Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

It was a strange and cheerless court they kept here. Korin claimed to be the rightful king of Skala, and had even had himself crowned by a trembling priest, but they lived like exiles on this lonely, windswept stretch of the isthmus.

The fortress yards still stank of blood and fire. The garrison, still loyal to Tobin, had tried to resist, but Erius had made Niryn Protector here, and he’d had his Red Hawk Guard at the ready. They cut down the Cirna men and opened the gates to Korin. The sight of all those Skalans dead by Skalan hands had turned Lutha’s stomach the night they’d ridden in. There were women among the dead, too, and even a little page who couldn’t have been more than six. Someone had run him through. What sort of warrior killed a page?

Cirna was a formidable defensive position, though, one of the most critical in the land. It stood at the narrowest point on the land bridge connecting the Skalan peninsula to the rich farmland territory to the north. A man with a good strong arm could throw a stone into the Osiat Sea from the western wall; from the eastern wall an archer could shoot an arrow into the Inner Sea.

That also meant, however, that whichever way the wind came from, it carried the damp and salt and left it on every surface. The bedsheets were clammy and every door in the place was warped, their hinges stiff and loud with rust. No matter how many times Lutha licked his lips, he always tasted salt. Even the great hall was perpetually dank and cold, despite the hearth fires and torches that burned there day and night.

Korin was bantering drunkenly with Alben now, reaching around Niryn to tug at a lock of the young lord’s prized long black hair. Alben laughed and pushed him away. Korin swayed on the bench, jostling Caliel’s arm and spilling his wine. Alben lurched back into Urmanis, sitting beside him. Urmanis swore and pushed him back. Alben lost his balance and tumbled backward off the bench amidst much laughter. Even Old Fox Beard joined in. The wizard was especially thick with those two now, and had tried to court Caliel, but Caliel kept his distance from the man.

Lutha had never cared much for Alben or Urmanis. They were arrogant and could be mean bastards when they chose, which was often enough. They’d always gone along with all Korin’s whims, no matter how base, and they were in high favor these days.

Poor Caliel was another matter. He still had his place at the table, but something was very wrong between him and Korin. Dark-eyed, golden-haired Cal had always been the sun to Korin’s moody clouds, the one among them who, together with Tanil, could cajole him out of a vicious prank or get him to bed before he poisoned himself completely with wine. Korin seldom listened to him anymore.

Korin was better in daylight, perhaps because he stayed sober then. Still dressed in mourning, he greeted the worried nobles flocking to his court, accompanied by the remaining Companions and Porion. He wore his grief with a dignity beyond his years. In less than a year’s time he’d lost wife, child, father, and capital. Men who hadn’t seen him hesitate in battle were drawn in by his flashing eyes and ready smile. They saw his father in him: strong, hearty, and charming. Nobles old enough to be Korin’s grandfather knelt with tears in their eyes to kiss his ring and touch the hilt of the great sword at his belt. At times like that Lutha could almost forget his own doubts.

Late at night, in the privacy of his own hall, however, Korin drank more heavily than ever and that grim, haunted look returned. It was the same look he’d had after their first raid, and when he’d gotten them all cornered in Ero. When Korin was drunk, the fear showed through. And Niryn was always there at the young king’s elbow, whispering.

“Advising him,” Old Fox Beard called the bile he fed Korin.

Niryn usually kept out of sight during the day, and Lutha kept as far from the man as he could at any hour. He’d felt the wizard’s gaze on him too often. Anyone could see that Niryn meant for Korin to take up where his father had left off, but Lutha was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself.

A few lords and officers who’d dared speak their minds had already been hanged in the bailey yard, including a handsome and popular young captain named Faren, from Duke Wethring’s regiment. His bloated corpse still hung in the yard, twisting slowly in the unrelenting breeze with a placard around its neck. It bore a single epithet scrawled in large letters: Traitor .

Only Caliel still dared stand up to the wizard, and Lutha feared for him. Others might feel the same, and Lutha knew of those who did, but Caliel was too hot-blooded and loyal to hold his tongue. He braved the warning signs and Korin’s occasional bouts of drunken abuse and stayed by his friend, even when it seemed he was not wanted.

“You’re going to land yourself in the dungeon, or worse,” Lutha warned him one night as they huddled together in a sheltered corner of the windswept battlements.

Caliel leaned down and put his mouth close to Lutha’s ear. “I can’t just stand by and watch that creature steal his soul.”

It sent a chill through him that even here, alone, Caliel wouldn’t speak Niryn’s name aloud.

In addition to the few surviving Harrier wizards and his “grey-back” Guard, Niryn had Moriel. Moriel the Toad. Moriel looked more like a white rat with his pale hair and long sharp nose, but he had the cold, hungry heart of a toad. He’d lurked around court ever since his first patron, Lord Orun, had tried to put him in Ki’s place as squire.

Neither Tobin nor Korin would have anything to do with him, but he’d somehow managed to attach himself to Niryn after Orun’s death, and now it seemed there was no getting rid of the little shit short of poisoning his soup. He was called the wizard’s secretary, and though he seemed to be perpetually at the man’s side like a bleached, moist-eyed shadow, he was still up to his old tricks. He had sharp eyes and long ears and a nasty habit of turning up where he was least expected. It was whispered among the common soldiers that it had been on Moriel’s evidence that Captain Faren had been hanged.

Lutha caught sight of him now, approaching along the wall walk. Caliel snorted softly, then leaned on the parapet, as if he and Lutha were simply taking in the view.

Moriel came abreast of them and paused, as if expecting a greeting. Caliel turned his back coldly, and Lutha did the same.

“Pardon me,” Moriel murmured in that oily, insinuating tone he’d picked up from his time in Lord Orun’s house. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a lovers’ tryst.”

Caliel watched him walk out of sight, then muttered, “Filthy little ass-licker. One of these days I’ll find an excuse to slit his throat.”

Lutha elbowed him, nodding at a white-robed figure ghosting across the misty yard just below. It was impossible to tell if it was Niryn or one of his remaining wizards, but it was safest to assume that all of them were spies.

Caliel stayed silent until the wizard was out of sight. Lutha noticed how he rubbed absently at the golden ring on his right forefinger. It was the hawk ring Tobin had made for him. Caliel still wore it, even now, just as Lutha still wore the horse charm Tobin had made for him.

“This isn’t the Skala I was raised to fight for,” Caliel muttered.

Lutha waited for him to add, “This isn’t the Korin I know,” but Caliel just nodded to him and walked away.

Not yet ready to face his damp bed, Lutha lingered behind. The moon was struggling out from behind the clouds, silvering the sea fog rising over the Osiat. Somewhere out there, beyond the scattered islands, lay Aurënen, and Gedre. He wondered if their friend Arengil was awake there, looking north and wondering about them.