Sovereign (7 page)

Farben nodded eagerly.

Charion harrumphed and set off again around the walls, yelling out observations that were carefully recorded for future action: 'We need more stone here… shift labour from the cisterns to trench construction… we need more canvas to shelter the people in this quarter…' until she had done a complete circuit of the walls, ending at the northern gate. She dismissed her officials and gazed around once more, noting with relief that the walls were almost completed. Her biggest worry had been that Lynan would attack before she could repair all the damage done by Salokan when he attacked Daavis, and now it looked as if the city would be even better prepared than on that occasion. Maybe she would even allow herself four hours sleep tonight.

Before descending from the walls she looked northwards over gently rolling farmland, now deserted and starting to look rundown. The next winter would be a hard one for her people. But they would survive. Somehow, they would all survive.

Galen and his men filled their helmets with water from a stream and let their horses drink from them; when the horses had finished, and none of them showed any signs of illness, the knights themselves slaked their thirst from the stream. When Galen had drunk his fill he wet a scarf and wiped his face, then placed the scarf around his neck; the cool water trickled down his chest and back, bringing some relief from the heat. It was a hot day and even though the knights were dressed at most in greaves, and of course their helmets, they were all soaked in sweat. They were not used to summers this far north, and it was telling on them as well as their mounts.

Magmed, looking nothing like the young and arrogant knight who had set out all those months ago from Kendra, joined Galen. 'It is nearly summer, and this stream shows no sign of drying; the weeds are still green right to the top of the bank. What do you think?'

Galen looked around. He liked this spot. The land sloped gently from west to east, the stream eventually disappearing in a copse of trees not a hundred paces away. He nodded. 'Aye. We'll place an outpost here. There is water and wood and a good view of the surrounding land.'

In fact, Galen admitted to himself, he liked this land a lot. Although the heat was not to his favour, it was at least a dry heat, unlike the sultry summers citizens experienced back in Kendra. The grass was starting to yellow, but there were enough waterways and cool valleys to keep livestock going until cool autumn rains replenished the earth.
You could raise good horses here
, he thought.
Good stallions for the knights of Kendra
.

As well, he admitted to himself, a property here would give him an excuse to be away from Kendra… and closer to Charion. As a member of the Kingdom's aristocracy—the Twenty Houses—he found that Areava had made Kendra a little too chilly for his liking; her dislike for his kind was well known.

He had seen a great deal of Hume over the last ten days. His mixed command of knights from the Twenty Houses and light infantry from Aman had early established that Lynan's Chett army was not yet moving on Daavis, and so had subsequently pushed back the perimeter of the area under Kingdom control further and further north of the city. Every twenty leagues or so, he would establish a series of outposts in a wide arc, each outpost equipped with signal fires and a garrison. This spot would provide the last outpost necessary for the line some sixty leagues out from Daavis. That was five days march for most armies, three for Galen's force, and two for the Chetts, unmatched in mobility. Galen would push out another twenty leagues and establish a final ring of outposts. After that he would return to Daavis and see what Queen Charion had planned for him.

Or even Areava. She may have sent new instructions while he had been away.

For a moment he pictured the two women together. Areava he had long admired from afar. She was cold, aloof, as beautiful as winter; and she was ruler of all Grenda Lear. For a long time he had harboured the secret dream of wedding her; her marriage to Sendarus had temporarily sunk that, but now that the man was dead, for which Galen was genuinely sorry, the way was open again. But now there was Charion.

He shook his head in wonder. Until a short while ago he had convinced himself he did not even like Charion, but after leaving her behind in Daavis he found he missed her intelligence and her strange dark beauty, the opposite of Areava's.

Yes, he thought. It would be good to get back to Daavis.

It was bright day in Kendra, and a gentle breeze wafted through the south gallery of the palace. Olio stood at the entrance to the gallery watching a kestrel flying high, high above the harbour. It made great circles in the sky, dipping and soaring, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike. Olio was hypnotised by it.

'Your Highness?'

