Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (58 page)

The generals frowned. “What use is that?” Lord Emerle asked. “We have detailed records of every strategy used in history. For every action there is a known counter.”

“With study and practice,” Lord Thrade said, “there is no need to risk injuring our men.”

“And it’s a well-known fact,” Lord Emerle concluded, “that injury is bad for morale.”

“I suppose it would be,” I said. “Yes... I can see that now.”

My teachers smiled in pleasure for being the architects of my new understanding. But when I glanced at Lord Vakram he appeared more amused than pleased.

And for just a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of intelligence in those strange, wide-set eyes.

* * * *

Despite my disappointment, I did not think ill of the Tyrenians. I was guest of an honor at many a banquet — Janela was always too engrossed in her studies and experiments to attend — and the number of new born named for us would sorely test the King’s prediction we would soon be forgotten by his fickle subjects.

They were the pleasantest people one could meet at a banquet — where much is discussed and little said. When I had enough wine to fog my cares and warm my good nature I had to admit I’d never seen such a handsome race. Even the graceful citizens of Irayas would look plain beside these folk, who were tall and slender with broad foreheads, wide clear eyes and skin so healthy it was almost translucent like a child’s. They wore clothing of the most artistic designs with splashes of tasteful color, and the whole time I have been in Tyrenia I have never seen one costume that was like another. Since the days are always warm here, the nights balmy, such costumes might consist of only a swatch of fine cloth for modesty’s sake and a few baubles of simple jewelry to subtly light the wearer’s most prized feature.

My band of companions were also well-entertained. Kele and Quatervals said the whole company was constantly showered by romantic proposals, gifts of more money and goods than they could ever hope to carry away and were so pampered by the servants in their commodious quarters they feared their limbs would wither from lack of use.

Kele shook her head in weary amazement. “Keep have’n t’pinch meself, Lord Antero,” she said. “Folks actin’ like we was th’ Old Ones ’stead of them. Gonner get one’a me mates t’ bedevil me ever’ mornin’ so’s I don’t ferget I’m just Kele.”

Quatervals had similar comments. “Now I see what it’s been like for you all these years, my Lord,” he said. “Not sure I like it. When my duties’r done I favor a bit of time to myself. Thinkin’ on whatever needs thinkin’ on. And I like to walk when I think. Put the head down and charge along until I run out of walkin’ room or brains. But you can’t do that when you’re famous, my Lord. People come up and want to talk to you. Shake your hand and invite you to dinner... or bed. And that’s all very nice, and all very kind and I like a tumble more than most, thank you very much, lass, but can’t you see I’m presently occupied?”

As any merchant knows the best source of information about the habits, customs and secrets of potential customers are the men and women who meet them daily — his employees. Although I as yet did not know what goods I had to offer, I knew the day would come when I might have to sell or die.

So I asked them both: “What do you make of these people?”

“First I thought they was lubbers through and through, my Lord,” Kele said. “Nice, kinder stupid, but not
that
nice and not
that
stupid, if yer can catch that bit’a driftwood when it floats by.”

I shook my head. I missed it by a league.

“Okay, let’s try a new set’a signal flags, my Lord,” she said. “Th’ Tyrenians I meet fall over the deck t’ make certain I’m happy. But if I was a bad’un they’d toss me over the side quicker’n fish oil through a gull.”

“Good,” I said. “They have spirit... unlike their king. Go on. What about the, ahem, stupid part?”

“They’re kinder stupid, my Lord,” Kele said, “’cause they won’t face facts. They’re inna starin’ march wi’ the demons and ever’one knows demons don’t blink. All scaly balls, ’n no eyelids. ’Stead’a lookin’ fer what’s on the horizon th’ Tyrenians study the deck fer ever’ speck ’n put it in a log book wit’ lots’a other specks. And they reorganize that log over and over ’til she’s pretty near perfect ’n they know ever’ speck in ever corner of th’ ship. ’N any day now, when she’s perfect... maybe they’ll scour ’n varnish.”

