Ravian's Quest

by Jerry Carpenter

  ‘I know about the mission the king would send you on,’ she said. ‘I know about both missions.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ Ravian told her. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone but you.’

  ‘Oh, Ravian,’ Belice said, trying to smile despite her glistening lashes, ‘we both know that can never happen. I may have been the consort of a king, and now of a prince, but I am still a slave and a whore in the eyes of the world. You cannot marry me – and you certainly must never have children with me.’

  This last was true, even Ravian had to admit. For Belice to bear him a child, particularly a son, would be an almost certain recipe for civil war at some time in the future.

  ‘Then we will leave Tarcus,’ he told her. ‘Zecretes might allow us to live in the Delenes Islands.’

  Belice shook her head sadly.

  ‘He would not be so foolish,’ she said. ‘His country is far too dependent on the ships of the Nine Houses for him to risk offending the king of Tarcus.’

  Ravian sighed, knowing that she was right. Belice might be the most beautiful woman in the whole of the Sapphire Sea, not to mention the most celebrated exponent of the erotic Halay dance that Ezreen had ever produced, but she was also possessed of an acute intelligence and a shrewd tactical mind.

  ‘Then I’ll marry one of his damned princesses and keep you as my mistress,’ he snarled. ‘You are the one who holds my heart.’

  ‘And you, mine,’ she replied, ‘but we both knew that this day would come.’

  ‘Damn, Jeniel!’ Ravian swore.

  ‘You mustn’t blame your brother,’ Belice admonished him, giving his shoulders a gentle, reproving shake. ‘I’m sure that, if Jeniel did not carry the responsibility for the future of Tarcus, he wouldn’t care either way. As it is though, he is a king without children and you, My Darling, are heir to his throne. Your brother is following the only course that he can and you shouldn’t think, behind it all, that he loves you any less than he always has.’

  A scene flashed through Ravian’s mind – a moonlit bedroom, a beautiful woman’s lifeless body lying on blood-stained sheets.

  Had Jeniel had anything to do with his wife’s murder? he wondered, as he must have thousands of times since that fateful night.

  Certainly, prior to Sinur’s death, Jeniel had expressed his mounting concern and disapproval at his estranged wife’s increasingly wild behaviour. Had the king sent an assassin to her bedroom as a solution to the embarrassment that she was causing the royal family?

  And now, whether his brother had been guilty of that terrible act or not, the young monarch was certainly determined to exert his control over Ravian in the matter of Belice.

  ‘He shall not keep us apart,’ Ravian growled. ‘I will find a way that we can stay together.’

  Belice looked up at him with love shining in her eyes but said nothing. When Ravian got that determined look upon his face, she had learned, nothing anyone could say was going to change his mind.

  Chapter Two

  Ravian forced his eyes open and immediately knew, from the vile taste in his mouth and the bright, midday light outside his bed chamber window, that he had been drugged. Groggily, he sat up and looked at the empty place in the bed beside him, the place where Belice would normally be, regardless of the time of day or night. Already he knew what had happened but still, he staggered out of bed, threw on a tunic and went out to the part of the balcony that looked down into the White City’s harbour.

  Her ship was gone, of course – Belice had drugged him and stolen away in the night. What an idiot he was not to realise that she would do this!

  He summoned his guard and the man, quaking with fear at the grimness in the prince’s face, confirmed that the previous watch had logged Belice leaving the Admiral’s Residence at midnight and that she had not returned. Absently dismissing the relieved soldier, Ravian began searching his living quarters for the letter that he knew she would have left. Even as he did so, his now-clear mind grappled with the fact that, even as he had met with the king the previous day, the love of his life had already made her preparations to depart.

  The letter was exactly where he should have expected it to be – under his pillow. Ravian sighed, remembering how their love affair had started with an exchange of letters, and sat down to read.

  ‘My Love, Sun of My Life,

  I know that you would never willingly put me aside and so I have had to make the decision that you will not.

