The Reluctant King

by Jill Williamson

  “Step back against the walls!” Nietz yelled.

  The crowd obeyed at once, and Trevn strode past. It wouldn’t be long now and he would have his private passageways completed. He couldn’t wait.

  They rounded the landing until they reached the council chambers, and Cadoc and Nietz whisked Trevn inside. He instantly smelled the fresh wine in the goblets on the table. The room was filled with soft talk. Trevn walked to his seat on the far end of the long, narrow table, hopeful he’d get more accomplished in this meeting than he tended to with the Wisean Five.

  Most had noticed his entry, stood, and bowed—Inolah curtsied—but some were too busy talking.

  Trevn said a quick prayer for wisdom and pounded his fist on the tabletop. “Let us begin this meeting.”

  All went silent. The few who hadn’t bowed jumped to their feet and did so, eyes fixed on Trevn. He glanced around the table. On his right stood all five members of his Wisean Council—Barek Hadar, Danek Faluk, Oli Agoros, Inolah Orsona, and Joret Vohan, his newest member. Also present were Admiral Livina, Captain Bussie, and Captain Stockton; Captain Veralla, Under-General Collak Ensley, Marshal Rowan Winstone, and Sheriff Irlond Hearn; Master Jhorn; Novan Heln; and Cadoc, Nietz, and Hawley, who had entered with Trevn.

  “Please, be seated.” Trevn remained standing while everyone settled back into their chairs. “You have all been briefed on the current situations we are facing, but I thought we might be more productive together. As you know, Rogedoth the Pretender left his island fortress for New Rurekau. I’ve just heard from my mother that he has arrived and made an alliance with Empress Jazlyn. He seeks to ally with at least one of the giant tribes. He has also invited Chieftess Charlon of Magosia to join in their discussions. And, as the council has discussed before, Rosârah Laviel is making plans to take Armanguard for herself. She has not yet left the island, as she has no means of transportation.”

  “Can’t she use her magic to fix the broken ship?” Barek asked.

  “She would need someone with knowledge of ships to help her cast the right spell,” Oli said. “My guess is, Rogedoth took all of those people with him.”

  “Except for Bahlay Nesos,” Trevn said, then told the story of Maleen’s father. “Hinckdan Faluk managed to sabotage much of Rogedoth’s root juice before the Pretender set sail, but we don’t know how much is left and who might have access to it.”

  “That he managed to destroy any is excellent,” Jhorn said, “but my guess is Rogedoth still has enough to kill us all. I like that his daughter is parting ways with him, but it’s not enough. We still don’t stand a chance against that kind of magic, no matter who gets here first.”

  “I agree,” Captain Veralla said. “Especially not if giants join them.”

  “I thought the giants were on our side,” Sheriff Hearn said.

  “There are three tribes of giants,” Trevn said. “The Uul-Yeke have allied with us. Their assistance in the Battle of Sarikar was the only thing that kept it from being a full-on slaughter. The Ahj-Yeke have caused no trouble since that day, and Ulagan tells me they would rather stay out of our conflict altogether. His uncle is wary of the root magic Fonu Edekk used to compel his people.”

  “The giants are indeed formidable,” Jhorn said, “but it’s the magic that worries me. There is no way to fight it.”

  “Why is Rogedoth stalling, then?” Novan asked.

  All heads turned, eyes focused on Novan Heln, former backman to Wilek.

  “Why do you think he is stalling?” Trevn asked.

  “Well, Master Jhorn says we cannot defeat him and that he likely has enough root to defeat us. Then why hasn’t he? We’ve been here almost a year, and he has remained on his island, compelling natives into a dismal army. That doesn’t seem like the behavior of an all-powerful sorcerer.”

  “He’s right,” Marshal Winstone said. “Had the man attacked Armanguard during Master Fonu’s siege on Sarikar, he could have wiped us out. We wouldn’t have had any means of standing against that magic. So why didn’t he?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Under-General Ensley said. “It’s in the past.”

  “No, it does matter,” Trevn said, intrigued by the question. “If Rogedoth is afraid of something, hesitant for some reason, or has any kind of weakness at all, I want to know so we can exploit whatever it is.”

