Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, sitting up. He felt gingerly at the back of his head and found a sizable lump, but no blood.

Barieus wiped hastily at his face, probably hoping Lutha hadn’t heard him crying. “A few hours. It’s past midday. I heard the drum beat for the guard change.”

“Well, looks like we’re for it now, eh? Cal was right, all along. Niryn has just been biding his time.” Lutha clenched his fists in helpless anger.

“Why—” Barieus paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Why do you think Caliel left us behind?”

“He wouldn’t desert us, not if he meant to go over to Tobin’s side. I still think he’s dead.” He’d rather that was the truth than think that Caliel had betrayed them.

Nalia lingered on her balcony, waiting nervously to see what was going to happen to the poor boys who’d been dragged out to the cells.

Tomara had brought word of the uproar with the morning tea. Shortly after she arrived with the tray, they heard the clatter of hooves and watched as parties of armed men rode off north and south at a gallop.

“They’re after Lord Caliel,” said Tomara, shaking her head. “We’ll see his head on a spike before the week’s out.”

“How horrible!” Caliel had been particularly kind to her. He was handsome, too, with his golden hair and dark eyes. Korin had always spoken of Lord Caliel as his dearest friend. How could he give such an order?

Nalia had little appetite for her bread and eggs that morning. For the past several days she’d had spells of dizziness and moments of hot nausea that nearly sent her to the basin. She’d said nothing to Tomara or Korin. She’d learned enough from her woman’s prattling to realize what such distemper might signify. Her next moon flow was due in a few days and she was counting the days with a heavy heart. If she were with child, then Korin would never let her go.

Late-afternoon sunlight streamed down through the forest canopy, painting shifting patterns across the moist earth of the game trail Mahti had been following.

Lhel and the Mother had been drawing him north and west instead of south this past week, toward the great bridge. At night, hidden away from prying eyes in forests or deep meadows, he played Sojourner softly and let the songs bring visions of landmarks and vistas to guide him. By day he let his feet take him where his heart guided, and he found them.

Mother Shek’met’s voice was stronger now, so strong that he stopped beneath the spreading arms of a grandmother oak and closed his eyes, swaying slightly as the witch marks tickled and burned under his skin. The sounds of the breeze and birdsong faded around him, obscured by the slow, deep beat of his heart. He brought the oo’lu to his lips and let the song take its own form. He did not hear it, but saw the pictures it made.

He saw a great sea, the one that lay on the other side of the great bridge. He’d heard tales of it and knew it by the lighter blue of its waters. Gulls flew in great flocks over it, and in the distance he saw a huge stone house with high walls.

The song told him of deep sorrow in that house, of spirits broken, and a cold heart that could not be warmed. His path lay in that direction, and he must hurry.

Quickly! the Mother whispered in the silences under the oo’lu’s song.

Mahti lowered the instrument and opened his eyes to find the sun nearly gone from the sky. Shouldering the oo’lu and his food bag, he hurried on. The swift-footed deer that made this path had marked the earth with their cloven hooves. The double-pointed marks guided his bare feet long after the stars came out.

Lutha and Barieus marked the passing of the day by the thin rays of light that tracked across the far wall. Darkness fell, but no one brought them food or water. They could hear guards outside shifting restlessly and muttering among themselves.

Moving slowly to spare his aching head, Lutha crept to the door, hoping for some word of Caliel, but the men outside talked only of gaming and women.

He explored the confines of the cell, even climbing up on his squire’s shoulder to reach the beams and thatch overhead. There was a bucket to piss in, and another for water, but no way out, not even for a clever rat like him.

Past hope, they fell asleep with their backs to the wall and woke the next morning to the grating of the bar. They blinked in the midmorning glare as another man was dragged in and slung down in the straw. He landed facedown, hands bound behind his back, but they knew Caliel by his blood-matted hair. From the looks of him, he’d been beaten and dragged, and probably put up a good fight besides. Two ragged tufts of hair at his temples marked where his braids had been.

The door slammed and for a moment Lutha couldn’t see a thing, still dazzled by the sudden light, but he crawled to Caliel and ran his hands over him, looking for wounds. There was a sizable lump on the side of his head and bloody abrasions on his arms and legs. He didn’t move, but moaned as Lutha felt his chest and sides. His breathing was labored.

“They cracked a rib or two, the bastards,” Lutha muttered. He freed Caliel’s hands and chafed the cold flesh to get the blood moving, then settled down beside him, with nothing left to do but await their fate. The light had shifted to midafternoon on the wall when Caliel finally stirred.

“Cal? We’re here with you. What happened?” Lutha asked.

“They caught me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Grey-backs—and one of those cursed wizards.” He struggled up, blinking in the dim light. The right side of his face was dark with dried blood and his lip was split and swollen. “They wouldn’t fight me properly, but came at me with cudgels. I think the wizard cast a spell on me in the end. I don’t recall anything after that.” He shifted painfully, favoring his side. “What are you two doing here?”

Lutha quickly told him what had happened.

Caliel groaned again. “But that’s why I left the way I did, so you wouldn’t be tied into it and get into trouble!”

“The Toad’s been carrying tales to his master. We’re accused of conspiring with you against Korin.”

Caliel sighed. “Tanil and Zusthra die, but a serpent like Moriel wiggles through and survives. Sakor’s fire, where’s the justice in that?”

“It’s Korin’s justice we’re facing now, and I don’t like our odds,” Lutha replied sadly. “Niryn’s cut us off from him, neat as a tailor.”

“I should have expected this. Damn, if only I’d been able to get away and talked sense to Tobin!”

“I’m sorry you got caught, but I’m glad to know that you didn’t just run off,” Barieus said softly. “At least I can think of that before they hang us.”

“Do you think they will, Cal?” asked Lutha.

Caliel shrugged. “I imagine they’ll hang me but you two didn’t do anything! It’s not right.”

“Nothing’s been right since we left Ero,” Lutha said glumly.

Niryn stood by Korin in the council chamber. He remained silent as the handful of lords debated the traitors’ fates, but he was not idle.

The corridors of the young king’s mind were familiar territory, but he still found surprising twists and turns there, walls of resistance that even his insinuations could not breach. Lord Caliel had been the catalyst for far too many of these, and that little rat-faced one was no better. Deep in his heart, Korin still loved them.

“Your Majesty, they have betrayed you,” Duke Wethring urged. “You cannot be seen as weak! They must be punished for all to see. All of them.”

Korin still clutched three slender braids in his hand: one blonde, one ruddy, and one dark.

Such loyalty, even after his friends have turned their backs on him , thought the wizard. A pity it is so misplaced . Niryn focused again and concentrated on the images it brought him of a younger Prince Korin, lost in the shadow of his family. Sisters who would be queen. Brothers with stronger arms, swifter feet. A father who’d favored this one or that, or so it had seemed to a little boy who was never quite certain of approval until plague carried away his competition. And then the guilt. Even with the others out of the way, he still wasn’t good enough. Niryn had long since found memories of overheard conversations—Swordmaster Porion instructing the other Companions to let Korin win. A deep wound, that, rubbed with salt. Caliel had known.