MeiLin Miranda's Blog, page 47

Chapter 13 Part 11 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Suddenly, Brothers swarmed past Warin, their armor shining in the sunlight now streaming in; beside him, an absence of light but for pale skin, appeared a figure in black. The Guardsmen hesitated, taken aback at the Brothers' strange allegiance, the presence of the Black Man, and the sheer number of their opponents, until Hildin gave a flicker of a signal to the high gallery of the Temple. A hidden archer sent an arrow into King Fredrik's throat; he crumpled at Emmae's feet, his blood spattering Hildin's mantle. "They've killed King Fredrik!" yelled Hildin.

Emmae's eyes flew to the gallery. An archer in the red and gold uniform of the Guard stood hidden in the shadows; he looked not at her face but at her heart, and she knew the next arrow was meant for her. She closed her eyes.

A thud against her chest, a sharp stab, a weight that fell into her arms and dropped her to the floor. She opened her eyes.

She held Gian. He had taken the arrow meant for her, through his heart, through his back, through her dresses, the tip just piercing her skin. "No more death, not even...for him," he whispered. "I loved you." Gian groaned once; blood bubbled from his lips; and he died.

"Gian! Damn you, I have need of you..." said Hildin in a rough, low voice, though his eyes filled with tears. "No matter. No matter. I'll kill you myself when this is over, bitch." He returned his attention to the melee. Flames licked weakly at his fingers as he tried again and again to summon his spent magic, but the great wind and the destroyed ward on the door had taken too much.

Emmae held Gian's body, shock, triumph and a confusing grief mixing with the blood running over her hands and dress, some of it her own. Dimly, she realized the men around her had no thoughts of her body, perhaps for the first time. She collected herself and slipped Gian's long ceremonial dagger from its sheath. "Thank you," she whispered, and closed his eyes.

A howl rose up from the Leutish lords; they launched themselves at Warin and his men, including the much better-armed Brothers, who did their best to defend themselves without killing their attackers. "Emmae!" cried Warin above the din. "Emmae! Teacher, can you see? Is she dead?"

"I see her moving, but your cousin is dead," Teacher replied. Warin and Teacher set their shields before as many of the men as they could reach, and pushed forward against the fighting, but the air before Warin quickly began to tremble. "Your Majesty," said Teacher, "you are exhausting yourself--behind me! You must stop using your magic!"

Warin gave up his shield and fell in, gasping in pain but still calling out to as many as could hear him: "Leutans!" he cried, "Hildin betrays you! He killed Fredrik and means to kill your Princess--see where he hid the archer!" He took a flame from the branches of candles lining the Temple, and threw the resulting fireball into the galleries. Every head turned to see a Guardsman illuminated in the shadows, arrow nocked. He let fly at Warin, but Teacher gestured; the arrow quivered in the air, stopped, and turned. Flying faster than it had left the bow, the arrow sank itself into the archer's heart up to the fletching.

A new, stronger howl arose from the Leutans, who turned from the Brothers and attacked the Tremontines, Guardsman and noble alike. A Leutish lord took up a Guardsman's dropped spear, brought it to his massive shoulder, and sent it straight and true toward Hildin. Teacher cried out, and ran toward the altar; the spear stopped as the arrow had, but did not return; instead, it fell at Hildin's feet.

"Why stop you me?" shouted the Leutan. "Kills he our King, kill us he will! Kill him you must! Damn this Tremontine tongue!" he added in Leutan.

"Because he is of the blood," answered Warin in Old Sairish. "Do you recognize me, sir? You are Hendas Baron Holset. You fought with me at Dordemon."

Lord Holset squinted. "You are much changed...but yes, you are Warin of Tremont."

"I swear to you, Tremont is not your enemy, only Hildin," said Warin. "Help me. I would take your hand, but I cannot."

Holset pondered a moment, then hoisted Warin up on one of the richly padded benches that hadn't been knocked over in the fighting; Warin nearly fainted from pain. Holset set himself at Warin's back and shouted in his own tongue, "Leutans, to me! We stand with King Warin! Leave off those nobles who support him!"

"Lords of Tremont!" Warin called, strengthening the sound of his voice with the last shreds of his magic, "leave off our guests! Guardsmen, if you cannot bring yourself to act against the crowned king and follow me, then drop your weapons! I swear to you, you will be protected!"

The first to drop his sword at Warin's feet was the broken-nosed commander, with a "Gladly, sire"; the remaining Guardsmen quickly followed suit, the only sound now in the Temple the clatter of swords and spears falling into the growing pile. "You have no one left, Hildin," said Warin into the new quiet.

Hildin pulled his jeweled knife. "I have my Queen, which means I have you. Oh, yes, I think with her at my side, I might do anything." He glanced briefly down at the bleeding Emmae, still crouching by Gian's body with the dagger hidden in the great folds of her brocade overdress. Emmae felt nothing from Hildin, though a desperate, searching desire flowed into her that she recognized as Warin's.

She gathered her strength, and sprang, clutching at Hildin's leg. A quick, calculated slash down his inner thigh, as she'd once bled a rabbit with Warin. She heard Teacher's shout, and the dagger grew too hot for her to hold, but by then she knew she'd aimed true. Hildin's blood covered her, pouring from the severed artery. She scrambled backwards; Hildin stumbled after her with an ineffectual stab of his dagger, then fell to his knees. "Warin's whore has killed me...Gian, Warin's whore..."

