by Bruce Blake
Ishla opened her mouth, a reprimand for the way the man spoke and how he referred to Trenan teetering on the tip of her tongue, but she caught herself. It wasn't her place, not in the king's presence.
Erral turned his gaze on the excited soldier, raised an eyebrow. "You'll be going nowhere. With Den... Dan..." He glanced toward the queen, set a questioning mask atop the ire that pinched his features.
"Dansil," she finished for him.
"Dansil. With the queen's guard traipsing around the kingdom with Trenan, my wife's complement is one short. Since her safety is the kingdom's safety, you will protect her in his stead until his return, however long it might be."
Concern flickered to life in Ishla's gut. The soldier's eyes widened and his lips quivered to disguise the thrill handed to him by the king's proclamation. The queen looked from him to her husband, her stomach tightening. Erral's gaze slid to her, and for an instant, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth tilt up in a tiny grin, as if assigning this unqualified man to her detail amused him. He returned his attention to the soldiers before she determined the smile real or merely fancy.
"Why are you still here?" the king snapped, startling Ishla though he didn't direct his words at her.
Osis reacted at once, bowing lower this time and spinning on his heel, heading out of the chamber to gather his squad. The other man—Strylor, she reminded herself—slid his feet along the floor, shuffling closer to the queen.
"What are you doing?" she asked, incredulous.
He appeared surprised by her question, though the ghost of a small remained. "The king assigned me to look after you. It's what I'm doing."
Erral cleared his throat but Ishla raised her hand, stopping him before he spoke. Because the man was now her personal guard, she knew her husband would allow her this leeway. She took two steps toward the soldier, moving close enough to reach out and touch him if she wanted to; she did not.
"Do you think I am not safe alone in the king's company? Do you not consider my husband able to protect me?"
Strylor's eyes widened, his cheeks blushed red, and the hidden smile disappeared abruptly. He shook his head with such haste, Ishla took a step away for fear saliva might fly from his lips.
"N... no, my queen. I—"
"Then get out."
He bowed too deeply, bending far enough forward he appeared in danger of tipping. The queen crossed her arms, glared at him. When he straightened, he wore a sheepish smile as though he considered the entire thing an amusing little game, then spun and exited the chamber, closing the door behind him. Ishla faced her husband.
"Why—?"
"Hush yourself, woman. With the other one gone, you need another Queen's Guard. What matters now is having Trenan return to answer for his incompetence."
"No, what matters is getting our son and daughter back safe."
Erral waved his hand. "Of course. But the master swordsman will face consequences for his failure."
Ishla's cheeks grew warm as anger filled her. Was it possible he placed more importance on punishing a man who'd served him so well for so long than on finding their children? Whatever might have happened, the queen knew Trenan enough to realize he'd done everything in his power to protect the prince and princess.
"You make it seem as though rescuing our children is not of the highest priority."
He glared at her, the knuckles of his hand turning white around the handle of his flagon of ale. "Of course it's important," he said through clenched teeth. "But I have a kingdom to run and defend. Things happen you do not understand because I protect you from them. I see no need for the weight of the kingdom's affairs to squash you."
"But our children—"
"Will be found." He emphasized the last word by slamming his mug on the tabletop, but it did not fare so well this time; the clay shattered, spilling ale everywhere. He continued as though he didn't notice, the flagon's handle still held in his hand. "I understand the importance of finding them; one of them is the heir to the throne. And if Trenan had accomplished what I meant him to rather than being distracted by his own affairs and feelings for the children..."
One of them...?
Ishla took a step toward the table. "Do not blame Trenan for this. It wasn't his actions that drove them out of the castle."
"It's my fault? For discouraging their interest in the ridiculous scroll?"
His eyes darted away from hers for an instant but, in the brief space of time, she became certain he kept something from her. She didn't speak, didn't so much as move her head, but knew he'd understand her intended response.
