Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3) Read online

  A gale of laughter burst from the house. Several men and women began singing, and someone committed to playing the pipes poorly. Ilanet glanced toward the aged structure with its awkwardly hanging shutters and chipped plaster.

  “I would prefer to stay out here for a while, if you do not mind,” she said as she continued twisting more straw into her creation.

  No horses had stayed in this stall since he had mucked it, so at least it was clean.

  Rezkin stood and stretched and then informed Ilanet that he would return shortly with a meal. He left her with instructions not to leave the stall and then slipped into the dusky streets. As he traversed across the district toward the vendors with fare more palatable than what was available at the brothel, he pondered over his earlier conclusion. Finally, he arrived at a decision. A small-one was potential. To end the life before its potential could manifest was a waste of valuable resources. Even if the small-one never became a mage, scholar, or warrior, he or she could always till a field or bear offspring. Potential was something the masters had emphasized, particularly during his lessons on potential ward manipulation. Potential could be shaped into anything. According to the masters, it was the greatest resource one could possess.

  Ilanet was alone outside for the first time in her life. There were no guards, no maids, not even a priestess or one of the women from the brothel. She might have been excited if she were somewhere more enjoyable, or at least safer. Sitting in a horse stall behind a brothel in the depths of a slum filled with deplorables was not her idea of fun and adventure. Of course, she had never had an adventure, but she had read about many in the castle library.

  She wished she had brought a book with her. Eyeing his pack, she wondered if the stranger had a book she could read to distract her from how immensely vulnerable she felt at that moment. This time he had wedged the bag between the rafters overhead. She had no idea how he had gotten it up there, and she did not think she could reach it even with the pitchfork. She decided it was probably not a good idea to riffle through an assassin’s belongings, anyway.

  Again, she wondered what the stranger planned to do with her. He had said that he desired nothing from her and that he did not intend to sell her at the slave market. That was wonderful news, but could she trust an assassin to tell the truth? What else would he do with her? It was not as if he would set her up in a cozy chamber in a castle somewhere and provide her with everything she needed at no cost to her. He had to want something. He was probably keeping it from her so that she would not feel inclined to run from him. Perhaps she should flee now while he was gone and no one was watching. She had money. She could pay someone to take her somewhere safe. But then she would be in the same predicament as she was already. How could she trust anyone? At least she knew this man was an assassin. Thus far he had treated her well, with courtesy even, but she worried that what he had in store for her was worse than she could imagine.

  Ilanet wanted to run home and listen to Mables chide her for being a silly girl worrying over trivialities. Mables would tell her that she was a princess, and everyone in the castle would protect her. Mables had betrayed her, though, and now the woman was dead. Ironically, it was the assassin who had saved her, and she prayed to the Maker that he would keep to his word.

  Chapter 7

  Dark Tidings stood before King Ionius in the great hall. Dust motes danced in the rays of golden light that streamed in through the narrow windows high above their heads. Far below the vaulted ceiling, the rest of the room was dark by contrast, lit only by the wall torches that emitted scents of burning fat and sage. The councilors stood in lines beside the dais, and courtiers filled nearly every other space available beyond the aisle, Prince Nyan among them. Roark stood at Rezkin’s back, and two hidden observers peered down from the rafters. Collectiare Tiblot stood behind the king to his left with his hand resting upon the back of the throne. Rezkin had never seen the collectiare in person, only a poor rendition on canvas, but the man’s identity was betrayed by the black attire and golden pendant that hung from a torque about his neck. The collectiare’s exact age had not been in the northern fortress’s records, but estimates placed him near to eighty years old.

  Rezkin had gone to the designated location near the docks after the sun rose to await the king’s call. Luckily, Brendish had not shown the previous night, so Rezkin had spent his time in contemplation and exercise while he kept watch over the house. The messenger from the castle arrived with the summons less than an hour before his audience was supposed to begin. Apparently, the council spent the entirety of the previous afternoon and late into the evening in discussions and then met again for a few hours that morning before they finally came to an agreement. Rezkin thought it was probably the quickest decision in the history of the council. Serious matters like this usually took weeks or months, if they would consider them at all.

  “The council and I have come to a decision,” Ionius announced. His stately voice reverberated throughout the otherwise silent hall. With a sharp glare toward the councilors, he said, “We have agreed that the legitimacy of your right to the throne of Ashai is not of our concern. We neither endorse nor recognize your claim but respect your efforts to seek and provide refuge for the Ashaiian people who have placed themselves in your care.” Ionius paused expectantly, as though some amount of gratitude was due to him for the weak praise. When none was forthcoming, he continued with irritation. “However, we unanimously agree that it is in the best interests of our kingdom not to accept any Ashaiian refugees onto Channerían soil.”

  The courtiers tittered and grumbled, and it was obvious they were not all happy with the decision. The councilors looked toward the king, eager for him to continue, but Ionius was in no hurry. He seemed to still desire a response from Dark Tidings, one that Rezkin was unwilling to deliver. Anything he said at this point, whether incensed, placating, or pleading, could be turned against him. Instead, he stood in ominous silence, a bastion of restrained power. He knew his visage alone was enough to wilt the courage of many.

