The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  A screen of bushes hid the pool so completely that for a rare moment, Marqel felt like she was alone in the world. The second sun was almost set, leaving the clearing bathed in scarlet light. Marqel rolled onto her back and floated with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched. For a moment, the sweaty specter of Hauritz the Butcher filled her mind. That unwelcome memory was followed by a blur of other faces, all strangers, all of them filled with panting desire.

  “Hello.”

  Marqel jerked her eyes open. She went under in an inelegant splash at the unexpected voice. Gasping, she fought her way to the surface, and turned to find Kirshov Latanya standing by the pool staring at her.

  For a precious moment time froze, and the horror of the past few hours disappeared, replaced by a vision of youth and beauty beyond her wildest dreams.

  “Kirsh?”

  The magic of the moment was shattered as a little girl of about thirteen or fourteen with damp dark curls appeared through the bushes, followed by two other boys. The girl stared at her with a scowl.

  “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” Marqel retorted. She was a haughty little thing, this dark-haired child. It’s the girl from the parade, Marqel realized. Princess Alenor.

  “This land belongs to the Duke of Elcast,” one of the boys told her. “You’re trespassing.”

  Marqel treaded water in the center of the pool, a safe distance from the edge.

  “I didn’t see any sign.”

  “As if you could read one if you did,” the princess scoffed.

  A surge of unreasonable hatred flared through Marqel. How dare some stuck-up little bitch scorn me just because she’s born a princess!

  “Alenor!” Kirshov scolded. “Don’t be such a snob. She’s right. There aren’t any signs around here.”

  “That’s because everyone knows this is the duke’s land,” the other Senetian boy pointed out.

  Before he could add anything further, Kirshov stepped forward and squatted down on the sand. He smiled at Marqel and her heart skipped a beat. “But it’s all right. You can swim here. You just surprised us, that’s all. My name is Kirsh; this is Dirk, Lanon and Alenor.”

  “I’m Marqel,” she told him, a little warily. “And I didn’t know this belonged to anyone.”

  “It’s called the Duke’s Forest,” the girl reminded her. “That would seem to imply that it belonged to the duke.”

  Kirsh glared at the princess. “Allie, stop that. There’s no need to be rude.” He turned to Marqel again and smiled apologetically. “Don’t worry about her. She’s still mad at Dirk and me for scaring her. Are you from around here?”

  Marqel stared at Kirsh, her mind racing. This was too good an opportunity to ignore, yet here she was, stuck in the water without a stitch of clothing.

  “No.”

  “Well, don’t let these other bullies frighten you,” he told her with a grin. “Why don’t you come out of the water? You’ll dissolve if you stay in there much longer.”

  “Your little friend there is standing on my clothes.”

  Kirsh glanced over his shoulder at Alenor. She looked down at her feet and saw the shift poking out from under the rock. With a jerk she pulled it free and tossed it to Kirsh. He picked it up and held it out to her as if it were a gown made of the finest silk.

  “My lady,” he offered gallantly.

  Hesitating for only a moment, Marqel swam forward until her feet touched the bottom, and then she waded ashore. She made no attempt to hide her nakedness. Let them look. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, it wasn’t the other boys or Alenor’s scandalized stare that set her heart pounding. It was the look she shared with Kirsh. His strange golden eyes reflected something she couldn’t name. Not lust. Not avarice. It was... something else. Marqel didn’t know for certain. All she knew was that it was there in Kirsh’s eyes, and she was certain it was meant only for her.

  “If you’re camped in the forest, you’d best come up to the Keep tomorrow and inform the Seneschal,” the taller of the boys said, breaking the spell of her magical moment with cold practicality. “Father doesn’t mind people camping in the forest, provided he knows about it.”

  Marqel slipped the shift over her head, patted the pocket to ensure that her coins were still there, then nodded at the boy who had spoken.

  “We’ll be moving to the common tomorrow.” Traditionally, on the day of the Festival and for the week following, anyone could camp on the common.