Olio sighed and turned. It was the fat man with the funny clothes again. Olio had wanted to see his sister, but everyone kept on telling him she was too busy to see him. He asked for his mother or Berayma then, but apparently they were
very
busy too. 'And what of Lynan?' he asked one official. 'I suppose he's busy as well!' The official had not answered that one, which Olio found strange. Instead, the only one who could come and see him was… now what was his name again…?

'Do you remember me, your Highness? I am Prelate Edaytor Fanhow.'

Ah, yes, that's right. 'Hello, Prelate. That's a strange name.'

'My name is Edaytor. Prelate is my title.'

Olio blinked at him. He did not want to admit he was getting confused.

'You can call me Edaytor,' the fat man continued.

'I can call you anything I like,' Olio said haughtily.

'That is true.'

'I am a prince.'

'That is true, too.'

'My mother is queen of Grenda Lear.'

He heard Edaytor take in a deep breath. 'Are you so sure of that?'

Olio raised his eyebrows. 'Of course I'm sure. I'm her son, aren't I?'

'When was the last time you saw your mother?'

Olio's forehead creased in thought. 'Oh, a long time ago. She is very busy. She is queen after all.'

'Would you like to step out onto the gallery?'

Olio shrugged.

Edaytor stepped out first. 'It is a beautiful day.'

'There is a kestrel flying over the harbour.'

Edaytor searched the sky for a moment before finding it. 'I see it.'

'The kestrel is the badge of my family,' Olio said. 'See?' He pinched out the kestrel emblem sewn into his shirt.

'It is a wonderful badge. It is the most famous badge in all of Grenda Lear.'

'It means I am a Rosetheme,' Olio added.

'You are Olio Rosetheme, prince of Grenda Lear.'

Olio frowned. 'Yes. Yes I am.'

'And do you remember what the Rosetheme family has that no other family has?'

'The crown,' he said immediately.

Edaytor laughed. It was a nice sound, and for the first time Olio decided that maybe he would like this man.

'I mean other than the crown. Even greater symbols of royal authority, filled with magik and power.'

Olio creased his forehead in thought again. He was silent for a long time. 'Can you give me a clue?'

'There are four of them.'

Olio's eyes lit up. 'Oh, I know! I know! The Keys of Power! Mother wears them on chains around her neck.'

Edaytor nodded, and licked his lips. 'Can you tell me what the four Keys are?'

'Whew,' Olio gushed.

'I know it's a hard question.'

'There's one for fighting. It's got a sword. That's my favourite. There's one with a sceptre. That's the most important Key. There's one with a circle. That's the most boring one. And there's one with…'

'Yes?'

'It has…' Olio shook his head as if he could loosen the answer from his brain. 'It has…' He glared at his feet, mouthing a word that would not come. He started to blush with anger.

'That's very good,' Edaytor said hurriedly. 'Three out of four. Do you want me to tell you what is on the fourth Key?'

'No,' Olio said, unconvincingly feigning disinterest.

'Well, I'll tell you anyway. The fourth Key has a heart on it.'

Olio slumped then, as if his whole body had been under great tension. 'Yes,' he said weakly. 'I remember now. The Key of the Heart.' He looked up at Edaytor, and the prelate saw something of the old Olio flicker across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Olio looked past Edaytor. 'The kestrel is gone,' he said flatly. 'I don't expect we'll see it again today.'

A message had come from Aman for Orkid, carried by pigeon. He did not open it until his office was empty, his clerks and secretaries all gone. The small scroll of paper had only a dozen words on it.

Amemun convinced Southern Chetts.

You love the queen; Aman can still reign.

Orkid stood up heavily and let the message burn over a candle flame. The meaning behind the words of his brother, King Marin, were plain enough, and they both frightened and exulted him.

The first part of the message meant his friend Amemun had made contact with the fierce Southern Chetts and somehow persuaded them to side with the Kingdom against their northern cousins on the Oceans of Grass. Orkid had never doubted that Grenda Lear would defeat Lynan and his allies in the long run, but forcing the rebel Chetts to protect their southern border would hasten the inevitable.

