by R. J. Larson
“Majesty,” the nobleman was saying, “for the sake of my family, I ask you to mercifully restore my family’s long-held estates to our care.”
Suitably cautious, Akabe watched the nobleman. “Which estates?”
“Here is the written legal description, just as it has existed for two hundred years, concerning my family’s honors.” When the nobleman turned, offering a parchment to the king’s clerk, his proud profile removed all doubt of his identity.
Kien muttered beneath his breath, “Ruestock!” The scheming, duplicitous Siphran lord who’d stolen Ela from Jon and Beka last year! On instinct, Kien gripped his dagger. So the man was begging for the return of confiscated lands? No! Kien moved forward.
Surely Akabe, as Siphra’s king, knew of Ruestock’s past deceits.
Akabe smiled, pleasant but noncommittal. “We will consider your request and answer in due time.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Ruestock bowed with marvelous elegance. “My family and I are your most humble servants.”
Humble? Ha! Kien nearly scoffed aloud.
Ruestock backed away gracefully, until he caught sight of Kien. For an instant, the oily nobleman froze. Then, shifting his gaze briefly toward the king, Ruestock gave Kien a courtier’s bow, pointedly equal to the one he’d just offered Akabe. “Majesty! What a pleasure to see you in your fellow king’s court, sir! I wish you a good day—and a good visit.”
He continued his smooth retreat, though with such a secretive, calculating smile that Kien wanted to lock him in a choke hold and squeeze the truth from his immoral soul. What game was the man playing? Every courtier within earshot was now staring at Kien.
Akabe frowned. “Wait.”
Ruestock paused, the image of sublime patience. “Yes, Majesty?”
“Explain what you just said to former ambassador Lantec.”
Kien growled. He saw where this conversation was going. As soon as he could isolate Ruestock, Kien would flay the man. Infinite, give me patience, please!
In his most unctuous manner, Ruestock said, “Forgive me, Majesty—and Majesty.” He bowed to Akabe, then Kien. “I did not realize that former ambassador Lantec has concealed the matter. He is the rightful king of Istgard. He refused the honor following the battle of Ytar.”
Akabe stared at Kien, incredulous. “Is this true?”
“In Istgard’s best interests.” Kien fumed. He would beat Ruestock bloody! Why create this scene?
Siphra’s king straightened on his throne, an eyebrow lifted at Kien, not altogether pleased. “We must talk.”
Kien offered with an envoy’s bow. “Of course, sir.”
While Akabe was distracted by the final petitioner, Kien wove his way through the crowd to Ruestock. All courtesy and grace, the rogue nobleman bowed and straightened. “Majesty.”
Kien spoke through gritted teeth. “What game are you playing?”
“My favorite game,” Ruestock murmured. “Realms and kings. And the more kings the better, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve done you a favor by speaking the truth, sir. All the honors of Siphra are now yours. One day, I’m sure you’ll be glad of it and, perhaps, consider me less of an enemy.”
“Unlikely. On all counts.”
“Oh, more than likely. In time. Majesty.” Eyes glittering, Ruestock bowed and backed away.
The instant Akabe’s royal audience ended, Akabe descended from his dais and faced Kien, his displeasure unmistakably driven by envy. “Majesty,” he said to Kien in carrying accents, “May I request a bit of your royal time?”
“Gladly.” Lowering his voice, Kien warned, “We need to speak in an isolated place. Wholly secure and free of prying courtiers. With plenty of room.” He deliberately rested a hand on the white-metaled hilt of his Azurnite sword. “Do you have such a chamber, sir?”
“Better than a chamber. A sanctuary.” Akabe nodded to his gold-and-crimson clad council members. “Our meeting will be slightly delayed.”
More than a few of the council members looked grateful.
Courtiers bowed as Akabe and Kien left the throne room. Before Kien could speak, Akabe said, “You received a message this morning from the Tracelands. What has happened?”
Kien grimaced. So the palace spies had been set upon him. Aware that they were being followed by Akabe’s personal guards, he said, “My leave is canceled. I’ll tell you more when we reach this sanctuary you’ve promised.”
Akabe quickened their pace. “Are we using weapons, Majesty?”
