Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  “Oh, yes. Agivir isn’t a bad man,” Castio said matter-of-factly. “I know I rail against him, and I think he’s indeed made some very bad decisions. He ceded the Isle of Talano, for example, and gave up Pelanese fishing rights east of Paalu. Those were the actions of a king who has lost his stomach for fighting. A leader must be prepared to back his threats with force, and Agivir has lost that ability.”

  Talis sighed. “So it seems,” she said. “I’ve heard it said by others, too.”

  “It’s plain to anyone that has watched what’s happening.

  I’ll grant you that no man is a perfect villain, and Agivir did many good things, too. But his worst decision of all was to make Salesin Viceroy of Kata. I suspect he did it under pressure, but that doesn’t take away the effect.”

  “Yes,” Talis murmured. “All those criminals they’ve transported. Our land is no longer safe.” After a moment she added softly, “Master Castio, if it comes to war, my father will side with the Crown.”

  She couldn’t see his face, but he nodded and his voice was unsurprised. “Yes. He’s a staunch royalist, isn’t he?”

  “Yes he is. I don’t dare argue politics with him or my brothers anymore. I fear I’d give myself away. I’m lucky the only thing my father thinks of when he sees me is finding me a husband.”

  “It would be a shame to waste a good soldier and an even better spy on some royalist lout,” Castio said dryly.

  Talis laughed. “Master Castio, you are no ordinary man, that’s sure as the sun rising at morn. Most men think that a woman is made only for bedding, breeding, keeping house, and cooking.”

  “I’m not like most men,” Castio said, matter-of-fact again. “I grew up knowing women had minds as good as any man’s. My father was a ne’er do well who disappeared when I was ten. My mother raised me, and my brother. She earned our living taking in washing and mending, and she learned to read and write so she could teach us. By the time I was twenty, she had earned enough to buy her own dry goods store, and she’s there to this day. Remarkable woman, my mother. She’d give me a good hiding even today if she heard me give women less than their due respect.”

  Talis had been listening raptly. Never before had Master Castio revealed anything of his personal life, and she was fascinated. “You owe your mother one more thing, Master,”

  she said when Castio was finished.

  “I do?” The revolutionary turned in his saddle to glance at her inquiringly. “What is that?”

  “Me,” Talis said. “I heard you speak three years ago, up in Fiorencia when my father took me with him to buy some cattle. You spoke so eloquently of the price of freedom— and its value. You said that freedom was for everyone. For every man, woman, and child. I’ll never forget it. Before that, it was only men that anyone cared about. But you said women should be free, too.” I want to be free! I want to choose where I go and what I do, and I don’t want to marry … not ever!

  “Ah,” said Castio softly. “And you, of course, are a woman. Which means, perhaps, that you have personal reasons for devoting yourself to the Cause.”

  Talis nodded. “But the thought of war, that frightens me.

  I’m learning to fight, and they say I have some knack for it. I know a woman who used to be a mercenary, in the next town over, and she’s coached me when I could sneak away to see her. I can throw a punch better than most men, she says. But I’ve never faced battle. I’ve heard them talk of it … glorious one moment, a horror the next.”

  “The thought of war should frighten any sane person,”

  Castio said. “It certainly frightens me, too. But the thought of living under Salesin’s reign frightens me more.”

  Talis nodded. “Yes, Agivir can’t live forever, and when he dies, Salesin will be free to abuse Kata as he wills.”

  “He’s already started,” Castio reminded her. “He executed the leader of our delegation. A good man, one who’d committed no crime, save that of attempting to convey the colony’s view.”

  Talis nodded. They were nearing her farm now, only another few miles to travel.

  She shook off her thoughts. “Sing the song again, so I can learn it,” she urged. Castio complied, and Talis joined in. Finally, when they were done, she began to laugh. “Oh, that’s wicked, wicked! One of your best. I’ll look forward for the day when I may sing it in the taverns. How about a duet?”

  Again Castio complied, and their voices rang out together, echoing against the thick stands of trees on either side of the road.

