Chased By War

by Michael Wolff

  “Gods be damned! You don’t know? You were running away from it and you don’t have a clue? The invasion! The Coicro are bloody invading, for fuck’s sake!”

  “How –” The question was lost as the other men demanded news of their families. Strong Boy. The damn fool must have run straight here to warn everybody. Tolrep pushed aside the thought of the fool’s whereabouts and raced inside the manor.

  “Mathias!” The privateer spun drunkenly; the room was so clogged with people it was nigh impossible to know what voice was coming where. “Mathias!” Tolrep looked up and saw Lazarus climb down the staircase without touching the rabble surging about him. “Good. You’re alive. I was afraid you’d got your fool head blown off.”

  “I nearly did. What’s going on?”

  “What does it look like, son? We’re retreating.”

  “But where? There are ships on the north coast just waiting to pound us into dust. We’re trapped.”

  “By the gods, you’re just as stubborn as Mykel. Look you. I am not as old as you make me out to be. Do you not think I know of those ships? Do you not think I’ve already considered that factor?”

  “No sir.” Damn the man. Only his father talked to him in the same fashion. The shame of being chastised was almost reflex. “Then how...?”

  “Kalam’s a mine owner, son. He has mine shafts all over the place! Get as many of people as you can and come back here. We don’t have much time!”

  The boldness of the old man’s plan energized the privateer. This plan...it’s so crazy it just might work. Back at the entrance Tolrep jumped into the midst of the crew embracing their families and sketched out Lazarus’ plan and parted company to gather what people they could.

  Tolrep was two steps out the door when a sudden wail cut him short. A small child was clinging to his legs as though possessed. He gave a little shake but the girl held on tight. Her coloring was so vague that she could have come from any number of races flooding the manor. Perhaps the coloring was the case. It wouldn’t be the first-time parents would abandon their child rather than face their stigmata. Against his better judgment Tolrep plucked the child from his leg and raised her to meet her eyes. “I’m Matty. What’s your name?”

  “Jelina.” She gave out a small cry when Tolrep smacked the fingers reaching for the snot bubbling at her nose. Jelina’s eyes slitted in anger, then slitted further at his laugh. Gods be damned she’s a firebrand.

  “I’m leaving here Jelina, to somewhere far, far away. Do you want to come with me?” All at once the frown melted into the biggest smile Tolrep had ever seen. “We’ll go, but we have to search out other people. They want to get out too, and we have to help them.” Tolrep marveled at the girl’s nod. Other children her age would be bawling and screaming the instant their need just oh so out of reach. Firebrand, and more. She’s going to be a handful.

  Tolrep led her down the steps to the manor’s cellar, when knots of people stirred uneasily around barrels of wine. There was another woman at the pulleys delving into the mine, small and petite but with the voice of the devil, making sure the people disappeared into the tunnels in an orderly fashion. “Listen Jelina. It’s going to be dark down there. Just hold on to me and everything will be all right.”

  The girl stared back with exasperated eyes. “It’s just night-time.”

  Tolrep almost laughed. I need more assurances than she does.

  Once in the bowels of the manor Tolrep found himself adrift in a sea of worried faces. Thanks to the torchlight Tolrep saw multiple corridors yawning into the dark. Again, random people took command with bellowing orders, and the evacuation followed its course one knot of people at a time. Tolrep spotted Lazarus briefly, bellowing orders with the best of them. There was a simple need for parting words, but the wall of people separating them was too thick. All there was time for was a meeting of eyes and a nod of farewell.

  The harbor was on fire. Tolrep’s heartbeat skipped a beat when he realized the Tennant wasn’t suffering, unlike the other ships surrounding it. The privateer felt a great relief and quailed at the delight he was taking pleasure in utter destruction. It was compounded further at the realization that the ships peeling apart were of the Baron’s loyalists. What the hell is wrong with me?

