Souldrifter

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “Why didn’t Makarria just turn me over to the Brotherhood of Five?” Caile asked Talitha, too ashamed to even look at her where she sat across from him in the small cabin.

  Talitha lowered the sheaf of papers she was reading. “Makarria didn’t deem it fit to tell me why she chose to send you to Col Sargoth. I don’t know what she said to you, or what you said to her, but clearly she trusts you with this task.”

  “How could she? I don’t even trust myself.” Caile sagged his head into his hands. He felt like vomiting. Again. As soon as they had taken off in the airship toward Col Sargoth, he had puked off the side of the deck, fertilizing some poor farmer’s field below with his half digested breakfast.

  “If you cannot trust yourself, then trust her, at least,” Talitha said. “Young as she is, she has a way of seeing the true nature of things. It is part of her power as a dreamwielder to have a connection with Tel Mathir. If she trusts you in this matter, it is good enough for me.”

  Caile nodded at her words, but still felt no better about himself.

  Talitha regarded him for a long moment, then continued. “If you’re going to prove to yourself that you’re trustworthy again, Caile, then I suggest you quit wallowing in self-misery and focus on the job Makarria has tasked you with.”

  The words stung, and the anger it stoked in Caile made him want to retort something back.

  Talitha winked when she saw him straighten his posture and clench his jaw.

  Of course, he realized. She said that on purpose, knowing that angering me would get my attention and get me refocused.

  When the two of them had first met, he had been annoyed by her tight-lipped attitude and coy remarks. She had rescued him from Emperor Guderian and was taking him to the Caverns of Issborg to free Makarria and Taera, but, like now, he had been caught up in his own misery, distraught over leaving behind Lorentz and the rest of his troops in Emperor Guderian’s hands. Yet, little by little, she had prodded him in the direction of the task at hand, and by the end of their journey together, he had seen the effectiveness of her ways. She was a teacher at heart, and it saved him and Makarria both.

  Talitha was staring at him now, he realized, and she motioned him up and away with her hands.

  “Go on already,” she said. “Get outside and speak with Thon. He probably knows more about Sargothian politics than whatever is in these reports I have. See what you can find out from him and we’ll discuss tonight what exactly it is we mean to do when we arrive in Col Sargoth.”

  “Of course,” Caile said. “Thank you.”

  Caile crouched his way out the door onto the main deck of the airship, where he was assaulted by the biting cold wind. Beneath his feet, the deck of the airship shimmied. While the canvas shell of the hot-air-filled hull was massive, blotting out the sun and clouds overhead, the deck of the gondola itself was tiny, no larger than that of a fisherman’s skiff. The vessel was the only one of its kind, constructed by Siegbjorn himself under the direction of the sorcerer Kadar, who had been inspired by the hot air balloons that were once fashionable in the Old World. Caile had learned all this from Siegbjorn the last time he was on the airship, a year before. On that voyage, Siegbjorn had delivered Caile to the Esterian Ocean where they intercepted Don Bricio’s Valarion fleet. Had it really been a year now since Caile had foolishly jumped from the airship into the frigid waters, pulled himself aboard Don Bricio’s caravel, and killed the usurper in his own cabin? The time had gone by so quickly: first, the funeral for Caile’s father, King Casstian, then the coronation of his sister as the new ruler of Pyrthinia, and then the voyage to Sol Valaróz for Makarria’s coronation, and all the subsequent work the two of them had done to root out the corrupt factions Don Bricio had institutionalized into Valarion politics. It had all happened so fast, and yet at the same time, the war against Don Bricio, Wulfram, and Emperor Guderian felt so removed, so long ago. Only a year ago? Already a year ago? Which is it?

  Caile pushed the memories aside. He had work to do, he reminded himself, and if Talitha found him brooding again, she wouldn’t be so nice this time around.