“It’s sort of like they’re frozen, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “Like they’ve nearly lost confidence in which way to go. And so they walk the same path ’til it’s worn out in fear they’ll lose the direction. ’Course who can blame ’em with the king they’ve got? Never know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. Also, when you’ve been at war off and on so long you tend to live your days as they come — ’cause you know there’s not likely any comfort in tomorrow.”

Kele nodded, saying, “Which brings me course back t’ the not
that
stupid part, my Lord. They don’t like King Ignati much. Trust him not at all. So whyn’t they hoist him off th’ throne? These’r fierce folk ’n they don’t swim in schools like fish hopin’ th’ sharks notice their sister afore they spots them. Got a mind of their own, they do, my Lord. Thick-skulled as they be. But still they let th’ king be king.”

I shrugged. “Why do you think that is?”

“Who would replace him, my Lord?” Quatervals said. “They love Prince Solaros but they think of him more as a favorite nephew than a leader. They know he’s too young, too green and too bold.”

“A dangerous medley,” I said.

“We all sang that cracked-voice tune at one time, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “Anyways the Tyrenians think the Prince is gonna make a first-rate king. Someday. But he’ll be needin’ a lot of seasonin’. ’N then, I’ll tell you, Lord Antero, they’ll follow him into the Hall of th’ Doomed itself.”

“If they live long enough to see the day,” I said.

Kele grunted and Quatervals said, “There is that, my Lord.”

The two of them eyed me for an uncomfortable moment. Then Quatervals, who knows me best, baited the question and made the cast.

“We’ve been sort of wonderin’, my Lord,” he said. “Now that we’re here and all. Now that we found what we was lookin’ for and it isn’t ain’t anythin’ like we expected. And considerin’ further that we maybe’ve got a whole bunch of demons breathin’ on our necks...”

“You want to know what we’re going to do next.” I said.

Quatervals sighed. “Yes, my Lord. We’ve been wonderin’ about little things like that.”

“Not so small,” I said, “and not so simple that we ought to act in haste.” I felt a little like Tyrenia’s indecisive king. “Lady Greycloak, as you know, is engaged in vital investigations. And I have been charting the political map quite carefully. Te-Date willing, a plan should make itself clear quite soon.”

“That’s good to know, me Lord,” Kele said.

“Yes, my Lord,” Quatervals said. “We’ll pass the word to the others. They’ll take comfort in that.”

But as we parted none of us felt at ease.

* * * *

Janos’ greatest criticism of me was that he thought I was too soft-hearted.

“Mercy is a much over-rated virtue,” he once admonished me. “It blurs the eye when you stand over your defeated enemy. It slows you, spoils your aim and bleeds the anger you require for the final thrust. All these things are needed most when your enemy is at your feet. For if he is worthy of your hate he will save just enough of himself to strike out as his life flows away. Mercy may make your dreams less bleak, my friend. But I’d rather dream bleak than not dream at all.”

As usual Janos was correct. But I did not change my ways. I am not the same cold, hard metal Janos was. Still, I
have
reached a much greater age than he. Although it’s true I’m soft-hearted, I am no fool. When I stayed my hand and let Cligus and Modin live I did not make the mistake of clutching my son’s viperous soul to my bosom. I let them live, yes. But I made certain they were caged and defanged.

Janela and I were given spacious and luxurious quarters near the Prince’s rooms. At my request he made certain those quarters included chambers suitable for imprisoning Cligus and Modin. They shared three large rooms with no windows and only one door leading out. I had the door exchanged for one made of heavier material — which could be barred from either side.

Quatervals, my most trusted and able man, was in charge of guarding them. He kept one man posted on the inside and one without — changing them frequently so they would always remain alert. Quatervals also made spot checks both day and night and berated any guard who so much as yawned while on duty. To make doubly certain I stepped in to check on them myself from time to time — usually using their comfort as an excuse.

