Inheritance

Chapter 7

Lynan was woken by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“Hurry, your Highness,” said Pirem’s voice. “It’s the queen, she’s callin‘ for you. She’s callin’ for all of you.”

Standing next to Lynan’s bed, Pirem was holding out Lynan’s tunic and breeches. “You haven’t much time. Your Highness. The others are already gathering like vultures.”

Lynan looked as sternly as possible at the old man. “Is that how you see us, Pirem, as vultures?”

“Not you, Lynan, no.” Pirem tried smiling, but the effort was too much for him and he grimaced instead. “Nor your siblings. But many in her court are as ruthless as you are easygoin‘. If you don’t hurry, your mother will be dead before you can get there an’ you’ll not even receive her blessin‘, an’ if that happens, your life won’t be worth a handful of bird shit, pardon the expression. Now hurry!”

Lynan hurried out of bed, his sleep-befuddled senses at last comprehending Pirem’s message. His mother might not live to see morning, and she was calling all her children to her side to publicly declare who could rightfully claim descent from her. He tugged on his breeches, found his boots under his bed, and pulled them on. He scurried out of his room and down the cold stone hallway to the other side of the palace and the queen’s apartments. Pirem scuttled behind, handing him his tunic, then his belt, and finally his dress knife, his gasps for air rattling in his old throat.

When they reached the royal quarters, Lynan waved Pirem back, slowed to a quick walk, and straightened his tunic. As he turned the last corner to Usharna’s bedroom, he met a section of the guard. They stood swiftly to attention, dipping their spears slightly as Lynan passed. He stopped at the entrance, caught his breath, and pushed aside the heavy doors.

It was a large room, with the head of the queen’s huge four-poster bed set against the west wall. Built into the east wall was a fireplace which was always kept burning. Rough wool tapestries covered the cold stone, and exposed pine rafters in the ceiling gave off a sweet fragrance.

Berayma’s long, dark body was bent over his mother, his face showing great pain and grief. Lynan knew, as did everyone else in the kingdom, that Berayma cared for little in this world and what love he carried in his heart was reserved almost entirely for his mother. Lynan felt a pang of guilt that he did not feel the same way about the old woman, but then he reminded himself she had showed him scant affection in his seventeen years of life.

Standing at the end of the huge bed was Areava, tall and as fair as Berayma was dark. She had her mother’s face and eyes, but while her hair glowed like sun-ripened wheat, the queen’s was colder than a winter moon. Next to Areava, demure and slight, awkward in the presence of his mother, stood Olio. Olio looked up when Lynan entered and offered him a sad nod.

The queen was propped into a sitting position, several pillows between her and the bedhead. Her skin was gray and dry, her eyes sunken, and her long white hair fell loosely over her shoulders like a mantle of snow. Lynan had never seen his mother’s hair let down before, and he could not help staring at it.

“Did you think I was bald, child?” the queen asked suddenly, noticing his presence and the direction of his gaze.

“I did not know it was so beautiful,” he answered honestly, and then blushed. He knew his mother did not like blandishments, but this time she surprised him by smiling, making him blush even more.

Usharna looked closely at each of her children, then rested her head back and closed her eyes.

“Mother?” Berayma asked, taking one of her hands in his. “Are you in pain?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “No. Just tired. More tired than I have ever been before. I am tired of living.”

“Don’t say that, your Majesty,” said Orkid’s deep voice. He appeared from the room’s shadows to stand behind Lynan. “Your devoted subjects don’t want you to leave them.”

The chancellor brushed past Lynan and took up Usharna’s other hand.

Orkid tried to make his patriarchal face, with its full black beard and beaked nose, look as sympathetic as possible, but he could not help glowering at the dying woman. “No more talk of being too tired for life.”

“If it was up to you, Orkid, I’d outlive my own children,” she remonstrated. “Fortunately, nature has been kind enough to let me avoid that disaster.” Orkid opened his mouth to reply, but Usharna lifted her hand in a command of silence. “I have little time left, and there’s much to be said.”

She drew in a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered with weariness. “Bring me the Keys,” she ordered.

Harnan Beresard came to the queen, a wooden casket in his hands. He opened the lid and gently placed the casket on the queen’s lap. Usharna reached into it and retrieved the four glimmering, golden Keys of Power, each on its own thick silver chain.

She glanced up to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “Now is the time custom insists I declare my successor. Let it be known that on my death, my firstborn, Berayma, will take my place on the throne, and his descendants will rule after him.”

Those in the room gave an audible, collective sigh of relief. It was done. Such a public declaration guaranteed a peaceful succession, something the entire kingdom prayed for near the end of a monarch’s life. The number of witnesses present guaranteed the succession would not come into dispute.

“I have four children,” Usharna began, “all accomplished, and the kingdom can ill afford to lose so much talent. Against the advice of some, who would have me pass on all the Keys to my successor as I received all the Keys from my father, I will maintain the tradition of our family and pass them on to all my children. Accepting a Key implies swearing fealty to Berayma as head of the family and as the rightful ruler of Kendra.

“The Key will remain with the bearers until their deaths, when they will be returned to Berayma, or until the death of Berayma, when his successor will determine their possession.”

Usharna paused to catch her breath, her eyes red with exhaustion.

“You must sleep, Mother,” Berayma insisted, patting her hand. “We will come back in the morning.”

She feebly shook her head. “No time, my son. My past is catching up with me. I had the good fortune to enjoy the pleasure and company of three husbands, but the poor judgment to outlive them all.”

Her bony hands scrabbled at the Keys, and she looked at Berayma. “As king, you must have the Monarch’s Key,” she said, and gave him a star-shaped piece with a thick rod fixed in its center. “The Key of the Scepter,” she intoned, her voice seeming to gather sudden strength.

Berayma seemed unsure what to do with it. “Put it on, Berayma,” Usharna insisted. He slipped the silver chain over his head, the Key resting against his broad chest. “That’s fine,” she said, and patted his shoulder.

She took hold of a second Key, a square with two crossed swords pierced by a single spear. She handed it to Areava. “My secondborn, you will have the Key of the Sword. Grenda Lear will look to you for protection against our enemies.” Areava bowed and stepped back a pace.

“Olio,” the queen continued, waving him forward, “you are the gentlest of your siblings, and perhaps the least understood. You will have the Healing Key, the Key of the Heart.” There was a quiet murmur in the room, which Usharna silenced by looking up sharply. “It is said that this Key holds the greatest magic of all. Perhaps it is true, but if so its power is one of creation, not coercion.” She handed the Key, a triangle holding the design of a heart, to Olio. He stepped away from the bed, fingering his gift curiously.

Usharna now looked back at Lynan, and her eyes seemed to soften. Lynan swallowed hard and resisted the temptation to move out of her line of sight. He had rarely been the focus of her undivided attention.

“Poor Lynan, lastborn, you shall have the last Key.” Lynan moved forward until he was touching the bed. Usharna’s left hand crossed over to hold his in a firm, cold embrace. “I wish my hand was warmer,” she said softly so that no one else could hear. “As warm as my heart whenever I think of you.” With her right hand she passed him the remaining Key, a simple, golden circle.

Lynan nervously placed the chain over his head. The Key was surprisingly heavy against his chest. He thought he could feel everyone’s gaze fixed on his face. He looked around and saw that it was so, except for Orkid who stared strangely at the Key itself. A shiver passed down his spine.

“The Key of Union,” Usharna announced. “With this you represent the kingdom’s commonwealth. You will be the king’s representative to all our peoples.”

The queen fell back against her pillows, her hands collapsing by her sides. Berayma and Olio were pushed away by Trion, her personal surgeon. He felt her pulse and temperature. “She has no other duties,” he said somberly. “She needs to sleep now. Everyone must leave.”

Berayma nodded and led everyone from the room. Besides his family, Orkid, Trion and Dejanus, there were nurses, attendants, and guards, including Kumul. They had all been standing quietly to attention against the walls, watching with fascination as power was passed from the dying queen to her four children.

The thought made Lynan frown. Power? What would he do with the Key of Union? He wasn’t even sure he wanted it.

When they were all in the hall outside, Berayma ordered Kumul to set two guards at the door, and then advised everyone to return to their quarters.

“We all have much to consider,” he said in his low monotone. “Grenda Lear has not seen such changes for a generation.” He looked down uncertainly on Lynan as he said the last sentence. “But I’m sure our mother knows what she’s doing. Age may have made her weary, but it will not have affected her mind, of that we can be sure.”

“She won’t live through the night, will she?” Olio asked, his voice tight.

“Enough of that,” Areava said as kindly as possible, putting a comforting hand on Olio’s shoulder. “It will do no good to think such thoughts.”

Olio’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Wait! I hold the Healing Key—”

“I can see where your thoughts are leading you, your Highness,” Harnan interrupted, “but you must understand the nature of what the queen has done. She wielded the Key of the Heart herself, and it will have no effect on her now that she has surrendered it. Death is not a sickness for her, it is a relief and an ending.” The old man blinked back tears as he spoke, and when he had finished, he hurried away.

Lynan felt a lump in his throat, so he quickly turned away from the others so they could not see his sorrow. They had shared little with him before, and he was damned if he was going to share his grief with them now. He was confused by the strange emotions he was feeling. He had loved his mother after a fashion, the way a servant might love a good mistress, but they had never been close.

The gift of the last Key, and her few kind words, had sharply reminded him of his loneliness and unhappiness as a child. Why now, Mother, when it’s all too late?

“I will see you all tomorrow,” he told the others. Berayma and Areava stared after him, the brother they had never before truly considered a brother at all.

Lynan fell asleep in his clothes, so when he was woken by Pirem for a second time that morning he felt uncomfortably cramped and pinched. Wan sunlight filtered through his room’s only window high in the eastern wall.

“What news, Pirem?” he asked, shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs of interrupted sleep.

“I regret to have to be the one to tell you, your Highness, but your mother, Queen Usharna, is dead.”

Lynan felt numb. “When?”

“Within the last few minutes. Word is being sent to your siblings right now. You must gather again at her bedside.”

“Of course. Thank you, Pirem.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, your Highness?”

Lynan shook his head. Why don’t I feel anything ? What is wrong with me? “I will call you if I need anything.”

Pirem bowed and made to leave but Lynan suddenly called him back. “Tell me, did you love the queen?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Was she loved by the people?”

“Those I knew, your Highness.” Pirem looked curiously at Lynan. “An‘ respected,” he added. “She was loved an’ respected. We’ve had a prosperous and largely peaceful quarter century. A people cannot ask for more. Is there anything else, your Highness?”

Lynan shook his head and Pirem left. How much better simply to have been one of her subjects, he thought.

Chapter 8

It was a golden morning. Sunlight poured through the windows in Berayma’s chambers. Around him, servants and courtiers fussed over his robes and accouterments, making sure everything was in its right place and hung in the right way. His garments were resplendent, as befitted Grenda Lear’s new king, even though he was being dressed to attend his own mother’s funeral. Conversations were going on all around him, a constant background hum of human noise.

He stood ramrod stiff, arms out straight as a cloak was pulled behind him. He closed his eyes.

Not now, he told himself. You cannot cry in front of all of these people. You would shame her memory.

He swallowed hard. Everything he did, everything he thought, reminded him of his loss. Since the death of Usharna the morning before last, there had been no time to grieve alone. He understood that this was part of his duty now, to ensure a peaceful and rapid succession, but he longed desperately to have half an hour alone by his mother’s white corpse, to let himself indulge in his own feelings one last time without concern for the kingdom’s greater good, the kingdom’s greater need.

I am being swallowed up, he thought unhappily, and squeezed his eyes tighter against the tears. No more grieving. Not now. Not ever.

Areava breathed deeply as she strode determinedly down the hallway. She had been dressed for over an hour, but despite her heavy mourning clothes and the bright sun, she was cold. Her hands felt like lumps of ice. She fondled the Key of the Sword, found it ironic that she should be wearing it formally for the first time while garbed in clothes most unsuitable for war.

Oh, God, Mother, why did you leave us now? The kingdom still needs you.

She entered Olio’s chambers without knocking. Servants, flocking around her brother like robins around a piece of bread, bowed to her and continued with their work.

Olio eyed her steadily. “You still m—m—mean to continue with your p-p-plan?”

The servants stopped what they were doing for an instant, their minds registering an opportunity for some palace gossip. Olio told them to leave. “I am almost ready. I can finish the rest myself.”

When they were alone, Olio repeated his question. Areava strode to his dresser, picked up the Key of the Heart and with some stiffness placed it around his neck. “There, that’s better.”

“You are wrong in this, sister,” Olio breathed, careful to keep his voice down.

Areava nodded. “Perhaps. But I know no other way to resolve the issue.”

“It is only an issue for you,” Olio responded, avoiding her gaze.

“No, brother, it is an issue for every citizen of the kingdom. The great families are great for a reason. They are destined to rule. We are all bred for it, trained from birth to take up the reins of running a kingdom.”

“You forget—you always forget—that Lynan shares our m-m-mother’s b-b-blood.”

“I do not forget. You once accused me of hating him. You are wrong. I do not hate him. I don’t even hold it against him that his father replaced our father as the queen’s consort. But the kingdom must retain its strength and vitality, and it can only do that if those in power are true to their bloodline.”

“You take a great risk. Lynan m-m-may p—p-prove to be worthy—”

“Olio, listen to me! This is not about Lynan!” Her words were sharp, and Olio stepped back. He looked down at the floor. She reached out to hold him by the shoulders, brought him close. “Poor, timid Olio, do not be afraid of me. Of all in this world I care for, I care for you the most.”

Olio relaxed in her arms, returning her embrace. “I know, and will never forget it.”

Areava sighed deeply and held her brother tightly for a moment more before releasing him. She lifted him with one hand and looked him directly in the eye. “Everything I do, I do for Grenda Lear. I am devoted to this kingdom and its peoples. I do not love them the way I love you or Berayma, but my life is theirs. I am born to serve, to serve by doing my duty as the daughter of Queen Usharna. This is not about Lynan, but about tradition, about the future, about what is right.”

Olio had no more arguments. He nodded, surrendering to her. “Very well. Do as you m-m-must. B-b-but take care, sister. Usharna is dead, and a new order has arrived. For your sake, I hope your vision for Kendra is a p-p-part of it.”

“It is up to us to make sure it is,” she said evenly, and left him to finish his preparations for the funeral.

Lynan studied himself carefully in the full-length dress mirror. He wore gray woolen trousers, the ends tucked into his favorite boots—polished so brightly by Pirem that they were hardly recognizable—a white linen shirt with fashionably wide cuffs, and a short black jacket. His sword, sheathed in a metal dress scabbard, hung from gold rings attached to his finest leather belt. The Key of Union hung shining around his neck.

He noticed with some regret that although his clothes looked noble and dashing, his own physique still left a lot to be desired. He was shorter than average, and he suspected he was not going to grow much taller; by all repute, his father had been no taller than Lynan was now. At least his shoulders were straight and strong, and would become wider with age. But his torso appeared too long for his legs, and his neck too frail for the generous head perched upon it. His face was too round, too boyish still, to be considered handsome, and was topped with mousy brown hair.

“Well?” Pirem demanded impatiently.

“It’s fine. Stop worrying.”

Pirem snorted and told his charge to turn around. He attacked the youth with a clothes brush, using stiff, heavy strokes that stung Lynan’s skin. When the old servant had finished, he stood back to admire his handiwork. “You’ll do,” he said in a resigned tone which suggested that no amount of extra work would improve things anyway.

Lynan nodded his thanks and left to join his siblings in the palace’s great hall from where the royal mourning entourage would begin its march through Kendra to Usharna’s funeral pyre near the harbor. He was the last to arrive, and Berayma stared reprovingly at him as he hurried to his position next to Areava and Olio and behind the new king. In front of Berayma stood Dejanus—now Berayma’s Life Guard—and the court sergeant. Behind Lynan was the queen’s bier, a simple wooden frame garlanded with hundreds of flowers. The bier was flanked on one side by priests led by Primate Giros Northam and on the other side by the five malefici, leaders of the theurgia, the magic circles of air, water, earth, fire, and stars, led by their superior, the Magicker Prelate Edaytor Fanhow. The bier was followed by a hundred-strong escort of the Royal Guard led by Kumul; the other nine hundred guards were already posted along the route to the harbor, under the command of Ager. Next came all the foreign ambassadors and provincial consuls, chief of whom was Prince Sendarus. None of the kingdom’s minor rulers had been able to reach Kendra in time for the funeral. The rear of the entourage, led by Orkid looking even more severe and threatening than usual in his black mourning gown and hood, was brought up by various government officials and visiting dignitaries of lesser rank.

Berayma nodded to the leader of the court musicians waiting at the exit of the great hall. Trumpets blared, cymbals crashed, and the procession got under way.

It was a long march of nearly five leagues, planned to take the queen on a last inspection of her royal city. The court musicians kept a hundred paces in front, heralding the arrival of the entourage with a loud, military dirge. People thronged the streets, hung out of windows, and leaned over balconies, waving black handkerchiefs and wailing as they saw their queen for the last time, lying white and pale on her bier.

The first district they passed through, on the heights between the palace and the city proper, belonged to Kendra’s wealthier and better-born citizens, in particular, members of the Twenty Houses. Tall stone-and-glass mansions glittered in the morning sun like giant jewels, surrounded by reserves of tall headseeds and stripe trees, resplendent in their summer dress. Farther down the slope the buildings became less grand and closer together, separated by formal gardens rather than glades. This was where the city’s older families lived, those without claims to nobility but who strove to move upward socially and away from Kendra’s growing middle class, whose quickly expanding district surrounded the city in a great semicircle, the ends anchored on the harbor shore. At last, the procession passed under the old city wall. The streets became narrower and darker, the tops of houses drooping toward each other and forming a sort of open archway. Most of these structures were centuries old and made of wood and mud and reed bricks. Fires in these quarters were common and difficult to control, but the people born here—merchants, craft workers and entertainers— would live nowhere else, for they believed they formed the heart of Kendra and therefore the heart of the kingdom itself.

The last district, which surrounded the great harbor like the dirt ring left in a washtub, was comprised of hovels crammed between warehouses. Many of its inhabitants slept in the open, scrounging what cover they could from the garbage left by those better-off Closer to the water the smell of the sea mixed with the not entirely unpleasant aroma of drying nets and tar, and the smells from the cooking pots of a hundred cultures that all great ports seemed to attract.

The procession reached the docks, continuing north until it again met the old city wall, where the funeral pyre was waiting for them. Usharna’s bier was carried to the top of the pyre where Berayma set it alight. At first, the fire caught on only slowly, but a brief incantation from the Maleficum of Air brought in a fresh sea breeze and in no time at all flames were leaping high into the air. A thick column of brown smoke spread inland, hiding the morning sun and casting a gloomy shadow over the whole city, eerily mirroring the unhappiness of Kendra’s citizens. There was a brief moment, as the cloud started to break up, in which it seemed to take on the shape of Usharna’s face, and as it dispersed, it was as if her own soul was finally being released from its earthly prison. Lynan noticed that the subtle performance had strained most of the malefici and their faces were covered in fine films of sweat. He hoped the assembled citizens had appreciated the illusion.

The pyre burned fiercely for two hours. When the flames started to hiss and die and curl into gray tendrils of smoke, the entourage made its way back to the palace. This time there was no music to mark their procession, just the solemn tramping of the mourning march and the Royal Guards closing in behind it, their spears reversed.

