In the throne room, the windows were little more than arrow slits; the last line of defense between the king and an invader from the sea. But as the sun filtered through and cast bright lines on the marble floor, the throne stood empty. Salmacha was now without a ruler. Perhaps, I thought, it had been without for a long time before my harpoon finally slew King Sondassan.
The weapon lay quiet across my legs as I sat at the base of the dais, beside Hamilcar and his crew and a good distance from the twin princesses. Having done its duty, it was content, and projected to me a sense of accomplishment. It was pleased with my actions. There would always be more tyrants, more men willing to spend the blood of others on power for themselves, but for the moment, the work was complete.
I’d held an enchanted weapon only once before: the Sword of Heaven, the tool of the god Torr, who had taken my Khalim from me. It, too, had approved of me. I’d used it to slay the great worm as it laid waste to Phyreios, and I had gladly given it up to the custody of Jin and his temple.
I would call my harpoon Storm, I decided, for the thunderclap I had heard as it destroyed King Sondassan. Having spent the early part of my life upon the roof of the world, I had great respect for storms. They could destroy a ship just as easily as they could fill its sails; lay waste to a village as easily as water its crops.
A crowd had begun to form in the throne room. Men in shirts of chain and brightly feathered helmets, swords at their sides and spears in their hands, gathered in sharp lines along the eastern wall. Their leader was a tall man with a short silver beard and shrewd dark eyes that took stock of the room beneath the ridge of a hammered iron helm. His plume was the sapphire blue of the majestic island birds, a marker of rank.
From the center aisle between the two rows of support columns to the western end of the hall, the scions of Salmacha’s noble families gathered. Their angular faces were clean-shaven and their oiled black hair was decorated with silver thread, and they wore the finest silks I had yet seen in my travels, all in a spectrum of rich jewel colors. They murmured amongst themselves, and only a little of their conversation reached my ears: is it true? Is King Sondassan dead? And High Priest Ucasta, as well? How could this have happened?
Mara placed herself between the princesses and the gathering of men, and her companions formed a grim-faced half-circle, shielding them from view. The two girls were very small and very young in their filthy gowns, and they spoke only to each other, in whispers with their heads bowed close together.
I understood enough to know that there was now going to be a question of succession. While Sondassan had named the twins his heirs while he was still their loving grandfather, they were not yet old enough to assume the throne, and that there were two of them of the same age would complicate things further.
I suspected every one of the nobles, and quite a few of the soldiers, had some ambition of ruling.
I did not wish to stay and find out what chaos was to ensue. I had not slept well for three days, and had not eaten more than a bit of thin gruel in that time, and my battle-rage had dissipated and left me exhausted.
Hamilcar looked as poorly as I felt. Sondassan’s strange magic had aged him ten years, though this brief rest and a swig from a flask he produced from inside his vest restored a few of them. “All our hard work, and the great risk to our persons–especially yours, Eske–deserves a reward,” he said. “In order to receive that reward, we need access to the royal treasury, and the royal treasury won’t be available until there is a functioning government overseeing this unfortunate island. We wait.”
Kelebek had already fallen asleep, back to back with Adama, sitting on the ground beside the dais. Halvor and Issa crouched beside them, glowering at the crowd as it grew louder and angrier by the minute.
Beside the throne stood a gong, a great bronze disk hanging from a frame of iron. A mallet hung from one corner of the frame. I got to my feet, grimacing at the soreness in my legs and arms making itself known, and with my harpoon in hand in case of an unexpected threat, I climbed up onto the dais and struck the gong.
It filled the room with such a deep, reverberating sound that I feared another earthquake would come. As it faded, however, there was only quiet. The crowd of men turned to me as one, their glances sharp and accusing.
Mara held up one hand to call their attention. The other remained resting on her mace, which still bore a dark stain of dried blood–the blood of the high priest. “It is good of all of you to assemble here,” she said. She did not shout, but her voice carried through the hall, and her face was as stoic and still as a mask. “What you have heard is true. King Sondassan is dead, as is High Priest Ucasta. According to our laws, the princesses Mindarya and Marisaya will take up their grandfather’s crown, in a manner that will be decided upon when they come of age. Until then, we are all going to have to work together in the absence of the king.”
If Mara were to rule on behalf of her young charges, the island would have been in good hands, but I was not so naive as to believe the question of regency would be so simple. I returned to my place at the base of the dais, but I remained standing, extending the line of Mara’s soldiers. The pirates, roused by the sound of the gong, got up beside me. Mara was the voice of reason amidst the simmering madness that threatened to boil over into conflict at any moment, and she was the one who promised Hamilcar his due. We would align ourselves with her.
“And how is it that both these illustrious men perished, and in the same evening?” came a voice from the crowd. It belonged to a handsome man, thirty years of age if I guessed correctly, his neck adorned with a silver collar and his eyes cold and suspicious.
