King's Vengeance Read online

  The guard who’d been sent for the water returned with a steaming half-full pitcher and a chalice. Keddrus put a pinch of crushed dried desidum into the cup and poured some water over it. When he smelled the aromatic odor distinctive of the plant rising from the chalice, he turned to Ellyssa. “You must drink this now, it will help you. Drink it right down.”

  Keddrus held the cup to her lips and tilted it toward her. Ellyssa took a sip and frowned, and the sapient pulled the cup away. “There’s a good girl,” he said in his most soothing tone, and offered the cup again, smiling and nodding. She grimaced but drank the rest of the liquid down.

  A few moments later, the princess closed her eyes and her body went limp. Keddrus listened to her deep, steady breaths, like those of a peacefully sleeping child, and then turned to Raeg. “The desidum has done its work.”

  “She looks as if she’s dead,” the guard commander said.

  “No, she is only resting. When she wakes, her mind should be settled. If need be, we’ll give her another drink. We’ll give her as many as needed, till she comes into herself once more.” He looked down at the princess and watched her chest slowly rise and fall. “But I believe the one drink may suffice.” He turned to Raeg again. “See to it that the king hears nothing of this.”

  The guard commander nodded, and Keddrus told him to take the princess to her chambers to be washed and dressed while she was still unconscious. “Let her wake up clean and freshly dressed in her own rooms. It will help calm her. See to it.”

  Herrin Dellip remained with his horse and wagon near the postern gate while a guard captain showed Queen Klienne to the vassor’s meeting hall. The captain told her to wait while he went to inform the vassor of her presence, but the wait was short. A few minutes later, Thayrin Grayvig swept into the hall and strode toward the queen, his finely embroidered red silk robe billowing out around him, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “To what do I owe this sudden, albeit welcomed, visit, dear Klienne?” the vassor asked as he approached her.

  “I would that you abide by our customs, Vassor Thayrin, and address me properly,” Queen Klienne said evenly as she looked him in the eye. “Past familiarity does not grant you leave to do otherwise.”

  Thayrin bowed his head. “Although this is my house, and you’re a guest in the land of my people, I will uphold your antiquated customs, if it please the queen.”

  “As a guest in the land of your adopted people, I expect no less,” Klienne said.

  Thayrin shrugged. “I’ve been here long enough to consider them my people.”

  “Long enough to forget where you were born?”

  “I know my birthplace, your grace,” Thayrin said with another bow. “I still recall our former times vividly.”

  “Best to forget them and remember that I am the queen of Glyssia.”

  Thayrin bowed his head, deeply this time. “I forgot my place, my Queen. You are still master of one of the Great Realms, and that is something to be respected, even by a cold-hearted brute such as myself.” He aimed a hand toward a cushioned seat nestled under a canopy of gauzy fabrics in a quiet corner of the hall. “Please, let us sit and visit as old friends should.”

  Klienne studied the face of the man who, it was clear, still held something for her in his heart, and she recognized the youth with whom she had frolicked long ago. The face had gathered lines and was harder, but it was still a strong and handsome face. Klienne relaxed her posture and moved toward the seat. Thayrin joined her there, and they sat together.

  “Would you care for refreshment?” he asked. “Wine or fruit? A sweet, perhaps?”

  She took his hand in both of hers and looked deeply into his eyes. “What I need, Thayrin, is something I dread to ask of you, but I pray that you hear me and grant my request.”

  Thayrin shrugged, a look of puzzlement on his face. “What request is this, fair queen?”

  “Understand that what I have to report will leave you in some doubt.”

  “I will listen without judgment, Klienne.”

  She didn’t mind him calling her by name at that point, but as she pondered recent events, seeking the language to explain and persuade and to compel a man to do what was right, her thoughts grew muddled and she couldn’t find the words.

  “Just tell it,” he said as he watched her face. “I will listen.”

