The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “If they don’t, they’re blind.” Duke Castar slid easily into the empty chair beside Carissa. “There’s no better man in the Peaks, save for His Majesty.” He inclined his head toward King Gerod.

  “You see, dear? Nothing to fret about.” Carissa smiled gratefully at the duke. “Thank you, Duke Castar. But if you’ll forgive me… I don’t think the Duchess Terene will appreciate you taking her seat.”

  “I believe the duchess has retired for the night,” Castar said. “I saw Alma escorting her out of the hall. If she returns, I’m sure she won’t mind my taking a moment to speak with the king and his son.”

  “It’s fine, Carissa,” said Rudol, and nodded a greeting to the duke. Just like Grandmother to leave without a word. It was late, and the Duchess of Whitelake was not a young woman—nor had she ever much cared for empty courtesies. He doubted she’d be back, though his Aunt Alma might return once she’d seen her mother to their rooms.

  Duke Castar rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Nearly time, isn’t it? How are you feeling, Rudol?”

  Rudol shrugged. “I’ve seen worse things than the inside of an eyrie.”

  “Always the stoic.” Castar chuckled. “You’ll do well. Tomorrow too, as Carissa says. Don’t you think, Your Majesty?”

  “I expect as much,” Gerod said without smiling. “We can’t afford less.”

  Rudol had noticed the little robed man hurrying up to the dais as his father was speaking, and so he didn’t bother to say anything more. In a moment, Chastor Ren was upon them, breathing heavily and slightly red-faced.

  “It’s time, Your Majesty,” Mulley said.

  Gerod stood and motioned to the heralds standing at either corner of the dais; both men lifted horns to their lips and blew Aryllia’s fanfare. All noise in the hall ceased, and all eyes turned to the king. The silence was almost instant, Rudol noted. It was never like that for him.

  “Midnight approaches.” King Gerod’s voice rasped with the strain of speaking so loudly. “And with the coming of Aryll’s Rest, a new day dawns for the Nine Peaks.” No one but Rudol was close enough to see the twitch of distaste that crossed his father’s lips, then. Gerod Aryllia did not like displaying weakness. “You all know what Josen has done. It is no secret. With his actions, he has betrayed the trust of his people and his king. No longer will I call him my heir… or my son.” A murmur went through the room at that, and Rudol heard doubt in it. There are still some who would love Josen no matter what he did.

  “We are not here to mourn Josen,” said Gerod. “Tonight we are here to celebrate the continuation of Aryllia’s legacy. Since the Rising, her bloodline has watched over the Nine Peaks, and so we will for centuries to come. Because in his infinite wisdom, the Lord of Eagles granted me one son who has never faltered in his duty.” He motioned for Rudol to stand.

  Rudol rose to his feet and looked out over the banquet hall. Too many eyes looked back. He forced himself to hold his head up, to stop his feet from shifting, to keep his hands clasped behind him. In every face he could see the animosity Shona had warned him about, the judgement and the blame. I’m not the prince they want. Even his father’s apparent approval was feigned for the audience—he had never much noticed or cared about Rudol’s faithfulness.

  Gerod clasped his shoulder with cold, bony fingers. “While we enjoy our food and wine, Rudol will spend his night praying for the Sky God’s blessing upon you and your families, for a reign of peace and plenty. And at sunrise tomorrow, under the eyes of the Lord of Eagles, I will name him heir to my throne and Crown Prince of the Nine Peaks.”

  A long silence followed before Rudol realized he was supposed to be speaking now, addressing his people. Carissa smiled up at him expectantly; his father watched and waited, dispassionate as ever.

  You’d better say something, little brother. Everyone’s waiting.

  But though he’d practiced his speech for hours the night before—short and simple, a few humble words—he couldn’t remember it now for the life of him. Unbidden, Rudol’s gaze shifted left, toward Shona; there was something like pity in her eyes. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. “I…” But he could think of nothing else to follow.

  “Your Majesty, if I may?” Lenoden Castar’s voice broke the silence. The duke stood. “I would like to say a few words in honor of Prince Rudol.”

  Gerod simply nodded his assent, and for a moment Rudol was grateful for the reprieve. But only for a moment. Did he plan this? It would be so like his father.

