Fall of the kings, p.21
Fall of the Kings, page 21
“Yes. You are meeting with King Arell.”
“Very well, since that’s settled, let me begin. First, my apologies for invading your estate.”
“Apologies?” Arell asked.
“Yes. We never meant for the scuffle in Tellwater to be so... violent. You can’t blame us, though. Your commanding officer insisted on fighting. Regardless of what has happened up to this point, shall we overlook the invasion as a minor setback? Let us join and think ahead to a better relationship?”
“You killed and pillaged our citizens, and you want a relationship?”
“Yes, I believe that’s what I just said.” Barte fingered Allat’s feathers. The bird pecked at him. The emperor tapped the falcon on the beak, and it pecked him again. Barte pulled his finger away.
Arell didn’t respond, and so Barte continued.
“I can offer your kingdom protection from skura while your men are at my service.”
Erika crossed her arms. Alliance with whom? Him or Skotádi? Arell casually sat down on the throne, throwing one leg over the armrest.
“A trade with the devil,” he snickered.
Barte blushed. “Yes, you could call it that, I guess. But I have a talent in keeping those obnoxious flying creatures at bay.”
“What would my army be doing should they go with you?”
“After I return from Cho Nisi, we will go to Mount Ream.”
Arell sat upright. “Why are you going to Cho Nisi?”
“I believe there is something there that belongs to me.”
Arell glanced at Erika. She bit her lip. This raving mad tyrant on Cho Nisi would be deadly. A threat against Arell’s homeland would be too much for him to bear.
“And if you don’t find this—thing—that you are looking for?”
“Well, I have to, that’s all there is to it.”
Arell stood. When he swept past Erika, she could feel the heat of his temper. He paced back and forth, glaring at Barte whenever he stopped to turn.
“Why did you kill my men in Tellwater?”
If Erika thought she could get away with running a sword through the madman, she’d do it. Surely his soldiers must know he’s insane. Josef is equally deranged. What drives men to trail after such nonsense? Loyalty? Duty? Is it the reward they believe they’ll get in the end? Is it the desire for power? Or is it simply fear of being reprimanded? Her brother led men in the same manner when he laid siege on their castle. Why had so many men followed Barin?
She glanced at the lords attending this meeting. They sat in the Council chairs and leaned over the oak railing, daunted by the encounter. Lord Marlowe mirrored Arell as he too paced back and forth. Occasionally he regarded Arell with intrigue.
“That was unintentional. I told you, we came to conscript,” Barte responded.
“You had no right!”
“Well, our superb force of men gave us the right.”
“That’s not the way the world works.”
“It’s not?” Barte looked up at him and grinned.
“You killed the very men you meant to recruit.”
“We only killed men because your commander put up a resistance.”
“And why shouldn’t he? I sent him there to protect the people of that valley and defend the property of the king.”
Barte shrugged and kissed his falcon, rubbed his nose against it and whispered something in its ear. Arell rolled his eyes and caught Erika’s glower.
“Are you going to do the same thing in Cho Nisi? Kill the citizens there? Take prisoners?”
“No! Of course not.”
Arell nodded. “I see.”
“So, are you going to give me men?” Barte asked. “Well?”
“I don’t know enough details. I will take it up with my Council.” He bowed to the lords, who by this time had given him their full attention. “You may bed with your men tonight in the fields, and I’ll have an answer for you in the morning. I will send sentries out to inspect your camp and make certain you’ve released all prisoners.”
“If that makes you happy. I warn you, though, I may lose patience with you. If I do, I will go to Cho Nisi with half of my soldiers. The others will stay here.”
Arell watched the man stumble out of the throne room.
“He’s hanging on to what little dignity he may have had,” Arell commented quietly to Erika. “I wonder what he’s looking for.”
“A journal,” Erika said.
“You know this?”
“He told me. He thinks your grandfather took it to Cho Nisi when they fled the empire. There are secrets in it.”
