Sovereign

CHAPTER 34

Olio and Edaytor were on their way back to the palace after inspecting the first of the new clinics established with the cooperation of the theurgia and the Church. They were deep in conversation, not really aware of the other people on the street and alleys they walked along. In front and behind them walked a small escort of guards, bored and thinking of the beer they would be drinking when off duty. When the rock struck the wall above Olio's head the party stopped, startled by the noise. Edaytor bent over to pick up the rock.

He looked up at Olio in surprise. 'I think someone threw this at you.'

The guards, suddenly alert, surrounded their royal charge, looking fiercely for any sign among the milling crowd for the assailant, but seeing no one particularly suspicious.

Olio was blushing. He found it hard to believe that anyone would dislike him enough to want to hurt him. He was embarrassed to realise his feelings were hurt. 'Maybe it was thrown at you,'' he said to Edaytor, only half joking.

Edaytor did not even bother replying. He was eyeing two young men chatting under the entrance to an inn across the way. Then he noticed the guards were starting to look anxious. They did not like being out of their environment in an uncertain situation and wanted to take their prince safely behind the palace wall. 'You go on,' he told the prince.

'What are you going to do?' Olio asked, not liking the idea of the prelate being left behind. 'What if the rock was meant for you? I'll leave you a guard.'

'No,' Edaytor said firmly. 'Go home, your Highness. I'll come and see you this afternoon.'

He nodded to the constable in charge of the guards, who fell behind the prince and started marching, forcing Olio to move along.

'Edaytor!' Olio cried.

'This afternoon!' Edaytor called after him.

He waited until the royal entourage had disappeared among the crowd and then made his way to the two youths he had spotted before. They pretended he was not there, so Edaytor cleared his throat.

'Can we help you?' one of the youths asked, feigning boredom.

Calmly, he said: 'Why did you throw this rock at Prince Olio?'

The youth looked indignant. 'I didn't throw no rock!'

'One of you did.'

'You can't prove that!' the second youth declared angrily.

'I don't have to,' Edaytor replied. 'All I have to do is suggest to the Royal Guards that you attacked their prince and they would not hesitate to cut you down where you stand.'

The pair paled, but they did not seem intimidated. The first one said, 'You're here by yourself, now, Prelate Fanhow. There ain't no guards nearby to help you.'

Edaytor leaned closer so his face was less than a hand's breadth from the youth's. 'I'm a magiker, you fool. I don't need a guard to smite you.'

The youth blanched, looked down at his boots to avoid Edaytor's gaze. The second youth wore an expression that suggested he would rather be anywhere else than here with his friend.

'Why don't we go into the inn for a drink? I'll buy you both a beer.'

'Are you serious?' the first youth asked.

Edaytor nodded. 'Never more serious. I want to ask you some questions.'

'About what?'

'I don't pretend to think you're the smartest lad in Kendra,' Edaytor said casually, 'but I certainly don't think you're that stupid.'

The three entered the inn and found a deserted table. Edaytor called across a waiter and ordered three beers. When the mugs came he let the youths swallow a few mouthfuls.

'What are your names?' he asked.

'Leandeon,' said the first.

'Wheremer,' said the second.

'Now, Leandeon and Wheremer, I don't know which one of you threw that rock at Prince Olio, and at this point I don't care. But I do want to know why.'

The two youths looked at him with disbelief. 'You're not serious,' Wheremer said. Edaytor simply raised his eyebrows. 'I mean, everyone knows who Olio is—'

'Prince Olio,' Edaytor corrected him. 'Or his Highness.'

'And everyone knows his Highness is a witch, just like his sister!'

Edaytor was so astounded he did not know what to say.

'And that they sacrifice children to make their magik!' Leandeon added.

'If this is a joke it's gone far enough,' Edaytor said seriously. 'I resisted my natural inclination to turn you over to the guards, but now I wonder—'

'But everyone knows it's true!' Wheremer said, his voice half pleading. Leandeon nodded frantically. 'Isn't it true that Areava—?'

