Seven Princes (10 page)

She entered a plaza hemmed by enormous bronze statues of heroes (Giants) lifting spear, axe, and shield to the sky. This was the Square of Storytellers. A dozen groups of men, women, and children, and even a few Giants, gathered around the various tale-spinners here. Most of the orators stood on low wooden platforms, some on the bases of the great statues themselves, telling the stories of whichever hero loomed above.

Fellow sat on the rim of a marble fountain at the center of the square, beneath the pinions of a winged horse bubbling water from its muzzle. Fellow’s gaudy robes set him apart from the general crowd. Those gathered about him wore the simple garb of farmhands, laborers, artisans, and craftsmen. A handful of
foreigners bore the sand-yellow garb and jeweled turbans of Shar Dni. This was a good crowd for Fellow. His upturned hat was full of bronze and silver coins, and even a sealed bottle of southern vintage. Sharadza bade her guards stay back as she crept to join Fellow’s audience – she did not wish to disturb his story or those enraptured by it. Nevertheless, the old man’s eyes turned to meet hers immediately. He always knew when she came into his plaza, as if he had a sixth sense for comely Princesses. She forced a wan smile at him as he continued telling his story.

“So the Men of Diiranor came to the lost city of Maethos, and since they had lost their King, they were determined to avenge him. A great battle began as a horde of Ancient Terrors crawled up from below the broken walls. It is said this battle lasted for three days, and its heroes were young Tagyl and his cousin Gyrid, whose swords spilled the blood of a thousand Terrors. So I will tell you of these two heroes and how they liberated the lost city from evil… if you return here tomorrow when the sun sets.”

The crowd moaned and pleaded for more while Sharadza grinned at their backs. Fellow always did this; in fact, every storyteller did. It seemed the audience forgot every single time and always tried to cajole or bribe the teller into continuing the tale. But Fellow waved them away with smiles and yawns, saying he was an old man and could only tell one bit of a saga per evening. “Besides,” he told some of the younger listeners, “if you are respectful to the Gods, the rest of the story might come to you in your dreams tonight.” Sharadza doubted if this ever actually happened, but it soothed the passions of disappointed children.

The crowd dispersed, and Sharadza approached Fellow. He emptied the jingling contents of his hat into a shoulder pouch. The bottle of wine he kept in hand… It would not last long. “Princess!” he greeted her with a slight bow. “Our next meeting was to be tomorrow at midday… or did I forget?”

“You never forget, I’d bet on it,” Sharadza said. “I wish to speak in private. Is there some place?”

Fellow motioned toward Dorus and Mitri. “What about the royal goons?” he asked.

“I am forced to endure their protection,” she said. “But I can order them to sit away from us that we may talk.”

Fellow nodded, sat his patchwork hat atop his white head, and led her across the way toward a small tavern. Above the door hung the image of a silver bird perched on a burning branch. “I have a standing table in the Molten Sparrow,” he said. They walked down a set of narrow stairs into a small deserted common room. Certainly no Giant could fit in here, and any other day she would have laughed at Dorus and Mitri as they struggled to squeeze themselves through the narrow entrance. She handed Mitri a gold coin and ordered them to drink on the other side of the room. They knew well enough her temper not to argue with her.

Fellow and she sat at a curtained booth in the back. “Best leave the curtain open so they can see me,” she advised. Fellow ordered two clean cups for the wine he’d just earned. He studied the bottle, popped the cork and sniffed the vintage. “Aaaahhh… this one is from Yaskatha,” he said. “Someone was feeling generous today.”

Sharadza did not wait for the wine to be poured. She had waited long enough.

“Fellow, you are known to tell stories about sorcerers.”

Fellow poured them both a generous portion of the deep red vintage. The cups were bronze, but Sharadza’s was studded with imitation garnets. The innkeeper knew he had special company and this was the best he could do on short notice. He came forward to offer more services, but Fellow waved him away.