  Ionius inhaled sharply and then straightened with smug pride. “I submitted a proposal to the council for an alternative solution, one that pleases us and will rid us of a metaphorical thorn in our side. My proposal has won the council’s approval. There is a place that has long been in contention between Channería and Gendishen, an island called Cael.”

  Ionius paused once again for a response.

  Dark Tidings’s disturbing voice boomed through the chamber. “I am familiar with the island of Cael, an uninhabitable rock on which nothing of significance grows and is almost completely inaccessible due to the high cliffs and sharp rocks that surround it.”

  Ionius grinned. “Yes, I can see that you know of it. We have agreed to withdraw our claim to the island and conditionally recognize your own.” The courtiers muttered and shook their heads, and some of the councilors shifted anxiously, perhaps expecting retaliation for the poorly disguised offense.

  Rezkin did not disappoint. “You mock our plight, Ionius? A brave people who have only just escaped death and persecution, many of whom are descendants of noble lines, a people bereft of home and succor. We, the neighbors to your west, who have held your borders with determination for generations and came to your aid when others threatened your own well-being, are deserving of naught but a barren rock that we must somehow wrest from another kingdom altogether?”

  A number of courtiers were frowning and shaking their heads as if silently imploring a favorable response from the king. Although Rezkin doubted any of them would voice an objection, the sentiment was turned in his favor. The collectiare stared at Dark Tidings with black, clever eyes set deeply in an aged face. The seasoned veteran of political and spiritual intrigue revealed nothing of his thoughts.

  Ionius scowled and said, “A begging cat accepts the scraps given him and does not plead for roast. We are not beholden to you or Ashai, and you have not yet heard our terms.”

  Dark Tidings raised an imploring hand,
his first movement since arriving. The guards tensed, and the courtiers swayed. “Speak, Good King Ionius. Tell us of your gracious terms.”

  Ionius smiled greedily. “The first is a boon. I trust you are not yet wed, for I have heard no tell of a queen at your side. My daughter, Princes Ilanet, is to be yours. Her beauty is beyond compare, and she is of impeccable breeding.” Rezkin was irritated with the way Ionius spoke of his daughter like a brood mare. “This is my gift to you to seal our pact and serve as a reminder of the alliance that has long stood between our peoples.”

  A voice sounded from the crowd as a stocky man nearing middle age stepped forward. “King Ionius, I protest! You speak of my betrothed. Ilanet has already been promised to me!” Prince Nyan was an unimpressive man. While he wore his princely attire with practiced comfort, he would have looked as suitable driving a farm cart to market.

  Ionius spoke to the prince as a father scolding a willful son. “Prince Nyan, you failed to gain my daughter’s favor so much so that she refused to attend her own betrothal celebration. As a father, I cannot in good conscience give my daughter over to such a union.”

  For once, the collectiare’s stoic visage broke, and he smiled placidly, and nodding his head in approval. The councilors and courtiers smiled and nodded appreciatively in return.

  Nyan was not satisfied, though. “You will not honor our agreement, but you will hand her over to this … this … masked fraud?”

  “Prince Nyan, why would I choose a prince when I can marry her to a king?”

  “But you have not even recognized his claim to the throne!” the prince protested.

  Ionius was finished with the prince. “His claim to the throne is likely greater than yours will ever be!” After a calming breath he said, “These proceedings do not concern you. You will leave. Now. And since you no longer have business here, I am sure you will be desiring to leave my castle as soon as possible.”

  Nyan turned with a heated glare at Dark Tidings and then immediately lost his nerve when Rezkin graced him with the blackened gaze of the wraith. A guard stepped forward, making it clear that Nyan had been summarily dismissed before the entire court and council.

  “My father will hear of this,” the prince shouted as he stormed out of the hall.

  “See that he does,” Ionius rumbled. “I have it on good authority that he warned you against coming here in the first place.”

  Once the prince had departed, Dark Tidings redirected his gaze to the king and said, “Which one of these ladies is the princess?”

  Tilting his head so that his perusal would be obvious, he surveyed the women closest to the dais. Most of them cringed away from his gaze, but a few looked more than willing to offer themselves to the mysterious, self-proclaimed king.

  Ionius fisted his hand and then relaxed. “My daughter has been beside herself with grief over the pending nuptials with Prince Nyan. She refuses to leave her chambers. I am certain, though, that this news will please her, and she will anxiously await her departure in your care.”

  The collectiare’s surprise was only evidenced by his decision to speak. “You will not require her to wed before departing?”

  “You know as well as I that she is not yet of age,” Ionius said with frustration.

  “Exceptions can be made,” the collectiare replied.

  Dark Tidings interjected, “I am not interested in a betrothal, Ionius. I do not seek your daughter’s hand.”

  “Then you will keep her as your ward until you are ready,” Ionius snapped, making it obvious he would brook no further discussion of the subject.

