The Blind King's Wrath, page 40
Jarsun broke off his laughter abruptly, turning back to the portal.
“Good nephew,” he said to Adri. “Pray, enlighten your ignorant elders, Vrath and Jilana, on the veracity of my statements.”
A continent away, Adri remained shrouded in darkness, his features glimpsed only in the glow of stonefire flames.
Jarsun said again, sounding piqued now, “Nephew? Pray, speak. Explain to them how it was that I came to sire the princes that the world considers your heirs.”
Adri remained motionless. “Explain it yourself.”
Jarsun stared at the portal. Krushni sensed his growing rage, curbed only by his need for Adri’s public support and most of all, the throne’s support. Unlike other kingdoms and empires, the ruler of the Burnt Empire could not simply be assassinated, overthrown, or forced into submission. The throne itself protected its occupant from all aggression. Even the slightest hint of animosity or conflict against the emperor would make the throne lash out with deadly force.
After a lifetime of intimidating, bullying, badgering, murdering, torturing, and having his way, Jarsun now faced the one being on Arthaloka whom he could not bend to his will, the one being he could not attack or kill. It was not enough to eliminate the current occupant of the throne; one had to pass the Test of Fire and be accepted by stonefire itself. Nor could one bypass stonefire and simply declare oneself ruler of the Burnt Empire. Only the One Who Sat upon the Burning Throne could be the ruler of the empire. Whether Jarsun liked it or not, he had to accept whatever Adri said without argument or dissent.
“Very well,” Jarsun said, pretending to show good humor. “For the enlightenment of lesser minds, let me expound. There are other worlds than this one, infinite variations on our Arthaloka. In some, there are no mortals at all, only beasts of the wild. In others, there is constant war, famine, disaster. Some have only one moon, unlike our world, which is munificent in satellite bodies. Others have two suns. As a Krushan of special talents, I possess the ability to walk the ways, traveling between these alternate versions of Arthaloka and returning at will. In one such world, I found Geldry, and she was attracted to me of her own volition—”
Jilana spoke forcefully from the hilltop, not far from where Krushni stood. “You transformed your appearance to that of Adri, lured her there, making her believe it was a waking dream. You seduced her and bedded her in that world, impregnating her with your demon seed. When you had finished using her—raping her, I should say, for it could not be deemed consensual if she was not fully aware of what was happening—you returned her to our world.”
Jarsun turned to seek out Jilana on the hilltop. “I did nothing to her that she did not desire herself.”
“Justify it any way you wish,” Jilana said. “You deceived, lured, raped, and impregnated her. That is the truth of the matter.”
Jarsun seemed about to reply with more force and anger, but checked himself.
He smiled, tongue tips snaking out.
“However it happened, I did father the Krushan Hundred upon her that night. Which makes me their true sire and, under law, the rightful emperor of the Burnt Empire. I revealed the truth to my nephew Adri some time ago, along with several other facts of particular interest to him. At the time, I made it clear to him that I respected his position as occupant of the Burning Throne and assured him that I would not attempt to unseat him during his lifetime.”
Because you know that only the throne can decide that, you scum from the river bottom, Brum sent furiously.
“I am content to let Adri rule as long as he lives. I am content to remain as patriarch of House Krushan and regent of the empire until then. After his demise, which I trust will be at a ripe old age, I will see my eldest son, Dhuryo Krushan, installed upon the throne and continue to protect and support him until my own time is at an end.”
Jarsun spread his arms. “All will be as it is now. There will be no strife or dissonance within House Krushan or the empire. The only difference is that the world, and you of House Krushan, must accept me, publicly and permanently, as the patriarch and senior-most Krushan, and accord me the respect, honor, and privilege that is mine by right and under Krushan law.”
Jilana laughed harshly.
“Now you are deluding yourself, Jarsun! What you desire will never come to pass.”
Jarsun regarded Jilana coldly. Then he shrugged.
“It is not up to you to decide. Once Adri acknowledges my legitimate claim and accepts my blessings to continue as emperor under my patronage, it will be official. It will be law.”
