The Questing Game f-2

by James Galloway

  They would do it again eventually. This was Wikuna, and intrigue was like food to a starving man. The hunger for power would fuel the desire in others, and they would lose their fear of her and again start arranging things so they had the most power. But now they were going to be very careful. And to be that careful, they were going to have to pull back and reorganize themselves, prepare to be just that careful.

  By then, it would be too late.

  She silently cursed the laziness of her father. Where was he? Certainly he finished repealing the laws preventing him from punishing her by now. She expected them to come for her today. She had to get the flogging out of the way, so she could move onto the next step in the plan, and she couldn't do that so long as she was confined to her room. Kalina had served her primary purpose in allowing her to get Ulfan on the ball, but the risk was too great to use Kalina's services any more than absolutely necessary. Kalina was good at pretending to be her, but she didn't know everything, and Keritanima had changed since her time abroad. There was a chance that Kalina would blow it. It wasn't Kalina's fault, it was Keritanima's. Kalina needed time to study Keritanima, to learn how to play the new incarnation of her personality, that of the Princess. If Kalina had some time to prepare, Keritanima wouldn't think twice about leaving her to pretend to be her. But time was the one thing they didn't have. She had exactly two months and twenty-seven days, and every day counted. She needed to get out there and find out what was going on with the noble houses, so she would know what plans to lay in order to keep them from interfering with her.

  Houses. Keritanima chuckled wickedly once when she thought of Arthas Zalan. With him dead, that meant that the ruling chair of the house now belonged to Sheba, his eldest child. Sheba would chafe at the responsibilities, of having to be a part of the system. If there was a more fitting punishment for Sheba, Keritanima didn't think she could think of it. To stick Sheba into the world of long boring speeches and political backbiting was an eminently suitable punishment for her part in hurting Keritanima's family. Shackling Sheba's free spirit to her chair was a just dessert for what she'd done.

  The flogging. She already had a plan for that. It was going to be very exhausting, but there was a way she could protect herself with Sorcery and be inobtrusive about it. She couldn't afford to be bedridden for weeks recovering from one hundred lashes, and the mystique about her would only increase after the flogging.

  It really should be today. Her father wasn't about to give her time to attempt to throw up more blocks. Keritanima peeked out of the curtains and looked towards the window. The sun was already above the window, and that meant that it was well into mid-morning. Her father had promised a noontime flogging in the Market Square, and he would deliver on exactly that. That meant that if was going to be today, then it would be very soon. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, a Tellurian device that was amazingly accurate in keeping time, and saw that it was only an hour before noon. Climbing out of bed, she removed her nightgown-she didn't remember putting it on-and tested her strength with the Weave. She was still drained, but she thought she had enough to pull off what she was planning. Her first step was to weave together a Ward, a ward that would repel all things but air and liquids, a Ward that extended no further than a hair's bredth away from her skin. Her fur pierced the Ward, but since the fur was there when the Ward was created and Keritanima took the fur into account when she created the Ward, it would be able to stay as it was when the Ward was made. Sorcery couldn't affect the Sorcerer, but there was nothing stopping her from putting a layer of magical armor as close to her skin as she could get it without touching. Her fur didn't count, because the hairs that made up her fur were dead, where her skin was alive. That was a significant distinction where Sorcery was concerned. She set the Ward so it would sustain itself for some time, hours, and also set it so it would move with her like a form-hugging dress. The problem now was that she couldn't put on clothes aside from a robe. They too would be repelled by the Ward, and since she didn't know what her father would have used to flog her, she was going to take no chances.

  She slipped on a robe, looking to see how noticable the fact was that it wasn't touching her. Not that bad. Tying it was a challenge, because the Ward prevented her from grabbing the ties, and the Ward's boundary made everything as slippery to her as a wet fish. Her fur provided some traction, but she had no fur on the gripping pads on her palms and fingers. The only part of her that could touch something was the bottom of her feet, for that was where the Ward ended.

  The door opened, and Binter entered carrying a tray of food. "Highness, how is Miranda?" he asked immediately.

