A Conspiracy of Kings (21 page)

Once in Sounis, we moved across country, avoiding the roads and
towns. I had a tent that appeared like magic every night, with a
bed in it, as well as a table and folding stools for our
meetings.

It even had a writing desk so that I could have sent letters,
but everything I wrote seemed silly under the circumstances.
Eugenides had warned me in the tavern that letters would go astray
and that once we left Attolia messengers could no longer be relied
upon to be loyal or safe—just as I must assume that anything
I said aloud in his palace would be conveyed directly to the Mede.
The magus had said the same thing. Both of them had urged me to
keep my plans to myself until we were inside Sounis. It reinforced
a sense I had of being on my own every minute, in spite of being
surrounded day and night by soldiers and advisors.

The food was never-ending. When I pointed out the attentions to
my appetite, the magus had to remind me that I was Sounis. Across
my little state there are merchants who dream of putting
PURVEYOR TO THE KING
over their shops. There
are men whose lives will change if they can provide me with soap. I
am a patron of the arts now. I can found my own university instead
of just dreaming of sometime attending the one in Ferria. It gave
me something to think about besides war.

As you know, we didn’t get as far as
Brimedius. We crossed through the main pass to Sounis and forded
the Seperchia to avoid the fortified megaron there, then moved
across the foothills heading inland. We had reached Atusi, where I
meant to pick up the road to Brimedius, when we met the rebels. I
had just brought my small army out of the hills and onto the road
when my scouts came in to tell me that the rebels were both ahead
of us and behind us.

I had prepared my Attolians and my
Eddisians carefully. Every time I talked with the Attolian
commander, I remembered what Eugenides had said: “He does not
actually run on all fours and bay at the moon, but you will have to
explain what you want from him very carefully.” I know he did
it to make me laugh, and it helped. I would have otherwise been too
much intimidated by a man who reminded me so much of my
father.

We were already assembled on the road. On
our right, two ridges reached out from the foothills, and a shallow
valley lay between them. To our left, olive trees came almost to
the road. The road curved around the foothills, keeping the rebels
ahead of us and behind us out of sight. It was an excellent place
for a trap, and we had sprung it. My scouts warned me that the men
behind us on the road were farther back but mounted and coming up
fast.

Around the curve of the hill ahead of us,
we had our first view of the men approaching from that direction. I
sent my Eddisians forward and turned back with the Attolians and my
mounted force, leaving our pack train with supplies in the
middle.

It was my first battle. It was exhilarating
and terrifying and sickening. The Eddisians and Attolians did just
as they’d been instructed. The road sloped down slightly
toward the Sounisians in front of us, and the Eddisians rushed down
it to attack.

The force behind us was twice the size of
ours, or more. When it hit the Attolian formations, the Attolians
broke. They made an attempt to re-form but broke again and began to
scatter. Their captain, at my signal, called the retreat. Some of
the Attolians turned back toward the Eddisians to re-form with
them, but fully half ran into the olive trees to seek cover there.
The Eddisians had no one to cover their flanks; to save themselves
from being surrounded, they were retreating into the shallow bay
between the two hillsides. I was with my mounted men, trying to
provide some cover to give the Attolians time to re-form. We
weren’t very effective, and I wasn’t any use at all.
Although Procivitus’s instruction had helped my sword work,
it was of little use to me on horseback. All I could do was wave my
sword around to defend myself and try not to cut the ears off my
own horse. I had to hope that my countrymen didn’t really
want to kill their own king. The magus and my personal guard never
left my side until we turned to run ourselves, ahead of the
Sounisians, toward the protection of our Eddisian
pikemen.

The Attolians who had run to re-form with
the Eddisians appeared disorganized. Though my horsemen had slowed
the approach of the army behind us, the bulk of it was rounding the
curve of the hill and would soon be charging across the small
valley onto the Eddisians and the Attolians who had not yet reached
cover inside the Eddisian formation.

Without needing a signal, the Eddisian
captain whistled a retreat. The Eddisians went in better order than
the Attolians had, but they went
fast
, heading
toward the trees behind them, where the charge of rebel horses
would do less damage. They would fight in smaller groups,
withdrawing back uphill until they could regroup
safely.

My mounted men were racing toward the trees at about the
same time. The horses would have to be abandoned. I had been toward
the front of my men when we were fighting. When we turned to
retreat, I fell behind. My guard was still with me, but only
barely, when I loosened my grip on my reins. In the blink of an
eye, I fell off.

I landed badly, just exactly like a sack of rocks, and
tumbled across the grass until I landed flat on my back with all
the wind knocked out of me and without the breath to curse my
breastplate, which I was certain had done me more damage than it
had saved me from. When I could get my feet under me and straighten
up, my cavalry was already far away. They had slowed and looked
back in confusion, but I waved to them to ride on. I was not too
far from the hillside that had hidden the rebel army on the road
behind us, and once I got my feet moving, I scrambled up it. With
my chest aching for air, my hands and feet felt as if they belonged
to someone else. I kept falling on my face, but I eventually made
it to the top, covered in grass stains and still not able to get a
breath, to find the consequences of battle laid out before
me.

The flat top of the hill was scattered with the bodies of
dead men in the uniforms of Sounis and Eddis. The outposts of both
armies had met here. As I stood staring, I thought, These are my
dead. All of them. The battle hadn’t been unanticipated or
forced on me, as the raid in the villa had been. I had chosen it.
These men, Eddisian and Sounisian alike, had died for my
decisions.

When the magus stepped from the bushes toward the back
part of the hill, I was more than horrified. I was perilously close
to distraught.

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” I
shouted. “Get back!” When he ignored me, I was almost
weeping. “If they catch you, they’ll kill you.”
The magus just walked closer and grabbed me in his arms to hold me
tight. When he pulled away and looked into my face, I knew that he
would tell me that I was Sounis and that I needed to pull myself
together.

