The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1) (16 page)

“Good,” said Krayell. He added, “Patience, Chelders. Keep your head, noblesir. And in a matter of a few months, when we give up the search as hopeless, you will be crowned king of all Iisen!” Krayell allowed himself a smirk at the thought of soon seeing this buffoon of a nobleman hauled off in chains to a slave market in Maqara.

Chelders grabbed at a nearby pillow covered in rich indigo velvet. He hugged it to his round belly and sighed, “Yes, rid of the veLohrdans for good!”

The fat nobleman bit at the pillow a moment as his mind spun on the sweet daydreams. “Who would have ever thought, my dear Krayell, from that first condemned criminal we sold to Maqara twenty-three years ago rather than hang him, that we would one day sell the crown prince himself into slavery so that Iisen could dawn a new day with myself on the throne?”

Krayell nodded knowingly to veBasstrolle. It would definitely be a new day for Iisen, without any doubts.

Chelders’ face clouded for a moment and he said, “But you must help me, Krayell! I will be king, and that means it will be only a matter of days before my own two blackguard sons will start plotting against me to take the throne for themselves! Probably even one of my illegitimate sons will plot as well, donkey-headed sods that they are! I will need you and the Lord Marshal to be vigilant for me!”

Krayell glanced out the windows again at the dark storm forming in the east.

“Of course, Chelders,” promised Krayell through gritted teeth. “Your well-being is my highest concern, noblesir!”

The city of Lohrdanwuld was situated against the western face of Kitemount, southernmost of the Trine Range mountains. The original village, far back in time and before the scattered fiefdoms collected into a unified kingdom, had situated itself on the promontory that stuck out from the foot of the mountain to take advantage of the natural defenses it afforded. The mountain at the village’s back served as one defense, and the high ground of the promontory was the other. As the city grew, and the Iisendom took form as a kingdom, it spread out to the west at the foot of the promontory. Strong walls were erected around the city to protect its exposed side, but the prosperity and growth of the city would not be defined by the walls that guarded it. Twice in its history, the city had grown far enough beyond its walls to abandon them and build new ones farther out. The old walls were left in place, a permanent reminder of how time had passed, how new turned to old, of how modest and humble beginnings became great and powerful later. The old walls became incorporated into new structures that defined neighborhoods instead of serving their original purpose to separate defended land from the risks of the open.

Once the city reached a certain size, the kingdom a certain level of wealth, and the royal family a certain amount of power, the promontory that was the location of the original village was cleared to become the site of the Iisendom’s first royal palace. It would be the seat of power of Jennal the First, the first king of the Iisendom to demand a palace that befitted the monarch of a growing kingdom, a seat to separate his august self from the more primitive monarchs who preceded him. Those of the time deemed it madness to try to build it, whispered that it was a symptom of excess, and described it as the folly of a king with an ego the size of Thayhold. It immediately came to be known as Jennal’s Folly. The name did nothing to dissuade Jennal the First from his plan, however, as he was never one to shy from bold plans, or to let the opinions of others dictate his course. The castle wasn’t finished until Jennal the Second had ascended the throne, but the name Jennal’s Folly had long since stuck, and so it had remained unchanged through the line of monarchs that ruled from its great Throne Hall. The name, which had started out as a way to mock the magisterial arrogance of a king that had only barely managed to usurp power, violently, from the previous ruling family of veWeldenn, became a fond point of pride for the veLohrdan family and the capital city of Lohrdanwuld.

Below the Folly, the city spread out as a patchwork of neighborhoods of varied wealth, roads and avenues snaking among and between them, and markets humming with the trade of goods, services, and coins of the realm. Nestled into the city were eleven oratory towers, ten of which were for the public to practice the astrolatry universal throughout the Iisendom. Some of these ten towers had been built specifically for the purpose, and others were unused guard towers in the older city walls that had been expanded, making them higher to bring those in prayer and communion as close as possible to their ancestors in the sky.

