Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  Time seemed to alternately drag and fly. Ulandra found that she was counting her stitches, though the pattern was not a counted-stitch one. Three hundred sixty-three … three hundred sixty-four …

  The maidservants began dusting the sitting room in a desul-tory fashion. The nurse busied herself folding yet another set of clean bed linens brought to her by one of the laundry maids.

  Four thousand six hundred ninety-three … four thousand six hundred ninety-four …

  The door to the Queen’s bedchamber opened, and Eregard stood there. His eyes were reddened, but his voice was steady. “She is gone.”

  Ulandra nodded, put down her embroidery and stood up.

  Distantly, she wondered why she was not weeping. Surely Queen Elnorin, who had been so kind to her, deserved her tears. Perhaps she had wasted them all on Salesin and her failed marriage.

  Walking over to the Prince, she put her hand on his arm.

  “Your Highness, I am so sorry. But thank the Goddess you are home safely—and that you arrived in time.”

  He nodded, then suddenly seemed to focus on her. He bowed, the brief bob used between equals in rank. “Sister,”

  he said, taking her hand and kissing it, “my father told me how kindly you cared for her. Thank you.”

  Meeting his eyes, Ulandra felt self-conscious, wondering if Eregard would start up the old flirtation again. But he released her hand. “My father needs some moments to himself. He and my mother were devoted. I must see to my friends. They are waiting in the salon. I want you to meet them.”

  Ulandra accompanied him into the formal room with its pale green walls and ivory and rose brocaded furniture. Four strangers awaited them: two women, a man, and a hooded creature—a Hthras, she realized after a moment. The Princess had never seen one herself, but she had heard them described. The two women and the Hthras were sitting on the sofa, speaking quietly as they entered. The man was pacing restlessly across the opulent carpet. As they saw the newcomers, all four of them stopped talking. The three on the sofa rose to their feet.

  Eregard held Ulandra’s hand, presenting her as formally as though they had just arrived at some grand ball. “Princess Ulandra, my comrades and friends: Thia, Talis, Khith, and Jezzil.” As he spoke their names, each of his friends acknowledged her in turn … Thia with a curtsy, Talis with a stiff, jerky little bow, Khith with a graceful dip and wave of its hand, and Jezzil with a warrior’s salute.

  Ulandra smiled at them, thinking them an odd lot. Thia was small and slight, with hair so pale it was almost white, and huge dark eyes. She wore a much-worn and mended skirt, blouse, and laced tunic. Talis, dressed in a midship-man’s uniform, was tanned and fit, with long black hair caught back in a heavy braid. She’s a beauty, Ulandra thought. Dress her in women’s garb, and men would be throwing themselves at her feet. Her gaze traveled to Jezzil, with his weather-beaten skin, greenish eyes, and sun-streaked hair tied back from his face. Despite his battered, threadbare clothes, there was something about his carriage, the way he moved, that bespoke a kind of quiet, potential danger.

  Ulandra’s features did not change as she regarded Eregard’s companions. She nodded to them graciously. “Be

  welcome here to Minoma, friends of Eregard. My thanks to you for your help to my royal brother.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The King will wish to meet you, but he is occupied at the moment. Please, sit.” She gestured. “You have traveled far and are doubtless weary.” She caught the eye of the footman who was standing across the room and added, “Refreshments for our guests, please. Food and wine.”

  The young woman named Thia approached Eregard, concern written across her thin, pale features. “Eregard, how does your mother?”

  Eregard tried to speak, then simply shook his head. “At least I was in time to say farewell,” he added after a moment.

  “Oh, Eregard!” She stepped over to the Prince and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry!”

  Ulandra was moved by her voice and her gesture. She genuinely cares about him, she thought, and when she saw Eregard’s expression as he returned the embrace, she knew that the Prince returned her caring. The Princess felt a pang of … Jealousy? she wondered. After a moment Ulandra realized that she wasn’t jealous of Eregard so much as she was jealous of anyone who was genuinely loved and respected.