  “How could we possibly learn that?” Under-General Ensley asked.

  “His wife?” Novan suggested. “Could Lord Dacre get information out of Lady Eudora?”

  “Not if she’s compelled,” Oli said, “and Hinckdan said she was.”

  Islah. Trevn had told only Hawley, Cadoc, and Mielle about Hinck’s discovery of Rogedoth’s first wife, and only Mielle had believed it possible. Now seemed the perfect time to open that jar of flies. “Perhaps his first wife would help us,” he said.

  The room fell silent.

  Admiral Livina was the first to speak. “Islah Pitney died over thirty years ago.”

  “Apparently she did not,” Trevn said. “Hinck discovered her in the prison with Maleen’s father. For some reason, Rogedoth faked her death and has kept her locked away all these years.”

  “That’s awful,” Inolah said.

  “It’s impossible,” Barek said.

  “I don’t believe it either,” Livina said. “Why would he have done that?”

  “Hinck hasn’t figured it out yet,” Trevn said, “but if anyone knows Rogedoth’s weakness, it would be her.”

  “Can Hinckdan free her?” Oli asked.

  “I imagine so. Right now, he is focused on leaving the island, but Rosârah Laviel’s presence complicates things.”

  “What about General Agoros?” Under-General Ensley asked.

  “Rogedoth has left him and his wife behind with Rosârah Laviel,” Trevn said.

  “I would normally not fear a compelled army of natives,” Under-General Ensley said, “but with him at the head . . .”

  “I’m not ready to worry about an attack yet,” Trevn said. “I want Hinck and Islah Pitney here in Armanguard. Captain Bussie, how soon could you get the Seffynaw to the islands to rescue them?”

  “Six or seven days is my guess, depending on the wind,” the captain said. “Though I’ve never sailed those waters.”

  “They’re calm that far south,” Captain Stockton said. “I’d agree that a week is a fair estimate to reach the islands.”

  “If no one has started work yet on repairing that ship,” Captain Bussie said, “tell the earl to keep it that way and I’ll have time to reach him.”

  “I want you to leave as soon as possible,” Trevn said. “Now, say we rescue Hinck and abandon Rosârah Laviel on the island, and say we discover Rogedoth’s weakness from Lady Islah. If magic weren’t an issue, how does our army look?”

  “We’ve got just over twenty-four hundred trained men,” Captain Veralla said.

  “But they won’t fight for you, Captain Veralla,” Under-General Ensley said.

  The words had not been cruel or spiteful. Merely matter-of-fact. Yet Trevn felt the emotions in the room tense, his own included.

  “They will fight for their king,” Trevn said, “and if I appoint Captain Veralla to lead them, then they will obey their orders or be court-martialed.”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Marshal Winstone said, “but threats don’t inspire loyalty, and men who aren’t loyal to their superior don’t put all that much effort into obedience, fighting, or winning, for that matter.”

  “Do you agree with the under-general’s opinion that the men will not fight for Captain Veralla?” Trevn asked the marshal.

  “Not only that, sir, but I believe Captain Veralla should be executed,” Marshal Winstone said, dark eyes fixed on the captain. “Both of them should be, and I mean no offense by it.” He changed his stare to Novan.

  “The majority of the fighting men agree,” Under-General Ensley said. “It is tradition.”

  Trevn sucked in a slow breath through his nose. “My father was a
puppet ruling a country steeped in superstition. I realize that much of Armania still believes in such nonsense, but I will not throw away perfectly good and loyal men because that is what always has been done. What will it take to change the attitudes of the men?”

  “Men fight for a man they believe in,” Under-General Ensley said.

  “And I suppose they believe in you?” Trevn asked.

  “They will obey my command,” Ensley said, “but it will not be the same as Rosâr Wilek. He spent hours on the practice field every day since he was four. And once he came of age, he trained and fought beside his men. They loved him.”

  Trevn understood. “And I am a scholar who hides behind tablets and scrolls.”

