The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  Reithan and Tia waited until everyone was through the door and then slipped silently from the longhouse without being noticed.

  Chapter 14

  The transformation the Lion of Senet effected in Elcast Keep was sweeping and immediate. Within hours, everything had changed. Dirk was still coming to terms with having to share his room with Prince Kirshov, when Lanon Rill knocked on the door. Eryk opened it for him and stood back as Lanon entered, carrying a large bundle of clothes that he dumped on Dirk’s bed.

  “Eryk, go fetch my other things, there’s a good lad.”

  “Whoa!” Dirk objected. “What’s this, Lanon?”

  “I’ve been kicked out of my room, too,” he announced. “To make way for the High Priestess Belagren.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “Well, given a choice between sharing with my father or you chaps ... Off you go, Eryk, don’t dawdle.”

  The boy looked at his master for instructions before moving. Dirk threw his hands up in defeat. “Go on, Eryk, you might as well fetch the rest of his gear.”

  The lad nodded vigorously, and then hurried off, leaving Dirk staring at his new roommate.

  “Not exactly the sharpest knife in the block, that boy, is he?” Kirsh remarked.

  Dirk turned on the prince. “Leave Eryk alone.”

  Kirsh looked a little taken aback by Dirk’s tone. “Hey! I was merely remarking that your servant doesn’t seem to be the smartest lad I’ve ever encountered.” Kirsh smiled at him, as if Dirk should find it amusing. “Actually, come to think of it, that would be you.”

  Dirk glared at the prince for a moment and then turned to Lanon. “I don’t suppose you thought I might want to be consulted first?”

  “Why? Would it have made a difference?”

  “Probably not,” Dirk agreed.

  “Well, we’ll just have to make the best of things,” Kirsh declared. “I’m sure we’ll be very cozy in here.”

  Dirk looked around his overcrowded room and swallowed down a lump of despair. If he was planning to get cozy with anyone, a Senetian prince and the Senetian Governor’s son were probably the last people on his list.

  It was almost dinnertime before Eryk finished collecting Lanon’s things. When the boys headed back downstairs, it was to discover Morna and the Shadowdancer, Ella Geon, involved in a rather heated discussion on the third-floor landing about the sick prince. Ella seemed protective of Misha—to the point of obsession. She refused to let Master Helgin examine him, and would not let Lila Baystoke, the town’s herb woman, near the young man, claiming that all herb women were charlatans and she would probably end up poisoning the poor boy.

  “But Master Helgin is an experienced physician,” Morna was trying to explain.

  “In your opinion, perhaps,” the Shadowdancer retorted. “But I have no need of anybody’s aid, my lady. I am more than capable of relieving Misha’s pain ...”

  The boys managed to make it past the women without interrupting the argument, but it disturbed Dirk to see his mother overruled in her own household. In fact, as he thought about it, he could never recall anyone arguing with his mother before. Not even his father.

  As Dirk, Eryk, Lanon and Kirsh stepped down into the main hall, Balonan, the Seneschal, caught up with them.

  “Master Dirk!”

  “Balonan.”

  “I was hoping to find you, lad. Your father asked me to pass on a message.” He glanced at the prince and bowed politely. “Your highness.”

  “What does he want, Balonan?” Dirk asked.

  “He asked me to inform you that you will no longer be required to aid Master Helgin in caring for the captive, and as Prince Antonov has commandeered the Library, your lessons will be abandoned for the duration of the prince’s visit.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  The old Seneschal smiled. “I believe, Master Dirk, you have a prince and princess to entertain.”

  The next day after breakfast, with nothing better to do, Dirk agreed to show Prince Kirshov the town. Dirk, Kirshov and Lanon were heading across the courtyard toward the gate when Alenor caught up with them. The little princess appeared rather annoyed that the boys had been going to leave the Keep without her.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, hurrying along behind them.

  “We’re just going to walk down to the village,” Kirsh told her over his shoulder. “You can’t come.”

  “Why not?”