The palace gates were thrown open for Usharna’s wake, and everyone was welcome to come and celebrate the life of their late queen. There was plenty of food and drink, and soon people were laughing again, some nervously but most from relief. Usharna had been a popular ruler, but the dead could not be brought back to life and it was best to look forward to the future as hopefully as possible. There would a new monarch and a new beginning for Grenda Lear. The cloud from the funeral pyre had blown away, and the sun again shone down on the city. The only signs left of mourning were people’s somber dress and the black flags and pennants that fluttered from the palace’s tallest towers and from the masts of ships in the harbor far below.

Lynan found it difficult to join in the spirit of the wake. He was still confused about losing a mother he had hardly known, and yet who had, at the very end of her life, shown she had thought of him as a son. He managed to avoid the most patronizing and the most sycophantic of the well-wishers, people who, before his gaining one of the Keys of Power, would studiously have ignored him. As the celebrations became even more earnest and rowdy, he made his way alone—except for the company of a leather flask filled with red wine—to the palace’s south gallery, a long, narrow room on the top floor decorated with fine paintings and tapestries.

The gallery’s wide double doors were open to let in light and fresh air, and he stepped out on to the balcony. From here, he could see over all of Kendra and its three hundred thousand people, a large number of whom presently occupied the palace’s courtyard and the grounds immediately beyond.

Lynan sipped his wine slowly, enjoying his privileged view. The sun was just beginning to touch the rising ground to the west, reflecting off windows, the color mixing with the red and green of the city’s roofs to form a beautiful tapestry that merged with the lapping waters of Kestrel Bay, saffron in the afternoon light. In the distance he could just make out the rainforest-cloaked shores of Lurisia.

Lynan found himself absently fingering the Key of Union. I am to be Berayma’s representative in Lurisia and the other provinces, he thought. It’s ridiculous. What do I know of such things? Who will teach me?

He took a large swig from the flask and turned to leave, depressed by the weight of his new responsibilities. With a start, he saw Areava standing under one of the large double doorways, studying him closely.

“How long have you been there?” he asked, irritated that she had said nothing.

“Not long. We missed you downstairs at the wake.”

“We?”

“Your siblings. There is a great deal we have to discuss.”

Lynan snorted. “About the Keys of Power.”

“Of course.” She joined Lynan on the balcony. “You are very lucky, you know. Most of us believed our mother would leave you nothing.” Lynan kept quiet, Areava shrugged, and continued. “You haven’t been trained for such a duty, brother. What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still getting used to the idea of being accepted as a true prince of the blood.”

Areava winced but recovered with a smile. “Possession of one of the Keys does not change the circumstances of your birth.”

“You’re right,” he said dryly. “Usharna is still my mother.”

“And your father was a commoner,” she returned calmly. “Whereas Berayma’s father, Milgrom, and my and Olio’s father, Tafe, were noblemen, members of the Twenty Houses. There is a distinction between you and us, Lynan, and it will out eventually.”

Lynan looked away so that Areava would not see his face burning. “I share with you the name of the Great House, Rosetheme,” he said defensively. “The queen’s blood flows in my veins as strongly as it flows in yours.”

“Yes, but that’s not all that flows in your blood, is it? Look, Lynan, I don’t hold anything against you because your father didn’t come from one of Kendra’s original families, but let’s face the truth. When our mother married your father, she thought she was well past the age for conceiving. If she had known she was still fertile, she would have married someone from one of the Twenty Houses.”

“My father may not have come from the nobility, but he was the best general the kingdom ever had. Where the great families failed Usharna in her struggle against the Slavers and their mercenaries, my commoner father prevailed, leading his commoner troops in defense of the throne.”

“I have never belittled your father for his deeds. He was a courageous and skillful soldier.” She came closer and put a protective arm around his shoulders. His muscles tightened until they ached. No one had ever done that to him before, and he did not know how to react to it. “But it’s you I’m thinking about. You don’t really want the responsibility that goes with a Key of Power. You don’t have the background, the training—the inheritance—to make it work for you.”

“I haven’t tried yet.”

She let her arm drop, sighed sadly and deeply. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, Lynan. You are our brother.”

Lynan laughed bitterly. “Even though my father was a commoner?” He was suddenly curious. “What, exactly, is your offer?”

Areava smiled. “You hand the Key back to Berayma, and in return you’ll receive a pension for the rest of your life. You and your descendants will be recognized as a branch of the royal family. Your children will become the first members of Kendra’s newest noble family—the Twenty-first House.”

“It’s a very generous offer, but hollow for all of that. It does not give me anything the Key has not already supplied.”

“But you will have none of the responsibilities, Lynan. The heavy burden of public office will be taken from your shoulders.”

Lynan shrugged. “I might enjoy the burden.”

Areava’s voice tightened. “You are making this more difficult than it has to be. Everything would be so much simpler if you just agreed to face reality.”

“Whose reality? Yours? The queen did not see things the way you do. The Key was entrusted to me by our mother. Indeed, it was her final official act. No, I don’t think I can give it up.”

He found the strength to meet her gaze. Her face had become hard. It was not hate he could see in her eyes, but something much less personal, much less familiar. She thinks of me as nothing more than a peasant, as someone so far beneath her station it even pains her to talk to me.

Areava said nothing more, but spun on her heel and left.

In the distance he could hear the wake continuing, but the sounds now seemed falsely optimistic.

And then Lynan heard someone else walking along the gallery. He was afraid it might be Berayma or Orkid come to throw the same argument at him—or worse, Olio, whom he liked—but the figure that appeared on the balcony was not much taller than he and walked with a peculiar, telltale stoop.

“I passed Princess Areava. She looked like a snow witch.”

Lynan laughed bitterly. “She wanted me to surrender the Key of Unity.”

Ager took a moment to appreciate the view before saying: “Surrender it now? She thinks of you as a defeated enemy already?”

Lynan shook his head. “I’m not sure how she regards me.”

Ager nodded to the Key. “It still hangs around your neck. She was obviously wrong, however she thinks of you.”

“I was tempted,” Lynan admitted. “For a moment I was tempted. I have never held such responsibility before.”

Ager sniffed the air. “You know the story about your father and the battle of Heron Beach?”

“Only that it was his first battle and that he won. Neither Kumul nor Pirem were there, and they have been my main source of information about my father.”

“Well, I was there. Your father had a choice. He could pull back north of the Gelt River and await reinforcements, or he could launch an attack. He wasn’t sure of the enemy’s strength, but he did know that if he didn’t pin them against the coast they would slip away, and it would be weeks or months before he could chase them down again. More importantly, he was unsure of his own ability to prosecute an attack.”

“But he was a great soldier!” Lynan objected.

“No doubt about it, but before the battle of Heron Beach, no one, not even your father, knew what kind of a general he would be.”

Lynan looked at Ager. “This is a fable?”

Ager shrugged. “If you like. But it is a true fable, and you are your father’s son.”

Ager patted Lynan affectionately on the shoulder and departed.

Lynan left the gallery himself soon after and stood at the top of the wide staircase that led down to the great hall. For a moment he watched the people below: women in long mourning dresses that swirled as they turned, and men in their finest clothes, all aglitter with jewelry and wine-induced smiles.

He wondered if it had really sunk in yet, that Usharna was dead and they had a new monarch. He thought they would miss her more than they knew.

Areava had intimated she was speaking on behalf of their siblings, but if Berayma was going to confront him on the same issue, Lynan reasoned, it might as well be somewhere very public where his actions would by necessity be tempered.

He saw a group of important-looking people enter the hall from the courtyard, Berayma in the middle of them and the center of their attention. Those gathered around him were civic officials from Kendra, chief among them the mayor, Shant Tenor, and the president of the merchants’ collective, Xella Povis. The two made an odd couple: Tenor was an overweight, pasty-faced man in his late fifties who specialized in obsequies and bullying, while Povis was a tall, dark-skinned woman, originally from Lurisia, with a reputation for hard but fair dealing and a frankness that often offended the more polite mores of the court. Berayma stood a good head above them all, his expression patient but tired, trying to listen to the two of them talk at the same time.

Lynan descended the staircase and approached the circle, waiting until he caught Berayma’s eye.

“Brother,” Berayma said politely, interrupting the chatter. “Isn’t it touching to see so many of Kendra’s loyal citizens turn up to wish our mother a last farewell?” There was no irony in his voice.

“Touching indeed, brother,” he answered, staring at the hangers-on until they had all bowed. This is a new experience for us all, citizens, he thought, smiling at them grimly, so we’d better get used to it now.

“It was the least we could do after nearly thirty years of her generous reign,” Shant Tenor said loudly. He glanced up meaningfully at Berayma. “And to usher in what we’re sure will be many decades of continued prosperity for Kendra.”

Xella Povis smiled. “What he means,” she explained to Lynan, “is that we hope your brother sees fit to continue the generous export subsidies and dockyard refits your mother instigated for the benefit of the city.”

“What’s good for Kendra is good for the kingdom,” Shant Tenor declared pompously. “I hope you make the provinces understand that, young Ly… ah… your Highness.”

“I look forward to carrying your message to them,” Lynan replied dryly, and noticed Xella Povis regarding him with something akin to approval. He had the feeling that her opinion of the mayor was as low as his own. He faced his brother. “Speaking of my duties, could I have a word with you alone, please?”

“I don’t see why not.” He turned to his guests. “If you would excuse us for a moment?”

The others bowed and scraped and quickly moved away. Berayma nodded to his brother to speak.

Lynan took in a deep breath. “Areava has made an offer for the Key of Union. I’ve decided to hold on to it. It was a gift from my mother, and I have no intention of surrendering it to her… or anyone else.”

Berayma shook his head, his expression blank. “I haven’t the faintest idea what it is you’re talking about. Perhaps you had better start at the beginning.”

As Lynan recounted his meeting with Areava, he saw Berayma’s face go white with anger, but anger against whom he could not tell.

“I think I understand now,” Berayma said. “It seems I need to speak with Areava. I knew nothing of this offer and do not condone it.” He paused for a moment, avoided Lynan’s gaze. “I admit I was surprised by our mother even recognizing you as an heir, let alone giving you one of the Keys of Power, but I would never go against her wishes. Our relationship must be renewed—or, rather, begun, since I admit I’ve made it a practice to ignore you since your birth. There is obviously a great deal I have to learn about my own family.”

Lynan was stunned by Berayma’s words. “I would like that,” he replied lamely.

Berayma nodded stiffly. “It was what our mother would have wanted. There are still many official duties I must perform this afternoon and this evening, but I will discuss certain matters with you and our siblings over the next few days. You have courage and honesty, I see, and they are essential qualities. In time, I think you will make a good ambassador for the throne. The sooner we start you off, the better.”

Lynan nodded, not sure what to say.

“This is a time of joy as well as sadness,” Berayma said. “Our mother is free at last of all tribulations and pain. Drink to her memory, and to our future.”

Lynan felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. With Berayma’s support, he was confident he would be able to handle his new responsibilities and, more importantly, he knew Areava and the Twenty Houses would not dare attempt to take away his newfound authority. For the first time in his life he thought of himself as a real prince, a scion of the House of Rosetheme. His chest swelled and he strode around the gathering with greater purpose and confidence, not shying away from those whom once he would have avoided because of his dubious birthright and their obvious arrogance. He was clever enough not to try and rub anyone’s nose in his success, but could not help taking delight in the way everyone bowed and scraped to him. As the night progressed, and as he worked his way through his flask of red wine, he could not keep a swagger from entering his walk.

His progress was watched with amused interest by Kumul and Ager.

“Our young popinjay has discovered something about himself,” Ager said.

“That he can preen with the best of them,” Kumul noted sourly. “I hope he wears out of it. I am more fond of the old Lynan.”

“The old Lynan may not have gone, Kumul, and the new confidence cannot hurt him.”

“Unless someone tries to push him off his stool. Everyone’s very sweet to him now, especially in the presence of Berayma, but they will find a way to harm and hinder him if they can.”

Ager found it difficult to share the constable’s pessimism. He had been truly sorry at the death of Usharna, but he could not help feel that with Lynan’s new position, not to mention his own, things could only get better. For the first time in his life Lynan had a family, and for the first time in nearly twenty years Ager felt he had a home and companions with whom he could share it.

“Who’s that he’s with now?” Kumul asked.

Ager peered with his single eye at the woman Lynan was talking to and shrugged. “I do not recognize her. But I think she wears the tunic of one of the theurgia.”

“There is a star on her shoulder, with a circle around it. She is a student.”

“Probably here just for the wake. I can split them up if you like.”

Kumul shook his head. “We cannot keep an eye on him all our lives, and I certainly don’t intend to interfere with his love life.”

“Oh, is that it?” Ager asked, more interested. “Is she pretty? I can’t tell from here.”

“Compared to what? You? Hell, my arse is pretty compared to your face.”

“Well, compared to your arse, then.”

“She is considerably prettier than my arse. In fact, she’s pretty indeed.”

“Good luck to him, then.”

“Aye, although she seems ill pleased to be with him.” Kumul looked around the courtyard and great hall, his expression bored. “I’d better start my rounds. You coming, or are you too busy squinting at the student magicker?”

“Oh, I’ve finished my squinting, Constable. Give me your orders.”

Jenrosa Alucar had not intended to come to the queen’s wake, but she had been bullied by her friends who were all excited by the prospect of seeing something of the royal home. In theory, all citizens were allowed to enter the palace’s many public spaces, but in practice only those with business or who were associated in some way with the court ever saw within the palace walls. Even the Church of the Righteous God, although they were based in the palace’s west wing, held their celebrations in special churches and chapels located in the city itself.

In the end, it was her own curiosity that made her come—not about the palace, but about the royal family. She had never actually seen any of them except Usharna herself in a special celebration held years ago for the delivery of the fishing fleet after a severe storm. She had a vague idea of what Berayma looked like because his face had appeared on a special coin issue, and everyone thought they knew what Areava looked like because she was supposed to be a younger version of her mother, but no one she knew personally had ever seen Olio or the youngest one, Lynan. During the funeral procession she had seen glimpses of them all between crowds of official and soldiers, but always from behind.

When they reached the wake, Jenrosa and her friends played guessing games, placing wagers with each other about which two of the hundreds of well-dressed young men in the palace were Olio and Lynan. After losing half her weekly stipend, Jenrosa decided to drop out of the competition and instead found a drink and started wandering around the grounds marveling at the palace and all its decorations. She was admiring a particularly large tapestry hanging from the great hall’s north wall when a voice behind her said: “The Hunt for Erati, by the Weavers Guild in Chandra. A special tribute to King Berayma in.”

Jenrosa looked over her shoulder and saw a short youth with a round, pleasant face and thin brown hair that stuck up at odd angles. He was dressed in fine clothes and wore a sword that seemed strangely plain and dull in comparison. He smiled at her. The flask he held in one hand and the slight slackness of his jaw and glaze in his eyes told her he was someone to be avoided.

“It’s quite spectacular, isn’t it?” the youth continued. “It’s one of the largest tapestries in the palace, and easily the most colorful. Do you like the way the line of the hunting pack follows through to the forest trail and finally to its prey? The eye just glides along.”

“How do you know all this?”

“A man called Harnan told me.”

“A friend of yours?”

The youth thought about the question. “I’m not sure how to describe him. Professional acquaintance, probably.” He seemed pleased with himself.

“Well, thank you for the lecture notes.” Jenrosa moved. “I am going to join my friends now.”

“I could tell you about the other tapestries, if you like.”

She shook her head, tried to smile kindly. “Thank you, no. My friends are waiting for me?”

“Banisters? Statues? Paintings?”

Jenrosa stopped and turned to face him. She decided to be stern and frowned at him. “What?”

Her frown did not work. He came up to her, still smiling far too easily for her liking.

“I can tell you all about this whole place. I could give you a tour.” He was having trouble focusing on her.

“What makes you think I want a tour of this place?”

“Well, it’s the palace, isn’t it? Everyone wants to see inside the palace.” He burped in her face. The smell of his breath almost made her faint.

“You know what I would like to see?”

The youth shook his head. “No. Tell me, please!”

“I would like to see you walk away from me and take your idiot grin with you.”

Her words had the opposite effect than intended. He smiled even more widely. “Delightful!” he cried out loud enough to draw looks from those nearby.

“Why are you so happy?‘

“Because today things are turning out so much better than expected.” He winked at her. “I’ve met you, for example.”

Jenrosa shuddered. “Look, find a midden and bury your head in it.”

Now the youth actually laughed. “You speak like Kumul,” he said.

“And who is Kumul when he’s not telling you where to go?” she asked, getting angry now.

The youth looked around, then pointed at a huge man about fifty paces away dressed in the livery of the Royal Guards. “That’s Kumul.”

Jenrosa checked herself. “He’s a soldier,” she said slowly.

“He’s a constable!” the youth declared.

“But you’re not a soldier, right?” She was playing it carefully now. She did not want to discover she had been insulting one of the more influential court members; inevitably, word would get back to her maleficum if she had.

He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m too short to be a Royal Guard.” He sighed deeply. “Alas.”

“But you’re a member of the court.”

He had to think about that one. “Not really.”

Jenrosa breathed a sigh of relief. “I really have to go now. My friends are waiting for me.” She walked away. The youth kept up with her.

“Do you mind if I come?” There was a glint in his eyes Jenrosa did not like.

“You’re too young,” she said shortly.

“I can’t be any younger than you.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Well, a year younger.”

“And all my friends are much older than me.” She picked up her pace, but the youth matched it.

She stopped suddenly and he overshot her. He turned back and looked around. “Where are your friends?”

“What is your name?” she demanded.

“Pirem,” he said quickly. “What’s yours?”

“Leave me alone,” she said.

He held out his flask. “Your cup is empty, Leave-Me-Alone. Would you like some more wine?”

“I’ve already told you what I’d like.”

“Oh, yes. The midden.” He giggled.

“You’re drank.”

He considered the question then shook his head. “Not yet. Not truly, absolutely stonkered.” He blinked. “Well, maybe a little.”

Before she could say anything more, someone called out her name. Her friends appeared, including Amrin, who was as big as a bear. “These are my friends. The big one likes wrestling.”

Amrin scowled at the youth. “Are you being bothered?” he asked.

“Not at all,” the youth said quickly. “She’s delightful.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Amrin said forcefully.

“So, are you all magickers?”

“Students,” Jenrosa said. “Now we have to go and study.” Her friends looked at her strangely.

“Umm, yes,” Amrin said doubtfully. “We have to go and… study…”

“Are you sure you all wouldn’t like more to drink?”

Jenrosa turned on him suddenly. “I don’t want to be in your company, Pirem. Nothing personal, but…” She shook her head. “Yes, it is personal. I’m sorry, but I find you annoying.”

The youth appeared suddenly crestfallen. Jenrosa groaned inside.

“I see. Well, if that’s the way of it…”

“That’s the way of it,” Amrin said, scowling again. He pointed to his theurgia’s star symbol of on his tunic. “So if you don’t want us to practice our magic on you, scuttle away!”

The effect on the youth was instant. His expression turned as cold as ice, and he met Amrin’s gaze with suddenly clear brown eyes. “I carry a magic symbol, too,” he said evenly.

Amrin guffawed. “Of course you do, little mouse.”

The youth reached into his jerkin and pulled out an amulet on a silver chain. He held it up for them all to see. The students stared at it for a moment, then blinked. They all knew what it was. And Jenrosa knew what it meant. “Oh, God,” she breathed weakly. “You’re name’s not Pirem.”

“No.”

There was a stunned silence among Jenrosa’s friends. After a moment one drifted away, then a second and then a third. Jenrosa and Amrin were left to their own fate.

“I… your Highness…” Amrin was not sure what to say.

