The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  As she spoke, the sound of a horn echoed across the crowds in the old square. Fidel saw Ikara and Hendra look up and immediately make their way up a ruined stairway to the ramparts of the city wall. He had seen that the slighted walls had been patched up while he was gone. Rubble from the streets and other parts of the city had been put in to plug the gaps, and although the wall would lack strength it was at least defensible. Perhaps Ikara was planning to defend the people from here.

  “Maybe it’s them,” said Ria hopefully. She turned to her helpers and asked for another large cooking pot. “They’ll be hungry after travelling.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Fidel replied, watching Ikara and Hendra on the wall. They had glanced over, but their expressions were anxious. Rapid words were being fired between them. The troops who stood on the wall were looking over and then at each other, their faces marked with disbelief.

  “What do you mean?”

  But Fidel was gone, even as Ria spoke the words. He bounded through the crowds and up the stairs two at a time. The Laowyn in the courtyard below were whispering amongst themselves, but they carried on their meal, welcoming others into the courtyard to claim their share. Children and parents sat in small circles while single men sat together and the women largely worked with the cooks in between spooning mouthfuls of stew.

  Fidel turned his back on the peaceful domestic scene. He looked down from the parapets, his hands on the stones ready to steady himself as he leant over. In the distance there was a force moving in the direction of the old city. There had been something about it which had sent Ikara and Hendra into panic. He squinted at the small moving swarm and then he saw it - the glint from the light of two setting suns on armour. It disappeared for a short time, and there it was again.

  “An army.” He turned to Ikara who was arguing with Hendra.

  “Fidel, you have no right to be up here. Get back with the civilians.”

  He ignored her orders, turning to Hendra. “Reluwyn?”

  The old Captain nodded, “We are still amassing those able to fight, and fitting them with whatever armour and weapons we have; the repairs on the city are not yet completed. We’re not ready for them, Fidel.”

  “This doesn’t concern him.” Ikara’s long arms were folded across her chest and she had drawn herself up to her full height, almost equivalent to Fidel’s.

  “You should direct all your forces to repairs while they are still on route. We may have time to prepare the soldiers whilst they are trying to break our defences.”

  “I agree,” replied Hendra. “But the Commander wants us to round the rest of the people up.”

  “It will start a panic Ikara.”

  “Isn’t that my decision?”

  “What do the Elders say?”

  Hendra made a face which only Fidel could see and turned towards the wall leaving Fidel and Ikara to each other.

  “What happened?” Fidel asked Ikara. It was as if a mine was set between them and both in danger of setting it off.

  “I will see to the repairs.” Hendra came away from the wall and began to walk past Fidel towards the stairs. He evidently held no desire to become collateral damage.

  “I haven’t agreed, Captain Hendra, come back here!” She tried to push past Fidel but he caught her. His hands dropped the moment he stopped her. She turned angry eyes upon him.

  “Don’t do that! You undermine me.”

  “Then let’s talk over there.” Fidel gestured to one of the turret guardhouses that once appeared every fifteen foot before the walls were slighted. She relented and marched towards the turret, Fidel behind her.

  The inside of the turret was a bare, small circular room with arches leading out to each length of wall. On the outside and inside walls of the room were arrow loops that allowed the evening suns to penetrate the white stone with a warm glow. She rounded on him as soon as they were inside.

  “You left me!” She pointed accusingly.

  “Yes.”

  “And now? You wish to fight with me?”

  “I don’t know about that Ikara.”

  “Well,” her usually steady voice was undulating in an odd rhythm. “Hendra will tell you that the Elders agree with your insanity, they refuse to act without a sign from the Great Spirit.” She turned towards the plains and looked out of one of the arrow loops. Her long-fingered hands were spread out on the wall either side of the window, the muscles in her sinewy arms raised with her tension. She wore a tunic beneath her armour, and draped around her shoulders was an emerald cloak. Fidel knew it to be her father’s.

