Inheritance (23 page)

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed hold of his hair and jerked him to the surface. He heard Kumul mutter something about twice having to save him by his hair in two days, and then he was being dragged through the water like a river barge. Seawater still flowed into his mouth and up his nose with distressing ease, but he had the good sense not to struggle against Kumul’s grip as he was pulled through the sea. He tried not to panic as the shadows of the cliffs fell across his face and made him almost rigid with fear. The pair suddenly rose in the air as a wave lifted them high. Lynan had a sensation of moving along very quickly and was aware of Kumul using his one free arm desperately in an attempt to at least steer some passage for them. They were surrounded by swirling white water. Lynan’s thigh slammed hard against a rock. He heard Kumul gasp in pain. More white water, the sea surging over their heads.

I’m going to die
, Lynan thought, and was surprised by the sense of calm that overtook him, like the moment just before sleep.

And then weight returned. It was as if having become part of the sea he was now being forcefully separated from it. His calves and ankles slapped against slippery rock. Kumul was lifting him out of the water, pulling him back with his last reserves of strength.

Even though Lynan had expended little effort in his own rescue, he was exhausted. When Kumul finally released him, he could barely lift his head. He saw that he was lying on a long, flat basalt platform wet with spray, protected from the sea by a boulder balanced on the edge of the platform like a bird of prey on a perch. Ten paces away was Ager, bending over Jenrosa, trying to kiss her, and for the moment there seemed nothing odd about his behavior. Lynan tried to thank Kumul for saving his life a second time in as many days, but only managed a weak croak.

“Save your breath, your Highness,” Kumul said gently. “You’ll need it if we’re to get out of this mess. We’ve lost our boat and with it our supplies and our swords—leaving us with nothing but knives to protect ourselves. We’re at the bottom of a cliff. There is a warship looking for us on the other side of that boulder.” He shook his head violently, as if to clear it. He faced the crookback. “Ager, how’s the magicker?”

For the first time it occurred to Lynan that Jenrosa might be in danger, that indeed Ager had not been kissing her but trying to revive her. He tried to sit up, but it only started him retching. Brine burned up from his stomach and lungs, spilling out of his mouth as whispery spittle. The sound of him throwing up was matched by Jenrosa heaving and coughing.

“She’ll be all right,” Ager answered, and helped Jenrosa sit up. “What are our navy friends doing?”

Kumul half squatted behind the boulder and peeked over its edge. “They’re about four hundred paces away. They’re trying to retrieve the boat with hooks, but it’s pretty smashed up. I can see archers behind the gunwales.” He dropped down out of sight. “You’re heavier than you look,” he told Lynan wearily.

The young prince grinned stupidly and managed to join Kumul, his back against the boulder. He saw how the platform they were on jutted out of a crumbling cliff face that looked as if it was ready to finish slipping into the sea at any moment. It was a long way to the top, but the slope was nowhere near as sheer as Lynan had first thought.

Jenrosa moaned. Ager still held her, but after a moment she waved him away.

“I’m all right,” she pronounced huskily, and slowly looked around. “We’ve got to climb that?” she asked, staring up at the cliff.

“Unless you feel like risking a five-league swim around the rocks,” Ager said.

“Not today,” she admitted.

“Well, we can’t stay here either. Eventually a big wave will wash over us, and I don’t give much for our chances of making it to safety a second time. Besides, the longer we wait, the stiffer our muscles will become.”

Lynan carefully peeped over the boulder. “The warship is leaving,” he told the others, and then saw the shattered remains of their boat swirling among the rocks below. “And they’re leaving their prize behind,” he added dully, and for an instant imagined that his own body was down there, broken and drowned. He recalled Kumul saying their swords had gone down with the boat. In his heart he felt a terrible pang—his sword had been the only thing left to him from his father. Suddenly he wanted to climb to the top of the cliff more than he had ever wanted to do anything in his life. He wanted to get away from the water, from the smell of the spray, from the call of the seabirds and the sound of waves smashing against the rocks.