“You were only defending your friend. You have done no wrong. But you had best leave now.”

Amrin nodded and melted into the crowd.

Jenrosa swallowed. “Your Highness, if I have given you offense—”

“I took no offense.” He was starting to smile again. It had taken all his concentration to act sober.

“—then you got all you deserved.”

Lynan’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed. “Other than my own siblings, you’re the first person I’ve met today who hasn’t tried to fawn their way into my favor.”

“A bit late for that.”

“To the contrary. What’s your name?”

“Jenrosa Alucar, your Highness.”

“Of course, your manners must not go completely unpunished.”

Jenrosa said nothing.

“You must present yourself to the guard at the door to the inner palace when the wake is finished. That should be about sunset. He will instruct you where to go.”

Lynan started to leave, but Jenrosa called after him. “What punishment?”

Without turning, he said, “You’ll see.”

Chapter 9

Jenrosa considered fleeing the palace, grabbing what she could from her dormitory at the theurgia, and trying to stow away on one of the merchant ships in the harbor. Or even better, stowing away on one of the ships of the foreign dignitaries who had arrived in time for the queen’s funeral; then, at least, she could run away in relative comfort.

But then she used the same arguments against the plan that she had used to convince herself to stay with the theurgia: she had a home here in Kendra, she had a future as a magicker, and nowhere else could offer her that.

At sunset, accordingly, she presented herself to the guards at the entrance to the inner palace. One of them ordered her to follow him and led the way through a series of narrow corridors and flights of stone steps into one of the towers that ringed the monarch’s own chambers and the throne room.

Well, at least I’m not being led to a dungeon, she told herself, but the thought did little to ease her apprehension. What sort of punishment had the prince in mind for her? Was he going to throw her off the tower? She knew in her mind that the idea was ridiculous; all the same, her anxiety was beginning to make her legs feel weak.

They eventually arrived at a narrow wooden door that looked as old as the roughly shaped stones that framed it. The guard knocked once with the butt of his spear, opened it and pushed Jenrosa through. The door closed behind her. She found herself at the foot of a set of stairs worn with ancient use.

The prince’s voice said from somewhere above: “Come up, Jenrosa Alucar.”

She hesitantly ascended into a circular chamber filled with the smell of dust and old books. The prince was standing in the middle of the room. He had changed into less formal clothes, and was without his sword and knife. His Key shone dully in the little light shining between the wooden shutters of the room’s only window.

“You are still smiling at me, Your Highness,” she said. “I hope that is a good sign.”

“I’m glad you came,” he said sincerely.

“It wasn’t as if I had a choice,” she pointed out, and looked around her.

The walls were lined with shelves inset into the stone, and each shelf was crammed with books that looked as old as the tower itself. “What is this room?”

“Kendra’s first great king, Colanus, was part magicker. He made the Keys of Power. Some say that is how he gained the throne. This is his study. No one uses it anymore.”

Jenrosa pulled one of the books from its shelf. She carefully opened the leather cover and looked in surprise at the writing on the first page. “What language is this?”

Lynan shrugged. “No one knows. Which explains why no one uses the study any more.”

“The malefici would commit murder to get their hands on these volumes.” She meant it jokingly, but the words seem to hang in the air between them.

“The malefici have already tried,” the prince said lightly. “You know any history?”

“Very little, unless it is to do with the study of the stars.” She was starting to get impatient. She wanted to be given her punishment so she could get back to her dormitory, away from the palace and away from this strange prince.

“Three hundred years ago a band of powerful magickers conspired to get their hands on the contents of this room. Their plot was discovered and they were thwarted by the king. He executed the ringleaders. Do you know what he did with the rest of the magickers?” Jenrosa shook his head. “Let them into the room to study the books on the condition they submitted to his will.”

“But if he didn’t object to the magickers seeing the books, why did he kill their leaders?”

“Because they conspired against him, of course. After several years of unsuccessfully attempting to read these volumes, the surviving magickers gave up.”

“And what was the king’s will?” Jenrosa asked, curious despite herself.

“That they form into the five theurgia with a ruling prelate elected from their own ranks who consults directly with the monarch.”

“He got them under his thumb.”

“In other words.”

“Is that what you want to do to me?” she asked.

“I don’t understand…”

“Put me under your thumb?” Her hazel eyes stared defiantly at him.

Not under my thumb, exactly, he thought, but feigned surprise. “Of course not.”

“Then how are you going to punish me?”

“By offering you a glass of wine and a chance to see a sunset such as you have never seen before.”

Jenrosa shook her head. “I’m not sure I heard you right.”

The prince pointed to the window. On the stone sill were two glasses and a bottle. Her eyes widened in surprise. She had never drunk from glass before. In fact, she could not remember ever having drunk from a bottle. He waved her forward, then with some effort managed to open the shutters.

“See for yourself,” he offered, and moved out of the way so she could see through the window.

She moved in his place and looked out, gasping at what she saw. The whole city was spread out before her like a glorious map. Kestrel Bay shone like liquid gold as the sun set far, far to the west, behind a range of mountains that were dim and dark in the distance. Seagulls played above the harbor, and farther out she could just discern the long, splayed wings of kestrels swooping low over the waves.

“It is… Oh, it is beautiful.”

The prince joined her. He pointed south, to a green land mass that rose from the waters like a mirage. “Lurisia,” he said. Then he pointed to the mountains in the west. “And that is the Long Spine, the farthest border of Aman.” Finally, he pointed east. “That land mass is Chandra, and beyond that you can just make out the great Sea Between.”

He pulled back again and carefully poured wine into the two glasses. “This is a bottle from the queen’s own reserve.” His eyes dulled for a moment, then he said, “Sorry. The king’s reserve.” He offered her one of the glasses, and she took it hesitantly.

“Some punishment,” she said.

Kumul made sure the last of the guests at the wake had been ushered out of the palace before starting his inspection of the night watch. He began his round at the main gate and worked west from there, making sure the guards on roster were at their appointed places and that torches were lit along the palace walls and over each entrance way. He completed the circuit an hour after he started, and stood in the courtyard for a while watching busy palace servants sweeping and wiping and polishing the great hall to make it ready for business as usual the next day.

Business as usual, he thought grimly. Constable under a king who doesn’t like me, and who is friends with the Twenty Houses, none of whom like me.

For a moment he wished he had given himself the night off to visit one of his many female friends in the city. Yet he knew that on this night of all nights he had cause to be on duty. It was his last act of service for Ushama, his dead queen, and once-wife to his beloved general.

Ager joined him, looking tired. “Where did you disappear to?” Kumul asked.

“Some of our guests had broken into the training arena. There were empty flasks and bottles everywhere, and some of them had used our equipment for practice.”

Kumul grinned. “Did any impale themselves?”

Ager shook his head. “Regrettably, no. The arena’s cleaned up now, and I’ve got a couple of the new recruits stowing away our gear.”

“Well, check with them, then get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be as busy as today. Berayma will want to talk to us about his plans for the coronation. I’m just going in now to see him before retiring myself.”

“As you say.” Ager left, and Kumul surveyed the courtyard and gate one more time. Everything seemed to be in its place. He resented it. He felt there should be some change, some sign, after the death of the woman who had ruled here for a quarter of a century.

But she was a ghost now, and ghosts had no need of palaces. He grunted to himself and went through the great hall to the Long Walk and made for Berayma’s chambers. Before he got there, he heard running steps behind him and Dejanus called out his name. The Life Guard looked very worried.

“Kumul, I’ve found something.”

“What?” Kumul asked sharply, suddenly alert.

“It’s best you see for yourself. Follow me.”

Without waiting for a reply, Dejanus led the way back to the great hall and then through a door leading to the servants’ quarters. Kumul followed unquestioningly. Whatever had rattled Dejanus was something he wanted to see for himself. The Life Guard was setting a hard pace, stopping only to get a torch, but finally slowed when they reached one of the corridors leading to the cellars, part of the very first palace built hundreds of years ago, and dark and wet with mildew.

“It’s around here somewhere… There! Do you see it?” Dejanus was pointing to a spot on the cobblestones.

“I can’t see my own feet in this gloom. Lower the torch.”

Dejanus did as asked. “It’s fresh blood, and there’s a knife…”

“I still can’t see—”

Before he could finish, something slammed against the back of his skull. The dark air seemed to explode in his eyes. As he collapsed onto the cobblestones he heard Dejanus’ feet running away, their sound echoing in his mind like the beat of his own heart. He tried to call out, but his senses fell away one by one and he knew no more.

Berayma rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. Since late morning he had had a nagging headache, and the day’s warmth and the afternoon’s drinking had only made it worse.

“Could I get Dr. Trion for you?” Orkid asked solicitously.

Berayma shook his head. “It will go of its own accord. Let’s get this business out of the way so I can get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Indeed, your Majesty. You wished to see me about Prince Lynan. Is something the matter?”

Berayma did not want to discuss Areava’s offer to Lynan with the three other men gathered in his room. He did not yet trust the chancellor as his mother had done, and it was no business of Dejanus‘, who had appeared to let the king know that the constable had been unavoidably detained, and considering how Harnan Beresard collected gossip like gold coins, Berayma thought his private secretary probably knew already.

“Lynan has to consolidate his position as quickly as possible or, Usharna’s will or not, he will find himself the object of continuous derision, court rumor and suspicion. He needs to be set on his path.”

“Your Majesty?”

“I want him sent on a mission to Chandra as soon as possible, and I want you to accompany him.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Must you always say that?”

Orkid looked ready to repeat his phrase, but closed his mouth in time. “I’m sorry. Why and when?”

“Why? Because I want him given the opportunity to prove himself as soon as possible. I also want him out of Kendra, so people, especially those in the Twenty Houses, have time to get used to the idea of his holding one of the Keys of Power. Chandra has been one of our most loyal subject kingdoms for hundreds of years, so the embassy will be relatively easy for Lynan to carry out. I need you to come up with some excuse, and to arrange for the Chandra Commission here to offer him an invitation.”

“That should not be hard, your Majesty. I’m sure King Tomar would be glad to welcome the prince; he and Lynan’s father were friends, I believe.”

“Exactly. Can you arrange it for autumn?”

“I see no difficulty with that.”

The king turned to the private secretary. “In the meantime, Harnan, send for Lynan. I want to discuss some issues with him tonight.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“And then get yourself to bed, old man. I will need you refreshed tomorrow, but don’t come before mid-morning; I won’t have got through all the papers you’ve already given me by then.”

Harnan bowed and had started to leave when Orkid said, “Must you see Lynan tonight? You are already feeling overtired…” Harnan hesitated at the doorway.

Berayma sighed heavily. “Yes, Chancellor. It must be tonight.”

“But surely it could wait until—”

“Now!” Berayma shouted, and Harnan disappeared. Berayma groaned. “Orkid, I’m sorry. I should not have raised my voice like that.”

“Do not trouble yourself about it, your Majesty,” Orkid said stiffly. “I understand perfectly. It has been a long and trying day for you.”

“Thank you for your patience,” the king said sincerely. “I do not think there are any other matters to trouble you tonight. You may go.”

“There is one small issue, your Majesty,” Orkid said carefully. “Concerning your own recent embassy to Hume.”

“Really?” Berayma was puzzled.

“I have received a message from one of my agents there. I think you should read it.”

“Very well. We have some time before Lynan arrives.”

“We should be alone,” Orkid added.

Berayma nodded to Dejanus. “Leave us please. If you see the constable, tell him to wait until after I have spoken to Lynan.”

Dejanus left, and Orkid placed a long sheet of paper in front of the king.

The recruits had finished putting away all the training weapons. Ager was checking the cabinets when he noticed Lynan’s knife was missing. He called one of the recruits over. “All the weapons have been found?”

“All that were on the grounds, Captain.”

Ager pointed out the missing spot in the cabinet. “Do another search. I want the knife found.”

The recruit gulped and called back his mates. For another half hour they scoured the training arena and fencing shed, but found no trace of the missing knife. They reported glum-faced to Ager.

“All right. Nothing more can be done here tonight. We’ll do another search tomorrow in better light. In the meantime I’d better report this to the constable.”

The recruits went pale, and Ager dismissed them before one of them passed out.

He went to the Long Walk and asked one of the two guards on duty if Kumul was still with the king.

“No, Captain. He did not see the king. He was on his way here when Dejanus called him away.”

“Where did they go?”

“I did not hear, sir. But you can ask Dejanus yourself. He is in with the king now, and should be out soon.”

Ager shook his head. “No. It’s not important. I’ll try the constable’s rooms.” He turned on his heel and left.

“If it’s not so damned important, why did he bother me about it?” the guard asked his fellow when Ager was out of earshot. The two men laughed quietly. “Officers and whores,” the guard went on, “always asking for something.”

“Soldier!”

The guards snapped to attention. Dejanus appeared in front of them, his blue eyes wide with anger.

“What was that about officers?”

“Officers, sir?” The guard tried playing dumb; as often as not, it got you out of trouble.

“Come with me,” Dejanus ordered, then turned to the other guard. “And I’ll deal with you later.”

Dejanus waved the first guard into what had been the queen’s sitting room and closed the doors behind them. The guard had a sinking feeling that playing dumb was not going to get him out of trouble this time. He was afraid to turn and face the Life Guard.

“Look at me, soldier, and come to attention!” Dejanus ordered.

The guard snapped erect and wheeled about on his right foot. Before he finished his salute, Dejanus drove the knife he had been hiding up his sleeve deep into the guard’s midriff, between the iron slats of his armor, forcing out of him a gush of air and his last breath. Dejanus caught him as he fell and eased him gently to the floor.

“And two to go,” he said to himself.

Harnan Beresard had not found Lynan in his chamber, and so had gone to Pirem’s room instead. He banged on the servant’s door until Pirem appeared, rubbing his eyes and wearing nothing but a scowl.

“What the—!” Pirem blinked when he saw who it was. “Oh, forgive me, sir, I thought—”

“I am sorry to wake you, Pirem. But the king needs to see Lynan immediately. He is not in his room. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

Pirem shook his head. “He sometimes wanders around the palace if he can’t sleep. But I’ll find him. I know his favorite places.”

Harnan nodded. “Very well, but see that his Highness sees the king tonight, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

Pirem disappeared back into his room and quickly dressed. He rushed to Lynan’s room and, using the spare key he always carried, let himself in. He found Lynan’s good coat and his father’s sword and belt. He paused for a moment to consider what else the prince might need, then slapped his forehead. “Oh, hurry, you old fool,” he told himself. “The king’s not goin‘ to care what the lad looks like at this time of night.”

He started his search in the gardens, then the south gallery, then along the palace walls, but without success. There was one place left, and that was a long walk followed by a long climb. But the king wanted to see him now! Berayma’s chambers were on the way, and Pirem decided to let him know Lynan would be with him soon rather than letting His Royal Majesty sit alone, twiddling his thumbs and wondering where his brother had got to.

“Hurry, Pirem, hurry!” he urged himself, and set off at a trot.

“I see nothing so urgent about this report,” Berayma said, handing the paper back to Orkid.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, but I thought the information about Queen Charion’s plans to limit Chandra’s trading rights were not only important but relevant, considering your intentions to send Lynan on an embassy to King Tomar.”

Berayma carefully studied Orkid’s face. The two had never get on, but Berayma had to admit he had made a very good chancellor under Queen Usharna, and had been absolutely loyal to her. He nodded slowly.

“And you were right to present it to me. The fact that I do not agree with your opinion should not deter you in future from presenting me any information you consider important.”

Orkid bowed slightly, accepting the truce, and the implicit compliment. Dejanus returned then and nodded to Orkid.

“Your Majesty, the constable has not shown up?” the Life Guard asked.

Berayma shook his head. “I will give you his instructions. You can pass them on to Kumul when you see him.”

Dejanus nodded and Berayma started to write instructions on a sheet of paper. The Life Guard looked over his shoulder as if to read the instructions as they were written. Then Orkid moved forward. Berayma looked up at the chancellor. “You can go, Orkid. Thank you for your advice tonight.”

“Your Majesty.” Orkid bowed deeply, and then before Berayma could react, the chancellor gripped Berayma’s arms just below the elbows.

“What—!” cried the startled king, and pulled back, raising his head. Dejanus took out his hidden knife and drove it straight into the side of Berayma’s neck.

Berayma lurched back, his arms breaking Orkid’s grip and reaching behind him for his attacker, but at that instant Dejanus pulled out the blade. Blood spurted across Berayma’s desk, spraying Dejanus and Orkid. The king tried to stand, but he started falling. He grabbed at his desk, scattering paper and ink, tried to reach for Orkid but could only grab his coat. As he lost consciousness and collapsed, he took Orkid down with him. He crashed into his chair, hit the floor, and was still.

As the jagged wound in Berayma’s neck pumped blood, Orkid frantically jerked his coat loose from the dying king’s hands and teetered to his feet. The flow of blood abated and finally stopped.

“Lord of the Mountain,” muttered Orkid, his arms out wide, his hands and coat covered in blood. It had all happened quicker than he had thought possible, and was far bloodier and more terrible then he could have imagined.

Dejanus looked down grimly at his handiwork.

“No one saw you deal with the guards outside?”

Dejanus shook his head. “And I have ensured that the guards on duty at the gates are my men; all have some grumble against Kumul. They will be ready to believe whatever we say about him and Prince Lynan.”

“We have to get things ready before Lynan appears.”

“It would have been easier if Berayma had not called for him.”

“Be that as it may, we are now committed.”

Dejanus lifted his gaze to meet Orkid’s. “I hope the rest of your plan goes more smoothly.”

Before Orkid could answer, there was a cry from the door. Both men whipped around. They saw an old man standing there, his mouth agape, his eyes wide in horror.

“Pirem!” Dejanus shouted.

Pirem snapped out of the terrible shock that had frozen him in place. He backed away from the door.

“Kill him, Dejanus!” Orkid cried. “And then kill his master!”

Dejanus lunged forward, but his feet slipped on the pool of Berayma’s blood and he fell heavily to his knees. He looked up in time to see the servant flee like an old rat with a cat after it. He jumped up, but before he could set off in pursuit, Orkid grabbed his arm.

“No, wait! There is a better way! All the pieces are in place, we only have to keep to our roles.” He took Lynan’s training knife from Dejanus’ hand and dropped it on the floor near the body of the dead king. “Put the bodies of the sentries back in their place, then call out the Royal Guards.” He could not help staring at Berayma’s corpse. “The king has been murdered by Prince Lynan and his protectors, the constable and Pirem. What a pity they were slain trying to escape the palace.”

Chapter 10

They were sitting on the room’s stone floor discussing magic.

“It isn’t that I don’t believe there is magic in the stars,” Jenrosa was explaining to Lynan, “but that I think the theurgia is going about finding it in the wrong way.”

Lynan nodded wisely, as he had learned to do while attending his mother’s court, but mostly he was concentrating on Jenrosa herself and not her words. He decided she was more attractive than he first thought. He liked the snub nose with its spray of freckles. When she smiled, her face changed, became softer somehow, and when she frowned, he could not help the urge to stroke her cheek and console her. But, his alcoholic bravado gone, he kept his hands to himself.

“Why don’t you present your argument to your maleficum?”

Jenrosa looked aghast. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much the hierarchy have invested in the old beliefs? How many decades—centuries!—of research and practice? They would throw me out! They would burn me at the stake!”

“We don’t burn people anymore,” Lynan pointed out.

“My grandfather Berayma VII banned that right at the start of his reign.”

“Then they’ll convince your brother to bring it back.”

“Just for you?”

Jenrosa nodded. “God, yes. They hate heretics.”

Lynan leaned forward and refilled her glass.

