Maely was learning some of what Karak’s native words meant. “Ssk,” if she heard it right, meant that he agreed. Of course, she could’ve mistaken that syllable for “isk,” in which case the lizard man would’ve been expressing disgust. Either way, he had a point. They needed to hurry to the capitol in order to rescue Jekaran before Gymal had him hanged.
Maely brushed the underside of her mother’s ring with her thumb. And to get him away from Kairah.
Jekaran abruptly woke to a very strange sensation in his head. It was not unlike the pins and needles he knew when his leg would fall asleep after sitting on the floor for too long–except, this was much more intense and jolted him in equally timed waves of force. He squinted his eyes and gasped through clenched teeth as the feeling ceased in his head and shot like lightning down to his arm, then to his back, and then to his legs. When Jekaran opened his eyes, his vision was clear, and his head no longer throbbed. He turned, without any pain, and saw a woman standing over him. She was middle-aged, wore a plain grey dress, and had some kind of jewelry that wrapped her head and rested on her brow.
A healing talis. The woman was a healer.
“Thank you,” Jekaran breathed out as he experimentally lifted his left arm. To his delight, it was no longer broken.
“Well, it looks like you can show manners, when you choose to.”
Jekaran sat up to find Gymal standing at the foot of his pallet. “That can’t have been cheap.” Jekaran glanced at the woman in the grey dress. “Why throw away Aies on a condemned man?”
Gymal shook his head. “I assure you, it was strictly a matter of convenience. We’re disembarking, and I needed you able to walk.” Gymal snapped his fingers and Jekaran felt hands grab him underneath his armpits. He turned to see Hort lifting him to his feet. The man grimaced apologetically as he produced a pair of black irons.
“Either you can put them on or he will,” Gymal said sternly.
Jekaran nodded, slipped the shackles onto his wrists, and locked them into place. He looked at Hort, who quickly checked the cuffs to make sure they were locked, after which he shot a nod at Gymal.
I can free us, the sword pleaded. Our link has grown strong. Physical contact is no longer necessary for me to give you power.
Go to hell, Jekaran projected. I’m not letting you use me like a puppet, not again!
The sword responded again with hurt confusion but didn’t say anything more.
“Where’s Kairah?” Jekaran demanded.
Gymal walked over to the door leading out of the brig. “She will be accompanying us.”
“Then she’s awake?”
Gymal hesitated before finally answering with a curt, “No.”
A cold, nauseating pit formed in Jekaran’s stomach. What did that mean? If they were docked in Aiested, shouldn’t the city’s well have healed her? Why hadn’t she awakened? Was her condition more serious than he’d been led to believe?
They left the brig and ascended to the deck in silence. Jekaran half expected to be blinded by a sun he had not seen in three days, and so was surprised to find that it was night. Not late in the evening, perhaps only an hour or two after sunset. They lingered on the deck while Gymal settled his bill with the captain of the Queen’s Honor, after which Hort left, returning later with an unconscious Kairah held in his arms. Jekaran’s heart twisted as he looked at the Allosian woman’s amethyst hair hanging down and gently fluttering from a quiet night’s breeze.
He took a step toward her but stopped as Gymal gripped his shoulder. “We’re not going to have any trouble, are we?”
Jekaran looked down at the weaselly little lord for a confused moment before it occurred to him what Gymal was talking about. The sword. Hort was also carrying Jekaran’s sword. He looked at the big mercenary and didn’t need the power of his psychic link to discern where the man carried it. There was a bundled object peeking out from a satchel strapped to Hort’s back.
“No,” Jekaran finally said, and he felt the sword’s deep disappointment.
“Good,” Gymal drawled.
They marched off the ship, taking the gangplank single file. When Jekaran set foot on the wooden boards of the pier, he got his first real look at Aiested. He gasped as he looked up at a glowing Apeira well that easily could’ve been a thousand feet tall.
