Sabine had departed for home but left Boulder behind to escort young Shan back to Mistpeak when the boy was ready to leave. Shan had agreed to stay on, to give the king as much information as he could about his homeland. He kept to himself at first, but eventually became a fixture in the castle. The servants felt very protective of him; everyone knew what he had undergone. Shan moved at the king’s side at meetings, and even went with him to help recruit more soldiers. Laylah especially had taken him under her wing. With her kindness, the king’s appreciation, and the quiet acceptance of his presence, Shan had begun to come out of his shell.
And six weeks after Shan had stood trembling before the King of Albion warning of the darkness that had infiltrated Samarkand, the fleet was ready to sail.
The mood was somber at the last meal before the dawn departure of the fleet. The king had invited his friends to dine with him at the royal table. The food was delicious, but as he chewed and swallowed, washing the bite of roast pheasant down with wine, the king realized he wasn’t really tasting it. Which was quite a shame; the rations they would be forced to eat at sea and likely upon their arrival in Samarkand wouldn’t be nearly so tasty.
There was idle conversation, about weather, popular theater, and fashion; and finally the king put down his knife and fork.
“We’re all dancing around the fact that the fleet departs on the morrow. This is our last chance to be together. If anyone has any doubts, or comments, or ideas, or incredibly brilliant last-minute plans on how to whip the darkness good and proper and be home before spring, now’s the time, ladies and gentlemen.”
“My men are ready,” said Timmins. “I daresay a few of them will be nursing headaches tomorrow, but they’ll be there. We’ve got plenty of equipment, ammunition, and stout hearts.”
The king glanced at Ben and realized from Finn’s expression that he, too, was thinking of the terrifying shadows they had fought. “I’d say when it comes right down to it, the last one’s the most important,” the king said.
“I would agree,” said Ben. “I’ve been drilling them daily. They know what they’re doing. And they know why they’re doing it.”
“Page?”
“I stand ready to help Her Majesty manage the kingdom in your absence,” said Page. “And I have eyes and ears in many places. We’ll hear quickly if there’s any disturbance in Albion while you’re gone.”
He nodded and squeezed his wife’s hand. She was, not unexpectedly, taking this harder than any of them. But he was proud of how well she was bearing up. To his surprise, she cleared her throat.
“I will be coordinating with Jasper, Page, and Captain Timmins, and getting regular updates from them,” she said. “Page and Captain Timmins have also offered to help train me to defend myself, should the need arise. Our allies such as Sabine and others in distant places are to send me reports once every two weeks. I intend to continue to make myself visible to the public, to keep up morale. And if there are any hints of threats to Albion, I will act on them swiftly.”
He smiled at her. “Well,” he said, “it sounds like my kingdom won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“I will,” she said for his ears only, and he kissed her hand.
“The ships stand ready,” said Kalin. “The Auroran people are eager to repay Albion for its aid. You will have many who know this enemy and are more than willing to die to see it brought down.”
“There will be loss of life,” said the king. “But I pray it will be kept to a minimum.”
“Sire? May I speak?” The king turned to Shan, surprised.
“Of course, please, go right ahead.”
The young man swallowed hard. “I lost my family to the Shadows and the darkness. I have no wish for my whole country to fall—or yours. If you truly believe my presence can make a difference … I will come with you.”
The king was deeply moved. “Shan—you are the only one among us who knows your country. We are all operating on legends, folktales, and accounts in history books older than Jasper is. What do you think?”
He smiled resignedly. “I think I could be of help.”
“Good lad. Now, let’s all finish this dessert because we certainly won’t be getting berry pies where we’re going.”
The King and Queen of Albion sat astride beautiful white horses. Rex, an expert at evading horses’ hooves, trotted along beside them, tongue lolling and tail wagging. The king wore his regalia, the cut and style of the tunic and trousers marking them as a military ensemble. The queen, in honor of the name of her homeland, wore a gown in shades of rose, gold, and light blue. The day was cold, but clear and bright, and the winter sunlight caught the glitter of their golden crowns.