  The man’s concern for his daughter’s happiness and well-being was overwhelming. He also seemed to be putting quite a bit of trust in the Raven to keep his promise to deliver the princess.

  Dark Tidings tilted his head and said, “I will accept this condition with the understanding that there is no expectation of betrothal between myself and the princess. I will care for her as my ward until she is wed.”

  “And she will remain unharmed?” the collectiare asked.

  “No harm will befall her by my hand, and I will place her under my protection. I am sure you all recognize that my path is hazardous and harsh. She will be subject to the same fate that befalls the rest of my party, island refuge included.”

  Ionius waved a dismissive hand. “You have proven yourself a formidable warrior at tournament. I place her in your capable hands.”

  “And what of your other condition?” Dark Tidings asked. Rezkin wanted these proceedings finished. He had other things to do besides standing here jabbering and making deals with the king of Channería.

  Ionius threw his hand up and motioned to the collectiare who stepped forward.

  “The second is of my concern,” the collectiare said. “The Temple wishes to ensure that you are worthy of the Maker’s grace.”

  “Most of the people of Ashai, by far, are followers of the Maker,” Dark Tidings replied. “The Temple does not hold power there, however,”

  The collectiare nodded and said, “I am aware of that. It has never been our desire or policy to force our beliefs upon others, but the Temple of the Maker is the official guide for the soul in Channería, and you ask for Channerían soil. If we are to allow you to claim to Cael, we must certify that your actions and beliefs are consistent with the will of the Maker. We will send a small delegation with you to assess your suitability.”

  Rezkin did not care for that. He gave little thought to the subject and had no beliefs for or against the Maker. He had studied the religious and spiritual beliefs of a great many cultures, both existing and dead. Few of them sounded any more plausible than the others, and most possessed similar underlying guiding principles. The Temple’s spies would surely find fault in his methods and unwillingness to impress them, and any support for his claim would be withdrawn. At least it would give him time to secure his claim by other means.

  “How long do you intend for your priests to evaluate me?” Dark Tidings asked.

  “You will be given a minimum of six months to prove yourself, but the priests may continue to observe for up to one year before submitting their final conclusions.”

  Rezkin would not agree to the collectiare’s terms. He could play along with their demands, but they would see his cooperation as a weakness to be exploited.

  “You may send two of your priests, no more. They may provide some consolation to the refugees in need. The priests may observe the daily concerns of the people, but they will not be accepted into my confidence, nor will they be privy to any official actions or plans. I will not abide spies in my midst, even for the Temple. The Temple will gain no foothold in the governance of Ashai or Cael through me.”

  The collectiare frowned. “We are already firmly planted in Cael as it is a part of Channería.”

  “It has been given to me by these proceedings. You would challenge the king and council’s ruling? Do you claim such power in this hall?”

  The councilors muttered to each other furtively, and Ionius straightened in his chair. “The collectiare is the voice of the Maker and the guide for our souls. He does not rule this kingdom,” Ionius stated emphatically.

  The collectiare donned a blank expression, and he bowed ever so slightly toward the king. “Of course, I could not claim such power as to overrule you, King Ionius, especially when you are backed by the council.”

  “Or ever!” Ionius snapped.

  The collectiare smiled indulgently, “Yes, Your Majesty. I am only attempting to ensure that the conditions we discussed are met …”

  Ionius slammed his fist down on the arm of the throne. “The conditions are met. He has agreed to take your priests with him. The limitations he proposes are reasonable for a king to impose, especially one waging a war. Perhaps I should consider adjusting my own restrictions,” he added with a sideways glance at the collectiare.

  The collectiare bowed and stepped back, returning to his place behind the throne. The angry glare he directed toward the king
’s back and then Dark Tidings could not be misinterpreted. Dark Tidings ignored the collectiare and moved on to his final concern.

  “Since we are to go to an island lacking in resources, it is pertinent that we consider a trade agreement.”

  “Yes, I assumed you would want that,” Ionius said. “Ashai has suspended most interkingdom trade for reasons only a madman could conceive. Since you claim to speak for the people of Ashai, we will be gracious and recognize the same Channerían export agreements with you.”

  Rezkin knew the notion to be absurd, but it was not unexpected.

  Dark Tidings said, “Those trade deals were negotiated by a wealthy kingdom with a prosperous economy, not a group of destitute refugees. During past negotiations, Bordran and Caydean have both agreed to higher prices in exchange for political and economic support for which we will not be reaping the benefits.”

  “And with that,” Ionius said, “an agreement for Channerían cooperation in mining operations in the Zigharans with access to the Tremadel, which is something you cannot provide. You have yet to offer anything of value, and I do not foresee you finding it on that island.”

  “No, it is unlikely,” Dark Tidings agreed. “Which is why we need assurance that, should we manage to acquire resources, valuable or otherwise, you will adhere to our agreement. If my people suffer through the challenges of colonization on an uninhabitable island, we will not give it up if something of value is discovered.”