Path of Revenge (22 page)

‘And what proof do they have of that?’ Stella snapped. ‘I’ve never been able to understand why Hal’s parentage matters so much. Actually, I do. It ties up all the truth into a neat package for consumption by the believers. Black and white, good and evil, us and them. They don’t know what to do with me, though, which is why they want to hold endless and undoubtedly painful “talks” with me. Who cares who Hal’s father was? Surely what he did is more important than who he was?’

He peered at her suspiciously from under his wild fringe. ‘You are not telling me everything you know.’

‘And this surprises you? You know how I feel about the Halite doctrine. I’m the nearest thing to the Destroyer in their eyes. They refuse to listen to what really happened to me. Every grain of sand they uncover is turned into a mountain of solid rock. You would be no different. If I told you what I really think about Hal and his origins you would put me to death yourself.’

‘If I could, I would not,’ murmured the guard.

‘If you could? What do you mean by that?’ Stella stared at him, trying to read his intent, but the day’s gloaming defeated her.

All trace of humour left his voice. ‘If you will allow me to be candid, your majesty, I think you would be hard to kill. Should anyone want to, that is.’

‘Oh?’ His words chilled her. ‘What makes you say that?’ She spoke with more intensity than intended.

‘You want me to tell you everything I know, yet you keep secrets from me? Believe me, your majesty, now we have fled Instruere we are no longer queen and guard. We are simply Stella and Robal, trying to escape those who seek us. We will remain together only by trusting each other.’

‘And who will be the first to take the risk?’ Stella raised her chin and glared in the man’s direction. He did not reply, but she heard him exhale slowly.
Not as calm as he appears, then.

‘A great man died three days ago,’ she said, her voice gentler. ‘A man whom I loved. He was the only protection I had against those who sought to bring me down. It will be a long time before I can think seriously about trusting anyone else.’

No sound for a while save the chirping of crickets and the slop of water against the gunwale.

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he said eventually. ‘You seem so strong, so self-possessed. It is hard putting myself in your place.’

Stella did not feel inclined to answer him.

After a while Robal spoke again. ‘You are right. He was a great king, a great man.’ He breathed out heavily. ‘My grandfather practically worshipped him. Do you know King Leith came out to Austrau and personally dealt with the maesters at the height of the grain wars? My gran said he had them looking for their arses in their earholes, if you’ll pardon the expression.’

‘I remember.’ She smiled wistfully to herself. ‘I told him to be more careful with his words, but he was right. The maesters needed setting down.’

‘You were there?’

‘Of course. You must have…No, of course not, you had not yet been born. Oh, Most High, Robal, I can’t live with this, and I can’t die. I am going to go mad.’

She had fought so hard for so long, she was not yet ready for this to overwhelm her, was certainly not ready to reveal so much to a stranger. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, resisting the urge to scream, to lash out, to throw herself into the river, or into the arms of the bluff guard opposite her.

‘You won’t go mad, my queen. But where
are
you going to go?’

‘I don’t know.’ A true answer, if not the whole truth. ‘Upriver somewhere. A place where I won’t be recognised.’ She snorted, thinking of the portraits depicting the royal couple, liberally scattered across the Sixteen Kingdoms. ‘It’ll be a long journey.’

‘The river’s a good place, your majesty. Upriver is even better. The guards will search downriver, along the coast and the roads leading west, back to Firanes and Loulea, thinking you will try to go home. It’s what I would have done.’ A pause. Stella could see no more than his shadowy outline, but could imagine the grimace on his normally cheeky face. ‘Why didn’t you, your majesty? Why didn’t you head for home?’

‘Home? I’ve just left home.’

Home was most certainly not Loulea, the small Firanese village far to the west where she had been born and raised. Stella had left her village, her parents and her drunkard of a brother with few regrets. Newly crowned after the Falthan War, Leith had persuaded her to accompany him on a journey to Firanes—their duty, he told her—including the trek north to Loulea in the cool autumn. She had forgotten how cold the coastlands of Firanes could be, but was reminded by the early snowfall that delayed them a week. Eventually they had taken lodgings in Vapnatak, the nearest large town, left their entourage there and walked the last few miles alone to their small village.

