King's Vengeance

by Ronald Coleborn

  Ghendris looked to Ellerick, who looked down at his roasting meat. A drip of fat fell from it and hissed in the orange flames, sending up a wisp of fragrant smoke. Ellerick sighed and looked at Seyalinn. “You’re welcome to my portion, ma’am.”

  Seyalinn waved him off. “Keep your meat. We’ve food enough for another two days, maybe more. I’m only grabbin’ your elbow, boys.”

  The sound of hoofbeats interrupted them, and the three looked toward the trail. Jerreb and Sendin appeared at the top of the slope. They slowed their horses to a walk and approached the camp. Seyalinn pulled her head back into the wagon.

  “I caught two rabbits in the field while you were scouting,” Ellerick said as the knights approached.

  Jerreb dismounted and led his courser to the other horses. “We can’t stay here long,” he said.

  Ghendris looked up from the fire. “You spot trouble?”

  “No trouble,” Jerreb said.

  “He’s just anxious to be gettin’ on is all,” Sendin explained as he led his own horse to where the others were grazing. “I can’t blame him.”

  “Where we pushin’ off to?” Ellerick asked. “With the realm taken, the king is either in chains or dead, and we won’t fare no better if we’re found traipsin’ across the kingdom.”

  “A fine point, Ellerick,” said Jerreb, who had left the horses to stand near the fire. “But we’re no better off here. The hunting is poor, and patrols will come soon enough, whenever a fresh tally is ordered. So unless you plan to build a cottage, set down roots, and pay tribute to the new king, whoever he is, I suggest we leave here, together.”

  No one spoke for a few moments, until Ghendris broke the silence. “What did the boy say to you, besides foretelling the collapse of the realm?”

  Jerreb looked at the spice wagon. “Nothing but vague dream-speak. I couldn’t make head or tail of it.” He turned to Ghendris. “But no matter. We haven’t relied on his dreams before now, and we’re not about to start.”

  “Now I don’t know or care quite where your two fellow king’s men sit concerning the matter, but I have a mind to disagree with you,” said Ghendris, as he turned his meat over the fire. “The boy didn’t find us by some mischance. He was led to us by his rare sight, blind and deaf though he is. His mother had never set eyes on us, yet she spoke our names by turn. That speaks of fate in my book. Not to be taken lightly.”

  “Calling out a few right names don’t make him special,” Sendin said, as he hunkered down in front of the fire. “I stand with Jerreb on this point. If the realm has fallen, we’d do well to make ourselves scarce. Our loyalty to the old king will be held against us by the new one. Knights of the Outer Guard, whoever’s left of us, will be hunted down and taken, and then it’ll be off with our heads.”

  Ghendris looked from Sendin to Jerreb and back to Sendin, studying their faces. “You two have already spoken of this.”

  “Aye,” said Sendin. “Only moments ago. But it makes sense.”

  “We plan to ride to the Freelands,” Jerreb said.

  “Suicide is it?” said Ghendris. “Best o’ luck to you both.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ellerick. “And to you, too, if you join them.”

  “I—” Ellerick began, but no more words came.

  A noise from the spice wagon drew all eyes. Seyalinn was climbing down from the back, Quarvik strapped to her. She made her way to the men. “He’s up. Wanted to have a word straightaway.”

  Jerreb stepped forward. “We’ve no need to speak with him now.”

  “He begs to differ,” said Seyalinn.

  “Cruddles, that,” Sendin said. “If Jerreb says he’s done, then that’s good enough for me.” He turned to Ellerick. “What do you have to say for yourself, lad?”

  Before Ellerick could reply, a thought from Quarvik filled the minds of all gathered.

  The way ahead will be arduous. Sir Jerreb, you mean to find your wife, and you will. But you have not heeded my words. I have shown you the road ahead, and it leads beyond the Great Realms.

  Your dreams don’t show you all, boy, Jerreb thought. You trust to them, but I cannot and will not, unless they show you exactly where I can find my wife and how I might rescue her. Beyond that I have no business with you.

