by Fire
“I like them, too,” she admitted. “They are wild, and somehow free of all humankind. It’s as if our race did not exist at all. Have you ever felt that?”
Her words sent a shiver down his back; he remembered his dreams of Silona, and imagined she must have existed long before humanity ever did.
“Only out here,” Lynan answered quickly. “In the east you cannot ignore the existence of civilization.”
“This is your home, isn’t it?”
Lynan nodded. “I feel it is so.”
Korigan bowed her head in thought for a moment, and then said: “I am sorry I came between you and Kumul.”
“We did not need you to come between us. He still thinks I am nothing but an overweened, somewhat irresponsible child.”
“You are not that.”
“Not anymore.”
“He loves you.”
“I know, and I love him. He has been my father for as long as I can remember.”
“Have you told him that?”
Lynan blinked. “No. It is not something he needs to hear.”
Korigan shrugged. “But I need to hear something from you. Did you choose to go to the High Sooq because you thought it was the best course, or because it would cross Kumul?”
“Both, probably. I find it hard to remember what I was thinking that night; I just remember the anger.”
“He was angry that night as well.”
Lynan snorted. “He thought I would always follow him.”
“Well, now that you are coming into your own, I think you will find he will always follow you.”
There was a gust of wind. Snowflakes fell onto Lynan’s hand and instantly melted.
“The Sleeping Storms,” Lynan muttered. Korigan’s expression showed her surprise. “Gudon told me that these cold autumn southerlies almost always brought snow, and that it marked the time when many animals start their hibernation.”
“You have been spending a great deal of time with Gudon learning about the Oceans of Grass and we who live on it. That is good. But it is not the hibernating animals that give the storms their name.”
“No?”
“I remember a late autumn when I was campaigning with my father against a rebel Chett clan. We got caught by one these storms. The next day we found two of our outriders had frozen to death. They fell asleep and never woke up. That is why we call them the Sleeping Storms.” More snow flurried around them. “We should go back.”
“I will not fall asleep,” Lynan said.
“But your horse may.”
“There is a storm coming,” Ager said.
“It’s just a breeze,” Kumul replied. He was using a whetstone on his sword and was barely conscious of the wind starting to howl around the tent they were in.
“I can feel it in my bones. Ever since my back was sliced open by an ax, I’ve been sensitive to storms. They make my muscles ache.”
“Rubbish,” Kumul grunted.
“I have heard similar stories from others with serious wounds,” Jenrosa said reasonably, restraining the urge to snap at Kumul; she was getting tired of his abrupt manner. She knew he worried constantly about Lynan and the changes that had been wrought in him—partly through her own intervention when she saved his life—but she and Ager were also concerned. Lynan was their friend as well, after all.
Kumul wiped the blade clean with a corner of his poncho, then licked his thumb and ran it along the flat near the sharp edge. The edge started to pull on his skin and he knew it was sharp enough. He now quickly sliced the whetstone along the edge at contrary angles, slightly serrating it, then repeated the test with his thumb. He nicked it twice.
The tent’s flap snapped open and waved furiously in a sudden gust.
“God’s death!” Kumul cursed and reached across to retie the flap. A whirl of snow blew in before he could finish.
“I told you there was a storm coming,” Ager said smugly.
Kumul gave him a sour look. “Snow. That’s all we need. It’ll halve the clan’s pace.”
“After all our rushing around in summer I thought you’d appreciate a more sedate pace.”
“There are things to be done, and we can’t do them here.”
“Lynan made a decision for himself,” Ager said gently. “It’s what we’ve always wanted him to do.”
“It wasn’t just for himself,” Jenrosa pointed out. “He made a decision for all of us.”
“He’s our prince,” Ager countered. “And now he’s our leader as well.”
“He’ll be a damn sight more than a prince if this Chett queen has her way,” Kumul said.
“What do you mean?” Jenrosa asked.
Ager and Kumul exchanged quick glances. Ager nodded.
“Korigan believes Lynan should seek the throne,” Kumul said stiffly.
“I don’t understand. Why would Korigan want Lynan to become king of the Chetts?”
“Not her throne,” Ager answered. “Korigan thinks Lynan should usurp Areava.”
Jenrosa’s gray eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”
“And Kumul disagrees,” Ager finished.
“And you?”
Ager shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”
“You agreed with me the other night,” Kumul said.
“I agreed with you about not going to the High Sooq. I said nothing one way or the other about Lynan taking the throne of Grenda Lear.”
Kumul stared down at the ground. He seemed to draw in on himself. Jenrosa sat next to him. “Kumul, is there another way?”
“What do you mean?” Kumul growled.
“Can Lynan return to Kendra and take up where he left off? Is that possible?”
“I don’t see why not. If we reveal Orkid and Dejanus as the murderers of Berayma, nothing can stop Lynan from resuming his position in the palace.”
“And you will be constable again, and Ager a captain in the Royal Guard.”
“And you back to your studies with the Theurgia of Stars. Yes. Isn’t that what we all want?”
“Is that what you want, still?”
“Yes.”
“And what of Areava and the Twenty Houses?”
