by Simon Brown
“Press your hands against his wound,” he ordered Jenrosa. “I’ll be back.”
He ran to his horse and mounted, and with one last effort of will managed to get the mare to work up to a gallop. The horse got half the distance and suddenly collapsed underneath him. He fell to the ground, somersaulted, and was on his feet again. He started running, desperately hoping he could get there in time, but he felt as if he was running in sand.
Then one of the mercenaries pulled back from the melee around Ager and Gudon, and then a second. They turned their horses around and fled. Soon they were joined by a third, and one by one the others peeled off and turned tail. Kumul stopped in wonder, then something long and dark and feathered pierced the back of the last man and he fell from his saddle. Kumul looked at Gudon, but his bow was still in its gorytos.
Suddenly a group of new riders appeared, bows and arrows in their hands, reins held in their mouths, in hot pursuit of the mercenaries. They loosed a flight of arrows, and then another flight and another until all the fleeing mercenaries had been toppled from their mounts, each impaled by a black shaft.
Lynan swam in a sea of agony. Every time he took a breath, he felt his chest and back ripple with pain. He knew his eyes were open because he could see stars, and sometimes the blur of a face. He heard sounds, too, cries and shouts, the stamping of hoofs. Later, hands gently moved him one way, and then the other. More faces appeared. He thought he heard Jenrosa shouting at him, then Kumul. Why were they so angry with him? He felt someone attempt to lift him. He tried to tell them to go away. He hurt too much. Why could they not leave him alone? He was sure if he could just have some peace and quiet, he would fall asleep and everything would be all right. Then he heard Pirem’s voice. No, that could not be right. Pirem was back in Kendra. Then where was he? He was lifted again and he felt himself carried away by new waves of pain.
The ocean. What was it about the ocean? He had to remember. It was important. He did not want to drown. He just wanted to sleep.
And then all was still again, although he could still sense movement. Figures passed him, and the legs of horses. He looked up into the sky and saw that the stars were going out. He wanted to close his eyes, and discovered that they were already closed.
I am asleep, he thought. At last, I am asleep.
Chapter 28
Areava blinked in the sudden rush of light as she moved from the chapel and saw a sea of faces before her. There was a pause, a moment’s stillness, and then the cheering started, first from her nobles and officers and the Royal Guards, and then moving back along the entire crowd like a wave rippling along a pond. It became tumultuous, joyous, and it carried her heart up into the sky. Her people, her subjects, her kingdom.
Kestrels danced in the air, and the kestrel pennant of the Rosethemes fluttered from every flagpole in the palace and the city. She raised the two Keys in her possession and they glinted in the bright sunlight, the Key of the Scepter which gave her the right to rule, and the Key of the Sword, which gave her the right to defend her kingdom come what may and with whatever means at her disposal.
Olio took her hand, and Dejanus and Orkid took their position behind her. She walked slowly down the steps to the forecourt, preceded by the court sergeant holding King Thebald’s ornate Sword of State. The cheering continued, and now she could hear the clapping, the singing, and the blessings coming from her people. Nobles and ambassadors, subject monarchs and guild leaders, priests and malefici, joined in the procession as it moved past them. She left the palace and started the long walk through the capital, the avenue crammed with people kept back by the Royal Guards. As she passed, guards peeled away and used back streets to get to their new positions farther down in the city. She tried to keep a stately pace, but she was so filled with her own joy she wanted to pick up her skirts and run.
Children slipped through the guards and threw flowers at her. She laughed with them. Old women and men reached for her hand, and she gave it to them. Soldiers and peasants and brewers and potters and cloth-makers and magickers all called her name, and she smiled at them, each and every one.
When she reached the old quarter near the harbor, people were hanging from second-story windows and looking almost directly down on the queen. They released ribbons in the gold-and-black Rosetheme colors. They drifted, fluttered and whirled down like windblown thistle, covering her hair and dress. She laughed and waved back at them, kissed their ribbons, blessed them in turn. She was so happy tears came to her eyes.
At last the procession reached the harbor itself. A squadron of her warships, their decks polished so highly they shone, their hulls freshly painted, and the kestrel pennant whipping from their masts, waited there. When Areava appeared, the crews, lined along the decks and standing on every mast, cheered so loud the windows in nearby buildings rattled. Seagulls escaped into the sky. She made her way, alone, to a dais built up in front of the ships and on which was perched a solitary chair, plain and unadorned. She reached the chair and turned around. This was the climax of her coronation, and when the cheering finally died, every person was on their knee, their heads bowed almost to the ground.
Everything was still. Time waited.
“You are my people,” Areava declared in her strongest voice, the words ringing across the water. “And I will always be your queen. Nothing shall come between us. I live to serve this mighty kingdom of Grenda Lear, all its inhabitants, and its destiny.”
She sat down, and the cheering started all over again. Olio climbed the dais, knelt before his sister and laid his forehead on her knee. “Indeed, sister, you are our queen, and none would have it otherwise.”
She leaned over and kissed his head. “We have come through much since the deaths of our mother and two brothers, sweet Olio, but now things are as they should be.” He looked up into her eyes and saw happiness and solemnity there. “It seems to me that the world, once again, is aright.”
