Fire and Sword

Chapter 4

It was sunset, and Kendra had become a golden city. “That sky is the color of my love for you,” Sendarus said.

Areava looked sideways at him and saw the smile he tried to hide, but it lit up his face too much. “I have heard crows sing sweeter songs,” she said.

“Ah, but no crow ever loved you as I have.”

Areava shook her head. “Oh, stop it. You don’t have to prove to me you have a sense of humor.”

Sendarus got up from their stone seat and knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his own. “But there is so much I want to prove to you,” he said seriously.

“We will have time. A whole lifetime.”

“It won’t be enough.”

She kissed him on the forehead and slipped her hands away from his. “It will have to do. Have you heard from your father?”

“Must we always discuss business when we’re alone together?”

“Best to get it out of the way.”

“You used to have a lighter heart.”

“Stop it, Sendarus,” she said shortly. “If you want the marriage to go ahead as much as you say you do, you’ll help remove the last impediments. The council wants that agreement from Aman—signed by your father—before its members will give our union their full support. This is a particular concern of the Twenty Houses.”

“You have no regard for your country’s nobility,” Sendarus objected. “Why this sudden need to pacify the Twenty Houses?”

“I have a lot of respect for them and their influence in the kingdom.”

“And why are you so concerned about the council? It is your creation, after all. You can dissolve it any time you like. I’ve heard you say so to their faces.”

Areava patted his cheek. “A council expects to be threatened by its monarch every now and then. It’s good form. But it’s not good form to ignore its advice, and its advice is to get from your father a guarantee that my marrying you does not give Aman any rights of succession outside our own issue.”

“Such a legalistic expression for the children we will raise. Our ‘issue.’ That is a term for matters of state.”

“And our children, like it or not, will be matters of state.”

Sendarus shook his head. “Not to me.”

Areava was about to agree when she realized she would be lying. The realization surprised and dismayed her. There was no doubt in her mind that she would love any children she bore, but equally there was no doubt that as queen she would put them to good use for the sake of her kingdom. As my own mother did with Berayma, and at the end of her life, through the Keys of Power, had tried to do with all of us, even Lynan.

“Have you heard from your father?” she asked again.

Sendarus sat next to her, his usual cheerful face now as serious as her own. “Not yet. I was expecting a message to arrive last week, but it has not come yet.”

“You don’t think your father—”

“Will not agree? No. But it is possible he will ask for concessions in other areas. He is a politician at heart.”

“As he should be. He is a ruler.”

Sendarus looked sideways at Areava. “He will meet his match in you, I think.”

“Ironically.”

“Why?”

“Because his brother, my chancellor, is one of my teachers.”

Sendarus laughed at that, and the sound was so infectious that Areava joined in.

“I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself, your Majesty,” said a voice behind them.

They both turned and saw Orkid standing there, looking as severe as usual, an impression always exaggerated by his long dark beard. They both laughed even harder.

“How pleasing to your humble servant to be a source of amusement for your royal personages,” he said stiffly and without a trace of sarcasm.

“Oh, Orkid, don’t take it to heart,” Areava said lightly, and went to him. “You are more than that to me.”

Orkid sighed. “Oh, such relief.”

“Why, Orkid, I believe you actually tried to be funny.”

“Tried?” he asked glumly. “Well, I am employed as your chancellor, not your jester.”

“Come and sit with us.” She took his hand and drew him to the stone seat. “We were actually discussing matters of state, particularly pertaining to your brother. Why has he not sent his agreement to the council’s condition for the marriage?”

Orkid shrugged. “I imagine he is thinking up some way to bargain with it.”

“Exactly what Sendarus said. You Amanites all think alike.”

“I have come about another matter. One just as pressing.”

Areava raised an eyebrow. “What matter could possibly be as important as my marriage?”

“The matter of your brother, your Majesty, the outlaw Prince Lynan.”

“Oh.” Her jollity disappeared. She slumped down next to Sendarus.

“You asked me to pursue the matter. I believe a solution may have presented itself.”

“In what way?”

“You can come now!” Orkid called out. A moment later Jes Prado appeared and stood by Orkid’s side. The queen studied him closely. He was looking a hundred times better than the first time she had seen him in her chambers all those weeks ago now, but there was still something hard and cruel about his eyes and the thin set of his mouth, and something threatening about the way he stood, like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. His thickly braided gray hair, scarred face, and crooked nose only added to the sense of menace that accompanied him like a shadow.

“The first time we met you brought me bad news,” the queen said evenly. “I hope you have something better for me this time.”

