Fire and Sword (5 page)

The uproar started all over again, this time directed against her. Areava’s face paled. “Enough!” she shouted. And just like a summer storm the tempest passed as quickly as it had come. “Is this how you address your queen?”

“Your Majesty, I am sorry,” Xella Povis said, “but one of the reasons Kendra went to war against Aman all those centuries ago is because they imposed the Tithe of Gelt on any shipping passing by and through the mouth of that river, a tithe they imposed with force. Is Aman suggesting we submit to this piracy voluntarily?”

Areava felt Orkid stiffen beside her, but he kept his control and said nothing.
If only all my councilors were as disciplined,
she thought.

“It is nothing so fierce,” Areava told the merchant. “They are asking that every merchant ship that passes by or through the Gelt River pay a tithe worth one part in a hundred of its cargo. As I understand it, the old tithe was one-third the worth.”

“That is true,” Xella Povis admitted, somewhat mollified, “but the principle involved ...”

“The principle involved is that in exchange for these two conditions, Aman not only will sign the guarantee of succession, but undertake to construct and permanently man a beacon fire on Triangle Rock at the mouth of the Gelt. Is it not the case, Xella Povis, that even today we lose half a dozen ships a year on that rock?”

The merchant nodded.

“And, compared to that loss, how much is a tithe of one part in a hundred?”

“It is a good bargain,” Xella Povis admitted, bowing to the queen in apology and in surrender.

Areava smiled lightly. “Am I to take it, then, that there are no more objections to my marriage with Prince Sendarus going ahead?”

There was no disagreement. Galen Amptra and one or two others seemed unhappy about it, but there was no longer anything they could do.

“And to come back to our original point of discussion, is it fair and just that my husband and consort should be without one of the Keys of Power when the outlaw Lynan still possesses the Key of Union? And who better to wear that Key than Prince Sendarus, an Amanite who will join in union with your monarch?”

“All well and good, your Majesty,” Marshall Lief said gruffly, “but how do you propose we go and get the Key?”

“Are you suggesting the army of Grenda Lear is incapable of marching into allied territory to find a single group of outlaws?” Areava asked. “And especially a group so conspicuous? One prince, hardly more than a boy and holding a Key of Power, one giant ex-constable, one crookback ex-soldier, and one female magicker.”

“The Chetts won’t like it. And sending soldiers into the Oceans of Grass could raise tensions with Haxus even higher than they already are. King Salokan would have to wonder if we are preparing for a move against him.”

“We can make it up to the Chetts—they had no objection to our armies marching through their territory when we were clearing up the slavers for them. And I don’t care in the least if the move disturbs King Salokan; I only wish everything I did disturbed King Salokan.”

“I’ll lead a force,” Dejanus said quickly. “I’m afraid of no Chett.”

“That was not my concern—” the Marshal began testily, but Areava held up her hand.

“Constable, how well do you know the Oceans of Grass?” she asked.

Dejanus balked, suddenly frightened. Did she know of his previous life as a slaver? Did Orkid tell her? He thought desperately for a moment.

“Constable?” Areava prompted.

All eyes turned to him. His normally red face blushed even deeper. His cheeks glowed with color.

No, she could not know. Otherwise I’d be in a cell right now.

“Not at all well, your Majesty. But there are maps—”

“Unnecessary, Dejanus, though I applaud your enthusiasm,” she said, throwing a glance at the Marshal who blushed and looked away.

“Then what does your Majesty suggest?” asked Dejanus.

“We send those who know the Oceans of Grass and the Chetts better than any of us here. We hire a mercenary captain, one of those who fought in the last war.”

“A slaver?” the Marshal said indignantly. “This Jes Prado, for instance? The one who is said to have brought you the news about Lynan?”

“No longer a slaver. And yes, I am thinking of Jes Prado.”

“What would
he
do?” Olio asked.

“Hire a force of mercenaries to pursue Lynan.”

“And capture him,” Olio finished for her.

“No. Kill him.”

Everyone in the room became still.

“Sister, our b-b-brother is not tried yet for his alleged crimes.”

“Was his flight not enough?” Areava demanded, her voice rising. “Is the overwhelming evidence against him not enough?”

“B-b-but he could still b—b-be captured,” Olio insisted.

Orkid spoke to the council for the first time. “We cannot risk it, your Highness. If he is captured and escapes, how much stronger will his position be?”

“With whom, Chancellor? He has no supporters among us, surely, and none among the other provinces that I have heard. He is almost forgotten by the p-p-people.”

“And if he is killed, alone and deserted on the Ocean of Grass, he will be forgotten entirely,” Areava said to Olio, and then to the council: “He is a traitor, he is an outlaw, and he has committed regicide. He deserves to die.”

