Upon the Flight of the Queen Read online

  “I’ll dictate one and have copies sent to you.”

  “Most excellent.”

  The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough, and consisted mostly of small talk. Verena inquired about Elenai’s family and what her future plans might be. For all that, she devoted most of her attention to N’lahr, who proved more gifted a conversationalist than Elenai had expected. As she listened to him she realized that apart from his tactical brilliance, one of the secrets of his battlefield success might be the acute way he could read people and adjust his conversation.

  It wasn’t that he was facile; he seemed uninclined to present himself as other than he was. But somehow he was capable of presenting a different footing and to meet those he spoke with on ground he used to his advantage. This he had done with Verena, and Elenai began to wonder if he had done likewise with herself at some point previous. Probably he had, and she simply hadn’t noticed.

  As they left the palace, they discovered a city better wakened, although the streets still looked emptier than usual this time of morning.

  “How do you think that went?” Elenai asked.

  “Almost as expected,” N’lahr said.

  So apparently he’d anticipated both Verena’s initial objections as well as her reactions, and passed it off as nothing remarkable. Typical of him, she thought. “Do you really want her to … take over for the queen?” Somehow phrasing it in a different way sounded less traitorous.

  “She’s intelligent and decisive.” N’lahr seemed to read her feelings. “You don’t like her.”

  “I’ve always respected her, but I didn’t realize what a game player she was.” And the governor had been flirting with N’lahr, which Elenai had only recently discovered she found bothersome, even as she recognized her reaction as petty and a little ridiculous.

  N’lahr shrugged minutely. “She cares about her people and is involved with their welfare. She makes wise choices on their behalf. And her motives are less opaque than the queen’s.”

  “That wouldn’t take much.”

  “True,” N’lahr agreed, then promptly changed the subject. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about. I’d like you to look at the shards of the hearthstone I was trapped in.”

  His customary calm was in place, but somehow strained. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Do you think,” he said, then hesitated a moment. He cleared his throat and continued. “… that there’s such a thing as hearthstone sickness?”

  “The power’s addictive.”

  He shook his head slowly. “That’s not what I mean. I think my years trapped inside of one might have altered me.”

  “Altered you?” she repeated in alarm. “How?”

  He eyed her soberly as they turned onto the street that led to the barracks. “It’s hard to describe. But it’s getting worse.”

  7

  Allies on the Wing

  Elenai would have asked for details then and there, but as she and N’lahr rounded the corner they discovered a crowd gathered in front of the barracks building, one apparently more agitated than festive. A couple dozen people were talking with the squires on duty outside. Judging from their hand wringing and wide gestures the questioners weren’t liking what they heard.

  A man on the edge caught sight of Elenai and N’lahr, and at his prompting all eyes swung to watch them as they neared. The crowd quieted, although one gruff voice called that there were kobalin in the city, and a matronly woman demanded to know if it was true.

  “I’ve not heard this news,” N’lahr answered calmly.

  “But we saw kobalin being brought in through the gates,” a young woman said.

  “Only one,” an older man clarified. “But it was huge, and black.”

  A gangly man with a cobbler’s apron stepped forward. “Was he a prisoner?”

  Another chimed in. “It was with Altenerai. Why would they bring one into the city?”

  Elenai relaxed. There could only be one kobalin entering the city with Altenerai. Ortok had arrived.

  “That’s no prisoner,” N’lahr said. “He’s come to help us fight the Naor.” The crowd regarded him in stunned silence as he explained. “There’s no danger. You’re safe. This kobalin has aided us before, and will do so again. And he’ll be leaving the city tomorrow.” He strode among the gathering, returned the salutes of the sentries, and stepped through the door they opened for him. Elenai came after. She had a sense that her commander was amused, though he wasn’t smiling.

  Elenai had last seen Ortok a number of days before, when they’d had to leave him in the shifts with some squires and the formidable elder alten, Tretton. All had been wounded, and unable to keep up with Kyrkenall, N’lahr, and Elenai as they raced to save Vedessus.