  Minutes later they came to farmland again. “We’re not far from home now,” Talis said. “Stop here.” She slid off over the mare’s rump. “Only another two miles to the farm road, and from there I can make it home in minutes. Master Castio, I do appreciate getting this ride. This way, I should be home soon after sunset.”

  Castio nodded and gazed down at her. “Talis, call me Rufen, please.”

  She was taken aback, then smiled shyly. “Very well …

  Rufen.”

  He slacked the reins on the mare’s neck, and she began to crop the grass on the verge of the road. “Talis, I’ve been thinking,” Castio said. “Is there any way I could send you some books for you to read, without your father finding out?”

  “Books?” She frowned as she thought. “The pamphlets and broadsides I hide in the barns and read in snatches, when I have the time. A book takes more time.”

  “Yes, they do. But I think you’d benefit from these books.

  They range from the philosophy of political systems to battle tactics. I’ll need able lieutenants when the war starts. Officers who can plan troop movements and who know tactics.

  And those officers will need to be people who understand why we’re fighting.”

  Talis could read, write, and cipher, but she’d received less than half the years of schooling her brothers had gotten.

  During the good harvest years, her father had hired a tutor to educate his sons. His daughter he’d taught himself, but only what men of his generation considered suitable learning for a female. Talis had often lurked outside the schoolroom door, listening to her brothers’ lessons, but she knew she was no scholar.

  The thought of Castio’s books made her uneasy. Talis hated to fail at anything, but she knew how ill-prepared she was for what Castio was suggesting. And there was another, even more important obstacle to what Castio had suggested.

  If she were to become an officer, Talis knew she’d have to spend all her time in the company of men. Men like Levons, men whose first thought was to paw her and violate her.

  She shook her head. “An officer? No, Rufen, not I. I’ll serve the Cause as a spy. Or an assassin. I work best alone.

  I’m sure I’d make a good assassin. Assign me any target, I’ll kill him.”

  Castio gave her a quick, penetrating glance. “What if I needed you to kill a woman?” he asked.

  Talis was taken aback. She couldn’t imagine killing a woman for any reason. She gazed at Castio but could think of nothing to say.

  “Talis,” Castio said after a moment, “I don’t think you have it in you to be an assassin. But I do believe you were born to lead. Will you read the books if I send them to you?”

  “Master Castio …” She hesitated, struggling for words, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “I will try, truly I will.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Castio said. “Talis, you are precious to the Cause—smart, and capable. As for being a leader, we’ll let that go for now. Time will tell if I am right.”

  Talis stood gazing at him, wide-eyed. “I … I …”

  “Don’t worry,” Castio reassured her. “I will expect nothing immediately. Just do your best with the books I send. I’ll stay in contact.”

  “I will,” she said. “And, by the by, Mas … Rufen, Father will be likely sending me north to buy seed in the early spring. I can let you know when.”

  “Won’t he send someone with you?”

  “My oldest brother, who lives in North Amis, m
ost likely, or the foreman. I’ll be in charge, because I’m the one he trusts with his money. No fear, they’ll take the chance to drink and gamble, so I’ll be able to meet with you or whomever you wish me to contact. I won’t be able to do my tavern act, but other than that …” She shrugged.

  “Where will he send you?”

  “Probably Louvas, or possibly East Fentina. If the prices are bad, we may go as far north as Q’Kal.”

  “There are royal garrisons in East Fentina and Q’Kal,” he said. “Good. We can use a report about either of them.”

  She nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

  Rufen Castio flashed one of his rare, infectious smiles.

  “Good. I wish I had a dozen more like you, Talis. We’d be free of Pela before next harvest.”

  She smiled back, waved, and darted away down the foot-path she’d indicated.

  It was after dark when Talis came home, carrying her long rifle. She’d taken the precaution of loading and firing it once, in case her father checked the weapon.

  She was tired as she began the last trek up from the pastures to the house. The lighted windows gleamed soft gold with the candlelight, friendly beacons in the darkness. Talis reached the house, then stood for a moment, going over her story to make sure there were no holes in it.

