JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III

by JANRAE FRANK

  Meilurk's eyes narrowed. "He's going rogue, Galee. You should have expected it. You know he's been sleeping with his daughters since they were children. Philomea was pregnant by him again when he turned her."

  Galee returned to her seat, fingering her new ledger. "One of you fetch the Master of Blood." She flicked her fingers at the Lemyari closest to the door. He rose and left. "Were all of his daughters' pregnancies that Solance aborted, his?"

  "Yes, Galee," Meilurk told her. "I've seen Solance's papers. You didn't tell me to, but I checked Solance out anyway."

  "Then you're right. I should have expected it." She began to calm down and think more clearly. "But you should have told me."

  "Perhaps. But we did not know you intended to turn Wrathscar until the day you did it. Had you confided in us, we would have argued against it."

  "I will confide in you more, Meilurk. One of you fetch Solance. I want to bring some matters to a close."

  Another Lemyari left.

  "Where is the book?"

  "We did not find it, Galee. I personally dragged Belyla from her horse. Kjarten collapsed in the gutter."

  "But he didn't stay in the gutter. You should have made certain of him then."

  Meilurk cursed. "Belyla was a handful, Galee. There was only so much we could do. When I saw him pull himself up and stagger into that tavern I sent soldiers after him. You should never have allowed Belyla to Dance Kjarten for that long."

  "It amused me," Galee said, her voice going faint as she reflected. Could Kjarten have dropped it somewhere? Did Derryl have it? And, if he did have it did the mon live long enough to tell Derryl where to take it? There were too many loose battle spells going off. Someone could get hit. Perhaps she should destroy Wrathscar and make a meat-puppet of Bryndel. Perhaps she was being too cautious, too subtle. Yet, her heavy-handed tactics of thirty years ago had proved disastrous. And where was the branch clan? She did not need them riding in here with whatever resources they might have to challenge her right to rule as regent for Talons' children.

  The book. The book! She had to get the book back. Only a yuwenghau – and only a precious few of them – would have the lore to read it. One of the Nine could read the book. Hadjys! He and his Shadonmi could read the book and so could some of the souls he held prisoner in his nine hells. If the book found its way to Eshraf, then it would find its way to Hadjys, himself. She was not ready to fight him yet.

  "Meilurk, I want Derryl watched."

  * * * *

  Bryndel cloaked himself to conceal his face as he entered the temple. It felt strange here. When he first entered he felt as it he was swimming through thickening air and there was a lingering acrid smell, which he did not recognize as the magical wardings. Bryndel had this brief feeling of panic, wondering if his god now perceived him as an enemy ... My God. Bryndel had not though of Hadjys in that way in years. Yet now he found himself thinking, in his fear and suffering of Hadjys as his god. Perhaps Hadjys was rejecting him for not trying to save Yahni... Then the feelings of guilt and shame came hard on the heels of the other and he felt frightened and dirty. He could have saved Yahni if only he had been able to get past his terror of Galee and his father. His heart pounded with irrational fear and in his devastation he began to pray. "Hadjys, help me. I must say good-bye to Yahni and ask his spirit's forgiveness." Abruptly the wardings released him and he could walk normally. He had not been in the temple since his mother died. He walked along the east ambulatory until a priest stopped him.

  "What are you here for?"

  "Yahni Kjarten."

  "Ahhh. Poor young mon. I'll show you where they have laid him. Most of his family has gone to their beds. A few still sit with his body. Perhaps you should have come earlier."

  "I couldn't. I just want to say good-bye. He was a friend."

  The priest nodded and led Bryndel to a private chapel. They found three of Yahni's mothers still kneeling, deep in prayer, while an old mon dozed fitfully on a pew, his chin resting on his chest. Bryndel guessed that might be Yahni's father. There were others in the shadows. He slipped around to the casket with the folds of his hood around his face.

  Bryndel stared down at Yahni. The young mon appeared to be at peace, sleeping with his sword in his folded hands. "Forgive me, Yahni. Forgive me for being a coward. Forgive me for letting you die." He murmured very softly, private words for the dead. "They are telling me that Belyla killed you. I don't believe it. I will never believe it. My sister loved you. Forgive me. Please forgive me."