"As a rabbit, so a man," spat Emmae. She crawled further away, but Hildin already lay in his gore, eyes rolled back in his head.

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Chapter 13 Part 10 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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A gasp went up from the crowd. The Father's Rock predated the Temple itself--in fact, it could be said it was the original Temple. Sacrifices to the Father had bled down the sides of the Rock until Temmin the Great built the white marble Temple sanctuary nearly two hundred years ago. Warin strode up to it and placed his good hand on the dull white stone, surprisingly warm against his skin. How much magic could he muster, with his broken bone, and still have enough left to see the day through? He closed his eyes and focused his newly-inherited, still-unfamiliar power around the rock. He gathered it up, and pushed with his mind.

The Rock shifted under his hand. He opened his eyes and stood back as it rose from the stones around it. Up, and up, until it hovered in the air at the height of a man. His control wavered, new power and his injury combined against him. "Enough," he said brusquely, and let the Rock drop as if he'd meant to do that all along. The Rock struck the stones beneath it with such force that it split in two. Stillness, then murmurings of astonishment, until a roar broke out from every Guard, Brother and townsman.

"Only a Prince--or a King--could do such a thing," said the Commander, head bowed. "You must be Warin. Forgive me." One by one, the Guards joined him on their knees.

Warin felt the long climb and the broken bone; he swayed on his feet, and Teacher steadied him. "I'll be all right," said Warin. "I have to be. Teacher, once we're inside, protect Emmae. I order you to protect her at all costs."

"Unless it endangers you, I will," replied Teacher. "But I must defend any man close to the throne first, even your brother, much as it pains me. I must allow only you to kill Hildin. I cannot lift a hand against him."

Behind the barred and warded door, a hundred members of the Tremontine and Leutish nobility sat on padded benches in the Temple, Tremontines on the right, the Leutans on the left. All wore subdued colors for the old King's passing, but not Hildin. He wore a cloth-of-gold mantle encrusted with jewels over his Tremontine red silk tunic, and fairly danced up the aisle to stand before the Little Father, Emmae following behind.

The great door shook with a force that scraped the wood against the stone lintels, though the door would not give way. Nervous murmurs began in the crowd; more than one lord snuck his dagger from its sheath, and the hundred Guards within took defensive positions.

Three Fathers ran up to their high priest and whispered in his ear; the Little Father whispered loudly to Hildin, "I don't understand. They say Prince Warin is outside, with a great crowd of Brothers and commoners who say he is the rightful king. Teacher is with him, too. A good hundred are dead, but ten times more are coming up the stairs!" His words reverberated off the Temple's stone archways; the murmurs turned to astonished and alarmed babble, punctuated by the shaking of the doors.

Hildin hissed, "Shut up, you old fool! Prepare to light the altar fire." He turned to the nobles in their rows. "Warin is dead," he said over the noise. "Anyone who claims to be Warin is a pretender! Now, Little Father, get this over with!" He kneeled, dragging Emmae down next to him.

The cleric abandoned his planned chant after a glance into the Prince's face, and switched instead to a quick blessing. He took the crown from Gian's hands, held it up before the assembly, and settled it on Hildin's head. Hildin stood, took the queen's crown from an attendant, and placed it none too gently on Emmae's chestnut hair, the weight of it bearing down on her brow. Hildin raised her up beside him. Whatever was trying to open the doors slammed against them again, sending a tremor into the stone that Emmae felt through her slippers.

"I don't care for this, at all," said Fredrik. "Who is this man who claims to be your brother? You told me he was dead!"

"This man is a gross pretender!" shouted Hildin over the increasingly anxious crowd. "A pretender has come with Travelers to kill us all!" he continued. "Guardsmen, defend your King!"

The Guards tensed. The lords herded their ladies toward the altar, as far away from the doors as they could get them, and drew their own swords; the hilts and scabbards were covered in gems, but the blades were sharp and deadly all the same.

The door complained against competing enchantments, until the ward broke, then the bars, and it finally gave way. Connin stood in its ruins; Warin strode past him into the Temple. The assembly drew a surprised breath all at once, and even the Guards stood still, uncertain.

Warin looked nothing like the smiling, happy man Emmae had seen last; his skin was waxen, dark hair plastered to his forehead. A sling held his left arm, and pain flashed over his already spent face with each breath. His eyes met Emmae's, and shone with hope and purpose. He stepped toward her, but at the sight of the crown on her head, his spirit seemed to droop. His gaze both implored and doubted her.

Emmae flung the crown to the floor.

Warin smiled then and strode further into the hall, the Brothers and Travelers fanning out behind him. "I am Warin, and I have come back with the Brothers beside me for my crown and my wife," he shouted.

The hall erupted into arguments and exclamations. Many of the benches were overturned as some Tremontines dropped to one knee and declared Warin king; others cuffed them to the floor and cursed them as idiots, while the Leutans stood uncertain.

Hildin grabbed Emmae by the arm and threw her at Gian. "Guardsmen, you are sworn to obey the crowned king," cried Hildin. "I wear the crown--kill this pretender and his rabble!" The Guards took a step forward.

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Chapter 13 Part 9 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Scores of men lay still or groaning on the steps at the forefront of Warin's impromptu army: among them, Warin himself. Calls for Sisters filled the air.

