The Last Steward Page 5

  He missed his blade, feeling naked without it. He shook his head and exited his chambers into a lit corridor, the torches on the wall casting a smoky haze drifting up through slits in the ceiling, and down at the edges of the stone wall. More smoke drifted from the floor. The torches in the corridor below must be lit as well. The maja’s rooms.

  He marched down the hall and through a door opening into a high-ceilinged chamber. Staircases wound upward at each corner, with a wrapping balcony connecting the King’s chambers. Priva glanced up as a woman left Arinbjorn’s sleeping quarters. Odd. His father would have already awakened.

  She glided away from him and entered the new quarters Jasper received after being named Inheritor. Priva stilled, heart pounding. If he hadn’t entered just in time to see it, no one would have.

  He hadn’t been back but a few hours, and already he was being drawn back into the intrigue of politics. Disgust writhed in his gut. Priva forced himself to cross the wide expanse and push through the opposite door. A large staircase led to another corridor. The wives’ rooms spread across the back of the hall, and a large sitting area was filled with cushions and waiting servants.

  “Priva!” Josslea stood, rising from a cushion, her long, luxurious hair spreading down bare shoulders. How did she stay warm with such scant clothing?

  “Maja Josslea.” He bowed at the waist. His father’s newest wife, apparently. Number four. A servant had told him the wedding had taken place a year ago, shortly after Priva had left to find Callum.

  “It is a pleasure to see you after such a long passing.” She stood still, fully expecting him to stride forward to talk pleasantries with her.

  He tread carefully. At one time, Josslea had set her eyes on him as a husband.

  “I’m afraid I’ve been summoned, Maja.” He eyed the corridor to his right. “I will attend you later today, if given time.”

  “I look forward to it.” She glided back to her cushion with a look over her shoulder to see if he was watching. He was, and Priva shook himself and left, following the winding corridor and mentally kicking himself.

  The large double doors at the end were defended by the King’s personal guards, Rool and Ross, twins who stood almost seven feet tall. Their muscled frames dwarfed Priva as he stopped before them.

  “I have been summoned.”

  They looked at each other, clearly skeptical. “The King –ʺ Rool began.

  “Will not be pleased at my tardiness.”

  Creator, this was so tedious. Damn Fortress life. Already he longed for the blue sky over his head and sand beneath his boots.

  A shout from the chamber filtered through the doors. It was Arinbjorn’s voice. Ross sighed and nodded as if Priva should pass.

  He opened the doors as Arinbjorn moved to stand over the table, fist slamming on the top, shouting at his eldest son. Boll was shaking, shrinking into his chair.

  “You will be the laughingstock of my house! I will not have it!”

  “But Father, it’s not my fault.”

  “Enough!” the King roared and whirled to Priva. “What took you so long?” he snapped. Boll’s frightened face relaxed. Priva had entered just in time to interrupt the King’s tirade. He almost laughed. Arinbjorn’s grown children still weren’t exempt from scolding. And in a room full of people.

  Priva recognized the faces around the table. Jasper was missing, but the King’s first wife, and his favorite, Nyle, sat regal and tall. Her braided hair crowned her head and fell past her shoulders. Something close to annoyance crossed her face as she looked at Boll. He was her son and caused no end of trouble and disappointment to both his parents.

  The High Counselor, Brri Car’abel, had fixed his bright green eyes on Priva as soon as he had entered. They glistened, a stark contrast to his dark face, making him stand out. He was Arinbjorn’s only living relative and brother, much younger than the King. Probably younger than even Priva, although Priva wasn’t sure.

  The High Finder, Pale, was cloaked by a flowing red robe almost obscuring his entire frame. He peered at Boll with eyes so dark and sunken into his face they were hard to see, framed by the deep fringe of his hood. A skrale perched on his shoulder, small for its kind. Priva hated the things. Their disconcerting laughter never ceased to give him a shiver of something unpleasant up his spine. Pale turned his attention to Priva, but only for a moment before gazing with an unreadable expression at Boll.

  Callum nodded to Priva from the foot of the table. Beside her was the Elder of the largest clan in the Bright Lands except for that of the Abel’s. Dirk Car’vali was dressed in a resplendent cloak of gold and brown. Broad shouldered and gruff, the Elder was a boot-licker, but a fine warrior, for that. Next to him was his son, a lad of maybe sixteen winters who looked nothing like his father. Eli Car’vali was just beginning to fill out, with a slim body, scruff on his face, and a lanky form he didn’t seem to know what to do with.

  All this Priva took in instantly as his father huffed back to the head of the table, apparently done with Boll. “I’m sorry, Father. I was just awakened and was stalled by your new wife.” Best to as least appear contrite.

  The King grunted. “Sit, boy. And lend your expertise to this war council.”

  War council? Why was Callum here? And where was General Car’malik? Priva sat as instructed.

  “Sparrt has fallen to Jattal,” Pale said, voice quiet as he tapered his fingers together at the tips. His eyes lifted to Priva’s. “A surprise attack. We had inklings they had been recruited by the Triumphant King, but nothing concrete. A Hooded led them.”

