Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  17

  “My father is dead,” Merit whispered as the last imperial soldier departed, as her father, the king, left Harwen. His eldest daughter remained alone at the city’s Ruined Wall, staring at the slips of parchment naming the dead, the tiny yellow rolls tucked into the wall’s cracks. Behind her, soldiers darted through the courtyard, running with their shields, pulling swords from the racks and spears from the walls. There were so many of them they covered the wall walk with their black leather, blotting out the sun.

  Fear had seized her people. The king was gone, a legion of imperial soldiers had collected the king of Harkana. Only Merit stood, ever calm in the confusion, ever aware of who was watching. She ran her hand across the blackened stone of the Ruined Wall, feeling a loose piece between her fingers. She picked it up and crushed it, opening her hand to reveal ash. The emperor has taken my father and given me his servant in return. He’s put a king on the throne I’ve kept warm all these years

  A moment earlier, Arko, tired, weary-eyed and half-drunk, had stood shouting in front of the Ruined Wall, issuing his last commands. He had told Merit that Ren had returned from the Priory. Tolemy had sent him home. When Merit asked where was the heir, Arko explained that he had sent the boy on the Elden Hunt to prove his rightful claim to the Harkan throne. “When he returns with the eld horns, he will take Ulfer’s chair in the King’s Hall and sit beneath our family’s banner,” her father had said to her. “Until then, you are Queen Regent in his stead.”

  Merit had nearly choked at these words. She would rule, but only until Ren returned, triumphant, and carrying the eld’s horns on his shoulders. Once he came back with his prize, Tolemy’s lap dog would sit on the Horned Throne. Couldn’t her father at least have given the family a moment together to meet the boy? After ten years, were they not due a short reunion, a moment to assure one another that this was indeed the small boy who once crashed through the courtyards knocking over planters? The one who spent his days wrestling dogs and drawing horses in the sand? No. He had sent the boy on the honored hunt without even the slightest hesitation.

  A soldier approached, then a second, urging her to leave the courtyard. “Let us take you to safety,” they said. The men wanted her back in the Hornring, but Merit would not cower or hide.

  “No,” she said. “It is important for the people, the waiting women and the cooks, to see me, to see their sovereign standing tall and unafraid.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed them. She brushed the ash from her palm. It had a salty sting that made her fist clench. The Ruined Wall was a place she and her father cherished equally. She had many times seen him standing at the crumbling fortifications, thinking of Ren, of his lost wife, of the sacrifices her grandfather had asked of the kingdom.

  When they stood together at the Ruined Wall, Arko would allow her to comfort him. It was the one place where they could speak without arguing—the one place where she felt like his daughter. If only they could agree on the wall’s meaning. They shared a reverence for the ruin, but not an understanding of its importance. When Arko stood at the wall, he saw a call to arms, a wound that would fester until the Harkans had burned down every wall in Solus.

  Merit saw something different.

  She saw failure. The wall’s broken remnants stood there because her ancestors failed, and Koren had failed, and Arko too. Each Harkan king had failed to stand against the line of Tolemy. Each one thought the sword was their only weapon. Merit knew the Harkan Army alone would never triumph against the empire. The Harkans needed help, allies from every kingdom, if they hoped to erase this scar from their history.

  At least Koren had attempted to wield the sword; Arko never even unsheathed his.

  Merit breathed a slow breath as she smeared the last remnants of the ashes across her blue dress, kneading its charcoal dust into the finely woven gown.

  In spite of the old resentments, the arguments they’d had over her mother, over the kingdom and its tending, she would miss her father. She missed him already and would miss him each time she came to the wall or glanced at its broken stones.

  A hand touched her shoulder. It was Shenn, soldiers at his side.

  “What did Arko say? Where’s he gone?”

  “To Solus. Summoned by Tolemy. My father is to meet the emperor. He will walk through the Shroud Wall and gaze upon Tolemy’s face.”

  “He is gone then,” Shenn gasped. “What of Harkana?” he asked as he directed the soldiers, pointing them to unlatched gates and gaping doorways.

  “As we feared, my brother has returned from the Priory. He rode with my father, but did not enter the city.” They had heard whispers of the boy’s release and had prepared as best they could. “My father left me in charge of his kingdom for now,” she said.

