The Free Kingdoms (Book 2)

by Michael Wallace

  Darik wore a white robe with a blue turban on his head with copper bracelets and soft-soled shoes. Whelan preferred a flowing shirt and loose pants, but also wore a turban, this one white, onto which he placed a blue sapphire given him by the khalifa after the battle of the Citadel. Properly dressed except for the barbarian swords strapped to Darik’s waist and over Whelan’s shoulder, they made their way to the Bakers Corner.

  They stood at the olive tree in front of the kitchens. Whelan said, “I told Kallia I would buy bread for the palace. But let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

  Graiyan met them as they entered the kitchens. His slaves and apprentices looked up from their work, surprised by this interruption. None showed any sign of recognition. Darik and Whelan touched the cricket cage inside the threshold in the Balsalomian way of wishing luck on the household.

  “My lords,” the baker protested, his face sweating from the heat of the ovens. “I have an agent in the marketplace. Were his goods already sold?”

  Whelan dismissed Graiyan’s protest with a wave of the hand. “Not enough bread in the market to fill my needs.”

  Graiyan’s eyes widened. “And what are your needs, my vizier?” apparently deciding that Whelan was one of the khalifa’s ministers, and Darik a favorite servant.

  Darik did nothing to disabuse him of this notion. He shrugged. “The khalifa—may she live forever—sent us. Three, maybe four thousand loaves. Nothing big.” He suppressed a smile at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face.

  “But it will take all day and night to fill such an order. And to get the flour—” He looked around the room, counting his ovens and servants, tongue working as he frantically did sums in his head.

  Darik said, “What is your price, man? Quickly.”

  Graiyan sputtered and then spit out a price that was reasonable, but far below what he should have asked. An immediate frown passed over his face. But Whelan held him to the price, even negotiated it down. Then he pulled out a heavy purse, removed a few coins and handed the bulk of it to the baker. Graiyan eyed it with doubt.

  “Gold marks,” Whelan explained as the baker opened the purse and eyed the coins. “Convert the sums to dinarii if you wish. You will find the exchange generous. And an extra five gold marks to buy the freedom of three runaway slaves.”

  “Yes, I did lose three slaves,” Graiyan said, looking up. “But how—” Recognition dawned in his eyes. “You! What—?”

  “Never mind that,” Darik said, heat rising to his cheeks. “Let’s just say that we were never slaves to begin with. You were, however, left the poorer by our departure. Now,” he added, “may I see my sister? I will see her before we leave.”

  Graiyan opened his mouth to protest, but something about the gold purse in his hands and two men with swords stopped him. He turned up the stairs to get Kaya.

  Darik had hoped his sister would recognize him where the others hadn’t. She didn’t, but stood behind her mother’s leg and watched them suspiciously.

  Darik bent down. “Kaya? It’s me.”

  “Darik?”

  She rushed to his arms, giving him hugs and kisses. He wanted to cry, but she was so happy to see him, and he knew her life was better here. If only he could go to Veyre, find his father, and buy his freedom, they might be reunited. At last, he turned to go, wishing he’d thought to bring something for Kaya from the Free Kingdoms. And then he remembered the feather that Daria gave him.

  He handed her the feather, glinting silver and white. “Do you know what a griffin is?”

  She nodded her head solemnly.

  “What is it?”

  Kaya shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know.”

  He explained about Daria’s griffins, how they’d fought for the Citadel and Balsalom, how this feather had come from a griffin named Brasson that had died fighting the dragons. She listened, rapt.

  Kaya hurried back to Elethra and Graiyan to show her prize, babbling loudly what Darik had just told her, mixing the story up, of course. Elethra’s face had softened considerably and she smiled gratefully at Darik. He turned away, satisfied that Elethra would keep the feather safe and tell Kaya the story when she forgot.

  Darik turned to Whelan when they stepped onto the street. “Thank you for buying my freedom.”

  Whelan smiled, but his attention turned up the hill toward the palace.

  Darik sighed, missing his sister already. “We’ve come in a full circle, haven’t we?”

