Sovereign (21 page)

'We?' she persisted.

'Galen and I,' he snapped impatiently. Then he said something that surprised him even more than Charion 'And don't you pretend that he hasn't seen it all before.'

She blinked in amazement. He went as white as her bed sheet.

'What did you say?' she asked, more shocked than angry.

'I… I…'

He was saved by more cries from outside.

'What is happening, Farben?' Charion demanded. 'And don't put me off this time.'

'All I know for sure is that there was a fourth attack on the west wall.'

'A fourth attack?'

'The third was this morning. Unsuccessful. The fourth started not long ago.'

'Help me up,' she ordered.

'You must rest, your Majesty. You are in no fit state—'

'
Help me up
!'

There was no denying that voice. He shook his head, but put a hand behind the small of her back and helped her into a sitting position. She tried to put her hands down to help take the weight off him, but discovered her right arm was in a sling. 'What use is this?' she cried.

'It's to protect you. The doctors were afraid if you moved that side too much you might send the end of one of the broken ribs into a lung.'

'Oh.'

With Farben's help she did sit up. With some effort and not a little pain she was able to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

'Right. Now I want you to help me stand.'

'No,' Farben said. 'You've been badly hurt—'

'A few cracked ribs do not make for a serious injury.'

'I have explicit directions from the doctors—'

'And now you have explicit instructions from me.'

Again, that tone of voice could not be disobeyed, least of all by Farben. He let her put an arm around his neck, and as he stood straight he brought her with him. For a moment they stayed like that, misshapen twins, until Charion eased her arm away and stood up by herself.

'That's better,' she said, but could not stop the pain from edging her voice.

A new voice, harried and exhausted, said: 'Thank God you're on your feet. We have no time to lose.'

'Galen?'

The Kendran stood before her and saw how pale she was. 'I am sorry, but we have to go.'

'Go? What are you talking about?' Charion looked at Farben, who could only shrug.

Galen licked his lips. 'Daavis is lost.'

'No.'

'The north wall is taken. They undermined it.'

'But it would take them weeks to reach the north wall—'

'Only if we found all the old tunnels,' Farben interrupted. 'Remember, your Majesty, they have Haxan sappers with them.'

Charion swayed on her feet, and both Farben and Galen reached out for her.

'And the west wall has gone now,' Galen continued. 'I barely escaped with my own life. Lynan is like a demon. No one can stand before him.'

Charion shook off their hands. 'Then I will stay and fight for my city!'

'You will die for your city,' Galen pointed out.

'So be it,' Charion said simply, and then to Farben: 'Get me my sword.'

'If you wish so much to die, then why not do it retaking Daavis at a later date?' Galen asked.

'Sophistry,' she said. And then to Farben again: 'Did you not hear me? I said get my sword!'

'No, your Majesty,' Farben said firmly. He turned to Galen. 'You will take her with you and your knights?'

Galen nodded. 'We will ride through what is left of the north gate then head east.'

'The Chetts will catch us,' Charion said, looking sternly at Farben.

'The Chetts are too busy looting Daavis,' Galen told her.

And then Farben saw something he never expected to witness. Tears came to Charion's eyes.

'They are looting my city?'

Galen nodded and dared to grip her arm again. 'You are coming with me now.'

Before she could respond, Farben took her other arm, disregarding the sling and her yelps of pain, and between them they helped her through the palace and to the courtyard. The knights were all mounted, their horses edgy from the smoke hanging in the air and the nervousness of their riders. Magmed appeared with two horses, and Galen and Farben carefully lifted Charion onto one of them.

'I am not dressed for riding,' she said weakly.

'You will do,' Galen told her. He looked at Farben. 'You can ride with me, if you wish.'

'No. You must ride swiftly. I will only hinder you.'

'Farben, you cannot stay here,' Charion said.

'Of course I can, your Majesty. Someone must make sure no one damages the palace.'

Galen mounted. 'We will return with an army.'

Farben nodded. 'I know. Look after my queen.'

'I promise.'