"Despite your choice of words, they are children no more. If their mother realized this and treated them accordingly, maybe they wouldn't be chasing a fanciful dream."
The queen's hands clenched into fists and she opened her mouth, but stopped herself. He may be her husband, but he was also her king, and some things shouldn't be said. She closed her lips, inhaled a deep breath, and reset her thoughts.
"Don't blame Trenan for this," she said. "He'd do everything in his power for Teryk and Danya."
Erral opened his hand, allowed the handle of the flagon to roll off his fingers and clunk down on the tabletop, then wiped his palm on his trousers. He stared at his wife before responding.
"Be careful in your defense of the master swordsman, my queen, or I might wonder why you are so adamant about his innocence."
A shiver ran up the queen's spine and she struggled to prevent distress from showing on her face. Old worries clambered into her mind, ones she found always with her but she tried to keep buried. They resurfaced whenever the three of them gathered in the same place. Did he see unintentional looks between them? Did he recognize the slight resemblance between their son and the swordmaster? With an effort, Ishla forced the worry back into the pit of her stomach where she'd carried it for so many turns of the seasons. She'd have to deal with it another time. Now, more important matters demanded her attention.
"Find my children. Please."
The instant she spoke the words, a thought entered her mind.
Because if you don't, I will.
She remained where she stood for a moment longer, ensuring she made her displeasure obvious without speaking before she turned and strode to the door. It required more concentration than she expected to keep her legs from shaking. A tremor quivered through her fingers as she reached for the door handle. Anger at her husband? Nervousness about what she might have to do to get her children back? Worry for their safety? All of it.
Ishla squeezed her hand into a fist and held it tight. When she opened it again, the quaking had stopped, so she grasped the handle and pulled the door open. Before stepping across the threshold, she shot a final glance over her shoulder at Erral, but the king had returned to other things, his attention diverted from his wife and, in all likelihood, from his children. She clamped her teeth together and stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, intentionally too hard. She turned to the right and found her new guard leaning against the hall's stone wall, a finger buried in his nose to the first knuckle. When he saw her, he yanked it out, wiped whatever came along with it on the front of his trousers, and straightened.
"Are you yet here? I thought I told you to leave."
"To leave the chamber, your highness. You did. And now you've left it, too, and no longer have the king to protect you. This is where I come in."
She felt not the patience to suffer this fool; she sighed, set her jaw, and approached him. When she came close, she leaned in to speak and unintentionally caught a whiff of him—it had been a long while since he last bathed.
"I don't need your protection."
She remained near him, holding her breath and intending her proximity to be threatening. The soldier swallowed hard, but the way his gaze darted from her eyes to the front of her dress and back made it clear threat wasn't what he felt. Disgust clogged her throat, and she almost forgot herself and drew some air. Despite his actions making the skin on her
arms crawl, she didn't move away.
"Soldier?"
She spoke the word harshly, its sound surprising him; he jerked his gaze from where it had fallen on her bodice again. She set her expression to chastise and accuse him, but he only smiled.
"Yer my job, your highness, and I aim to take good care of you."
Frustrated, the queen sighed and swept by him, careful not to touch him as she passed. She stared straight ahead, trying not to think about the soldier and his intended actions, but she heard the ruckus of him hitching up his sword belt and following her. One more thing to worry about: if she was to find her children herself, she would have to lose her guard.
IX Teryk - Shore
Teryk gasped for breath, inhaling a splash of water as he did. He gagged and coughed, the unrhythmic jerking motion slowing his strokes. His shoulders burned and the urge to peer back threatened to overtake him; the desire to see if the sea creature swam right behind him, mouth agape and dagger teeth ready to shred him swelled in his chest. He resisted, instead keeping his eye on the shore and Rilum waving him on frantically. The sailor's action told him everything he needed to know of the monster's proximity.
Waves lapped around the man's knees as he yelled desperate encouragement. The splash of his hands and feet in the water and the rush of blood in his ears prevented Teryk from understanding his companion's words. It didn't matter. If he intended to tell the prince the creature gave up the chase and he should relax, he'd behave far differently.