  Don’t mind him, boy, thought Ghendris. What of this road that leads beyond the realms. Tell us more of this.

  As I told Sir Jerreb, the dragon tamer must be sought on the Isle of Kebriyu, which lies far to the north. The way there will be trying, but the journey must be taken if the realm is to be saved.

  What do we hope to gain from this dragon tamer?

  The one of whom I speak is a woman. She will wage war against the tyrant in the East while he battles another who wields equal power. One must fall for the balance to shift. At this point, only the dragon tamer can do this.

  But first she must be found, thought Ellerick.

  Yes, but those who find her will bend her will in our favor.

  Jerreb had had enough. Count me out.

  And me, added Sendin.

  Ghendris wanted to hear more. Since these two have made their decision, will I be the one to find this dragon tamer?

  You and Ellerick. But I have not been shown your fates after.

  “That’s good enough,” Ghendris said aloud as he got to his feet. He set eyes on Jerreb. “One thing I will give you, you’re right to say we should leave here. But marching into the Freelands will be your end. As for me, I’ll take my chances with the boy’s dreams.”

  “Then this is where we part ways, Ghendris,” said Jerreb, extending a hand to the Livleean warrior.

  Ghendris shook it firmly before turning to Sendin. “It’s been a long time, old friend, but all worth the wait.”

  “Aye,” said Sendin, who held Ghendris at the shoulder. “We’ll laugh over ale and bread one day soon.”

  “I bid you farewell, and victory in your efforts,” Ghendris said. Then he grinned and added, “Despite your foolhardiness.”

  Sendin grinned back and nodded. “And the very same to you, friend.”

  Ghendris looked down at Ellerick, who was wiping rabbit grease off his mouth with the back of his hand. “No time like the present, isn’t that right, lad?”

  “We’re off then?” Ellerick said, as he found his feet. “Where to?”

  “The Port of Ryseland,” Ghendris replied. “We’ve a ship to board.”

  Sapient Lejrik’s “hunting party” had kept a steady pace since leaving Storms Reach, making their way along a path that wound through snow-capped crags looming on either side. Twenty militiamen on horses surrounded Lejrik, cunning, battle-tested men with unsmiling faces and steely spines. Above them, riding on the backs of the winged lizards Lejrik’s western counterparts had created, flew three Riders of the Dread Order, mercenaries loyal to the tyrant in the West, Drucephus Farisin. Lejrik gazed up at the monsters streaking across the sky and shivered, marveling at the twisted imaginations of the Western sapients. He hoped they had given these flying abominations keen vision. One of the lizards broke away from the others and swooped down below the tree line beyond.

  “What’s this?” Lejrik said.

  “Spotted something, that one,” a black-bearded Dremsan on his left replied.

  As they came to the end of a long curve, they saw a winged lizard and its Dread Rider appear from behind a screen of trees, flying low to the ground. The beast continued along the road toward Lejrik’s company and landed a hundred feet in front of them.

  The monster flapped its massive wings as it landed and then folded them back and settled down in place. Lejrik signaled the company to a halt and walked his horse to the front to address the Dread Rider. The man wore a uniform of black boiled leather and a black mask that covered his face but for two narrow eye slits. A long braid of brown hair extended from the top of his head and hung to the middle of his back.

  “What is it?” Lejrik asked him.

  “Fresh tracks were spotted leading to the Hamlet of Killick,”
the Rider said in a grim voice.

  “How many sets?” Sapient Lejrik asked.

  “One,” the rider replied. “But it was at the edge of the road, in the deep snows. The lizard has the scent.”

  “You have reason to believe it is one of the royals?”

  “You must agree the action is peculiar,” said the rider.

  Lejrik nodded, a hand going to his chin. “It is at that.” He grabbed the reins of his horse and looked beyond the Rider, eyeing the bottom of the slope in the hazy distance. “Lead the way. Let’s see where these tracks lead us.”

