Inheritance

by Simon Brown

  “What ails you, your Majesty?” Northam asked gently.

  “I need to know that I am secure,” she said. “There is much to be done, but my actions will be circumscribed if I’m worrying about what is happening behind my back.”

  “The burden of every ruler, surely,” Northam said.

  “My mother had no internal enemies.”

  Northam laughed. “Not for the last years of her reign. But the first ten were fraught with danger for her. Intrigues within the Twenty Houses; enemies without plotting with enemies within; and the Slavers, of course. Usharna persevered, and was at times quite ruthless, until everyone grew to recognize her undeniable ability as queen. From this, and not from her inheritance of the throne, came her right to rule.”

  Areava nodded. With her whole heart and mind she wished nothing more than to serve the kingdom, but was depressed by the thought that she would have to prove her ability over a period of years or even decades.

  Northam gently tapped her hand. “My chief advice is this. Reconvene the executive council. Your mother did something similar in her earliest years. Place in the council all those who wield some influence or power: representatives of the Twenty Houses, the merchants and army, the theurgia, your chief officials. Let them know they are there to provide advice, not share your rule. Make sure some of those on the council are those you believe may be against you, for then you can keep a closer eye on them. After a few years, when you are surer about your path and when you have bound to you those who are truly loyal to the kingdom, you consult the council on fewer and fewer occasions until membership is nothing more than honorary, an award you distribute to those closest to you.”

  “I like this advice,” Areava said after a moment. “You, of course, must be one of its members.”

  Northam was taken aback. “It is not the place of the clergy to become so intimately concerned with politics.”

  “Nevertheless, you will make an exception in this case. I need my friends by my side.”

  Northam saw the determination in Areava’s eyes. He spread his hands. “If that is your command, of course.”

  “It is my wish,” Areava said gently.

  Northam laughed at her choice of words, making his wattled throat jiggle. “In that case, how could I possibly refuse?”

  The ride in Grapnel’s wagon was stuffy, cramped, and bumpy. By the time Lynan and his companions got down to the docks, they were bruised and angry. They slipped onto the merchant ship as covertly as possible, protected from most prying eyes by bales of cotton and crates of squawking chickens. Seaspray was a small ship, perhaps fifty paces long and, at its widest, a dozen abeam. A single mast sprouted from the middle of the deck, its yard and sail strapped to its length to make it easier to work cargo on the ship. At the stern was a modest poop deck, and below and in front of it the wheel housing. There were two hatches: a large one forward of the mast and a smaller, man-sized one between the mast and the wheel housing.

  A small, wiry sailor with forearms the size of hams shepherded the four refugees down the aft hatch to the main deck, where crew were busy shifting crates brought down through the cargo hatch.

  “Wait here until Grapnel or the captain come to get you,” the sailor said, grinning slyly, obviously enjoying being part of a ruse to fool the Royal Guards. He returned to the upper deck, leaving them to their own devices.

  For several minutes they watched the sailors at work, admiring their strength and their skill with rope and tackle. Huge crates were moved with seemingly effortless ease, but the groaning of the deck planks attested to their great weight. Kumul shifted from foot to foot, uneasy to be idle when there was work to be done, and at one point actually moved forward to lend a hand but was quickly waved back by one of the sailors. “We know what we’re doing,” the sailor said curtly. Kumul returned to his position and resumed his dance.

  A short while later they heard the sail drop and then crack as it caught the wind. The boat rolled for a moment, its ungainly width not made for tight maneuvering, until the prow steered clear of the dock and the city was astern. The rolling gave way to a steady pitch that was less nauseating.

  Grapnel’s head peered at them from the hatch, and he called them up to the deck. Lynan glanced aft and saw Kendra receding behind them. He wondered if he would ever be back.

  Grapnel was standing beside a big woman with no hair and golden skin. “This is Captain Turalier,” Grapnel told the companions, and they exchanged brief greetings.

