The Savage War

by Esther Wallace

  Arnacin found that he was backing away, step by slow step. He barely prevented himself from shaking his head. “You need someone who will be here after the war. I can’t do it, I’m sorry.”

  “Arnacin…” Sighing, Miro turned back to his throne, but it seemed to the islander that he was almost using that movement to hide his expression. Once at the far end of the hall, however, the king turned back. “New arrangements will be made once this war has ended, but until then I need a councilor who I can depend on to have the good of Mira first and foremost in their thoughts. I will accept your considered answer this evening, when you have had time to think about it.”

  Recognizing the dismissal, the islander bowed out, but as one of the king’s guards shut the door behind him, his thoughts turned to the dungeons. Could it be that Miro had just realized what Memphis was? He could have just as easily dismissed him from service, unless there were political machinations of which Arnacin had not yet heard.

  If he asked Memphis about it, the former high councilor would likely answer dishonestly, but perhaps the islander could still learn something.

  With that thought, he cautiously headed down to the dungeons’ guardroom, hoping they would not again refuse him entrance. He could not think of a reason they would, but their grim expressions, their naked blades and spear tips glinting in the torch light, and the thought of how easy it would be to bar the door behind him made him sidetrack to his room to grab his cloak.

  The truth was, he had never been below ground before. The horror stories parents told their children on the island to prevent them from exploring the mound at the peak of their island mountain did not feel like a simple tale for children when facing the idea of descending into the ground—into dungeons no less. Underground was said to be, in short, the playground of evil spirits, the heart of their chambers.

  Wrapping his cloak tightly around his shoulders, Arnacin pulled its folds close before starting down. His parents had never told such stories and, when asked, they had said that the ground, the dirt and the rocks beneath them were the only things holding up their island from the sea. Underground was as much a gift as above, except that it was dangerous for a child to try digging into the many caverns said to exist in their mountain, due to collapsing tunnels, lack of light, and whatever evil dragons and enchanters alike had left under their particular mountain.

  The guards merely nodded to him when Arnacin descended into the large stone room. It spanned the entire size of the keep and was broken into several sections for a mess-hall, sleeping barracks, armory and the large iron door at the far end.

  Pausing, the islander heard himself ask, “Do you never come out?”

  One guard nodded. Considering the game near his elbow, he had obviously been playing Molshunting with another before the islander’s approach brought every single man to his feet with weapons ready. Now however, he shrugged, “Of course we do. Our guard is broken into troops of fifty. Once a month, we rotate troops. We’re almost through our month of service down here. Personally, I can’t wait.”

  “Did you need something?” another asked, clearly the one in charge as his sword motioned in the direction of the stairs. His meaning was clear—if Arnacin was not down there for a reason, he was to turn straight back up the stairs and stop distracting them.

  “I came to see Memphis, if I may.”

  One guard, standing at attention near the large iron door leading into the dungeons themselves, bowed slightly and turned to place a key in the lock.

  As the door groaned, a guard snickered, “We’re supposed to keep it well-oiled, but it does intimidate the prisoners so.” Giving the islander directions and a key they said only worked on the cell door and not on the prisoner’s chains, the guards turned back to their game and Arnacin was left to descend the dark steps alone.

  “There are lights to guide you,” the guard at the door whispered and then, as the islander slipped by, he closed the door, locking it again. Hearing the click of the key, Arnacin shuddered, yet he willed his feet forward.

  The depths of the castle dungeon echoed eerily and the occasional lanterns tinted the stone behind them a harsh red amid the intense darkness. Even worse, the flickering lanterns caused the patches of red to dance greedily and the shadows to shimmer like many passing ghosts. Time and again, the light caused Arnacin to stiffen, sure that something had moved, only to be proven wrong. Although the place was neither damp nor decaying, the islander felt he had never seen anywhere that made him think more of Hell than these dungeons, as he slowly descended the stone slabs, ever deeper into the silent bowels of the castle.

