The Oracle’s Queen

The last woman presented was by far the most intriguing. Grey-eyed Saruel of Khatme was Aurënfaie, and wore the elaborate red-and-black headcloth, or sen’gai, and the black robes of her people. The fine black facial tattoos and jewelry that also distinguished that clan made her age difficult to guess at, and since Aurënfaie aged even more slowly than Skalan wizard-born, the guess would probably have been wrong.

Tamír’s friend, Arengil of Gedre, had taught her something of his people’s ways. “May Aura be with you in the light, Saruel of Khatme,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing.

Saruel solemnly returned the gesture, her head tilted a bit to the left, as if she had trouble hearing. “And in the darkness, Tamír ä Ariani Agnalain of Skala.”

“I thought all the ’faie left Ero when the Harriers began burning wizards and priests?”

“I was one of those who shared the vision given to Mistress Iya. Aura Illustri, known to you as Illior Lightbearer, smiles upon you. Your uncle committed great evils upon your land and spat in the face of our god. You are the light sent to drive away the darkness spread by the Usurper and his dark wizards. It is my duty, and my great honor, to support you in whatever way I can.”

“I welcome your aid and your wisdom.” Such pledges were never lightly made to outsiders—Tirfaie, as the Aurënfaie called short-lived humankind. “Mistress Iya, how should I reward you and your people for your service?”

“We are not tradesmen or mercenaries, come to present a bill, Highness. You know of my vision about you, yet you don’t know the extent of what I’ve done to bring that vision to fruition.

“While you grew, Arkoniel and I traveled this land, seeking out others who’d had been granted so much as a glimpse of that same vision. Some of them stand here before you now. Others await word to join us and aid you. Not all of them are powerful, but the Lightbearer has called them nonetheless, to protect you, the queen who must be.

“I tell you now, before all these witnesses, that we were not charged by the Lightbearer simply to help you to this point, then walk away—”

“That’s the same sort of talk we heard from that traitor Niryn, when he gathered his gang together,” Kyman interrupted. “He claimed they were serving the throne, too. I mean no disrespect to you, Mistress, or any of your friends, nor do I discount what you’ve done. But I’m not the only Skalan who’s a bit skittish, seeing too many of your kind together in one place again.” He turned and bowed deeply to Tamír. “Forgive my plain speech, Highness, but it’s the truth.”

“I know better than you what Niryn did, my lord. Mistress Iya, what is it you’re proposing?”

“I understand the fears Niryn and his ilk have bred,” she replied calmly. “My ‘kind’ and I know still better than you, Highness, or anyone else here, the evil the Harriers practiced.”

She reached into a fold of her gown and held up a large silver brooch inset with the copper flame of Sakor. “The Harriers imposed these on us.” The others held up brooches of their own, all except Arkoniel and Eyoli. Numbers were stamped on the back of each, a different one for each wizard. Iya’s was marked 222.

“They listed us in their ledgers like cattle.” Iya tossed the brooch on the pavement at her feet. The other wizards did the same, making a small, glittering pile. “Every free wizard in Ero was made to wear one of these,” she went on bitterly. “Those who resisted burned. Wizards who’d sworn to aid you were among them, Highness. I felt the flames as they died. Niryn meant to teach us our place, teach us to fear, but instead, he made me remember something.

“Most wizards are solitary by nature, it’s true, but in the time of your ancestor and the Great War, many of us came together with the queen and fought against the Plenimarans and their necromancers. The great chroniclers of that age credit them with stemming the tide of war.

“Niryn and his white-robed murderers reminded me what wizards can accomplish by joining forces. If the Harriers could create such power for evil, then isn’t great good also possible? I swear to you by our most sacred oath, Highness—by Illior’s Light and by my hands, heart, and eyes—that the wizards who stand before you today seek to forge a union for the good of Skala, as in the days of your ancestor, and to support you, Illior’s chosen one. We have no greater desire than that. With your permission, we would demonstrate our good faith and the power of unity before these witnesses.”

“Go ahead.”

