King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (32 page)

“Yom above,” she heard Grigor say, in a hushed voice. “It’s her.” Waves of relief flooded through Caliandra’s body; she beamed with excitement.

“No!” Marrol shouted, railing hopelessly. “That’s witchcraft! It’s a deception! They aren’t real! You’re being lied to!”

“Quiet yourself, Marrol.” Grigor said, with a stony voice. “I saw the last one with my own eyes. It’s no trick.” He glanced at Caliandra, and allowed himself the hint of a smile. “The Feor girl has been chosen.”

“Now listen to me,” Marrol said, to Grigor, and to the Council; Caliandra could hear a fearful tenor in his words. “This is stagecraft.
I
am King. Not her.”

Caliandra ignored his words, and focused on the axe; the alien light had faded, and the two pieces were whole once more. She laid hands on its haft, and lifted the axe up. It still felt as light as before; not quite air, but lighter than Valric’s sword. Neither she nor Peacebringer loomed over the men present, but their united presence caused a change in the room. She could feel it in the way they looked at her; no longer was she, Caliandra, just a Lady. In some eyes, she saw confused deference. In others, cautious indignation. But Marrol’s gaze discomfited her the most - not just for the rising anger in his chest, or the clenched jaw, but for what it meant. He would not easily bow to her; his men would not bow to her. Caliandra knew she would not be daunted, but she would not provoke him, either.

“By mandate of the Peacebringer axe,” she said, “I ask that the Minsters recognize their King.” Marrol’s eyes widened in horror.

“I can recognize your authority, Your Highness, but I cannot recognize you as King, on account of your sex,” Harrad said, red-faced; his gaunt frame was animated with disbelief. “Queen, yes. But King? Absolutely not!”

“Aye,” Colynn, the black-haired Minister of Finance, said, “The laws don’t allow for it.”

“You will find they do,” Sophine said. “‘Who has brought the Peace-bringer together, has within them Kingly virtues and will unify us, as they have the Axe - give them the crown, and let them rule’,” She said, reciting words all but carved into Caliandra’s mind over the years – words passed down by countless for-bears. “Sir Fenwyn, if you’d be so kind as to find your fellow Ministers a copy, to erase their doubts?”

“Of course, Duchess,” Fenwyn said, as he bowed, and stood up from his seat. Caliandra watched as he walked over to the King’s massive library, and pulled a great leather-bound tome from the shelves. He brought it back to the table, and laid it open for the Ministry. He flipped rapidly through the pages, arriving at the proper passage.

“The Duchess’s is the correct interpretation,” he announced, to the chagrin of the men near him. “It, in fact, makes no mention of ‘he’ at all. I imagine, Minister Harrad, that Caliandra was not the first woman to be our King. Nor shall she be the last; only the first that we know of.” Harrad pulled the book away from Fenwyn, and mouthed the words as he read them; Caliandra could see the disappointment in his eyes. She took no small measure of glee in that.

“It’s true,” Harrad said. “The words allow such an interpretation, but traditionally -”

Grigor nodded. “We must honor tradition, and hereby recognize Lady Caliandra, daughter of Rionn, grand-daughter of Guth Feor,” Grigor spoke, with no small measure of hesitation, “As the rightful King of Barra.”

Fenwyn bowed first, with a deep, pleased smile on his face. Harrad, offered a reluctant, but deep, flattering bow; Grigor, the blacksmith, bowed as far as his stiff body would let him, and Sophine stood from her chair to curtsy.

Talwyck, brother-in-law of Marrol, bowed soon after - and glared at Marrol as he did. Caliandra wondered if perhaps there was some ill will between them that remained unknown to her. Three others bowed after Talwyck, and soon, Marrol was the last man in the room who did not recognize her; he stood tall and firm. “Minister,” Caliandra asked. “What keeps you from bending your knee?”

“I will not bow to you,” Marrol said, with a voice like jagged rocks. “You are no King of mine.”

“And you are not of mine,” Caliandra said. She raised a single finger, and pointed it towards the entrance. “Do you know who is behind that door, Minister? Six men who served you, and who will give me testimony, tying you to the theft of this axe, to my attempted kidnapping, and to colluding with Royth to make our kingdom unstable, all so you could take the throne. Do you deny it?”

