by N M Zoltack
Vivian stood rooted in place long after the females broke off to finally begin their training. Caelia tried to get Vivian to come along and finally had to drag her away. The princess forced herself to fight, and her fury and fear and rage and worry combined to make her a most dangerous foe indeed. Even Aurelia Lupus was impressed and for the first time said she would continue to train Vivian for an entire week.
But Vivian wasn't worried about blending in anymore. She was worried about fighting. Right now, the fight required her to send a message home as quickly as possible.
Forget a boat for the time being. Vivian needed to get her hands on a messenger bird and the sooner, the better.
19
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The sight of all of the females training should have made Marcellus thrilled. He should have been delighted to return home. Alas, the circumstances of his arrival left much to be desired, and he could not force himself to do more than nod to the females, the children through the elderly. They all seemed quite capable, for which he was glad, but Marcellus was already thinking of what was next to come.
Rufus Vitus's funeral.
Within a day of his arrival, everything was prepared for the funeral procession. The number of people there, the mimes, the musicians, the grand nature of the affair would have made one wonder if the dead had been a member of the royal family.
In a way, that had indeed been the case.
Many women joined in the procession, their wailing nearly loud enough to drown out the music. Several ripped out chunks of their hair, and one scratched her face, so great was her mourning.
Next came men and women dressed in costumes and masks. They performed a living play of Rufus's life, complete with the portrayed Rufus dying in the arms of a woman who looked nothing at all like Queen Rosalynne. This actress was passingly beautiful enough, but her face did not evoke the same emotions that the young queen could never quite conceal.
Only after the play that chronicled Rufus's life had been finished could his body be carried. Many soldiers carried the bier that Rufus rested on, and his family as well as Marcellus and his father trailed behind.
Given the violent nature of his death, Rufus would not be buried after all. Instead, he was brought to the necropolis and carefully placed upon a funeral pyre, a collection of redwood and berries so that he might have something to eat in the afterlife. Marcellus took it upon himself to be the first to light the pyre, the torch in his hand heavy, almost as wearisome as the vise squeezing his heart.
For hours, Rufus's body burned. When at last the fire burned out, the bones and teeth were interned within a funereal vessel. Marcellus's hands shook only slightly as he passed off the vessel to Rufus's silently weeping mother.
Next came the eulogies. His father offered a few clipped words. The king moved as if to step forward before the assembly, but he then waved Marcellus forward instead.
Marcellus had known that he would need to say a few words. Before the funeral had commenced, his father had confided in the people that Rufus had returned without his spirit, but that was all that had been said.
How much truth did the Vincanans deserve?
The prince held up his hands although the crowd was already silent and still. They stared at him or at the vessel in Lady Vitus's arms.
"As well you all know, Rufus was one of my dearest, closest friends. When my father asked me to journey to Tenoch for their tourney, I went but not alone. Rufus trekked with me, and for that, I…"
Marcellus hesitated. To show emotion was to show weakness, yet to deny what he felt seemed a far more punishable offense.
"I would give anything for Rufus to be alive again," Marcellus said firmly. Despite being out of doors, his voice carried far and wide, booming, almost echoing. "Not only is Rufus dead, but he has been murdered."
The solemnity of the occasion was not missed by those present, and so, they did not break the mounting silence, although they did glance at each other, their shock and dismay evident for all to see.
"I extended my stay in Atlan Castle, but I must confess that the murder remains at large. Rest assured that this will be remedied. The one responsible will be found, yes, but we have a much larger issue to deal with, namely that of war. Once the feast has ended, the war preparation will begin anew and in earnest."
After every funeral, for the young or old, rich or poor, there was a feast. The more lavish, the more important the one being honored. Again, the feast in Rufus's honor might well have been for a king or prince. Every variety of fish prepared in a dozen different ways. Veal, beef, pig, boar, chicken, turkey, and other meat. Vegetables and fruits, five different kinds of cheese, bread, soups, and stews, and that didn't even mention the desserts.
Although Marcellus had no hunger at all, he forced himself to eat. Otherwise, his friend's soul would be uneasy and ill at rest. To ensure his friend experienced some peace now that life had ended and death had claimed him, Marcellus forced himself to chew and swallow, drink and swallow, and chew some more. While some consumed enough to visit the vomitorium, Marcellus did not overly indulge to the point of needing to purge before he could ingest more.
When the feast finally ended, Marcellus remained as unhappy and uneasy as he had since he first set foot home. While he greatly preferred his homeland to that of Tenoch and Atlan Castle, he could not deny that the call within his heart had been awoken. He must do what he could not only for Rufus but for all of Vincana. Those incompetent queens could not be allowed to rule over all of the world. No. Not any longer.
They had basically asked for the war themselves, and that war was what Marcellus would bring to them the very moment they were totally and completely prepared. They would not lose any more Vincanans than were absolutely necessary. Everyone knew that a Vincanan soldier was worth at least a dozen from Tenoch.
Yes, a war was coming, and for that, Marcellus was very, very glad.