  “We have, but what now?” Whelan asked.

  Darik narrowed his eyes, forming what he hoped was a mysterious look on his face. “For you, Whelan, I don’t know. For me—”

  Whelan gave him a knowing wink. “Back to the mountains and your wild bird woman?”

  “Eventually, yes. But first, Sanctuary.”

  #

  Kallia met Whelan in her tower rooms after a long meeting with Grand Vizier Fenerath. Work had begun on the palace, but it would take several years to complete the repairs and generations to grow new trees in the gardens. Fenerath didn’t have the political savvy of Saldibar, and couldn’t fill the void in her heart left by the death of her dearest adviser, but he was a completely changed man, no longer scheming and manipulative. Indeed, the guild leaders were much the same, not exactly submissive, but less rigid and demanding.

  Kallia asked Fenerath about this change, but he admitted he didn’t know. It was the revolt, she decided, when everyone from the Slaves Quarter to the palace risked their lives to overthrow Mol Khah’s garrison. It had changed everyone, not just her.

  When Whelan came, she dismissed Fenerath. He gathered his levies and documents, nodded at Whelan and left the room. Whelan touched the cricket cage inside the doorway, then bowed. He unstrapped his sword and left it at the threshold, but inside the door, instead of with the guards. She was pleased to see him wearing the blue sapphire she’d given him at the Citadel on his turban.

  She gestured for him to sit on the pillows recently vacated by Fenerath. “Would you like some wine? The hookah?”

  He smiled. “Wine is too civilized for my tastes. And the water pipe turns my stomach. Do you have tea?”

  “My physics tell me I shouldn’t smoke the hookah while I’m with child, and to stick with light wines, which are too watery for my tastes. So we will drink tea together.” She rose to her feet and poured him some tea, then took some for herself and returned to her pillows.

  Whelan took his pillows and pushed them closer to her, until they sat face to face. His proximity unsettled her. “Am I too close, my queen?”

  Kallia said, “My throne rooms burned down. The Scepter of Balsalom was stolen by the dark wizard. I’m hardly a queen anymore. Certainly I can dispense with formality.”

  He shrugged. “A scepter, throne rooms? What are those things to the—what do they call you?—the Jewel of the West?”

  She laughed. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it? Saldibar’s idea, certainly not mine.”

  Silence hung between them for a moment, as they remembered the grand vizier’s death. She sipped her tea.

  “Where are your friends?” she asked.

  “Markal is in the library, of course. My daughter Sofiana and the falcon hunt rabbits with the grand vizier’s two daughters and their tutor. Darik—” He raised an eyebrow. “Darik is preparing himself for a trek through the mountains. Sanctuary.”

  He said Sanctuary as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did. So the boy had become a barbarian since he left Balsalom, infected with barbarian philosophies. Kallia wondered if she, too, would become a barbarian if she spent too much time with them. They were allies now, these tall, pale men from beyond the mountains, just as the two lands had once been allies during the Tothian Wars. During the first Tothian Wars.

  Whelan changed the subject. “You have declared your marriage invalid?”

  Kallia took a fig from the basket, remembering that it had been three hours since she’d eaten. She couldn’t go long without eating since she’d missed her courses
or she’d grow sick. She sipped at her tea and took a bite of the fig, then addressed his question.

  “No need to declare it invalid. My husband was Cragyn and he is dead, murdered by King Toth. That much is clear.”

  Whelan nodded. He swallowed hard. “Then there is the question of remarriage. An alliance between our lands.”

  “Prince Ethan?”

  Whelan shook his head. “Ethan has professed love for another woman. Which is fortunate, since I have something else in mind.”

  She leaned forward before she realized what she was doing. Steeling herself for disappointment, she asked, “Who then?”

  “The king himself. What better alliance than a marriage between the king of the Citadel and the khalifa of Balsalom?” Whelan nodded. “I’ve spoken with him. He’s seen your beauty and greatly desires the alliance.”