  “We have to know if it’s His will for us to fight, that He wishes us to battle in His name.”

  “A Spirit who does not even talk to his people anymore?”

  Fidel shrugged. “Maybe we have lost our way. Kiara feels much as you do, but she has also seen the other side. I don’t know what she’s been through, but her insight into our neighbours in this land makes me think we have done wrong to always view them as our enemy.”

  She stalked towards the other arrow loops that looked out onto the courtyard, her shoulder barging into Fidel’s. “So you brought her back with you did you? The one who betrayed us for a Prince?” She already knew the answer. “I’ve yet to see her, but I’ve heard how she dresses herself these days. She has turned her back on her own people!”

  Fidel’s voice became firm, “You have no idea who she is or what she has done for us.”

  “Clearly she has brought the Reluwyn to our door before we are even prepared to defend ourselves, let alone go on the offensive. Tell me,” her voice became a hiss and her eyes searched Fidel’s. “Does that Reluwyn dress rule you as it does my troops?”

  Fidel flinched. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

  “Then why talk to me at all?” The defensive words were immediately thrown back at him.

  Why had he come up here? Because he’d wanted to know what was wrong. Because he wanted to protect his people. The decision he had made to give up his sword seemed both foolish and wise. He didn’t want to fight for what was not right - but he did want to protect his people, all those women and children in the courtyard eating Ria’s stew. The Elders had refused to allow offensive action unless the Great Spirit sanctioned it. Had he been right to leave his Captainship behind?

  He turned to leave.

  “Fidel?”

  But the horns on the parapets overrode her voice.

  Fidel shot back out of the guardhouse and onto the wall; Ikara was by his side now, thoughts of their argument forgotten.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t see it.” She craned her neck next to Fidel’s.

  “They’re carrying a flag of surrender.”

  Johan’s horse moved in a wide arc around the last of the cavalcade that was at the gates of Ishtalia. The small contingent of Imperial Guards, who had followed their King from the palace, had been joined by groups in Emril City and people in the lands through which they had journeyed. Now they had amassed a rag-tag gathering of Meir Elves, those Laowyn who had not yet left for the safety of Ishtalia, and a few others from elsewhere in the Kingdom. After their first night on the road to Ishtalia, Trevisian joined Johan’s effort to rally people to their cause. The Kingdom was at stake, and those who lived in it were under his protection.

  Now he hoped that the Laowyn had seen their flag - red, the sign of blood, of sacrifice. They would have seen the Reluwyn armour in the distance a short time ago; now all that was between them was one listless piece of fabric barely moving in the humid breeze.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, the heavy gates of the old capital were drawn back and a single rider left the fortress. He looked back and saw Johan circling back around to him. The Radichi warrior reined his horse in next to Trevisian’s.

  “An emissary?” asked the King.

  “Let’s hope a peaceful one.”

  Trevisian’s heart was racing - not just because of what he had done. His heart had soared
after they had broken free of the palace with a sense of freedom he had not felt since he had been on the road alone, but now he was close to her. His dark eyes drifted up to the parapets where he saw soldiers dotted along the lengths. Was she up there?

  Trevisian looked back across the crowd behind him. Reluwyn soldiers, whose names he now knew, rode behind him. Other infantry walked behind, and then the clothing lost its uniformity among the Meir Elves, Laowyn and other citizens from parts of his Kingdom he had never been - his Kingdom. He had never thought it before.

  He looked back to the emissary. They were drawing close, the horse at a slow loping canter, the man riding holding a matching blood-red flag. In that moment, he thanked whatever spirits watched over them - those waiting behind his guards held no weapons in their hands.

  The man drew up his short Laowyn pony a little way before them to prevent himself being dwarfed next to Dainus and Johan’s mount. He was a stocky man, close to fifty judging from his greying beard. He wore a forest green uniform of sorts, with a Laowyn sigil on his chest. He drew the flag up, over his pony’s neck and then dropped it down the other side until the tip touched the floor, bowing as he did so.