  From the squire at the duty desk, they learned healers were seeing to the squires but Tretton had already been tended and would be in the mess hall. They found him putting down his knife and rising smoothly the instant he caught sight of N’lahr. His eyes were tired, but there was no other sign of fatigue in the man’s manner. There wouldn’t be. He effected a dignified salute with his off hand, for a white sling supported his right arm. “Hail, Altenerai.”

  Elenai had to remind herself to answer with N’lahr. “Hail.”

  Alten Gyldara, seated nearby, had likewise risen, smiling warmly as she acknowledged them. She sought Elenai’s eye particularly, and Elenai was pleased to have earned the regard of the long-admired instructor after fighting at her side through wave after wave of Naor warriors.

  Ortok, a hulking shadow over the largest pile of food Elenai had ever seen, turned on the bench with a wide grin on his furry face and his dark eyes glinting in the reflected light from a nearby window. “Greetings!” he boomed. “Fine food has been brought. And lady magickers have helped the arm of Tretton. He can move it now.”

  To demonstrate, Tretton raised his arm in its sling and flexed his hand in a fist.

  “How does it feel?” N’lahr asked him.

  “Almost normal.”

  A single nod from N’lahr acknowledged he was glad to learn this news. More likely relieved, for it was his blade that had injured the man. “The squires?”

  “Still being tended,” Tretton answered. “Yeva has an infected wound, but the healers thought she had a fair chance. They’re not sure Renn’s shoulder will recover fully, but Dalahn’s just about ready for service now.”

  Once more N’lahr nodded. “You made excellent time.”

  “Yes,” Tretton agreed.

  Ortok looked confused as he bit off a slab of roasted meat. Kobalin had a terrible sense of time, Elenai recalled, because the length of seasons and even days in the shifts, where they made their homes, had few set patterns.

  Yet it seemed the kobalin had more important matters in mind as he spoke up, his resonant bass carrying clearly. “Gyldara tells that you have now finished your great battle against Naor.” He half turned and scooped scrambled eggs into his mouth with his fingers. Tretton’s gray mustache tightened a bit, though Elenai wasn’t sure why until the kobalin swallowed and climbed from the bench. “With the battle over, we should duel. Unless you wish to eat first.”

  Ortok was a head higher than N’lahr and half again as wide. His powerful, furry arms stretched nearly to his knees. And Elenai had learned he was swift, too.

  Gods. Surely he wasn’t still serious about fighting the commander? Here and now?

  Ortok grinned, showing huge pointed incisors. Tretton stepped to one side, ostensibly to retrieve his goblet, although to Elenai’s eye he was ready to assault Ortok’s left flank.

  Gyldara watched tensely from the right

  Tall though he was, N’lahr raised his head to meet the kobalin eye to eye. “If I fight you now, Ortok, one of us dies.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t die right now. My people need me to defeat the Naor who are attacking one of our cities to the southeast. I must lead an army to fight them.”

  “Then you wil
l have to kill me to help them.”

  N’lahr shook his head. “If I kill you, you won’t be able to kill any Naor, either. I’d rather we were both alive to do that.”

  “It is good to kill Naor,” Ortok agreed. The kobalin waited, as if musing, silent.

  “I release you from your debt, Ortok. You’ve more than repaid it. But I won’t fight you. I wish for neither of us to be killed or injured.”

  “You will not fight me?” The kobalin’s voice rose indignantly.

  “No. I hope you will accept a different pledge. The debt of friendship.”

  Ortok puzzled over that, his jaw outthrust. “You wish me to take your debt?”

  “I wish us to exchange debts.”

  Ortok’s brow furrowed. “If we exchange debts,” he rumbled slowly, “then we cancel them, unless one is heavier than the other.”

  “That’s not how friendship works. Kyrkenall and I are indebted to one another because we’re friends.”

  “You are his superior.”

  The explanation was too simple. “I was his friend before I became his commander.”

  Ortok mulled this over while saying nothing.