The second part of the message was equally clear. The grand plan—to have Marin's son Sendarus wed Areava and produce heirs to the throne of Grenda Lear with Amanite blood—had collapsed tragically with the death of Sendarus and his daughter. Some other way must be found to ensure the blood of Aman shared the throne of Grenda Lear. Marin was saying that way must now be found through Orkid himself.

How did he know my feelings towards Areava
? he wondered with something like alarm.
Were they that obvious
?

Then Orkid remembered those long conversations with Amemun when he had escorted Sendarus to Usharna's court for the first time. Amemun had plied him with questions about Areava, had helped Orkid finalise the last details of the grand plan.

And then reported everything back to Marin, of course. I did not have to say the words to Amemun; he always knew how to read my mind.

He sat down again. He could never marry Areava. The council would not allow it, and the Twenty Houses would pull even further away from supporting the throne, and he would not do that to her. And yet…

His own thoughts flagged his divided loyalty, something else Amemun had probably guessed at. He remembered the old teacher telling him that although Orkid's years in Kendra had not blunted his love for Aman, they had given him time to learn to love its rulers. He had not denied it then, and would not deny it now. He would do almost anything to be able to express his feelings to Areava in the hope—the desperate hope—that she might return them. That was the problem with Marin's suggestion. Areava regarded Orkid as a friend, a trusted advisor, her mother's contemporary and confidant, and not as a potential lover. He was honest to himself about that much, at least.

Could he turn her around, make her fall in love with him? It was a question he had been secretly asking himself for several years, ever since Areava had first blossomed into womanhood. At the time he wondered if his response to her had been nothing more than a reflection of his love for her mother, the unattainable Usharna, but as Areava continued to grow and develop so had his feelings towards her. He had been ashamed of those feelings when she married his nephew, Sendarus, and now that shame had turned to guilt because Sendarus's death had given him the chance with Areava he so desperately wanted. And now he had Marin's sanction as well.

He realised that in a terrible way he did not want this chance, did not want to pursue the matter to the point where the queen might spurn him. He had never been afraid of the assassin's knife, but he was afraid of Areava's rejection. But now a combination of desire and duty urged him on, and he knew that even if he could resist desire, he had never in his life been able to resist duty.

Constable Dejanus finished the evening rounds of the palace. He stood in the great courtyard watching a single window high in the east wing. He could see the silhouette of a dark figure through the glass, fluttering with the candlelight.

One arrow would do it
, he said to himself.
Straight through the window and into the bastard's black heart
.

The thought sent a delicious thrill down his spine. To be rid of Chancellor Orkid Gravespear once and for all! It was his greatest wish.

His hands on his hips, Dejanus circled where he stood. He was a power here, a power in the greatest palace on Theare, maybe even in the world. His chest swelled with the thought of it. I have no need to be afraid of anything. And then, as it always did, the familiar voice in his head said,
Except Orkid
.

The puff went out of him, and his gaze returned to that window. As he watched, the light went out and the wavering shadow of the chancellor disappeared. 'If only it was that easy,' Dejanus said aloud, then looked around to make sure no one had heard him. The courtyard was deserted. It was very dark, and he suddenly felt exposed. He hurried to his own quarters. The guard on duty snapped to attention as he passed, and that rejuvenated some of his confidence. He settled in his bed with a flask of good wine, and in his mind played out the many ways he could kill Orkid. Maybe an arrow, he thought. Hire an archer with some grudge against the chancellor.

And the voice said,
Or if you were brave enough you could simply use your own knife
. Dejanus could find no answer to that voice. He never had.

He finished the flask and fell asleep dreaming of the day, the one blessed day, when he
would
be brave enough.

Galen led his knights in double file through the newly restored gates of Daavis. A cheering crowd lined the main avenue leading to the palace, and Galen noticed the surprised and gratified looks on the young Kendran knights he led. If nothing else, this campaign had taught them that there was more to the Kingdom of Grenda Lear than the city of Kendra, and more to concern it than the petty goings-on of the nobility.