  A sudden pain ripped Tolrep from the grief. “Ow! Stop that!” Jelina smiled up at him as though the kicks delivered to his shins were not hers. Again the fire’s crackle pulled his gaze to his dead ship, and the privateer realized while the sight was still a knife to his heart, it no longer twisted. Then shouts pierced his hearing and he squinted farther up the road. “Tsukasa?” Grabbing Jelina’s hand the pair ran towards the far end of the path.

  It was not just Tsukasa that awaited them. Bear was there, and Funny Jack, and Blueface and all the others. Looking to him for direction. The burden of leadership.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Tolrep turned to Ashnoi. “Ash. Would you mind taking care of this little girl?”

  “No!” Jelina cried. “I don’t wanna go!”

  Tolrep sighed and dropped to one knee. “Jelina, it’s going to be too dangerous for a little girl. You’ll be safer with his family.”

  “No! I wanna to stay with you! I wanna be a pirate!”

  “She does seem adamant, Cap.”

  Tolrep glared a thank you very much at the man. “Tsukasa! Escort this little lady off my ship!”

  “No! I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna!” Tsukasa flung the child over his shoulder and marched back to his family. “I hate you, Matty! I hate you forever and ever!”

  Better hate than dead. Tolrep took one last look at his ship. Take care of yourself old man. Stromgald and Mykel too. Don’t die.

  By such words the Tennant began its’ new voyage.

  XXXI

  The throne wasn’t that uncomfortable. It wasn’t the Amden Throne by any stretch of the imagination. By some soft-hearted decree centuries ago, it was decided a plainer throne was required in the main foyer where the Royal Judgment was carried out. Something about fostering good relations with the smallfolk when they needed justice.

  Christina thought it was utterly foolish. The peasants made a human snake curving from the foyer’s furthest door, all the way to the castle garrison. Each one was dirty and cold. The faux-Queen counted herself lucky it was winter; were it planting season, the chamber would stink of the fallen fields. Not for long. For now, she had to endure.

  “My Queen.” Xavier Sunook’s boyish face belied the neatly-trimmed mop of gray hair. “Should you wish to hear the plea, raise your right hand. If not, raise the left.” He was the royal tutor; with the Queen a stranger to Amden soil the council decided a sure guide was necessary to fill the gaps of protocol.

  Guide. Christina gnashed her teeth. Hound would have a better name; a spy, even better. The Queen had a leash about her neck, to be pulled about whenever a deed was not to the council’s liking. It would make their destruction all the sweeter.

  “Auntie Chris!”

  Instinctively she turned and smiled even though it was the last thing she needed. Nathan was a plum in his velvets and satins. How adorable. “My Prince. It is an honor to see you today.”

  “I am the Prince,” Nathan said stiffly. “I would be lax in my duty to ignore my people.”

  This time Christina’s smile was genuine. One day Nathan would make a fine king. One day. Right now, he was a hindrance to be tolerated. She was so caught up in her exasperation she almost missed the tugging of her sleeve. Firing a dagger-like glare at the assembly she crooked to Nathan’s ear. “What is it?”

  “What do I do if I want to hear the case?”

  Oh. “Raise your right hand.” The boy raised the hand so naturally it
was adorable. A fine King. One day.

  The first advocates were opposites. One had freckles and a squashed nose, while the second was bald and had ears that stuck out almost horizontally from the skull. Their names were Miranda and Osric, respectively. “What Prince would I be if I knew not the names of my subjects?” Christina was very impressed.

  In the end, though, their pleas were as petty as they were. “Your Grace,” Miranda began. There were wrinkled pouches hanging below the eyes, adding a certain degree of sympathy to her cause. “The winter has not been kind. Our crops are ruined, and our larder has frozen solid. All we have is one heifer.”

  “My heifer,” chimed Osric. “Your son sold the heifer to me three weeks ago.”

  “He thought you were a middleman merchant,” Miranda snapped just as fiercely. “He gave my son a parchment as proof.”

  “It’s not my fault if my customer can’t read.”