"I failed you," said Teacher. "I did not see him."

"I didn't see him, either, and I hardly thought he'd waste such a goodly amount of power this far down the hill," said Warin. "You and I took the brunt of it, but I couldn't get my defense up fast enough to protect all of the Brothers."

"Nor I."

Brother Cor gently prodded Warin's shoulder; Warin paled and choked down a heave. "Broken collarbone," said the Brother. "Your Majesty, you cannot stay. We must find you a Sister."

"Would you let a broken bone stop you?" said Warin, dragging himself to his feet. "No, not as long as you could walk. Sling it. How many hurt?"

"That I saw? One Traveler, two Brothers, a good handful of townsmen, all dead outright. Maybe more. Perhaps a hundred wounded, some badly enough they might yet die. Broken bones, split heads, many bruises." Cor sighed. "Our armor made us better weapons than anything else the Usurper could command."

Warin shuddered as Cor helped his left arm into a sling. "Call the Sisters for the wounded. The dead Traveler--find Connin and tell him--there you are, Connin. Are you all right?"

"Unhurt. I don't know how I'm going to tell Tom's mother, is all." Connin eyed the Temple, its windows shuttered tight. "The Usurper has about two hundred Guards around the Temple, fifty bowmen on the roof, who knows how many inside, and the entrance magically sealed. We'll get through the ward among us."

"The King's injury weakens his ability to wield magic, and I cannot break a seal that Hildin has set," warned Teacher. "It will be up to you, Connin."

"We will rely less on magic, then," said Warin, "and more on persuasiveness." He ran up a few steps, shaky at first, then more confident as he pushed pain aside; he faced his few hundred remaining men--armored Brothers and unprotected townfolk intermingled, armed with swords, spears, daggers, axes, kitchen knives, staves, and nothing at all.

Without thinking, he tried to raise his right arm; he nearly swooned with pain and kept himself upright with an effort, though he hid it as best he could. "Men of Tremont!" he shouted. "We have suffered at my brother's hand. But now, his magic is weakened.He will not be able to strike such a blow again before we reach him, and I hold my father's magic now." Warin stopped for breath; his shoulder ached, reminding him that though he held the magic, he might not be able to use much of it.

"Hildin has barricaded himself inside Pagg's Temple, but we will breach his enchantments, and his Guard will join us when they see their true King has returned. Many in the Leutish nobility, their King Fredrik, and his daughter the Princess--the Princess Edmerka are also inside," he continued, his voice catching on Emmae's title. "They are not to be harmed. Is it understood? Respect King Fredrik as you would me!"

"The Leutish woman is the Usurper's wife," called a townsman. "Don't spare her, Your Majesty, she may carry his child!"

"She is innocent in this," said Teacher in a surprisingly loud voice above the murmurs. "Protect her." Teacher drew sullen, frightened looks from the crowd, but the cries for Edmerka's blood died down.

"We outnumber the Guards, but I will not have them die if I can help it," called Warin. "Stay well behind until I call for you, and then be ready. Be sure your fellows understand what I've said!"

As Brothers and townsmen shouted his orders, bawling in relays to the back of the crowd, Warin walked up the road, with Teacher a step or two behind and the men following at a distance. Strange how quickly he'd put the Woodsman aside and taken up the King, he thought, as he and Teacher raised a shield of solid air before them. Just as he feared, arrows from the Temple's roof rained down on them as soon as they came within range.

This time, they were not caught off-guard; the arrows cracked against a barrier of air, but a few lucky shots passed over their shields to land with resounding thunks far behind them. A strangled cry told Warin at least one of the arrows had hit its mark; he looked back to see a dozen men, arrows protruding from arms, legs, throats, eye sockets. "Stay out of range!" he roared, and climbed faster up the switchbacks, Teacher and Cor keeping pace.

When he was sure the Guards could hear him, he shouted, "Cease fire! I am Warin, returned to take up the throne!"

"Warin is dead, pretender!" returned the Guard commander, a burly man with a many-times-broken nose.

"Would the Black Man stand with a pretender?" countered Brother Cor. "Would the Brothers stand with a pretender? Look to the bottom of the hill. Even now, more Brothers join the rightful King."

The commander shifted uneasily as he eyed the growing assemblage of shining steel on the long ascent, and then the massive door to the Temple. "We're locked out, sir," muttered a Guard behind him. "The Regent has locked us out."

The commander scowled and straightened his great shoulders. "Prove to me you're the Prince come back."

Warin climbed the broad, white Temple stairs, stopping within arm's reach of the commander. "What would prove it to you?"

The commander considered, hand flexing nervously on the hilt of his sword. "I--well..." He cast about. He straightened, more confident, and pointed to a white boulder, its top flat as a table; rusty stains flowed down its sides, as if blood had run down it over and over again. "The Father's Rock. Lift it."

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Chapter 13 Part 8 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Atop its steep, oak-covered hill, Pagg's Temple flew the flags of the King, dark red with three triangles in gold; in the shade of the trees surrounding the sanctuary, the bearers who'd carried the nobility up the long climb rested beside silken and gilt litters. At the entrance to the Temple, hidden in shadow, Hildin, Gian and the Little Father watched the mass of people already climbing the long, sharp switchbacks. "Is it him?" said Gian.

"I'd wager it is," answered his master.