Iya and the others formed a circle around the cast-off brooches. Iya raised her hands over them and the metal melted into a steaming puddle. Dylias waved a hand and the metal formed into a perfect sphere. At Kiriar’s command it floated up to eye level. Zagur made a sigil on the air with a polished wooden wand and the sphere flattened to a disk, forming itself into a silver mirror. Saruel stepped forward and wove a pattern on the air and the edges were transformed into a delicate frame of Aurënfaie floral tracery. Finally, Arkoniel cast a spell on the air, opening a small black portal. The mirror disappeared into it and dropped out of thin air into Tamír’s hands. The metal was still warm.

She held it up, admiring the exquisite workmanship. The intertwined copper leaves and vines that framed it were as good as anything she’d seen in a silversmith’s stall.

“It’s lovely!” She handed it to Ki to see, and it passed from hand to hand around the courtyard.

“I’m glad it pleases you, Highness. Please accept this as a gift of the Third Orëska,” said Iya.

“The what?” asked Illardi.

“Orëska is an Aurënfaie word meaning mage-born,” Iya explained. “Their magic passed by blood to our people, the free wizards, or Second Orëska. We are different in our powers than the ’faie, and often not as powerful. But now we mean to make a new kind of magic and a new way of practicing it, as you have just seen. Thus, we are a new, third sort.”

“And your Third Orëska will serve Skala?” asked Kyman.

“Yes, my lord. It is Illior’s will.”

“And you want nothing in return?” Kyman still looked skeptical.

“We ask only for the queen’s trust, my lord, and a safe place to nurture and teach the wizard-born.”

Tamír heard a few snorts and mutterings from the crowd but she ignored them, thinking of the orphans Arkoniel had already gathered and protected—just like he and Iya had protected her. “You will have it, as long as I have your loyalty.

“Now, we must turn our thoughts to Ero. Duke Illardi, what do you have to report?”

“The winter crops were not much damaged by the Plenimarans, but the grain stores were lost. If the spring crops aren’t planted, you risk starvation by winter. At the moment, however, it’s shelter and disease that most concern me. If the people scatter away to other cities, they may carry illness with them. But you can’t expect them to live on the plain in tents forever, either. Some sort of succor must be given, or you’ll have a rebellion on your hands before you’ve even begun.”

“Of course, they must be helped.”

“And they must know their help comes from you, Highness,” said Tharin. “Atyion has ample stores to draw from. Send for food, clothing, and lumber. Those the drysians deem healthy could be allowed to go there, or wherever they have kin. The rest must be looked after here.”

Tamír nodded. “Send word to my steward there at once. Lady Lytia knows best what to do. I’ve also decided to make Atyion my new capital. It’s defensible and has the resources to supply and house an army. With the treasury at Ero lost, I’ve little to work with here.

“Now, regarding Korin. I need to know where he is and if he can be reasoned with. I need to know how many wizards Niryn has with him, too. As long as old Fox Beard is with my cousin, I believe he’ll be a poisonous influence. Jorvai, Kyman, I want you to organize scouting parties. Make arrangements among your best riders and report back to me this afternoon. Thank you all again for your support.”

The audience had gone well enough, but speaking for so long had left Tamír tired and off-balance. As a young prince, she’d been groomed for leadership, but she still felt far more at home on the battlefield with a sword in her hand. These people were not asking her simply to win a battle, but decide the fate of the land.

All that, and learn to walk in skirts, she amended sourly as the assembly broke up. It was quite enough for one morning.

She caught Ki by the elbow and drew him away with her. “Come on, I need to walk.”

“You did well,” he exclaimed softly, falling in beside her.

“I hope so.” She made her way up to the wall walk overlooking the harbor and the distant citadel. The long hem of her dress was a hazard on the ladder. She caught her foot and nearly fell on top of him.

“Damnation! Give me a moment.” She braced her feet on the rungs and pulled up the edge of the skirt and undergown, tucking the hems into her leather girdle the way Iya had shown her. It worked rather well. By the time she reached the top of the ladder, she already had an idea for a special sort of brooch for the purpose. Her fingers itched for a stylus and tablet.

The sentries on duty bowed respectfully as they passed. She and Ki paced the wall for a while, then stopped at an empty embrasure and leaned on the parapet, watching the gulls circling over the waves. The day was clear, the water green and silver in the afternoon light. If she only looked east, the world seemed clean and free. Behind her, the city still smoldered, a blackened ruin, and the beaches were littered with broken ships.