“Yes, sir. And, please, stop calling me that.”
“But I enjoy inflicting the title on an equally unwilling wretch. What else haven’t you told me?” Akabe demanded. “You deserve to be beaten!”
“You may try.”
Guards stood at attention on either side of the doorway to Akabe’s apartments. Servants awaited their king inside. Akabe motioned everyone to leave. None too happy, they obeyed. The instant the door closed, Akabe fastened its bolt with a resounding thump.
Alarmed yells echoed from outside. Akabe roared, “Hush, all of you! I’m in no danger.”
He removed his gold crown and plopped it on the huge royal bed, then yanked the gold clasps off his robes. While flinging his dazzling royal trimmings over ornate chairs, he complained, “It’s a mighty injustice when I, a fugitive almost-nobody, am forced to become king, while you—with royal blood!—have escaped the same fate!”
Kien looked around the glittering apartment. Not a window to be seen. “I imagine you’re feeling trapped.”
“Trapped is not a sufficient word!” Akabe darted a wary glance at the door and said more softly, “I am suffocating!”
“I regret your sufferings.”
“You smirk!”
Well, yes, a little. But he was too worried about Ela to truly enjoy himself. “Let’s have our bout and talk.”
Now clad in his plain tunic and leggings, Akabe flung a golden vest at Kien like a weapon. “At least with you, I can expect a fair bout of swords. No throwing me the victory because I am king.”
“I will never throw you a victory,” Kien pledged. To emphasize his point, he pitched the golden vest back at Akabe.
The young king dashed aside the garment and grinned. Rummaging in a storage chest, he removed two swords and some gear, then sat on the floor. With a sigh of relief, he shed his gold-embellished shoes and yanked on some scuffed, still-dirty boots. He donned one of the swords, then snatched the second. “Now, O King who escaped your country, I am ready to crush you!”
“Again, you may try.”
“I will. But don’t worry. My surgeons will stitch you up.”
“After they stitch you!”
Akabe led Kien to a far wall and slid a superbly carved, golden-winged aeryon-beast to the right. A narrow panel shifted, then turned like a small ship’s sail aligned to the wind. Akabe grinned. “I hope you deal well with complete darkness and little breathing room, Majesty. Beware.”
Kien stepped forward. As he studied the darkness behind the panel, his heart took a sickening plunge.
22
Akabe’s warning was entirely justified. A tight-coiled set of spiraling stone stairs twisted upward within near-airless darkness. Blinded at the first turn, Kien paused and nudged at the steps with his boots to find his way. Several steps above him, Akabe said, “We could have brought lamps, but that would have meant calling the servants. I didn’t want them to interfere.”
“I don’t blame you.” The higher they climbed, however, the more the darkness pressed in like a strangling force. Kien pushed at his growing agitation. Since when had darkness and confinement affected him so badly?
His stomach muscles tightened as he remembered being inside the sea beast’s gullet after ToronSea. The stairs’ stifling, twisting blackness evidently bore enough of a resemblance to the sea beast’s innards to rattle him. Severely. Infinite? Will this be a lifetime affliction?
No words met Kien’s unspoken plea. Praying, he fought his panic and continued up the sta
irs. He must control himself and convince Akabe to hurry Siphra’s army to Parne.
At last, Akabe said, “Wait.”
Kien paused, gripping the stone wall, listening to the clink of metal bolts and locks in the stifling blackness. Akabe exulted as the door opened. “Ha! It worked!”
“You led me up here without being certain you could open the door?”
“I believed I could, so I did.” Akabe stepped up into the sunlight, then squinted down at Kien. “Majesty, you look like something dug from a grave. Why? Does darkness alarm you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Another mystery?” Akabe retreated, allowing Kien out of the stairwell. “Never fear, I will learn your secret soon enough.”
Kien hoped he wouldn’t. The truth was too mortifying. Sucking in huge, reviving breaths of fresh air, he looked around. They stood within the rim of an encircling stone wall, which was garnished with elaborate bow loops. Surrounded by brilliant blue sky. Curious, Kien peered out a bow loop. More sky. With the palace courtyards below. Too far below.