“Secrets?”
Erika shrugged. “I don’t know what secrets, but after watching Barte totter between the demon and himself, those secrets might involve the curse he’s under.”
“Then we must help him find it.”
“He also mentioned something about finding his relatives. What if he discovers you’re his cousin? No telling what he will do. He’s truly daft,” Erika added.
“Daft with a legion of soldiers waiting for the next command.”
When a servant shut the door behind the emperor, applause came from the table where the Council sat. Lord Sylvester and Lord Marlowe stood.
“Well done!” Lord Marlowe bowed low. “And I am most grateful to hear of your marriage. As soon as this army has dispersed, and these war matters are settled, we shall have a feast and offer you a ceremony. The entire kingdom will be invited! A marriage!” he laughed with pleasure. “But for today, the servants will prepare your wedding suite.”
Arell’s mouth dropped, and Erika’s cheeks flushed.
Cho Nisi’s Bain
Chief Silas and Abenda brought the skiff to the western shore of Cho Nisi, where the native village of Nico nestled against white sandstone cliffs. A gently rolling surf carried the boat ashore as members of the tribe came out from their stone dwellings to greet them. Silas had decided not to go to the castle, nor to embark where Osage may have his troops. He never cared much for the Moatons, and this man that Arell had designated ambassador was a brute. The Cho Nisi people were a peaceful lot and never had they crossed arms with the political refugees from Casdamia. Instead, the natives had given the newcomers the title of ambassadors. It mattered little that the immigrants built a castle and crowned themselves monarchs, so long as their rulers worked with the Cho Nisi elders to maintain peace. Before Silas departed for Prasa Potama, he had given his daughters strict instructions to return home as long as Arell was away, so of course he expected them to greet him.
As he and Abenda came ashore, his friends came to help beach the boat. They greeted each other warmly—the native hug of touching each other on the chest with a fist and then embracing—ended with pats on the back and handshakes. The elders and older men and women of the village celebrated their arrival ceremoniously by building a bonfire on the beach. They brought food along with qultia, a native drink made from pressed dates. Silas left the campfire to take his pack to his cottage nestled in the white cliffs of the bluffs, thinking Serena and Bena must be busy preparing a meal. When he stepped through the door into the meticulously kept living space, silence met him. A simple cottage with furniture handcrafted from driftwood, shutters made from shark skin, a colorful rug by the hearth woven from goat wool, all carefully in place. A single tallow candle nested by the door, unlit. The home appeared to have been empty for days.
He tossed his pack onto his straw mattress, rolled out his bedroll, and then surveyed the empty house. He found Serena’s bed made, her closet filled with only her native chiton dresses, and none of the Moaton clothes she wore in the palace. Often she would bring a gown or two home with her.
“Serena,” he called, and then looked in Bena’s, his youngest daughter’s, room. Her belongings were also gone.
When he returned to the campfire, it seemed everyone in the village had gathered there.
“Where are my children?” Silas asked, directing his question at no one in particular.
Surf beat on the beach, and the fire crackled, but no other sounds interrupted the night. Faces glowed red with firelight, but no one answered.
“Where is Serena? Bena? Where are my two sons?”
“Your sons Bejal and Ross are on a hunting trip in their canoe. They left yesterday,” Lagan, one of the tribe elders told him.
“And the girls?” Silas questioned.
“They are in the palace,” Lagan’s wife spoke up meekly.
“Why?” Silas frowned. He instructed them to come home, why would they stay? They were never disobedient before this? “Did someone here give them permission to stay in the castle?” he asked, scanning the faces of his friends who now avoided looking at him.
Finally, someone answered. He couldn’t tell who, but the voice rang clear into the night air. “They were forbidden to return home.”
“What do you mean, forbidden? King Arell gave them permission to come and go as they pleased.”
“King Osage does not.”
The earth held its breath; the silence coagulated like lead.