“And it will not cost the kingdom much to raise a force of mercenaries large enough to hunt him down,” Shant Tenor said.

“Prado’s commission would be wider than that,” Areava told the council. “He has told me of a mercenary recently hired by us to help patrol the border with Haxus—a certain Rendle—who took our gold and then fled to Haxus to serve her king. I am convinced he must be found and punished as well, or all our mercenary units may come to believe they can do the same with impunity.”

“Then why trust this Prado?” Dejanus asked. His face wore the quizzical smile he so often gave when he thought he had an advantage, as if he was puzzled by good fortune. “He is nothing but another mercenary. Your Majesty, give me leave to take a regiment of our own horse to the Oceans of Grass. Prado can be our guide, if you like, and our loyalty is unquestioned.”

Orkid shook his head. “We cannot so easily dispatch such a regiment. Our forces are thin on the ground after so many years of peace, and although we are mobilizing against the possible threat of Haxus, if King Salokan should invade soon, we will need all the loyal units we have.”

“And in the short term, hiring mercenaries is cheaper,” Areava added. That put a smile on some of the councilors’ faces, she noted. They liked the idea of not spending more money than necessary, a fact she was counting on.

“But how reliable is this Prado?” the Marshal insisted.

“He will be reliable,” Orkid said. “I will make sure of it. I give the Council my word on it.”

There were no more disagreements, and only Orkid noticed the sour look cast him by Dejanus.

Areava and Sendarus spent the night together for the first time in several weeks.

“We should have done this more often,” Sendarus said to her in the morning.

“That would have been difficult before the council gave its final approval to the marriage. It would have seemed as if we were flouting all my advisers and many of the common people, too.”

Sendarus leaned over Areava, used his hand to trace her jaw and neck, then her breasts and the flat of her stomach. “Instead, you flouted me,” he said, pouting.

“Keep that up and I’ll flog you,” she said, and pushed him away. He roared in mock fury and tried to fling himself over her, but Areava got out of the way and leaped on him instead.

“You’re too slow, Amanite.”

“Slow to come,” he said, “better in bed.”

Areava laughed. “Oh, you are cheap.”

Sendarus twisted around underneath her. “You are less careworn today.”

“I feel it. Learning that Lynan was still alive shook my confidence, I admit. But I am back on top now.”

Sendarus grunted. “In more ways than one.”

Areava slammed a pillow into the side of his head. “This is the natural state of things. I am queen already, you are a mere prince.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She lay down against his length and held his head in her hands. “I love you, and always will, prince or no.” She kissed him quickly and moved to get out of bed.

“Already?” Sendarus complained. “I was hoping for a second engagement.”

“Tonight, perhaps. I have much to do.”

“Will we be taking a honeymoon after our marriage?”

“Of course. The morning after our marriage, I will stay in bed an extra hour. That should be enough time.”

“Too fast for me,” he said.

“But not for me,” she countered, already half-dressed. She went to the east window and opened it. Down below, the guard was changing, their spear tips and helms gleaming in the dawn light. She saw another figure, small, lonely and sad-looking, coming through the main gate. With a shock she realized it was Olio. In her depression about Lynan over the last few weeks she had not spared him much time, and he seemed to be getting worse from day to day. What was happening to him? Why was he changing so much? She did not want to gain a husband but lose her dearest brother.

Sendarus noticed her face fall. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, said nothing.

Prado was filled with nervous impatience. “When can I go?” he demanded.

Orkid studied him carefully. Prado had been a wretched creature when he first came to the palace—malnourished, bruised, and cut—but now he looked every bit a warrior, lean and strong despite his middle age. On hearing of the council’s decision, the mercenary had immediately gone out and bought a new set of breeches, jerkin, boots, and gloves, and a fine Chandran sword and knife, all on credit. If anyone could find and slay Lynan, he could, Orkid thought.

“Soon. The queen should sign your warrant today, and I already have your promissory note from the treasury. You have enough to hire a small army for a period of several months. I hope it is enough, for you shall get no more.”

“It will be enough,” Prado said with arrogant confidence.

“I will bring you two heads in repayment: Prince Lynan’s and Rendle’s.”

“One head will be enough. Rendle’s remains you can leave where you slay him.”

“Oh, no. I have plans for that trophy.”

Orkid grimaced. “Your mission is to kill Lynan. Achieve that at all costs.”

“I will.”

“And do not fail me.”

“You?” Prado barked. “I thought I was serving your queen.”

“Our
queen,” Orkid hissed. He stood right next to the mercenary. “And on this commission you answer to me. I will not brook failure.”