  “Shehear’s taken the bait,” Grapnel continued, “and is well on his way to the palace by now. We’ll have passed the heads soon, and you can be off on your own journey. Hopefully, the attention of any pursuer will stay on Seaspray.”

  “You will be captured by the navy,” Kumul said. “Their ships are faster than yours.”

  “But their crews are not as experienced or brave. We will head out into the Sea Between and far from the sight of any land. They will not pursue for long.”

  “And then what will you do?” Kumul asked him.

  “I have friends in Chandra. I will hide away there for a while.” He shrugged. “Who knows what the future will bring for us all? Your path is more hazardous than mine, I think.”

  “When do we part?” Jenrosa asked.

  “As soon as we’re through the heads,” Captain Turalier said, her voice surprisingly light for such a large woman. She checked the sail and the wind vane. “Probably before the next quarter of an hour. Seaspray’s boat is ready to be put in the water, and is well provisioned. We’ll let it down and put you on board. Then you’re on your own.”

  “I wonder how much of a head-start we’ll have,” Ager said, also observing the wind.

  “The navy always has some of its fastest cutters on standby,” Kumul told him. “Mainly for courier work. If Shehear ran all the way to the palace, the alert has probably already been sounded. We should expect pursuit within the hour.”

  Turalier nodded. “Sounds about right. I’ll lower the boat now and you can load her with whatever else you need.”

  She left to give the order and Grapnel was called away by the ship’s quartermaster. The others stood together awkwardly. The four of them had been thrown together as a group through circumstances beyond their control. The realization was finally hitting them that for the foreseeable future they would be living in each others’ pockets; more to the point, the life of each of them now depended on the fortitude and loyalty of the other three.

  “We still have to settle on a destination,” Kumul said after a while, looking out to sea as if the answer was to be found there.

  Ager nodded to Lynan, his one eye regarding the prince keenly. “Your Highness?”

  Lynan glanced up, surprised. Why was Ager asking him? He and Kumul were older, more experienced…

  “I’m… I’m not sure,” he managed to say. He saw Jenrosa grimace, and suddenly felt he had let her down. Then he saw that Kumul also looked disappointed, as if Lynan had made a slip in basic weapons training.

  Ager sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. He was staring at the middle of Lynan’s chest. Lynan looked down, noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m an idiot,” Ager told himself.

  “What are you on about?” Kumul asked.

  Ager reached out and pulled on the chain around Lynan’s neck, pulling the Key of Unity out from underneath the prince’s shirt. Ager stared at it shining in the sun for a moment before putting it back.

  “Don’t you see, you fool of a giant?” Ager demanded, grasping the constable’s forearm. “That’s it! The answer has been there the whole time.”

  “I wish you’d stop talking in riddles—” Kumul began, but Jenrosa cut him off.

  “Of course! The Key of Union! The provinces!”

  “What are you two talking about?” Lynan asked.

  “Lynan, you’re the throne’s representative in the provinces,” Jenrosa said. “The
Key of Union was given to you by Usharna herself.”

  “I don’t think we can count on Areava and Orkid allowing his Highness the opportunity to exercise his office,” Kumul said sarcastically. “I can’t imagine anyone taking his authority seriously, especially if they’re under the thumb of the palace.”

  “Not everyone is under that thumb,” Ager said evenly. “And there are parts of this kingdom where Usharna’s authority never fully reached, but where the holder of the Key of Union will be obeyed implicitly if there in person.”

  “No city or town in the kingdom fits that description,” Kumul responded. “Maybe way out in the moors of Chandra, or the rain forests of Lurisia, or the grasslands of the Chetts…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.

  “Exactly,” Ager said emphatically.

  Understanding dawned in Lynan then. “You mean I should escape to one of the uncivilized lands of the kingdom, where Areava won’t be able to find me.”

  “And where her agents and armies will tread only softly, if at all,” Kumul added.

  “And where you can form a rebellion,” Jenrosa said.

  The other three looked at her in surprise. For a moment, no one said anything, and then Kumul boomed angrily: “A rebellion against the throne?”

