by Ryk E. Spoor
“Well, you’re welcome again,” I said aloud. “But please, stop with all the ‘Lord Erik’ stuff already. I’ve got no titles yet. Just a sword and pretty armor.”
“And the strength of a mountain!” Amril piped up enthusiastically.
“Ha! Not that simple, Amril. Not that simple at all. Why, your father could probably out-wrestle me.”
He laughed at that and of course denied the possibility; after what he’d seen, naturally, that wouldn’t seem possible, and I wasn’t going to try to explain the True Mortal business. No need, and good reason not to. “You won’t have trouble living here?”
“No, L… Erik. I have a few stoneseeds already harvested and some savings we brought. It will keep us for quite some time.” His tone of voice reassured me that I hadn’t just brought them here to hide in genteel poverty.
After a few more farewells, we finally parted. My destination wasn’t hard to spot; the great square-cut castle dominated the center of Gilgad, with outbuildings ranging eastward towards the sea.
Now for the next step… and thanks to Amrin, I even know what I’m doing after this little sequence of events.
The stoneseed farmer almost certainly hadn’t guessed the significance of various things he — and his children — had told me. The most important being something little Rallin had said shortly after we’d set out: “At first I thought you were the Penitent, but then I realized you were much too tall.”
The Penitent… a local folk hero. No one knew where he came from or who he was, a mysterious grey-cloaked figure who appeared from out of the mountains, striking down raiders, leaving food for the hungry, jewels for the robbed, never staying long enough to accept thanks, almost never speaking… but that told me all I needed to know. I know who you are, Penitent, and when the time comes, we will definitely be talking.
But that wouldn’t be for a while yet. First things first. I strode up the center of the street, conscious of the stares of numerous residents of Gilgad. Wish I could be subtle… but I’d stand out here anyway. Most of these people are shorter than me, even the men, dark-haired, tanned… No, I’d have about as much chance of sneaking in to see the King here as I would in Japan.
To my surprise, the King of Gilgad was, according to Amrin, the same man as the one described in the books, though his name was Rin Ki-Tin — making it obvious where Baum had gotten the name Rinkitink, given Baum’s love of wordplay. But Amrin’s description — given with affectionate smiles from all his family — depicted the same personality, a man of immense appetite, vast girth, and even vaster mirth, who nonetheless hid shrewd statesmanship behind the guise of a rollicking buffoon. He was old, very old now, but as far as Amrin knew he was still as sharp-witted as ever.
Lucky for me if that’s true. Old King Rinki… Rin Ki-Tin was just the man I needed to talk to.
The guards at the gate were leaning up against the walls, looking rather bored, but they straightened up as I approached. One held out his spear, barring my path. “Hold, stranger. What business have you here?”
“I’d very much like an audience with the King, if I might, sir.” I’d found that being respectful to guards, police, and soldiers was always the best policy. They often got to deal with people who didn’t respect them in the worst possible conditions, so giving them their due gave you the best reaction. Usually.
“Well, now, nothing wrong with wanting an audience, but the King isn’t receiving visitors right now. Seeing as he’s not here right now.”
Damn. “Is he expected back soon, then?”
The guards exchanged glances and chuckled. “Whenever Chancellor Inkarbleu despairs of being summoned by the King and goes to find him of his own accord. Which will earn the Chancellor another three days of awaiting his terrible execution and then a stay of execution, and another three weeks of rewards for his invaluable service to the Crown.”
Well, now I knew where the King was and who I needed to see instead. “Then would it be possible for me to speak with the Chancellor? I have travelled a very, very long way.”
The two had been studying my armor, and I was rather gratified to see that they were clearly recognizing something unique to the design. “One moment.”
The two guards withdrew, conferred for a moment, and then turned back to me. “Please step inside.”
Once inside the entryway of the castle — a large, arched tunnel through impressively thick walls — the guards motioned me to a side room which was obviously a guard office. “Now, sir, your name — and if you can, your business?”
I smiled. Smart guards. Someone chose well. “My name is Erik Medon. And you’re right, I’d rather not state my business to anyone except the Chancellor. But I think you’ve probably guessed part of it. And you are…?”
They looked startled; I guess that people didn’t ask their names very often, treating them like speedbumps or door-openers. “First Sergeant Huru Ro-Van and Second Sergeant Zammu Rin-Aro, sir!”
“Glad to meet you both, Huru, Zammu.” I shook hands. “Now could one of you let the Chancellor know I would like to see him at his earliest convenience?”
Huru nodded at Zammu, who saluted and set off at a near-run. “Is it… happening, sir?”
I looked at him for a moment, considering. Then I said “It might be. But a lot could still go wrong, so I don’t want it getting out, understand?”
Huru straightened, and nodded. “Understood, sir!” But I noticed the gleam in his eye.
I felt both glad and a little guilty. Glad that I could bring some hope to these people, and guilty that I was using him, Zammu, and Amrin’s family. All of them would quietly spread the word. There’d be a whispering of hope, getting stronger, no clear source, hard to trace — but rising up, building support for what we needed to do. Sorry for being a manipulative bastard, Poly. I hope you don’t think too badly of me for it.
