Olek regarded Kiara carefully. His ice-blue eyes seemed to miss nothing, and Kiara steeled herself to meet his gaze. Finally, just when she thought he would not yield to protocol, Olek gave a small nod and an equally shallow bow. “Your Majesty,” he said, his tone neutral, but in his eyes Kiara thought she saw skepticism.
“Warlord Olek. Thank you for agreeing to come to the palace.”
An ironic smile touched his lips. “How could I not obey the summons of the queen?” His eyes told Kiara what she already knew—that it was up to the Old Ones whether they recognized any mortal ruler.
“Please, sit down.” Kiara led them to a grouping of chairs near the fireplace. A visibly nervous servant offered brandy to Royster and goblets of fresh deer blood to Balaren and Olek. A goblet of watered wine for Kiara went untouched as she leaned forward, intent on Olek.
“It’s true, then, that you are the last surviving warlord who fought in the eight clans?”
Olek gave a cold chuckle. “How polite a phrase you turn, m’lady. ‘Surviving’ covers a wide territory, does it not? And yet, ‘living’ wouldn’t be quite right, either.” He paused and took a sip of the blood. “Yes. I am the fifth warlord of Kirylu, the fifth and last Olek. I was mortal over four hundred years ago.”
“Do you recognize this?” Slowly, so as not to give any indication of threat, Kiara unsheathed the sword that the spirit ancestor had given to her. She held it out, blade flat
across her open palms, and extended her hands toward Olek.
It was satisfying to see an ancient
vayash moru
look startled. “Where did you get that?”
“I went into the tomb of my ancestors for guidance. One of the spirits gave me the sword with a stern reminder to look to the old clans in order to unify my people.”
Olek took the sword from Kiara and turned it in the light. She could not read his expression when he finally handed it back to her. “Balaren told me nothing of the sword. Yet I dreamed of a sword just like it only a few nights ago. Did your spirit give you any indication of what you are to do with it?”
“She said to raise the sword and remind my people who they are.”
Olek was quiet for a moment, still and silent. Finally, he looked up at Kiara and seemed to be evaluating her anew. “You are the one who saw a vision of Chenne on the battlefield years ago.”
Kiara nodded. “Father had been wounded. It was my first real battle. We were doing badly. I saw a vision of the Lady and she told me to raise the flag and rally the troops. It gave them heart again, and we won the day.”
“I have paid scant attention to the whims of the crown for many, many years,” Olek said. “Do you know why the spirit might have chosen to give you this sword, a sword I know was buried with its owner?”
“I’d like to hear your thoughts, and then I’ll share my own.”
Olek looked at the sword in silence for a moment. He did not meet Kiara’s eyes, but he began to speak. “Five hundred years ago, the first eight warlords won their lands
in battle from the savages and brigands. This land you call Isencroft was wild, nearly unsettled except for small groups of barbarians and men-at-arms who were nothing more than thieves. Those who became the warlords did not rise together. Each rose separately, out of the conviction that it would be better to unify sections of the land under one strong ruler than to have the constant bloody battles for territory that came from the warring tribes.”
He paused and took another sip of the blood. “Generation after generation, the battles raged. My family conquered the lands in the northwest, against the coast and the lands of the Adair. Gradually, the seven other warlords brought their lands under control. War was constant in those days, and we feared it might always be so. Finally, the other warlords and I consolidated our control and war ceased.”
“How did the warlords give way to a monarchy?” Kiara leaned forward, fascinated by Olek’s account.
“Although eight warlords arose, we were not all equally powerful. Four of the warlords were already related by blood, descending from two pairs of brothers. When marriages and alliances took place between the strongest families of those four houses, it consolidated the power into those four families. One of those was my own clan, Kirylu. The four combined clans had more land and more men than the other four warlords, and when war broke out once more, the four allied lords won. To seal the alliance, a woman descended from two of the houses wed a man descended from the other two houses. Their son became the first king of Isencroft.”