The wish to stretch his legs toward the bottom, discover if his soles might touch, burned stronger than the impulse to peek back. He couldn't walk faster through the water than his ability to swim, but he'd find the knowledge of the earth below his feet for the first time in longer than he recalled reassuring.
Reassuring means nothing if I'm dead.
Despite his intent not to, Teryk stole a glance over his shoulder. A long, smooth line bisected the waves behind him, curving side to side like a dark river flowing through the surface of the sea. It stretched out to the length of many men, but nowhere near the size of the God of the Deep he'd seen looming when the Whalebone met its end.
Not a god, but a fish looking to feed.
He redoubled his efforts, focusing on the shore ahead.
I'm the chosen. The firstborn of the rightful king.
He clamped his jaw tight enough it hurt his teeth, but the panic at the hungry creature behind him forced the discomfort from his mind. He did as Trenan taught, plunging his face into the frigid water as he swam, turning his head to draw breath every fourth stroke. When he looked up again, he spied Rilum splashing toward him, not too far off, in the water up to his waist.
Teryk paused his kicking, letting his feet sink until his soles touched. The sea reached to his mid-chest, but the softness of the sandy bottom under him made him forgo swimming as the better alternative. He churned his legs under the surface, pumped his arms. Silty sand flowed from beneath his toes, slowing him, and the ocean greeted him with great resistance.
"Swim, Taylor! Swim," Rilum hollered, his voice plain now Teryk wasn't splashing and stroking. The desperation in his tone suggested the nearness of his pursuer.
He knew he shouldn't look back, should plunge into the water once more and kick toward his companion as fast as possible. But knowing and doing are different things, and he glanced over his shoulder once more despite the knowledge. The top of the serpent's head stuck out above the surface, the bulbous eyes set atop it fixed on the prince. In the brief instant their gazes met, he saw hunger blazing in them.
Teryk spun toward shore, lurched forward and kicked as hard as his tired legs allowed. Salty water went up his nose, onto his tongue, in his eyes. His feet churned the sea, and he sensed the beast closing on him, the bubbles of its exhalations heating the ocean at his heels. In his mind, his progress ceased, as though something grasped him by the ankles, preventing his escape so the monster might catch him.
It swims faster than I do; why hasn't it caught me?
He didn't mean to ponder the question—his focus should have been on escaping intact—but knowing so didn't stop it from entering his head. Any creature made for swimming could do it swifter than he, yet he'd stayed ahead of the serpent as its coils slid through the waves without resistance. It followed him so far and held back its attack.
A firm grip took him by the wrist; his first reaction was to pull away but, when he did, he felt no razor teeth dig into his flesh. Instead, fingers tightened their hold and pulled him along.
Teryk raised his chin to find Rilum holding onto him, propelling him forward, pushing a wave ahead of them and leaving a wake behind. The prince stopped kicking and contorted to get his feet on the ocean floor again, stumbling and twisting as he did. In his effort, he glanced back, saw the serpent swimming with its head and neck out of the water, mouth open revealing three rows of small, sharp-looking teeth. The length of four men separated them.
He found his footing and stumbled along beside the sailor, Rilum's hand gripping his wrist. The sea receded around them, moving from waist to mid-thigh, to knees. How shallow did they need to be before they reached safety?
With waves lapping at his calves, Teryk heard powerful jaws snapping shut. His muscles tensed, awaiting the pain he expected to follow, but none did. When the water touched only as high as their ankles, he looked back again as Rilum continued pulling him toward the beach.
The creature writhed, its thick body half-submerged, but its forward progress halted; shallow water prevented it from swimming any closer. The serpent-fish snapped its jaws again and again, the small, sharp teeth clicking together, but it made no other noise.