A mistake. The villagers turned out to cheer the king and queen, but were disappointed not to see the horses and the soldiers and the other trappings of glory. Leith tried to explain who they were, but had been met with incredulity and disbelief. Leith and Stella died years ago, they said. The same year the old village headman went missing. A bad year, that. But what were the affairs of Loulea to the King and Queen of Faltha? Why were they asking such questions, saying such things, stirring up such grief? The gulf between villager and royalty seemed too broad for their direct, practical minds to cross.

The village council eventually gathered the gist of the tale, and were offered sufficient proofs by the king that they could no longer deny the true identity of their royal guests. They were shocked, but there were none of the celebrations Stella had expected. Instead, Leith and Stella were taken to her father’s grave, fresh-dug, next to that of her brother, who had apparently not lasted more than a few months after their supposed deaths. Stella’s mother, a broken figure, did not recognise them. Had recognised none but her husband for two years.

That evening, during the festivities celebrating the visit of the king and queen, Stella begged Leith to take them home to Instruere. Their welcome had left Leith feeling uncomfortable, she could tell, but he was a man of duty and would not listen to her. After the feast the young village headman spoke quietly to them both, advising them to leave. ‘I know who you are, but many of the villagers do not. The way you talk of Loulea as if it was your home is confusing them. Please, your majesties, we have enjoyed and have been honoured by your visit, but we would respectfully ask you to depart at your earliest opportunity.’

‘But how could Loulea have forgotten us? It is less than ten years since we lived among them.’ The queen
who asked that question had been young; despite all she had suffered during the Falthan War, she had yet to learn that indifference wounded deeper than hatred.

‘How could they have forgotten?’ the headman repeated. ‘Stella, take a good look at me and answer your own question.’

Druin. The boy she had almost been betrothed to, whose boorish behaviour had driven her to leave Loulea. A boy grown into a young man, a changed man, with a responsibility taken no less seriously than that of the man she had married. Surely too young to be a village leader, though, as Stella reminded herself, older than his queen.

‘You did not recognise Hermesa either, your majesty.’ The epithet sounded like a curse from his lips. ‘Or if you did, you chose not to acknowledge her.’ He presented his wife to the royal pair, and patiently answered their awkward, embarrassed questions about the fortunes of their other childhood friends.

It seemed that Druin had not been the village’s first choice for their leader, but Malos and Rauth had moved to the south, down Oln way, to farm together, leaving Loulea needing new blood. He’d fought in the rebellion to oust the corrupt Firanese regent, one of those who had betrayed Faltha to the Destroyer, and won renown for himself and his village. Now Druin and Hermesa ran their village with at least as much integrity and common sense as Leith and Stella ruled Faltha, and with a great deal less bureaucratic interference.

The King and Queen of Faltha left Loulea early the next morning. Only a few children lined the Westway to see them go. It had been a valuable, if hard, lesson for them both.

‘I will not go back to that village,’ Stella told the guardsman sitting quietly in the dark. ‘If the Halites waste their effort searching the West, it will be
because they never bothered to learn anything of me. I find this a pleasing thought.’

‘They will check upriver, too,’ Robal said. ‘My role in your escape will already be known. This will mean the Instruian Guard will offer every assistance to the Koinobia. Nowhere in Faltha will be safe.’

‘Nowhere? Faltha is a very large place.’

‘Not large enough, with respect, your majesty.’

‘You may be right.’ She sighed. ‘As it happens, I do not intend to hide anywhere in Faltha.’

‘Ah then, you will be wanting to go further east.’

‘Am I to be forever cursed with clever men?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘If my plans and motives are so transparent, why are the agents of the Koinobia not upon us even now?’

‘Because no one wants to travel the Maremma,’ said a young voice from near the rail to their left. Gren, the youngest of the Wodrani boys, called Mite by his brothers. ‘Three weeks of stink and bugs, following the river through the swamps. Takes a deal of experience not to get lost. They’ll be waitin’ for you at Vindicare on the far side.’

‘You’re taking a risk having us as passengers,’ Stella commented.