  Of course he did, Josen’s voice taunted. Did you really think he’d risk letting you embarrass him? The possibility stung—even more so knowing that he had been stricken dumb. Given a moment longer, he would have disappointed, just as everyone expected him to.

  “Rudol never needed to be king to serve the Peaks,” Duke Castar said, pitching his voice so that it filled every corner of the hall. “He grew up believing that he would never wear the crown. He could have chosen a life of luxury, of indolence, and who would have stopped him? But he chose duty instead. He chose to fight and bleed for his people in the Swamp. He chose to do what was best for the Nine Peaks. He always does.

  The duke clasped Rudol’s shoulder. “This is a man I am proud to know. A man I am proud to serve beside as a Knight of the Storm. And when the time comes, I will be proud to call him my king.” He raised his glass—giving Rudol a knowing wink as he did—and all across the hall, the guests mirrored the motion. “To Prince Rudol!”

  “Prince Rudol!” Cries and clinking cups echoed through the banquet hall. Rudol knew their enthusiasm was for the duke and his performance—Lenoden Castar knew how to appeal to a crowd—but for a moment he let himself ignore the truth. For a moment, he let it be for him and no one else.

  “Thank you,” Rudol said in a low voice, leaning closer to Duke Castar. “You didn’t have to—”

  “I meant every word.” Castar smiled, and Rudol could almost believe him. He wanted to. Maybe it hadn’t been planned. Maybe the duke truly did think that highly of him. That would make one person, at least.

  “We must go, Prince Rudol.” Chastor Ren tapped his shoulder, an anxious frown on his round face. “Midnight is near.”

  Duke Castar urged him on with a wave of his hand. “Go on, Rudol. You don’t want to be late.”

  Carissa stood and grasped Rudol’s arm. “I’m coming with you. You can’t leave me all night without a proper goodbye.”

  Rudol just placed a hand on his wife’s arm and motioned Chastor Ren onward. They made their way out of the room through a sea of people: highborn bowing and smiling and wishing him well; lowborn shouting his name, reaching out in vain attempts to touch him as he passed. Not a one of them means it. Caught up in the moment, the food and drink and speeches—in a turn they’ll be bored of me all over again. He was almost surprised that he didn’t hear Josen’s voice rubbing it in. I suppose he doesn’t need to tell me what I already know. But knowing the truth only made their false enthusiasm harder to take. Insincerities flowed so freely he feared they might close over his head and drown him. It wasn’t until he emerged into the courtyard and closed the doors behind him that he felt he could breathe again.

  Mulley led them quickly across the half-circle of the courtyard and through the southern gate that led to the eyrie. Beyond the walled passage that joined keep and temple, they climbed the steep stair to the eyrie’s ninth tier, high above the plateaus that made up the city. At that height, even the Godspire didn’t seem quite so tall; the top of the eyrie reached perhaps a tenth of the way up the peak’s height, though there were still hundreds of feet of sheer rock above.

  They entered the eyrie through the only door on the ninth tier. The vigil chamber sat at the end of a short corridor, the sole room housed within the eyrie’s highest level. Just outside the chamber doors, a staircase spiralled upward and out of sight—the only access to the preacher’s dais at the center of the nest above. Mulley ignored the stairs and ushered Rudol and Carissa directly int
o the vigil chamber.

  The chamber was bare, a stark round room without ornament save for a wide circular window to the east, facing the sunrise and the Godspire. The window had no pane; it was open to the sky, so that those who would be king could hear the Sky God’s voice. A sunburst inlaid in gold encircled the window to represent the eye of the Lord of Eagles, watching over those who kept vigil within.

  “You had best wish your husband goodnight now, Lady Carissa,” Mulley said. “The midnight bell rings in less than a quarter-hour, and Prince Rudol must be alone when it does.”

  “Would you mind giving us a moment, Chastor Renold? We have been watched so closely all night.”

  “Of course, milady. But… do be swift. I will have to interrupt if you aren’t done before the bell. And Prince Rudol, if I do not see you again before your vigil begins—may the Lord of Eagles grant you his vision this night.” Mulley touched two fingers to the eagle’s eye at the center of his circlet, and breathed, “Auna Celyn.” Then, he stepped out of the chamber and closed the heavy wooden door behind him.

