Inheritance (8 page)

“Not without the m-m-monarch’s leave. And remember, Lynan shares our inheritance.”

Areava’s face pinched. “He knows nothing about being a prince of the blood. He has spent his whole life as a wagging tail. His father’s blood and his natural laziness makes him unsuitable to rule his own life, let alone any part of Kendra.”

“You do not know him as well as you think.”

“I see people for who they really are.”

“Do you hate him so m-m-much?”

Areava seemed shocked. “I don’t hate Lynan! I don’t even dislike him.”

“Are you sure? Have you ever forgiven Lynan for b-b-being the son of the m—m—man who replaced our father as the queen’s consort?”

Areava shook off her brother’s hand and walked away from him. “You go too far, brother!” she cried, her voice filling the hallway. “You go too far!”

Lynan wiped the sweat from his forehead and adjusted the quilt padding around his body. Under the heavy, lead-lined roof of the fencing stalls, part of the palace armory, he felt twice as hot as he had in the open arena. He nodded to Dejanus, his opponent in this session of real weapon fencing. Lynan enjoyed his practice sessions against the Life Guard; the man was as fast as a whip, and Lynan was already two points down.

“Ready, your Highness?”

In reply, Lynan pulled down his visor. Dejanus did the same. Kumul, standing on the sideline, called “Start!” Lynan flicked his blade against that of Dejanus, who brought his own weapon across to defend his body. Before the Life Guard could react, Lynan swept the blade underneath and over, and lunged. His sword point sank into the padding over Dejanus’ chest.

“Wound!” Kumul shouted. “That’s two counts for the prince, three for Dejanus.” The pair separated. “Start!” Kumul said.

Lynan tried the same maneuver, but Dejanus foiled it simply by stepping back as he brought his sword across. Lynan lunged, but his point was short of the target by a finger’s length. His opponent overreached, Dejanus quickly took one step forward and lunged in return. Lynan knew he was in trouble halfway through his attack, and brought his sword down and perpendicular to the line of his body, catching Dejanus’ thrust just in time. He brought his sword up, forcing Dejanus’ weapon across from his right to his left and lunged a second time. Dejanus parried easily by copying Lynan’s tactic, and the two blades slid against each other. Both men stood erect and each retreated a step, their weapons held out in guard, their tips touching ever so lightly. Lynan tapped, Dejanus held steady. Dejanus feinted to Lynan’s right, but the prince moved his sword only enough to parry it. They carefully watched each other’s eyes, not the weapons. Lynan smiled slightly, Dejanus responded. Lynan stamped his foot, lunged, but kept his blade in guard. Dejanus hastily retreated a step and parried the strike that never came. Lynan used his back leg to send him into a second lunge and this time sent his point in to the padding over Dejanus’ heart.

“Kill!” Kumul shouted.

Dejanus slung his sword under his arm so its hilt was showing to the prince. “Excellent point, your Highness.”

“Don’t feed his pride,” Kumul said lightly, but he, too, had been impressed by the maneuver. It was not one he had taught the prince.

Dejanus laughed and held out his left hand. Lynan took it and thanked him for the exercise. “You are at the point now when you could take on the constable himself.”

Lynan blushed. Coming from such an experienced swordsman as Dejanus, it was high praise indeed.

“That would be an interesting bout,” said Ager, entering the stalls. The crookback, who was now a captain in the Royal Guards and spent his days training the troops, often watched the young royals at their own training, which was still personally supervised by Kumul. He paid special attention to Lynan.

“Even more interesting would be a bout between you and the prince,” Kumul said to Ager.

“Now that would be something to see!” Dejanus declared. He had trained several times with Ager and had learned to respect the crookback’s fighting skills. Since joining the Royal Guards, he had seemed to grow in stature. Partly that was due to the better diet combined with the real exercise he now enjoyed while training recruits, the latter something the crookback would have found impossible before Usharna had worked her magic on his wounds. Mostly, though, it was his renewed pride that most changed him and his appearance. His hair was close-cropped to a gray fuzz and his manner had become more confident. Ager Parmer was a new man.

“I’m willing to try my hand against the captain,” Lynan said, eager to show off his skills to Ager.