  “You’re right. I’ll speak plainly.” And she did, recounting the king’s struggle against a mysterious sickness that ate at him from within, describing his anguish and despair, telling of his wish to die or have the thing leave his body if he was to be refused death. She described the moments that led up to her flight and told the vassor of the shadow crafts she had witnessed, some dark sorcery long outlawed in the Glyssian Realm. And then she faltered, her words catching in her throat when she came to the fate of Hertrigan Vame, her husband and king.

  “There, there,” said Thayrin, patting the top of her hand. “You’ve been through a great deal, Klienne. But you were right in saying these things would leave some doubt.”

  The queen pulled her hand away from the vassor and stared into his eyes. “You have no idea what it cost me to tell you these things.”

  “I’m sorry for whatever happened, but—”

  “What happened is just what I’ve told you happened.”

  “Yet you yourself said that what you had to report would leave me in some doubt.”

  “You loved me once, Thayrin. I had hoped that your past feelings for me might overcome your doubt.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Thayrin murmured.

  “All that I have told you is true, or may the Ancients blot me from this Urthe,” said Klienne. “But that is not of greatest importance now. What I need, Thayrin Grayvig, Vassor of the Isle of Payzik and Defender of its People, are your ships.”

  The vassor’s eyes widened. “My ships?”

  The queen nodded. “Command that a fleet be sent to the Glyssian shore, and back me in a war against these bloodthirsty usurpers.”

  Thayrin stood up and looked down at her, and there was pain in his eyes. “Would that I could, my queen.”

  Klienne stood up and grasped his shoulders. “All you need do is give the command, Thayrin. What more can there be to it than that?”

  “A great deal more, I’m afraid.”

  Klienne released his shoulders and took a step back. She looked as if she might cry. “Have you not the authority?”

  “I do. But a vassor cannot order the launch of a fleet unless he has good reason, Klienne.”

  “I’ve given you good reason. All you need do is act upon it, Thayrin.”

  “You’ve given me hearth tales. Nothing more, if you’ll permit me, your grace.”

  The queen’s countenance fell and she sat back down, looking thoroughly defeated.

  Thayrin sat next to her again and took her hand. “We are a seafaring people, Klienne. We do not wage wars on land. What you’ve proposed will do nothing to turn the tide of a war if one is indeed being waged in your realm. We fight in open waters, fleet against fleet, as it has always been. “If the castle proper were close to the edge of the land, as it is with its twin in Aklon, then we would be able to launch a direct attack from sea. Burn it to the ground if need be. But that is not the case.”

  Klienne was near tears, and she looked disconsolate. “What am I to do? I am a desperate woman.”

  “Don’t let yourself be desperate for revenge,” the vassor said, not unkindly.

  “Justice should not be confused with vengeance, dear friend.”

  The vassor smiled and nodded. “Indeed. I will do this, Klienne. I’ll send a swift vessel to the mainland and seek out the full truth. We will get to the bottom of this trouble, and once the report reaches me, I’ll act swiftly and decisively. Mark my words. Will you agree to that?”

  The queen nodded. “I will allow it, Thayrin. Only promise me that you will indeed hold to your word and act decisively when the time comes.”

  “I prom
ise,” Thayrin Grayvig said.

  The people striding along the paths of the castle courtyard—knights of the Inner Guard, castle servants, Dremsan warriors, and others—stopped and looked to the sky as two of the ghastly winged lizards approached the castle, their wings beating furiously while they swooped toward the bailey. The crowd moved apart to make way for the beasts, watching with a mixture of horror and fascination as the creatures landed and their leather-clad riders dismounted and walked toward the tower that held the great hall. The lizards looked about warily, hissing as they flicked their tongues at the onlookers. The people backed away, and the creatures took to the sky once more.

  Nerus Vayjun was surrounded by his usual retinue while a court tailor measured him for his king’s robes and another showed him swatches of silk. He had made it clear that a king, particularly a former sapient primus, should not be seen in the traditional garb of his old order. “I must look a king if I’m to sit the throne as one,” he had said.

