Word of Truth

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “You could’ve killed me,” Sir Mulliner said, incredulous.

  “If I’d wanted, you’d be dead,” Mahraveh replied. “I only mean to feed my people.” She rocked the spear one way to jar it loose, then tore it free. Her response stunned the abrasive Shieldsman to silence.

  “Sir Unger…” Lord Jolly rasped as he used his one arm to prop himself against the tree. Even that little exertion left him wheezing. “You made it. And you’re all still getting along, I see.”

  Torsten forced himself to ignore everything else and rushed to the Lord from Crowfall. As he did, he noticed that another handful of pit lizards rested in the shallows of the oasis, their forked tongues hissing as they prepared for a meal.

  “Where’s Dellbar?” Torsten asked.

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “This is no time for jokes. Where is the High Priest?”

  “We could only calm one horse enough to ride. I sat with him for a while, but the heat had the thing’s heart racing. Too much weight. I let Dellbar keep all the food we scavenged out of the stables, and he went out on his own.”

  “You sent a blind man alone across the Black Sands?” Torsten asked, incredulous.

  “Sent?” Lord Jolly chuckled. “The drunkard didn’t leave me much choice. He said, ‘Iam will guide me,’ and that I’d ‘only slow him down.’”

  “What a damned fool.”

  Lord Jolly shrugged, “Hey, at least he left me someplace with water… if those damn reptiles will ever let me get close. My throat feels like Elsewhere.”

  Torsten walked to the water, and the pit lizards backed away, not daring attack a man his size. He scooped up some water in his palms, intending to bring it to Lord Jolly, but he gulped down a mouthful first.

  “If Dellbar doesn’t make it, we won’t have enough of the church with us to help,” Torsten said as he approached with two palms full of the fresh, warm water.

  “Have faith, Torsten,” Jolly said. “He does.”

  Torsten angled his hands for Lord Jolly to drink. The nobleman didn’t seem to care at all how demeaning it looked for a man of his stature to be lapping from another man’s hand.

  “Faith…” Torsten repeated as he did, low and brooding. He was running low on it. Iam had shown Himself and saved them at White Bridge, but hadn’t made His presence known since, even when Pi, King of His chosen Kingdom, was killed. Maybe, He really had expended all His being that day, manifesting in Dellbar. Perhaps, now, they were entirely on their own to save His kingdom.

  “Sir Unger, who is it?” Mahraveh asked.

  He wheeled around to see her approaching, a crowd of Shieldsmen at her back, gawking. Torsten imagined they’d never seen a woman like her. He hadn’t.

  “It’s our Master of Ships,” Torsten said. “He made it out alive.”

  “I’m thrilled to see you survived, my Lady,” Jolly said. “Where’s the King?”

  Torsten shot Mahraveh a dour look. Again, his chest grew tight, and for the first time since their escape, Mahraveh’s expression went rife with sadness, as if what had happened had only then sunk in. She bit her lip and stared down at the dark sand.

  “By Iam…” Jolly whispered, only needing to look at them to realize the truth.

  “Everyone, get your rest,” Mahraveh said softly. “We don’t have long. Babrak knows how to cross the desert.”

  “They aren’t coming after us,” Torsten replied.

  “You don’t know him. Babrak burned this place to the ground once before. He won’t care that we have women and children with us. When they catch up, he’ll hit with everything they have.”

  “But Babrak isn’t in charge. Look behind us, nobody’s coming except your faithful. Nesilia wants us alive. She wants us all back in Yarrington for her arrival.”

  “How do you know?” Mahraveh asked.

  “The dead aren’t entertaining enough for her,” Torsten said. “She wants a crowd to bear witness to her glory, right beside the mountain where Iam damned her for eternity.”

  “Then we’ll destroy her there,” Mahraveh snarled, her dark eyes burning with conviction. Torsten wasn’t sure what to say. Nesilia had an army of possessed men and women, a mystic commanding power Torsten couldn’t believe, the Drav Cra and their warlocks, and legendary beasts able to control the seas. Even Liam had never gone up against such overwhelming odds.