“I do,” Marrol said. “I never did such things.” He looked about the room with an angry, accusative glare - daring the Ministers to oppose him. “You cannot believe her. I have been loyal to the crown my whole life. I would
never
do such things.”

Caliandra nodded. “Very well,” she said, as she walked past him, and opened the doors. Darryn and five other soldiers waited outside in their dress uniforms, unarmed, barred by the guards’ pikes. The guards turned their heads slightly, to see the source of the noise; they found Caliandra, staring at them, Peacebringer in hand. “Let them in. I order it.” At first, the guards were confused, but once they saw the axe, they were startled into action. The soldiers were stunned at the sight.

“Majesty,” Darryn said, offering a bow of respect. The others followed suit.

“Darryn,” she said, “Please, come, inside.” Caliandra turned to the guards. “You as well, to avoid any trouble.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of the two guards replied. The assembled group followed her back inside, and the guards stayed by the doors. Marrol’s eyes widened when he saw who came inside. Darryn had fulfilled her request, and then some; bringing with him two lieutenants and a division leader, along with two lower-ranked soldiers. Immediately, Marrol went on the offensive.

“This meeting was called to discuss the issue of Kersik,” Marrol protested, “Let us turn back to the matter at hand. Do not bother with this - this trifling foolishness.”

“It seems to me,” Grigor replied, watching from his chair with great scrutiny, “That our King’s allegations have everything to do with those issues. And if you have hired Sparrows to set the blame at the Kersikkis’ feet, then you yourself have brought us to the brink of war.” The other Ministers murmured among themselves with great displeasure.

Caliandra had wished that Kells were there, as well, but he was nowhere to be found. “Minister Grigor,” Caliandra said, “My mother has additional proof from the White Stags, who were hired to retrieve the axes, that they were indeed stolen by Barrish soldiers. If I may?” she asked, gesturing to the hidden entrance.

“What kind of proof?” Grigor asked. Caliandra was loath to let Peacebringer from her grip, now that she had it, but she leaned it up against the wall so that she could re-enter the passage, and fetch the two bundles. The first was small, and flat, and fit under her arm; the second was a bag, with two unwieldy shapes and a tell-tale weight; she had expected an odor, and found none. She knew what lay inside it, and the thought churned her stomach. Of all the things she had to face, and had to do in order to bring Marrol to justice… that was the worst.

She picked both up, and brought them into the study. The first, she laid out on the center table, and unfolded; inside, there was a signed letter bearing the seal of the captain of the White Stags, bearing two illustrations of men’s faces.

“This letter, signed by Dyern Westfall of the White Stags, attests to the identities of the men who were each found with a piece of Peacebringer, one on the border of Kersikk and one on the road to Silenia. Their plan was to dispose of the pieces at the opposite ends of the land, so that Peacebringer would never be restored,” Caliandra said, “Lest you feel this is not proof enough, their tattoos of family rank have been noted…” She wrinkled her nose as she lifted the letter, to reveal the preserved flesh beneath. “…and preserved.”

The ministers gasped in horror, as they saw the carved chest-flesh, free of stench; the tattoos were preserved, only marred with the occasional scar. Each signified the bearer as a man of a particular lineage, and of the military rank they’d reached. “You could have taken those off any Barrish soldier,” Marrol protested.

That was when Caliandra laid the bag upon the table, and pulled the back up; two human heads rolled out. The startled Ministers were shocked. Marrol’s face became pale at the sight. “Do any of you, aside from Marrol, know these men?”

“Aye,” the division captain said, saddened. “Two of mine. Fergan Cowyn and Haugh Kemys. Left the night th’ Axes were stolen, and never returned.”

“And are these their tattoos?” Caliandra said.

The captain nodded. “Aye,” he said, as he raised a reluctant finger to identify the tattoos. “They are. This one’s Kemys. The other’s Cowyn.”

“And what was your role in the conspiracy?” Minister Grigor asked.

“I was one of the first that Marrol recruited,” he said. “I been loyal to him on the better part of ten years. Changed me mind when I saw we were killin’ our own and hirin’ Sparrows.” He glared at Marrol, and stood back. “I can’t stand by it. I trained three men who died at the Vault, so he could steal the axes.”