“Your uncle,” he said, “in all the years
I saw him rule, never had a moment of self-doubt. Never a regret
for a single life lost. Do you understand?”

I understood that I didn’t want to be my
uncle.

He patted me on the back and disappeared into the bushes,
to work his way down the hill. Instead of continuing toward the
Eddisians, he must have turned toward the trees as soon as I had
fallen. He’d left his horse and worked his way back along the
hillside toward me. I could only pray that the gods would lead him
safely back to the rest of the troops. I turned around to face the
people climbing up the open face of the hill. They had seen me
fall. So long as I, too, didn’t try to hide in the bushes, no
one would look there for the magus. I drew my sword.

When the first men of Sounis reached the top of the hill,
I shouted clearly, “I am the king of Sounis,” on the
slight chance that the silvered breastplate with the Sounis colors
in velvet underneath didn’t identify me clearly enough. I
raised my sword as they approached, but there was little I could do
to stop them from surrounding me at a safe distance. We waited then
for the baron of Brimedius to arrive. He came puffing up over the
edge of the hill just ahead of the Mede I’d met in my
father’s tent, Akretenesh.

“What a surprise to see you here,” I said to
him, not surprised at all.

“Your Majesty,” said the Mede as he bowed very
low, “you are among friends here. It is a misunderstanding, a
sad misunderstanding that has taken place.” He looked at the
dead men and shook his head. I wanted to throw my sword at him, but
there wasn’t much point. Instead I offered it to Brimedius,
who politely handed it back, and we all went down the
hill.

And so by late afternoon I was in Brimedius, almost
exactly as I’d originally planned.

Our pack animals had been abandoned during the fighting,
as had our horses. They were collected up by Brimedius’s men,
and I had my luggage with me when I arrived: my new clothes, my
books and papers, my traveling writing desk, and the small case
holding Attolia’s gift. All of them were trundled up to a
guest apartment.

Servants brought bathwater, while an attendant helped me
out of the breastplate and clothes. Unfortunately, he also helped
himself to your letter, which I had tucked against my
chest.

“Give that back,” I said angrily. But by this
time I was half undressed and in no good condition for browbeating
anyone. He regretfully refused to return it to me, and I was
helpless. We both knew it. There was no reason to blame the
attendant, but I did. I quite frankly hated him. I hated them all
passionately.

I sat in the hot water and sulked, ignoring the servants
while they meticulously unpacked my luggage, taking out and keeping
every parchment and paper that contained anything written, and the
blank paper and writing supplies as well. Attolia’s box was
resting on a table in plain sight. I watched out of the corner of
my eye as the attendant opened it, removed the gun and the bullets
and bullet mold. I looked away as he lifted the divider to examine
what was underneath. I tried not to hold my breath as he considered
whatever was there, but didn’t touch it, then replaced the
pistol and lowered the lid.

So he knew what was in the box, but I didn’t, though
I could guess it wasn’t parchment or paper, or he would have
taken it. I had opened the box a number of times, even removed the
pistol and slid my fingertips across the felt board divider,
wondering fiercely what message the king of Attolia had sent me,
but I had not looked to see it for myself. I hadn’t yet
decided what I would do with Attolia’s gift or her advice. I
wanted too much to believe that there had to be a better way to
lead people than through intimidation. Gen had as much as said so
when he urged me to look for alternatives.

Whatever was in the box, the servant had left it, with the
gun and its bullet mold on top. What a strange world it is, where
prisoners are left their weapons and the written word is a mortal
danger.

I had an excellent dinner and wine in the company of
Brimedius and Akretenesh, who were carefully assessing me. A sullen
temper in no way impeded my appetite.

I am not Gen. I cannot tell a convincing lie. He and I had
agreed that I was foolish to try when every thought that crosses my
mind seems to appear on my face for all to see. Gen counseled that
honesty would be my best policy, so I let Akretenesh see the truth:
that I was wholly in his power and bitterly unhappy about
it.

I did not conceal my scorn as Akretenesh explained the
regrettable chain of events that had driven a wedge between me and
my barons, all of it the fault of my uncle who was Sounis. As
Melheret had, Akretenesh offered himself, and the Mede Empire, as a
neutral negotiator. I said no, thank you.

When I asked about Hanaktos, Brimedius assured me that
there had been a misunderstanding. The rebels knew that my father
had supported an alliance with the Mede, and an end to the war with
Attolia, and they would never have condoned an attack on him. He
suggested that Hanaktos’s breach of the laws of hospitality
was an unhappy accident. “My King,” he said sadly,
“Hanaktos tells us that your father’s men attacked
first.”

“Because Hanaktos meant to kill them all!” I
said.

“Perhaps, My King, it was all a mistake?”
Brimedius said.

I think my face must have made it clear what I thought of
that. “And my abduction?” I asked pointedly.

Brimedius nodded apologetically. “For that we must
beg your forgiveness. It was not our intent to precipitate so
destructive a conflict, nor to inflict such a grievous insult on
the person of Your Majesty. We hoped to make a king of you a little
early, that is all.”

“Well, that at least you have accomplished,” I
said.

Brimedius was sadly disappointed in me. I looked mulishly
back, as truculent as I had ever been when faced with
someone’s disappointment.

“I would like to see my mother and my
sisters,” I said, but it seemed that was not to be permitted
yet.

“Perhaps in the morning,” Akretenesh
said.

Brimedius diverted my protest, asking hastily if my
attendant pleased me, and I said he was well trained, but that I
wanted my papers back. The baron deferred to Akretenesh, who said
no. I sulked.

At the end of the meal the Mede pulled out a folded and
much-handled piece of vellum. I sat up. It was your
letter.