Book Eight
I am Your
servant
And
You are
my Lord
Fifty-Two
“This is the Age of War, the Age of lying, the Age of deceit. This is the age when men are far from God and God herself divided.”
-Ifandell Modet The First Discourse
SOLAHN
Austin woke in the middle of the night. Why was he up? What was it? Yes, he was in Solahn, further south or further east than he had ever been, in the Wheat Palace no less, and the balmy air of a late spring Solahn evening was blowing the curtains. But when he blinked he saw a shadow at the door and nearly started before he whispered: “Erek?”
Erek stepped across the room and came to him. He looked young, like when they were boys, and he was only in the white trunks all good Zahem men wore under their clothes. His chest was strong and broad and smooth and Erek was looking on him with desire.
“I’m here,” Erek said. “Tonight.”
Austin didn’t know what to say. He had always imagined this, always pictured himself saying, “Yes,” saying, “come to me. Now.”
But instead he said, “No.”
Erek tilted his head in confusion.
“No,” Austin said. “Not like this. Not after all the years I waited for this. Not like this.”
Austin turned on his side and closed his eyes, feigning sleep to hope sleep would come. He could still hear Erek over him, breathing. He waited a moment, and then, at last, Erek turned and left, closing the door behind him.
“Could you… maybe not…. Trot so fast!” Mehta gasped out between breaths.
“I’m not trotting at all,” Rendan shouted back, and his hair was in her face.
“The horse is.”
“You’re really awful,” Mehta murmured as she clung tighter to Rendan, and the horse’s sharp hooves thundered over the ground descending toward the village.
“Besides,” Rendan shouted, “You’re the one who wanted to come.”
Mehta chose to say nothing. It was always best to think of the most withering retort rather than spitting out words. At last she settled on simply punching Rendan in the back of the head.
“Ouch!”
“You’re welcome,” she told the prince.
As they rode on, slowing, Rendan reigned in the horse and looked over the village that was spread beneath them on the crescent beach.
“I don’t understand,” Mehta said. “There’s nothing here.”
Rendan frowned, but Mehta could not see it. He shook his head and dismounted. “Should we go down?”
She nodded, fumbled from the horse and as she did she touched her copper bracelet. That had been the bracelet Soren had bought her, and simply because she wanted a new one she had gone with him into town. And how here she was, far from Turnthistle Farm. She half frowned, half smiled and took in the scent of the sea, heading down after Rendan.
The town had seemed abandoned, and Rendan called out for someone. Once, when he was a boy, he and his father had ridden past here. It had been a bustling village. Well, what was happening now? Had they already come? The pirates? But no. There was no wreckage, no pillaging.
And then, out of one of the houses on that street came a man, and he called, “Prince! Lord Prince!”
Rendan nodded and he and Mehta came, trusting the horse on its own.
“I’m so glad you’re here. My wife. And her baby.”
“Wife and baby?” Mehta said.
Rendan shrugged and followed the man to the sound of a woman weeping in the little house. Mehta followed him and they entered a house where there were five men and a woman in a chair crying over an infant.
“My lady—” Rendan began.
But just then the little man who had called him locked the door shut behind him, and Mehta cried as the woman stood up dropping the baby abruptly to the ground where a melon rolled out of a dirty blanket. Mehta felt the point of a dagger at her throat, and her eyes turned long enough to see one at Rendan’s.
“Um,” the woman said, looking forlornly after the melon, and then raising her eyes to Mehta, “I dropped my baby. I was never a good mother.”
“Who are you?” Rendan hissed, or tried to hiss. It did not sound nearly as menacing as he meant it to.
“It doesn’t matter who we are,” the short man said, “It is who you are. Prince Bellamy—”
“He’s not Prince Bellamy—” Mehta began.
“And it is a matter of what you are,” the man continued. “Or what you will be doing.”
“Which is coming with us,” the woman said, picking up the melon.
“Yes,” another man, a very tall one, said.
“What are you talking about?” Mehta demanded when she had regained herself. “The only place we’re going is back to the palace, so you can just unhand us, now.”
The woman smacked her suddenly, and Mehta’s head snapped back.
“The only place you’re going,” she told Mehta, “is to meet the Sea Queen. Right now.” And then she added, smacking the kitchen girl again: “Wench.”