  The boys stopped and turned back to stare at her. Alenor wore a sleeveless blue tunic and had her hands planted firmly on her hips, a look of determination on her face.

  “There’s no reason why she can’t come, is there?”

  “Whose side are you on, Dirk?” Kirsh asked.

  Alenor treated Dirk to a beaming smile. “There! Can I come, Dirk?”

  “I suppose.” Dirk didn’t know her well enough to judge her reaction if he refused. Besides, one day this girl would be his queen.

  Kirsh shook his head. “You’ll be sorry, Dirk. If you say yes to Alenor once, you’re never free of her.”

  They walked unchallenged through the open gates of the Keep and out onto the road that led down into Elcast Town. The second sun warmed the morning, making it almost uncomfortably hot. Dirk wore his usual garb of loose linen trousers, sleeveless shirt and open leather sandals, although Kirsh had stuck with the Senetian fashion of fine wool trousers and high leather boots. Already there were damp patches staining the armpits of his expensive silk shirt as they made their way down the road. Lanon, having lived on Elcast for several months now, had learned the folly of Senetian fashion and wore much the same as Dirk. Alenor walked between Dirk and Kirshov, looking rather smug that she’d managed to get herself invited along. Lanon walked on Kirsh’s right, and spent most of the journey questioning him about Avacas and catching up on the numerous mutual acquaintances they seemed to have. Alenor said very little, apparently content to simply be in their company.

  Elcast Town was unusually busy. Even so early in the day the tavern on the corner of Candle Street was doing a roaring trade—no doubt the result of the Senetian sailors in town. The square was crowded with market stalls as the locals endeavored to make as much as possible from this unexpected influx of visitors. Some of the townsfolk waved to Dirk as he passed down the ash-dusted main street, their smiles of welcome fading to caution as they realized who his companions were. One woman even spat at the ground contemptuously as they passed the bakery.

  Kirsh glanced at Dirk curiously. “Do I have horns, or a tail, or something?”

  “Not that I noticed. Why?” Dirk sidestepped a thin woman pushing a handcart toward them loaded with vegetables. She glared at the two Senetian boys, then turned her disapproving gaze on Dirk for a moment, before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse as she pushed past.

  “Your villagers are staring at me like I’m the devil incarnate.”

  “Welcome to Elcast,” Lanon said, his voice loaded with irony.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Elcast is part of Dhevyn, Kirsh, and you’re a Senetian prince. In some Dhevynian minds, the two are one and the same.”

  Kirsh stared at him in surprise. “But why would these people think that about me? I’ve never done anything to them. I like Dhevyn. I’m going to join your Queen’s Guard.”

  “You’re the Lion of Senet’s son,” Dirk reminded him.

  “Yes, but we’ve never done anything to hurt these people. My father came to Dhevyn’s aid during the Age of Shadows. You’d think they’d be grateful!”

  “You are joking, aren’t you?” Dirk asked, shaking his head. Could Kirshov Latanya not know how much their occupation cost Dhevyn’s people? “Haven’t you ever seen a debtor slave?”

  “Who cares about some silly old slaves?” Alenor laughed nervously. “Can we stop for some sweets?”

  Appalled by her heartless attitude, Dirk opened his mouth to berate her for being so callous, but Alenor wa
s staring straight at him. She gave him an imperceptible shake of her head, her eyes full of unspoken warning, as if trying to will him not to say anything further on the subject.

  “Hey, there’s Father!” Lanon suddenly called.

  Dirk looked up to find the governor sitting astride his stallion in front of the tumbled ruins of the temple on the other side of the cobbled square. It had been destroyed during the Age of Shadows, as punishment for Elcast’s sins, he’d heard people claim. Tovin Rill was holding the reins of a riderless horse as a small, red-robed figure climbed carefully over the tumbled masonry behind him, inspecting the ruins. Lanon called out a greeting to his father and headed across to speak to him, with the others following in his wake. Alenor fell in beside Dirk, a step behind Kirsh and Lanon.

  “Be careful!” she hissed, without looking at him.