  I hunted on the mountain, managed to shoot a doe and wounded her, tracked her for miles, then finally lost her when she went down Montalin Ridge and vanished into Sunset Gorge. By that time I was too tired to climb the ridge again, so I went north and came back along the roadway …

  Movement caught her eye, and Talis stepped back, out of the light. It was her mother, coming over to the window to lift the curtain and gaze out. Talis could see her face, her pale, freckled features and graying reddish hair. Talis looked nothing like her mother. She took after her father’s side of the family.

  Seeing her mother’s anxious expression, Talis swallowed painfully. She loved her mother, whose health was not ro-bust. Evonly Aloro depended on her daughter for compan-ionship in a household dominated by men. She loved Talis, but she knew nothing about what Jasti Aloro had done to her daughter. Gerdal had warned Talis that if she told her mother, the knowledge that she had been raped might kill her.

  As she gazed at her mother, remembering, anger at her father rose once again. He denied me justice. He denied me comfort. And if he gets his way, he’d going to deny me happiness and freedom. Talis knew that, much as her mother loved her, Evonly would never stand against one of Gerdal’s commands. If Gerdal arranged a marriage for her, as he’d been hinting he would, Evonly would happily begin making the wedding gown.

  Talis had known this for a long time, but today that knowledge, coupled with her growing anger at her father, made her feel as though she had a stone in her breast instead of a warm, beating heart. She loved her mother, but it was too much to ask of any daughter, to give up herself!

  I won’t marry some disgusting lout just to please them, she resolved, I’d truly rather die.

  But she didn’t want to die, either. So what was left for her? Her talk with Castio was fresh in her mind. If father tries to arrange a marriage, I’ll leave, she decided. I will leave and never return.

  Tears flooded her eyes as she pictured her mother’s reaction. Goddess protect her, she prayed. Her mother was a gentle soul who had always longed for daughters she could dress in silk and lace, and she could teach to cook and weave. Instead she’d borne her husband four stalwart sons and a daughter who was the best shot of all of them.

  Talis’s mouth twisted as she wiped her eyes. Her jaw tightened as she fought a silent battle for control. She realized she’d reached some kind of inner crossroads and there was no turning back now. In just a moment she would put on a smile and walk into the house, greet her family, eat the plate of food they had saved on the warmer for her, but she knew some invisible line had been crossed. From this day forward she could never really go home again.

  We all must make sacrifices. Castio’s words echoed in her mind.

  Taking a deep breath, Talis wiped the tears from her cheeks and squared her shoulders. She smiled, and, smiling, walked into the house that could never again be her home.

  The Faces of Slavery

  Lady Ulandra q’Jinasii stood in the nave of the temple, trying to stop shaking. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt light-headed. Her feet seemed a long way away from her, and she couldn’t make them move. I can’t just stand here, she thought. I can’t disgrace my family. I have to do this!

  Summoning her resolve, she slowly edged one foot forward. She took another step, and then another. Only when she had managed to take several slow, measured paces did she dare to glance up at the temple and the altar that was her destination.

  The Temple of the Goddess was magnificent, decorated with ropes and garlands of spring greenery that matched the traditional color of her bridal garb. The gown was of heavy silk, intercut with panels of fine lace and trimmed with tiny beads of jade. Jade earrings hung from her ears. Her hair was unbound, as befit a maiden bride, and it hung past her waist. On her head she wore a gossamer veil, held in place by a garland of grape and olive leaves, plants sacred to the Goddess.

  Far above her head soared the famous ceiling of the temple, white stone carved into lacy patterns, reaching up into the top of the dome. Crystalline panels set into the walls and ceiling admitted light, but not a view. Proper worship of the Goddess demanded that one not be reminded of the world outside.

  Ulandra kept her eyes downcast after that one glimpse at the temple. That single glance had been enough—her bridegroom awaited her, magnificent in a tunic and doublet of emerald green satin and velvet. She did not know Prince Salesin well. They had only spoken together a handful of times, always under the watchful eyes of her family or her duenna.