  “Be quiet, Kumul!” hissed Ager. “Do you want the whole world to be party to our private conversations?”

  “But—!”

  “I meant a rebellion against the conspirators!” Jenrosa said fiercely. “A rebellion to see justice done, a rebellion to see Lynan reinstated as a loyal and trustworthy prince of the blood, to see Kumul reinstated as Constable of the Royal Guard and Ager as one of its officers, and to see me reinstated as a member of the Theurgia of the Star; a rebellion to let us all return home and get on with our proper lives.”

  Kumul and Jenrosa matched stares. Although he towered over her, she stood up close to him, her fists on her hips, her hazel eyes glaring into his blue ones.

  Lynan cleared his throat. “I thought the idea was to lie low until things got a little quieter.”

  “Quieter?” Ager asked. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “You know. Not so dangerous.”

  “Things won’t be so dangerous once Orkid and Dejanus have cut your throat,” Kumul reflected, finally breaking eye contact with Jenrosa. “But I don’t suppose that’s what you mean by ‘quieter,’ either.”

  Lynan feel set upon. “What is going on here?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

  “Grow up, Lynan,” Jenrosa said impatiently. “Your life—all our lives—are in danger. We can’t sit back and let events unfold as they will. If you ever want to return to Kendra, if you want to punish Berayma’s murderers, you’re going to have to face up to a few unpleasant truths.”

  Lynan looked sullenly at her.

  “And it’s not just what you have to do,” Jenrosa continued. “For better or worse, you’re not alone in this.”

  Lynan closed his eyes. He wanted to shut out Jenrosa’s words, but each one struck home. He nodded slowly. “Well, for better, I think. For me.”

  Ager grunted. “So where is it to be? Chandra, Lurisia, or the Oceans of Grass?”

  “I vote for Chandra,” Jenrosa said. “I hear they appreciate magickers there, and King Tomar was a good friend of Lynan’s father.”

  Kumul shook his head. “Chandra is too close to Kendra. And the province’s wilder parts, the moors, will offer little support. They’re thinly populated. A good place to hide, perhaps, but not for raising an army.”

  “The same can be said for the rain forests of Lurisia,” Ager said. “With the added disadvantage that it has far too many merchants who know me.”

  “That leaves the Oceans of Grass,” Jenrosa muttered dispiritedly.

  “I thought you wanted to see the Oceans of Grass,” Lynan observed. “What was it you said? ‘Huge herds of strange animals, with horns and manes. Wild horses, thousands of them, not afraid of anything under the sky. Thunderstorms as big as continents…’”

  “I was talking about your adventures,” she said sourly. “I’m quite happy surrounded by civilization, thank you very much.”

  “The Oceans of Grass will be perfect for Lynan’s purposes,” Ager said. “Far from the capital, not locked in by mountain or sea, and traversed by a large number of tribes loyal to the throne in their own rough and ready way but not particularly attached to, or respectful of, the kingdom’s officials.”

  “But loyal to whom?” Jenrosa mused.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Ager replied, pointing to the Key of Union. “Apparently they almost worship the two most responsible for destroying the Slavers, the scum who preyed so heavily on them.”

  “Of course,” Kumul said under his breath. “Usharna and the general, who was himself half Chett.”

  “And Lynan is the son of both,” Ager said smugly, folding his arms.

  Captain Turalier rejoined them. “The boat is ready. You should board now. We’ll be through the heads in a few minutes.”

  The four companions shook hands with the captain and Grapnel, he and Kumul embracing, then moved to the stern. Their swords were bundled together and placed in the boat, then Ager went down first and steadied the vessel as Kumul clambered on board. Kumul had obviously never been in a small boat before, and he found it difficult to keep his balance. The boat started rolling precariously.

  “Sit down, you horse!” Ager barked. Embarrassed, Kumul plumped down on the mid thwart. Jenrosa went down next. Lynan watched her with envy as she lightly stepped into the boat, then stepped over Kumul to take the rear thwart and the rudder.

