by Fire
Areava waited by the window until Sendarus appeared in the courtyard. Orkid was holding his horse for him. Sendarus mounted quickly, glanced up at the window, and waved at her. She wanted to wave back, but her hands were clasped tightly over her heart and could not move. She wished Olio was by her side, but he had not been seen all day. And then she thought of Primate Northam, wanting badly to talk to him, and then she remembered he was dead. A week ago! she thought in surprise. It seemed those that loved her most were no longer around her, and she wished she was not queen at all but merely a woman with a husband who was nothing more important than a carpenter or a shop keeper.
Galen Amptra sat on his horse in the courtyard in full armor and with his helmet on. He wished to hell Sendarus would get a move on so they could parade out of the city and then get into more comfortable traveling clothes. Mail hauberk and shin guards were all well and good in the middle of a melee, but a bloody torment on a sunny day when the greatest threat was heat stroke.
He chided himself for his impatience. He had no wife, and currently no mistress, to tarry with before setting out on campaign. And Sendarus, of course, had Areava, possibly the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.
No, not really, Galen told himself. She has the features for beauty, but no concern for them. It is her power and her assuredness that makes her beautiful. No wonder Father is afraid of her.
Sendarus appeared from the palace, his new mail shining brilliantly in the sun. In his hand he held a helm of the peculiar kind worn by Amanite infantry; it covered almost the whole head, leaving only the eyes and mouth exposed. He’ll learn soon enough, Galen thought. A cavalryman needs to see and hear more than he will inside that pot.
Sendarus turned to review the knights before mounting, then with Orkid’s help got into his saddle. Galen’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the Key of the Sword resting against Sendarus’ mailed chest. Areava had told the council Sendarus would have it for the campaign and that it was no use their objecting, but seeing the crossed swords and spear worn by an Amanite made Galen wish he had. The nobleman could feel the blood rushing to his face but could do nothing to control it. He looked around and saw that he had not been the only knight to see the amulet hanging from Sendarus’ neck, and several were talking angrily among themselves.
Sendarus waved to a window in the palace, and Galen turned. He caught a glimpse of Areava, and seeing that pale, severe face cooled him more quickly than a winter rain. She had given the Key to her husband. Sendarus might be an Amanite, but he was no thief.
Areava is betraying us! he thought angrily, but immediately banished it from his mind. It was he who was thinking treason, and the revelation shocked him. She is my queen. Sendarus is her lawful husband and general of this army. He has a right to wear one of the Keys.
His reasoning was solid, yet his heart still fought against it.
There was not enough time to properly invest Father Powl as the new Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, but as senior cleric he was still the only one who could properly bless the army. He stood on a makeshift dais near the city’s north gate, the wide dirt road leading from it disappearing into the hills that backed Kendra. It was a difficult route for the army to follow, but the most direct to Chandra and then Hume. Infantry stood in their regiments waiting for the commander. It was nearly mid-morning, and though the air was cool, the sun was warm and some of the men were getting fidgety. Father Rown, standing to the right and slightly behind Powl, pointed down into the city. At first all Powl saw was the glimmer of the sun off armor, and then he heard the steady hoofbeats and clinking of mail that told him this was the heavy cavalry from the Twenty Houses. Now he could hear people cheering them as they rode through the streets.
The soldiers waiting by the gate were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. After all, the knights of Kendra had not marched to war in over fifteen years, and once Haxus was thrashed, they might never have cause to ride again. The first troop comprised the youngest nobles, each carrying the pennants of their houses. Next came Sendarus, his mail shining as bright as the sun, and on his chest the golden Key of the Sword—the infantry cheered to see it. Then came the knights themselves: three regiments, all kitted up, their stallions pulling at the reins. Father Powl blessed each regiment as it rode by, and then they were out the gate and heading into the hills, their going marked by a slowly drifting cloud of dust.
When the last knight had gone, the infantry wheeled, saluted the city, received their blessing in turn, and followed the cavalry out of the gate. The tramping of their feet echoed all the way down to the harbor. By mid-afternoon, the last soldier had gone, and a breathless silence fell over Kendra.
Father Powl remained on the dais long after every one else had gone. He had just performed his first official function as Northam’s successor. Not as primate, perhaps, but nonetheless the recognized heir. If he had been a power in the land before, it was nothing to what he could achieve now.
And the cost, really, had been so small, he thought. And then he remembered he still had not found the name of God. He had spent half a day in Northam’s chambers searching for some clue, some secret scribbling, but to no avail. Still, he had the rest of his life to find it, and he was confident he would.
Olio did not watch the army go. He felt a mixture of guilt and shame and relief that it was Sendarus and not he who was leading the army, and although he knew it was for the best, he could not help the sense of failure that filled him. His second failure, taking into account the way he had handled the healing work at the hospice.
He was an encumbrance, he was sure, to his sister. She was trying so hard to be the best queen for her people, and here he was, her stuttering, slovenly brother who could do nothing right.