  The new king stood before a large painting in the Great Hall, which depicted Hertrigan Vame, the man he had killed before a throng of onlookers. Vame was shown seated upon the jewel-encrusted throne that now stood empty not fifteen feet from where Nerus Vayjun stood gazing. Since assuming the role of king, Vayjun had never been seen alone, not even when it was time to take his sleep during the long, cold nights to which Storms Reach was accustomed. Five men stood behind him now, sapients and council members, each ready to advise the king or wax poetic in an attempt to impress him. But none dared utter a word while the king was thinking.

  After a long silence, King Vayjun turned to his retainers. “Burn the painting. And I want every stitch of clothing and all personal items belonging to the Vames to be destroyed. Hire new woodworkers and replace the furnishings as well.”

  “As you will it, your grace,” said a sapient who was called Syrim. He stepped forward and bowed deeply.

  “I want this castle revitalized, room by room,” Vayjun said. “There’s a new king in residence, after all.”

  Every man before him smiled, and one elder, Lord Lyatt Kern, the highest among the members of the council, spoke up. “As to that, your grace, tradition holds that we mark the occasion of your crowning with a royal event befitting the great honor.”

  “Ah, yes,” said an aged sapient named Keddrus. “A tourney would be most splendid. Most splendid indeed.”

  “I think not,” said Lord Kern. “Hertrigan Vame was fond of those, and the people won’t take kindly to the new king following suit. I suggest something quite different, but less brutal. We don’t want to frighten the commonborn and have them think you a tyrant in the east akin to Drucephus Farisin. And they need not know that you two are in league.”

  “I stand corrected,” said Keddrus with a slight bow. “A banquet, perhaps. That will look far better on our new king than a bloody tourney.”

  “A banquet,” Vayjun murmured, pondering the suggestion. He paced the floor a moment and turned to his advisors. “You’ll invite the nobles from every sector of the realm and hold a feast the likes of which this kingdom has never seen before.”

  “As you will it, your grace,” came the usual reply from the eager Syrim.

  Sapient Keddrus gave a courteous smile that drew fine lines across his aged face. “I’m afraid a banquet thrown for nobles alone will draw the ire of the commonborn. We must do something for them as well. A small service that will assure them of the king’s good intentions and his broad interest in all aspects of the realm, including its peasants.”

  Everyone waited to learn the king’s thoughts on the matter. At length he said, “Wise thinking, Keddrus. What do you propose?”

  The old sapient pressed a bent finger to his temple and tapped at it several times. “They’re always concerned about money. What say we ease their burden somewhat? Maybe a week’s taxes uncollected, allowing them to celebrate along with the administrative rungs of the realm.”

  Lord Kern spoke up. “That is far too steep a price for the realm to pay. A delivery of snouted horgs to each home would be far cheaper and would better suit, affording the peasants who will not be invited to court a means to celebrate in their own homes.”

  “A day’s taxes deferred, and a fatted horg for each village I say,” put in Sapient Syrim. “And if they object, well, you’ll still be king in the morning.”

  Vayjun threw his head back and roared with laughter. After he settled, he walked to the young sapient and clapped him on the shoulder. “You show promise, Syrim.” Turning to the others in his company, the king said, “The matter is well settled. Syrim has the right of it. You shall set the feast for a day that follows the next high day on the calendar.”

  It was Sapient Keddrus who stepped forward with a deep bow this time, but not without some effort. With his eyes to the stone floor, he said, “As you will it, your grace.”

  Maegor Trinroot’s light harbor ship had cut a swift path through the turbulent waters of Payzik’s south harbor, and they were a stone’s throw from Kaypha’s Landing, the seat of power on the half-frozen isle. Bevin sat beside the queen, though he had said not a word to her since they had pushed off two hours before. The queen sat quietly as she huddled under the thick wool blanket Maegor had given her, her eyes darting over the rocky landscape that spread out alongside them. Salt sprays lashed at them, but the queen didn’t mind. The sea spray and the crisp, chill air that filled the sails and blew her hair about made her feel more alive than she’d felt since the siege, though she was glad for the warm blanket. Maegor walked the deck with his barrel chest puffed out, without an overcoat, accustomed as he was to the sea.

  As the vessel arced left, Klienne spotted the port.