Zammu came running back. “Sir! Chancellor Inkarbleu says he will see you immediately.”
I followed Zammu and Huru through the main courtyard, up wide white marble steps with polished black rails, into a vast entryway. Impressive for something built basically by hand, even if the whole castle would have fit inside of Nimbus’ training hall. At the end of the entryway, twin doors were thrown open, and Zammu announced, “Erik Medon, traveller, to see the Chancellor!”
I stepped through and looked up, the doors shutting behind me and leaving me alone with the Chancellor. Chancellor Inkarbleu was seated in a secondary throne, mounted three steps down from the high dais where the King’s throne sat. Inkarbleu stood, and I met his gaze, sharp black eyes in a seamed, narrow face atop a very spare frame in simple formal black robes trimmed with silver. “Erik Medon. An unusual name, indeed.”
“Not terribly common where I come from, either,” I admitted.
“What brings you here, traveller, and what do you seek from Gilgad?”
“From Gilgad directly, I merely seek passage on one of your vessels to a destination only your captains know.”
“That… destination is a closely guarded secret,” Inkarbleu said, tone carefully neutral. “I need something more than the word of an unknown traveller to even consider your request.”
“Of course.” I reached into my armor, and brought out the Jewel.
Immediately the huge gem flared with polychromatic radiance, and a brilliant arch stretched outward, filling the room from one side to the other. Inkarbleu staggered back, knees striking his throne’s edge so he sat down hard, staring. The Rainbow hung there for a moment, and I could hear the Music of the Spheres, chiming and singing, a Faerie fanfare. Then it faded, and I returned the Jewel to its hidden location.
Inkarbleu’s face was white beneath its tan. “The Rainbow Lord moves against the Usurpers?”
“He does. We are asking little of Gilgad, but that little is absolutely vital.”
Inkarbleu shook his head slowly — not a refusal, but a sign of disbelief and the need to think. “If they suspect we are assisting an actual attempt to ov
erthrow them, Ugu and Amanita will level this land, Lord Medon.”
I didn’t contest the assignment of nobility here. “Yes, they will. If it’s worth their time. But if the bid against them fails, they are more likely to use the actual participants as an example. I won’t pretend you won’t get more pressure brought against you. There would be costs, and they would be ugly.
“But if no one will help, they’ll come for you anyway, someday. All of you know that, every single land in Faerie has to know. This temporary peace lasts exactly so long as they’re not quite sure they can take you all.”
Inkarbleu sat, looking down, for a long time. I didn’t dare interrupt his thoughts; I was asking him to make a decision which really was the King’s to make, one that could affect every living person in his country, and I could pressure him no more than he was clearly pressuring himself.
But then his head came up, and with a rising heart I saw that he was smiling.
“My Lord Medon, these are weighty matters of State indeed. Matters of deep policy and terrible consequence,” he said, rising slowly, still smiling. “And I am afraid that I simply cannot make this decision myself. To involve this country in these affairs? No, no, it would not do, it would be an inexcusable over-stepping of my authority.”
The words were not encouraging, but the smile was broadening, so I simply smiled back. “And so…?”
“And so, my Lord, I must insist that you ask the King yourself, directly.” The smile became a grin, and mine answered as I understood how Inkarbleu had found the perfect solution to the problem. “And as the King has already been too long absent from his throne, and as your business is most urgent, I will myself go to fetch him hither. And,” he said, with an elaborately careless air as though it were an afterthought, “you may accompany me on that errand, if you will, and thus ask your question somewhat earlier than otherwise.”
I could not help but laugh. By taking this approach, Inkarbleu could quite honestly say he had made no decision to assist me in anything, had committed Gilgad to no sides. And at the same time, by inviting me along, he would be bringing me exactly where I wanted to go, giving me exactly the assistance I needed while on an errand which, as Huru and Zammu’s conversation had shown, was an expected and oft-repeated one, one which would draw no undue attention and which thus might not even be immediately connected with what I was doing.
I bowed deeply to the Chancellor. “I would be honored beyond words, sir, if you would be so kind as to allow me aboard your vessel so that I might put my case directly to the King.”
“Very well, then,” he said. “You may stay here in the Castle until we depart — which will be early on the morrow, if I have any say in it, and I believe I shall. Zammu! Huru!”
The doors popped open. “Yes, Lord Chancellor?”
“Show Lord Medon to the First Guest Chambers, and then tell the Master of Ships to ready the Royal Galley. I have decided it is time our aged and reckless monarch returned to his seat for a time.” As the two began to lead me out, he called out, “And have old Keys clean out my favorite cell. I’m sure the King will have me prepared for execution as soon as we return and I want everything ready!”
Chapter 24.
“He is clever! And lucky! Oh, Father, this might work, it might really work after all!” Polychrome was dancing around the viewing pool, the perfectly circular bowl of mist and rainbow through which Iris and those in the throne room could, when he willed it, see that which passed in the area of the Jewel of the Bridge.
Iris watched her closely, a faint smile on his lips but a chill in his heart. He glanced over at Nimbus, whose gaze met his grimly. It has begun.
