paused in his step. “He struck me as sickly and timid. Like a mouse.”

  The girl stamped her foot. “Now you’re being ridiculous. A mouse?”

  Anadin shrugged. “A sickly mouse. Yes.”

  Aredel chuckled. “I wonder how Jinji perceives himself if each of us sees him so differently. Perhaps I will ask.” The man in the crow’s nest shouted down to the captain. Aredel looked toward the approaching city. “But later. I welcome you officially to the waters of KryTeer’s Royal City: Bahadronn.”

  Swarms of people milled about the ports of Bahadronn, but that only lasted until the Blood Prince descended the gangplank of the warship Rahadreth. Like magic, the crowds parted; men in bloodred armor formed two columns, and Aredel glided between them, Jinji close at his side. Jetekesh and the rest of his companions followed, with Shevek and Ledonn taking the rear. A hush had fallen over the people of KryTeer in their bright colors and heavy jewelry.

  They’re afraid, thought Jetekesh. It’s fear and respect that keeps them still.

  Aredel led the company past the columns of Blood Knights, where a train of large palanquins came to a halt, carried by servants donned in bright red and gold silk. These palanquins were grander than the one at Keep Falcon. Golden threads and tassels glittered while jewels lined the silken fabric of the enclosed transports; they flashed and sparkled under the high sun. Aredel helped Jinji into the first palanquin and slipped in after his friend. Jetekesh and the others were led to the next contraptions.

  The crowds never moved. Never murmured. Only the sound of sea bells and the cry of gulls overhead severed the stillness. Jetekesh shivered. It was eerie.

  He climbed into the roomy palanquin and sat beside his father, listening to the tinkling chimes against the breeze. He had heard of KryTeer’s sea bells from his tutors. They’d used hushed tones when they spoke, like the servants always did when they told ghost stories around the kitchen hearth. As a child, Jetekesh had sneaked from his room on several occasions to hear them.

  Before KryTeer had become the war-seeking behemoth of the present age, it had been a country largely made up of seafaring explorers. The dainty sea bells were hung on sticks along the shores of KryTeer to welcome the boats each time the seafarers returned home. Jetekesh had heard countless tales of lost boats trawling a lover home to the sound of the bells. It was said the bells chimed, even on a windless day, when someone lost at sea returned and let his lover know his fate. Sentimental drivel, Jetekesh had always believed.

  But now, hearing the cry of the bells against the lapping waves, feeling the reverence of KryTeer’s people like he could almost drink it in, Jetekesh imagined the lost souls at sea coming home to end their wandering.

  Jinji. Ice gripped Jetekesh’s heart. What if the storyteller heard the bells, and somehow, somehow his soul slipped from its mortal cage to return to his home in Shing? To his own lost love?

  A hand fell on his shoulder. Father’s. Jetekesh looked into the hollowed face and the warm eyes.

  “Be brave,” Father whispered.

  Jetekesh pressed a little nearer to the thin body, and his heart thawed. Father was here, and Jinji was not far away. It was possible none of them would escape alive from KryTeer; but here, with those he loved, Jetekesh must be strong. Too long he’d been weak and frustrated by Mother’s stifling protectiveness. Now, surrounded by enemies, frightened for good reason, helpless to escape or triumph, he could prove she’d been wrong to cage him: he was stronger than she ever thought.

  Rille and Yeshton joined them inside the palanquin. The transport swayed as it began to move. The rhythmic motion calmed Jetekesh’s nerves a little, and he closed his eyes to shut out the ornate interior. He could smell the fragrance of hot spices. Sweat. Salt. But it all became distant, like a hovering dream. This half-conscious, comfortable distance remained until Jetekesh lost track of time. There were only spices and chimes and rocking forth, back, forth.

  The motion ceased. Jetekesh jerked forward, heart in his throat.

  The curtain door lifted aside, and a Blood Knight glowered into the large compartment. “Out.”

  Father climbed out first, Jetekesh next, followed by his cousin, and last her knight. The palanquin behind them released Sir Palan, an irritated Tifen, and a trembling Kyella, who hadn’t intended to come to KryTeer, but who came nonetheless at Prince Anadin’s insistence. Apparently, he was quite taken with her.

