JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING II

by JANRAE FRANK

  She opened her legs to him as he pushed her dress up. Kalirion gave her a look of sheerest delight when he saw she wore nothing underneath. He opened his robes, tossing them aside on the grass. Kalirion's perfect body, strong and clean-limbed, glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, bent over her. He was generously hung. For a moment she almost wanted him. Then he reminded her of why she disliked him so much by shoving into her with no preliminaries, causing her to cry out in pain. He was big and hard and rough. Dynanna sucked in a deep breath, willing herself to relax. It was going to be a very, very long night just like last time. He would take her several times before he let her go – which would be when the sun rose on the world below and he had to get back to business.

  * * * *

  Dynarien popped into the garden and found his sister by the scrying pool. He started to blurt out all that he had done that previous day and night, feeling singularly victorious, and then pulled up short when he realized what bad shape she appeared to be in.

  Dynanna looked pale, worn out, somewhat battered and was clearly fuming. There was a bruise on her forehead where Kalirion had gotten too enthusiastic in his romping and accidentally bumped her into a rock. He offered to fix it, but she had been totally out of sorts with him by then and refused, wanting to just get it over with and get out. Then he'd had the audacity to propose marriage. She shoved his flowers in his face, cursed his garden with gophers, and fled.

  Dynarien was alarmed; he caught her wrist and read her. "You're pregnant again. Which one were you with last night? It wasn't Hadjys, he's never rough with you."

  Dynanna shrugged. "I got your answers." Ironic. A god of punishment is gentle and a god of healing is an asshole. Oh, well. Then rather than get too irritated, she allowed herself to savor the time Badonth, god of war and vengeance, had lost a round to her. Badonth still insisted that if he could just get her into the bedroom she would never want to leave. He had almost managed to shove her into it before she kicked him in the face and escaped with half his armory. Badonth tended to leave that last part out when talking about the encounter. Dynanna had refused to tell Dynarien where she had gotten all the weapons and armor, knowing she would probably never hear the end of it if he found out. Dynanna, herself, would have been far more cautious had she ever realized just how many male deities were in active pursuit of her with their tongues hanging out, laying traps for her, and bragging at length about every sighting of her as if she were the only game worth chasing.

  "I didn't want them this bad, Sis. He hurt you."

  "Back off," Dynanna responded crossly, rocking her shoulders back and forth. "A good time was had by all. Don't question my methods. Do it again," she waved a fist at him, "and I'll plant this on your frigging nose."

  "All right! All right." Dynarien held his hands up palms out in a gesture of surrender. He meant to say more, but stopped when he saw golden flowers springing up all over their garden. It started with just a few, here and there; then the pace of growth accelerated until it literally swept over the garden like a torrent of water. "Dynanna – who were you with last night?" He demanded in sudden panic. The Big Nine could not find their little place, but they could still send presents. "Torrundar? Kalirion? Badonth? Oh, please don't tell me it was Badonth. Please, please, please."

  "It wasn't!" Dynanna snapped, rubbing her stomach ruefully. Kalirion had nailed her good on the first try, quickening her womb with the first eruption of his seed within her. She had felt it happen. She always did. And thinking about it made her even more cross than she started out that day. She liked having children, but thought it best to space them several centuries apart. "It was Kalirion."

  "I wish you would not take these kinds of chances. Leave the Big Nine alone. Please stay away from them. Please."

  "I am tired of discussing my sex life. Do you want to know what Kalirion said or don't you?"

  Dynarien surrendered. "I do."