There were so many things his instincts told him to do, to try and avert that which seemed more and more inevitable. But he dared try none of them. Any attempt to interfere could — almost certainly would — recoil upon him and his entire realm.
And instead I must take the hardest path of all. “It may indeed, daughter. A long road ahead of him, but thus far he has taken steps straight and true.”
She nodded, watching as Erik Medon left the Throneroom of Gilgad, then turned back to him as he continued to speak. “But there are more pressing matters today, Polychrome Glory.”
That gained her undivided attention. “Yes, Father?”
Carefully. Carefully. “Did you mean what you told me — and him — some time ago? That it was your will that you be present, even at the final battle?”
The delicate face hardened, the chin came up in the stubborn way he knew all too well. “You are not about to argue me out of it, Father!”
He raised his hand. “Speak not to me in such a tone, Polychrome. Yet know that I have no intention of arguing with you; long since have I given up any hope of persuading you to do anything save that which is already in your mind.”
A brief flash of a smile like the sun itself, and she bowed. “My apologies, my Royal Father.”
“Accepted as always, errant yet beloved.” He sighed. “Polychrome, if the field of war you would take, then prepared you must be, as prepared as any of my warriors — as prepared, indeed, as the finest of them, for you shall lead them.”
So shocked was she that the ever-dancing feet halted in mid-step and she stumbled. “What?” She glanced in confusion at Nimbus, then back to him. “Lead them?”
“Not in the details of war and strategy, My Lady.” Nimbus said. “What Lord Iris Mirabilis means is that you shall be the High Commander and his representative, though I shall of course continue to direct military matters.”
Polychrome looked suddenly uncertain. “Father?”
The lordly smile he wore was one of the hardest expressions he had ever had to maintain, against the twin fears he had. “Polychrome, I must remain here. Well you know the power of our enemies, and I will — as the Prophecy requires — be in essence emptying all of the Rainbow Land of its warriors. In case Ugu and Amanita attempt, in that time, a strike to the rear, an assault on my kingdom, then only one force remains to me that might defend this castle, this city, this land and all my people: myself. I must remain here, vigilant, ready for any and all threats and assaults that may come while my General and his armies are assaulting the Grey Castle and its legions.
“But still, someone of the blood must be present, so my hand will be shown as clearly as though I myself were there upon the field of battle. Daughters only have I ever had, and of all of them, one, and one alone, has the courage, the will, the strength, and the heart to be my right hand and my sword.” He reached down, and took his daughter’s hand. “You, Polychrome.”
Her eyes were wide, and her grip spasmed tight on his hand as she came to understand. “I…”
“Lady Polychrome,” Nimbus said quietly, “this is simple truth as well as grim and necessary policy. If the assault upon Oz fails, Faerie cannot afford to lose Iris Mirabilis; he remains the sole and only hope the lands have. Yet if the Rainbow Land falls, we cannot afford to lose hope, and the armies I command must return to take it; but retaking the Rainbow Castle will be of no use if there be none to take the Rainbow Throne. And only one other lives who could rally our people, one other that the other children of Iris Mirabilis will follow, one other whose face is known and loved throughout Faerie, even more so than our King himself.”
It seemed to sink in, finally. And as the lovely face became just a tiny bit older, the shoulders sagged beneath an intangible burden and then straightened as though bearing up that weight, Iris Mirabilis thought his heart would simultaneously break for the loss of one more drop of her innocence, and burst with the swell of pride as she accepted the royal burdens.
“I… I understand, Father, Nimbus,” she said after a long pause.
He embraced her then, allowing him a few moments to clear the unshed tears from his eyes. “It is well, daughter. Very well.” He rose and returned to the throne. “So you must train now, and train well, and train hard. As hard, perhaps, as the mortal Erik Medon did, and in some ways harder; for though he
is surprisingly kind of heart, and unwilling to do injury, still he has the savagery of his ancestors locked within, and none of a Faerie’s inborn hesitance in warfare, that normally only those of dark and twisted nature may overcome.” He signaled to Nimbus, who bowed and hurried away.
Polychrome grew thoughtful. “I think I see. You can carry the battle to the enemy yourself, Father, and if I am to represent you or…” she hesitated, then forced out the words, “…or succeed you, then I must be fully as formidable as you.”
“As much as may be possible… and much is possible, my daughter.” The tall figure of Nimbus re-entered, carrying the polished silver box, four feet long and two square, that carried the seal of rainbow, spear, and hammer. Iris took the beautiful yet simple case from his General and laid it before Polychrome. “This was a gift to your mother from… your great-aunt, I suppose would be the best term. She never had need of it, for which I was always grateful; but now it has passed to you, her first child, and the time has come.”
Polychrome slowly reached out and touched the box; the seal reacted instantly to her touch, unlocking, the top springing open with a martial chime like a trumpeting bell. From inside, his daughter drew out armor, plate with mail permitting ease of movement, carven with ornate grace to be both elegant protection and shining symbol. “This… was mother’s?”
“In name, yes, although as I said, never did she wear it. I am unsure if she ever opened it, in fact.” He touched the mail, which rippled like water in sunlight. “Forged in the fires of the Above and passed to us. But armor is of little use to one who has not learned to make use of it.”