She took the bottle from him and shook it. “The wine is almost gone,” she said sadly.

Lynan reached into a dark recess under one of the lower bookshelves and retrieved a second bottle.

“Magic!” she declared.

“So what would you like to see your theurgia study?”

“To begin with, the same things sailors and explorers have to study. They use the stars to get their directions.”

“I know that,” Lynan said. “Everyone knows that. Why should the theurgia study what everyone else already knows?”

“Because there is no formal system incorporating all the ways the stars are used for navigation. And more importantly, finding your direction implies having at least some idea of where you are at any given time. If we could refine the methods the sailors use, we may be able to devise a way of finding out exactly where we are, anywhere in the world.”

Lynan considered her words, then smiled. “Ah, but what if it is a cloudy night!”

Jenrosa looked at him sourly. “You have to begin somewhere.”

Lynan swallowed. “Speaking of beginning somewhere—”

“Oh, yes, of course! You now have one of the Keys!”

Lynan blinked. How did that happen? He was going to talk about them, not about him. “Yes, I have one of the Keys, but what I was trying to say—”

“What does it mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Well, what responsibilities do you take on?” She waved her hands at him. “No, no, don’t tell me! It’s the Key of Union, right?” Lynan nodded, feeling a little adrift. “So that means you’ll be responsible for administering the provinces?”

“No. That is the king’s duty. I’ll be a kind of ambassador. Berayma will use me to represent the throne outside of Kendra.”

“A toast,” Jenrosa said, raising her glass. “To the king’s new representative to the provinces!”

Lynan raised his glass halfheartedly. “It means, of course, that I may not return to Kendra for many years. There are some things I would like to do before I—”

“You’ll begin with a grand tour,” Jenrosa interrupted. “Across Kestrel Bay to pay a visit to Goodman Barbell in Lurisia. Then west to Aman, and a word.with King Marin; I hear he’s a conniving old goat, so you’ll have to be on your guard. And then farther west, into the Oceans of Grass, and you’ll see all the tribes of the Cherts—”

“If I can find any of them,” Lynan pointed out.

“—then east to Hume, and Queen Charion,” Jenrosa continued, unabated. “I’ve heard she is the most cunning of all the king’s subjects. Your will learn much from her, I think.”

“She will undoubtedly learn a great deal from me,” Lynan said dryly. “And where do I go after Hume?”

“South to Chandra, and King Tomar II.”

“He was a friend of my father’s,” Lynan said quietly.

“Then it will be like visiting an uncle,” Jenrosa said, moving closer to Lynan. “I spoke to him once. He was here on one of his state visits and came to the theurgia’s school. He spoke to each of the instructors and students personally. He was round and jolly, with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“He lost his wife at sea about twenty years ago. Her ship was attacked by Slavers. They never found her body.”

“That would explain the eyes,” she said. “What part of the tour will you enjoy the most, I wonder? I think it will be the trek through the Oceans of Grass. You probably won’t find many Chetts, but you’ll see some amazing things.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “Grass stretching from one horizon to the other, huge herds of strange animals with horns and long, flowing manes. Wild horses, thousands of them, not afraid of anything under the sky. Thunderstorms as big as continents sweeping overhead. Or maybe you’ll like Lurisia the best. Everything’s green in Lurisia, and it’s always hot. Rowers the size of meat plates, insects with rainbows instead of wings…”

“Maybe you should make the grand tour,” Lynan joked. “I’ll stay behind to play at court.”

Jenrosa shook her head. “Oh, no. Kendra is my home. I don’t want to leave.”

“The way you speak of all these distant lands it sounds as if leaving Kendra is something you want more than anything else.”

“Believe me, your Highness—”

“Lynan, please.”

“—I want to stay right here. But I can imagine you will enjoy yourself so much you’ll never want to come back.”

Lynan finished his wine and refilled the glass. “Well, Kendra has one thing in its favor. That’s where you’ll be.”

She looked at him hard, then fidgeted uncomfortably and stood up. “I see.” She looked like an animal that has suddenly realized it is in a cage.

Lynan stood up, too, drew in a deep breath to speak. Just as he opened his mouth, someone started banging on the door.

“Oh, damn!” he exclaimed, his breath coming out in a rush. “Go away!”

The banging only increased in ferocity.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, your Highness!” shouted Pirem. There was such urgency in his voice that Lynan almost went to the door immediately.

“Maybe the king needs to consult with his new roving ambassador,” Jenrosa suggested.

“Pirem, couldn’t it wait?”

“Now, Your Highness, please!” Pirem banged the door a few more times for effect.

Jenrosa laughed quietly. “You don’t suppose he’s been listening outside, do you, and wants to make sure you don’t say anything too foolish?”

“Foolish?”

“Your Highness, please!”

Lynan could no longer ignore the pleading in his servant’s voice. He stomped down the stairs to the door and opened it slightly. “This had better be important, Pirem—”

He managed to get no more out before Pirem, breathless and pale and carrying Lynan’s coat and sword belt, forced his way in. He pushed his master away from the door, quickly glanced back at the corridor, then slammed it shut. He grabbed Lynan by the hand and dragged him up the stairs into the turret room. The servant’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head. “Quickly, Lynan, you have to leave the pal—” His words died in his throat when he saw Jenrosa.

“How long has she been here?” he hissed.

“Pirem, you forget yourself! And what business is it of yours how long Magicker Alucar has been here?”

Pirem wrung his hands in distress. “Oh, I am sorry, your Highness, but not as sorry as you’ll be if you don’t leave the palace right now! This very minute!”

Jenrosa stood up. “What’s happening?”

Pirem thrust himself between her and Lynan. “How does His Highness know he can trust you?”

“What are you talking about?” Lynan demanded angrily.

“She may be one of them!” he hissed.

Lynan shook his head in frustration. “You have some explaining to do, Pirem. Be quick.”

“Your brother’s dead!”

“Dead? Which brother?”

“The king! He’s been murdered!”

There was a stunned silence, then Lynan said sternly. “That isn’t funny, Pirem. Your sense of humor is as sour as your tongue—”

“I don’t think he’s joking,” Jenrosa said, carefully watching the servant. “Can’t you see how terrified he is? Pirem, how can you know Berayma is dead? Who killed him?”

“I saw his body!”

Lynan grabbed his servant by the shoulders. “Who killed him, Pirem? Who?”

“Orkid! An‘ Dejanus!”

Lynan stared at Pirem, not knowing what to say, not wishing to believe his servant’s words.

“Your Highness, please believe me. I haven’t been drinkin‘. I wasn’t dreamin’. I know I’m an old fool sometimes, but I’m not an idiot!”

“Tell me what you saw,” Lynan said, struggling to remain calm. “Everything you saw.”

“There isn’t time for that!” He took Lynan by one arm and tried dragging him down the steps. Lynan resisted with all his strength. “They want to kill you, Lynan!”

“Kill me?”

“I’ll explain as we go,” Pirem said and again pulled on Lynan’s arm, at the same time handing Lynan his cloak and sword belt. “Follow me!”

There was enough of the boy in Lynan, and still enough authority in Pirem’s voice, to make him obey the command. Pirem led the way out of the room and down into the main part of the palace, not far from Lynan’s chambers. “You can’t go back to your room, that’s the first place they’ll look for you. We have to get you a horse.”

He led the way toward the royal stables, followed by Lynan and an uncertain Jenrosa. Lynan stopped and told Jenrosa to return to make her own way out of the palace. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s no need for you to become involved.”

Jenrosa agreed readily. “I want no part of a palace revolution.” She turned to go, but froze at the sound of tramping feet and jangling armor coming from around the corner at the far end of the hallway. “Then again…” she said halfheartedly.

“Come now!” Pirem pleaded. “Quickly, before they see us!”

He ducked down a side corridor, followed by his two charges, and hurried through a maze of little used passages and servants’ ways. They soon heard a commotion from the general direction of Lynan’s quarters.

“They’ve just discovered you’re missing,” Pirem said grimly, then stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Lynan demanded.

“I’m an idiot! They’ll be waitin‘ for you at the stables!” His brow furrowed in concentration. “But you still need a horse.” Then his eyes lit up. “The Royal Guards’ stables! They won’t think of that! Not yet, at least.”

They started off again, and a few minutes later they came out into an area behind the palace, near the stables of the Royal Guards. Pirem turned to the other two. “Be quiet, for God’s sake, or we’re all dead!” he said between clenched teeth. “We’ll have to work quickly and quietly to get you a mount, Your Highness.”

“But where will I go?” Lynan asked, his voice rising.

“Away from here,” Pirem answered, peering into the darkness as he spoke. “After that, I can’t help you, an‘ I’ll slow you down if I come with you.” He peered into the darkness for a moment, then hissed, “The way is clear!”

At a half-crouch the three fugitives ran across the open ground to the first enclosure. Lynan’s nose wrinkled.

“Don’t they ever clean these stables?”

“Of course they do, your Highness, but only once a day. These aren’t the Royal Stables. There, in the fourth booth, that looks like a good mount.”

The horse was a fine-looking brown mare with a clean coat and a nose splashed with white. As Jenrosa led her from the booth, Lynan put on his coat and buckled on his sword belt. Pirem then helped him select a harness and saddle from those hanging from a wall opposite the entrance, and handed a bridle to Jenrosa.

“I was in my room, your Highness,” Pirem started explaining suddenly, “when Harnan Beresard came asking me to find you an‘ tell you that the king wanted to see you right away.” The two men lifted a saddle off its hooks and carried it to the waiting mare. As Lynan adjusted the saddle’s straps, Pirem continued his story.

“I couldn’t find you, o’course…” Pirem glanced at Jenrosa. “… so I went to tell the king there’d be a delay. When I got to his room, I heard voices, so I didn’t go straight in, thinking it best to wait until whoever it was had finished their business with his Majesty. Then I recognized the voices as belonging to Orkid an‘ Dejanus. They were saying how some plan had to go right or somethin’, an‘ I realized they could be talkin’ for hours, so I crept up to the door quiet as a cat to catch someone’s eye.”

Lynan’s fingers were fumbling at tasks that had been automatic for years. Jenrosa was having similar difficulties fitting the bridle.

“I was lookin‘ into the room…” Pirem grabbed Lynan’s arm so tightly it hurt. His old, rheumy eyes looked up into Lynan’s face, tears rolling down his cheeks. “The king was on the floor in a bloody heap! I think they stabbed him right in the…” Pirem gagged, but managed to finish the sentence in a burst, “… in the neck, your Highness, pierced like a sticker in a boar’s belly, an’ the blood was everywhere.”

Jenrosa swayed and held onto the mare’s head to stop herself from falling. Lynan was already crouching, but he too suddenly felt faint. He put a hand on the horse’s flank to steady himself.

“They saw me! As I ran away, I heard Orkid tell Dejanus to kill me, an‘ then to come after you! But I know this place like the back of my hand, all the servants’ ways, so I was able to get to you well before them. You know the rest.”

Lynan slowly stood erect, taking the reins from Jenrosa. Pirem was resting against the wall, his hands shaking.

“Thank you, Pirem,” Lynan said softly, trying to keep his voice even despite the fear threatening to overwhelm him. “You have risked your life to save mine. I will never forget it. Now you and Jenrosa must go. Find a place to hide, and I’ll try and let you know what happens to me.”

“What will you do?” Jenrosa asked.

Lynan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe King Tomar will help. But the first thing I have to do is get out of Kendra.”

Pirem moved to the stable door and waved to him. “There is still no one here. Go now, your Highness, while you can. Quickly!”

Lynan led the mare out to the open and mounted, then turned to say goodbye to his companions.

“You there! Get off that horse!”

Startled by the sound, the horse turned on its rear legs. Lynan saw five guards running toward him from the palace. Pirem jumped forward and slapped the horse on the rump. The animal bolted, almost unseating Lynan.

“Flee, Lynan!” Pirem shouted. “Flee for your life!”

Lynan did not know what to do. He wanted to ride away as fast as the mare could take him, but he could not just leave his friends like this. Pirem saw his indecision and drew his dagger.

“There is nothing you can do for us!” he cried. “Flee!”

Pirem turned and ran toward the guards, shouting an old war cry and waving his dagger above his head. The first guard tried to meet Pirem’s assault head on, but Pirem had been a soldier longer than a servant. He dived under the sword and swept up with his dagger, lodging it into the guard’s chest. As the man reeled back, Pirem wrested the sword from his hand and charged again.

After seeing the fate of their companion, the four surviving guards were more cautious. They kept their swords low and waited for the old man to come to them. Pirem swerved at the last moment to take the one on his far right, but his opponents were younger and more agile than he. There was a flurry of sword play, then Pirem cried out and dropped to the ground, his weapon clattering to the earth next to his bleeding body.

Jenrosa panicked and bolted, aiming for the servants’ door Pirem had led them through. The guards set off in pursuit.

“Oh, God, no!” Lynan cried. He drew his sword, kicked his horse into action and galloped toward the guards. Two of them slowed down and spread out, trying to cut off his escape route. He charged the nearest.

The guard brought up his own weapon in a high block, but Lynan loosened his left foot from the stirrup and slumped low over the mare’s right shoulder, swinging his sword up and out, striking the guard’s jaw and slicing along his throat like a barber’s razor. The guard grasped at the wound, dark blood spouting between his fingers, and collapsed without a sound.

Lynan wheeled the horse around to face the guard on his right, but it was already too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the silhouette of a man behind him. A hand grasped his left foot, still out of the stirrup, and pushed it up and over the mare’s back. Lynan landed heavily on the ground, his breath whooshing out. A sharp pain in his side made him feel instantly nauseous. For a second he blacked out, and when he came to, he was on his back. Through a haze he could see a guard standing over him, his sword tickling Lynan’s throat, and two others standing back a few paces, Jenrosa struggling futilely in their arms.

“Your Highness,” the guard over him said in a bitter voice, “for what you did to King Berayma tonight, I’m going to skewer you like a bird on a spit.”

Lynan saw him bunch his muscles for the killing stroke when suddenly a shadow loomed over both of them. The guard gasped as a spear sprouted from his chest. He was pulled back off his feet and sent spinning away. A second, misshapen shadow cut down one of the guards holding Jenrosa, and the last guard turned on his heel and ran.

A strong hand grabbed Lynan by the hair and pulled him to his feet. Lynan found himself staring at a salt-and-pepper beard and blue eyes.

“Are you all right, lad?”

“Kumul?”

“What a silly bloody question,” the constable said. Still holding the prince by the hair, he spun him around so he could see the second rescuer.

“And Ager,” Lynan said weakly. And then he remembered the magicker. “Jenrosa—”

“I’m all right,” said her voice beside him. She was horribly pale and her whole body was shaking. She was staring at the body of the guard Kumul had killed.

“The last guard!” Lynan said, remembering now that he had seen him running away. “He will tell others where we are!”

“I’m too old to go chasing after him, and Ager here, for all his agility, couldn’t run after a lame infant.” Kumul turned to Jenrosa and Ager. “We need another three horses.”

Jenrosa looked up at the constable strangely, then hurried back to the stables, Ager hobbling behind.

“Do you think you can stand on your own, your Highness? I’ve got to help the others. We haven’t much time.”

Lynan nodded vaguely and immediately felt his support go. He spread his feet wide to steady himself and looked around for his mare. She was standing twenty paces away, not far from the guard Lynan had dropped.

I’ve killed my second man, he thought, and then felt wretched because the fellow had been one of the Royal Guards.

He tried to control the heaving, but without success. He emptied his stomach. Groaning, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then tottered over to the horse. He returned to the stable, retrieving his sword on the way and cleaning the blade against his pants. Within two minutes he was joined by the others. All three mounted and the four headed down behind the stables and away from the palace. As they disappeared into the long shadows that covered the slope down to the city below, they heard behind them the first sounds of hue and cry.

“Ride hard!” Kumul roared. The four kicked their horses into a gallop, then hung on for dear life as they descended into the darkness.

Chapter 11

Orkid stood in the doorway to Lynan’s chambers while Dejanus searched the rooms for any hint of where the prince might be.

“He can’t be far,” Dejanus said. “My guards are at all the gates. He must still be in the palace.”

“Unless Pirem found him,” Orkid said.

Dejanus left the room. “His sword is gone, and the Key.” He looked desperately at Orkid. “What now? We need his corpse to blame for Berayma’s death—”

“There’s no need to change the plan,” Orkid said, thinking. “Not yet, anyway. Your guards may still find and kill him for us.”

“I’ll organize the hunt and make sure,” he said.

“And I will wake Areava and tell her the tragic news about her brother.” Dejanus started to leave, but Orkid held him back and whispered fiercely in his ear: “And never forget the plan! We can gather all the willing witnesses we need once we have Lynan’s and Kumul’s bodies. Areava will believe the worst of her brother. And remember when you see her that she is queen now. Make sure your guards treat her as such.”

*

When Lynan and his companions reached the original city wall, they slowed their mounts to a steady walk. They needed to recover from their hair-raising descent, being almost as winded as their horses.

They passed as quietly as possible through the narrow streets and alleys of old Kendra. There were some people about, marking the passing of good Queen Usharna and the start of Berayma’s reign, and the companions could hear snatches of song as they passed inns and taverns open late for the occasion.

Lynan had no idea where Kumul was leading them. He sat on his horse like someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could not shake the feeling of nausea from his stomach, nor the images of Pirem’s tragic death and the guard he had killed. He had to swallow continually to keep the bile down. Jenrosa rode beside him, dazed by events and her predicament. Behind them came Ager, grimly silent. Only Kumul seemed to show any purpose, his face a mixture of alertness and barely repressed anger.

They made their way southeast through the city. When Kumul pulled them up and ordered them off their horses, Lynan could smell the harbor not far away.

“We’ll leave the horses here,” Kumul told them. “It’s best now if we go on foot.”

“Where are we going?” Jenrosa asked.

“A friend’s place,” he answered. “Now, no more questions until we get there. The less attention we draw to ourselves with unnecessary chatter, the better our chances of surviving the night.”

They slapped their horses to send them on their way; if unhindered, they would eventually return to their stable. In a few minutes the companions had reached the docks. Ropes and pulleys creaked and clanked in the onshore evening breeze, and rats scurried out of their way. The harbor smelled of sewage and bilge and rotting flesh. Everything is death tonight, Lynan thought bitterly.

Kumul, setting a rapid pace, led them east along the harbor for a league or so before heading north, back into the city proper. They passed warehouses smelling of exotic spices and busy taverns smelling of stale beer and urine. Skinny dogs sniffing for garbage scampered out of their way or growled at them defiantly. As the streets turned into alleys with houses dangerously leaning over them, the night air became strangled and still. The only sound was their own footsteps on the cobblestones and the occasional furtive scraping of a scavenging rodent or a hunting cat.

At last, Kumul slowed to an easy walk as he peered through the dark trying to recognize features and landmarks.

“It’s around here somewhere,” he whispered to himself.

For a few minutes more they kept on this way and then, with a satisfied grunt, he stopped and knocked impatiently on a door.

“Where are we?” Lynan asked.

Before Kumul could reply, the door opened and a man shorter than Kumul but just as wide came out on to the street. “Who the hell do you think you are, my friend, rousing me from my warm chair…” The man craned forward toward the constable. “… at this hour… Kumul?”

Kumul chuckled, a sound like a small avalanche of gravel. “Who else do you know who’s as big as me, Grapnel?”

The one called Grapnel laughed in turn and put his hands on Kumul’s shoulders, then noticed his companions. “You’ve brought friends, I see.”

“Can we come in? It isn’t safe out here.”