“There is no King Osage,” Silas said.
“There is now,” Lagan mumbled.
Someone threw a log on the fire, and sparks soared into the sky.
“King Arell lives. He’ll be home soon,” Silas reiterated.
A few of the women pulled their blankets tighter around their shoulders and walked back to their homes.
“Why have you not prevented this?” the chief turned to the elders, who seated themselves on driftwood logs by the fire.
“The Bombadon warriors dressed in war paint and attacked the castle. Osage’s men put them down. We tried.”
“Put down? How?”
“Osage has powerful soldiers with weapons of iron. They are not afraid to use them against us. Some of our young men died fighting him.”
“No!”
“It’s true, Silas.”
“My sons?”
“Your sons are hunting. Osage’s men confine us now. We’re to stay in Nico and the beaches here. They have guards around the perimeter where we are to stay. That is our punishment for our uprising.”
“What is he doing? Arell will return!”
“He may kill Arell if he returns.”
“We can’t let this happen. What are you doing? Rise up! We will use our chants to rid this tyrant from our midst,” Silas demanded.
“We have tried,” someone muttered.
“I can’t accept this.” Silas took a drum that had been sitting by the fire and beat loudly, wailing a chant. The other men didn’t join in, but he didn’t care. The anger in him came out as a violent war song. Abenda sat next to him and slung his instrument from off his shoulder and drummed with him. They chanted late into the night. The fire eventually died down, and the villagers went back to their homes. Not until the sun lightened the sky did Chief Silas collapse, bend over his drum, and weep.
Olinda’s Search
Olinda left the throne room directly after Barte’s aide, Josef, stormed out of the grand hall. Though relieved that her little sister won the spat, seeing Erika wield a sword against a seasoned soldier upset her. It also upset Josef, and Olinda decided to monitor the scoundrel lest he retaliate. Erika’s announcement that Arell was her husband shocked her. What repercussions would that proclamation have? The man, Arell, gave the impression of being aloof toward Erika, regardless of how much her sister swooned over him. And now he’s her husband? And our king? Olinda shook her head in disbelief. What foolishness will Erika conjure next?
Olinda dodge into the shadow of the foyer, pretending to gaze out a window when Josef stopped at the entryway and spoke to one of the Casdamian soldiers. Fortunately, he didn’t glance back before he raced outside. She followed, keeping a distance between them.
She judged her sister unfairly. But when two people love each other, you don’t have to wave a political wand as an excuse to get close to each other! Erika will regret it, but then Erika usually regrets much of what she does. Now if it were she and Felix—.
His name made her heart race. Not just because she missed him, but because she worried about him. That’s why she must stalk Josef. Felix could very well be a prisoner in their camp. Hopefully, he lived through the raid. She had to find out.
When Josef went outside, she hurried down the castle steps and dodged into the hedgerow when he stopped to summon his men. She held her breath and listened.
“All of them?” a soldier asked with a sneer.
“That’s what the emperor commanded,” Josef replied. “I don’t like it any more than you, but his majesty commanded it. Now get to!”
The soldier spat and grumbled. Such insolence, Olinda thought, and then she saw others balk at the order as well.
“Now, soldiers!” Josef demanded. He looked awkward shouting orders at the burly men who stood before him. Josef wasn’t tall by any means, and his pointed goatee gave him a docile appearance. Still the men obeyed, of course. They were soldiers. They smelled of horse, and metal, and sweat all at once, and the stink sickened Olinda. She pulled out a vial of her rose essence and held it under her nose. As soon as Josef walked away, she stepped out of her hiding place and summoned one of her father’s sentries.
“Please escort me through the emperor’s camp to make certain they release all the detainees.” she asked.
“Of course, Fairest.” Thank goodness the military still saw her in a position of authority, even though the King’s Council didn’t!