Too sickeningly much like the cliffs of ToronSea.
Kien shut his eyes. Wonderful. Now he was afraid of heights, as well as closed, dark places? Not good for anyone in the military. Infinite, help?
“What is wrong?” Akabe demanded. He shut the stairwell door with a thud. Sounding impatient, he asked, “Is this part of the mystery?”
Kien saw how this would end. Akabe would have him investigated. Probably send servants to make inquiries in Adar-iyr. It might be best to confess the truth now. He turned and eyed the king. “Swear you’ll never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Your word of honor. On your sword.”
“Is it such a secret?”
Kien hoped it would remain one. He frowned at Akabe, silent, until the young man lifted his sword. “You have my word, my friend. Now tell me.”
“The Infinite threw me off a cliff in ToronSea. I was swallowed by a sea monster.”
“You are not serious.”
“I am. By the Infinite’s will, it’s true.”
Akabe stared. “And you lived.”
“Barely.” Kien pulled in another deep breath, then exhaled through his nose. Be calm. Here, surrounded by sunlight and solid stone walls, he had nothing to fear. “The beast heaved me up on the beach at Adar-iyr. I spoke to King Ninus and his people, as the Infinite commanded, and then I journeyed here. It seems my adventures have left me with a few troubling symptoms.”
“Perhaps time will ease them.” Akabe shifted the sword loosely in his hands, a disappointed gesture. “I suppose you are now too ill for a bout.”
“No. I’m not.” He couldn’t allow himself any weakness. For Ela’s sake, he must win this bout and prove to Siphra’s king and royal council that, because of their Azurnite, the Tracelands had reason to fear an invasion from Belaal. And that Siphra would be overrun in the conflict. Fortified by another deep breath, Kien unfastened his cloak, dropped it, then walked to the center of the tower’s wall-encircled crest. This was a perfect practice area for a king. Isolated. Reasonably level. Open, yet hidden and secure. Kien prayed for an instant, took a few calming breaths, and felt better. “Let’s have a bout, sir. Then we must talk.”
“Akabe,” the king insisted. “Someone has to call me Akabe, and you seem to be the approved someone.”
“Fine.” Kien swept his Azurnite sword from its scabbard and saluted Siphra’s reluctant king with the glistening blue-silver blade.
Akabe’s attention fixed on the sword. “May I test it?”
“No.”
“If I win?”
“You won’t.”
“Tracelanders!” Akabe grumbled, unsheathed his spare sword and tossed its scabbard to the foot of a wall. Then he advanced, cold-eyed, his mouth set. Obviously determined to fight close-in, hoping to seize Kien’s sword.
Kien answered with an attack, a lunge and a feint, forcing Akabe to step back. Akabe swung away and threw him a taunt. “You’re nothing but a dance master!”
“You don’t want to cross swords with me,” Kien warned.
“But I do!” Akabe countered, bringing his sword downward—a falcon’s guard, stooping for prey.
Kien parried with the flat of his sword and shifted, putting more distance between them. Akabe attacked again with a swift thrust. Kien stepped back to lull him, then lunged, sliding his blade along Akabe’s sword until the Azurnite rested at Akabe’s throat. “See it?”
Akabe grinned. “If my guards could see this they would have convulsions.”
They unlocked blades, circled, then traded strikes until Akabe became impatient. He advanced energetically and swung at Kien in a wide, ferocious arc.
Kien instinctively met the strike with such force that Akabe’s blade snapped beneath the Azurnite.
Akabe whooped, waving his broken sword. “This is what I wanted to see!”
He darted to the wall and returned with his second sword, a two-handed blade. “Once more, then I must attend my council.”
The council. Kien nodded. He would plead for their intercession on Parne’s behalf. “If I win, I attend with you.”
“Do you believe my counselors will discuss our country’s affairs while you listen?”
Kien smiled. “Perhaps they’ll be the ones listening.” He advanced, forcing Akabe to defend himself, parrying each strike. At last, Akabe charged through an attack, swung around, then brought his blade crashing high against Kien’s uplifted Azurnite sword.
Sparks flew, and so did the tip of Akabe’s longsword. Over the tower’s edge. “Infinite!” Akabe gasped. “Let no one be standing beneath!”
