The prince was aghast at how easily the question was given. His reply wouldn’t be so simple. “Focus on warfare, weapons and possible devices,” he decided to say, “but still note anything else of interest you find.”
The apprentices nodded, watched as Syah lifted their notes, and then bowed to him as he turned to leave.
“No, there will be an excess of troops to the south if we send them there,” resonated from an open door down the hall from him. The voices were faint, almost indistinct, but his brother’s accents were as clear as if they were beside him. His feet moved to supply the faces with the conversation he heard.
“Then here, come down from the northern basin,” another voice added, Fasime.
“Yes, but they will need to avoid the Marrian scouts in the area.”
Syah finally obtained the threshold and sighted them; his two brothers standing together over a table and maps.
“What are you doing?” the youngest asked and they glanced at his slender form joining them.
“We are planning the remaining squadrons’ approach,” Oman explained as he and Syah studied the map.
“Where are Father and his war counsel?”
“Occupied with gathering forces and contacting generals. He left me to oversee the last of the squadrons stationed in the city and surrounding hamlets.”
Syah nodded, looking back to the map. “When will they be prepared to attack?”
“Soon, I hope, the Marrians may sense a trap, or may lose the courage they have randomly gathered.”
“Have the Rognoth joined them yet? It seemed that Father was sure they had combined their efforts.”
Oman shook his head. “There has been mention of them, but I believe their men are still spread thin in raiding parties about the area.”
“Then shouldn’t we leave some of the squadrons to guard the eastern cities? If we move all of the guards, the western cities will be susceptible to attack.”
“No, Syah,” Fasime interjected as he made a wiping motion towards the map, “destroying the Marrian army will eliminate the biggest threat of all.”
Syah paused, contemplating. Both Oman and Fasime tensed at his silence, and the speech they knew was forming.
“Besides,” Oman pre-empted his coming arguments, “some troops will remain in all our cities to provide continued protection.”
Syah paused again, changing his direction. He laid his hands on the map and spread it out further, showing both sides of the Arnith kingdom encompassing the known surrounding territory. “Look at them all,” he stated, motioning to the dozens of black points and letters, indicating the small towns on the borders of their kingdom. “I know we have done much to conquer them all, but perhaps they are too far from the capital to protect.”
“That is how our kingdom will expand, Syah,” Oman countered.
The youngest gathered his courage in a breath. “I don’t understand why we desire to rule them all. They are devouring our resources.”
Fasime laughed a little. “They provide us with more resources than they expend. That is why we seek to convert them.”
“Arnith is destined to unite the tribes. You know that,” Oman added before Syah could rebuke.
Syah turned to them fully. “I think it is a mistake to try to conquer them all. It does not seem like providence to me, but arrogance.”
Oman and Fasime turned to him sharply, and Oman’s face tightened as he grabbed Syah’s shoulder.
“And what would you have us do? Recall the armies at the Dikartian, Marrian, and Rognoth borders? Should we abandon the villages we have freed and retreat to the castle?”
“I just think we are extending ourselves too far to protect the outlying villages. There are too many places the enemy could attack. We cannot hold them off on all sides.”
“We cannot leave those Arnithian citizens at the mercy of the other tribes.”
“Loyal citizens could return to their original towns and we can protect them there.”
“No Syah, that would be an act of cowardice. The enemy would see it as weakness and be even more prone to attacking us.”
“And what if it is the unconquered tribes’ plan to separate our troops while they prepare a large offensive?”
The eldest laughed and shook his head. “The tribes aren’t that organized. And even if by chance it happened that there were too many for our soldiers, we could always gather our forces then.”
“Excuse me, young sirs,” a guard said loudly from the door and then bowed in apology that he had interrupted them. “The queen has requested you.”
The argument between them ceased, as if it had been a night prowler scared away by blazing firelight. Oman released Syah’s arm, their eyes saying apologies for speaking so rashly. Oman motioned to the door and Syah turned and led them out.
They opened the door without knocking, but shock of the room held them at the threshold. Their immediate apprehension came when they realized that their mother didn’t come to greet them, though they sensed she was in the room. There was a noise from the bed, a wearied breath. The servants in the room bowed and left through the servant’s door.
The princes hesitated, unable to see their mother. An unknown fear stopped them, repulsed by thinking of walking to the bed… Not knowing if they would see the woman they recognized and not understanding why they were afraid.
The princes realized themselves when they heard their mother’s voice again, faint, and entered the room.
It was a stranger. The fatigued, thin, colorless face startled them as they stepped up to the bed. But then their mother smiled and they recognized her eyes, kind though tired. Her skin and her hair were still familiar. She did not sit up, resting on several pillows.
“Hello, my sons,” she said in a soft but steady voice and then met each of their gazes. They were uncomfortable, standing over her, but their apprehension softened when she said each of their names.
“They tell me the king is away,” she said after allowing a long pause. “Why, Oman, did you remain at the castle?”
The eldest stepped closer, “He went to oversee the gathering of forces at Menadrel. I didn’t feel he could use my help.”