  He heard someone come up to him and strong hands turned him around. Osterbridge looked into his eyes with barely controlled savage rage. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Saying good-bye to a friend."

  "A friend your father killed. If you had any balls, you'd bear witness to the Guild of what he did. But you don't have any. Yahni was never your friend. Nor were you his. Yahni's friends would have died for him. Now get out of here."

  Osterbridge released Bryndel with a shove and he fled. Bryndel found his way, half-stumbling and weeping into the garden. He found a spot beneath a tree with bushes blocking people's view should they come upon him. Although it was night, Bryndel still feared discovery. He knelt, his shoulders bent and shaking and, for the second time since his mother's death, he began to pray.

  * * * *

  Tiderider closed the door as he entered Channadar's room. His lord was sitting with Leeza and Chucomei. Channadar halted in mid-story and looked closely at his captain. "What is it?"

  "I have put this off all day, knowing how worn you still are from your wounds..." Tiderider dropped to one knee in front of his lord. "My lord," he began, reaching for formality with his tone and choice of words. "They found Yahni Kjarten's body. I should have spoken sooner, but I was concerned for your health. I did not want you returning to the game before you were strong enough. Then I rethought myself. It is not my decision to make."

  A wave of sorrow rose up within Channadar like a rough ocean at high tide, crashing against the stones of his restraint. His voice was tight as he asked, "How did he die? Tell me all of it." When he had listened, Channadar flicked a fan at Leeza and Chucomei. "Leave me."

  Leeza's eyes widened. She caught his arm. "You need me. Don't make me go."

  Channadar gave her an expressionless look, saying in a stony voice, "Leave."

  Leeza burst into tears and ran out. Chucomei went after her.

  Tiderider's eyes narrowed at Leeza's display. "That one will never be Fae. She's too full of uncontrolled emotion even for a good firefly."

  "What Leeza is or is not, is none of your affair," Channadar said sternly. The commander of his Chosen accepted the rebuke with a bow of his head and shoulders. "What is this about Yahni being an addict? He wasn't. I touched him and I would know. My fingers saw him clearly."

  "Solance."

  Channadar sucked in a tight breath. "Rise and sit, faithful Tiderider. My heart is heavy and it makes me short." He dug the fingers of his good hand into his damaged arm. The arm hurt whenever he moved it and his use of it was limited, although he concealed that by artifice and spell. His anger simmered.

  Tiderider sat. "Solance belongs to Wrathscar and Wrathscar, whether he knows it or not, belongs to Galee."

  "Someone should kill Solance. They should skin him and tack his bloody hide to Wrathscar's bedroom door."

  "Command it and it will be done."

  "I will wait and see if the Guild finally moves first. If it does not, then we will. Endgame nears."

  The smile crossing Tiderider's face lit his eyes as well as his lips. "How long will we wait?"

  "Not long. My father's murderer has finally come to visit his mistress. For now, assemble the Chosen and ready a sedan chair for me. I wish to visit Yahni's body."

  "It is late."

  "The temple never sleeps."

  * * * *

  Mohanja found the heavy steel doors to the Guild Wing sealed shut. No one responded to his knock. His only other choice to get i
nto the Wing meant leaving the palace entirely, go around to a postern door, and knock there. Mohanja went to the postern door. A unit of Guildsmyn in full plate greeted him when the door opened in response to his naming himself. Queiggy was taking no chances. Mohanja did not like the implications.

  "Have you come as friend or as foe, Mohanja?" asked a rough-edged voice and a visor lifted.

  Mohanja felt a thrust of tension as he recognized the battered, scarred face of Leonè with its close-trimmed ginger beard like a crust of sand. He stood second to Galee. "And where do you stand, Leonè?

  "I stand for the Wing against the blasphemy of fiat, my life be forfeit to god if I have chosen wrong."

  Mohanja sucked in a breath. This was indeed a silent mutiny in progress as he had begun to suspect. He needed to walk very carefully. "I will give no orders while I am here. I only wish to speak with Queiggy about Yahni."

  "I hear they found his body."

  "His sister, Lord Derryl, and Lady Leslie found his body."