  When Mulley was gone, Carissa took Rudol’s hand. “That was nice, wasn’t it dear? The way they cheered? I told you they would see your worth.”

  Rudol frowned and pulled away. “They weren’t cheering for me. That was for Duke Castar, his speech.” He turned from her to gaze out at the dark stone of the Godspire through the window. “Let’s not delude ourselves, Carissa. I’m not the prince anyone would want, given a choice.”

  “Rudol…” Carissa placed herself between him and the window and stepped in close, resting her hand against his chest. “That isn’t true. I chose you, and I would do it again.”

  “Our marriage was a useful alliance between families. You have always accepted it kindly, but you don’t have to lie to me, Carissa. I’m not a fool.”

  She shook her head. “I never told you, but I might have married your brother. Father wanted me to be queen someday. It hadn’t yet been a year since Josen’s… first wedding, and King Gerod resisted the idea. I suppose he thought Josen would refuse and embarrass him again. Father was going to insist—the heir or nothing—but I told him that I wanted the prince who stayed, who did his duty. Not the one who ran away. And you know I can be persuasive.” She grinned up at him, mischief sparkling in her big brown eyes.

  Rudol couldn’t quite make himself believe it. “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “I didn’t know if you would take it the way I meant it. You know how you are about Josen. I was worried… it might have sounded like King Gerod gave me little choice. But I never wanted your brother, Rudol, I promise. I fought for you.” Carissa stood on her tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. “Do you believe me?” Before he could answer, she pressed her lips hard against his.

  Rudol wrapped his hands around her delicate waist and lifted her closer, half-worried—as he always was—that he might break her if he wasn’t careful. When she finally ended the kiss, he looked down at her with something like awe, touched a hand to her cheek, ran his fingers through her dark hair. Soft as silk.

  “You… you wanted me?” He didn’t know how that could be true. She had never complained about their match, and he was grateful for that, but he’d assumed she was just putting a pleasant face on a life she hadn’t picked. How could this woman have chosen him? She was beautiful, graceful, lively; he was a bald angry brute who’d never been meant to take the throne.

  “Only you.” She lowered one hand to the front of his trousers, pushing his tabard aside. “Let me show you how much.”

  He wanted her; he couldn’t believe how much he wanted her just then. But it was almost midnight. “Carissa… I can’t. The vigil…”

  “We have time. A quarter of the hour, Mulley said.”

  “I shouldn’t—”

  “Shh.” She cut him off with another kiss, and her hand slipped lower. “You’re supposed to let me speak for you, remember?”

  It was a long time before Rudol spoke again.

  * * *

  It was still dim in the vigil chamber when his father and Mulley came for him, though the sun had surely already risen above the horizon—the Godspire cast a long shadow over the Plateaus. For the three days of Aryll’s Rest, the sun rose almost perfectly behind the peak, and “sunrise” meant the moment the light spilled over the mountain’s crest.

  Rudol had been kneeling there for hours, his face lifted toward the sky, praying for some sign from the Sky God, but the moment he heard the door he was on his feet. He pivoted toward the sound, ignoring the pain in his cramped legs. Years of training turned instinct forbade him to show a potential attacker his back, no matter how unlikely an ambush was on the ninth tier of the Royal Eyrie.

  King Gerod hadn’t held vigil all night, but he looked more exhausted than Rudol felt. The hollows under his eyes were dark as bruises, and there was a grey undertone to his brown skin. “The guests are seated.” He motioned for Rudol to follow without wasting time on greetings. “Come, we must be ready for the sunri—” A hacking cough cut off the king’s voice, and he covered his mouth as more followed, sending tremors through his gaunt body.

  “Majesty, are you certain you are well enough?” Just behind King Gerod, Mulley’s round face crinkled with a near-motherly concern.

  Gerod wiped flecks of spittle from his lips and gathered his breath. “This cannot wait. I will rest when it is done.” With another impatient gesture, he left the chamber, and Mulley hurried on his heels. Rudol closed the distance to the door in two long strides.