  Jezzil, Khith, and Talis also offered low-voiced condo-lences. Ulandra could see that the five of them were more than just casual friends, they were comrades, sharing a friendship that had been forged by shared peril and a common goal.

  If only I had such friends, she found herself thinking wist-fully.

  Minutes later, the refreshments arrived. At Ulandra’s urging, the newcomers sat down and applied themselves to the food. Thia glanced up at Ulandra. “Join us, please, Your Highness.”

  Ulandra smiled at her. “I ate not long ago. You must be very hungry. I’m told it’s the sea air.”

  “Eating weevily bread, salt pork, and dried figs for four days can do that,” Eregard said. “Not to mention the grubs and seaweed, mind you.” He gestured at the bread, meats, cheeses, and fruit spread out before them. “Back when I was a slave, I used to dream every night about—”

  “Slave?” Ulandra gasped, horrified. “You were a slave?”

  “Thanks to the pirates that captured me,” he said. “It certainly gave me an interesting perspective on life in the colony.”

  Ulandra stared at him, aghast.

  The door opened then and the King emerged from the Queen’s chamber. Agivir was gray-faced with exhaustion, his strides, once so brisk and sure, slow and hesitant. His haggard features lightened when he beheld his son.

  Eregard hastily stood and made introductions. Jezzil bowed, Thia curtsied, Khith touched its forehead and bobbed a greeting, and Talis gave a stiff little nod. When Eregard looked a question at her, she gazed back at him with defiance. “I bow to no royalty,” she said.

  “And who is this?” the King said, coming over to stand before Talis.

  “I am Talis Aloro, King Agivir,” she said. “I am here as an emissary from Rufen Castio. He wishes me to tell you that, should it become necessary, we Katans will fight the invaders with our brothers, the Pelanese. Better an overlord we know than a strange one.”

  Agivir regarded her flushed, earnest expression—half defiance, half fear—then inclined his head graciously. “We are grateful to you …” He glanced at the others, including them. “… to all of you—for your help to our royal son,” he said. “Mistress Talis, to thank you for your aid to him, we hereby exempt you from formal protocol in our presence.”

  Talis’s flushed features lost some of their defiance.

  “But,” Agivir continued, his voice heavy with grief, “I warn you, child, that we cannot protect you if you fail to extend full sign of fealty to Crown Prince Salesin.” The King gazed at Talis sorrowfully. “My child, I have just lost the person most dear to me in the entire world. Please do not cause me to lose my son Eregard, for, knowing him, he would spring to your defense, and face grave trouble from his brother on your behalf. Surely that cannot be your desire?”

  Talis’s eyes glistened, then brimmed over. A tear trickled down her cheek. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, and gave the old man a true bow. “I am so sorry for your loss. I will do nothing to cause you more sadness.”

  Agivir nodded at her. “Thank you, child. Thank you.”

  The King turned to Thia and studied her. “You have the look of one who has come from far places. My court seer, His Reverence Varlon, has such a look to him.”

  Ulandra saw the young woman’s dark eyes widen. “Truly, sire? I would be interested to meet His Reverence.”

  “You shall, child, you shall.”

  Agivir paused before Khith. “A Hthras … It has been many and many a year since I have encountered one of your people. You wear the robe of a physician.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I am a healer.”

  “Ah, I have heard that Ht
hras healers are among the best to be found. It is a pity that you did not arrive sooner.” The King’s voice roughened. “Perhaps you might have been able to help my queen.”

  “I would certainly have done my best, sire,” Khith replied.

  “But no physician can hold back the inevitable. Sometimes, it is just … time for departure from this existence.”

  The King nodded. “Sometimes, that is indeed true.”

  When the King reached the man Eregard had identified as Jezzil, he said, “My son tells me you are his friend, but are also Chonao. I must advise you that we face an invasion force from your people.”

  Until now, the young man had been expressionless, but suddenly his features worked, as though he were in the grip of some strong emotion. He drew a deep breath—the kind a man might take before plunging into predator-infested waters—then abruptly dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply. “Your Majesty,” he said in a voice that shook. “I am—I was Chonao. I never thought to hear myself say this, but since leaving my people, I have … learned so much about this world. What I have learned compels me …” He trailed off, and finally looked up. “I want to—that is, I must …” He swallowed hard.