“Not safe? Who in their right minds would be after you?” Grapnel asked, but he ushered them inside without waiting for an answer.

They were crowded into a narrow hallway. Grapnel squeezed his way to the front and showed them into a living area. A bright fire was burning in a deep grate at one end of the room, and before it were mismatched chairs and a long table. The walls were made from whitewashed mud brick, and long beams supported a clinker-built roof.

Grapnel set chairs in a semicircle in front of the fire and bade them sit. He disappeared into an adjoining room, appearing a moment later with five mugs and a jug of home brew.

For the first time that night, Lynan saw that the close-cropped graying hairs at the back of Kumul’s head were matted with dried blood, and a red smear covered the nape of his neck.

Lynan turned his attention to Grapnel. Their host had a wide, swarthy face with two raised white scars, one on either cheek, which joined the corners of his mouth, giving him a permanent and macabre grin. His brown hair was cut as close to the scalp as Kumul’s, and each ear sported a large gold earring. Brown eyes were half hidden by drooping eyelids that made him look as if he would fall asleep at any moment. Although not as tall as Kumul, he still loomed over Lynan.

Their host poured beers for them, then sat back in his chair and waited for Kumul’s explanation.

“This is Captain Ager Parmer, late of the Royal Guards,” Kumul started, nodding in the crookback’s direction. “He was once a captain in the Kendra Spears.”

Grapnel leaned forward and peered at Ager’s face. “By all the creatures in the sea, you are Captain Parmer. And you’ve had hard times, I see.”

“And I remember you, Grapnel,” Ager replied. “You were Kumul’s lieutenant in the Red Shields.”

Grapnel nodded, and then looked at Jenrosa. “And you are?”

“My name is Jenrosa Alucar. 1 am a student magicker with the Theurgia of Stars.” She shook her head. “Or I was.”

Grapnel looked questioningly at Kumul.

“She was Prince Lynan’s companion tonight,” the constable told him.

“Good grief, Kumul,” Grapnel said, grinning slyly. “No wonder you’re in trouble.”

Kumul sighed. “And this is the prince in question,” he continued, indicating Lynan.

Grapnel shot to his feet, his chair falling over behind him. His cheeks reddened, making the scars stand out like welts. “Grief, your Highness! My apologies!” He glanced at Jenrosa. “And to you, ma’am.”

Lynan could not help a smile creasing his face, and he tried to hide it in his cup. Strong, bitter stout coursed down his gullet, almost choking him. Jenrosa blushed as deeply as Grapnel, but there was anger behind it.

“You misunderstand our relationship,” she said quietly.

Grapnel started apologizing again, but Kumul interrupted him. “And this, Your Highness, is Grapnel Moorice, trader and ship owner. One of your father’s most loyal and hard-fighting soldiers. And a friend.” Kumul took Grapnel’s arm. “Evil things have happened tonight. King Berayma has been murdered by conspirators, and now they’re after Prince Lynan.”

Grapnel’s mouth dropped open. “On our friendship, Kumul, are you telling me the truth?” Kumul nodded. “How much do you know?”

Kumul shrugged helplessly. “For me, it started with Dejanus, Berayma’s Life Guard.” Kumul quickly explained how he had been fooled by Dejanus. “I think he thought I was dead; either that, or he had some other part for me to play before the night was over. When I woke, I was too groggy to think. I managed to reach the courtyard when Ager found me. We immediately went to Berayma’s chambers in case Dejanus meant him harm as well, but we were too late.”

“At first we didn’t know what to do,” Ager continued. “Kumul was still dazed. I left him there and went to give the alarm, but found out from a guard that it had already been raised and that the order was out for Kumul, Lynan, and Lynan’s servant to be captured or killed because they had just slain the king.”

“I knew Lynan could not have had anything to do with Berayma’s slaying,” Kumul said. “I also knew it was too late to make for his chambers—others would be well ahead of us—so I gambled that they would make for one of the stables.”

“How did you guess we’d head for the Royal Guards’ stables?” Lynan asked.

“They were closest,” Ager said, and shrugged apologetically. “By that stage we figured we needed some luck.”

Lynan then recounted what Pirem had said about the involvement of Orkid, then about their rush for the stables and Pirem’s death.

“Pirem?” Grapnel asked. “The general’s old servant?”

Lynan nodded.

“I am sorry to hear of his death. He was a good soldier. What happened next?”

“Then Kumul and Ager turned up.”

“Thank God,” Jenrosa said. “They saved our lives.”

“That’s half my job done,” Kumul said grimly. “Now that you are both safe for the moment, I’ll go back and kill Dejanus and Orkid.” He stood up to leave.

“You can’t!” Lynan exclaimed. Kumul had become his rock in the last two hours and he wanted to hang on to him for as long as possible. “They’ll be looking out for you! That guard who got away couldn’t have mistaken for you for someone else. As soon as you turn up, they’ll kill you or take you prisoner.”

“Not if I tell them what really happened,” Kumul said. “Most of the guards are good and loyal lads. The ones at the stables tonight must have been Dejanus’ favorites.”

“Good lads or not,” Jenrosa said evenly, “they’ll still kill you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, girl—”

“Think for a moment, Kumul,” she said sharply. “Who did Orkid and Dejanus blame for the king’s death?”

“She’s right, Kumul,” Grapnel said. “They’ll not ask questions. They’ll kill you to make up for failing to protect Berayma.”

“I can’t let the king’s death go unavenged,” Kumul said bitterly.

“But what better way to revenge him than ensuring their plot fails?” Grapnel said urgently. “Keep Prince Lynan out of their hands!”

“And help me reclaim my rights,” Lynan said.

Olio had been roused by a servant, and told that Areava wanted to see him urgently in Berayma’s study. Olio dismissed the servant and dressed quickly, wondering what all the fuss was about. Probably something to do with Lynan again. He wished his sister would let the matter go; she was becoming obsessed with Lynan and his inheritance of the Key of Union.

The palace was awash with guards and officials, each hurrying on some task. Olio’s curiosity gave way to a feeling of dread. Something was wrong for so many to be out and about at this time of night.

It must be Haxus, he thought. Its ruler has decided to take advantage of Usharna’s passing and invaded the north of the kingdom again.

There were several people milling about the entrance to the king’s rooms. Most stood as silent and white as marble statues. God, it is war, then.

He entered the dark chamber and saw his sister and Orkid deep in discussion in front of a large desk. Areava, noticing him, moved forward to greet him. Her golden hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, and she was wearing linen breeches, leather jerkin, and riding boots; this was the way she dressed when she was at weapons training. Her brown eyes were deep and red rimmed.

Olio caught a glimpse of a body slumped behind the desk. At first nothing registered, and then he recognized the long, blue cloak that fell from the corpse’s broad shoulders. He took a step forward and saw the floor was covered in blood.

“Olio—” Areava began, but he turned away from her, gagging. Areava waited for him to finish, came closer and put an arm around him.

“M-m-my God!” he wheezed. “It can’t b-b-be…”

“I need you, Olio,” she said calmly. “Stand straight.”

He did as she ordered. He saw how pale her own face was. “When? Who?”

Areava turned to Orkid, who came to them. The chancellor’s coat and hands were encrusted with blood. His fingernails were black. Olio could not help retreating a step.

“Who did this?” Olio asked.

Orkid cast down his gaze. “We have reason to believe it was Prince Lynan, your Highness.”

“No!” Olio shouted automatically. “That’s not p-p-possible. Lynan would not have done this.” He faced his sister. “Areava, you know this isn’t p-p-possible—”

“Olio, listen to me. I didn’t want to believe it at first either, but the evidence is overwhelming. Listen to the chancellor.” She nodded for Orkid to continue.

“We believe it was a conspiracy between Lynan and the Constable of the Royal Guard.”

“Kumul, too!”

“And Lynan’s servant, and that crookback captain our mother healed,” Areava said. “Others were undoubtedly involved, but we don’t know who at this stage. What we do know is that Kumul, Lynan, and the crookback were seen escaping from the palace in the company of a young woman.”

“A young woman?”

“We don’t know her name yet, but her clothes identified her as a magicker,” Orkid continued. “They killed four guards, Your Highness. I have a witness to the fact. Lynan’s servant was also killed in the struggle.”

“None of this m-m-makes sense,” Olio said to himself.

Orkid placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is a terrible crime, and made worse by the station of its perpetrators. We are all in shock, but your sister is now Queen of Kendra. She will need your support, your steady hand. Let Dejanus and me take care of apprehending the murderers.”

Areava took Olio’s face in her hands, made him look at her. “Oho, the world has turned upside down for us. First our mother’s death, and now this. But I will not shirk from my new responsibilities, and neither must you. You possess the Key of the Heart, and the kingdom will need healing.”

He glanced again at his brother’s corpse, still trying to comprehend what had happened, and nodded uncertainly. “What… what do you want m-m—me to do?”

“Stay by me, brother,” Areava said. “Just stay by me.” He felt her lean against him then, and understood what she herself must have been through. He put his arms around her.

“I am always at your side, sister,” he said softly.

All eyes were on Lynan. He realized what he had just said, and although he knew it was his fear and anger and frustration speaking, he also realized it expressed his heart’s desire. He was as surprised as his companions.

“I intend to claim what is mine by right,” he said forcefully. He glanced at Kumul. “And when I do, I’ll give you Dejanus to do with as you wish.”

Kumul studied the prince’s young face for a second, then nodded slowly. “And Orkid?”

“He’s mine,” Lynan replied.

Kumul smiled approvingly. Lynan felt his hopes flicker for the first time that night.

“Excuse me,” Jenrosa said mildly, “but how do you intend to reclaim what is rightfully yours when the Royal Guard is probably scouring the city for your hide? And while you two are planning the downfall of the conspirators, what am I to do?”

“The first thing all of you will have to do is escape Kendra,” Grapnel said.

Lynan saw the grief and horror in Jenrosa’s expression. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “It’s my fault this has happened—”

“Oh, enough,” she snapped. “I know it isn’t your fault, but I had a good life as a student and I don’t fancy spending the rest of it on the run with three outlaws, one a prince of the blood possessing a head certain people want to cut off, and two others as inconspicuous as a pair of beached whales.”

Grapnel laughed and slapped the table with a large hand, spilling beer from mugs. “What a jolly team we’ll make!”

“We?” Kumul asked.

“Of course. You’re going to need my help to get clear of Kendra. One of my ships is in port, so I can smuggle you out of the city.”

“You’ve done enough for us already by giving us shelter tonight. I have no wish to place you in any danger, my friend,” Kumul said.

“You’ve already done that by coming here. It’s in my interest to make sure you get clear away.”

“But get clear away to where?” Jenrosa demanded.

“Where can Lynan—any of us—safely go?”

“Safely?” Grapnel said. “Probably nowhere for any length of time. But there must be some place you can stay until the immediate danger is over.”

Lynan sighed, then pulled the Key of Union from out of his tunic. He looked at it sullenly, his earlier bravado gone now. I wish now that I’d never seen this thing, he thought glumly.

“What will Areava’s position be?” Grapnel asked Lynan. Lynan looked up in surprise, overwhelmed by sudden guilt. He had been so involved in his own plight he hadn’t given a thought to Areava’s situation, or Olio’s. Had the assassins been after them as well? If so, surely they’d be dead by now. A groan escaped from his lips.

“I fear… I fear that they must be dead with Berayma. I only escaped through good fortune and the courage of my servant…” His voice faltered. He could still hear Pirem’s cry as he fell beneath the swords of his attackers.

“You may be wrong about your siblings,” Grapnel said. “The conspirators must know the kingdom, not to mention the Twenty Houses, would not tolerate one of them ascending the throne. They need a Rosetheme, one of the royal successors. There are no other claimants that I know of.”

“You can’t mean that Areava or Olio were involved in the assassination of Berayma?” Lynan declared. He glanced up at Kumul, seeking his support, but the constable’s face was unreadable.

Grapnel shrugged. “I’m not a magicker, Prince Lynan. I can’t see into the minds of others. All I know is that the conspiracy, to work effectively, must be wider than simply Orkid and this Dejanus, and the conspirators must place either Areava or Olio on the throne. A kingdom must have a ruler the people will accept, or there will soon be no kingdom.”

“Areava… ?” Lynan said aloud, but more to himself than the others. “But she couldn’t kill Berayma.”

“There are some who love power more than anything else in the world, your Highness,” Kumul said darkly.

For a while no one said anything. Finally, Grapnel sighed and stood up. “You must stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning I will go out and see what is happening. We will be in a better position then to determine what to do next.”

Grapnel got some rags and vinegar to clean Kumul’s wound, then gave his guests rugs and blankets to put on the floor before the fire. The four tried to rest during the night, far too much had happened, too much was at stake, for any of them to find sleep at first. They talked for a while, but the conversation soon died of its own accord.

Lynan, cocooned by the silence, tried to make sense of what had happened to him over the last few days. From being the invisible son of a distant mother and deceased soldier, he had suddenly become a recognized heir and prince of Kendra, the greatest kingdom known to history, then prey to the scheming of royal assassins, and finally—probably— made an outlaw in his own land.

It seemed so unfair that everything that happened to him occurred without his determination or agreement. He was a small, storm-tossed boat trying to keep afloat in political waters for which he had no map or compass. He was adrift, in danger of sinking, and without the means or wherewithal to do anything about it.

A new feeling sparked in him then, and he recognized it as anger. Not the flaring emotion that came with loss of temper, but a revolt against the huge injustices heaped upon him by a world that did not care if he lived or died. It was anger as foundation, the beginnings of something solid upon which he might start building his own life according to his own terms, and he held on to it as if it was a life raft. Even as the thought occurred to him, he was struck by its irony. Before he could do anything for himself, he had find a way out of his present predicament, and for that he was again relying upon the actions and motivations of other people.

How could he ever repay their loyalty? he asked himself, and the answer came almost immediately. By winning back his birthright.

Chapter 12

“It’s not your sympathy I want,” Areava said evenly. The man standing in front of her desk, bedecked in all the finery of his office as magicker prelate, the chief representative of all the theurgia, swallowed hard. Edaytor Fanhow’s first audience with the new queen was not going at all well. Instead of being ushered into the throne room, as he had expected, he had instead been taken to her new private chamber, the very room in which Berayma had been murdered if the amount of dried blood on the floor was any indication. There were two guards standing on either side of the desk and another pair near the doorway. Fanhow had thought that offering condolences on the tragic and barbarous death of Berayma would soften the cold stare the queen had regarded him with since he had first entered the room. He glanced up to Olio for some sign of empathy, but the prince’s face was set as hard as stone.

“What I want from you is help to find my brother, the outlaw Prince Lynan,” Areava continued. “Can you provide that help?”

Edaytor spread his hands. His cloak billowed out behind him, and he now desperately wished he had dressed less formally when Areava’s messenger had come for him in the hour before dawn. “It isn’t that simple, your Majesty. Our arts are dependent on so many conditions, so many nuances—”

“Yes or no, Prelate,” Areava interrupted. “I haven’t the time for explanations. Is there a way that one of your magickers can track down Lynan’s movements since last night, or find him for me now?”

Edaytor was about to spread his hands again but stopped himself just in time. “I cannot answer it so simply. I will have to consult my colleagues, the maleficum of each of the five theurgia. I know of no way this can be done without a good deal of preparation. However, new incantations and pathways are being discovered all the time.”

Areava looked down at her hands, knotted together on the desk. She had never felt this tired before in her life. There was so much to be done in the next few hours, and so few people she felt she could rely upon to help. Orkid and Olio would offer whatever assistance they could, but she knew it would still not be enough. Who among the leading citizens, the chief bureaucrats, the merchants and traders, the generals and admirals, the Twenty Houses, and yes—the theurgia—could she trust?

“Consult with your colleagues, then, Prelate,” she said at last. “But come back to me with an answer before noon today.”

Olio nodded to Edaytor, and he got the hint. “Of course, Your Majesty. Right away. Before noon.” He scurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Areava sighed deeply and rested back in her chair. “Useless. Absolutely useless. How did he make magicker prelate? I’ve met novices with greater wit than he has.”

“That is exactly why he is p-p-prelate,” Olio answered, without any trace of irony. “Why p-p-place someone with real authority over m-m-magic in a p-p-position where they will not be able to p-p-practice their arts? B-b-by all accounts Fanhow was a m-m-mediocre stargazer with a p-p-penchant for administration. No one ran against him for office, and he was voted in unanimously.”

“Stargazer? He was a member of the Theurgia of Stars?” Areava asked. “So was this woman Lynan escaped with…” She scrabbled among the papers on her desk for Dejanus’ note which held the woman’s name.

“When Fanhow made p-p-prelate, Jenrosa Alucar was five years old. I doubt he holds any loyalty to her, or even to his old theurgia.”

Areava nodded tiredly. “You are right, of course.”

“You are exhausted,” Olio observed. “You m-m-must rest at some point.”

“Yes, but not this point. We must secure the throne.” She glanced up at her brother. “And that means securing Lynan. While he is alive, the conspiracy still lives.”

Olio’s mouth tightened. He could find no reply to Orkid’s accusations, but what he had come to accept in the middle of the night, however begrudgingly, seemed increasingly absurd to him in the light of a new day.

Before he could answer, the doors to the study opened to let in the chancellor. Areava looked up sharply. “What news?”

“None yet, your Majesty. Dejanus is supervising the Royal Guards as they scour the city, but there are so many places to hide. Who knows how long your brother and his fellow traitors have been planning this operation? They could have a dozen bolt-holes prepared.” He set a thin, leather-bound book in front of her on the desk. “The list you asked for.”

“What list?” Olio asked curiously.

“Of those who may have some reason to be involved in a plot to overthrow Berayma,” Areava answered for the chancellor, and opened the book.

Olio looked over her shoulder and scanned the first page.

He stood back, shocked. “Orkid, you can’t be serious! These are p-p-people who have been loyal to the throne and the kingdom all their lives!”

“Loyal to your mother, your Highness, which does not add up to the same thing,” Orkid answered. “At any rate, the list does not contain those who are traitors, only those who are known to hold some grudge against the late king, your sister, or yourself.”

For a moment, Olio was speechless. There was no way Orkid could have produced this list in the last few hours. The chancellor was staring at him fixedly with his dark eyes, and he had to avert his gaze.

“Xella Povis?” Areava asked, pointing to a name on the second page. “The head of the merchant guild? I know for a fact that she was a good friend of Berayma’s. Why is her name here?”

“A good friend of your brother’s, yes, but I know she has opposed you several times on issues concerning your late mother’s policy of subsidizing ship building.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Olio said fiercely, still not daring to meet Orkid’s gaze. “If you wrote down the name of every person in Kendra who ever had a bad thought about our mother or Berayma or Areava or me, the list would be ten leagues long!”

“It may well prove to be of no consequence,” Orkid agreed patiently. “But if I err on the side of caution, I will not be ashamed of it. My duty is to your sister, and not to the niceties of polite society. I have included the names of all those of whom I have knowledge concerning some possible matter of dispute between them and a member of the House of Rosetheme.”

Areava sighed. “Very well, Orkid. Thank you for your efforts. I will read the document and inform you of any action I consider necessary.” She checked the shadow cast by the hour stick near the study window.

“I have an appointment with Primate Northam in a short while.” Orkid’s eyebrows lifted in inquiry. “To make arrangements for Berayma’s funeral,” she added testily.

Orkid cast his gaze down to the floor. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will inform you immediately of any developments regarding the search for Prince Lynan.”

Areava stood up. “Do that.” She turned to her brother. “Olio, you had better come with me. After all, this meeting with the primate is a family affair.”

