Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) (46 page)

“You have not broken your word, my King,” countered Erik, then spoke more loosely than he often did. “I have seen the reaches of Kor’Khul, the fords and dells of the East, and the bastions against the winter beyond the mountains. I have met the masters and lords of Geadhain. I have lived in the City of Wonders and witnessed miracles of magik and come to know what true freedom looks like. I have seen more of this world than any of those I left behind. You should not doubt your honor.”

Is that what I was doing?
pondered the king, and then realized that his hammer was right. Through the quiet march, as the queen’s summer faded to a soft glow in his heart, and their speech became strained and harder to hear, he was more and more alone. Without his brother or Lila, fundamental questions of identity and security took hold of his spirit, and only he was around to solve them. Once he began to brood upon the chronicle of his decisions, the list was staggeringly long and riddled with faults. Ancient doubts as well as new ones surfaced.
Should I have spurned Menos all those ages ago when they pleaded for support? Was it ever right for me to live as a man when I am not? Should I find an heir? If not, what will become of Eod if I am to pass? Can Lila ever forgive me? Is our silence symbolic of the distance between us? Of a gulf that can never be crossed?

“You read me well, my Hammer,” confessed the king. “The past cannot be changed, and it serves me little to dwell in it, although my mind often does as it wants in that regard. I have forgotten who began this war. Brutus. I am merely responding to his challenge.”

Erik gave a brisk nod. “I am glad that we are seeing eye to eye, my King. An army is only as brave as he who leads it. We must remember our enemy, our purpose, each day. As our king, you must remind us of that. Brutus is a force, not a man, and he has never faltered in his understanding of what he is or of what he is capable.”

And yet I have
, thought Magnus, and was again cowed by the hammer’s insight.
I am the walker of the Long Winter. I am the eternal man. I am the voice of the skies and the fury of the earth. I shall make my brother and his dark voice suffer
.

The hammer could sense the change coming over his king: the shift in his leisurely posture to the erectness of a man on a throne, the glint of ruthless authority in his green stare. It was not his imagination, but the air around them chilled, as the elements tuned themselves to his king’s mood. The hammer’s next words came in puffs of white.

“Better, my King?”

“Yes.”

Nothing more was said for many sands, and while the two men were outlined in the warm flickers of the distant campfires, they each somehow seemed cold as ice. Erik was shivering a little when the king asked, “Do you remember when we met?”

Erik needed no assistance; it was the clearest memory he held.

In the winter, although there is no snow, the winds ruffle the Salt Forests and they drift with white flurries. There are no green trees, but great pillars of salt with branching mineral extrusions all lined row by row, and many as tall as these bark-shod plants that travelers speak of, yet which the boy has never seen. Today, more travelers have come to the forest, and he watches them from his post in the trees. In his salt-stained cloak, he is as white and quiet as a spirit of these woods. One of the travelers, a pale man, rides a black beast so pure in its pelt that the salt does not discolor it past a graying of the hoofs. Immediately, by his carriage and appearance, he knows that the man is not quite mortal
.

Power. He is power
.

“We were headed to Carthac,” reminisced the king, with a curl of his lip as the city and its petty masters brought him distaste. “The lordlings there were quarreling over some taxation or other injustice related to coin that could not be resolved by common sense. Brutus was never one for diplomacy, so I set out to box their ears, as a father should. As I am sure you have not forgotten, the Salt Forests are inhospitable to those unaccustomed to their dryness, and the elders of the Kree were kind enough to take us in, to share with us their precious stores of water and their cured meats—well, everything was cured there, I suppose. You earned your name that night, and
your destiny, too. Protecting me as my brother did. From snakes, of all things, which have always had an unpleasant appetite for my ruin.”

Curiosity is a weakness of the boy, and tonight is no exception. While the fires are low, and sleepy whispers are upon the village, he slinks through the caverns of his people, past small burrows dug into the side of a salt facade. No one will trouble him anyhow, as he is without parents; they were lost and dried out while hunting in the woods. The Kree call him wildborn, and they are right in that. He often sleeps away from the safety of the Kree cubbies and out in boughs of salt, clinging as the lizards do. He has learned how to hunt and kill and be strong so that what happened to his parents does not happen to him
.