“Let’s go,” he said, the plea almost sounding like an order, and stood uncertainly to his feet. Kumul’s hand roughly pulled him down to the rock.

“Don’t be an idiot, lad. Those on the warship would see us as easily as flies crawling up a white sheet.”

They waited for nearly an hour, cold and regularly washed by spray coming over the platform. They huddled together for warmth and security, afraid that at any moment a big wave would throw them back into the crashing sea and finish them off. Eventually, Kumul could no longer see the warship’s sail even when he stood up, and he led the way to the base of the cliff.

There were plenty of holds in the rock, but the basalt was sharp and cut into their palms. The first third of the slope was wet from the spray and they all slipped and gashed then-faces and bodies. Their clothes tightened as they dried, stretching limbs like tight nooses. The worst part was the numbing exhaustion they all felt, exhaustion that turned muscles into string and bone into sapling, exhaustion so severe it became a physical pain starting in their joints and traveling throughout their arms and legs in excruciating spasms.

As they got higher, their rests became more frequent, and at times it seemed their ordeal would never end. Then, perhaps thirty paces from the summit, the wind hit them, a whistling, keening gale that whipped across the face of the cliff trying to hurl them back into the sea. Lynan knew he could go no farther. His mind started to wander and his senses were telling him that he was on level ground and that he could lie down now, that all he need do was release his grip and everything would be fine—he would wake in his bed in the palace in Kendra and the last two days would be revealed as nothing more than a nightmare.

Someone was talking to him. He tried to ignore the voice because it was spoiling the nice warm feeling that was creeping over him, but the voice would not go away and in the end he had to listen.
Lynan
, it was saying,
climb. One more step. Move up one more step
. So he moved one more step, and the pain was so bad it was like someone driving a nail into his knee.
One more step
, the voice repeated, and he recognized it as Jenrosa’s.
Move, Lynan, you’re so close to finishing. One more step, and then another, and another
…

And at last there came a time when he reached overhead with a hand and the slope was gone and there was soft vegetation underneath his fingers. For a moment his mind cleared enough for him to pull himself up the final two paces to the very top of the cliff. He collapsed into a bed of long, sweet-smelling grass, and darkness came and took him.

Speaking with Primate Northam had calmed Areava and helped focus her mind, which until then had been filled with a multitude of confusing facts and fears. The horror of her brother’s murder, and the realization that Lynan must have been behind the crime, had almost overwhelmed her reason. The discussion with the priest had also made her realize that her first duty was to ensure a peaceful transition in rule from Berayma to herself. The kingdom must be her priority, not the pursuit of her brother’s killers; Orkid and Dejanus between them were more than capable of hunting down Lynan and his coconspirators.

However, when Dejanus intercepted Areava and Olio on the way back from the west wing to tell them that Lynan had been sighted boarding a merchant ship, her fury at her half-brother came on again like an irresistible tide and she had to struggle against it.

“Then see he is captured.”

“I have already alerted the navy,” Dejanus confirmed. “They will send out ships to intercept the merchant and bring your brother back for justice.”

“And see to it he is b-b-brought b-b-back alive,” Olio said firmly. “His dead b-b-body will leave too m-m-many questions unanswered.”

Dejanus looked at Olio with an expression the prince couldn’t read. “But if they offer resistance—”

“Alive, Dejanus,” Areava insisted. “How else will we discover the extent of the conspiracy behind our brother’s death?”

Dejanus nodded curtly. “I will see to it the ship captains understand your order.” He left without further word.

For a moment Areava simply stood there, fighting the urge to close her eyes. “I am exhausted,” she said weakly.

Olio put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you w-w-wish to see Trion? I can send for him and he will give you a draft to help you sleep.”

Areava shook her head. “Not yet. Find Orkid for me and bring him to my study. We must form this council as soon as possible and plan the… the coronation. The administration of Kendra must continue uninterrupted.”

Olio nodded and left her.

A moment later Areava looked around her. Except for a guard at either end there was no one else in the palace corridor, and there were no sounds other than the echo of Olio’s receding footsteps. The palace’s gray stone seemed to surround and cage her.