As Orkid turned to leave, Areava called him back. “By the way, I want the Key of the Scepter. It was still around Berayma’s neck when he… when his body… was taken away.”

“Then it must still be with him. I will give orders for it to be collected at once and brought to you.”

As Orkid left, Areava whispered to Olio, “For without that Key, what authority have any of us?”

Lynan did not know how long it took him to fall asleep. He knew he had stayed awake longer than the others because he remembered hearing their snoring and snuffling and thinking how loud it was. He had never slept in a room with other people before, and found it most distracting. He also remembered the fire going out, leaving the room in unrelieved gloom. But one moment he seemed to be staring into the darkness, and the next he was blinking as bright sunlight poured into the room, trying to blind him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and moaned as the memory of the previous day’s events flooded into his mind.

Jenrosa appeared, squatted by his side, and shoved a mug of hot cider into his hands. “Drink this, and when you’re ready, pull on your boots; there’s porridge waiting for you in the kitchen, but it won’t stay warm forever.”

Lynan thirstily quaffed the cider and followed Jenrosa into the kitchen. There was a large pot containing something gray and glutinous bubbling away on a stove. He scooped some into the bowl Jenrosa handed him and swallowed a mouthful. It tasted better than it looked.

“Good,” he mumbled to Jenrosa as he wolfed down more.

“Kumul made it.”

“Where is he? And where is Ager, and our host?”

Even as he asked the question, Kumul and Ager entered through the back door carrying armfuls of firewood. “Grapnel has gone to hear what is being said on the streets,” the constable said. “He should be back soon.”

Lynan returned to the main room with Kumul and helped him start a new fire in the hearth. Then, together, they looked out the window and onto the narrow street. Across the way was a baker’s shop with a stall outside; business was already brisk—a queue extended some way down the street.

“I wonder what has happened to Areava and Olio,” Lynan wondered aloud, his voice unhappy.

“There’s nothing we could have done for them,” Kumul said matter-of-factly. “Anyway, we’ll know soon enough. Here comes Grapnel.”

The front door opened and Grapnel entered. He quickly closed the door behind him and made sure it was locked, then waved Lynan and Kumul away from the window. Jenrosa and Ager heard Grapnel come in and joined them. Grapnel looked into their faces, and his own grim expression made their hearts sink.

“The news isn’t good. Word’s out that Prince Lynan murdered Berayma, then was forced to escape from the palace before he could kill Areava and Olio. Areava is now queen, and has ordered that you be found and brought to her for justice.”

“My God! Areava is part of the plot!”

Grapnel shrugged. “Possibly, but remember, your Highness, that Orkid and Dejanus can argue their case with her, arrange the evidence any way they like. She may be innocent of any wrongdoing, yet still believe you guilty of the crime.”

“Then I have to see her,” Lynan said emphatically. “I will convince her of the truth.” He gathered his coat from the floor and made for the door. “The sooner I go to the—”

Grapnel held him by the arm. “You wouldn’t make it to see the queen,” he said. “Dejanus would make sure you were brought to her with your head already removed from your shoulders. Even Kumul couldn’t get you past the Royal Guards at the moment. They are devastated that they failed to protect Berayma, and are determined to prove themselves not only by killing you and Kumul, but by ensuring no one gets to see the queen without her explicit permission.”

Grapnel turned to Ager and Jenrosa. “They know you two escaped with the prince. Warrants are out for all four of you. The Royal Guards have already started searching house to house. We don’t have much time.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Kumul asked.

Grapnel nodded. “Look down the street,” he said, pointing to the window. Kumul did so and saw a long wagon covered in an oilskin parked outside an open warehouse. One of the sorriest looking nags in Kendra was hitched to the wagon.

“Yours, I assume,” Kumul said.

“Aye, and full of bolts of cloth. I have a ship leaving for Chandra this morning, and this is the last part of its consignment. I’ll get you down to the docks hidden under the oilskin.”

Lynan looked up at Grapnel. “Then I am leaving the city?”

“You have no choice,” Grapnel answered evenly. “You need to find a place where you will be safe for a short while, and where you will have enough time to plan your next move.”

“Surely someone will be watching the docks,” Kumul said.

Grapnel laughed. “Of course. An eel called Shehear, a snitch who does occasional jobs for the chancellor’s intelligence network, is already down there waiting for something to happen. First sight of you lot and he’ll be hurrying as fast as his legs can carry him to find the nearest detachment of Royal Guards.”

“So what’s the point?” Jenrosa demanded.

“As soon as you’ve boarded my ship, Shehear will be off. That’s when we’ll transfer you to the ship’s shore boat. It has a sail, and is easy to row if the wind dies on you. You can follow the coast until you are well past the city. Meanwhile, the ship itself will head northeast, hopefully drawing all the attention.”

“But I know nothing about boats!” Lynan declared.

“I know how to sail one,” Ager said. “I’ve been second officer on too many merchanters to ever forget.”

“And I can navigate,” Jenrosa added confidently.

“Fine, but where will we go?”

Grapnel shrugged. “I have no answer to that, your Highness, but you haven’t time to ponder it here in Kendra.”

The Key of the Scepter shone dully in the sun of a new day. Orkid held it up by its chain, admiring its solid and functional beauty.

“The key to all power,” he murmured softly. His free hand clasped it tightly. “The power to dissolve a kingdom, and to create it anew.”

He closed his eyes, reminding himself to remain patient. So many decades of planning were now reaching their culmination, it was difficult for him to resist the temptation to force events to a faster pace.

But history will not be rushed. My people have waited this long, they can wait a few years more.

He unclasped his hand, noticing then the dried blood on his palm from the Key. He grunted, surprised he had not noticed it before. After all, he had himself removed it from Berayma’s gory neck after the body had been removed. He wiped his hand on a cloth, and was about to clean the Key itself but changed his mind.

Areava wants it, and so she will have it, stain and all. This will be a sign for her, if she is clever enough to read it.

He put the Key back into the pocket behind his waistband. When he had first handled it, he had half expected to feel its power, its influence, but there had been nothing. He patted the waistband over the Key and wondered again about its significance. During the Slaver War he had witnessed Usharna using the combined keys to wield great magic—calling storms to protect Kendra’s harbor, bringing confusion to the enemy’s armies—but always at such great cost to herself that it had taken years, maybe decades, from her life. He had always assumed that the power stemmed from the chief Key, the one he now possessed, but in his hand it was nothing more than a pretty golden trinket. Alone, was it nothing more than a symbol, then? He wished he had been able to convince Usharna to forget tradition and leave all the Keys with Berayma instead of scattering them among her children. It would have made so many things easier.

He put it out of his mind. There was still much to be done, and little Lynan, poor orphan and dupe, was still free. Everything about the plan had worked until the prince had escaped in the company of Kumul. Orkid was much more afraid of Kumul than Lynan. The constable was respected by too many people in the kingdom, and his reputation as a soldier was second only to that of Elynd Chisal.

At least the Royal Guards would give him short shrift in their present mood. They would do anything to revenge Berayma, and to prove their loyalty to Areava.

He smiled grimly to himself. It struck him as ironic how Areava had become, in one sense, a new Key of Power. Orkid allowed himself a small smile. She was one key he would never surrender.

Usharna had given Primate Giros Northam possession of the palace’s west wing. Although not an enthusiastic adherent of any faith, Usharna appreciated the benign effect the priests had on much of the population of Kendra. The god they worshiped was a distant entity, long ago evolved from some primitive spirit of the sky, unlike many of those deities worshiped in some of the kingdom’s outlying and less civilized provinces. The actual name of this god was known only to the primate and his chosen successor, and the religion it inspired had as its main objective the easing of poverty and the bringing of comfort, which had conveniently made it a valuable ally in Usharna’s long struggle to destroy slavery in her realms, the same struggle that had cost the lives of her last two husbands. Besides, Usharna could not be sure the priests were wrong about the existence of their god, and if it indeed existed, it would do no harm to cooperate with its acolytes.

Northam had turned the square in the west wing into a cool garden, an oasis of peace apart from the normal bustle of the palace. The largest of the rooms had been turned into the royal chapel, and the others had been set aside for the library, the refectory, and priests’ cells.

Areava and Olio met Primate Northam in his private office, but as soon as the main business of arranging Berayma’s funeral was over, the three walked into the garden and sat under a large summer tree, its drooping branches protecting them from the climbing sun.

“It is a matter of whom to trust,” Areava told Northam. “I was not taken into my mother’s confidence as much as Berayma. I don’t know who her closest confidants were, nor whom she turned to besides Orkid for advice. There is so much to be done, and I’m not sure on whom to rely.”

“You trust no one?” Northam asked, a little surprised.

Areava laughed lightly. “Olio and Orkid, I trust. And you, of course.”

Northam nodded. “Perhaps I can offer some help, even though I was never a member of the court circle, as such.” He glanced up at Olio. “You are right to place your faith in your brother. He is, I think, an upright man with a good heart.”

Olio smiled and bowed mockingly to the primate. “You are generous.”

“As for any others…” Northam paused to collect his thoughts. “I have had very little to do with the chancellor, but I know he was trusted implicitly by your mother. Xella Povis, from the city, I always found honorable—”

He stopped when he saw the look exchanged between Areava and Olio. “There is something wrong?”

Areava quickly shook her head. “No. I, too, have always felt the merchant could be trusted.”

“And I,” Olio agreed firmly, casting a glance at his sister that Northam could not interpret.

The primate mentally shrugged and went on. “I know one or two magickers from the theurgia that are worthy officials. Prelate Fanhow is honest enough but tends to the bureaucratic.”

“And among the Twenty Houses?” Areava asked, swallowing her pride.

“Good and bad, as you’d expect. Many of the older members of the Houses became… accustomed… to your mother; I think you can expect their good will and devotion to carry on to her successors, for a while, at least. As for the younger members, much will depend on how you include them in your administration. I would expect some to be ambitious, which may be to your advantage, but keep a close eye on them.”

Areava seemed to ready herself to ask another question, but said nothing.

“What ails you, your Majesty?” Northam asked gently.

“I need to know that I am secure,” she said. “There is much to be done, but my actions will be circumscribed if I’m worrying about what is happening behind my back.”

“The burden of every ruler, surely,” Northam said.

“My mother had no internal enemies.”

Northam laughed. “Not for the last years of her reign. But the first ten were fraught with danger for her. Intrigues within the Twenty Houses; enemies without plotting with enemies within; and the Slavers, of course. Usharna persevered, and was at times quite ruthless, until everyone grew to recognize her undeniable ability as queen. From this, and not from her inheritance of the throne, came her right to rule.”

Areava nodded. With her whole heart and mind she wished nothing more than to serve the kingdom, but was depressed by the thought that she would have to prove her ability over a period of years or even decades.

Northam gently tapped her hand. “My chief advice is this. Reconvene the executive council. Your mother did something similar in her earliest years. Place in the council all those who wield some influence or power: representatives of the Twenty Houses, the merchants and army, the theurgia, your chief officials. Let them know they are there to provide advice, not share your rule. Make sure some of those on the council are those you believe may be against you, for then you can keep a closer eye on them. After a few years, when you are surer about your path and when you have bound to you those who are truly loyal to the kingdom, you consult the council on fewer and fewer occasions until membership is nothing more than honorary, an award you distribute to those closest to you.”

“I like this advice,” Areava said after a moment. “You, of course, must be one of its members.”

Northam was taken aback. “It is not the place of the clergy to become so intimately concerned with politics.”

“Nevertheless, you will make an exception in this case. I need my friends by my side.”

Northam saw the determination in Areava’s eyes. He spread his hands. “If that is your command, of course.”

“It is my wish,” Areava said gently.

Northam laughed at her choice of words, making his wattled throat jiggle. “In that case, how could I possibly refuse?”

The ride in Grapnel’s wagon was stuffy, cramped, and bumpy. By the time Lynan and his companions got down to the docks, they were bruised and angry. They slipped onto the merchant ship as covertly as possible, protected from most prying eyes by bales of cotton and crates of squawking chickens. Seaspray was a small ship, perhaps fifty paces long and, at its widest, a dozen abeam. A single mast sprouted from the middle of the deck, its yard and sail strapped to its length to make it easier to work cargo on the ship. At the stern was a modest poop deck, and below and in front of it the wheel housing. There were two hatches: a large one forward of the mast and a smaller, man-sized one between the mast and the wheel housing.

A small, wiry sailor with forearms the size of hams shepherded the four refugees down the aft hatch to the main deck, where crew were busy shifting crates brought down through the cargo hatch.

“Wait here until Grapnel or the captain come to get you,” the sailor said, grinning slyly, obviously enjoying being part of a ruse to fool the Royal Guards. He returned to the upper deck, leaving them to their own devices.

For several minutes they watched the sailors at work, admiring their strength and their skill with rope and tackle. Huge crates were moved with seemingly effortless ease, but the groaning of the deck planks attested to their great weight. Kumul shifted from foot to foot, uneasy to be idle when there was work to be done, and at one point actually moved forward to lend a hand but was quickly waved back by one of the sailors. “We know what we’re doing,” the sailor said curtly. Kumul returned to his position and resumed his dance.

A short while later they heard the sail drop and then crack as it caught the wind. The boat rolled for a moment, its ungainly width not made for tight maneuvering, until the prow steered clear of the dock and the city was astern. The rolling gave way to a steady pitch that was less nauseating.

Grapnel’s head peered at them from the hatch, and he called them up to the deck. Lynan glanced aft and saw Kendra receding behind them. He wondered if he would ever be back.

Grapnel was standing beside a big woman with no hair and golden skin. “This is Captain Turalier,” Grapnel told the companions, and they exchanged brief greetings.

“Shehear’s taken the bait,” Grapnel continued, “and is well on his way to the palace by now. We’ll have passed the heads soon, and you can be off on your own journey. Hopefully, the attention of any pursuer will stay on Seaspray.”

“You will be captured by the navy,” Kumul said. “Their ships are faster than yours.”

“But their crews are not as experienced or brave. We will head out into the Sea Between and far from the sight of any land. They will not pursue for long.”

“And then what will you do?” Kumul asked him.

“I have friends in Chandra. I will hide away there for a while.” He shrugged. “Who knows what the future will bring for us all? Your path is more hazardous than mine, I think.”

“When do we part?” Jenrosa asked.

“As soon as we’re through the heads,” Captain Turalier said, her voice surprisingly light for such a large woman. She checked the sail and the wind vane. “Probably before the next quarter of an hour. Seaspray’s boat is ready to be put in the water, and is well provisioned. We’ll let it down and put you on board. Then you’re on your own.”

“I wonder how much of a head start we’ll have,” Ager said, also observing the wind.

“The navy always has some of its fastest cutters on standby,” Kumul told him. “Mainly for courier work. If Shehear ran all the way to the palace, the alert has probably already been sounded. We should expect pursuit within the hour.”

Turalier nodded. “Sounds about right. I’ll lower the boat now and you can load her with whatever else you need.”

She left to give the order and Grapnel was called away by the ship’s quartermaster. The others stood together awkwardly. The four of them had been thrown together as a group through circumstances beyond their control. The realization was finally hitting them that for the foreseeable future they would be living in each others’ pockets; more to the point, the life of each of them now depended on the fortitude and loyalty of the other three.

“We still have to settle on a destination,” Kumul said after a while, looking out to sea as if the answer was to be found there.

Ager nodded to Lynan, his one eye regarding the prince keenly. “Your Highness?”

Lynan glanced up, surprised. Why was Ager asking him? He and Kumul were older, more experienced…

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he managed to say. He saw Jenrosa grimace, and suddenly felt he had let her down. Then he saw that Kumul also looked disappointed, as if Lynan had made a slip in basic weapons training.

Ager sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. He was staring at the middle of Lynan’s chest. Lynan looked down, noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” Ager told himself.

“What are you on about?” Kumul asked.

Ager reached out and pulled on the chain around Lynan’s neck, pulling the Key of Unity out from underneath the prince’s shirt. Ager stared at it shining in the sun for a moment before putting it back.

“Don’t you see, you fool of a giant?” Ager demanded, grasping the constable’s forearm. “That’s it! The answer has been there the whole time.”

“I wish you’d stop talking in riddles—” Kumul began, but Jenrosa cut him off.

“Of course! The Key of Union! The provinces!”

“What are you two talking about?” Lynan asked.

“Lynan, you’re the throne’s representative in the provinces,” Jenrosa said. “The Key of Union was given to you by Usharna herself.”

“I don’t think we can count on Areava and Orkid allowing his Highness the opportunity to exercise his office,” Kumul said sarcastically. “I can’t imagine anyone taking his authority seriously, especially if they’re under the thumb of the palace.”

“Not everyone is under that thumb,” Ager said evenly. “And there are parts of this kingdom where Usharna’s authority never fully reached, but where the holder of the Key of Union will be obeyed implicitly if there in person.”

“Not city or town in the kingdom fits that description,” Kumul responded. “Maybe way out in the moors of Chandra, or the rain forests of Lurisia, or the grasslands of the Chetts…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.

“Exactly,” Ager said emphatically.

Understanding dawned in Lynan then. “You mean I should escape to one of the uncivilized lands of the kingdom, where Areava won’t be able to find me.”

“And where her agents and armies will tread only softly, if at all,” Kumul added.

“And where you can form a rebellion,” Jenrosa said.

The other three looked at her in surprise. For a moment, no one said anything, and then Kumul boomed angrily: “A rebellion against the throne?”

“Be quiet, Kumul!” hissed Ager. “Do you want the whole world to be party to our private conversations?”

“But—!”

“I meant a rebellion against the conspirators!” Jenrosa said fiercely. “A rebellion to see justice done, a rebellion to see Lynan reinstated as a loyal and trustworthy prince of the blood, to see Kumul reinstated as Constable of the Royal Guard and Ager as one of its officers, and to see me reinstated as a member of the Theurgia of the Star; a rebellion to let us all return home and get on with our proper lives.”

Kumul and Jenrosa matched stares. Although he towered over her, she stood up close to him, her fists on her hips, her hazel eyes glaring into his blue ones.

Lynan cleared his throat. “I thought the idea was to lie low until things got a little quieter.”

“Quieter?” Ager asked. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“You know. Not so dangerous.”

“Things won’t be so dangerous once Orkid and Dejanus have cut your throat,” Kumul reflected, finally breaking eye contact with Jenrosa. “But I don’t suppose that’s what you mean by ‘quieter,’ either.”

Lynan feel set upon. “What is going on here?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“Grow up, Lynan,” Jenrosa said impatiently. “Your life— all our lives—are in danger. We can’t sit back and let events unfold as they will. If you ever want to return to Kendra, if you want to punish Berayma’s murderers, you’re going to have to face up to a few unpleasant truths.”

Lynan looked sullenly at her.

“And it’s not just what you have to do,” Jenrosa continued. “For better or worse, you’re not alone in this.”

Lynan closed his eyes. He wanted to shut out Jenrosa’s words, but each one struck home. He nodded slowly. “Well, for better, I think. For me.”

Ager grunted. “So where is it to be? Chandra, Lurisia, or the Oceans of Grass?”

“I vote for Chandra,” Jenrosa said. “I hear they appreciate magickers there, and King Tomar was a good friend of Lynan’s father.”

Kumul shook his head. “Chandra is too close to Kendra. And the province’s wilder parts, the moors, will offer little support. They’re thinly populated. A good place to hide, perhaps, but not for raising an army.”

“The same can be said for the rain forests of Lurisia,” Ager said. “With the added disadvantage that it has far too many merchants who know me.”

“That leaves the Oceans of Grass,” Jenrosa muttered dispiritedly.