  The King put out a hand to him, nodding encouragement.

  “We are listening, Jezzil. What is it you want?”

  “Your Majesty, I wish to pledge fealty in this coming war to you and your island comrades. I wish to pledge my sword to Pela.” The words came out in a rush, but Ulandra never doubted their sincerety.

  The King stood motionless for a long moment before stepping closer to the young warrior. Putting out a hand, he touched his face, then slid his hand down to lift his chin so their gazes could meet. The King stared deeply into Jezzil’s eyes for many moments.

  Agivir finally spoke. “I see that you mean what you say, young warrior. What made you decide this?”

  Jezzil drew a deep breath. “Part of it was seeing the world outside my own land, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I have seen the people that Kerezau has conquered, for no reason other than to expand his desire for power and land. Their lives are the worse for it.”

  The Chonao glanced over at his companions. “But mostly I have come to realize that my people’s ways are wrong. In Ktavao, women are not friends or companions. They are possessions, valued for their beauty or their fertility, but not for themselves. Knowing Talis and Thia has taught me that my people are wrong to make chattel of women.”

  “I see.” Agivir gazed down at the Chonao and suddenly, abruptly, nodded. “We accept your fealty, young Jezzil.

  Rise.”

  Jezzil stood up in one lithe movement. A smile flashed across his face but was gone almost before it could be seen.

  “We face an impressive force of your former countrymen,” the King said. “Will you advise us on how best to counter their offensive during the coming attack?”

  “I will, sire,” Jezzil said.

  The King nodded. “Good. Of course, Salesin will not trust you, lad. But he is too canny a tactician to disregard your counsel, if he can tell it is based on experience. There will be—”

  The King broke off as the door opened and Salesin rushed

  in. Ulandra tensed, but her husband did not even look at her.

  His sharp, piercing glance took in his brother, dismissed him, then focused on his father. “Sire, I was out inspecting the artillery fortifications in Ombal Pass when your messenger reached me. How fares the Queen?”

  Agivir simply stared at him, then his haggard features sagged. Shaking his head wordlessly, he turned and left the salon. Eregard stepped forward. “Our mother is gone, brother. If only you …” He trailed off with a sigh. “Never mind. She understood that you had duties, I am sure. She knew what it was to be royal, better than anyone else.”

  Salesin hesitated, and for a moment Ulandra thought he might embrace his brother. But he contented himself with a slap on Eregard’s shoulder that was surely meant to stagger the younger Prince. But Eregard stood firm. “Well spoken, little brother, well spoken. I shall raise a new chapel in her name.” He glanced over his shoulder at the others in the room, and again his gaze slid over Ulandra as though she did not exist at all.

  “Who are these people, Eregard?”

  “My friends, the companions who helped to rescue me from slavery and danger in Kata.” Eregard went on to make introductions. Ulandra was relieved to see Talis make a proper, formal bow, though she did not miss the tightness of her mouth and jaw as she did so.

  “This is my friend, my comrade, Jezzil. He has left the Chonao homeland and sworn fealty to Pela, my brother,”

  Eregard concluded. “The King has accepted his oath of service. I believe he could be of great help in planning the defense of our land against Kerezau’s forces.”

  Salesin stared at Jezzil for a long moment, clearly taking his measure. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Pela needs advisers familiar with Chonao tactics. Ride out with my brother tomorrow to familiarize yourself with the lay of the land and our force, then you may join us for the afternoon briefing, Jezzil.”

  Jezzil bowed. “I shall, Your Highness. Thank you.”

  Ulandra tensed again as Salesin headed toward her, but he walked straight past her, then paused at the door to the royal bedchamber and turned to regard Eregard. “Come, brother.

  We have much to discuss.”

  Eregard nodded, and looked at Ulandra questioningly.

