The Witch of Torinia

by Clifford Beal

  Gregorvero, who was standing two paces away, raised his eyebrows. “Citala won’t like cooling her heels on ship while you’re up at the palace. And that Necalli cove... well, I don’t trust him no ways. Always skulking about. Nobbling the crew about everything under the sun and always with that damned ugly grin. He makes a monkfish look beautiful.”

  Danamis turned back to the railing and leaned on his elbows. “I haven’t made up my mind about him just yet. That said, he’s in a foreign land on his own—a place where merfolk aren’t particularly welcome. I reckon he’ll keep his head down.”

  “And your lady?”

  He looked up again at Citala. She was still staring down at him, and by the expression on her face, a hundred questions must be running through her mind. “She will just have to trust me for what lies ahead.”

  “Damned curious that there’s no soldiery to be seen down here since we arrived this morning. Not even a half-drunk militiaman. What do you suppose that means?”

  Danamis shook his head. “I don’t know, Gregor. But my gut tells me they’re all hunkered down. Up there.” And he gestured towards the red sandstone walls, some forty feet high, that rose up where the city’s houses ended and which enclosed the sprawling royal palace of Valdur. “And if that is so, the people will already be smelling the fear. I need to get some answers from the queen and that weasel Raganus.”

  Bassinio joined Danamis at the railing. “I daresay that is what they are looking to you for.”

  AS THE MID-AFTERNOON summer sun beat down upon the deck, Citala watched as Danamis—dressed in his finest doublet and hose, a wine-coloured cloak about his shoulders and a velvet cap upon his head—left the ship in the company of his men-at-arms. The latter were armoured—brigantines and barbutes all, with swords at their waists. She felt she needed to swim if for no other reason than to clear her head. But the scum-coated waters of the harbour, filled with flotsam and dead fish, deterred that impulse. She would need to immerse herself within another day—or risk the onset of dry-death—but for now she was in no danger.

  Four days earlier she had been elated, almost smug, with her victory over the galley and her rescue of Danamis. She had proved her worth. And that first night after the battle when she had announced she would accompany him whether he wished it or not, they had made love as if it was the first time for both of them. She knew then, in the tightness of his embrace and the intensity of his kisses, how deep was his passion for her and her for him. Yet something in her mind was quietly warning her off. It may have been nothing more than the age-old taboo of dealing with landsmen: deep seated warnings of her elders inculcated from childhood. But it was there nonetheless. She worried that perhaps it was something more. That her love was doomed to fail, broken on the rocks of Valdurian wars and human treachery. A forlorn desire that would lead only to sorrow. Now she watched him as he made his way across the piazza, past its tall stone columns and arches, and into the warren of Perusia. She felt a lump grow in her throat and her chest tighten as an impending sense of danger almost overwhelmed her. Why had this queen sent for him?

  “You fear for his safety, Citala?” Necalli was standing near to her, his shimmering blue silk-like tunic billowing in the hot breeze that swept the quarterdeck. He spoke to her in the mer tongue. It was the dialect of the land of Atlcali, a language new to Citala which she struggled to understand despite the similarities to her own.

  “I fear for his future, Master Necalli. What can he do to help save the throne of Valdur for this queen? He has no armies, only his ships. And it is an army—a great many men—that are needed to save a crown from falling off a head.” She folded her arms. “He would not take me with him.” She turned towards him. “Nor you it would seem.”

  “Understandable given the years of mistrust betwixt man and mer in this land, wouldn’t you agree? Why should he stir up the people when there are enough challenges at the moment?”

  She gave Necalli a thin, cold smile. “And why do you bother to speak words when you can talk with your mind? It was you who reached out to me before I left the ship to return home. And you know full well that is a gift that only she-mer possess among my people.”

  Necalli’s huge eyes glistened as she spoke to him. He blinked slowly, nostrils flaring, and lowered his head. “It is an intrusion to push into your thoughts, I know. But I felt compelled to do so before you left the ship. I did not know when we might meet again. I wanted you to know my true feelings.”