"Him who?" said the elderly Little Father, looking from one to the other.

"How many do you think will side with him?" said Gian.

"Not enough. I have purchased the Brothers over years with donations to Farr's Temple--the Guards, too, and the Fathers. He won't find much support after all this time."

"Who are we talking about!" said the old high priest, peevishness wrinkling his face further.

"A man pretending to be my brother, Little Father. He says he is Warin, but Warin is dead."

"A pity he besmirches your dear brother's name, Your Majesty," said the Little Father, his head shaking more than usual. "But you have your father's power now. Surely there will be little difficulty? What is that bright flashing I see down below?"

It was the sun glinting off polished steel, the kind that made up the Brothers' armor. Hildin said, "Little Father, go. Make your preparations. We shall start the ceremony momentarily. I wish to take a moment here and watch this pretender." Once they were alone, Hildin hissed, "Pagg damn him, he has Brothers! They're standing in front of him! I see Teacher, too. How did that old bastard get out of the library?"

Gian considered for a moment, then answered carefully. "You are no longer Regent, sire, and not yet the oldest brother, despite what we say. He obeys Warin because he must."

"You're challenging me, Gian. Don't," said Hildin, not bothering to give his cousin a glance. Gian dropped to one knee, and kissed the deep red brocade of his master's tunic.

Hildin ignored him, scanning the crowd far below. At the head of the rabble, Teacher stood beside Warin, who looked more like a Traveler than a prince; that could hardly endear him to the people, but then how had he gathered such a crowd? Peasants with sticks, but so many of them--at least a thousand, maybe twice that. Directly behind Warin and Teacher were about twenty Brothers; more were joining the back of the crowd. Troubling.

Hildin waited until both Teacher and Warin turned to speak with a Brother. He took a deep lungful of air, let it out between his hands, and threw it before him.

A fierce wind rushed down from the Temple toward Warin and his men. At the sound, Teacher and Warin turned and threw up their hands just in time; the wave of air broke around their magical shield, but still sent the several dozen Brothers leading the pack crashing into those behind them in an avalanche of men and armor; one, bowling sideways, knocked Warin off his feet.

An appreciative mutter broke out among the Guards looking down from the Temple. "That's for traitors," said one to his neighbor. "Though the Black Man is with them," he added, troubled.

"Knowing Warin, he'll stop to care for his wounded," puffed Hildin, his hands on his knees. "Then he'll come charging up the hill straight into the teeth of the Guards. They'll mistake any magic of his for Teacher's. Bar the door behind us--I've already warded it with most of my power, but that blow took the last of my strength for a while. By the time Warin breaks through the Guards, the ward on the door, and the bars, it won't matter. I'll be crowned, and everyone across the City will see the smoke from Pagg's altar and know that it is so. Let him watch Fredrik and Emmae die, and then I'll be recovered enough to kill him. Help me inside, I'm tired now." With a final order to his Guards to defend the Temple to the man, Hildin leaned on his cousin and entered the Temple.

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Chapter 13 Part 7 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Warin and his men entered the city at Marketgate without remark, the Guards assuming they were Travelers come to entertain the crowds for coppers, or perhaps to sneak into one of the public feasts setting up in the city squares. Times were pinched, but there would be at least a little for everyone, if not a feast for all. Turning away the poor and unwashed from such a banquet would earn Amma's wrath, though the harvests had been small enough in the last few years that some thought She was angry already.

The Market was empty of sellers, all business suspended for the coronation celebrations, but even taking that into consideration, the City seemed threadbare and patched, its people moving slowly, and far too many beggars in the streets. Its shabbiness appalled the returning Prince. Had times been so very hard?

The band paused at a fountain among a small knot of men refreshing themselves in the midst of assembling long boards into feasting tables. "I tell you what, old son," Warin heard one huge, scarred man say to his neighbor, "I can't help but think what that Prince Warin wouldn't have let things come to such a pass. He was always good to his men, never put himself above us. Ate same as we, slept same as we. Never his like, even braver than his father, Harla carry him home."

The Prince cast an eye over the man, and then out onto the milling crowds. He hadn't commanded in ten years; time to see if he'd forgotten how. "Did you serve with Warin?" he said.

"Where d'ye think I got this?" said the scarface, tapping the mark on his cheek, an ugly thing that ran from his left ear to his chin. "That I did, against the Northern Tribes up at Montesurbis--in Leute, too, at Dordemon, when we was nigh-on boys. Pagg-forsaken heathens, we drove 'em back into the Wastes, didn't we! Prince Warin, rest his bones, was a great man, and would have been a great king. Not like the Regent, who already taxes us past the fat into the lean. Takes the milk and the cow, he does."

"And the farm, and the farmer's wife," added another man.

"What is your name?" Warin asked the scarred man.

"What's yours, there, Jemmy Rustic?" snorted the man.

"My name is Warin."

"Ha! And I'm Prince Hildin!" he said to the chortles of the other townsmen.

"You served with Warin, you say, and you do not know him when he stands before you?" said Connin.

"Clear off, Traveler!" said a ruddy man. "Ain't you got a bear to lead, or your mama to whore out or sumfing?" The townsmen drew together, anticipating a fight. Connin held his men back with a sharp word; they formed a sullen wall, with Warin before them.

