Authors: V. Lakshman
“I wish to take your leave, Chancellor.” Her voice came out strong and direct, with no trace of doubt. In fact, it was this directness that took him by surprise.
Tyn narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wish to take my leave, Your Grace. My husband has need of Captain Kalindor and his Company, and it is clear Haven will not extend its hand. I must hurry back to reinforce him. We only ask for the benevolence to leave behind the young and elderly in Haven.”
Merric Spaiten rose and said, “We cannot allow Haven to lose your men for her defense, Your Majesty. Bara’cor is lost.”
“Bara’cor stands. Only the pass has been damaged,” challenged the queen.
“The explosion leveled half of Land’s Edge!” exclaimed the regent, looking at the queen as if she had lost her mind. He turned to the chancellor and continued, “It centered on Bara’cor. What could be left?”
Chancellor Tyn looked back at the queen and said, “Yevaine, I sympathize with—”
“You will address me as Queen Galadine or Your Majesty, Chancellor. Let us not forget we are noble born.” She looked pointedly at the two regents, who seemed to shrink back at that.
The chancellor paused, then continued, “Your Majesty, I sympathize with your predicament but Regent Spaiten is correct. The explosion was heard halfway to Sun Tree. What could have survived? Do you have proof of life?”
Yevaine dropped her head, her eyes closed. “He’s alive and I mean to take my men and find him. There are other ways up the pass known to us—ancient ways.”
Regent Justeces stood and cleared his throat. He looked pained and uncomfortable to be speaking and began haltingly, “Your Royal Highness... we must focus on the living, those here in Haven. Surely whatever destroyed Bara’cor will come here next. We cannot allow you to take... to leave with men necessary for our defense.”
“As long as he’s alive I will exercise my right and command my men under the Imperial King’s name.”
Ellis Tir then stepped forward and said, “You know I have always been a loyal supporter of House Galadine... but in this circumstance I must agree with my colleagues.”
Raised eyebrows from the other regents greeted that, but before any could respond Captain Kalindor shouted, “You scheming traitor! You lie in wait then switch sides for convenience! King Galadine lives and she commands in his name!”
“Not if he’s declared dead,” Ellis said, almost to himself. Then a chagrined look came across his face and he stepped back, his eyes downcast.
Merric’s eyes widened as he immediately caught Legate Tir’s error and what it meant. Wheels must have turned quickly in his mind. He looked at the queen and pounced. “House Galadine has made the Laws of Succession quite clear.”
Yevaine’s eyes darted to Ellis, contempt on her face. “The Laws of Succession are archaic and without merit. My husband had planned to repeal them in favor of more enlightened views.”
“Be that as it may,” Merric said, “the current laws are still in force and quite clear. It is all that keeps war between the Great Houses at bay and we will not dispense with it so haphazardly in light of the rumors of demons and rifts. The succession of the Imperial Crown goes to the next male heir of noble birth.”
“And just who might that be?” demanded the queen, looking at Merric. “Not you, certainly.”
Chancellor Tyn thought for a moment then said, “Without proof of life from Bara’cor, Shornhelm, EvenSea, or Dawnlight, succession would fall to... Legate Ellis Tir.” He looked at the man with a bemused expression, almost a half-smile.
“I can’t think of a better king,” offered Merric. “Your Majesty would still serve as Legate of Bara’cor, of course,” he said magnanimously, addressing the queen. While his face looked compassionate, his eyes were lit with an inner smile.
Yevaine was a Galadine by marriage only and once the formality of declaring Bernal Galadine dead was taken care of, House Galadine would be no more. That was until Ellis Tir was crowned, but accidents did happen. With Ellis dead, rule would fall to a vote of the Senate.
“You would dare...” Yevaine took two steps back, a hand to her throat. Then she gathered herself and pointed, her eyes on Ellis Tir. “You planned all this… the death of House Galadine? What does loyalty mean to you?”
Chancellor Tyn held out his hands for silence. It was unseemly for them to shout at each other like children in a schoolyard. “Nobles, please, act with decorum. The Laws of Succession are clear and unequivocal. Let me take counsel and then offer a path.”
He then moved back to confer with the regents and Legate Tir. Their whispers could not be heard down on the dais but it quickly became obvious they had come to an agreement.
The chancellor turned back and addressed the queen. “We believe the Imperial King has perished in the defense of Haven, long live his reign. I regret to say we feel the same for the two heirs of House Galadine and Tir. Shall I put this to a vote, or will you acquiesce and take your place as Legate of Bara’cor? As such you would keep House Galadine alive, at least until we can ascertain if there’s another with Galadine blood.”