  She leaned back, disappointment turning to pain. King Daniel was a good man, and as handsome as a barbarian could be. Or would be, when he recovered from his illness. And Whelan was right. A marriage to King Daniel would serve both kingdoms.

  She sighed. “He has seen my beauty? I wish we could begin our betrothal with honesty. Very well, tell him I accept. As for the ceremony, does King Daniel wish me to return so soon? Or will he come to Balsalom when he is well?”

  Whelan leaned back, drinking his tea. He didn’t look upset by this turn of events. Perhaps she had misjudged his feelings and he only loved her because of her father. No, he had professed his feelings for her. More likely then, devotion to the Martyr’s teachings had reasserted itself, and he wished nothing for himself, only what would help defeat the dark wizard.

  “There is one problem,” Whelan said. “Toth’s box of souls.”

  “Yes?” Kallia said, remembering his chilling warning as they returned to Balsalom. It terrified her that part of her soul was trapped in Toth’s box. But she felt stronger since she’d wrestled with Tainara Faal that night in the mountains.

  He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know about your soul, but Daniel’s is weakened. Markal believes Toth earns devotion from his armies by controlling their kings and queens. Or their souls, anyway.”

  He traced a pattern in the rug with his finger. “Just as the Tothian Way binds Mithyl from one end of the world to the other, a king binds his people for better or worse.”

  “Interesting,” Kallia said. “So if King Daniel, or I for that matter, fall, the people fall under Toth’s power?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “What then?” she asked. “Should I step down from the throne?”

  Whelan shook his head. “Not you, no. But Toth’s control on you is weak.” He glanced inadvertently to her belly, still months before it swelled and revealed the child, then looked at her face. She saw his worry.

  He continued, “But King Daniel almost fell completely, like the high khalif of Veyre. He doesn’t trust himself to lead, and the Order and the Brotherhood think it wise that he stand aside until Toth is defeated.”

  She shook her head, confused. “Why does Daniel want this alliance, then?”

  “He doesn’t. The new king of the Citadel seeks your hand. A king who doesn’t need to live in Eriscoba, but with his armies and allies. A warrior king.” A slight smile crept across his face, and she realized that he’d been playing with her.

  “You?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been placed upon the throne, Roderick as captain of the Brotherhood.” Whelan shrugged. “My vows to the Brotherhood become less important than my duty to my kingdom.” He drank his tea.

  Kallia smiled mischievously. “Your duty.” She shook her head. “I’ve decided not to marry for duty. Only for love, sweet and rich as Chalfean wine. Unless you can promise me love, barbarian—”

  Whelan coughed his tea.

  She laughed, both at the tea dribbling down his chin and at the flustered look on his face, a complete reversal of his overconfidence a moment earlier. “A queen of the Saffa family isn’t used to begging. Not even a plain-faced woman like myself. I know what I want and what I deserve, and that is love.”

  He put down his tea and took her hands in his own, then leaned so close that it made her flush with heat. “Kallia Saffa, khalifa of Balsalom. I love you more than I love life. And if you are plain, this sapphire on my head is a rock I pulled from a gutter in the Slaves Quarter. Will you be my wife?”

  In answer, she took his face in her hands and kissed him in the barbarian style, long and deep. She pulled away after a long moment. Whelan breathed heavily.

  Kallia laughed again at the look on his face and at the joy bursting in her heart. “By law you shouldn’t kiss a princess or a queen until you’re officially betrothed by the grand vizier. And we cannot share pleasures until we are married. I could have you thrown in the dungeon and summon the corrections guild for attempting such a thing.”

  “Which would be a happy day, if you would only visit me between whippings,” Whelan said. “But does that mean your answer is yes, my sweetness?”

  “Summon the grand vizier,” she said. “I will be betrothed and married both by the time the sun sets. And this time, I intend to enjoy my wedding night.” She touched her finger to his lips. “As you will enjoy yours, I promise you.”

  #

  Darik made his way from Balsalom with nothing more than he could carry in a pack on his back. The enemy still held the Tothian Way, so he followed the Nye River north and then west until he reached the mountains, steering clear of the Desolation of Toth. He reached the mountains after five days, then made his way south to Daria’s aerie to replenish his supplies before turning north again for the Old Road. Daria was overjoyed to see him.

