The Road to Hell

Chapter Fourteen

December 28

Howan Fai straightened his jacket for the Conclave, even though it wasn’t quite time to head down to the Chancellery. With so few staff traveling with them, he’d prepared first and given his father more time to breakfast. Their few staff had been supplemented, but Howan and his father didn’t know these new servants well. And neither did he know their loyalties.

With so few staff traveling with them, he’d prepared first and given his father more time to breakfast. The fact that it had also given him an excuse to avoid breakfast himself was something he’d chosen not to mention to anyone, including his father. Howan Fai had never been the hearty early morning eater his father was, but he had even less appetite than usual this beautiful sunlit morning.

Not when he knew that within the next few hours Andrin Calirath would be betrothed to a man who would do everything in his power to kill her in childbed.

At the moment, King Junni’s boots rested on the floor, brushed to a high gloss. The man himself was ruining the press on his court garments by leaning out the windowsill with bits of sweet roll and calling to the birds.

The cheery sounds of vibrant Tajvana covered up any answering hoots or caws the local birds might have made.

“He thought he saw the falcon called White Fire, Highness.” Munn Lii explained.

Crown Princess Andrin’s imperial peregrine falcon might have flown by the window, but Howan Fai doubted Finena would care to eat breakfast crumbs. He speared a sausage and offered it to his father instead.

They hadn’t packed birdfeed. A trip to Tajvana hadn’t called for it, but on any normal trading route, King Junni’s staff would have provided several trunks of the stuff. The high northern ranges were tough country for any creature, and it was an article of Uromathian faith that a good man returned value to nature for the beauty it gave him. Sharing some seeds with the birds in exchange for the rough fodder the horses consumed along the old caravan ways was as natural to an Eniathian as breathing.

And it was the same on the seas that were home to Eniathians of Howan Fai’s mother’s branch. The continental shelf was favored by hundreds of bird species, and he often thought his mother knew the names of every single one of them.

Nothing native to Uromathia compared to an imperial Ternathian falcon, of course. Eniath’s few inland fortresses and cities did boast many fine falconers and had developed several lines of the fierce birds, but the Ternathian falcons were something more. Still, the study of lesser birds only increased an Eniathian’s natural appreciation of the remarkable imperial falcons, and-

King Junni let out a whoop just piercing enough to carry over the city’s noise. A blur of silver-white feathers passed by the window before Howan Fai could get a good look, but the satisfaction on his father’s face when he pulled back inside confirmed exactly which bird had snatched the last breakfast sausage.

“My son-”

Tears shone in King Junni’s eyes, and a flush colored his cheeks that had nothing to do with the exertion of leaning too far out of an upper story palace window. Howan Fai’s father wrapped his son in a tight hug.

Pure plainspoken Eniathian-dialect Uromathian rolled off the tongue with the natural open vowels common to the Arpathian wilds. But King Junni spoke barely above a whisper, not in Uromathian, but in thick north country Arpath.

“My son, I think Sharona needs us.”

Howan Fai held tight to his father, listening hard. Too many nobles at the Conclave interpreted King Junni’s lack of Ternathian language ability as a sign of lacking wits. A prince raised by that king understood it as merely the natural result of a political choice made in his grandfather’s day.

“Understand I do not know this,” the king murmured. “I do not have any message. I do not have any promises. But I have my guesses, and I need to be sure you are ready, just in case I am right.

“My son, my heir, could you marry the eldest daughter of the Winged Crown’s clan chief?”

Shock at the question froze Howan Fai, but he quickly recovered and answered with a nod and a tighter squeeze. If his father was avoiding proper names, he wouldn’t be the one to say “Ternathia” or “Crown Princess Andrin” out loud.

“You meet the requirements of the agreements between the clan chiefs of clan chiefs.” The Articles of Unification, Howan Fai translated. “If we can reach the eldest daughter, we must try.”

“Did the white bird carry something?” Howan Fai couldn’t hold back the question, but he did his best to pitch his voice low and muffle the words against his father’s shoulder.

“No,” King Junni whispered. “My audience requests with the Winged Crown were all scheduled for too late. I tried to attract the bird to send a message. Yesterday she would come but not even eat from my hand.” Whitefire was well trained. “But the falcon will take food back to the high window. It left with the sausage. And my white jade ring. I trust her falconer will notice the sign.”

A remarkable hope began to blossom in Howan Fai’s heart. Fear for his family and the Eniathian people bristled in thorns around that hope, but still he hoped. The Ternathian Army greatly outpowered the Uromathian Empire. A direct attack-if Eniath were to be tightly aligned with the imperial house of Ternathia-would be highly unlikely. Emperor Chava was vicious and vindictive, but not a fool. Only if Eniath were to make an offer of alliance and the Winged Crown rejected it would Eniath be at extreme risk from the Uromathian Empire.

King Junni broke the hug, stepped back and clapped his son on the shoulder.

Finena would return to her perch in an alcove in Crown Princess Andrin’s rooms and present that beringed sausage to a falconer or quite possibly the princess herself, before the falcon would trust eating something from an unknown hand. The white jade was, Howan Fai hoped, known to the Caliraths as symbol of the Eniath royal family.

King Junni bustled about pretending quite well that no desperate whispering had happened in that long hug. He submitted to having his clothes straightened and to the application of his boots. Rokel Lii, the king’s bodyguard, refused to let the staff attempt to iron out the overrobe’s creases while the king was still wearing it, so away the garment went.

More staff came and went, clearing the breakfast table. Stains from the windowsill proved too difficult to remove, and the staff changed course to press a new overrobe leaving King Junni in his underclothes in front of the scandalized Othmali kitchen staff. The garments were perfectly modest and provided more coverage than the staff’s knee and elbow length uniforms, but that clearly didn’t prevent them from striking at the staff’s concept of how royalty should be clad.

As usual, the Othmalis pleaded non-understanding of Eniath-accented Uromathian, so Junni turned to gestures and communicated mock horror at his state of undress, then exaggerated pride in his physique when the youngest maid blushed. No matter how scandalized they might be-or pretend to be-there was no resisting Junni when he chose to be charming and his performance earned delighted laughter and smiles from them all.

Howan Fai was happy to see it, yet even as he smiled back at them, he couldn’t put aside the internal wariness he never quite dared to relax anywhere outside Eniath. The Grand Palace at Tajvana had some servants who’d arrived with the Caliraths from Hawkwing or followed later. Some others had continued on after service under the Seneschal. Still more had been hired to support the Conclave visitors, but the ones who cared for the apartment assigned to Eniath were all of the last two categories. And however innocent they might be, some of these same Tajvanese staff also visited the apartments assigned to the Uromathian Empire each day, where they might be receiving small gifts to repeat back anything they’d seen and heard. King Junni tipped them each generously, after Eniathian custom…and a reasonable sense of caution. A well-inclined staff would intuitively protect patrons in ways more neutral servants would not.

