Dirge of the Dormant, page 2
part #5 of The Mindstream Chronicles Series
When they reached the cabin, Ori reached past her to unlatch and open the door. “What do you mean?”
Once inside, she exhaled in relief. “The Gatekeeper has a bird ally.”
“I saw it, yes. I also saw it take an arrow.”
She flinched, blinking at him. He was about her own height, so she met his gaze squarely. “You did? You saw it die?”
“I saw it fall into the water, though I admittedly lost sight of it soon after. What’s special about this bird?”
Ibsa wasn’t sure what else it was capable of aside from changing its size. “It can grow quite large—large enough to carry her.”
He scowled. “For how long? How far?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. When we were returning from Renn, she left the party and flew to Jolver and back, meeting us on the road again. And from what I’ve heard, she used the same bird to lure the Krykon to a big canyon in Mangend, giving her time to work out a plan for defeating it.”
“The Demon’s Maw?” Ori asked, an incredulous expression on his face.
“You would know better than I. I’m unfamiliar with Mangendan geography. Is the Demon’s Maw large?”
“And deep and quite a distance away. It would take at least a week to travel by horseback from the western edge to the coast in a direct line. You say she flew there in a single day?”
“There and back in a matter of hours.” She snapped her fingers, recalling the failed peace council’s attempts to negotiate a treaty with Serocia’s enemies. “It also carried another ally, a man-sized one, to Hazred when Queen Rivva first proposed a treaty.”
“Challenger’s fists! How many allies does she have?”
“Many, and she can turn many more.” She looked down her nose at him. “Your efforts to sink a few puny boats were wasted, if you did it thinking you could stop her.”
Fistmaster Ori took a deep breath and let it out in a gust. “Very well. We’ll signal the other ship to arm the cannons and ready the archers. If she comes, we will end her.”
Chapter 2
Jora took a seat at the head of the oval wooden table in the palace’s main conference room. Generally reserved for cabinet meetings, the room was large enough to seat twenty. To her left sat Archesilaus, with his main strategist, Caduceus, beside him, and the scholarly one of the bunch, Omotylia, to Jora’s right. Adriel sat beside Tylia.
“Shall we begin?” Arc asked.
“Not everyone’s here yet,” Jora said, annoyance furrowing her brow.
“Have we a map of Mangend?” Caduceus asked.
“We do,” Isak Kyear said as he walked in. “Shall I fetch it?” He was young for his station, early forties, with thick, brown eyebrows over sharp, golden eyes. He reminded Jora of an eagle, always watching.
“If you please, Captain,” she said.
“It’s Chief now,” Kyear said. “Minister Jora. Chief of the Serocian Legion and Minister of War, if you’ll recall.”
“Sorry. Habit.” Jora would have smiled at him, but her lips refused to comply. Perhaps she had no smiles left in her.
Kyear left the room and returned a couple minutes later carrying a tube of parchment, which he unrolled onto the table beside Caduceus. From his pockets, he withdrew four smooth stones to weigh down the corners. Caduceus stood to have a better look at the map.
When Elder Devarla entered the room, Arc scowled at her. Devarla had witnessed Ibsa Bervoets’s betrayal firsthand in the signing of her new Mangendan citizenship documents. Jora wanted her present as the liaison to the Justice Bureau. She was also considering appointing Elder Devarla as Vice Minister of Truth and Overseer of Justice, despite Elder Tornal’s seniority as head of the elder council.
“Perhaps you are in the wrong room,” he said to Devarla.
“I invited her,” Jora said. “Have a seat, Elder.”
“What’s the purpose of this meeting?” Devarla asked as she took a seat to Adriel’s right. Women on one side, men on the other, Jora noted.
“I take it we’re plotting a revenge strike against Mangend,” Kyear said.
“What I’m about to tell you mustn’t leave this room,” Jora said. “At least, not until”—she almost spilled the bushel and gave away Gerad’s new title—”until the time is right.” When she had assurances from Elder Devarla and Chief Kyear that the discussion would remain private, she continued. “As you know, Gerad’s father, Jakub Druba, was hailed as a hero for sacrificing his life to save Prince Yaphet on the battlefield twenty-six years ago.”