“What choice is that? It puts my men under Haven’s control and has me treaty with traitors, craven men such as the three who stand whispering beside you now!”
Regent Merric Spaiten stepped forward at that and snapped, “Nevertheless, we can choose a less favorable post for the former Queen of Bara’cor. What say you?”
Captain Kalindor surged forward but was held back by his men. Yevaine put out a restraining hand. “It will do no good, Captain.” She met his glare and ordered, “Stand down.”
She waited till the captain sheathed his half-drawn blade then turned back to the chancellor and said, “I have no choice but to accept.”
Merric turned to the chancellor and said, “There’s no reason to wait. Complete the Renunciation now.”
Tyn paused, then nodded and said, “Are there any objections?”
Yevaine stepped forward and spread her arms, frowning. “Does it matter? Declare my husband dead and be done with it. I know he’s still alive.”
The chancellor sighed, frustrated at her obstinacy but understanding her devotion, and said, “Kneel then and repeat after me.”
Queen Yevaine knelt and looked up at the Senate, fury still showing in her eyes. That emotion bled away as her knee touched the floor and what seemed to be the inevitability of the moment clearly washed over her.
“I stand aside by rule of the Senate and support the search for the next true heir of House Galadine,” intoned the Chancellor.
The queen repeated the words, her voice dead and emotionless.
“I accept the decision of the Senate, and stand firm in my commitment to this land. By my own hand, I set aside my crown.”
Yevaine said this, too, her eyes fixed on the great seal of Edyn inscribed on the Senate Hall’s floor. Slowly, as if they had a mind of their own, her hands came up and removed the thin diadem that stood in for the Imperial Crown. She placed this carefully into a waiting seneschal’s hands, who retreated to deferentially hand it to the chancellor.
“On this day it is declared and recorded that Imperial King Bernal Galadine has passed on, and by the ancient Laws of Succession, the Imperial Queen Yevaine Galadine has been blessed to return to her noble family.”
The other members of the Senate nodded and said, “It is done.”
* * * * *
Regent Spaiten could not help the smile that lit his face. This had gone better than he could have hoped. House Galadine under their rule, the heirs declared lost, and the once-queen sequestered. Yevaine rose slowly and met his eyes.
“May I address the Senate?” she asked.
Spaiten granted it with a half-shrug, not caring what she had to say. The deed was done and the woman was unimportant.
“Gentlemen, my husband has been declared lost and I do not know his fate nor that of my son. I find myself without the heart to serve as Legate to Bara’cor and name Captain Kalindor to the task. This puts him under your rule, Chancellor. I trust that will be acceptable?”
Chancellor Tyn nodded, “Of course. That’s your right.”
Spaiten smiled, this was only getting better.
Yevaine turned to her captain and said, “Do you accept?”
“I do,” Captain Kalindor nodded curtly before bowing and moving up the dais to take his place at the seat for Bara’cor.
“You’re well come, Captain. Haven needs men such as you,” Regent Justeces offered cordially.
Spaiten noticed that Algren had remained quiet throughout most of this, likely unable to believe the turn of events. This would hardly change his mind about killing Yevaine and Ellis, but he thought they all had imagined more resistance. It was at that moment he noticed the former queen’s guards moving up to encircle Yevaine.
Yevaine turned to Regent Spaiten and said, “Merric, I will no longer be needing your services.”
He turned at the informality of the address and said, “It is Regent Merric, and just what do you mean, Yevaine?”
She smiled and corrected, “It is Your Royal Highness, my lord... Princess Yevaine of House Aeonian, blood heir to the throne of Dawnlight and noble born, unlike some others who claim to serve my father.”
Merric’s face paled and he took a step back. “What are you talking about?”
Princess Yevaine arched a delicate eyebrow and replied, “I’m the last noble of House Aeonian, the chair you currently hold as Regent. As I’m now no longer Queen of House Galadine, I will take my rightful place in the Senate as Speaker for Dawnlight and House Aeonian. You are relieved of your duty as regent and your services will no longer be required.”
Silence, then a choking sound came from the former regent and he stumbled, catching himself on the table. “Praetorians, arrest her! You can’t—”
“She can and has,” interrupted Legate Tir, moving in quickly to restrain Merric. The Praetorians had begun to move and Yevaine’s personal guard had drawn blades, forming a defensive ring around her.
