Chapter Two Mission from Kamitan (as told to Adnaán)

  The summer heat was as brutal as any I could recall in my twenty-five years. I took a stained handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my brow as I looked over my shoulder at the line snaking outward toward the city gate of Kamitan. Scores of realmists were sweltering in the sun. The air was thick with the odor of sweat, smoke and grilled meats from the market nearby. It brought back memories of the last time my long-standing associate Huuka and I were summoned for what royal officials called Physical Diplomatic Services. In reality, we were hunters of rare items and, sometimes, rare people. Such business usually kept us away in the Eastern kingdoms of Cypron and Xanar where rich courtiers and richer mystics oft had need of our discreet yet expeditious means of procurement. Charm and cunning were my wheelhouse; brute strength and intimidation were Huuka’s.

  This occasion was our first in almost two years to see the king, a former childhood friend of mine through my father’s service as a hand of the Royal Stables. We had been close for a time and then, as happens with those from varied lives, we grew apart. The royal messenger had not divulged the intent of our summons yet my vanity could not resist the invitation for an audience with the ruler of my birth land, as lately “home” was wont to be any manner of dwelling to let where Huuka and I could lay our heads.

  I grew impatient in the heat and the crowd chattered restlessly as we waited. An older couple behind us drew my surruptetious attention.

  “Poor fellow, that Myel. Been, what, a year since his father stepped down? Pity that. Old Minosteros was a good king.”

  “Never was the same after the queen died. And losing the two princes to sickness after. Tsk. Cyril was right to send him to the Abbey. Let him get his rest and see peace in his last years.”

  “I hear the young king spends his days cooped up in his chambers smoking the pipe. With a witch.”

  “Shhhhh—mind your tongue, husband. You want us kicked out before we get in?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it if he’d do something about these prices at the market. Bandits have the whole trade lot gone wrong these days. Shameful.”

  “Well, he’s the only one left, now, and we must wish him good fortune. Maybe he’ll marry a nice, blue mystica like his mother and give us some sweet little princes to boot?” She stopped speaking when she caught me casting a vacant look her way. She needn’t have bothered. I’d heard many rumors regarding Kamitan’s decline in the months since I’d left. In Xanar, a winemaker told me of barely surviving his recent visit as a crew of insolent thieves wreaked havoc among the tavern row one rowdy night. His apprentice fared much worse losing an eye to one of the crooks. The Tradesmen’s Guild in Derrasia ceased much of its business with Kamitan a few weeks later, citing exorbitant tariffs and unscrupulous practice bordering on “syndicate thuggery.”

  The line suddenly shifted forward and the crowd shuffled noisily as it moved along.

  “Swords and blades to the right! Clubs, hammers, and axes to the left! Come on!” cried a castle guard.

  I removed my sword and pitched it accordingly while Huuka chucked his enormous axe to the left.

  “Thank you so kindly, O’rantz.” I shaded my eyes and looked up at a face I knew well. A white-haired elderly wizard leaned over a balcony peering at us with one milky, blue eye. He was dressed in stormy grey robes emblazoned with white alchemic symbols and a crimson velvet hood that flopped lazily to one side.

  “Cyril the Mystic! Good to see you, again. I trust you’ll take care of my beloved there, eh?” Cyril bowed deeply and removed his cap, gesturing toward the pile of glistening swords and blades.

  “Not to worry. A word, if you would, when your audience is over.”

  I barely managed to nod as we were swept beneath the castle arches, a waft of cool, misty air relieving us from the suffocating heat. A number of Kamitan Defansé, members of old, prestigious military families, were milling about eyeing the new arrivals with leery eyes and pretentious disdain. I both admired and despised their snobbish dispositions. Although I still counted the king as a friend, my own common blood denied me sincere acceptance into royal society. It mattered little what I had done to improve my standing: learning to read and write, speaking a multitude of languages, working for some of the wealthiest agents of the realm. The Defansé would always consider me merely a few steps above those in castle service. Still, there was one exception. Captain Reggs Belmor, a true soldier’s soldier, saw fit to speak to me without hesitation.

  “Oy, there, it’s you,” he said, grasping my arm, then lowering his voice. “No doubt the king has some foolish endeavor for the PDS to get Jupiter’s arse from the top of a mountain somewhere.” He laughed warmly as he spoke and gave a knowing wink.