The crowds thronged the streets of Bowerstone, cheering, tossing confetti and flowers, their faces shining with hope and devotion to their leader. The king returned their smiles, exuding an air of confidence he did not quite feel.
Behind the royal couple rode Ben, Page, Timmins, and Shan. They, too, were greeted with adulation and approval. Finn seemed to revel in the attention, catching the odd thrown rose now and then, inhaling, and smiling at the lady who had tossed it to him. Page and Timmins, however, did not seem quite as comfortable with being, quite literally, on parade; indeed, Page’s horse seemed uncomfortable with her on his back as well.
They rode to the docks and dismounted. The horses were led onto the waiting ships while the king, Rex following, moved to a dais and podium that had been set up the previous night. He waved for the cheering to die down, then began to address his subjects.
“For seven years, I have striven to bring peace and prosperity to Albion,” he said, his clear tenor voice carrying. “To an extent, I have succeeded—thanks to the hard work and faith of you, my people. Now, a threat looms, both perhaps in Albion and in a far-distant land. Benjamin Finn and thousands of trained soldiers, along with engines of war and weapons aplenty, will be sailing to Samarkand to meet the enemy in its own lair. Know that I have the utmost faith in my lady wife, Queen Laylah, to lead you as well as I should. She will be advised by Page, whom many of you know as a woman whose passion for justice and equality helped make our revolution successful, and Captain Jack Timmins, whose military expertise is without peer and whose loyalty and insight is beyond question. You may do better with these three than you did under my solo rule!”
Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd. The king let it linger for a moment, then sobered.
“I will do everything in my power to stop this evil, and to protect Albion and all those who dwell here. With your support, we embark today on the noblest of crusades. And we will return victorious!”
Enthusiastic cheering went up. He waved and stepped back, then glanced down at Rex. His gut twisted when he realized that he couldn’t take his old friend—literally, old friend. He had been warned that Samarkand had freezing nights and scalding days. Rex was over a decade old, of an age where he liked warm fires and soft pillows. To take him into so harsh an environment would be wrong. Rex had earned a comfortable retirement.
“I’m sorry,” the king said. “You’ll have to stay behind.”
Rex lifted his black ears, his brown eyes soulful, and whimpered. The king patted his head.
“Stay, Rex. Stay with me,” came a soft voice. It belonged to Laylah. The king rose and regarded her. She looked every inch a true queen, calm and confident, but he saw tears she refused to shed filling her eyes. Impulsively he swept her into his arms and gave her a deep, loving kiss. He heard Timmins clearing his throat, Ben saying, “Yes!” and the crowd going wild. The exotic love affair of their king and the beautiful maiden of Aurora had been very popular, and it seemed that they would willingly support being ruled by Queen Laylah. Reluctantly he let her go.
“Look after Rex, and he’ll look after you,” he said.
“I know. We’ll take care of one another.”
Softly, he whispered, “My only regret is not being with you.”
“As is mine, my husband and king,
” she replied quietly. “But all will be well, and we will be together soon.”
He tore himself away from her, waved to the crowd, and trotted up the gangplank. He did not look back; he was too afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave.
To the dark-skinned Captain Samur, he said, “Let us set sail. The sooner we depart, the sooner we can return.”
“Aye-aye, Your Majesty.”
Behind him on the dock, Rex let out a long, mournful howl.
On the pier, standing by the podium, Queen Laylah watched the fleet depart. She placed her left hand on her heart and folded the right one over it, feeling the reassuring hardness of her wedding ring.
Beloved … I will do my best to prove your faith in me. Only … come home. Please come home.
Chapter Six
“A few m-more days like the last six and I’ll be so w-wet I’ll be able to live in the water,” muttered Ben. The king said nothing, but he shared his friend’s sentiment. The first storm had come upon them barely a few hours into the journey, and storms had been virtually unceasing since then. The swells had been so intense that the ships’ cooks feared to prepare meals with fire, and so for the last four days, no one—not even the king—had had anything hot, not even so much as a cup of tea. Then again, with all the pitching of the ships, no one had had much of an appetite. Even the king had found himself in the undignified position of hanging over the railing with a stomach rolling as violently as the ship itself. More than once.