  Mahraveh strolled by him. “Just get some rest, Sir Unger,” she muttered, resting her hand upon his shoulder. “Those of my people still with us will follow me to the end. But yours will be lost now. They may no longer have a King, but they need their commander.”

  Saujibar no longer had much to offer in the way of amenities. Sand had swept through even the ruins of the remaining structures, burying them. Barely enough remained to provide shade, even the trees were scant.

  Torsten and the Glassmen claimed one on the far side of the oasis, so as to avoid any more trouble. Many thousands filled in the rest of the area, clinging to the low ridge for cover.

  Water was in plenty, and the survivors of Latiapur desperately needed it. Food, not so much. There had been no time to grab supplies, so all they had were the pit lizards that Mahraveh’s men hunted out of the oasis and dunes. Markless women were busy cooking and rationing them out. Enough for every person to each have a bite, if that. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do until they reached a major settlement.

  Torsten couldn’t stomach any. He could barely get water down, and listening to his men complain about how hungry they still were or how chewy the lizard meat was, had his blood boiling.

  Torsten stared at Pi’s encapsulated body, lying in the sand like a rolled-up Breklian rug in the shadow of the resting zhulong which had carried him.

  The first time Torsten buried him in the Royal Crypt, he’d been sad, but more so for his family—his mother. However, since Redstar’s grip on the boy had waned, Torsten had grown close to him, learned how smart and capable he really was.

  The Glass Kingdom hadn’t only lost a King, Pantego had lost a boy that would’ve become a great man. One who bore all the best aspects of his famous parents and was only beginning to scratch the surface of his untold potential.

  “Are You watching?” Torsten asked the sky. The sun reddened as it slowly fell across the dunes, making the black sand glow a deep purple. “Is this what You want?”

  Silence answered him.

  “Figures,” Torsten growled.

  “Look at them, Torsten,” Sir Mulliner said as he hobbled over, nibbling on his chunk of lizard meat to make it last longer. He plopped down beside him. “Plotting away. We’re inviting the hornets into the nest—not the best analogy, but you know what I mean.”

  Torsten followed the man’s finger. He pointed to Mahraveh, staying in the wreckage of the largest building in Saujibar. It looked like it’d been some sort of mansion. However, now all that was left were crumbling clay walls and portions of a broken blackwood structure. She sat on one, sharpening a new spear while talking with Bit’rudam and some others who appeared to be former afhems. Serpent Guards kept anyone else away, forming a square around the ruin.

  “How in Iam’s name did they not see that fleet coming?” asked another Shieldsman.

  “No wonder Liam crushed them,” said one more.

  “It’s like they wanted to get our King killed.”

  Torsten whipped around, fist squeezed tight, ready to knock the head off the man that’d said that. The Shieldsman flinched, and Torsten somehow managed to compose himself while, in his peripherals, he saw the wind rustling the fringes of Pi’s covering.

  “I’m just saying,” the Shieldsman said, shrugging. “Our King is gone, and his brand new wife is sitting over there without a scratch on her.”

  “I know I won’t kneel for her,” added another.

  “No way.”

  “Relax boys, it’s the King’s shield for a reason,” Sir Mulliner spat. “The foreigners can find their own new home. Yarrington isn’t hot enough for them,
anyway.”

  “Enough, all of you,” Torsten said, quietly fuming. “Our King isn’t even in the ground yet. This was his choice. To marry her. To make her his Queen, so that we might have a chance against what’s coming.”

  “Sea monsters and Shesaitju?” a Shieldsman spoke. “That sounds like their enemies, not ours.”

  “I promise you, they are one and the same. They didn’t get King Pi killed. We did by not protecting them, for not doing our job. We are the Shield… As far as I’m concerned the only people here unworthy of reentering Yarrington are all of us.”

  None replied out loud, just a few muted grumbles as they all returned to prior conversations.

  “Not the best way to inspire loyalty,” Sir Mulliner said to Torsten as he scooted closer.

  “I shouldn’t need to,” Torsten bristled. “Everyone knows what we’re up against.”

