Inheritance (32 page)

Rendle’s second-in-command, a whip of a man named Eder, asked him what was going on. In a few terse sentences Rendle told him of Berayma’s murder, Areava’s ascension, and Lynan’s outlawry and subsequent drowning.

“I’m not keen on serving under a Kendran queen,” Eder said.

“Nor am I,” Rendle replied brusquely, “not after fighting against the last one in the Slaver War; but for the moment we’ll take her money and salute her pennant. At least until she moves us up north.”

“So we are going to fight Haxus?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. Haxus always paid better than Grenda Lear.”

Eder smiled thinly. “I think I like the idea of taking coin with both hands; it seems a fairer way of doing things.”

“What about our missing patrol? Any sign of them?”

Eder took him to a tent on the edge of their camp. He opened the flap and Rendle saw jerkins, belts, and knives laid out, all of them covered in damp soil. “One of the scouts I sent back found their graves near a stream about two days’ ride from here. Their horses were nowhere to be seen. They all died from sword wounds.”

Rendle’s jaw clenched in anger. “Where are their swords?”

“None in the graves.”

“And no sign of their attackers?”

“The scout said too many companies like our own had passed that way since. The tracks are all mixed up. He did find two of their mounts wandering alone on Ebrius Ridge.”

“Do the others know about this?”

“Hard to disguise a scout carrying so much extra equipment and leading two riderless horses back to camp. They know.”

Rendle led the way back to his tent where he rummaged in one of his chests and retrieved a large hand-drawn map. He laid it out on the ground outside.

“I don’t like losing my men,” Rendle said tightly. “And I don’t understand this. None of my people are so stupid as to bother a village or hamlet by themselves. They might have tried to steal a chicken or pig, or annoy a farmer’s daughter, but a farmer hasn’t a chance in hell of doing anything about it.”

He studied the map carefully. He had been roving over this part of the world for nearly thirty years now and knew most of it like the back of his hand. He pointed to a series of trails and streams at the north base of Ebrius Ridge which intersected the road the company had taken to reach the Horn of Lear. “They were sent ahead of us to here. When we passed by, there was no sign of them, so chances are whatever happened to them occurred in the six hours after they left the company and we reached this point.”

There were a few villagers within a half-day’s ride of the road, but little else. Ebrius Ridge itself had mediocre soil and the constant threat of great bears to worry any settlers, so people tended not to farm in the immediate area.

Rendle tapped the map angrily with one finger, then started circling out in a spiral. He traced over the main road, the ridge itself, the edge of Kestrel Bay, back to Chandra… His finger stopped, then retraced to the coast.

“I was told Prince Lynan had been drowned off these cliffs here, but his body was never recovered.”

Eder looked over his shoulder. “Was he by himself?”

“No. He had at least three companions. A cripple, a girl, and Kumul Alarn. None of their bodies was found.”

Eder’s eyes widened. “The Constable of the Royal Guards was in on the king-killing plot?”

Rendle nodded. “According to official proclamations.”

“I saw him once, during the Slaver War. The biggest, ugliest bastard I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m not sorry he’s left this world.”

“But what if he and his friends didn’t drown and instead made their way up the ridge? Where would they go? They couldn’t return to Kendra, and they couldn’t stay on the ridge. And it all happened at the same time we were making our way here from the other direction.”

“You don’t think our patrol met them?”

Rendle shrugged. “Impossible to know.” He bent over the map again, his gaze moving north along Chandra’s length and into Hume, then west to the Oceans of Grass. “So where could they be heading?” he asked himself.

“You going to report this to the queen?”

“Report what? That we’ve lost a patrol to unknown attackers? We have no evidence one way or the other about how they met their fate.”

“Except that it was violent and their swords were taken.”

“Another mercenary patrol could have done that. Old Malorca was moving through that area with his archers the day before us; he’s always willing to take a snipe at a competitor.”

“We’ll have to fix him one day,” Eder said gruffly.

“But not this day. The new queen is offering enough contracts for all of us right now.” Rendle was still studying the map. He jabbed at a place marked as Arran Valley. “I don’t suppose Jes Prado is still settled there?”