Jes Prado teetered from the tent, a leather bottle in one hand, and crisscrossed his way across the camp. A guard watched his progress with cruel amusement. He managed to reach the middens without accident, but as he fumbled with his belt, he lost his balance and tipped forward into the piss trench. There was a loud squelching sound and the mercenary disappeared from sight. The guard laughed hard and long, only stopping when he saw his sergeant leave his tent to start his inspection round. He forgot about the drunk Prado and straightened his jerkin.
Prado, now out of sight, threw away the bottle and made his way on hands and knees from the piss trench to the horse park. He chose the quietest stallion and untethered him from his post, then quietly, cautiously, led him into the darkness. When he could no longer hear the sounds of the camp, he mounted, and using his knees against the stallion’s ribs and his hands in his mane urged him along the dangerous road back to Hume.
He had waited to escape for as long as possible, but had risked being caught this night because Rendle’s increasingly unpredictable anger terrified him. Ever since reaching the border of Haxus, Rendle had been waiting for word from Eder, but none ever came. He refused to accept that his trusted lieutenant had failed him, and although the news about Lynan’s existence and approximate whereabouts would win him favor in King Salokan’s eyes, he was furious that the young prince had once again slipped through his fingers.
Prado knew that his own life was now worth nothing to Rendle, and if he did not escape would soon meet a convenient accident. Besides, if Rendle could sell his information to Salokan, then Prado could sell it to Areava.
He looked up into the sky, bright and remote, and wished he was a bird and could fly all the way home. He sighed. He was only a man, a lonely man cut off from friends and allies, and the road ahead would be as dangerous going back as it had been getting here. But he would manage it. He had news for the new queen. He looked back at Rendle’s camp for the last time.
And a score to settle he thought. Watch for me, Captain Rendle. I will come back for you one day, and cut off your head.
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Jenrosa entered the hide hut and immediately felt ill with the heat. A central fire, surrounded by white stone and fed by dung, burned brightly. Next to it lay a heap of woolen hides, and on top of the heap lay Lynan, unconscious and shivering. His fever had lasted five days so far and gave no sign of easing. His skin was yellow and his face—once so full and boyish—was scarred and gaunt with pain. Kumul was sitting next to him. At first, she thought he was praying, but then she heard the name of Elynd Chisal. She moved a step closer and listened.
“So when your father was murdered, you see, I took you as my son. Nothing formal, of course. I mean, a soldier doesn’t tell the queen how to look after her own child, but I was going to make sure you were brought up right, just like the general would have wanted.” Kumul’s words thickened and the giant man stopped to clear his throat. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair. “But here you are, you see, all in a heap, and the Chetts don’t have any medicine or magic to heal you because you’re wounded so bad. So what I’m saying is that you have to do this by yourself. I can’t help you anymore. No one can. But I’m not letting go, understand. I’m not going to let you just die, lad. So I’m going to talk to you. You hear my words and follow them back.”
Jenrosa crouched down next to Kumul, gingerly moving her bandaged leg so it rested straight. Kumul’s eyes were red, and he held Lynan’s right hand in both of his. Jenrosa lay her own hands on Kumul’s.
“There’s nothing for it,” he said hoarsely.
Jenrosa touched Lynan’s forehead. It was damp and cold, despite the heat. “You should get some rest. I will stay with him.”
“You are a magicker…” he started hopefully, looking into her eyes.
She saw her own pain and grief reflected there. She shook her head. “I really was only a student, Kumul. I know some tricks, some simple spells and incantations, but what Lynan needs is beyond my power, or beyond the power of any magicker I know of.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to let him die,” he said fiercely.
She rested her head against Lynan’s chest. His heartbeat was slow and faint. At that moment, if she could have given her life for his, she would have done so.
It would be a fair exchange, she thought, hoping a god somewhere was listening. My life means something to me now. It would be a sacrifice.
But Lynan needed something stronger than her life, she told herself. His ghost has traveled so it can probably see the dead. If only he hadn’t lost so much blood.
She blinked. Blood. The source of all life. She was chasing down a dim memory and when she caught it she gasped at the implications. Her eyes opened wide with sudden fear. Did she dare? It might kill him, and yet…
She looked at his pale body again, the wasting flesh, and understood she had no choice. She struggled to her feet and limped out of the tent. With a puzzled frown, Kumul watched her go. Gudon was sitting with Ager on the grass outside of the hut. They looked up at her, their eyes afraid.
“He’s not…?” Ager asked, but could not finish the question.
“No, but he will be soon if we don’t do something.” She looked around, but could not see what she needed. “Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”
“What?”
“For God’s sake, Ager! His saddlebags! Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”
“In our hut,” he replied. “What do you want them for?”
Jenrosa ignored the question and turned to Gudon. “Get them for me, and some of your potion.”
“The haethu will no longer work,” Gudon objected. “His wounds are too great—”
“Just get them!” she shouted into his face, and limped back to the tent.
A moment later Ager and Gudon entered the tent. Gudon gave her the saddlebags and a small flask of haethu. She searched through one saddlebag, chucking its contents onto the floor, but did not find what she was looking for.
