Fire and Sword

Chapter 17

Orkid found Olio in the palace forecourt watching the Royal Guard at training. The chancellor had seen the prince at training himself as he grew up, and although competent with a sword, he did not have the inclination to be a warrior. The question was, did Olio think so, too?

“If only your army was as well equipped and trained as these fine troops,” Orkid said.

Olio turned and smiled thinly at Orkid. “I did not hear you arrive, Chancellor. Forgive m-m-me for ignoring you.”

Orkid waved a hand. “I was not offended. Have you seen any of your own soldiers yet?”

“The Twenty Houses have almost finished m-m-mustering. I expect them to b-b-be ready within a few days. The first detachments from our other provinces arrive this afternoon; from Storia, I b—b-believe.”

“I would have thought Kendra itself could have supplied you with some sword and spear companies.”

“Three, in fact. They are already in b—b-barracks near the harbor, and will ship out as soon as Admiral Setchmar determines the worst of the winter seas are finished.”

“And yourself? When do you leave to be their general?”

“With the m-m-main b-b-body of troops. Twenty days at least. We m-m-march north from here to Sparro.”

“Then on to Daavis and glory,” Orkid added.

Olio looked at the ground, his uncertainty obvious. “Indeed,” he muttered.

Orkid stood by his side. “Will you be taking the consort with you?”

Olio looked up in surprise. “Sendarus? Why, no, of course not. He is just wed. I doubt he is so keen to leave Areava’s side. At any rate, m-m-my sister would not allow it.”

“Sendarus might wish to go,” Orkid mused. “He is, after all, an Amanite warrior. It will be hard for him to see others marching to war while he stays behind to ...” He let his voice fade.

“Coddle the queen, Chancellor?” Olio asked, his voice betraying his anger. “You at least should not think so p-p-poorly of your nephew.”

“I would never doubt Sendarus’ motives. He is a good and honorable man. He would wish to go for the queen’s good, not his own.”

If only it was Sendarus who was general instead of me, Olio thought miserably. Then he could go and I could stay behind where I will do the least harm.

“At any rate, since you are general, he cannot go,” Orkid added offhandedly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it would make him subordinate to you.”

“Only in the army. B-B-Besides, I do not think p-p-pride is one of Sendarus’ vices. Indeed, I am not sure he has any vices at all.”

“I was not suggesting the problem stemmed from human vanity. It is only that he possesses, next to the queen, perhaps the greatest authority in the kingdom. There would be political and legal problems if that authority was submitted to your own.”

Olio thought the point a fine one, too fine for him to consider seriously, but it did give him the germ of another idea. The Guards had finished their training and were marching back to their barracks. He started walking back to the palace. He motioned for Orkid to accompany him.

“Do you think Sendarus is concerned that he is not going north with the army?”

“Undoubtedly. But he understands the reasons. He is not angry with you, if that is your worry.”

Olio shook his head. “No.” He frowned in thought for a moment, then said: “Do you think that if he had b-b-been consort at the council m-m-meeting that nominated m-m-my generalship, they would have given him the office?”

Orkid pretended to consider the question. “I am not sure. Perhaps.” He pretended to think on it some more. “It is likely,” he said in a considered voice. “Now that you mention it, I think that it is likely. It would have been another way for Sendarus to prove his loyalty to Grenda Lear, and would have ensured the safety of the two surviving loyal Rosethemes.” The chancellor shrugged. “But such was not the case.”

“No,” Olio said, more to himself than Orkid.

“Do you need me for anything in particular, your Highness?” Orkid asked.

Olio stopped and looked absently at the chancellor. “No. Thank you, but no.” He turned and continued, his head bowed in thought.

Orkid watched him go, a smile crossing his stern face. That was easier than I had any right to expect.

Primate Giros Northam was sitting behind his desk, his hands in his lap firmly clasping one another. He heard a knock at his door and swallowed quickly. “Come in,” he said, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Father Powl entered, closed the door behind him. “A brother said you wanted to see me, your Grace.”

Northam nodded and indicated the priest should sit down. Powl took a chair and looked evenly at the primate, his features calm and interested.

“There is something we must discuss,” Northam started. “Something important to you and to the Church of the Righteous God.”

Northam saw Powl stiffen slightly. The priest had an inkling, then, of what he was leading to. “We have been friends for a very long time,” he went on. “Once, we were very close.”