“Last I heard, and with a good portion of his men settled nearby. They moved there to take care of some minor trouble in the region and stayed. But you never liked the man. What’s on your mind?”

“I think Prado’s a whining excuse for a soldier, but we’ve never had any problems with him and he’s a straight dealer. Send a message to him.”

“I’ll organize a rider—”

“No. I need something faster. Go to Kendra and buy a pigeon carrier.”

“What’s the message?”

“I don’t know exactly. I’ll think on it over the next hour, but it will have to mention money, and a lot of it.”

Olio reached the rendezvous at Kendra’s harbor ten minutes before the agreed time. Prelate Edaytor Fanhow had agreed to guide the prince through the city’s worst slum, a tangle of streets behind the docks where sailors’ widows and orphaned children, whores and smugglers, fugitives and the unemployable all congregated like ants around a honey pot. Olio was determined to do something for the poor in the city and Edaytor had reluctantly agreed to show him the worst poverty Kendra had to offer.

The prince found a place to sit in the sun and watched a merchant ship from Lurisia being unloaded. Stevedores manhandled a winch over the ship while the crew set about tying thick rope around the biggest logs Olio had ever seen. It was rain forest wood, as red as flame and as hard as iron, and Lurisia’s main export to the rest of Theare. Three logs were bound together, the winch hook was slipped under the top knot, and the stevedores heaved back on their ballast until the load was raised above the ship’s gunwales. The final maneuver had the stevedores swinging the load across to the dock and slowly releasing the ballast so the logs could be placed gently in a waiting cart. When the first load was dropped, the ballast was released too quickly and the cart lurched, scaring the four oxen tied to it. Only the quick wits of the driver, who pulled back sharply on the horns of the lead ox, stopped the cart from being pulled away before its load could be secured.

There were sharp words between the ship’s captain and the stevedore boss, and then the second load was made ready and attached to the winch. As the winch was swung over the dock, the top knot holding the hook slipped and the load lurched heavily. Stevedores scattered from the winch, but the hook held and two of them hurried forward to release the ballast. As they set hands to the winch, the knot unraveled completely. The logs fell with an awful crash and the winch careened sideways, the ballast slamming heavily into the two stevedores who had tried to rescue the load. Olio heard the dull thump of the collision and then terrible shouts and cries as people ran to help the injured.

Without hesitation, Olio rushed to the scene. He elbowed his way past a gawping bystander and stopped suddenly when he saw the broken and twisted remains of one of the fallen stevedores. Blood pooled around his feet and he stepped back.

“This one’s alive!” a voice said, and Olio looked up to where the second victim was lying, his head supported by the crew boss. The prince stepped over the corpse and knelt down next to the injured stevedore. The man’s breathing was labored and blood flecked his lips.

“He’s dying,” the boss said grimly. “His chest is crushed.”

Olio grasped the stevedore’s hand and squeezed gently. The man’s skin was cool and clammy. His eyelids fluttered and opened, showing dilated pupils.

“Is there n-n-nothing you can do?” Olio asked the boss.

“He’s dying,” the boss repeated dully.

Olio reached inside his coat with his free hand and grasped the Key of the Heart. It felt cold to his touch. He waited for something to happen, not knowing what to expect. He felt nothing, nor sensed any change in the man whose hand he held. He closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for some sign in his mind about how to use the Key. He remembered the sheer power he had felt after Usharna had healed the crookback. His hand around the Key started to tingle, but still he felt nothing passing from him to the injured stevedore, felt no surge of whatever it was that the queen had used. The stevedore moaned, then coughed. Blood spattered Olio’s face, but he ignored it.

“He m—m-must n-n—not die,” he stuttered under his breath. He bowed his head and tried praying to God, but the vague faith he held to gave him no sign. And then a hand lay softly on his shoulder and he heard words in a strange tongue spoken above his head. The Key in his hand seemed to come alive with sudden heat so fierce he wanted to let go of it, but he held on as the heat spread from the Key to his hand and then his arm, flowed into his chest, making his heart beat twice as fast, and then on through his other arm and the hand that held the stevedore. He could sense rather than see the aura of light and power that took shape around him and the injured man, and he could physically feel the stevedore’s ribs and lungs bend and warp and reshape into their normal form. The stevedore let out a great cry of pain, but no blood came from his mouth and his eyes were keen and alive.