“Oh, damn, damn, damn!” she cried, and opened the second saddlebag, again discarding its contents like a thief searching for coins. Then she pulled out the forester’s coat. She searched its pockets and pulled out a soiled piece of green cloth. “Thank God!”
The others looked at her mystified.
“What are you doing?” Kumul asked.
They watched her open the stop to the haethu flask, then use a knife to scrape something dark stuck to the cloth into its mouth.
“What is it?” Gudon asked. “What are you doing?”
“Saving Lynan’s life.” She looked up at them and they could see how desperate, and how afraid, she was. “Blood for blood,” she said.
She put her thumb over the mouth and shook the flask vigorously. The contents turned a deep ruby-red. She edged over to Lynan, parted his lips, and slowly let the contents of the flask trickle down his throat.
When the flask was empty, she sat back, and the others watched expectantly.
“If this works, it may take a while,” Jenrosa told them. Even as she finished the sentence, Lynan made a strange whining sound. His muscles went rigid, his back arched. His mouth opened and he screamed. Jenrosa and the others looked on in shock.
Lynan collapsed back on the hides, still again.
“Oh, please, God, don’t let me have killed him,” Jenrosa whimpered.
Ager leaned over and put his ear against Lynan’s chest. “He is still alive.” His eyes widened. “The heart is beating stronger!” He stared at Jenrosa. “What have you done?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Saved his life!” Kumul said enthusiastically, and picked the magicker up in his arms and swung her around. When he put her down he kissed her, suddenly and unexpectedly. For a moment their eyes met and they both blushed. “You have saved his life,” Kumul repeated.
Or taken his soul, Jenrosa thought to herself, her feelings more confused than they had ever been before.
Chapter 29
Areava found solitude in her chambers. She had chased out her ladies-in-waiting and their chattering formality, her secretary and his obsequious formality, and the guards and their solemn formality. She was by herself and awake, completely and blissfully, for the first time since… she could not remember for how long. Her lover was with the ambassador from Aman, giving him letters for his father, King Marin. Olio had disappeared from the palace again; she decided she would have to look into that; she did not want anything happening to him.
Most of the guests from the provinces who had come for the coronation had now departed Kendra, and life in the city, after days of celebrations, was returning to normal. The members of the Twenty Houses, all her uncles and aunts and cousins to the sixth degree, had behaved themselves admirably during the coronation, and even took her announced engagement to Sendarus with equanimity. The provincials had been overjoyed at the news, of course. One of their own, in a manner of speaking, was marrying into the royal family. They probably all left the capital thinking if King Marin could pull off such a coup, maybe their children or grandchildren could marry into the next generation of Rosethemes. The thought amused and excited her. It was about time Grenda Lear became a kingdom in fact as well as in name, rather than simply the means of benefiting a select few in Kendra.
She patted her belly. She was sure she was not pregnant yet but was confident she would be some time in the next year. She wanted a daughter. She would be happy with a son, but most of all she wanted a daughter. What would she call her? Usharna, of course. And if it was a boy? Berayma? Olio? Sendarus or Marin? She grimaced. Never, never, Lynan. That name would be expunged from the royal family for all time.
She went out on her balcony. The white stone of the palace turned gold in the setting sun. A beacon for the most distant ships, she thought. A symbol for the most distant lands. An onshore breeze picked up the Rosetheme pennant on every flagpole and the black kestrel on each one seemed to take flight.
She heard a scuffle in the corridor outside. The guards had detained someone. Then she heard Harnan’s voice explaining that the queen was busy with other d
uties and could see no one. A man’s voice spoke out: he had urgent news. His name was Prado and he had urgent news.
Probably about Haxus, Areava thought, and smiled to herself. Harnan had been right all those weeks ago. The work never finished, not really. And then she remembered Olio’s words as well, and felt proud that perhaps she was becoming more and more like her mother.
She walked with confidence to the great door of her chamber and pushed it open. Harnan looked up surprised. Next to him, still held by a guard, was the scruffiest, dirtiest man Areava had ever seen. His eyes met hers and she read something in them, but something she could not yet decipher.
She smiled at Harnan. “I am queen to all my people, good Secretary. I will be pleased to listen to this man’s news.”
“Mainly children this week, Your Highness,” Father Lukaz said.
Olio parted the curtain with one finger and looked out over the ward. All seven beds were occupied, only two with adults in them.
“Your Highness,” said the magicker behind him, “none of them is seriously ill. These do not need your attention.” He was under strict instructions from Edaytor Fanhow not to let Prince Olio exhaust himself on cases that were not a matter of life and death.
Olio tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “I cannot let the children suffer,” he said. “We will wait until they are asleep and then I will treat them.”
Father Lukaz and the magicker exchanged worried glances, then the priest led the prince back to the kitchen. He put fresh bread and wine on the table, and a platter of ham, cheese, and onions. Olio looked at the food but decided he was not hungry. The wine would help, though. He filled a goblet and drank it quickly. The alcohol burned in his thin frame, and he felt better. He could feel the Key of Healing resting warm against his chest.
