by Simon Brown
There were sharp words between the ship’s captain and the stevedore boss, and then the second load was made ready and attached to the winch. As the winch was swung over the dock, the top knot holding the hook slipped and the load lurched heavily. Stevedores scattered from the winch, but the hook held and two of them hurried forward to release the ballast. As they set hands to the winch, the knot unraveled completely. The logs fell with an awful crash and the winch careened sideways, the ballast slamming heavily into the two stevedores who had tried to rescue the load. Olio heard the dull thump of the collision and then terrible shouts and cries as people ran to help the injured.
Without hesitation, Olio rushed to the scene. He elbowed his way past a gawping bystander and stopped suddenly when he saw the broken and twisted remains of one of the fallen stevedores. Blood pooled around his feet and he stepped back.
“This one’s alive!” a voice said, and Olio looked up to where the second victim was lying, his head supported by the crew boss. The prince stepped over the corpse and knelt down next to the injured stevedore. The man’s breathing was labored and blood flecked his lips.
“He’s dying,” the boss said grimly. “His chest is crushed.”
Olio grasped the stevedore’s hand and squeezed gently. The man’s skin was cool and clammy. His eyelids fluttered and opened, showing dilated pupils.
“Is there n-n-nothing you can do?” Olio asked the boss.
“He’s dying,” the boss repeated dully.
Olio reached inside his coat with his free hand and grasped the Key of the Heart. It felt cold to his touch. He waited for something to happen, not knowing what to expect. He felt nothing, nor sensed any change in the man whose hand he held. He closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for some sign in his mind about how to use the Key. He remembered the sheer power he had felt after Usharna had healed the crookback. His hand around the Key started to tingle, but still he felt nothing passing from him to the injured stevedore, felt no surge of whatever it was that the queen had used. The stevedore moaned, then coughed. Blood spattered Olio’s face, but he ignored it.
“He m-m-must n-n-not die,” he stuttered under his breath. He bowed his head and tried praying to God, but the vague faith he held to gave him no sign. And then a hand lay softly on his shoulder and he heard words in a strange tongue spoken above his head. The Key in his hand seemed to come alive with sudden heat so fierce he wanted to let go of it, but he held on as the heat spread from the Key to his hand and then his arm, flowed into his chest, making his heart beat twice as fast, and then on through his other arm and the hand that held the stevedore. He could sense rather than see the aura of light and power that took shape around him and the injured man, and he could physically feel the stevedore’s ribs and lungs bend and warp and reshape into their normal form. The stevedore let out a great cry of pain, but no blood came from his mouth and his eyes were keen and alive.
As quickly as it had started, the surge of power ebbed away until at last Olio let go of the Key and stood up. He immediately swooned and started falling back. His vision was blurred and he could not make out the face of the man who caught him and pulled him away from the wondering crowd, but then he heard a familiar voice say: “I did not think we could do that.”
“Edaytor?” Olio asked weakly. “What did you do?”
“Added my knowledge of magic to the power lent you by the Key of the Heart. Can you walk, your Highness? I am not strong enough to carry you any farther. I want you away from this dock before someone recognizes you.”
Already some of the stevedores were pointing at the pair and using the word “miracle.” Olio nodded and staggered a few feet before Edaytor put his shoulder under one of the prince’s arms and helped him away from the harbor. They continued like that until they had reached one of the dark, narrow back streets behind the warehouses that lined the docks. They collapsed together against an old brick wall.
“I really wish you would bring an entourage with you when you leave the palace, your Highness,” Edaytor gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“What good would that do? Everyone would know who I am, and curtsy and p-p-prithee and p-p-petition. How could I explore the city then?”
“Better curtsied and pritheed and petitioned than stabbed by some malcontent. Especially down here on the docks where many are not from Kendra but the provinces and so less respectful of rich young noblemen and their purses.”
“Oh, God, a shame to die because someone thought I was a m-m-member of the Twenty Houses,” Olio joked, but his laughter sounded forced.
“I thought your family was one of the Twenty Houses.”
“Don’t tell my sister that.” Olio stood upright and immediately felt dizzy again. Edaytor was by his side instantly with a steadying arm. “What happened b-b-back there?”
“You healed a dying man.”
“B-b-but not by m-m-myself. It was your m-m-magic that m-m-made the Key work.”
Edaytor shook his bald head. “I don’t think so, your Highness. I’ve never been able to do anything like that before, and I’ve handled many magical artifacts. The Key worked because you were the channel.”
“Then why didn’t it work b-b-before you helped?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it is an ability you must develop. Were you ever tested for magic when you were young?”
“N-n-no.”
“Yet I suspect it runs in your family. That is not unusual. Certainly, your mother had the power. It also may be that the Keys only work effectively when they are all together, and singly need an outside source of magic. There is much to ponder on this.”
Olio smiled shyly. “B-b-but together, Edaytor, we can work it.”