  She answered his look, saying, “Do not concern yourself, Your Highness. I shall see to our honored guests.”

  Eregard nodded, a look of relief in his eyes, then followed his brother into the chamber where their mother lay, still and pale in death.

  Call to Arms

  The next day, as promised, Eregard took Jezzil to inspect the royal armory and the parade grounds where the Pelanese infantry and cavalry were drilling. Then they saddled their horses and made the two hour ride up to Ombal Pass, passing contingents of soldiers transporting cannon on caissons, ammunition wagons, and squads of army engineers. When they reached the pass, they found that the battle line had already been established. Engineers were overseeing crews busily digging trenches and preparing gun emplacements.

  At all times, Jezzil and Eregard were accompanied by five taciturn Pelanese guardsmen. They’d been introduced to the Chonao as Prince Eregard’s bodyguards, but Jezzil knew they were there to watch him as much as the Prince. Salesin was no fool. He would take no chances that Jezzil’s defec-tion from the Chonao forces was not genuine.

  When they reached the pass, they rode to the front of the battle line. The Pelanese had the high ground. Eregard and Jezzil halted their horses on a small raised hillock just to the left of the road that ran through the pass.

  Ombal Pass spread out before them as they sat there, gazing at the lay of the land. The guardsmen, at a gesture from Eregard, lagged back a few horse lengths to allow them to speak privately.

  Jezzil dropped Falar’s reins on her neck. “Stand, lady.”

  A good place to defend, Jezzil decided, assessing the terrain through the eyes of a warrior. Ombal Pass was narrow, less than a league across. The ground was mostly upland grasses, broken by gray thrusts of jagged rock outcrops and stone shelves. The road they had followed up from Minoma stretched before them, cutting a broad swath through the tall green sward. Falar, scenting the breeze, stretched out her neck and snorted, begging to run. “Hush now,” Jezzil said in his own language. “There will be another day to run.”

  He gazed from side to side, estimating that a man afoot could cross the width of the pass in less than an hour. On both sides, rolling foothills led up to bare black mountains and then to jagged gray peaks, their crowns of snow mostly melted in the summer Sun. Ombal Pass was nearly feature-less, save for the road before him. As he peered into the distance, he saw a timeworn stone building. He pointed.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s an ancient traveler’s shrine,” Eregard said. “Used to be an abbey, hundreds of yea
rs ago. Now all of that is in ruins, and just the shrine is left.”

  Jezzil assessed the building, then dismissed it as of no tactical importance. It was too far away from where the Pelanese lines were being established to be significant.

  Turning in his saddle, he squinted into the distance at what appeared to be a depression. Brighter green vegetation marked the line of it. A ravine or gully? How deep? he wondered. That might provide cover for an incursion.

  “What do you think?” Eregard asked. Beneath him, his black gelding began to paw at the grass, wanting to graze.

  “Stop that!”

  “I think this is a good place for defense,” Jezzil said.

  “How many troops will you be able to field?”

  “Probably three brigades of five thousand troops each,”

  Eregard said. “Salesin usually prefers to take the right brigade, Adranan is likely to be assigned the left, and, tradi-tionally, the King will take the middle. But I’ve been talking to my father about putting General His Lordship Osmando-Volon in command of the center, while he stays back at the command center. I think I have him convinced that he’s too precious to troop morale to risk. But the truth is, he’s just too old and frail for true battle.”

  Jezzil nodded agreement. “What about you?”

  “I’ll fight,” Eregard said grimly. “I’ll ride with General Osmando.”

  Jezzil had to respect the courage that vow took. Eregard was better than he had been, but he was far from being a good shot or swordsman. Still, it was the Prince’s duty, and he could not argue with that. He changed the subject.

  “What about that ravine over there? Can we take a closer look at it?”

  “Surely,” Eregard said. “It’s too deep and rough for troops to climb, though.”

  They jogged the horses the mile or so to the ravine. Once there, they dismounted, leaving the guardsmen to hold Eregard’s horse. Falar, trained to stand, watched them curiously as they walked over to the edge.