  “We know what we saw. ‘Nesilia, reborn.’ But they’re all right. All we saw were the enemies of our supposed new Queen.”

  “And did you miss the mystic sailing with them? Or beasts made of pure darkness? Uriah and I really did fail this Order if you’re all so blind. If only Lucas…” Torsten stopped. With all of the starvation, thirst, and dramatics, he’d forgotten about the young man who’d helped him when no one else would.

  He wasn’t with them, which meant he was either hiding in Latiapur or dead. The other option, Torsten didn’t want to imagine. Who knew if Nesilia might guide more demons of Elsewhere to claim people. He could only hope Lucas would be strong enough to resist.

  Sir Mulliner opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted by Lord Jolly, still leaning on the other side of the tree. His eyes had been closed, but clearly, he wasn’t sleeping.

  “She’s not Queen of anything,” Jolly said.

  “What are you talking about, old man?” Mulliner asked. “They spoke the vows before Dellbar the Holy. We all heard it.”

  “It’s almost like Nesilia was waiting for that exact moment,” Torsten added. “What joy she’d take watching us tear each other to pieces.”

  Lord Jolly sighed loudly. “You Shieldsmen really are out of touch. I guess not being able to get married makes you forget certain… things.”

  “Would you just say whatever it is you want to say?” Mulliner said.

  “The vows mean nothing if the marriage isn’t consummated before the Eyes of Iam,” Jolly said.

  Torsten turned to him. “So it’ll be annulled?”

  “I apologize for the crudeness, but unless she managed to get King Pi’s pants down while the arena was flooding, in the eyes of our Kingdom, nothing happened.”

  Mulliner snickered. “That’s right. Nobles and their rules. Do you think they realize that?” He nodded in Mahraveh’s direction.

  “If they don’t, we can’t say a word until we get them to Yarrington,” Torsten said. “No matter what she is to us, we need this army.”

  “Only if I get to be the one to tell them,” Mulliner said.

  Torsten scowled, and Mulliner shrank back.

  “So, the throne will remain empty,” Torsten ruminated. “Pi was the last of the Nothhelms. We have no King left to shield.”

  “The last direct descendant of Liam, sure, but not the last. Liam’s father was a purest and did what he could to cleanse the bloodline. Liam’s war against his brother didn’t help either. But there are distant cousins bearing the blood of King Autla, no matter how diluted.”

  “Governor Nantby was a fifth cousin, I believe,” Mulliner remarked.

  “I fear his fate is worse than death,” Torsten said.

  “Not only him,” Jolly went on. “Lord Eveliss, Duke of Marimount goes back a few generations. Lord Rapheusto Messier in West Vale… and more. Liam’s father sent all his relations away from Yarrington because he didn’t trust them nearby.”

  “But the Jollys were already in the bitter North.” Torsten sat up. If he had eyes, they’d be wide open. “Wardric told me once. The first of your family’s name was brother to the wife of King Autla and vowed to defend them against the Drav Cra barbarians for all eternity. It’s true, isn’t it.”

  “An age ago, yes.”

  “Better you than another foreigner,” Mulliner said. “Though, Oleander might have scared Nesilia off, eh?” he nudged Torsten in the side, and even though he wanted to be mad, Torsten couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Maybe that’s why she waited so long to return.”

  “You’ll find the nobility of Yarrington a much tighter circle than either of you imagined,” Lord Jolly said, clearly not amused. “Many families more powerful than mine claim relation. With the throne empty, they’ll all come crawling out of the weeds to start the next great dynasty.”

  “Well, like Torsten says, if Nesilia wins, none of that will matter,” Mulliner said.

  “It will if we win,” Torsten replied. “But we can’t let any of this get in the way of this war. We need the forces of every fortress and city west of the gorge helping us defend Yarrington.”

  “Then Caleef Mahraveh must be told the truth,” Lord Jolly said. “Otherwise, they’ll see her only as an occupying force.”

  “Leave her to me, and I’ll leave the court to you,” Torsten told Lord Jolly. “A King has died. We will declare observation of his passing in the name of Iam, through to the next Dawning. By then, we’ll either all be dead, or the Glass Kingdom will be reborn.”