“Areava’s not stupid. She will make up with Lynan. The Twenty Houses will do what they’re told.”
“What if Lynan decides to go for the throne? Will you stop him?”
Kumul looked up at Jenrosa, startled. “No. No, he wouldn’t do that.”
“Lynan has changed. Ager said he has become a leader. Can he go to war against Areava and in the end not take the throne from her?”
Kumul stood up quickly. “No. Lynan wouldn’t do that. I know him.”
“You knew Lynan the boy,” Jenrosa said. “How sure can any of us be that we know Lynan the white wolf?”
“White wolf?” Kumul barked. “Pah!”
Jenrosa stood up, too. Kumul tried to avoid her gaze, but she reached out and held his jaw. “Have you been listening to the Chetts?” she said, her voice suddenly fierce. “They almost worship him, and he’s only been with them a short time. If he decides to go for the throne, and Korigan supports him, do you think the Chetts will hold back?”
“He’ll need more than the Chetts to win the whole of Grenda Lear.”
“Are you so sure?” Ager asked. “This is just one clan. Seven thousand warriors. How many clans did Gudon say there were? Seventeen major ones, at least.”
“They are all horse archers,” Kumul said dismissively. “In the hills and fields and rivers in the east they would be trapped and slaughtered.”
“Unless they’re trained to fight differently.”
“Why should we train them? So Lynan can go after Areava’s crown?”
“We were going to raise an army to force the issue anyway,” Ager argued.
Kumul did not reply.
“Weren’t we?” Ager insisted.
“Yes.” Kumul had to squeeze out the word. His blue eyes glared at Ager.
“And what were you going to do with the army?�
�� Jenrosa asked him. She stood in front of him, feet firmly planted, arms akimbo, as if she was confronting a particularly stubborn mule.
“Force Areava to submit,” he said numbly. “Force her to bring Orkid and Dejanus to trial.” His voice suddenly rose. “Force her to right the wrong of Berayma’s murder and Lynan’s exile!”
“And having done all these things under duress, how long would Areava let Lynan be left free in the palace? How long would any of us remain free?”
Again, Kumul did not reply.
“I am tired,” Ager said. “We can argue about this later.”
Jenrosa followed Ager to the entrance; when the flap was untied, he held it open for her to go through, but she shook her head. He gave her a quizzical smile, then shrugged and left, soon disappearing in the flurries of wind-swept snow. Jenrosa tied up the flap behind him and turned to face Kumul.
“He did not mean to corner you like that,” Jenrosa said.
“I know. But I do not... I cannot... agree with him, or Korigan or Gudon.”
Jenrosa stood in front of Kumul. “I know,” she said.
“What they want to do isn’t right.”
“I know.”
“You must be tired, too.”
Jenrosa pursed her lips. “Do you want me to go?”
Kumul became very still. “No.” He reached out and gently stroked her hair.
Jenrosa leaned forward, stretched up to tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips.
Chapter 6
While Orkid talked at him, Prado adjusted his horse’s saddle straps. The chancellor was spouting something about the heavy responsibility the queen had entrusted to him, but it went in one ear and out the other. All Prado could think of was what lay ahead. It would take him a few days to get to the Arran Valley, and at least a month to recruit and supply his own mercenaries, then another month or so to get to the border with Haxus, picking up more troops on the way. Then a month, less if he was lucky, to get reliable information about Rendle’s movements and the location of the Chett tribe protecting Lynan. He was impatient to go. But Orkid was still mouthing.
“And don’t overuse your office. Remember, the queen can turn you into an outlaw as easily as a general. Don’t drain our forces on the border with Haxus for your little expeditions.”
Little? The idiot knows nothing about military operations.
“Queen Charion of Hume has been informed of your eventual arrival, and instructed to give whatever assistance is necessary. But step warily with her; Charion is a clever woman.”
“I’ve heard worse about her than that,” Prado said offhandedly. “Some say she’s a deceitful bitch who hates Chandra more than Haxus.”
“Be that as it may, she is Queen Areava’s subject. Treat her with the appropriate courtesy.”
“If you say so.”
“And who are these gentlemen?” Orkid asked, looking around at the six large and rudely dressed riders waiting for Prado.
“My first recruits.”
“Where did you find them?”
“Taverns, mostly. They are all ex-soldiers or mercenaries, a little down on their luck but interested in useful employment.” He half smiled at Orkid. “Useful employment in the queen’s service, of course.”
“I hope the caliber of your other recruits is slightly higher,” Orkid said distastefully.
“They’ll do for the job at hand,” Prado said shortly. “I’m not creating a parade unit, Chancellor. I want experienced warriors, and warriors used to not asking awkward questions.” He mounted and sat comfortably in his saddle. “Anything else before I go? Any messages for Prince Lynan?”
“Just do your job, Prado. That’s all I ask.”
“Then ask no more,” he said, and spurred his horse.
He left the palace knowing he would soon have a large force of mercenaries at his command. Never during the long years of his retirement in the Arran Valley had he thought this would ever come about. Perhaps, just perhaps, he considered, the good old days would come back again. The world had turned around, and once again it had need of men like Prado and the services only they could provide.
