Ashes of a Black Frost

“The last time we were on this boat the three of you did your best to keep me from harming the Prince, and I appreciate it. This time, however, is different.”

The answer he received threw him off guard.

“We know, Konowa, and we are with you,” Visyna said, moving forward as if to embrace him, but stopping a yard short. “He must be made to see reason. The Shadow Monarch must be stopped now before Her power can grow any stronger.”

Konowa looked to his mother and then Rallie. Both nodded in agreement.

“Where is he?”

“Right behind you,” the Prince said, walking around Konowa to stand on his left. He looked at the three ladies and touched his hand to the brim of his shako. “Shall I guess, or is there any point? You’ve all heard we’re to sail to Calahr at once and not to the Hyntaland.”

Konowa drew in a breath in preparation to convince the Prince through sheer force of argument, but never got the chance.

“Does anyone else hear that?” Rallie asked, looking skyward.

Konowa stomped his boot on the deck. What was Rallie doing? He opened his mouth to speak, but was stymied when the Prince turned his back to follow Rallie’s gaze.

“Is that wings?” the Prince asked.

“Not just any wings,” Rallie said, her gruff voice rising an octave in obvious delight. “I’d know that drunken collection of feathers anywhere.”

True to his name, Wobbly the messenger pelican wobbled into view out over the harbor. His flying prowess, or complete lack of, was obvious. He bobbed and weaved like the drunken bird he was, using up far more sky than any other bird. Konowa figured he flew probably twice as far as he had to on account of all the weaving.

“Wobbly!” Rallie cried. Everyone turned to follow the pelican’s flight.

“It’s wounded,” Pimmer said, stepping out on deck.

“No, just drunk as usual,” Rallie said, walking to the edge of the ship’s railing. Wobbly made a few less than smooth course corrections and began to home in on the ship.

Konowa glared at the Prince one more time then turned to follow the final approach of the pelican. At seventy-five yards out he leveled his wings and started to glide. He slipped a little to the right, dipped his left wing, and steadied himself on the wind.

“He’s coming in awfully fast, isn’t he?”

At twenty yards he flared his wings and stuck out his webbed feet. Konowa tried to follow his path to see what he was aiming for, but the only thing obvious was the large sail canvas.

Thump!

Wobbly hit the main sail and began a panicked flapping of wings as he tried and failed to gain any purchase. Giving up, or growing exhausted, he slid down the sail until he hit the main spar, bounced off it, did a complete somersault in the air losing several feathers in the process, and landed flat on his back on the deck, his wings outstretched and his webbed feet paddling the air.

“You ever think of using an owl instead?” Konowa asked.

“Can’t trust them,” Rallie said, walking forward to pick up the pelican and cradle it in her arms. “Too smart for their own good. Now Wobbly here is a bird you can trust. A drunk, but a trustworthy one.”

Wobbly’s bill opened wide letting forth a belch Konowa could smell from five yards away. A regurgitated vial popped out of his gullet which Rallie deftly grabbed. She then set the pelican back down on the deck. “Could someone please fetch him a bowl of grog, thank you.”

Konowa was growing increasingly frustrated that his showdown with the Prince was being delayed. He started to open his mouth again, but stopped when he saw the look on Rallie’s face as she opened the vial and read the small scroll that had been rolled up inside.

“Rallie, what does it say?” Visyna asked.

Rallie turned to look at the Prince. She pulled back the hood of her cloak. Tears glistened in her eyes. “It is with deepest regrets that I must inform you that Her Majesty, the Queen of Calahr, is dead.”

THIRTY-THREE

Konowa willed himself to remain calm. The death of the Queen was tragic. He’d met the old girl once and been impressed with the sharp intelligence peering out from a fat, soft face. Would the Prince blubber and go hide in his cabin? Perhaps he’d put on a brave front, or worse, express happiness that he was finally King. After his inconsolable pout brought on by the destruction of the Lost Library of Kaman Rahl, would this be the final straw to break his royal back, or maybe, just maybe, turn him into a man.

Sympathy tempered Konowa’s anger while he waited. The Prince had lost his father years before, and now his mother. As strange as his parents were, Konowa found comfort in knowing both were still alive. He didn’t want to think about the hole they would leave when they were gone.

A muffled sob made Konowa turn. Pimmer stood with his mouth open, his eyes wide with shock. Visyna went over to him and helped him to sit down on a nearby crate. The man was absolutely undone. Konowa’s respect for him lessened a little, and he felt bad about that, but what kind of diplomat went to pieces like that?

“Pimmer, I am so sorry,” the Prince said softly, with far more caring than Konowa could muster. And why was he apologizing to him?

A cluster of soldiers and sailors had formed around them. When they saw Konowa looking at them they started to leave, but he motioned for them to stay.

“Does it say how she died?” the Prince asked, his voice calm, and giving nothing away.

Rallie paused before answering. “She was murdered. An agent of the Shadow Monarch.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and put a cigar in her mouth, which instantly lit. She took two draws on the stogie before continuing, her next words mixed with a thick cloud of smoke. “The message goes on to request His Highness’s immediate return to Celwyn for the Queen’s funeral and for his coronation as the king of the Calahrian Empire.”

At this she paused, and Konowa assumed it was emotion. When she resumed, he realized it was more likely shock.

“However, due to the current unrest sweeping the Empire and the encroachment by creatures of the Shadow Monarch into Calahr itself it is advised that His Highness does not attempt to return at this time. His safety, and that of the royal court and the very citizenry itself, can no longer be guaranteed.”

Konowa couldn’t believe his ears. By the gasp of surprise by those around, neither could anyone else.

Rallie continued. “Dark creatures now run rampant in the countryside. Citizens from small villages and farms have fled and are now harboring in the larger cities. The risk of plague has now been added to our woes.”

The Prince waved her to silence. “It is as we feared, and why so many of you have counseled for sailing directly to the Hyntaland and the Shadow Monarch’s mountain. In light of this news, I concur. We must-”

“No!” Pimmer shouted, jumping to his feet and crossing the deck to stand in front of the Prince. “You must return. You must take up the crown.”

If events turned any faster Konowa was going to have sit down. “Viceroy,” he said, walking forward, “you know why we must go to Her mountain. I understand you’re upset, but-”

“No, you don’t,” Pimmer said, never breaking his gaze at the Prince. “If there is no King, the Empire won’t simply crumble, it will explode in an orgy of rebellion and war. Do you have any idea how many different races and tribes are kept from each other’s throats by the presence of Imperial forces? Do you know why just a few thousand siggers in their green coats can pacify a nation of hundreds of thousands? It’s because of the symbol. The power of the throne. As long as it’s strong, it exerts enormous influence. But leave it vacant and chaos will reign.”

“Pimmer,” the Prince said, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm. “I know you’re hurting. I am, too, but if this is about-”

Pimmer yanked his arm away. “This is not about that! This hasn’t been about that in a very long time. I never wanted the throne. We agreed on this.”

Konowa had been to the theater where the twists and turns hadn’t been this convoluted. Was Pimmer admitting to being the real heir? It struck him how much the Queen and Pimmer looked alike. There was that same