Devarla and Kyear nodded, as did Adriel.
“What we didn’t know until very recently is that Prince Yaphet was slain that day. With Ibsa Bervoets’s help, Jakub took his place.”
“What?” Kyear said. “No, that’s impossible.”
“It’s not. She inscribed Yaphet Stolck’s name on the inside of his barring cuff. As long as Jakub wore it, he looked and sounded exactly like Yaphet. He even aged the way Prince Yaphet would have. He returned to Jolver and assumed the throne in Yaphet’s stead after Queen Yasda passed away.”
“But... Queen Harienne,” Devarla said.
“He fathered two children with her, a son, Siveon, and a daughter, Rivva. Yaphet’s true-born son would have assumed the throne when Jakub died, putting everything back the way it should have been, except that Keevyn died in battle as well.”
“You’re suggesting Queen Rivva is”—Chief Kyear licked his lips, no doubt searching for a delicate way to phrase it—”not suitable to sit on the throne. Most men take more than one wife. If Queen Harienne was his second wife—”
“They were never married,” Jora said. “Why would he marry her again if he was truly King Yaphet? To keep up the ruse, Jakub had to pretend they were already married.”
Shaking his head, Kyear muttered an oath.
“Our last king was Jakub Druba, an uncontested usurper,” Jora said. “His legitimate son, Gerad, inherits the throne by law, and his daughter after him.”
“But we didn’t know to contest his usurpation,” Kyear argued.
“That no longer matters,” Devarla said. As an elder well versed in Serocian law, she would know. “It’s the perfect coup. The people have five years to contest the rule of a new monarch in court. There is no provision for this circumstance.”
“Challenger’s bollocks,” Kyear muttered. “Well, where is Gerad, er, King Gerad? Why isn’t he here?”
“Kidnapped,” Jora said, her thoughts lingering on Devarla’s words. She looked up to meet Kyear’s disbelieving gaze. “By the Mangendans. He’s on one of their ships.”
Devarla closed her eyes and shook her head sadly.
“Challenge the bloody god,” the chief said, slapping the table with his open palm. “How did they know he’s our king? I didn’t even know until a minute ago.”
“They didn’t,” Jora said. “They took him because he’s the Concord. He has the godheart.”
Kyear shook his head in resignation. “How many ships did they bring?”
“Two. Both are undermanned. I could probably take one by myself.”
“We are here to devise a strategy for his safe return,” Arc said, shooting Jora a warning glance. “Rushing headlong into the enemy’s deckhouse is not a good plan.”
“Most of our soldiers are still fighting on the Isle of Shess,” Kyear said. “If I pull them off to rescue the king, we lose the Tree of the Fallen God. I can’t make that decision.”
“You don’t have to,” Jora said. “We must hold the Isle.”
“Then how are we going to get our king back?”
“We have March Commander Rowwe’s men,” Arc said. “How many are they? Five hundred?”
“Seven,” Kyear said with a sigh. “Still not enough. Do we know yet where they’ve taken our king?”
“They are likely en route to their journey’s end,” Caduceus said. “Hazred is still Dekonin Kryk, er, Mangend’s capital?”
“Yes,” Kyear said. He pointed to a place on the map. “I’m no sea captain, but I assume they would head across the strait to the western shore, travel south along the coast to the estuary, and then head upstream.”
Jora stood and leaned over the table to see the map better. She saw no other way to get to the capital by boat. “Assuming Hazred is their destination.”
“Were I the king of Mangend—” Caduceus began.
“Grand duke,” Jora put in softly.
“—I would hide my most valuable prisoner where I could best guard him. Is there a stronghold?”
“None that we know of,” Kyear said.
Jora considered the question. She’d slain hundreds of Mangendan soldiers by pulling them into the outer realm of perception, home of the wights that she tamed into allies. If she tamed one of their former officers, she might learn the answer to Caduceus’s question.