The eleventh oratory tower was not for public use, and it was the highest structure in all of Lohrdanwuld. At the back of the Folly, rising far above even the tower of the royal residence to which it was affixed, was the final and most beautiful oratory tower of all. Behind this tower rose the slope of Kitemount’s face, and far below on the side opposite the royal solar was the palace’s grand Courtyard of the Empyrean, which ran along the edge of a deep crevasse that cut into the side of the mountain. This eleventh oratory tower was for the exclusive use of the royal family and the highest members of the Iisendom’s religion. It looked up not only to the stars and the many ancestors of Iisen, but out and across the markets and neighborhoods and city walls of Lohrdanwuld, across the farms that fed and supplied the residents of the city, beyond the Trine Runnel and the mighty River Tib which joined together to the south, as far to the west as the human eye could see. All that was in view, and more, belonged to Iisen.

In the distance, the sun had emerged from its occultation behind the trickster moon, bringing to an end the moongloam and washing the kingdom in the last red and orange lights of day before it winked out below the horizon. Prince Thaybrill stood out in the open at the top of the royal oratory tower, his face warmly illuminated by the diminishing light of the sun. He leaned against the parapet wall of the tower in solitary contemplation and counted off one day less before his coronation.

Below him in the courtyard, the interpreters busied themselves with adjustments to the massive, gilded armillary sphere as they tracked the daily changes in the positions of the constellations and the two sister moons. To his right was the fresh creek that rolled off of Kitemount and wound through the grounds of the Folly, then down into the Bonedown Square where it supplied the public fountain. Near the stream, a contingent of the King’s Guard was completing its sword-training exercises for the day in the bailey, the occasional clank of steel upon steel blade reaching the prince’s ears.

He wondered what would pass through the minds of the soldiers, the interpreters and elocutors of the church, the people of Iisen, when they eventually found out that the marriage to the princess of Maqara was now called off. He wondered if they’d hear the details of it, or simply make up their own to fit. He wondered if their imaginations would alight on the truth in their idle speculation, and his head dipped low at the thought.

He turned away from the view of all that was his, as far as his eyesight could reach, and instead looked back at the open top of the tower for a moment before lowering his eyes down to the stone beneath his feet.

Unable to lift his eyes to the sky, Thaybrill posed questions to his father’s star even though it was still behind Kitemount’s peak. He wondered,
does it make a difference to you that a marriage to Princess Quannah would have been a lie? Should I have lied to her, and to Krayell, and to all of Iisen for the sake of duty? For the sake of an alliance, of which I cannot seem to grasp the importance? Did you love my mother, or was your marriage to her also nothing more than a strategic and political maneuver within the kingdom, like the pre-emptive move of a playstone in a game of swords and shields? Is there such a thing as love, or is it all vapor and shadow, the imagination of a child that has yet to learn how the world really is?

He allowed his eyes up just high enough to view the small turret at the far side of the tower that covered the stairs leading down into the castle.

Is your appraisal of me before I even assume the throne heavier because you never had time with me here during your life?

He glanced further up, to the peak of the mountain before him and the few hawks and kites wheeling freely in the sky around it. It was lit by the golden glow of sunset, a warmth about to fade, a light about to go dark, and Thaybrill felt the symbolism of all of it twist his insides.

He turned again and looked out over the city and the people in it. The image of Krayell’s pinched lips and perturbed face as he had split off from the caravan home to meet with veBasstrolle still occupied much of his mind.

He wondered, unable to face towards his father as he did so,
do you curse me for the desire that is inside of me? Will all of Iisen suffer for your displeasure with me?

The feelings began to well up inside of Thaybrill and came close to seeping out of him. He felt lost and unsure and weak, all things for which the Domo Regent had admonished him in the past, but it was too much to restrain and he was ready to let the pain and fear and humiliation out. Just as the first drop seeped from his eye, he spied a flickering light as it shone on the wall next to him. He turned quickly, ashamed at having been caught in such a vulnerable display.

