Path of Revenge (20 page)

The afternoon wore on. Though Stella had specifically instructed all three of the royal physicians to keep the gravity of the king’s condition secret, such things did not escape others who worked in the Hall, and a
crowd of curious onlookers began to gather on the grassy space below the tower. Individual citizens, families with food baskets, stallholders, one or two russet-cloaked Halite priests. Their clamour filtered up to her.

She ignored them. Let them wonder, let them speculate, let them treat as a holiday the day the world was losing a wonderful man. They did not know, they had forgotten. The Destroyer was already half a myth; scholars wrote revisionist histories explaining real events as metaphorical. Even the presence of the Jugom Ark, glittering on the altar in the Hall of Meeting in Instruere, failed to dampen their foolish philandering with the facts. No different to the priests, really, serving their own god. Phemanderac had been commissioned to write an official history of the Falthan War, but in sixty years had not finished it. Afraid to insult or belittle any of his friends, he’d spent far too long on the maps.

It didn’t matter. None of it did. Her eyes lifted beyond the city, where the haze had given way to the afternoon breeze. Out past the ever-wide Central Plains towards the gates of Aleinus, where Hal had laid down his life for his brother. And for Faltha, she added, remembering Halite orthodoxy. She could not see the Gates; their bluff slopes and enormous cliffs were well over the horizon. Thousands of leagues further lay Bhrudwo and the island of Andratan, on which Kannwar, the Destroyer, Lord of Bhrudwo, the Undying Man, was said by Dhaurian spies to be hiding, recuperating from his great defeat and loss of power. She narrowed her eyes, as if by squinting she could somehow make out the Tower of Farsight, highest bulwark on Andratan, from where he might be looking, searching the western sky.

A knock at the door, a servant offering refreshment. Without bothering to unbar the door, Stella peered
through the grille and waved her away. Behind the woman two physicians hovered. She waved them away also. Turned back to her window.

She could feel him, that was the problem. His blood burned in her veins. Those first years had been pure agony, a chronic pain no palliative could suppress, wearing away at her sanity just as she knew it wore away at his. Then, over the last five decades, it had gradually eased—as she slowly healed and as, no doubt, he recovered. Did he feel her pain? She thought so. And recently he had begun to feel different somehow, less caustic, more desperate, as though taken by some affliction. Powerful, most certainly, more powerful than ever. Yet something had changed, and not for the better.

Stella did not love him. She did not doubt her self-judgment on this matter, having been brutally honest with herself, knowing what
being needed
could do to a woman’s soul. Particularly one who had not been able to have children. No, she carried no love for their great enemy. She hated him. His desire for revenge on the Most High had cost thousands of lives, among them some she had counted as friends. His actions had been, at times, nothing short of deeply evil. She remembered a village, a pile of hands and feet, the cries of children. His ravaged face as he made his escape from Instruere, drawing on her, reckless of her life.

Yet…

Yet, he could not hide from her, nor she from him. He and she: the only two of a different species.

No sound from behind her. She turned, fearing she had missed Leith’s last moment.

He was sitting up in bed, his face glowing, healthier-seeming by far than at any time in the last month. His eyes bright, focused on her, alive with knowledge. She had seen enough prolonged death to
know what this was. The false bloom before the final blight.

He breathed deeply, then spoke in the voice of a hurt child.

‘You’re going to him.’

A dozen answers flashed through her mind.
No, Leith, how could you think such a thing? I was just looking at the crowds below. I would never dishonour your memory by travelling to Bhrudwo. You’re tired; why don’t you close your eyes and rest? I was just gazing out of the window. The east window. It could have been any window. Any direction.

‘Yes.’

The word surprised her, shocked her, ripped a ragged breath from her. Leith simply nodded.

‘Should have gone long ago. Nothing but persecution and imprisonment for you here. Tried to warn you; too pig-headed to listen. Listen now. Go. Go now.’

Stella stood there, facing the knowing regard of the man she was hurting one last time, and wept until her chest and stomach hurt.

‘Leith, oh Leith, I…’ She could not finish. No lies, no shadings of the truth, no manufacturing of more lifelong guilt, not when she would carry it for eternity without hope of absolution. No falsehood to wrap Leith in, smoothing his final journey. She took his hand, hoping it would be enough. She had no words for him.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Something not right in what happened all those years ago. We missed something. He knows. Something coming, a terrible thing, greater far than Kannwar. He knows. You go. Get…answers to your questions.’ He paused for breath: the effort of speaking told on him.