Vrath spoke unsolicited for the first time. “What does Emperor Adri say to that?”
All eyes were on the portal, and on the shadowy figure in the throne room a continent away. Adri leaned forward, bringing his hard face and blank eyes into the firelight. In response to his change of mood, the throne blazed hotter and fiercer, its flames turning deep orange and crimson. He spoke a single word.
“Nay.”
Now things get really interesting, Brum sent happily.
Jarsun
NAY?
Had Adri just said nay?
No, it could not possibly be. Jarsun had prepared Adri for this very moment, groomed him for years, feeding his insecurities, harping on his fears and doubts, nurturing his inherent distrust of his own family, feeding his rage against his enemies, both real and perceived . . . Jarsun had invested so much time, effort, and manipulation in grooming Adri for his part in this great game.
How could Adri now say . . . nay?
Impossible.
“My good nephew,” he said, struggling to maintain his smile and appearance of good humor, “surely you are denying Vrath, are you not?”
Adri regarded him across the thirty thousand miles that separated them. “I am denying you, Jarsun.”
Jarsun blinked, feeling his patience and unflappability evaporate rapidly. “You cannot deny me. I am the father of the heirs to the empire. You remain upon the Burning Throne solely at my pleasure. That is law, and none can deny the law, at peril of their lives.”
Adri smiled. It was an eerie smile, his face lit by the ghostly flames of the throne in the dark shadowy chamber. There was not a trace of warmth in that smile. “You are only the father of Geldry’s children. Dhuryo and the rest of the Krushan Hundred. That is all you are.”
Jarsun frowned. What manner of bedevilment was this? “You have failed to produce an heir. Your time is not long in this world. I am the patriarch of House Krushan. I decide who deserves to sit upon the throne!”
“You are wrong on all counts, Jarsun,” Adri said. “You are no patriarch except in your own deluded mind. You decide nothing. As for whether or not I live a long life—as you yourself prayed I would only a short while ago—or am not long for this world—as you now say—that is not for you to decide either. I am the lawful liege of stonefire, and stonefire sustains me and enlivens me. Stonefire says that I shall live many decades more, possibly even longer. Even you cannot dispute stonefire.”
“Stonefire is a thing,” Jarsun said, hearing his tone become less controlled, his pitch ragged. “It lies to you. It lies constantly. I am your family. I am the lawful patriarch of the Burnt Empire. You would do well to heed my words.”
With a suddenness that startled even the Krushan watching, a spear of red flame shot from the depths of the throne, through the portal, and struck Jarsun on his forehead. He cried out, and dug his spurs into his mount. The horse, taken by surprise and sensitive to the presence of sorcery, bucked and threw its occupant to the ground. Jarsun fell hard, landing on his shoulder. The horse screamed with panic and, fearing it would now be punished for its transgression, sped away down the hillside, eager to put as much distance as possible between itself and its master-tormentor, as well as the supernatural force that had come close to singeing it.
Jarsun regained his feet more easily than he recovered his dignity. He stood, nursing his shoulder, trembling with anger. The spot on his forehead where the flame had struck was marked by a blackish red oblong that still smoldered and smoked. It felt as if he had been stabbed with a red-hot needle. His free hand stole toward the spot, but he forced himself to stop short of touching it. Every Krushan knew the power—and cruelty—of stonefire, and respected it enough not to question its power. He dared not aggravate the wound further.
Adri leaned back slowly upon the throne. “The Burning Throne lives, hears, and sees all. Only the foolish dare to challenge One Who Sits upon It.”
The impudence of the boy! How dare he?
Jarsun’s eyes darted from side to side, as he sought a way out of this situation. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?
He saw Vrath, still hovering in midair, and Jilana on the far hilltop, watching with a tight smile on her lined face.
He swallowed his hatred for both of them and suppressed the memory of how they had humiliated him the day he had approached them with his newborn daughter, who was entitled to the Test of Fire.