With seawater covering the top of his feet, Teryk stopped and pulled his arm from Rilum's grasp. The sailor took two more steps then halted, joining his companion in staring at the monstrosity. It gnashed its fangs once more, raised its wide head in the manner of a land snake readying to strike. The prince faltered back from it, thinking it might do exactly that. His feet tangled, and he fell on his backside, splashing in the shallow water and jarring his teeth. The serpent twisted its body and slammed its length against the ocean's surface like an angry, petulant child. Salty water sprayed into the air as it flicked its tail and slid away, disappearing into the ocean with the smallest of ripples.
Teryk sat with waves washing around him. He drew heavy breaths and waited for his thumping heart to slow, and Rilum let him. When he heard the splash of his companion's steps carrying him out of the sea, the prince tore himself from his trance. He climbed to his feet, fingers sinking into sugary sand as he pushed himself up, then turned to follow the sailor. He took one step before the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.
A beach made up of sand so white it threatened to blind him in the afternoon sun stretched out to his left and right. When his eyes grew accustomed, he saw lightning bolts of black streaked through it at irregular intervals. Teryk plodded forward, feet splashing in the shallow surf, and bent to examine a wide, dark streak. It appeared simply to be sand of a different color.
"I've never seen anything like this," he said.
"No one has, lad," Rilum replied. "This be the land across the sea."
X Danya - Inn
The sharp aroma of mutton and spices wafted from the kitchen behind Krin, the odor overpowering stale beer scent always emanating from the stained wooden bar. With his patrons now satisfied, the barkeep rubbed at one of those stains, knowing full well no amount of elbow grease possessed the power to erase it. He stopped, inspected his work, flipped his cloth over, and got after another, smaller mark to the left of the first.
If the marks could be removed, Krin wasn't sure he'd rid the bar of them. Each told a story, even if he couldn't remember their details. He knew most of them came about during good times—ale slopped during an energetic toast, or splashed from a cup knocked over by a grand gesture. Only one stain did he wish to remove, the one not made by a spilled beverage, and certainly not created out of goodwill
or merriment. His eyes slid along the bar's length until his gaze rested on the dark, ugly mark at the corner—the one stain whose origin he'd never forget though he wished to.
Krin paused in his cleaning and stared at the near-black patch of wood, sudden emotion roiling in his chest. But why should it? How many times had he wiped his bar, exactly as he did now, without feeling overcome? The turning of seasons proved no better at erasing the memory than at removing the stain. He wrenched his eyes away, sucked a deep breath between his lips, the air tasting equally of fresh stew and old beer. Just then, the door swung open on squeaking hinges.
They need oiling tomorrow.
The barkeep forced a smile on his face and readied a greeting. He'd be damned if he let the stain of blood spilled long ago prevent him from offering a bit of friendliness to his guests. For a breathless moment, no one entered; Krin's grin faltered. Had the wind picked up and blown the door open? Normally, if it gusted so hard, he'd have heard it groaning in the chimney, rattling a loose shutter, whistling in the roof; he detected none of these.
"Greetings."
The word entered before the dark figure, outlined in the sun's glare. The tightness Krin experienced before returned at the sound of the voice; his hand holding the cloth clenched into a fist. Tall and slender, the shape crossed the threshold into the tavern, two more smaller ones following close behind. The speaker proved exactly who the barkeep thought it to be.
Ive.
His heart plunged into his stomach as he awaited the slight man's stocky partner entering after him. He resisted the urge to glance back toward the ugly stain as he forced the even more false smile onto his lips. The weapons merchant crossed the threshold and closed the door behind himself, no Fellick following him. Krin let out his air.
"To the bar, please," Ive said, prompting the two girls forward, partially under his breath.
As they crossed the room, feet scraping against the dirty plank floor, the patrons who'd stopped to assess them returned to their conversations, their meals, their ale. A few continued watching as they made their way to the rough wooden bar. Ive put his elbow on the edge and leaned in with the familiarity of someone used to performing such an action.
