Prince of Bryanae

by Jeffrey Getzin

  “Master Mal?” Queen Tee-Ri offered.

  “Dead.”

  “Dran-Sus?”

  “Dead.”

  “What about Mar-Ra, then? Surely, she is still alive?”

  The King regarded his queen as though for the first time. “You know, sometimes I do not understand you at all.”

  Queen Tee-Ri tossed her hair. “No, and you never did.”

  “Father, let—”

  “Enough. No, Baera-Ni.” He called to the gate-keepers: “Open the gates.”

  The anguished groan of the metal gates as they separated at the end of the main hall made Waeh-Loh’s teeth rattle. The sound struck her in her heart and she grimaced.

  “No, Father,” she whispered, but he did not hear her. He was striding towards the gateway. “No.”

  “Remove your weapons,” King Kral-Sus said to the handful of soldiers that remained, “and place them on the ground before you. Display your palms to your conquerors and they will respect your surrender.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” they said as one. Their voices were thick with emotion, but their eyes shone in devotion.

  The page approached the King and offered him the ceremonial broken sword; the token of defeat that had been kept for millennia, but until this moment, had never been used. King Kral-Sus sighed and took it in his hand.

  Already, Waeh-Loh could hear the hooting and grunting of the Kard troops outside the gate, their eagerness growing as victory neared. Strange-sounding horns blew outside, and drums were beaten and Waeh-Loh suddenly knew that the surrender would not be accepted. But her father had already committed himself, and should they try to close the gates now, many Kards would be able to squeeze in before they could be sealed again: sufficient numbers to easily overrun the few elven soldiers within the castle.

  “I love you,” Waeh-Loh whispered, knowing her father couldn’t hear her.

  “I love you, too, dear,” Queen Tee-Ri said.

  Waeh-Loh’s stomach turned. She had long been used to her mother’s indifference to her, so this new revulsion startled her. At what point had she begun to loathe her own mother?

  She looked down, not wanting Queen Tee-Ri to see the hatred that burned in her daughter’s eyes. She looked down, wanting to hide the shame and fury that burned in her heart. She looked down, because she didn’t want to see what happened when King Kral-Sus reached the gateway.

  Brilliant light exploded into the hall as the gates burst apart and then a cacophony of howls shattered the stillness. Fur-clad men ran into the castle in great numbers, brandishing large hand-axes.

  “Father!” Waeh-Loh cried, but it was too late: they were upon him.

  They circled him, piled upon him, and drove him to the ground. Fists were silhouetted against the daylight outside as they rose and fell, pummeling her father into submission.

  The barbarians streamed into the hall like an army of enraged hornets. Their howls filled the room. Already, they were tearing down the banners and tapestries that had been in place since before Waeh-Loh was born.

  Then one of the barbarians saw the Queen and her entourage, and he shouted something to his comrades, and suddenly they all were running towards them. The Queen shrieked and brought both of her hands to her mouth. The elven soldiers reached for their weapons, but two died almost instantly and the three remaining soldiers abandoned the attempt and placed their hands upon their heads. They were overrun and beaten unconscious.

  Rough hands grabbed Waeh-Loh. The hall spun around her as she was lifted and turned this way and that. She heard her mother crying, shouting something, but she couldn’t make out the words. The grunting and shouting seemed more like a kind of chant than an actual language.

  Waeh-Loh was tossed over a shoulder and held in place by hands that grabbed her ankles. Her forehead collided with the stone floor and a crazy thought sprung to mind: she had never said goodbye to Pyto-Etha. He would be saddened when she no longer came to visit him. For some reason, this upset her more than anything else, and she began to cry. She tried to wipe her cheek free of tears, then realized that she was upside down, and wiped her forehead instead. Her hand came away bloody.

  Her surroundings swam before her eyes.

  “Tamlevar,” she said, invoking the name of the black man as if it were a talisman. “Help me.”

  For a moment, she thought that somehow he had heard her, that he was coming to her rescue, for suddenly, the howling stopped and the barbarian that held her spun her so that she now stood upright and dizzy.