  “And we’d best be getting back. Mother will flay us alive if we’re late for dinner,” he added to the others.

  “We should see Marqel safely home first,” Kirsh suggested.

  The gray-eyed boy who had spoken shook his head. Marqel thought he must be one of the Duke of Elcast’s sons. “No, Kirsh, we shouldn’t. Marqel will be perfectly safe here. We need to leave. Now.”

  Kirsh looked as if he would argue the point, but the younger boy stared him down and reluctantly he gave in. “Very well. Will you be all right, Marqel?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Perhaps we’ll see you again? Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is the Landfall Festival, Kirsh,” Alenor reminded him.

  “I will see you again, won’t I?” Kirsh persisted as Alenor grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the road.

  “I’m sure you will,” she replied with a smile. At least you will if I have any say in the matter.

  “We really have to go ...”

  “Kirsh—” the duke’s son warned.

  “I know. Good-bye.”

  The last she saw of him was the little princess leading him by the hand into the forest followed by the other two boys.

  “Honestly, Kirsh, you have no sense at all sometimes,” the girl was telling him, sounding like a mother scolding an errant child. “Don’t you ever use your brains? Didn’t you see her arm? She’s a Landfall bastard...”

  Marqel didn’t hear the rest of it. They were too far away for Alenor’s voice to reach her.

  She didn’t care anyway. She rubbed at the rope tattoo idly, and smiled. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad day, after all.

  Chapter 22

  Landfall Day dawned bright and hot, promising perfect weather and no chance that rain would force the Festival to be canceled.

  The common was at the back of the Keep, a vast open area of lush green grass cropped close by the goats that roamed it when it was not in use for public functions. It sloped down from the castle walls until it opened out into a broad flat area lined by the trees of the Duke’s Forest on the far side. A line of wagons was camped on the other side of the park; the performers and merchants come to display their wares making their impromptu campsites. The tall wicker suns representing the twin suns of Ranadon were already set up, flanking a small stone altar. There were also long trestle tables being set up for the food that would be brought out later. Already, the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat from the pits near the trees could be tasted on the breeze.

  Dirk went riding with Kirsh, Alenor and Lanon to watch the preparations, but he could not enthuse himself about any of it. There was a solid post driven into the ground in front of each wicker structure representing the suns, and all he could think about was the unknown men who would be tied to those posts tonight, burned alive to keep the second sun shining overhead. The victims were not from Elcast, Dirk had been relieved to discover. They were two criminals named Hari and Linel, who Antonov had brought with him from Avacas.

  Was the Age of Shadows so bad that it needed something as dreadful as human sacrifice to keep it at bay? Not according to Johan Thorn. Dirk still hadn’t decided how he felt about the renegade king. Or even if he believed him.

  “Race you to the trees!” Kirsh shouted, kicking his horse into a canter.

  Kirsh rode like he did everything: magnificently. Lanon let out a whoop and chased after him. They headed for the tree-line on the other side of the common, plowing through the brightly colored stalls being set up for the fair,
and scattering anyone foolish enough to get in their way. A few angry merchants yelled at the boys as they thundered past, but the prince and the young lord ignored their curses and threats to report them to the duke. Alenor watched them, but she made no attempt to follow.

  “When I am queen,” she said suddenly, “I’m going to put an end to this.”

  Dirk looked at her in surprise. “But aren’t you afraid that will bring back the Age of Shadows?”

  “I don’t care,” the princess said defiantly. “I’ll find a way to end it somehow.”

  If Antonov had taken Alenor from her mother because he didn’t like the way she was being raised, then he’d failed miserably to turn her to his cause. She wore a look of savage determination. For a fleeting moment, he saw the steel that lay hidden beneath the fragile shell. There was more of her uncle in Alenor than anybody suspected.

  Dirk decided that it wasn’t a good idea to mention it, though.

