Untold Tales (10 page)

Whitemount crowned a hill, above the sea and fog, watching its domain from white walls and rising towers. Through the ages, many would-be conquerors had been deceived by its elegance, mistaking beauty for weakness. But Kambe’s strength lay in its order and discipline, and save for the Shattering, its walls had never been breached.

As the escort climbed the winding road, the silver, blue, and white flags of Kambe swelled like sails. The fog parted, and a clear, sweeping view of the harbor lay at Oenghus’ feet. But he only offered it a brief glance; his eyes were on the carriage that rolled steadily towards the palace. He could feel Yasine through their bond. She was serene and slightly irritated with him—for he was far from calm.

In all his long years, Oenghus had avoided setting foot in the palace, and he wasn’t keen on doing so now. Royalty annoyed him at the best of times, and this was far from joyous—he was about to place the woman he loved in another man’s hands.

With a surge of anger, Yasine dropped a veil between their spirits, shoving him and his foul mood far away from her. Oenghus glared at the carriage as they rode through the gates. Going along with her scheme was one thing; being happy about it was quite another.

The palace courtyard gleamed with guards in all their finery. The regiment snapped to attention with a clap of steel as standards waved over a bailey of polished heads. As the carriage entered, the line of soldiers stepped neatly to the side, pressing their fist to heart in salute: a king’s welcome—or in this case, a queen.

The carriage settled in front of a waterfall of white steps. Grooms stepped forward, taking control of the horses, and Oenghus dismounted, flashing half the courtyard as he stepped down to the cobblestones. Kilts were not made for modesty.

Whitemount’s towers did not match the Spine in height, but the arches and delicate lattice work put the Wise Ones’ tower to shame. Tearing his gaze from the curving beauty, he handed his reins to a groom, and patted his gelding in gratitude.

A dapper Chamberlain bowed to the Inquisitor, and Oenghus turned towards the soldiers, sizing them up. He ignored the useless court pleasantries and introductions—until he heard his name.

“What?” he demanded of the pointy-eared dandy.

“Lord Saevaldr, His Imperial Majesty requests your presence, along with Lady Freyr.”

“Aye, fine.” Oenghus frowned, recounting all the generals, captains, and officials he had yelled at over the past twelve years. Morigan, however, was the one who had bullied the Field Marshal.

Ashe kept her face blank, but her eyes smoldered as she stepped towards the carriage, opening the door. Yasine stepped lightly down. The ‘nymph’ was unveiled, her auburn hair fell in waves over her shoulders and the silk robe of white she wore did little to conceal her lush outline. The air thickened and the hush could be heard. All eyes followed the ethereal creature as she glided up the steps in the company of her honor guard.

Oenghus offered his hand to Morigan and she accepted, climbing out of the carriage with little grace.

“You’re a lady,” he murmured.

She snorted.

“His Majesty wants to see us.”

“Oh, Void.” She nearly spat, but caught herself. Together, they walked up the stairs, following in Yasine’s wake. “By the gods, try to behave yourself, and don’t get me executed.”

He bent down, so he could whisper loudly in her ear. “You’re the one that gave the Marshal what for.”

“And I’d do it again.”

He bared his teeth. “Always after my heart, aren’t you?”

Morigan glanced sideways at him. “Your heart is otherwise occupied at the moment. Are you going to be all right?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You have that certain look about you,” she whispered. “Of a berserker about to rip someone’s head off.”

He grunted.

They stepped through the gates, into a resplendent great hall of white marble. Six Guardian statues flanked the entrance hall like pillars. Zahra the Radiant, shining in golden armor; Chaim the River God, draped in his white robes; Zemoch, the Stalwart, holding his double-headed flail; Asmara, the Everchild, who had not aged a day since the Shattering; Oshimi, the Serene, sitting cross-legged with his fingers joined; and finally, Yvesa, the Peaceful, a winged sprite. Beyond, through an impossible archway, the throne room and its multitudes were gathered.