Howan Fai wondered if some of these would ask to follow them home after the conclusion of the Conclave. A part of the palace staffing increase would be temporary work, due to end after most of the foreign kings and princes returned home, and King Junni was an exceptionally easy royal to serve, especially when compared to some of the others in residence. Of course, any who might wish to return with them still had much to learn about Eniath and its customs. What the staff missed in their surprise about the king in his underclothes, for example, was the nature of the garments themselves.

His father had gone traditional today, with a djadja berry treated underjacket and loose trousers. The tough deep brown fabric protected a fisherman from rough barnacles and fishhooks, but it could help turn a knife too. Howan Fai wore much the same thing under his dress jacket, but with a long shirt rather than the full underjacket. Kings wore full overrobes, but princes only had to wear elaborate jackets.

King Junni joked that the first Eniathians to take to the seas hadn’t stolen enough fabric to drape everyone with it, so they’d settled on only making the king wear three bolts worth of silk and treated every other bit of line or yarn they had with djadja berries to make sure the stuff would endure as many centuries as they had to wait for peace to break out again on the Uromathian subcontinent. It was only partly a joke.

Munn Lii and Rokel Lii wore uniforms of the same tough fabric a few shades darker. Howan Fai could tell the guards especially approved of their royal charges’ choice of clothing today. He hoped it wouldn’t be tested.

King Junni had the fresh, pressed overrobe draped over his head by a Tajvanese footman. As usual the presence of a local man reminded Howan Fai of just how short Eniathians were compared to the parts of Sharona beyond Uromathia. The footman was probably only average height for Tajvana, but he was a full head taller than the king and even Howan Fai looked eye-level at the man’s chin. It did make the dressing process easier though.

Perhaps the footman would be among those seeking to follow them back to sea and to Eniath. The man could include in his list of skills a notation that he was professionally tall. And he might even not be a spy.

The clock still read too early an hour to head directly to the Conclave, and in truth Howan Fai couldn’t think of a plan for how to get to Crown Princess Andrin or Emperor Zindel to point out his father’s insight. If the Goddess Mother Marthea had kept direct control over humanity instead of gifting Her children with free will, a marriage between the Ternathian Empire and Uromathian Empire would peaceably unify Sharona. But the Uromathian Empire itself was only about a generation shy of dissolution. Maybe, just maybe, two generations. King Junni and Howan Fai had discussed it at length-with equally great discretion-and neither of them saw any way it could last much longer than that.

Emperor Chava, called the greatest Busar to hold the name by his scions in the Court of the Uromathian Empire, possessed the combination of attributes necessary to hold together a disparate empire through personal charisma and fear. Unfortunately, he clearly saw no reason to acquire any other attributes…or create a regime which could be held together by someone who lacked his own “gifts.” Indeed, he’d dismantled-or allowed to atrophy-any tools or institutions which stood in the way of his preferred governing technique…and none of his sons and nephews possessed those skills. Nor were any of them a Calirath to hold the loyalty of an empire through the sort of personal courage and devotion to country that inspired so much patriotism in Ternathia’s subjects. In part that was Chava’s own fault for executing a few consorts who’d shown signs of excess independence, but the end result was ominous to consider. The possible heirs to the Uromathian Empire were all cruel enough to match their father, but none inspired the loyal following the current emperor did, and King Junni’s assessment was that none of them would be able to do so, even if Emperor Chava eventually selected just one as heir and set to training him properly.

Not that Chava gave any signs of doing any such thing. The brood currently ran wild between periods of banishment or genteel confinement, seemingly arbitrarily applied. The view from Eniath provided Howan Fai with plenty of details about their various excesses, and he knew only too well how they’d modeled their behavior on their father’s example. That would have been bad enough under nay circumstances, but it was even worse because none of them seemed to recognize their father’s internal discipline. Chava Busar was a ruthless, unscrupulous, vile, utterly amoral human being, without a trace of pity or compassion and much given to personal excess-the sort of man who never forgot an injury and would wait decades, until the time was ripe, to avenge himself. But, give Kraisan his due, he would wait. He understood the need to work, plan, and discipline even his own inner furies. His sons did not.

And that was the true reason Chava’s example of adopting any strategy or using any tool-no matter how hideous-had made this current Unification Treaty all but impossible. Even Chava hadn’t planned it that way, and some of the daughters were reasonably rational. He’d seen a use for them and ensured they were raised to be both deeply loyal and reasonably attractive to allied powers (which meant being at least a few strides short of outright insanity), and Howan Fai suspected Prince Janaki would have been more than up to the task of managing his own household. The sons were a very different matter, unfortunately. It was they who were contenders for the throne of Uromathia, so it was they who were encouraged in excess and feral appetites by their father’s example and the nature of the court he’d built.

Somehow the new Empire of Sharona would need to find a way to stabilize and restore the Uromathian Empire even as Chava continued to rule it. It would be too late to restore it after his death, but finding some way to accomplish that impossible task with Andrin married to one of Chava’s sociopathic sons…

Howan Fai shuddered at the thought. She’d need guards to protect her from her husband as well as from her enemies.

Or from her other enemies, at any rate. And once an heir was born…

One small signet ring seemed such a paltry tool to begin a campaign to save an empire. He hoped it would be enough.

Crack!

Finena, talons grasping the edge of the still open window, flapped strong, broad wings to stay a moment on the sill. Then the imperial falcon gave a great push with those same wings and lifted away.

The ring lay on the tile floor just inside the window, jade fractured clean through. What did it mean? Was the cracked stone a sign from the crown princess? Or had it broken only when the ring dropped from the window to the floor?

King Junni twitched his overrobe quickly to settle in a flare over the ring, but it was too late.

Both the footman and the youngest maid stared at that corner of the king’s robe and silence hovered for a long, still moment. But then banged fists on the doors startled everyone, turning them quickly towards the palace hall. Munn Lii flung open the door with Rokel Lii ready to shoot or skewer anyone who threatened to enter unwelcome.

A pair of Imperial Ternathian Guardsmen stood there, and other similar knocks echoed down the hallway.

“Your pardon Your Majesty. And yours, Your Highness.” The guard bowed to both of them. “Some miscreant has attempted to injure an imperial falcon. If you’ll allow a speedy check of the premises, we’d like to ensure the troublemaker didn’t use this apartment.”

Rokel Lii stepped back and translated quickly for King Junni’s benefit.

The footman and maid exchanged quick glances.

“There weren’t no birds here, guardi.” The maid offered a quick curtsy with her lie.

The second guard flinched. Probably a Sifter, Howan Fai guessed.

“Quite. Exactly as she says, guardis. We didn’t see any falcons here.” The footman volunteered, making a small bow of his own.

Howan Fai thought the second guard’s left eye was beginning to water. It was either that or the man had developed a sudden and unexplained eye twitch.

King Junni gestured for the guards to enter and spoke Uromathian flatly to Rokel Lii.

“Tell them I offer any bird that comes to me the remains of a fine meal, as is custom in Eniath for good luck. No harm has ever been intended.”