  Siegbjorn stood only a few paces in front of the cabin, manning the rudder wheel and levers that controlled their flight, and Thon stood only a few paces beyond that at the prow. Caile slipped past Siegbjorn and leaned against the rail beside Thon, taking in the crisp autumn air, letting the cold numb away the nausea in his stomach. Far off in the distance to their portside, a wall of black clouds blotted out the western horizon. Below them to their starboard side, the Barren Mountains stretched northward to where they intersected with the Forrest Weorcan and divided the kingdoms of Sargoth and Golier.

  “I never thought to see the world from the perspective of a bird,” Thon said. “It’s amazing.”

  Caile nodded, feeling foolish. Here he had been feeling sorry for himself when Thon had spent the last year or more in chains, locked up in Khal-Aband.

  “It is something to behold,” Caile agreed. “Wait until we get to Col Sargoth. I don’t know how long you’ve been away, but the city is full of motorized wagons and rickshaws now—the smoke and steam they sputter out is worse smelling than the horse manure littering streets of normal cities, but it is a sight to behold.”

  “It’s been over two years,” Thon said. “I never thought to see my city again. It’s all been one wonder after another since you and Queen Makarria freed me. How long before we get there?”

  “That’s the best part about the airship—we’ll be in Col Sargoth in less than two days. And when we get there, I’m going to need your help, Thon.”

  “I figured you didn’t just bring me along for a ride. What is it I can do?”

  “Help us get the right man put on the throne,” Caile said. “Makarria formed an election council after she killed Guderian. She did everything in accordance with Sargothian law, but the council proceedings broke down into political brinkmanship, none of the candidates seem altogether trustworthy, and, worse, they’ve mandated themselves to holding the election in twelve days. Unless you know something redeeming about one of the candidates, it seems to me we have an impossible task before us.”

  Thon nodded. “Talitha told me who the main candidates are, and I’m afraid I don’t have anything good to say about them. All of them are warmongers and profiteers, or at least they were when I was last there. I mean, not even good-intentioned people in Sargoth could openly voice their dissent against Guderian, but some people embraced Guderian’s methods a little too enthusiastically. That’s the ilk we’re dealing with, particularly Lord Kobel, the one the houndkeeper apparently supports.”

  “I’m starting to get a sense of why Guderian sent you off to Khal-Aband,” Caile said.

  “I wish it were so simple. The truth is I don’t have any idea why I was imprisoned. I never voiced my dissent, and certainly not among the ranks of the cavalry. I mean, how does a Sargothian nobody, a stableboy with dead parents who has risen only to a modest position as a sergeant in the cavalry, manage to pose a threat to the Emperor himself? I was always dutiful and honorable.”

  “You honestly don’t know what you did to get sent away?”

  “Honestly. It’s never made any sense to me. One moment we’re escorting an official from Norg to speak with Guderian in the throne room, and the next I’m dragged from my bunk in the barracks by my own comrades, tied up and beaten senseless. The last thing I remember my captain saying was that Guderian had caught me ‘staring at him the wrong way.’ But it was a lie. I knew better than to ever glance at the Emperor. The last thing I wanted was him questioning me.”

  Caile nodded, remembering all too well his own encounters with Guderian in that throne room. “I spoke with Guderian on a few occasions—not the sort of man you have a casual conversation with. I think he may have been a genius in his own perverted way, but he was mad with his ideas, and would not tolerate any sort of argument. Perhaps one of your comrades picked up on your anti-imperial sentiments and told your superiors. Or maybe some of
your comrades were jealous and simply lied about you. It’s not unheard of among soldiers.”

  “Perhaps,” Thon conceded with a shrug. “I’m afraid I’ll never know now that Guderian is gone, but what’s done is done. I’m free now, and if I can help in some small way to make Sargoth great again, I will feel redeemed.”

  “All right then, you know the candidates, or of their reputations at least. Is there not one of them at least who has some sort of honor and pride in the Kingdom of Sargoth?”