  Jetekesh turned from them. His lungs hitched. Stairs. Such stairs he’d never beheld in his life. They climbed upward for ages; white marble veined with silver, wide and high, until the palace stretched above it, blindingly white, straight, and proud, topped by a dome of brilliant gold. Four spires surrounded the dome in a perfect square, while the face of the palace itself was made up of archways and peculiar, elaborate carvings of great elephants, wild stallions, fierce lions, mighty birds, and the heathen symbols of their gods and goddesses.

  It was obscene, Jetekesh tried to tell himself. But he was riveted by its alien beauty.

  The Blood Prince approached, a circlet now resting on his brow. He inclined his head toward Father, offered a faint smile to Jetekesh, then pinned his eyes on Rille.

  “You will remain at my side as we enter. King Jetekesh has agreed to assist me in presenting you to the Emperor. If anyone should try to spare you, I will remove his hand.” A quick glance at Kyella. “Or her hand, as it may be.”

  Kyella looked too pale and shaken to attempt anything, thought Jetekesh. But he said nothing aloud. Here, Aredel would reveal his true intent, whatever it may be. He owed only Jinji, and his loyalty remained to KryTeer. Amantier was but a province in his mind, conquered, insignificant. And he was right. Why then did he treat everyone civilly?

  A fleeting time ago, Jetekesh would’ve presumed it an act to keep them complacent, and he’d not have bought it. Nor would anyone else. Yet now everyone remained still and allowed Aredel to do as he wished. Was it trust in the Blood Prince? Surely not. Jetekesh and Jinji alone should harbor any such feeling; and even Jetekesh’s trust was parchment thin. Yet Father had come along willingly, and he agreed now to aid in Rille’s presentation before the dread emperor.

  There must be more to this. Jetekesh hoped against hope Aredel intended to slay Bloody-handed Gyath and take over as KryTeer’s ruler; but was that possible? Wouldn’t the Emperor be surrounded by his own force of Blood Knights and priests? His own great entourage so close, so loyal, not even his children could come too near? So Jetekesh’s tutors had always painted in his mind.

  Aredel was clever. But Emperor Gyath knew it.

  The company started up the steps. Jinji rode upon an open, single-seat palanquin carried by four servants. Had the storyteller’s hair turned whiter since the docks? Jetekesh bit his lip and watched as he strode beside the palanquin. Despite his growing weakness, Jinji’s strange eyes drank in the view of the gaudy palace.

  The ascent took longer than Jetekesh had feared. A servant had come up beside the palanquin and opened a silken parasol to shade Jinji from the hot sun. Jetekesh dearly envied the storyteller, as sweat poured down his back. Now, as he crested the last step, dragging in gasps of air, Jetekesh’s heart fell. There was still a lengthy path to the palace’s front doors. The walk was flanked by two long, clear, rectangular pools reflecting the palace stretching overhead. Jetekesh ached to douse himself with water, but he buried the ur
ge. First of all, it was heathen water. Second, it was sacred to KryTeerans, and Jetekesh preferred to keep his hands attached to his arms.

  At least up here, on a hill overlooking the capital city, a faint breeze stirred. Not cool, but not quite hot. It felt good against Jetekesh’s brow, and he sucked it in gratefully as he trudged on. He could taste spices each time he inhaled. More than once, he sneezed.

  At long last the doors of the palace loomed a few yards ahead. Four guards in golden armor stood before the carved wooden doors, swords raised to cross at an angle over one another. As Aredel marched forward, the swords lifted until they pointed heavenward, and the guards bowed their heads in unison.

  One spoke strange words that flowed like a chanting song.

  Aredel cupped his hands, pressed them to his chest, and inclined his head in a slow, deliberate nod. The guards moved, two on the left turning right, two on the right turning left, and they backed away from the doors. A great crashing boom sounded within. A gong, Jetekesh thought. The doors pushed outward to admit the High Prince of KryTeer.

  This was it. Jetekesh’s heart swelled in his throat, and he wheezed for breath. This was real. He was going to stand before the dread Emperor of KryTeer.