Ellis Tir raised his voice so the Praetorians could hear him. “The chancellor accepted the queen’s renunciation of her House as dictated by law! She’s the rightful princess of House Aeonian and stands for Dawnlight. Stand down!” He turned to the chancellor and demanded, “Have any Laws of Succession been broken?”
* * * * *
For his part, Chancellor Tyn stood dumbfounded. Not only had the queen appointed one of her own, she had replaced a regent with herself, shifting the power base of Haven. What galled him the most was that she had accomplished all this using his own obtuse and cooperative hand, but had she done anything legally wrong?
He took a deep breath, reviewing the legitimacy of her position. His commitment was to uphold the laws of Edyn and the succession, and in performance of that duty his eyes darted back and forth as he thought through her claim.
It was true that Laws of Succession forbade her from holding the Imperial Crown of Edyn, but nothing prevented her from representing her father’s House. Furthermore, she
was
the ranking noble in line for succession to Dawnlight’s throne. His head dropped slowly and he mumbled something.
“Louder, Chancellor, or there will be blood spilled today, likely starting with yours,” Ellis Tir whispered.
Chancellor Finras Tyn had never officiated such a deep change to Haven’s political structure and could feel a cold sweat break out. He felt Legate Tir prod him again and found his voice, “The Laws of Succession were upheld. Princess Yevaine stands as Speaker for House Aeonian and Dawnlight. Praetorians, stand down.”
The senatorial guards sheathed half-drawn blades and stepped back, but held their ground. Still, their attitude and attention now seemed focused on Merric Spaiten. One stepped forward and saluted the new princess, “We can take him for you.”
“Thank you, but no, Centurion. This is an internal issue for Dawnlight.” She looked to Kalindor and said, “Regent, I request Bara’cor’s help. Please escort this man to a room and keep him under guard. He’s to have no visitors until I can speak to him about his recent service and loyalty to my father.”
Kalindor bowed and said, “Bara’cor stands ready.”
“As does Dawnlight,” she replied with a smile.
Kalindor motioned to his men and four guards came and escorted a pale Spaiten from the table. He started to follow but Yevaine held up a hand, calling him back. Tyn could see in her eyes that though her plan had succeeded, she was not done with the business that had first brought her here. It was now abundantly clear that both Legate Tir and her captain were loyal to her cause, and he doubted very much if he would like the next words he heard.
“Gentlemen,” she said coolly, and a pit formed in the chancellor’s stomach, “I believe we still have another vote to tally: a petition for Haven to come to the aid of Bara’cor.”
Watch the cubs, but stand clear.
Quick death comes,
When mother is near.
-
Keren Dahl, Shornhelm Survivor’s Guide
J
esyn ran through the underbrush, her breathing slow and controlled. She flew past trees, clearing hurdles with bursts of preternatural speed. Her footsteps were light, barely bending the grass where she stepped. She was a black dart, a whisper in the silent night.
Behind her came three shapes, lethal predators, massive in form and fixated on their target. She knew they were closing in on her; their labored breathing and pounding hearts gave them away.
Over the past ten days she and Dragor had ranged their way up the southern coast of Thar, coming ashore in Deeplook. From there they made their way up the land and across the Galadine’s March to Summers Pass. It was here that they had encountered their first resistance, dwarven assassins much like those that had attacked and killed Thera and her class of children on the Isle. Discovering their origin required capturing one of these assassins alive. That required cunning, and as it was becoming clear, no small amount of luck.
Jesyn didn’t need to look over her shoulder, but her mouth still twitched into a small smile of anticipation. The full power of a true Adept of the Way coursed through her now. It sang through her wiry frame, filling her body with warmth and energy. Her focus sharpened and she ducked right.
Three daggers imbedded themselves in the tree limb where her head had just been. They sank to their hilts into the hard wood, but Jesyn didn’t waver. She continued her evasive flight, waiting for the right moment.
Then Dragor’s voice mindspoke in her head,
Now!
and she sprang upward, leaping into the branches above and calling on her flameskin. The Way within her ignited, a flame that at first seeped then blazed from her skin, igniting the dark night in a sudden flash and trail of amethyst fire as she rose like a shooting star. She tucked and somersaulted, her legs snapping out with a dancer’s grace to propel her even farther up into the canopy. She knew her pursuers would be tracking her visually now, a tactical mistake. She had gone up for a reason.
The sound of a bough breaking alerted her to Dragor’s attack. She spun around the trunk she had been passing and extinguished her flameskin, crouching like a panther. The scene dropped to sudden blackness, but her heightened vision could easily pick out her former master as he struck the group following her.
