The Burning Kingdoms

by Sally Green

  “That explains your view of their position but not your accusation,” the chancellor said. “Why did you accuse them?”

  “I heard them plotting. Regan, Hunt, and Birtwistle were discussing it after a banquet one evening, as casually as if they’d been planning a boar hunt.”

  “This is very hard to imagine, Your Highness.” The chancellor frowned. “How did you overhear this? At the dinner table?”

  “No. In Regan’s room, on the second night of our tour.”

  “And you were invited there?” the chancellor asked, trying to work it out.

  “No. I . . . I happened to be in the room.”

  “I don’t understand,” Thelonius interrupted. “How were you in Lord Regan’s room? You’d been drinking heavily, I seem to remember. Did you confuse the rooms? Explain the circumstances clearly.”

  Edyon wanted to lie, but it seemed pointless. He wasn’t a prince; it was all a fraud anyway: he didn’t belong here at all. He pulled the silver mirror from his jacket and slammed it on the table. “I was in Regan’s room stealing that. I was about to leave when Regan, Hunt, and Birtwistle returned. I hid and I overheard the conversation.”

  Thelonius frowned and picked up the silver mirror to inspect it. “But why? I really don’t understand.”

  The chancellor looked equally confused.

  “I’m a thief. I can’t help it,” Edyon said. “I was a little drunk as well; I won’t deny that either. But neither will I change my accusation. I heard what I heard. They were plotting murder.”

  Thelonius put the silver mirror back on the table. “I don’t know what to say, Edyon. Are you so lacking in morals? Do you care nothing for honor? This is not the behavior of any son of mine.”

  Tears filled Edyon’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, if you think I’m not worthy of being your son. I may be a thief, but I do have some honor. I’m being honest with you about what happened. I won’t lie about that. And I won’t apologize to three of the worst sort of men, men who truly have no honor.”

  “Then I’m not sure what we can do for you,” the chancellor said.

  MARCH

  SOMEWHERE IN SOUTHERN BRIGANT

  MARCH WAS pouring wine for a prince again and find-ing it less enjoyable than ever.

  Prince Harold was fourteen, and he had the wine more as an accessory to his appearance than for the taste or to quench his thirst. Today Harold’s goblet was made entirely of gold, though some days he preferred the glass with the gold stem. Most things of Harold’s had gold on them, even though he was in an army camp. “Most things” included March, who now wore a white shirt with a sleeveless jerkin that had a gold badge over the heart to show he was in the Gold Brigade. The day before, Harold had complained that March’s eyes were silver and didn’t match the gold pitcher March was hold-ing, and for a moment it really did feel like Harold would skewer out March’s eyes for clashing with the tableware. Harold considered March to be just another of his posses-sions, and not much more valuable than his gold plates and goblets.

  Sam was in the Gold Brigade too, but he was not treated like a servant. As Sam had no aptitude for or experience with waiting on a prince and, as he’d won the trial, Harold took pleasure in giving him arduous physical tasks to test his strength and speed. Sam was also being trained in the proper use of weapons and was already much more proficient with the sword. He was quickly turning into an able soldier and was once even allowed to spar against Harold. “Just remember to lose, Sam,” March had muttered under his breath as he’d watched the bout.

  The Gold Brigade was slowly increasing in numbers as Harold selected the best from the other brigades to build the ranks. It now comprised twenty boys, whose main roles were to act as Harold’s personal guard, and in March’s case, his personal assistant.

  The prince’s camp was spread through the forest, extending farther every day as more people heard of their location and came to provide services. Food provisions—the store of flour and vegetables, as well as pigs, geese, chickens, goats, and even a herd of cows—were on one side of the camp. The horses, saddles, and armory took up space on the south side. And here also was the farrier, and by him, the other blacksmiths constructing the strange metal contraptions that Harold delighted in. The prince had designed the machines himself, and twice a day went to see the progress on their manufacture.

  The morning’s inspection was now over, and a new man had arrived in camp. He seemed to be a soldier, in that he wore a sword and rode into camp with his own men, and he sent a nervous panic among some who recognized him. He was slim, fit, stylishly dressed, and old enough to be Harold’s father, but it was the way he held himself that struck March—he was a man who could blend into the background or be center stage with a simple change of posture. This man had a rare confidence that March had only ever seen in roy-alty, a few nobles, and, indeed, Holywell.

  March stood at the side of the marquee by a table laden with fruits, nuts, and—Harold’s favorite—preserved gin-ger. He looked ahead as he’d been trained to, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Harold and the new man.

  “I sent for the Eagles and Stags. Where are they?” de-manded the prince.

  “Your father wanted them near him.”

  “But the boys’ brigades are mine to command.”

  “And you are your father’s to command, Your High-ness.”

  “And what about the smoke? Where is that? We were promised more.”

  “It will be here when it’s needed, when all is in place.” The man’s voice was soft as butter, and he appeared to be as slippery.

  “It is needed. All is in place.” Harold frowned. “So, why are you here? You bring no boys and no smoke. Are you here to spy for my father, Noyes?”