20
Olympia Bai
Maloyan was a large, sprawling city near a massive frozen lake. Olympia loved watching the people walk on the ice in special shoes. They glided as if swimming through the air. It was a sight to see. Children laughed and fell, enjoying themselves all the while, and the ice never once cracked. No one was worried that it would. Was it always frozen over? Would it thaw eventually only to refreeze again? How could it be that it was so much colder here in Maloyan than Xalac? The isle was farther northward.
Ever since she had arrived, Olympia had been watching, waiting. Waiting for what precisely she could not say.
Time was wasting, and she knew she should talk to the people, garner allies…
But what if no one here wished for a Li to sit on the throne again? What if she found only enemies here? Her journey had only just begun, and she was not willing to be hasty.
As the sun sank lower and lower into the clouds beyond the mountains in the near distance, the night turned even colder. The crowd of people on the frozen ice departed, heading either to their homes or to taverns for a meal before retiring.
For the first time since leaving the island, Olympia felt the bitter sting of isolation. Normally, she did not mind being by herself, but perhaps for one evening, she could eat at one of the taverns instead of eating more of the wolf she had killed a few days prior.
At the tavern, no one paid her any mind. Perhaps they did not care for those they deemed as outsiders. It took her lifting her hand a few times before a serving girl finally approached to take her order. Olympia did not mind that those who ordered after she had were served first. Her food—a thick crust of bread shaped like a boat filled with various cheese and an egg on top as well as hot stew filled potatoes, beef, celery, carrots, parsley, various spices, and a cream that had been soured—was absolutely delicious and well worth the wait.
All night long, the door opened and shut as people came and departed. Without warning, the door slammed open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man marched inside. Immediately, a cry of approval roared throughout the cr
owd. Olympia watched with interest as men clasped the newcomer's hand, patted him on the back, or offered to buy him an ale.
"Bjorn Ivano," the man sitting a few seats over from Olympia said. He was older, and his hand shook as he stretched his gnarled fingers toward the newcomer. "We received word that you won the tourney.”
Now Olympia eyed the newcomer with even more appreciation. His dark-brown hair was cut short. If he had partaken in a tournament, he must have journeyed here from Atlan, yet his face remained clean-shaven. His nose was sharp, and his piercing eyes took in everyone, including her. His thick lips tilted downward at the corners ever so slightly, and he stroked his strong jawline before nodding to the older man and moving on.
The tourney winner eventually sat down, and immediately, a serving girl handed him some food and a metal tankard without him having to ask for anything. They were training the man as if he were royalty.
By now, Olympia had finished her meal. She dropped a few coins onto the table, stood, and crossed over to sit at a table closer to Bjorn. Nursing the last of her drink, she overheard the Mayolan detail the tournament, how he had won, how he had danced with the princess who was now queen, how he thought he might have a chance with her.
Ah, a man with ambitions. Olympia could use such a man… but she could never trust one like that.
Bjorn's tankard never ran dry, the serving girls coming over constantly to refill him, and although the people around him left and were replaced, he never stopped talking. It did not escape Olympia's attention that he more or less answered questions only instead of volunteering information. He remained stoic at all times, even as the crowd hailed him their savior, their hero. What precisely had he done to earn such admiration? Yes, he won the tournament, which was an accomplishment. However, she gathered that no one had taken part from Vincana, and everyone knew the southernmost continent produced the strongest warriors by far. Bjorn was merely the strongest out of inferior competition. Pitted against a true warrior and he would most likely fall.
Perhaps that was why Bjorn seemed so subdued compared to his comrades. Likewise, despite his dancing with the princess, that had not ended well, clearly, or else he would still be in Atlan now, wouldn't he? Perhaps he would be the one she should approach first.
The hour was late indeed, but Bjorn showed no signs of leaving. Olympia had not often drunk wine or ale while on the island, and the Mystic Tempest drink contained some form of fermented fruit. Her eyelids grew increasingly heavy, and she had no choice but to depart the tavern. In the morning, she would seek out this Bjorn.
Olympia had been staying in a small alcove of a cave on the outskirts of the city. She barely made it inside before sleep overcame her. The bright sun stirred her the next morning, the light brilliant against the snow. She blinked and groaned, pulling the wolf skin tighter around her. Once she could start to move farther south to where it was warmer, she would be most grateful.
She made her way to the bazaar, the Mayolan marketplace and the one area where she had come to frequent so she could learn news rather than trade or purchase items. As she hoped, many were speaking about Bjorn's return, and she even managed to discern that he lived close to the frozen lake.
Without delay, Olympia departed from the bazaar, leaving behind the buzz of the crowd, the hails of the merchants, the smell of the fish and spices. There wasn't much of a crowd at the frozen lake just yet. Most came after they finished working.
Her back to the frozen water, Olympia eyed the nearest buildings. It had been quite a shock when she first reached the city to see just how tall some of the houses were. Rather quickly, she had gathered that multiple families would live in the houses together. It all seemed so very foreign to Olympia, and yet she loved how diverse the city was from her previous experience. Seeing the world, seeing her people… that was part of her journey to reclaiming her throne.
