“Like I’m fair at making pots,” Kumul replied. “You will be late for your other lessons if you don’t hurry.”
Lynan sighed and handed the sword together with its belt and matching dagger to Dejanus, who took it to the special cabinets reserved for the war gear of Usharna’s children and returned with Lynan’s dress knife.
Before he left, Lynan turned to Ager and said, “I’d appreciate a lesson with the short sword sometime.”
Ager seemed flattered. “I would be honored.”
Chapter 5
Orkid Gravespear was leaving the daily meeting of the queen’s executive council when he was intercepted by a messenger boy with the news that two visitors were waiting for him in his office. He thanked the boy and gave him a small coin for his trouble.
Instead of heading directly to greet his visitors, he paused in the hallway and looked out over the palace’s main courtyard. He was deeply troubled. It seemed to him that day by day the queen was losing her grip on life. The skin on her face was taut around her bony cheeks and high forehead, and her hands trembled so much she had trouble signing any document placed before her. He had served Usharna for almost half of his life and had grown to love and respect her. More than that, he knew that on her death certain events, long planned, would start almost of their own accord and with such momentum that nothing would divert their course. Plans he had been putting in place for over twenty years; plans the Twenty Houses had been putting in place for even longer. As chancellor, he enjoyed almost more power in the kingdom than any other mortal except the queen herself, and yet in the face of such momentous change he knew his authority—even his own life—could be cut short as easily as a rope severed by a sword.
He remembered he had visitors and shook his head to clear it. He entered his rooms, passed by his secretaries without a word, mumbled apologies to the two men waiting in his office, then stopped short. His mouth dropped open, and he went to one knee.
“Your Highness! I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I wasn’t expecting—”
“Stand up, Orkid,” said a gentle voice, and the chancellor obeyed. “There was never any such formality between us before, Uncle, and I do not expect it to start now.”
Orkid looked in wonder at the young man standing before him, as tall as himself, slender with youth, cleanshaven, wide-eyed and grinning. “You’ve grown, Prince Sendarus.”
“It happens, Uncle. And my father sends his wannest greetings.”
“How is the King of Aman?”
“Well when I last saw him, but looking forward to the day when he may see his brother once again.”
The two men looked at one another for another moment and then embraced suddenly and fiercely. When they parted, Orkid held him by the shoulders. “I was not expecting you for another month, but I am glad you are here,” he said.
“And no greeting for his mentor?” asked the second man.
Orkid glanced at the second visitor and received his second shock of the morning. “Lord of the Mountain! Amemun, you old vulture!”
Amemun, round and red-faced, his mound of hair and beard white with age, frowned at Orkid. “Must you always take the Lord’s name so lightly?”
“Only in your presence, faithful teacher,” Orkid replied, raising a smile in the old man. They clasped hands warmly.
“Now, sit down, both of you,” Orkid told them. “You must be exhausted after your journey.”
“True. These bones are not used to such a long expedition,” Amemun said, easing himself into a seat, “although the voyage from Nunwa was uneventful.”
“Unlike the last time you made it,” Orkid added. “I remember it like yesterday when you first brought me to Kendra as part of Aman’s tribute.”
“A terrible day for me,” Amemun admitted. “I felt like I was losing a son.”
“And I a father,” Orkid added.
“Well, I could have done with a little adventure on this trip,” Sendarus said. “I was bored from the moment we left Pila. I couldn’t wait to leave my father’s palace and see more of the world. Instead, all I saw was the highway to Nunwa, and then leagues of empty ocean until last night when we could make out Kendra’s lights on the shore.”
“How is your new pupil shaping up?” Orkid asked Amemun.
“New? It’s been ten years since the king placed his Highness under my tutelage.” He regarded the prince with a skeptical gaze. “Impetuous, perhaps, but a quick learner. His head is filled with romantic notions and what he calls ‘noble’ ideals. Other than that, he makes a passable student.”
“Passable?” Sendarus exclaimed. “The Lord of the Mountain himself would struggle to meet your standards.”
Amemun’s eyes rolled in his head. “You are here less than five minutes and already you blaspheme as readily as your uncle.”
“Just as well,” Orkid said, suddenly serious. “You are in the heart of the kingdom, now, and the Kendrans do not like being reminded other gods are worshiped in their realms. They are so certain in their power they believe their own deity is the single, true creator.”
“They do not let you pray to the Lord of the Mountain?” Amemun asked.
“As long as I refer to him as God, and by no other title, they are pleased to turn a blind eye to my worship, pretending that I have conformed.”
Amemun nodded, but his expression showed his displeasure. He had little time for such self-righteousness. “Then you must learn the trick,” he told Sendarus.
“Surely we will not be staying long enough for it to matter,” Sendarus said lightly, making nothing of the glance exchanged between Orkid and Amemun.
“You must be tired,” Orkid told the prince. “My secretary will show you to a room where you can rest, and in the meantime I will arrange for proper chambers to be prepared and notify the queen’s private secretary that you have arrived.”
Sendarus was about to object, not feeling the slightest bit tired and eager to see something of the kingdom’s capital, the greatest city in the world, but he saw Amemun looking at him with his grave brown eyes and knew the sights and sounds of Kendra would have to wait.
“As you say, Uncle.”
“Where are your servants and baggage?”
“Still with our ship.”
Orkid called in his secretaries and gave instructions. Two of them bustled out to collect his guests’ retinue and belongings. The third led Sendarus to Orkid’s own chambers to rest.
“So Marin had decided that his own son should be unaware of his part in Kendra’s future?” Orkid asked Amemun after all had left.
Amemun refused to meet Orkid’s gaze. “The future is so uncertain, Orkid. The king did not want Sendarus’ hopes raised.”
Orkid sighed deeply. “Old friend, I know when you are lying. You cannot meet me in the eye, and you sound apologetic.”
“I never sound apologetic!” Amemun declared hotly, and having declared it lost all his huff in an instant. “Well, when I’m apologizing for others, perhaps I do,” he conceded.
“So what is the truth?”
“When I said earlier that the prince’s head is full of foolish notions, I was not being sarcastic. Marin is afraid his son would refuse a role he felt was dishonorable in any fashion.”
“We can’t let nature take its course. If Aman’s dreams are to be realized, we must all take our part whether or not it brings us honor.”
“The king has no intention of letting nature take its course. He wants you to dig a furrow for it.”
“Ah.” Orkid stood up and went to his window. He beckoned Amemun to join him. “Do you see the size of this palace? Its population almost equals that of Pila itself. I can dig a hundred furrows, but in Usharna’s court they would be no more than scratches on the surface.”
“Nevertheless, the king does not want Sendarus told of his part in our plans.”
“Then the sooner we introduce him to the queen and her family the better,” Orkid said.