  “All right, your Highness, your turn,” Ager said. “Come down this side of Kumul and sit beside him.”

  Lynan swung over, but before descending, he turned to Grapnel. “Thank you for all you have done. I will never forget it.”

  Grapnel nodded. “Best get going, your Highness, or you won’t live long enough to remember.”

  As soon as Lynan placed a foot in the boat, it started to move away from him.

  “Shift your balance this way,” Ager urged him.

  Lynan edged toward him, but of its own volition one hand held on to a rope hanging from Seaspray’s gunwales.

  “Your Highness, you’ll have to let go sometime,” Ager said, reaching out to grab him by a sleeve.

  Lynan let go of the rope, overcompensated, and started waving his arms around in wide circles to maintain his balance. Ager lost his grip on the sleeve, and Lynan toppled backward into the sea with a huge splash. As he bobbed to the surface like a cork, he saw Seaspray pulling away from him, Captain Turalier and several of the sailors looking back with grins as wide as mainsails on their faces.

  Kumul and Ager each grabbed a handful of the sorry prince and dragged him on board like a hooked tunny. He lay on the bottom of the boat, coughing and hacking, thoroughly wet and miserable.

  “Have a nice swim, your Highness?” Ager inquired politely.

  Lynan eased himself up to the mid thwart and wiped dripping hair away from his face. “Delightful, thank you.”

  Ager said nothing more, but with practiced ease erected a supple mast and unfurled a single, lateen sail. A moment later the wind caught the canvas and sent the companions away from Kendra and away from home.

  Chapter 13

  Although Lynan had occasionally dreamed of visiting faraway lands one day, he had never actually been at sea. At first, wet and miserable, he sat shivering and feeling sorry for himself, his head down, but as the sun and the breeze dried his clothes and then warmed his skin, his temper improved.

  He found himself taken over by the novelty of sailing over deep blue water, of having his hair whipped around his face like a loose sail, of the smell of brine untainted by the scent of human waste. He marveled at the seagulls wheeling overhead, at the cormorants that dived into the water so recklessly, and at the pattern of the waves running across the top of the sea.

  After a while, though, doubts ass
ailed him. He noticed how small the boat was, and wondered what fish might be lurking just under the hull for a chance at nibbling a dangling hand or foot. He could not help remembering how poor a swimmer he was—he had never taken to water. He drew away from the gunwales, trying to sit as closely as possible to the center of the thwart, and began to feel miserable again.

  When at last they left behind any remaining signs of civilization, Ager told them they still had an important decision to make. “How are we to get to the Oceans of Grass?”

  “The most direct way,” Kumul said. “Surely the sooner we get there, the better.”

  “Perhaps,” Ager mused. “But if Areava has guessed where we’re heading, she’ll try and cut us off.”

  “We have at least some head-start,” Jenrosa pointed out.

  “For how long?” Lynan asked. “Areava has probably already sent messages to the provinces warning them to keep an eye out for us. If she sends those messages by post-riders, they will not be far behind us. If she has sent them by carrier bird, which is more likely, the messages will already be arriving at Chandra and Lurisia.”

  “As much as possible we will have to travel under cover,” Kumul said. “By night, by little used roads, by stealth. The four of us, no matter how determined, cannot hope to force our way through the whole kingdom.”

  “Then you think we should not take the most direct route,” Jenrosa said dryly.

  “No route will be entirely safe,” Ager said. “We must weigh what we think the risks will be and choose the least dangerous.”

  “That may be the most direct route,” Kumul said. “The least expected action is often the wisest, and time is important. If we take months to get to the Oceans of Grass, it will give our enemies the breathing space they need to secure their position, or to work on enough of the tribes of the Northern Chetts to stop any rebellion from ever getting off the ground.”

  “I can’t dispute what you say, Constable,” Ager said quietly. “In the end, of course, the decision isn’t really ours to make.”