Charion leaned over to stroke Farben's cheek. 'I'm sorry.'

Farben quickly kissed the palm of her hand. 'I look forward to your return. I will greet you here at this spot and you can shout at me all you like.'

Charion laughed amid her tears.

'Now go,' Farben told Galen.

Galen and Magmed flanked Charion, and the troop set off. Farben watched them go, sighed heavily and returned to the palace.

CHAPTER 14

It was called the Castle Tower by those without respect, for it was as tall as a castle tower and seemed as well built. Tomlin, who had been in his profession his whole working life and who had inherited his position from his father, called it simply the Pigeon House for that is what it was. Situated within the grounds of the palace in Kendra but built as a separate structure, it gave Tomlin the grandest views of the city bar none. On this particular day the sun was high and bright, and a fresh southerly kept the air perfectly cool. Anyone other than Tomlin would also have said the southerly swept away the worst of the smell from the Pigeon House, but he no longer noticed the smell. Indeed, its source—the huge white cakes of bird droppings that settled at every level of the house—brought him the major portion of his income. Those who owned the city's market gardens loved the stuff, and he was more than happy to scrape it up and put it into small cloth bags and sell it to them.

But Tomlin's real love was the pigeons themselves. He knew them all by name, and could recount their pedigree back generation after generation. His father had made sure he learned to write so be could keep perfect records in case his memory failed him, and these he maintained scrupulously.

He had finished distributing the feed for the day and was checking the water in each coop, when there was a commotion in the fourth level.

'Bloody One Leg!' he cursed, drew his Jong knife and rushed down the two flights of stairs to get to the level. But the terrible one-legged crow who regularly tried to catch his pigeons was nowhere to be found. Tomlin had almost caught the bloody black bird once, which is why it only had one leg, but it was a clever beast and seemed to delight in tormenting him. His first thought was the crow was teasing him, perhaps to draw him away from one of the other levels, but then he heard the commotion again in several of the coops on the north wall.

That surprised him. He could have sworn they were empty earlier in the morning. Still, holding onto his knife he opened the little wooden catch to one of the coops and saw that indeed one of his pigeons had returned. 'White Wing!' he said in surprise, for there was no message on its leg. He opened another catch, and there was Chevron, also without a message. He peeked inside two more coops, and they were occupied as well.

'All from Daavis,' he said aloud to himself, mystified.

He sheathed his knife and went up to the sixth level to retrieve the feed bag and water flask and then back down to the fourth level to care for the returned birds.

The routine helped to settle his mind, and slowly it unravelled the mystery. The answer gave him no comfort, however, for he knew what it meant for the Kingdom of Grenda Lear.

Powl had stayed up most of the night composing a brief paragraph he hoped would do for the Book of Days. That morning, straight after prayers in the Royal Chapel, he went to the library with the piece of paper he had written on and copied the paragraph into the book in his best hand.

'We must always strive to find God inside us,' he read softly as he wrote. 'To fill ourselves with nothing but our own life is to fall short of His expectation for us, and to fall short of all that we can achieve. To have God inside us is to be complete.'

He sealed his ink bottle and put it and the pen back in his pocket. The piece of paper he put over a candle, letting it go only when the flames burned the tips of his fingers. Black smoke curled to the roof of the library, and he watched it until it had completely dispersed.

I am like that
, he thought,
striving to reach God but disappearing into air instead. How can one reach Goi without knowing his name
?

He read again his first contribution to the Book of Days and realised it read more like the beginning of a sermon than something that was in itself complete. He had failed this test as well, and was embarrassed to think his priests would read it and wonder. Some would not understand the message and think it was their fault because they were not smart or holy enough. And yet Powl knew it would be his fault. His sin was multiplying, staining the innocent under his care.

Father Rown entered the library carrying an armful of papers. 'It is almost time for the council meeting, your Grace. I took the liberty of bringing your papers.' He held out half his load.

'Thank you, Father,' Powl said, accepting them. 'Have you studied the agenda?'