“All that you said about advancing men on merit, and loyalty being rewarded? They could tell you meant it,” Ki said at last. “You had the heart of every warrior in that yard! I saw Iya whispering to Arkoniel, too. I bet even she was impressed.”

Tamír frowned out at the sea.

Ki rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re still angry at her about all that’s happened, and the way they lied to you. But I’ve been thinking it over and I see why they did all that.

“I’m mad at them, too,” he went on. “Well, mostly Arkoniel, since he was the one we knew best. Only … Well, I’ve been thinking. Don’t you suppose maybe it was hard on him, too? I see the way he watches you, and how proud he looks sometimes, but sad, too. Maybe you ought to give him another chance?”

Tamír gave him a grudging shrug. Anxious to change the subject, she tugged at the skirt of her gown. “So you don’t think I look like a complete fool in this?”

“Well, I’m still getting used to it,” Ki admitted.

“And I have to squat to piss,” she muttered.

“Does it hurt? Where your cock and balls came off, I mean? I damn near fainted when that happened.”

Tamír shuddered at the memory. “No, it doesn’t hurt, but I can’t let myself think much on it. I just feel—empty there. I don’t mind the tits half so much as that. It’s like I’m one of those poor bastards the Plenimarans castrated!”

Ki grimaced and leaned in beside her, resting his shoulder against hers. She leaned gratefully into him. For a moment they just stood there, watching the gulls.

After a moment he cleared his throat and said without looking at her, “Illior might have taken that away, but you’ve got a girl’s—parts in their place, right? It’s not like you’re a eunuch or anything.”

“I guess so.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You guess so?”

“I haven’t exactly explored,” she confessed miserably. “Every time I think of it, I feel sick.”

Ki fell silent and when she was finally able to look at him, she found he’d blushed scarlet right up to his ears. “What?”

He shook his head and leaned over the parapet, still not looking at her.

“Come on, Ki! I can tell when you’ve got something to say.”

“It’s not my place.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that from you. What is it?”

“Well—if you are a proper girl there, then—” He broke off, reddening even more.

“Bilairy’s balls, Ki, just come out with it!”

He groaned. “Well, if you are a true girl, then you haven’t really lost anything. For fuc—for fun, I mean. Girls tell me they enjoy it just as much as men do.”

Tamír couldn’t look at him either, knowing he was talking about girls he’d bedded.

“That’s what all my father’s women and my older sisters always claimed, anyway, that women are more randy than men,” he added quickly. “Maybe not the first time or two, but after that? All the ones I know claim to like doing it.”

“I guess you’d know about that,” Tamír replied.

Ki was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “You never did any of that, did you?”

“No. I didn’t fancy girls.”

Ki nodded and returned to his contemplation of the sea. They both knew whom she had fancied.

Chapter 7

Lutha sat alone, far down the long table from Korin and the others, among soldiers and minor lords he didn’t know, men who had drifted into Cirna looking for a king to serve. They knew who Lutha was, though, and eyed him curiously over their wine, no doubt wondering what he was doing so far from his rightful place. They probably thought he was in disgrace and they weren’t far off.

Shame and resentment smoldered in Lutha’s heart as he watched Korin and the older Companions laughing with Niryn while Caliel, ignored, stared glumly into his mazer. Lutha had joined the Companions when he was eight years old and served Korin loyally every day since. So had Cal. Now Korin hardly spoke to either of them. And all because, their first morning here, Caliel had suggested that a Companion go back to Ero to learn the truth about Tobin and Lutha had agreed.

There had always been rumors about Tobin—the madness in his family, the demon ghost, and of course, the gossip about him and Ki. Neither Lutha nor Caliel knew what to make of this latest business, though. They’d swum naked with Tobin too many times to believe he’d been a girl in boy’s clothes. Now Lutha was torn between wondering if Tobin had somehow gone mad overnight, or if he’d just suddenly turned traitor and liar. Lutha couldn’t imagine the Tobin he knew doing either, much less Ki going along with such a farce. No, something very strange indeed was going on.

Tired of the sidelong glances of his tablemates, Lutha wanted nothing more than to steal off to his room with Barieus or Caliel and a skin of wine, but Caliel wouldn’t leave Korin’s side and Barieus currently had his hands full, trying to fill the serving duties of his fellow squires who’d fallen at Ero.