  At the foot of the stairway just outside the vigil chamber, Carissa waited with Ines and Alma Terene. Rudol’s grandmother and aunt might have been twins somehow separated across decades—they shared the same long, solemn faces and deeply etched frown lines, the same dark curled hair. Even at eighty and sixty years of age, neither yet showed a trace of grey in those Terene curls. The same curls as his mother. As Josen. I suppose we’ll never know if I’d have gone grey now, will we, little brother?

  Ignoring Josen’s voice as best he could, Rudol wrapped an arm around Carissa’s waist and nodded politely at the two older women. “Grandmother. Aunt Alma. I thought you’d be in the pews already.”

  “Soon enough,” said Ines Terene, peering at Rudol with stern, near-black eyes. “But I felt I should impress upon you the full weight that is about to be placed on your shoulders. You will be the first king of two Windwalker lines—when you sit the throne, you will speak with the voices of Aryllia and Terene at once. I hope you are prepared for that.”

  The exact same thing she said when I was anointed, Josen’s voice reminded him, apparently unvexed by Rudol’s failure to answer. Remember that, little brother? Your problem now.

  “Of… of course,” Rudol stammered. His grandmother had always made him nervous. Gossip among the lowborn called her “the madwoman of Whitelake” for acting against the traditions of Kaleb’s Law, but in truth she was anything but mad. The woman behind the rumors was much more intimidating: strict, humorless, and utterly blunt. “I will… I will try my best to ensure the ceremony goes well.”

  The duchess snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I don’t care if you fall on your face. This is nothing. A bit of theatre to distract the lowborn. What matters is what it represents. And what I expect you to do—when the time comes—is rule. You’ve always been more practical than your brother was. Don’t let the trappings of power distract you from its purpose.” She tapped the brooch at her neck—a one-eyed eagle perched on the battlements of a watchtower. “Terene’s blood is in you too. Never forget that. She trained soldiers and organized supplies, held the north while other Windwalkers won accolades in greater battles. Few children care to hear such stories at bedtime. But a strong ruler knows that what people need is not always what they love. Duty over glory, Rudol.”

  Alma nodded solemnly at that. “Duty over glory.” She offered a stiff smile, at least, unlike her mother. “Good luck, Nephew. May the Lord of Eagles guide you.”
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  “Whatever blessings Rudol needs, I’m sure he found them last night in the vigil chamber,” said Carissa, and looked up at him with a small, secret smile at the corner of her lips. “He will be a fine king, I know he will.” Rudol wasn’t so certain, but that smile made him feel more confident than he had a moment before.

  King Gerod had been silent for some time—speaking after one of his coughing fits often set him hacking again—but now he nudged Mulley with a bony elbow.

  “Ah, yes,” the little chastor said, his brow creased with obvious discomfort. “I am sorry to interrupt, but…” He trailed off timidly when Ines Terene’s dark eyes turned toward him.

  But Rudol’s grandmother just gestured toward the stairs. “If it is time, say so, Chastor Renold. Muttering does no good.”

  “Yes, well… Sunrise waits for no man, not even the king,” Mulley said, ducking his head sheepishly as he started up the stairs. Gerod followed, coughing into his sleeve, and Rudol led Carissa after.

  As they neared the top of the stairs, the air grew brisk, still unwarmed by the morning sun. He heard the crowd before he saw them, a low murmur of conversation from the pews, but the sound lessened as Mulley and the king emerged from the stairway. By the time Rudol climbed out into the shadow of the Godspire, the audience was silent, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

  Though the Godspire’s shadow still cast the world in grey, enough dawnlight escaped around its edges to see by, and the nest of the Royal Eyrie provided a view well worth seeing. There was no higher structure in the Plateaus, and the preacher’s dais was the temple’s highest point, a round nine-foot tall platform at the center of the nest. A ceremonial golden bowl sat in the middle of the dais, atop a simple waist-high pedastal. Nine sets of pews in rows nine deep surrounded the dais in a wide circle, and every inch of every bench in every direction was occupied, from the highborn in the innermost rows to the lowborn stretching back toward the edges. But even with so many eyes watching him, it was what lay beyond that drew Rudol’s attention.