  “My name is Captain Hendra of the Laowyn Resistance. We acknowledge your flag of surrender.”

  Johan turned to Trevisian, a slight nod passing from him to the King.

  Trevisian cleared his throat. “I greet you Captain Hendra of the Laowyn.” Trevisian inclined his head. “I am King Trevisian of Emrilion. I am here to fight with you against the Edict which has been wrongly cast on your people.” He took the flag from the guard next to him and performed the same ceremonial gesture as the Laowyn Captain, though his bow was restricted to his head inclining.

  “And you bring with you this force?” said a surprised voice.

  Trevisian nodded. “There are others too, wanting protection.” Trevisian handed the flag to Johan.

  “My Lord King.” The Laowyn Captain looked across the crowd before him, catching sight of the rag-tag mob behind. “We are indebted to you for securing a number of our people.”

  “And the others,” Trevisian added, his eyes almost imperceptibly hardening.

  “Yes, my Lord King, but forgive me for asking who we are now fighting against if you are here to lend us aid?”

  Trevisian took back his reins and straightened in the saddle. “That is a conversation best held within your encampment, do you not think Captain?” The authority which rang clear from his own voice surprised him. “May I speak with those who lead you?”

  “I think you’re right,” replied the Captain. “Leave your people here and return with me. You may bring another for council.” Captain Hendra turned his pony on the spot and raised his flag again, signalling those on the parapets. A trumpet sounded and the huge gates of the city began to open.

  “Follow me!” he called, setting off across the last of the plains and up the high road towards Ishtalia.

  “Kiara!”

  She tossed on the makeshift bed, beaded sweat on her brow.

  “Kiara!” he called again. He was in the doorway of the small dwelling she and her uncle had claimed on the crest of the city’s hill.

  She mumbled, groaned and then started crying out. Her hands thrashed at the thin blanket covering her until her fingers were clawing at the dirt beneath.

  Zeb’s hands were clamped hard down by his side. He called her again, a last vain attempt, there was no one else here to wake her and she needed to be woken. He looked around, there were only a few stragglers on this street, the rest were gone to watch the refugees brought by the King pouring into the city. Even now the King was in the midst of a meeting with the Elders.

  “Cos… Cos…” He heard her mumble. Then it became louder until she almost screamed the name. He ran to her side then, grabbing hold of her arms and holding them still.

  “Kiara! Wake up!” he shouted it at her and her eyelids fluttered against the clutches of sleep.

  “Coscian!”

  He released one arm which had ceased thrashing and ran a hand down the side of her cheek.

  “Kiara,” his voice was soft, softer than it had ever been. His brow was puckered and his eyes traced the lines of her face, the arched brows, the finely tipped nose, that smooth mouth. Her eyes fluttered open then, but he didn’t stop staring for a few moments.

  “Zeb?” she asked, half whisper, half breathless. “Zeb?”

  “Who’s Coscian?” He kept his hand on her cheek, knowing this moment would only last so long.

  She sat up, and his hand fell away from her face. She looked away, pulling the blanket up around herself.

  “You screamed his name just now.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  He shrugged in the way he always did. Then he withdrew his eyes from her. He rose and walked back to the door, leaning against the frame, crossing his arms over his front.

  “The King is here,” he said it so matter-of-factly that she clearly didn’t comprehend his words at first. Then her sleepy blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

  “Wh… what?!” her whisper was almost strangled as though those memories that had held her captive in her dreams were now wrapped around her throat.

  “He waved the crimson flag of surrender. He has arrived with a contingent of Imperial Guards. They are waiting outside the walls until his true motives can be ascertained, but a band of refugees he brought with him have already entered the city walls, he negotiated their shelter half an hour ago.”