So few of us left, he thought, taking another sip of wine to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. He missed Nikides most of all. He’d been Lutha’s first friend at court, and now he was dead. Barieus had taken it hard, too, and was also quietly pining for Lynx, for whom he had a bit of a fancy.

If Korin missed them, too, he showed it by drinking more than ever at night and Niryn only seemed to encourage such behavior. With Caliel under a cloud and Tanil gone, there was no one left to curb Korin. Master Porion was as disapproving as ever, but there was little he could say, given his rank. Korin was no longer the old swordsman’s student, but his king.

It was a strange and cheerless court they kept here. Korin claimed to be the rightful king of Skala, and had even had himself crowned by a trembling priest, but they lived like exiles on this lonely, windswept stretch of the isthmus.

The fortress yards still stank of blood and fire. The garrison, still loyal to Tobin, had tried to resist, but Erius had made Niryn Protector here, and he’d had his Red Hawk Guard at the ready. They cut down the Cirna men and opened the gates to Korin. The sight of all those Skalans dead by Skalan hands had turned Lutha’s stomach the night they’d ridden in. There were women among the dead, too, and even a little page who couldn’t have been more than six. Someone had run him through. What sort of warrior killed a page?

Cirna was a formidable defensive position, though, one of the most critical in the land. It stood at the narrowest point on the land bridge connecting the Skalan peninsula to the rich farmland territory to the north. A man with a good strong arm could throw a stone into the Osiat Sea from the western wall; from the eastern wall an archer could shoot an arrow into the Inner Sea.

That also meant, however, that whichever way the wind came from, it carried the damp and salt and left it on every surface. The bedsheets were clammy and every door in the place was warped, their hinges stiff and loud with rust. No matter how many times Lutha licked his lips, he always tasted salt. Even the great hall was perpetually dank and cold, despite the hearth fires and torches that burned there day and night.

Korin was bantering drunkenly with Alben now, reaching around Niryn to tug at a lock of the young lord’s prized long black hair. Alben laughed and pushed him away. Korin swayed on the bench, jostling Caliel’s arm and spilling his wine. Alben lurched back into Urmanis, sitting beside him. Urmanis swore and pushed him back. Alben lost his balance and tumbled backward off the bench amidst much laughter. Even Old Fox Beard joined in. The wizard was especially thick with those two now, and had tried to court Caliel, but Caliel kept his distance from the man.

Lutha had never cared much for Alben or Urmanis. They were arrogant and could be mean bastards when they chose, which was often enough. They’d always gone along with all Korin’s whims, no matter how base, and they were in high favor these days.

Poor Caliel was another matter. He still had his place at the table, but something was very wrong between him and Korin. Dark-eyed, golden-haired Cal had always been the sun to Korin’s moody clouds, the one among them who, together with Tanil, could cajole him out of a vicious prank or get him to bed before he poisoned himself completely with wine. Korin seldom listened to him anymore.

Korin was better in daylight, perhaps because he stayed sober then. Still dressed in mourning, he greeted the worried nobles flocking to his court, accompanied by the remaining Companions and Porion. He wore his grief with a dignity beyond his years. In less than a year’s time he’d lost wife, child, father, and capital. Men who hadn’t seen him hesitate in battle were drawn in by his flashing eyes and ready smile. They saw his father in him: strong, hearty, and charming. Nobles old enough to be Korin’s grandfather knelt with tears in their eyes to kiss his ring and touch the hilt of the great sword at his belt. At times like that Lutha could almost forget his own doubts.

Late at night, in the privacy of his own hall, however, Korin drank more heavily than ever and that grim, haunted look returned. It was the same look he’d had after their first raid, and when he’d gotten them all cornered in Ero. When Korin was drunk, the fear showed through. And Niryn was always there at the young king’s elbow, whispering.

“Advising him,” Old Fox Beard called the bile he fed Korin.

Niryn usually kept out of sight during the day, and Lutha kept as far from the man as he could at any hour. He’d felt the wizard’s gaze on him too often. Anyone could see that Niryn meant for Korin to take up where his father had left off, but Lutha was smart enough to keep such thoughts to himself.