'Her Majesty!' Edaytor declared. 'Or Queen Areava!'

Wheremer shook his head. 'Damn, Prelate, don't tell me how to speak of these people.' He jabbed in the air with a finger. 'Isn't it true that she murdered her own daughter to make magik? And that same night the fire started in the old city? And Olio was in the old city at the same time to help her?'

'This is ridiculous!' Edaytor cried.

'No, not ridiculous!' Leandeon said. 'These are facts!'

'Facts!' Edaytor sputtered. 'You two have no idea—'

'But that isn't all,' Wheremer said, talking over him. 'She murdered her own brother to win the throne, and blamed poor bloody Lynan for the crime.'

Edaytor sat back, horrified. 'Who told you all of this?'

'Why, it's common knowledge,' Wheremer said. 'Everyone in the city knows.'

'Then everyone in the city knows nothing,' he said. 'Queen Areava loved Berayma. She would never have harmed him. And she desperately wanted a child. Like every ruler, she wants an heir. And why would she want the old city to catch fire? None of it makes sense.'

The two youths glanced at each other over their beers. 'Well, I'm just telling you what everyone knows,' Wheremer insisted.

'Since when have they known this?'

'Ever since God's been punishin' Grenda Lear for Areava's crimes,' Leandeon said. 'The Chetts have turned against us, we who saved 'em from the slavers. And we've lost Hume and Chandra, and at least one army, they say.'

'What crimes?'

'What we've been tellin' you about,' Leandeon said. 'And she sleeps with her poor dead husband's uncle.'

'The chancellor!' Edaytor exclaimed.

'It's all common knowledge. God's punishin' us for her crimes, hers and her brother's.'

Edaytor looked at their faces, their expressions angry and so certain, and did not know what to say. They had showed him a glimpse of a world he had never suspected existed. He found it difficult to comprehend how anyone could believe the lies and fantasies he had just been told, but if Leandeon and Wheremer were being honest, the common population did believe it.

He stood up, dropped a coin on the table. 'Pay for the beers with that.'

'There's change from that,' Wheremer said.

'Keep it,' Edaytor said in a flat voice, and left.

Tomlin was cleaning out the pigeon house, as he did most of every day. He had just finished shovelling the guano from the second level into fertiliser sacks when there was a flurry of wings and the rattling of coops from above. He hurried to the third level and saw that all eight coops reserved for the Great Army's pigeons were now full. He went to each coop and took the message from the leg of each pigeon. He knew this was mighty strange, and he hurried to the chancellor's office. When the secretary saw him rush in he did not hesitate, and went to get Orkid. The chancellor appeared almost straightaway and put out his hand for the message. Tomlin gave him the whole batch.

'Eight messages?'

Tomlin nodded. 'And all eight pigeons came from the Great Army.'

Orkid sat on the edge of his secretary's desk and opened and read one of the messages. Tomlin and the secretary saw him pale. He opened and read a second message, then a third and then all the rest. He breathed out slowly and said to his secretary, 'Tell the queen I must see her immediately.'

The secretary bustled off.

'I'll be goin' then?' Tomlin said.

The chancellor nodded and Tomlin, feeling more uneasy than he could ever remember, returned to the pigeon house.

Left alone, Orkid picked up one of the messages. It did not matter which one he read. They were all the same.

'To the pretender, Areava Rosetheme, and Chancellor Orkid Gravespear. Your army is dispersed like chaff. I am coming. King Lynan Rosetheme.'

The Waveskipper made it into Kendra harbour just before noon. As soon as he disembarked, Dejanus, hung over and befuddled from all the red wine he had drunk on the short voyage, headed straight for the Lost Sailor Tavern. He stumbled into the main room and sat at the first table he came to. Other patrons stared at him, knowing who he was and where he should be. He growled at them and they looked away. A scared waiter came to him and he ordered the best house red and paid a whole gold coin for it.

'But, sir, I cannot change this!'

