“Much the same thing happened to your father when he was a child,” Saldibar said, twisting the oiled tip of his beard between thumb and forefinger. “Alas, when he took up the scepter, he meted a swift and savage punishment for his tormenters. I trust you will behave more prudently, my mistress. You are no longer a child and the time shortly comes when you will take your proper place in the palace. You will not fear them again, I promise.”
He sighed. “What worries me more,” Saldibar continued, “is how this could have happened without my knowledge. I watch you night and day to keep you safe.”
“I know,” Kallia said, frowning. “Why do you think I spend so much time hiding in the gardens? To be alone for a few minutes, is all. But I thank the brothers that you followed me today.”
“I didn’t,” Saldibar said. “I only came to find you because your father wishes to speak with you. Come, we must change your clothing. I don’t want you to look like a child today.”
“My child,” Father said in a quiet voice when she entered his chambers. He no longer slept in the tower rooms, but in the garden rooms that had been her mother’s favorites. He reclined on a rug and pillows at the center of the room. The light spilled in. “Can you spare a few minutes for an old man?”
“Of course.” She drew closer and had to fight the urge to draw back in shock and horror. The poison continued its slow march, turning his once strong features into a mockery of sagging flesh. His hands trembled and he spilled his wine at meals; Kallia’s sister Marialla giggled that he soiled himself at night. Marialla thought Father funny enough until he helped her to her seat at supper, and then her face showed her disgust. No, Marialla preferred to cover her eyelids with kohl and her body with heavy perfume and fine clothes so she could spend her days in the garden flirting with the sons of the viziers.
But today was different. Today, Kallia could see death across his face, a darkening in his eyes that muted the familiar spark. He had given up. At long last, he had stopped fighting the poison. He would die soon.
Saldibar and Whelan followed her into the room, but stayed near the door, the latter with his hand on his sword, which hung over one shoulder, barbarian-style.
The khalif tried to rise to his feet, but she restrained him gently and kissed him on both cheeks and embraced him. Even sitting down, he wobbled in her arms and she could feel his bones standing sharply beneath his robes. She wanted to weep to see her father reduced to this hollow shell, with the Harvester shadowing his movements, but she couldn’t show such weakness. He needed her strength more than ever. Every day she spoke to his physics and wizards, begging them to do more. By the brothers, she had to give him hope again.
Kallia joined him across from the rug, pulling a pillow to lean against. A servant brought her wine and a bowl of olives, then retired from the room, leaving the four of them alone.
He smiled again. “That sour expression doesn’t become your face, my dear.”
“Don’t you remember? You gave all of your beauty to Marialla.” Her words sounded more careless than she’d intended, and she regretted them immediately.
Truth was, she was worried, and had been ever since Saldibar told her to dress like a woman after the incident at the fountain. She guessed what was coming, and it brought a nasty taste to her mouth. He meant her to marry, to send her away from Balsalom for political reasons that would help her brother Omar when he gained the scepter.
If her impudent words bothered him, he did not show it. “Marialla is a vain, foolish—no, all of my children are vain, foolish peacocks. All of them but you, my child. You are the best of them, the best by far.”
His words shamed her further. How poorly the others treated Father that her own, weak devotion meant so much.
Father said, “I only have a few more months to live. “Kallia opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a hand to stop her. “Shh, child. I don’t have time to argue. Yes, I’m dying, but there’s one detail that I must settle before I go.”
Kallia bowed her head. “Of course.”
“Then you know. Yes, I thought you would. Do you accept this burden?”
“If necessary, Father, I will do anything for you.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder. It trembled again. “Thank you, sweet child. I know how you feel, that you would rather not take this life upon yourself. But you will wield the scepter with honor and –”
The scepter? Kallia’s eyes flew open in shock. “What? No, Father, no. Not this. Please, Father.”
It was the khalif’s turn to look surprised. Doubt played across his forehead. “But I thought you knew.”