As quickly as it had started, the surge of power ebbed away until at last Olio let go of the Key and stood up. He immediately swooned and started falling back. His vision was blurred and he could not make out the face of the man who caught him and pulled him away from the wondering crowd, but then he heard a familiar voice say: “I did not think we could do that.”

“Edaytor?” Olio asked weakly. “What
did
you do?”

“Added my knowledge of magic to the power lent you by the Key of the Heart. Can you walk, your Highness? I am not strong enough to carry you any farther. I want you away from this dock before someone recognizes you.”

Already some of the stevedores were pointing at the pair and using the word “miracle.” Olio nodded and staggered a few feet before Edaytor put his shoulder under one of the prince’s arms and helped him away from the harbor. They continued like that until they had reached one of the dark, narrow back streets behind the warehouses that lined the docks. They collapsed together against an old brick wall.

“I really wish you would bring an entourage with you when you leave the palace, your Highness,” Edaytor gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“What good would that do? Everyone would know who I am, and curtsy and p-p-prithee and p-p-petition. How could I explore the city then?”

“Better curtsied and pritheed and petitioned than stabbed by some malcontent. Especially down here on the docks where many are not from Kendra but the provinces and so less respectful of rich young noblemen and their purses.”

“Oh, God, a shame to die because someone thought I was a m-m-member of the Twenty Houses,” Olio joked, but his laughter sounded forced.

“I thought your family was one of the Twenty Houses.”

“Don’t tell my sister that.” Olio stood upright and immediately felt dizzy again. Edaytor was by his side instantly with a steadying arm. “What happened b—b-back there?”

“You healed a dying man.”

“B-b-but not by m-m-myself. It was your m-m-magic that m-m-made the Key work.”

Edaytor shook his bald head. “I don’t think so, your Highness. I’ve never been able to do anything like that before, and I’ve handled many magical artifacts. The Key worked because you were the channel.”

“Then why didn’t it work b-b-before you helped?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is an ability you must develop. Were you ever tested for magic when you were young?”

“N-n-no.”

“Yet I suspect it runs in your family. That is not unusual. Certainly, your mother had the power. It also may be that the Keys only work effectively when they are all together, and singly need an outside source of magic. There is much to ponder on this.”

Olio smiled shyly. “B-b-but together, Edaytor, we
can-work
it.”

“At a price. We are both exhausted.”

Olio nodded wearily. “I’m afraid I am going to have to call off our tour. I cannot remember ever feeling so tired b-b-before.”

“Nor I. Come, your Highness, I will walk with you back to the palace.”

“B-b-but your own offices are near here. I am fine.”

Edaytor insisted, and together they made their way back up the avenue that wound its way through the city, ending in the climb to the palace’s main gate and two of the Royal Guards. Edaytor left the prince in safety. Olio watched the round prelate start his journey back to his own offices, wondering what he had done to deserve such devotion.

“Your Highness, we didn’t know you were out,” said one of the guards as he saluted him in.

“That was the whole p—p-point,” Olio said under his breath.

He paused in the courtyard, befuddled by exhaustion and all the questions in his head about what had happened on the docks. He badly wanted both to talk to someone about it before going to sleep. He decided to see Areava first; he thought she might have some knowledge from all her reading that might explain how he and Edaytor had performed their magic. He glanced up to her chambers and saw her figure silhouetted in the window. She was not alone. Olio did not have to guess who her companion was.

Well, sleep first, after all
, he told himself, smiling.
I will not disturb the love birds
.

“I have your final spearman,” Sendarus said, holding up the piece in victory.

Areava ignored him and carefully studied the polygonal board in front of her. True, all her spearmen had been discovered and destroyed, but her city was still protected by two lancers and a duke, and she was sure her defenses would not easily be overcome.