Powl evaded Northam’s gaze this time and nodded a little curtly; his face reddened slightly.

“You do not agree?” Northam asked uneasily.

Powl shook his head. “Of course I agree, your Grace. But that closeness ...”

“Has gone, I know.”

“And through your actions, not mine,” Powl added hurriedly, his eyes almost pleading.

“I know that, too.” Northam sighed heavily, making his wattled neck shake slightly. “I wish it could have been done another way.”

“You wish what could have been done another way?”

“I am not sure how to explain this to you. It is a conversation we should probably have had months ago. You deserve the truth.”

Powl’s face became calm suddenly, as if intuition warned him of what was coming. “This is about your successor, isn’t it?”

Northam nodded. “You are not to know the true name of God. You cannot be its protector.”

Powl nodded, too, echoing the primate’s movement, as if to say: “I understand. Of course.” But his eyes became hard and bright and he found he could not look at the primate’s face, so he stared at his superior’s bald head instead. “This is not right,” he said tightly.

“It is right,” Northam stressed. “But it is not easy. Not for you. Not for me.”

Powl’s head was now shaking. “No, your Grace. It is not right. How can it be? For decades you have trained me for this.”

“I have never said so,” Northam said defensively.

“Your intent was unmistakable,” Powl said. “You were not grooming me simply to be your secretary.”

“You were a good novitiate, Father. You gained the attention of all your superiors. But you exceed your learning in believing you knew my thinking.”

Powl fixed Northam in the eye. “Look at me, your Grace, and tell me you did not intend for me to be primate in your place when you passed on to God’s kingdom.”

Northam could not. He averted his gaze, but saved some of his pride by not trying to lie about it again. “It was the queen,” he said hurriedly, then closed his eyes in shame. It was no longer any of Powl’s business how the decision had come about, and he should not have mentioned her in this business.

“Areava?” Powl said disbelievingly. Not his Areava, surely...

“Usharna,” Northam said. “She told me you could not be primate. She would not tolerate it.”

“Usharna?” Powl looked mystified. “Why? And why are you obeying her now, when she is dead? What does her daughter say about this?”

“Her daughter will not know. I promised Usharna I would nominate someone other than you to be my successor. She died before I could.”

“Who ... who have you chosen to succeed you?”

“I have not made up my mind. Not entirely.”

“You have, your Grace, or else you would not be telling me this.” And suddenly, as if someone had turned a light on in a darkened room, Powl knew. “It’s Rown, isn’t it? That is why you have let him supplant me as the queen’s confessor.”

Northam said nothing.

“But why?” Powl insisted. “Why did Usharna stop you from nominating me?”

“She never properly explained,” Northam said, and Powl saw he was telling the truth. “She did not like you. She did not trust you. She never said why.”

Powl slumped in his chair, and Northam hated to see it. “You have great honor in the church,” he said consolingly. “And you are a member of the queen’s council. I will see to it that you do not lose the seat. The church needs hard working, dedicated, and intelligent men like you to help guide its way in the world. I hope you will believe me when I say that I wish it could be you who succeeds me. It had been my fervent wish. I want you to continue as my secretary, and... and I would like to resume our friendship.”

Powl made no answer; he did not even look at the primate.

“If you think that might be possible,” Northam added sadly.

Areava made time for Olio after her time with Hansen Beresard. He had specifically asked to be alone with her, the only one in the kingdom other than her husband who had the right to ask it, and she had granted it. He walked up and down her chamber nervously, wringing his hands.

“There is something wrong,” Areava said.

Olio looked at her. “There is?”

She shrugged. “Why else are you pacing like a great bear with a burr up its behind?”

He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing wrong.” He stopped. “Actually, that’s not true. There is something wrong. I’m to be general of the army you’re sending north in the spring.”

Areava blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong with that? You’re a Rosetheme. I cannot go. Someone must lead it.”

“I’m not the b-b-best choice.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course I’m afraid,” he said, not even offended by the question. “But that isn’t why I don’t want to be your general.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not the m-m-most qualified, Areava. I am not a soldier. I am at m-m-most adequate with a b-b-blade. I haven’t an angry b-b-bone in my b-b-body. You don’t want someone like m—m-me to lead the attack against Salokan.”