“No, I thought you meant—” She stopped and breathed deeply to pass the trembling fear that overtook her. It was a trick she would master in the years to come. “Father, Omar is the next khalif. Not me.”
“Omar? Fa!”
“But I don’t want it. He does.”
Father was angry, but not at her. “That’s precisely the problem. They all want it. They want the scepter and the banners waving at the head of their procession. They want the power to command a thousand men, to build towers to themselves that will last a thousand years. And if I give it to them, they will destroy Balsalom.” He sighed, then repeated the ancient saying in the old tongue, “They are fat of body but starved of soul.”
He continued, “Just as I was for so many years. No, don’t argue. I was a fool and another generation of fools will simply complete what I started. That’s why I’m making you the khalifa.”
“But the laws, the customs say that Omar must be khalif.”
“The laws and traditions be damned. I will do what is best for Balsalom.” He lifted his hand to stem further argument. “No, child, I have decided.”
Father rose to his feet and stepped into his slippers, then left the rooms, walking swiftly and looking invigorated. Kallia sat on the pillows, stunned.
Saldibar followed the khalif, but Whelan lingered. He took her father’s place on the pillows and ate an olive from her father’s bowl. She was surprised to see him take the khalif’s place so boldly. His tongue was as thick as any other Eriscoban’s, but he was usually very quiet and polite.
“Kallia, your wisdom surpasses the ancients. May you live forever and may your reign bring peace and prosperity upon Balsalom.”
“There is no need for niceties between us, Whelan. Speak freely.”
She expected him to complain of the khalif’s decision. Or maybe even to warn her not to hasten Father’s death, as if that could ever be her intention.
He smiled. “I thought it best to begin with formalities. Having said that, I’m pleased that Saldibar and your father made this decision. Indeed, you are the only choice they could have made.”
He looked into her eyes with startling boldness. He was younger than she’d thought, barely more than a boy. It had been his eyes that deceived her. Those eyes had seen much pain, she was sure.
And there was something else on his face. She’d seen it so many times in Marialla’s admirers that she was sure. This man loved her.
“Whelan,” she said, coming to a decision. “Will you stay by my side and serve me when I am khalifa?”
He opened his mouth, but hesitated before speaking. “I would dearly love to, my queen. But the naked thorn waits my visit at the Citadel.”
She shook her head, confused. “What do you mean, the naked thorn?”
He paused, as if considering whether to confide in her further. “I have a daughter in the Free Kingdoms and I must return to help care for her.”
“A daughter? Ah, so you are married.” So she had misread the look in his eyes. Not love then, but what?
“Alas, her mother was never my wife, but the wife of another, of a, a close friend. I fled from Eriscoba in shame.” He sighed. “Alas, I fear I can never truly atone for my sins, but I hope to find honor among the Knights Temperate.”
She knew of the Knights Temperate. They pledged obedience to no man, not even King Daniel at the Citadel in A
rvada, but followed only their own consciences. Indeed, even the captain of the Knights Temperate led only through persuasion and example.
“And you wish to join these Knights Temperate?”
“I do,” Whelan said. His eyes and mouth expressed his longing and pain.
“I will be sorry to lose you. Would that I could find others I trust as much as I trust you.”
Whelan said, “The grand vizier will guide you. He loves you as a daughter.”
“As a daughter? Saldibar? Surely not. His spies torment me night and day. I trust him, yes, but I fear he thinks very little of me.”
Whelan smiled, and the pain left his eyes. “He is a stern man, and not an easy man to please. But let me tell you how I first met him. I was riding from Eriscoba with two companions when I was eighteen. Just after the assassins attacked your father. We were young and foolish, running from various problems.” He paused. “On the advice of my friends met only a few days earlier as I traveled, we took the Old Road instead of the Tothian Way through the mountains. My two friends were actually bandits, who’d lured me into the mountains to rob me. I was beaten and left for dead.”
He continued, “Saldibar found me and carried me back to Balsalom where his physics attended my wounds. He fed me and clothed me. I had nothing, but Saldibar brought me into the palace.” After a pause, he said, “Now, I have word of my daughter, and I have to return. But I will always consider Saldibar my second father.”