  "Still sleeping," she replied. "And let her sleep, Binter. She needs it."

  "She's been asleep for two days, Highness."

  "I know. I checked her, Binter, so don't worry. She's in natural sleep now, and she'll wake up within a couple of hours."

  "She'll wake up now," Miranda called groggily from the bed.

  Binter and Keritanima looked in that direction, then they rushed over to her. Keritanima kept her distance while Binter put his humongous hand on Miranda's forehead, literally only using one finger to check for fever. "Are you well, Miranda?" he asked.

  "I feel like I was dragged behind a carriage," she said weakly. "What happened?"

  "You were shot by an assassin," Keritanima said with a bit of seething in her voice. "In the kitchen."

  "I remember going into the kitchen with Zak, but nothing after that," she replied a moment later.

  "That may be a good thing," Binter told her gently. "Her Highness says that you are best off sleeping, little one. You should go back to sleep."

  "In a minute. What did I miss?"

  "You missed me killing Arthas Zalan for trying to kill you," Keritanima said bluntly.

  "You didn't!"

  She nodded grimly. "I had proof of it, so it was legal. Did they ever come and ask about that, Binter?"

  He nodded. "They came with a large contingent of guards. I presented the body and pistol and told them what happened. They did not do anything after that other than remove the body for burial."

  "Of course not. They know you'd never lie to them. Anyway, Jenawalani, Praki Mation, and Carlis Eward were in on it with him, but they didn't give me the proof I needed to blast them. For once in her life, my little sister kept her mouth shut. More's the pity."

  Miranda yawned. "I think going back to sleep is a good idea," she said wearily. "But not until I eat. I'm starving."

  "Binter, give her some breakfast," Keritanima ordered. "Then help her change into a new nightgown and get back to sleep."

  "You won't need me?"

  Keritanima shook her head. "If they come to whip me, they'll make me go alone. You and Zak need to be here to protect Miranda and Kalina, because they're not in a position to protect themselves. Don't worry, I'll be fine," she cut him off with a smile. "I have a plan, Binter."

  "I don't have to like it, but if you have a plan, then you must be prepared for it," he said after a moment. "Be careful, Highness. Even the best plan can go awry."

  She smiled and nodded, then left her bedchamber.

  Kalina was sleeping in the extra bedchamber, she found out from Azakar, who was standing near the door with his sword drawn. He was taking his job of protector very seriously, and that made Keritanima feel a great deal better about leaving them alone. "Zak," she greeted with a nod.

  "You should be in bed, Kerri," Azakar said disapprovingly.

  "I need to be ready in case they-" There was a knock at the door. "Well, speak of ill winds, and they fill your sails. Enter," she called to whoever knocked on her door.

  It was the Chamberlain. He stepped in and gave Keritanima a terrified look, then cleared his throat and drew himself up. "Princess Keritanima, King Damon Eram orders you to remove your clothes and accept the punishment he has already decreed. Be assured that there are no more laws preventing you from escaping your punishment. Please, for all our sakes, just take it and be d
one," he added in a very informal tone. "I'll arrange a priest to heal you, but please just get it overwith!"

  Keritanima gave the Chamberlain a curious look. Spontaneous words from a Chamberlain? Chamberlains were famous for their strict adherance to their monarch's wishes. Maybe her father had made a mistake in taking this man for his Chamberlain. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  "Of course, my lord Chamberlain," she said casually, daringly pulling her robe open and then letting it fall to the floor. She looked right at him, unblinking, as he gawked a bit at her slender form. That she seemed totally at ease standing naked before him seemed to surprise him.

  All that time spent naked with her brother and sister in the baths had done wonders for her self confidence when unclothed. She didn't like being nude, but she found she could accept it and keep her honor, just as Allia always said.

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to bite you," she said with a light smile. "Just obey my rules. Firstly, do not touch me. I'll kill anyone who lays a hand on me. Secondly, give me space. If my father wants me to walk to Market Square and back naked, then don't worry about my modesty. I'm a big girl, and I can handle it. Thirdly, I expect protection on the walk up and back. No less than twenty Royal Guardsman. Now then, let's get this overwith."

