by John Marco
Richius couldn’t answer. He was convinced that it was indeed a magical storm that had destroyed Edgard and his troops and stolen away Dyana, but what should he tell Biagio? He wasn’t even sure why the count was probing.
‘Lucel-Lor is full of strange things, my lord. Even their weather is unlike ours in the Empire. Perhaps it was only a thunderstorm I saw.’
Biagio shrugged, unconvinced. ‘It wasn’t only you that saw it, Prince Richius. There are some from Talistan who told of great, unusual storms, storms unlike anything ever seen before.’ He leaned back in his chair and watched Richius carefully. ‘Unnatural, ungodly storms. What do you think could have created such powerful things?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Richius coolly.
‘Did you serve with any Triin?’ asked Biagio.
‘Only one.’
‘Did you ever see him use sorcery?’
‘Never,’ Richius said adamantly. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s not unreasonable for the emperor to wonder why the war was lost,’ said Biagio. ‘If, as you say, the Drol used no sorcery . . .’ Biagio let his voice trail away, all the while keeping his unearthly stare on Richius. Again Richius’ stomach churned. He had thought to avoid this, but he had blundered into it the way a rabbit does a snare. It was becoming very clear to him why Arkus had sent this man to him. An errand boy could have delivered a letter, but only Biagio could deliver this kind of message.
‘My mission was to take the Dring Valley, Count,’ said Richius, returning Biagio’s dubious gaze. ‘I saw no sorcery there. It may be that there was magic used in Tatterak, I cannot say. The Talistanians were charged with securing that land. Perhaps you should ask them your questions.’
‘Most of them died at Mount Godon, defending the Daegog,’ said Biagio. ‘And those that did survive swear to me that sorcery was used. Even your own war duke died in this strange storm. Was he not also part of the Tatterak campaign?’
‘He was.’
‘And you saw him die, did you not?’
Richius nodded.
‘Well, then,’ said Biagio, leaning back comfortably in his chair. ‘I can’t explain it. Can you?’
‘No.’
Biagio smiled, and in that instant Richius felt the count’s invisible fingers running over his mind. Jojustin’s right, he thought. They know about Father. It all came rushing over him like a waterfall, the anger, the betrayal, the abandonment, and for a single, shameful moment Richius hated his father for making him sit here and face this madman. But he couldn’t stop it now, for there it was on the table between them, plain and naked for everyone to see. The truth. He dropped his hand to his arm and gave it a slight, surreptitious massage. The wolf bite was throbbing furiously now.
‘We did our best,’ he said at last. ‘Aramoor is only a small nation. It was almost impossible to fight with so few troops, even with the help of Talistan. Perhaps if we had gotten more support from the Black City we could have kept the Drol from taking Lucel-Lor.’ He spoke slowly, measuring every word carefully. ‘Still, I’m sure the Empire would have sent us troops if they could have. The war with Liss must be quite a strain on even Nar’s resources.’
The mere mention of Liss erased Biagio’s arrogant grin. Jojustin seized the opportunity.
‘How does the war with Liss go, Count?’ he asked. His voice had the perfect politeness of a diplomat. ‘Tell us, please. We hear so little of it in Aramoor. What is happening?’
Biagio smiled again. ‘Liss is being dealt with.’
‘They’re a pack of devils, to be sure,’ Jojustin went on. ‘None of us ever thought it would go on this long. Is it true that their fleets have begun to raid the south coast? I had heard that from a traveling merchant.’
‘A lie,’ said Biagio emphatically. ‘Our navies have complete control over those waters. I myself would never allow such a thing.’
Richius sighed knowingly. ‘Crote would be in danger if that were true. I’ve heard that Liss’ ships are even finer than the imperial dreadnoughts. And there are more of them, too.’
‘More nonsense. Really, Prince Richius, where does your news come from? The emperor thinks Liss will crumble within the year. Then we shall see whose ships are finer.’