The well’s gentle purple aura reflected on thousands of white buildings that looked carved of ivory in an architecture that was as artful as it was functional. Rounded arches, flowing trailing designs, and spires rising higher than any building he’d seen rose all over a city lit with thousands of points of light. The abundance of light talises made the massive city look like a starry night sky. It was beautiful in a way that reminded Jekaran of Kairah, artful, glorious, perfect.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Gymal said in a tone that wasn’t as nasally as it usually sounded. “I never get tired of seeing it, especially at night.”
Why was the man talking so casually to him? Was it some sort of a new mind game? Or was the scene of Aiested at night so breathtaking that it could overcome even Gymal’s disdain for him? Jekaran didn’t answer the man. Instead, he stared anxiously at Kairah, whom Hort was now carrying several feet off to his right.
They wound their way away from the docks and toward a white coach lashed to a team of six gherns where a driver in blue livery met them. “Lord Tyrus Gymal?” the man asked, and his tone carried the hint of an accent that Jekaran couldn’t place.
“Yes,” Gymal answered.
The driver bowed low and then opened the carriage door. Gymal motioned for Hort to enter first, and the man carried Kairah into the coach as effortlessly as though he were holding a small child.
“Where can I take you, my lord?” the coachman asked.
“The palace,” Gymal curtly replied. “And be quick about it.”
“As you wish, my lord,” the coachman bobbed his head.
He’s afraid, Jekaran heard the sword whisper. He doesn’t want us this close together.
“Shut up!” Jekaran snapped, and then froze as he realized he had replied out loud.
Gymal shot a glance at him. The man didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Jekaran could see the expression on his face; curiosity mixed with pity. He must think my brain addled. He would have to be extra careful to avoid any more verbal slips lest he give Gymal more moral justification to have him executed. Put down like a sick ghern with a broken leg.
Gymal’s stare lingered on him for a long uncomfortable moment before he finally grabbed Jekaran by the chain that tethered his hands together and forcefully guided him up into the coach. He fell down on a plush seat opposite Hort, who had set Kairah up next to him so that her head rested against a window. He was about to ask after the Allosian woman when Gymal stepped up into the coach, and sat next to Jekaran. He quickly produced a slender, ivory wand with a ball at the point and a handle capped by amethyst stone.
“This is a stun baton. As the name implies it delivers a shock that can incapacitate someone twice the size as my associate.” Gymal casually waved the baton at Hort. “It is very nearly classed as a weapon talis save for the fact that it is non-lethal and primarily used to wrangle oxen. If I even suspect you of trying to reach for that sword, I will strike you down and watch you convulse and drool as you piss yourself. Understand?”
If I was in control, it would have no effect on you, the sword said. Jekaran ignored it and said to Gymal, “So why didn’t you use that on Kaul? Or were you counting on his killing me?”
Gymal pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I assure you, I would have had I owned it at the time. I just acquired it from the captain of the Queens’ Honor, and not for a petty price.” He lowered his hand, opened his eyes, and stared at Jekaran. “Dealing with you has cost me a great deal of money.”
“That’s not going to keep me up at night,” he retorted.
Gymal turned to a small, horizontal window set in the front coach wall and rapped three short knocks.
Jekaran heard the driver shout something and the carriage lurched into motion. “The ride to the palace is lengthy,” Gymal said. “From here on out, you are not to speak unless spoken to. Understand?”
Jekaran silently nodded. He wouldn’t give Gymal any excuse to strike him with the stun baton. Apparently, Gymal had been thinking the same thing, for he grinned knowingly and said, “Smart boy.”
This is going to be a long ride. He let his gaze settle on Kairah. Seeing her beauty was the only thing that could comfort him now, and even that comfort was mixed with worry for her safety. He watched her eyes dance underneath closed eyelids. That sign of life, small as it was, alleviated a little of his anxiety for her.
Kairah cautiously made her way down the vacant street. The city, for it was large enough to support a population of thousands, was eerily empty. The tall white buildings were full of cracks and haphazardly missing chunks of stone. The smoothly paved streets were blemished with broken up patches, and there ought to have been green overgrowth somewhere, but there was no life here. No people, no plants, no pests.