‘Leith, you must rest.’

‘Stella,’ he said, and her heart broke anew at the way he said it, the layers of meaning in his thin voice.
‘Stella, thank you. But you must go. Save yourself, save him, save them all.’

His eyes opened further, as though he experienced some private hallucination. ‘My brother…thanks you too. Wants you to leave.’ Opened still further. ‘And now I must…must also go.’ Closed.

A last breath, a last whisper.

‘Goodbye, my love,’ he said, and left her.

His hand was cold when finally she forced herself to let it go. Cold and empty. She stood up, easing bones supposedly near ninety years old that insisted on behaving as though she was still a young woman. At this moment she felt no kinship with the man in the bed, with the people in the city, with anyone at all. They could die; she could not. She was different. Thoroughly other. Completely alone.

She wolfed down the cold gruel and emptied the water jug ignored this past day. Even the act of taking food and drink seemed pointless: forty years ago she had experimented with fasting, testing the limits of her immortality. The results were debilitating but not fatal; her muscles wasted somewhat in those weeks, but whatever had been set within her sustained her in any extremity. She’d resumed eating and drinking out of habit. Something to remind her of her humanity.

She threw the jug across the room. It shattered on the wall near the north window.

A few minutes’ rummaging in the drawers by the bed secured several tiny but valuable pieces of jewellery, which she placed in a small bag looped around her neck. She looked as long as she dared for something to help disguise her from those down below who awaited news of the king, those she needed to avoid, but found nothing. She would be walking into their hateful hands. She sighed. Better walking than being dragged.

Face the bed one last time. A bow, a touch to the cheek, a kiss. A deep breath. Then a slow turn, so hard to do, a hand to the door, ease up the bar, open, close the door behind her, eyes blurry, not looking back.

Stella had no idea how long ago the servant had last checked on the king. Perhaps she ascended the stairs even now, physicians in tow, seeking an update on the king’s condition. Or perhaps they enjoyed a meal together, or had taken themselves home for the evening.

One foot in front of the other. A grey haze seemed to have descended on her: blinking away the tears helped her see a little better. A lock of her grey hair, dyed to help conceal her impossible youth, flicked an eye, a stinging sharpness. She fought back a cry of anguish. Not here, not now, not yet.

She came to herself enough to wonder where the guards were. There was, of course, no tradition for this, as Faltha had never before had a king, but she had expected some sort of Death Watch, as practised by many of Faltha’s kingdoms. She had spoken to Elast, Captain of the Guard, about this. Ten guards at least, including Elast himself. Where were they? Why had no guardsmen come to check on their king?

She turned left at the base of the stairs, head up, walking briskly. Over the years she had adopted the gait of an old woman as part of an attempt to disguise her lack of aging. She had to hope her youthful figure would not be recognised as that of the queen.

Finally, at the arched wooden door to the street, she came across a guard. One, and not senior. He looked her over, his eyes narrowing with what she initially thought was suspicion, but then recognised as lust. Obviously taking her for a servant he made a series of lewd suggestions to her, each more inventive than the last. She forced herself to smile, though inwardly heartsick. She would take the chance he offered her.

‘Is that all you can do?’ she said roughly. ‘Talk?’

‘More than talk,’ he replied heavily, licking his lips. ‘Won’t talk at all if that’s how you like it. Make you talk, though.’

Stella caught a glimpse over his shoulder, and her skin chilled. The servant approached, accompanied by four people: two of the royal physicians and two Halite priests. She recognised both the priests. One was the Archpriest himself, a tall man with an artificial dignity she despised. A very powerful man. Not a man she wanted to meet today.

‘You’re still talking,’ she said desperately.

‘In here, then.’ He grabbed at her arm; she brushed him off with a flick of her hand and a coquettish grin, then followed him into the small annexe serving as a guardroom.

The man had his sword off and jerkin open even before she closed the door behind her. She picked up his weapon and smiled again. ‘It’s a big sword,’ she said, sliding it suggestively out of its scabbard.

‘I have a bigger,’ the guard said, leering at her.

‘Not big enough,’ she replied, and levelled the blade at him.