Richius was silent for a moment, considering that valiant collection of islands called Liss. It was certain Liss would fall to Nar’s might eventually, for despite their courage and superior navy, there was no way that Liss could hold out forever against the weapons Arkus had arrayed against them. Amazingly, they had withstood the siege for nearly a decade, drowning the warships of the Empire in the thousand mazelike waterways that only they could travel. They had resisted flame cannons and blockades, had survived being isolated from their trading partners in the Empire; they had even had the beautiful audacity to proclaim themselves ‘the world’s last free nation.’ Richius didn’t know how they were thought about in Talistan, but in Aramoor the folk of Liss were revered. When the dark day of their defeat came, he knew Aramoor would mourn for them.
‘So much talk of war,’ said Jojustin. ‘This is a happy occasion. We should be celebrating.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Patwin, slapping Richius on the shoulder warmly. ‘It’s a great day for Aramoor. And for you, Richius. It will be my highest honor to call you my king.’
‘And mine,’ added Jojustin. ‘I will try to serve you as well as I served your father, lad.’
‘And you will serve the emperor well,’ said Biagio soberly. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘I will do my best,’ said Richius.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Richius, relieved at the interruption, rose at once to answer it. He opened the door and found Jenna standing in the hallway, a nervous look on her face. She dared one small step into the chamber.
‘I’m sorry, my lords,’ she said softly, her head bowed to the floor. ‘I thought you might be getting hungry. It’s past mealtime, and I know the count has had a long journey.’ There was a slight quaver in her voice. ‘I could bring you something, perhaps?’
‘Yes, Count,’ said Jojustin. ‘Why don’t you dine with us this evening? We’ll have chambers prepared for you and your man. You can stay the night.’
Biagio raised his jeweled hands. ‘No, thank you. Your offer is most kind, but I really must be on my way.’
‘What?’ said Jojustin amiably. ‘You shouldn’t be traveling on a night like this. I won’t hear of it. The emperor would think us the poorest hosts in the Empire. Really, you must stay, at least for the night.’
Biagio rose from his chair. ‘Forgive me, but I cannot. I have business elsewhere, and I have already made arrangements for the evening. The Gayles of Talistan are expecting me back soon. They will be worried if I do not return.’
‘Why need they worry?’ pressed Jojustin. He hadn’t yet risen as the count had. ‘Just send those two horsemen back to tell them you’re staying the night. It’s a long ride back to Talistan, Count. And this weather. . .’
‘Really, no,’ said Biagio. ‘I would feel more comfortable in Talistan.’
Jojustin’s face hardened. ‘I see,’ he said icily, getting to his feet. ‘Very well. Perhaps we will see you in Nar, then.’
‘Most certainly. The emperor intends this to be an event. He’s inviting all the kings of the Empire to attend.’
‘Really?’ asked Richius, also rising. ‘Why so many people? I thought it would be a private ceremony, just close comrades.’
‘Oh, no, Prince Richius. Perhaps you do not understand what an honor this is for you. You will be the first new king in Nar in almost six years. The emperor wants this to be an occasion for the whole Empire. There will be royalty from all over Nar in attendance. There will be foods and wines fit for your king-making, and music the likes of which you’ve never heard. It will be glorious, and it will all be for you.’
‘It sounds like a great deal of trouble,’ said Richius. ‘Perhaps the emperor is being too generous. Such extravagance –’
‘No, no,
’ interrupted Biagio. ‘It is what the emperor wants for you.’
Richius held back a frown. ‘I am honored,’ he said simply. ‘I shall be in Nar on the appointed day.’
‘Excellent. The emperor will be very pleased. I will dispatch a messenger to him at once informing him of your coming. Remember, Prince Richius, the thirtieth day of winter.’
‘I will be there,’ said Richius, showing Biagio to the door. ‘May I bring some attendants with me? It’s a long journey, and I will need advisement.’
‘Of course,’ said Biagio. ‘It’s to be a celebration! Bring as many as you wish. The palace has room enough for all of you. And I can arrange transport for you, if you like. Talistan has a port. I can call for a ship of the Black Fleet.’
Richius considered the offer. A ship would certainly be the fastest way, but he rather liked the idea of riding and seeing the rest of the Empire. More, he had no wish to set foot in Talistan.