  “Don’t you have any friends among the kobalin?”

  “Of course!” Ortok shook his head as if N’lahr was an amusing idiot. “But we always know who leads. And you and I cannot decide that without a duel.”

  “I suggest we consider ourselves equals,” N’lahr said.

  “How can I be equal when you have an army and I do not?”

  That was a reasonable objection. “If you can get an army,” N’lahr said, “you can command it at my side.”

  Elenai wasn’t sure what to make of that suggestion, but the kobalin scratched his head, apparently giving the idea serious thought. He must have decided to accept it, for after a moment he returned to his central concern. “And after we kill more Naor, then we duel?”

  “A debt of friendship doesn’t lead to dueling.”

  “I like the words you speak about armies, and equals.” Ortok smacked his chest. “Better than fighting at your side is leading an army at your side, although this will take some planning. But best still is fighting in the end, after we kill Naor.”

  “That’s not how it’s done between friends.”

  “This”—Ortok paused to point at himself and then N’lahr—“is not how it is done between kobalin and Altenerai.”

  “Not usually.”

  “Well then. If this is different, then so is our end. We will duel, after we kill the Naor, but until then I accept your debt of friendship. How is friendship done?”

  Elenai wished for a different result than this. At least N’lahr had bought some time. She’d grown fond of Ortok and hated to think of him dying. She supposed it was just possible he might kill N’lahr in the battle. Neither prospect was remotely appealing.

  The commander raised his hand. “We clasp hands.”

  “Are there words of power to say?” Ortok asked.

  “Give me a moment.” N’lahr was silent for a good while, then lifted his hand, palm out. “When we take hands, we pledge to aid and counsel one another in peace and war, and to safeguard and protect the allies, friends, and possessions of the other so long as those friends and allies do not bring harm to our other friends, possessions, and allies.”

  “Will we share food?”

  “Of course,” N’lahr said. “We will share supplies.”

  “It will be as though we are elders,” Ortok said, “but with bloodshed.”

  Elenai wasn’t sure what the relationships between kobalin elders were like.

  “Your pardon,” Tretton interrupted. “What do you mean about elders and bloodshed, if you don’t mind me asking?” His phrasing was impeccably polite, though his eyes were ice cold.

  Ortok looked over at him as if explaining to a child. “Elders no longer prove might with combat, but N’lahr and I do.”

  “I see.” Tretton hadn’t remotely relaxed his ready stance, and Gyldara, who had backed to cover Ortok’s right flank, also looked grave.

  Ortok raised his hand and then lowered it to N’lahr. “It is a strange thing, this debt. What if we don’t like it?”

  “Then we must talk about it.”

  “Talk, but not fight?”

  “Some friends fight. Usually not to the death.”

  “Huh. Maybe only good friends do that.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You fae are strange. Here is my hand.” The kobalin thrust it forward, fingers extended widely.

  There was that word again. The Naor had begun using it to distinguish the people of the realms from the “true” humans, they themselves. It was odd to hear that it had worked its way into kobalin speech as well.

  N’lahr extended his own hand. Elenai heard Gyldara suck in a breath as the commander clasped about half of Ortok’s great lower arm. The kobalin’s fingers closed completely about the commander’s forearm.

  “You are so small, N’lahr. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were weak.”

  “He’s not at all,” Tretton interjected.

  “Oh, I know,” Ortok agreed. “That is why you are so confusing. Do we say other words to close the ceremony?”

  “Friend,” N’lahr improvised.

  “Friend,” Ortok said with a growl, then grinned at him, displaying an impressive number of teeth. N’lahr released his grip and the kobalin did likewise.

  “Now I have fed, and we have talked. I should like a time of rest.”

  “We can arrange that. Do you have quarters yet?”

  “We have not discussed a sleeping place.”

  “Stay here for a moment and enjoy some more wine. The four of us will go find a place for you.”

  “I do like the wine,” Ortok said, and ambled back to the table. The wood creaked as he resumed the bench.