“At a price. We are both exhausted.”
Olio nodded wearily. “I’m afraid I am going to have to call off our tour. I cannot remember ever feeling so tired b-b-before.”
“Nor I. Come, your Highness, I will walk with you back to the palace.”
“B-b-but your own offices are near here. I am fine.”
Edaytor insisted, and together they made their way back up the avenue that wound its way through the city, ending in the climb to the palace’s main gate and two of the Royal Guards. Edaytor left the prince in safety. Olio watched the round prelate start his journey back to his own offices, wondering what he had done to deserve such devotion.
“Your Highness, we didn’t know you were out,” said one of the guards as he saluted him in.
“That was the whole p-p-point,” Olio said under his breath.
He paused in the courtyard, befuddled by exhaustion and all the questions in his head about what had happened on the docks. He badly wanted both to talk to someone about it before going to sleep. He decided to see Areava first; he thought she might have some knowledge from all her reading that might explain how he and Edaytor had performed their magic. He glanced up to her chambers and saw her figure silhouetted in the window. She was not alone. Olio did not have to guess who her companion was.
Well, sleep first, after all, he told himself, smiling. I will not disturb the lovebirds.
“I have your final spearman,” Sendarus said, holding up the piece in victory.
Areava ignored him and carefully studied the polygonal board in front of her. True, all her spearmen had been discovered and destroyed, but her city was still protected by two lancers and a duke, and she was sure her defenses would not easily be overcome.
Who knows, she mused to herself, he might even be foolish enough to send his sappers under my walls.
“Now the game is reduced to its essential,” Sendarus continued. “One player striving to breach the last barrier between him and his heart’s desire.”
“Your metaphor strains like a constipated old man,” she told him without looking up. “I forgo a move.”
“That is your last pass, your Majesty.” Sendarus rolled the numbered knucklebones. “I count five.”
“That is a four. That bone is on its side.”
“
Four, then.” He reached for one of his sappers and placed it under Areava’s parapets. Areava removed an ivory shield to reveal her neat row of waiting swordsmen. “Your piece is taken.” Sendarus blinked in surprise. “Swallowed whole like so much bait.”
“You played the whole time for defense!” Sendarus protested. “You never had any intention of attacking my city!”
“And now that your last offensive piece is devoured, I am left with all the high points. My game.”
Sendarus rested back in his chair and laughed. “You played me for a fool.”
“Not at all. I played you like a fish.”
Sendarus laughed even harder. Areava beamed.
“You fought hard, though,” she conceded. “I was not sure if you had started the game with the sapper or the battering ram. I could not have stopped the latter.”
“You can always stop me, your Majesty.” He caught her gaze. “And I will always surrender.”
She blushed, and stood quickly to hide it. “This has been a pleasant diversion, my lord, but I have business to attend to.” She pulled a bell cord near her desk.
“A diversion? Is that all I am?” He asked the question lightly enough, but his expression was tense.
Areava gently placed a hand against one of his cheeks.
“There is no other diversion like you in my kingdom,” she said.
He reached for her hand, but at that moment the door opened and Harnan bustled in, his arms filled with papers and scrolls.
Areava withdrew from Sendarus; he took the hint and stood, placing his hands behind his back. “I will see you later?” he whispered.
“Perhaps,” she said, but not unkindly.
He bowed to her and left, nodding to Harnan, who tried to bow and hold onto his papers at the same time.
“We have much to get through, your Majesty,” Harnan told Areava, and dumped his load on her desk.
“There is never a day when we don’t,” she said dryly.
“The life of a monarch has little pleasure, I know, your Majesty.”
The corners of her mouth curved into the slightest of smiles. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“You will not say your farewells to Sendarus?” Orkid asked.
Amemun shook his head and mounted the horse Orkid was holding for him. “We talked last night. There is no need for further words between us. Nothing I could say would make him fall more in love with your queen.”
“Our queen,” Orkid said.
“Yes, of course,” he said absently.
“That is the whole point of this exercise,” Orkid persisted. “If she had no legitimacy in our eyes, then there would be no value in bringing her and Sendarus together, and any progeny from them would have no more right to claim our fealty than a child from a whore.”
“It is not her legitimacy that concerns me, my friend. It is you.”
Orkid’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Marin had no choice but to send you here. He knew you agreed with his plan wholeheartedly and would never waver from our country’s cause. And though your years here have not blunted your love for Aman, they have given you time to learn to love this city and its rulers.”
“And why not, Amemun? It will soon be as much Aman’s kingdom as it is Kendra’s. But we must never forget the kingdom was built by those who came from here, not by our own people.”
Amemun nodded. “I don’t dispute any of this. But if things go wrong and do not turn out the way we have planned, then a time may come when you have to choose between your loyalties.”
“Aman need never doubt me,” Orkid said passionately. “I long for the day when I may return to my home.”