  Before I could reply, a steward stepped forth and ushered us into a great hall where a long, forest green carpet stretched toward a hulking ebony throne adorned with shimmering likenesses of galaxies. Upon it sat King Myel de Plantagenet, third dynastic King of Kamitan, son of Rested King Minosteros.

  He seemed dreadfully tired, alarmingly weak, and a thousand years older than the boyish prince I once knew. His sallow skin glowed strangely against his finely embellished black garments. Huuka and I exchanged a glance of mutual shock and disbelief at the sorry state of our sovereign.

  “O’rantz! O’rantz! Come, come here!” He reached out with a beckoning hand while dismissing his current guests with a wave of the other. We proceeded to bow as the king stepped eagerly from his throne to embrace us. Awkwardly, he stumbled forward, his coronet bobbling precariously atop his head, before clasping a bony hand upon Hukka’s arm. His weary eyes darted about furtively as he recovered himself. About the hall, guests and Defansé murmured pretending not to notice. “The damn thing will kill me yet!” he growled theatrically in exasperation. “My greatest stars, Huuka, have you grown even bigger?” The king marveled as Huuka grunted in response. “And you, O’rantz, you old scoundrel. I think I see the map of time upon your face.”

  The irony of his remark not lost on me, I scowled and pretended to throw a punch. “I’m still a lot prettier than you, most high.” A strained silence hung among us for a few seconds as he gingerly returned to his throne.

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  “What there? A hearty welcome and silence in return? Is that how you greet your king?” King Myel asked, steeling his eyes in mock fury.

  “You summoned us, most high,” Huuka mumbled.

  The king sat back in his throne and tipped his head in acquiescence. “That I did. So, I will be frank, yes? Surely in your travels you have heard of the threat from the Derrasian Defansé?” Huuka gave both me and the king a look of confusion. The kingdom of Derrasia lay east of Kamitan across the Basalt River and just beyond the trading post of Katun. Twice the size of Kamitan, Derrasia traditionally considered Kamitan its ally as the greater kingdom generally pointed its concerns to its eastern and southern borders surrounded by woodland tribes and to the mercurial whims of king Moraj Bollero of Porphyrria to its northwest.

  “No, most high. We have been in Xanar for the last month or so. No word of this news.”

  “Well, now you have it and you must know what a grave danger this is to my kingdom. King Caziah has always been eager to control trade coming over through Katun. Our kingdom is far too close for this to be allowed. We won’t sit by and let that slave kingdom take dominion.” He sniffed loudly in disgust and leaned forward in earnest. “As it is my primary duty to protect our people and our interests, I went to the great expense of adding an Airavatari, Stevasana, to our council. We sent him to negotiate a meeting with the Derrasian Defansé in Katun some three weeks past.”

  I furrowed my brow. Airavatari? The enormous, blue, elephantine creatures were master negotiators, known for brokering lucrative trade deals and establishing valuable alliances. It was also considered wise to solicit the counsel of an Airavatari prior to engaging in large-scale conflict. I paused for an uncomfortable moment before replying. “And what did your Airavatari say upon his return?” The king eased back in his seat, his delicately frilled collar seeming to swallow his pallid face, and spoke quietly.

  “He never returned. Neither have the two scouts we sent to inquire about his safekeeping. Could be bandits, could be some rogue skelk. They were solid men. Hard to kill.” I bristled at the king’s language. “Skelk” was not a term used by those with a modicum of education as royals, though he knew better than to assume the Defansé weren’t fond of the word. It was a particularly nasty slur aimed at the woodland tribal faeries. He must be keeping strange company, I thought.

  Huuka shuffled his feet and crossed his arms solemnly. “You think your envoys have been harmed?”

  “Assuredly. And I think those whore-trading Derrasian mongrels are at the root of it. Scouts are one thing, but to harm an Airavatari unprovoked—that is grounds for . . .” The king stopped before saying the final word. But I knew what it was. Lagé. War. Preemptive war would be a rash move this early in his reign. Surely his council would not approve such a measure absent invasion? Yet there was also the issue of the missing Airavatari which might prompt a response from their elder Jarasana. A peaceful society, the Airavatari were loathe to take part in warfare, preferring to stay put in their isolated home kingdom Ghymnasia high in the Indali mountains to the west. They would, however, engage in battle if grievously provoked by the killing of their kind. More than once, I heard tell of their wondrous flock of Phoenix and of strange, ancient technology that defied all human reason. Those rumors could never be confirmed, however, as one never heard such directly from anyone who had the rare honor of visiting Ghymnasia.