  When they returned to the Keep, Balonan called Dirk over and informed him that Prince Antonov wished to see him in the Library. With a great deal of trepidation, Dirk made his way up the staircase. He didn’t know why the Lion of Senet wanted to see him, and feared it was because the prince had learned of his visit with Johan Thorn. He knocked on the door and opened it hesitantly as the voice within called permission to enter.

  “Ah, Dirk,” Antonov said pleasantly. “Come in.”

  “You wanted to see me, your highness?”

  “I do. Come here, boy. Don’t stand there by the door quaking in your boots. I’m not going to bite you.”

  Antonov smiled at him and Dirk found himself relaxing. Perhaps nobody had discovered his secret visit after all. The guards on Johan Thorn’s room had been Tovin Rill’s men from the garrison in town. He’d arrived carrying several vials that contained what looked like herbal remedies, and the guards knew he was Helgin’s apprentice. They hadn’t thought to question his right to be there.

  Dirk walked the length of the Library until he was only a few paces from the prince. Although a big, powerful man, Antonov was both charming and disarming when he chose. He was sitting at the end of the table with a large unopened book in front of him. Its cover appeared to be made of solid gold and it was encrusted with gems. Dirk tried very hard not to gape at it.

  Antonov noticed the direction of his gaze and smiled even wider. “You know what that is?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It is the Book of Ranadon—the original.”

  “I’ve heard of it, sire. But I never thought to see it.”

  The most prized possession of the Shadowdancers and, according to rumor, the true account of the High Priestess’s visions of the Goddess, the Book of Ranadon was something of a legend. There were copies, but supposedly the original never left Avacas. The cover alone was worth more than Elcast Island.

  It was probably not a good idea, however, to tell Antonov that Master Helgin considered the Book of Ranadon to be a “load of lies, ignorance and gibberish not worth the parchment it was written on.” Or that his mother called it “the Book of Rubbish.”

  “Would you like to read it?”

  “Sir?” Dirk asked in shock.

  “You can read, can’t you, Dirk? I’m assuming Helgin taught you that much.”

  “Of course...” Something in Antonov’s eyes made him fear for Helgin. “He’s an excellent physician, sire. He used to be at court on Kalarada.”

  “Used to be, Dirk,” the prince pointed out. “Don’t you think he’d still be there if he was as good as you imagine?”

  “I ... don’t really ... well, I never really thought about it like that, your highness.”

  Suddenly Antonov smiled again. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you? Come, boy. Let us see how good Master Helgin is. Read to me.”

  He leaned forward and opened the book, flicking through the gloriously illuminated pages until he came to the place he sought, and then turned the book to face Dirk.

  “From here,” he ordered, pointing to a paragraph about halfway down the page.

  Dirk picked up the heavy book, cleared his throat nervously and began to read.

  “And so it was that after ten years of the Age of Shadows, of droughts and famine, of bitter cold and cruel darkness, the Sundancer Belagren, pure of heart and purpose, was visited in a dream by the Goddess who revealed to her the Path of Light.

  “ ‘Go forth,’ the Goddess instructed Belagren in her vision. ‘Dance in the shadows and bring my people back to the light.’

  “And so Belagren became the first Shadowdancer. She gathered to her those who believed in her vision and then came to the people. She told them, ‘I have been shown the way to redemption!’

  “No longer would Ranadon’s days be filled with darkness. No longer would the ground shake with Her wrath, nor cold and hunger plague Ranadon’s people. The seas would return; Her bounty would be plentiful once more.

  “But there was a price to be paid before the Goddess would be satisfied that the people were ready to embrace Her truth once more. And the sacrifice was a terrible one. The Goddess demanded that a child of royal blood must be sacrificed to Her, at the ninth hour on the ninth day of Ezenor in the year ten thousand, two hundred and twenty-one. Then, and only then, would the Age of Shadows be banished.

  “But some doubted the vision. The King of Dhevyn denied the truth, and others, fearing their sons would be chosen for the sacrifice, also declared the vision false. But the Shadowdancer’s message was welcomed in the hearts of true believers, and it was left to Prince Antonov of Senet, Protector of Dhevyn and husband to Princess Analee of Damita, to embrace the Goddess and offer the life of his youngest son.”