  Citala raised her chin slightly. “Even before we left Palestro I felt a presence—something lurking just beyond sight. Something watching and waiting. Was that you, Master Necalli?”

  The merman blinked again, his transparent inner lid moving upwards quickly followed by the outer, pale grey one. “That was not me, Citala. Perhaps you have picked up the sense of some other being. Or merely the echoes of your own thoughts.”

  She knew that what he said could be true. “It is an uncertain gift and one not always... dependable. Do all of your people possess this, mermen and she-mer both?”

  Necalli nodded. “I did not mean to alarm you by reaching out. I want you to understand that I have the interest of your people at heart, whether you believe it or not. Your interest too, Citala.”

  She laughed. “You hardly know me—even after months in Palestro.”

  Necalli’s wide mouth opened in a grin, filed white teeth flashing. “I feel I have known you for a long, long time, Citala.” His long hand reached over and gently touched her wrist. “I would counsel that you must be patient. With him. There is more at stake than his service to the throne. The queen has known him for some time. There are emotions to deal with.”

  It was now Citala who blinked in surprise. Her reply tumbled out in Valdurian. “What do you mean? Emotions? Between them?”

  “He has not told you? It is as I feared.” He moved his hand away and placed it upon the railing as he looked out over the docks.

  “You will explain yourself, Master Necalli,” said Citala, her voice assuming a darker tone. “What of his past dealings with this queen?”

  Necalli looked down. “I am told—by Lord Danamis’s father—that the two were once lovers. Shortly before she was betrothed to Sempronius and when she was still only the daughter of the Duke of Colonna.” He paused as Gregorvero ascended to the quarterdeck of the caravel and gave him a long glance before silently moving to the stairs and ascending to the poop deck.

  “He never told me,” Citala said.

  Necalli moved closer to her and she did not react. “You see,” he said, voice low, “some believe the parentage of the young prince is in question.”

  “What are you saying? That Danamis is the father?”

  “That is what some say. Now with the king dead, more are saying it. That is the problem, Citala.”

  She turned away. “He never told me. It would be madness to return here with that rumour upon the wind. If war is on its way...”

  “If it was your child in question, would you not return to save it from capture or death?”

  She looked out across the rows of distant houses, the temples, the piazza, and up to the walled palace nestled in the hills beyond. Searching for answers as her mind raced. “He will tell me all when he is ready. I know he will.” But there was little conviction in her voice.

  Necalli gently grasped her shoulder. “He is a good and loyal creature. And know that I am here to help him—and you—and all the mer of this land. I owe my life to the father of Nicolo and my blood debt is to his house. But I am mer—like you.”

  The implications of what Necalli said washed over her, made her dizzy. The queen is a widow now. And she wants him back.

  DANAMIS WATCHED AS the drawbridge descended. In all his journeys to Perusia he had never seen it raised during daylight, until now. As the chains and weights rattled their progress, his eyes scanned the battlements above. Crossbowmen at every gap, bows cradled and ready. He turned to his man, Talis, and gave a knowing look. Talis nodded in retur
n. Someone was very nervous inside the palace. As the bridge hit the ground with a muffled thud, the portcullis began to rise. Beyond, Danamis could see an array of soldiers, weapons at the ready.

  The captain of the guard stood forward, glaive in hand. “Admiral Danamis! You and your party may enter!” The soldiers opened their ranks before him and Danamis and his men passed into the gate tower and the first courtyard.

  Danamis recognized the captain as the same who had conducted him through the palace a year before. “Captain Caluro, it gladdens me to see you still in command.”

  The man nodded but that was as far as his welcome extended. “Your men will be refreshed here while you accompany me into the palace.”

  “Per usual,” said Danamis, grinning good-naturedly. Caluro’s face remained as stone.

  Danamis turned to Talis, his captain of the fo’c’sle on Royal Grace, a man whose confidence was never in short supply. Talis gave him a knowing smirk. “We’ll be fine right here, Captain. Wine and a few games of dama for everyone I reckon.”

