Sunset of Lantonne (23 page)

The king went on, taking long shallow breaths to steady himself every so often. “Dorus has been named master of the military. Arlind will command the students and surviving apprentices in the tower.

“This will all be presented as precautions against further attempts on my life. We will not be announcing my death until after the war is over. Once the war is over, papers have been prepared that will notify the people…until then, they need to believe their king is alive and well. They will need that hope.”

Another long fit of coughing interrupted the boy, and when he took his hand away from his mouth, Therec could see dark blood covering his handkerchief. Once the internal bleeding that was coughed up no longer ran thin, the victim of the ghoul’s fever did not have long. At most, his and Arlind’s efforts had bought the boy an extra day or two. Soon, his skin would begin turning ashen and his blood would gradually become diseased to the point that his coughing could infect others. By then, he would need to be kept away from everyone but the two healers. Once his heart stopped, it would take only an hour or two before he would wake and attempt to kill every living thing he could find.

“Dorus has been tasked with keeping all of the royal treasures safe,” added the king, though he seemed to be too dazed to think clearly. “We cannot let Altis find the power we keep in…”

Arlind’s hand shot out and clasped the king’s, cutting off what he had been about to say. The boy blinked and thanked Arlind before continuing.

“The last item I wish addressed is who will issue legal orders in my absence,” whispered Cinastin, barely able to form the words without coughing further. “I wish to name Arlind as my regent, until the people can elect a new king.”

Arlind snorted and Therec realized she meant to spit, but had caught herself.

“She has declined,” Cinastin continued, smirking weakly. “Dorus is talented and wise, but not as well-trusted as Arlind. My next choice is Commander Philith, but this creates a dilemma, with him answering to Dorus.”

Arlind clasped the king’s hand and said softly, “Find another damned regent. This will not be accepted by the people. They’d rather follow a tree-humping barbarian than go along with this.”

The king patted her thick hand and shrugged. “There are no other choices, Arlind. You declined.”

“I’ll keep telling you to shove your regency up your pale ass,” the woman muttered, though despite her words, she watched the boy like he was her own son. “I support the choice, but no one else will.”

“What is going on?” Therec asked, but both of them ignored him completely.

Cinastin went on, “I must name a regent that I trust not to burn this city to the ground. For all the people who have sworn pledges regarding my safety, only one has stood at my side when he had no reason to. I have limited his powers by distributing authority to others. He will handle only the legal matters and bookkeeping. The military, the school, and the coin of the city are elsewhere. He is only a spokesperson for managing the city.”

Wordlessly, Arlind lifted a piece of rolled parchment that bore the king’s seal from the nearby table. She placed it in Therec’s hands.

“Until there is a new vote of the people, you will speak for me,” said the boy-king. “You are not a citizen, but Lantonne has always been open to all who would treat the rest of the people with respect. When abused by our citizens and given no trust, you fought to save our king with your life. Those papers declare you a citizen and allow you to speak for me on all matters, unless overruled by Arlind or Dorus on matters left to them. Your attention to legal detail is why this decision was made. Do not abuse it. Both Dorus and Arlind have the authority to revoke this writ at any time.”

“I am honored, Your Majesty,” Therec replied, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the bedside, “but this should be given to one of your magisters, not to me. With only two magisters remaining, this might cause undo conflict with some as already mentioned…”

Arlind snorted and shook her head. “He tried three times to give it to me. I told him that you deserved it more than me, though it was supposed to be a damned joke. I saved myself during the attack…you went out of your way to save the king. Dorus hid in a broom closet.”

“There is no more debate. The orders are already in the hands of the commander of the army, another with Arlind, and a third waiting at Dorus’s desk. I am too tired to argue further,” the king explained.

Therec closed his mouth, restraining himself against protesting. He found the king’s decree to be a grave mistake for any ruler, but among his people, the last wishes of the dying were as near as they got to belief in divine command. They had no use for gods or their decrees, but a dying man or woman’s wishes were to be taken as seriously as Turess’ own dying thoughts and dreams for his people. This boy might be an uneducated barbarian, but he was a good person and worthy of respect in his own way. Therec would honor his wishes to the best of his ability.

The hours passed slowly, until the king’s breathing slowed and he drifted off to sleep, his skin taking on a grey cast. From that rest, Therec knew he would never wake, but it could be as long as another day before his heart finally gave out. At the first hint of the king’s veins darkening along his neck, Arlind sent away the soldiers guarding the room.

Near midnight, Arlind was the first to speak up, saying softly so as to not disturb the king, “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot, Therec. I have many reasons for pushing you into this and nearly as many for distancing myself from it. Damned kid got himself in too deep this time and I couldn’t find a way to make it right. Spent all day arguing with myself and had no other options.”

“Calling me by name might give some the impression that you tolerate a necromancer.”

Arlind sneered amusedly at that. “I wasn’t born in these old walls,” she said a minute later, tucking the king’s blanket closer to his pale chin like a worried mother. “Here, they think I waddled my stout ass halfway across the kingdom to join the tower and they look at me like I’m a symbol of virtue, if you’d believe that shit. It’s an act that pisses me off and makes me want to punch someone when we have days like this. Who’d think that I would want to leave my own people to hang out with a bunch of stuck-up humans?”