  “That schooling will likely help you with the nobles,” Oli said, “but this is different. In Rosâr Echad’s situation, the men were loyal to his uncle, Prince Wodek, and later his son, Sâr Wilek. And since they were loyal to the king, the king had his army.”

  “Do the soldiers want Rogedoth as their king?” Trevn asked, incredulous at the idea.

  “The men know little about him or you,” Under-General Ensley said. “They are grieving Rosâr Wilek. And your pardon of both Captain Veralla and Master Heln has been seen as an insult to the rosâr’s memory, no matter what kind of fancy logic you might have used to spare them.”

  Trevn’s mind raced as he sought a solution that might appease everyone. He would not throw away Captain Veralla or Novan Heln, yet two thousand plus men-at-arms needed a leader they could respect. His first instinct was to promote Oli Agoros, who had been primed since birth for the position of general, but without his arm . . . “Would they fight for Duke Canden?”

  Across the table, Oli stiffened, and Trevn sensed his panic.

  “They might,” Under-General Ensley said. “He’s one of them, at least.”

  “I was one of them,” Oli said. “Your Highness, I’ve been practicing with the shield, learning to fight despite my lost arm, but I’m just not the soldier I used to be. Putting your trust in me as a warrior would be a mistake. Besides, the matter of my father’s current allegiance might taint me as well.”

  Because General Agoros had sided with Rogedoth.

  “Why don’t you train with them, Rosâr Trevn?” Captain Veralla suggested.

  “Me?” Trevn tried to picture himself at the head of a charging army.

  “If you could win them, there would be no one better,” Veralla said.

  “Except that they would see through his actions and know he only hopes to win them over,” Ensley said.

  “So?” Veralla said. “Yes, they’ll mock him at first and curse him behind his back, but if he holds up under their taunting—if you can measure up, Your Highness—there is no better man to lead an army than their king.”

  “He did this already aboard the Seffynaw,” Cadoc said.

  That was just what Trevn had been thinking.

  “Come, Sir Cadoc,” Ensley said. “A sailor and a soldier are different breeds, and while there have been rumors of what our king did aboard the Seffynaw, that vessel was one of several hundred ships. Few of our fighting men witnessed it.”

  “I can’t make up for my years training as a priest,” Trevn said, “but I’ve been working with the sword every day since my return, and I’m more than willing to practice with the men, though my best might not impress them.”

  “That would be an excellent start, Your Highness,” Veralla said.

  “Don’t know when you’ll find time to sleep,” Inolah said.

  “I’ll sleep once we win peace for Armania,” Trevn said.

  “Spoken like a true general,” Oli said.

  Trevn warmed to Oli’s praise. “Very well. Cadoc, Nietz, Captain Veralla, and Master Heln, I charge the four of you with getting me ready to take the practice field.”

  “Do you still have your warrior tail?” Cadoc asked.

  “Yes,” Trevn said slowly, thinking of the drawer he had shoved it in.

  “What warrior tail?” Ensley asked.

  “The rosâr killed a man in an assassination attempt on Rosâr Wilek back on Bakurah Island,” Cadoc said.

  “Wear it, Your Highness,” Ensley said. “Marshal Winstone and I will spread the story. It will help.”

  Trevn nodded, reluctant to gloat over the life he’d taken, yet resigned to his task of winning the army. “Under-General Ensley, for the time being, you will continue as acting general, but I will not rescind the pardons I gave Captain Veralla and Master Heln. No two men meant more to my brother, and he would not wish them harm. Master Heln is hereby assigned to my security detail, and Captain Veralla will become captain of my King’s Guard. He will work with Duke Canden to train new men to fight.”

  “A fine plan, Your Highness,” Admiral Livina said, though Trevn could sense that not all the men agreed.

  He felt as if the meeting had been going on for hours, and they’d only discussed a small portion of his agenda. He moved on to how the castle fared defensively and other strategies to safeguard the lands they had claimed thus far, how to best use the garrison to protect the castle, possible defense strategies for each route an enemy might use to attack, and how to produce weapons of iron since bronze was scarce in the mountains they’d mined thus far.

