Fire and Sword (24 page)

Jenrosa slumped over her horse. Lasthear reached out to hold her steady. “I have never seen anything like this,” Last-hear told her. “You have a power that has not been seen among the Chetts since the last Truespeaker died.”

Jenrosa barely heard the words. The pain in her head subsided quickly after the vision went, but she was more tired than she had ever felt before in her life. If Lasthear had not steadied her, she would have fallen out of the saddle.

Ager quickly organized the Ocean clan with Morfast’s help. Their traditional territory was north of the White Wolf clan and southeast of Terin’s South Wind clan, a situation which explained their ambivalent loyalty to Korigan’s father—for centuries they had been the fly between two hard rocks, and everything they did was determined by the attitude of the chiefs of their neighboring clans. But now the ambivalence was gone; the Ocean clan was loyal to Prince Lynan, the White Wolf himself. Too many of the clan’s warriors wanted to join the Chett army, and Ager had to persuade them that some had to stay behind to protect the herd in the uncertain and dangerous months ahead. He allotted a thousand warriors to stay with the clan and placed them under the command of someone Morfast had told him was well respected and wise, a man called Dogal, and the rest— another thousand—joined Lynan’s army. They took pride in the fact that the crookback was their chief; he was after all a close friend and confidant of Lynan, and had proved himself the most formidable of warriors despite his deformities.

The army moved out first, nearly twenty thousand strong. It was arranged in banners of a thousand, each banner comprising ten troops, and each troop comprising one hundred riders from a single clan. Some of the larger clans, such as the White Wolf, contributed several troops, and they were distributed among several banners so that no clan would dominate. The banners were usually commanded by clan chiefs, including Ager, but one banner was commanded by Kumul and was made up of those riders he had started training as lancers, and another banner was made up entirely of the Red Hands—who proudly carried the short sword as well as the saber—and was commanded by Makon in Gudon’s absence.

As Ager watched the army leave the High Sooq, he could not help the pride swelling within him. It was greater than the pride he had felt as a young captain serving under Lynan’s father, the General, because he had played a part in its creation. He also felt a greater loyalty to this army. Even before he had become a chief among the Chetts, he had started thinking he had found his true home, that his wanderings had at last come to an end. After the Slaver War he had been attracted to the sea because it promised him a life without borders, and the Oceans of Grass promised something similar. Here, even a crookback could find respect and a kind of inner peace.

Lynan rode near the vanguard, his Red Hands surrounding him. They carried pennants, and Ager was surprised to see they were not the pennant of the White Wolf, but a new design. It was a plain gold circle on a blood-red background. Ager smiled to himself.
Clever,
he thought.
The Key of Union is our flag. And all those who fight against us, fight against that.
He wondered who had thought up that idea, knowing it would never have been Kumul.
Korigan, of course. She is cleverer and more dangerous than a wounded great bear. I’m glad she’s on our side.
Ager shook his head.
At least, I
hope
she’s truly on our side.

Morfast jiggled his elbow, and he turned to see the clans now moving away from the High Sooq, his own among them. He swallowed hard, only now realizing what it meant to have the loyalty of so many. The responsibility both terrified him and filled him with a wild joy.

My people,
he thought. He did not know if he would survive the next few months, but if he did, nothing would stop him returning.

As if she had been reading his mind, Morfast said, “They will wait for you. You are destined to die among them, not apart from them.”

Ager grunted. He glanced at her with his one eye. “Are you a prophet, Morfast?”

She grinned and shook her head. “No. But you have to admit it sounded good.”

Ager grinned back. “You’ll never know how good,” he said.

The Chett army had not gone far by the end of the first day, partly because it started off disentangling itself from the herds and wagons around the High Sooq, but mostly because it was the first time so many Chett warriors had been gathered together into a single force—nearly twice the size of the largest army Korigan’s father had brought together during the Chett civil war. Kumul had done his best to sort out an order of march, and as the day progressed, they had actually started to ride with some kind of unity. That night, Kumul made sure they camped according to their position in tomorrow’s order of march, and only arrived at the commanders’ meeting well after it had started.

It was a large meeting, including all the chiefs and their seconds-in-command, as well as Lynan and Jenrosa. They were gathered around a large fire. This night there was little to discuss at first, mainly minor problems relating to the hurt pride of chiefs whose banners had been relegated to the rear half of the army. Lynan assured them that the banners would be rotated from necessity, since no banner could be expected to always hold the responsibility that came with being the vanguard or rearguard.

When the chiefs had stopped asking questions, Lynan asked if there were any other matters. Jenrosa stood up and said nervously: “Jes Prado will soon be on the Oceans of Grass,” then sat down again.