  Dirk hesitated for a moment. This was rather different from the version his mother had told him. He read on:

  “But alas, Princess Analee did not share her husband’s faith. She and her sister, the traitorous harlot Morna Provin, abandoned their children and fled to the Baenlands and the protection of the heretic Dhevynian king...” Dirk forced himself to maintain a steady tone. “Enraged by the Heretic’s attempts to prevent the return of the second sun, the Lion of Senet set out to vanquish the faithless Johan Thorn. The Dukes of Dhevyn who were still true to the faith flocked to his banner.

  “The battle raged across the Kingdom of Dhevyn until the Heretic’s forces were struck down by the righteous. Then, having successfully defeated the forces of darkness, on the ninth day of Ezenor in the year ten thousand, two hundred and twenty-one, high on a hill overlooking the perfidious king’s defeated army, the Shadow Slayer performed the sacred rite and took the life of his own son.

  “And behold, at that moment, the second sun appeared in the sky.

  “The people threw themselves to the ground and prostrated themselves before the Goddess and her High Priestess, whose vision had proved true.

  “From that day on, darkness was banished from Ranadon. The renegade king was deposed by the faithful, and his sister Rainan placed on the throne of Dhevyn. As a sign of her faith, the new Queen of Dhevyn asked that the Lion of Senet leave a force in Dhevyn to watch over her people, so that never more would her people bring the Goddess’s wrath down on Ranadon by straying from the true faith.

  “And so it was, that led by the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers and Prince Antonov’s example, the people of Ranadon turned to the Goddess once more. And each day the darkness receded until, by virtue of the people’s faith, it was banished completely.

  “All the islands of Dhevyn and the land of Senet wept for the sacrifice of the young prince. Princess Analee, unable to live with the guilt of her faithlessness, took her own life...” Dirk’s voice faltered and he glanced up at the prince. Antonov’s eyes were closed, his face lined with pain.

  “Shall I keep reading, sire?”

  Antonov opened his eyes and stared at Dirk for a moment and then shook his head. “That will do for now. You read very well.”

  “Thank you, your highness.”

  “But do you
understand what you’ve read?”

  “I think so, sir. The Princess Analee—”

  “Your mother’s older sister.”

  “Mother never talks of her much.” She never mentioned that she’d abandoned Rees and fled Elcast to fight alongside an exiled king, either, but Dirk thought it unwise to bring that up.

  “Do you understand now, why lives must be sacrificed on Landfall Night?”

  “I could understand why one might be sacrificed, your highness. But why so many of them?”

  Antonov’s eyes clouded with annoyance. “The life I sacrificed to the Goddess was a prince, Dirk. Are you suggesting that the life of one peasant is equal to that of a prince?”

  Dirk shook his head. “I suppose not, sire, but couldn’t you just find one man conceived of royal blood and sacrifice him, and let the rest live? It seems such a waste.”

  “A waste?”

  “Well, sire, I know that the Landfall Festival is an old custom. But until... well until ... this happened,” he said uncomfortably, pointing at the open book, “until the Shadowdancers came along, nobody killed anyone. Not that I heard, anyway.”

  The Lion of Senet grew dangerously still for a moment, studying Dirk with his intense golden eyes. Then he nodded, as if some terrible decision had been made.

  “We will discuss this later, Dirk. In the meantime, I must speak to your father.”

  Dirk knew he’d said something wrong, but couldn’t work out exactly what. “I didn’t mean to offend you, your highness.”

  Antonov smiled faintly. “You did not offend me, Dirk. I appreciate your candor. You may go. I’m sure you need to change before the festivities this evening.”

  Dirk bowed hastily and backed out of the room, worried about something he could not define.

  His last glimpse of Antonov as he closed the door behind him was the prince opening the Book of Ranadon, stroking the pages with a faraway look, as though he were back once again on that hill overlooking Johan Thorn’s decimated army, taking the life of his baby son.

  Chapter 23