A predator’s stealth takes him to the travelers’ camp, which is in one of the largest pockets in the bluff. The space is necessary to corral the strange animals that the outsiders ride and to separate the tribe from the raucousness of these men, who are so very unlike the meditative personalities of the Kree. He watches their noisy union and frowns at their unusual metal skins and neighing beasts. Those creatures are pretty, but they smell odd and defecate on the pristine whiteness of the ground. Except for the black one with the set of horns made for goring; she (he sees no testicles) is too proud, perhaps. A circle of men is gathered around a bonfire that glows as green as some of the deep fungus that he knows shines at night. The fire mesmerizes him. He walks toward it and is seen, some of the smiling outsiders gesture for him to join them
.

At the green fire, the pale man is present, sitting with the elders, speaking Kree as if he was born here himself. Erithitek is no longer captivated by the fire, but by this white creature: a ghost of ice and shadow, his eyes crackling with the same cold flames that roar nearby. Nanata and the other prune-faced elders are giving Erithitek scornful looks that he has shown himself, yet the stranger waves him to sit down. Every gesture of this man speaks of elegance, humility, and power, and Erithitek is infatuated with him in a speck, as hopelessly as a page chasing after a knight. As the cold fire licks the night, and their stares dance, he suspects that the stranger faintly feels that interest, too. He doesn’t have the chance to sit or ask him, though, for his wildborn eyes have noted what those of his tired elders have not. In the Salt Forests, all things are white—its plants, animals, insects, and snakes
.

“Don’t move,” Erithitek tells the man of power. From the fire, he fearlessly pulls a flaming log and swings it (like a hammer, the story would be told) while
the pale man watches him with more intrigue than fear, and his elders shout at his madness
.

“One blow and that snake was dead,” said the king. “Afterward, I had considered that you were trying to bash me, though at the time, I felt only trust. The eyes are windows to the heart, and I have always known yours, from that moment onward. It is a lump of obsidian with a diamond protected inside. Kindness wrapped in strength, both unbreakable. A balance of qualities that few men possess.”

“Thank you, my King,” replied Erik.

Affectionately, the king laid a cold hand on the back of Erik’s neck. “Thank you, my friend. I cannot recall a man so born to be a warrior, so quick in action and set in virtue. You are the arm to strike when I cannot. The sense when I cannot find my own. You are my vigilance against the smaller threats that I ignore while blindly pursuing the larger. A bit of venom wouldn’t have ended me that day, though it could have ended my journey. In a manner of speaking, it was you, then, who brought peace to Carthac. For no accord would have been reached without your intervention. A hero then and still…I confess, if not for you and Lila, I would be lost.”

“Lila, yes,” muttered Erik, and shrugged off the king’s grip.

As the hammer of King Magnus, Erik had been outside the royal chambers when Brutus’s rage had infected his master. Come the bleak morning, while the queen nursed her wounds in secrecy, Magnus explained as best he could what had occurred. Even after Magnus’s clarification, Erik’s imperturbable manner appeared unchanged.
I serve without question. I serve without judgment, my King
, was all that Erik would say. They had not spoken of the incident since, though Magnus felt that was hardly the end of it.

“I hope one day that you can forgive me for what I have done,” said King Magnus.

“A man earns forgiveness. I believe that you will earn yours,” replied Erik, and then gave a solemn stare to his king. “But that is not what you wished to speak to me about. You have something on your mind.”

That earned a smile from the king. “You know me too well. Allow me to share with you my troubles. Before doing so, know that it is better that you listen now and consider what reply you might give later. Consider long and hard, my friend, but I shall need an answer before the week is through.
For if you will not commit to this undertaking, I shall have to consider other recourses.”

Undertaking?
wondered Erik. How suddenly the mood had shifted to dark, and a shine of despair was seen on the king’s face as he continued.

“I have left Lila with instructions. Of what to do if we fail. She is a woman of grit and wit, but I fear that our dependence upon each other for so long has made her fragile. I worry what would become of her, and of Eod, if I was to leave this world.”