  He couldn’t wake up.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  35

  Before the Emperor

  Never had Jetekesh seen so many jewels, so many gold surfaces, so many rugs and tapestries. Amantier was a prosperous country, but frugal in its fashions. Even the royal treasury, with its wealth of gems and artifacts dating back to Cavalin the Third, was nothing to the pomp of KryTeer’s enormous throne room.

  Jetekesh gaped, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Only the two princes of KryTeer and their servants could be underwhelmed by the grandiose display of wealth. Even Jinji, climbing from his palanquin, stared in open admiration.

  The chamber was vast, and long, gleaming. At the far end, elevated high above the floor, perched a man of great girth. A table had been placed before his golden throne, spread with heaps of steaming food on platters and in tureens of solid gold. He ate heartily, licking his fat fingers between each succulent bite, a dribble of grease trailing down his several chins; but his eyes fixed on his sons. His brow wrinkled.

  Dancers bowed low as they backed away from the open space below the high throne. The chamber was crowded with people dressed in ornate costumes and intricate headpieces. Women draped silk across their faces to hide all but their dark eyes. Earrings and bangles flashed as they turned to murmur to their neighbors when Aredel strode forward. Rille trotted beside him. Jinji and Father went next, and Jetekesh scurried to join them. The others came last.

  “Aredel, my firstborn of the Bloodfold,” boomed a voice that rattled Jetekesh’s bones. It was deep and mighty; not at all the whining, mincing tone Jetekesh had anticipated from the fat man seated above.

  Of course not. He might be slovenly, but he’s still the Emperor of KryTeer. Hadn’t Jetekesh heard a thousand stories of this man’s strength on the battlefield? Hadn’t Gyath been a demon in the minds of all his foes? Not like Aredel, perhaps; but his reputation was well-earned. While Emperor Gyath had taken to glutting himself, he still maintained the air of a powerful figure.

  The Blood Prince reached the rug below the throne; he fell to one knee, bowed his head, and pressed a fist to his forehead. “Holy Emperor, I have returned bearing a great gift.”

  Jetekesh’s stomach lurched. His eyes darted to Rille standing beside Aredel. Was he really going to give the girl over to the emperor? Hadn’t it been just a ploy to get in here? Was it all a trick? Did Aredel intend to hand them over to the Holy Empire, thereby proving his loyalty to Gyath and sparing his own life? All so he could finish conquering the last corners of the world?

  Bile burned in Jetekesh’s throat. Lightheaded, he swayed.

  “Present your gift,” Emperor Gyath rumbled.

  “May I first—”

  “Hello, Holy Father.” Anadin’s amiable voice.

  The emperor’s face turned red. “Silence, you useless fool!”

  Anadin’s smile remained, but he shrugged and held his tongue.

  Aredel glanced at his brother, then still bowing, swept his hand toward Father. “My Holy Emperor, may I first present unto you King Jetekesh the Fourth of your newest principality, that ungrateful and self-righteous country, Amantier.”

  Jetekesh bristled but bit his lip. Remain calm. Do not become angry. He’s merely performing.

  Father took a single step forward, keeping his eyes lowered. He knelt upon the tapestry, rested his palms against the floor, and bowed forward until his head touched his hands. “Most holy and venerable emperor, it is the dearest honor of my life to bow before you.”

  The murmurs of the gentry—could they be called gentry?—grew louder. Heat climbed Jetekesh’s cheeks as his limbs shook. He had never felt so humiliated, not ever in all his life. To see his father bow and scrape before a heathen tyrant—!

  “Well, well,” boomed Gyath. “I am pleased, my son. Most pleased. Long have I craved this moment. Long have you, O throneless Jetekesh the Fourth, withstood my invitations to allow your tiny country to join itself to my empire. But now, here you are, a pebble beneath my shoe.” He let out a bellowing laugh that shook the ornate lamps above. The sound grated on Prince Jetekesh’s soul like grit in his teeth.

  “That is not all, my holy emperor,” said Aredel. “He has also bestowed upon you a gift. The very gift you sent me to claim for you in Amantier.”