'Don't worry about it,' Dejanus said. 'Money won't be worth anything this time next week.' The thought struck him as funny and he burst out laughing. The waiter scurried away. While Dejanus waited, the patrons left, one by one, until he was the only guest in the whole tavern. The waiter returned with a large flagon of wine and a mug, then scurried away again.

Dejanus set to with serious intent. He quaffed one mug in three long swallows, waited only long enough for his insides to warm up, then started on the second. By the time he was on his third he was feeling braver than he had since he led the Great Army to relieve Captain Urling.

'What did happen to that man?' he wondered aloud. Probably butchered by the Chetts, just like all the other poor bloody soldiers under his command. 'Not my fault!' he shouted. They were brave but untrained. Nothing he could have done. He did his best under the circumstances.

'Orkid's circumstances,' he grumbled. 'Conspiring against me. I'll gut the bastard.' But first he would have more wine.

'Yes. Today. Do what I should have done a long time ago. I'll cut him, I'll cut him from bow to stern. I'll spill his guts all over his bloody, bloody papers and all over his bloody, bloody signatures.' But what of his friend, the queen? 'I'll cut her too. Slice her open like Orkid. Then I'll be king.' He burped. 'And kings don't have to be afraid of anything.'

Powl could read no more. Some secrets should never be known. He closed the volume he had been translating and pushed it away from him. It felt like he was pushing away temptation. History was more than knowledge, he decided; it was incendiary, it was anathema to stability and order. With this understanding, which had been growing slowly now for several days, came something else, something he referred to as his conscience even when he knew it was not that simple nor that sacred. He had forgotten what it meant to be a priest, which was to honour God.

I have done everything but honour him, he told himself. But it was not too late. He was still primate, and from now on he would shoulder those responsibilities as best he could. And one day I will confess. When the war is over, when the Kingdom is at peace… when I am at peace with myself… then I will confess my crime against Giros Northam and against the Church, and accept whatever punishment is my due.

Having made his decision, he gathered together all the notes and translations he had made on the volumes together with the volume he had been working from, left his office and went straight to the tower of Colanus. He put the volume in its correct place. He considered, for the briefest of moments, destroying the books, but he had no authority to do such a thing, not even as primate. After he left the tower he went to the church library. Six novices were gathered around the fireplace, reading from texts and parchments. When he entered they quickly stood up, but he waved them down and, ignoring their looks of amazement, threw his papers onto the fire. He watched to make sure none of his work escaped the flames, smiled at the novices, and started back to his office. On the way he passed the Book of Days. It was open, as always, to its last entry.

He stopped and carefully tore out the pages he had despoiled. Again his novices regarded his actions with amazement, and again he smiled genially at them. Before leaving he read again Northam's last entry, the one he wrote the day Powl had murdered him.

I pray for guidance and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.

'I pray for salvation,' Powl repeated to himself, and then, for the first time in his life and without hesitation and meaning every single word, he prayed for salvation, and the novices still watching him were further amazed to see tears roll down his cheeks.

When Orkid arrived at Areava's chambers she was with Harnan Beresard and, he was surprised to see, another Amanite, a tall, thin woman of middle years with the saddest face he had ever seen. Then he noticed that Areava, too, looked grief-stricken. Had the queen already heard about the destruction of the Great Army?

'Orkid, I have terrible news,' Areava said.

'I know,' he said. 'I have just come to tell you.'

'I am sorry. It must be dreadful for you.'

Orkid blinked. Of course it was dreadful, but why particularly for him? And who was this Amanite woman? He understood then that Areava was not talking about the Great Army's defeat. Which could only mean…

'My brother,' he said. He turned to the woman. 'Who are you?'

'Lingdar. I am… was… head of King Marin's secretariat.'

'Was?'

'I am sorry, Chancellor Gravespear, but your brother is dead.'

'I see,' he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His body suddenly felt incredibly heavy. He put a hand on the back of a chair to support himself. 'How?'

'Pila has fallen,' Areava said.

'Fallen?' He did not understand. Fallen to whom?

'The Chetts have taken Aman,' Areava said, and had to stop. She nodded to Lingdar.