  “Why?” Shenn motioned to the remaining soldiers, telling them to stay back.

  “Arko sent Ren on the hallowed hunt. Once he has his horns, he will take the throne.”

  “A boy-king fresh from Solus to lead Harkana?”

  “In his panic, my father gave Ren the throne without allowing time for us to meet our new liege,” she said, her voice hardening with bitterness.

  “So, a ransom will rule Harkan. It’s been decades since one has sat on the Horned Throne. It won’t go well. He’s too young, and too inexperienced. He’s not Harkan, not truly. The Harkan lords will not kneel to Tolemy’s lackey.”

  Merit knew as much. “We will have open revolt—it happened in Feren and it will happen here,” she said, her eyes filling with tears of worry. If the boy could not hold the kingdom together, what would become of them? Will some lowly Harkan lord try to pry the kingdom from our family?

  “I won’t let it happen,” said Merit.

  “Agreed. Arko was always too rash. He should have named you as regent for a longer term—at least until the boy had lived in Harkana for a number of years. The child needs time to curry favor among the lords, and to learn the ways of the kingdom.” Shenn was right, of course, but her father did not think in such terms. A king was an absolute ruler, that’s what her father would say. A king was subject to the emperor and no one else. But Arko lived in a world that no longer existed. He respected rules that were no longer applicable. The power of the Harkan throne was tenuous; every bit of power in the empire was tenuous. The Priory had weakened the old lines, humiliating the royal sons of the lower kingdoms, fomenting insurgencies and agitation among the common folk.

  “Where is your sister?” Shenn asked.

  “Where do you think?”

  Shenn nodded. They both knew Kepi was in Blackrock or Badr, hiding with the boy she believed she had kept secret. But Kepi’s waiting women answered to Merit, and they knew her habits, what the black cloak meant.

  Merit walked to the edge of the courtyard and gazed through Harwen’s arch, the gate leading to the Plague Road. The last imperial soldiers were only now disappearing over the hills outside Harwen, the same hills that housed Dagrun’s encampment. The Feren contingent remained close by at her request.

  She shivered, but not from the cold. She was Queen Regent now and she did not intend to lose her post. “My brother has suffered enough,” she said, drawing Shenn close to her. “I won’t allow the boy to make a fool of himself when he returns. And I won’t allow my sister to put off her duty to the empire. We must move quickly. I’ll retrieve my father’s seal, and you must leave the Hornring.”

  Shenn did not argue and he did not ask questions. After so many years together, he knew what she wanted him to do.

  18

  “The king was met by soldiers in bronze armor at the city gate,” her waiting woman said. Kepi had only just arrived at her chamber in the Hornring when the woman came knocking at her door, pounding until Kepi had come to answer.

  “The Protector’s men took my father?” Kepi asked.

  “Yes. While you were away, they took the king to Solus.”

  “Solus?” Kepi spoke before she could fully grasp her servant’s words. Solus. My father has gone
to Solus. “Why?”

  “To meet our lord and emperor.” The girl told her what had happened.

  “Merit is Queen. My brother is free…” Kepi shook her head. “And my father is to meet Tolemy himself?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes downcast. Everyone in the empire knew what Arko’s visit meant.

  “Dammit. When did the king depart?” Kepi asked.

  “He left just after midday.” It was now late in the afternoon.

  “They took the Plague Road?”

  “Yes—but mistress, your sister seeks your presence—”

  Kepi pushed past the girl and her protests. My father is headed for his death and I was not here to say goodbye. I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around for Merit. She hurried toward the Hornring’s stables. She had become exceptionally good at slipping unseen from the Hornring. This time, however, her secrecy had worked against her. She had spent two days and two nights in Blackrock and no one had known how to find her. Mithra’s ass, she thought. My brother is free, but I was not here to greet him. Now she must wait until he completed the dangerous hunt before she could embrace him. At least I’ll get to meet Ren.

  Her father was another matter. The emperor had summoned the king. To gaze upon the Soleri was to gaze upon the sun itself, and no man could survive that light.