Nothing.
Kairah stepped carefully over a bundle of dried sticks lying fallen in the street. No, not sticks, but bones. It was a human skeleton. Kairah knelt down to examine it, hoping to sense some decomposition, but there was none. It was as if this place and everything in it were in a state of frozen death.
She rose, scanning the street and immediately spotting more bones, some in complete skeletons, but most just scattered appendages, a skull here, a femur there, a broken rib cage lying on its side. Kairah moved toward one of the dilapidated buildings. She shoved open a broken door, and stepped inside.
She was greeted with a truly horrific sight. Skulls were the first thing she noticed, dozens of skulls littered across the floor like trash. There were other bones too, so many that the entire floor looked to be made of them. The building had been some kind of inn or tavern, filled with people.
What had happened to them? It was hard to tell if they had gathered at the tavern in a search for shelter, or if the bones were representative of the establishment’s usual crowd. But no, there were small skulls here–lots of them. There had been as many children in this place as adults, certainly not the normal nightly drinking crowd.
Kairah stayed in the building until she could bear the sight no longer. So much death. She took to the street again, exploring the empty city, looking in vain for any sign of life no matter how tiny. A particularly bright flash of emerald lightning lit up the whole city, and that’s when Kairah saw it; an Apeira well at the center of the city.
But the crystal obelisk in the distance wasn’t rising proud and tall as it should. No, this well had toppled over onto its side, crushing in the roof of a neighboring building. The sight came as a surprise to Kairah; she had not sensed any Apeiron radiating from it. A dead well? Was such a thing even possible? Apeira was the essence of life. How could something that was a source of life itself die?
The very idea frightened Kairah, and she lifted the fringe of her dress and exploded into a panicked sprint toward the center of the city–toward the dead well.
Raelen ducked Gryyth’s backhanded swing. The Ursaj bear-man was quick for a creature of his size. Raelen spun to his right and attempted the same swing at Gryyth. The creature moved in a blur of white fur, twisted around to Raelen’s back, and gripped the prince in a powerful hold. Raelen struggled to breathe, strained his muscles, and broke free. He dropped to the ground, rolled forward, and sprung back up to find Gryyth bearing down on him in a ferocious charge.
“Your Highness,” a voice called out.
In an astonishing display of agility, Gryyth stopped short, effectively ending his charge only a foot before it was due to crash into Raelen.
“You lose, cub,” Gryyth rumbled softly.
Raelen grinned. “We are interrupted. That makes this match a draw.”
The white bear dipped his charcoal muzzle deferentially. “As you say, my prince.”
Raelen laughed as he looked up into Gryyth’s light blue eyes. The only time the Ursaj would treat him as an equal was when they sparred. Other than that, he was the picture of obsequious obedience.
Raelen untapped the transference band encircling the bicep of his right upper arm and his hands–covered in white fur with sharp claws for nails–returned to normal as he walked over to a stool to grab a towel. He wiped his face, and then dabbed at the muscles of his naked torso. “What is it, Hausen?”
The young messenger woman was clearly uncomfortable addressing Raelen while he was only partially clothed as was evidenced by her inability to meet his eyes. “My prince, his majesty bid me send this missive to you as he was engaged with his war council and could not be bothered with it.” The woman held up a paper scroll sealed with red wax. “It is from Lord Tyrus Gymal of one of the southern provinces. He claims that he has an urgent matter to present to the king.”
Raelen sighed and cast a glance over his shoulder to Gryyth. “You may now refer to me as Aiestal’s’ royal secretary.”
Gryyth didn’t laugh. It took a lot to make the Ursaj emote anything, laughter most of all. But that didn’t stop Raelen from trying at every opportunity. He turned back and took the scroll from the young messenger woman. Noticing her embarrassment, Raelen draped the towel over his shoulders so that it hung down over his chest. It didn’t appear to help matters. Raelen chuckled to himself as he broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll. He lifted part of the towel and began to scrub the blonde hair on the side of his head. His mind half wandered as he scanned the slanted, tightly scrawled script. Then he froze, re-read the previous line, and looked up at Hausen.