Rokel Lii didn’t have a chance to speak before one of the guards replied in the same language.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, then cast a glance back down the hallway as the sounds of angry shouting drew closer.

Both Guardsmen stepped quickly inside and two others appeared, bracketing a florid-faced Uromathian in heavily jeweled cloth-of-gold festival dress. The man looked more ready for a coronation than a Conclave.

“Prince Weeva of the Busars.”

He introduced himself, and rudely poked a fat finger at the ribs of the closest Imperial Guard.

One of Chava’s special police did trail the little party, as well, dressed in the brilliant crimson imperial uniform with father-of-pearl hilted pistols on each hip. But the specialist showed no interest in restraining his emperor’s son.

Prince Weeva was the fourth acknowledged son of the Uromathian emperor, child of a now deceased courtesan, and Howan Fai examined him critically. Weeva-they all adopted a “va” suffix to honor their father-was considered the most attractive of the emperor’s boys. Which, in Howan Fai’s opinion, wasn’t saying much. True, the black hair almost matched Andrin’s but it lacked the fine gold strands. And the sneer was most definitely unattractive.

“Dogs.” Weeva spat the pejorative Uromathian term for police and snapped his fingers. “I told you I saw the cutcha’s bird being lured down here.” He pointed a finger at Howan Fai. “That one. The Eniath princeling did it. The coat sleeve was colored just like that.”

The staff held complete silence about the recent change in King Junni’s overrobe, and Howan Fai saw the maid slip farther back into the apartment out of line of sight from Prince Weeva. Reputations had been earned in the Grand Palace already, he noted.

“That hasn’t been established, Your Highness.” The Guardsman behind Weeva tried to soothe him, while the ones who’d arrived first all but locked shoulders to prevent the Uromathian prince’s entry.

“Understandable. You’re just a dog who doesn’t speak the Tongue of Emperors.” Weeva lifted an eyebrow at King Junni. “Even if your version is horridly bastardized. I can almost smell the rotting fish guts every time I hear an Eniathian speak.”

“What do you want, Prince Weeva?” Howan Fai asked.

“You.” He wiggled a finger like a hooked worm. “Since you can call that bird, I want you to attend on me after the Conclave. If the cutcha picks me, I’m going to have her kill that bird. If she doesn’t, I’m going to have you kill it.”

The special policeman just closed his eyes and shook his head with the air of a long-suffering attendant.

Prince Weeva snorted laughter, turned to his own guard, and threw an arm around the Uromathian man.

“Did you see their faces? I want game bird recipes! Have the staff begin looking for them immediately. I want a good selection to review as soon as this dull ceremony’s over. Maybe something can be done with stewed redberry, or currants, but whatever it is has to be delicious so the cutcha’ll eat it before she recognizes what it was.”

The four Imperial Guardsmen still stood at the Eniath apartment. Indeed, they’d solidified somehow, drawing together in some invisible fashion, as Weeva laughed. Their stony faces were too well trained to reveal what they might be thinking, however, and one with senior armsman stripes bowed deeply to King Junni and issued an invitation.

“Your Royal Majesty, I’d prefer to escort your party to the Conclave, if you’re prepared to go.” Rokel Lii translated at the king’s ear.

Prince Weeva grimaced pettishly, but he nodded with brusque contempt and allowed himself to be escorted away.

“No one’ll be touching any imperial falcons,” one of the remaining Ternathians muttered, not far enough under his breath for politeness. He was the one with the Sifter Talent, and his expression staring after Prince Weeva indicated entirely too much confidence that the Uromathian prince intended every word of his threats.

King Junni responded to the Imperial Guardsman’s tone without bothering to wait for a second translation.

“Rokel Lii, we will go. Assure them no harm will befall White Fire at our hands. And have someone tell the maid the threat has passed at least as far as down the hall.”

* * *

The enormous Emperor Garim Chancellery was packed with bodies-some even as resplendently dressed as Prince Weeva. King Junni pressed right past their usual seats near the middle, halfway back from the places of high honor, and strode straight for the front.

Weeva caught their eyes and laughed, then huddled in close to Emperor Chava and began a wildly gesticulated story with arms mimicking an imperial falcon’s flapping, and Howan Fai watched the emperor’s face. Chava looked at them and frowned, not seeming to enjoy his son’s latest antics. Whatever his other faults, Chava had finesse, and the hijinks Prince Weeva planned both lacked that and needlessly complicated Uromathia’s push for greater power in the new Sharonan Empire.

Only when Chava’s eyes suddenly narrowed did Howan Fai realize he and his father reached the very front of the room…and that the Imperial Guard had let them without the smallest word of restraint.

He turned away from Chava and bowed to the Ternathian Emperor. Zindel looked at him with an odd light in his eyes, and none of the astonishment Howan Fai had expected to see as the result of their effrontery. He almost faltered in surprise, but a quick touch of King Junni’s elbow encouraged to him to speak.

“Your Imperial Majesty, may I have the honor of a word with the Imperial Crown Princess?”

“Yes!” Delight filled Emperor Zindel’s face. “Why, yes, you may.”

Then the princess was there. Andrin, face tilted down towards him with a hopeful lift on her mouth, reached out and took his hands. He started to speak, still not sure exactly what he meant to say, but she overrode him before he could open his mouth.

“I need to marry you,” she whispered urgently. “Will you do it?”

Howan Fai was a prince. Of a small kingdom, perhaps, but still a prince, born and bred to the job and well trained in its responsibilities. That was the only reason his eyes didn’t flare wide and his mouth didn’t drop open in astonishment and disbelief. Instead, he dipped his head in a courteous nod, as if that was exactly what he’d expected to hear, although he suspected the light blazing in his own eyes gave that notion the lie for anyone who could see it.

“Of course!” he replied in the same whisper and kissed her hand. “I can imagine no greater honor. When?”

“Now.” She squeezed his hands tightly. “Father will see to it. But we marry now, in front of the Conclave, where no one can challenge the validity. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.”

He released her hands to press a fist to his heart, bowing as if they’d exchanged the merest pleasantry, then stepped back beside his father as Andrin and Zindel continued to their places on the dais at the heart of the Conclave chamber. Shamir Taje accompanied them and waited while they took their seats before continuing himself to the podium at the lip of the dais and reaching for his gavel.

That gavel rapped once, twice, three times, the sharp sound cutting through the muted burr of conversation. Stillness fell-a taut, singing stillness-and he cleared his throat.

“The Conclave will come to order,” he said calmly into the silent tension.

The first councilor’s smooth, unruffled control of the packed Conclave’s members and their invited guests soothed Howan Fai’s jangled nerves. But he also knew that in the next few moments he’d pass beyond the level where enmity from fools like Prince Weeva mattered and attain in its place a personal enemy in the ruling emperor of the Uromathian Empire.