  I have known only two men in my life and I have loved you both although, for Saravar, my love was more the love of a young girl for a fatherly protector.

  For you, my love will always be boundless and ever-lasting.

  I would die for you Ravian and, if you will not permit me to start a new life without you, then that is what I shall do. Make no mistake, My Heart, if I look back from my vessel in the next few days, and see the sail of a pursuing swordship, I promise you I will take my own life.

  You see, I love you too much to let you betray your country, your king or your family for me. You are a prince, My Darling, and perhaps you might even be king one day. Although I know that you love me, and that you will never forget me, I am a courtesan who was once a slave. We can never have a normal life together and watch our children grow.

  So, Farewell, My Love.

  We must never see each other again and, I beg of you, please don’t try to find me.

  I have left funds and staff to maintain the orphanage for five years. After that, it is up to the conscience of you and your kingdom.

  Belice.’

  Ravian took the letter out to the balcony and stared down at the sea outside the harbour entrance. What tack had Belice ordered her vessel laid on once it had sailed out between the guard towers, he wondered.

  Did she bid her captain set a course due east, to return to Ezreen?

  Or did she tell him to ghost along the Southeast Coast, to the Land’s End Light and a passage further north to Karaal or Dalvan?

  For all he knew, he realised, she could have headed south to Beldona, or even further afield to Sanja. The only thing that he could be sure of was that, wherever she had chosen as a destination, her wealth, intelligence and resourcefulness would soon carve her out a place of power and influence.

  A tear ran down his cheek and he let it continue into his beard without wiping it away – there were no witnesses to see him weep for his lost love.

  Jeniel was surprisingly solicitous.

  ‘I have to say that she did the right thing, Ravian – although I know that you cared for her.’

  ‘I love her,’ Ravian told him flatly.

  Now that Belice had removed herself as an obstacle to his strategy, the king could afford to be conciliatory.

  ‘I understand,’ he told his brother in a soothing voice, ‘and, clearly, she loved you enough to let you follow your duty.’

  They were, again, alone together in the Hunting Room. Ravian said nothing as he walked over to the columned windows that ran the length of the meeting room’s southern wall and looked out over the city. The harbour was bustling with vessels both large and small he saw, the merchant ships waiting on the moorings in the bay before being given their turn for some valuable wharf space to disgorge and load their cargos. There were still far fewer vessels down there than there would have been before the war though, he observed – Tarcus was still recovering from her epic struggle.

  He turned back to Jeniel.

  ‘I presume that you are still determined that I sail away on your diplomatic odyssey?’ he enquired coldly.

  ‘I have to be, Ravian,’ his brother replied. ‘It is necessary and it is your duty.’

  ‘I would have thought,’ Ravian said, an angry edge to his voice, ‘that my efforts in the Great Sea War would have been duty enough.’

  The king paused before replying, obviously choosing his words carefully.

  ‘I wish things were that simple, Brother, I really do,’ he said. ‘But you know that we have been weakened both mil
itarily and financially by our glorious struggle. Our yards have made good progress and the swordship fleet should be back up to strength in another year, but rebuilding the fleet bears a cost that can only be met by taxes – and the majority of our tax take comes from foreign trade. We need to improve our military alliances and increase trade with the North if we are ever going to return Tarcus to normal.’

  Ravian knew that his brother was speaking the truth.

  ‘And the second list?’ he said. ‘The marriage list?’

  ‘Just meet the candidates, that’s all I ask,’ his brother said pleadingly. ‘If you can return and honestly tell me that you have met each girl on that list, I’ll consider your duty done.’

  Ravian turned away and looked out the windows again – somehow, without Belice, the White City suddenly seemed small and constrictive.

  ‘I’ll need to take Sea Eagle,’ he said, ‘and I’ll want Godart as captain.’

  Behind his back, Jeniel smiled.