Word spread; the Travelers were putting on a play, something about the dead Prince Warin: cheek enough on the coronation day of the Regent to draw attention. The curious and the bored gathered around the fountain, and Warin leaped up onto its lip. "Men of Tremont!" he cried. "I am Warin, son of Gethin, come back to take his throne!"

A squadron of Guards pushed their way through the growing crowd, led by a ferocious-looking Brother. "Clear off!" he roared. "You up there! Get down!"

"It's Prince Warin, come back to us! Don't you reckonize your King, Brother?" jeered the ruddy man.

"The King's in his Keep and all's right with the world," said the Brother, but he peered up at Warin anyway. Trouble creased his brow, just visible under his helm. "I knew the Prince in his youth. You are very like, I admit it, and your speech is fine, for a Traveler. But it's been ten years since he disappeared, and His Highness says the Good Prince is dead."

Warin jumped down from the fountain's lip. "Even if you don't know me, I know you, Brother Cor." The Brother started at his name. Warin glanced over to the feast preparations; a cooking fire burned beneath a spitted lamb. He snatched a flame from it and formed it into a wand of light.

The crowd murmured uneasily. "I seen nobles do that," said the scarred man, shifting from foot to foot.

Warin spread his hands; the wand lengthened and thickened into a staff. He spun it, and struck the ground with one end. A wall of flames sprung up around the panicked townsmen, flames licking at their feet and rising high into the sky, filling the air with the scent of fire and smoke.

All but the Brother screamed for mercy; instead, the cleric stood still and silent, and the flames shone bright on his steel chestplate and helm. Warin waved his hand. The fire leaped back into his staff, leaving only the smell of scorched air.

The Brother dropped to his knees. "Your Majesty," he said, presenting his sword. "Kill me for my offense."

"Never would I do such a thing, Brother," answered Warin, raising him up. "Keep your sword, and use it for Tremont."

The townfolk had dropped to their knees along with the Brother. The scarred man spoke up: "Only seen Old King Gethin and his sons do sumfing like that, or the Black Man"--he and the other men made Amma's sign--"and that's the truth. Please forgive us, Your Majesty. I am your loyal man, and always was!"

"Rise, please, rise, all of you!" Warin took the scarred man's hand, lifted him up, and said, "What is your name?"

"Willum, sire."

"Willum, you were with me in the north?"

"Aye, I was a chief pikesman, my lord, under Brother Gerral of the King's Own. After Montesurbis and Dordemon, I'd follow you anywheres!" His face contorted with emotion, puckering the slash down his face. "Sire, we thought you was dead. We thought as how your brother would rule and we'd be under a rougher thumb than we was already. Now you've come back from the dead--it's a miracle, sire, the hand of Amma come down and give us a miracle!"

"No miracle--I was never dead, nor will be until I see my brother in the Hill," said Warin. He leaped nimbly onto the fountain's rim again to stand above the crowd. "My father is dead of old age, not by my hand. The prophecy is broken, and I have come home to find my brother has lied to you, stolen from you, and taken the throne. Will you stand by me and take it back?" A full-throated howl of assent went up from the crowd. He nodded. "These men around me--Brother Cor, these Travelers and their Prince, and Willum here who was with me at Montesurbis and Dordemon"--Willum swelled with pride, and his fellows elbowed him--"are to be accorded respect as my companions. Listen to their counsel. Cor, send the Brothers at Farr's Temple the news, I'll need them by my side."

"I'll send a Guardsman to the Armory as well, sire," said Cor, but Warin stopped him.

"No. There's a chance we may not get there in time to stop the coronation. If they see the offering fire smoke rise from the Temple, the Guards will turn against us." Warin turned back to the gathering. "All you women, spread the word throughout the city--I am home! I go to the Father's Temple to oust the usurper and take my rightful place. Let my people come with me!"

Clumps of men joined the crowd as they passed through the City until there were at least a thousand, with twenty Brothers beside and more on the way. Warin led them on towards the steps leading to the Temple of Pagg, on the highest and sheerest of the six Temple-crowned hills within the city's walls—a bluff, its long, steep switchback roads wide enough for four to walk abreast. It would be a long climb; he walked faster.

Warin let the people's love, relief and trust wash over him. Any doubts he'd had about becoming King vanished.

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Chapter 13 Part 6 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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At the camp, bedrolls circled the banked fire. Once inside his own, Warin seethed with rage. His prophecy had been wrong. His father died alone, in bed, and not at Warin's hand. For that, he rejoiced, but as for the rest...

All his anger at the Gods came roaring back. For years, he'd wondered what he'd done to deserve his prophecy. Now the punishment was compounded; he'd given up his throne and his beloved father for nothing. In his grief and anger, he yearned for Emmae, and feared for her more. He stared up into the dark sky, thinking of his brother in the marriage bed that belonged to him, and willed Emmae to be safe.

"King Warin," murmured Connin from a few feet away, "master yourself. You've relit the fire."

Warin glanced to his left; flames licked up from the coals, burning angry and bright. "Bank," he sighed; the fire subsided. "Apologies. I have yet to reconcile myself to my father's power." He pulled his magic inward and focused on his breath, forcing himself to sleep.

The next day dawned clear and fresh. The air in the field where the company camped smelled of trampled grass, wood smoke, and horses. In soft half-sleep, Warin dreamed he was a child again, waking up in his father's pavilion during maneuvers. He waited, dreaming and dozing in the dawn light, for his father's booming voice to call him to breakfast with the Cavalry.