  Had the barbarians surrendered? Why?

  Then she heard it: the sound of a single pair of footsteps echoing leisurely down the hall towards the Waeh-Loh and her mother. Waeh-Loh strained to see him, but between the blood that dripped in her eyes and the brilliance of the daylight behind him, she could make out no details.

  The figure spoke in the language of the barbarians, but his tone was softer, almost gentle and kind. Behind him, another barbarian gathered up something in his arms and followed the figure towards the family.

  As he grew closer, Waeh-Loh saw him more clearly. Compared to the barbarians around him, he was not a big man, but he carried himself with a grace and ease that made him seem formidable. He wore pieces of leather armor here and there: a boiled leather cuirass on his torso, stiff leather plates on his shoulders, and shaped leather leggings that fitted his calves and thighs. A large hand-axe dangled from a leather thong at his belt, gleaming.

  But what commanded Waeh-Loh’s attention were his eyes.

  They were pale blue; gentle as the sea, and as treacherous, too. They shone with an inner light that was hatred … or possibly love. It was difficult to tell. But above all else, those eyes revealed madness.

  And when he saw Waeh-Loh looking at him, he smiled, and that smile was even more terrible than his eyes. His teeth were perfect and they gleamed.

  He approached Waeh-Loh and stretched out a hand to her. She flinched. He laughed good-naturedly, but the sound sent shivers down her arms and legs. Again he reached for her, and again she flinched, but this time strong arms held her in place.

  His cool fingers stroked her cheek, and he said something to her in that hideous language of his. The words made no sense, yet they frightened and revolted her just the same.

  Then he leaned towards her ear, and said in slightly-accented Elvish, “You don’t understand my language yet. But you will. I’ll see to that.”

  His lips brushed her ear, and he nibbled at it playfully. Waeh-Loh screamed.

  The pale-eyed man laughed and laughed at this, as if it were the funniest thing he had ever encountered. And around him, the other barbarians began to laugh, too.

  Chapter 74

  “Tamlevar, help me.”

  The words echoed throughout the empty husk of Willow’s mind like a moth flitting about a vacant chamber.

  Tamlevar? Who was Tamlevar? The name sounded familiar. Yes, it did, though thinking further into the matter brought two conflicting answers: a private that Willow did not know she loved, and, strangely enough, me.

  Am I Tamlevar?

  The question bounced around in the void and again, two conflicting answers came in reply: yes and no.

  Who am I?

  You need to fight harder, Tamlevar. You’re losing yourself.

  Who had said that? And who is Tamlevar? Am I Tamlevar, or am I Willow? Or perhaps I am Kral-Sus?

  No, I’m not Kral-Sus. Kral-Sus is dead. Kral-Sus isn’t real.

  So are Willow and Tamlevar real?

  Yes. They’re real.

  So which one am I?

  It was a good question, and one that seemed of more than academic importance. Something critical seemed to hang in the balance, something that depended on a resolution of identity, upon the answer to the question: who am I?

  Don’t you realize that you’re losing? Instead of drawing Willow out, she’s drawing you in, and since you’re not part of her, that will kill you.

  Willow is drawing me in. Someone—Kral
-Sus, I think—had said that to me recently. Therefore, I can’t be Willow, because why would he say that Willow was drawing me in if I were Willow?

  A corollary to that was that since Kral-Sus was the one saying it, clearly I could not be Kral-Sus either.

  But does that mean that I am Tamlevar?

  You’re losing yourself to Willow’s mind.

  The thought brought fear with it. What did it mean to lose oneself to Willow’s mind?

  I must be strong, Tamlevar thought.

  Yes, that felt right. I must be Tamlevar. Tamlevar thought. Tamlevar thought.

  Tamlevar. Tamlevar. Yes, the name felt right. Quick, remember something of your past.