“Vrath. Jilana.” He forced his voice to remain level. “As elders of the House Krushan, it’s your responsibility to uphold the law. Do you not acknowledge my claim?”
Vrath turned to look back at Jilana, who answered for both of them. That was a bad sign. There was no love lost between Jarsun and Vrath, but Jilana positively loathed Jarsun.
“Your claim is rejected.”
Jarsun could not believe his ears. “You question the legitimacy of my statements? I can prove to you that the Krushan Hundred are my offspring through Geldry! The throne itself can confirm it, even if Adri will not. All I have to do is—”
Jilana raised a hand. “Enough. Let us waste no more time on this pointless debate. For clarity, let me state that no one is questioning that the Krushan Hundred are your offspring.”
Finally, a spark of reason! Jarsun leaped at it.
“Then you must accept my claim as patriarch! You cannot accept one thing without the other. As the next heir to the throne, Dhuryo Krushan, is my son, therefore—”
“Again, Jarsun,” Jilana said with a world-weary tone, “I say to you, Dhuryo is indeed your son, but he is not the next heir to the throne. That privilege belongs to someone else.”
Jarsun stared at her, then at Vrath, whose perfect features remained as inscrutable as stone. What was she talking about? Had everyone gone insane all of a sudden? Was this some conspiracy against him? No, as elders, they could not deny or defy Krushan law. To do so would undermine their own authority and legitimacy and invite censure from the throne itself. Yet it was he, Jarsun, that the throne had just struck. That could only mean that—that . . . What did it mean, exactly? His head was reeling, and not solely because of his fall from the horse or the blow from stonefire. Everything was going very, very wrong, and he could not understand why or how, for the first time in his entire life.
“Let me enlighten you,” Adri’s voice said.
Jarsun spun around to look at the portal. His hand rose instinctively, as if to ward off another possible strike from stonefire.
Adri smiled at him, sensing his fear. The throne speaks to him and through him now, Jarsun realized. Adri was fully in his element, in the prime of his power as occupant of the Burning Throne and emperor of the Burnt Empire.
“The next heir to the throne is my son.”
And without Jarsun willing it or using his urrkh powers, the portal widened, irising open to reveal not just Adri upon the throne, but the entire raised and terraced dais upon which the throne sat in the center of the vast chamber.
Contrary to what Jarsun had assumed, Adri was not alone in the throne room. There were several others with him.
And Jarsun recognized them.
Krushni
AND NOW WE COME to the nub.
Krushni watched with grim satisfaction as Jarsun’s grand plan dissolved before his eyes. She took no pleasure in watching another person’s distress, but this was war, and this man, her father in another life, was the murderer of her mother, a genocidal tyrant, and the cruelest being alive. His distress was only the fruit of his own poisonous tree being fed back to him by karma. Let him choke on it now!
“Daughter.”
She turned to see her father approaching, supporting her mother.
“Mother! Father!” She ran to Vensera and Gwann, taking her mother’s shoulder and supporting her. “You should not be exerting yourself.”
Vensera smiled at her wanly. “What good will it do for me to rest? I know that your powers purchased a little more time for me, but I fear that time is coming to an end. I would spend my last moments with you, dear one.”
Krushni’s throat caught. Another life, another mother lost too soon. Is this how it will always be for me? Life after life?
No. She pushed the thought away firmly. It would not always be thus. A better time was coming. For her. For everyone in Arthaloka. The events unfolding this very moment on the field of Beha’al were bringing about that brighter, more peaceful future. And she had played her part in that remaking.
“Every moment you spend with me is a gift, Mother,” she said quietly. “Come. Watch us change the world now.”
She guided Vensera to a boulder large enough for the three of them to sit upon. The queen of Gwannland breathed out a soft sigh as she rested her weight. Then they all watched.
Jarsun
1
“YOUR SON?” JARSUN SAID, incredulously. “You have no son, Adri. The children you believe to be yours are mine. Dhuryo is my son, not yours.”