The rest of the opening ceremonies, unavoidable even here, on this day, flowed past him in a blur. He tried to concentrate enough to pay attention-he truly did-but Andrin’s whispered words replayed themselves in his head again and again, drowning out everything else while he grappled with his astonishment and tried to sort out the wild mix of surprise, joy, determination, and fear. He hadn’t made a great deal of progress by the time the inevitable ceremonial was completed. And then-

“Lords, Ladies, please stand for the commencement of the Conclave. I present the Imperial Crown Princess Andrin Calirath, Heir to the Winged Crown and the Empire of Sharona.”

Taje’s words snapped Howan Fai’s whirling brain into sudden, razor sharp focus, as if he’d just hurled a bucket of icy water into the prince’s face. The young Eniathian stiffened and the huge chamber went deathly silent. A quarter of the room turned towards the knot of Uromathian imperials, but Emperor Chava said not a word.

Andrin stepped up beside the First Councilor and called out in a loud, clear voice:

“I am here to complete the unification of the Empire of Sharona, to meet the requirement of the Articles of the Unification, and to marry a Prince of Uromathia. I present to you my choice of consort: Prince Howan Fai Goutin of Eniath.”

She held out her hand, and Howan Fai rose, the sound of his feet loud in the deafening stillness as he crossed to the dais. He made himself walk slowly, calmly, and mounted the steps, bowing to Emperor Zindel as he reached the top, still wrapped in the electric cocoon of the Conclave’s astonished stillness. Then he bowed again, even more deeply, to Andrin, stepped up beside her, and took her hand in his.

They turned to face the Conclave together, and its silence shattered. The sudden, surging thunder of cheers as the Conclave’s members came to their feet was deafening, rolling up like the sea, pressing against Howan Fai’s face, and Andrin’s, like a powerful wind. It was a storm, a tempest whose like he’d never imagined in his wildest dreams, and Finena on Andrin’s shoulder added her own piecing war cries to the tumultuous cheering.

The response from Emperor Chava was absolute silence.

* * *

Andrin looked across at Howan Fai, her prince-about to become her husband-and breathed a deep sigh of relief. The secret had held!

Chava Busar, three rows back, and cosseted all around by his Uromathian courtiers, had earlier taken a seat with his sons rather than at the higher place his imperial precedence ranked. Now those other, unchosen princes stood frozen in the tumult of the cheering nobles. Rage and envy marked some of their faces, but the dominant emotion was fear, perhaps even terror, and every one of their sidelong glances tracked towards their father.

The Emperor of Uromathia, however, wore a calm, pleasant expression. He simply waited while the wild cheering spent its strength, the Conclave members seated themselves once more, and something like silence returned, then rose from his own chair, standing to seek recognition from the Conclave’s Speaker.

Shamir Taje stepped back to the podium and tapped his gavel once, sharply.

“The Chair recognizes the Emperor of Uromathia,” he said calmly, and a fresh, even tauter tension gripped the great hall.

Andrin more than half expected a screaming rant to disrupt the Conclave-expected him to denounce her choice, demand she wed one of his sons, whatever the exact language of the treaty-but he simply nodded courteously at Taje’s response, and his voice was as calm as his expression when he spoke.

“I crave the Conclave’s indulgence,” he said then, “but I would seek a point of clarification.” His smile was just a bit tighter, showed just a bit more tooth, than the rest of his expression, but he had himself well in hand and his control was formidable. “No one disputes Her Imperial Highness’ right to choose any husband she wishes from the list of appropriate candidates, yet it was my understanding that the treaty provided that this wedding was to be between the royal houses of Ternathia and Uromathia.”

He raised his eyebrows calmly and politely, and Taje nodded gravely.

“The House of Fai is a royal house of Uromathia, Your Majesty,” he replied. “If you will review the actual language of the treaty, you will find it specifies a marriage between the heir to the Winged Crown and a princess-or, in this case, a prince-of Uromathia. Her Imperial Highness was presented with a list of all royal princes of Uromathia and, after much thought and serious reflection, made her choice.”

“I see.”

Andrin braced herself afresh for the inevitable denunciation, but Chava only stood for a moment, head slightly cocked, like a man considering a new, unexpected, and mildly interesting insight. Then he nodded to Taje.

“I see, indeed,” he repeated. “Clearly”-despite his calm voice, his brief smile was colder than a dagger’s blade-“I was operating under a misapprehension, and I thank the Speaker for the clarification.”

The silence was deafening as he resumed his seat, and Andrin heaved a huge mental sigh of relief. She could hardly believe it, even now, but Taje and her father had been right. Chava Busar was as calculating as he was ambitious. The Conclave’s thunderous response showed only too clearly how the rest of its members would respond to any tirade in his part, and the letter of the treaty was against him. It said exactly what Taje had just said it did. If he protested now, tried to set aside her choice, it would only make him look ridiculous and petulant. Worse, it would make him look incompetent by simply emphasizing his failure to recognize the ambiguity of the language he himself had insisted be inserted into the treaty. And, worse yet, it was entirely probable that that treaty’s other signatories would not hesitate to enforce it anyway-by force of arms, if necessary-and his empire could never stand against an entire world united against it.

No, he’d been outmaneuvered-for now, at any rate-and the Emperor of Uromathia would not allow the fury consuming him behind that calm facade to betray him into a disastrous false step. He’d make no political moves until he’d had time to think, time to find a response which benefited him. But he’d remember this moment-not simply as a political defeat but as a personal, unforgivable insult to his dignity-forever. She shivered at the thought and looked away from him, searching for King Junni, her soon to be father-in-law.

The short, stocky king of Eniath rewarded her with a brilliant smile. Good! He did understand what was going on, and even better, he approved! The white jade ring was missing from his finger, but Finena chose that moment to leap from Andrin’s shoulder and fly to King Junni.

The Eniathian king lifted his forearm to grant the imperial falcon a perch, which, wonder of wonders, the bird accepted. Finena might shred that fine overrobe with a brush of her beak or an injudicious talon scratch, but the sheen of King Junni’s sleeve looked like he’d come prepared.

Howan Fai’s warm hand squeezed hers.

“Sister of White Fire, your falcon has a new admirer.”

“Yes. Your father’s been sending her jewelry.” She returned the squeeze. “It was a lovely gesture. I’m glad the guards were fast enough getting to you. Emperor Chava’s retinue made a fuss, and I thought we’d been found out too early.”

Howan Fai lifted her hand to his lips. “Not found out. Only Prince Weeva saw, and he didn’t know what he’d seen. So he came to make threats rather than telling his father.”

“Threats that should concern us?” Andrin tensed.

“No. Not any more. The emperor, his father, won’t let him act. We’ll face more intelligent enemies now.”

“What was it he threatened?”

“Finena.” Howan Fai gave a minute headshake. “Prince Weeva’s a fool. White Fire would eat out his eyes before he could even unsheathe a meat cleaver for the game roast he threatened.”

Andrin’s falcon stretched wide her wings at the sound of her name, but stayed settled on King Junni’s arm.