“You are a criminal, fled from your homeland,” replied Therec without thinking about how the words might be taken. To his surprise, Arlind nodded grimly.

“Our king…the dwarven king…put a price on my head,” she admitted, rubbing at one of her heavy braids and the tiny gemstones that were embedded in the rope-like hair. From what Therec knew of her people, those gemstones explained her family’s history nearly as well as his own tattoos, but he had no training in deciphering such things. “The bounty for my braid in his hand is more than many of my people would earn in a year. I waited for him to send men after me for years, but the hammer never fell.”

“What was your crime, if I may ask?”

Arlind smiled distantly, keeping her eyes on the king. “A friend murdered someone to save his sister. Damned fool would have tried to fight his way out of the city, too, though every bloody soldier the king could muster. I was assigned by the king to attempt to bring the dead man’s spirit back to his body to testify against my friend. I knew the man in my circle was an abusive lout, but it was my duty to try…”

“And you did not try.”

“No, more than that,” she said, grinning. “I kicked his spirit pretty damned hard. Pretty much dragged him by the beard out of the resurrection circle and tossed him to the winds. He was one of the more stubborn ones for trying to come back…I had to work to keep him dead. Awful hard to hide that. My own husband reported my actions to the king, but by then, my friend had escaped the city, unaware of what I did.”

“You killed a horrible person for a friend? Among my people, such a thing is no crime if done for the right reasons,” Therec told her. “Death comes to all, but destroying the ignorant or evil is considered a good thing. Your methods might be questioned, but your intent would not.”

“People take a dim view of a healer who kills her patients. They certainly would not see me as anything more or less than your chosen profession, and I have no right to treat you how I have. I should be kissin’ your boots, but these idiots put me on a pedestal. Least you’re honest about what you are.”

Therec let that drop for a long time, but finally had to ask one more question. “Your friend…what happened to him?”

“No idea,” said the dwarven woman, giving her braid a tug. “He went into hiding up near Altis. Probably drinking himself to death or working for their army…Osrinne Finth always was good with a knife. I’m certain someone would have found a use for him by now. Just hoping I don’t run into his bloated corpse in their army. Would serve me right if I did.”

The hours passed in silence, until dawn neared and the king’s faint breathing suddenly stopped. Arlind leaned over him, checking his wrist and neck for any hint of a heartbeat. Shaking her head, she sat back down beside Therec.

“Worst damned time for this,” she said a moment late, mostly to herself. “His death ensures civil war if anyone learns of it. Lantonne will fall without the people believing they are being led. That stinking army will just walk right in the front gate, while these fools kill each other.”

“Then they will continue to believe. This city will not fall, Arlind.”

Despite the stigma and his own revulsion at doing so, Therec patted Arlind’s hand, hoping he was being reassuring.

If only he could reassure himself.

Two weeks later, the wagon rumbled into the lightly-wooded lands controlled by Hyeth, with half of its passengers staring with wide-eyed joy at the prospect of home. The other two glowered and double-checked the ropes knotted around their wrists.

The halfling Ilarra had learned was named Corth during a brief conversation they had. She had allowed him to keep his gag out during stops for food, through which he had rambled from negotiating for his release to threatening her with years in the deepest part of the prison if she did not let him go. Each time he had gotten ill-tempered, Ilarra put the gag back in.

The other captive was less forthcoming. In just the last seven days, he had slipped his bonds three times, bitten Raeln twice, clawed Ilarra with a wild swing during a fight with Raeln, broken a wheel of the wagon, and somehow set fire to part of their supplies during a meal. He had not revealed anything about himself, but smiled with dark humor when Ilarra watched him, even with his muzzle tied shut. To him, this all seemed to be a game.

She wondered idly whether he had freed his hands again and was plotting to attack Raeln as the wagon slowed due to the roads growing rougher in the deep woods. The last two bites—one on Raeln’s forearm and the other his shoulder—looked awful, and Ilarra hoped she could help him avoid having a third. Her own arm still stung from the shallow cuts she had received during Raeln’s last tussle with the prisoner.

“Just a few more hours, and then we can talk to my father about releasing you two, if you behave,” Ilarra warned the men.

As if on cue, the wildling, having slipped the rope that held his legs, kicked Raeln in the groin. With Raeln doubled over and tried to reach for the man, the prisoner unwrapped the rope on his wrists and slid the last bit off his muzzle. He gave Ilarra a warning snarl when she started to move to stop him.

“Thank you for the ride,” he told Ilarra while shoving aside Raeln’s weak attempts to grab at him. “I need to get back to my father’s pack, and we’re getting too far from there for comfort.”

Stepping from the moving wagon, the wildling tumbled as his feet hit the ground, then came up running. Ilarra watched him until he vanished into the woods toward the southwest.

“Are you alright?” she asked Raeln, but he just looked at her with tears in his eyes, before grumbling and pulling the wagon’s door shut. For the next hour, he would not even look at Ilarra, constantly watching out the window for some sign of the man that had escaped.

They made it through the last bit of the journey without incident, though Raeln looked uncomfortable for much of it. He had been hurt more than he cared to let on, in addition to feeling awful about letting a prisoner go under his watch. Ilarra had known him long enough to recognize both and cared enough about him not to say anything further about either.