Greg Keyes - The Born Queen

“We’ll go up the hill and talk to your friends,” Cauth said. “We’ll explain that there’s no need for a fight, yes?”

“If you insist,” Cazio said.

“Don’t forget that Austra will be here, with my men.”

“I won’t.”

He marched up the hill with the Sefry. Z’Acatto watched them come, sitting a gray stallion in front of his men.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Cazio shouted once they were in earshot.

“No, you didn’t,” the old man said. “And I wasn’t planning to give it. I told the men I would get them to Eslen, that’s all.”

“Good, then.”

“Who are your friends?”

“Anne’s old guard,” he replied. “They’ve kindly offered to escort me to the castle.”

“Well, good,” z’Acatto said. “Then you’re well off my hands.”

Cazio nodded. “How was the wine? Did you drink it yet?”

“Not yet,” z’Acatto said. “It’s not the right time.”

“I’m not sure there’s going to be a better one.”

“You just want a taste of it.”

“I won’t deny that,” Cazio said. Then he spun and punched Cauth in the jaw, drew Acredo, and threw himself flat as arrows whirred overhead.

They want Austra alive , he thought, praying he was right, knowing in his bones this was the best choice. With a roar the pikemen started down the hill.

Fend didn’t have much of his army left, either. One of the Vaix stood behind him, favoring an injured leg. Of monsters, Aspar saw only a greffyn, a wairwulf, and two utins.

That was still likely to be more than he could kill, but he was ready to try. “I told you you were going to need my help,” the Sefry said.

“Yah, thanks,” he said, nocking an arrow to the string of the unfamiliar bow.

The wairwulf and the utins were fast, though, moving in front of Fend before he could aim.

“Aspar,” Fend called. “If you manage to kill me here or, more likely, if I kill you, what happens to Winna, to your child, to your precious forest? I’ll tell you. That knight of Gravio and his twenty men are going to catch her. Probably they’ll kill her. Whoever sent them—and I’ll bet my other eye that it was Hespero—doesn’t have any interest in bringing a new Briar King into the world, not until they’ve taken the sedos throne and hold sway over everything. You and I have the same interest, Aspar.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt it if you want; my offer to help still stands. I can find the Vhenkherdh; you know I don’t need you for that. And yes, I’d love to kill you now, but then I would have one less man—or monster, which is more what you are—to go up against this knight with. We need each other. We can settle our differences afterward, don’t you think?”

Aspar stared into Fend’s single eye, remembering the sight of Qerla’s dead body, remembering the last time they had been in the valley of the Briar King.

He had never hated the Sefry more, but the geos wouldn’t let him fire.

“Let’s stop bloody talking, then,” he snarled, lowering the bow. “Let’s go.”

Stephen and Zemlé floated in the grip of the Vhelny, which, now that Stephen had gentled it, was soft, firm, almost velvety. He had determined that the demon’s limbs were more like tentacles than arms. It was still obfuscated from the examination of Stephen’s senses; no power he had or command he could give would lift that apparently ancient magic and reveal the creature’s true appearance. It was a subtle thing that would take time and perhaps more power to overcome.

He was happy that the cloud that concealed the Vhelny had no effect on his own vision, however, as they drifted through the delicate layers of clouds and the vista below revealed itself.

Directly beneath his feet Eslen castle pointed towers up at him like whimsical lances. About that were the tiers of the city and the long, green island of Ynis, held all around by the two mighty rivers and a thousand neat canals stretching off toward the horizon.

And along the banks of those rivers, beside those canals, were fires, tents, and tens of thousands of men. West across a great bay, beyond an awesome many-toothed wall, the Lier Sea was thickly jeweled with ships for as far as he could see.

“Eslen,” Zemlé breathed.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“Never.”

“Nor have I.”

That wasn’t exactly true. He had never been to this Eslen, but he remembered an earlier, much smaller one, little more than a hill fort, really, a tiny place trying not to be crushed by giants, its little leaders capering to his will.

Now it was quite splendid, though. He could hardly wait to see the royal scriftorium. Who knew what precious texts it might hold, unappreciated for millennia?

But first things first.

He had the Vhelny set them down on a pretty little hill on the island, where they had a good view of the surrounds, then set the demon to guard them from anyone approaching. They picnicked on salty ham, pears, and a sweet red wine. Zemlé was nervous at first, but when no one bothered them, she eventually relaxed and even drowsed.

He noticed the Vhelny drifting near.

“I smell the throne,” it said.

“Yes,” Stephen said. “So do I. It’s not here, but it will be soon, down there in the shadow city. That must be where Virgenya put her shortcut.”

“You’re speaking nonsense, wormling.”

He shook his head. “No. She left the power, but she left a key to it in the blood of her line and a place for that key to unlock. She made a faneway, a brief one containing only two fanes—but separated by a hundred leagues. But once one of her heirs visited the one, it was inevitable that they should visit the other and inherit much of her power. That’s what happened to Anne. But Anne isn’t Virgenya. She won’t use the power and then give it up.”

“That’s why you seek the throne? To save the world?” the Vhelny sounded dubious.

“To make it what it should be.”

“Then why not go now to the city of shadows and wait?”

Stephen plucked a straw of grass and placed it between his teeth. “Because I can’t make out even the faintest shadow of Anne anymore. Even after I walked the faneway, I couldn’t see anything about her, but I knew where she was. Now it’s as if she’s gone completely. She might be a thousand leagues from here or right there, waiting for me. I can still see Hespero, and I should probably challenge him first, garner his strength before attempting Anne.”

“Coward.”

“Ah, you want me to rush into this and lose. You’d like to be free again. You won’t be, I promise.” “Man-worm, you know so little.” Stephen felt the prick of a thousand ghostly needles against his flesh. He rolled his eyes and dismissed the attack with a wave of his hand.

“Hush. I’m going to try to find her again. Maybe being closer will help.”

The Vhelny said nothing, but he felt it coil in upon itself, sulking.

He sent his senses drifting, expanding away from him like ripples in a pond. There was the throbbing sickness that was the emerging throne; there was the contained puissance of the man whom he once had known as Praifec Hespero but who lately had risen in the world. He would be difficult. Should he make an alliance with him against Anne? That might be the safest course; he could strike the Fratrex Prismo once they had won.

But then, Hespero would nurse the same plan.

He was almost ready to give up when something caught his attention, a sort of glimmer in the corner of his eye. It was a few leagues from the city, and like Eslen-of-Shadows, it reeked of Cer.

At first he didn’t understand, but after a moment he smiled in delight and clapped his hands together. “I should have guessed,” he said. “This is really wonderful. And no one else knows.”