“I thought you wanted to see the Oceans of Grass,” Lynan observed. “What was it you said? ‘Huge herds of strange animals, with horns and manes. Wild horses, thousands of them, not afraid of anything under the sky. Thunderstorms as big as continents…’”

“I was talking about your adventures,” she said sourly. “I’m quite happy surrounded by civilization, thank you very much.”

“The Oceans of Grass will be perfect for Lynan’s purposes,” Ager said. “Far from the capital, not locked in by mountain or sea, and traversed by a large number of tribes loyal to the throne in their own rough and ready way but not particularly attached to, or respectful of, the kingdom’s officials.”

“But loyal to whom?” Jenrosa mused.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Ager replied, pointing to the Key of Union. “Apparently they almost worship the two most responsible for destroying the Slavers, the scum who preyed so heavily on them.”

“Of course,” Kumul said under his breath. “Usharna and the general, who was himself half Chett.”

“And Lynan is the son of both,” Ager said smugly, folding his arms.

Captain Turalier rejoined them. “The boat is ready. You should board now. We’ll be through the heads in a few minutes.”

The four companions shook hands with the captain and Grapnel, he and Kumul embracing, then moved to the stern. Their swords were bundled together and placed in the boat, then Ager went down first and steadied the vessel as Kumul clambered on board. Kumul had obviously never been in a small boat before, and he found it difficult to keep his balance. The boat started rolling precariously.

“Sit down, you horse!” Ager barked. Embarrassed, Kumul plumped down on the mid thwart. Jenrosa went down next. Lynan watched her with envy as she lightly stepped into the boat, then stepped over Kumul to take the rear thwart and the rudder.

“All right, your Highness, your turn,” Ager said. “Come down this side of Kumul and sit beside him.”

Lynan swung over, but before descending, he turned to Grapnel. “Thank you for all you have done. I will never forget it.”

Grapnel nodded. “Best get going, your Highness, or you won’t live long enough to remember.”

As soon as Lynan placed a foot in the boat, it started to move away from him.

“Shift your balance this way,” Ager urged him.

Lynan edged toward him, but of its own volition one hand held on to a rope hanging from Seaspray’s gunwales.

“Your Highness, you’ll have to let go sometime,” Ager said, reaching out to grab him by a sleeve.

Lynan let go of the rope, overcompensated, and started waving his arms around in wide circles to maintain his balance. Ager lost his grip on the sleeve, and Lynan toppled backward into the sea with a huge splash. As he bobbed to the surface like a cork, he saw Seaspray pulling away from him, Captain Turalier and several of the sailors looking back with grins as wide as mainsails on their faces.

Kumul and Ager each grabbed a handful of the sorry prince and dragged him on board like a hooked tunny. He lay on the bottom of the boat, coughing and hacking, thoroughly wet and miserable.

“Have a nice swim, your Highness?” Ager inquired politely.

Lynan eased himself up to the mid thwart and wiped dripping hair away from his face. “Delightful, thank you.”

Ager said nothing more, but with practiced ease erected a supple mast and unfurled a single, lateen sail. A moment later the wind caught the canvas and sent the companions away from Kendra and away from home.

Chapter 13

Although Lynan had occasionally dreamed of visiting faraway lands one day, he had never actually been at sea. At first, wet and miserable, he sat shivering and feeling sorry for himself, his head down, but as the sun and the breeze dried his clothes and then warmed his skin, his temper improved.

He found himself taken over by the novelty of sailing over deep blue water, of having his hair whipped around his face like a loose sail, of the smell of brine untainted by the scent of human waste. He marveled at the seagulls wheeling overhead, at the cormorants that dived into the water so recklessly, and at the pattern of the waves running across the top of the sea.

After a while, though, doubts assailed him. He noticed how small the boat was, and wondered what fish might be lurking just under the hull for a chance at nibbling a dangling hand or foot. He could not help remembering how poor a swimmer he was—he had never taken to water. He drew away from the gunwales, trying to sit as closely as possible to the center of the thwart, and began to feel miserable again.

When at last they left behind any remaining signs of civilization, Ager told them they still had an important decision to make. “How are we to get to the Oceans of Grass?”

“The most direct way,” Kumul said. “Surely the sooner we get there, the better.”

“Perhaps,” Ager mused. “But if Areava has guessed where we’re heading, she’ll try and cut us off.”

“We have at least some head start,” Jenrosa pointed out.

“For how long?” Lynan asked. “Areava has probably already sent messages to the provinces warning them to keep an eye out for us. If she sends those messages by postriders, they will not be far behind us. If she has sent them by carrier bird, which is more likely, the messages will already be arriving at Chandra and Lurisia.”

“As much as possible we will have to travel under cover,” Kumul said. “By night, by little used roads, by stealth. The four of us, no matter how determined, cannot hope to force our way through the whole kingdom.”

“Then you think we should not take the most direct route,” Jenrosa said dryly.

“No route will be entirely safe,” Ager said. “We must weigh what we think the risks will be and choose the least dangerous.”

“That may be the most direct route,” Kumul said. “The least expected action is often the wisest, and time is important. If we take months to get to the Oceans of Grass, it will give our enemies the breathing space they need to secure their position, or to work on enough of the tribes of the Northern Chetts to stop any rebellion from ever getting off the ground.”

“I can’t dispute what you say, Constable,” Ager said quietly. “In the end, of course, the decision isn’t really ours to make.”

“What do you mean?” Lynan asked, confused. “Why go through all this discussion otherwise?”

“What I mean, your Highness, is that Kumul, Jenrosa, and I cannot make the final decision. You must.”

“Why me? We’re all in this together—”

“Start thinking like a true prince, lad,” Kumul said. “In the end, you have to make all the decisions… all the vital ones, anyway. This is your cause. Eventually, you will have to stand alone, especially if you’re to lead a…” He glanced quickly at Jenrosa. “… rebellion. We can advise, even cajole, but we can’t make policy, we can’t decide what path the rebellion must take, we can’t denounce your enemies for you. All of these things must be done by the leader— by you.”

Lynan was silent. He did not want this responsibility. Not yet, anyway. Why were they forcing the decision on him now, when he knew no more than they about the situation?

For a while they sailed on, the water gently lapping against the side of the boat, the sun warming their faces.

“Lynan?” Jenrosa urged quietly.

“I’m thinking,” he replied curtly, angry at his companions and conscious of them staring at him. At last he said, “I don’t want to make this decision.”

Ager sighed. “It’s not a decision any of us want to make. Still, it has to be made.”

Lynan muttered something.

“What was that?” Jenrosa politely enquired.

“I said we might as well go by the shortest possible route.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Because you want me to make the decision, and that’s the decision I’ve made, that’s why.”

“That’s hardly an answer,” Ager reproved. “As your followers—in fact, at this point, as your only followers—we deserve more respect and courtesy. Otherwise, your rebellion might be very short-lived.”

“I don’t understand any of this. You insisted I make the decision. I didn’t want to—”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Jenrosa snapped. “You’re starting to sound like a spoiled brat. We’re not bees, Lynan, we’re people. If we don’t know on what grounds you’ve made the decision, how can we advise you and how can we respect your decision?”

“You mean every time I make a decision I have to explain it to everyone?”

“Not every time,” Ager assured him good humoredly. “Just most of the time. Once you’ve shown you can make good and wise decisions on your own, no one will question you.”

Lynan breathed out resignedly. “I think we should take the shortest possible route because, as Kumul pointed out, time is of the essence, and because we don’t know yet whether or not Areava has blocked the way. If she hasn’t, we’ll get through to achieve our goals all the quicker. If she has, it won’t be too late to choose another, longer, route.”

“Well, that’s pretty comprehensive,” Jenrosa acknowledged.

“Yes, very sound,” Ager agreed expansively.

“Excellent choice, your Highness,” Kumul said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Thank you so much,” Lynan said. “And I assume the most direct way is by boat?”

“Aye,” Ager agreed. “We follow the coastline until we come to the mouth of the Gelt River, and then sail up the Gelt until we are within one or two days’ march of its source in the Ufero Mountains, on the other side of which we will find the Oceans of Grass.”

“How long do we stay with the boat?”

“About ten days, depending on the wind.”

Wonderful, Lynan thought. Another ten days over water. And it was my decision.

As they sailed on, the coastline gradually changed in appearance. Close to Kendra, soft yellow beaches gave way to gently rolling farmland, but as they approached the Ebrius Ridge—the basalt uplifts that separated the Horn of Lear from Chandra to the north—the topography became increasingly steep until eventually high cliffs marked the boundary between sea and land. Lynan felt small and insignificant under the towering black wall, and vulnerable and frail against the white-capped waves that crashed into the cliffs, sending great sheets of spray into the air. Circling above them like thin strips of shadow was a cloud of kestrels, springing from their aeries in the face of the rock wall and searching for fish and other birds.

“They make me uneasy,” Kumul muttered, staring at their flying escort with suspicion. “The kestrel is no longer a bird of good omen.”

“I think they’re beautiful,” Jenrosa declared in their defense. “They mean us no harm.” Her gaze lifted to a group of kestrels that broke away from their fellows and flew further out to sea.

“Let us talk about something else,” Ager said. “Whether or not the birds bring us bad luck, there is nothing we can do about it.”

“Let’s talk about ships, then,” Jenrosa said, still watching the kestrels.

“What type of ships?” Lynan asked.

“Whatever type is coming our way,” she said calmly. The others looked up at her sharply, and then followed her gaze.

“I can’t see anything,” Ager said.

“Nor I,” Kumul added.

“You won’t for a while,” Jenrosa said. “But I’ve been talking to sailors and navigators now for three years, and I know that kestrels have learned to follow our ships because of the refuse we throw overboard.” She pointed to the birds that had left the cliffs. “And they are hovering above a ship.”

“Damn,” Ager swore under his breath. “She’s right. I’m an idiot for forgetting. Lynan, help Jenrosa with the tiller. Kumul, help me pull down the sail. We must row.”

“Row!” Kumul declared. “The waves will send us against those cliffs!”

“Lynan and Jenrosa will steer us very carefully, won’t you? But with the sail up, we’re too easy to spot.”

Ager and Kumul quickly furled the sail and stowed the mast. They took the oars and sculled strongly and evenly toward the looming cliffs, Kumul pacing his stroke to match Ager’s.

“When we’re two hundred paces out, Jenrosa, steer us parallel to the shore,” Ager said. “We daren’t go any closer than that.”

Jenrosa nodded. Lynan, constantly looking over his shoulder, was the first to see the approaching sail. “There she is!” he cried.

The other three peered toward the horizon. They caught a glimpse of a red sail, and soon after a long, sleek hull. The sail was emblazoned with a golden spear crossed by two swords. A warship.

“Do you think it’s searching for us?” Lynan asked.

Ager shook his head. “Possibly, or it’s carrying messages from Areava to King Marin of Aman. Either way, if it sees us, we could be in trouble.”

They were very close to the cliffs now, and the waves were getting harder to resist, even with both Lynan and Jenrosa pushing against the tiller. They could see huge, jagged boulders at the base of the cliffs, and a curtain of spray hung permanently in the air, drifting over the sea and drenching them. The rudder seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting and flexing beneath the hull.

“We have to move away!” Jenrosa shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of crashing waves. Lynan glanced fearfully at the rocks, now less than two hundred paces from them.

“Keep your course!” Ager ordered. “The warship is closing. It must have seen us!”

“Its navigator was watching the kestrels, too,” Jenrosa said, and ignored Kumul’s sour expression.

The constable grunted. “If they’ve seen us, then at least we can use the sail again.” He let go of his oar and started to stand.

“No!” Ager roared, but it was too late. As soon as Kumul moved, the boat’s prow lurched violently toward the rocks. He sat down and reached for the oar, but it slipped out of his grasp as the blade bit into the sea. The boat spun ninety degrees, sending the oar into Kumul’s side with terrific force and unseating him with a loud thwack.

Ager grabbed the oar and tried desperately to work it as well as his own, but his reach was not wide enough. Lynan and Jenrosa pushed on the tiller in a frantic attempt to keep the prow pointed away from the cliffs, but a wave picked them up and lifted the stern out of the water, rendering the rudder useless.

Ager pulled in the oars and moved astern to take the tiller, pushing the two young people forward and down to the bottom of the boat. The wave seemed to tire of them and dropped them behind its cap. Ager was ready, and he heaved on the tiller with all his strength. Kumul had recovered his breath by this time, and he lurched back to help. Together, the two men were able to move the prow to port, and the boat slid sideways for a second before compromising and moving forward at an angle, driven by current and momentum, still headed toward destruction on the rocks.

“Look out!” gasped Kumul, pointing to where the waves were breaking early directly in their path. But there was nothing either of the men could do. Almost as soon as Kumul cried out his warning, the boat was picked up by another wave. There was a tormented scraping sound as the hull was hauled over a barely submerged rock and the boat was shot forward again. It hit the sea with a crash and Lynan felt himself picked up and hurled through the air. When he hit the water, the shock of the cold made him open his mouth in a gagging scream, and the whole ocean seemed to rush in. He kicked frantically and broached the surface, only to slip under again right away. His clothes felt as if they were loaded down with lead weights, and he tore at them frantically.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed hold of his hair and jerked him to the surface. He heard Kumul mutter something about twice having to save him by his hair in two days, and then he was being dragged through the water like a river barge. Seawater still flowed into his mouth and up his nose with distressing ease, but he had the good sense not to struggle against Kumul’s grip as he was pulled through the sea. He tried not to panic as the shadows of the cliffs fell across his face and made him almost rigid with fear. The pair suddenly rose in the air as a wave lifted them high. Lynan had a sensation of moving along very quickly and was aware of Kumul using his one free arm desperately in an attempt to at least steer some passage for them. They were surrounded by swirling white water. Lynan’s thigh slammed hard against a rock. He heard Kumul gasp in pain. More white water, the sea surging over their heads.

I’m going to die, Lynan thought, and was surprised by the sense of calm that overtook him, like the moment just before sleep.

And then weight returned. It was as if having become part of the sea he was now being forcefully separated from it. His calves and ankles slapped against slippery rock. Kumul was lifting him out of the water, pulling him back with his last reserves of strength.

Even though Lynan had expended little effort in his own rescue, he was exhausted. When Kumul finally released him, he could barely lift his head. He saw that he was lying on a long, flat basalt platform wet with spray, protected from the sea by a boulder balanced on the edge of the platform like a bird of prey on a perch. Ten paces away was Ager, bending over Jenrosa, trying to kiss her, and for the moment there seemed nothing odd about his behavior. Lynan tried to thank Kumul for saving his life a second time in as many days, but only managed a weak croak.

“Save your breath, your Highness,” Kumul said gently. “You’ll need it if we’re to get out of this mess. We’ve lost our boat and with it our supplies and our swords—leaving us with nothing but knives to protect ourselves. We’re at the bottom of a cliff. There is a warship looking for us on the other side of that boulder.” He shook his head violently, as if to clear it. He faced the crookback. “Ager, how’s the magicker?”

For the first time it occurred to Lynan that Jenrosa might be in danger, that indeed Ager had not been kissing her but trying to revive her. He tried to sit up, but it only started him retching. Brine burned up from his stomach and lungs, spilling out of his mouth as whispery spittle. The sound of him throwing up was matched by Jenrosa heaving and coughing.

“She’ll be all right,” Ager answered, and helped Jenrosa sit up. “What are our navy friends doing?”

Kumul half squatted behind the boulder and peeked over its edge. “They’re about four hundred paces away. They’re trying to retrieve the boat with hooks, but it’s pretty smashed up. I can see archers behind the gunwales.” He dropped down out of sight. “You’re heavier than you look,” he told Lynan wearily.

The young prince grinned stupidly and managed to join Kumul, his back against the boulder. He saw how the platform they were on jutted out of a crumbling cliff face that looked as if it was ready to finish slipping into the sea at any moment. It was a long way to the top, but the slope was nowhere near as sheer as Lynan had first thought.

Jenrosa moaned. Ager still held her, but after a moment she waved him away.

“I’m all right,” she pronounced huskily, and slowly looked around. “We’ve got to climb that?” she asked, staring up at the cliff.

“Unless you feel like risking a five-league swim around the rocks,” Ager said.

“Not today,” she admitted.

“Well, we can’t stay here either. Eventually a big wave will wash over us, and I don’t give much for our chances of making it to safety a second time. Besides, the longer we wait, the stiffer our muscles will become.”

Lynan carefully peeped over the boulder. “The warship is leaving,” he told the others, and then saw the shattered remains of their boat swirling among the rocks below. “And they’re leaving their prize behind,” he added dully, and for an instant imagined that his own body was down there, broken and drowned. He recalled Kumul saying their swords had gone down with the boat. In his heart he felt a terrible pang—his sword had been the only thing left to him from his father. Suddenly he wanted to climb to the top of the cliff more than he had ever wanted to do anything in his life. He wanted to get away from the water, from the smell of the spray, from the call of the seabirds and the sound of waves smashing against the rocks.

“Let’s go,” he said, the plea almost sounding like an order, and stood uncertainly to his feet. Kumul’s hand roughly pulled him down to the rock.

“Don’t be an idiot, lad. Those on the warship would see us as easily as flies crawling up a white sheet.”

They waited for nearly an hour, cold and regularly washed by spray coming over the platform. They huddled together for warmth and security, afraid that at any moment a big wave would throw them back into the crashing sea and finish them off. Eventually, Kumul could no longer see the warship’s sail even when he stood up, and he led the way to the base of the cliff.

There were plenty of holds in the rock, but the basalt was sharp and cut into their palms. The first third of the slope was wet from the spray and they all slipped and gashed then-faces and bodies. Their clothes tightened as they dried, stretching limbs like tight nooses. The worst part was the numbing exhaustion they all felt, exhaustion that turned muscles into string and bone into sapling, exhaustion so severe it became a physical pain starting in their joints and traveling throughout their arms and legs in excruciating spasms.

As they got higher, their rests became more frequent, and at times it seemed their ordeal would never end. Then, perhaps thirty paces from the summit, the wind hit them, a whistling, keening gale that whipped across the face of the cliff trying to hurl them back into the sea. Lynan knew he could go no farther. His mind started to wander and his senses were telling him that he was on level ground and that he could lie down now, that all he need do was release his grip and everything would be fine—he would wake in his bed in the palace in Kendra and the last two days would be revealed as nothing more than a nightmare.

Someone was talking to him. He tried to ignore the voice because it was spoiling the nice warm feeling that was creeping over him, but the voice would not go away and in the end he had to listen. Lynan, it was saying, climb. One more step. Move up one more step. So he moved one more step, and the pain was so bad it was like someone driving a nail into his knee. One more step, the voice repeated, and he recognized it as Jenrosa’s. Move, Lynan, you’re so close to finishing. One more step, and then another, and another…

And at last there came a time when he reached overhead with a hand and the slope was gone and there was soft vegetation underneath his fingers. For a moment his mind cleared enough for him to pull himself up the final two paces to the very top of the cliff. He collapsed into a bed of long, sweet-smelling grass, and darkness came and took him.

Speaking with Primate Northam had calmed Areava and helped focus her mind, which until then had been filled with a multitude of confusing facts and fears. The horror of her brother’s murder, and the realization that Lynan must have been behind the crime, had almost overwhelmed her reason. The discussion with the priest had also made her realize that her first duty was to ensure a peaceful transition in rule from Berayma to herself. The kingdom must be her priority, not the pursuit of her brother’s killers; Orkid and Dejanus between them were more than capable of hunting down Lynan and his coconspirators.