  "I find your conditions acceptable, Highness," the Chamberlain said. "Guards already await you. I'll instruct them to keep a loose cushion around you, but not to touch you."

  "Good man," she said.

  With a shiver of her tail and a glance back at the others, Keritanima walked out to accept her punishment.

  It was an exercise in total humiliation, she realized.

  Her father had taken steps. He had seeded the path up to Market Square with spectators, had even called out the Watch to help maintain order. The warm, cloudless day made sure that there would be enough passers by to get caught up in the spectacle as well, and that formed a large crowd. Some of them shouted, some threw things-probably the ones hired by her father to whip up the crowd-but most of them just stood and watched. Many of them were appalled. But to a man or woman, they all noticed that Keritanima-Chan Eram, heir to the throne, walked with a calm demeanor and a stoic face. She walked as if she were garbed in the finest gown, walked as if she were strolling in the garden. The fact that she was being paraded through the capital of her kingdom naked seemed to have no effect on her at all.

  It did, however. There was a tinge of humiliation, especially when some brash man shouted some rather unflattering or crude comments her way. Each step strengthened her resolve to face up to it with honor, just like Allia taught her, and keep up her appearances. It was vital that she appear before the people as someone in complete control in the face of such abuse, someone that was strong.

  The path the Chamberlain led her, a path chosen by her father, was a seriously roundabout route that took them through the richest and the most populated areas of the city. Damon Eram was making sure that everyone saw Keritanima walking the streets of Wikuna naked. Everyone from carriage-riding nobles to rag-clad beggars saw Keritanima's glory, but more than a few noticed the pride she carried on her shoulders as well. They led her along the gardened avenues of the richest neighborhood in Wikuna, they marched her up and down the Boulevard, the main street in Wikuna that was packed with shops and businesses. The Boulevard ran from the northern road out of Wikuna to Market Square, the largest open-air marketplace in Wikuna, and also a place where decrees, proclomations, and public executions and punishments were carried out. Most prisoners and condemned were brought from the Black Fortress, a grim old castle that was now a prison, along Chain Way. An appropriate name, since the prisoners were forced to march from the prison to the square wearing leg irons. Keritanima too walked Chain Way, from just outside the prison and along the entire length of the wide paved street, until Market Square was visible.

  It was a huge open area, usually filled with tents and collapsible stalls where merchants and peddlars hawked their wares to the people of the city. City law required all merchants and their tents or stalls to be out of the square by sunset, so the layout of the square changed every day, as peddlars raced each other to set up in the choicest spots at dawn the next day. The result was an ever-changing maze of small tents, lean-tos, stalls, and sometimes simple tables holding goods from all over the world. It was said that anything could be bought in Wikuna, and that was certainly true in Market Square. Cheap costume jewelry could be standing beside priceless jewels. It was like that because many people found Market Square convenient, where only one stop would allow them to buy everything they needed, so some merchants hired bodyguards to protect their goods and displayed expensive and rare items within the square. Generally, it was known that the better, richer, and more impressive the tent or stall, the higher prices and more expensive merchandise one would find if they shopped there.

  The entire center of Market Square was empty, and in its place was the Block. It was a wooden platform erected for public punishments, so the public could get a better look. For executions, a gallows was built on top of it. A huge crowd had formed around the platform, eager for the day's spectacle, filling up the empty space between the platform and the closest tents and stalls. They shouted and jeered as the guards marched the nude Keritanima into the square, filling her ears with a garbled din where all the voices flowed together to create a singular unintelligible roar. But she walked calmly, slowly, making no attempts to conceal herself, giving them all an eyeful.

  The Chamberlain stopped at the crude steps leading atop the platform, where three Wikuni waited. A cryer, who would read the sentence, a man to carry it out, and an official witness to the event. Keritanima didn't see her father, or the members of court, but she knew they were there, somewhere close by, watching. Probably in a special tent with bleachers, making wagers on how many lashes Keritanima could take before she passed out.