“You are much like your father. Anteria is already benefiting from your presence. You have little more to learn to be a leader of Arnith, Oman,” she said and grabbed his hand. “There were many things that I wasn’t told before I became queen. We learn more as we begin following our own paths.” She smiled briefly at him. “Don’t let your father keep you away too much.” Oman felt her release his hand as she looked to Fasime. “You have all grown so handsome,” she said to him and gazed long into his amber eyes. “Fasime, you have always been able to look straight into my heart. I miss speaking with you about your travels and adventures. Have you gone to a city tournament lately?”
“No, Mother,” Fasime answered and took the hand she held out to him.
“You spend too much time at the castle engrossed in matters of state. Don’t forget your own life you have been given, Fasime. Do you have another hunting trip planned?”
“Not this cycle,” he answered softly.
“The Dugshi trees are beautiful this time of year,” she smiled and settled back on the pillows, “you need to go see them.” Fasime nodded.
She turned to Syah. As his brothers moved aside, Syah glanced at them, wondering if they realized the meaning of their mother’s words. Her eyes were calm, lucid, satisfied. Syah took her hand, wondering what she would say. She paused, perhaps conscious that Syah already knew what she wanted to say, that he understood. But then her eyes lowered, sunk back into dreaminess, lazy acceptance.
“Syah, my son, it has been so long since you played any music.” Her voice faded as she spoke, becoming older, forgetful. “You used to play so beautifully.” Her eyes seemed to focus on somewhere past the room, drifting back in time…
“Mother, I still play,” Syah tried to coax her back to the present.
“You should find that elven ha
rp,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “teach it to our musicians, so it is not forgotten…”
She drew back her hand and wrapped both arms around her chest, as if feeling chilled. She nodded to a private resolution of her mind, and then looked back to her sons. “You have other things you must attend to,” she said wistfully, but her eyes were solemn and intense, keeping each of them a long moment as if they were drinking deeply the sight of them, savoring it. “That is all for now.”
“Yes Mother,” Fasime and Oman said together. They both leaned over and kissed her forehead, making the faint smile come over her face again.
“Go back to your duties now,” her voice stated, sounding tired again. Oman and Fasime bowed to her and started to leave. Syah looked back as he turned to follow them. “You have much to do,” she said, very faint
“Goodbye Mother, get some rest,” Oman said at the door and looked back to her.
“Goodbye, my sons.”
Oman left the room and then Fasime followed. Syah took hold of the handle behind them and closed the door. Instead of stepping through, he closed the door in front of himself and remained. The queen watched him turn back towards her, immediately losing the smile and acceptance on her face.
“Why have you stayed?” she questioned, her voice sounding angry but more familiar.
“How long have you felt this way?” Syah asked her, coming back to the bed.
She flushed and gave out an exasperated breath. “Don’t be concerned over it,” she told him, her voice beginning to shake but partially regaining her composure.
“How long?” he persisted, laying a hand on her arm.
She sat up, her face tightened and her eyes lit up with a foreign strength and frustration. “I don’t know!” she cried, but caught her breath and her hand went to her throat as she closed her eyes. Syah was reacting to his mother’s heightened emotion but was interrupted by the servant’s door opening and the maids returning.
“My lady, you should be resting now,” the experienced attendant said to her as they came to the bed. They each cast a questioning eye towards Syah.
The queen glanced at the maids, but then she looked back to her son and nodded. “It is time for me to rest.” With forced will, she laid back, gazing at her son. “Go now and don’t worry over me, all I need is sleep.”
The young prince watched her gazing at him apprehensively, and tried to find the right path in his mind… but he would follow his heart…
“Don’t worry, Mother,” he told her and reached to unclasp the chain at his neck. “I will care for you,” he said and leaned towards her. As he clasped the necklace around her neck, her arguments subsided.
“We will watch over her, Prince Syah,” another of the attendants told him.
He looked up to them. “Have the healers been here to see her?”
“Yes, my lord,” the older answered.
“What have they said?”
The attendants glanced down to the queen, who turned a stern eye on them. Syah stepped closer to the younger one. “What did they say was wrong?” he persisted.
“She… I…” the young woman stammered, stepping backward.
“They said she needed rest,” the older answered, and looked sternly back to the prince as he gazed scrutinizingly at her.
“Why is she…”
“Syah,” his mother interrupted, “let the healers work their craft.”
The prince blinked, turning back to her. “Are in you in any pain?”
She sighed, “No, son, I am just tired.”
“Have you been eating?”
The queen’s voice was a complaint as she started to reply, “Ye…”
“No, my lord,” the younger attendant answered then jerked when all three of them turned to her with wide eyes. She flushed and then lowered her head. Syah looked back to his mother.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he demanded sharply.
“I don’t know!” she returned hotly, though without force, her frustration returning.
Syah relaxed a moment, calming his voice, “Bring her some well-cooked stew and fresh bread.”
“Yes my lord,” the younger answered and bowed and left them.
“I want to speak to the healers,” Syah told the other attendant.
“But sir…” she started.