  Footsteps sounded from the front of the great hall, and all eyes turned to the entrance to see Sapient Keddrus come into the room. He nodded at the others and floated toward the king with a warm smile.

  “What is the word concerning the princess?” asked Vayjun.

  “She is taking her rest, your grace,” said Keddrus. “It seems that the ordeal of the siege together with the sudden loss of her father and her time in the dungeon have taken a toll on her. But you’ll be happy to know that she was been washed and dressed in her royal attire and is now settled quite comfortably in her chambers.”

  “Has she taken food?”

  “Only a meager portion of venison, your grace, but her thirst for wine, which was great, has been quenched.”

  “As soon as she wakes, have her brought before me,” said Vayjun.

  “I have left those very instructions with her caregivers, your grace,” Keddrus said.

  “Very well.”

  Keddrus offered a slow, careful nod, his eyes closed. Finally he said, “If you will permit me, your grace, have you given further thought to the proposed banquet that is to be held in your honor?”

  “I had considered the matter settled and left to you to organize, Keddrus. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, good king, I had it in mind to use the occasion to perform a formal coronation of sorts. To forever fix your noble rule in the hearts and minds of all who gather for the feast.”

  “Did not Lord Kern already suggest the same?” asked the king.

  “Mayhap,” replied Keddrus, smiling. “I’m merely seeing to it that no loose ends be left untied.”

  “I’ll leave it to you to decide what that day will hold. You have free rein to do as you wish, Keddrus, so do not seek my approval of any more details on the matter.”

  The old sapient offered a deep, graceful bow and swept his hand before him to end the display as well as the discussion. When he rose, two of the Dread Riders loyal to the tyrant in the West entered the great hall and quickly approached the king. The two stood before him and steepled their hands as they offered a half-bow, and then one of them spoke.

  “The sapient Lejrik has failed to recover the younger princess. He and his men pursued her as far as Eastern Plain and nearly captured her, but two others entered the field and fought against them.”

  Vayjun, a look of alarm on his face, waved away the tailors and stared at the man who had spoken. “Two others you say? What two others?”

  “Judging by their swords and their skill, we believe them to be knights,” said the other rider. “But they wore no gilt armor.”

  “Their fighting style matches that of the knights we fought on the fields of Aklon,” said the first rider.

  “Where is Lejrik?” Vayjun thundered. “And where is the princess?”

  “Lejrik is dead,” said the first rider. “Along with every man in his company and our fellow rider as well. The princess escaped.”

  “Impossible,” hissed the king.

  “One of these knights even downed a tyvoki lizard.”

  “Fools,” said Vayjun, rage flashing in his eyes as he glanced around the room. “I am surrounded by fools and failures.”

  The first rider, unperturbed by the king’s outburst, said, “The princess was not alone during the pursuit. She was aided by a man who used a light spell of some kind.”

  Vayjun glared at the man. “A sapient.”

  “By the looks of it,” the rider said.

  Vayjun pondered the matter only briefly before he knew who the traitorous sapient must be. “Jayvin Breen,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Her grand tutor. They have been close since I first assigned him to the charge.”

  “He escaped as well,” the second rider said.

  “Not for long,” Vayjun said. “As for these two rebel knights you encountered in Eastern Plain, I want you two to hunt them down. You’ll command a thousand of your Dread Riders to take to the skies and scout the lands south of High Court until they find them and any other enemies they spy. If you find them—when you find them—bring them to me so I can have them disemboweled before the assembled people. As for Sapient Breen, kill him on sight and bring me his dead body. And as to the princess, deliver her to me alive and unharmed.”

  “As you will it,” said the first rider.

  The riders steepled their hands as before and gave another half-bow before departing. Vayjun turned to his advisors and locked eyes with Keddrus. “Round up a small band of Dremsans and have them ride to the Freelands. They will call back the warriors who were relieved. And I want more groups of riders dispatched throughout the countryside to rally our militia forces in the occupied towns and villages.”