  “Lord Nagel is the only one of them who was in a position of power before Guderian’s reign. He was one of the three wards, in fact, who jointly ruled Sargoth after the Dark Queen was killed at the end of the Dreamwielder War and before Guderian returned from hiding in the Old World. But Nagel is too old—probably ninety by now. He would make a good advisor, no doubt, but he’s not fit to be a king. The rest…well they’re all entitled noblemen and landowners who came to prominence during Guderian’s reign. They might not have been as openly hostile to the common people of Sargoth as Guderian’s generals were, but they caused just as much damage the way they exploited the strict labor and trading regulations, not to mention the favors they traded in for ratting out their own vassals who exhibited any sort of ability with sorcery. All we can expect from them is carrying on the status quo.”

  “Which has everything to do with this new technological revolution Guderian tried starting,” Caile said, frowning. “He really thought humankind could conquer nature with coal, ether, and steam. We could look to the sorcerer’s guild for help—they’ll certainly be pushing for the reintegration of sorcery into commerce—but I don’t trust them. They’re more in league with the Old World than they are with the Five Kingdoms, and they’ve already betrayed me once.”

  “What about the labor guild and the sailor’s guild? In thirty years’ time, Guderian did nothing to improve the quality of living for the working people of Sargoth. They will want a king who has their interests at heart.”

  “Agreed, but they comprise only two of the twenty-one voting members,” Caile pointed out. “And even if we had a majority backing, we still don’t have a candidate. It’s a shame Sargothian law prohibits a female monarch. This Lady Hildreth who is part of the council sounds like she could be what we’re looking for. Talitha said she was her greatest ally on the council. Is there any way we can use the Dark Queen’s reign as a precedent to amend the law and put Lady Hildreth on the throne?”

  “Not likely. Even if the Dark Queen’s legacy wasn’t a stain on Sargothian history, she was technically only the regent, ruling until Guderian came of age. Guderian’s birthright came from his father, not her. Besides, I’m not certain Lady Hildreth is the ally you might think she is.”

  “Oh?”

  Thon raised one eyebrow. “Not if you believe the rumors whispered in taverns. And I’ve heard enough of them to believe there might be some truth to it.”

  “Rumors of what?”

  “That Lady Hildreth was Guderian’s mistress. At least for a while, when they were both younger.”

  Caile was taken aback. Could it be true? And if so, where did Lady Hildreth’s allegiance lie now?

  A gale of wind abruptly slammed into the airship, nearly knocking Caile overboard and dismissing whatever thoughts he had about Lady Hildreth.

  “The storm will be upon us soon,” Siegbjorn hollered at them from the helm. “It will be a rough voyage. Throw more magnesite into the furnace if you would help, Prince, and then both of you best tie-in if you are to stay on deck.”

  “Will it get all that bad?” Thon yelled back, looking to the approaching cloudbank in the west.

  “Sandwiched between the storm and the mountains we’ll be,” Siegbjorn replied. “If we do not reach the Weordan Pass in time, we will have to cross the mountains in the southern reaches, where the peaks are high and the air is thin.”

  “Right, I’ll start shoveling magnesite,” Caile said, glad for another task to distract him from the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him.

  • • •

  Makarria sat once again on her throne. More so than anything else, this one responsibility had dominated her life over the last year. Here she was, the morning after being assaulted by her best friend, trying to avert an invasion by the Old World, and she was conducting a public hearing where she was the one about to be accused of adultery.

  She’d had no time to speak privately yet with Fina to question her further about the night before, but Makarria knew there was something she was missing. Lorentz had been involved in her assault somehow—Makarria just knew it. But that would have to wait until after the official hearing, and until then Lorentz and Fina both stood behind Makarria as her guards. Makarria’s mother stood at the foot of the dais with several other advisors and a small detail of the Royal Guard. Next to them were several of the foreign ambassadors, including Ambassador Mahalath, Makarria saw with displeasure. Behind those in the forefront was the usual assortment of audience members, although there were many more of them this time. The throne room was filled near to capacity.