  After what seemed like hours of twists and turns, Arnacin reached the bottom, wondering what had been so important as to bring him down in the first place. Curiosity, yes, but—he reminded himself—anything Memphis would be willing to tell him would help to advise his next steps.

  Only slightly reassured that he was not just being overly curious, Arnacin started forward, berating himself for his childishness. With the directions given by the jailer at the top, seemingly thousands of stairs up, Arnacin found the correct cell, marked by the lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. Memphis sat chained on the far side of the cell. Knowing his sympathy showed in his face, Arnacin slipped in, settling himself against the wall opposite from the former councilor.

  Memphis was the one who broke the silence, however. “You stole my position, I gather.”

  It wasn’t a question, but pulling his knees to his chest, Arnacin shrugged. “It was offered to me, but I haven’t agreed to take it yet. What did you do?”

  The councilor laughed humorlessly. “How naive you are, boy. Learn politics for a change, why don’t you! You’ll need it where you’re going.”

  “What are you talking about?” the islander asked impatiently.

  “Kings guard their position jealously. They’ll kill their own heirs if they think they show too much ambition. Take my advice. Leave before you’re next, a targetable cockerel like you.”

  “I would if I could,” Arnacin admitted, “not because I believe a word you’ve said, but because…” he dropped off, studying his knees.

  “If you could,” Memphis scoffed. “You ca—”

  “I gave my word. Regardless of the consequences, I’ll stay until my job here is finished.” His answer was cold, yet Memphis didn’t seem to care, his sneering smile knowing and nasty.

  “Fool,” the councilor finally voiced. “Your job will never be finished. Do you honestly think he will ever let you go? Leave now, while you can, while you’re still permitted to visit your ship.”

  Terror pierced Arnacin, as if he had only been waiting for those words to prove his worst nightmare. All the same, he threw it aside knowing the councilor was a liar and manipulator. Coolly, he rose and departed with a nod.

  Once in the safety of the main keep, Arnacin quickly retreated to the north-facing terrace. There, his shivers slowly calmed, yet his unease did not leave so readily. He could deny the position the king offered, yet he knew the king would consult him whether he agreed or not. That much was certain.

  “Arnacin.” The soft call jerked the islander from his thoughts to find Valoretta standing beside him on the terrace. Her auburn hair billowed in the sea breeze, her slender shoulders were covered only in a thin flowered mantle, and she had tucked the front of her skirt through her girdle, revealing the white gown beneath. Today, Sara had forced upon her charge a bracelet of small stones, a matching necklace, and a small band of gold that circled her brow above her cloud-blue eyes.

  “Are there foreign ambassadors today?” Arnacin asked in response to her appearance, suppressing the thought that she suddenly looked rather grown-up.

  “Briefly,” the princess confessed. “I’m not even going to see them, though. Sara is just trying to find every excuse she can to strangle me.” She laughed, “If she could, she would probably try to convince me there were foreign nobles here every day, just to dress me up.”

  When Arnacin only smi
led half-heartedly, Valoretta pressed, “Why are you so reclusive today? I thought you would be on your ship in such nice weather.”

  Sighing, Arnacin dropped his gaze to the railing, running his fingers back and forth along it. “There’s not really anything to do there anymore. I’m not even on it enough to swab it every day, and the repairs have all been made. I’m just…” He dropped off, but as Memphis’s taunt again echoed in his ears, he glanced at the princess, asking, “Valoretta, do you know… have you heard anything… about your father’s intentions after the war?”

  For another minute, she studied him. Looking away, she remarked, “Father keeps his own council. It doesn’t matter, though, if you are concerned about how he’ll treat you after what happened to Memphis. He loves you—that I know.”

  Instead of comforting him, Arnacin felt slapped in the face. Dare she suggest that Miro knew love, when he called humans “savages,” when he guarded his own high seat with such zeal—even Miro’s choice of who and when to marry had nothing to do with real love. Well, Arnacin knew what real love, selfless love, looked like, and nothing in the king resembled it.

