David Tallerman - Prince Thief

There was surprisingly little resistance to our dramatic about-face from the gathered folk of Altapasaeda. No one commented on the fact that one minute Estrada had been ready to fight for this gate to the last man, woman or child, and now here she was opening it simply because Panchessa had asked her to. I put it down to the fact that none of them had much wanted to fight, and certainly not against their king; whatever was happening now, it at least offered the slim hope of an alternative.

With a crowd of Altapasaedans working in concert, it took mere minutes before the last scrap of barricade was wrenched away. Beneath, the heavily patched gates looked like a patchwork quilt of wood. They creaked in grating protest as they were hauled wide.

I’d assumed Panchessa would climb back into his palanquin, and enter accompanied by his full escort. Instead, he crossed the short distance on foot, with a mere dozen men at his back. It might not stop his army pouring after in his wake, but it seemed a small concession at least.

Estrada responded in kind. She’d called Malekrin over and, despite the resistance obvious in his face, he had hurried to join us. Though many of Mounteban’s former cronies had made efforts to catch her eye, however, she had carefully overlooked them. Kalyxis, too, she’d studiedly ignored, and I couldn’t but notice how Navare and his men had moved to discreetly bar her path.

Thus it was that the party waiting just beyond the gatehouse consisted of three people only: Estrada, Malekrin and me. I’d never felt so conspicuous in my life; the expectation of the nearby crowds was like a weight pressing from all sides.

“Good morning, your highness,” said Estrada, as Panchessa stepped from the shadow of the gatehouse. She gave a deep bow that Malekrin and I hurried to emulate.

“Is this a fit delegation to welcome a king?” asked Panchessa. “A woman, a bastard and,” — he eyed me — “some sort of street vagabond?”

“I felt,” replied Estrada calmly, “that when we have so little to offer and even less to negotiate with, this was appropriate. A show of weakness, if you like.”

“At least you appreciate your position,” Panchessa observed.

“We do,” Estrada agreed. “If you choose to pit your armies against ours, we can’t hope to win. But this man, Easie Damasco, has an alternative to offer, and I hope for all our sakes that you’ll hear it.”

Before I could sputter that I’d never intended to do any talking, let alone alternative-offering, Panchessa’s gaze had swung to consider me — and every thought froze in my head. “You were with my grandson last night,” he noted. “And haven’t I seen your face before that?”

Actually, it’s not so long ago that you ordered my death , I managed to refrain from saying. “I seem to have a knack for finding myself in the wrong places at the wrong times,” I pointed out instead.

Panchessa nodded. “I’ve known such men,” he said. “Trouble, every one of them. Go on then, Easie Damasco, speak your proposal.”

I gulped thickly. Everything that had seemed so clear a few minutes ago was now just a soup of half-formed ideas, each foolish in its own right. I tried to hone on in something definite, something I felt sure of. “King Panchessa,” I said, “I don’t believe you came here to punish the people of Altapasaeda.”

“Is that right?” Panchessa asked. “Will you tell me, then, why I marched my armies across two lands, if not to put down a rebellion?”

“I think you came because you’re afraid of what your legacy will be.”

It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, or how I’d meant to say it, but it was too late — and Panchessa’s expression was blacker than thunderclouds. “ Afraid ?” he said.

“Your sons are dead; you have no heir,” I told him, wincing at each word. “The Senate in Pasaeda is close to rebellion, Shoan is openly at arms, and now the Castoval is slipping away too. I think that’s why you came here… to make sure you left a mark on the world, even if it was stamped in blood.”

Panchessa’s face was contorted with fury now. He raised a trembling hand, beckoned to one of his men. I heard an all-too-familiar hiss — the snake’s breath of steel slipping free of a scabbard.

I was supposed to be stopping a massacre. All I’d done was hasten it. I would be first to die, and it might even be a relief — because for whatever brief time remained to me, the deaths of thousands would be on my conscience.

But if that was the case, shouldn’t I die as I’d lived? My mother had always warned me I’d talk my way onto a funeral pyre; here was my opportunity to prove her right. “Then,” I went on hurriedly, “you saw a better way — a chance to keep your line on the throne of Ans Pasaeda. Only, that didn’t work out either. Because your grandson, frankly, is every bit as bloody-minded as his father and grandparents.”

All my attention was caught up in searching Panchessa’s face for something besides anger, but I could sense what was happening around us, as clearly as if I’d been watching it. One word from their king and his men would be hacking us to pieces. One cry from Estrada, and Navare would fling himself into the fray. And close on their heels would come the entire Pasaedan army and half the population of Altapasaeda.

“King Panchessa,” I said, with a firmness I barely felt, “Malekrin won’t ever agree to be some king in training. But Altapasaeda has a palace sitting empty, and he might agree to fill it… at least for a while. Say, what, five years? That’s a mayoral term here in the Castoval. It’s not long, I know. Then again, he may find he warms to the job. Maybe the people will want him to stay.”

I’d spoken with all the passion I could muster. I’d presented my argument as clearly as my garbled thoughts would allow. Yet Panchessa still looked furious. Behind him, his men still had their swords drawn.

I had his attention, though; it felt as if his gaze should have been scorching cavities through my skull and on into the stones of the city beyond. And surely that counted for something, the undivided attention of a king?

I’d never been much of a thief. I’d failed at becoming a hero. But my tongue had scathed warlords and put down tyrants, had rattled guard captains and toyed with giants — and I couldn’t let it fail me now.

I closed my eyes and opened them, held Panchessa’s eye — and there the words were, waiting in my mouth. They weren’t insults, or mockery, but they were the truth. “Malekrin’s a good boy, your highness,” I said. “He’d be a good prince. And having him watching over this city, watching over this land, would be a fine legacy… far better than the alternative.”

By then, I was no longer expecting an answer — at least, not one that wasn’t the order to cut me down where I stood. So I nearly jumped for shock when Panchessa said, “And what of Ans Pasaeda? You’d have me leave my land without a king?”

“That’s for Ans Pasaeda to decide,” I said. “You can’t force Malekrin to be king in your place. But if you ask him, he might do this.”

Panchessa looked at Malekrin then. “Will you? Is this what you want?”

“If Alvantes and I helped you?” put in Estrada quickly. “If Commander Ondeges were to resume his role? If between us we carried some of the burden, until you felt you were ready?”

By then, we were all looking at Malekrin — and I could see him shrinking from our gaze, could tell how badly he wanted to flee. Only then, far too late, did I realise how much better it would have been to convince him before I put my proposal to Panchessa; that there was every chance he’d refuse and condemn us all.

But perhaps I should have had more faith. Because, for all the half-buried panic in his eyes, Malekrin hardly hesitated as he said, “I’ll do it. If it saves more bloodshed, if it keeps this city safe — I’ll do it.”