  Nathan frowned. “Where is this parchment?” A servant shuffled forward with the appropriate documents. The prince scanned the scroll, almost burying his nose in the process. Christina saw his eyes glitter with frustration and sighed. “Yes. It does say the heifer was sold.” Osric beamed with gratitude.

  “This parchment speaks of the selling of the heifer.” That sent a mutter of disarray rumbling through the court, especially the defendant. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates. The plaintiff, in contrast, looked the very picture of smugness. “However, the fact remains that the plaintiff deliberately misled the defendant’s son to purchase the heifer. You, sir, will return the heifer to the family.”

  It was very satisfying to see the man’s jaw drop to the floor. “But Your Grace. I’ve already killed the beast.”

  “Then you will have to buy another. And you will return the meat to the family’s larder. If you have already sold these pieces, then your compensation will be added to the decree.”

  “But-but you can’t do that!” protested Osric.

  Nathan ran right over him. “Within the week a royal messenger will be dispatched to Miranda’s farm. If the matter is not resolved by then, then the accuser will be sentenced to the mines for a period of thirty days.” He let the scroll clatter to the floor to reinforce the finality of his command. “Guards, please escort these people from the castle.” Miranda nodded thanks and curtsies, while Osric was dragged from the court by three guards, his face long with the disbelief of having one’s world reversed.

  Christina couldn’t remember a moment of such pure pride. This little boy had skills in judgment. Whoever did the schooling was a genius, and Nathan was one for commanding the language so thoroughly. . . but her smile turned to a frown when she saw a mob of nobles step towards them.

  “That was magnificent, Your Grace.” Soft brown eyes and siren’s voice made even the lowest whisper hypnotic. Christina hadn’t seen her before, and she would certainly remember the flame-shaded hair cut precisely to hide the assumed loveliness of her ears. Or the robes of flame that shimmered from red to gold and back again. She had a whore’s tongue, but other than that she was a complete mystery.

  “And the famous Queen, Christina Zephyr. It is an honor.”

  “The honor is mine, my dear –”

  “Ah. I have been rude, haven’t I? I apologize. I am Aeon.” She didn’t even bother with a curtsy. Instantly Christina hated her. Especially that smile. Soft and inviting and brimming with amusement, Christina had the sudden urge to clock the bitch right then and there. Control yourself.

  “If I may have a moment of your time –”

  “You do not.” Christina turned to leave and found Nathan gone. “What –”

  “Oh, he will be fine,” Aeon replied, casting a nod to a knot of people smiling through their teeth. “He is much stronger than we give him credit for.” She was right. Nathan was stiff-backed and almost cold with authority. The nobles had already lost; they just didn’t know it yet.

  “We?” Somehow the woman’s fingers found their way wrapped over the Queen’s forearm. How dare she! Christina yanked her arm and gaped when the limb refused to move. She would have had better luck pulling at stone. “Stop it this instant.” Calling the guards would be useless. That would attract too much attention, and the nature of the incident would be one of weakness: A Queen, forcibly removed by a servant. It would be a brand of weakness from which Christina would never recover from.

  “What the hell...” This was not the palace corridors. It wasn’t anything. The world had turned to black. And still the bitch held on to her like a bear-trap. “What trickery is this?”

  “I’m sorry, my Queen. But my Master wanted to talk to you without prying eyes.”

  “Your Master?” Christina blinked. From out of nowhere a square table appeared, with a pair of chairs with a regality common to most thrones. Christina couldn’t help but notice the chair that Aeon chose for her, while earnestly decorated, was significantly smaller than the one opposite. “What is the meaning of this –”

  “Hello.” Christina nearly jumped out of her skin. Sitting directly before her was an armored knight of some sort, red as blood with spikes of gold, and a cloak of living smoke that hid the rest of his frame. There were no eyes within the T-shaped visor, though for a moment the faux-Queen saw something shift within the darkness.