“I wish it had not been me who brought you such evil tidings. But I think I can offer your Majesty a remedy to this particular wound.”

Areava glanced at Orkid, but his expression gave nothing away. “Go on.”

“You know my past?”

“Of course,” she said, her distaste obvious.

“Then I suggest you put it to use.”

“I will not tolerate the resurrection of slavery in my kingdom,” she said quietly.

“Nor should you,” Prado replied quickly. “But mercenaries still have their use. Even now you employ them on the border with Haxus.”

“In small numbers.”

“Let me raise my old company, and give me your warrant to raise more. I will set out to hunt down and capture Lynan for you.”

“I want him killed, not captured.”

“Even easier.”

The words sent a chill down Areava’s spine. She controlled it, ashamed of her reaction. “What is your opinion?” she asked Orkid. Orkid simply nodded. “Do you have particulars?”

“Not yet,” Orkid said. “I wanted you to hear the suggestion yourself before going into any more detail.”

“Do so. The council meets in three days’ time; give me your report before then and I will present it.”

Orkid and Prado bowed and left.

“I do not like that man,” Sendarus said.

“You don’t have to like a rock to crush a spider with it,” she said.

The boy was about four years old. He lay in a tight crumpled heap in his cot, his breathing labored, his face shiny with sweat in the torch light.

“What is it?” Olio asked, running a hand through his unruly brown hair, struggling to fight off the exhaustion that seemed his constant companion these days.

The priest laid a gentle hand on the boy’s forehead. “Asthma. He has had it since he was three months old. It has become worse in the last year. He has been like this for several days now. He doesn’t eat and throws up most of what he drinks.”

“Is he dying?”

“Yes, your Highness, he is dying. He will not live to see the morning.”

Olio sighed deeply and looked at Edaytor Fanhow. “I have no choice. I cannot refuse to heal him, despite my assurance to you that I would not use the Key.”

Edaytor looked grim. “No. I see that.”

Olio nodded to the priest, who stepped back, then laid his right hand on the boy’s heaving chest. With his left he pulled out the Key of the Heart—shaped like a triangle with a solid heart placed in its center—from behind his shirt and grasped it firmly. “All right.”

Edaytor laid his hands on Olio’s slender shoulders. Almost immediately, he felt magickal power surge through the prince. No matter how many times he did this with Olio, the strength of the magic surprised him, but this time he was also surprised at the speed with which it came. The Key was becoming aligned to its owner. He wondered if Olio would soon be able to do without a magicker’s assistance at all. The thought worried him.

Olio started to slump, and Edaytor pulled him back from the cot. The prince cried out weakly, then rested against the prelate.

“Your Highness?” the priest asked, concerned. He was newly assigned to the hospice, and had never worked with the prince before.

Olio held his hand up. “I am all right. A little weary, that’s all.”

“Come, sit down.” The priest and Edaytor guided him to a wooden stool. “Do you want me to get you something?”

“No,” he answered, then almost immediately. “Yes. Wine.”

“Your Highness—” Edaytor started, but Olio’s angry glare stopped him.

“Just a cup, Prelate.”

The priest returned with the wine. Olio drank it greedily and handed the cup back.

“More, your Highness?” the priest asked.

“No,” Edaytor said firmly. The priest glanced from the prelate to the prince and back to the prelate again. “No,” Edaytor repeated. “Thank you. I must speak with the prince. Alone.”

The priest scurried off.

“I wouldn’t have asked for more,” Olio said, his voice almost a whine.

“Then I saved you the trouble of telling him yourself.”

Olio stood up unsteadily. Edaytor reached out to him, but Olio waved him away. “I thought you trusted me.”

Before Edaytor could reply, a little voice said: “I’m hungry.” The sick boy was sitting up in his cot. He looked thin and pale, but his breathing was normal. “I’m hungry,” he said again.

“I’ll get you something,” Olio said. “How are you feeling?”

The boy thought about it for a moment. “Hungry.”

“Then we’ll feed you a mountain.” He faced the prelate. “Is this not worth all?”

Edaytor blushed, ashamed he had no reply.

Now that the executive council had met half a dozen times, its members had gravitated to sitting in the same position at the table at every meeting. Areava sat at one end, flanked by Orkid and Olio; down the right-hand side, from Areava’s perspective, sat government officials such as Har-nan Beresard, Prelate Edaytor Fanhow, and Kendra’s mayor Shant Tenor, as well as those members of the Twenty Houses given seats on the council, most prominently Areava’s cousin Galen Amptra. On the left-hand side sat the various representatives of the kingdom’s guilds and mer-Ghant houses, as well as Primate Giros Northam, leader of the Church of the Righteous God, and his secretary and Areava’s confessor, Father Powl. At the end of the table sat Fleet Admiral Zoul Setchmar and Marshal Triam Lief on either side of the new constable, Dejanus.