“I thought you l-liked adventure,” the king said. It was not particularly cold in the dank, fetid hold, but being constantly wet made one constantly chilled.
“Adventure? Certainly. T-torture? Not quite so much,” said Ben.
They and a few others were huddled belowdecks, staying only marginally drier than the crew who were bombarded by crashing waves and pouring rain. The only one who seemed completely stoic under the adverse conditions was young Shan. Considering that the young man had already faced his greatest fear—returning to Samarkand—to aid them, the monarch supposed that anything else might seem a stroll in the gardens to him. The phrase made him think of the Gardens of Pleasure that had once been open to all citizens of Samarkand. He turned to Shan.
“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” he said. “I keep thinking the weather will clear, but it seems to like it all dark and thundery. Perhaps this would be as good a time as any to talk about our plans.”
Shan nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Shan got to his feet, unhooked one of the swaying lanterns from the ceiling, and made his unsteady way to a table in the center of the room. The king and Ben joined him. Ben lifted the lantern and shone it over the map, everyone being mindful both of the fire and the dampness. The king saw other soldiers sitting in various corners.
“Come forward,” he said. “I may be the general of this army, but it’s you who’ll be fighting alongside me.”
He saw awkward but pleased smiles as a few of them moved to sit on the benches and peer at the map.
It was simple, as such things went. Shan had informed them some time ago that their “classic” maps in the Bowerstone Castle library were terribly inaccurate and had drawn them a new one. It lacked the artfulness displayed by the professional mapmakers, but to the king, it was much more valuable.
“Over here, to the west, is your Dweller town of Mistpeak,” Shan said. “These are the Blade Mountains that … that I crossed.” A shadow passed over his face for a moment, but he continued. “The mountains embrace Samarkand on three sides—west, north, and east. The south is the shoreline of our country. We will make landfall at Fairwinds, a very wealthy port, then follow the main trade route as directly as possible to Zahadar, which is here.” He tapped the northeast corner of the map. The king saw the Great Trade Road begin at the center of the shoreline, then arc away to the west before swinging back to the northeast.
“That’s a pretty roundabout way to go,” said one of the men, then added quickly, “Your Majesty.”
“So I said as well,” the king replied. “But we’ll never be able to get engines of war, or horses, or so many soldiers to Zahadar without a decent road. Or water,” he added, “or places to stop for resupplying.”
“Over here, and here,” said Shan, “is only desert. Here is Sweetwater Trees, the first oasis village we will come to. We can rest here and resupply. Close by, there once was a great city. In the course of three days and nights, it was completely covered by a sandstorm. Very few people escaped. Its name is no longer spoken. We call it, ‘Asur-keh-la,’ which in our ancient tongue means ‘The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.’ ”
“That will help tourism,” said Ben.
“Well, er, we’ll make sure we steer well clear of it,” the king said.
Shan nodded, not noticing Ben’s sarcasm. “Elsewhere along the Great Trade Road, there are a few other small villages and places where we can find water. But one place we should be sure we go to is this. It is the ‘Cave of a Thousand Guardians.’ I was only there once, as a child, but it was very beautiful. The statues of all of Samarkand’s Heroes are there, and it is a serene and healing place. Plus, there is an underground spring that has never run dry.” His brown eyes regarded the king solemnly. “You will notice, Majesty, that our path is based largely on where we can find water.”
The king nodded. “Go on.”
“These spots are where we can find oasis towns. And all along the road, if we are lucky, we will encounter nomads who will be able to sell us food and other necessities.”
“Well,” said Ben, “this doesn’t sound as bad as I feared.”