“Then who do I want?”

Olio looked at her squarely. “You want someone like Sendarus.”

“No,” she said curtly.

“B-b—but Areava, look at the differences between us—”

“No.”

Olio sighed and started pacing again.

“That is why you asked to see me?” she asked him.

“Yes. I don’t think it’s a good idea for m-m—me to lead the army. I think it does your cause m-m-more harm than good.”

“The council doesn’t think so.”

“The council wouldn’t know,” Olio countered. “How m-m-many of them were on our m-m-mother’s council during the Slaver War?”

“Umm, Orkid and the primate.”

“Exactly. Only two, and neither of them soldiers. M-m-most of them know less about war and strategy than m-m-my tailor. Who was it who actually suggested I be general?”

Areava had to think about that. “Father Powl,” she said at last.

“Your confessor?”

Areava nodded.

“You m-m-made your decision b—b—based on the advice of your confessor?”

“His advice seemed sound to everyone there.”

“They did not want to put you in any danger.”

“That only left you,” she said reasonably.

“Not any m-m-more. There is now Sendarus.”

Areava opened her mouth to say no again, but closed it before she could say the word. She realized Olio was right. Sendarus was the best man to lead the army, not her brother.

“Sendarus would not understand—” she began.

“Of course he would,” Olio interrupted her. “He would leap at the chance to demonstrate his loyalty to the kingdom. M-m-more importantly, he would leap at the chance to p-p-perform some b-b-brave service for you.”

“And you would not?”

Olio snorted. “I would die for you, if necessary. Not as willingly as your b-b-beloved, I grant, b-b-but I would rather that than see you harmed.”

Areava smiled at her brother’s words; she knew they were true. If she took the generalship from his shoulders and gave it to Sendarus, some would suggest it was because Olio was a coward, but the two of them would know better.

“Your idea has merit,” she said.

Olio stopped in front of her. “Then you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that. But I will think about it.”

Olio’s shoulders drooped in relief. “It would b—b-be b-b-best.”

“It is a great risk. What if the army should lose? They would blame my husband.”

“Under Sendarus the army will not lose; he is no fool. Under m-m-me, it could, and then the p-p-people would b-b-blame you.”

* * *

Father Powl wondered about the name of God. He wondered how many letters it had, and whether or not it had more than one syllable, and if it had more than one syllable where the stress was placed. He wondered most of all whether or not Primate Northam had written it down somewhere, had written down that most sacred word in case he forgot it. Or in case he died before his time.

Knowing what was to come, Powl was unable to sleep. His apprehension grew and grew until it was almost intolerable; when at last the flood came, it started with the hurried footsteps of Northam’s attendant, a novitiate of some promise but little initiative. Although Powl knew where the attendant would go first, when the door rattled with the knocking, he flinched in surprise. Powl answered it, dressed only in a nightshirt, rubbing pretend sleep from his eyes.

“Brother Anticus. What time is it?”

“Early, Father.” The novitiate looked at Powl with wild eyes.

“Brother, what is wrong?”

“It is Primate Northam.”

Powl frowned. “Something is wrong with his grace?”

Anticus grabbed for Powl’s hand, but Powl moved it out of the way. “Brother, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“You have to come see, Father. You have to come see.” Powl let Anticus take his hand this time, and let himself be led barefoot along the cold stone passageway to Northam’s chambers.

Northam was lying in his bed, his eyes staring straight up, wide open and slightly extruded, as if he had received a sudden vision of God. Powl went to the body and placed a finger just under the neck. There was no pulse. The flesh was quite cool, but not yet cold.

“Brother Anticus, I want you to get Father Rown. Tell no one else what you have seen, but get Father Rown now.”

Brother Anticus scurried off, his breath already coming in jerking sobs. While he waited, Powl made the primate decent—pulling his nightshirt straight, closing his eyelids, placing his hands across his chest. He did not know how much time he had, so he did only a cursory search of the room. When he heard two sets of approaching footsteps, he straightened and bowed his head in prayer.

“Oh, God, no,” said Father Rown’s voice behind him.

“Come in,” Powl said, waving for the priest and Anticus to enter the room. “Close the door behind you,” he ordered, and Anticus did.

Father Rown also felt for a pulse. When he felt none he turned, aghast, to Powl. “Do you ... do you ...”