Mara fixed him with a gaze that suggested she had long ago measured him for discernment and trustworthiness and found him wanting. “King Sondassan died, Lord Reisim, the way we always knew he would: his time ran out. As for the high priest, he set his designs on Sondassan’s heirs, intending to sacrifice them to fuel his foul magics. I slew him to preserve the lives of the princesses and the integrity of Salmacha’s throne.”
“The same throne that you now stand behind, Mara Suryan,” Lord Reisim said with a curl of his lip.
“I am standing between you and these girls,” said Mara, who was quite obviously standing in front of and below the throne, not behind it, “and that is where I will stay.”
The leader of the soldiers stepped forward, placing his plumed helmet under his arm. “Our laws require a regent, Mara. You know this.”
Now that they were standing together, the resemblance between Mara and this man was unmistakable. They shared the same sharp nose and dark eyes, and they were close to the same height.
“I know, Uncle,” she said softly, confirming my suspicions. “But who among these men can I trust? My duty is to the princess, and to them alone.”
I surveyed the gathered crowd, my harpoon slung over my shoulder and my stance square, projecting a confidence that belied my exhaustion. It mattered little; their attention was focused on Mara, and they cared little for me.
They had begun to murmur again, and they shifted rather like a school of fish approached by a shark, forming circles around those that might have been their leaders. One of them shouted above the din: “I am the king’s second cousin by blood! After the princesses, I am next in line. I should be regent.”
Lord Reisim scoffed. “And have two young women be all that stands between you and the throne, Lord Hadast? I’d expect them both to accidentally be lost to the sea within the week.”
Hadast bristled at that. He was older than Reisim, though not nearly as ancient as King Sondassan had been, his long hair more gray than black and his face sun-darkened and lined. Around him gathered other men of a similar age, and they whispered among themselves, saying nothing to Reisim but favoring him with sharp, sidelong glances.
“The princesses are are only a few years from their majority,” Lord Reisim said, looking at Mara but speaking to the crowd. “It’s better that they be married–one or both–to ensure that there is a strong hand to guide them.”
“Absolutely not.” Mara gave him a glance as sharp as a knife, and her words carried an old anger. This may not have been the first time Lord Reisim proposed such a thing. He was quickly falling below his fellow candidates in my regard.
Mara’s uncle held up a hand, and the soldiers behind him stood up as one and turned to him. “Mara protects the daughters of the house of Pallis,” he said to the crowd. “Not once in twelve years has she shirked her duty. I am commander of the king’s forces, and I will support the regent she chooses.”
He turned to her and added, under his breath, “But you must choose quickly. I would not see this court divided, after everything else we’ve experienced of late.”
“Will you rule, then, Ilossa?” Lord Hadast cried out. “Will you and your niece place a house of common soldiers on Sondassan’s throne?”
“Enough.” Mara’s hand tightened around her mace, though her face betrayed nothing. “We will follow the law. Mindarya and Marisaya will be guarded in the old way, with the blessings of the old gods. They will rule as priestesses until they are old enough to choose for themselves.”
A confusion of shocked and baffled voices filled the hall. “That hasn’t been done in a thousand years!” Lord Reisim shouted over the noise.
“The law still exists,” Mara argued. “We still place the daughters of the king’s house in the care of women, so that no man may touch them until they are ready to marry.” This was followed by a pointed look at Reisim.
“Ucasta is dead,” Ilossa said. “Bring forth the highest ranking priest. He will recite the law for us.”
Two of his armored men bowed stiffly from the waist and turned to leave the throne room. They returned with a spindly-looking man of middle age, his head shaved but for a fine gray thatch around his ears. He wore the brown robe of Ucasta’s underlings, and I thought I recognized him from the ritual chamber. The soldiers deposited him at Mara’s feet. He remained on his knees, his hands raised in supplication.
“This is Chanjask, Ucasta’s second,” one of the soldiers said. “He claims he will do whatever is asked of him.”
Chanjask touched his brow to the floor. “Ucasta led us all astray,” he said in a plaintive whine. “Please, tell me how I can be of service.”
“Recite for us the law of the gods of stone,” Mara ordered.
He obeyed, but for my part, it had been too long since I had slept, and I could not listen to his entire recitation. My understanding was this: the princesses could rule as maiden priestesses, seeking the guidance of the god beneath the island–the god Sondassan and Ucasta had tried to summon and slay–and passing its wisdom on to the people of Salmacha, until such time as one or both of them chose to marry and take up the throne. I did not learn what would happen at such a time as they both desired queenship, but the succession crisis would be avoided for a number of years, and the princesses would remain under the care of the guardian they knew and trusted. Their posture relaxed noticeably, and they breathed a sigh of relief as they stood up to accept their new position.
I was more interested in Chanjask, who helped Ucasta maintain the king’s unnatural life. Would his knowledge aid me on my quest, or did he only know how to do evil things?
Back to Chapter XVIII: In the Hall of the Dead King
Forward to Chapter XX: The Temple of the New Gods
We’ll have a couple more chapters to finish this arc, and then it’s off to more adventures! Thanks for reading!
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