  So that was the man’s name: Noyes. And March recalled a few things he’d heard. This was King Aloysius’s dreaded spymaster and chief interrogator. He had a reputation for be-ing intelligent and ruthless.

  Noyes sauntered over to the table by March and surveyed the food, not even looking at Harold as he replied: “The king merely asks for my reassurance that all is well. You’re still a young man, and, though naturally gifted, you are relatively inexperienced.”

  Harold came to stand by Noyes, and he did indeed seem like a small boy in comparison. “I’ve watched my father all my life. I’ve been on campaigns with him since I was a baby. I know I can win this. Brigant needs a victory.”

  “That’s true, Your Highness. But your father also needs an heir. And he doesn’t want to risk losing another son. It’s only because of his love for you that he demands caution and that he asks for my reassurance.”

  “Love? From my father?” Harold rolled his eyes. “Is he still mourning Boris?”

  “Your father has much grief and anger to deal with. Bo-ris’s death has diverted his attention from Calidor. Thelonius took land from Aloysius, but your sister and her sickly husband have taken his first-born son. His top priority now is to rid the world of them. And the attack will begin soon.”

  “Meanwhile Thelonius sits in his castle eating honey. He’ll be laughing with delight.”

  “There’s no rush. Calidor will be ours in time.” Noyes picked up a segment of candied orange and seemed to swallow it down whole.

  “I say the time is right now. I say my brigades are ready. I can do it. My boys will be victorious.”

  “Getting over the wall won’t be easy, even for your boys.”

  “I know the exact dimensions of the wall—it was your spies who gave us all the information we need, as you know, Noyes. And I’ve sent my own scouts out too. I have a way across.” Harold went to the central table and picked up a small metal contraption, a bit like a series of ladders that could be pulled out and then slotted together. “This is a model of it.”

  Noyes took the model. “It spans the distance between the walls?” He opened it out and weighed it in his
hand. “The real thing must be huge. And heavy.”

  “I’m having my blacksmiths make four of them. We carry them to the wall ahead of the attack. They lie there hidden. Three are already made; just one more to complete.”

  Noyes traced his fingers across the model. “I assume the boys will run across these, but there will be fire burning beneath them from the pit. You’re sure the construction will be strong and stable enough?”

  “We’ll be over the pit and the walls in a blink of an eye. And, once over, I can make it to Calia in a day.”

  March went cold.

  “A day to get there, perhaps, and possibly to take it,” Noyes allowed. “But can you hold it and still be there in two months?”

  Harold smiled. “If we take the leaders, yes. We go in hard and fast, straight to the heart of Calidor, and kill or cap-ture Thelonius and his bastard son and every one of his lords. Their bodies will be on display for all to see as we parade through the towns and villages of Calidor. When the people witness what the boy army is capable of, they’ll crumble.” Harold looked at Noyes. “You know my boys can do it, and you know I can too.”

  “I don’t deny your ability, Your Highness, but your father won’t allow it. He wants to fight his brother himself. He wants to ride into Calia at the head of the army. That’s been his chief desire for years.”

  “And yet you yourself say that he’s lost his focus.”

  “I would never say that, Your Highness. I say that his focus has changed to another enemy for the moment. But it will return here, and he will be the one to lead the attack into Calia.”

  March didn’t care terribly much if the Brigantine army was led by Aloysius or Harold or a pack of dogs; if they reached Calia, they would kill Edyon either way.

  “But, as you said, my father will have dealt with the Pitorians soon enough, Noyes. I can attack the wall now and hold it until he is ready to lead the army into the capital.”

  “Perhaps.” Noyes returned to the map. “Where’s the Calidorian army positioned?”

  “They’re thinly spread along the wall and concentrated in camps in the west and east, here and here.” Harold pointed at the map.

  “If you take the wall, the Calidorians will come to you. How will you fare?”

  Harold grinned. “I’ll try to resist destroying the army completely so that my father has someone to fight when he arrives.”

  Noyes nodded. “I suspect the Calidorians believe all our focus is on Pitoria. If you can take and hold the wall, and then dismantle it to allow your father’s army through when they’re finished with the Pitorians, your father will see the merit in such a plan. But your father will want at least one section of the main army here to support your attack. And your father will wish to know you’re safe.”

  “Then tell him I’ll be out of harm’s way at the rear. I’ll be taking smoke, and with that stuff I’m invincible.”

  “Alas, not totally, Your Highness.”

  “But you see the plan can work. And the longer we wait, the more likely that Calidor will learn of our positions and strengthen the army at the wall. We need to advance. Send me the smoke. And some troops from the old man’s army if you must.”

  Noyes gave the slightest of nods. “I’ll summon Lord Thornlees and his troops down here from the north. They can provide the support of the traditional army, and they can bring the smoke. Thornlees can be here in a week.”

  “And where will you be, Noyes?”

  “Alas, I will miss the spectacle of your brigades taking the wall. I must return to the north to support your father. The attack on Pitoria will begin soon.”

  Harold and Noyes both seemed pleased. They had reached an agreement. March let no emotion show on his face. He stared straight ahead, as he always did, and he thought about Edyon, imagining him safe in Calia, happy with his father, but how much longer would that last?