“Remember, Oen, in Kambe, we are not only Wise Ones, but as the parents of the Clans Head, we represent Nuthaan, too. Whatever you do will reflect upon our daughter’s honor, which has already been jeopardized once, thanks to you.”

Of all the voices that could reason with the berserker, Morigan’s got through the most. He tugged on his beard, trying not to think of their daughter who was rightly angry with him; instead, he nodded, and focused on Yasine. He could feel her again, and he soaked in her serene presence. Her spirit wrapped around his own like a caress, soothing and untroubled as a mountain lake.

It calmed his mind.

Like the great hall, the throne room shone white. The marble was polished to a reflective sheen, and the high windows bathed the sunburst throne at the end of the room in warm light. It was difficult to look at, nearly blinding.

Silk and lace and perfume assaulted Oenghus as the party walked through the sea of courtiers towards the throne. The colors of the Great Houses hung from the high ceiling like the great sails of a Mearcentian trade ship. Oenghus was unimpressed; his practical nature wondered how many people had wasted their lives embroidering the useless fabric so some lazy lord could get his twig up.

The Chamberlain’s group stopped at the foot of the first dais. The Emperor’s bodyguards, known as the Hounds, flanked the stairs. They stepped aside and Yasine was escorted up to the first dais by a woman in ceremonial armor.

Perched on his sunburst throne, Emperor Soataen Jaal III looked down from the second tier, studying his nymph to be. His hair was as golden as his throne and the diadem on top of his head. With pointed ears and a noble bearing, he looked every bit a Kamberian. It was rumored that Lindale blood ran strong in his family’s line. Oenghus had never put much stock into the rumors, but looking at the ruler now, in the flesh, he could not deny the stories. Soataen was tall and chiseled with high cheekbones and striking blue eyes.

Oenghus might have placed him as a dandy lord, but there was intelligence in those eyes, and Soataen had a reputation as a just and fair ruler. His people loved him.

Currently, those eyes were locked upon Yasine—
his gift
. And then he stood, and all heads bowed, save the nymph’s and Nuthaanians’. Soataen stepped from his throne, joining Yasine on her dais. A murmur of anger rippled through the crowd. Oenghus figured it was his and Morigan’s erect spines. But Nuthaanians bowed to no man or god, and the last ruler who forced a Nuthaanian to do so found a horde of berserkers on his doorstep.

“All may rise,” the emperor’s voice carried to the farthest reaches of the chamber. Backs straightened, and the audiences’ anger was soon forgotten as they watched their beloved emperor take the nymph’s hand and bow over it with a brush of lips. Anger turned to surprise.

“Welcome to my palace, m’lady. My house is yours.” His voice was strong, but kind. And in a lower voice, Oenghus heard the emperor inquire of her name. Yasine did not reply.

Soataen looked to the Inquisitor, still standing on the floor beside Oenghus. “Does she have a name?”

“I do not know, your majesty. The nymph has only spoken to the Nuthaanians.”

A sharp eyebrow shot upwards. Soataen looked at the pair and Oenghus spoke up before the emperor could ask, breaking yet another rule. “She needs trees, a garden, lots of earth to roam.” His voice rumbled like thunder in the hall. And the Hounds tensed at his breach of protocol.

Soataen raised a hand, silencing the murmur. His gaze returned to Yasine. “You shall have everything you desire. Please, go with my chancellor, she will see to all your needs.”

Yasine inclined her head. The woman in ceremonial armor stepped forward, along with two female Hounds. They escorted the nymph through an archway off the second dais. A sea of heads turned, following her departure, including Soataen’s.

When the nymph disappeared, the audience seemed to shake itself out of a dream. The emperor turned his attention to Inquisitor Ashe. He did not invite her onto his dais, nor did he return to his throne, but remained standing on the first tier.

“I received numerous reports on the taint in Northolt. It is well that such evil is vanquished. I mourn the lives lost. You have my gratitude, for preserving the life of the nymph when others wished her harm, Inquisitor Ashe.”

“I thank you, your majesty. I upheld the Law of my sacred Order, nothing more.”

“Indeed,” he said. “And the Law rewards those who uphold it. Chamberlain Emerich will see to your reward.”