“Do I what, Father?” Powl asked, holding his breath.

“Do you know who ...” Powl frowned at him. “... I mean, do you know what the word is?”

“The word?”

“Did Primate Northam pass on to you the—”

“Ah, the name of God,” Powl finished for him, and started breathing again.

“Yes, yes,” Rown said, his face taut with tension.

“Of course he did,” Powl said. “Did you think Northam would forget that?”

Rown sighed with relief. His round face seemed to fall into its normal shape, and his generous figure, released from tension, visibly relaxed.

“You must wake our brethren,” Powl told Anticus. “Do not give them the news. Tell them to gather in the royal chapel.”

Anticus opened the door and hurried out.

“You will give them the news?” Rown asked.

“No, Father, you will.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because as Primate Northam’s successor my first duty is to inform the queen and her chancellor. I will do that now.

And it is also my duty to select a new secretary to replace me. I select you. Father Rown. Now go and do your duty.“

Father Rown bowed in thanks, and in recognition of Powl’s ascension into higher office. When he looked up again, he wore half a smile. “I will do my duty.”

“I know it. Now I must do mine.”

“You have been talking with my brother.”

Orkid looked up from his desk to see the queen standing in the doorway to his office. She was looking particularly imperious and stern. He stood up so quickly he scattered piles of paper on to the floor.

“Your Majesty! I was not expecting you—”

“Was it yesterday, Chancellor? Or the day before.”

Orkid was trying to pick up papers and figure out exactly what the queen was getting at. Two secretaries were on hands and knees picking up papers as well, handing them in fistfuls to the chancellor.

“I wonder how you approached the subject? Perhaps something about how cold Hume was at this time of year?”

And Orkid understood. He stood erect, his secretaries still scrambling around his feet. “You are angry with me.”

“Of course I’m angry with you,” she said without any ire at all. “This is something you should first have raised with me.”

“You would have said no.”

“My prerogative. You would have argued me around.”

“Eventually, perhaps. But this way was quicker.”

“It was wrong of you.”

Orkid spread his hands. “My duty is to give you my best advice, and to ensure that your wishes are carried out. Approaching Olio so he could convince you himself was a shortcut I took to achieve both ends.”

Areava turned on her heel and left. Orkid was not sure if he should follow or stay where he was. He looked at the mess on the floor, and decided he could do more good away from his office.

“Your Majesty!” he called after Areava. She slowed but did not stop for him. “Your Majesty, I am sorry if you feel that I have manipulated you—”

“You always manipulate me, Orkid. I’m used to that. What I am not used to is being manipulated behind my back.”

Orkid nodded. “It will not happen again.”

“Good.”

They strode on, courtiers and visitors making a path for them. Royal Guards snapped to attention when they went past.

“There is something else,” Orkid said eventually.

Areava breathed deeply. “There is always something else with you.”

“It concerns Sendarus.”

“Go on.”

“If you are going to assign him as general—”

“You know I am going to assign him as general. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”

Orkid swallowed. “Yes, your Majesty. If I may finish. When you make him general, it might be wise to ensure his authority is respected among your officers.”

“They will respect him or answer to me,” she said curtly.

“Easier to enforce his authority in the first place.”

Areava stopped suddenly, forcing Orkid to overshoot. He backtracked and met the queen’s gaze.

“How, exactly, do you propose I do that?”

Orkid pointed to the Keys of Power hanging in plain view over her chest. “Give him the Key of the Sword.”

Areava blinked. At least, Orkid thought, she did not say “no” outright.

“The Key of the Sword?”

“Yes, your Majesty. As ruler, you only need the Key of the Scepter. Sendarus will be leading your army north against Haxus, in defense of the kingdom. Surely the Key of the Sword would be the perfect symbol of your royal authority and your trust in your consort.”

Areava nodded slowly. “I like this idea.” She resumed walking, Orkid in tow. “I like this idea a lot. Do you think the council would accept it?” Her expression became downcast. “With Primate Northam’s passing, it is weighted toward the Twenty Houses.”

Orkid shrugged. “Even so, if theidea has your blessing, I don’t see why not.”

“The Twenty Houses would be against it,” she said slowly.

Orkid did not even have to think about how to answer that. “True, your Majesty. Another point in its favor.”