Ager glanced at Kumul, who nodded back. “Very well. But my choice of weapons.”

“Of course,” Lynan agreed readily, confident after his win against Dejanus.

Ager went to a basket of blades standing in one corner. He withdrew a short sword and hefted it for weight. Lynan groaned inside. The short sword was one weapon he did not enjoy using, and his skill with it did not match his skill with the long sword or knife, or even the bow.

Ager saw Lynan’s expression. “Don’t worry, your Highness. You can keep your longer blade.”

Lynan blinked in astonishment. “But I outreach you already, Ager.”

The crookback smiled at Lynan, cutting air with his sword. “I worked my way up the ranks of the Kendra Spears, Your Highness. I became captain through years of hard work and surviving battles.” His eye seemed to look far away, seeing memories. “What hard work and how did I survive so many battles?” he asked rhetorically.

Lynan shook his head.

“One of the first things I learned as a new soldier in the queen’s employ all those many years ago is that a spearman without a spear is as useful as a prick without a bladder. Unless, of course, the spearman actually knows how to use the short sword he is issued with. All us recruits trained with it but barely enough to know which end to grasp. But I
really
trained with it. I practiced every day until I knew the weapon like my own mother, God bless her gentle ghost, and it saved my life on more than a dozen occasions. I reckon I use the short sword with more skill than anyone I have ever met. Indeed, I reckon I use it with more skill than you use your long sword.”

Ager took up the ready position.

“What about padding?” Lynan asked.

“None fits me,” Ager answered. “And I’ll not need any.”

Lynan shrugged and raised the point of his sword. He took a step forward and made half an effort to thrust, afraid of hurting his opponent. Ager suddenly leaped forward, and the next thing Lynan knew he was on his back with the tip of Ager’s short sword resting over his heart. He heard Kumul and Dejanus laughing.

“Foolish move, your Highness,” Ager said. “Take advantage of your reach if you’ve a long sword. Don’t approach any closer than you have to.” He put out a hand and helped the prince to his feet. “Let’s try that again.”

Lynan, still with the breath knocked out of him, retreated a few steps and went to guard. Ager stood back, seeming to consider his position. “Well?” Lynan urged.

“Well what, your Highness? You don’t think I’m going to come at you with that bloody great thing pointing at me, do you?”

“But you told me to take advantage of my reach…”

“True, but now you’re so far away you could use a bow. I thought you knew how to use that thing.”

Embarrassment and anger made Lynan blush. “Right,” he said determinedly, and carefully edged forward three steps, holding his sword in front of him.

“Right,” Ager said, and took three steps back.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Lynan cried, turning to Kumul in appeal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the crookback move faster than he would have believed possible. Before he could do anything, he was on his back again, the tip of the short sword once more resting over his heart.

“You’re used to fencing with those who follow the same rules as you, your Highness,” Ager said. “But those rules don’t apply in a real battle.”

Lynan scrambled to his feet. “Again!” he ordered fiercely, and attacked before Ager was ready, forcing him back at the very first. Lynan’s attack was furious, but Ager had the skill to deflect every strike and blow. Nevertheless, the crookback gave ground until his back was against a wall and he could retreat no farther. Lynan redoubled his efforts, again and again almost finding an opening for his point. Though Ager kept up with him at first, eventually he started to tire.

“Your Highness!” Kumul called. “Enough!”

Lynan felt as if cold water had been poured over him. He dropped his point and stood back, his face white as a sheet. “Ager… I… I…”

Ager was actually grinning. “Don’t apologize. I as good as told you not to play by the rules. I’ve rarely met an attack with such ferocity behind it.”

Lynan nodded numbly. That his anger had so overwhelmed him made him feel nauseous. “Nevertheless, Kumul has always told me never to lose control of my emotions in a fight.”

Ager nodded, glanced at Kumul. “Good advice, but sometimes—just sometimes—it pays to forget that rule as well.” He returned his short sword to the basket and asked to see Lynan’s. Lynan handed it over, and Ager inspected it carefully. “I thought I’d seen this blade before. Most wonderful work.” Ager handed it back.

“It is all my father left me,” Lynan said simply.

“You are very skilled with it.”

“It is the only skill at the prince’s command,” Kumul said. “He has no time for any study except that of killing and war.”