Shan turned to him. “Mr. Finn, what I tell you, I tell you from memory. From before the Empress rose to power and the darkness came. This,” he said, indicating a place on the map close to the Blade Mountains, “is my village, Sammah. This, I know recently. The rest of Samarkand …” He shook his head. “Majesty, I cannot tell you if any nomads are left to walk the roads. I cannot tell you if the oasis towns have not been swallowed by the black storms of the desert. I cannot tell you that the Empress’s army won’t be waiting for us right on the shore.”
“Then what bloody use are you to us?” The bellow came from one of the soldiers, who had been growing increasingly distressed by Shan’s words. He reached across the table and grabbed Shan by the shirt. “We’ve heard the stories … how you claim to have been ‘released’ by the Shadows to come warn us. Well, maybe you are one of them!”
“Let him go!” ordered the king. The soldier did so, reluctantly. Shan’s face had gone pale. “Do you think this had not occurred to me? This boy is under my protection. And if I hear that any harm befalls him, or there are any disrespectful words or actions directed at him, rest assured I will deal with that. Do I make myself clear?”
The man nodded, chastised.
“Now,” said the king, “what’s that mark, over there?
The sword glittered as it descended. Swiftly, clumsily, Laylah brought her own sword up just in time. The blades clashed, sending a shower of sparks. Her arm trembling, sweat dotting her brow, Laylah leaped back, then made a desperate feint to the left. Her opponent anticipated the move and easily blocked the queen’s blow. With a swift, almost lazy movement, the blade twisted. Laylah’s sword flew out of her hand, clattering to the floor. As her opponent’s sword descended in a merciless arc, Laylah screamed and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Laylah,” said Page’s voice, calm and slightly annoyed, “we agreed that screaming was not the right thing to do.”
“Actually,” Laylah said, her voice quivering slightly as she opened her eyes and picked up her dropped weapon, “when you think about it, it would be a fine thing to do.”
“No, we discussed this,” Page reminded her, grinning a little. “Scream at the start if someone attacks you, and you’d like help. Then fight your enemy off until help arrives.” She went to the sideboard and poured water from a crystal pitcher for herself and her friend.
L
aylah took a few gulps, then said, “You’re right, of course. I panicked. I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you recognized it,” said Page, squeezing Laylah’s arm warmly. “That’s why we’re doing this. The more you practice and get familiar with coming under ‘attack,’ the more you will become used to the idea. If something ever does happen, then you won’t be paralyzed by fear.”
The two women were dressed in shirts, trousers, and boots. Page had said it was easier to learn the movements without the encumbrance of skirts. “Although once I had to fight in a formal costume,” she said. “That was interesting.”
“Oh?” asked Laylah. “Against whom?”
Page made a sour face. “Your husband and I were pitted against a variety of opponents by one Mr. Reaver.”
Laylah was startled. “What? He never told me. I knew that Mr. Reaver wasn’t very popular because of his cruelness to his workers, but … he tried to kill the king?”
“He did,” said Page. “He has entertainment rooms in all of his houses, where he and his twisted toadies can watch as some hapless prisoner is pitted against balverines, sand furies, and … other things.”
It was clear that Page didn’t want to talk about it, so Laylah let the subject drop. For now. The revelation had deeply distressed Laylah, and she wondered how many other things her husband had kept from her.
“Well,” said Laylah, “at some point, I probably should try to fight in a dress. I mean”—and she tried to lighten the moment—“someone trying to kill me isn’t going to wait until I change into trousers and tie my hair out of the way.”
“An astute observation, Your Majesty.” The two women turned to see Captain Timmins entering, giving his hat and walking stick to Barrows. “Mind if I see for myself how Page’s tutoring is going?”
“Not at all,” said Laylah, though in truth she was uncomfortable with the idea of sparring with Timmins. He nodded, shrugged out of his coat, and handed that, too, to Barrows. He strode to the row of weapons hanging on the wall, examining them carefully. Laylah looked down at her scimitar. Thus far, it was the only weapon she had practiced with.
Fable: Edge of the World Page 5