Kallia nodded, wondering what Saldibar had been doing on the Old Road. It passed through the mountains some thirty miles to the north, beyond the Desolation of Toth. The road was much slower than the Tothian Way. Indeed, her tutor told her that it had been completely abandoned until fifty years ago because of bandits. She supposed Saldibar had been about his spying.
Whelan said, “He is a good man, and will give you sound advice. As for myself, I leave when the khalif—may he live forever—dies.” He sighed. “And I fear that day will come soon.”
But Whelan was wrong. The khalif lingered two more years, while Saldibar groomed Kallia to be khalifa. Her brother Omar left the city with bitterness in his heart to take the khalifate of Ter, a few miles east along the Tothian Way. He had indeed spoken lies to Fashima, leaving her behind when he married a princess of Ter to put himself on the throne.
When Kallia’s father died at last, his final days were hard ones, with stretches where he coughed for hours, filling his basin with blood and other refuse from his dying lungs. He refused to chew poppy seeds as his physics recommended, saying that he would keep his head clear. Kallia stayed by his side, together with Whelan and Saldibar. A few of the khalif’s other sons and daughters visited too, but they hurried their visits, looking relieved to be free of the khalif’s bed chamber and its smell of death. Even father’s slaves avoided the room, and nobody compelled them to stay.
Kallia longed to hide and wait for news of Father’s death. But she saw the pain in his eyes and knew she had to stay and give him comfort. When he coughed, she rubbed knots from his shoulders, and when he stopped, she helped Whelan and Saldibar clean the room and light scented candles to clear the odor of death.
Father’s final collapse dragged on for weeks. At last, the khalif died, quietly in his sleep. Kallia and Saldibar cleaned his body and wrapped it in white linen, preparations for hoisting it atop a tower of silence in the desert.
Father left her the khalifate as his last act. Reluctantly, and to the dismay of other, more deserving claimants, she took up the scepter. Whelan had left for the Free Kingdoms, but Saldibar stayed by her side. He proved as faithful as Whelan had claimed.
She thought herself a poor leader from the start. It took months to earn the loyalty of the viziers, many of whom still wanted to see Omar hold the scepter, and only then with Saldibar’s arm-twisting. She was convinced that the people loved her only because they remembered her father. She tried to rule wisely, failing often, but the trade from over the mountains poured enough dinarii into the coffers to rescue her from most blunders.
Only two things troubled her. The first was the power of the guilds, especially the repugnant and hateful corrections guild and their torturers. The second was the growing taxes demanded by the high khalifate in Veyre.
Eight years passed.
When word came of the high khalif’s death in Veyre, some mourned, but more welcomed the news. Over the last few years, tributes exacted by Ahmaad and his viziers had grown beyond any benefits provided. Balsalom didn’t need Veyre. She could cleanse her own highways of bandits, make her own trade treaties and levy her own taxes.
So when Kallia learned that Ahmaad’s own wizard had seized power, she welcomed the news. She’d met Cragyn: foul-tempered, liked by few and hated by many. Cast from an order of barbarian wizards, he’d made his way east from Eriscoba to the khalifates, eventually taking up residence in Veyre. Once in the high khalif’s court, he’d busied himself building strange mechanical contraptions and speaking to dead spirits.
Kallia had no idea how he’d taken the Iron Throne for his own, doubted he’d hold it long against Ahmaad’s legitimate heirs—but gave him little thought otherwise. He would have no claim on the high khalifate that could bring the other cities back under Veyre’s shadow. Instead, Kallia turned her attention to building roads and aqueducts and loosening the guilds’ stranglehold over the city.
But she was wrong about the dark wizard.
Saldibar woke Kallia from her sleep the night his spies reported Cragyn’s armies on the march. He’d dismissed her guards and burst into her chambers unannounced.
“Khalifa,” he said. “Are you awake?”