There’d been no arrangement made for a translator, and she’d just stolen Howan Fai who usually performed those duties at the Conclave, but King Junni made small hand motions encouraging her to move along to stand in front of the priests and begin the wedding ceremony.

Andrin locked fingers with Howan Fai, and they took their places at the center of the dais. Acolytes summoned from the Temple of Saint Taiyr marched braziers of incense up and down the aisles of dignitaries. Devotees of Vothan, Shalana, and Marnilay, originally present to bless the assembly came forward, and followers of Tryganath, Marthea, and Sekharan were sent for to serve as the gods’ witnesses for each of the six members of the Twofold Triad.

“We need a Uromathian priest, as well.” Howan Fai spoke in her ear, and while his lips never even twitched, his dark eyes smiled as he nodded to an elaborate tapestry of Bergahl the Just in his incarnation as Vindicator.

“Of course,” Andrin said, then caught her father’s eye and inclined her head towards a familiar round figure. Who better to serve as senior officiant than the highest priest in Tajvana-the Seneschal for the Order of Bergahl?

“My friends,” Emperor Zindel’s powerful voice rolled out across the chamber, “I realize this may seem a bit sudden, but-”

* * *

This was…it was…

Whatever it was, Raka couldn’t call it Just. The sudden changes in what everyone had expected to happen had surprised everyone in the Emperor Garim Chancellery, including Raka, and it had only gotten worse from there. The crown princess had selected her Uromathian prince, but it was just the Prince of Eniath, not a relative of Emperor Chava at all. That was a sufficient affront to Raka’s sense of what was right and proper, but it hadn’t ended there. Oh, no! Not content to simply announce the betrothal, Emperor Zindel had announced a wedding, as well. Now. Immediately, before this cloud of court-dressed nobles. And he’d called on His Eminence, Raka’s master, to serve as one of the officiants.

Clergy for all six gods of the Double Triad-Vothan, Shalana, Marnilay, Tryganath, Marthea, and Sekharan-were represented as well, of course, which was another affront to Raka’s sense of propriety here in Bergahl’s own city! Not that anyone cared what he thought. Now each deity had at least one priest, monk, or priestess scampering down the aisles with unholy glee to join the wedding party, and it was all Raka could do not to glower openly at the uncouth horde.

He recognized the Sekharan monk Nekhaan, who wore braided rawhide for a belt even for an event with emperors in attendance. Nekhaan spent too much time among the poor and forgot the dignity of a god’s servant. And if the Vothanite priest Lavo was turned out immaculately, as all of the six should have been, he still sported a muscled physique more fitting to a day laborer. The truth was that all six of the Double Triad clergy who served as chaplains to the Winged Crown were affronts to the dignity of their priestly calling in one way or another.

The Marthean priestess Thea-Nami had the gall to be leaking tears of joy. She at least sported a rotund figure befitting the wealth that came with a god’s blessings, but the child-sized jam handprints at knee level were probably real. A Marthean attendant behind Thea-Nami swung ginger incense back and forth behind her mistress’s steps, and Raka wrinkled his nose. Of course she was pregnant again. No doubt Marthean devotees would consider it an extra blessing on the marriage.

They were all contemptible, in oh so many ways, but what could one expect? The Double Triad clergy were simple tools, compliant in a way His Eminence the Seneschal had never allowed himself to be. They were nonentities, supremely unimportant. When one came down to it, there were three men in this Conclave who mattered, and Raka studied them, hoping to guess their thoughts.

A vein pulsed in the Holy Seneschal’s forehead, Emperor Zindel smiled ever so blandly, and Emperor Chava watched, showing nothing at all. The Seneschal seemed to see something in that utterly flat expression and his steps moved faster. As a loyal servant of Bergahl’s highest priest, Raka hurried after him. Raka couldn’t guess what the emperors intended, but his master’s response was clear.

The center dais should have collapsed into a hundred thousand splinters if the weight of the Seneschal’s angry outrage had been made manifest by Bergahl in that moment.

“This is hardly appropriate.” The Seneschal’s protest came in the calm and measured tones of a revered church leader, and pride rose in Raka’s chest. He straightened the trailing end of the Seneschal’s court robe so the thread of gold showed properly.

Nekhaan, the only clergy member to make it to the dais ahead of them, looked from Raka’s master to the Crown Princess of the Sharonan Empire and obviously decided otherwise. Ignoring the Seneschal, the young monk filled his lungs and shouted out the beginning of the Double Triad marriage ceremony.

“Glory to Sekharan that I am allowed this day! Praises to Him and honor to his Brother and Sister Gods!”

Nekhaan had a voice trained to carry in alleys and marketplaces. The amplification of a room designed for the less rough voices of kings and emperors made him sound like the voice of Sekharan himself. The lines were familiar to the many followers of the Double Triad present among the assembled members of the Conclave, and the crowd knew their response.

“May His blessings endure forever!” they rumbled back like human thunder.

Nekhaan raised his hand in benediction, beaming out across the crowded floor. Then he glanced at the Seneschal and lowered his voice considerably.

“There’s a shrine to the demon of lost causes across in the poor quarter if you want to cause trouble, Your Eminence,” he said under his breath. “But this is a state wedding, and it will be held in all honor if I have to skewer you with one of your own knives.”

From still halfway up the north aisle came the next line in the liturgy:

“Thanks to Tryganath that this joy should fall to me! Praises to Him and honor to His Brother and Sister Gods!” Tryganath’s priest had a powerful voice too.

“May His blessings endure forever!” the crowd gave back, and Finena added her own loud cries in emphasis. His Eminence the Seneschal cringed at the falcon’s cries. Raka wished Emperor Zindel had at least had the damned bird caged for the ceremony.

“Reverence to Marthea that I live in this moment!” Thea-Nami reached the dais and achieved a creditable soprano roar. “Praises to Marthea and honor to Her Brother and Sister Gods”

“May Her blessings endure forever!”

Thea-Nami took her place, completing the opening liturgy which honored the Veiled Triad, and the Seneschal shifted in frustration, curling the edge of his train. Raka straightened the fine cloth again and retreated to the back of the dais.

All eyes were on the Seneschal, and Raka almost laughed aloud when he realized the reason for the growing silence.

This point between the Veiled Triad’s invocation and the Elder Triad’s invocation was when other gods and goddesses included in a Double Triad ceremony were invoked-or not-by their respective priests and priestesses. And the Seneschal obviously intended not to. His master would refuse to officiate at the ceremony by not invoking Bergahl. It was a dignified way to object, and Raka imagined explaining it to some of the less devoted Order worshipers who’d begun to be overawed by the Caliraths. His Eminence the Seneschal could not bless a union so newly announced. It was concern for the young crown princess that stayed his hand, his priestly concern that she be properly counseled and instructed before taking this monumental step. Yes, that would strike the right note to remind the people of Princess Andrin’s youth and her obviously few years of experience with the elements of high statecraft. The Seneschal only needed to remain disapprovingly silent to stop this entire outrage in it’s tracks and remind all the world of who truly held power in Tajvana, the Queen of Cities.