  “Perhaps, either way, it’s time for it to end…”

  “That isn’t funny, Lord Jolly,” Mulliner said.

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  He groaned as he stood, then strode over to the oasis for some water. Torsten watched him go. He was a knowledgeable man. Not overly impressive in any way, but loyal. A friend to the Crown who left Crowfall the moment he was summoned to help guide King Pi.

  “You know it’ll be your choice,” Sir Mulliner whispered.

  “What?” Torsten asked.

  “The King. Master of Warfare. Wearer of White. Whoever the King’s Shield and the Glass army support, nobody else will be able to raise an army substantial enough to take the throne by force.”

  Torsten drew a long, ragged breath. It was true. After the war against Muskigo, and all of Liam’s before that, Pantego’s population had suffered. Maybe a city like Westvale could raise enough people to fight, but they’d be conscripts, not an army.

  His gaze drifted back toward Pi’s body. He caught Mahraveh watching them, probably discussing their next move as well. As if any of it mattered.

  “Let’s survive first,” Torsten said. “We’ve lost enough already.”

  XXV

  The Mystic

  Tum Tum led them through the city like he’d lived there his whole life. Through alleys and caverns, and great halls filled with columns as tall and thick as the oldest trees she’d ever seen. It was impressive. Sora supposed the stories were true, the dwarves had minds like their treasure boxes. Once something went in, it would never likely leave.

  Presently, they stood in a quaint living space. Each piece of furniture was a permanent fixture carved out of the floors and walls—chairs, sofas, tables. Nothing looked remotely comfortable to sit on, and the table was far lower than any Sora would be able to eat at.

  “Me pa’s house,” Tum Tum said, the slightest tremble to his voice. “S’pose’n he won’t be needin it no more.”

  Sora knew that feeling well. Loneliness.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Tum Tum,” Lucindur said.

  Sora stared through the small window, hoping they’d truly lost the clanbreakers. Several dwarves in armor patrolled the city, and some of them actually appeared to be urgent about something. Sora wondered if there was already a kingdom-wide search party. Neither Lorgit nor Gargamane was likely to ignore her attack.

  “Loss,” Tum Tum said dismissively. “Haven’t seen him in a long time. It’s sad, but he wouldn’t have accepted me back, anyway.”

  “Odd customs your people have,” Lucindur said
.

  “Ye should be talkin!” he shouted, though his tone spoke of joviality. “I just left yer land, and it was queer as a snake in flight.”

  “You don’t think this’ll be the first place they’ll look for you?” Lucindur asked.

  “Don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to stay in the city, do ye?” Tum Tum said, smiling. “They’ll be lookin in all the possible exits, not some rundown old shack.”

  “Still can’t believe me own father would be so callous to abandon the outside world,” Brouben said, chin to his chest.

  “If the King tells the truth, it’s understandable,” Sora said, still focused on the scurrying guards. “My people stole your lands. Destroyed your world. Drove you out.”

  “Yer people?” Tum Tum said. “Yer people have suffered the same injustices as me own.”

  “Let’s not be coy, Dwotratum,” Sora said, turning toward them.

  The use of the dwarf’s real name gave him pause, but only long enough for Sora to continue.

  “I’m as much a woman of the Glass as anyone born in Yarrington,” she said. “You’ve spent more time in Panping than I have.”

  “So, ye a mystic, then?” Brouben asked.

  “Not in the sense you might be thinking,” she answered. “Though my mother was a powerful one.”

  Tum Tum and Lucindur shot looks at one another.

  “I thought ye didn’t know who yer parents were,” Tum Tum asked.

  “I didn’t… not until recently.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “But that’s not important right now, is it?”

  “Aye, mystic or not, that’s some power ye got,” Brouben said.

  Sora smiled as she sat on one of the hard, stone chairs by the table. “Just tricks I’ve picked up.”

  “Ever modest, Sora is,” Tum Tum said, taking her spot at the window, looking out for guards. “All right. So what be the plan?”

  Sora’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

  “This all seems like a bedtime tale,” Brouben said. “Don’t feel real.”