“How?” she asked.
Shaira held her in silence for a moment, steeling herself for what must be told. Then she spoke of Fangodrel the Kinslayer… how he called up demons and murdered Tadarus with some vile sorcery. She went on, spilling secrets like tears. She told of Fangodrel’s bastardy, of her time in the dungeons of Khyrei, slave to Gammir the Cruel, the true father of her eldest child. Of the day Vod crossed the Golden Sea, wrought vengeance on the pale devils, and carried her home.
“The evil of his true father runs in Fangodrel’s veins,” said Shaira. “As much as we tried, we could not keep it down. And now it has consumed him. He fled to seek refuge in Khyrei, where Ianthe keeps her wicked court.”
Sharadza’s wine had grown cool in the cup, but she drank the last of it anyway. Her head spun from its potency, but it made this news more bearable. She had lost not one brother, but two. One to death… and one to sorcery.
Shaira told her that Vireon had gone south with four other Princes and a mysterious girl whom he apparently loved. He had vowed to avenge the death of Tadarus.
“Mother, can you forgive me for not being here for all of this?”
Shaira nodded, kissed her forehead. What other choice had she? A child who was thought lost and then regained was a treasure, no matter how vexing that child’s behavior. Sharadza’s weariness crept upon her suddenly and she longed for sleep. She could not ponder Fangodrel’s betrayal right now. Yet there was one thing she must do now.
“Come with me,” she said. “Put on your warm clothes and come into the courtyard.”
Despite her protests, Shaira did as her daughter bid. “I have much more to tell you, Sharadza,” she said, pulling on a cloak of gray fur.
“Tomorrow,” said Sharadza. “I am too weary. But there is something I must give you before I sleep.”
Shaira ran a hand through her daughter’s hair before they left the chamber. “You are taller,” she said, a tinge of pride in her voice. Sharadza grinned.
They descended the tower steps and passed a pair of Giants guarding the gutold hedoors of the Great Hall. Sharadza blinked. They were female Giants… Uduri. To her memory there had been no Uduri on the palace staff. Another change. She saw no other Giants that night.
A trio of spear-bearing soldiers followed them into the white garden. Sharadza bade them stand some distance away as she led her mother to the great bag. She stood before it as if to perform some rite or ceremony.
“What is this?” asked the Queen.
“Father’s bones,” said Sharadza. “They are all that is left of him. He walked into the sea and drowned.”
Shaira stared at the bulging leather canvas coated with crystals of frost. She looked at her daughter. “You… Where did you…” She was incapable of finishing the question.
“I spoke with the Mer-Queen, Mother. She did not kill him. She swore it. She let me take him home, though the waters had taken most of what we remember. Now he can lie in the tomb that he built. Next to poor Tadarus.”
Shaira did not weep. Her daughter was amazed by this fact but too tired to ponder it.
“We must have a funeral,” said Sharadza.
“No,” said the Queen.
“What?”
“No,” said Shaira. “The People of Udurum have endured too much sorrow. Too much death. There will be no march, no procession, no ceremony. We will lay Vod’s bones in the tomb tomorrow, and the Sky Priest will give a blessing. No one else must know he has died.”
“But… why?”
“As long as our people believe that Vod may return some day, they will have hope. If we take that away from them…”
Sharadza nodded. She had taken that hope from her mother. She had been wrong to do it.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The Queen kissed her cheek. “You honor your father with this act. He would be proud of you. As I am.”
She insisted that Sharadza go and sleep. Sharadza could not argue.
Two of the soldiers carried the heavy bag into the palace and stored it in a secure vault for the night, completely unaware that they shouldered the very bones of their dead and beloved King.
Sharadza slept soundly in her warm and familiar bed. Her dreams were formless flowing questions. Or perhaps incomplete glimpses into the future. Or fragments of the past.
Nestled in the comfort of oblivion, she did not know or care.
During a breakfast of fresh bread, green cheese, eggs, and pomegranate juice, Sharadza learned from her mother about the Ice King and his kingdom in the White Mountains. The Uduru had marched north a month ago, only one day after the five Princes marched south. Even the Giants of She se, eggs, teephold had come down from the heights to join the exodus – their castle was fallen in any case. A legion of Shaira’s warriors would lead architects and masons into the pass in early spring to rebuild the fortress. Now Men, not Giants, would keep the watch on Vod’s Pass. There had been many a tearful farewell between the Uduru and their human compatriots in the city. Some of the departing Giants were the longtime lovers of the Uduri, who bade them go north and procreate. Such was the selfless nature of their love.
“Will they ever return?” Sharadza asked.
“Some will,” Shaira said. “They will bring Udvorg wives and children south with them, and they’ll pick up right where they left off. Others will grow to love the Icelands. They will enjoy the presence of a King who is truly a Giant. But even for those who return to Udurum, it will be years from now. Time passes more slowly for the Uduru.”
“Was Uncle Fangodrim happy?”
Shaira smiled. “You should have seen him when Vireon gave him a wife! He danced like a schoolboy. Danthus, Dabruz, they were the first to be married to those blue-skinned Uduri. Some even gained instant children already half-grown!”
“Why did they go north then?” she asked. “Those to whom Vireon brought wives?”
“A show of unity,” said Shaira. “Fangodrim was First Among Giants in Udurum. He could not send his people off to the Ice King unless he went too. It was a matter of honor. The rest of them felt the same.”
“All but the Uduri.”
“Yes,” said the Queen. “Yet they supported their men. Many gave up their mates for the future of their race. Most will not get them back.”
“So your Elite Guard is now these ninety-nine Uduri…”
“I could do no less than honor them in such a way,” said Shaira.
“It is good the Giants will live, and they have Vireon to thank for it. My brother the hero.”
Shaira smiled. “You should have seen the feast. They honored him for days. Already he is a legend in their tales. He did a fine thing.”
“What about this girl? Who is she? Is she beautiful?”
“She is,” said Shaira, “and a sorceress. She lived in the forest. Alone. Try as I might, I could not bring myself to disapprove of her. She seems such an honest soul. And she dotes on him. I have never seen him so attached to any girl.”
Sharadza laughed. “They say love comes to all men when they least expect it. Perhaps it is the same with women…”
The Queen’s face was serious, and her eyes looked far away. “I think not. Women wait for love with the patience of buds lying beneath the snow. This always seems the way.”
“Did you wait for Father’s love?” asked the Princess.
The Queen grew quiet. Sharadza chewed at a steaming hunk of bread. Warm food, such a delight. How long had it been? She could not say. Her days in the cave with the Iardu-crone remained unanswerable to time, a blur of memories.
“Yes,” said Shaira. “I waited for him.” She looked out the open window of the dining hall into the crystal freeze of the garden. She could not see the polished tomb from this angle, but Sharadza knew she thought of it. In a few hours, the Sky Priest would arrive, and they would quietly lay Vod’s bones in the crypt alongside those of his