All eyes settled on her, and she wished she was an ant and could crawl under the nearest rock. Several people started talking at the same time.

“Quiet,” Lynan commanded, and everyone shut up. “Jenrosa, how do you know this?”

“She helped me cast,” said a new voice, and Lasthear stepped forward. The magicker shook her head and half-smiled. “The truth is, she took over the casting.”

“What do you mean?” Korigan demanded. She had not been keen on Jenrosa being trained by a magicker who was not from the White Wolf clan, but Ager had been persuasive and it was another way of tying the Ocean clan to her cause, so in the end she had agreed to it.

“I mean, my queen,” Lasthear said respectfully, “that Jenrosa—without my assistance—actually communicated with another Chett, one who was at the Strangers’ Sooq.”

“So far!” Korigan said in surprise. “None among us has been able to do that since—”

“Since the Truespeaker died,” Lasthear finished for her. “And indeed, the one Jenrosa communicated with was the Truespeaker’s son.”

Korigan jumped to her feet. “Gudon!”

“What’s this about Gudon?” Lynan asked, staring at Korigan and Jenrosa in turn.

“He is fleeing Prado,” Jenrosa said. “He was at Daavis, spying on Charion as you requested, when Prado turned up with a large force of mercenaries. He is certain they are coming after you.”

There were shouts from many at the meeting, angry that the queen of Grenda Lear would hire mercenaries to hunt down her own brother, and even angrier that she would send mercenaries to the Oceans of Grass.

“How long?” Kumul’s voice boomed over the noise. Everyone fell quiet again.

“What?” Jenrosa asked.

“How long before Prado reaches the plains?”

Jenrosa shrugged. “Gudon did not know. He felt they were close behind. They may already be across the mountains.”

Kumul turned to Lynan. “I knew we should have marched northeast to take care of Rendle. Now we have two mercenary forces to worry about before we even get to the east, and we are between them. We must ride hard to the Strangers’ Sooq. It is closest to us. God knows we won’t arrive in time to save it, but with luck we might get there before Prado moves out again.”

“He may not be making for the Strangers’ Sooq,” another voice said, and an argument started about Prado’s intentions.

Lynan kept quiet. He understood Kumul’s frustration. Jenrosa’s news had shaken him, too, at first. But there was an opportunity here, he could feel it. If only he could pin down the idea that was floating at the back of his mind.

And then he had it.

“We continue marching due east,” he said quietly. Some of the chiefs were still arguing and did not hear him. Korigan did, though, and looked at him. “We march east and have Rendle in one hand and Prado in the other.”

“What are you saying?” Korigan asked. “We have a large force, but as yet we have had no experience in fighting as an army. And you want us to take on two mercenary forces at the same time? Surely it would be better to concentrate on either Rendle or Prado first, and then turn on the other.”

Lynan shook his head, a smile crossing his face. “No, that would not be better.”

By now everyone realized Lynan was speaking, and they shut up to listen to him.

“Did I hear you say we just continue riding east?” Kumul asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid, lad,” Kumul said bluntly. “You’ll put us smack between our enemies.”

Lynan’s smile disappeared. He stared at the giant, his pale face shining in the light of the fire. “I will take your advice, Kumul Alarn, but I will not take your insults.”

Kumul’s face blushed bright red. All around him held their breath. Even Lynan did not know what his old friend would do. Jenrosa stood up and moved to stand by Kumul, but suddenly Ager was by her side, holding her back.

“Do not divide us further,” he hissed in her ear.

Kumul looked down at his hands. He was confused by his own anger and sense of humiliation. He then looked up at Lynan, saw the youth’s implacable stare and understood he, too, felt humiliated.

“I am sorry,” Kumul said brusquely. “I had no right.”

Lynan swallowed. He could not let it end like this. There would be too much resentment on both sides.

“Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa, we need to talk. Everyone else, please return to your banners.” He saw Korigan hesitate, but he nodded to her and she left.

The four remaining came together, standing, all trying to figure out what had just occurred between them and not liking the answer. They were dividing; after all they had gone through together, they were dividing.

“Kumul,” Lynan started, “I have good reasons for letting the army continue as it is.”

“I think you are unwise in risking the army getting caught between two enemies,” Kumul replied.

“I understand that. I will not let it happen.”

Kumul nodded perfunctorily, not happy with the answer but afraid to question Lynan again.

“I am not against you, Kumul,” Lynan said.

“I did not think you were—” Kumul blurted.