  She would show them.

  Keritanima brushed by the Chamberlain without a word, climbing the steps on her own and without being forced. She walked up to the three Wikuni, a lithe ferret Wikuni who wore the livery of a King's servant-the witness-a huge alligator Wikuni wearing the black leather of the Prison Guard-the punisher-and a swallow-necked stag Wikuni with a chipped antler, who was the cryer. Keritanima walked up to the exact center of the platform, then stopped and folded her arms patiently.

  The crowd lulled as the stag unfurled a parchment in his hands. "Hear ye, Hear ye!" he boomed in an impressively loud voice, a voice that carried to every corner of Market Square. "Be it known by Royal Decree that Keritanima-Chan Eram, Crown Princess of Wikuna, has been pronounced guilty of insolence to the throne, plotting against the King, insubordination, and dereliction of her Royal duties! By the command of King Damon Eram, King of Wikuna, Keritanima-Chan Eram is hereby sentenced to take the lash one hundred times!"

  That made the crowd gasp and begin to whisper. Usually even the most horrific crime warranted fifty lashes. Most sentenced to more tended to die during the flogging.

  "Does the guilty party wish to make a statement?" the cryer boomed. This was where Damon Eram would give her the opportunity to beg, beg and humiate herself, in the very stark, real face of her punishment. It was actually a clever idea, to deepen her humiliation by letting her face the fact that she had been weak and begged. But she intended to make him eat that decision.

  "I do," she said calmly. "If my father is ruthless enough to sentence me to this, just imagine what he'd do to you!" she shouted to the crowd. "I'm here because I did nothing more than embarass my father. Thank the gods I didn't do anything illegal!" She gave the cryer a slight smile. "I'm done. We can get on with this now. My lunch is getting cold."

  The cryer gave her a curious look, then he frowned ever-so-slightly. "Then let the will of King Damon Eram be carried out!" he boomed. He turned to the witness, who then nodded to the prison guard who would be the administer of the punishment. The alligator shook out a very long whip, then cracked it to his side a few times to both
get out the kinks and prepare the crowd.

  Keritanima studied that whip intensely for a long moment, her exceptional mind analyzing its length, its thickness, and the way it moved. Then she closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly, reaching deep within and making a strong connection to the Weave. Once she felt she was ready, she built up a considerable reserve of power, then opened her eyes and began. She started with a weave that placed an image before her eyes, an image only she could see, of her own back. It was a view some twenty feet away, letting her see all four of them on the platform. She absolutely had to be able to see the whip to make this believable. Then she assembled the energies she would need to weave Illusions, and stood ready for the first lash. The appointed punisher reared back with his whip, sized up Keritanima, then snapped it at her.

  Crack!

  To everyone watching, the whip left an angry red line across Keritanima's back, stripping her fur out and sending it scattering to the platform. The angry line was raw and bloody, but Keritanima did not so much as flinch as it cut across her. In reality, the bloody line was an Illusion, hastily woven by her the instant the whip struck, while a razor-thin weave of Air created a skin-deep slice across her back. It was barely enough to cut the skin, but it bled liberally, causing that blood to issue forth from the whipline. That blood would get into her fur and create a physical assurance that the whip was hurting her. She had to be able to see the whip to create the proper image and cut, and by studying how the punisher moved as he prepared to strike, she knew how deep or severe to make the complementary Illusory wound. The fur laying on the platform was a powerful reinforcement of the Illusion she created, a physical sign that the whip had certainly hit her. It made the magically created "wound" that much more believable.

  What she was doing was tricky. A Sorcerer usually couldn't weave weaves on herself, but Keritanima was weaving on herself in an indirect manner. She created her weave to manifest in a physical way, and that physical effect was what was causing her wound. She had to be very careful not to let the physical manifestation go too deep, or the flows powering it would merge with the magic inside her, and make all her weavings fizzle. The Illusion would drop, and it would probably also disrupt the Ward, leaving her open and vulnerable to the remainder of the lashes.