As Mehta’s cheeks burned, and her head rang, she cut her eyes toward the woman who had dropped the melon and thought, You’ll pay for that.
UNDER THE EARTH
Theone sat by the bed, looking over Dissenbark, and Soren, who had come quietly into the room, gently put her hand in his.
“She was my first companion. She was with me from the beginning,” Theone said. “I was so frightened when she came along. After everything that had happened I didn’t trust anyone. She taught me to laugh again. To be a little bit happy. Soren, it is she who has brought me this far.”
Soren said nothing, but leaned into her and pressed his chin into Theone’s shoulder. She kissed him on the head.
“I never noticed your hair. Or I suppose I forgot it. It’s wavy.”
“Um,” Soren murmured, looking over Dissenbark, “when did you notice that?”
“I think our first time together. Years ago. But also last night.”
“Ah.”
“I was afraid that it wouldn’t be the same. That we couldn’t survive everything that happened.”
“Well,” Soren said straightening up and gripping her hand as he brushed back Theone’s hair, “there’s nothing like being crushed to stop the fear of destruction.”
Theone nodded.
“It wasn’t like it was before,” Soren said. “Before I had less than one third of a heart and you were scarcely a girl. Now we’re both…”
“Old and broken,” Theone said.
Soren frowned and gave a tilt of his hand. “Maybe a little old and broken, but not completely.”
When Regni entered the room he said, “You too! The blond soldier was just here.”
“Anson?”
“No the other blond soldier.”
Theone thought a little before she realized the Dwarf was being sarcastic.
“What’s wrong with her, Master?” Soren said.
The Dwarf frowned up at Soren, but it seemed that he probably frowned at anyone.
“I forgot,” Regni said, “you weren’t there. You were fighting. All of you were fighting. I appreciate that especially when up above you have your own things to do. But we are a gruff people. I am a gruff creature. No, you see, this girl here had a great rush of power. Even with the aid of two half beaten wizards, she had a great burst of power and, from the look of things she was not used to it. But even a sorceress of many years might have been undone by last night. No worry, she’ll be good as new, probably by tonight if she just… help me lift this girl’s head. Here ya go, girlie, drink this.”
Theone had moved forward to lift Dissenbark’s head, and Regni was spooning a thin hot liquid into her mouth when Soren said, “Sir, did you say… a sorceress?”
“Of course I said a sorceress?” Regni scowled up at him.
“You saw the power coming out of her,” he looked to Theone. “What the hell else would she be?”
“I knew she was a conjure woman,” Theone said. “A hedgewitch of types, but… this was power such as Ohean as, such as the enchanters out of legend. I had never… I did not think….”
“Power,” Regni said, “is power.”
In the dark they lay curled like commas, one flesh, barely could the light reflect on the darker skin against Kenneth’s white.
“This is just the place I always wanted to be,” he murmured.
“In the bottom of the earth, sleeping in a room like a cave after recovering from battle?” said Arvad.
“No,” Kenneth began and then winced.
“You need to be careful,” Arvad touched the bandage around Kenneth’s arm and then kissed it. “I need to wash it.”
“This is the least painful thing on me.”
“Your memories?”
“Yes,” Kenneth said.
Arvad separated from him and touched his head.
Kenneth grinned. “They’re not there. They’re all over me. There are so many things I did. So many things I saw.”
“You had no nightmares last night.”
“No,” and then Kenneth said. “It hardly matters. Now I’m simply used to it. I’m simply seeing it all the time.”
“I wish….” Arvad began. “I wish that I could understand it better. Like Soren. Then you wouldn’t feel so alone. Then…”
Kenneth was lying on his side and he caught Arvad’s wrist.
“No,” he kissed Arvad’s arm. “It’s better this way. You can’t grasp who I was. So you love me for who I am. You see me the way I want to be seen. I need that.”
Arvad’s head had been turned from Kenneth. Now he turned around and he ran his hand all over his shaven face, across his mouth.
There was a tap at the door and Arvad, clearing his throat before calling, “Hold on.”
He dressed quickly. Kenneth only pulled on his trousers and sat at the edge of the bed, and then Arvad opened the door.
Soren and Theone entered the room and she said, “We’ll tell Anson and Ohean soon enough, though I suspect they must know. But we just learned the strangest thing about our Dissen.”
