Obsidian (23 page)

When the four men arrived at the Hall, it was like entering a historical costume ball. If Vancien, who had a great love of history, had had the time, he would have sat and interviewed each person he saw. He would have taken careful note of their differing accents, their costumes, their political philosophies, even their physiognomy. But although time moved no faster on this night than on any other, every moment of it could mean a life saved or lost, a battle won or surrendered.

Hull hurried to the dais where he jumped onto a chair to command attention. “Lords and ladies!” he called over the din, repeating the summons until the room was almost quiet. “Lords and ladies,” he said again, “my name is Hull. I am the father of the two Advocates who have summoned you here. And I come now under the orders of General Chiyo, the commanding officer of this operation. Please listen to my orders and obey. Ladies, your help is needed at the several evacuation points throughout the city. The evacuation effort is under the command of Lady N’vonne. When I have finished, please make your way down to the southern end of the hall, where she will meet you and take you to those points. Should those of us guarding the city fail in our efforts, you will be called upon to defend the women, children, and elderly of Lascombe. Generals and monarchs, as well as anyone else who believes they can contribute significantly to overseeing the city’s defense, please stay here in the Hall. General Chiyo will be in to confer with you. For the rest, please report to either the Stoa at the Square or the Royal Courtyard under the main eastern tower. Those of you unfamiliar with the city of Lascombe will find several natives ready to assist you, I’m sure. As you go, if you see any of more of us Risen Ones, pass along these instructions. Thank you.”

The hall was silent as he spoke, breaking into polite murmurings only when he stepped down from the chair. It was a surprise to Vancien and Amarian, though not to Hull, that no one questioned the orders. Instead, all dispersed as they had been told, with just a few questions for clarification. When the brothers expressed their amazement to their father, he smiled with satisfaction.

“What you are seeing, boys, is the work of Kynell. These people have been cleansed from the insatiable pride that Zyreio brought into this world. They no longer have a desire to aggrandize themselves. They only want to help where they are needed.”

A few minutes later, Chiyo had arrived. When he entered, Hull, his sons, and Naffinar allowed him to claim a place of prominence on the dais, though as he did so, he was approached by a stout little man with a full beard and flushed cheeks. He offered Chiyo a short bow, then approached without waiting for an invitation. When he spoke, it was quiet enough that only Chiyo and those immediately around him could hear.

“Am I right in believing that you are General Chiyo?”

“You are right,” Chiyo responded, wondering who this little man was. “But I don’t yet have the pleasure of knowing your name.”

The man bowed low. “Ruponi pa Kellehern, at your service. I have some familiarity with this city and its defenses.”

The sudden appearance of Ruponi the Great, the most celebrated Keroulian ruler of the past ten thousand score, gave Chiyo pause. He bowed, too, as deeply and humbly as he could.

“Your Majesty, it is my privilege to serve
you
. If you wish, the city is yours to command.”

The man shook his head, as if the offer were the furthest thing from his mind. “No, no. Please, you are clearly the man Kynell has placed here. Far be it from me to challenge you. My desire is to know what has happened to the king? Why is he not here speaking with us? Fighting with us?”

“It grieves me to say it, but King Relgaren has taken a great interest in the false Advocate, Corfe. His attention to Corfe has made him less aware of immediate happenings. I believe that currently he is enjoying a reunion with his father, Relgaré.”

Ruponi’s face grew red. “He is meeting with his father while we are here?”

“Yes, but. . .”

“General Chiyo, I must excuse myself. I will be back.”

“Of course, but remember he’s very young. . .”

Another look at Ruponi’s face indicated that youth was no justification. Before Chiyo could object further, he was off.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Not long before the appearances, Corfe had been having a late, private dinner with the king and Lors when they were joined by the queen mother. She burst into the room most unexpectedly, catching all three men off guard and causing Relgaren’s quick temper to flare.

“Mother, why are you still in the city? Why haven’t you evacuated?”