Prado’s eyes hardened. “I will not fail, Chancellor, but I do not like being threatened.”

“I promise you, Jes Prado, if you
do
fail me, I will have you hunted down like a crazed karak.”

There was such menace in Orkid’s voice and large, dominating figure that Prado retreated a step. He avoided the chancellor’s gaze. “I’ve already told you: I will not fail.”

Orkid nodded and moved to his desk and retrieved an official-looking parchment. He held it out to Prado. “Your promissory note.”

“Good,” Prado said, taking the parchment.

“Come back this evening for the warrant. By the way, it will have an extra clause the council does not know about, and which they must not know about.”

“Extra clause?”

“You will be given the rank of general in the Grenda Lear army. It will give you the authority to commandeer regular troops on the border if you need them.”

Prado gasped. “Me! A general in your army? This is a turnaround.”

“Where will you go first?”

“To the Arran Valley. Many from my old company live there, and will form the core of my force. From there north, picking up groups where I can find them.”

“Where will you base yourself?”

“On the border with Haxus, not far from the Algonka Pass. That way I can move in either direction, depending on which target presents itself first.”

“When do you leave?”

“If I get the warrant tonight, first thing in the morning.” He grinned up at the chancellor. “And the palace will be rid of me at last!”

“I will let the queen know,” Orkid replied. “She will be so pleased.”

As far as Kumul was concerned, one part of the Oceans of Grass looked much the same as the next. He had marched through parts of it during the Slaver War with the General’s army and had never understood how their Chett guides knew where they were going. He knew north from south and east from west, sure enough, but where exactly in the north or south or east or west had always eluded him. Everywhere he looked tall grass, yellowing with autumn, covered the undulating landscape. Although there were creeks, there were no rivers or valleys and nothing taller than the occasional clump of spear trees. He knew the impression of absolute flatness was misleading, that you could reach the crest of one rise to find an army waiting for you on the other side, hidden by the gentlest of elevations, but he felt himself longing for some real geography—a wide river, a forest, a mountain or two—anything to break the monotony.

Ager rode up beside him. “This place takes some getting used to,” the crookback said.

“I’ll never get used to it,” Kumul answered grumpily. “How do we know there is an end to it? We might ride until we are old men and not get to the other side of it.”

“There are worse fates. The Oceans of Grass has a special beauty.”

Kumul looked at his friend with alarm. “All your wounds are softening your head. There is no beauty here. It is ... I don’t know ...”

“Unrelenting,” Ager suggested.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Lynan seems at home here.”

“He is quarter Chett. Besides, he feels safe here.”

“And you don’t?”

Kumul grunted. “I won’t feel safe until Lynan is reinstated in Kendra and I wear the constable’s uniform again.”

“Reinstated as what?” Ager asked after a moment.

“You’ve been thinking about the words we had with Korigan and Gudon last night?”

Ager nodded. “They made sense.”

“Lynan is not the rightful heir to the throne of Grenda Lear, Ager. There is a moral and legal distinction between us helping him right the wrong of his outlawry and helping him usurp Queen Areava.”

“Areava is his sworn enemy. He is the son of the hated commoner who replaced her beloved father as Usharna’s husband and consort. She has never liked him. Reinstating Lynan in the palace will not make him secure.”

“What do you mean?”

“He will still be seen as a threat by the Twenty Houses; probably even by Areava herself.”

“We can deal with that.”

“And don’t forget, Areava may always have been in league with Orkid and Dejanus.”

“I’ll never believe it.”

Ager leaned over to take Kumul’s reins and pulled up. “And even if Areava wasn’t part of the original conspiracy, she must be relying on Orkid and Dejanus now. She cannot have Lynan back.”

Kumul tugged his reins free. “You don’t know what you are saying, what it will mean for all of us.”

“It might mean our salvation.”

“We could be hanged as traitors.”

“If we’re caught, they’re going to hang us as traitors anyway.”

Kumul spurred his horse on so he did not have to listen.

“Or probably just cut our heads off as soon as we’re captured!” the crookback shouted after him.

Damn!
Ager thought angrily.
That was about the worst way to go about convincing Kumul of anything.

Jenrosa came abreast of him. “What was all that about?”

“Policy discussion,” Ager said offhandedly.

Jenrosa snorted. “You two have never disagreed before.” She glared at him pugnaciously. Even the freckles on her face seemed to glare at him. All the sun she was getting riding on the plains was making her look more Chett than Kendran, except for her sandy hair which was starting to look as if it had been bleached.

Ager shrugged, smiled easily. “He doesn’t like the Oceans of Grass. It’s making him crabby.”