“My King—”

“Please,” insisted Magnus, holding up a hand. “I am immortal, but I can be harmed, made direly weak by the bite of a snake or the lethal poison of a scorpion. It is possible that I can be killed despite that limit never being tested. Brutus will see how much it takes to break me, I am sure. I must plan for every possibility. One such possibility, which I only entertain because I know I must, is that I shall lose this battle, or die. Whatever shade of failure I could suffer, I need to make certain that Lila is safe. She is the key to all that I have built. She is as much the soul and architect of Eod as I am. She will be a future, if I am not.”

On the rock, the king huddled close to his hammer, whispering into his ear—not even the wind could hear them if it sought to. “The reason I shared with you the memory of Carthac and of our meeting is because I need you to remember what few places might be safe from my brother. Carthac is far to the West, reachable only through the Straits of Wrath—a journey only drunks and fools would make—and barring that, one must traverse the Salt Forests. A small company with spinrexes and many waterskins can make the trip, but an army would not survive there, no matter how fierce or dark. There is simply not enough sustenance to support the living, and to carry that much food for a legion has never been done. Only the Kree know the secret richness of the land: of where the meager springs can be found that hide even from watersculptors, of which roots can be eaten and which will drain the water from a man in an hourglass. Beyond the Salt Forests, Carthac thrives, particularly since our intervention there, now that men have learned how to behave themselves.”

“What are you asking?”

“I hold more favor in Carthac than you know. Old debts even beyond the one you and I cost them, and I have made arrangements for Queen Lila’s safety, should it come to that. If Brutus moves north, if Eod seems as if it will fall, she
must
be taken, hidden, and protected, as she will be the last and only royal of Eod. You must take this journey with her. I would trust no other man with her safety.”

Erik slammed a gauntleted fist into his palm and metal cried out. He was furious at the king’s many and wild implications, including the one that he would be cast from the march. Louder than was prudent, he hissed, “How? How would I play a part in any of your grim notions? I am at your side, my King! I am to serve you until the end! Would you have me leave this war to play escort?”

“Should you agree, it will be arranged when and only when the situation demands it. You are with me until that dark sand drops. I promise you this,” the king swore cryptically. The king hopped off his rest. His stare was bleak. “Think on it, my friend. Think deep. Think of who you are to me, a man without children. I watched you sprout from a boy to a soldier to a champion of Eod. You are as much a son to me as I have ever known, and I would ask no other for this duty, nor do I wish to deprive you of the glory of this war. I have devised a way for us each to have what we want, to an extent, but first you must agree to help me if the tides turn against us. To help Lila.” The king’s voice faded into a farewell. “I should go to stir the men’s courage now. Perhaps with a song. Good night, my friend. Do not watch over me. I shall watch for snakes myself this one eve.”

Time passed, and the hammer did not move from the rock. When an enchanting vibrato that lowered to shivering depths or rose to tinkling heights—the king’s voice—wended through the woods, the hammer plunged into deeper bush. As black as the hammer felt, the harmony did not soothe him. He walked until the noise was a haunting shudder to the trees, which swayed as if harking to the song. Then he walked farther still until only the crickets and rustling leaves were his company. Away at last from the tether of his kingfather, he could think a bit closer to a free man, for when the king sincerely beseeched him, his sincerity was like a spell and difficult to refuse.

With reason, he tried to think on what the king had said. Try as he might, Lila’s glorious face disrupted any contemplation.
The king does not know what he asks
, cursed Erik.
I would protect her. Honor be damned, I would protect her above your own life, my king. Don’t make me choose which
. Secrets, burning secrets chewed at Erik’s ribs, wanting to be free, and he fell to the ground and bit back a scream. The king did not know how dangerous his proposition was, nor was he aware that Erik had been anything other than a silent collaborator to the queen’s rape. Posted outside the door, never away from his master, Erik of course saw Queen Lila as she fled the royal chamber. His disgust at her abuse rose like a monster inside him. The queen had to stop him from—