He woke fully. The dolorous toll of the bells had ended. His father was dead. Today he would kill his brother, and take his father's place.

He pulled on his clothes and sword, found the little mirror box at the bottom of his pouch, and flicked it open. "If she still lives, show me Emmae," he said. The reflection flickered, and Emmae appeared. She wore an overdress of stiff brocade, its deep Tremontine red contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Her hair hung loose and limp to her waist; she smoothed a strand through her fingers over and over, a gesture he knew well. He jumped to his feet to throw himself into the mirror, but the reflection resolved again to his own pinched, hollow face; she must have moved away.

At the Keep, Emmae glanced back at the cheval glass in the corner, willing Warin not to look for her. "Cover the mirror," she said to a serving woman; confused and dutiful, the woman threw a sheet over the glass.

A flood of flowers, food, gifts from dignitaries, silk dresses embroidered in gold thread, furs, satin slippers flowed into Emmae's apartments, borne in by countless maidservants; a dozen more had dressed her and now hovered about, twitching the folds of her ermine-lined mantle into place, offering perfumes, and otherwise annoying her.

To her surprise, Old Meg was not among them. Of all the servants, she expected Meg to be the one to ready her for the coronation; Hildin relied on her as spy and watchdog. Even so, Meg was familiar, the closest thing she had to a friend. She would never cross her Hildin, but she had been kind in her way, and gentle. Emmae asked several of the women, but none of them knew her whereabouts.

Against the tide of riches and women came Gian. He wore the yellow and blue of Valleysmouth, the yellow giving his skin an unnatural pallor, and he carried a jewel casket in his hands. "Leave us," he said to the servants. One last reluctant twitch to the mantle, and the primary dresser left, shooing the rest of the maids before her.

Gian pulled strand after strand of pearls from the casket, so many that Emmae wondered if there were oysters inside the box. "These belonged to the King's mother. He wished to see them on you," he murmured tonelessly.

"You don't seem to take much joy in your master's coronation," she said.

Gian looked up from the casket, a pair of long pearl earrings in one hand. "We have waited for this day since we were children." He fastened the pearls in her ears and stepped back. "You make a magnificent Queen, Emmae. Your dressers did well."

"The dressers--Gian, where is Old Meg? Is she unwell?"

The young man went paler still. "She is dead."

"Dead? What happened? Was she ill?"

"I killed her."

"Why would you do that?" she said after a long, astonished pause. "Stupid boy, why would you do such a thing?"

"He required it of me. I've never killed for him before. I am sick at heart." Gian took her face in his hands. "Emmae, listen. I care what happens to you, more than you will ever believe. Tread carefully. Do as you're told. Tell no one about Warin, nor that you were brought here long before you were officially found--your confidante would be dead in a day. Give my lord no excuse to do you harm. Do you understand me?" Gian choked, then continued, "She was as his mother, and yet he had me kill her for fear she'd give us away. He'd waste no tears on you." He dropped his hands and took up the casket again. "I won't see you again until the ceremony at Pagg's Temple," he said.

Emmae's breath returned, uncontrollable. "Why are you warning me?"

Gian stopped halfway out of the room, his face twisting with emotion and his green eyes bright and full, but he said only, "I will see you at your crowning." He let the door stand open, leaving the Guards outside watching for Warin.

Emmae mastered her breathing and focused her mind. She pulled the cover off the cheval glass in hopes Warin would see her, but she saw nothing, no indication he was watching. She sighed, and took the habitual lock of hair between her fingers.

Hildin meant to kill her; if he'd kill Meg, her own life meant nothing. As soon as he possessed Leute, she was expendable. She might tell her father, but what good would that do? He didn't listen, even when he was sober, and he was unlikely to believe her--if he did, he'd probably kill her himself. Then again, if Hildin wanted Leute badly enough, why let Fredrik live? She had no love for him; they said he was her father, but she didn't remember him at all, and she could only think that a real father wouldn't throw her away on such as Hildin. As an unmarried woman, she lived under her father's thumb, now as a married woman, under her husband's. But what if she were neither a daughter nor a wife?

As a widow, she might live on her own terms. Perhaps she might then set a search for Warin, if only to discover why he hadn't come to her. She could separate herself from men, attended only by women--safe from the spell. Though occasionally she'd caught eddies of interest from certain women, it would be easy enough to weed them out.

Though she had thought often of suicide in her captivity, now the will to live filled her, fierce and eager. She searched her room, rifling through the gifts of jewels in hopes of a ceremonial dagger, but not even a stickpin came to hand.

She refused to sink back into despair. Whether today or a spoke from now, she would find a way to kill Hildin before he killed her, and live.

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Chapter 12 Part 5 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Warin and the Travelers reached the City the night of the wedding, making camp well outside its walls. Travel by mirror had been considered and discarded; the chances of Hildin finding them were too high. The Traveler Queen had insisted on riding with them, and to Warin's surprise, she kept up with the men, never tiring.

They sat before the camp fire, Warin thoughtlessly poking at it with a stick and watching the sparks rise. A sudden vitality burst inside him, a brilliant light overwhelming unknown inner barriers, a million doors to a million rooms filled with the light of the sun, the moon, every star, opening in his soul all at once.

"Are you all right?" said Connin.