Amemun patted the chancellor’s hand, something no one had done since Orkid was a child. “I know. Keep your patience and your own counsel. The time will come, I am sure of it.”
“Praise God,” Orkid said.
“Praise the Lord of the Mountain,” Amemun replied, not entirely in jest. “Goodbye, Orkid. Keep our prince safe!” He spurred his horse into a canter and left the palace for the docks where a ship waited to return him to Aman.
“Journey well,” Orkid said quietly after him, and wondered when he would see his old friend again.
Chapter 19
They were tired and hungry, but Lynan and his companions walked without stopping across yellow meadows and slowly undulating hills under a bright clear sky until the Forest of Silona was nothing but a green border on the southern horizon. For the first time in over a week they felt free, more at ease than at any time since their flight from Kendra. They all wore smiles like badges of distinction.
The sun was low in the west before Kumul called a halt. They were on a low hill that gave them a good view over a wide, shallow valley stretching some ten leagues north to south and half that east to west. Along its middle ribboned a blue stream, partnered by a wide dirt road. From their vantage point it looked as if most of the valley was under cultivation, divided into small squares of various shades, the pattern broken occasionally by small hamlets of twenty or so houses and one large town not far from their position.
“Mostly orchards,” Ager observed. “This must be the Arran Valley. That means we’re seventy leagues from Sparro, about a week’s journey.”
“I remember this place from one of my geography lessons,” Lynan said. “This valley is famous for its peaches.”
“And its wine,” Ager added, licking his lips.
“And its archers,” Kumul warned them. “They can put an arrow through the eye of a raven at a hundred paces, so let’s stay alert. If anybody asks any questions, we spin the same yarn we gave the foresters.”
“You don’t think they believed us, do you?” Jenrosa asked.
“The point is, it’s a story we know, and if we continue to use it, we’ll get better at telling it. Just don’t get imaginative. Keep it plain, and if you have to invent anything, let the rest of us know so we can speak the same lie.”
“We’ll need new names,” Jenrosa said. “We can’t go around declaring ourselves to be Lynan, Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa, poor peasants whose names and looks happen to exactly match those of four outlaws from Kendra.” The others agreed. “Then I’ll be Analis,” she said. “It was my grandmother’s name, so it will be easy to remember.”
“Then I will take my father’s name,” Ager said. “Nimen.”
“Well, I had no mother or father to speak of,” Kumul said, “so I’ll be Exener, the name of the village I came from.” He turned to Lynan. “You could take your father’s name. Elynd is common enough, and many boys born around the same time as you were named after the General.”
Lynan shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right about it.”
“What about Pirem?” Ager said.
“No,” Lynan said quickly. “Never again.”
“Migam,” Jenrosa suggested.
“What?”
“Migam. It’s a nice name and it’s easy to remember.”
Kumul and Ager were looking at Lynan impatiently. “Yes, all right,” he conceded. “Who was Migam, anyway?”
“My mother’s pig,” she replied, smiling.
Kumul and Ager burst out laughing, and in the end even Lynan joined in. “I hope he was a noble animal.”
“He was small and hairy and he farted a lot, but he had his winning ways.”
Against the continued guffaws of the two men, Lynan decided to change the subject. “Shall we camp here tonight?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Ager said. “Let’s make for the town and see if we can’t get some food and shelter. There’s bound to be an inn or hostel there.”
“What do you suggest we use for payment?” Jenrosa asked.
“We can work for it. Places like this always need seasonal labor, especially in autumn. Besides, it might also be a good way for us to get information about recent developments.”
The others agreed, and less than an hour later they were walking dow
n the town’s main street where they found they had three inns to choose from. “This is a market town,” Ager told them. “Some weeks the population here must treble.”
They went to the largest inn and were immediately met by a burly man no taller than Lynan, with a red face impaled by a generous nose. Watery blue eyes stared out beneath a well-furrowed brow, and thin lips barely protruded from a forest of whiskers.
“Lady an’ gents, welcome to the Good Harvest. You’ll be wantin’ board? We have a wide selection of rooms for you to choose from—”
“We have no money to speak of, landlord,” Lynan said quickly. “But we would appreciate shelter and food for a night in exchange for any work you have.”
“Food and shelter for work, eh?”
“Only for one night. We are on a mission for our village to the capital and must depart tomorrow morning.”
“And what makes you think I have any work for you?”
“If you don’t, we’ll try one of the other inns,” Kumul said bluntly.
The man regarded the giant for a second, then Ager and his crookback. Eventually he put his hands up. “Not so quickly now! Yran did not say he had nothin’ for you to do!” He rubbed his chin with one hand. “In fact, I’ve got wood that needs cuttin’, an’ a beast in the outshed ready for dressin’.” He pointed a finger at Lynan. “You ever dressed a beast before?”
Lynan blinked. Was the man serious? And what kind of beast? Before he could open his mouth, Ager stepped forward. “I’ve carved up sheep and goats,” the crookback said.