Not only did the sentry oblige, but he called on another young guard to go with them. Soon there were five guards walking with her through Moshere’s camp looking for prisoners. Though she walked outside where the wind blew free and pine forests surrounded her, the air should have smelled sweet, but the entire camp stank of sweat and dirty clothes. Smoke from their pitiful fires and dust from the shuffling of boots on trampled ground hovered in the area so vehemently that her eyes burned.
She and her escorts didn’t get far into the Casdamian encampment when they saw Colonel Ferguson leading the king’s soldiers on the same mission. He had foot soldiers behind the horsemen, and they scoured the site like ants looking for honey. They made such a thorough job of it, breaking into tents and holding their weapons against anyone who tried to prevent them from searching, that Olinda paused and watched.
The colonel confronted a group of Casdamians who stood guard at the entrance of a large tent. Moshere’s men swore at Ferguson and told him to leave. One man threw a Potamian helmet at him. The colonel’s horse reared, and Ferguson drew his sword, but because the colonel and his men were on horseback and fully armed, the confrontation died shortly. After a scuffle, they assisted several wounded Potamians out of the tent. Olinda would not have been as successful. She decided then to follow the freed prisoners and do her searching for Felix in a safer environment.
A marquee bearing the Potamian standard wafted in the breeze in the fields behind the castle. As she regarded the scene from the hill above, Olinda’s knees weakened at the sight of the weary men, barely soldiers any longer for their tattered uniforms hung from their shoulders, their bare chests caked with dirt, but worse, they bowed their heads in defeat. The king’s army received them eagerly and ushered them inside while more tents were being staked. Olinda dismissed her escorts and hurried down the hill. When she stepped inside the marquee, she hesitated to go further, drawing a deep breath to keep from fainting.
Officers had assigned the wounded beds made from blankets spread over a soft layer of pine needles and hay. Physicians inspected their wounds and ordered those with serious injuries to another tent. Those that were healthy were being questioned. Olinda wrung her hands and regarded every face one by one, wondering if she’d recognize Felix. Surely he would recognize her! When she saw Commander Neal talking with a group of soldiers, she hurried to him. He nodded and bowed but kept on with his conversation.
“Moshere still has men in Tellwater,” he told the guard taking notes. “I would like to speak with the King’s Council, or whoever is in command. Put that in your notes,” he added.
“I’ll make sure you talk to the monarch,” Olinda interrupted.
“Thank you! There you have it,” Neal said to the guard. “Go help those other men and let me visit with the princess alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Somewhere more private, perhaps?” Neal suggested to the princess.
Olinda surveyed the soldiers in the tent once more, and not seeing Felix, took his arm, as filthy as it was.
“Please,” she said.
They walked outside to the edge of the woods, away from the garrison. The sun shone brightly on the tents as the corners flapped in the breeze. Men moved in and out of them, busy bringing in the wounded, medicine, and linens. As soon as they were out of earshot, Neal spoke.
“Kairos told me your father died? How?”
“Erika says a mountain giant killed him, but the King’s Council thought Rory killed him.”
Neal frowned. “Why would Rory kill King Tobias? He took an arrow in his back, risking his life to save the king.”
She shrugged, leaning in to see the face of a soldier carried on a stretcher as the bearers passed by. “Well, they found him on the floor by Father’s bed. Rory’s dead, so it doesn’t matter whether he did it or not, I guess. Except they’re going to tell the public he murdered father and that would cause a good deal of hardship on his brother and on Fairmistle. At least that was the last I heard.”
“What are the facts, Olinda? How did Rory die?”
She sighed and looked him in the eye. “Arell believes Skotádi is to blame because of Rory’s scars. A terrible burn, just like Erika’s burns. Rory also had torches in his hand, which had some significance, Arell said.”
“That would make more sense. Skotádi’s name has been showing up everywhere. I’m sorry for the loss of your father. He will be missed. But you said king. Who? Someone from the Council?”
“No. Arell.”
“Arell the king of Cho Nisi? How did that happen?”