Olek paused. “The sword that you were given in the crypt was forged for the coronation of King Jashan, the
first king of Isencroft, who was the son of Lord Gavrill. It was buried with Jashan.”
Kiara sipped the watered wine as she considered Olek’s story. “But it wasn’t until your lifetime that the followers of Shanthadura were driven out, and the worship of the Sacred Lady took its place.”
A shadow crossed Olek’s face, and he made a gesture of warding, something Kiara guessed was an unconscious mannerism left over from his mortal days. “As much as we sometimes hated the other warlords, all of us hated the Durim more. I have seen all the horrors war can provide, and yet I judged the Black Robes far worse. They were a greater scourge on our people than any famine or plague. Of all my victories, I was most proud of destroying the Durim.”
“But they weren’t really destroyed,” Kiara said quietly.
Olek shook his head. “No. We thought we had rooted them out, but my guess is that a handful of them escaped into the mountains and wild places and waited. Balaren tells me that they have risen again.”
“We have reason to believe that a dark summoner is behind the invasion fleet from Temnotta that lies in the harbor,” Kiara said, straightening. She met Olek’s gaze. “The Durim may not be working with him, exactly, but it appears that the dark summoner’s power is related to the Durim’s attempts to bring back the cult of Shanthadura.” She paused and took a deep breath.
“Are you familiar with the Sworn?”
Olek nodded. “I know of them, and the spirits they guard, the Dread.”
“Then you know that the Dread guard even more fearsome spirits, the Nachele. The Durim are trying to wake the Nachele from their slumber.”
“Though the Nachele were bound long before my lifetime, the stories remained. I would not care to see them loosed once more.” He paused. “Neither, I dare say, would my fellow warlords.”
Kiara exchanged a glance with Balaren, who gave a slight shake of his head, indicating this was also news to him. “I thought you were the last surviving warlord?”
A cold smile touched Olek’s lips. “The key word is ‘surviving.’ I am the only one of the last eight warlords who still walks among the living. But the spirits of the other seven never left the lands they fought so hard to claim. We are not infrequent visitors to each other.” He shrugged. “I have long outlived my contemporaries, save for some among the
vayash moru
. As time passes, I find that I have few interests in common with the living, and the dead become very good companions.”
“Are their spirits nearby? Can you find out if they would join us in stopping the Durim?”
Olek looked amused. “They are quite nearby, and they already know of the Durim’s rise. In fact, they called to me from their crypts right before Balaren arrived with your royal summons. They are interred in the necropolis beneath Aberponte.”
“To keep the Nachele from waking, we need to defeat Temnotta’s dark summoner, and it would help a lot if the Durim weren’t causing panic behind our lines.” She met his eyes. “Would you like another chance at the Durim?”
Olek smiled so that the points of his eye teeth were plain. “I think I would enjoy that, and so might my fellow lords.”
Kiara hid her smile. “I believe Isencroft would rally around the warlords, even though, in recent months, they
will not rally for flag and crown.” She met Olek’s gaze. “Do you realize that every Crofter claims to trace lineage back to one of the eight old warlords? It’s a point of personal pride and family heritage that runs deeper even than being of the kingdom itself.”
Olek chuckled. “I will leave them their pride, but I truly doubt all the lineages claimed are, shall we say, legitimate?”
“No doubt you’re right. But in this case, belief matters more than fact.” Kiara let out a long breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ll be frank. Isencroft is in a bad spot. Invaders on the coast, traitors among the people, and the Shanthadurists working their blood magic—most probably in support of the invaders. Alone, I don’t think I can rally them. Together, I believe we can.” She paused. “Will you help me? And do you think the other warlords would be willing to help as well?”
Olek looked at her in silence for a moment as if taking her measure. Finally, he nodded. “I will help you, Kiara of Isencroft. As for my fellow lords, I can’t promise, but I will give you my word to plead your cause to them.” A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Old loyalties run deep. And if there was one thing every one of the warlords loved more than life, wealth, or family, it was this land. Even in death, that remains unchanged. I’ll bring you their decision by tomorrow night.”
