John Fultz - Seven Princes

Khama crossed his arms and leaned against the peeling bark. “Mumbaza has known peace for a hundred years,” he said. “The grandfather of our current King forged a peace treaty with Yaskatha at my urging. How do you know Elhathym intends to break the treaty?”

Iardu frowned. “Do you remember Takairo the Great? Before Elhathym left the world he shattered its opal towers and murdered or enslaved every living thing within its walls. Takairo, whose people had never known war. He is a predator, Khama, and worse now that he has endured the strangeness of the Oenenevuter Worlds. He raises the dead to conquer the living. He takes what he wants. It will not be long before he decides to take Mumbaza.”

Khama watched the stars, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Sharadza could stay quiet no longer. “Even now a delegation of Princes from the northlands seeks alliance with your Boy-King. A choice must be made. Mumbaza will be forced to side with Yaskatha and Khyrei, or with those who oppose them. Like you I fear the coming of war. This is why I have convinced Iardu to help me prevent it. He says you can help us. If you do not, you will face the coming destruction knowing that you could have done something about it.”

“I have enjoyed living as other men do these past decades,” Khama said. “Yet the Great Wheel turns always, and now you remind me that men face war in their time. It has always been so. So if I am to be a man, I must face it too. Though my heart screams to run from here, to take my children where they can be safe, I know that safety is an illusion. Still… to leave them now, I am unwilling.”

“Open your Inner Eye,” said Iardu. “Look to the south. Feel the currents of shadow smothering Yaskatha.”

Khama’s eyes closed. A night-bird cawed somewhere over the plain. The cool wind blew, and the grasses whispered earthy secrets.

After a moment the herdsman opened his eyes. He shivered. “The Dwellers in Shadow,” he whispered. “They answer his call. A great many of them… legions of hungry darkness…”

Iardu nodded. “You feel what I have felt. His power will only grow stronger until he strikes. And it may be well before the northern armies can assemble.”

“Oh, it will be,” said Khama, his face haunted. “Such hunger cannot be held in check for long. It could consume the world.”

“Stand with us now,” said Iardu. “We’ll take him before he ever knows of our coming. Surprise will be a dagger that kills in our hand, Khama.”

Khama shook his head, ran a hand through his braided locks. “Emi, the children… I must take them to the city… hide them behind the walls of the palace.” Tears welled in his eyes but did not fall. “Understand. If I join you in striking at Elhathym, I break the treaty of my King. I must speak with him first. Only with his blessing can I do this thing.”

Iardu looked at Sharadza. His eyes glowed, twin prisms brighter than the moonlight. The blue flame danced on his chest. She had grown used to this wonder and hardly noticed it now. She wondered what Khama’s family saw when they looked at Iardu.

“We will accompany you to the city tomorrow,” said Iardu. “Once your family is safe there, and you have spoken with the Boy-King, we will fly south together… to douse the fire of war before it burns across the steppes.”

Khama nodded. “I must speak with my wife.”

“We will sleep in the grass,” said Iardu.

Khama stopped halfway to his hut and turned to look at them. Hisk aiv›

“Hawks always bring trouble,” he said, and went inside to seek his wife.

Mumbaza sat like the King of Cities on its precipice above the turquoise sea. Its docks were vast marble quays lined with ships from every nation, a forest of multicolored sails and vessels of every size, from lean coast-huggers to round-hulled behemoths. The city kept a standing navy as well, a fleet of two hundred war galleons patrolling the coast for leagues, each flying the sign of the Feathered Serpent. Carved into the surface of the pale cliffs, the Upward Way climbed from the docks directly to the Seaward Gate in a series of terraced switchbacks. The city was unassailable from the sea thanks to its lofty position, and no nation had ever been foolish enough to assault the Upward Way.

Andoses watched from the forecastle of the Sharkstooth as the glittering bluffs grew larger. The pearly domes of the city could no longer be seen this near to the seawall, though from farther out Mumbaza had shone brilliant as the sun itself. Soon the eager crew would bring their ship to anchor, and the Cloud sailed close behind. Fifteen days from Murala to this proud capital. Of course, a day had been lost in salvaging men and provisions from Dairon’s Spear, but the weather had favored the voyage. Andoses longed to feel solid ground beneath his feet. He had sailed the Golden Sea many times, but always for pleasure trips of a day or two. Two weeks of crowded decks, cramped quarters, and sea rations was more than enough. In the palace of the Boy-King there would be splendor and luxuries to enjoy.

After seeing the terrible thing from the depths that destroyed the Spear, Andoses no longer trusted the sea. What other ancient horrors slumbered down there? He thanked the Gods of Cloud and Sky when the port of Mumbaza finally came in view. He might never look upon the calm waters of the sea again without thinking of the leviathan and the splintering galleon. The men who wailed and died like helpless insects. The rotten reek of the beast on the wind. He still smelled it at times, or imagined he did.

So many deaths. But Vireon had emerged more the hero. The men worshipped him now. All to the good of Shar Dni. With Vireon at the head of the Four Nations, men would rush into battle as if the Gods themselves rode at their backs. All Andoses needed to complete this masterpiece of a plan was the allegiance of the Boy-King. Undutu and his royal mother Umbrala must join the cause. How could they refuse? Five Princes came now to their doorstep, and Vireon the Great among them. The Killer of Serpents… the Son of Vod. Yes, the Mumbazans turned Prince D’zan away when he sought refuge here months ago… but he was no longer a lone, scared boy running for his life; he was a key member of the Alliance of Nations. This was history, gathering like stormclouds about Mumbaza’s wharves, brewing up a storm of glory.

Andoses left captain and crew to their duties and went to prepare himself. Soldiers lined the decks, peering upward at the cliff road. They, too, were anxious to tread the land again. Inside his cabin he donned a shirt of golden mail over a blue tunic with white trim. His leggings were white leather, and his boots black as coal. The sapphire at the forehead of his turban-helm was polished; it gleamed brightly in the small mirror he used to oil his beard and mustache. A cloak of sea-blue silk bearing the White Bull of Shar Dni completed his wardrobe, along with the jeweled scimitar on his broad belt. He marched on deck, ready to fak, in ce Boy-King and the Queen Mother.

The Cloud moored itself alongside the Sharkstooth, and he saw in its forecastle the other Princes arrayed in their finery: Vireon in snow-tiger cloak and silver mail shirt over a black tunic, the sword of a Giant on his back; Tyro in the green-gold mail of Uurz, the sun emblem at his breast, a helm of gilded bronze hiding his dark curls; Lyrilan in his scholar’s robes of jade silk, golden belt and bracers, and even a longblade hitched on his side; D’zan in jet with silver trim, purple-cloaked and with the golden sword and tree emblem of Yaskatha on his breast, the bright hilt of his greatsword rising above the left shoulder; and Vireon’s woman, Alua the Sorceress, looking every bit a northern queen in a gown of white and gossamer, gold hoops glimmering on her neck and fingers, bright as her hair… a vision of frosted beauty with midnight eyes.