my brothers?”
Andoses set down his cup. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Omirus thrives as commander of father’s fleet… but Vidictus was murdered.”
Shaira caught her breath. Tadarus ceased his incessant chewing. Fangodrel listened closely, still hiding behind his goblet.
Tears escaped the Queen’s eyes as Andoses explained. “He was killed at sea, leading an attack against southern pirates. They have plagued our shipping lanes for years. The Golden Sea is no longer a safe crossing for any ship. Twenty galleons lost in the last year alone. Agents bring us news that these pirate ships belong to the Empress of Khyrei. None can deny that war will soon be upon us.”
Shaira spoke, dabbing her eyes with a silken napkin: “Vod nearly slew Ianthe the Claw twenty-five years ago. Later we learned she survived to rule Khyrei.”
“The sorceress girds her jungle empire for war. Father will stand her nautical predations no more. That is why he sent me to call upon King Vod and his alliance with Shar Dni. If we are to stand against Khyrei, we will need the support of Udurum.”
So there it was. The real reason for this family reunion. Shar Dni seeks the aid of Giants so it can march off to war against the south. Fangodrel sipped his yellow wine.
“Of course we had no news of Vod’s leaving,” said Andoses.
Tadarus spoke up. “My father left mother in charge of men and giants. We, her eldest sons…” He glanced briefly at Fangodrel, who said nothing. “… will command her armies in your service, if she so wills it.”
All eyes turned to the somber Queen. She stared at her golden plate, where the viands lay untouched and cold. “War,” she whispered. “What has Vod left me to?”
Fangodrel cleared his throat. A gentle prod in the right direction might make all the difference here. “Mother, if I may speak.” He waited for the Queen’s gentle nod. “Father long ago secured alliance with Uurz, did he not? Emperor Dairon will respond if you call upon him to aid your brother’s kingdom. Surely between the armies of Udurum, Uurz, and Shar Dni, Khyrei cannot stand. I have read much about that kingdom… the land is fertile and rich in precious stones. There is much to gain from such a conquest.”
“Wars should not be fought for wealth,” said Tadarus, “but for honor. These Khyrein predators have none. But you speak truly. Their false empire cannot stand against our righteous alliance.”
“Both of my sons speak wisdom,” said Shaira. “I will send an emissary to Uurz, to hear the thoughts of my old friend Dairon. And I must think upon this… and pray.”
Fangodrel stiffened in his chair. Why must you pray? he wanted to shout, but held his tongue. Your Gods care nothing for war. War is the enterprise of men, and women should have no voice in it. If the fool Tadarus agreed with him, his mother would likely endorse the war. Perhaps I will command a legion if I speak in bold support for this conflict.
“War means death and suffering for the innocent as well as those who fight,” said Shaira. “It must be carefully considered… avoided whenever possible.”
Andoses slammed his goblet against the table. “Six hundred men have died already, Queen. The crews of those twenty ships had families, some of them onboard at the time of the raids. The Khyreins show no mercy. More will die in the coming months, as more battles are fought at sea. And how long until the Empress sends her armies north to take Shar Dni itself?”
Silence filled the chamber for a long moment. Shaira looked at her nephew, unoffended by his bluntness. “I am aware that more than poor Vidictus have died. I will not let my grief intrude upon my judgment. Thousands upon thousands of lives hang in the balance, Andoses.”
“There is something else,” said Andoses, tugging at his short, oiled beard. “Yaskatha has fallen to a usurper – another sorcerer if the tales are true. They say his powers are terrible, that he cannot die.”
“Superstition and poets’ lies,” said Tadarus, quaffing wine. “Every man can die.”
“It matters not,” said Andoses. “For this new Yaskathan King has allied himself with Khyrei. The Yaskathans are mighty on both land and sea.”
“That does complicate matters,” said Fangodrel. “If they win Mumbaza to their cause as well, the entire south will stand united. What word on Mumbaza’s loyalties?”