"I don't know--yes, I think so. Something's changed inside me..." Warin trailed off, gasping. A dark foreboding fought with the great sun bursting inside him. The exhilarating incandenscence felt so very wrong and so very right, all at the same time. What was its source, what did it mean?

Suddenly, deep bells, mourning bells, sounded over the dark walls of the City.

The Traveler Queen groaned and clutched herself in pain as the bells reverberated; her son rushed to her side, and Warin jumped up, but she waved them away. "No, Connin, take Warin into the woods--you know where, and why. I must move--I'm too close..." Two Travelers helped her away from the fire, solicitous and soothing.

"Is she all right?" asked Warin. "What's wrong?"

"Come," said Connin, walking into the woods. The moon struggled to shine through clouds. Even in the dark Connin knew the way, as if it were an old, familiar trail. They entered a small clearing, and Connin called, "We're here."

"Is Warin with you?" said a cool voice. A black figure moved from the shadows into the clearing.

"Teacher? Gods, it's you!" cried Warin, running forward. "Oh, my old friend, how I've missed you!" He kissed the offered cheek and hugged Teacher close.

"You need not have, Your Majesty. You should have stayed."

"I know that now." Warin paused. "You say, 'Your Majesty.'"

"Gethin is dead," said Teacher. "The bells are for him." Warin dropped his hands from Teacher's shoulders and allowed himself to acknowledge what he already knew: the source of this over-bright new light bathing his spirit meant his father was dead. "Your power has come to you, and so have I. There is a mirror hidden in these woods, and one hidden in my library. Hildin's power over me as Regent broke the minute the King died, and I escaped. You have Tremont's magic now."

The glorious, consuming light inside Warin turned harsh, and he blinked back tears.

"Do not grieve, Warin, your father has been dead a long time," said Teacher. "His body merely lingered. You are here now, and you are needed. We must try to reach the Father's Temple before Hildin's coronation tomorrow. If we do not, the Guard will have no choice but to follow him."

"Why not use a reflection?" said Warin. "True, I've had little luck finding one into the Keep, but at the Temple there must be something."

"No," replied Teacher. "If we find one, it is sure to be a trap."

"The one in your library?"

"I must be there for it to exist. It is a one-way journey, even for me. We must go by foot."

"There are always the Brothers," said Warin. "They will follow only the rightful king, no matter who's wearing the crown, and between the two of us, we can make it plain I am king."

"More importantly, we must hope that the people believe you. Otherwise, we might face a long and painful war." Teacher took Warin's hands. "One last piece of unwelcome news. Hildin has married the Princess."

Warin dropped his head; bitterness joined grief. "She's made her choice, then. I'm too late."

"Choice?" said Teacher. "How could you consider this a choice? Consider what she faced, with such an enchantment upon her and the disgrace of nearly three spokes with her 'captor.' Fredrik has no illusions--he knows Tremont wants Leute and will take it one way or another. Uniting through marriage is always better than uniting through conquest, and her honor is damaged at best. She had no choice." Teacher considered what to say next. "Your Majesty, I strongly believe he intends to kill King Fredrik as soon as he himself is crowned. He may kill the Princess as well."

"Take me to her now, then! Let me go to her!" cried Warin, crushing Teacher's hands. "Merciful Amma, take me to her!"

"Calm yourself, sir! Hildin has ensured a certain death were you to enter the Keep through any reflection we might find, and as for entering the city, the gates are locked, and the moon is too new for a reliable reflection. My mirror in these woods is kept magically lit-- Oh!" Teacher leaned on Warin's arms, staggering. "Lead me further away from the camp! Please, now!"

Connin took one arm, Warin the other, and they guided Teacher away from the clearing. "Mother must have gone back to the fire," said Connin.

Teacher straightened, waving away Warin's arm. "We cannot be near one another, not even in earshot. I am all right--this is far enough. When you see her, tell her I would not wish pain on her for the world, Connin, but I had to come."

"She knows," he answered.

"Go back to the camp, then, both of you," said Teacher. "Rest now. You will need all your strength tomorrow."

Warin hugged Teacher one last time. He said nothing to Connin on their way back, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

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Chapter 13 Part 4 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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When Teacher found him, Temmin lay on the green velvet sofa in his study; his eyes hurt, and his hair tangled around his head. "Jenks left," he said.

"I know, Your Highness," Teacher murmured, taking up the habitual post by the hearth. "What did he tell you?"

"That his sister Justice needed him in Reggiston, something about her oldest son getting drummed out of the cavalry. I said, why can't you handle it by post? And what could a former corporal--Uncle Pat's servant!--do about it anyway? He insisted he had to go. And I need him. This is my father's doing. Why won't he leave me alone!"

"I have heard that Mr Gram's nephew, a Mr Harbis, will be here shortly to take care of your attire, sir."

"What do I care about my attire?" cried Temmin, flinging himself backward with one arm over his face. "Harbis can go to the Hill, along with my clothes. I'll send him away. I need Jenks!"

"Why do you need him so badly?"

A sob escaped from under Temmin's elbow. "I'm not going through with Supplicancy."

"Ah?"

"Lord Litta threatened to spread the story about Allis and Issak and everything that happened to them in Belleth."

"Ah."

Temmin lifted his elbow, his sleeve now damp with tears. "'Ah?' That's all? You have nothing else to say, no advice on what I might do?"