The sudden decapitation of the first assassin was clue enough that they had never seen Dragor coming. The assassins’ choice to follow Jesyn up into the trees had forced them to move lightly and not use their obdurate stoneskin. A second, more costly mistake they had counted on.
Jesyn vaulted from her position, arrowing at the remaining two as they turned to deal with this new threat from Dragor. With her flameskin gone they had lost track of her. That was their third and soon to be final mistake. Life seldom gave you so many chances and still let you live.
She struck the lead man, snapping his head back with an elbow and then following with an open-palm strike to his unarmored midsection. The blow detonated against the assassin’s stomach, shattering his spine through his body in a flash of purple fire. She heard Dragor taking on the third, their target for capture, but her attention stayed focused on her opponent.
Even as he crumpled forward, Jesyn came down on the back of his head with the point of her elbow, crushing his skull and driving his body down. His impact on the forest floor created a shock wave of force outward, a radial pattern with the assassin’s lifeless body painting its center in a bloody splash.
She looked up in time to see Dragor strike his opponent with an open palm to the face. The blow was non-lethal, driving him down to slam into the base of a tree. Before he could react, the dark-skinned adept moved like a sky serpent, pinning the man’s arms against the trunk and making his way quickly behind.
“Jesyn!” he said, and she knew already what he wanted. His part was to immobilize the man quickly using a rope they’d brought for that purpose. She needed to secure the various poisons they had found on the bodies of those killed during earlier attacks.
She burst forward, striking the man’s stomach to stun him further, then ripping off his belt and the vials and weapons it contained in one smooth motion. She heard Dragor’s even breathing and felt the man’s arms pulled tight, no doubt secured by the other adept even as his legs gave way. The assassin slid forward, semi-conscious.
A breath, then a sigh and Dragor appeared from behind the trunk looking no worse for the wear. “Good work,” he said. “You’re getting better every day.”
“Thanks…” The word,
master
, lay at the tip of her tongue, unspoken. A hard habit to break now that she had attained the rank of adept.
Dragor nodded and as if sensing her thoughts said, “Wait till you have an apprentice calling you, ‘Master.’ Talk about uncomfortable,” he added with a small laugh.
Jesyn smiled in return, then turned her attention to the man they had captured. He was dressed in the same black uniform as those who had attacked their isle. She grabbed the blue-lensed mask and ripped it off, revealing the face beneath. Then she stepped back and let Dragor take over.
Her former teacher inspected the man, then simply said, “Water.”
Jesyn unhooked a small bag from her belt and handed it over. Dragor grabbed the end and squeezed, squirting the man’s bloodied face. The sudden cold had the desired effect, and the assassin coughed and spat, sputtering to consciousness.
Dragor stepped forward and placed a finger on the man’s forehead, pinning his head against the tree. A small spark of purple flashed at the connection, a sign that the mindread had begun.
Jesyn knew Dragor would be doing two things. First, he’d lock the man’s muscles down so that he couldn’t struggle. It had become clear to them both that these massive dwarves were many times stronger than they were. Second, he’d try to get any information on the lost city of Dawnlight or the attack on their isle. Getting that information was vital, and left them only this one desperate choice. Jesyn knew she was not powerful enough to carry out the mindread, at least not yet.
It was a calculated risk, for while Dragor could do it, he was not as powerful as Silbane or Kisan. He could not dwell as long nor read as deeply as they could, and the effort would drain him utterly. This meant Jesyn would be in charge of their defense. If more of these assassins chose to attack, she would be on her own. Still, they’d decided this was a necessary risk, and Jesyn knew she would need to be diligent in order to safeguard them once Dragor finished.
Both men’s breathing slowed and became synchronized. He would be past the muscle locks now, and diving deeper, sifting for information. Jesyn took a breath and stepped back, her duty to provide security clear. Still, the act of mindreading fascinated her and she found her attention kept wandering back to Dragor and the man, locked now together in what could only be the interrogation. What power over another, she marveled, to be able to read their very thoughts?
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Dragor released the man and stepped back, then staggered to one knee. Jesyn moved forward to catch him and ease him down.
“He-he’s held,” the elder adept stammered. “He won’t be breaking free any time soon.”
“Did you find where they’re from?” This was vital, the reason they had risked so much.
Dragor nodded and tried to say something, but the words came out in an unintelligible mumble. Jesyn cursed, then laid him down. They knew it would be several hours before he would recover. For his part, their prisoner lay slumped against the tree, clearly in no better shape than Dragor.