  “Ortok,” N’lahr said, “you are clear that there’s to be no dueling between you and my friends and allies?”

  Ortok paused in mid-reach for the wine jug. His eyes gave a very human roll, as if N’lahr were exasperating. “If I duel them and die, I won’t be able to kill you, and then I would break my word. Surely you know me better than that.”

  “Of course,” N’lahr said.

  Ortok shook his head. “I will never understand why you make simple things so complicated.”

  N’lahr motioned the others after him and then headed into the hallway. Gyldara came last, closing the door behind them as Tretton reached N’lahr’s side and stared at him.

  “That agreement won’t protect us,” Tretton said. “You can’t truly predict what he’s going to do.”

  N’lahr spoke. “You traveled with him. You know he’ll never break his word.”

  Tretton frowned. “He’ll hold to the letter of his understanding, but we don’t fully understand the rules he lives by and he really doesn’t understand ours, and someone’s going to be hurt. Probably not you. An alten or some squire or some poor soldier who’s been taught that kobalin are the enemy.”

  He had a point, and Elenai looked to N’lahr to see how he’d react.

  “He’s a tremendous asset, Tretton. He’s like having another alten serving with us.”

  Tretton stiffened and his breath came in a great sniff. “You compare the refined discipline of an alten to a chaotic kobalin?!”

  “He has the power of an alten,” N’lahr said. “Stop looking for problems. You know what I meant. The Naor are marching on Alantris and we need all the help we can get. Kobalin help included.”

  Tretton clearly did not like the sound of that. “I’m aware of the Naor threat. But keeping company with a kobalin is a dangerous policy.”

  “We’ve little spare time, and almost none for pointless debate. Are we going to have a problem, Tretton?”

  Tretton eyed him steadily. The oldest alten still in service, he was the product of a different time. Like Asrahn had been, his manner was formal, but unlike Asrahn he wasn’t obviously convivial even
with his colleagues. Cordial was as close as he ever seemed, although there was clearly depth of feeling in him, judging by the way he’d reacted to Decrin’s death. And during Elenai’s second year as a squire, she’d heard a rumor he’d gotten publicly, scandalously drunk with Alten Enada on one of her rare visits to Darassus, singing bawdy songs with her while propped up against an old fountain on the main esplanade.

  But he customarily held himself apart, as though he were wary of forming close connections. Elenai supposed that was reasonable, given that everyone Tretton had begun service with was dead or retired. And most of those retired ones were likely dead as well.

  It could be, though, that Tretton was aloof because that was his nature. The preeminent scout and tracker among the Altenerai, he was as famed for his iron will as his implacable spirit. His talent in the wilderness was so great it bordered upon magical. Having heard that he could hold a post without moving for days, Elenai wondered if he might be planning that now.

  After the slightest nod of acknowledgment to his commander, Tretton responded. “I asked too few questions of Denaven. I deferred to his rank even when I disagreed with his judgment.”

  “Does that mean you don’t intend to defer to my rank?” N’lahr, too, sounded calm. Stern, but calm.

  “I intend to question. Once, you had Asrahn and Kalandra and Aradel to counsel you. And Kyrkenall, I suppose.” There was a dismissive note that Elenai didn’t feel was entirely fair.

  Tretton continued. “Those three aren’t with us, and all the rest of these lack wisdom, no matter their skill and worth.” The older man didn’t look at either Gyldara or herself, nor did he seem troubled about speaking of them as though they weren’t present. “Having learned from previous errors, I intend to question you.”

  “Noted,” N’lahr said. “I’m still the same man I was.”

  “So it would appear. But it’s not the same world.”

  “Also noted.” And with that, the moment between them seemed resolved. At least for now. Tretton didn’t object to the subject change when N’lahr asked Gyldara if she knew where Ortok should sleep and which squire might be best suited for assisting him there. They stopped at the duty desk to assign the younger alten’s recommendation, then the commander sent another to fetch Kyrkenall before leading the way to the small square room he’d adopted for his office.