‘You bitch, what—’ He stared into her eyes, and belated recognition spread across his face. He sank to the floor on his knees, mouth so wide open Stella struggled to suppress hysterical laughter.

‘My queen,’ he said hoarsely, and stopped to clear his throat. ‘I thought…I am new here.’ He closed his eyes.

‘Clearly.’

‘How could I?’ He began to tremble.

‘I led you on. Sit up; you look ridiculous.’

He regained some self-possession, wiped his palms on his jerkin and laced himself up, then sat on his haunches. ‘The king?’

‘Is dead.’

A sharp, indrawn breath. ‘Dead? But…but we were told, your majesty…The priests told us the king was in no danger!’ The light went out of his eyes.

‘And do you take your orders from the priests?’

‘No, of course not. But Captain Elast confirmed it for us. Out of his own mouth I heard it. The senior officers are off discussing it now. Next week, they said, the Death Watch would begin. Your majesty,’ he added.

‘A play for power, then, already begun. Do you understand? The priests and physicians have colluded to remove the Instruian Guard, a preface to their bid for control of Instruere and, ultimately, Faltha. I wonder what they offered Elast. Or what they threatened him with. Either way, you are betrayed.’

‘I understand, my queen.’ All too well, by the sick look on his face.

Stella continued. ‘If you have been here more than a few days, you will know what the king’s death means for me. What they will do to me.’

He nodded. ‘They won’t, though, will they? Your majesty,’ he added after a moment, still clearly yet to come to terms with what was happening.

‘I do not care to find out. I know you will not ask, but what the priests say about me is not true. Well, it
is
true, but not in the fashion the priests have taught you. I do not, however, wish to discuss it with them. I doubt they have the wit to understand how truth can be turned into something else.’

‘Your majesty?’ Colour gradually returned to the man’s face. Good.

‘What is your name?’

‘Robal, my lady. Robal Anders of Austrau, that is.’

‘Austrau? Excellent. Well then, Robal Anders, how would you like to do your queen a great service?’

The guard fought an obvious battle to keep his face perfectly still.

‘Oh dear, you are going to be a difficult man, aren’t you. Just do as I say for now. And don’t worry. They may hate me, they may want to get rid of me, but when I write a letter explaining that I have taken you into my service, they will provide for your wife and children.’

The man looked shocked. ‘No family, my queen. Do you think I would have…that I would…if I…I wouldn’t!’

‘No family? Better and better. Nevertheless, your sergeant and paymaster will need to know. Still, that will have to wait for later. For now, Robal Anders of Austrau, can you get me out of Instruere without attracting attention?’

‘Blessed King Leith is not likely to survive the night,’ one of the physicians was saying, the eldest one—Pyrus or Palus, something like that—in between panting for breath. What was wrong with the man? There were fewer than three hundred steps.

‘We are surprised he has remained with us this long,’ said a second physician.
Lamayan.
The young priest dragged the name from his memory. Conal prided himself on knowing such details. His master, the Archpriest, hadn’t bothered to learn the physicians’ names. Hadn’t even asked. He barely tolerated them, he often said, with their smug belief in their own curative powers. In the coming Kingdom of the Most High, doctors would take their orders from priests, who would tell them when to intervene and when to leave well alone.

The Archpriest grunted something the physicians would take for assent, and followed them upwards, dragging Conal along in his wake.

The queen had baulked the priesthood long enough. Doctors might have a place in the kingdom, but she did not, not as things currently stood. As it
said in the Mahnumsen Scrolls, ‘Stella Pellwen knelt before the Destroyer and did as he commanded,’ scroll six, line one hundred and eighteen. There was no doubt about this, no other way the words could be interpreted. Further, it said, ‘His consort brought forth the Declaration and placed it in his hand,’ scroll seven, line thirty-one. And, most damning, ‘She led him, handless and bleeding, through the lanes and alleyways of Instruere, giving him succour from her very spirit,’ scroll seven, line two hundred and twelve. King Leith had provided her with a chance of redemption, as was proper for the brother of Hal, but according to the Archpriest the woman had never shown the humility that accompanied true repentance. When the king passed on, the Koinobia would offer her counselling for as long as was necessary. Her repentance was much to be desired. The eighth scroll was unfinished still, after all. The name of the priest who brought her to repentance would be central to bringing the Mahnumsen Scrolls to a fitting conclusion.