“You have heard a few such tales from me,” he said before
taking his first sip of the Yaskathan wine. He closed his eyes a moment, savoring the flavor. Sharadza ignored her own cup.

“Have you any stories – any at all – about how these sorcerers gained their terrible powers?”

Fellow pondered the question, swirling the wine, inhaling its bouquet. “How does a Giant become a Giant? Or a man become a man? Why ask such an obscure question?”

Sharadza sighed and tasted the drink. It was biting, but excellent. The sunlight of a distant land had worked its magic on these grapes and cast a delicious spell. She licked her lips.

“I have been over and over the texts in my father’s collection,” she said. “There is nothing there that gives me any clue to his learning magic. Are you implying that he was…
born
a sorcerer?”

Fellow drank again, slowly, transfixed by the sun magic. “He was born a Giant, and Giants have sorcery in their very bones. It swims in their blood. Some say it was sorcery that created them.”

“Not the Gods, then?” she said.

“Who says the Gods created Giants? Or Men, for that matter?”

“My mother.”

Fellow smiled. “The Gods of Shar Dni are credited with mighty works, as are all the Gods of Men. The truth might be more evasive than priests and sages suspect. The world is a series of stories, Princess, and the tellers are often forgotten.”

“Do you know how my father learned sorcery?”

The old man stared at her, dark pupils fixed on her green ones. One hand stroked his pale mustache. Cheap rings of bronze and glass lined his bony fingers.

“He made a bargain,” Fellow whispered, “with someone who knew far more than he did. It was a bargain he regretted even to this day, I’m told.”

“Who was it?” she asked. “I want to make such a bargain.”

“No,” he said, drinking deeper now. “You do not.”

“You said Giants were created from sorcery. Well, my father was a Giant, and my father created me.”

“He and your mother,” Fellow corrected.

“Some say my mother is a sorceress. But I don’t believe it.”

“Nor should you,” said Fellow. “Your mother is a fine woman, a brave Queen, a heroine to her people. Now she bears the burden of rulership like a bronze yoke on her shoulders. It is no easy task to rule a kingdom.”

“Answer my question,” Sharadza said. “I love my mother, but I’m not made in her image. There is more of my father in me.” She picked up the bronze cup and squeezed it hard. The metal crumpled like paper in her fist. Wine ran across the table, dripping onto the floor like dark blood. “I have his strength… or some of it. Like Tadarus and Vireon.”

“You believe that you might possess some of his sorcery.”

“I know I do,” she said. “And if I am right I can save him, Fellow! I can deliver him from the Sea Queen’s curse!”

Fellow said nothing.

“Can you help me?
Will
you?”

Fellow drank deep, emptying his cup, then wiped his stained lip with a sleeve of triple colors. “You cannot learn sorcery from a book,” he said. “No more than you can learn strength from a book. Or compassion. Or love.”

She stared at him. She sensed it now… this storyteller knew the path she must walk.

“You already have strength, compassion, and love,” said Fellow. “To master sorcery you must
live
it, as you live these other things. Because you have the first three, I think you may be able to gain the fourth.”

She smiled. Here was what she had been searching for in all those moth-eaten old books. She was at the threshold of a new existence. Her skin tingled.

“Are you willing to accept the pain of Knowledge?” he asked. “For there will be pain.”

“For my father’s sake, I am ready.”

“You may not save your father, even if you master the arts of which we speak. The Sea Queen is ancient and powerful.”

“And my father may already be dead,” she whispered. “I know this.”

“Are you willing not only to succeed… but to fail?” he asked.

“If I never try, then failure is certain.”

Fellow poured himself more Yaskathan wine. “Another cup?” he asked. She shook her head. He drained the cup in a single draft, then sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

“First you must leave the city,” he said. “And none can see you go. They will search for you, and your mother’s heart will break.”

“I will leave her a letter,” said Sharadza. “She will understand.”

“She will
not
,” said Fellow, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Where must I go?”

“North,” he said. “Into the woods.”