  Priva frowned, turning to the King. “What would you have me do, Father?”

  “You are an accessor now. I would have you challenge this Hooded. Take your sister with all haste and stop their march into the heart of our Land. Warships have been spotted on the coast, and our fleet has been launched. But perhaps we are too late.” The King gripped the edge of the table, face stern. “Perhaps the Creator has seen fit to send you at just the right time.”

  Had the King really just asked him to use his powers in defense of the Bright Lands? Priva shot his gaze to the Finder, whose glittering eyes were steadfast on his face. The skrale had descended from his shoulder to sit on the table, and Pale’s fingers now stroked its head. A sense of unease swept into Priva’s mind.

  This must be a test.

  He turned back to the King. “I would not use my powers, Father. The Hooded must be stopped, but not by the Deep.”

  The King grinned and sat back, looking toward the Finder in what appeared to be triumph. “My son will not be made a fool, Pale. You were wrong.”

  A great weight lifted off Priva’s shoulders. He had evaded a trap. But there was something at the back of his mind flaring a warning. Exactly how were they to stop a Hooded, if not by the Deep? And how had a Hooded survived this long?

  Pale smiled a long, thin smile, barely discernible through the shadows of his red hood. “I will consult with the Ministry. We will come up with a plan to stop this desecrated piece of filth stalking our holy shores.” He looked directly at Priva. “But something must be done about your children, my King.”

  Priva spared a look to Callum, whose eyes flickered to his. Her face was unreadable.

  The King grunted again, running a hand through his long beard. “When the time comes, but that is not now. Boll, you are dismissed. Apologize to the Vali clan, and recompense will be made from you own coffers. The girl’s death must be atoned.”

  Boll stood, turned to the Car’vali’s, and made a formal apology, face scared and eyes shifting. Priva wasn’t sure of the details, but his brother had been known to cause quite a few “accidental” deaths when he flew into a rage.

  After the apology, the Elder stood to his feet and said, “You are lucky she was only a bastard, Boll Car’abel, or this would not so easily be forgiven.” The young boy Eli glared with undisguised hatred at Boll. Was this lad the Inheritor of the Car’vali clan? If so, he had a sister. Was it she who had been
killed by Boll? If so, this could get messy. Priva tensed, ready for anything.

  “My only demand is this: a marriage to a true daughter for my son, Eli.”

  Boll turned a pleading look on the King, who sighed. It wasn’t an unfair request, considering.

  “A false daughter, and you have a deal,” the King said with a nod.

  The Elder looked at this son, whose face was indecipherable. The hatred had been replaced with satisfaction.

  Dirk Car’vali turned back to the King and bowed. “It is settled.”

  “Yes, yes. Now sit, and let’s discuss the pressing matter of this attack. Boll, you may go.”

  No sooner had the words left the King’s mouth than Boll fled, rushing past Jasper as he strode into the room, Inheritor stone glittering around his neck. The King nodded at him as he sat beside Priva with barely a glance. Jasper was arrogant, but Priva didn’t blame him. He had always been Arinbjorn’s favorite, and of course that type of treatment led to high thoughts of oneself.

  “I have some ideas,” Brri said, standing. “Although our illustrious Finder so despises accessors, for good reason, I suggest we send Callum and Priva regardless.”

  The Finder bared his teeth, for all the sphere looking like the skrale under his hand. The skrale chuckled, climbing up onto the Finder’s shoulder.

  “Say your piece, brother,” the King said with a wave of his hand.

  “Whatever just punishment they will face for the spark of accessing in their breasts, this could be forgiven if they defeat the Hooded. As we just saw, atonement can be made for a fair exchange, when all parties are satisfied.”

  The Finder appeared as if he wanted to bite off Brri’s head.

  Great. Another impossible assignment being proposed.

  “We need the Sensor to close the Rift,” Jasper said, shaking his head. “For all his sins, Priva is necessary for the whole sphere, and not just our fight with the Jattalians.”

  “And the Triumphant King,” Elder Car’vali muttered.

  “Polbine Voltaire sends the Islanders to do his dirty work.” Arinbjorn stuck his chest out. “He would lose if he attacked at the border.”

  “Yet we have a foreign army on our soil.” Queen Nyle’s firm voice brought back a hundred memories in Priva’s head, of days spent in the practice yard along with Boll while she watched and reprimanded her son. She had kept jealous eyes on Priva and his watching mother. Her cutting remarks were meant to tear down Priva and encourage her own son to best him. It had only spurred Priva to do better. “Unwarranted arrogance is foolhardy, my beloved.”

  Only she could get away with saying that without losing her head.

  Still, the King frowned and grit his teeth. “Woman!”

  “She speaks sense, Father,” Jasper said, nodding at Nyle with something close to respect. “We are tested warriors, but the King is a warlock. And now a Hooded walks on our soil. It would do well to be circumspect.”

  “It would do well to slit their gullets!” the King roared, eyes wild as he stood. Priva’s ears rang. They had pushed Arinbjorn too far. “Jasper, you have never whet a blade with an enemy’s blood like your brother beside you! Perhaps a little military action will silence your aired opinions when I did not ask for them!” He leaned over and shook a finger in Jasper’s face. “I gave you the Inheritor stone. I can take it away!”

