Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  As the blazing sun touched the horizon, Regin spoke. "Forne. Tarador will not survive this coming war, with Carlana as Regent."

  Niles Forne could not argue with his duke. He could not argue, both because he agreed with Regin on the issue, and because he knew Regin blamed Niles Forne for the growing softness of Kyre. "Yes, Your Grace."

  "We must act." Regin's hands clasped tightly behind his back. "For the good of the nation, it is our patriotic duty. We cannot stand by while Carlana does nothing."

  Forne cleared his throat quietly. "The Regency Council may be in the mood to replace the current Regent, but not, I judge, to accept you as her replacement. The political stars are not aligned for you to become Regent, Your Grace."

  "Forne," Regin smiled for the first time that day. Occasionally, he was able to surprise his own adept political advisor. "You must think more subtly. The time is not right for me to assume the Regency," and effectively the throne, "but there is another candidate we can put forward."

  "Who, Sire?" Forne asked, with curiosity and dread. Whatever plan Regin intended, the Duke would expect Niles Forne to make it happen.

  "Ariana's uncle."

  “Her uncle?" Forne almost laughed in surprise and horror. Leese Trehayme was a drunkard, a man who had never taken responsibility for anything in his life. Given a monthly stipend by the royal family, the man had left Linden to live a life of leisure and debauchery, surrounded by people who plied him with drink and, it was rumored, stronger substances. "That would be," Forne considered what to say to avoid insulting his Duke, "rather surprising, Your Grace."

  "The man can be controlled, Forne. All we need is a figurehead, a symbol for the nation to rally around. He would not be expected to bear the burden of making the hard decisions, for that, we would provide guidance."

  "It might be difficult to persuade him to return to Linden, Sire. He left because he could not stand the thought of his young niece being ahead of him, in line for the throne."

  "Inducements can be provided, Forne. Flattery. If there is a strong call for Leese to return, to lead us in such dire times, how could any man not respond to such a summons?" Regin smiled wryly. "He should be reminded, also," the Falco Duke added darkly, "that these are dangerous times. How many attempts have there been on the life of our crown princess already?”

  Forne sucked in a breath. The doors and windows were closed, no one was listening to them. Still, he was surprised to hear his Duke even broadly hint at such treason. "Many, Sire. Our crown princess is in great danger at all times."

  "And in greater danger, as long as her mother holds the Regency. To protect our crown princess," Regin could not prevent his lip from curling, "we must act. Although," he shook his head sadly, "there is only so much we can do. If Ariana were to suffer a terrible fate," he looked into the fading sun, "someone must be ready to lead this nation."

  Chu Wing stood in the stirrups to stretch her legs, and to relieve the pain in her aching backside. After living in a comfortable cabin on a sailing ship, during the journey from Tarador to Ching-Do, with a stop at Indus, she was unused to riding a horse. When the message from Lord Salva reached her, she had concluded her official visit to Indus, and had been about to board a ship for the final leg of her journey home. Immediately, her hosts had turned the coach around, and she had raced, day after day, through the landscape of Indus. That time of year, the winds blew strongly in the wrong direction for a sea voyage from Indus to Tarador. A ship would have to slowly beat back and forth all day to progress a few miles, and on some days, all the skill of captain and crew could only hold the ship in place. It was faster to make the long, arduous journey overland. When hills turned into mountains, and roads narrowed then disappeared, she had left the bouncing, coach behind to ride a series of horses. The Indus Empire had a string of stations across the remote mountainous area, where imperial couriers could change horses, in their swift race across the sparsely populated wilderness.

  "Halt!" The captain of her escort shouted in warning, holding up a fist. Wing pulled her horse to a stop, and stood again to peer into the setting sun. They were in a broad mountain valley between two towering mountain ranges, peaks thickly covered in snow and ice even this far into the springtime. The mountains here were referred to by the Indus as the Roof of the World, and Wing could understand why. Even where they were, in a valley, the air was thin and cold; the horses huffed loudly to fill their lungs even when merely walking.