  * * * *

  Snow still covered the open ground beyond the walls of Castle Iarwind, though it had begun to melt a bit and looked slushy with streaks of muddy brown churned through the white. A large force had drawn up before the castle in the early dawn, clearing the snow away as they made camp with military precision. Tagalong climbed the spiraling stair of the highest tower in the northwest corner to have a better view. She stalked through one crudely furnished room and out onto the crenellated wall. Leaning between the merlons, Tagalong watched them curiously. At first glance she had thought them to be an army and worried about what this could possibly mean, whether in the Mar'ajan Geoa Odaren's absence, someone had decided to invade. There were several banners: the unicorn banner of the bradae, the fighting priests of Aroana; the question mark squiggle, silver on green, of Dynanna; and the third that made her very angry, the Vehayen wolf and maple leaves – no one had a right to raise that banner with Ladonys dead. There was no Vehayen Dovanes left. She had been Tagalong's friend and Aejys' na'halaef. Laeoli, their daughter, would have had the right to raise it, but she was dead with her ma'aramlasah. Margren and Mephistis had murdered them both and then Aejys, extinguishing the small family that Tagalong had loved. Outrage built in the dwarf as she watched, but before she could start back down, determined to make them lower the banner, she saw children and males moving about the camp and she felt stunned for a moment – the army had brought their families. "What tha hell does that mean? Well, I'm gonna find out an' they'd better have some good answers."

  She ran down the five flights of stairs and then out onto the second floor of the west wing, heading for the stairs that would take her through the great hall. The corridor was nearly empty at that hour so Quilla, the tall, gaunt seneschal spotted her easily.

  "Tagalong. There is someone to see you, Tag," Quilla told her. Her face had an oddly thoughtful look with just the tiniest twist of concern at the corners of her mouth. "We need to talk first, privately."

  "From the camp?" Tagalong turned back to her rooms with Quilla following. The outer room served as a small study and parlor with a table and chairs in the middle. Tagalong indicated the chairs with a nod, but Quilla shook her head.

  "It's about Aejys."

  Tagalong's eyes hooded. "Don't they know she's dead?" Her voice was rough-edged, catching slightly.

  "That's just it. They're saying she's alive."

  "She died in my arms!" Anger blazed up in her blunt face, sending a flush across her features. "Does Tamlestari know?"

  "No. They asked for her – but if they're wrong, it would be too cruel."

  "They're wrong. Margren ripped her stomach open. I – I watched her die..." Tagalong's voice hoarsened as the scene flashed through her mind and she fought back an urge to weep. "Don't tell Tamlestari. I'm going down there and throw them out. This whole thing is a travesty. They've raised Ladonys' banner and..."

  Quilla's eyes dropped from Tagalong's face. "I know. I've asked Laurelyanne to meet you there. They're waiting in the great hall."

  "Thanks."

  Tagalong shot out past her, racing along, propelled by rage, and chased by memories. Dozens of angry phrases formed in her mind, as she decided what to say when she got there. She would take them apart at the seams for this affront to the memories of her lost ones and utter cruelty to those left behind.

  The great hall was hung with banners and tapestries. Long tables lined two walls with chairs along the inside facing out. At the head sat the great table, a large throne bracketed by two smaller ones. An intricate mosaic tile of a gigantic flowering tree, strange otherworldly roses on each branch covered the floor. Three people stood in the hall near the doors, waiting.

  Her thoughts dissolved into confusion when she recognized them. Standing at the head of the little delegation was a grey-haired ha'taren in Ladonys' livery; beside her was a large, crippled woman, her right arm hanging useless at her side, scar faced, body once heavily muscled but now going to fat; a little behind and to the crippled knight's side was a girl in Dynannan priest robes who could not have been more than th
irteen, though her belly had already rounded with pregnancy.

  "Soren?"

  The aged ha'taren nodded. "Tag, before you say anything ... just trust me and hear us out."

  Tagalong's eyes and heart filled with uncertainty as she turned to the crippled knight beside Soren. "Blackbird? What tha hell is going on? I never would'a suspected ya of being tha kind ta pull a stunt like this."

  "It isn't a stunt, Tag, old friend. Aejys is alive."

  Tagalong's eyes filled and she stamped her booted feet angrily. She wanted it to be true – desperately – but she would not allow this travesty to continue, it hurt too much; it was too cruel. "Aejys is dead. I saw her die. Margren..." Tagalong shook her head, her expression crumpling, "She died ... hard."

  "I know, Tag." Blackbird knelt awkwardly, lowering her weight carefully on her good leg, to put her hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I know. Josiah Abelard called her back from death and took her to Vorgensburg."

