The Ale Boy's Feast (47 page)

“The royal storyteller and the Seers’ destroyer! You know who I wish could see us? Those blasted duty officers who used to thrash Gatherers with their riding whips.”

“So where’s the king, anyway?” asked Krawg, glancing anxiously about. “I’m hungry.”

Warney’s eye scanned the crescent of candlelit faces. In the center, before the fireplace blaze, two spaces sat empty. To their right, Tabor Jan sat rigid, his neck bound up in a brace, closed fists resting on his knees. He could not turn his head, so he turned his torso left and right, surveying the scene intently. His bearded face was purple, but at least Say-ressa had washed away the mask of old blood. He looked like himself again.

Krawg sat beside Tabor Jan, shifting uncomfortably on the stone floor. Then there was an empty place, and Warney at the end.

On the other side of the two empty spaces were Jes-hawk, arm still in a sling; Say-ressa, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin; and Jordam the beastman, dwarfing everyone in the crescent. He hunched, anxious beneath a heavy cloak that was far too small for him. Shanyn sat beyond Jordam, glancing at him worriedly and often staring at his massive hands.

Facing Krawg and Warney, Emeriene sat between her boys, holding their wrists as she hissed at them to stop glaring at the beastman. Beyond these three, Irimus Rain and Nella Bye sat beside another empty space.

With no warning the window above the fireplace slid open, and Scharr ben Fray appeared over the mantelpiece. Warney saw a sparkle, clear as flecks of glass, on the mage’s cheeks.

“This,” he declared, raising a glittering instrument, “is the gift that Frits gave to our King Cal-raven.” It was a glass trumpet, like those heard at the glass mine, and when the mage put his lips to the mouthpiece, he sounded a note so perfect and piercing that everyone in the royal hall straightened in surprise.

Then the mage spoke.

“May we all show such honor to our king. Generations ago, a man of extravagant powers established Inius Throan. He meant it to be the new world’s heart, a home for his persecuted children. But the children in their ambition turned against one another and their master. They scattered and fought until only four remained. Those four established the four houses. And they would torment their master until, fleeing from this refuge, he fell.”

“This is going to be a long story,” groaned Warney.

“I’m hungry,” muttered Krawg.

“We know the rest,” said Scharr ben Fray.

The old men breathed sighs of relief, lifted their goblets together, and drank. The water stunned their senses, burned its way down their throats, and set them to trembling.

“The four houses became blinded by their own faults and foolishness. But a few sought understanding. They paid heed to their dreams. And to the Keeper.”

The hall was more silent than it had been when it was empty.

“One man in particular sought the Keeper from the time of his boyhood. Led by dreams and colors, he promised his people a safe place, where dissonance would be turned into harmony. A house without tyranny. Where all voices are heard. Where wisdom speaks louder than might. That dream has been costly. And you have all paid part of that price. That very heavy price.”

The mage let those words hang in the air for a few moments, then continued.

“I have heard that after the fall of the house of King Cal-marcus, Tabor Jan made a promise to the Abascar survivors.”

Tabor Jan was still trying to turn around to see the mage as he spoke.

“Tabor Jan told you to strive with all of your strength and that your king would match you step for step, loss for loss, labor for labor. He was right. Your king has done that, and more. So for the glory of his vision, I give you the new flag of this house.”

He drew the gold tie that bound the flag. From the mast a sky-blue banner unfurled, bearing fourteen representations of the dream creature.

Fourteen Keepers?
Warney wondered.
Is the water playing tricks on my mind?

The creatures were arrayed in a great arc over a diamond-shaped patch of colors that Warney recognized. It was a small kite that Auralia herself had painted and flown, a kite that had hung on the gallery wall in the Blackstone Caves.

As the audience stared in silence—baffled, perhaps, by the design—Scharr ben Fray continued. “Lady Say-ressa, Abascar’s healer, would you raise up your gifted hands and lead us in welcoming our king?”

Say-ressa stood, her long hair spilling down around her knees, and looked up
to the back of the hall in expectation. A question marked her brow, and she glanced at Scharr ben Fray worriedly.

The hall was quiet.

“Find him,” said the mage, lowering his voice.

Say-ressa shook her head. “The king asked me to stay beside Jordam.”

Tabor Jan tried to stand, but Emeriene jumped to her feet. “Allow me. I know where to find him.” She pointed a commanding finger at Cesyr and Channy, her unspoken instruction clear, then departed up the central stair and out through the back.

Out of breath, her weaker leg aching, Emeriene stepped into Cal-raven’s chamber.

“We’ve got to construct a Bel Amican lift,” she muttered. “I’m just not a climber anymore.”

She looked around. Cal-raven’s garments lay strewn on the floor, and his new kingly costume lay spread across the bearcat pelt. “Where are you?”

Scattered beside his pillow, she discovered small stone pieces and bent to pick one up. It was unfinished but had two slender legs, one wrapped in a cast.

I’m in his mind. Here. In his new house
.

She lifted a silver platter. He had finished the bread and water she’d left for him. Catching her reflection there, she ran her fingers through her short, black hair and practiced a few expressions of surprise. “There you are!” she whispered. “Well, where have you been hiding?” Then she lifted his pillow to her face and breathed in deeply.

Behind her she heard a hinge creak. In one of the room’s pillars, an open door echoed with distant noise.

Beyond that door she saw the stairway spiraling down. “Cal-raven?”