“Yes, you did. You think that I have turned against you in favor of Korigan. You think I am punishing you for treating me like a child.” He stopped. He wanted to say,
And you think I am punishing you for being Jenrosa ‘s lover,
but he could not say the words. Instead, he said: “That was partly true that night I made the decision to go to the High Sooq. It is not true now.”

“I accept that,” Kumul said, his anger tempered by Lynan’s honesty. “But am I to keep quiet when I disagree with you?”

“I hope not. Whether you know it or not, I still rely on you, old friend. I need you. But I do not need to be lectured by you.”

Kumul swallowed. “I am ever at your side.”

Lynan turned to Ager and Jenrosa. “The same goes for you, as well. I have not forgotten what you have all done for me. I have not forgotten the bonds of friendship. But one of the things you taught me was the responsibility of leadership, and now that I am a leader, I am responsible for more than our friendship. In the future I may say and do things that may make you forget that friendship, but I will never forget it.”

Ager and Jenrosa nodded.

“I need to talk to Kumul alone,” Lynan said, and they left. Lynan and Kumul looked at each other shyly. They opened their mouths to speak at the same time, then closed them together. That made them both grin.

“I count on you more than I can say,” Lynan said quickly.

“You have been my father, older brother, and teacher all at the same time. I always took it for granted that you would be by my side.”

Kumul tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly constricted.

“I know about you and Jenrosa,” Lynan continued. “I was surprised.” He laughed bitterly. “I was hurt.”

“Lad, I did not mean—”

“I know,” Lynan said, holding up his hand. “It was self-pity on my part, something I’m very good at, as you well know. I am sorry for that. I want you to know that you both have my blessing.” Kumul looked up sharply. “Not that you require it, of course—”

“I am glad of it,” Kumul said.

Lynan sighed. He felt as if a great load had been lifted from his shoulders. “Well and good,” he said. “Well and good.”

“Don’t look so grim,” Sendarus said.

“Easier said,” Areava replied, her arms around his neck. “I’ll be without you for God only knows how long.”

“Not long. We will throw Salokan back into Haxus by summer. By the start of autumn, I will be back in your bed.”

“Our bed.”

“Oh, no. You are the queen.”

“The queen of beds.”

“The queen of hearts,” he said, and kissed her.

Areava laughed. “Oh, you are like butter.”

He kissed her again, and they did not come up for air for some time. At last, they heard the sound of troops marching outside.

“Your army is gathering, General,” Areava told him.

Sendarus nodded sadly. “Well, the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back.” He patted her belly, already starting to swell. “I want to be here when our child is born.” There was something like reverence in his voice.

“Then you will have to handle Salokan speedily. Babies don’t schedule their birth for the benefit of generals or queens.”

“When do you think?” he asked seriously.

“Early to midsummer.”

“Close, but I will be here.” He let her go and went to the window overlooking the courtyard. “Cousin Galen is waiting for me. The knights look splendid in their mail.”

“It’s good to know the Twenty Houses are good for something,” Areava said.

“They don’t trust me, you know. They hate the fact that an Amanite is leading them. They wanted Olio.”

“They wanted someone they could manipulate. Olio would have surprised them, but with you, they won’t even try. You’ll be lucky to get a courteous word from them.”

“As long as they obey orders, I’ll not complain.”

Areava joined him. “Oh, they’ll obey your orders.” She placed a heavy chain over Sendarus’ neck. He looked down and fingered the Key of the Sword.

“You are leading my kingdom’s army into battle against our oldest and most determined foe. You have every right to wear it.”

Sendarus could not help puffing up a little with pride. The Key shone in the early morning light.

Areava placed her hand against his cheek. “You must go.”

Sendarus held her hand and looked down on her. For the first time she saw something akin to fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind; he pretended to smile, let go of her hand, and left.

Areava waited by the window until Sendarus appeared in the courtyard. Orkid was holding his horse for him. Sendarus mounted quickly, glanced up at the window, and waved at her. She wanted to wave back, but her hands were clasped tightly over her heart and could not move. She wished Olio was by her side, but he had not been seen all day. And then she thought of Primate Northam, wanting badly to talk to him, and then she remembered he was dead.
A week ago!
she thought in surprise. It seemed those that loved her most were no longer around her, and she wished she was not queen at all but merely a woman with a husband who was nothing more important than a carpenter or a shop keeper.

Galen Amptra sat on his horse in the courtyard in full armor and with his helmet on. He wished to hell Sendarus would get a move on so they could parade out of the city and then get into more comfortable traveling clothes. Mail hauberk and shin guards were all well and good in the middle of a melee, but a bloody torment on a sunny day when the greatest threat was heat stroke.