  Captain Caluro, nearly as tall as a merman, led him into the damp sprawling palace of Valdur, two guardsmen following close behind. His thoughts turned to one year ago when he had walked with Strykar along these same grand corridors, floored with marble and hung with gaudy tapestries, when he came cap in hand to beg aid from the king. Now that king was dead, felled by the same cockatrice that had followed him around the place like an overexcited dog. There was a lesson in that somewhere, he thought.

  Their boots echoed across the wide halls and chambers, dark oak doors creaking open as they made their progress towards the royal apartments. At last they entered a receiving chamber—not a public chamber as it was neither grand nor spacious—but still not a space of intimacy within the royal apartments. A long dining table lay at the centre, laden with all manner of delicacies upon silver chargers, tall wine ewers shining in the light of a hundred candles. “Wait here, my lord,” whispered the captain to Danamis. A moment later the door at the opposite end of the hall opened and two of the palace guard entered and took up station either side.

  Baron Raganus entered, hands clasped in front of his long black, pleated cioppa. His expression was as sour as the last time that Danamis had seen him; a face filled with resentment for having to deal once again with the pirate of Palestro. Raganus walked to him slowly and stopped. Both men gave the faintest of bows, the bare minimum of respect. “Admiral Danamis,” said Raganus softly. “You have come as the queen asked. I am not sure that was the wisest course as I have tried to discourage her from further involvement of your... services.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, chancellor. A refreshing change.”

  Raganus scowled slightly despite the wry smile that appeared on his lips. “I do not know what she has written you, but I assure you that she and the prince are safe here in Perusia. We have an army. Your flotilla would be of little use against any rebellion.”

  “The queen has asked nothing of me yet. But whatever she asks, I will do my utmost to comply.”

  “Commendable, I dare say. But it is the council’s opinion that your ships are better employed keeping the seas safe from Southlanders—and those vessels that would rebel against the crown. If a rebellion should occur, I might add.”

  It was now Danamis who smiled. “‘If’ you say? You might tell that to Captain Alandris who is now a little shorter of stature than before his crew mutinied in favour of Duke Ursino. I have returned his galley to you, and his head.”

  Raganus visibly started.

  “I suppose no one on the council told you,” added Danamis. “Then again, how many are left on the council with you?”

  Raganus recovered himself, shaking his head. “That changes little. It only proves the point that you should be out at sea and patrolling the coast.”

  “I would say you already have a war at your doorstep. And the queen is right to summon her loyal commanders to her while we have the time to make plans.”

  Raganus’s voice lowered. “We have all the allies we need in the event of rebellion by Ursino. Of this the queen is fully aware. As an admiral of Valdur you have a role to play to be sure, but it is not here in Perusia.”

  Danamis closed the remaining distance between them. “I came back once when you had me done for dead, old man. You put your purse on the wrong horse that time. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

  The thump of a halberd staff brought both of them around. The dowager queen of Valdur floated into the room, her dark silk gown, the deepest shade of indigo, covered in a hundred embroidered stars of spun-gold thread. Danamis bowed low to her, his bonnet in his hand. Even in mourning, she was as beautiful as ever, a shining sun at the centre of such a dark and ancient pile of wood and stone.

  “Lord Chamberlain, you may leave us.”

  Raganus bowed low, straightened himself, and shot Danamis a look of malevolence that the Palestrian returned in full. He hurriedly left, his ridiculous pointed shoes scuffing along the polished marble as he retreated.

  Cressida gave Danamis a weak smile and motioned for him to move to the table—there were only two chairs, one at the head and the other close by its side. She took her seat first, a guardsman pulling out the oversized monstrosity of gilded wood and then sliding it in as she seated herself.

  “Messere Nicolo, please sit by me,” she said as she placed both hands on the arms of her chair. Danamis replaced his hat and walked to his chair, a servant ready to ease him into his place.

  “It does me good to see you again, my queen.”

  She drank him in with her eyes as a servant filled her goblet. “And I am grateful you have survived the dangers of the past few months. And that you have answered my summons.”