  A troubling thought suddenly clouded my mind. The Kamitan Defansé might encourage the young king in the hopes he would die in vainglorious battle. For with no queen and no heir, he would take the de Plantagenet dynasty with him to the grave. And the opportunity for a new reign of another Defansé lineage would begin. Such treachery was not unknown in the courts of many kingdoms.

  The king continued, whispering and nervously rubbing his chin. “Go to Katun. Find a way to speak to Boris, the village chief, in private. He knows something, I’m sure of it. Do this secretly. No one must get wind of it.” I thought about the oddity of the king’s request. With such close proximity, Kamitan and Katun had generally friendly relations and it seemed strange that the king would not summon Boris directly to inquire about the missing envoy. Myel’s eyes bore into me intently as if to challenge any notion of his request. The king has called upon me in his time of need, I thought. Success might well mean a real place at court. The idea pleased my pride in no short measure. I sighed and turned to my companion.

  “Huk, if I know the most high here like I think I do, I believe we’ve been appointed to a secret fact-finding mission that may or may not initiate a war. Me and you. What do you think?”

  A sly smile crept across the king’s face. Huuka stared at him for several lingering seconds before throwing his arms up. “We do it. For handsome pay.”

  “Right, then,” I said, leaning toward the king, “There it is. But it’s going to cost you . . . most high.” The king stood up, his eyes flashing with excitement, and grabbed me in a furious handshake. He whispered into my ear, “Name your price, old friend.”

  No sooner than our deal was made, a flurry of assiduous attendants appeared and the king was whisked away into his chambers for rest. Huuka pushed our way through the throngs of disappointed petitioners receiving the news that their audience would be delayed. We reached the outer hall where Cyril tugged my sleeve and directed me to a small cloakroom while Huuka stood watch outside. He pressed a bag, heavy with gold, into my hand and unceremoniously plopped down on a wooden bench. The old wizard had known me for as long as I could remember. It was he who suggested the stablehand’s boy would make an “edifying” playmate for Myel so the little prince could know the “true aspect” of his father’s people.

  “Now, O’rantz, I know you bear great care for the king, as do I. His father would be most content to see his son maintain the bonds of an old friendship as yours. True friends are thin on the ground these days.” Cyril tapped his gnarled cane to punctuate his last words.

  “Something’s wrong with him, Cyril. Tell me what it is.” He shook his head dolefully.

  “I’m no longer privy to most of Myel’s intimate affairs, I’m afraid. No one is save for the woman who warms his bed. He has no desire for my counsel. I simply do as he commands. Quite the difference from his father. Minosteros sought my advice for his morning meal.”

  “But he has secured an Airavatari. Why do that if he won’t heed counsel?”

  “I cannot say. You and Huuka should take great caution with this mission to Katun. I fear the king’s paranoia may further complicate the situation with Derrasia. They are not pleased with the current circumstances in our kingdom. Words travel like the light of dawn, O’rantz, and rouse alarm greater than drawn blades. I don’t think King Caziah is foolish enough to bring harm to Stevasana or the envoys, but he won’t sit idly by while Kamitan falls into peril.” I listened soberly to his hushed, somber words.

  “Why does the king not send for Boris?” To this, the old mystic pushed his weight against his cane to rise. His cloudy eye reached mine and suspended its gaze as if to hold me in a captive stupor.

  “He has. I saw Boris leaving his chambers in the early hours four days past. He left the grounds in secrecy, yet I know not where to.” The news sank into me like a massive block of lead. My initial suspicions were just, yet I had ignored them for vanity’s sake. A bitter blend of shame, guilt, and unease rose in my throat.

  “Then what does he really mean for us to do in Katun?”

  “That I don’t know. Only you must be careful with who you trust. We cannot count our enemies so easily anymore.”

  “And what of the woman? I hear rumors.”

  Cyril shuddered and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “A frightening distraction, that one. Some see her as a lovely young girl. I see a treacherous beauty with venomous eyes.”

  Outside, Huuka whistled sharply to signal an approaching guard. Cyril nudged me into the hall and patted me on the back loudly saying, “Yes, yes, so good to see you again. Be well in Xanar and safe travels to you both.” I knew enough to play along obediently.

  Huuka and I shuffled behind the slowly dissipating crowd and made our way down to the common stables.

  “King doesn’t look so good,” he said. “You don’t look so good, either.”

  “None of this looks good, Huk,” I replied, jamming the bag of gold into my saddlebag and cinching up the leather strap. “We’re heading into uncharted territory this time.”