Grigor sighed, and gently folded his hands together. “And you,” he asked the lieutenants. “What were you responsible for?”

“I was there at the Vault,” Darryn said, speaking up first. “These two were the ones who recruited other soldiers. They can name almost all of ‘em you’ll need to find, and arrest. But I was there. There were two sets of us - one group, my group, was holdin’ the men hostage. We’d knocked them out; weren’t no need to do anythin’ else to them. But the Marrol’s other group was actin’ on orders to kill.”

“Liar,” Marrol said.

“It’s your fault they’re dead!” Darryn spat. “My friends died because you wanted that axe. You didn’t need to kill ‘em, but you did. Just to prove a point.”

Marrol stepped forward, but the other soldiers stood in front of him, and blocked the way - as did Caliandra. “Not a step more,” Caliandra said. Behind her, she heard the sound of a chair moving back.

“Enough,” Grigor said. “The evidence is damning, Marrol - and were it not, your reactions to your new King would be most telling. It is with a great and heavy heart that I motion to strip you of your title, and charge you with treason. What say the Council?”

One by one, the hands rose - Fenwyn was first, Grigor second, Harrad a reluctant fifth - until finally, the vote came to Talwyck.

He looked at Marrol, and slowly rose his hand. “We stand unanimous,” Grigor said, to the guards. “Take him to the dungeon.” Within seconds, their hands were on Marrol’s arms. He raged, and swung, and struggled, but soon, he was subdued, and removed. Caliandra felt tense until he was removed. As she saw his body go limp, her concerns for safety were relieved.

The Ministers paid their respects to her, and adjourned the meeting - agreeing to reconvene on the morrow, to discuss Marrol’s replacement. The soldiers were dismissed, the evidence as taken to the vault, and only Caliandra, Fenwyn, and Sophine remained in the study, around the table.

“I can’t believe Kells would vanish at a time like this,” Fenwyn groused. “His testimony would’ve been a great show of support.”

“Did he give any reason for his departure? Surely, he told the guards
something
,” Sophine said, concerned. “It isn’t like him to disappear without notice.”

“He told them it was a family matter, “Fenwyn said. “It ought to have been damn important to miss the full meeting, but he said nothing else.

“At least a stoic response is in character,” Sophine said. “Thank you again, for your assistance at Demsbrooke.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Fenwyn said. “Josske was happy for the excuse. He misses that sort of work, more than he’d like to admit.”

“Josske was with you when you met the White Stags?” Caliandra asked, concerned. She leaned against Peacebringer, while standing near the secret entrance they used.

“I had to take precautions, Caliandra,” Sophine said, as she touched her daughter’s arm. “But it is all over, and all that matters is that you are safe, and you are King.”

Yes,
Caliandra thought.
But you are not the one who must be executioner, as well.

CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT

Ostre ran as quickly as she was able - dodging carts, horses, and throngs of villagers milling about, because there was little time to spare. Her feet dashed across the cobblestones of Alton with nervous quickness. She knew Kells. And she knew this was the thing that would break him. Already, she regretted it; Kells had seen her at her worst, in spite of how careful she’d been. What choice did he leave her, though - how could she be faithful, when there was no love?

Her father once told her that men can survive for a month without food, but perhaps a week without water. Her children were like her water; love was her food. She had been starved for so long, that she felt desperate for anything, but now… Kells would take them, too. She knew it. And losing them frightened her most of all.

She had already lost Ibhaen; she’d pushed the girl away with her actions, but one day, she hoped Ibhaen would understand
why
she had to do what she did. It wasn’t about loyalty to Kells; loyalty was for men with swords and oaths. Love, affection, that was something that could not just be given and kept forever - it could grow, or it could wither.

Soon, her house was in sight. It was two stories, equal compared to its neighbors - which housed two families each - and closer to the town’s edge than she liked. But that was the price of marrying the Captain of the Guard. He was not a lower noble, or a merchant, after all; his wages put the roof over their heads, and it was a spacious one. But she would have preferred to be at the heart of things, and to easily invite her friends over for supper, as opposed to taking the ten-minute walk from the castle outskirts to the center… and given the distance to the other end of Alton, it was another reason to regret letting Kells decide where to live.