'A Chett army invaded the southern deserts, wiping out the Saranah, and then invaded Aman. They were upon us before we realised what was happening. No one believed the Chetts were organised enough to send an army to the east and send another south as well.'

'This army, where is it now?' Orkid asked slowly.

'They are making preparations to winter in Aman. I do not know what they will do in spring.'

'They let you go?'

'They let anyone go who did not want to stay in Pila.'

'Amemun?' he asked, remembering his old friend. 'Did he escape?'

'I am not sure, but I think he fell with the Saranah. He was with them when the invasion took place. He may still be alive, but it seems unlikely to me.'

Areava came to Orkid and put her arms around him. 'The news is almost more than I can bear,' she said, 'but how much more terrible it must be for you. Together we have lost almost everything we care for in this world.'

He tried to speak, but could not. I am chancellor, he told himself, and pushed away the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

'There is worse news,' he said roughly.

Areava let him go and stepped back. 'What news is that?'

He held out one of the messages sent by Lynan. She took it from him hesitantly and did not read it right away. He watched as her skin went grey. She knew; she could see it in his eyes.

'How many were killed?' she asked.

'I do not know.'

'Lynan will be here soon.'

He heard Harnan's sharp intake of breath.

'Yes, I fear so.'

'I have lost the north and the west,' she said. 'I fear that I have lost the whole Kingdom because of it.'

'I fear that as well.'

She shook her head then straightened, brushed down her clothes as if cleaning away dust and dirt. 'No. I will not accept that. I am queen of Grenda Lear, daughter of Usharna Rosetheme. I will not surrender to this rebel and outlaw.' She turned to Harnan. 'Let the new constable know the situation. What is his name?'

'Arad,' Orkid said. He could feel himself take strength from her. He stood up straight, too, and no longer needed to rest against the chair.

'Yes, Arad. Tell him to prepare the palace for a siege. He must get whatever supplies he can from the city. Get whatever warships are in harbour to set sail immediately. They are to go to Lurisia and Storia to pick up reinforcements. Send urgent messages by pigeon to all the provinces still under my authority; they are to raise new regiments forthwith and train them over winter. Send messages to each of the Twenty Houses; I want every able-bodied noble armed and in the palace to help defend it. Find Olio and tell him to come to me immediately, and his friend the prelate.'

Harnan nodded and left, and she turned back to Orkid.

'I know you want to learn as much as possible about the fall of Pila and your brother's death, but I cannot spare you for long—I need you now as I have never needed you before. For the moment, return to your office with Lingdar; she will tell you what she has told me. I will come to see you later this afternoon.'

'I am always at your service.'

Areava surprised him by smiling then. She patted his hand. 'I know, old bear. I know.'

Dejanus was in a brave mood, fuelled by red wine, defeat and despair. He tramped his way up to the palace. The guards stared at him as he passed through the main gate, not daring to question him. He went straight to Orkid's office. When the secretary saw him he almost fainted. He tried to stop Dejanus, but was carelessly brushed aside. He entered the office, and there he was, the architect of all his ills, sitting behind his desk as if he had not a care in the world.

The chancellor himself.

Orkid stared at him for a long moment, then said almost casually, 'I have a guest.'

For the first time Dejanus noticed the tall woman. She was obviously an Amanite. 'Get rid of her,' he said.

Orkid said to her, 'It's alright. I will talk with you later.'

The woman nodded and left, walking sideways around Dejanus to get through the door.

'I thought you would have had the decency to die with your army,' Orkid said.

'Oh, you would have liked that.'

'You have destroyed us all. Areava is preparing to fight, but we both know she cannot win against Lynan. Not now. He is driven by more than revenge.'

'I have come to kill you,' Dejanus said plainly, and was surprised how easily he said the words.

'For what reason? Not being a fool and a coward like you?'

'Be quiet!' Dejanus growled.

'Why? You are going to kill me, apparently. What else can you threaten me with?'