Oenghus cleared his throat, loudly. And the Hounds twitched with threat. The emperor looked at him again. “Yes, Lord Saevaldr?”

The title grated on his ears, but he ignored it for now. “I think the Law states that the finder’s fee for a nymph goes to the person who first found her—doesn’t it, Inquisitor?”

Ashe frowned severely, but nodded.

“Well, I’d just like to point out that Sergeant Farin found her, didn’t he?”

“Is this true?” the emperor asked.

“He did,” the Inquisitor confirmed, “and brought her to the keep. He thought her a witch.”

The emperor looked to his chamberlain. “See that the reward is split. That is all, Inquisitor Ashe.”

The Inquisitor bowed low and stepped back, but not before she shot Oenghus a seething glare. His finger twitched, and he fought down the urge to offer the Inquisitor a pointed gesture.

The emperor motioned to his chamberlain, and the prim man looked to the Nuthaanians. “You may ascend the first dais.”

Another murmur traveled through the audience as Morigan and Oenghus stepped up, the latter towering over the emperor.

“I welcome our allies of the north. Your deeds in the Wedamen war have reached my ears countless times. Lady Morigan Freyr, mother of the Clans Head of Nuthaan, you honor Kambe with your presence.” He offered his shield arm, as was customary to all women in Nuthaan. Morigan gripped his forearm heartily.

“May Death find you with enemies at your feet, your majesty.” And then, to show her appreciation for his knowledge of their customs, she curtsied to show her consideration of theirs.

“If I had ten generals with your mettle, Lady Freyr, I’d never have to make another ruling as long as I lived,” Soataen smiled. And Oenghus felt a twinge of grudging respect for the emperor.

Morigan blushed. “I just help out where I see a need.” She was so flustered that she forgot to add his title. In all their time together, Oenghus had rarely seen her blush.

To Oenghus, Soataen offered his sword arm, and the berserker gripped it with an iron hand. “I know your name Oenghus Saevaldr,” the emperor said.

“And I know yours Soataen Jaal,” he returned.

The emperor’s grip held no weakness. “Kambe owes you much for ridding the north of that vileness. To say nothing of your deeds during the war. My Field Marshal spoke highly of you. Grimstorm has become legend in my lands.”

“Your soldiers fought hard,” he said with honesty. “The honor goes to those who stood, and those who fell.”

Silence blanketed the court. Many had died in the Wedamen war—many innocents. “Indeed,” the emperor said at length. “But I wish to honor you both still, with title and land, and to you Oenghus Saevaldr, I offer a place in my court as Champion of Kambe.”

Oenghus tugged on his beard. “That’s generous, your majesty.” He already had land, and he wanted to go back home to his own hearth. But Oenghus didn’t voice his desire. “I’ve been fighting for twelve years straight—I’m tired of fighting.” Morigan nearly choked; instead she coughed over his ridiculous claim. “I’m a Wise One, too, and first and foremost, a healer. If you have need of me as Wise One or healer, then I would be honored to serve.”

Another ripple of whispers brushed his back.

“As Wise One you will stay, then,” the emperor intoned. They clasped forearms, and Oenghus nodded, backing off the dais. “Lady Freyr, I am told that the nymph takes comfort in your presence. Would you honor us with yours until she is settled?”

“I’d be happy to, your majesty. As long as there’s an infirmary that can use an extra pair of hands.”

Matters settled, the emperor nodded to his chamberlain, and exited, walking through the archway. The moment he disappeared, along with his guards, the audience erupted with chatter. As an attendant stepped forward to escort the Nuthaanians to their rooms, Oenghus bumped shoulders with Ashe. “Go collect your bloody reward,” he growled.

If he never saw another soldier of the Blessed Order as long as he lived, he would die a happy man.

Oenghus paced in the moonlight, back and forth, across his balcony. It overlooked Wyrim’s Fist, the great harbor of Kambe, and the sea beyond. As breathtaking as the view was, he longed for the snow covered crags of his homeland. An ache that was nearly as acute as his longing for Yasine.