  The Illuminati Temple. Playing games with the other Illuminati, all of them loving him despite how different he was from them. The feeling of the beanbag upon his instep as he kicked it towards one of the goals. The banners fluttering and cracking in the breeze.

  Yes, yes. The other Illuminati loved him. He, Tamlevar, remembered that. In fact, couldn’t he feel the gentlest touch of their minds upon his, even now? They were worried about him. They were worried.

  I must be strong. I must be strong. I must be strong.

  Tamlevar concentrated on himself; a strange feeling. He remembered enlisting in the King’s Guard, the months of being treated like an outsider until he had at last won them over with his charm and kindness.

  He remembered a man he had wronged in a game of cards once. The memory conjured feelings of guilt. Tamlevar’s guilt.

  And he remembered Willow. Willow was not himself. Willow was more important than himself. Willow was the woman he loved.

  He was failing her.

  Yes, you failed her. So did I. So did her mother. Everybody’s failed Willow at one time or another.

  Kral-Sus had said that to him. No, not Kral-Sus: Willow’s memory of Kral-Sus. Her father had been killed long ago.

  Everybody had failed Willow, including Tamlevar. And now, only Tamlevar could save her. Would he fail again?

  If Tamlevar had had a body where he was, he would have brought himself up to his full height.

  No. No, he would not fail her. He would risk everything to save her. And if she absorbed him in the process, it was an insignificant price to pay. There were worse ways to die than to be absorbed by the woman you loved while saving her life.

  Somewhere, Waeh-Loh, the elven girl who would someday become Willow, was scared. She was aboard a ship of some kind. It was dark and she was scared.

  He would have to help her. He had to find her and bring her back.

  Chapter 75

  Waeh-Loh shivered in the darkness, her arms wrapped about herself. Around her, the timbers of the ship groaned like a poisoned man, rolling side to side, as though writhing in torment. Her teeth had been chattering so long that her jaws ached. She squeezed herself further into the corner. Her arms, withdrawn inside her dress, provided tiny heat sources to warm her chest and belly.

  Somewhere in the hold were her fellow captives, including her parents. No doubt, they, like her, were so focused on enduring the cold that they made no attempt at conversation.

  How long had they been traveling? Days? Weeks? Or merely hours? Perhaps she would die before she reached wherever it was they were taking her. Perhaps that would be fortunate.

  She stared anxiously into the blackness where she believed her father lay huddled. The beating they had given him had been severe. Might it have killed him? She listened, concentrating as much as possible in his general direction, desperate to pick up the slightest sound of his breathing. But it was impossible to hear anything over the groaning of the ship and the lapping of the waves against its hull.

  “Willow.” A man’s voice.

  It was faint, but it came from beside her. She looked, but for a moment, she saw nothing. Then, she made out the shape of a man sitting next to her, shrouded in darkness.

  As she stared, the figure’s coloration grew more vivid. As he became more visible, she recognized him as Tamlevar. He had dark purple rings under his eyes, and there was a gray tinge to his skin.

  “W-w-what’s wrong with you?” she said. “You look terrible.”

  Tamlevar chuckled. “I never knew you were so caring.”

  She started to protest, but she was too cold and so she gave it up. Tamlevar saw this, and he started to wrap his arms around her.

  The moment he did this, however, something appalling happened. Where his skin touched her, it began to lighten and dissolve; and likewise, her own skin began to thicken and grow darker. Tamlevar yanked his arms back.

  “Bad idea,” he said.

  Their colorations began to recover their original hues, but it seemed to her as though they never fully returned to the precise point from which they had departed, as though some permanent change had been wrought.

  “W-what happened?”

  Tamlevar shook his head. “Too hard to explain.”

  “I’m f-freezing to d-death,” she said.

  “No. You’ll live. I wish I could make you warmer.”

  “Me t-t-t-t-too.” She implored him with her eyes. “C-c-c-can’t you d-do any-th-th-thing?”

  “I can’t change what’s going to happen, Waeh-Loh, but you will survive it.”

  “I’m so c-c-cold.”