'I will tell the queen—'

'What? And how will that affect me if I am dead at your hand? You don't scare me, Dejanus. You never have.' He stood up and came around his desk to stand only a hand's breadth from the general. 'You are the weakest, most stupid, most lazy, most terrified man I have ever met.'

Dejanus could do nothing. The insults were like blows inside his skull, and his mind reeled from them. But he could do nothing.

Orkid walked around him to leave his office. 'I am going to see the queen,' he said to his secretary. 'Call Sergeant Arad. General Dejanus is to be arrested.' He walked into the hallway, stopped and came back, tapping his lips with a finger. 'In fact, tell Arad that the general is unwell; the defeat at Lynan's hand has dislodged his mind. He is not to talk to anyone.'

Orkid turned to leave again when Areava herself appeared, her face twisted in fury. 'I have been told Dejanus came here. Where is he?'

Dejanus heard her voice, heard the anger and the hate underneath it. It was not fair. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve to be hated. It was Orkid's fault.

'And he will pay,' Dejanus whispered. His hand seemed to fall of its own accord on the hilt of his dagger. He looked down, slowly lifted his hand, then rested it again, but this time on the hilt of his sword.

'He is unbalanced, your Majesty,' Orkid said quickly. 'And dangerous. I would not advise—'

'I'm not asking for your advice, Chancellor,' Areava said darkly. 'I want to ask the general what he has done with my army…' Her voice faded when Dejanus appeared from Orkid's office. The first thing she noticed was the hollowness of his eyes, as if they had sunk into his skull. The second thing was the sword he carried in his right hand.

Orkid saw her gaze shift from him, and he turned quickly on his heel. 'Now, man!' he said to his secretary. 'Get Constable Arad!'

'Stop there!' Dejanus ordered, and there was enough authority in his voice to make the secretary hesitate. 'I am constable. I have returned, your Majesty, to take up my proper duties.'

'My… army…' she said hesitantly.

Dejanus shrugged. 'Badly trained, your Majesty. Badly equipped. Badly supplied.' He smiled. 'Brilliantly led. But what was that against so much?'

'There is none left of it?'

'You still have me,' he said. He absently scratched his beard with his free hand. 'Oh, and my escort. Thirty medium cavalry. Storians all; alas, not very good cavalry as it turns out.'

'I will have your head, Dejanus,' she said evenly. 'Insane or not, I will have your head.'

It was then, for the first time in his whole life, that Dejanus realised he was no longer afraid. 'If you are going to take my head, your Majesty, it should be for a greater cause than the loss of your straw army.'

'Your Majesty,' Orkid said quickly, his voice rising, 'you should leave now. Dejanus is insane. There is no telling what he might do.' Again he turned to his secretary. 'For God's sake, man, get Arad!'

The man scurried off, terrified Dejanus would try and stop him, but the general, still smiling, simply watched him go. Areava, however, stood her ground.

'Well, here we are, the three of us,' Dejanus said. 'Fitting. Will you tell her, Orkid, or will I?'

Areava looked at Orkid. 'What's he talking about?'

Orkid, keeping his gaze locked on Dejanus, said, 'I tell you, your Majesty, he is not himself. I have no idea what he is talking about—'

'I am talking about the murder of Berayma. I am talking about a plot to put you on the throne, Areava, and to blame your brother for the crime of regicide.'

'Olio?' Areava asked. 'Why Olio…' Then she realised what Dejanus meant. 'No.'

'But yes!' Dejanus said. 'And it worked so well! You hated Lynan so much you would believe anything about him so long as it was bad.'

'No, that isn't true,' she said. 'I didn't hate him—'

'Of course you hated him!' Dejanus roared. Orkid moved forward towards Dejanus, but the general raised his sword to keep him away. 'Everyone in Kendra knew how much you hated Lynan, no matter how much you protested otherwise. You detested him because his father was a commoner. He sullied your precious Rosetheme bloodline. If it hadn't been for your pride and hate, none of Orkid's plan would have been possible.'

Areava saw Orkid's shoulders slump. Her heart felt like ice. 'Orkid?'