  “We will have these meetings once a week until the threat is over,” Trevn said, when the discussion began to repeat itself. “Dismissed.”

  Trevn left the council room feeling apprehensive, even after what he had to deem a somewhat successful meeting. Winning the army seemed a terribly daunting task. He had no desire to wear the braid of the soldier he’d killed and pretend to be some grand warrior, but considering the threat facing them, winning the army was imperative if they were going to defend Armania from the many threats that faced them.

  Oli

  Oli sat on a longchair in the training room Rosâr Wilek had long ago designated for mind-speak education. For today’s lesson, he had directed a servant to arrange four longchairs in a tight circle. The rest had been stacked along the back wall.

  Empress Inolah had been the first to arrive, bringing with her one of her daughter Vallah’s companions, a girl named Kaye.

  “Thank you for coming, Empress,” Oli said, standing to greet her. “I know that you are leaving soon for New Rurekau, so I appreciate your taking the time.”

  “Anything to help the dowager queen,” Inolah said. “How is she coming along?”

  “Well enough,” Oli said. “She can shield now, but I want her to practice voicing a variety of different people.”

  The girl Kaye shifted her gaze to the empress. “Forgive me, but I cannot use the voices.”

  “That is precisely why I asked you to come, miss,” Oli said. “Sometimes we need to practice our ability on non-gifted individuals.”

  A rap at the door preceded two guardsmen and Rosârah Zeroah. Oli hadn’t seen the dowager queen in almost a week. She was still rail thin with somewhat sunken cheeks and eyes, but she no longer appeared skeletal. The return of Rosârah Mielle seemed to have done her some good. Minibraids had been twisted into a crown of bantu knots on the top of her head, while the rest hung loose down her back. She looked very nice.

  “Please wait in the hallway,” she said to the guards, then approached Oli. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to be late.”

  Oli bowed and motioned toward the chairs. “You are right on time. Please join us.”

  As Zeroah neared the longchairs, Oli was careful to position her on his left, where he could touch her without having to bring attention to his missing arm. Inolah sat on his right. Kaye across from him and on Zeroah’s left.

  “Rosârah Zeroah, you claim that you cannot listen in on a non-gifted mind,” he said, crossing his ankles. “It is my goal that you learn how to do just that. I would like you to try to hear Miss Kaye’s thoughts.”

  “What shall I think about?” the girl asked.

  “Imagine yourself doing some activity you enjoy, or remember a time you did t
hat activity,” Oli said. “Something like that should work well enough. You may close your eyes, if you feel more comfortable.”

  The young girl leaned back in the longchair and closed her eyes. Oli did the same. He reached for the girl’s mind and found her thoughts occupied with eating a massive slice of cake. He tried not to chuckle at Kaye’s delight.

  Beside him, Zeroah sighed heavily. “I cannot even sense Miss Kaye’s mind.”

  That much had happened just as Oli had expected. “Let us try this another way, Your Highness. It is important to the king, since you are so close with his wife, that you become proficient with the mind-speak magic and are able to instigate your own connections without my help. For now, I will leave my shields down. Reach into my thoughts. Once I sense you there, I will speak to Miss Kaye, and I want you to try to hear our conversation.”

  “I am happy to try, Your Grace,” she said, “but what if I cannot hear you? Rosâr Trevn says you are difficult to read, even with your shields down.”

  “I do have a proficiency in shielding, which is why I would like you to try several tactics in the following order. First, simply try on your own. If you cannot reach me, use this.” He pulled his old leather ball from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She wrinkled her nose slightly as she took it into her slender fingers. “What is it?”

  “Bit of leather stuffed with feathers. A toy from my childhood.”

  “You must have played with it daily.”

  “I still do,” he said, grinning. “Since the ball belongs to me, holding it should forge a connection between our minds. You’ll need to concentrate, of course, but it should make things easier.”

  Her golden eyes met his. “Is this how Rosâr Trevn first found Master Grayson?”

  “That’s right,” Oli said. “And if those two things do not work”—he held out his hand—“touch, skin to skin, increases the ability for two minds to connect.”

  She looked at his hand but did not take hold. “But I’m to try the others first?”