The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom)

by Chris Northern

  I shook my head, affecting a wry smile that I didn't feel. What I felt was afraid. I had a strong instinct that Sapphire would kill anyone who challenged him on this.

  “You need to eat, get up and move about, you've healed as much as you will with sleep and idleness,” he made a long arm and snagged a plate of cold food from a nearby table. “And you need to stop dwelling on the past. Life is for the living, isn't that what you city men say?”

  It was.

  #

  The clouds to the east were bright with color. I rested on the palisade and looked out at the sunrise, and the land it illuminated. The lay of the land trended downward, the river we had followed flowing on toward a fertile land that stained the horizon in shades of green.

  “Battling Plain?”

  At my side, Balaran nodded. “So I would guess. Doesn't look much, does it?”

  It had taken me an age to make it as far as the stockade but Sapphire had insisted, and allowed me to rest on the way. 'Time to be moving. You can only do so much healing lying still,' he had instructed. When we had reached the stockade we could see Balaran and the seven soldiers making cairns to cover the dead, just as Sapphire had said. There were others moving among them; thin men and women dressed in rags; the Necromancers' people, survivors of what had happened here. It was a depressing sight. Too many of the wrapped bundles were small. Balaran had seen us on the wall and waved, then come to join us. Sapphire had walked away a short distance when Balaran had arrived, probably so that we could talk freely. But nothing important had been said, yet.

  “No,” I turned to look back into the ruined town, gaze resting on the inner stockade and the hall of the grave. “But then, neither does this.”

  “Hmmm,” he followed suit. “What do you intend?”

  I hadn't given it any thought and said so.

  “Irian Samant will have to be told of his nephew's death. To be useful as a lever, only the truth will serve.”

  I glanced along the stockade to where Sapphire leaned, looking out toward Battling Plain and seemingly ignoring us. Had he slept? Had he already informed my father of events?

  “True,” I turned back to Balaran, “but the public story need not be so accurate.”

  He nodded. “Old family. Quite a lot of influence even though they have known better times. Useful concessions could be won in return for our discretion.”

  “Though a truth spell would give the lie to the public story,” I thought aloud.

  He looked surprised. “Who would demand one? There is yourself, Jocasta, and I, three nobles all telling the same story. It would take a fairly brave man to risk offending all three of us, and who would have a motive? Irian Samant? I don't think so. No, any public lie will serve, so long as we three agree it.”

  I suppressed a sigh. Politics. I hated politics. “I'll give it some thought. Something simple. Tahal infiltrated the enemy, led us to their centre of power, instrumental in their downfall, tragic death, sacrificed self, so on, so forth.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “All the best lies are founded in the truth.” He turned his back on the hall of the grave and leaned over the stockade. “And do you plan to be Patron of these people?”

  I remembered the settlements we had passed, their poverty and despair. Things were no better for those who remained here. Someone had to look after them, I thought. And Darklake and Learneth were my responsibility.

  “I am a commander in the field, Balaran, with imperium and all it implies.”

  “Yes. Irian might have it in mind to contest that,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  I shuddered, thinking of the dead flooding from the grave. Balaran was right, of course. The artefact belonged to the Samant family, a weapon they would not tolerate in other hands. If I controlled this area they would fight to wrest control from me, even if they then let it lie fallow as they had before. One way or another, there would be conflict. Not openly; they did not have the power for that, not if my father would back me, and I suspected he would. But Irian might incite other peoples to take control of the area, send assassins against me, or use magic or other means to bring me down. Yet I did not want to hand control of the grave back to the Samant family, or to anyone for that matter. Better if it didn't exist.

  “Can you destroy it?”

  He threw a small smile my way. “Good idea. Best if the problem just went away. I've discussed the matter with Jocasta. We have an idea or two between us. She is a remarkable young woman. I'll be glad to sponsor her when she applies to the college. She will be an asset. I'm sorry that she decided not to go through with your planned wedding, Sumto, but I'll honestly be glad to see her forge her own career. I think it will be spectacular once she has overcome the initial obstacles.” He fell silent, seeing my surprise and confusion. “You haven't spoken to her, have you?”

  “She sleeps,” I said, my voice quiet as a whisper.

  “I'm sorry.” He looked as though he genuinely was. “That was clumsy of me. I thought you would have spoken by now.”

  “No.”

  He fell silent, looking out over Battling Plain. “Well, she seems determined but... who knows, you could change her mind?”

  “Go away, Balaran.”

  He cleared his throat and straightened, patting the wood of the stockade absently - made to say something and then changed his mind and simply left. I stared into the middle distance, thinking nothing and feeling small. Every time I started to think something, my thoughts crashed into chaos.

  After a time, Sapphire stirred and moved my way. I looked at him and he stopped. After a moment's appraisal he nodded and left me alone, as I clearly wanted.

  #

  “This is yours.”

  I had been standing by the grave, close to one narrow end and looking into it. The wet clay of the edge deterred me from getting too close, but I could still look down into it. A faint stirring of cool air whispered about me, being slowly sucked into the grave. In its depths was a hint of something stirring. The movement seemed to have meaning, somehow, and I was puzzling at it, trying to make sense of it, even though it repulsed me. I was glad of the distraction when Jocasta joined me, though by no means glad of what that distraction was sure to be.

  I looked at what she held in her open hand; the stone I had given her; then back to the grave.

  “You are going to destroy this,” I said, my voice flat.

  She winced. Nodded. “I think it's best.”

  “You are probably right,” I told her. “Your sister will be disappointed.”

  “To hell with my sister,” she said, her voice flat and angry. “I will not be part of her household. I have decided to petition for paterfamilial status.” She held her head high. “Legally, I will be a man. I will not be part of her family.”