‘Thank you, no, Count,’ he replied. ‘I think we can ride it. We’ll take our time, get to know some of the Empire.’ He turned to Patwin. ‘What do you say, Patwin? You up for it?’
Patwin smiled. ‘If you’ll have me.’
‘Wonderful,’ beamed Biagio. He looked over at Jojustin. ‘I expect you will be there, Sir Jojustin?’
Jojustin was indifferent. ‘It is difficult to get away, Count. The castle does not run itself and, as Richius said, it is a long trip. I will come if I can.’
‘You really must come,’ Biagio insisted. ‘The emperor is expecting you. He would be very disappointed if you were not there.’
‘We shall see,’ said Jojustin. He led Biagio out into the corridor and silently walked him to the castle’s muddy foyer, Richius and Patwin close behind. The door to the place was open, and a shrill wind was blowing in, making the torches on the wall flicker and sending their shadows dancing. Outside, the rain had built to a steady drizzle, and the men from Talistan stood awkwardly in the downpour, their uniforms drenched, their faces no longer bearing the arrogant humor they had before. Only the Shadow Angel seemed unperturbed. He watched as his master approached, but he didn’t speak a word nor stir a single muscle. Biagio drew his fine cape closer about his shoulders as he spied the inclement night.
‘You should reconsider, Count,’ said Jojustin. ‘We have warm beds for both of you.’
‘No, thank you,’ barked Biagio. Then, as if catching the insult, he added more genially, ‘It’s a kind offer, but I really cannot stay the night here. I must return to Talistan. Matters of weight require me.’
‘Then be well,’ said Jojustin stiffly.
‘I will,’ said Biagio. He turned to Richius and gave a slight bow. ‘Prince Richius, it was an honor to meet you. I look forward to your coronation.’
‘Safe journey, Count,’ said Richius, and watched Biagio step out into the rain. The count mounted his own horse and smiled one last time before turning away and riding off into the night, the Shadow Angel and the Talistanians close behind. When they were almost out of sight Jojustin gave a great, brooding sigh.
‘It’s good to see those Talistanian pigs leaving,’ he said. ‘When I saw them ride up with him I nearly died.’
Patwin laughed and gave Richius another slap on the back. ‘My God! That went well, don’t you think, Richius?’
‘I suppose.’
‘What?’ said Jojustin. ‘Of course it went well, lad. It’s like I told you. You’re going to be king! So stop wearing the long face. This has been a great day. A great day indeed!’
‘No,’ said Richius softly. ‘It hasn’t been.’ He put his hand to his wounded arm. The punctures in it burned savagely, and he knew the filth of his bandage was working its way into his wounds. Yet still he didn’t care to tend to it. Something else was puzzling him.
‘Why would Biagio not spend the night?’ he asked Jojustin. ‘Or even have a meal with us?’
‘Or drink his wine?’
Richius looked at the old man oddly. ‘He didn’t drink with you, either?’
Jojustin shook his head.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Richius. ‘Why not?’
Jojustin’s old face softened. ‘Make no mistake, lad. Biagio’s coming here was a warning. The emperor knows about your father. He wanted us to know that he’ll be watching Aramoor from now on.’
‘And still he wants to make me king?’
‘It’s as I told you. Arkus must make you king, whether he wishes to or not. You saw how Biagio looked when we spoke of Liss. The war with them must be going worse than we thought.’ Jojustin grinned. ‘I was right. I knew Arkus couldn’t risk a war within the Empire. He’s as anxious as the rest of us to keep your father’s secret.’
Richius nodded dully. ‘You were right,’ he conceded. ‘But why would he not sup with us? And to travel on such a night. . .’
Jojustin laughed. ‘You are the son of a traitor, Richius,’ he said. Then, taking Richius in a light embrace, he said, ‘Be proud of it.’
A knot of emotion clenched in Richius’ throat. ‘I am.’
‘Richius,’ said Patwin, stepping up to him. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Ready?’ asked Jojustin. ‘For what?’