  Banners flew atop staffs to the west, almost within the disk of the lowering sun, and Wing squinted to see what lay ahead of them. Even with her wizard-enhanced senses, she could only discern it was a party of people on horses, perhaps a dozen. Banners were carried by two of the horsemen, the cloth flailing in the brisk wind making it impossible to tell what the banners signified.

  The captain of her Indus escort drew his sword, and shouted commands to his men. The captain's orders, written directly by the Raj himself, were to deliver Madame Chu to Tarador safely, even at the cost of the men's lives. This remote part of the Empire, lands only loosely controlled by the Raj, held vicious bandits who preyed upon travelers and merchant caravans.

  Wing closed her eyes, and let her senses fly on before her. Concentrating, she swayed a bit in the saddle, the balance of her body wavered as her consciousness was briefly projected elsewhere. Smiling, she opened her eye and spoke. "Captain, you may rest easy. Ahead of us are Rangers of Tarador. They have come a great distance to meet us."

  Her escort remained on alert, though swords were sheathed. The sun had slid halfway down behind the horizon by the time the Rangers arrived; their leader came on ahead, hands up in peaceful greeting. Seeing the wizard, he dismounted from his horse and got down on one knee, bowing to the powerful wizard from Ching-Do. "Chu Wing? Madame Chu, Her Highness the Regent of Tarador, and the wizard Lord Salva, thank you for answering their call in our time of great need."

  "You are?" Wing asked.

  "Lieutenant Tems of the Ranger Corps, ma'am. We are here to escort you to Linden. There is a full complement of Rangers several leagues back, we could not bring our full strength, due to lack of fodder for our horses in these parts," he nodded back to his men. Behind the saddle of every horse were bags of grain to feed the horse; the sparse springtime grasses in the high mountain meadows meant the horses would otherwise have to spend most of each day eating, rather than traveling.

  "Thank you, Lieutenant Tems. Captain Rashesh of Indus will accompany us to Linden," she announced. Seeing the look of surprise and not a little wariness on Tems' face, she hastened to add "the Raj has ordered them to see to my safety. His Imperial Majesty the Raj will be sending an army of five thousand soldiers to defend Tarador, but they will be arriving by sea, and the winds this time of year are not favorable."

  Five thousand skilled imperial soldiers could make a great difference on behalf of Tarador. If they arrived in time. "The winds?" He was familiar with the seasonal winds and ocean currents between Tarador and Indus, having served on a Taradoran naval ship early in his career. "When does the Raj expect his troops to arrive in Tarador?"

  "Likely not until the leaves are falling," Wing said sadly.

  Tems looked grim. "I fear to say, that might be too late, ma'am. With your strength and skill, and that of Lord Salva, we may yet prevail."

  "We may," Wing looked at the last flash of the day's sunlight. "It is two miles, I believe, to the way station, and it grows dark. Lead on, Mr. Tems. We have a long way to go, and no time to tarry."

  Captain Raddick winced as thorns scraped his face and snagged in his hair. He pushed the rose canes aside slowly, carefully, lest the movement catch the eye of the enemy below. They were in a bad position, for the setting sun to the west illuminated the slope they were on, while looking into the glare made it difficult for Raddick to see his quarry. Against the orders of the Regent, and following the hinted desires of Grand General Magrane, Raddick had crossed the border into Acedor with only four men. Traveling light and swiftly, they were
now on a rock-strewn slope, wrestling with thorn bushes that provided their only concealment. To get into position had taken all day, stealthily crawling up the hill, avoiding poisonous serpents that were sunning themselves on the warm rocks. Only now were they in position to view the enemy, and what Raddick saw dismayed him.

  Campfires. Many campfires, filling the valley below him. Campfires stretching along both sides of the river; orcs on one side, foul men on the other. Two armies, building up strength to invade Tarador. The last light of day fell on a train of wagons coming from the east, bringing more supplies for the enemy's forces.

  Raddick turned his head and looked at his lieutenant, catching sunlight barely glinting off the man's eyes.

  Soon. The enemy would attack soon. The coming summer could be the last for Tarador.