Orkid watched as Prado left the palace courtyard, his six followers close behind. The chancellor shook his head, angry at the obvious contempt in Prado’s voice.
Well, let him keep his arrogance, he thought. If he survives, he can be cut down a few pegs.
From her chambers Areava, too, watched the departure of Prado and his men. Like Prado, she sensed that the world had turned, but for something new not something old. The age to come would be unlike any that had come before, and she was unsure if it was for good or ill. Her gaze lifted to take in the whole of Kendra. It was still one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen, refreshing her spirit whenever she looked out upon it, yet some of the sheen had gone. More and more it seemed less an idea given form, an idea about statehood and the rule of natural law, than simply a place where power resided, and she was learning that power was like mercury, ready to flow whichever way fortune led it.
Her private secretary, Harnan Beresard, coughed politely from behind his small writing desk. He was a thin, reedy man who looked barely strong enough to support his own weight when he stood. Sandy hair, sparse on top, made him look younger than he really was. Areava looked at him blankly for a moment. “What were we up to?”
“Your correspondence to King Tomar and Queen Charion regarding their trade dispute.”
“Oh, yes.” She brought her mind back to the matter at hand, and started dictating. “While I see it as my duty to ensure both your states have appropriate access to Kendra, there is little I can do to fix tariffs within your own domains. My mother saw fit to leave local affairs to local rulers, and I am reluctant to change that policy.”
Still gazing out from her window, she saw Orkid striding across the courtyard to his own offices when a postrider suddenly galloped through the main gate. Instead of stopping for an attendant to take her horse, the rider went straight up to Orkid and handed him a message. Areava watched him read it, saw his figure tense. He said something to the messenger and she immediately rode off again.
“Your Majesty?”
“Where was I up to?” she asked absently.
Orkid looked up toward her chambers and saw her. He changed direction and headed toward her section of the palace.
“You are reluctant to change your mother’s policy about noninterference in local matters,” Harnan summarized.
“However, I am deeply concerned at this ongoing dispute between two such loyal subjects, and wish to see it resolved as soon as possible.”
She heard Orkid’s heavy footsteps coming up the stone stairs outside, then along the corridor to her chambers.
“To this end,” she continued, “I am therefore resolved to establish a party of learned councilors who will advise me on this issue and other issues regarding trade and tariffs.”
There was a knock on the door and a guard opened it. Orkid stood there for a moment, looking grim and displeased. Areava absently wished he would soften bis appearance by shaving off his beard.
“And I would, of course, expect each of you to send a representative to sit on this council. In kindest regards, so on and so forth. For my signature this afternoon.”
“Your Majesty,” Harnan said.
“Orkid? You look like a startled bear.”
“May I see your Majesty privately for a moment?”
Areava nodded. “Thank you, Harnan. I will call you when I am ready.”
Harnan stood up promptly, gathered together his writing materials and small desk, bowed to the queen, and shuffled out. Orkid shut the door behind him.
“I saw a messenger arrive for you,” Areava began.
“She came from the docks. I have a post down there.”
“I know. I pay for it, remember?”
Orkid looked uncomfortable.
“Oh, come now, Chancellor. You can’t expect to keep all your secrets for yourself.”
�
�My operations are an open book for you, your Majesty, you should know that. Something else troubles me.”
Areava nodded.
“The message was from one of my agents on a Lurisian ship that came in today. The ship recently completed a long voyage along Theare’s east coast, north to Chandra and Hume ... and Haxus.”
“So, Salokan is still letting trade get through? That’s a promising sign.”
“The last, I’m afraid,” Orkid said somberly.
Areava felt her chest tighten. “What word have you?” she demanded.
“The agent managed to journey with a caravan from the Oino delta to Kolbee itself. He reports the city came under curfew while he was there. Over several nights he heard large numbers of troops moving south through the streets. He assumed they came from the royal barracks. On his last morning he visited a market place near the barracks, and no one would open for business since there was no longer any business to be had. The Kolbee garrison had gone—all of it.”
“Salokan is mobilizing.” She tapped her fingers together. “And it ties together the fragments of intelligence we are getting from other traders and our spies, that Salokan is storing more grain and cattle than usual for winter, and that he is limiting the trade in iron ore in his own country.” She looked up at Orkid, unable to hide completely the fear in her eyes. “The king of Haxus is preparing to go to war.”
Orkid sighed heavily. “Yes, your Majesty, I believe so.” He cast his gaze down and his fingers fidgeted.
“There is more?”
“The agent reports there are rumors among many in Kolbee that Lynan has been seen in Haxus.”
“That isn’t possible. He escaped Rendle. Prado told us so himself.”
“That doesn’t mean Rendle—or some other captain—did not capture him subsequently, or that Lynan did not go to Salokan of his own accord.”
Areava felt unsteady. She grasped the back of a chair then sat down. “No. I won’t believe it. Not even of Lynan.”
“He killed Berayma, your Majesty. Fleeing to Haxus is a small treason beside that.”
Areava did not reply. Her skin had paled to the color of ash and her hands rested in her lap like dead weights.