Sunlight poured into the room from the long glass windows in one wall. The members waited for Areava to start, but she was busy conferring with Orkid. A few were taking notes or catching up on paperwork, one or two looked bored and were stifling yawns. Most simply waited patiently.

“You will have heard my brother is still alive,” Areava said suddenly. One or two members jumped in their seats.

“We have heard rumors, your Majesty,” Father Powl said, “but not the whole story.”

“Lynan did not drown. He has escaped to the Oceans of Grass.”

There was a soft murmur, but—Areava was glad to hear—no urgency or panic in the voices.

“He is still in the company of former Constable Kumul and former Captain Ager Parmer, and the female magicker...” She searched for a paper on the table in front of her.

“Jenrosa Alucar,” Edaytor Fanhow said quickly and softly, as if ashamed she had been a magicker.

“... yes, from the Theurgia of Stars.”

“Was, your Majesty,” Edaytor corrected.

“Was. Yes. They are with the Chetts.”

“Then they are harmless,” Marshal Lief said. “They cannot harm the kingdom from the Oceans of Grass.”

There was general agreement from the council.

“While he is alive, Prince Lynan is dangerous,” Areava said softly. Somehow the words carried through the hubbub, and everyone instantly fell silent. Olio looked at her with something like dismay. Sitting there, pale and golden-haired, she reminded him of one of the old gods—as unmerciful as they were beautiful.

“Your Majesty?” the Marshal asked.

“What does he hold?” she asked.

“Nothing except grass now,” Shant Tenor said jovially.

“And the Key of Union,” Areava said.

“Is it worth anything by itself?” the mayor said, holding his hands up and looking from councilor to councilor as if he were directing the question to all of them.

“It is worth something to me,” Areava said sternly. “I want the Key of Union for another purpose.”

“Sister, you already have two,” Olio said gently.

“My husband-to-be has none.”

Olio seemed surprised. “Ah, of course,” he said eventually.

“Your Majesty, this is a delicate matter you have raised,” Xella Povis, the head of the Merchant Guild, said. “We still have not heard from the king of Aman about his guarantee on the issue of succession.”

“Correction,” Areava said, and put out a hand. Orkid handed her a rolled parchment which she opened and flattened on the table in front of her. “His courier arrived yesterday afternoon.” She paused, glancing up at all the expectant faces. “And he agrees.”

The council exhaled as if it were a single, large animal.

“With two conditions,” Areava finished.

The animal held its breath again until Galen Amptra said: “Which are?”

“He wants another dock built for Amanite merchant ships in the harbor.”

“That would give them the same number as Lurisia, and two more than Chandra or Hume,” Xella Povis said.

“Which is undoubtedly why he wants it.”

“And the second condition, your Majesty?”

“That the Tithe of Gelt be reintroduced.”

There was an uproar. Everyone started talking at the same time.

Areava’s disappointment was clear in the look she gave Orkid and Olio. She waited until the noise subdued. “Is there a problem with this?”

The uproar started all over again, this time directed against her. Areava’s face paled. “Enough!” she shouted. And just like a summer storm the tempest passed as quickly as it had come. “Is this how you address your queen?”

“Your Majesty, I am sorry,” Xella Povis said, “but one of the reasons Kendra went to war against Aman all those centuries ago is because they imposed the Tithe of Gelt on any shipping passing by and through the mouth of that river, a tithe they imposed with force. Is Aman suggesting we submit to this piracy voluntarily?”

Areava felt Orkid stiffen beside her, but he kept his control and said nothing. If only all my councilors were as disciplined, she thought.

“It is nothing so fierce,” Areava told the merchant. “They are asking that every merchant ship that passes by or through the Gelt River pay a tithe worth one part in a hundred of its cargo. As I understand it, the old tithe was one-third the worth.”

“That is true,” Xella Povis admitted, somewhat mollified, “but the principle involved ...”

“The principle involved is that in exchange for these two conditions, Aman not only will sign the guarantee of succession, but undertake to construct and permanently man a beacon fire on Triangle Rock at the mouth of the Gelt. Is it not the case, Xella Povis, that even today we lose half a dozen ships a year on that rock?”

The merchant nodded.

“And, compared to that loss, how much is a tithe of one part in a hundred?”

“It is a good bargain,” Xella Povis admitted, bowing to the queen in apology and in surrender.