  He will be King, she reminded herself. As soon as I say my vows, I will be a princess. My father will be so proud.

  She swallowed dryness. It is natural for a bride to be frightened on her wedding day, she tried to reassure herself.

  Soon you will know each other, no longer be strangers. He is well-favored, strong, a great leader. Soon, Goddess willing, there will be children to bind you together.

  Ulandra loved children. She had taken care of many in her days at the cloisters. The good sisters ran an orphanage, and the older girls had been permitted to help care for the little ones.

  Ulandra knew her father was waiting for her. He would not be performing the ceremony—the High Priestess would do that. Male bishops had many duties in the temple, but marriages and burials were not among them.

  She had nearly reached the altar now. Ulandra glanced up to meet her bridegroom’s eyes. Salesin appeared relaxed to the point of boredom, as if he were wed every day. Ulandra, realizing this, took an awkward step that nearly turned into a stumble. Bored? Surely not!

  His dark eyes, when they met hers, held no warmth. After a moment he smiled at her, but the expression did not reach his eyes.

  Ulandra fought a sudden impulse to hike her fine skirts up and race away from the altar, out of the temple.

  Stop this! she ordered herself. You are imagining things!

  As the ceremony began, she raised her hand, and the Crown Prince took it. His fingers were strong and cool and dry. Ulandra was chagrined to realize that her own were cold and sweating.

  The High Priestess was talking, but her voice seemed so distant. One of the young acolytes began to walk around bride and groom, carrying a pot of sweet incense. The fra-grant smoke curled through the air, making her dizzy.

  Ulandra cast her eyes down, modestly, as befit a bride— but it was not modesty that prompted her action. She couldn’t stand to see that faintly amused detachment in the Crown Prince’s eyes.

  It will be over soon, she promised herself.

  Now the sacred vine was brought out and draped around the couple, symbolically binding them together. It was time for the marriage bracelets. Twin emerald bracelets, proffered by yet anothe
r young acolyte. Ulandra fumbled as she took the larger of the two off the satin cushion, and, to her horror, she dropped the precious cuff.

  Quick as a cat pouncing on prey, Salesin caught it, then gravely handed it back to her. Laughter twinkled in his eyes.

  He was amused by her clumsiness. Her cheeks scarlet, Ulandra slipped the gemmed cuff onto his wrist. Moments later he did the same for her.

  Ulandra forced herself to breathe. I am wed!

  Now it was time for the crowning.

  Old King Agivir approached, carrying a slender gold circlet that was studded with emeralds. Ulandra sank down into a deep, formal curtsy and continued without a break into a kneeling position. Much practice paid off—she did not falter, her motion smooth. Slowly, she raised her hands to her head and lifted off her bridal wreath.

  The King looked down at her, his aged features gray and worn. There were tears in his rheumy old eyes, and all traces of the once legendary ruler had vanished. It had been a terrible blow for him when young Prince Eregard had been lost at sea last fall.

  Just for a moment, as he gazed down at her, Ulandra could

  have sworn she saw pity in King Agivir’s eyes. “I crown you Princess of Pela,” the King intoned. His hands trembled as he raised the crown and placed it on her head. “Princess Ulandra, wife to my son, Crown Prince Salesin. May the Goddess bless your union, my daughter.”

  Ulandra felt the crown settle onto her head. The King extended a hand, to raise her. She stood, feeling the band of the coronet on her brow. It seemed far heavier than its true weight.

  King Agivir released her hand and stepped back, just as Prince Salesin reached over to grasp it. He turned her toward the congregation, and for a moment the two of them stood poised together before the altar. Then, moving with slow, proper dignity, they began the recessional.

  The carriage ride to the palace amid the cheering throngs of Pelanese, and the reception that followed, were a blur to Ulandra. She managed to eat a few bites, and sipped a little wine, but mostly she stood beside the Crown Prince, greeting guests, smiling, and chatting—and moments later could not remember faces, names, or what had been said.