  Keddrus nodded and awaited more instructions.

  “Let it be known that anyone found harboring these rogue knights or any other rebels will be executed without trial in view of their neighbors. And let it be further understood that from this day forward, not even the slightest hint of rebellion will be tolerated.”

  Keddrus frowned and knit his brow. “Can you specify as to what you deem the slightest rebellion, your grace?”

  “If a man gives so much as a suggestion of discourtesy to a Dremsan, he’ll be flogged before a crowd. And if the militia forces meet with any resistance, the houses of those who resist will be burned to the ground. Let everyone know—everyone—that this is by order of the king.”

  “Will that be all, your grace?” asked Keddrus.

  “For the moment,” Vayjun replied.

  “As you so will it,” said Keddrus, who bowed one last time before retiring from the hall.

  Ellyssa Vame lay on her bed, staring through the open veil of the canopy at a large tapestry hanging on the far wall. The plateful of venison on the table next to her bedside had gone cold, its drippings clotted and congealed, and the wine cup and decanter next to it were empty. Ellyssa tried to focus her eyes on the tapestry, which depicted a long view of Storms Reach Castle and its environs. But though the wall hanging itself was still, the scene it portrayed seemed to be in motion, receding from her, as if she were gazing out the back of a moving carriage. She felt a pleasant dizziness overtake her as she watched cream and gold banners wave against the reddish-brown sky, and when she closed her eyes she could almost hear the pennons fluttering in the breeze. Her jaw went slack, and a thin line of drool slid from the corner of her mouth down her chin.

  Something had happened, something horrible. The castle had been invaded, her father was dead, and she had been locked away in the dungeon. What had she done to deserve such treatment? She was a princess. It was an outrage, an abomination. Someone would pay for it, her father would see to it. But her father was dead. But he couldn’t be dead, it wasn’t possible. She would talk to her mother. But where was her mother? Where were her father’s knights? Who could she trust? The thoughts were coming too fast, she couldn’t keep up with them, she couldn’t make sense of them, couldn’t make sense of anything. She wanted to forget, wanted to push these spinning thoughts from her mind, wan
ted everything to be as it was.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to empty her mind. She needed more wine. She would drink her wine and sleep, and when she awoke again …

  She opened her eyes and gazed at the tapestry, stared at the sky above the castle, searching for … she was searching for something, but she didn’t know what.

  When Sapient Syrim entered the princess’s bedchamber, she was staring at the tapestry, her breathing ragged, and her mouth partly agape. Syrim gazed at the princess for a full minute and then turned to her handmaid, who was asleep on a high-backed armchair beside the bed. Syrim clapped his hands together as he hastened toward the sleeping servant. “You there, awake with you.”

  The young woman awoke with a start, her blinking eyes searching the room before they rested on the sapient who stood before her. She looked up into his angry face and stood to her feet.

  “How long has she been like this?” Syrim asked.

  “A couple hours now, milord,” said the handmaid. “We sent for Sapient Keddrus, but he hasn’t had time to come up.”

  “He sent me instead,” Syrim told her. “How much wine has she had? The smell of it permeates the room.”

  “She’s had her fill. Kept demanding more. She’s not been herself since she’s been in this room, milord, if I might be permitted to say so.”

  Syrim’s eyes went to the door of the chamber. “Has anyone else been here? Besides servants, I mean.”

  “None, milord, save for yourself.”

  Just then, Ellyssa uttered a long, low moan.

  “Don’t give her any more wine,” Syrim ordered. “She’s drunk.”

  “More than drunk, milord,” replied the handmaid. “I believe she’s gone mad.”

  Syrim cursed the name of a Grand Ancient and then glared at the servant. “Tell no one of this, except Sapient Keddrus.”

  The woman nodded, and Syrim swept out of the room, muttering another imprecation under his breath.