Raka watched his master take in the whole crowd who moved restlessly, waiting on words he was sure the Seneschal would not speak. The paper notes for the carefully drafted blessing of the crown princess’s betrothal to a son or nephew of Emperor Chava were still in the Seneschal’s right hand. His master crumpled them, deliberately. Only the first few rows could hear the sound, but Emperor Zindel and Empress Varena sat in those rows.

Someone whistled softly and Raka began to enjoy the growing sense of embarrassment he thought he could detect in Empress Varena’s increasingly colorless face.

Nekhaan said something to Lavo, but it was too low voiced for Raka to make out. The silence stretched, ringing in the stillness-

And then Finena, the Crown Princess’s bird, chose that moment to fly from King Junni’s shoulder. The bride and groom kneeling on the dais facing all seven representatives of the gods leaned together, and Howan Fai kissed his bride. Just quickly and lightly, but the Conclave took the opportunity to cheer. And in that distraction, the crown princess whistled sharp and clear to her falcon.

The bird spread its wide wings, circled the dais, and in a lightning fast dive ripped the prayer notes from the Seneschal’s hand before settling-not back on the crown princess’s arm or even at King Junni’s side-but on the Seneschal’s own shoulder.

Raka stared in horror as his master stood frozen. Lavo and Nekhaan, with a few low voiced exchanges that sounded far too much like laughter, clamped themselves on either side of the Seneschal and retrieved the notes, while Raka’s master stood unmoving in terror and the falcon watched. Raka couldn’t read an expression in the feathered head, but that wicked sharp beak gleamed inches from the Seneschal’s eyes.

“Bergahl honors this union.” Lavo read out in a loud carrying voice. “As Bergahl is Just, so is this completion to the Articles of Confederation. Blessings of glory, honor, and wisdom on the Prince of Uromathia chosen this day to wed our own Crown Princess-”

The words continued and Raka stood as frozen as his master. They were exactly the words on the papers, but they’d never been intended for this!

Sparing the Seneschal nothing, Lavo read every word with Nekhaan holding and turning the pages. Then the three Elder Triad gods had their traditional invocations. And all the while Finena turned her feathered head this way and that, studying the Seneschal’s eyes.

All seven of the holy men and women clasped hands together, with the Vothan and Sekharan priests giving the Seneschal no other option, and the priestess of Marnilay pronounced the final words.

“In the names of All Gods, Ternathian and Uromathian, we and Sharona Entire bless our daughter Andrin and our son Howan and join them before all people as one house. And in this holy joining we renew our blessings on the People of Sharona and the united Empire of Sharona. Rise daughter and son, wife and husband, Crown Princess and Prince Consort.”

The Seneschal opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“In the names of All the Gods,” the Double Triad six called out together, “Blessings, blessings, seven times blessings!”

* * *

“That conniving little whore!” Raynarg snarled. “I had to bless them. Bless them! While those six tridiots fawned over the sanctity of marriage and acted oh so delighted to preside over that six times damned farce! She should be whipped in the streets!”

Chava Busar watched the spittle-flecked would-be holy man with partially concealed disdain. “I’d settle for dead. In childbirth would be appropriate, but we probably shouldn’t wait that long.”

Faroayn Raynarg offended Emperor Chava’s sensibilities. But the price of empire demanded using tools like the soft man in front of him. Ternathians dismissed “His Crowned Eminence” as a buffoon, because he was one. But Chava could use buffoons as handily as he could men of capability. In fact, handled properly, buffoons could be far more valuable than more capable-and wary-tools.

“Zindel Calirath, the father, is our true enemy here, remember,” the Uromathian counseled. “The girl is just his blood, and not yet out of her teens, to boot. Trouble enough in time, but for now she’s still untrained.”

“She offends me.” Raynarg ignored this comment, not pausing in his furious pacing to actually acknowledge the wisdom being offered him. “I’ll cut her. Cut her where it hurts.”

Chava sighed inwardly and continued, pointing out more Calirath weaknesses that would never apply to a Uromathian imperial heir.

“Zindel’s children do not compete amongst themselves for heirship, so when he lost the boy he lost his only truly trained heir. Princesses are only good for alliances. Admittedly, our bride chose poorly, but such errors can be…corrected. So, certainly, if your knives get an opportunity, kill her.”

“Yes!” Raynarg clenched a fist in a manner probably meant to be threatening and collapsed into a heavily padded chair exhausted by the few minutes of pacing.

The emperor hid his personal contempt for the qualities which made the Seneschal so attractive as a tool. The man was a fat toad. He was a pure terror to small men, the flies-like those acolytes in the Order of Bergahl who wanted to serve the gods rather than enrich their order’s leader-but he appeared utterly impotent against a force like the Caliraths. Yet that very incompetence was what made him valuable in Chava’s present need. The Seneschal of Othmaliz would never be taken seriously by even the extremely thorough Ternathian Imperial Guard, and so a strike using his Order had a far better chance of succeeding than one might have expected from so feckless a leader. The unholy cleric just needed to be properly led.

“But Zindel is the one who stole your palace and presumes to rule us, not-at least not yet-this girl.” The emperor pointed out. “He represents the true threat. Still, it would be as well to eliminate this new heir of his before he has a chance to train her as he did his son. If a chance arises, I trust your Daggers have enough sense to make a cut?” He lifted his glass in inquiry.

“Absolutely!” Raynarg slammed his fist on the table, rattling the glasses. It was no way to treat the gently aged vintage in the crystal decanter between them, but Chava had long since determined that the self-absorbed man before him only desired the finer things in life, without the true refinement to actually identify quality in his possessions.

“My informants, trusted loyalists you understand, tell me the new consort’s mother has asked for a visit,” he said now. “The newlyweds will hide with the Caliraths for a time. But eventually, and count on it to be sooner than later, they’ll want some manner of honeymoon. The royal yacht has been sent for an overhaul. The next voyage may have the Crown Princess and her Prince Consort aboard. If they take that honeymoon by sea, they could visit Eniath.”

His spies had had reported nothing of the sort, but if an imperial yacht left the harbor chances were high someone Zindel cared about would be onboard, and he continued the lie fluently with a fine salting of truth.

“They would be at their weakest when out of sight of land, with no reinforcements near to call. But they’ll also be readiest then. I suggest your men examine the palace’s harbor and its approaches. You may find some most unique Talents available to you among your newest supplicants.”

Raynarg’s eyes lit as Emperor Chava had expected they would. Loaning the Seneschal a few exceptionally capable men was, he deemed, absolutely necessary to provide a decent chance of breaking through the Ternathian Imperial Guard. Fortunately, Zindel wasn’t the only emperor capable of searching his lands for useful people and enticing them into his service. Certainly the Ternathians had an unusual number of such capabilities born to families of those already in service, but Chava suspected that came of having started the process centuries earlier and somehow managing to keep whole families in service instead of simply the young men.

