“As long as they obey orders, I’ll not complain.”
Areava joined him. “Oh, they’ll obey your orders.” She placed a heavy chain over Sendarus’ neck. He looked down and fingered the Key of the Sword.
“You are leading my kingdom’s army into battle against our oldest and most determined foe. You have every right to wear it.”
Sendarus could not help puffing up a little with pride. The Key shone in the early morning light.
Areava placed her hand against his cheek. “You must go.”
Sendarus held her hand and looked down on her. For the first time she saw something akin to fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind; he pretended to smile, let go of her hand, and left.
Areava waited by the window until Sendarus appeared in the courtyard. Orkid was holding his horse for him. Sendarus mounted quickly, glanced up at the window, and waved at her. She wanted to wave back, but her hands were clasped tightly over her heart and could not move. She wished Olio was by her side, but he had not been seen all day. And then she thought of Primate Northam, wanting badly to talk to him, and then she remembered he was dead. A week ago! she thought in surprise. It seemed those that loved her most were no longer around her, and she wished she was not queen at all but merely a woman with a husband who was nothing more important than a carpenter or a shop keeper.
Galen Amptra sat on his horse in the courtyard in full armor and with his helmet on. He wished to hell Sendarus would get a move on so they could parade out of the city and then get into more comfortable traveling clothes. Mail hauberk and shin guards were all well and good in the middle of a melee, but a bloody torment on a sunny day when the greatest threat was heat stroke.
He chided himself for his impatience. He had no wife, and currently no mistress, to tarry with before setting out on campaign. And Sendarus, of course, had Areava, possibly the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.
No, not really, Galen told himself. She has the features for beauty, but no concern for them. It is her power and her assuredness that makes her beautiful. No wonder Father is afraid of her.
Sendarus appeared from the palace, his new mail shining brilliantly in the sun. In his hand he held a helm of the peculiar kind worn by Amanite infantry; it covered almost the whole head, leaving only the eyes and mouth exposed. He’ll learn soon enough, Galen thought. A cavalryman needs to see and hear more than he will inside that pot.
Sendarus turned to review the knights before mounting, then with Orkid’s help got into his saddle. Galen’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the Key of the Sword resting against Sendarus’ mailed chest. Areava had told the council Sendarus would have it for the campaign and that it was no use their objecting, but seeing the crossed swords and spear worn by an Amanite made Galen wish he had. The nobleman could feel the blood rushing to his face but could do nothing to control it. He looked around and saw that he had not been the only knight to see the amulet hanging from Sendarus’ neck, and several were talking angrily among themselves.
Sendarus waved to a window in the palace, and Galen turned. He caught a glimpse of Areava, and seeing that pale, severe face cooled him more quickly than a winter rain. She had given the Key to her husband. Sendarus might be an Amanite, but he was no thief.
Areava is betraying us! he thought angrily, but immediately banished it from his mind. It was he who was thinking treason, and the revelation shocked him. She is my queen. Sendarus is her lawful husband and general of this army. He has a right to wear one of the Keys.
His reasoning was solid, yet his heart still fought against it.
There was not enough time to properly invest Father Powl as the new Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, but as senior cleric he was still the only one who could properly bless the army. He stood on a makeshift dais near the city’s north gate, the wide dirt road leading from it disappearing into the hills that backed Kendra. It was a difficult route for the army to follow, but the most direct to Chandra and then Hume. Infantry stood in their regiments waiting for the commander. It was nearly mid-morning, and though the air was cool, the sun was warm and some of the men were getting fidgety. Father Rown, standing to the right and slightly behind Powl, pointed down into the city. At first all Powl saw was the glimmer of the sun off armor, and then he heard the steady hoofbeats and clinking of mail that told him this was the heavy cavalry from the Twenty Houses. Now he could hear people cheering them as they rode through the streets.
The soldiers waiting by the gate were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. After all, the knights of Kendra had not marched to war in over fifteen years, and once Haxus was thrashed, they might never have cause to ride again. The first troop comprised the youngest nobles, each carrying the pennants of their houses. Next came Sendarus, his mail shining as bright as the sun, and on his chest the golden Key of the Sword—the infantry cheered to see it. Then came the knights themselves: three regiments, all kitted up, their stallions pulling at the reins. Father Powl blessed each regiment as it rode by, and then they were out the gate and heading into the hills, their going marked by a slowly drifting cloud of dust.
When the last knight had gone, the infantry wheeled, saluted the city, received their blessing in turn, and followed the cavalry out of the gate. The tramping of their feet echoed all the way down to the harbor. By mid-afternoon, the last soldier had gone, and a breathless silence fell over Kendra.
Father Powl remained on the dais long after every one else had gone. He had just performed his first official function as Northam’s successor. Not as primate, perhaps, but nonetheless the recognized heir. If he had been a power in the land before, it was nothing to what he could achieve now.
And the cost, really, had been so small, he thought. And then he remembered he still had not found the name of God. He had spent half a day in Northam’s chambers searching for some clue, some secret scribbling, but to no avail. Still, he had the rest of his life to find it, and he was confident he would.
Olio did not watch the army go. He felt a mixture of guilt and shame and relief that it was Sendarus and not he who was leading the army, and although he knew it was for the best, he could not help the sense of failure that filled him. His second failure, taking into account the way he had handled the healing work at the hospice.
He was an encumbrance, he was sure, to his sister. She was trying so hard to be the best queen for her people, and here he was, her stuttering, slovenly brother who could do nothing right.
He shook his head in shame. This was no way for a prince of the realm to behave. He would go to Areava and ask for some other commission. There must be something he could do for the kingdom, something that would allow him to prove his worth.
He wandered the halls of the palace, absorbed in his own thoughts, eventually finding himself in the west wing. Priests walked around him, nodding but saying nothing. He passed the royal chapel, hesitated, but decided not to go in. He entered the library, then just stood and looked around at the shelves of books that rose around him like walls. He fought off a twinge of claustrophobia. One book was open on a reading desk and he went to it. Half of one page had writing on it, done in a careful and elegant hand, but the rest of the page and its opposite were blank.
“I pray for guidance,” he read aloud, “and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.”