"There is nothing I can say," shrugged Teacher. "Your father has ordered me not to advise you on matters involving the Lovers' Temple, sir."

"Pagg damn him! I order you to talk to me about it! I have to talk to someone!"

"Your orders do not supersede his, Your Highness," said Teacher gently.

"You obeyed Hildin!"

"King Gethin had named him Regent, an order that bound me to Hildin as long as Gethin lived, or until he ended Hildin's regency." Teacher gave a small but sympathetic smile. "I can listen, but no more."

Temmin sat up. "Can you advise me on politics?"

Teacher's smile widened. "Certainly, sir."

"All right, then. How might I counter the Duke of Litta?"

"You do not need to, Your Highness. Others will take care of His Grace."

"Others? Who?" he asked, puzzled.

"Alas, I cannot advise you on that," answered Teacher, with a smile both pensive and mischievous.

"The Temple? But what can they do?"

"Alas, I cannot advise you on that," repeated Teacher, "though I may advise you on anything else."

Temmin frowned in thought for a moment, then said, "Let me try it this way: were someone wishing to counter Litta, what could one do?"

"Be more specific in your questioning, sir. What is Litta doing that one would wish to counter?"

"He's blackmailing me! He's a blackmailer!" shouted Temmin, waving his arms.

A triumphant smile, and Teacher said, "Few of us have clean hands. That is why the wise man, especially a man whose public credit is important, never resorts to blackmail. To counter a highly placed blackmailer, one goes digging."

"But how can I?"

"I am telling you, sir," said Teacher intently, "you do not have to. Others have it in hand. Trust that anyone attempting to blackmail an Embodiment of the Lovers would find himself in deep water before long, and in this life as well as the next."

Temmin's heart lightened. "You're taking care of it for me!"

"Not at all, sir," said Teacher through thinned lips. "Others have it in hand. More than that I cannot say."

Temmin sighed. He knew full well Teacher's meaning; the Temple would take care of Litta. "I just don't see what those others can do."

"Have patience, sir. In the meantime, I suggest perhaps studies might take your mind off His Grace."

"Oh, Gods," he groaned. "I'm still upset from the last part of the story." Even so, he fetched the old blank book from its shelf, and settled back onto the sofa. In truth, he was glad to leave his own problems behind; at least, he thought before the book swallowed him up, he didn't face a murderous, insane brother.

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Chapter 13 Part 3 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

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Temmin's charge down the Temple steps caught Mardus off-guard. "Your Highness," he called as he ran after the Prince, "I was in conference with the captain of the Temple's Own--I thought we were here for the day--"

"There's been a permanent change of plans. You won't need to talk with the Temple's Own for some time yet, if ever," said Temmin in a thick voice. "Where's my horse? I want to get out of here."

Mardus gestured to one of his cohort, who took off running toward the Temple stables. He pulled on his helmet, his unsettled gaze on Temmin. "Sir, is there anything we as your guard should know? Do you not feel safe here?"

"The only danger here is me," snapped the Prince. "Where's my Pagg-damned horse--finally!" Temmin thrust his hat onto his head and leaped into the saddle. LeiLei danced impatiently until the Guards mounted their own horses. Mardus did his best to keep Temmin from cantering on ahead of them, but once inside the gates, the Brother gave up, and Temmin pelted down the drive; his hat blew off. Mardus stopped, picked it up, and carried it to the mudroom entrance.

From there, the somewhat dusty hat made its way up to the Prince's rooms atop a silver salver held by a footman, finally ending up in the hands of Jenks, who accepted it without comment. The last sound before the door closed was His Highness's voice, raised in anguish and anger: "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

The footman put the salver under his arm and walked silently down the Residence Wing hall, until the King's secretary stopped him before the open door of his office. "The Prince has returned?"

"Yes, Mr Winmer," said the footman. "And may I say, not in the best of moods."

"You may not say, Caid," he answered. "The Prince's business is not a subject for the gossip of servants." At the young man's abashed face, Winmer added, "Very good, it's all right, carry on." He spared the footman a final glance, then shut the door and walked through his green, book-lined office to the King's private sitting room, smiling. "He's home, sir, and 'not in the best of moods,' says Caid."

"Gods bless Litta," sighed Harsin. "Sulky, is he?"

"I would spend the day engaged elsewhere, sir, until tonight's events have unfolded."

"You've arranged things?"

"Oh, yes. The girl is dependable. By this time tomorrow, he will no longer be eligible for Supplicancy. And I should think he'll be considerably more cheerful as a result."

Harsin laughed slightly. "Perhaps, but I think it will be some time before he forgives me. I love my son--I'm his father. But we are King first." He paused, considering. "I'm concerned that someone may try to convince him to stay the course and not accept his gift tonight."

"Colonel Jenks has been called away. His train leaves in two hours. Gram has called in his nephew, Harbis, a gentleman's gentleman of great repute, while the Colonel is away."

"Vetted?"

"By Brother Mardus and Teacher. He is completely reliable. Speaking of which, I must ask, sir, about Teacher himself."

"I've given him further instruction not to advise Temmin in any matter involving the Lovers' Temple."

Winmer frowned. "I do not question your judgment, sir, but is it wise to let Teacher out of the library until this is settled? He always looks for loopholes."

"Not this time. He knows my mind."

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Posted on 07/16/2011 - 5:00pm