It did not take long for people to emerge from the buildings, mostly laborers off to start their daily tasks for their professions. Then, she spied him. Bjorn left the tallest building and headed straight toward the frozen lake. Once he arrived at the edge, he stared at the motionless water, ignoring her entirely.
After a few moments of awkward silence, she cleared her throat.
Bjorn glanced over at her, his expression blank.
"How did you enjoy the castle?" she asked.
"Well enough," he said without a hint of emotion to his tone. He eyed the lake once more.
"I would very much like to go there one day."
"It is a long journey."
"I do not mind traveling."
"So you say."
"Would you accompany me?" she asked.
Again, he looked her way. "I do not even know your name."
"And knowing my name will not make a difference," she said, not entirely pleased by his attitude. "Only my coins."
"Who says I need coins?" he countered.
"Perhaps not considering everyone hails you a hero although you have done nothing to earn their admiration."
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"Yes, you won the tourney, but—"
"Am I to blame that no one from Vincana came to partake in the tournament?" he asked, his tone cold.
"Of course not, but if I were you, I would be rather agitated that I could not prove myself against their best warriors."
"Who are you, and where do you hail?" he demanded. "You are not from Maloyan."
"Olympia Bai," she said without hesitating, using her false surname. "I am from Xalac.”
He eyed her. "And you wish to go to Atlan why?"
"Why not?" she countered.
"I just left," he grumbled. "I am not going back."
"Not going back just yet or ever?" she asked quietly. "Were you sent away?"
"You are not from around here," Bjorn said slowly. "I would suggest you learn that we only appreciate questions from our own."
"Very well. I will ask you no more questions, yet you are free to ask me."
"When will you leave?" he demanded, his tone hinting that he wished to take his leave of her.
"That depends on you."
He shook his head, his expression mostly blank. "I am not going—"
"Name your price."
"I do not need your coins. I told you such already." Bjorn's piercing eyes saw clear through her. "You wish to be accompanied because you came here from Xalac by yourself."
She pursed her lips and did not confirm his statement. This man made her feel uneasy.
"You should be able to venture down to Atlan by yourself without me," he said after a short pause.
"I should," she agreed, "however, I do not wish to."
"Why not?"
She merely raised one eyebrow. "If you had a sister, would you wish for her to journey from Maloyan all the way down to Atlan by herself?"
"I suppose not, but I am not—"
"Did the princess send you away?"
Bjorn's scowl, although brief in its appearance, was answer enough.
Olympia nodded. "If you think you need to stay here for the time being before heading southward, I will wait. If, however, you are too afraid to return—"
"If you think to force my hand by calling me a coward—"
"I would never dream of such a thing," she said smoothly. "After all, on multiple occasions, I did say I would pay you for your guidance."
"I will consider this," Bjorn said stiffly.
He whirled around and marched off.
Olympia smiled to herself and tried to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. Their alliance was uneasy at best, and she was not altogether certain she should trust him. Perhaps lingering in Maloyan for the time being was for the best. If she could locate others who might prove stronger allies, so much the better for her. In the coming days, weeks, months, perhaps even years, Olympia would need as many supporters as she could acquire if she were to ever introduce herself to the world by her given name.
21
Rase Ainsley
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br /> The Woody Fairy was even more crowded than Rase had ever seen it before, and it didn't take him long to discover why. Bucca Reizel immediately pounced on Rase the moment the boy entered the inn.
"Where have you been?" the card player hissed, gripping Rase's upper arm tightly.
Rase jerked but couldn't free himself. "I can't always come," he explained.
"Do not make excuses," Bucca hissed. "And you'll be coming every night from now on, you hear?"
"Why is that?" Rase asked.
"Why, because it's time for the Legendary Dragons tournament," Bucca said with a grin. "I nearly won it all last year, but made out decently enough for coming in third. With your help, I'll be sure to come out on top."
"We'll," Rase grumbled.
"What was that?" Bucca asked, clearly distracted as he glanced around the inn.
"We will come out on top."
Bucca laughed, the sound somewhat nervous as he nodded toward the back corner of the bar area in the inn. "Over there is where we'll be playing. We're going to eat and drink some first. You should be over there already. Eat something yourself. I don't care if you aren't hungry. Eat."
The card player pressed a coin into Rase's hand.
"That way, it will seem only natural for you to already be there," Bucca explained.
"Yes, yes," Rase said impatiently. "I understand."
"And you remember where to touch?"
Rase lifted his hand, but Bucca slapped it down.
"Don't give the signals away now," he snapped. "We can't risk being seen together. Scram."
"You could be a little nicer to me," Rase called to the man's backside, but Bucca was already speed-walking away. "What a crooked-nose knave," he muttered under his breath. Then again, so long as Bucca paid him, Rase really shouldn't insult the man, even if the card player didn’t hear the slight.