“And have the scribes bring me all of the herbology and medicinal texts.”
The protest on her lips was cut short. Her mouth closed and she stared at him a moment before finally nodding. “Yes, my lord,” she replied instead. “Anything else?”
“Candles,” Syah answered and then searched for a chair.
His head was resting heavily on his arm, propped on the edge of the chair. As he read he could feel the soft but steady ebb of his thoughts, but he fought it, trying to focus and then refocus on his reading. The medicinal properties of several rare herbs that cure restlessness. He let his eyes slip from the words and closed them, rubbing his forehead. His eyes opened to the candle, watching the flame dance above the puddle of melted, wasted wax.
“It has to be here somewhere,” he said to motivate himself and shifted, returning to his book.
“Syah,” his mother’s voice startled him to turn towards her, thinking she was still asleep.
Her eyes were partially opened, glazed as she watched him. She had a calm, peaceful look on her face. This time it was honest, not a mask she was wearing to conceal her pain. Her face calmed the prince’s anxiety and he lowered the book.
“You seem better,” Syah said and touched her face.
“It is late, my son.”
“Yes, go back to sleep. I will…”
“No,” she interrupted, taking the book from his hands. “You have done enough tonight.”
“No, Mother, I am trying to help…”
“Syah,” she said reassuringly, “more can be done in the morning.” She took his hand and pulled him to her. “Don’t try to push yourself anymore.” Serigonia said softly, placing her hand on Syah’s neck when he was close enough.
The surety and confidence of her face and voice comforted him and he forgot about the books, potions, and herbs. He submitted as she pulled his head down to the bed, the exhaustion multiplied as his mother rubbed the tense muscles in his neck.
“Rest now, Syah,” Serigonia soothed, watching her son close his eyes as she caressed her fingers over his face, “rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
AWAKEN TO SILENCE
Footsteps echoed down the hallway towards them like the first heavy raindrops of a storm. They shook the half dozing slumber from their minds and turned towards the steps, recognizing their heavy rhythm. They saw their father slow when he noticed them. His brows lowered with concern, but not surprise as he studied his sons sitting with their backs to the wall. They were at the door to the master chambers, waking from weariness obviously caused by boredom and strain. He came to the door and gazed down to them, not questioning their presence but reading their faces, seeing nervousness replace their fatigue. As they watched their father they felt more and more strongly that he should not go into the room, though they would give no word or motion to warn him. They felt that some terror would be revealed if their father provoked it. But the king shifted his calm, beast-like eyes to the door and entered.
Syah’s eyes opened, realizing something woke him. Confused a moment to where he was and why he was asleep, he felt his mother’s hand in his and remembered.
“Syah,” he heard as he sat up, but was distracted before he could comprehend it. Something was wrong. His eyes returned to his mother’s hand and felt a focused shock through his hand and up his arm. He quickly withdrew his hand and sat up, clenched by an inexplicable fear. It gripped his entire form and stole his breath. He felt the strangeness drawing closer, as if something was in the room that wasn’t supposed to be. It was the hand. It wasn’t his mother’s hand!
“Syah.” His father’s voice, but he didn’t heed it. He s
at up fully, bizarrely repulsed by the motionless hand, light dancing on it from the dying candlelight. Though it compounded the fear, he reached forward to touch the hand again, to stir it back to normal existence. But he stopped, noticing something in his palm. He lifted his arm and drew back his fingers. The dragon necklace.
“My son,” his father said, closer, and Syah felt his hands on his arms. Something of his father’s touch calmed him, returning his mind, his reasoning, questions. His perplexed gaze left the myth pennant and jolted, shocked, to his mother’s face.
The young prince cried out and would have fallen if the king hadn’t been holding him. He quickly regained his balance but not his breath, his gaze returning in horror to the figure on the bed before him. It couldn’t be… the skin was empty, colorless, the muscles and form completely still. It was the sickness! A snap of consciousness went through his mind. “Mother!” he cried to awaken her, save her from the deathly slumber. He would have grabbed her, shook life back into her sleeping limbs, but his father pulled him back. “No!” Syah cried, but was weakened by a flush of confusion and agitation. “I have to help her!”
“No, my son,” his father said in a level voice, but firm. Syah cried out in frustration, feeling his father’s grip tightening as he tried to wrench free from him.
“Let me go!” he cried, anger replacing his shock as he felt the king pulling him away.
“Stop now, Syah,” the king replied in a calm voice.
“I’m going to find a cure! Let me to my books! She needs water, steam! Send for the healers… Send for the…” The prince felt dizziness returning, stronger and more persistent, only worsened by the hands pulling his arms. “No!” he cried when he looked back to the bed, his vision of her blurring. “Mother!” The grip came around his chest and deepened on him. The bed his mother slept on was leaving his sight. “Help her!” he screamed. “Mother!” The storm of heat, panic and anger consumed him, and even though his father was the strongest, most powerful man he knew, Syah fought him with all his might. The king tightened his arms around him, holding his son’s screaming, fighting body against his armored chest.
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