“Summon my personal guard!”
The young woman bobbed a bow and then fled.
Raelen turned to look at Gryyth. The Ursaj said nothing, but his blue eyes were full of intense curiosity.
“Lord Gymal has brought us an Allosian.”
Raelen didn’t have time for his usual post-spar bath, so he used a bucket of warm soapy water and a cloth to wash himself before drying and donning his plate armor and white tabard over a plain tunic and breeches. He knew he was the object of quiet ridicule for his choice to shun the lavish fashions prized by the aristocracy in favor of the soldier’s garb, but Raelen had always thought the velvet doublets, colorful hose, and elaborate–poufy–hats to be ridiculous in both design and function. That was one virtue his father had passed onto him; probably the only virtue the man possessed.
Raelen emerged from his quarters to find a contingent of ten soldiers wearing full, plate armor waiting for him. Only the captain had his visor up, making the others look like statues so perfectly still were they standing.
“Prince Taris,” the captain saluted fist to heart.
“Captain.” Raelen nodded his acknowledgement of the salute. He waited for Gryyth to emerge from the quarters before falling into step behind him. “We have not had dealings with the Allosians since long before I was born,” Raelen said quietly to Gryyth. “What could this mean?”
“I am sure I do not know, my prince,” Gryyth rumbled.
Raelen shot a look up at the bear-man and smirked. “I’m surprised, Gryyth. A fly cannot land upon a scrap of moldy bread without your seeing an omen in it.”
Gryyth snorted. “Do not take my ignorance to mean that I think this occurrence to not be momentous.”
Raelen wanted to ask if the Ursaj had ever had dealings with the fey-folk, but couldn’t bring himself to do it; any time he mentioned Gryyth’s people, a little of the light left the bear-man’s eyes. When I am king, I will free your people. He had sworn as much to Gryyth when he was just starting to become a man, when he truly began to understand that one day he would succeed his father. Gryyth had only responded with a patronizing, very good, my prince. As much as he knew Gryyth loved him, the Ursaj’s mistrust of human nature ran deep–and justifiably so.
For hundreds of years, humans captured and enslaved the bear-people, forcing them to retrea
t deeper into the northern woods for safety. Despite their large stature, strength, and ferocity in battle, the Ursaj shied away from confrontation more often than not. Gryyth said it was not Seiro to fight when one did not need to. This was, of course, a demonstrative indictment of human kind’s love of violence and war. How did we get to be this way? Is it just in our nature to try to dominate or destroy everything around us? Well, he wasn’t a philosopher, and therefore unqualified to answer that question. But he would show Gryyth that humans could choose to be noble. He would free all of Aiestal’s captive Ursaj when he became king, political consequences be damned.
It took the better part of an hour for Raelen and his entourage to reach one of the palace’s huge receiving rooms. The royal palace was gigantic; going between places required an inordinate amount of travel time. Raelen heard that when the Allosians built Aiestal, they had put in place talises that made travel instantaneous, thereby putting no restraints on the size of their architecture. Slipgates, the talises were called. Extremely rare, so much so even the crown only owned two, one of which was damaged and unusable. Oh well, if we didn’t have to walk everywhere, we’d all probably be fat and lazy.
“My prince,” a voice called, snapping Raelen out of his reverie.
He stopped up short, causing an interruption in the hypnotic marching cadence of his armored guards. Pariel approached from a connecting corridor. The tall, bald captain jogged over to him and bobbed his head in a perfunctory show of deference.
“Word came that you had summoned your personal guard. Is everything all right?”
Raelen gritted his teeth in irritation. Father must still be having me watched! It didn’t come as a surprise, Raelen’s father trusted no one, but he had thought his continued loyalty even in the face of Saranna’s suicide would’ve proven his devotion to the king.
“There is no danger,” Raelen said. “But your presence would be welcome as we meet with one of the kingdom’s provincial governors. He brings strange tidings.”
The Lure of Fools Page 33