  "That is a heart-heavy thing."

  "It is. Now, may I speak to Queiggy?"

  "We'll escort you."

  Leonè announced him, and the big mon soon found himself seated beside Queiggy, however Leonè and the four other guards, all Guildsmyn, made no motion to go. "You may speak in their presence, Mohanja." Queiggy told him and he knew then who was truly Master of the Wing.

  "Yahni–"

  "Yes, we know." Queiggy interrupted him querulously. "A copy of the records should have been sent down. Those Guildsmyn who are still working were refused copies."

  "I have them." Mohanja was not accustomed to getting that tone of voice from Queiggy, but chose to ignore it. He pulled the papers out, sliding the envelope across the table to Queiggy, who lifted an eyebrow.

  Leonè moved to the table, and sat down as Queiggy drew out first three thick bound statements, each from an examining healer acting as coroner consultant, tied together in a bundle, and then a fourth one. Queiggy set the fourth aside, opened the bundle, and took one off the top, passing the other two to Leonè.

  "Why four?" Queiggy asked.

  "Because one of those three is Solance. Galee insisted. The Master never says her nay." Mohanja stared at his hands while the other myn read, waiting patiently for their reactions.

  Mohanja and Queiggy looked up at a sharp hiss of angry breath, and the scratchy crumpling of paper. "Don't tear it!" Queiggy said sharply, realizing that Leonè must have gotten Solance's report.

  "It's lies. All lies. He could not possibly have come up with these conclusions based on the Reading of the boy's dead body." Leonè shook with anger as he released the pages. "Yahni Kjarten was murdered. This was not a suicide, accidental or otherwise."

  "And that is truth," Mohanja replied, placing a hand on Leonè's shoulder and saying nothing when the man flinched – clearly they had placed Mohanja with Galee's camp over the last months and that troubled the big mon, for it should never have been so – and he pointed at the fourth paper. "Read that one. Solance's report is why I secretly had a fourth one done. It's a refutation. Look to the signature." Mohanja flicked it back to the last page.

  Leonè gave him a sharp glance. "Eshraf!"

  "A sad business and the Holy Father already over burdened. Make copies if you wish. Do not let the originals out of your hands. Be wise, as I know you will. I must return before I am missed."

  "Wait," Queiggy said. "Is it true he never spoke?"

  "Derryl says Yahni was already cold and stiff when they turned him over. They found him a few blocks from the Black Lady Tavern."

  Mohanja caught the look passing between Queiggy and Leonè, which made him wonder what they knew that he did not. He chose to ignore it. Either they would tell him when they came to trust him again or he would find a less suspicious time to ask. So he took his leave while they sat and read.

  * * * *

  Leeza cried into her pillows, in a mix of anger and humiliation. Every time Channadar closed her out, or the others did – she had caught them referring to her as a summerfly – she felt dirty. He always said that he was protecting her, but she felt like a whore, bought, and paid for with his jewels, gold, and a life at court. He rarely spoke to her except when she slipped into his bed at night. He never put her on his arm like the others did their fireflies. At the very least he should have allowed her to stand at his side. She had trained with his yeomynry before encountering him on that muddy street three years ago. True her training had been down and dirty, crude fighting methods more suited to a brawl than a duel or a battle, but she had always been scrappy. Obsessively so since it was her rebellion against her mother.

  Her mother had always been hanging on one mon's arm or another, getting them to buy her drinks and trinkets, flitting from mon to mon with an intense fickleness that Leeza suspected concealed a hatred of people in general. Man or woman, her mother played up to them all and then spoke badly of them behind their backs. Leeza dreaded finding a single piece of her mother in herself. Yet, just when she thought she had won free of all the games to stand on her own, here she was sleeping in Channadar's bed and hanging on Tiderider's arm. She hated herself for it. Sometimes she hated all of them for making her live her mother's life. And yet she loved Channadar, the intensely sensual and powerful lord of Hellsguard. She felt conflicted and so she cried harder.

  "I am not my mother. I am not my mother."

  * * * *

  "Lord Channadar!" the priest exclaimed when he opened the temple doors to let them in. Eshraf had begun ordering them locked at night as well as guarded. They entered, the Chosen spreading around the chair, which was carried by two strong servants.