  Danamis nodded. “It is my duty to serve you. As I served the king. We all grieve for him.”

  “He did little to support you I seem to remember.”

  “It is the right of a king to support whom he chooses. It is my duty to serve regardless.”

  “Which I suppose is the correct answer.” Now that she was seated, he could see her face was careworn, worry barely concealed, the sign of sleepless nights clear to see. She paused a few seconds. “I am glad you have come as I asked.” She raised her arm and another servant came over bearing an elaborate silver goblet the cup of which was fashioned from a nautilus shell and etched with ships, men, and mer. “It is fitting that a man of the sea drink from an appropriate vessel, no?” The goblet was placed in front of him and filled by a boy. Cressida lifted her goblet towards him. “To House Danamis. And to Valdur.”

  Danamis raised the awkward vessel to his lips and sipped. “Thank you, my queen.”

  The guards had not left but had taken up station at both doors as the servants went silently about their task, bringing sweetmeats to them, never once making eye contact. He studied Cressida as he took another sip of the wine, deliciously sweet. She wore no veil of grief: her long blonde hair was restrained by a plait bound with a ribbon of black silk and a pearl-encrusted golden circlet sat upon her brow. She was older than he by six years but it showed not in the least; age had not yet touched her despite her heavy burdens. “Raganus did not give you a warm welcome by the sound of it,” she said.

  “I was not expecting one, your Majesty. But I am ready to hear what news you may tell me. And I stand ready to aid you in whatever you ask.”

  She nodded. “If we keep our voices low then we may speak freely. It would have been dangerous to meet alone. As things stand.”

  Danamis knew what she meant. Rumours of their old love had been spread to weaken her. But how any had found out about their tryst, eleven years past, he could not fathom. “After all this time...” he whispered, his hand tightening about the stem of his goblet. “Who knew of us? And how did Ursino discover it? Surely it’s he who’s feeding the rumours. He is the only one with a blood claim to the throne.”

  “Enough knew. And now, with the throne vacant, is the time to put such a secret to use.” She lo
oked wistful for a moment then smiled. “Go ahead, eat.”

  “I’m sorry. My appetite has waned. Tell me what intelligence you have as things are now. You wrote of the council breaking up. Do you trust Raganus?”

  “Five have left the city. To Torinia or to Milvorna, I do not know. Raganus...” She tilted her head. “In my heart, I believe he is loyal. But he is reliant upon Captain Polo who tells him that things will ‘blow over’. He also believes his trump card is the Silk Empire.”

  Danamis leaned forward. “Raganus is proposing an alliance with the Sineans?”

  Cressida nodded. “Through Polo, as the intermediary. I have told him no. I won’t have my son a puppet prince to foreigners. ”

  Danamis set down his goblet and swiped his hand over his chin. “The palace guard. I am assuming you have paid them, handsomely.”

  She threw him an annoyed look. “You think me that foolish, Nico? It was the first thing I did when Sempronius died. I have eight hundred men here behind the palace walls. Another thousand at camps around the borders of Perusia. I trust Caluro and his lieutenants.”

  “If he betrays you to Ursino they will put a coronet on his head. Probably slice up your land to make a new duchy for him. You cannot trust anyone, Cressida. At least, not completely.”

  “That is why I sent for you. For your fleet. And so that you can bring in Maresto and Ivrea if need be. Perhaps Saivona too.”

  “What of Colonna? Surely your father will send soldiers here to aid you?”

  Cressida laughed. “I am afraid that my fellow citizen of Colonna—Piero Polo—has blinded him to the need for such a move. He has written to me that I am to trust in my advisors. That the Sineans can be trusted if we need them to defend the throne. Their three ships sit across the bay in Colonna. They could reach here in less than two days sailing.”

  “Then you have only the walls around you. Until we find you more men to come to your aid.”

  “It’s worse than that. I have just learned from scouts that Milvorna has two armies on the move. One has gone west into Torinia but a second is headed south towards us. And as the Duke of Milvorna sent only a lowly courtier to the funeral, I think it fairly certain whose side he is on.”