The only flaw in this arrangement was that by keeping them close my son preyed more on my mind. At odd moments — and always without warning — I would recall him as a child. I’d remember him at innocent play in the garden or sprawled at the feet of Omyere as she piped a joyful tune. We had such hopes for him, such dreams, such long discussions in the privacy of our bed, spinning fanciful scenes of his later life when he would grow from our golden boy to a golden man.

Similar things must have been on his mind, for one day when I entered he seemed glad to see me. Modin, as usual, turned his scarred, blind face away. When I tarried he hissed a curse and demanded his servant lead him from my presence.

“Is all well?” I asked Cligus. “Do you lack anything I can have fetched?”

He glanced after the wizard’s retreating form and made a wan smile. “Only better company,” he said. “He made such a great wind when we had the upper hand. I never knew a wizard who talked so much... except maybe Palmeras. But now he’s met defeat, if he talks at all it’s only to curse or complain about his injuries.”

A rush of anger nearly overtook me. I wanted to snarl: “That is the company you chose! Be damned to you!” Then I felt sad and said nothing.

“I had a lovely dream last night,” Cligus said. “Do you remember the time when I was a boy and was taken very ill?”

I nodded. I recalled it well. It was before we had mastered the sorcery we’d gained from Irayas and had few defenses against seasonal disease. Cligus caught a summer chill that lingered many weeks despite all our efforts to cure it. I had already lost one wife and a child to a plague so I was possibly even more frantic than Omyere. Gradually he recovered, but while doing so he spent many weeks confined to his nursery — fretting to go out and play but too weak for us to allow it. So we plied him with treats and amused him with games and toys to make his confinement more pleasant.

“Mother used to make my meals with her own hands,” Cligus said, smiling in gentle reflection on Omerye’s many kindness’. “She’d concoct the most amazing delicacies that never disturbed my poor stomach. But my favorite dish was the simplest.”

“Toasted cheese,” I said, caught up in his reverie and smiling back. “And soup made from the tomatoes we grew in our garden.”

“With butter and pepper floating on the top,” Cligus added.

“Yes,” I said. “I left it off when I fetched it to you once. And you curled your lip and wrinkled your nose and said, ‘Where is the butter and pepper?’ Your manner was that of a learned gourmand whose taste buds had been offended by a peasant kitchen.”

We both laughed.

“When I woke from the dream,” Cligus continued, “for a minute I thought I was that sick boy again, kept in his nursery by kind and caring parents. At any moment there’d be a tap at the door and mother would enter with toast and melted cheese and rich soup to dip it in.” He sighed. “Then I realized where I was and... Ah, well. Life certainly takes its twists, doesn’t it?”

And I replied, quite softly: “If you’re asking my forgiveness, you can have it. I’ve forgiven villainy before. Besides your mother would have demanded it. But if you are asking me to relent as well...” and my voice turned harsh... “I will not!”

Cligus flushed, angry. “You think I’m asking you to forgive me? I piss on your forgiveness! You are to blame, sir. If you had dealt with me fairly none of this would have happened. I was merely reminiscing with someone who
knew
me. With someone whose many faults do not include poor conversation. And as for asking you to relent... Why would I waste my breath? The only thing I ask of you, sir, is to join me for supper. And turn your back long enough for me to insert my dinner knife!”

I shrugged and left, allowing him the last word.

As I passed the sentries guarding my son I thought of Janos. And wished to the gods I could pluck mercy from my breast.

* * * *

Some weeks after the parade the Prince summoned me to his quarters. I had been there many times since our arrival but it was always to discuss my adventures or to listen to his views — so passionately held that they had small merit.

This time, however, Solaros surprised me.

As I was ushered in he was pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed in thought. Vakram sat by the table that bore the globe.

When he saw me, the Prince broke off his pacing, saying: “Lord Antero! How glad I am to see you! I badly need your advice.”

I asked him what had happened and he said: “My father has been visited by emissaries from King Ba’land.”

“I was expecting as much,” I said. “I assume they are here concerning Lady Greycloak and myself.”