  “About what?” he asked.

  Alenor rolled her eyes, but didn’t answer him.

  “Taking in the sights of Elcast, your highnesses?” Tovin asked as Kirsh, Dirk and Alenor caught up with Lanon.

  “Such as they are,” Kirsh agreed with a smile.

  “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge, Kirshov,” the High Priestess Belagren said, carefully climbing down the last few ruined steps toward them. “The Goddess has a place for everyone and everything in the scheme of things. Even islands like Elcast.”

  Dirk looked at her, the first chance he’d had to study her closely since her arrival yesterday. He’d expected to see the High Priestess at dinner last night, but the evening meal in the Keep had proved an exercise in organized chaos, with most of the Lion of Senet’s entourage choosing to take their meals in their rooms. Poor Balonan had been run off his feet trying to satisfy everyone.

  Belagren was older than his mother, small and slender, with long fair hair hanging unbound, as was the custom among the Shadowdancers. Her light robe was the color of blood, and her fingers were heavy with gold rings. A twisted rope bracelet circled her upper left arm, and she wore a diamond-encrusted necklace. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but she had an air about her—something indefinable—that made Dirk vaguely uncomfortable. This was the woman who spoke directly to the Goddess. Perhaps it was that gift that made her seem so... unsettling.

  “Hello, my lady,” Kirsh said, with the easy familiarity of one totally oblivious to the High Priestess’s power. “What are you doing down here so early?”

  “Governor Rill and I are deciding whether to rebuild the old temple or construct a new one.”

  “Building a new temple will be expensive,” Dirk remarked with a slight frown. Elcast could not afford it. Not after the ruined harvest.

  “Yes, it will,” Belagren admitted, dusting her hands off as she came to stand before them. “But one shouldn’t think only of money when it comes to one’s soul, young Dirk. Besides, Elcast has gone without the Goddess’s guidance for much too long. Don’t you agree?”

  “My lady?”

  “Don’t you agree that Elcast is sorely in need of spiritual guidance?” She was watching him closely, her blue eyes sharp.

  “I . . . I wouldn’t really know, my lady.”

  “Which is exactly my point,” Belagren remarked to Tovin. Then she turned to Dirk again. “I understand it was your mother who opposed rebuilding the temple?”

  Dirk hesitated before answering. “Not that I’m aware, my lady.”

  “Really? I wonder what else you’re not aware of.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be aware of how damn hot it is,” Kirsh joked. “Will we see you tonight at dinner, my lady?”

  “Of course, Kirshov. I wouldn’t miss dinner with the infamous Duchess of Elcast for anything.”

  Infamous? Dirk stared at the High Priestess, but before he could say anything, Alenor quite deliberately stepped on his foot.

  “Honestly, Kirsh, I swear you never think of anything else but your stomach. It’s too far away to think about dinner now. Come on, Dirk, you promised to show us the rest of the town.”

  Tovin Rill laughed. “Then show her you must, Dirk. What the Princess Alenor wants, the Princess Alenor gets. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

  Alenor smiled at the governor and, with a hasty bow to Belagren, she took Dirk by the hand, leading him almost forcibly away from the High Priestess. Kirsh and Lanon lingered a moment longer to say good-bye.

  Once they were safely out of earshot, Dirk shook his hand free and glared at the princess.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a low, irritated voice.

  “Saving your stupid neck,” she told him impatiently.

  “How?”

  Alenor stared at him. “Don’t you know, Dirk?”

  “Know what?”

  “About Duchess Morna and the High Priestess?”

  “What about them?”

  Alenor glanced at the others furtively, then turned to Dirk. “This is the first time they’ve been under the same roof since the War of the Shadows,” she whispered.

  “So?”

  Alenor let out an exasperated sigh. “So . . . If the High Priestess had her way, your mother would have been burned as a heretic before you were born.”

  “The War of the Shadows is over and done with, your highness.”