  ‘Of course, Ravian. We want only the best for this mission.’

  Chapter Three

  With nothing to hold him in Tarcus, Ravian had Sea Eagle underway and heading north within two days of his meeting with the king, and the full red sails and clear blue skies lifted his spirits slightly, even though he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. He was not the only broken-hearted voyager on the quarterdeck as they beat their way steadily up the coast however – Citizen Lectus spent the first day of their voyage pressed against the stern rail, sighing and looking longingly back toward the South.

  Lectus was fat, bejewelled and flagrantly effeminate. Ravian had never liked him and had never understood why Jeniel tolerated the mincing courtier. Now that he found himself saddled with the man for at least a year, he could not resist the temptation to take some of his frustrations out on the king’s watchdog.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re looking so miserable, Lectus,’ he said cruelly. ‘I would have thought that a year in a boatload of sailors would have been a dream come true for you.’

  Lectus turned, and Ravian was surprised to see tears on the man’s long, dark lashes.

  ‘You’re not the only man to be sailing away from true love, Your Highness,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving the love of my life behind as we embark on this mission to the most barbaric refuse pits of the world.’

  Ravian looked across at the other two men on the quarterdeck – his captain, Godart, and the helmsman, both veterans of the Great Sea War. Whatever they had heard, and whatever their thoughts, they kept their eyes fixed firmly on the horizon ahead.

  ‘Don’t compare my situation with yours, you fat fairy,’ he snarled in a low voice. ‘At least your lover-boy will be waiting for you when we return.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll have been snapped up by someone else by then,’ moaned Lectus. ‘He’s so beautiful – so young and strong. What he was doing with an old wine skin like me, I’ll never understand.’

  ‘Well that makes two of, I suppose,’ said Ravian, who was discovering that being unpleasant to the courtier somehow soothed his own feelings. ‘Does this young god of yours have a name?’

  ‘Of course he has a name.’ Lectus sighed. ‘But he is in a position of responsibility so that name will have to remain in my heart…forever.’

  Ravian rolled his eyes.

  ‘Or until we arrive in the next port,’ he said.

  ‘Your Highness is all very well to talk,’ Lectus retorted archly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I think that we should have a little wager right here and now, Your Highness,’ said Lectus, seeming to forget his grief for the moment, ‘and that is that you will find new love long before I do on this voyage. After all, it is one of the objectives of our mission.’

  ‘I’ll have nothing to do with any such wager,’ Ravian replied haughtily. ‘Besides, it would be unfair to take your money as I have absolutely no intention of returning with a bride, regardless of any plot you and my brother may have hatched.’

  ‘Very well, Your Highness,’ the obese courtier sniffed disdainfully. ‘I’m sure that I will find plenty of others willing to take the wager.’

  ‘Listen to me, Lectus, you will not discuss the subject with anyone else – is that understood?’

  ‘Completely, Your Highness – provided that you accept the wager yourself.’

  ‘You dare attempt to bargain with me?!’ Ravian exclaimed, aghast at the man’s impudence.

  ‘A single gold coin, Your Highness. Surely you have enough confidence in your trueness of your heart to risk such a trivial bet?’

  ‘You fat, cheeky ponce!’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Lectus replied, unfazed. ‘I take it that we have a wager then?’

  ‘You can shove your gold coin up your backside!’ Ravian snapped.

  ‘I’ll try anything once, Your Highness, but I don’t think it will be my gold coin. Now we really must do some work on your vocabulary and social graces.’

  ‘Huh!’ Ravian grunted, suddenly having to turn away to hide a smile despite himself.

  A year in the company of the king’s advisor promised some entertainment after all.

  Their first port of call was at Bendim, the main harbour and capital of Groven, and there Ravian received a full briefing from Lectus as Sea Eagle rode at her mooring in fine weather.