For a moment they rode together in silence, then Jenrosa said, “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Some,” Ager admitted, unwilling to say more. Jenrosa was silent, but her presence demanded an answer. She was very good at getting what she wanted. “Don’t worry about it. Eventually one of us will come around to the other’s thinking. Well, I’ll come around to his; that’s how it usually works.”

“It was about Lynan, wasn’t it?” she persisted.

“When are our discussions about anything else? Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“With Gudon, behind the riders.”

“And with Korigan, too, I bet.”

“No. She leads. You don’t like her, do you?”

Ager thought about the question. “I don’t dislike her, necessarily. I don’t think Kumul likes her much.”

“Kumul is like a father watching his only son being wooed by a woman he doesn’t approve of.”

Ager nodded. “I hadn’t seen it like that, but you’re right.”

“Kumul told me about his confrontation with Lynan. He doesn’t know whether to be angry or sad about Lynan standing against him.”

“Last night was difficult for other reasons.”

“He told me he and Korigan had argued.”

“Did he tell you about what...” Ager’s voice faded.

“What’s wrong?”

Ager pointed toward the van of the column. Jenrosa looked and saw that the lead riders were galloping forward toward the nearest crest. She watched them reach the crest and then disappear over the other side. Other Chetts started joining them. The horizon was slightly hazy with dust.

“Rendle?” she asked.

Ager did not answer but dug his heels into his mount. Jenrosa did her best to keep up, but he was a better rider and pulled ahead. She watched him reach the crest and then suddenly pull up, his horse’s hooves digging into the soil. A few seconds later she was by his side and looking down. Her breath caught in her throat.

Some five leagues away was the biggest herd of cattle she had ever seen. She had no idea how many beasts there were, but they seemed like a dark tide on the yellow and pale green plain.

Lynan and Gudon appeared by her side. Lynan’s eyes widened despite the bright sun.

“It is bigger than I remember,” Gudon said in a kind of hush. “Little master, this is the wealth of the White Wolf clan.
My
clan.”

As well as the cattle, Jenrosa now could also make out what looked like two long trains of small brightly colored insects, one on either side of the main mass of the herd. Soon she could see they were large tents carried on wide carts, each cart drawn by four or more horses. Single horses carried Chetts around and in and between the cattle, keeping them moving and together. There seemed to be almost as many Chetts as cattle.

“How large is your clan?” Jenrosa asked Gudon.

“One of the largest,” he said proudly. “We have been riding with the Left Horn, Korigan’s personal guard of one thousand warriors. There is also the Right Horn and the main group of five thousand warriors, the Head. Unless we are at war, the Head always stays with the herd, while the two horns take turns scouting ahead and to our flanks, usually many leagues distant from the main body.”

“I don’t understand, Gudon,” Lynan said, his expression still showing his surprise. “I thought the Chetts lived in groups of a hundred or so. You told me so yourself on the journey to the Algonka Pass.”

“We lived like that for centuries until the Slaver War. Korigan’s father realized we had to unite to fight the incursions of raiders like Rendle and Prado. But before he could unite the clans, each clan itself had to unite. There were as many squabbles and rivalries between each clan’s families as there were between the clans themselves. Now each clan moves and fights as a unit. It means they have to move a lot more, else the combined herd would destroy all the pasture, but it is worth it for the increased safety.”

Ager was carefully observing the clan below. “It seems random at first, the way the clan moves,” he said. “But I can see now how the outriders don’t keep to the same station. They are always moving, but always to another station.” He looked over to Gudon. “This is very impressive. I don’t think anyone in Grenda Lear realizes how organized the Chetts have become.”

“They think us simple herders,” Gudon agreed. “We prefer it that way.”

“They’re stopping,” Lynan said.

The Chett outriders had closed in on the herd and slowly, like honey on a knife, it oozed to a halt. The carts carrying the tents then formed a corral enclosing all but a dozen of the largest beasts that were led away and pegged nearby.

“The bulls,” Gudon explained.

“Why so many?”

“Trade. Our herd is a large and healthy one. Other clans will give a great deal to have one of our bulls, thinking they are the secret of our clan’s success.”

“And what is the secret of your clan’s success?” Ager asked.

“Our queen,” Gudon said simply.

“Look, there’s Kumul,” Jenrosa said. She had spotted him halfway down the slope. Like the rest, he was transfixed by the sight of the clan and its herd. None of the easterners had expected to see anything of this scale on the Oceans of Grass.

“And here is Korigan,” Gudon said, pointing to a single rider coming their way. Tall and lithe, so confident on a horse, she was easy to pick out. When she reached them, she stopped in front of Lynan.