  “I am lonely,” she admitted as they shared venison stew in front of the fire. The griffins stirred upstairs. “My father was a quiet man, but I miss his conversation, and his gentle way with the griffins. I never realized what a good man he was.”

  “What about your mother?” he asked, afraid that something had happened to her, but thankful that he wouldn’t have to face her yet.

  Daria shook her head and her lip quivered, making Darik ashamed for any relief he might have felt. “She hasn’t come back yet. I’m worried.”

  Darik took her in his arms, expecting her to weep. But she was durable underneath, in spite of her outward vulnerability. She looked up, eyes moist but not crying.

  Daria didn’t speak mysteries, as other girls might. Her words were direct. “I have no companionship, no friends. Nothing but my griffins. The other riders see me as their leader now, and treat me as such but I don’t feel like a leader. I am so lonely. Will you stay with me?”

  Almost, he surrendered his quest. But no, it had become too important to abandon. “I have to go to the Citadel first. If I survive the ordeals, I promise I’ll return.” He smiled. “We’ll raise griffins together.”

  But in the back of his mind, Darik wondered. What sacrifices would the Brotherhood require for him to join the Knights Temperate? No, he would worry about that when it came.

  She smiled. “Come. Let’s go flying.”

  They rode together on Joffa, Daria in front, Darik behind with his arms around her waist. They lifted from the aerie and flew, where the air was chill and sweet. Daria laughed and turned to smile at Darik, her face brilliantly pure, the pain of the last few weeks washed from her face. Darik leaned forward to kiss her, but when their lips touched, she lurched Joffa to one side and he scrambled for balance.

  “Better not distract me while I’m flying,” she shouted against the wind when she straightened out again, a mischievous grin on her face. “I’m liable to crash into a tree.”

  Joffa, too, was glad to stretch his wings and they raced the young griffin up the side of the mountain, then dove back down again with speed Darik hadn’t thought possible. When they returned at last, Darik was breathless. If she’d meant to give him reason to return, it had worked.

  He left the next morning, reluctant to part from Daria’s side. He’d explained Sanctuary but d
idn’t think she understood. How could one man own another, she wondered. And hadn’t Whelan bought his freedom already?

  Yes, Darik replied. But he hadn’t earned that freedom. In spite of everything he’d done, he wouldn’t earn it until he begged Sanctuary. He made slow time for the next two days until he reached the Old Road. It hadn’t been widely used for generations, and was barely a rutted path. He’d heard that robbers infested the woods and passes. With only his sword and few supplies, he had nothing to give brigands, but was careful anyway. He saw nobody but a few messengers who rode under armed guard from the Free Kingdoms toward Balsalom.

  It snowed in the mountain passes and he was cold. His food ran out and he was hungry. At last, he reached Eriscoba, green and beautiful. And free.

  Markal met him at the foot of the mountains. “So we meet again,” the wizard said, joining him suddenly on the road, much to Darik’s surprise. “How many blisters have you got?”

  “Quite a few,” Darik admitted. “I wore my feet to stumps over the mountains. But by the Brothers, I’m still going.”

  “Ah, that explains the limp. No doubt you’d care more if you weren’t so hungry, eh? Come, I know a farmer who will feed us a few miles down the road.”

  Darik made slower time through the Free Kingdoms than through the mountains, but traveled with a full stomach. He traded half days of work for food and lodging, and picked his way south and west. Markal didn’t interfere, but talked to farmers about the weather and animal husbandry. He even helped Darik slop pigs and stack hay, but refused any pay other than food. As did Darik.

  At last Darik stood in front of the Citadel with nothing but his sword and clothes. Hoffan and Daniel, the latter no longer the king, greeted him at the Citadel. Hoffan had gained back whatever weight he’d lost in the mountains and the subsequent battles. Daniel looked much better, but was still pale and had a tremble in his hand. Darik only hoped that Toth had released his soul, now that he had no use for it.