  She had begun shaking her head. “No, no, no…” she whispered. She stood up dizzily, but Zeb didn’t go to help her. He couldn’t touch her again. She started wringing her hands. “He can’t be… He can’t be…”

  “He is.” Zeb unfolded his arms. “He’s meeting with the Elders as we speak; I came to fetch you.”

  “No!” There were tears in her eyes, tears that had never appeared over the last week as they had journeyed here. Zeb watched the first of them fall from the perfect rim of her right eye. If it were possible, she looked more beautiful when she cried.

  “I doubt he will hurt you, he is here to help, but I also doubt that it’s his hurting you that scares you so much.”

  “He’s my…” She choked on the tears which were now pouring freely. “He’s my husband.” The words poured out of her, bursting the damns of secrecy that had left her so isolated.

  Zeb felt the stab of something sharp within his chest. He grimaced against the pain and refolded his arms again. “You must come with me. He has requested your presence from the Elders. They know that you were at the palace, but they don’t know more than that. I had been listening to the whole meeting from a… safe place…” Zeb avoided her eyes when he said it. It had been accepted among the Resistance that Zeb listened to most meetings and decisions that were made, but this time the Elders probably wouldn’t take as kindly to his actions. “This is your chance to go before your people and explain what happened at the palace.”

  She shook her head.

  “Kiara.” Zeb ran a hand through his shoulder-length fair hair. It had come undone from the leather string that usually held it back. He felt the grease in it as he did so. He badly needed to wash but when had there been time? “In this moment, whatever happened at the palace… between you and the King… seems like the most important thing, but you must think. Kiara, you are married, and if you love him as I think you do,” the words stuck in his throat. “You need to come with me. Kiara, your people face… they face annihilation in two days.”

  “I know.” She leant against the wall and Zeb could see the profile of her face, the gentle upturn of her nose and the deep line of shadow under her eyes. She looked as though she hadn’t slept since they’d taken her from the palace. “Everyone will know.”

  “Whatever his reasons for allowing those refugees to join him and find sanctuary here,” Zeb swallowed. “You are the reason that he set out from the palace. Whatever you said to him mattered. You matter to him.”
>
  “They’ll never accept us, if there even is an ‘us’.”

  “Maybe this is the start of something. Come on, he was already in conference with the Elders when I left.”

  They left the dwelling and walked toward the main courtyard of the old city, back over the spine which ran under its centre, separating the drop of the docks from the drop onto the plains to the east. Zeb stopped once to steady Kiara. Her footsteps were so erratic on the cobbled street that she was in danger of tripping at any moment. When she almost did Zeb caught up her arm, steadying her with a surprising amount of strength for his size.

  “Be calm, Kiara.”

  The fear didn’t leave her eyes but the command was something she needed to hear. She nodded and immediately slowed her walk.

  When they reached the large square, there was the rumble of voices. If it had been anywhere else in the world there would have been uproar, thought Zeb, but here among the Laowyn, even their surprise was reasoned. They were surrounding the refugees who stood at the centre of the square, exactly where the King had left them. Zeb saw Ria pointing to the group and sending off volunteers with bowls of stew four at a time.

  “Cutlery!” she shouted, grabbing a bunch of wooden spoons from the table and thrusting them at the nearest helper.

  The newcomers accepted the bowls with murmurs of thanks, but it didn’t take long for Zeb to see that the helpers were only providing food for the Laowyn newcomers and no others in the crowd. Without thinking of Kiara, he pushed through the ring of spectators to where Ria was directing operations.

  “Are these ready?” he asked, gesturing at three bowls of stew that stood steaming on the side of the makeshift table.

  “Oh, Zeb! Thank you, yes, take them please, here.” She handed him spoons.

  With one bowl resting on his forearm and the others in his hands he made his way over to the crowd. A Laowyn stretched out their hand for the bowl but he moved over to where a female Meir Elf stood half-turned away from the stares of the old city’s inhabitants.