“Welcome to the heart of the White Wolf clan, your Majesty.” Her beautiful golden face beamed with pride. “You will always be welcome among us.”

Lynan nodded, still in awe. “Thank you, Korigan. I am honored.”

“My people are waiting to meet you all,” she said to everyone, and led the way down the slope to the corral, Kumul joining them as they passed.

As they drew nearer, small children jumped out of the tents and gathered around them. Like most Chetts, they were dressed in simple breeches and shirt, made from either linen or hide, with a cloth poncho over their shoulders. Their hair was cut short, again like most of the adults. Gudon had once told Lynan that among his people hair was a precious resources, used for binding and stitching.

Most of the children’s attention was given to Kumul and Ager, the first so huge he must have seemed like a mountain on legs to them, the second so bent over they were surprised he could ride at all. At first they ignored Lynan; in his poncho and wide-brimmed hat, he could almost have been one of them.

The children were soon joined by a few of the outriders, and the procession finally wound its way to the biggest tent, sitting astride the largest wagon Lynan and his companions had ever seen. The tent was made from several panels of boiled leather, stitched together with thick strands of twined sinew. Each panel was painted a different color, the one above the door also carrying a pictogram of a white wolf.

Before the riders halted there was the sound of a fast-approaching horse. They looked behind them and saw an outrider, his hat hanging from his neck by its cord, his heels dug into his mare’s flanks.

“Gods!” cried Gudon, his face breaking into a wide grin. “It’s Makon!”

The one called Makon waited until he was only a few paces from the group, neatly reined in his horse and leaped from the saddle. To the surprise of the newcomers, he landed on the back of Gudon’s horse. Thin, wiry arms wrapped themselves around Gudon’s waist.

“Gudon! My brother! You have come back to us at last!”

Gudon half-twisted in the saddle and hugged back, giving his brother huge slaps on his back. “I told you I would, karak!”

They fell off the mare and landed in a heap on the ground. The Chetts around them laughed, including Korigan. Lynan and his friends looked on bemused, not sure what to make of it all.

Gudon and Makon stood up, still holding on to each other, their faces split by the widest smiles Lynan had ever seen worn by a Chett.

“This is my younger brother!” Gudon declared loudly.

“We would never have guessed,” Kumul said dryly.

“My queen, what have you been feeding him? He is too tall to be from my family.”

And indeed, now that they were standing, Lynan could see that Makon had at least a hand’s span on Gudon.

“Your life in the east has shrunk you,” Makon said. He waved at the strangers. “And who are these friends you have brought home with you?”

Gudon went to Jenrosa and placed his hand on her shoulder. “This is Jenrosa Alucar, famed magicker from the Theurgia of Stars in Kendra!”

The crowd cheered before Jenrosa could tell them she was only a student and not famous at all.

Gudon went to Ager next. “Ager Parmer, one of the most renowned warriors in Grenda Lear! His injuries come from the Slaver War, where he fought nobly under Elynd Chisal!”

More cheering, and Ager actually blushed. The children that had been staring at him curiously huddled closer, some reaching out to touch him.

Gudon moved to Kumul. “And this is a warrior whose renown is known even to us. The right-hand man of the General who ended the slavers’ attacks on the Chetts. Kumul Alarn, Captain of the Red Shields!”

Lynan thought his ears would burst with the calls and ululations that followed Gudon’s announcement. Even the outriders now dismounted to gather around. All eyes were on Kumul, and Lynan could hear the awe in their voices. “It is him! It is the General’s giant! It is Kumul!”

Lynan was watching Kumul’s reaction. His pale skin flushed deep red; even the gray roots of his close-cropped hair seemed to gain color. Dazed by the adulation, he could say or do nothing. Gudon waited until the cries started to die before moving to Lynan. As he moved to place his hand on Lynan’s shoulder, he stopped and stepped back. Lynan looked around and saw Korigan come to stand next to him. The crowd fell silent then, and waited for their queen to speak. She reached across and removed Lynan’s hat. He squinted hard in the sudden rush of light. When he managed to open them wide enough to see what was going on, he was met by the staring eyes of every Chett around them. One small girl dared to touch Lynan’s pale white hand, but quickly withdrew. Lynan smiled down at her, but she was obviously too frightened to smile back.

“This is Lynan Rosetheme, son of Queen Usharna and General Elynd Chisal. He is a prince of the realm of Grenda Lear. He is a holder of one of the Keys of Power.

“He is the white wolf, and he is come back to us!”

For a moment nothing happened, and then, without a word between them, the crowd as one bowed low as if they were a stand of wheat struck by a single scythe. Even Korigan was bowing. Lynan blinked, his eyes watering from the harsh sun.