Quinia swished into the room, her full black gown rustling against every piece of furniture it encountered. “I’ll ask the questions around here, young man,” she shot back. Her tone, so familiar a reminder of his childhood, made him resume his seat and his silence. Lors followed his brother’s lead. Corfe watched the scene with interest until she rounded on him.

“You, Corfe. This is going to be a private family meeting. Please leave.”

Corfe looked at Relgaren, but did not move.

“Lord Corfe stays,” the king interceded. “We’ve received word that the armies of Obsidian will be here tomorrow. There is much to discuss with him.”

“Discuss?” Quinia retorted. “Discuss? Since when have you been interested in discussing anything? Do you know what I heard today from near strangers? That both Farlone and Dorylen may be dead, or have been dead, possibly for weeks! Did I hear that from my son? Oh no. The king was too busy
discussing
things with his pet here to let his mother know about this loss of her—” At this point, her fury began to melt into grief; she could not prevent the tears from stopping her tirade.

Relgaren sprang to his feet, put an arm around her shoulders, and led her to a chair. Corfe, who had no relationship with his own parents, had once persuaded him that his accession to the throne placed him at a distance from his mother. But her outburst gave him a pang of guilt.

“I am sorry, mother. We thought it would be best not to tell you until we knew for sure.”

“And when would that have been?” she asked, trying to control her shaking. “When their bodies are recovered months from now? The whole city appears to have known of this before me.”

Lors narrowed his eyes. The expression was meant to convey suspicion. Instead, it highlighted his freckles, making him look even younger than his few cycles. “Who told you about this, anyway?”

She stood firm. “It is none of your business, young man. You
should have. But you didn’t.”

Relgaren held up his hand in gentle reproof. “It was my doing, mother. I chose not to tell you, and Lors followed my wish. Besides, we don’t know anything for certain yet. We may be grieving prematurely.”

“All the same,” Lors said, “I bet it was Chiyo and Telenar. They’ve had it in for Corfe since their arrival. Now they’ve managed to stir up more trouble.”

Relgaren shot his brother an angry look while Corfe tried to hide his amusement at the boy’s immature loyalty.

“Chiyo and Telenar are the reason we’re this far along in our defense,” Relgaren replied. “If not for them, we might have been taken even more off guard.”

Lors shrugged. Corfe was about to suggest that they convene with the general and the Patroniite
about tomorrow’s battle when all eyes in the room abruptly turned to him—or rather, to the curtains just behind him. He paused, looked behind him, and felt his stomach lurch.

There stood Relgaré, one-time patriarch of the House of Anisllyr. He was humming a child’s tune and looking not at all surprised by his sudden appearance. For a king, his clothes were simple. He wore no crown, no blue sash, only a simple linen tunic and breeches. He had a sort of traveling pouch slung around his shoulder and his feet were bare.

Relgaren spoke first. “Father?”

Relgaré gazed at his eldest. Then recognition dawned; he gave a great smile and opened his arms wide. “Children! Quinia! It’s good to see you! And Corfe, well, you’ve certainly changed since we last spoke—or rather,
I
last spoke.” He chortled, amused at his own joke.

The family was too shocked to respond in kind to his warm greeting. Quinia approached him very slowly, touching her hand against his clothes as if to make sure they would not fade between her fingertips.

“Relgaré?” she whispered, almost to herself. “But you’re dead. . .”

He nodded. “Well, sort of.”

She was shaking her head. “This is impossible. I must be dreaming. Relgaren, tell me I am dreaming.”

But Relgaren was just as astounded as she was. He had collapsed in a chair and was regarding his father as one would regard a stuffed animal come to life.

Corfe, who alone had been expecting Kynell’s hand to move so dramatically, dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty,” he said to the ground. “Welcome back to Rhyvelad.”

Relgaré pulled him to his feet. “Now, now, none of that, young Corfe. I’m no more a ‘Your Majesty’ than you are an Advocate.”