  “For you, maybe. But there are plenty of Senetians who think that while your mother lives it will never be truly over. I’m just warning you, Dirk. There’s bad blood between your mother and Belagren, and the last thing she needs is you giving the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers an excuse to insist that her long overdue death sentence is finally carried out.”

  Chapter 15

  Several days after they met Belagren and Tovin Rill in the town square, Master Helgin sent Dirk on an errand to collect some herbs and a salve he needed from the infirmary. Although Dirk was suspended from his duties as apprentice physician, Helgin trusted no one else with the key to his pharmacopoeia.

  When he returned to his room, he discovered Lanon and Kirsh lounging on the bed, half-heartedly playing with Dirk’s prized chess set. The set was a gift from his maternal grandfather, Prince Oscon of Damita. The chess pieces were carved from onyx and crystal, the board inlaid with mother of pearl. It was probably the most expensive thing he owned, and the fact that Lanon and the prince had appropriated it without asking made him furious.

  He was also helpless to do anything about it. So he glanced about the room, hoping to find something else to vent his frustration on, when he noticed his servant was missing.

  “Where’s Eryk?”

  “I sent him for some of those sweetmeats we found in the market the other day,” Lanon told him, without looking up from the board. “We should speak to Balonan and arrange to have them served here in the castle,” he added to Kirsh. “They’re very good.”

  “You sent Eryk into town?”

  “I said that, didn’t I?”

  “Alone?”

  “Of course alone!” Lanon said, looking up at him with a puzzled expression. “Granted the boy’s a bit slow, Dirk, but he’s not a complete waste of space. And I gave him a note. All he really needs to do is remember where he’s going. After that, I’m sure the—”

  “You idiot!”

  Dirk was gone from the room before Lanon had a chance to be offended. He ran down the stairs two at a time, consumed by an uneasy mix of anger and fear.

  “Dirk! Wait!”

  Dirk stopped when he reached the second-floor landing and turned to wait for Kirsh.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “It’d take too long to explain, Kirsh.”

  “Come on, then.”

  “What?”

  “If we’re going to rescue your hapless servant, we’ll get to town faster if we ride.”

  Kirsh bounded down the stairs ahead of Dirk and was out on the front steps of the hall, ordering horses saddled and brought out before Dirk caught up with him.

  “This is not your concern, Kirsh,” Dirk told him.

  “Of course it’s my concern. You’re my friend.�
�

  Dirk wasn’t sure when he’d been promoted to friend, and wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. He was far more concerned about Eryk.

  The stable boys brought out Dirk’s gray mare and Kirsh’s chestnut gelding faster than Dirk would have believed possible. Perhaps it was the tone of voice Kirsh used that got the stable boys moving so fast, or simply fear of who he was. Whatever the reason, they were cantering out of the gates and down the steep road into town within minutes.

  It was late afternoon when they slowed to a trot as they reached the center of the town. The market stalls had mostly closed for the day. The only vendors still plying their wares were selling a variety of cooked meats and fruit pies, hoping to catch the last of the day’s trade before the tavern on Candle Street robbed them of their potential customers. Dirk looked around in concern. There was no sign of Eryk.

  “Where would he be?” Kirsh asked.

  “Goddess knows,” Dirk replied. He reined in and stood up in his stirrups, trying to guess which way the boy might have gone when the sound of laughter reached him. He dismounted and glanced in the direction of the noise. It seemed to be coming from the alley behind the tannery. Kirsh jumped from his saddle, tossed the reins over his horse’s neck and followed Dirk into the lane.

  A gang of boys stood at the end of the alley. There were perhaps ten or eleven of them, ranging in age from fourteen or so, as well as several apprentice fishermen older than Dirk. Their backs were turned as they chanted an old children’s rhyme.

  Slow boy, slow boy, tell us what you know, boy.

  Slow boy, slow boy, tell us what you know, boy ...

  “Do you know...” one of the older boys laughed.

  “What day it is?” another finished for him.

  The question was greeted by howls of laughter from the others. When their unseen victim didn’t reply, the chant started up again.

  Slow boy, slow boy, tell us what you know, boy.