  EDYON

  BIRTWISTLE, CALIDOR

  EDYON SAT in his room, tears in his eyes. He felt more alone than ever. He needed March to give him confidence, to reassure him that he wasn’t a complete idiot. March had always believed in him. And, even if March couldn’t actually help, Edyon still wanted him. “I miss you,” he muttered as tears ran down his face. “What I’d give for you to be here.”

  At that moment the door opened, but it was just Talin, carrying Edyon’s best jacket.

  Edyon wiped his face. Talin must have noticed his tears but held up the jacket and said, “I think you’ll need this for tonight’s banquet, Your Highness.”

  There was, of course, going to be another banquet. No misbehavior on Edyon’s part could stop the proceedings.

  “I don’t want to go.” Edyon realized he sounded like a spoiled child and added, “I don’t think I’ll be required. My father . . .” But he ran out of words.

  “I heard there was an incident at the tower.”

  “Indeed. The incident was me being a fool, once again. I accused some lords of treason and failed to provide the proof.”

  “Which is why you should go to the banquet, Your High-ness. If you don’t mind me offering my opinion, you’ll have to face them all at some point, and it’s perhaps better sooner than later.”

  “I’m not sure I can face my father, and I’m not sure he’ll want me there. And I’m fairly certain Regan, Hunt, and Birtwistle won’t. I’ve messed up completely. One of the first things my father told me was to handle the lords carefully, and now I’ve set them against him. Well, against me, any-way, and him because he supported me. He believed me.”

  “And you can face them or hide here.”

  “Hiding sounds like the easier option.”

  “Possibly it is, for now. But I think some lords will ad-mire you more if you are not scared off by the likes of Lord Regan. Not all lords are the same as those three.”

  “They’ll want me to apologize, and I don’t think I can do it.”

  “A prince must do what is necessary to rule. You’ll find a way. And hiding is not the way.”

  Talin was right. Edyon pulled his shoulders back. “I must face my enemies.” But would he apologize? He still felt sick at the thought.

  Just then there was a knock on the door. Edyon muttered, “Probably my father telling me not to come to the banquet, not to come to anything.”

  But it was Byron. “Are you all right, Edyon?” he asked.

  “Guess!”

  Byron looked sad and concerned. “I’m sorry. I would stay with you, but I have to go straight back to your father. He sent me to get your bottle of demon smoke. And said I shouldn’t speak with you.”

  Why did he want the smoke? Did Thelonius think Edyon might use it against the lords? Was Edyon now considered dangerous?

  “Did he tell you anything else? About me, I mean . . . about the silver mirror?”

  Byron looked a little embarrassed as he nodded. “Yes.”

  “I see. Well, you’d better get back to him.”

  “Yes.” And Byron left.

  So that was it. Edyon had no friends left at all, and soon he’d have to face his enemies.

  * * *

  • • •

  Edyon went to the banquet dressed in his smartest clothes, looking like a true prince, but inside he was a bundle of nerves. He dreaded what Regan, Hunt, and Birtwistle would say, but mostly he dreaded facing his father again.

  The sounds from the banqueting hall swept down the corridor. The musicians were playing and the talk was lively—at least until Edyon stepped into the room. Then all eyes turned to him, and the hubbub quieted. The room was full; the meal already started. Thelonius was sitting at the head of the table, and next to him was an empty chair and a place setting.

  Edyon bowed to his father.

  Thelonius ignored him.

  Edyon sat in the empty chair and looked down the long table. At the far end, sitting direct
ly opposite, were Birtwistle, Regan, and Hunt. They ignored him also—no greeting, no bow. This was the point when he should apologize. Edyon cleared his throat, but no words came. Around him, talk gradually got back up to speed. Edyon looked down at his plate. A small fried fish lay there, its eye burned black. He put a forkful in his mouth. It tasted of nothing. He glanced around him, but he was being ignored by all except Byron, who was sitting halfway down the table. Byron caught Edyon’s eye and gave him a nod and a small smile.

  Perhaps I still have one friend, then. One, but no more.

  He leaned to his father. “I know I handled the situation badly, but I feared for your life and I had to tell you what I heard. I chose the wrong way to do it, and for that I apologize. But I acted sincerely.”

  “I don’t know you well, Edyon. And I’ve known Regan all my life. He’s my closest friend. You’re a thief, and some say a fool, with no loyalties to Calidor. For whatever reason, you’ve taken a dislike to Regan. March has poisoned your mind against him. But that doesn’t excuse stealing from him or accusing him of treason. This is your chance to publicly apologize. At the end of the meal you must do it, or your future is . . . well, I’m not sure what it is.”

  Before his coronation, his father had said Edyon’s future was Calidor’s and Calidor’s future was Edyon’s. Now Edyon didn’t seem to have one unless he apologized. Edyon thought back to Madame Eruth’s foretellings, but they didn’t seem to cover this.

  Edyon returned to his fish in silence. And without the distraction of conversation, he heard a strange noise. It was coming from above, where the musicians were standing, but it wasn’t a musical sound. He looked up and realized that they were seated beneath a large stone balcony, on which musicians were performing.