His words, though meant as a reassurance, struck Corfe like a blow.

“What did you say?”

Embarrassed, Relgaré looked around for help but found none. “Well, things have changed, you know. Up with Kynell. I’m no more a king there than you would be an Advocate down here. The very thought!”

Corfe took a step back and was about to protest when he considered the source. Relgaré, who had been quite dead just a few moments ago, had been raised through Kynell’s power. Relgaré had been
with
Kynell. Even if he had died before Corfe’s conversion, he would certainly know who was the god’s chosen and who was not. Suddenly, his ears started burning and he felt that sickening knot in his stomach start to turn. Not trusting himself to speak, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Relgaré watched him go. “Poor fellow. He looks upset.”

Lors, too, had turned pale. When Corfe left, he wavered between following him out and remaining with his father. But old loyalties overcame new ones; he stayed with Relgaren and Quinia.

Quinia remained very near her husband, studying him. Corfe’s sudden exit did not trouble her. She could care less about the Advocacy. “Why are you here?” she repeated, still sounding as if she were talking to herself.

“To help fight Obsidian’s army, of course. But Kynell was generous enough to let me see my family first.”

“You believe all that?”

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Of course! I believe that the ground and sky exist, don’t I?” He paused to give her a probing look. “Quinia, I know you’ve been skeptical in the past, but surely you can’t doubt now. Look around you! Our children are preparing for a great battle and we must help them. Speaking of which, where are Dorylen and Farlone?”
Relgaren started from his position in the chair. “They’re not with you?”

The old king laughed. “I think I’d know it if they were! So where are they?”

“I—we thought that they had perished in Ulan.”

This seemed like news to Relgaré, who considered it for a moment. “I think I would have known if something had happened to them. Surely they didn’t turn to Obsidian. . .” He shook his head to dispel the hateful thought. “No, they must be alive. Somewhere.”

It was one shock too many for poor Quinia. The idea of Farlone and Dorylen, believed to be dead, and now possibly alive, put her into a swoon. Relgaré caught her and deposited her gently on a couch. While they were trying to revive her, Relgaren ventured a comment.

“I’m not going to ask about Corfe not being an Advocate, but I want to know what you meant about not being king.”

Relgaré laid a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “It was a valuable lesson for me, Relgaren, one that you and Lors would do well to learn now.”

“There are no kings in Kynell’s country?”

“No, there are not—although that’s not so much what happened. Surely you remember what I was like in my final cycles.”

Relgaren and Lors nodded in unison, not offering further comment.

“I was very proud of my station. Proud when loyal subjects bowed before me. Proud when I was able to subdue my enemies.
My
enemies—not necessarily Kynell’s. That pride caused me to persecute a people who had long since ceased to be a threat. It was a criminal obsession that took many lives. That hateful alliance with Obsidian was the culmination of my blindness.”

During his speech, Lors had started looking out the window. He seemed to be struggling with something.

“Go ahead, son. Say what’s on your mind.”

Lors continued to fidget for a moment before blurting out his thoughts. “If you were so wrong, then why aren’t you, you know, with
them
?” He pointed in the general direction of the advancing army.

The question was honest and appropriate. Still, it provoked a strained silence. Relgaré hung his head as the memories swept over him. His answer was so quiet that they had to bend low to hear. “I should be. The night of my greatest folly, when we slaughtered the Cylini, I was attacked by Amarian’s Sentries. My just reward, I’m sure. They took their time about it, and I suffered a great deal. But if they had finished me off quickly, who knows where I would be? Instead, their meticulous care allowed me to realize that all of my pride, my obsessions, and my crimes had brought me to this: being torn apart by Obsidian itself. With my dying breaths I called out to Kynell for mercy, not from the Sentries but from his justifiable wrath. I knew that a thousand eternities could not pay for all the wrongs I had done, the wrongs I had believed.”