He shook his head in shame. This was no way for a prince of the realm to behave. He would go to Areava and ask for some other commission. There must be something he could do for the kingdom, something that would allow him to prove his worth.
He wandered the halls of the palace, absorbed in his own thoughts, eventually finding himself in the west wing. Priests walked around him, nodding but saying nothing. He passed the royal chapel, hesitated, but decided not to go in. He entered the library, then just stood and looked around at the shelves of books that rose around him like walls. He fought off a twinge of claustrophobia. One book was open on a reading desk and he went to it. Half of one page had writing on it, done in a careful and elegant hand, but the rest of the page and its opposite were blank.
“I pray for guidance,” he read aloud, “and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.”
He traced the last word with a finger. Salvation for whom? he wondered.
“It was his last entry,” said a voice behind him. He turned and saw Edaytor Fanhow. The prelate’s plain face looked as downcast as Olio felt.
“Whose last words?” he asked, and realized the answer even as he asked the question. “Northam’s?”
Edaytor nodded. “The book will stay open until Father Powl is invested as the new primate, and then he will continue it. Each day the primate writes a passage or a prayer, or maybe nothing more than an observation. It is called the Book of Days.” He pointed to a shelf near the desk. Every volume on it was black-bound, without any title or description. “They go back to the first primate. Anyone can read them. They are to provide guidance, solace, wisdom.”
“These are sad words,” Olio said, pointing to the script.
“I think he was a sad man,” Edaytor said. “I think he never knew how much he was loved and respected.”
“ ‘Alone but not lonely.’ I think he knew.”
Edaytor studied the prince. Olio steadily returned the gaze.
“I think you are ready,” Edaytor said eventually.
“I think I am, too. My nightma
res are less frequent. I have ...” Olio could not find the words to describe how he knew he was ready to resume using the Healing Key.
“You have grown up,” Edaytor said. “A priest from the hospice tells me they have a sick girl. They do not know what afflicts her, but she is dying.”
“Tell me, my friend, would you have told me this if Primate Northam was still alive?”
“He would not have stopped us, I think. Not now.”
“Will you tell Father Powl about our arrangement with the hospice?”
“He will have to know when he is primate.”
“We will go to him together, then.”
“Yes.”
“A sick girl, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I will go the hospice immediately.”
“You are a good man, Prince Olio Rosetheme.”
“And I am neither alone nor lonely,” he said, smiling at the round prelate, the sudden truth of it giving him more joy than he expected to feel that day.
* * *
Orkid found Areava alone in the throne room. She was wandering among the columns that separated the red-carpeted nave from the aisles. At that moment she seemed to him like a little girl who was lost in a forest. Her face was downcast, her cheeks wet with tears. Her guards stood at attention at the entrance and the rear exit to her private chambers, then-eyes straight ahead, ignoring her pain because there was nothing they could do to alleviate it.
Her tears are for Sendarus. I wish they were for me.
“Your Majesty?”
Areava looked up, but her eyes were unfocused. “Why did Berayma have to die?”
Orkid’s heart skipped a beat. He knew she believed Lynan had committed the murder, but for a moment it seemed to him she was seeing deep into his own heart.
“No reason that we may ever understand,” he said slowly.
“If he had still been king, I would be leading our army north. My mother gave me the Key of the Sword. That is where I should be now, with my regiments, not here in this empty palace.”
“The palace is never empty while its queen is in it.”
She stared at him, not understanding. “Maybe I am not queen. Maybe this is all a nightmare.”
“Sendarus will return soon, your Majesty. The nightmare will not last forever.”
“I want to believe that. But you know that some nightmares never end, don’t you, Orkid? Some nightmares last a lifetime.”
He went to her and took her hand. “Not this nightmare. I promise you.”
She sighed deeply and with her other hand held up the Key of the Scepter so that a ray of sunshine coming through one of the high windows fell upon it. “See how it shines? It is the only bright thing in Kendra today, and yet it is this Key that weighs me down.”
Orkid glanced at the Key, then quickly looked away. All he could see on it was Berayma’s blood. Why had she not cleaned it yet? Could she not see it as well?
“It is the symbol of the kingdom, Areava. You are the kingdom.”
“But today I would rather be its lowliest subject.” They heard one of the guards come to attention; Harnan Beresard appeared at the rear exit, his small writing table under one arm.
“You are being called to your duties,” Orkid said with some relief.
“And I am keeping you from yours. We will talk later.”
“I am always at your service, your Majesty.” She nodded and patted his hand. “And for that I will always be grateful, my friend.”
Dejanus had watched the knights leave from the main palace gate. He could not help the sneer on his face as Sendarus rode past, and did not care if anyone saw it. He was angry that he had been passed over for the command of the army a second time. He could understand that the queen and her council would make Olio a general—he was, after all, a Rosetheme—but not this upstart from Aman. Queen’s plaything, pretty boy, and now general. Dejanus almost shouted in rage when he saw that Sendarus also wore the Key of the Sword.