Richius was silent, refusing to look at either of them. ‘Come on, Richius,’ said Patwin sternly. ‘You have to be looked after.’
Jojustin’s face went from cheerful to concerned in a heartbeat. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ he demanded. ‘Richius, is something wrong?’
‘A pack of wolves attacked us on the way to the House of Lotts,’ said Patwin. ‘Richius was bitten.’
‘Bitten? Lord, Richius, why didn’t you say something? Where were you bitten? Let me see.’
‘No,’ said Richius flatly. ‘Not yet.’
He took the torch from the sconce on the wall and, without even glancing at Jojustin or Patwin, stepped out of the foyer and into the night.
‘Richius!’ called Jojustin. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have something to do,’ Richius called back over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.’
The night encircled him, and to his relief they did not follow. By the light of the torch he made his way across the courtyard, his boots sinking deep into the mud, letting the cool rain trickle down his face and soothe the burning of his arm. He went quickly past the castle gardens, past its walls overhung with dormant roses, and past its locked, finely wrought gate. Soon he came to the stables, where only the quiet sound of horses could be heard, and these he walked past, too. His movements were heavy, purposeful, and as he went by the stables the thing he sought came into view.
It was a tomb.
It was not very large, and it was not excessive or garish. It was a simple tomb, built by a grieving king for a woman who had been a simple queen. Darius Vantran had found parting with his beloved Jessicane nearly impossible, and so the tomb had been constructed close to the castle, built on a hill so that one could easily see it from any of the castle’s three towers. For nearly twenty years the tomb had housed but one corpse. Now it housed two.
Richius slowed as he neared the tomb, measuring his steps, watching the structure take focus in the torchlight. Two stone faces stared back at him, rising in relief off the doorway. They smiled at him. He stopped.
‘Father,’ he said to one of them, the one with the steely eyes. And then he looked at the other face, the one whose eyes seemed to be laughing, and he smiled lightly back and said, ‘Mother.’
He paused for a moment, alone in the rain, as if waiting for an answer he knew would never come. Then he sighed, and reached under his coat to his shirt. His shirt was soaked with rain and stained with blood and dirt, but it was the thick shirt that Jenna had made him, and so it kept him warm and dry and protected the things he put in its pockets. Quickly he found what he was seeking, folded neatly against his breast.
His hand trembled a little as he pulled it out. He had had this letter for over a month, and despite what he had told everyone, he had carried it with
him most of that time, occasionally feeling his breast for it, but never reading it. He regarded it in the torchlight. Its careful creases were worn and frayed. Already raindrops were making tiny water stains on it. He swallowed hard and unfolded it, immediately recognizing his father’s broad, elaborate penmanship.
My Dear Son,
By now you know what I have done to you. I will not try to persuade you of the rightness of it. Of all the duties my kingship has forced upon me, none has been so hard as leaving you to fight alone. But the war does not go well, and far too many men have already given up their lives. I can be the emperor’s puppet no longer.
Patwin has told me how desperate the valley struggle has become. So far I have been able to keep this from the emperor. The war with Liss yet preoccupies him, and what little I do tell him does not include the truth of things. Unless the Gayles tell him otherwise, I believe I can go on convincing Arkus of my commitment until the war is lost. By then it will be too late for him to send his legions, and no more of our people need die. I alone will have to answer for the loss, and I will tell the emperor that no one had knowledge of my treachery. My only hope now is that you will survive and return home before I am discovered.
Perhaps a day will come when you are king and can see the correctness of my actions. The burdens of the crown are many and heavy, and sometimes inconceivable to those unencumbered by them. By the time you read this many rumors will have reached you, but I hope none will tempt you to believe that I have forsaken you for any reason but the saving of lives. I have never cowered from a just war, but this conflict has no graces worth its ruinous toll and so it must be ended. I can think of no other way to end the war and still save Aramoor.
The emperor’s priests tell us that God looks after heroes. If so, He is surely with you. May He bring you safely home, my son, and grant you the charity to forgive me.
With love and regrets,
Father
Richius folded the letter back carefully and replaced it in the pocket of his shirt. The steely-eyed relief was watching him.