  Her heart pounding, Kepi strode through the stable’s wooden doors, hastening past soldiers and messengers alike. Ash stood near the stable’s entry, her saddle still strapped to the horse’s midsection. The horse was not yet fed or fully watered, but perhaps her father was still close to Harwen, and the ride would be short. Ash was not the stable master’s fastest mount, but she was nimble and reliable and would not balk at a second ride that day.

  Kepi tugged the reins and bolted through the open doors, retracing the path she had taken earlier that day. Outside, the streets were empty, the Hornring silent. The city was locked down, doors shut, gates barred. Why? Her father was gone, but why lock down the city?

  A spear answered her silent question, an obsidian point blocking her path. “The queen regent commands you to remain in Harwen.”

  “As far as I can tell my father is still alive, and hence still king of Harkana, and as his daughter I answer to him alone,” she said. “Until my brother sits on the throne, my sister holds no more power than I—now, let me pass.”

  The man hesitated. He looked to his fellow guardsmen. While the men exchanged hushed words, Kepi broke past the gate, brushing aside their spears with an outstretched arm. I must find my father.

  She rode past another company of city guardsmen who called to her, but she refused to slow her horse. Even if her sister was regent and she had given orders for Kepi to stay within the city walls, the guards would not dare harm the king’s daughter.

  Ash pounded the sandy earth, bolting through the outer fortifications, past the Ruined Wall, over the Blackwood Bridge and out of Harwen. She rode over the low plains, her eyes bent on the horizon, searching for the Plague Road’s first marker. White plaster glinted in the distance. The road was not far. The Protector’s retinue was no doubt large and well armed; such a force could not move as hastily as a single rider. She had heard imperial soldiers rested often and seldom rode swiftly. The men conserved their strength for conflict. She hoped the soldiers would take their time. If she rode quickly, if she drove her mount to exhaustion, perhaps she could catch her father before he reached the Dromus. She wanted to see him before he disappeared behind the walls of Sola. She could not even recall the last words they spoke to each other. Let me look at him one last time, Kepi begged. But there was more than simple sentiment in her prayer. She was riding to win a promise from the king, an order that would release Kepi from her vow.

  Merit would not dare work against a king’s decree.

  She passed the first marker, crested a low hill, but saw only stray carts and goat herders. She cursed. In the distance, light shimmered on the second marker. She had hoped to sight imperial soldiers when she arrived at the top of the hill, but she saw only sandy knolls, broken trees, and distant travelers. I should have taken a fresh mount. If her ride continued past the low hills and into the desert, she would need to water Ash, and she would lose precious time and might not catch the soldiers before they reached Sola.

  I can’t lose him. I won’t let him disappear—not like mother.

  Ten years ago, Sarra had slipped out in the night, leaving Harwen and fleeing to Desouk. Sarra Hark-Wadi, the woman who would become Sarra Amunet, the Mother Priestess, had never even bothered to say goodbye to her children. She had simply disappeared. Now Arko had disappeared too—the Protector’s men had stolen him while Kepi was away. I cannot allow both of my parents to leave without bidding me farewell. She’d been cheated once, but she would not allow it to happen a second time. More than anything, she wanted to see his face one last time.

  The clop of iron shoes thundered in the distance. Horses approached from behind, from the direction of Harwen. Kepi hit her steed with a hard but steady kick. Ash responded, beating out ever-quicker paces, her strides lengthening with each gallop. Kepi pressed her feet into the stirrups and lifted her torso to avoid the pounding of the saddle. She flew, her horse’s hooves stirring dust and sand, wind at her face, hair whipping at her brow. Her bruises ached, but she ignored the pain. She kept her eyes on the trail, leaping over rocks, dodging ruts in the road as the clop of the approaching soldiers reached a crescendo.

  Ash was at her limit and the riders were nearly upon her.

  A soldier in black leather approached, motioning for her to halt. His mount was a destrier, a powerful horse, and likely well fed and well rested. A second rider advanced on her right flank. I cannot outrun these horses, but can I fight? Her saddle concealed a pair of curving blades. If pressed, she would draw her knives.

  The Harkan soldiers drew closer. The road ahead was clear. She could stop, order the men to turn back, to leave her, she could fight them if needed, but she had no wish to spill Harkan blood. Yet each moment that passed, her father was closer to the Sola. She beat her mount, but she could not outrun the soldiers. The rider at her right blocked her path. He came at her so quickly he spooked her horse. Ash reared, hurling Kepi forward, knocking her head against the horse’s mane.