‘Part of our life on the river,’ Gren said airily. ‘’Tis risky just travellin’ through the Maremma. People die here all the time. Washed away by floods, taken by diseases and simply gettin’ lost in all the dead-end waterpaths. Not so bad during autumn, though. Especially not with Ma at the tiller.’

‘You should address the queen more formally,’ Robal said testily. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to say “your majesty”.’

‘Ain’t my queen,’ Gren answered. ‘Queen of Faltha, not Queen of the Wodrani. We’re not one of the Sixteen. We were here long before the First Men came traipsin’ over the desert. I’m not sayin’ we ain’t grateful, though,’ he added swiftly, as the guardsman
made to stand. ‘The Falthan army did keep the Bhrudwans away from the Wodranian Mountains, and King Leith hasn’t interfered with us since.’

‘As to that, why didn’t the Wodrani send troops to help the Falthan army?’

‘Peace, Robal; these are old questions, and we are beholden to these people.’

‘It’s all right, your majesty,’ said the boy, and grinned his mischievous grin. ‘I don’t rightly know what the answer is to that. Ma might know, being as how she’s what we call a
scalla,
nobility in your language. Don’t know how you’ll ask her, though, without making her suspicious of you. She’s sharp, is Ma.’

Involuntarily Stella turned her head to the stern, where Ma no doubt sat hunched over the tiller, muttering to herself.
Nobility?

‘Nah, Philla has taken over the tiller.’ The boy clicked his tongue. ‘Always meant to make a song about that. Sounds much better in your language, o’course. Anyway, Ma caught some flatfish, and she wants a hand gettin’ ’em ready for cooking, she says. Would your majesty and her handsome guard like to help her with supper?’

He ducked Robal’s genial clip about the ear and ran away towards the stern, cackling like a demented hen. ‘Philla has the tiller,’ he sang. ‘Ain’t that a killer!’ Various other improvisations floated back to them on the breeze.

‘Flatfish.’ Robal sounded disgusted.

‘I’m sure they’ll be nicer than the flatfish we had last night.’

‘Ah, but will they compare to the flatfish of the night before?’

‘Only one way to find out,’ Stella said with a theatrical sigh. ‘On your feet, guard, you have a fish to gut.’

The guard squeezed past her, taking a fraction
longer than necessary, and preceded her into the barge’s small cabin.

A near-full moon rose above the Maremma, silvering the night mist and bringing the giant kingfrogs out in search of caddis flies, swamp snakes or anything else foolish enough to come within leaping range. The early autumn heat lay heavy on the many winding branches of the Aleinus River, on the hundreds of oxbow lakes, old loops of the river abandoned as the Aleinus tried in vain to find a less puzzling way through the mire; on the thousands of animals hiding from the kingfrogs; on the millions of insects flitting back and forth across the stagnant water; and on the rowboat making its way stealthily towards the barge moored to one of countless islands.

Cloth wrapped around the oars dampened the worst of the splashes, and helped mitigate against the formation of blisters. Even after two weeks manning the oars of this rowboat, Conal remained uncomfortable with every aspect of watercraft, and as a consequence Dribna the guard manoeuvred the boat as they tried to get close to the barge without being discovered. The cacophony generated by the frightening kingfrogs helped, but to the young Halite priest the noises Dribna made sounded absurdly loud.

‘Take the oars,’ Dribna whispered.

‘What?’ They had spent an hour working out a plan, and this wasn’t part of it.

‘Just take the oars, priest. Hold the boat steady.’

Conal took them with reluctance, easing his sore muscles back into the hated position. The guard released them, eased himself forward and carefully raised himself to a standing position in the bow.

‘What are you doing?’ Conal tried to pitch his voice not to carry, and obviously succeeded too well as Dribna made no reply.

They drew close to the barge. A small dark shape sat in the stern, gnawing on something. The priest thought of his own empty belly. They’d taken on provisions at Barathea, when it became clear that the Wodrani were taking the Destroyer’s Consort into the Maremma, but Conal’s coin had not stretched as far as his normally well-fed belly demanded. It was so hard to concentrate on one’s task when hunger ate away at one’s mind.

What was the guardsman doing now? He reached down into the boat, setting the craft slopping in the turbid water, and seized one of the oars from the priest’s hand. ‘What?’ Conal repeated, more forcefully.