Andoses grimaced. “The Boy-King Undutu is but twelve years old. His mother, Umbrala, rules from behind the Opal Throne. She denies our ambassadors, as well as those from Khyrei and Yaskatha.”
Fangodrel grinned. “Without Mumbaza’s interference we stand a much better chance at victory.”
Shaira stood up. “You speak as if we have already committed our legions to war. We have not,” she said. “ I have not.”
Fangodrel seethed in his chair. Tadarus remained silent as well; as great and terrible as he was, his mother’s disfavor was the only thing he truly feared. Fangodrel hated that about him.
“Since Mumbaza refuses alliance with the southern kingdoms, perhaps she will respond to the generosity and grace of Udurum.” Shaira sat herself back down and dismissed the servants who were bringing in a fruit flambeau. “If we sway Queen Umbrala to join us, we will be four nations against two.”
Andoses nodded agreement. He had carefully led her to this line of thinking. Fangodrel saw it, even if his mother did not.
“I cannot ignore my brother’s plea for help,” said the Queen, “or the suffering of my homeland. But I cannot commit the Uduru to war unless they agree. I am their Queen, but only at their sufferance. It was Vod they followed. He was one of their own.”
“Let me speak with them, Mother,” said Tadarus. “Let me speak to Fangodrim.”
“I will speak with them myself, Tadarus. You – and Fangodrel – must go to Uurz and speak with Emperor Dairon. You will have a sizable retinue. Once you have secured Dairon’s blessing, go on to Mumbaza. You will take gold, silver, and other treasures of the north to lay at the feet of the Boy-King and his mother.”
Her eyes met those of Tadarus. She never looks me in the eye, thought Fangodrel.
“You must gain the alliance of Mumbaza. Only then will I commit to war with Khyrei.”
Tadarus stood. “I will do this, Mother. Have no doubt.” He clapped Fangodrel on the shoulder. “My elder brother and I will do this!”
Fangodrel wrinkled his nose. He disliked being touched, especially by Tadarus.
“I will keep Vireon near at hand,” said Shaira. “And you, Andoses, will stay as our guest until they return. Then if the Gods will it and the Uduru support us, we will march east to Shar Dni… and south to Khyrei.”
Andoses stood and bowed to his aunt. “This journey will take many weeks. I beg you: let me accompany my cousins on this errand. I cannot bear to sit here Cr tnt. while others speak on behalf of my father and our kingdom.”
Shaira placed her small hand on his shoulder, stared at his face. “You are so like my brothers… so like poor Vidictus… so like your father. Very well. Go then, you three Princes together. But Vireon stays here.”
Tadarus huffed. “He will not like that, Mother.”
“He is off on one of his hunts,” said the Queen. “By the time he returns, you will be long gone.”
Back in his private chamber, Fangodrel’s mind swam, and his body twitched.
Where is that cretin Rathwol? He should be waiting at my door. I’ll flay his hide.
The Prince stripped off his fine raiment and stood naked to the waist before his mirror. A figure of palest marble, lean as a hungry wolf. The fire in his hearth blazed. This was the moment he had been waiting for. A trip into the Stormlands, and beyond that to Mumbaza. Certainly she was only sending him along with Tadarus to get him out of the way, but he did not care. There were many terrible things that might happen to a lumbering dullard like Tadarus on a long and perilous journey.
He pulled from a drawer his unfinished poem. The scrawled words haunted him. He read again what had taken him so much effort to create. He knew he would never finish it. His life was an unfinished story so how could this piece of verse be complete? How could a living artist ever truly represent life when caught in the middle of its tumult and fury? His poems were lies, futile yammerings unworthy of the ink in which they were scribbled. But this… this one should have been his redemption. It should have been the summit of achievement that validated his long climb up the mountain of suffering.
It was imperfect… worthless. He was a fraud.
Cursing himself for a misguided fool, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the blazing brazier. He watched it curl and blacken, and turn to ash. Tears stung his eyes, but he wiped them away before they could