  ‘Your Highness will be aware that King Paxim was the first of the warring nations to re-establish trade with Tarcus,’ the courtier reminded him. ‘He was also the last of them to side with Bordwar and now professes to have done so with great reluctance. He is most eager to make amends and, although Groven is neither the wealthiest nor the most powerful nation of the North, it is strategically important.’

  ‘King Paxim,’ interjected Ravian, ‘also seems happy to marry off one of his daughters to secure a reduction of the punitive taxes on his trade and vessels.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ replied Lectus, ‘the Princess Veletia. A stunning northern beauty I am told – and more than just one of his daughters. She is the king’s oldest legitimate child and, as Paxim has no sons, one would logically expect her to inherit the throne. It would seem a most useful match – and an early collection on our wager.’

  ‘We’ll see’’ Ravian said evenly, ‘although I would have thought that a port with a name like Bendim would have been more of a happy hunting ground for someone of your particular tastes, Citizen Lectus.’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness – very droll,’ Lectus replied, without even a flicker of a smile. ‘I’m not surprised you look so tired – you were obviously awake all night thinking that one up.’

  ‘Now,’ the courtier continued, before Ravian could make any further comment, ‘we need to consider the protocol of tomorrow afternoon’s visit.

  ‘King Paxim will first receive us in his throne room, so it will be a formal occasion. You will require an honour guard of six men, plus a standard-bearer, to escort you to the palace and you must wear your full regalia. Only you and I will be admitted to the throne room and, as we have been invited to spend the night at the palace, our escort can dismiss at the castle door and return to the ship.

  ‘A banquet is to follow the audience and I understand that the fare of this country is quite acceptable – be thankful for that, as I believe we have some unappetising times ahead of us. You will sit on the king’s right hand and I understand the Princess Veletia will be seated on your other side. I will not be far away so, if you get into difficulty, just raise an eyebrow and I’ll be there.

  ‘During the dinner, the king is bound to make a speech affirming the friendship between our nations and so on and so forth. You should respond with something along the same lines but I advise you to keep it short – there’s no need to tax those legendary oratorical skills of yours. I would suggest however, that you include a toast to the charm and beauty of the Princess Veletia somewhere in your address. Keep it neutral and polite though – if the girl does appeal, we would want to do some serious negotiating before you make
any formal commitment.

  ‘Finally – two words of warning. The first is, of course, don’t mention the war – half the young men of this country sailed with Bordwar against Tarcus and did not return. It’s unlikely that there will be a man or woman at the dinner that didn’t lose somebody in the war and all of them will be well aware that you were the commander of the Tarcun Navy.

  ‘The other thing you need to be wary of is the Groven wine, which is somewhat stronger than you are probably used to. The last thing I need to deal with is a drunken prince publicly pawing at the princess of a nation we have just been in armed conflict with.’

  ‘Your faith in me warms my heart, Lectus,’ Ravian said drily. ‘Don’t worry – I don’t think that I could lay a finger on the Love Goddess herself at the moment.’

  Lectus’s expression softened.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Some things do take time to heal.’

  It was shortly after dark the next day, and Ravian was sitting at the right hand of King Paxim in the great hall of the Groven palace. His audience with the Northerner king – a robust man with long, grey braids – had gone without a hitch and had, as Lectus had predicted, been mercifully short. The real business of the visit, they all knew, lay at the dinner that they now attended.

  Perhaps two hundred men and women sat feasting beneath the blaze of at least as many torches and, thus, Ravian was able to see the faces of everyone in the hall quite clearly. He was concerned to observe that, with the exception of King Paxim – and Lectus, seated several places further to his right – the faces were not at all friendly. Tarcus’s victory in the Great Sea War had, indeed, been devastating for Groven, and Ravian was particularly disturbed by the malevolent glares frequently directed at him by a large blond warrior seated close to the head table. Indeed, the man looked as if he might attack at any moment and the Tarcun prince was thankful that, apart from Paxim’s personal guards, no one in the hall was armed.