A few lords and officers who’d dared speak their minds had already been hanged in the bailey yard, including a handsome and popular young captain named Faren, from Duke Wethring’s regiment. His bloated corpse still hung in the yard, twisting slowly in the unrelenting breeze with a placard around its neck. It bore a single epithet scrawled in large letters: Traitor.

Only Caliel still dared stand up to the wizard, and Lutha feared for him. Others might feel the same, and Lutha knew of those who did, but Caliel was too hot-blooded and loyal to hold his tongue. He braved the warning signs and Korin’s occasional bouts of drunken abuse and stayed by his friend, even when it seemed he was not wanted.

You’re going to land yourself in the dungeon, or worse,” Lutha warned him one night as they huddled together in a sheltered corner of the windswept battlements.

Caliel leaned down and put his mouth close to Lutha’s ear. “I can’t just stand by and watch that creature steal his soul.”

It sent a chill through him that even here, alone, Caliel wouldn’t speak Niryn’s name aloud.

In addition to the few surviving Harrier wizards and his “grey-back” Guard, Niryn had Moriel. Moriel the Toad. Moriel looked more like a white rat with his pale hair and long sharp nose, but he had the cold, hungry heart of a toad. He’d lurked around court ever since his first patron, Lord Orun, had tried to put him in Ki’s place as squire.

Neither Tobin nor Korin would have anything to do with him, but he’d somehow managed to attach himself to Niryn after Orun’s death, and now it seemed there was no getting rid of the little shit short of poisoning his soup. He was called the wizard’s secretary, and though he seemed to be perpetually at the man’s side like a bleached, moist-eyed shadow, he was still up to his old tricks. He had sharp eyes and long ears and a nasty habit of turning up where he was least expected. It was whispered among the common soldiers that it had been on Moriel’s evidence that Captain Faren had been hanged.

Lutha caught sight of him now, approaching along the wall walk. Caliel snorted softly, then leaned on the parapet, as if he and Lutha were simply taking in the view.

Moriel came abreast of them and paused, as if expecting a greeting. Caliel turned his back coldly, and Lutha did the same.

“Pardon me,” Moriel murmured in that oily, insinuating tone he’d picked up from his time in Lord Orun’s house. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a lovers’ tryst.”

Caliel watched him walk out of sight, then muttered, “Filthy little ass-licker. One of these days I’ll find an excuse to slit his throat.”

Lutha elbowed him, nodding at a white-robed figure ghosting across the misty yard just below. It was impossible to tell if it was Niryn or one of his remaining wizards, but it was safest to assume that all of them were spies.

Caliel stayed silent until the wizard was out of sight. Lutha noticed how he rubbed absently at the golden ring on his right forefinger. It was the hawk ring Tobin had made for him. Caliel still wore it, even now, just as Lutha still wore the horse charm Tobin had made for him.

“This isn’t the Skala I was raised to fight for,” Caliel muttered.

Lutha waited for him to add, “This isn’t the Korin I know,” but Caliel just nodded to him and walked away.

Not yet ready to face his damp bed, Lutha lingered behind. The moon was struggling out from behind the clouds, silvering the sea fog rising over the Osiat. Somewhere out there, beyond the scattered islands, lay Aurënen, and Gedre. He wondered if their friend Arengil was awake there, looking north and wondering about them.

Lutha still cringed at the memory of the day Erius had caught them giving sword lessons to the girls on the Old Palace roof. Arengil had been sent home in disgrace and Una had disappeared. Lutha wondered if he’d ever see them again. No one handled hawks better than Arengil.

As he started for the stairs, a flash of movement on the tower balcony caught his eye. Lamps still glowed through the windows there, and he could make out a lone figure looking down at him—Nalia, Consort of Skala. Without thinking, he waved. He thought he saw her return the gesture before she disappeared inside.

“Good night, Highness,” he whispered. By rights, she was a princess, but in fact she was little better than a prisoner.

Lutha had spoken with the young woman only once before, the day of her hasty marriage to Korin. Lady Nalia was not pretty, it was true, her plain features marred by a mottled red birthmark that covered one cheek. But she was well-spoken and gracious, and there was a sad pride in her bearing that had pulled at Lutha’s heartstrings. No one knew where Niryn had found a girl of the blood, but Korin and the priests seemed satisfied of her lineage.