I am queen
, she thought.
I am alone
.

When she entered her study, someone was waiting for her, a man in a long green cloak. His back was to her, and he seemed to be staring at the monarch’s desk.

“Who—?” she began, and stopped when the man turned around. “Oh, Harnan!”

The private secretary bowed to her. He held his hands out, shaking.

“Your Highness. I came late this morning as your brother… the king… instructed me. I did not know… nobody told me…” His voice failed him, and tears welled in his gray, rheumy eyes and rolled down his old and whiskered cheeks. “I am sorry…” His voice faltered.

Areava came forward, overwhelmed with pity for her mother’s oldest and dearest servant. She held his hands in hers. “Harnan, it is I who should apologize. I did not think. So much has happened. I should have thought to send someone to tell you.”

“Oh, milady, no, do not blame yourself in your grief. But I am… confused. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.” His lifted his chin and tried to stifle his tears. “Forgive me… but first your mother… now this!”

Without thinking, Areava used one hand to dab away the tears on his cheeks. “There is nothing to forgive, faithful Harnan.” She stood back, looking him up and down. “As always, ready to do service. Berayma would be proud of you.”

Harnan opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come.

Areava sniffed back her own tears, knowing that if she started crying now she would not be able to stop. She said in as businesslike a tone as she could muster: “I see you have your tablet and pens.” She nodded to the wide purse hanging from Harnan’s belt.

“Yes, your High… your Majesty. I was to write letters for your brother this morning.”

“Well, since you are here, I need your assistance if you feel up to it. I need urgent messages to go out by courier to the provinces. As well, I’m reconvening my mother’s executive council and I want it to meet before noon.”

“Of course, your Majesty. It would be a relief to work.”

Areava smiled then, suddenly proud of the old man. “Then, together, you and I will administer this kingdom with such energy that it will do full justice to the memories of Usharna and Berayma.”

The pain in Harnan’s face visibly eased. He sighed deeply and drew out the writing tablet and his favorite pen from the purse.

“At your service, Queen Areava, always,” he said, his voice full of emotion.

She patted him on the shoulder and told him to take a seat. She went behind her desk and stopped suddenly. On the desk, on a square of white silk, lay the Key of the Scepter, its luster diminished by the blood of her brother. She touched it hesitantly. A spark jumped between the amulet and her finger. She drew back with a hiss.

“Your Majesty, are you all right?” Harnan asked, concerned.

Areava glanced up and nodded quickly. She cautiously touched the Key again. Nothing happened. She picked it up by its chain and put it over her head. Her dead brother’s Key clinked against her own, the Key of the Sword. She stared at it for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts.

Magicker Prelate Edaytor Fanhow had changed into more sedate clothing. Gone was the heavy velvet robe with the gold twine, the baggy trousers and the broad silver belt he had worn in his first meeting with the new queen. In their place he wore a more practical set of linen pants and shirt with the magicker’s traditional stiff collar, and his cap of office, a wide beret with the prelate’s badge pinned to its front.

He returned to the palace just before noon, hurrying to meet Areava’s deadline for new intelligence about Prince Lynan from the theurgia. When he arrived at the queen’s offices, out of breath and sweating, the guards let him through automatically.

He entered, opened his mouth to formally greet Areava, and came to a stop, his mouth closing shut with an audible snap. The main room was filled with the best from Kendra society, the very cream of the most elite professions and trades, all dressed in their very finest clothing and ceremonial garb. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and their expressions made him feel like a latrine washer who had accidentally barged in on a wedding ceremony.

The crowd parted to let someone through. Fanhow’s head twisted from side to side, searching for someplace to hide, but there was nowhere. He found himself gazing into Queen Areava’s hard brown eyes. She looked him over..

“Dressing down for the event, Magicker Prelate?” she asked innocently.

“Umm, the event, your Majesty?”

“Did not a message go to the magicker prelate?” Areava asked the tall, wizened man by her side. Edaytor recognized Harnan Beresard.

“Yes, your Majesty, but my courier could not locate him.”