  That, she decided, was enough. “This charade is pointless. You have no right to hold me here –”

  “Be silent.” There was no power backing the word, and yet all resistance fled. She could speak, and strained mightily, but paired with her will was an undeniable need of anxiety, to follow the knight’s order like a hound to its master. Who are these freaks?

  “We know you plot against Shayna Kae.”

  Impossible. Every step in her plan had been expertly calculated. Decades of study and education, of books and secrets and plotting. Each second was another step forward, another resource acquired. Revenge was the whetstone of her soul, and the dreams that kept her alive when everyone else died smiling. Impossible. Simply impossible.

  “Nothing is impossible,” the knight declared. Christina’s eyes narrowed. A Weirwynd. Of course. An enshou; the shade of his armor was far better than any vocal confirmation. And yet a mystery. No one could play this game and not be noticed; the armor itself was a beacon even a blind man would see.

  “I appreciate the dedication you have subjected yourself to. In fact, we have shared interests. However, the speed of which your plans unfold is too...tiresome. Haste is necessary. So to that end, I offer my help.”

  Christina was ready to flay the bastard and froze in shock as a familiar face emerged from the shadows.

  The brown hair shaved down to the last layer. The pock-marked face a reminder of the family’s sorrowful legacy. The broad nose that made him a rooster, and the chin seemingly chiseled from stone. “Timothy?” Impossible. He’s dead. Christina entombed him herself. And yet here he was. “How...”

  “Look at me, milady. Look hard, and remember who you are.”

  She did, and the world bled into the past.

  Christina found herself in her twelve-year-old body. Impossible. Yet her eyes didn’t lie. Christina had been a typical girl at twelve, stocky in all the wrong places, with crooked teeth and a mask of freckles so beet red it looked as if her face was dominated by pimples. And of course, all the other girls had blossomed overnight. Their first attempts of womanhood were far inferior to the princesses and courtesans in the stories, but their awkwardness still possessed a swanlike grace to her young eyes. Their freedom cut deeper than knives. Only when little Timothy appeared did she smile. Let the other girls keep their stupid breasts. They didn’t have Timothy, and that was something they could never steal.

  Only there was something wrong. The world s
hivered like a desert mirage. Everything became soft, watery, pulsing like a heartbeat. A thousand hornets buzzed within Christina’s head, forcing her down to her knees. The buzzing crawled over her skull, sliding between her thoughts. With each new heartbeat, the world thrashed a little stronger. It was as if the universe chafed against restraints not of its making. Freedom meant the death of everything.

  The restraints broke. The hornets retreated, but did not disappear. She could feel them at the back of her skull, their buzzing mere whispers. For a moment, the world doubled from what was to...Something changed. Altered. The previous world of ten seconds ago had dissolved into the wind, and what was left now resided in her mind. It was a brand-new world, taking its first steps before Christina’s eyes.

  The change was immediate. Father was at Timothy’s side, his large, fat-fingered hand clamped on the boy’s shoulder like a vice. He was speaking to a knight of sorts. Wait. She remembered this. But it was someone else’s memory. The knight hadn’t stepped into the gardens before. Yet Father was enjoying a game of chess with the man. No knight wore his armor all the time, especially during casual meetings. Christina looked about wildly. No one else noticed the oddity of the armor. No one so much twitched a brow.

  The game returned to the center of her vision, and again she gawked silently. There were only a handful of men whom Father played, fewer still that beat him. The crimson knight moved as though he knew Father’s thoughts before he thought them first. And Timothy, a pale stick of a boy, watching the game with worried eyes.

  No! Her plea was lost as a second vision pulled her in. Timothy had driven everyone crazy with his little disappearing act. Three days he was a ghost. No plans, no duties, not so much as a whisper. Her mother tore the local forest apart searching for him. And then late in the evening he strolls into the house, grinning sideways, and asked what was for dinner. Not a word of where he’d been or why he left. He just grinned as though it was the funniest jest ever to touch the human ear. It took three of Christina’s other brothers to keep Mother from tearing him apart.