  Everyone watched as representatives from the Brotherhood of Five approached and bowed before Makarria. The Brotherhood was one of the oldest organizations in the Five Kingdoms. It was different than the guilds in that it represented not any one vocation, but rather an ideology. Members of the Brotherhood were an enigma, embodying values partly from the Old World of three hundred years before, partly of the founding five sorcerers of the Five Kingdoms. They were fundamentalists who had nearly been decimated during Emperor Guderian’s reign, but had reemerged in Valaróz since Makarria’s coronation. Their followers were ubiquitous now, present in every facet of Valarion society and commerce. In many ways, their views were harsher than even Guderian’s, but to disband the guild just because she didn’t like it would undermine all the work Makarria and Caile had done to bring justice and fairness to the realm.

  “Welcome, good men of the Brotherhood,” Makarria greeted them, not feigning to smile.

  “Thank you for meeting with us, Your Majesty,” their spokesman, Master Rubino, replied, a rotund man with a sweaty, balding forehead. “Our grievance today is not one we can speak of in courteous terms, so I ask your leave to be blunt.”

  “You’ll say what you came here to say, good sir,” Makarria told him. “Out with it.”

  The man bowed before proceeding. “We have heard word—the whole city has—of your indiscretion with Prince Caile of Pyrthinia. We demand an explanation.”

  “You misspeak, sir,” Makarria corrected him. “You may request an explanation, but it is not in your right to demand anything of me. I am Queen of Valaróz, and beholden to no one.”

  “My apologies, Your Majesty. I should say, we request an explanation, so the good people of Valaróz might understand why their queen has consorted with a man outside of wedlock.”

  Even though they had all undoubtedly heard the rumors themselves, the audience tittered at hearing the rumor voiced so.

  “You give too much credence to rumors and hearsay,” Makarria said, speaking over the murmurs. “I have consorted with no one.”

  “Yet five of your royal servants will testify otherwise,” Rubino insisted. “We can summon them if you wish?”

  Makarria sighed. It was obvious where this was going. She could deny the accusation, but then the Brotherhood would call for an official trial where they would besmirch her reputation and call for her resignation if not outright incarceration. In all of the Five Kingdoms, only Valarion and Pyrthin law allowed for female monarchs, but even with ancient laws allowing so, the Brotherhood took exception—that was the influence of their antiquated Old World views. Not even the Old World Republic itself begrudged women a role in politics anymore. Makarria’s only course of action if she wanted this matter to disappear quickly would be to accuse Caile of assaulting her, as Fina had suggested earlier that morning. The Brotherhood would have no choice but to stand by her if she did so, but Makarria wasn’t about to do that,
even if Caile was safely away.

  Still, too much was at stake to let the Brotherhood bring her down now—she would not relent without a fight. Even men of the Brotherhood must acknowledge truth when they see it, right? All I can do is be honest with them. I owe it to my people, if nothing else.

  “I will not deny what my servants think they saw,” Makarria said. “But you must trust me when I tell you—all of Valaróz—that what happened last night was a plot against me, one involving my wine being drugged. My investigation is still ongoing, so I can’t say anything further. All I can tell you is that I did not consort with Prince Caile, and never have.”

  “You have witnesses to attest to this?”

  “You have my word,” Makarria said flatly. “As your rightful queen, that should be enough.”

  Master Rubino shrugged without apology. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, your word means little in this case. You were seen bedding a man. Either you provide the people of Valaróz with witnesses to corroborate your story, or…you can prove your innocence by showing this court concrete evidence of your virginity.”

  Makarria could hardly believe what she was hearing. Even prepared, she had not expected the Brotherhood of Five to be so bold.

  Before Makarria could respond, her mother emerged from the crowd of advisors and approached the spokesman. “How dare you,” Prisca said, slapping him across the face. “If Makarria were a man, no one would ever question her word.” She raised her hand to strike Rubino again, but he caught her wrist.

  “If she were a man, she would be a King and could bed whoever he chose, but he is a she, and the laws of Sargoth Lightbringer are clearly written!” The man raised his free hand to strike Prisca back.

  “Stay your hand!” Makarria snapped, jumping to her feet. “If you hit her, I will have your head.”

  The crowd gasped. Master Rubino released Prisca and turned to regard Makarria, his eyes bulging with self-righteous anger. “And yet you will let this woman strike an innocent, law abiding man without punishment?”