John Fultz - Seven Princes

“I know who you are and why you have come,” said the crone. “There is no need to explain. Drink…”

Sharadza drank the hot tea and a pleasant warmth spread throughout her body.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am who you need me to be,” said the crone. Her eyes glimmered like fire opals.

Sharadza drank again, and a blanket of calm settled over her.

“You seek sorcery,” said the crone.

Sharadza nodded.

“This journey changes forever the one who takes it,” said the crone. “Are you prepared to become someone new? Will you accept the death of your old self, so that your new self may be born?”

Sharadza thought of her father, walking alone across the bottom of the sea, wearing the chains of the Sea Queen or languishing in some deep coral dungeon.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then finish the cup,” said the crone.

Sharadza drank and asked another question. “How is it that a human woman lives so deep in the woods of Uduria?”

“Am I human?” asked the crone. “Or Giantess?” She stood up from the fire and now her height filled the entire cavern. Her wizened head bobbed alongside a gray stalactite. Her shadow blotted out the cave mouth. Sharadza blinked.

“Perhaps I am an old she-bear that you have awakened,” said the crone. Now she was a black bear, dropping to her four claws and opening a fanged maw to growl in Sharadza’s face.

The Princess spilled tea across her leggings as she scooted across the floor in panic, but when she looked back the little old woman sat again where the bear had stood.

“Or am I a stone sitting alone in this cave that you have stumbled into?” said the crone.

Now she was an odd-shaped boulder sitting before the fire, nothing but a worn slab of gray granite that vaguely resembled a woman.

Sharadza looked into her cup. The tea must be affecting her perception. She had drunk wine before, but this was no drunkenness. This was something altogether different.

“Drink,” said the slab of granite, and again it was an old crone sitting near the fire. “And ask yourself… What are you?”

A Serpent of steel, bronze, and gold wound its way between the black mountains. The wind howled along the twisting pass and cold sunlight glinted from the tips of spears, spiked helms, and gilded shields. The Serpent was in truth a company of men garbed in the metals of war. Three riders comprised the Serpent’s triangular head, the three Princes Tadarus, Fangodrel, and Andoses. At their backs flew the twin flags of Udurum and Shar Dni, a spiny crest blooming from the Serpent’s skull. Two hundred mounted Udurum elite mingled with a hundred cavalrymen of Shar Dni, whose blue shields bore the cloud insignia of the Sky God.

Tadarus rode a black charger at the head of the company, a broad blade of Udurum steel across his back. At his right rode his cousin Andoses, whose great scimitar hung from the saddle of his spotted stallion. [ed acrFangodrel the Pale rode behind them, brooding and silent as the mountain wind whipped at his crimson cloak. This troubled Tadarus. He was used to Fangodrel striving to take the lead in all things, pressing the seniority of his birth. He should be riding at the head of the column on his own insistence. Yet Fangodrel had said hardly a word to him or anyone else for the first three days of their journey. Did he know what Mother had instructed Tadarus to say and do? Perhaps she had spoken to Fangodrel in private, letting him know that Tadarus was in charge. Or perhaps the eldest brother was only sulking. Tadarus would never understand the moodiness of poets.

The roar of a mountain cat rang along the ravine, and Prince Andoses turned his green eyes toward the high escarpments on either side.

“Do not worry, cousin,” said Tadarus. “No tiger will dare approach a force of men this size.”

Andoses’ eyes searched the frosted peaks. “It is not in my nature to know fear,” he said. “But these mountains are an uncomfortable place for my men. The sun’s warmth cannot reach us here, and the wind never ceases to blow.”

Tadarus laughed without humor. “Before my father carved this pass, there was no getting over these mountains at all. You are too used to the green valleys and gentle beaches of your homeland.” The Prince of Shar Dni had sailed north from his city into the Far Sea, coming to ground on the eastern shore of Uduria. This was his first time traveling Vod’s Pass. Tadarus felt his cousin’s tension and respected his bravery.

Andoses lowered his gaze to the bracken and rubble along the walls of the pass. “I admit I prefer the pitch and roll of the open sea to this burrowing through the earth,” he said. “I’d like to see you upon the deck of a ship, Tadarus. Then I’d have cause to laugh at your nerves.”

Tadarus smiled. “True, cousin, true,” he said. “If our errand is successful and there is war against Khyrei, you will have your chance to laugh at me.”

“They say the Old Wyrms still haunt these mountains,” said Andoses. “Is it true?”

Tadarus shrugged. He glanced back at Fangodrel, riding a black mare in solemn thought, his personal servant Rathwol following directly behind on a horse whose flanks were piled with bundles, coffers, and flasks. Fangodrel would not relinquish his luxuries, even on a trek such as this. Tadarus did not judge him too harshly. Fangodrel did not have the constitution of his younger brothers. Why Vod’s great strength had skipped over his first-born son only the Gods knew. Even Sharadza, the baby of the family, had more strength in her narrow limbs than Fangodrel. Yet Fangodrel was intelligent, and that counted for much. He was a prolific writer despite his dark sensibilities.

“Tadarus?” asked Andoses. “Did you hear me?”

Tadarus turned his head. “Forgive me,” he said. “I worry about my brother.”

Andoses glanced backward, shifting in his saddle. “He seems fine.”

“Yes,” said Tadarus. “He always seems fine. But never so quiet.”

“Perhaps it’s the mountainous gloom,” said Andoses. “It penetrates the soul.”

Tadarus chuckled. “You haven’t even scaled the cold heights yet.”

Andoses shivered, pulling his yellow cloak tighter about his shoulders. “What about the Wyrms?”

“There are a few of the old beasts left,” said Tadarus. “But they delve deep into the earth and rarely emerge. At times a quake will disturb their slumber and one will rise up storming through the pass, spitting fire and hatred.”

Andoses’ eyes grew large, but only for a moment. “Have you seen one?”

“Never,” said Tadarus. “The Giants of Steephold keep the pass secure. They deal with any Serpents that crawl from their holes. I’ve seen bones, mind you. The Giants make armor and helmets from them sometimes. Spear-tips from their fangs.”

Andoses was quiet for a moment, his voice replaced by the sound of clattering hooves and the clamor of mail, shield, and spear. Someone back in the line was singing an old war song of Uurz, a deep voice half obscured by the wind. Tadarus knew that Andoses was imagining a reptile whose teeth were as large as spear heads. He thought of his father, who killed the Lord of Serpents and tamed these mountains. His heart felt heavy beneath the crest of New Udurum, the silver hammer engraved on his breastplate.

Earlier he went to an oracle in the city, an old seer whose powers were rumored to be great, and he gave her more gold than she had seen in her seventy years. She burned the sacred herbs and sacrificed lambs to the Gods of Sea and Sky. But still she had failed to answer the questions Is my father alive? and Will Vod return to his kingdom? She had only one bit of wisdom for him after all her spells and divinations: “The sea holds many mysteries, and none know what secrets dwell in its depths save the Sea God and his finny peoples.” She gave back most of his gold, shamed by the failure of her own magic, and Tadarus never spoke of the attempt to the rest of his family. They must learn to accept that Vod of the Storms, father, King, hero, legend… was gone. Tadarus was the first to admit this, for he knew the court now looked to him as its next sovereign. Even if Fangodrel was the eldest, it was tall Tadarus that everyone approached for strength and guidance. So he bore his sadness in silence and tried his best to replace his father.