  Whirling away, he snapped, “Royalty know nothing of love!”

  Her gentle fingers brushed his arm. Sighing, he turned back, meeting the princess’ sorrowful gaze. “Arnacin,” Valoretta whispered. “My father refused to annul his marriage to my mother when it was impossible for her to have another child after me. It was against all political wisdom, but he loved her, and I’ve always loved him for it, no matter what he does. You know that, Arnacin. So why are you so vehement today? Are you not happy here?”

  “I promised to help where I could. What I want doesn’t matter, but I know… if even six more years pass…” He could not finish.

  “Of course, the war has no right to continue, but why are you so nearly sick over it? To my knowledge, you never even found what you came to find.”

  “I don’t care if I never find whatever it was. I left to find somewhere I could serve with every fiber of my being, and serve wholeheartedly. I wanted the side I died for to be wholly noble. Instead… I now doubt such a place even exists. It was a fool’s journey from the start.” He broke off his nascent rant, sighing. “Valoretta, I promised to return… I have to.”

  When she said nothing, dropping her gaze to her feet, he continued, “I promised my family I would return before I was twenty-five, and I’m afraid this war will never end. It’s been going for decades already and, if the two promises clash, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll have to break one or the other. On the one hand, how long can I desert my mother… my sister, even my brother, yet… I could not feel very good about walking out in the middle of war either. But should not my family come first?”

  Valoretta simply folded her arms over the railing. As Arnacin continued to watch her, waiting for her thoughts, she mumbled, “I feel rather jeal—” Looking up at him with a guilty smile, she stammered, “—jealous that you… that they… I mean, because they can be so certain of your return.”

  Still studying her, wondering what could possibly be running through her mind to evoke such random comments, Arnacin explained, “But that’s what love does.”

  “You mean that it takes sacrifice,” the princess clarified, turning her full attention on him once again.

  “It does, but that’s not what I meant. Love is trust and acceptance, as well as selflessness. Even if they didn’t believe I’d return, by love, they would trust outwardly until it became an inward trust as well. Therefore, if I never returned, they would believe I died, whether that was the truth or not. That will be the truth, of course.”

  “So out of love, even the strongest force could not keep you away, except death?” As Arnacin nodded, she muttered, “Now I’m exceptionally jealous. But Arnacin, I would ask something—what would happen if that love was in two different directions?”

  “I don’t see how it could be.”

  Before Valoretta could respond to the simple statement, Sara’s infuriated tones broke over them, “My Lady! Your skirt!” Paling, the princess yanked her skirt out of her girdle, letting it fall back over her garments, and turned to face her nurse.

  “My delicate hands were sweaty from lifting it,” she stated defensively, causing Arnacin to choke on a laugh. At the glare Sara passed him, he attempted to smooth away his smile long enough for the two ladies to leave. With them gone, he once again looked out toward the sea.

  Despite his reservations, Miro convinced the islander to take the position of high councilor. After having heard about the customs and proper conduct of a high councilor from the princess, Arnacin prepared himself for the worst. For even as he agreed, he knew his conflict with the councilors would intensify.

  Although a low murmur had ensued at the first sight of Arnacin standing in Memphis’s position, it was not one of displeasure. On the contrary, all the nobles consented to him being there and instantly had high hopes for their further protection.

  As Memphis had predicted, however, the other councilors all viewed the replacement as a greater threat and thereafter joined together to discredit their enemy. To that intensified conflict, Arnacin and Valoretta worked even harder to find an argument for peace—one that would best all opposition, however clever. As fate would have it, though, the sands of time emptied before they could find it.

  Without forewarning, the doors crashed open and in walked an oddly familiar old man. As he neared, Arnacin remembered the insane man he had disturbed after becoming lost in the castle early in his stay—Mira’s discarded oracle. To the islander’s horror, he saw that the seer’s eyes, although unfocused, had lost all cloudiness.