Not for the first time Chava longed for a way to make slavery desirable. If he’d just been born a few thousand years earlier, he could have established a stronger Uromathian tradition for the Talented to be wards of the state. Property of the state would have been better, but his otherwise competent ancestors had denied him that possibility. When the Talents which had first arisen in Ternathia finally found their way into Uromathian bloodlines, the rulers of the kingdoms which had predated his own empire adopted many of the Ternathians’ practices in order to encourage their growth. He liked to think they would have showed more wisdom if they’d realized where it would lead, and at least they’d stopped short of the more ridiculous of the Ternathian excesses, but they’d established early on that the Talented were exempt from enslavement except after conviction for certain very specific crimes. By the time of Chava’s birth, those traditions were too ingrained to be overcome in a single generation. He was working on it, of course, and the empire did have the tradition of service, but something stronger than that-something which allowed the assigning of spouses and obligated apprenticeships-would be so much more useful.

Perhaps a breeding program…The idea intrigued him. Not all the Talents would be willing, but surely some could be enticed. And other Talents were valuable enough they didn’t need to be willing.

But that was later. For now Chava needed to tone down the Seneschal’s aspirations. A public flogging of an imperial princess would never happen. The man was a fool to even speak of it. Positions and titles must be respected or the public might come to think they could live without emperors and kings. Or even seneschals.

This had to be an assassination, and a speedy one, because the attacking team itself would never survive the Calirath response. Of this Chava approved. An emperor should be properly ruthless.

For that matter, the entire Order of Bergahl was unlikely to survive a less than fully successful attack on the Caliraths, not that Chava intended to mention that to Raynarg. And such a neat clean up would be distinctly convenient for Emperor Chava-a reality the Seneschal failed to note and which the Uromathian emperor carefully declined to reveal to him.

A certain breed of man-eating fish could be adapted to survive in saltwater and be trained to enjoy the taste of warm-blooded cetacean, but as soon as the orca became aware of their presence, that nest was as good as eaten. The Bergahldian could make for a useful toothy little fish. If Faroayn Raynarg thought of himself instead as a shark, Chava would let him continue in the delusion.

* * *

Drindel Usar received his recall orders two hours later-the time required for a trusted Uromathian courtier to decode Emperor Chava’s orders and issue all the necessary secondary commands required to see His Excellency’s will accomplished, plus a terrifying hour and a half for the Haimath Island Director of Talents to actually find the grubby Talent.

Drindel had neither updated his residency card nor filed his papers with Haimath Prefecture and thus was guilty of several small felonies. These would have to be immediately lost in governmental paperwork, because the seal on the Flicker-sent summons meant the missing Drindel Usar was required for Service to Uromathia.

No mere prison term could be allowed to stand in the way.

The Director wished fervently for an option to have Drindel locked in a dank cell overnight first, but dared not report to the Imperial Court that he’d taken any action other than performing his own Service to Uromathia as expeditiously as possible. So he settled for slapping the papers in Drindel’s face and storming out of the rundown dockside establishment in which he’d finally found the man.

The Director left too quickly to notice Drindel’s pleased misinterpretation of the slight. In the young Talent’s mind a local bureaucrat had hand-delivered his orders and left with all speed, honoring the importance of Drindel’s work, while the Director’s silence proved the petty rules of Talent registration were beneath one such as Drindel Usar!

Drindel took great pleasure in tearing open the missive immediately. He scattered wax bits all over tavern the floor and ground some into the space between the boards for the wait staff to crawl after.

Rena would probably be the one bent down on her hands and knees. He hoped she saw the slight gleam in the wax and spent the evening on the floor picking up each little bit to gather the miniscule amount of gold fleck added to the wax of an Imperial Order.

Her father Toruph certainly wasn’t going to do it. Drindel shot a dark look at the old man, but he was careful to keep his own head down and his eyes lidded. Old Toruph’s arms were as wide around as some of the shark jaws adorning his tavern walls, and he’d never needed a bouncer to keep order in his tavern. That didn’t mean he had any right to keep Rena working in the back just because Drindel was in town, though!

But he’d deal with that later.

“I am recalled to active service!” Drindel announced to no one. He lifted the papers with a flourish anyway.

He waved a hand at the stacked glasses and plates: one of everything and no matter that he couldn’t eat that much and didn’t care for the taste of any of the liquors available in his hometown. He dumped the drinks he hadn’t touched on the floor to ensure Toruph didn’t pour them back into the bottles to serve him again next leave.

“Charge these to Uromathia.”

Drindel had no right to authorize anything, but his hometown had chaffed him irritatingly. And he wanted to hear all about Toruph trying to get a reimbursement from the Empire. Maybe the Prefecture could take care of Toruph for him. The man’s skill with a sea spear made the usual methods too challenging.

Drindel stomped out of the tavern into the brisk evening air holding tight to his papers, but under his swagger there was an edge of disquiet. They were marked urgent, and a cold knot of fear squeezed his belly.

What if the fearful Director of Talents had found the right ear to whisper into? The island administrator might lay the blame for a slow start on Drindel Usar-instead of on the sloppy care the Prefecture provided for their elite Talents.

He forced himself to calm. No. The orders had come only on paper without a member of the Emperor’s special police to oversee their execution. This wouldn’t be noticed.

And besides, who was the Director of Talents to be listened to? The administrator probably had just one name like most of the rest of the Haimath. Drindel was no longer just little boy Drindel, or worse, Drindel son-of-Drand. No, he was Drindel Usar-a man of rank who’d taken a second name to honor his Emperor.

And he wanted to visit his mother. There should be time to see his Maman Usar, before he headed as directly and quickly as possible across the inlet to catch a night train across Uromathia.

Maman jumped to her feet and ran to see him when he knocked at the door.

She respected him, oh yes.

A dinner, a lunch, and copious extra tidbits-she pressed on him for the journey. Maman Usar had proper respect for his work and the honor bestowed on him by selection for Service to Uromathia.

As for Drand, well, his father was a long time ago.

And it hadn’t been his fault, really. The way Drindel saw it, and the way he’d convinced Maman to see it, was that all of the mess truly had been Drand’s own fault. The old man had been a Talent himself and never even registered: a crime. And worse, his father’s Talent had been to call fish easily into the nets, despite which they’d been only a moderately prosperous fishing family. Drand should have brought them the best and largest fish every day, with never a boat trip returning with empty nets. But no, the old man had been too squeamish about the registration and always hid the Talent away.

Drindel had the better Talent. The regular fish ignored him entirely, which had seemed a deep misfortune at first, until he found that the sharks would follow him for miles and not just the little ones that got caught up in the nets.

His father, Drand, had been a criminal. That was the important part. Drindel using his Talent to teach a criminal a lesson was almost a Service to Uromathia, really.