“I estimate they will reach the estuary by nightfall tomorrow,” Caduceus said.
“So it’ll take at least another day or two to go up the river,” Jora surmised. “We can hit them before they reach the city.”
Kyear looked up at her from his seat. “Even if we had a ship and crew waiting at the harbor, they’re hours ahead of us.”
“They will pass the Isle of Shess by sunrise,” Arc said. “Have we any ships that can engage them?”
The war chief rubbed his chin. “Our fleet is exchanging cannon fire with the forces attacking the Isle. We could disengage one or two and turn its attention to the fleeing ship, but we don’t know which boat the king is on, do we?”
“I can find out,” Jora said. “Give me a minute.” She opened the Mindstream and Observed the moment earlier in the evening when Gerad had taken off his barring cuff. The stream lagged for a moment as Elder Devarla joined it and rode it with her, seeing what Jora saw. She expanded her mystical vision to see the ship he was on, a big three-masted thing with a carved animal figurehead on the front. Behind it was another vessel that looked similar. Too similar.
“On second thought,” she said, closing the Mindstream, “no. I don’t like that idea. They look almost identical. I don’t know boats well enough to pick out significant differences between them and describe the one to capture versus the one to sink. We might accidentally attack the wrong ship and kill our king.”
“What do you propose instead?” Kyear asked in a haughty tone.
“I’ll fly over there and land on the ship in the mirknight, when the soldiers are asleep.”
“Nay,” Arc said immediately, as if the scenario had already run through his mind. “They will see you and sound the alarm. You have not enough allies to battle a ship full of soldiers. E’en if you slip King Gerad out o’ his cell, you have no way o’ returning him.”
“Why not?” Adriel asked.
Jora sighed. Arc was right. “My allies can’t interact with the godheart, so Kaw can’t see King Gerad while he’s holding it.”
“If you slay everyone but King Gerad,” Kyear said, “you could leave the godheart behind. My men will board and sail the ship back to Jolver.”
Leaving the godheart on board an empty ship was risky. Even if the Legion ship was right on her heels, the idea of it made Jora nervous. “I doubt King Gerad would be willing to leave it behind. If I take the whistle to him, he can summon the Colossus warriors to us. Can you sail the ship back?”
“We are not sailors,” Arc said, “but we could manage a short journey.”
“Or guard the ship until the Legion sailors can board it,” Adriel offered.
“Taking the ship is the only guarantee of success,” Kyear said. “Identify the ship carrying the king, and I’ll send our fleet to capture it.”
“We can tell you which ship he was on two hours ago,” Adriel said. “While the barring cuff is on him, he’s hidden from our mystical eyes.”
“Sending me by way of Kaw is our best option,” Jora said. “Once I find King Gerad, I can signal to you which ship to spare.”
“But the problem remains that you have not enough allies to take it,” Arc said.
Jora nodded, her thoughts racing. “Come dawn, I’ll go to the outer realm of perception and tame more allies. With enough of them, I can fight my way to King Gerad.”
“Why can’t you go now?” Chief Kyear asked.
“Because the gateway opens only at dusk and dawn.”
“I see. How many can you tame at a time?” Kyear asked.
“One. I have to wrestle them into submission. Some are more willing than others to serve me. During the half hour the gateway remains open, I should be able to tame”—she estimated one new ally every two minutes and calculated the number in her head—”fifteen more.”
“And she can be injured or slain in the process,” Tylia said.
Jora gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll try not to die, trust me.”
“All right,” Kyear said with a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. “Assuming you can get aboard the ship and fight your way to King Gerad, what then?”
“I’ll give him the whistle, which he can use to summon the Colossi. Together we’ll finish killing the crew. Then you can sink the other ship and board enough men to sail the captured boat back to Jolver.”
Caduceus smiled at her. “Well conceived, Gatekeeper, though sending thee alone onto a ship filled with enemy fighters disquiets me.”
“And me as well,” Arc said. “Kaw can carry two. I shall fly to the boat with you.”