Jesyn sat back, thinking. Once Dragor regained consciousness, their plan was to make their way to whatever location he had found. So far, any assassins they had been tracking always ended up moving northwest, toward the Dawnlight Mountains. If he had discovered the lost city’s location, it would make the next part of their reconnaissance much easier.
She wondered for a moment if expending the energy to contact the lore father would be justified, but quickly discarded the idea. With Dragor down, one of them needed to be combat ready. She let out another sigh and began to get up. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she knew she had been surrounded.
“Don’t move, lass. You’re dangerous. We won’t hesitate.”
The voice was deep and coming from behind her. How had they gotten so close?
“Easy. We’re after the same thing.”
Jesyn rose slowly, her senses casting out, but could feel nothing. She knew this was a practical impossibility since every living thing existed and echoed within the Way. Yet she had felt
nothing
.
She saw them then, dozens watching her silently from the trees, all holding cover. Her confused mind raced, how could she still not sense them? Then she noticed something she’d missed before. She had thought them hiding amongst the trees, but in reality they were
inside
the trees. Her eyes cast about and she noticed more, in the ground, even in the rock slab a few feet away. What kind of magic was this? They could hide within tree and stone? For some reason, the realization filled her with dread.
She licked her lips and replied, “The same thing?” Finding a way out of this would take time, and that meant delaying.
“We’ve been tracking you for days. Turn around, slowly.”
Jesyn turned, her hands raised. She heard a metallic
clink
, then a spark lit a torch, flooding the area in warm yellow light. Her eyes compensated, and now she could see more clearly the face that belonged to the voice, and it was dwarven. She fell into a combat stance, her head swiveling around. The glint from the razor-sharp tips of crossbow bolts caught the torchlight, all aimed unerringly at her, held by dwarves half submerged in tree, stone, and earth.
“Easy!” He held up his massive arms. “These blacknights are my enemy too.”
Jesyn looked around, drinking in the details. From what little showed, these men were dressed in clothes of green and brown. Their ability to phase with physical things gave them a perfect camouflage, and though clearly of the same race as the assassins, they did not look like them. Aside from the different garb, the skin of these dwarves, where it showed, was decorated with intricate sigils and tattoos. They seemed almost alive, curling about like false shadows in the dancing firelight.
The one who had spoken had not moved, and it occurred to her that he could have shot her already. Something about
these
dwarves made them invisible to her Sight, which meant she might never have detected them. Yet they hadn’t shot her, and that spoke to the chance that he was telling the truth.
“The area is secure.” The dwarf raised an open palm and his men exited their hiding places and stood in the open, but their weapons never wavered from her. He then jutted a square chin at the assassin tied to the tree and said, “These filth have been killing our people too, and worse.”
“Your people?” was all Jesyn was able to utter, the entire scene still surreal to her, and her training keeping her vigilance taut, like a finely tuned instrument’s string.
The man stepped forward, just one step. His every move seemed to be executed with care, as if he understood what a mistake here might cost. “There’ll be time aplenty for us to get acquainted. How long before he can move?” His eyes flicked to Dragor’s slumped form.
Jesyn’s eyes narrowed, but she did not answer. The man she had come to think of as the leader nodded, as if acknowledging her decision to provide as little tactical information as possible. She watched as he waited, then she shifted herself a fraction.
The man noticed immediately. “Don’t,” he warned. “We are not your enemy, but we’ll not chance your skill. We only wish to check your prisoner.”
He waited again, showing the same care as he had earlier, as if to be sure she understood. He had used the word “your,” implying to her that he did not intend to lay claim to their capture. Jesyn was growing curious, despite the fairly precarious position they were all in.
Only when she nodded did he signal to his men. Two came forward, a woman and a man. They went to the tree where the captured assassin was secured. The woman pulled up her sleeve and touched her forearm.
An intricate sigil made of whorls and unfamiliar symbols lit under her skin, glowing a soft white. The string of symbols ran up her forearm until one whorl curled around her finger, ending at its tip. She took that glowing tip and touched the assassin, closing her eyes.
Jesyn watched as the light from the woman’s finger seemed to seep into the man’s skin and disappear. A moment passed, not more than a few heartbeats, and the woman got up and looked at the leader.
“He’s held, both by us and by whatever they did to him.”
The leader then flicked his gaze to Dragor and asked, “Can you revive him?”
The woman turned to the catatonic adept and said, “Don’t know yet.” She looked pointedly at Jesyn.
“Don’t touch him,” Jesyn snapped. Her form briefly flashed purple as her flameskin simmered, yearning for release. A dozen crossbows refocused on her.