  “Let me be!” she cried. Kepi spurred her horse and tugged one rein, trying to turn her mount, but she could not swing a circle narrow enough to avoid the destrier.

  “Halt!” said the soldier blocking her path.

  Relief washed over her when she saw him clearly. In the failing light she had not recognized their silver-crested leather, their black shields. These were not, as she had feared, Merit’s hired soldiers. These were her father’s sworn men, the kingsguard, the black shields of Harkana.

  “Where is my father? Why have you abandoned him?”

  “He travels the Plague Road with a legion of Alehkar. He bid us to come find you.”

  “How far away is he?” she asked.

  The soldier shaded his eyes and searched the desert hills, his gaze lingering on a cloud of dust at the horizon. “One hour’s ride, maybe less.”

  “We’re wasting time on words,” Kepi gripped the reins. “We should ride.”

  The man waved to his comrade. “Off your horse, the king’s daughter needs a fresh mount.” He motioned for Kepi to dismount just as they heard the pounding of more hooves, more soldiers riding up the Plague Road.

  “Your men?” she asked.

  “No.” The captain shook his head and squinted at the horses, a worried look on his face.

  Who, then? Kepi studied the horizon. The men wore the jade-green rings and the gray cloaks of the Wadi clan. Merit’s hired soldiers at last. Among them she saw Sevin, her sister’s captain. The approaching riders, five in all, bearing long spears, sent dust into the air as they encircled Kepi and the kingsguard.

  “Back to the Hornring with you,” cried Sevin as his horse ground its hooves into road. “Queen regent’s orders,” he said, his jad
e rings jingling, his soldiers fingering their weapons. Sevin had drawn his sword, though neither Kepi nor the kingsguard had drawn theirs.

  “Queen regent, Sevin? Is that what she is calling herself?” Kepi said, watching his blade bob up and down. “My father has barely stepped from the Hornring and my sister is calling herself queen already? Tell me, is she seated on Ulfer’s chair?”

  Sevin grimaced, his fingers tensing on the grip of his sword, the deep lines on his dark face furrowing. “Damned if I care.” He motioned for his men to draw blades. “We’re just doing what we’re told, child.” He leveled his sword, the point resting no farther than a finger’s width from Ash’s nose. “It’s not in my nature to strike a lady, so do as you’re told. There’s no need for violence,” he said, his blade saying otherwise.

  Kepi’s eyes flicked to the Plague Road. She saw black shapes dotting the horizon. Her father’s caravan was not too far. She could still catch up to him.

  “Please,” she asked. I have to see my father, just this once, before he vanishes.

  “There’s no use in begging,” said Sevin. “I’ve got my orders and it’ll be my head if I don’t follow through.” The others shrugged. There was no sympathy here, just men doing as they were told.

  “Sevin, don’t,” she said, but the Wadi man did not lower his blade. He drew a scroll from his satchel. The black letters smudged as he unrolled the sheet—the markings were fresh, the ink damp.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  Kepi did not want to read it, but he shoved the parchment in her face anyway. A few short words filled the top half of the sheet, a waxen seal dotted the bottom. The message was clear: the king of Harkana had released Kepi from her seven years of mourning and ordered her to wed, without delay, Dagrun Finner, the king of the Ferens and Lord of the Gray Wood.

  It was sealed with Arko’s mark, an eld skull with a swirl of horns at its base.

  “Dammit,” she cried. “This is not my father’s decree. Look at the seal.” She knew the mark was not made by Arko’s signet ring but with the large stamp her father kept in his chamber, and she knew exactly who made it. “This is my sister’s doing,” she said, her voice raised. “Arko did not even enter the Hornring.” This was not her father’s orders but her sister’s, using the king’s seal. Arko had slaughtered more Ferens than she could count when he pulled her from Roghan’s prison and he would do so again if needed. But that no longer mattered. What mattered was that it was a king’s decree with the king’s stamp. She could no longer protest, she could no longer put off Dagrun’s proposal. Without Arko, without the king to protect her through law and threat of violence, she must comply and she must do it immediately. She had only the kingsguard and the blades she concealed beneath her saddle.