  Anguish distorted Tamlevar’s otherwise handsome black face. His distress saddened her so much that she wished she were warm more for his sake than for her own.

  “But,” she added, “as you s-say, I w-w-won’t die.”

  Tamlevar smiled at her, but there was little sincerity in it. Strange that she could feel pity for him when her own plight was so much worse than his.

  They sat together in the darkness, silent except for the chattering of her teeth. Then, after a moment, Tamlevar sat up straight.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said.

  “Wh-wh-what?”

  He raised a single finger. “This might startle you, but don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you or anyone else.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.” This time his smile was genuine.

  At first, Waeh-Loh could sense nothing, and she was about to say something when she noticed something odd about the way the timbers were groaning.

  They were groaning more frequently.

  She looked around, trying to make sense of what her ears had told her. After a moment, she realized that the ship was rocking quicker, too.

  “What’s happening?” she said.

  “I can’t change what’s going to happen, but I can speed it up a bit to get it over with quicker.”

  The groaning increased its tempo until it became a constant moan, and the ship rocked so quickly that it seemed instead to vibrate. A blinding light filled the hold, and a barbarian zipped down the ladder and flitted about the area, distributing loaves of stale bread and some water. She saw her father stir and accept the bread. Tee-Ri was alive, too. One of the soldiers had died. Only two remained.

  The light was gone as quickly as it had come. Waeh-Loh astonished herself by consuming the entire loaf of bread and her water in the blink of an eye. She laughed despite herself.

  “How are you doing this?”

  Tamlevar didn’t answer, merely smiled. Again, the light flickered on, and then it was dark, and she had eaten, and then the pattern repeated once more.

  A loud and distant whine penetrated her ears and she covered them with her hands. She looked to her side, but Tamlevar had vanished. What was happening?

  The vibration of the ship began to subside and the vessel began to rock again. The moaning broke into separate groans. The whining deepened and staggered, became the distant ringing of a bell. Above her, she could hear footsteps running on deck.

  They were approaching land! She was certain of it. Somehow, Tamlevar had compressed the entire journey into a few moments.

  Chapter 76

  Waeh-Loh began to know the future almost at same time as her arrival at Kardán. It wasn’t so much seeing the
future, as it was remembering it. As if the future were something she already knew deep down inside, and she was now remembering snatches of it.

  Take the name of the country, for instance. Nobody had told her that Kardán was the name of the land she would be reaching later today. For that matter, nobody had told her that landfall was imminent. Yet somehow she knew.

  And she knew more than that. For instance, she knew that as they disembarked down the gang plank, a barbarian with a drooping mustache would shove her father, causing him to stumble. Waeh-Loh would take retribution by pushing him off the gang. Her intention would be to make him fall into the harbor but instead, the barbarian would split his head open on the edge of the dock and sink into the bloody depths.

  And she knew she would be severely punished.

  She knew all this with as much certainty as she knew her own name or her father’s face. It lent a dreamlike quality to reality, as though what she was seeing and feeling now were less real than what was going to happen. How could that be?

  Tamlevar. The mysterious black man. Somehow, he had done something to her, disjointed her from time so that now she occupied a strange relation to it. Perhaps it had been when he had accelerated the journey from what would have been weeks to a matter of a few minutes. Or perhaps it had been when their skins seemed somehow to … well, blend.

  She glanced around at the hold, her eyes struggling to discern shapes in the darkness. The towering stacks of plunder tied down beneath canvas; the huddling masses of elven survivors, including her family and the two soldiers; the crates, the timbers of the floor and walls, the swaying unlit lanterns. The smell of the sea, the screaming of the birds near shore. All of these were real, had to be real, yet they seemed somehow false to her.

  Some terrible things are about to happen,Tamlevar had said, as though he too could see the future. I’m not exactly sure what. I’m not going to be able to prevent what’s going to happen to you, but I’ll be here to see you through it.

  Might her new detachment from reality be some gift from Tamlevar? Some way of saving her from the pain he claimed was imminent?