  “We’re pulling in, your grace,” Maegor announced. “I’ll see to it that a trusted man leads you to the vassor.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “Can’t, I’m afraid. I have to stay with the ship. I’ll have Bevin take you ashore, but he and I are needed back at the main harbor, so it will have to be quick. Marauder ships have been known to troll these waters for unsuspecting seafarers.”

  “Very well,” said Klienne. “And you’re sure you can vouch for your trusted man?”

  “Payzik people are good folk, your grace. I assure you.”

  “I have no doubt. But you’ll forgive my caution, considering what I’ve just been through.”

  The old salt nodded. “Think nothing of it. My friend runs a large market near the Landing, and he’s well known and much liked. He has ties to the vassor besides. I’ll have him take you there.”

  “Thank you, Maegor,” said Queen Klienne, whose gaze was drawn to the approaching port once more.

  “Begging your pardon, your grace, but what do you have in mind to say to the vassor?”

  The queen turned to the harbor man and looked him straight in the eye. “I plan on having him rally all of Payzik to join a war, Maegor.”

  The old man swallowed and blinked and glanced away, looking toward the port. He made no reply.

  “If your people don’t fight, the freedoms you enjoy will soon be snatched away,” said the queen. “I have witnessed treachery and butchery the like of which I never thought to see, and I and my family have been victims of cruel and cowardly usurpation. If the traitors and murderers go unchallenged, they will sweep across all of Urthe till every soul is caught in their net. We cannot allow that.”

  She paused and looked toward the distant mainland, opposite Payzik, to where a promontory marked the edge of Storms Reach. “As long as I live and breathe,” she whispered, almost to herself, “I will not allow it.”

  Sapient Breen nudged the princess lightly as he stood over her. “Wake up.”

  She rolled over and stretched and placed a hand over her mouth as she made a deep, satisfying yawn. “What’s the trouble?”

  “It’s time to go, your grace,” Breen said. “We’ve slept long enough,”

  The princess stood without argument and began to tie her hair. She wore a long tan dress spun of coarse wool, with a leather belt tied about her waist. Next to the bed was a pair of worn boots near enough her size not to give her delicate feet blisters, but Breen had to give the servant girl eight realm marks to secure a sheepskin cloak.

  “After you’ve fixed your hair, let me get a good look at you. I think you might pass for a commoner after all.”

  “What about your attire?”
Redora asked. “You’re not dressed like a typical sapient, thanks to your teaching duties, but anyone from court will spot you sure.”

  “Let me worry about that. You’re the real concern.”

  When the princess was finished with her hair, she twirled around and said, “Well?”

  “I think the cloak will make the difference.”

  “As you say. Where are we off to?”

  Breen went to the window and rubbed the frosted glass before peering through. No one was on the road, but two women were making their way to the side of the inn. “I figure to strike out for my family’s lands.”

  “Why your lands?”

  Breen turned away from the window to face the princess. “I can hide you there until we find a safer place.”

  Redora stared at him a moment before casting her eyes down. “You mean away from the realms.”

  “Far away,” said Breen. “The great realms are no longer any place for you, princess. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your former life behind.”

  “But my family.”

  “Forgive me, your grace, but this must be said—it’s possible that you are the only surviving member of your good family. I’m sorry.”

  Try as she might to resist them, tears flowed freely from Redora’s eyes as the full weight of Sapient Breen’s words bore down on her. She would never see her father again, nor her mother, who was always so composed, so quick with a smile, and so clever with words. Her sister, beautiful Ellyssa, with never a strand of hair out of place, was lost to her as well. Redora longed to take back all the harsh words she had thrown at Ellyssa for her many spiteful acts, would have forgiven her everything, would have gladly welcomed and delighted in her rudeness and abuse, which seemed unimportant now. The princess wiped away her tears, drew a long breath, and pressed her lips together. She looked at Breen and gave him a slight nod. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “It has been my honor. One day, perhaps, after you’re safe, it may be possible to learn more of your family’s fate. I wish I could give you more hope, but I won’t lie to you.”