'It is not true,' the chancellor said, but his voice was weak. 'None of this is true.'

Dejanus rolled his eyes. 'Such protestation! That will convince her!' His smile slipped away, replaced by a sneer. 'Of course it is true! He and his brother had it planned ten years before your mother died. Berayma could not be allowed to live because he was too close to the Twenty Houses, and everyone knew how much the Twenty Houses hated anyone from the provinces. How could Aman increase its influence if Berayma was king? More importantly, since Marin had only one child, and that a son, how could Aman marry into imperial power if Berayma was king?'

'Sendarus?' Areava's hands gripped the Key of the Sceptre hanging from her neck. 'He married me because of a plan?'

Orkid spun around to face her. 'No! No, never! Sendarus never knew! He wasn't a part of it…' Orkid stopped when he realised what he had said, what he had admitted. 'God, Areava, I'm sorry…'

'Too late, Amanite,' Dejanus said, his voice filled with scorn. 'Now tell her the whole truth, how you pinned down Berayma's hands while I drove my dagger straight through his royal neck.'

Orkid was still looking at Areava, but his gaze was focused on something else, on a distant point in time when everyone he cared for was still alive, when the plan had seemed to go right and his life's work had come to fruition. All gone now, all destroyed, and no hope of ever getting it back.

Yet there was one more task to perform, one more duty to fulfil. Orkid swung around, knocking aside the blade still pointing at his chest, stepped forward, grasped the dagger from Dejanus's belt and with all his strength thrust the blade into the general's neck.

Dejanus opened his mouth to scream but could only cough on the red tide pouring out of his mouth. Orkid pulled out the dagger and stepped back, and Dejanus went down like a hammered calf, his blood spurting high into the air.

Orkid looked down, and instead of seeing Dejanus's face, he saw Berayma's. All the bile and all the guilt he had been carrying since that terrible night he had slain the king welled up inside him. He gagged, vomited, could not stop it. When the retching finally passed he hung his head back and cried: 'Oh, Lord of the Mountain, what have I done?'

But it was Areava, not his god, who answered. 'You have betrayed me,' she said.

He turned to face her, wiping his mouth and beard on his sleeves. 'No, Areava, no. I love you.' He held out the bloody hand still holding the dagger. 'All of this was for Grenda Lear. For your mother. For you.''

Areava went to him quickly. At that moment he thought, crazily, she was coming into his arms, and could not resist when she took the dagger from his hand and plunged it deep into his chest. He folded over her like a broken tree, his arms flopping on her shoulders, his head resting against her cheek. 'I love you,' he repeated with his last breath, as Areava twisted the knife and screamed her hate for him.

That night she dressed in her armour and swore not to take it off until her brother Lynan was dead at her feet. She told no one what she had learned about his innocence regarding Berayma's death; that was no longer important. After all, it was Lynan who had invaded his own home with barbarians from the Oceans of Grass, Lynan who had slaughtered Grenda Lear's finest regiments, Lynan who had so cruelly slain her husband and—by that action—slain her birthing daughter. Lynan was the greatest enemy of all, and if only he could be cut down the Kingdom might yet be made whole.

That night she also ordered a huge pyre to be made in the courtyard, and on that she had thrown the bodies of Orkid and Dejanus. No priest was asked to say a prayer over them. That night she also ordered Lingdar to leave Kendra; she did not care where Lingdar went, so long as it was not to remain within the borders of her Kingdom. That night she also was among the first to see above Ebrius Ridge the long line of torches she knew was the advance troops of Lynan's invading army. Within a day, two at the most, Kendra would be under siege.

'Come, my brother,' she said into the night, tightly grasping her Key of Power. 'Come to me so we can finish this.'

Later she noticed her hands were all bloody. She stared at them, mystified, for she had bathed her whole body after killing Orkid; then she noticed the marks were in the shape of the Key. It was the amulet that was stained, but it was old blood, wine red and brittle, as if it had been on the Key for a year or more.

'It is Berayma's,' she said aloud, and found she could finally cry.