However, when Dejanus intercepted Areava and Olio on the way back from the west wing to tell them that Lynan had been sighted boarding a merchant ship, her fury at her half-brother came on again like an irresistible tide and she had to struggle against it.

“Then see he is captured.”

“I have already alerted the navy,” Dejanus confirmed. “They will send out ships to intercept the merchant and bring your brother back for justice.”

“And see to it he is b-b-brought b-b-back alive,” Olio said firmly. “His dead b-b-body will leave too m-m-many questions unanswered.”

Dejanus looked at Olio with an expression the prince couldn’t read. “But if they offer resistance—”

“Alive, Dejanus,” Areava insisted. “How else will we discover the extent of the conspiracy behind our brother’s death?”

Dejanus nodded curtly. “I will see to it the ship captains understand your order.” He left without further word.

For a moment Areava simply stood there, fighting the urge to close her eyes. “I am exhausted,” she said weakly.

Olio put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you w-w-wish to see Trion? I can send for him and he will give you a draft to help you sleep.”

Areava shook her head. “Not yet. Find Orkid for me and bring him to my study. We must form this council as soon as possible and plan the… the coronation. The administration of Kendra must continue uninterrupted.”

Olio nodded and left her.

A moment later Areava looked around her. Except for a guard at either end there was no one else in the palace corridor, and there were no sounds other than the echo of Olio’s receding footsteps. The palace’s gray stone seemed to surround and cage her.

I am queen, she thought. I am alone.

When she entered her study, someone was waiting for her, a man in a long green cloak. His back was to her, and he seemed to be staring at the monarch’s desk.

“Who—?” she began, and stopped when the man turned around. “Oh, Harnan!”

The private secretary bowed to her. He held his hands out, shaking.

“Your Highness. I came late this morning as your brother… the king… instructed me. I did not know… nobody told me…” His voice failed him, and tears welled in his gray, rheumy eyes and rolled down his old and whiskered cheeks. “I am sorry…” His voice faltered.

Areava came forward, overwhelmed with pity for her mother’s oldest and dearest servant. She held his hands in hers. “Harnan, it is I who should apologize. I did not think. So much has happened. I should have thought to send someone to tell you.”

“Oh, milady, no, do not blame yourself in your grief. But I am… confused. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.” His lifted his chin and tried to stifle his tears. “Forgive me… but first your mother… now this!”

Without thinking, Areava used one hand to dab away the tears on his cheeks. “There is nothing to forgive, faithful Harnan.” She stood back, looking him up and down. “As always, ready to do service. Berayma would be proud of you.”

Harnan opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come.

Areava sniffed back her own tears, knowing that if she started crying now she would not be able to stop. She said in as businesslike a tone as she could muster: “I see you have your tablet and pens.” She nodded to the wide purse hanging from Harnan’s belt.

“Yes, your High… your Majesty. I was to write letters for your brother this morning.”

“Well, since you are here, I need your assistance if you feel up to it. I need urgent messages to go out by courier to the provinces. As well, I’m reconvening my mother’s executive council and I want it to meet before noon.”

“Of course, your Majesty. It would be a relief to work.”

Areava smiled then, suddenly proud of the old man. “Then, together, you and I will administer this kingdom with such energy that it will do full justice to the memories of Usharna and Berayma.”

The pain in Harnan’s face visibly eased. He sighed deeply and drew out the writing tablet and his favorite pen from the purse.

“At your service, Queen Areava, always,” he said, his voice full of emotion.

She patted him on the shoulder and told him to take a seat. She went behind her desk and stopped suddenly. On the desk, on a square of white silk, lay the Key of the Scepter, its luster diminished by the blood of her brother. She touched it hesitantly. A spark jumped between the amulet and her finger. She drew back with a hiss.

“Your Majesty, are you all right?” Harnan asked, concerned.

Areava glanced up and nodded quickly. She cautiously touched the Key again. Nothing happened. She picked it up by its chain and put it over her head. Her dead brother’s Key clinked against her own, the Key of the Sword. She stared at it for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts.

Magicker Prelate Edaytor Fanhow had changed into more sedate clothing. Gone was the heavy velvet robe with the gold twine, the baggy trousers and the broad silver belt he had worn in his first meeting with the new queen. In their place he wore a more practical set of linen pants and shirt with the magicker’s traditional stiff collar, and his cap of office, a wide beret with the prelate’s badge pinned to its front.

He returned to the palace just before noon, hurrying to meet Areava’s deadline for new intelligence about Prince Lynan from the theurgia. When he arrived at the queen’s offices, out of breath and sweating, the guards let him through automatically.

He entered, opened his mouth to formally greet Areava, and came to a stop, his mouth closing shut with an audible snap. The main room was filled with the best from Kendra society, the very cream of the most elite professions and trades, all dressed in their very finest clothing and ceremonial garb. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and their expressions made him feel like a latrine washer who had accidentally barged in on a wedding ceremony.

The crowd parted to let someone through. Fanhow’s head twisted from side to side, searching for someplace to hide, but there was nowhere. He found himself gazing into Queen Areava’s hard brown eyes. She looked him over..

“Dressing down for the event, Magicker Prelate?” she asked innocently.

“Umm, the event, your Majesty?”

“Did not a message go to the magicker prelate?” Areava asked the tall, wizened man by her side. Edaytor recognized Harnan Beresard.

“Yes, your Majesty, but my courier could not locate him.”

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but I have been urgently seeking answers to the problem you set me—”

“Not that it matters,” Areava interrupted, looking at Edaytor but still talking to Harnan. “For the prelate has arrived anyway. Still, some hint of ceremony in his dress would have been appropriate.”

“Your Majesty,” Edaytor began again, his voice plaintive, “I was only returning to inform you of the result of the combined theurgias’ search for your brother!”

“And?” Areava asked.

Edaytor looked downcast. “In so short a time, your Majesty, all they could discover was some relation between Prince Lynan and the element of—”

“Water,” Areava finished for him.

Edaytor gaped. “How could your Majesty possibly have known—”

“He has escaped by sea,” Areava said. “Though his freedom will be short lived.” She eyed Dejanus, who stood behind her in the company of Orkid and Olio. “Or so I trust.”

Dejanus nodded vigorously. “Your navy will capture him soon, your Majesty. Have no doubt.”

“I have no doubt,” Areava replied. And then: “Yet.” She turned her attention back to Edaytor. “At least you returned on time, Prelate.”

Fanhow bowed as deeply as his stout build allowed. “At your service, your Majesty.”

“Indeed. And now that you are here, we can begin.”

“Begin?”

“The first meeting of my executive council. You are, of course, as magicker prelate, one of its members.”

Edaytor repeated his bow. “Your Majesty, I am honored.”

Areava regarded him coolly for a moment. “Good,” she said at last, and turned to the rest of her guests.

“We will begin as soon as you are all seated. The council room is ready.”

The guests made way for Areava and her immediate entourage, only Olio hanging back. Everyone else fell in behind her, some using swift footwork to advance their position in line but all careful not to crowd the queen. Edaytor, still recovering from shock, was content to go last. He was surprised to find Olio walking by his side.

“You did well, M-m—magicker P-p-prelate,” Olio confided in him.

“Too little and too late, I fear, your Highness,” Edaytor admitted unhappily.

“And yet you still came to report. That took courage.”

“I will always do my duty, your Highness,” he said with such seriousness it seemed almost comical to Olio.

Olio let Edaytor walk on ahead and regarded the man with new consideration. Yes, Prelate, more courage than I gave you credit for. Perhaps the theurgia, unknowingly, have done us all a favor by your promotion.

Areava sat at the head of the table, with Olio to her left hand and Chancellor Orkid to her right. Members of the Twenty Houses and government officials occupied the long side of the table on Orkid’s side, and those representatives of the various guilds, the city and the merchants sat opposite them, including Primate Northam. At the far end of the table sat Fleet Admiral Zoul Setchmar and Marshal Triam Lief, the heads of Her Majesty’s armed forces. Missing was the third member of the military trio, Constable Kumul Alarn, recently declared murderer, outlaw, and fugitive. Members of the Royal Guards stood to attention at every window and the two entrances; Dejanus stood directly behind Areava.

“By now you are all acquainted with the tragic events of the last twelve hours,” Areava began. “I have, as is my right through inheritance, assumed the throne. My first action as queen was to sign warrants for the capture of my brother, Prince Lynan, and his companions. My second action was to call together this executive council. I thank you all for attending on such short notice.”

Areava paused until the round of murmured “Thank you, your Majesty” and “I was honored, your Majesty” died down.

“We have a great deal to do. Word of King Berayma’s death will travel widely and quickly, not just throughout the kingdom but to our enemies as well. Some of them may wish to seek advantage from the succession, thinking that Kendra will be in some confusion. We must dissuade them.

“Four things must occur. First, I must be crowned as quickly as possible. Second, all official positions must be filled. I know that Berayma had plans to revise the bureaucracy after our mother’s long reign. I do not feel this is the appropriate time to do so.” There were some audible sighs of relief from the government side of the table. “Third, we must ensure the people know that the succession, though brought about by violence, was itself achieved smoothly and with the full support of the kingdom’s leading citizens. Fourth, Lynan must be brought to justice, and the horrible conspiracy he led exposed completely so that it can be crushed once and for all; to do otherwise will eventually lead to doubts about the authority of the throne and the security of the realm.” Areava paused long enough for her gaze to light on each of those present. “I will not allow this to happen.

“As far as the coronation goes, I propose the date planned for Berayma’s crowning. I have already made arrangements with Chancellor Orkid for this to occur.

“As to the second issue, I confirm Orkid as my chancellor and Harnan as my secretary. The rest of you are confirmed in your positions as well. The one change will be a replacement for the traitor Kumul, late Constable of the Royal Guard. His position will be filled by my mother’s Life Guard, Dejanus.”

Orkid threw a surprised glance at Areava, but she did not notice it, even if Dejanus did. The new constable allowed himself the faintest of smiles. No one present disagreed with his appointment, but not everyone looked pleased.

“Constable, you may take your place with the admiral and marshal.”

Dejanus left his position behind the queen and walked with military precision to the vacant seat at the end of the table.

“Regarding the third issue, I expect all of you here to communicate to your colleagues and the members of your associations what you have witnessed here today: a ruler committed to their well-being and that of the kingdom. I expect to continue in my mother’s footsteps. While I do not claim yet to possess her wisdom and experience, I do possess the same love for my people and the same desire to see them follow their own lives within a just and peaceful society. Furthermore, I will have the able support and advice of the same ministers and officers who assisted my mother in the last years of her reign.”

Areava paused to take a deep breath. “Concerning Prince Lynan. You have already heard that he escaped the city. The navy is in pursuit, and we are confident that his capture is imminent. However, should the outlaw escape a second time, it is no excuse to panic. I have already sent messages to our provinces to warn them of his outlawry, and instructing them to ignore his authority as owner of the Key of Union. My mother explicitly stated that ownership of the Key meant swearing fealty to the crown. Lynan has betrayed that pledge and so forfeits his Key to the crown. Many of the provincial rulers will be coming here for the coronation. I will talk with each of them before they return to their own lands. Nowhere in Grenda Lear will be safe for Lynan and his followers.”

“Your Majesty, do we know where Lynan is heading?” asked Elenta Satrur, the head of the Guild of Dyers, a small man with a voice as wooden as an empty wine cask.

Areava nodded to Orkid, who cleared his throat and adopted his most patriarchal expression. “The ship he is on, called the Seaspray and owned by one Grapnel Moorice, was carrying a consignment of goods bound for Chandra.”

“Grapnel!” declared someone else at the table, obviously shocked. “He is part of Lynan’s party?”

Areava looked at the speaker, hiding her dismay when she recognized Xella Povis. “Goodwoman Povis?”

Povis nodded. “Your Majesty, forgive my interruption. But I have known Grapnel for many years. I would never have imagined—”

“And did you think I could imagine my own brother capable of regicide?” Areava asked.

Povis lowered her gaze. “Of course not, your Majesty.”

Areava indicated for Orkid to continue.

“The Seaspray was last seen sailing northeast. The navy is already in pursuit.”

“Why Chandra?” Shant Tenor, the city’s mayor, demanded.

Orkid shrugged. “Seaspray was the only vessel belonging to Grapnel in the harbor at the time of the prince’s escape, and the harbor master lists her consignment as going there. But Chandra might not be his destination. We don’t know.”

“Could King Tomar be involved in the plot against the throne?” Tenor persisted, his expression afraid.

“Enough!” cried Areava. “This is precisely the kind of talk I want to avoid. If we in the council will see conspirators in every shadow, every new turn, what can we expect to happen among the people? We must stay calm in this crisis. There is no evidence of any kind implicating King Tomar. Remember, he is my family’s friend, not just Lynan’s. He knew and loved Berayma.”

“Your Majesty, there is one possibility we must consider this morning,” Marshal Lief said quietly.

Areava frowned. “If this is more about Chandra, Marshal…”

“It is about the kingdom of Haxus, your Majesty. It will already have learned of Queen Usharna’s death. Its ruler, King Salokan, has long hated and envied Grenda Lear, and he may be assessing his options to take advantage of the succession. When he hears of Berayma’s death, it may embolden him further.”

“I agree with the marshal, your Majesty,” said Fleet Admiral Setchmar. “Salokan remembers with bitterness the defeat handed to his father by our forces during the Slaver War. He will harm or hinder the kingdom any way he can.”

“You don’t think he will invade, surely?” Areava asked. “Our armies would overwhelm him.”

“Invade, no. But I believe he will test your resolve. Acts of piracy against our shipping, for example. Raids against farms and small settlements along our common border. He will test your reaction to such provocation.”

“We will respond immediately to any incursion,” Areava said firmly. “I have a realm to run, and no petty northern king will interfere with that.”

Orkid cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, why not send a firm warning before there is any provocation? We already have a fleet and two brigades stationed in Hume to supplement Queen Charion’s own forces. Send more cavalry; they will best respond to and repel enemy raids.”

Areava looked at Lief and Setchmar. The admiral nodded. “Good advice,” he said. “I can provide transport for a couple of regiments within two weeks.”

“Our army is too dispersed, Your Majesty,” the marshal said. “We can hire mercenaries for the duration of the emergency. It would be considerably cheaper in the long term than raising new troops for a short campaign.”

“Very well,” Areava conceded. “But arrange for the mercenaries to be embarked away from Kendra. I don’t want rumors of a war to spread. That’s all we need right now.”

Lief and Setchmar seemed happy with her decision.

“We have dealt with the main matters,” Areava told the assembly. “It is enough for the council’s first meeting. My officials and I have had to work swiftly to contain the crisis, but in future I will rely heavily upon you all for advice and support.”

Before any questions could be asked, Areava stood, forcing everyone else to follow.

“We will meet again very soon. Haman will inform you of the day and time. Until then, remember that the people will look to you for example. I expect each of you to behave accordingly.”

Chapter 14

When Lynan woke, the sun was almost down and there was a chill in the air. His whole body ached and he had difficulty moving at first, but eventually he was able to stand and inspect his new surroundings. Not far from him was Ager, still asleep, his breathing deep and even. There was no sign of Jenrosa or Kumul.

The cliff edge was ten paces away, and Lynan could hear the distant thunder of the waves crashing below. He dimly remembered making it to the top of the cliff and then collapsing. Someone must have dragged him the extra distance in case he rolled over while he was asleep and fell to his death.

He turned around. To the north and east the land gently climbed to the top of the Ebrius Ridge, falling away more sharply southeast toward Kendra and north where the province of Chandra lay. In the far distance he could just discern the outline of Kendra, and behind it the far end of Kestrel Bay, a smiling blue curve that emptied into the Sea Between. Looking southwest he could see the beginnings of Lurisia, and the edge of the rain forest that covered most of the province. A thin gray line cutting through the forest was the Gelt River, where Lynan and his companions had been heading before their encounter with the warship. Between the cliff and the sea he saw the wavering silhouettes of kestrels soaring with the day’s last thermals.

The ground was covered in long grass which gradually surrendered to low shrubs as the land sloped up and away. On either side of the ridge denser vegetation took over: tall, broad fern trees and wideoaks, with a scattering of sharrok pines and sturdy golden fans among them. From among a clump of wideoaks on the ridge’s southeast side appeared Jenrosa and Kumul, looking tired and bedraggled, but nonetheless smiling as they waved at Lynan. He waved back and went to meet them.

“How are you feeling?” Kumul asked.

“As though someone has pulled me apart and then clumsily put me back together again. What do we do now?”

“It’s too late to descend Ebrius Ridge. We should move to the trees where there is some cover and we can use the leaves to keep us warm tonight. I don’t think it would be a good idea to start a fire. From this height they will see the smoke as far away as the city.”

Kumul walked over to where Ager was sleeping and roused him. The crookback got to his feet and stretched his arms. “I needed that nap,” he said congenially to no one in particular.

The four of them made their way to the ridge line and moved down the northwest slope for a league or so until they came to a small dell that offered some protection from a freshening evening breeze whistling in from the bay. They gathered together four large mounds of leaves and settled down to sleep, hungry and still exhausted from the day’s efforts.

It seemed to Lynan that no sooner had he closed his eyes than he was being shaken violently out of his slumber. It was Jenrosa. The sun had gone down, and the land was cloaked in the soft darkness of night. He opened his mouth to say something rude, but she clamped a hand over it and indicated for him to keep quiet. He nodded and she removed her hand, then motioned for him to follow her. She led the way to the lip of the dell, where Ager and Kumul were lying, staring out into the dark.

Lynan looked inquiringly at Ager, but the man shook his head and cupped a hand behind one ear. Lynan tried to listen for whatever it was that had disturbed the others. After a few seconds he heard a distant scrabbling sound, as if someone was pulling a rake across the forest floor. When he heard the sound again a moment later, it was definitely closer. He felt a tingle pass down his spine when he realized he was hearing a great bear snuffling among the autumn leaves, probably following their scent.

Lynan had only seen one once before, when Usharna had consented to his coming on a royal hunting party on Ebrius Ridge. He had vague memories of how big great bears were, twice as tall and twice as wide as a large man, with muscles like steel coils covered by bristly, brown fur. Their muzzles were filled with large pointed teeth; their claws longer and sharper than butchers’ knives. He had been told that given enough warning a man could outpace one, but that the creature’s turn of speed was remarkable for its size and over a short distances a great bear could easily catch the fastest human.

Again that shuffling sound, closer yet. Lynan could smell something heavy and musty in the air, something that caught at the back of this throat.

“It’s definitely headed this way,” Kumul whispered. “It has our scent, and is moving back and forth to pin it down.”

“Nothing for it, then,” Ager said. “Our only chance is to set an ambush. But to do that we have to get out of the dell.”

As best they could in the dark, the two men scanned the immediate area for a likely site. Kumul pointed to a broad golden fan with low branches about forty paces away on the other side of the dell. Ager nodded, and the four of them ran to it. The branches were numerous and sturdy enough to hold them all, and within a few seconds the entire party was perched in the tree like a family of giant birds, armed only with their knives. Lynan tried desperately to slow his yammering heart, convinced it was loud enough for the bear to hear whether or not it had their scent.

A short while later it came into view. It broached the lip of the dell and jumped forward, landing on all fours. Its snout weaved from side to side. It started keening, obviously disappointed no prey was yet in sight. It reared up onto its hind legs, made a sound that rose to a curiously high-pitched scream, and sniffed the air around it. Curved, yellow teeth glinted in the moonlight. The bear fell to all fours again, and shambled forward, crisscrossing the dell until it regained the scent. With a satisfied snort it headed for the golden fan.