They ran for the nearest bow loop, jostling each other to see the courtyard below. Empty. Akabe heaved a grateful sigh, then laughed. “That was worth ruining two swords!” He backhanded Kien’s arm. “Let’s hurry. My council waits. Now, why must they listen to you?”
Queasy, Kien dug General Rol’s note from his money purse and handed it to the king.
Akabe read it, his elation fading. His gaze went distant. “May I share this with the council?”
“The sooner the better. As it is, half of Parne might be dead before the Tracelands arrives.” With Ela among them.
Siphra’s king gathered his broken swords and led Kien to the tower’s door. While they edged down the spiraling stairs in the unrelenting darkness, Akabe asked, “Why should you have escaped ruling Istgard, when I was not permitted to escape ruling Siphra?”
Concentrating on finding the stairs, and on quelling his panic, Kien took another step downward. “By the Infinite’s advice, I knew I would best serve Istgard by refusing the throne. Just as He knows you will best serve Siphra by ruling. A king must always consider his people’s welfare before his own. Besides, I’ve no wish to become a king.”
“Nor have I,” Akabe muttered. “Yet here I am, wishing I were you—free to travel about with an Azurnite sword and a . . .” He hesitated, as if realizing something. “Where is your destroyer? The one I saw you riding last year?”
“In Parne with my sister and brother-in-law, and Parne’s prophet.”
Akabe released a gusty sigh. For a few more steps he was quiet. Then he said, “If Parne is conquered and Belaal removes their treasures and particularly their ores, then nothing will prevent Bel-Tygeon from marching across Siphra into the Tracelands for its Azurnite and destroyers.”
“Exactly!” Kien hesitated. “Siphra is undoubtedly considered vulnerable.”
“Meaning Belaal considers me inexperienced and weak? No doubt, but I will prove Belaal wrong. You must show your sword to my council. And I will show them mine, newly broken. They will not be pleased.”
Reason to celebrate. Once he escaped this panic-inducing darkness. Breathing, praying, Kien edged the toe of his boot forward. Downward.
One by one, Siphra’s royal council members read General Rol’s note, stared at the swords strewn across the polished stone table, then frowned.
K
ien pinched the bridge of his nose hard, wishing his queasiness would end. Infinite? How do I convince these noblemen to fight for Parne?
They are pledged to Me, the Infinite murmured into Kien’s thoughts. Yet they have not asked My advice.
Kien caught his breath at the realization. Too loudly. The entire council and its king turned to him. Trying to sound rational despite his mutinous stomach, Kien said, “You should not listen to me.”
Their surprise, a unified chorus of uplifted eyebrows, was really quite amusing. Kien wished he weren’t too nauseous to laugh. He looked at Akabe. “Doesn’t Siphra have prophets? Call them. Ask them for the Infinite’s will.”
“Of course!” Akabe started in his chair, then paused as if reminding himself he was the king, not some minion who ought to run to the door and summon Siphra’s prophets. The arguably youngest council member stood, bowed to Akabe, then swept grandly toward the council chamber’s door to beckon a servant.
While they waited, the noble council members passed around General Rol’s message and Kien’s Azurnite sword. A furtive scratching sounded at the door. A scrap of parchment was passed through to the council. The youngest nobleman cleared his throat and read, “‘From the citizens of Parne to Siphra’s king and his people. Belaal’s armies have besieged our city and killed our young men who defend us. We beg your army to rescue us before we are overrun and slaughtered by our mutual enemy.’”
Akabe sat back. “This, then, is our tardy plea from Parne. What—”
He was interrupted by another rap at the door. Two men entered, one weathered, lean, and rough-clothed, the other younger and well dressed. The weathered one nodded to Akabe. “Your servant met us as we were coming to speak to you, Majesty.”
Straightening, Akabe asked, “The Infinite has already sent you, His prophets?”
“He has,” the younger one agreed.
The weathered one nodded. “Your Creator commands you, O King, to lead Siphra’s army against Belaal at Parne.”
Akabe eyed his silent council. “I agree. Will you also obey the Infinite?”