'Yes, your Grace. The most important item concerns the raising of a new army. It is the first on the list.'

'Yes,' Powl said vaguely. He wanted to say he had thought on the issue deeply. After all, the first army had come about largely because of his advice in council while still nothing but his predecessor's secretary.
And because of that Sendarus is dead
, he thought to himself, and then quickly,
No! I wanted Olio to command it. It was not I who sent Sendarus to his death
.

'Your Grace?'

'This will be the first council meeting since the death of the princess.'

'Little Usharna?'

'And your first as my secretary.'

'Yes, and I thank you for the honour. I was not expecting—'

'You must not be afraid to speak up,' Powl interrupted him. 'You are there to present your opinion.'

'Thank you, your Grace, I will endeavour—'

'But never forget you are the queen's subject, not the council's. Follow my lead on any vote. If for some reason I am not at a council meeting, Orkid will guide you, and you will have my proxy.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

'Very well. Lead on. We mustn't be late.'

Father Rown hurriedly left; Powl lingered for a moment, glancing once more at the Book of Days and wishing he had not written his little paragraph.

Orkid Gravespear had risked a great deal to rouse Areava out of her depression. He had worked hard to get her to call her council together, knowing that the work of the Kingdom was the only thing that would occupy enough of her time to stop her falling into grief every time she thought of her dead husband and child and her wounded Olio, or worse, falling into rage every time she thought of her outlawed brother, Prince Lynan. But now he knew Dejanus would put himself forward as commander of the new army Areava must create to defend the Kingdom, he wished the council was not meeting at all. Orkid had to support Dejanus or risk the constable revealing to Areava how they had murdered her brother to set her on the throne. After the initial shock of their last meeting had worn off he had believed Dejanus had been bluffing, but his spies reported the constable was drinking almost constantly, and a drunk Dejanus might do anything without fear of consequence.

Orkid thought Dejanus had trouble leading himself to the lavatory let alone leading a Kingdom army into battle against Lynan and his Chetts, but he did not know what to do. The thought of getting one of his people to assassinate the constable crossed his mind constantly, but if the assassin should fail Dejanus would not hesitate to take revenge or—in an act of suicidal rage—tell Areava the truth about her brother's death.

He had never consciously worked against the interests of the Kingdom, believing even Berayma's murder had been for the long-term benefit of Grenda Lear, but Orkid knew supporting Dejanus in his bid for command would be a betrayal of everything he loved and strove for. Yet there was no choice.

He checked the sand clock on the windowsill and saw it was time for the council to convene. He stood up heavily and gathered his papers together. He was about to leave when there was a disturbance in his secretary's office.

'I must see him! It is urgent I see him! They won't let me see the queen!'

He did not recognise the voice, but the distress of the speaker was obvious.

'The chancellor is very busy,' his secretary replied 'And he is late for a meeting—hi! Hold on there!'

A man strode into his office, followed by Orkid's harried-looking secretary. He was middle-aged, short and smelled of something foul. Orkid was about to call for a guard, but the man grabbed Orkid by his coat and shook him.

'Your Eminence! You have to listen to me!'

'I'm not anyone's eminence!' Orkid put down his papers and wrenched at the man's hands. 'And please remove—'

'It's Daavis, your Eminence! It's fallen!'

'—your hands…' Orkid stopped struggling.

'Daavis has fallen!' the man repeated. 'But no one will let me see the queen to tell her! I don't know what to do—'

'Be quiet!' Orkid ordered.

The man could not refuse that voice. He released Orkid's jacket and stepped back, struck dumb.

 'Now tell me, who
are
you, exactly?'

The man could not open his mouth.

Orkid sighed and said more gently: 'You must answer my question. Who are you?'

'Begging your Eminence's favour, your Eminence, I'm Tomlin.'

'My title is Chancellor, nothing else. And who is Tomlin?'

'I'm sorry your… Chancellor. And I is Tomlin. Am Tomlin. Ah, I see what you mean. I am Tomlin the pigeon keeper.'