Absently hugging his pillow, she quietly took a step, letting her unbending leg
down first, then following it with the other. Down one step, then another, into shadow and faint torchlight.

She came at last to a short corridor. It was dark, cold, and lined with barred cells—a small, secret dungeon. Almost all the cells were closed and dark, but one was open and glowing with torchlight.

Cal-raven stepped out, holding the light.

Emeriene screamed.

The king, naked, screamed even louder.

Then Emeriene laughed and turned away from him. After an awkward moment, she tossed the pillow over her shoulder, and he caught it.

When she glanced over her shoulder, the king looked disgruntled, covering himself with the pillow.

“You’re late for dinner.”

“Oh. I suppose I am.”

“I’ll … I’ll wait in the … Shall I wait upstairs?” She was almost certain she could hear his thunderous heartbeat. “What are you doing down here? What is this?”

“I don’t know. I just discovered it.”

“Your feast is ready and waiting.” She began to ascend the stairs, trying not to picture him behind her. But then, unable to restrain herself, she said, “I must say, Master of Inius Throan, it is good to … good to see you again.”

He laughed, but the laughter sounded strained. He seemed distracted.

Back in his bedroom, she peered out into the hall. “Your garments are ready.”

“I can’t wear those. We dine to honor the ale boy, not me.”

A moment later she turned. Cal-raven wore a dull grey servant’s cloak.

“I think you are a troublemaker.” She dared to reach and straighten his collar. “As you were when I met you.”

He met her gaze in surprise.

“I expect nothing from you. Nothing at all. And if you sent me back to Bel Amica, I would accept it and understand it. But when the feast is over, should you ever desire my company … I will come.”

Surprising her, he took her left hand at once and kissed it. Then he pressed her small, cold knuckles to his forehead. “You came after me, even after I disappointed you … I’ve worn out this world, Emeriene. I have come to the end of a journey, but I feel no joy, no comfort, no glimmer of gladness, save that you are here. All surprises in this place thus far have laid burden upon burden on my heart—all except your appearance. And had you not come, in time I would have summoned you myself. I—”

“Shh. I know. If this were the last night of the world or the first of a new one … for all of our losses and disappointments, for all we have endured, that would be enough for me.” She reached up and put her right hand alongside his face.

“Master?”

Scharr ben Fray stood in the doorway. “What a relief to find you … in such good hands.”

As King Cal-raven descended the stairs, passing tier after tier crowded with quiet, hungry people, Say-ressa’s voice broke in the midst of her welcome.

Everyone rose, so fiercely aware in their strange intoxication that they struggled to keep their balance.

To their astonishment their plain-dressed king walked around the lowest crescent of diners, asked for them to be seated, and then placed his hand on Jordam’s shoulder.

“Tonight we welcome the first man of a new House Cent Regus. He has learned to oppose the Curse within him. We’d have perished if he had not warned us of danger at Barnashum. Some of us are here because he brought us out of Cent Regus prisons. Jordam is a friend of this house.”

Young Cesyr growled, disgusted, and looked away from the king. Channy watched his brother, then bared his teeth at the beastman.

Ignoring them, Cal-raven met Jordam’s gaze, and even though Jordam was seated, he was still eye level with the king standing beside him. “I failed you, Jordam.
I abandoned you at the gate of the Core. I lost hope and wandered away. That was a mistake. I ask for your forgiveness.”

Jordam stood. He was shaking. “rrMaster,” he mumbled. “I …” He scratched at his ear and murmured something that only Cal-raven could hear.

Cal-raven heard Jordam confess that he had lied. The Cent Regus chieftain had not killed Jaralaine in the Cent Regus Core. Jordam, in a killing frenzy against the Strongbreed, had not seen Cal-raven’s mother in their midst. He had found her dying among the beastmen he slew, impaled upon one of their weapons.

Cal-raven heard all of this and closed his eyes.

“rrMine, the blame,” said the beastman. “Me. Not chieftain. Not … not the Keeper.”

Cal-raven knelt and touched the scar he had given Jordam’s foot at their first meeting. “We’ve made our mistakes, even as we sought to do what was best. Never think of it again.”

Then he stood and faced the assembly. “We’ve made our mistakes. I’ve made more than anyone. And yet, here we have a chance to start again. Because of one young man.”

He then walked past the two empty place settings, taking the seat between Krawg and Warney instead.

“Master?” Krawg exclaimed, pointing to the empty space in the center.

The king did not reply. He gazed up at the assembled followers and friends, the people he loved. Each face reminded him of others, some waiting in Bel Amica, some lost in Barnashum or Abascar’s ruins.

“You have waited for my vision of our house. I shall give you two. For we honor generous hearts tonight. And generous hands. For as long as we live here, two empty thrones will remind us, inspire us to follow their example, and sustain our hopes that they might yet return.”

He broke off for a moment, wondering where this strength was coming from.

“The ale boy, the one we call Rescue—many of us owe him our lives. All of us owe him our gratitude. His head, his heart, his hands—they are a vision for our house. And Rescue was inspired by Auralia. All of us know what she offered. She
invited us to a world of forgotten colors, a fulfillment of our longings. Everything she made, from candles to kites … and all she touched, from stockings to stones … began to speak to us of what is possible. She said she was sent by the Keeper. And I, in spite of all I’ve seen, still believe her.”

As he said that, he knew he believed it.