  Before anyone could comprehend the strangeness, the seer spoke. “The war is at its end. The waves of history shall forge a new path. Mira shall crumble, her very foundations dipping into the netherworld, while Elcan shall rise.”

  “Impossible,” Miro breathed, as if the word was wrenched from his throat without thought. “You—”

  But the oracle had not finished and, likely unaware that anyone had even said anything, he concluded, “Heed this warning: Only should Mira humble herself and the Black Phantom vanquish all her king’s opposition will these outcomes be thwarted.”

  All gazes turned to Arnacin, standing behind the king. The islander’s sole reaction, however, was the closing of his eyes.

  Cloudiness seeped back into the seer’s pupils and, stumbling forward a few steps, he mumbled to himself, “What hall is this? I don’t remember leaving my…” Then, seeming to realize he was not alone, he snapped, “Who’s there?”

  “You may retire to your tower,” Miro growled, a blade in his tone. No one could miss the wrath that filled the blind face at the sound of his king’s voice, yet all the same, the seer bowed and left, leaving a horrified stillness behind him.

  The king broke it first, snapping, “Islander!” When Arnacin stepped into Miro’s line of vision, he demanded, “Where is Elcan?”

  For just a moment, the islander did not reply, his gaze searching the king’s own. Finally, he confessed, “It’s the closest land mass to Enchantress Island, about a day’s journey from home.”

  “And what do you know about it?”

  “Practically nothing. It’s split into four kingdoms or so, which have nothing better to do with their time than war over each other’s thrones, and we have no desire to contaminate ourselves with suchlike.”

  Studying the foreigner closely, Miro persisted, “And what would it have to do with Mira’s collapse?”

  His own tone cooling, Arnacin probed, “What are you suggesting?”

  “You swear you have made no agreement with any of their kings?”

  After a heartbeat of wrathful silence, Arnacin whirled away.

  “This meeting is not adjourned,” the king reminded him, causing the islander to turn sharply in the doorway.

  “Do you refuse to know or are you that ignorant of what reply I would give any king who dare ask me to aid their greed?” Arnac
in snapped before resuming his departure.

  Behind him, he heard Miro hurriedly bark, “You’re all dismissed!”

  Walking beside Duke Cestmir as they departed, one of the remaining nobles sighed, “That was a poor cover for the fact that the islander closed the meeting.”

  “It still worked in its own way,” Cestmir said, in support of their king. “Everyone knows the islander could use a good thrashing, but I doubt he will ever submit enough to another to allow it. And as for death, most would say he has done nothing to give Miro a right to that, either.”

  “The councilors will be the first to disagree with that, particularly in light of the seer’s prediction.”

  “Let us hope everyone is smart enough not to speak of it,” the duke mentioned, “or the councilors will be the least of our worries, I fear.”

  Unlike Arnacin, Valoretta could not remain still for hours on end with nothing to do. Since her companion had been called away during another discussion about the wall—a dead subject in reality—she had finally pulled out a book. Hardly had she finished the first section, however, when the islander reentered. One look at his eyes told her something had happened.

  Wisely ignoring that fact, she asked, “Do you wish to resume our pointless discussion?”

  It seemed that he stared at her without vision before asking, “Do you know anything about how the seers would advise Mira’s kings in the past?”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “He appeared today with a supposed prophecy,” the islander growled, digging his fingers into the edge of the table in frustration.

  Watching his knuckles turn white, the princess inquired, “What did he say?” Those dark eyes silently flicked to hers and, attempting to lighten what she saw in them, Valoretta joked, “The natives will win unless we return to older Miran beliefs?”

  Shoving away from the desk, Arnacin strode toward the window where he stood in silence for a moment. Sighing, he then answered, “Is it common knowledge that he’s blind?”