Areava smiled lightly. “Am I to take it, then, that there are no more objections to my marriage with Prince Sendarus going ahead?”

There was no disagreement. Galen Amptra and one or two others seemed unhappy about it, but there was no longer anything they could do.

“And to come back to our original point of discussion, is it fair and just that my husband and consort should be without one of the Keys of Power when the outlaw Lynan still possesses the Key of Union? And who better to wear that Key than Prince Sendarus, an Amanite who will join in union with your monarch?”

“All well and good, your Majesty,” Marshall Lief said gruffly, “but how do you propose we go and get the Key?”

“Are you suggesting the army of Grenda Lear is incapable of marching into allied territory to find a single group of outlaws?” Areava asked. “And especially a group so conspicuous? One prince, hardly more than a boy and holding a Key of Power, one giant ex-constable, one crookback ex-soldier, and one female magicker.”

“The Chetts won’t like it. And sending soldiers into the Oceans of Grass could raise tensions with Haxus even higher than they already are. King Salokan would have to wonder if we are preparing for a move against him.”

“We can make it up to the Chetts—they had no objection to our armies marching through their territory when we were clearing up the slavers for them. And I don’t care in the least if the move disturbs King Salokan; I only wish everything I did disturbed King Salokan.”

“I’ll lead a force,” Dejanus said quickly. “I’m afraid of no Chett.”

“That was not my concern—” the Marshal began testily, but Areava held up her hand.

“Constable, how well do you know the Oceans of Grass?” she asked.

Dejanus balked, suddenly frightened. Did she know of his previous life as a slaver? Did Orkid tell her? He thought desperately for a moment.

“Constable?” Areava prompted.

All eyes turned to him. His normally red face blushed even deeper. His cheeks glowed with color.

No, she could not know. Otherwise I’d be in a cell right now.

“Not at all well, your Majesty. But there are maps—”

“Unnecessary, Dejanus, though I applaud your enthusiasm,” she said, throwing a glance at the Marshal who blushed and looked away.

“Then what does your Majesty suggest?” asked Dejanus.

“We send those who know the Oceans of Grass and the Chetts better than any of us here. We hire a mercenary captain, one of those who fought in the last war.”

“A slaver?” the Marshal said indignantly. “This Jes Prado, for instance? The one who is said to have brought you the news about Lynan?”

“No longer a slaver. And yes, I am thinking of Jes Prado.”

“What would he do?” Olio asked.

“Hire a force of mercenaries to pursue Lynan.”

“And capture him,” Olio finished for her.

“No. Kill him.”

Everyone in the room became still.

“Sister, our b-b-brother is not tried yet for his alleged crimes.”

“Was his flight not enough?” Areava demanded, her voice rising. “Is the overwhelming evidence against him not enough?”

“B-b-but he could still b—b-be captured,” Olio insisted.

Orkid spoke to the council for the first time. “We cannot risk it, your Highness. If he is captured and escapes, how much stronger will his position be?”

“With whom, Chancellor? He has no supporters among us, surely, and none among the other provinces that I have heard. He is almost forgotten by the p-p-people.”

“And if he is killed, alone and deserted on the Ocean of Grass, he will be forgotten entirely,” Areava said to Olio, and then to the council: “He is a traitor, he is an outlaw, and he has committed regicide. He deserves to die.”

“And it will not cost the kingdom much to raise a force of mercenaries large enough to hunt him down,” Shant Tenor said.

“Prado’s commission would be wider than that,” Areava told the council. “He has told me of a mercenary recently hired by us to help patrol the border with Haxus—a certain Rendle—who took our gold and then fled to Haxus to serve her king. I am convinced he must be found and punished as well, or all our mercenary units may come to believe they can do the same with impunity.”

“Then why trust this Prado?” Dejanus asked. His face wore the quizzical smile he so often gave when he thought he had an advantage, as if he was puzzled by good fortune. “He is nothing but another mercenary. Your Majesty, give me leave to take a regiment of our own horse to the Oceans of Grass. Prado can be our guide, if you like, and our loyalty is unquestioned.”

Orkid shook his head. “We cannot so easily dispatch such a regiment. Our forces are thin on the ground after so many years of peace, and although we are mobilizing against the possible threat of Haxus, if King Salokan should invade soon, we will need all the loyal units we have.”

“And in the short term, hiring mercenaries is cheaper,” Areava added. That put a smile on some of the councilors’ faces, she noted. They liked the idea of not spending more money than necessary, a fact she was counting on.

“But how reliable is this Prado?” the Marshal insisted.

“He will be reliable,” Orkid said. “I will make sure of it. I give the Council my word on it.”