He chided himself for his impatience. He had no wife, and currently no mistress, to tarry with before setting out on campaign. And Sendarus, of course, had Areava, possibly the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

No, not really,
Galen told himself.
She has the features for beauty, but no concern for them. It is her power and her assuredness that makes her beautiful. No wonder Father is afraid of her.

Sendarus appeared from the palace, his new mail shining brilliantly in the sun. In his hand he held a helm of the peculiar kind worn by Amanite infantry; it covered almost the whole head, leaving only the eyes and mouth exposed.
He’ll learn soon enough,
Galen thought.
A cavalryman needs to see and hear more than he will inside that pot.

Sendarus turned to review the knights before mounting, then with Orkid’s help got into his saddle. Galen’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the Key of the Sword resting against Sendarus’ mailed chest. Areava had told the council Sendarus would have it for the campaign and that it was no use their objecting, but seeing the crossed swords and spear worn by an Amanite made Galen wish he had. The nobleman could feel the blood rushing to his face but could do nothing to control it. He looked around and saw that he had not been the only knight to see the amulet hanging from Sendarus’ neck, and several were talking angrily among themselves.

Sendarus waved to a window in the palace, and Galen turned. He caught a glimpse of Areava, and seeing that pale, severe face cooled him more quickly than a winter rain. She had given the Key to her husband. Sendarus might be an Amanite, but he was no thief.

Areava is betraying us!
he thought angrily, but immediately banished it from his mind. It was he who was thinking treason, and the revelation shocked him.
She is my queen. Sendarus is her lawful husband and general of this army. He has a right to wear one of the Keys.

His reasoning was solid, yet his heart still fought against it.

There was not enough time to properly invest Father Powl as the new Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, but as senior cleric he was still the only one who could properly bless the army. He stood on a makeshift dais near the city’s north gate, the wide dirt road leading from it disappearing into the hills that backed Kendra. It was a difficult route for the army to follow, but the most direct to Chandra and then Hume. Infantry stood in their regiments waiting for the commander. It was nearly mid-morning, and though the air was cool, the sun was warm and some of the men were getting fidgety. Father Rown, standing to the right and slightly behind Powl, pointed down into the city. At first all Powl saw was the glimmer of the sun off armor, and then he heard the steady hoofbeats and clinking of mail that told him this was the heavy cavalry from the Twenty Houses. Now he could hear people cheering them as they rode through the streets.

The soldiers waiting by the gate were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. After all, the knights of Kendra had not marched to war in over fifteen years, and once Haxus was thrashed, they might never have cause to ride again. The first troop comprised the youngest nobles, each carrying the pennants of their houses. Next came Sendarus, his mail shining as bright as the sun, and on his chest the golden Key of the Sword—the infantry cheered to see it. Then came the knights themselves: three regiments, all kitted up, their stallions pulling at the reins. Father Powl blessed each regiment as it rode by, and then they were out the gate and heading into the hills, their going marked by a slowly drifting cloud of dust.

When the last knight had gone, the infantry wheeled, saluted the city, received their blessing in turn, and followed the cavalry out of the gate. The tramping of their feet echoed all the way down to the harbor. By mid-afternoon, the last soldier had gone, and a breathless silence fell over Kendra.

Father Powl remained on the dais long after every one else had gone. He had just performed his first official function as Northam’s successor. Not as primate, perhaps, but nonetheless the recognized heir. If he had been a power in the land before, it was nothing to what he could achieve now.

And the cost, really, had been so small,
he thought. And then he remembered he still had not found the name of God. He had spent half a day in Northam’s chambers searching for some clue, some secret scribbling, but to no avail. Still, he had the rest of his life to find it, and he was confident he would.

Olio did not watch the army go. He felt a mixture of guilt and shame and relief that it was Sendarus and not he who was leading the army, and although he knew it was for the best, he could not help the sense of failure that filled him. His second failure, taking into account the way he had handled the healing work at the hospice.

He was an encumbrance, he was sure, to his sister. She was trying so hard to be the best queen for her people, and here he was, her stuttering, slovenly brother who could do nothing right.

He shook his head in shame. This was no way for a prince of the realm to behave. He would go to Areava and ask for some other commission. There must be something he could do for the kingdom, something that would allow him to prove his worth.

He wandered the halls of the palace, absorbed in his own thoughts, eventually finding himself in the west wing. Priests walked around him, nodding but saying nothing. He passed the royal chapel, hesitated, but decided not to go in. He entered the library, then just stood and looked around at the shelves of books that rose around him like walls. He fought off a twinge of claustrophobia. One book was open on a reading desk and he went to it. Half of one page had writing on it, done in a careful and elegant hand, but the rest of the page and its opposite were blank.