After the regiments had passed, he stomped into town in a red rage, looking for something or someone to take it out on. He passed the Lost Sailor Tavern, stopped, and went back. Business was slow, most citizens on the streets heading to the north gate so they could watch the army leave for the war. But, he noticed with satisfaction, his pretty informant was on duty. What was her name again? That’s right, Dcanus. He found a corner table and signaled to her. She came over, nervous and diffident.
“My lord?”
“What news?” he snarled.
“Nothing much—”
“What news!” he repeated, and slapped the table. Ikanus jumped. The few customers in the inn looked across warily and, on seeing Dejanus, quickly looked away again.
“Y-you know of the hospice?” Dejanus shook his head. “There is a hospice in this quarter run by the church.”
“And why should that interest me?”
“I have heard that it is visited frequently by the magicker prelate and one other.”
“The prelate? Edaytor Fanhow?” Ikanus nodded. “And which other?”
“N-no one knows, my lord. He wears a cape and hood, but is always in the company of the prelate. They stay for a while and then leave together. People say the prelate’s companion is a great magicker, for many who go there are dying, and the next day return home completely healed.”
“How many?” Dejanus asked, curious despite himself. He had been looking for an excuse to beat Ikanus.
“I d-do not know. They are mostly children.”
Dejanus sat back, deep in thought. This was news indeed. A magicker who cured the dying? He had never heard of any so powerful. And why was the prelate trying to keep it so secret?
Unless...
No, it was too incredible. He scratched his beard. Or maybe not. It would go a long way to explaining the recent unusual behavior of a certain member of the court. He had heard only rumors, but now they were starting to make sense.
“Is there anything else, my lord?” Ikanus asked.
Dejanus shook his head, and she turned to leave. “Wait!” he ordered, and gave her a silver coin. “A flagon of Storian red.”
“I cannot change this ...”
“Keep the change. You have done well.”
She did a sort of curtsy and hurried off. Dejanus watched her go, admiring the way her backside moved. Maybe he would linger a while, at least until she was off duty. She might even earn another silver coin before the night was out.
Chapter 21
The four riders stopped on the windward side of the hill and for a moment enjoyed the soft westerly breeze that cooled their sweat.
“It has been many years since Gudon rode the White Wolf territory,” Lynan said to Korigan. “Are you sure he knows the field you’ve told me about?”
“I am certain. We call it the Ox Tongue; in area it is almost as large as the High Sooq, and is almost always sprouting new grass this time of year.”
Lynan turned to Jenrosa. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Jenrosa took a deep breath. “No. But we can’t wait.” She glanced at Lasthear, who pulled another feather and boar heart from her saddle pouch, held one of Jenrosa’s hands, and started the incantation. Within moments, a ball of blue fire appeared.
“Can you see it?” Lasthear asked Lynan excitedly.
Lynan could not speak. Inside the fire he could see the Strangers’ Sooq, and even as he watched, the focus changed and there was Gudon, his face looking up into the sky.
“Incredible,” he said. Korigan echoed the sentiment.
Jenrosa laughed in surprised delight. “He knew I’d be in touch again,” she told Lynan. “He’s asking if you are here.”
She frowned in concentration. “He is glad you are both well. What do you wish him to do?”
Lynan told her. She relayed his instructions, then suddenly swayed in the saddle. The flames disappeared. Both Lynan and Lasthear reached out to steady her, but this time Lasthear seemed more tired than Jenrosa. “I gave her as much help as I cou
ld. It was exhausting.”
“Thank you,” Jenrosa told her. “You did help. There is almost no pain at all in my head. But I grew tired more quickly.”
“We do it too soon after the first time,” Lasthear explained. “Even for one with your raw talent, there is a cost.”
Lynan looked closely at Jenrosa. She smiled weakly and said: “It is done. Gudon will do as you ask.”
“If Terin does his part, all is ready,” Lynan said.
“Terin will do as you have asked,” Korigan assured him. “Now it is up to us.”
Igelko had led Terin and his troop of four riders straight as an arrow. From their vantage point atop a crest they could see a scouting party for Rendle’s mercenary force, although in this case they were Haxus regulars.
“I count seven,” Igelko said. “There are another three somewhere.”
“One on each flank, one bringing up the rear. Good.”
They scrabbled down the crest to where their horses waited. They mounted quickly and rode back to the mouth of the shallow valley Rendle’s scouting party was exploring. They reined in a short while later, letting their horses lazily crop at the spring grass.
“How long?” one rider asked.
“Any time now,” Terin answered. He was younger than most of his warriors, but they were proud to have him as their chief. He was a great hunter and horseman, and his decisions concerning the clan, including tying its fortunes to Queen Korigan’s ambitions, had brought the clan increasing honor. And in the last few days he had shown his skill as a warrior by leading his warriors against the rearguard Rendle left behind to protect the passes his force had come through.
“Don’t look, but the first is now in sight,” Igelko hissed. Terin risked glancing from the corner of his eye. His troop was in plain sight, and yet the Haxus rider still did not see them. Carrying out Lynan’s latest instructions—brought to him by rider only the day before—would be harder than he thought.
