John Fultz - Seven Princes

Already she smelled the roasting meats and sweet baked confections that would line the Boy-King’s table.

A night in Mumbaza. She looked out an arched window at the crimson glow of sunset on the purple ocean. It’s like some tale of heroes and maidens… some exotic legend from pages in father’s library . Yet it was all too real. Tonight will be splendor, tomorrow will be danger.

She resolved to enjoy the splendors of Mumbaza while she could.

The feast ran late into the night, and Sharadza drank more than her share of wine. She drank with Andoses and Vireon, the first time she had done so. The Boy-King’s table was covered with delicacies from the sea, great swordfish roasted whole, carmine lobsters, and tentacled things in pools of creamy butter. Dancing girls performed for Undutu and his guests, followed by a match between two hulking Mumbazan wrestlers, and a fire-eater. The young monarch was much amused by all these diversions, while his mother sat reserved and attentive. A band of royal musicians played on silver-stringed instruments, oxhide drums, and a brace of woodwinds.

Vireon told Sharadza of his adventures in the Ice King’s realm, how he met Alua, and his battle against the Sea Serpent. Andoses augmented the latter tale, praising the heroic skill of his cousin and his matchless courage. Alua did not speak much, but when she did she talked of the northern forests and her travels in the land below the White Mountains. Sharadza found her sweet in the manner of a child, yet possessed of a subtle intelligence. When Vireon described her white flame, her learning of his language through sleep, and other strange things she had done, Sharadza knew Alua was far more than she appeared.

She is of the Old Breed. She has forgotten her origin, but still carries its power within her. She uses it naturally, as a child learns naturally to walk or swim. Perhaps Vireon is bringing out her true self, in the way that Iardu brought out my own… yet not that way at all. It could be that Alua will bring out Vireon’s heritage as well. The strength of Vod already flows in his veins; what other sorceries lie inside him, waiting for expression? The same as those that lie within me. Alua was a good match for her brother. She was glad he had found someone to replace his endless trysts with nameless girls from Udurum and Uurz. She had never seen him reer s respond to anyone this way. He held Alua’s hand like his palm would ache without it. He looked into her ice-blue eyes like a man looking at the clouds and imagining his future. Their mother was correct. Vireon was in love.

Over brimming wine cups they shared memories of Tadarus and toasted his memory. And they drank to King Ammon, their lost uncle, and the rest of Andoses’ family one by one. Andoses shed a few quiet tears, but he wiped them away like flies buzzing around his goblet. He was a sturdy soul… as indestructible as Vireon in his own way.

After Khama’s family retired for the night, Khama returned alone to speak with Iardu in guarded whispers. The Shaper enjoyed the King’s wine, and none there drank more than he. Not even Andoses, who drowned his grief in a purple flood.

Vireon demanded to know where Sharadza had gone and why she had left their mother in such worry. As she explained her tutelage under Iardu, Tyro and Lyrilan peppered her with questions, most of which she could not answer. Prince D’zan listened as well, though he held his tongue. When he looked her way, his eyes sparkled like gold in the candlelight.

Vireon demanded evidence of her sorcery, as if he disbelieved her tale. Tyro joined him in calling for a show of her skill. This went on until she silenced them by transforming herself into a white wolf. She crouched on her hind legs in the feasting chair, staring at them with blood-red eyes, red tongue lolling between her fangs. Vireon laughed, half-drunk on Mumbazan wine, but the rest only stared in quiet awe. The Boy-King smiled and clapped to show his appreciation of her “trick.”

Iardu only frowned in her direction, and once again she became Sharadza.

“My dear sister, the sorceress!” bellowed Vireon, slapping the table. Then he grew suddenly serious and raised his cup. “You are the Daughter of Vod, and you bear his power. To Vod’s Daughter!” They drank yet another toast, this time in her honor, while she blushed.

Several times she caught D’zan eyeing her, though he looked away every time. How brave he must be to endure all that he has. He was quiet and a bit mysterious. I must speak with him. Yet the feast ran on, and she never did get around to speaking with him. The torches guttered low on their tall mounts, and the Boy-King fell asleep in his tall chair. Servants carried him off to bed and Queen Umbrala followed, bidding good night to her guests. Soon after, Sharadza stumbled to her own quarters, realizing too late that she was not a skilled wine drinker at all. She had no time to admire the opulence of the guest chamber before she fell into slumber.

Nightmares swam up from the depths of the dreamworld to torment her. Clawed things rushed and fell, slithered past her on the waves of a dark sea. Serpentine beings slid beneath her as she walked across the glassy waves without sinking. A white hawk flew down to sit on her shoulder and whisper something in her ear. She could not understand the ancient words. The sea beneath her was not water at all, but blood

… and people drowned in it… the black-skinned people of Mumbaza screamed and wept and sank. Dark beasts rose up from the blood-sea to rend them with claw and fang, to gnaw their bones. She screamed and tried to work sorcery, but the slaughter continued and the sea of blood refused to swallow her. At last a single massive claw rose to wrap around her waist, squeezing ut, withntil her bones cracked. The talons sank into her flesh like swords. She awoke to the gentle prodding of a bald servant-girl with golden hoops in her ears.

The chamber’s windows were still dark; the moon had set, but the sun had not yet risen.

“The Queen Mother summons you to Council,” said the girl, her accent thick and melodic. “Right away…”

The servant waited for Sharadza to dress, then led her along a corridor she did not remember. Too much wine. Never again. As they walked, Tyro and Lyrilan joined them, also bleary-eyed. Then D’zan and Vireon, Khama and Iardu, and finally Andoses in his gleaming turban. All had been awakened. She guessed that less than an hour of night remained. It must be something urgent to summon them from their beds before even the dawn broke. Shards of nightmare swam in the back of her head like evil fish in muddy water.

Servants guided them into the Council Chamber with the long black table. Queen Umbrala sat at its head in a robe of sapphire silk. Her headdress and jewelry were absent. She, too, had awakened not long ago. The Boy-King was not present. A grimy soldier sat in the chair to the Queen’s left, his hands trembling about a goblet of wine. Soot and dirt smeared his bare face and arms, and a white bandage wrapped his left shoulder. His face bore the pall of exhaustion and terror. Perhaps he had been weeping. His white cloak hung in tatters.

The five Princes, Sharadza, Iardu, and Khama took their seats. Vireon had not roused Alua.

“Majesty,” said Khama. “Is the King all right?”

Umbrala nodded. “He sleeps. I am his voice until he wakes.”

“What has happened?” asked Andoses.

“This is Wayudi, a captain of the garrison at Zaashari,” said the Queen Mother. The haunted soldier gave a modest bow, his unsteady hands gripping the goblet like a holy talisman. “Explain to them what you have told me…”

Wayudi was an educated officer, schooled in the northern languages. His words were flavored with fear. “They came out of the night… seeking our blood.” His eyes grew round, the black pupils tiny in pools of white. “ Shadows… things made of shadow… some like tall wolves with eyes of fire… others slid like Serpents across the ground… or flew like bats… Some walked like twisted men. They came at dusk, when the last of the sunlight faded. There was no moon anymore… only the brightness of their scarlet eyes… the color of the blood they crave.”