  "I have come to pay my respects to Yahni Kjarten's body and pray for his spirit."

  "It is in the chapel in the back. The Patriarch wished to give them privacy."

  "That is understood. Lead us."

  The priest walked quickly along the ambulatory. Tiderider and Da'Shanagara took point behind the priest; Starsilent, Juniperarrow, Tigerturtle, and Jangflower walked beside the sedan chair, while Rheeshaen and BitingOtter brought up the rear.

  They lowered the chair by the door to the chapel and the servants sat on the floor beside it. Then Tiderider entered first with Da'Shanagara following. They checked out the chapel quickly and motioned that it was safe to enter. If the priest wondered at all this security, he did not ask. Starsilent helped his lord from the chair. Channadar walked slowly inside, working hard at concealing the fact that he hurt from the jostling of the chair on their journey down two flights of stairs and across to the temple. He went to the casket and looked at Yahni's face. "Forgive me, White Swan, for failing you. I tried, but I was overmatched and barely escaped with my life."

  Channadar felt deeply saddened by the loss of the young mon who had come so often to watch and listen to his magic stories. Neither Yahni, nor Belyla, deserved what had been done to them.

  "Lord Channadar..."

  Channadar turned to face Lord Oakwithe Kjarten. "Your son shall have vengeance, thus speak the Fae."

  Tears filled Oakwithe's eyes and his wife, Cleatè, came to take him in her arms. She was a large, strong mon, taller than Channadar. "Thank you."

  "You may count on me and mine. I lay my honor and my fortune at the feet of your cause. Call upon me for anything."

  "Then we may call you ally?"

  Channadar's fathomless smile came upon his lips. "I have always been your ally, though I have never spoken the words before. By the Dancing Fans of Death, I swear to help you bring vengeance."

  "Then we are in your debt and will return the favor by Aroana's Sword and Shield, by Hadjys' blade and book."

  Channadar embraced Lord Oakwithe to seal the promise.

  * * * *

  Dynarien always made his rounds of the temple in the early morning hours, taking care of whatever little odd jobs the priests found for him during the time when Talons would either be sleeping or occupied with Bryndel's demands. That morning he was thinking a
bout Yahni. That morning, like yesterday, it seemed like everyone was thinking about or talking about the unfortunate young Guildsmon. So the yuwenghau walked along the interior ambulatory to the small private chapel in the rear where Yahni's body lay and his family mourned. According to Eshraf the young mon had been Passion-Danced over a prolonged period, but that was not what killed him.

  The doors to the chapel stood before him almost before Dynarien realized it and he went in, pausing only to sweep his eyes over the mourners and flick his hair back. He rarely set off on a campaign without his sister along, although he did seem to be doing that more and more over the past few years. Dynarien wondered at that. He hoped it was not a bad omen. Then he spotted Maya. Yahni's twin was very beautiful. Dynarien sighed unhappily. If he had not promised to mend his ways after falling in love with Talons and by extension with Edouina, he would have carried off Maya in a flash.

  Maya was the reason he was here. Yahni's vampire-lover was still loose and the logical thing for her to do would be to obsess on the closest blood to Yahni's in her newborn hunger: which would be Maya's. She would want to Dance Maya as she had Yahni. Eshraf had asked Dynarien to be discreet in how he handled this matter. So he made his way along the pews until he reached Maya, who sat with a lovely mon slightly older than herself.

  "Are you Maya Kjarten?" Dynarien asked.

  "Yes, I am. Do I know you?" She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and cheeks still wet.

  "I am Dynarien Briarrose, mage to the temple and an assistant to Patriarch Eshraf. I wondered if I might have a private word with you."

  Maya looked uncertain, glanced at Leslie and saw her lover nod. "All right. Where do you wish to talk?"

  "We can use the priest's office next door, leave the door cracked a tiny bit, and have a priest stand outside to be certain I don't outrage your honor."

  Leslie laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hands, as it was a very inappropriate noise under the circumstances. Clearly this mage did not know much about Sharani women.

  Maya almost smiled then for the first time in days and followed Dynarien out. Dynarien signed a priest to come with them.