  I was stunned. Not that it never happened. There have always been women who were not content to be wives and mothers and run a household. For the common people it wasn't a problem, many women forged their own way. But to progress as a noble, military service was mandatory. Purely practical considerations kept women out of the military; apart from the fact that they were simply too valuable to society to throw their lives away on a battlefield - demographics would kill any society that did that habitually. Still, we uphold personal freedom, so there was a way for those few noble women who wanted to make the attempt. It didn't happen often, what was the incentive, after all? Still, there had been a few times when women had survived their ten years of military service, been elected to political office, and become members of the patrons' assembly.

  “Serving as a battle mage counts as military service,” I said, understanding what she intended.

  She jerked her head in a fierce nod.

  “You are determined.” I could see she was.

  Again the fierce nod, her eyes challenging.

  “Then there is nothing more to be said.”

  “No. There is nothing more to be said. This is yours,” she held out the stone.

  “Keep it,” I
told her. “You will need it.”

  She hesitated only a moment. “I am not sure I want the debt to another patron.”

  She had the status already. Being legally a man she would be a patron. Head of her own family. A family of one. I had no doubt she would succeed. Politics had already come between us. We were rivals.

  Well, then. That was clear. I held out my hand and she tipped the stone into it. Then she turned and walked away.

  I turned back to stare into the grave for a while. I didn't stay long.

  #

  On the long road back we didn't talk, Jocasta and I. There wasn't anything I wanted to say. There wasn't anything I wanted to hear. Doubtless she felt the same.

  Balaran had diverted the river to flow into the grave. A small lake filled the ruins of the town, bubbling at its center as air was forced out of whatever kind of hell the grave led to. Thankfully, nothing but air came out of it. I had expressed concern that it might not work as a permanent solution and been advised to keep a watch. One more responsibility I didn't want. I considered the fact that there was one less river leading into Battling Plain, reducing its fertility. I didn't doubt there would be consequences, but they were none of mine and I couldn't muster any interest in that problem.

  It felt like a long lonely road back, leading the refugees that I had created. Jocasta and I avoided each other. Dubaku said not a word to me. Sapphire seemed content to keep his own counsel. No one seemed to want to talk to me but that suited me, well enough. I wanted to be alone.

  We passed the ruins of Learneth. They still smouldered accusingly. Some of my men were picking through the ruins for whatever they might find. Maybe the treasury of the town, molten gold and slagged silver. Something to give back to the people. I owed them that much.

  At Darklake I arranged an escort to take Jocasta home to the city. From the walls of the battlements, I watched her go, while Meran waited to give his report. It was a dull and depressing day, overcast and cheerless. It suited my mood.

  On the far side of the lake I could see Lendrin Treleth and his people creating what would be his trading post in the place where Meran had constructed a small fort; Treleth would have the trade through the pass and I would have a share of that in return for ensuring safe passage. In truth, there was no shortage of money, the loot from Darklake, Learneth and Duprane's keep was enough to make each soldier who fought in the campaign a fairly wealthy man. My share was a little over half a million but that would soon go; there was a great deal of rebuilding to do, many lives to mend as best I could.

  I stood on the wall until Jocasta and her escort were out of sight, then stared at the woodland where she had disappeared into the trees. For a time, I wondered why I had made no attempt to talk her round, no attempt to find out what had made her change her mind about me, or to at least find out why she was leaving. It was a matter of freedom, I thought. 'None of us are free', Dannat had said, but I did not think that was true. We are free to seek out the facts, if we choose, or remain ignorant of them. We are free to think, or blindly accept other people's opinions. Free to act or be passive. Free to conceive a goal and work toward it, or free to believe our dreams unachievable and let them die. Free to strive to master a skill, or free to waste our efforts in idle pursuits that gain us nothing.

  Jocasta might think that my lack of interest in her motives showed a lack of interest in her. But from my point of view, I had simply acknowledged that her freedom was as important as mine.

  I let it go and turned to Meran, who had been waiting patiently for my attention.

  “I know there's a lot to do, so I'll make you a deal,” I said. “Join me in a beer and I'll let you give me your report and we can get started.”

  He looked at me askance, smiling wryly. “You will never change, Sumto.”

  “Probably not,” I conceded, though I knew that I didn't really want the beer; but it was what I could have and it would just have to do.

  What I really wanted wasn't available.

  THE END

  #####

  Author's Notes

  Sumto's story is taken up in The Invisible Hand, which is book three of The Price of Freedom (or Freedom's Fool, depending on what day you ask me the overall title of the series) and continues Sumto's adventures in the north. That book is complete and will be available as soon as possible.

  The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. This is a quote, of course, and attributed to several people. I don't think it matters much who said it first. Freedom is a concept deeply ingrained in Sumto's thinking, so the subject is bound to crop up.

  Concussion can be a very unpleasant experience indeed. Sumto's symptoms are fairly accurate - serious confusion, inappropriate emotional outbursts, and so on. He is lucky to get some magical healing; it isn't enough but he certainly would have died without it. These are not the kind of stories where the hero takes a blow to the head and just carries on as though nothing had happened.

  I am completely happy to answer questions from readers of the series. I can be contacted at shasqa@yahoo.com

  The Price of Freedom Sequence

  The Last King’s Amulet (Book One of The Price of Freedom)

  The Key To The Grave (Book Two of The Price of Freedom)

  The Invisible Hand (Book Three of The Price of Freedom)

  Endgame: Aftermath – a revolutionary post-apocalyptic fantasy role-playing game

  Prison of Power - A stand alone fantasy novel