  And for the world.

  Shomas Feany was on his own long voyage, although he was able to travel in relative comfort aboard a ship, instead of a bone-jolting ride on horseback. Relative comfort was a relative term; sleeping in a swaying hammock, trying to walk on a heaving deck, and eating what sailors considered good food had made Shomas yearn for the ship to get into port as quickly as possible. Yet, there he was, back aboard the ship, with sailors climbing the masts to unfurl more sails. Beginning a voyage as the sun was setting did not seem wise to Shomas, but the sailors explained they must take advantage of the tides, and sailing at night was nothing unusual. The ship was barely making way at the moment, under half sail and still within the main harbor of LeMonde. The main harbor was a fine anchorage; wide, deep enough that heavily laden ships need not fear running aground, shallow enough to securely anchor. Hills ringing the harbor and a reef offshore, protected it from summer storms that sometimes raged with little warning. It was the safe anchorage of the harbor, and its location in the main shipping lanes off the coast of Tarador, that had made the little Duchy of LeMonde a wealthy and prosperous nation. Despite her title of ancient origin, the Duchess of LeMonde was a queen in all but name; she answered to no one but her subjects.

  Although that was not quite true, and that was the reason Lord Feany had made the uncomfortable sea voyage. The Duchess of LeMonde allowed two small offshore islands to be used as bases for pirate ships, pirates supported by Acedor. Not allowed, exactly; the Duchess did not encourage Acedor to use two of her islands, and she did not allow ships flying the flag of Acedor to enter the main harbor. She had also done nothing to remove the pirates from the islands. Tarador, in years past, had for centuries maintained a strong naval presence in LeMonde, at the invitation of that Duchy's rulers. No more did Tarador protect its smaller neighbor; ships and troops had been pulled back to the mainland, leaving the Duchy to defend itself. And so, the current Duchess turned a blind eye to piracy, even to Acedoran ships flying false flags using her fine harbor. Those ships paid an anchorage fee, and their crews knew to keep their visits ashore brief and quiet.

  The purpose of Shomas paying a visit to the Duchess was to discretely inquire what support from Tarador she would need, in order to act against the pirates. The answer he received, from a chilly and skeptical Duchess, was not encouraging. Unless Tarador could station a substantial force in LeMonde; a half dozen ships, perhaps five hundred soldiers, the Duchess would not do anything to risk an open invasion of her little country by Acedor. As Tarador appeared to be unable, or unwilling, to protect even itself, the Duchess was not optimistic of a renewed alliance between her Duchy and her once-powerful neighbor across the sea to the north.

  The problem, thought Shomas as he watched the sun settle into the sea to the west, was Tarador's current Regent. As long as Carlana Trehayme refused to risk her armed forces in battle, the outcome was inevitable. When he returned to Linden, he needed to discuss a taboo subject with Paedris; the Wizard Council may need to take action, lest Tarador be defeated before the battle had begun.

  Koren or, as he now called himself, Kedrun, was also on a ship, though his ship was gliding slowly into a harbor far to the south of LeMonde. That same island had been Koren's first landfall after departing from Tarador. It was the northernmost of the South Islands, and a popular trading port. The harbor held a half dozen ships at that moment; two weeks ago, Koren had counted fourteen ships anchored in the warm, clear water.

  He stood at the rail and looked down; even in the golden light of sunset, he could see the white sandy bottom of the harbor. As he watched, a school of multi-colored fish flashed by and under the ship. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of something that was still new to him. New, and wonderful and delightful, and so invigorating that every time the scent wafted past his nose, he smiled. It was the scent of what sailors called the tropics, and so indescribably wonderful that Koren could never have imagined it. The scent was a combination of things called pineapples, and coconuts, and papayas, and guava fruits, and sand baked by the midday sun, and of sunlight glinting off crystal clear waters. The balmy evening breeze caressed his bare arms; he had followed the advice of fellow sailors, and cut sleeves off one of his shirts as the air grew warmer on their sea voyage south. The tropical breeze also carried from land the dry rustling of palm fronds, so unlike the sound of wind whispering through the pine trees that Koren remembered from his childhood.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Alfonze asked as he came to stand by the rail next to the young man he knew as Kedrun. With the ship gliding into the harbor on almost bare poles, with all sails furled but one, there was not much for the sailors to do right then. The ship's momentum was carrying it slowly to its selected anchorage. In a few minutes, the captain would call for the sailors to back the single sail, then furl it, and the ship would come to a stop for the night.