  Jetekesh risked a glance at the face above him. Emperor Gyath’s eyes gleamed, and a hungry smile lifted the flaps of his cheeks. “So.” The man’s voice cracked like thunder. “This child is the gifted one?” He leaned forward, sausage fingers gripping the arms of his throne. “You could not find her on your own, Aredel? Perhaps your skill diminishes.”

  “Amantier is a strange land, Holy Father,” was the Blood Prince’s curt reply. “Who better to lead me through its winding provinces than its own ruler? Besides, he had something to gain by assisting me if your magnanimous will finds no fault in the idea. Would you grant unto Jetekesh the right to maintain his reign, acting as governor of Amantier beneath your mighty banner, Most Majestic One?”

  “Oh-ho?” crowed the massive man. But his eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a fool, O son? Do you think I would not see your secret desire? You and this stubborn, ungrateful man have formed an alliance. To whom shall he be more loyal? You, who speaks on his behalf, or me, for whom he blames our conquest?”

  “You are wise,” said Aredel, bowing his head. “Yet this is not our intent, my father. Behold, Rille, the child you have long sought. Do you think I would try a cunning ploy with this new weapon in your arsenal? She, whose gifts I have seen along our journey home?”

  “A fair point, yet I have no proof this is the very child. How can she reveal her gift to me?”

  “I shall show you, if I may be allowed to speak for myself.” Rille’s voice rose like lark song. The emperor’s eyes speared her, but she stood with chin high and shoulders back.

  Gyath chuckled. “So you say, tiny one, yet your eyes smolder with defiance.”

  “I am no man’s, that he may gift me to another.”

  The emperor’s smile lifted in a lopsided smirk. “Yet you would prove to me your gift? Why?”

  “I hold no fealty to Amantier, for the kingdom is no more, my father is dead, and my uncle betrays me. Should I not use my gift within your court, I am no better off than a waif in the streets of a heartless city. If I do serve you willingly, you shall bestow upon me every luxury my talent deserves. Is this not so?”

  Gyath slapped his large hand against the arm of his throne and let loose a laugh like a wild storm. “What a child!” More bellowing laughter. “Clever. Very clever. It is true: if you please me, I shall give you riches and prestige the like of which none other may know, not even my sons. Prove yourself unto me. Show me your gift!”

  The echoes of pelting laughter died a
gainst the distant, muraled ceiling. All fell still. Rille stood alone beneath the throne of KryTeer, fearless, proud. Jetekesh’s heart galloped. She must be afraid, though she didn’t show it. He was terrified, even though Gyath had no use for him…

  Maybe that’s why I have cause to fear. Throneless, weaponless, I’m nothing anymore.

  Not so. Jinji calls me friend. His breath snagged. He glanced toward the storyteller who stood close by, pale, perspiring, but riveted on Rille. Jetekesh reached out to him and caught his sleeve. Jinji turned, startled. He blinked and smiled gently. They both shifted back to Rille.

  The little girl considered Gyath for a long, long moment. A faint breeze whispered from the open windows flanking the walls of the chamber, and strands of Rille’s hair drifted in a lazy dance. She breathed.

  “Well?” Gyath’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you see anything?”

  “Hush,” said Rille. “If it were as easy as shouting, anyone could do it.”

  Prince Anadin laughed—the only one who dared.

  Time pressed on. The heat of the day grew and sweat trickled down Jetekesh’s temples and back. Despite the perfume of the courtiers around him, the onion odor of hot bodies haunted the air. Rille was so still she might have been carved of stone.

  A fly hummed overhead. Jetekesh cringed as it flew nearer.

  “I See,” stated Rille. Though her voice was quiet, her words traveled through the silent chamber. “Your reign is troubled by a fear of betrayal. Long have you heard the whispers of those who should love you best; and even now you expect daggers in the dark. Be at rest, O Emperor, for you shall reign until a man, crowned by chains, shall appear and give unto you immortality in payment of all you have given.”

  Gyath’s eyes widened. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Immortality?” A grin stretched across his face until his teeth bared. “I shall truly be a god!” He turned toward a cluster of men in robes near the base of his raised platform. “You see? She is a true Seer! Yet you doubted me. Doubted my wisdom! I shall be a god in the flesh! Ha!”