The next evening, Kiara paced in her room. Cerise and Royster watched in silence while Kiara smoothed her dress down over her cuirass. The gown had a wide, full skirt that did a good job of camouflaging the armor. Cerise chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll be up on the balcony. From where the crowd is, the dress will look fine.”
Kiara raised an eyebrow. “That’s the least of my worries. What if the spirits won’t come?”
Cerise chuckled. “Having second thoughts?”
Kiara sighed. “Tice would certainly like it if I did. He and Allestyr had quite a row last night when they thought I couldn’t hear them. But I don’t see another way to stop the Durim, and maybe even the Divisionists.”
Cerise held out a platter of cakes to Kiara, who stopped her pacing for a moment. “Then stop second-guessing yourself. Trust your instincts.” She smiled. “Besides, you’ve always loved Sohan. It would be a shame not to enjoy your first feast night as queen.”
Outside in the courtyard, Aberponte glowed in the light of bonfires celebrating Sohan night, the Feast of Changes. Even from a distance, Kiara could hear the music and revelers. While the war had diminished the number of jousts and skirmishes, not even the threat of an invading fleet could deny Isencroft its ale on this feast night.
Sohan was one of the more lighthearted celebrations. In celebration of the change from autumn to winter, changes of all kind were embraced, with a preference for the silly, the ribald, and the extreme. Musicians played popular tunes but sang different and often bawdy new lyrics. There was no shortage of noblemen disguised in the garb of soldiers, farmers, and tradesmen, while the ladies of the court played at being shepherdesses or milkmaids. Children powdered their hair and chalked their faces to look old, while elders relaxed their dignity and indulged in youthful pursuits. In years past, Kiara had seen farmers dress pigs as sheep and pretend horses were milk cows. It was a night for hidden identities, as rich young men were
often known to go about in disguise as beggars, and nearly everyone pretended to be someone they were not.
Even the food was changed for the feast night. Flower dyes were added to ale and liquor to turn the drinks unusual colors, and breads, cakes, meats, and vegetables were cut or twisted into the appearance of animals, plants, and other objects. Games and wagers abounded, and Crofters of all walks of life were encouraged to wish on the Sohan moon for changes they desired to see in the next year.
A knock sounded at the door. One of the guards opened the door. “Brother Felix to see you, Your Majesty.”
“Let him in.”
Brother Felix stood in the doorway, looking harried. “Allestyr sent me to let you know the ceremony is ready to begin. You’ve studied the ceremony so you know what to expect?”
Kiara nodded. “I just hope I’m not so nervous that I forget the words.”
Brother Felix smiled. “I’m told there’s room for ‘creative interpretation,’ if such a thing occurs.” He paused, and his smile faded. “There are a brace of palace guards here to escort you, and Balaren, Patov, and Jorven are already in place in the crowd below the balcony, where they’ll be on watch. Tice said to tell you that every guardsman in the barracks is on duty tonight, some in uniform and some spread among the crowd. I wish the Veigonn were here, but they’ve gone to the front lines with Cam. Even so, we’ve done everything to assure your safety.”
Kiara managed a smile. “Then let’s go.”
The aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked bread filled the castle as Kiara made her way down the stairs.
Cerise and Royster stayed behind to watch the proceedings from another balcony. That was just as well to Kiara, who was happy to have them out of harm’s way.
The guards escorted Kiara to the large ballroom at the front of the palace, where a huge balcony opened out of the second floor. It was designed to enable a monarch to speak to a crowd gathered in the courtyard below, and Donelan had often used the setting for feast day greetings and major announcements. Count Renate was waiting for her, as were Tice and Allestyr. Two guards took up their watch outside the room, while two others went to stand just to the side of the open balcony.
“Is Olek here?” Kiara asked, looking around the room.
“I am.” Kiara startled as Olek appeared just behind them, without benefit of warning footsteps.