  "It is," Koren admitted enthusiastically. "Alfonze, when you told me about the South Islands, I didn't believe you, not all of it. I could never have imagined this."

  Alfonze breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the enticing scent of land, welcome after many days at sea. "A man could be happy here, Kedrun."

  Koren nodded silently in agreement. He could be happy here. He was happy here. Aboard the ship, he had found a home; his fellow sailors were a band of men who knew nothing of his past, knew not that he was a jinx, did not think him a coward and a deserter. Indeed, his jinx had not arisen since he had been aboard the ship; nothing bad or even odd had happened. As each day passed without incident, Koren was beginning to dare hope that he had left his curse behind in Tarador. This, maybe, was where he belonged; far from those he had injured, far from his curse, far from his home. This place, this tropical paradise, could become his new home, if he embraced it.

  Then he frowned, a shadow passing across his face. There was a ship, between his ship and the land, the shifting breeze had just lofted that ship's flag. Koren could now see it was the flag of Tarador. The last time Koren had been in this port, rumors had flown that many sailors from his homeland were answering the call to come home. The taverns had been filled with men from Tarador, some of who had not seen home shores for many years, they were now leaving to take passage north. To serve in their homeland's navy, in their nation's time of dire need.

  Alfonze saw the look on Koren's face, saw the young man was looking at the flag which fluttered lazily from the stern of the other ship, glowing in the golden light of the setting sun. Alfonze knew what the young man was thinking, and the sailor clasped a calloused hand on Koren's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't you worry about them, Kedrun. The war between Tarador and Acedor has been raging for a thousand years, if tales be true. Oh, they will tell you about duty, and honor, and noble causes, and none of it puts food in your belly, or coin in your pocket. I've seen war, Kedrun. I've seen war, and it's all only spoiled kings and queens who have too much, and lust for more. They live in their castles, surrounded by every luxury, and all the land they can see belongs to them. And they are not happy, because lands they cannot see do not belong to them. So, they send men like you and me to fight and die." He spat in the sea. "What do royalty think of their duty to us? Nothing, that's w
hat. I tell you, the troubles up north amount to nothing down here. Tarador has been fighting for a thousand years, this dust-up is nothing new, mark my words. Whatever happened up there, whatever you did, whatever happened to you, put it behind you."

  The young man did not appear convinced, so Alfonze continued, looking at the sky where stars had begun to shine. "Tell me this, Kedrun, what do they owe you?"

  "Nothing," Koren said quietly.

  "That's right. And that's what you owe them. You're a young man, you need to make your way in the world. Leave strife and glorious quests to others, eh? The South Islands are peaceful. Tell you what, we won't be paid until the day after tomorrow, but I have coins in my pocket. When we get to shore, I'll buy you one of those drinks you like, served in a coconut and all."

  "No rum in it, please," Koren grinned at the thought. Alfonze was right. He had left his homeland to protect the people he cared about from his jinx; he owed nothing more to Tarador. He could be happy here.

  And he would.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cully Runnet was walking across the courtyard of the royal castle, with a basket of freshly cleaned and folded laundry for the court wizard, when he saw a girl standing in front of the wizard’s tower, staring up at it. Cully guessed that she was about his age, 14 or so, and she had the lightest blonde hair that he had ever seen. Although her clothes were fine, with a nice cloak tied around her shoulders, her shoes and the bottom of her dress were dusty and dotted with mud. She must have traveled from afar and just arrived at the castle, Cully supposed. Why, he decided, it was certainly his duty to offer help to a weary traveler. The fact that she was a pretty girl, well, that never crossed Cully’s mind. Or maybe it did, a little.