All that had been before Drindel was old enough to formally register and have his own Talent tested. And some of the comments the Prefecture Mind Healer had made to Maman had been sadly lacking in perspective. But that man had transferred inland before Drindel’s first home leave, so Drindel had never had a chance to even things up properly. Some of the locals still thought he’d been sent into Service as some kind of punishment. Drindel kept track of who said such things and who wasn’t appropriately kind to his mother.

Maman had lists for him every home leave of who to teach lessons to. Everyone was very nice to her. Now.

Toruph was about the only one left who didn’t make a point of greeting Maman cordially on the street and sending her things now and again to ease her troubles. His Maman deserved the best of life while her one son was off working so hard for the good of Uromathia.

A boat ride across to the mainland was easy to cadge at the docks, with half the local fishermen falling over themselves to offer him a trip across. Drindel accepted the one with the largest boat and seated himself carefully in the center of the vessel. He hated being on the water. He always tried to blank his mind as much as possible to reduce the chance of even the smallest tendril of his Talent squeezing out. It was just that he wasn’t always successful.

This trip across was uneventful, for which Drindel thanked Heaven most fervently, but only in the confines of his own heart.

Outwardly, he took care to pose as if he’d known exactly what went on beneath the surface of the waves and had all the ocean’s mysteries under his complete dominion.

The truth, Drindel had to acknowledge, if only to himself, was something significantly less comforting. He could call sharks, all kinds of sharks and especially the biggest of the white ones. And the sharks would come great distances for him, even without enough food and without the energy to do more than wash up dead on the beaches once they arrived.

But they would come. He just couldn’t direct them to do a single thing once they arrived. And deep down Drindel wondered if they didn’t all come in hopes of finally getting a bite of him, snapping him in half with those great teeth, and tearing out mouthfuls of his liver and lungs. Those open jaws seemed like they would do anything to stop the compulsion to come, to follow, to swim to wherever he was.

The compulsions he couldn’t find a way to stop sending. Drand had said the Talent could be controlled with mental exercise and should be expanded only most carefully after control was proven. The work of control had hurt and left him exhausted, though, and Drindel was now sure it had been no more than a trick his father had played on him. There was certainly no pain and exhaustion in expanding the summons! When Drindel unfurled his Talent, it felt like Arcunas Himself had descended from the Heavens to kiss his brow.

The euphoria was better than anything. In fact, Drindel couldn’t stop calling, at least softly, even if he wanted to. And he wasn’t sure he could imagine ever wanting to stop. It wasn’t like the sharks should really mind. They were cold, wet, and heartless creatures.

The biggest ones would just eat the smaller ones he’d also called, so Drindel didn’t feel like he really starved them all that often. It wasn’t fair of them to blame him for anything, if indeed they did want to eat him.

The qualms he sometimes felt were just echoes of the foolish things Drand had said about the sea needing its balance.

But Drindel did have the nightmares. At the frazzled edges of the euphoria, where he couldn’t tell real from phantasm, he sometimes saw his father. The Drand in those fever dreams wore the body of a great shark with a pale grey, almost white, skin, and it swam from sea to sea, looking for him.

That one couldn’t possibly be real. But Drindel was careful never to embark on too small a boat or come too close to the side of a larger vessel. Starving sharks could do quite a lot to get at meat. Especially if his Talent let the flare of the Call get too loud.

Fortunately, this time he was summoned to Othmaliz, to the City of Tajvana, and that meant no more boats. Safe inland travel would bless him all the way to Tajvana’s magnificent confluence of seas.

* * *

Drindel Usar picked up a tourist packet at a train station hub during the transfer to the morning train that would take him most of the rest of the way to Tajvana. From the pictures, Tajvana was a massive place.

He couldn’t actually read much of the descriptions that went with the pictures, but the pictures were really all he needed to know. His orders always came in a code he’d been suffered to learn along with the basics of his letters.

Uromathia did not abide ineptitude in its servants.

But when Drindel hadn’t wanted to learn more, he’d been allowed to stop his studies there. The Service instructor might have called him a fool to his face and spat at him for quitting, but what did he know?

The instructor’s slight Talent in Mind Healing had been applied, quite properly in Drindel’s opinion, to easing the challenge of code-based studies. That hardly made the man qualified to judge the value of the supposed literacy he also wanted to teach!

The instructor had never even seen an ocean, nor, after a disdainful look at Drindel, expressed any interest in visiting one.

Maman always said that if a thing actually mattered, everyone would be talking about it anyway, so there was no need to hurt your head learning to puzzle out words on a paper.

Drindel bent his thoughts to his work in Tajvana. It was a city built for sea-borne commerce: oceans to the north, oceans to the south, a twisting strait connecting them, and inlets scattered nearly everywhere. Water meant sharks. Perhaps not the biggest, and perhaps not all the species of sharks, but there would be at least a few waiting for him and he’d Call more.

The fear in his stomach eased a bit. This might be a simple assignment after all.

He boarded his train and eased into a comfortable seat. A quick riffle through his luggage produced a pleasant breakfast from Maman’s parcel, and he leaned back and let his Talent go. Perhaps some sharks would try to fight up riverways until the lack of food and heavy currents forced them back. He didn’t care. It felt too good.

Around lunchtime, Drindel finally tapered back on his Talent and dug into Maman’s sack for more food. There was salted fish and the good thick bread she did best. He chewed with pleasure.

Perhaps the Tajvana job would rank among his favorites too.

It couldn’t be the best though. Surely nothing could ever top that ocean prison with the very efficient warden. Drindel had only had to really work to Call the sharks for a few days. After that the warden used the condemned prisoners to keep Drindel’s listeners used to legged prey. Well-fed sharks stayed and fed even better any time an escape was attempted.

If Drindel could stand just on this side of Tajvana’s strait and not need to cross over while Calling, it would be an entirely safe job. It’d be just like the way he’d stood on the nice rocky beach mainland while Calling every great monster he could to that island prison. The shoals and reefs were surely bare of other fish by now, but if the warden had kept his word those sharks still weren’t hungry.

Yes, that’d be good. Drindel promised himself he’d find a way not to get on a boat at all this time. Maybe there’d even be a big crowd. Some mass of people to get bitten, tasted, and spat back out-where it didn’t matter who died and who didn’t. I could just Call, fill the beach waters with fins, and walk away.

Or the people could be on boats even. Big sharks could overturn boats, and skiffs for sure. Maybe even some smallish ships if the sharks’re really hungry and the big big ones.

Swimmers’re always easy, but how do I get ’em in the water after a Call? Unless it was night…

Drindel pondered some more, trying to guess who his targets might be.

The instructions in the orders this time were odd. He was to present himself as a new acolyte for a religious sect and follow whatever directions they gave him. The Order of Bergahl. The tourist packet had a picture of a robed man wearing cloth-of-gold with the letters matching the sect’s name included in its caption. He might be the boss. Drindel shrugged to himself. If he was, someone would say so.

Drindel opened up the last packet from Maman and had a nice sandwich.