“No offense,” Jora said, “but I prefer to take Adriel. Having a scribe with me could prove invaluable.”
“For what purpose?” Arc asked. “She cannot protect you while you battle.”
“Actually, I can,” Adriel said, an edge of excitement in her voice. “I can cloak her while her allies do the fighting. Neither of us will be harmed. If Ibsa’s on that ship, I can counter her inscriptions.”
Arc regarded her thoughtfully. He and Caduceus shared a nod. “Agreed.”
Kyear sighed. “Very well.”
“That’s good news, Chief Kyear,” Jora said. “You only need to sink one ship, and we’ll give you another to add to your fleet.”
“You still need to identify the boat he’s on before we get into position.”
“Leave that to me,” Elder Devarla said. “I’ll recruit a few elders at the Justice Bureau to keep watch for King Gerad’s thread appearing during the night, in the event he’s able to remove the barring cuff for a time. If luck is on our side, we’ll have the information you need by morning. For now, you all need rest for what’s to come.”
Jora rose and yawned. “I don’t need much convincing.” A figure standing in the doorway caught her eye—Rivva, her arms crossed defensively. Jora wondered how long she’d been there, listening. “Adriel, why don’t you sleep in one of the guest suites tonight?” Jora asked. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished taming allies at sunrise.”
“Sure, if that’s all right,” Adriel said, glancing at Rivva.
Rivva’s smile looked forced. “Don’t ask me. As the king’s bastard half-sister, I have no more authority in this palace than does a common street whore.”
Jora cringed at the acrid words, but she wouldn’t have felt any less bitter had she been in Rivva’s position. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulders and walked out with her. “No one thinks that about you. Listen, while I’m gone, I would appreciate it if you would play the role of regent. You know the workings of Serocia better than anyone.” When Rivva didn’t answer, Jora squeezed her shoulder. “Hmm? Would you do that for me?”
Rivva nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you for trusting me. I’ll make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible until King Gerad returns home.”
Jora gave her a dim smile. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry things turned out this way.”
“I’ll adjust,” Rivva said. She wiped tears from her eyes. “I was raised to be queen. Now, I have no role at all. It’s hard, you know?”
“I know, but I’m sure Gerad has something in mind for you. Serocia needs all of us, especially now.”
“Yes, especially now. Go get some rest. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Jora caught up with Adriel and trudged up the stairs to the residence floor of the palace, eager to find her pillow while also wondering how she would relax enough to sleep.
“I hope Ibsa’s on the same ship as King Gerad,” she mused aloud. “I want my books back before I kill her. If she’s on the other boat, they’ll sink to the bottom of the strait, and I’ll never get them back. But at least the next Ibsa Bervoets to come along won’t get her claws on them.”
“If Ibsa’s on Gerad’s boat,” Adriel said, “we should capture her and try her for treason.”
“Why bother?” Jora asked. “She deserves to die.”
“Doesn’t she have the right to answer for what she’s done before the elders of the Justice Bureau?”
“She renounced her Serocian citizenship. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a Mangendan and our sworn enemy.”
They reached the top of the stairs and walked in silence to Jora’s bedroom door. Jora caught the attention of one of the servants and instructed him to find Adriel a guest room for the night. He bowed and beckoned Adriel to follow.
“It won’t be easy, Jora,” Adriel said, lingering, “but you need to forgive her.”
Jora tossed her a scowl. “Forgive Ibsa?” She barked a laugh.
“It’ll hurt. In fact, it may very well hurt more than the wounds she’s inflicted did, but you’ll never find peace without forgiveness.”
“I’ll forgive her when she’s dead at my feet,” Jora said.
“Retaining anger and resentment leaves you with perpetually taut muscles and a tired jaw. To restore joy, laughter, and alacrity to your life, you must forgive.”
Though she chuckled, Jora considered her words. She tried to imagine looking into Ibsa’s pleading eyes and thinking anything other than how good it would feel to watch her suffer. She shook her head. “After all she’s done? No. I can’t.”