  "No," Tagalong said stubbornly. "That drunken sot, Josh, took her body to Vorgensburg to bury her beside Brendorn."

  "Tag," Blackbird said patiently with as much gentleness and firmness as she could manage. "She was already alive. I've seen her in the scrying pool at the High Temple in Armaten. Sonden saw her also."

  "I – I want ta believe ... but..." The tears started again. "Josh doesn't have that kind of power. He couldn't... Not possible. Oh, he's got some magic, but nothin' like that. I wish he did."

  Laurelyanne interrupted. "Sonden believes Josh is the reincarnation of Josiah Abelard."

  "Josh?" Tagalong blinked back tears.

  "Tagalong, do you know how Sonden, Kaethreyn, Clemmerick and Josh got atop that altar?"

  "Uh uh."

  "Josh split a gate, opened half of it on that altar. I cannot even begin to do something like that and I am considered an adept."

  "Are ya sayin' it's possible that Aejys could be – could be alive? That this is real?"

  "That's exactly what I am saying." Laurelyanne turned to one of the guardsmyn, "Would you bring me a large bowl and water? And that largest black rucksack from my chambers."

  The guardsmon nodded and left.

  "Is it okay if we sit down?" Blackbird asked, seeing Quilla enter the hall. "My bad leg is aching. I need to take the weight off it."

  Quilla nodded at the chairs and tables.

  Blackbird gestured at the child-priest to sit. Then Soren helped Blackbird to stand again and they shifted the chairs around at the table nearest the door so that all of them could sit together.

  The guardsmon returned with the largest bowl the kitchens had, a wide porcelain glazed white with red Odaren roses. As Laurelyanne began, the room filled quietly with people from the castle.

  An image formed. Aejys sat at the head of the horseshoe table in her favorite meeting room at the Cock and Boar. Pillows stuffed around her to support her. She looked incredibly pale and in pain, but clearly alive. Becca, Omer, and Josh sat around her, talking. There were two seafolk that Tagalong did not recognize: a triton and a nerien.

  They watched for a while, listening to the voices rising from the bowl. The triton stiffened, frowning and sniffing. "Squid-fucking sa'necari!" The triton cursed, "Scrying us again. Damn Margren and Mephistis!" He stood up suddenly, sketching the Nerindalorian rune.

  Laurelyanne screamed as the bowl exploded, throwing her arms across her face barely in time to protect her eyes.

  Tagalong's mouth dropped open, and she sagged back in her chair, stunned.

  "Precious Gods, she's alive," said a soft voice at Tagalong's elbow.

  Tagalong looked up and saw Tamlestari, tears of joy and gratitude streaking her face. "An' she's got one helluva mage," Tagalong muttered inanely.

  Someone laughed, Tagalong was never certain later just who, but it set off a rush of laughter and tears through the room. People were hugging each other, stamping and yelling in a tremendous explosion of emotion.

  * * * *

  The household went back to sitting with Aejys again. At least they no longer considered Josiah incapable of sitting alone with her. They had all noticed the difference since that morning when he awoke with both halves of himself merged into one mon, sober or not. That was less than small comfort to Josiah. A week had passed, and yet she showed no sign of improvement. Between all the additional properties and the loss of life in the attacks – both among their own and Cedarbird's – the household was overworked and understaffed, though Becca was working hard at fixing the situation. Skree had been too busy to do more than a cursory interrogation of Dinger, so the sa'necari remained tied to a wine rack in the north cellar, which Becca had turned into a makeshift dungeon. Skree terrified Dinger and he would start to babble every time the triton stopped by to kick him, which he did at least once a day.

  Josiah had left Aejys' side only once since that morning she awakened, when he went to purchase the new set of blades he carried: a fine longsword hung at his shoulder and a matching pair of long knives that rode at his hips.

  A quick knock on the door preceded Becca's entrance. She dragged a chair over beside Josiah.

  "Our properties have more than doubled," Becca told Aejys. "I need to hire someone to help me with the books and other things." Becca watched her as she spoke. Aejys never tried to sit up anymore. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Taun said her muscles were not answering her brain, he used a different word – Taun used a lot of words that Becca did not know though she was working hard to soak them up.