There were no more disagreements, and only Orkid noticed the sour look cast him by Dejanus.

Areava and Sendarus spent the night together for the first time in several weeks.

“We should have done this more often,” Sendarus said to her in the morning.

“That would have been difficult before the council gave its final approval to the marriage. It would have seemed as if we were flouting all my advisers and many of the common people, too.”

Sendarus leaned over Areava, used his hand to trace her jaw and neck, then her breasts and the flat of her stomach. “Instead, you flouted me,” he said, pouting.

“Keep that up and I’ll flog you,” she said, and pushed him away. He roared in mock fury and tried to fling himself over her, but Areava got out of the way and leaped on him instead.

“You’re too slow, Amanite.”

“Slow to come,” he said, “better in bed.”

Areava laughed. “Oh, you are cheap.”

Sendarus twisted around underneath her. “You are less careworn today.”

“I feel it. Learning that Lynan was still alive shook my confidence, I admit. But I am back on top now.”

Sendarus grunted. “In more ways than one.”

Areava slammed a pillow into the side of his head. “This is the natural state of things. I am queen already, you are a mere prince.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She lay down against his length and held his head in her hands. “I love you, and always will, prince or no.” She kissed him quickly and moved to get out of bed.

“Already?” Sendarus complained. “I was hoping for a second engagement.”

“Tonight, perhaps. I have much to do.”

“Will we be taking a honeymoon after our marriage?”

“Of course. The morning after our marriage, I will stay in bed an extra hour. That should be enough time.”

“Too fast for me,” he said.

“But not for me,” she countered, already half-dressed. She went to the east window and opened it. Down below, the guard was changing, their spear tips and helms gleaming in the dawn light. She saw another figure, small, lonely and sad-looking, coming through the main gate. With a shock she realized it was Olio. In her depression about Lynan over the last few weeks she had not spared him much time, and he seemed to be getting worse from day to day. What was happening to him? Why was he changing so much? She did not want to gain a husband but lose her dearest brother.

Sendarus noticed her face fall. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, said nothing.

Prado was filled with nervous impatience. “When can I go?” he demanded.

Orkid studied him carefully. Prado had been a wretched creature when he first came to the palace—malnourished, bruised, and cut—but now he looked every bit a warrior, lean and strong despite his middle age. On hearing of the council’s decision, the mercenary had immediately gone out and bought a new set of breeches, jerkin, boots, and gloves, and a fine Chandran sword and knife, all on credit. If anyone could find and slay Lynan, he could, Orkid thought.

“Soon. The queen should sign your warrant today, and I already have your promissory note from the treasury. You have enough to hire a small army for a period of several months. I hope it is enough, for you shall get no more.”

“It will be enough,” Prado said with arrogant confidence.

“I will bring you two heads in repayment: Prince Lynan’s and Rendle’s.”

“One head will be enough. Rendle’s remains you can leave where you slay him.”

“Oh, no. I have plans for that trophy.”

Orkid grimaced. “Your mission is to kill Lynan. Achieve that at all costs.”

“I will.”

“And do not fail me.”

“You?” Prado barked. “I thought I was serving your queen.”

“Our queen,” Orkid hissed. He stood right next to the mercenary. “And on this commission you answer to me. I will not brook failure.”

Prado’s eyes hardened. “I will not fail, Chancellor, but I do not like being threatened.”

“I promise you, Jes Prado, if you do fail me, I will have you hunted down like a crazed karak.”

There was such menace in Orkid’s voice and large, dominating figure that Prado retreated a step. He avoided the chancellor’s gaze. “I’ve already told you: I will not fail.”

Orkid nodded and moved to his desk and retrieved an official-looking parchment. He held it out to Prado. “Your promissory note.”

“Good,” Prado said, taking the parchment.

“Come back this evening for the warrant. By the way, it will have an extra clause the council does not know about, and which they must not know about.”

“Extra clause?”

“You will be given the rank of general in the Grenda Lear army. It will give you the authority to commandeer regular troops on the border if you need them.”

Prado gasped. “Me! A general in your army? This is a turnaround.”

“Where will you go first?”

“To the Arran Valley. Many from my old company live there, and will form the core of my force. From there north, picking up groups where I can find them.”

“Where will you base yourself?”

“On the border with Haxus, not far from the Algonka Pass. That way I can move in either direction, depending on which target presents itself first.”

“When do you leave?”

“If I get the warrant tonight, first thing in the morning.” He grinned up at the chancellor. “And the palace will be rid of me at last!”

“I will let the queen know,” Orkid replied. “She will be so pleased.”