“I pray for guidance,” he read aloud, “and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.”

He traced the last word with a finger.
Salvation for whom
? he wondered.

“It was his last entry,” said a voice behind him. He turned and saw Edaytor Fanhow. The prelate’s plain face looked as downcast as Olio felt.

“Whose last words?” he asked, and realized the answer even as he asked the question. “Northam’s?”

Edaytor nodded. “The book will stay open until Father Powl is invested as the new primate, and then he will continue it. Each day the primate writes a passage or a prayer, or maybe nothing more than an observation. It is called the Book of Days.” He pointed to a shelf near the desk. Every volume on it was black-bound, without any title or description. “They go back to the first primate. Anyone can read them. They are to provide guidance, solace, wisdom.”

“These are sad words,” Olio said, pointing to the script.

“I think he was a sad man,” Edaytor said. “I think he never knew how much he was loved and respected.”

“ ‘Alone but not lonely.’ I think he knew.”

Edaytor studied the prince. Olio steadily returned the gaze.

“I think you are ready,” Edaytor said eventually.

“I think I am, too. My nightmares are less frequent. I have ...” Olio could not find the words to describe how he knew he was ready to resume using the Healing Key.

“You have grown up,” Edaytor said. “A priest from the hospice tells me they have a sick girl. They do not know what afflicts her, but she is dying.”

“Tell me, my friend, would you have told me this if Primate Northam was still alive?”

“He would not have stopped us, I think. Not now.”

“Will you tell Father Powl about our arrangement with the hospice?”

“He will have to know when he is primate.”

“We will go to him together, then.”

“Yes.”

“A sick girl, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I will go the hospice immediately.”

“You are a good man, Prince Olio Rosetheme.”

“And I am neither alone nor lonely,” he said, smiling at the round prelate, the sudden truth of it giving him more joy than he expected to feel that day.

* * *

Orkid found Areava alone in the throne room. She was wandering among the columns that separated the red-carpeted nave from the aisles. At that moment she seemed to him like a little girl who was lost in a forest. Her face was downcast, her cheeks wet with tears. Her guards stood at attention at the entrance and the rear exit to her private chambers, then-eyes straight ahead, ignoring her pain because there was nothing they could do to alleviate it.

Her tears are for Sendarus. I wish they were for me.

“Your Majesty?”

Areava looked up, but her eyes were unfocused. “Why did Berayma have to die?”

Orkid’s heart skipped a beat. He knew she believed Lynan had committed the murder, but for a moment it seemed to him she was seeing deep into his own heart.

“No reason that we may ever understand,” he said slowly.

“If he had still been king, I would be leading our army north. My mother gave me the
Key of the Sword. That is
where I should be now, with my regiments, not here in this empty palace.”

“The palace is never empty while its queen is in it.”

She stared at him, not understanding. “Maybe I am not queen. Maybe this is all a nightmare.”

“Sendarus will return soon, your Majesty. The nightmare will not last forever.”

“I want to believe that. But you know that some nightmares never end, don’t you, Orkid? Some nightmares last a lifetime.”

He went to her and took her hand. “Not this nightmare. I promise you.”

She sighed deeply and with her other hand held up the Key of the Scepter so that a ray of sunshine coming through one of the high windows fell upon it. “See how it shines? It is the only bright thing in Kendra today, and yet it is this Key that weighs me down.”

Orkid glanced at the Key, then quickly looked away. All he could see on it was Berayma’s blood. Why had she not cleaned it yet? Could she not see it as well?

“It is the symbol of the kingdom, Areava. You
are
the kingdom.”

“But today I would rather be its lowliest subject.” They heard one of the guards come to attention; Harnan Beresard appeared at the rear exit, his small writing table under one arm.

“You are being called to your duties,” Orkid said with some relief.

“And I am keeping you from yours. We will talk later.”

“I am always at your service, your Majesty.” She nodded and patted his hand. “And for that I will always be grateful, my friend.”

Dejanus had watched the knights leave from the main palace gate. He could not help the sneer on his face as Sendarus rode past, and did not care if anyone saw it. He was angry that he had been passed over for the command of the army a second time. He could understand that the queen and her council would make Olio a general—he was, after all, a Rosetheme—but not this upstart from Aman. Queen’s plaything, pretty boy, and now general. Dejanus almost shouted in rage when he saw that Sendarus also wore the Key of the Sword.