  "Fine," Aejys' voice was soft with a detached indifference that troubled Becca. The fire seemed to have gone out of her.

  "I want to hire Darlbret."

  "Did Josiah's spell mark him?"

  "No."

  "Then he's innocent. Hire him if you want."

  "Don't you want to discuss this?"

  "I'm tired, Becca."

  Becca sighed at that dismissal, rose and left. She walked down the hall and entered her office. Darlbret huddled in Clemmerick's chair, wringing his hands.

  "You're hired."

  "Truly?"

  "Aejys said you're hired. So you are."

  He caught her hand and kissed it, then clung to it, murmuring "thank you," over and over.

  Becca pulled her hand free. She knew he had not been eating. With no job and no money – Cedarbird had never paid him much – he had been giving it all to his sister. One of the pixies, who Fezelbaum sent to check on Darlbret, had brought Becca this news. Coupled with the fact that Fezelbaum cared enough to look in on him, it had perked Becca's initial interest: They were good judges of character.

  "Let's go down to the kitchen, get you something to eat and introduce you to everyone."

  "Oh, that would be wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

  As they walked, Becca got another idea. "You read and write."

  "Three languages. I – I can read and write and even speak." Darlbret beamed briefly, then dropped his eyes, clearly worried that she would think him bragging.

  "Could you teach me? Just common."

  "Oh, yes! Absolutely."

  * * * *

  Aejys regarded Josiah for a long moment after Becca left. She had feeling in her body, but none of the muscles answered to her mind. Taun said it would pass, but she had begun to doubt it. Several times each day, Taun and Josiah would move her about, exercise her limbs and rub them, trying to get a response, but nothing happened. She felt so numb and hollowed out – so wrapped up in a fog of despair, that no matter what flint and steel she chose from her memories she could not strike a spark of anger to burn it away. "Josiah."

  "Yes."

  "I need your promise."

  "For what?" he asked taking her hand in his.

  "I'm not getting any better."

  "You will."

  "It's been two weeks, Josiah."

  "I know."

  "Listen to me. This is important. If I do not get better," she stopped his protest with a look. "If I should die... If I should stay this way, promise me,
you'll kill Margren and Mephistis. You'll stop them."

  "I swear it. By Aroana's sword and shield, by willow and horn and hoof. I swear to see them destroyed and all who follow them."

  "Thank you." Aejys turned her head away and slipped into slumber.

  * * * *

  Becca sat at her desk, handling the swatches of fine cloth that Marya Maryasdottir had brought over that morning. Textiles were one of the mainstays of Vorgeni trading. She had to tell them how much she would buy to ship south. There was so much to learn. It made her dizzy thinking about it.

  There was a knock on the door and Darlbret entered with a tray. A steaming carafe, cups, two small pitchers, and an array of pastries covered it.

  "What's that?"

  "Oh, you'll like this," Darlbret said beaming at her. "It's called coffee. My last master could not start a day without it." He was careful not to say Cedarbird's name. He settled the tray carefully, then poured a black liquid into a cup, added cream and sugar, and then nodded at her to take it.

  Becca sipped carefully. It was delicious. She drank it and felt some kind of rush hit her body. "It's good."

  Darlbret poured himself a cup and moved Clemmerick's chair closer to her. "Now, what are we doing today?"

  "Cloth. We've got a lot of ships just sitting in the harbor waiting to take this stuff south."

  "Well, this is how it works." Darlbret began explaining the intricacies of trading in textiles as well as which shipments went where. The morning disappeared.

  Omer came in as the bell tower rang noon. He grinned at the way they looked huddling together over the cloth. "Janine is here."

  Becca looked up. "Bring her in."

  "Okay." Omer left.

  "Brothels! We've got six brothels!"

  "Delegate. Delegate. Delegate," Darlbret said. "It's just a matter of good management."

  Janine entered wearing black silk trousers, a lacy white shirt and a long embroidered Kwaklahmyn vest.