Lynan looked offended. “I am fair at geography.”

“Like I’m fair at making pots,” Kumul replied. “You will be late for your other lessons if you don’t hurry.”

Lynan sighed and handed the sword together with its belt and matching dagger to Dejanus, who took it to the special cabinets reserved for the war gear of Usharna’s children and returned with Lynan’s dress knife.

Before he left, Lynan turned to Ager and said, “I’d appreciate a lesson with the short sword sometime.”

Ager seemed flattered. “I would be honored.”

Orkid Gravespear was leaving the daily meeting of the queen’s executive council when he was intercepted by a messenger boy with the news that two visitors were waiting for him in his office. He thanked the boy and gave him a small coin for his trouble.

Instead of heading directly to greet his visitors, he paused in the hallway and looked out over the palace’s main courtyard. He was deeply troubled. It seemed to him that day by day the queen was losing her grip on life. The skin on her face was taut around her bony cheeks and high forehead, and her hands trembled so much she had trouble signing any document placed before her. He had served Usharna for almost half of his life and had grown to love and respect her. More than that, he knew that on her death certain events, long planned, would start almost of their own accord and with such momentum that nothing would divert their course. Plans he had been putting in place for over twenty years; plans the Twenty Houses had been putting in place for even longer. As chancellor, he enjoyed almost more power in the kingdom than any other mortal except the queen herself, and yet in the face of such momentous change he knew his authority—even his own life—could be cut short as easily as a rope severed by a sword.

He remembered he had visitors and shook his head to clear it. He entered his rooms, passed by his secretaries without a word, mumbled apologies to the two men waiting in his office, then stopped short. His mouth dropped open, and he went to one knee.

“Your Highness! I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I wasn’t expecting—”

“Stand up, Orkid,” said a gentle voice, and the chancellor obeyed. “There was never any such formality between us before, Uncle, and I do not expect it to start now.”

Orkid looked in wonder at the young man standing before him, as tall as himself, slender with youth, cleanshaven, wide-eyed and grinning. “You’ve grown, Prince Sendarus.”

“It happens, Uncle. And my father sends his wannest greetings.”

“How is the King of Aman?”

“Well when I last saw him, but looking forward to the day when he may see his brother once again.”

The two men looked at one another for another moment and then embraced suddenly and fiercely. When they parted, Orkid held him by the shoulders. “I was not expecting you for another month, but I am glad you are here,” he said.

“And no greeting for his mentor?” asked the second man.

Orkid glanced at the second visitor and received his second shock of the morning. “Lord of the Mountain! Amemun, you old vulture!”

Amemun, round and red-faced, his mound of hair and beard white with age, frowned at Orkid. “Must you always take the Lord’s name so lightly?”

“Only in your presence, faithful teacher,” Orkid replied, raising a smile in the old man. They clasped hands warmly.

“Now, sit down, both of you,” Orkid told them. “You must be exhausted after your journey.”

“True. These bones are not used to such a long expedition,” Amemun said, easing himself into a seat, “although the voyage from Nunwa was uneventful.”

“Unlike the last time you made it,” Orkid added. “I remember it like yesterday when you first brought me to Kendra as part of Aman’s tribute.”

“A terrible day for me,” Amemun admitted. “I felt like I was losing a son.”

“And I a father,” Orkid added.

“Well, I could have done with a little adventure on this trip,” Sendarus said. “I was bored from the moment we left Pila. I couldn’t wait to leave my father’s palace and see more of the world. Instead, all I saw was the highway to Nunwa, and then leagues of empty ocean until last night when we could make out Kendra’s lights on the shore.”

“How is your new pupil shaping up?” Orkid asked Amemun.

“New? It’s been ten years since the king placed his Highness under my tutelage.” He regarded the prince with a skeptical gaze. “Impetuous, perhaps, but a quick learner. His head is filled with romantic notions and what he calls ‘noble’ ideals. Other than that, he makes a passable student.”

“Passable?” Sendarus exclaimed. “The Lord of the Mountain himself would struggle to meet your standards.”

Amemun’s eyes rolled in his head. “You are here less than five minutes and already you blaspheme as readily as your uncle.”