“I do not speak of Dhuryo or his brothers,” Adri said imperiously. “I speak of my firstborn, who was birthed before Dhuryo and the Krushan Hundred, who were conceived through your despicable deception.”
Jarsun looked around wildly. What madness was this? Were they all deluded? “Geldry had no other children before Dhuryo!”
“Nor do I speak of Geldry,” Adri said. He gestured to one of the figures standing in the shadows below the throne, upon the large, irregularly shaped dais. The figure climbed the steps up to Adri. She hesitated briefly, fearful of stonefire, but Adri’s outstretched hand gave her confidence enough to ascend the last step. She took Adri’s hand. The flames of the throne turned a softer, warmer golden-sienna hue.
“I speak of my true love, my companion Sauvali, mother of my firstborn child.”
Jarsun stared at the woman standing beside Adri, her dark face altered and thickened in middle age but still recognizable even after all these years. It was the face and the person he had sought for years, searching through the ways.
Sauvali, the maid. Adri’s lover. The mother of his unborn child whom Jarsun had targeted in that attack at the picnic. His mercenaries had kidnapped her, taking her downriver on a boat, to be brought and held at a remote location awaiting further orders from Jarsun. But when he had reached the spot, the mercenaries were unaccompanied. Vessa had waylaid them en route and taken the woman from them by force. Jarsun had punished their mistake with death, painful and torturous, before setting off in search of Vessa and the woman. He had never found them, even after years of questing. And now, out of the blue, here she was, alive and seemingly whole and well.
That damned sage!
Jarsun struggled to regain his composure. “It is a miracle! I am so pleased for you, Adri. Your long-lost love has returned to you.”
“Yes,” Adri said coldly, “which is strange, don’t you think? Considering that you yourself fed me a pack of lies about my sister-in-law and wife colluding to have us attacked and Sauvali abducted. You also said at the time that Sauvali had been killed, along with my unborn son. And I was stupid and confused enough to actually believe you for all these years!”
Jarsun spread his hands, feigning innocence. “That is what I believed! I only told you in your best interests, Adri. I am happy to be proven wrong. Delighted that you have been reunited!”
Adri snorted dismissively. “You mean you are shocked and angry to see that she survived your assassins. I only recently learned the truth, and met her only this very day. I wanted to strike out at you at once, to punish you for your vile acts and for deceiving me and preying on my vulnerability. But mostly for your unforgivable crimes. It was you who tried to slay my beloved and my unborn child. You murdered your own father-in-law, Aqron, and your wife, Aqreen, because they did not support your plan to exploit your own daughter, Krushita, for your ambitions. But above all, you committed one crime that I personally will never forgive you for, Jarsun. You slew my brother Shvate. A great warrior and fine king, the best Krushan that ever lived, and you murdered him in cold blood, duping him into trusting you by taking on the appearance of Great Father Vessa and entering his forest hut. And then, to serve your own vile plan, you lied to me that it was Vessa himself who committed that crime.”
Jarsun shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. How had Adri learned everything? The answer was obvious, he realized suddenly. He had just said it himself: Vessa. Only the old guru could have put the whole thing together and unearthed the truth. He turned to seek out the white-bearded figure on the far hilltop, but Vessa was no longer standing there beside Jilana.
“I am here, Jarsun,” said Vessa’s voice. “And I am not alone.”
2
Jarsun turned to look at the portal.
Vessa had also stepped out of the shadows on the dais. With him was a young man with strangely familiar features.
“This is Ekluv, son of Sauvali and Adri, and the eldest heir to the Burning Throne. It is he, not Dhuryo or his brothers, who will succeed Adri. The elders of the House Krushan have acknowledged his claim, and he has been anointed crown prince this very day. I am pleased to inform you that your plan to abduct and kill him and his mother backfired. Adri’s love for Sauvali and the fruit of their loving union has produced this true heir. Thus love triumphs over deception and falsity. And thus shall it ever be. That may not be Krushan law, but it is the law of karma.”