Kallia woke with a start, groping instinctively for the dagger she kept sheathed beneath her pillow. She struggled with the knife, a nightmare lingering on the edge of her memory. A black tower rising on the edge of the sea. At last she woke fully and looked up.
The grand vizier stood in the doorway. The light from his lamp blinded her eyes. She put down her knife when she saw him, and fought down irritation, knowing that he would only come with good reason.
“I’m awake now.” Just inside the threshold, her cricket chirped in its cage. Its song calmed her pounding heart.
Saldibar pulled maps and papers from his robe, tossing them on a table that he dragged over from the window. One letter was stained with blood, another torn and muddy. The vizier rarely smiled, but today his face was truly grim. He looked prepared to hold court while she sat in her bed, but she climbed from her pillows anyway. Saldibar looked discretely at his papers while she slipped a night robe over her camisole.
Kallia swept open the curtains to let the breeze clear the last of the dream lingering in her room. “Now, Saldibar. Tell me what this is about.”
“The dark wizard has marched.”
Kallia swallowed, the memory of her nightmare coming into sharp focus. A dark tower rising on the edge of the sea, its shadow reaching out to bind her soul in slavery. Then, just as soon as it had come, the image fled. “Cragyn?” Her cricket stopped chirping abruptly. It hesitated for a moment, then resumed its song.
“Don’t speak that name, Khalifa. He is a wizard and you will draw his attention by speaking it aloud.” He continued, pointing to the top map. “I expected him to follow the Tothian Way from Veyre and Cantacorm, and strike first at Havorn and Saltopolis, get them in hand before testing his army against the stronger khalifates further west. But no, the dark wizard is marching directly at us. He’ll be here in a week.”
She thought of her brother Omar in Ter, and the khalifs of Darnad and Saltopolis who’d pledged their armies to her cause. She’d thought the cities Havorn and Starnar stood against the wizard as well, although she had not yet signed pacts with their khalifs. She didn’t trust Omar, but he wouldn’t act alone. Ter was not powerful enough.
“Have they turned against us, then, and let the enemy past their borders?”
Saldibar shook his head. “Pasha Jas Web of Havorn sent us first word of the dark wizar
d’s move. He’s fielding an army of fifty phalanx to march to our defense, but it won’t arrive for three weeks. Starnar is a poorer land, but she’s pledged us a hundred horse and three hundred footmen.”
“And the others?”
“Still with us.”
Kallia calculated in her head. Her pashas boasted two thousand footmen and a thousand horse and could raise that many more reserves on demand. Ter, Darnad, and Saltopolis would double her armies again if Ter threw in with her, and she thought they would when they saw Cragyn’s greed and the violence of his army. Add in the thousand from Havorn and four hundred from Starnar, and Balsalom could field as many as ten thousand footmen and three thousand cavalry. A formidable army. Hold off the wizard for a fortnight and other armies of the western khalifates would see her resistance and swell Balsalom’s forces. She could even appeal to the Citadel for help.
She gave her estimate to Saldibar. The grand vizier considered for a moment and then agreed that her numbers held.
“And the wizard?” she asked.
He shook his head, consulting the torn and blood-stained letters from his spies. “Some of these reports are fanciful, so I can’t be certain. But he has at least five thousand horse and ten thousand footmen. More on the way.”
She paled at the thought of such an army assaulting her peaceful city. Cragyn’s armies had hurled diseased animal carcasses over the walls of one city until half the people died of plague. He’d burned another to the ground for beheading one of his pashas in their dungeons. It bewildered her that the hated wizard had grown powerful enough to overthrow such strong cities. Dark magic lurked behind his rise.
“Still,” she said. “We can beat that kind of army with the support of our walls and towers. Turn his army to flight and we might lead a revolt through the east khalifates and dispose of this self-appointed high khalif.”
“Perhaps, my queen.” Saldibar shuffled through his papers. “There is something else. I hate to mention it, for the news is certainly fanciful, as I warned before. Still . . . ”
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 282