Behind him, a very old man, his head bald except for a thinning horseshoe of snow white hair that circled the crown, walked towards him with a lantern in his hand after having emerged from the turret. The man’s long robe had a wide cowl and was a pale blue, the color matching the light of the laughing moon as was tradition for the leader of the Iisen religion. Thaybrill shifted his feet and wiped briefly at his face to clear the tears from it.

The Archbishop shuffled closer to Thaybrill and said brightly, “Ah, Your Highness! It is so good to have you home! This castle seems to echo emptily without you!”

The Archbishop set the lantern down on a stand designed for it off to the side and studied the prince. Thaybrill nodded rapidly but said nothing while he tried to calm his nerves at being caught in his moment of weakness.

The Archbishop tilted his head as he watched him and said softly, “But you are upset!”

Thaybrill knew better than to lie to the man. The Archbishop was gentle, but would never let him get away with fibbing to him.

“You can see so easily even in the dim light? Your eyes seem to grow stronger the older you get, Archbishop Dibronde,” said the prince.

“You are my most favorite prince, Thaybrill... how could I
not
see the upset in your face?”

Thaybrill couldn’t suppress a helpless smile. “I am the
only
prince you know, Nellist!”

The Archbishop laid a hand lightly on Thaybrill’s shoulder and led him to a carved stone bench. He said as they sat next to each other, “I am surprised to find you here. After your long journey, I would have thought you’d want to be in your own bed as soon as the sun was down. But your heart carries a heavy burden tonight, I can tell.” He took Thaybrill’s hand in his and said, “Tell this very old man what happened. Perhaps I can help with it.”

Thaybrill spent the next few minutes relating the events of all that had happened, including the night that Quannah offered herself to him and King Azi’s fury for his refusal to have her before their marriage.

When Thaybrill finished telling the story, he looked expectantly to the man next to him, anxious to know if he would find comfort or yet more scorn.

Nellist patted Thaybrill’s hand affectionately and said, “Pah on that alliance! I may not be a master of the strategies of state, but I never could see the high value of this alliance that the Domo seemed to place on it. As I see it, we’re no worse off than we’ve been all along without it.”

The comment made sense and made Thaybrill instantly feel a little better. But his heart was still heavy with the deeper, hidden truth, of which the events in Maqara were only a symptom.

Nellist added, “And these Maqarans are even more barbaric than I had heard. Who offers their own daughter up like a common slattern, for a test that is foolish from the start? I want nothing to do with them! But what of your wishes, young prince? Are you sorry not to have Quannah as your bride? I hear she is exceptionally pretty.”

Thaybrill stared at the boots on his feet again before replying helplessly in a quiet tone, “Yes, she is very pretty.” Thaybrill knew he should lie, but could no longer keep the truth from his tone of voice.

There was a long pause as Nellist read the deeper truth in the prince’s response. He eventually asked very carefully, “But... she is not what you want. Is she?”

The prince continued looking at his own boots while not actually looking at them at all. He shook his head slowly a few times in answer.

The Archbishop pressed no more for a long time as he considered the prince’s answer. Thaybrill stared at the smoothly cut and fitted stones under his feet and wondered why he had chosen now to be honest this way. Perhaps he was tired of carrying the secret alone and could do so no longer. Perhaps it was because, if there was one person in his life who felt like what he imagined a father would feel like, it was the Archbishop. Perhaps, he thought... perhaps he was trying to sabotage his own reign before it even began in an attempt to escape it.

“There is not
any
... woman...” probed the Archbishop very delicately, “who will find a home in your heart, is there?”

Thaybrill frowned and still did not look the gentle old man in the eye. He shook his head again to confirm the Archbishop’s suspicion.

The Archbishop placed both of his aged hands on his knees and looked up into the darkening sky as he smoothed out the fine material of the blue robe he wore.

Thaybrill stood up and walked over to the edge of the tower again, looking out across the kingdom. The words spilled out of him, but they had conviction, “We should call off the coronation. I have no place on the throne, and that is the true meaning that underlies the events of the last few days. My father knows what I am and he seeks to prevent someone like me from wearing the crown. And if it is better for the—”