Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

At night the long tables in the great hall were filled with grim-faced lords who drank Korin’s health and swore by Sakor to take Ero back for her rightful king.

Passing these same men on the corridors or in the castle yards, however, Lutha caught snatches of muttered arguments and heated debates. It was no secret that the treasury at Ero had been lost. There was talk that their young king had not distinguished himself in battle. Many scoffed at that, but even Korin’s defenders had begun to wonder why he still made no move to march against the pretender.

Men stopped talking and guiltily looked away when they saw Lutha’s baldric, but he overheard enough to concern him. A few nobles had slipped away in the night, but most stayed, professing loyalty to the memory of Korin’s father.

There were rumors aplenty about Tobin, or Tamír, as he was calling himself now, in addition to the reports brought back by Niryn’s spies, but they were confused and hard to credit. But one rumor that did seem to run consistent was that the Oracle at Afra had sent her own priests to bless this changeling queen.

There was also talk of a huge golden tablet with a spell on it. One spy who actually saw the thing reported that it was the golden stele of Ghërilain, which had once stood in the Old Palace. This was immediately denounced by Niryn as a forgery. Everyone knew that the great tablet had been destroyed.

“Illiorans, treasonous priests and rogue wizards: that’s who would foist a sham queen on you!” Niryn told any doubters. Each night at the feast table he found reason to rail against the rebel faction. “Traitors, all of them. And treason cannot be tolerated. Lowborn or highborn, they must be seen for what they are, a threat to the peace of Skala. Like snakes in long grass, they have lain in wait. Now they’re slithering out to bite at what they think are weak heels.”

“What do you make of it, then, Lord Niryn?” a grizzled lord named Tyman challenged one night as they sat drinking in the great hall. “Can a wizard change a boy into a girl?”

“Without the aid of a sharp knife and four strong men to hold him, you mean?” the wizard replied with a sly grin.

That got a good laugh from the assembly. Lutha was sitting by Caliel, though, and felt his friend shudder at the joke. He felt a bit sick himself.

Suddenly he felt eyes on him and looked up to see that cur Moriel watching him again, no doubt storing up things to tattle to his master later on. Lutha had had more than his usual ration of wine. With a snort of contempt, he threw his mazer at the nosy little whoreson’s head. Moriel ducked it and scuttled away into the crowd.

“If you mean by magical means, however, then I must disappoint you,” Niryn went on. “There is no spell in Orëska magic that could do such a thing. It would take nothing short of necromancy to effect such a transformation.”

“Necromancy? In Skala?” Caliel asked dryly. “I thought you and your Harriers had rooted out that sort of thing long since. Don’t tell me you missed a few?”

Niryn smiled down the table at him. “Necromancy is always a threat, my lord, and we must be vigilant against it.”

“But why would the Oracle’s own priest throw in with necromancers?” Caliel persisted.

“We have no proof that this is so,” Niryn replied sharply. “When we march on Ero and capture these traitors, I’m certain you will find that it is all a tissue of lies.”

“If we march,” someone down the table from Lutha muttered.

“An Illioran plot,” Korin muttered over the rim of his cup, his voice a bit slurred. “They hounded and cursed my father to his grave. They betrayed the city to the Plenimarans!”

“What?” exclaimed Ursaris.

Lutha exchanged a surprised look with Caliel. It was the first they’d heard of such a plot.

Korin nodded darkly. “I have my spies and my sources.”

Lutha and Caliel exchanged another discreet look at that; Lord Niryn was in charge of the king’s spies, and all information came to Korin from him.

“All of you who were in the city—You saw their crescent marks appearing everywhere for months before the attack,” Korin went on, addressing the general company. “You heard them speaking treason against my father on every corner, saying he brought plague and famine on the land by wearing the crown. My father, with all his victories! The man who healed the land like a kind father after the ravages of his mad mother!” Korin brought his wine cup down hard on the table in front of him, so hard that the dregs splashed up the front of his tunic. His dark eyes flashed and his voice shook. “My father was a good man, a hero of Skala! Ariani was nothing but a child and the enemy was at the gates. Would you have had a child on the throne then? Where would we be now, eh?” He was on his feet now, nearly shouting. “And she turned out as mad as her mother, didn’t she? And now Tobin?” He paused, chest heaving.

Lutha watched with growing alarm; this was how King Erius had acted when the fit came on.

“I always thought he was out for himself, from the day he showed up in Ero,” Alben drawled, chiming in as usual to support any slander against Tobin. “You were good to him, Korin, better than a brother, and here’s how he repays you.”

Korin slumped back into his chair, looking rather dazed. “Mad. He’s gone mad!”

“How do we know for certain?” Caliel asked. “With all respect, Lord Niryn, I don’t know these spies of yours. I don’t know how reliable they are as observers. And I doubt any of them know Tobin as we did.”

A more ominous silence fell over the table as Niryn turned to Caliel again. “You doubt the king’s judgment in this matter, Lord Caliel?”

Caliel tensed, sensing his misstep, and Lutha saw him look to Korin for support. Korin concentrated on paring an apple, as if he was paying the conversation no mind.

The other lords and warriors watched this exchange like a pack of wolves, gauging who the strong ones were and whom they could pick off later. Caliel wasn’t coming off well. Even Alben and Urmanis were carefully keeping their own counsel.

Lutha was ashamed of his own silence. Before he could think what to say, however, Cal caught his eye and shook his head, warning him off. Lutha unhappily complied.

“I’m only saying that we’re a long way from Ero here,” Caliel went on, speaking to Korin as if no one else was in the room.

Korin just went on with his apple, cutting a slice and dipping it in his wine.

“We’ll know the truth of it when we’ve captured Prince Tobin and all his traitors!” said young Nevus. “We’re ready to follow our true king, aren’t we?” he cried, and was greeted with a cheer.

“We’ll celebrate the summer solstice on the Palatine!” someone else shouted.

“Aye, Majesty, give the word! We can be there by week’s end,” Master Porion said.

Korin smiled and pressed his fist to his heart in acknowledgment, but he didn’t stand to announce a campaign.

Looking around, Lutha felt the same current of impatience he’d sensed before, unspoken behind all the shouting and pounding of wine cups.

The company broke up soon after, leaving Korin’s allies to find their way back to their drafty tents or sleep drunk in the hall on benches and tabletops. Lutha trailed after Caliel, hoping to speak with him, but he just shook his head and retreated alone to his own room.

Disheartened, Lutha was on his way back to his chamber with Barieus when they were waylaid by the other Companions and drawn into Urmanis’ chamber.

“What’s gotten into Cal?” Alben demanded. “Why is he turning his back on Korin now, when he needs him most?”

“Turning his back?” Lutha looked in disbelief from him to Urmanis. “Haven’t you been paying the least bit of attention? I know you never liked Tobin, but are you ready to let Niryn play Lord Chancellor and high priest and Sakor only knows what else like this? You know what Korin can be like, and with all that’s happened, he’s worse than ever—”