She could hardly believe the hot spark of hope that burned inside her where cold gloom had lingered for weeks. She trusted Fellow, and she would follow him
anywhere
for a chance to save her father.

“Alone,” said Fellow.

The Queen of New Udurum received her brother’s son not in the grand throne room, but in a smaller and more intimate hall. Tapestries of velvet covered the walls with scenes of Giants battling leviathans and toppling mountains. Fangodrel found the Uduru’s ancestor worship boring and offensive. How many of these Giant heroes truly existed, and how many were the figments of dim imaginations? The Giants were dying off anyway, so it made sense they would look backward instead of forward.
They had a history but no real future. The dumb brutes were being replaced in their own kingdom and they did not even realize it.

The King of Shar Dni was Ammon, brother to Shaira, and therefore Fangodrel’s uncle. That made this pompous blowhard, Prince Andoses, his cousin. Fangodrel had little appetite for the feast his mother had laid out for her nephew. Tadarus ate heartily, as always, stuffing his beefy frame with roast piglet, potatoes, and baked confections. Vireon was thankfully nowhere to be seen, and Sharadza was at her studies.

Andoses came seeking favor all the way from Shar Dni with a retinue of two hundred warriors, only to discover the Giant-King had abandoned his throne and left it to his forlorn Queen. Fangodrel held a goblet of wine before his face and listened to Andoses’ obsequious rhetoric. He wanted something from Shaira, that much was certain.

“Father wishes he could come himself to visit his beloved sister,” said Andoses, “but these troubled times demand his constant attention.”

Queen Shaira nodded. She had fallen into a deep gloom after Vod’s departure, but she looked genuinely pleased to see her nephew after so many years. She kept to her chambers most days, unless some demanding matter of state called her down. The rest of the time it fell to Tadarus to wrangle with counselors, advisors, and viziers. She had even given Fangodrel some minor responsibilities, just enough to appear kindly. Shaira was too lost in her own sorrow to rule Udurum effectively, and by rights the throne should be his. But Tadarus was the favored one, confirmed by her choice of delegation. Fangodrel avoided looking at his brother across the table. He kept his eyes on Prince Andoses, the cousin who was three years younger than him, yet commanded a cohort of warriors.

“I understand,” said the Queen. “A season of strife falls upon us all. But no matter the cause, it is good to see you again. How are my sisters?”

“Fine, one and all,” said Andoses. His face was dusky, his eyes green like Shaira’s. A single emerald sat in the center of his turban, and his robes of yellow silk were strung with teardrops of silver. Servants had carried away his fine scimitar and war helm.

“Dara speaks of you often,” said Andoses, referring to Shaira’s youngest sister. “She expects her first child next season.”

Shaira smiled, a brief ray of light in a cloudy sky. “I miss my sisters most of all,” she said. “But what news of my brothers?”

Andoses set down his cup. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Omirus thrives as commander of father’s fleet… but Vidictus was murdered.”

Shaira caught her breath. Tadarus ceased his incessant chewing. Fangodrel listened closely, still hiding behind his goblet.

Tears escaped the Queen’s eyes as Andoses explained. “He was killed at sea, leading an attack against southern pirates. They have plagued our shipping lanes for years. The Golden Sea is no longer a safe crossing for any ship. Twenty galleons lost in the last year alone. Agents bring us news that these pirate ships belong to the Empress of Khyrei. None can deny that war will soon be upon us.”

Shaira spoke, dabbing her eyes with a silken napkin: “Vod nearly slew Ianthe the Claw twenty-five years ago. Later we learned she survived to rule Khyrei.”

“The sorceress girds her jungle empire for war. Father will stand her nautical predations no more. That is why he sent me to call upon King Vod and his alliance with Shar Dni. If we are to stand against Khyrei, we will need the support of Udurum.”

So there it was. The real reason for this family reunion. Shar Dni seeks the aid of Giants so it can march off to war against the south. Fangodrel sipped his yellow wine.

“Of course we had no news of Vod’s leaving,” said Andoses.