  To his credit, Jasper nodded and kept his mouth shut. But Nyle reached over and laid a gentle hand on the King’s arm. “Look around you, King. We are all on the same side. Screaming at your sons won’t protect our coast.”

  The King leaned back. “Liar’s teeth!” But he took her hand and nodded. “Well spoken, woman.”

  “I stand by what I said,” Brri said, taking a seat and crossing his arms, face open and body relaxed. “Why not use accessors while we can?”

  “I will not fight a Hooded and win.” Priva shook his head. Were they really that stupid? He had no desire to lead another suicide mission. Although finding Callum hadn’t ended in his death, this one would for sure.

  “That is why you both will go. Surely two accessors against one will suffice? At least to slow him down long enough for us to mount a real frontal assault on their forces.” Brri glanced at the Finder. “And allow for the Ministry to summon what they need from the Liar.”

  “If he will help us,” the Finder muttered. “There is no indication the Liar has any intention of doing so.”

  “What do you mean?” the King snapped, anger evident in his tone. “Surely the Liar would help us.”

  “The Liar has been quiet, my King. He focuses on the eastern Land and not on ours. The Triumphant King steals his attention. Even the caluths have not answered our summons. Only the skrales, for it seems that is all the Liar is willing to spare us.” The Finder swept back his hood, revealing a bald head and wrinkled skin. His eyes were black, with no eyebrows. Priva dared not look away, but an icy sense of dread crept down his spine. “But I see the sense of what your brother says. If Maj Priva and Maja Callum can defeat and kill the Hooded, they would atone for their sins.”

  His words stirred Priva’s memories. He saw himself slice his hand and pledge his blood to the Dreads, tricked by the mayor of a small town disrupted by worship of the beasts from the Rift. He hadn’t known what it meant, and still didn’t, for that matter.

  “I will do what is needed, Father.” Callum looked with pride at the King. “My earlier folly was made with good intentions. I ran so that the Dreads could cleanse me of the spark. But now it would seem the Creator would redeem me.”

  The Finder clenched his jaw but said nothing. All eyes turned to Priva. He sat back, gaze fixed on Arinbjorn. His whole life had been one of sacrifice, following the whim of this man. Duty over all. Greigan pride over comfort. The blade over the tongue.

  “Perhaps defending our coast is meant as a distraction while the Triumphant King mounts an attack. I would not focus all our efforts on the Islanders, Father.” Arinbjorn nodded at Priva to continue, still clutching Nyle’s hand. “Hear my plea: we must side with the Sisterhood against Polbine Voltaire.”

  A gasp echoed through the room. He flicked his gaze to Callum, who smiled as Eli and Dirk made the sign against villainy, two upright fingers in a “v”.

  Arinbjorn threw back his head and laughed as Jasper pounded Priva’s shoulder with a fist. “Have you lost your mind, brother? You would align yourself with women who corrupt themselves? Who use the Deep to their own advantage? They are untrustworthy.”

  Priva waved a hand. “Even now, the Reader is in Vale, convincing the Midlandians to join our cause. I have the ability to communicate with her that is... unique. She soon will have the Chancellor’s blessing for us to march through his Land, if not join us outright.” Priva leaned forward to accentuate his words. “The Sisterhood is fractured. Already, there is a band who have broken their vows and aim to stand against the King. The Bender leads them.”

  “The Bender?” The King said. “You are convinced this is him?”

  “I watched with my own eyes as he killed one hundred Forest City soldiers with the power of his will. He healed my body of mortal wounds simply because he wanted to help me.” Their faces were a mixture of fascination and disbelief. “Brate Hightower is the Bender. I am the Sensor. Graissa del’Blyth is the Reader, and Malok Mountain Keeper is the Seer. Four Stewards live, and we will close the Rift. But first, we must deal with Polbine Voltaire, who will try everything within his being to stop us. He is Soulbound and wants to release the Rift. Father, he starts with us. Once the Bright Lands fall, the rest of the sphere will follow.”

  A feather drop could have been heard as he finished.

  The Finder broke the silence. “If you speak the truth, boy, then it must start with the defense of our coast. If the Hooded makes it to the Hovering City, we will fall. And the Triumphant King will sit on the Stone Throne.”

  “Over my dead body!” The King stood to his feet. “Priva, if you kill the Hooded, I will sign whatever pact the w
itches want me to sign. Take Callum and go.”

  Chapter Five

  Clyfe Fleetfoot

  The woman fell at Clyfe’s feet, clutching her son to her chest. Clyfe almost didn’t recognize her, paying little attention to the raucous laughter of the warriors in the street as they surrounded her in the morning light.

  “Where have you been hiding?” one asked as she scrambled away and bumped into Clyfe when he tried to walk by. She raised her eyes to him. He stopped as the warrior pried the screaming child from her hands. She stood and launched herself at the man with a feral cry, and another warrior grabbed her and laughed.

  “You have spirit, little wild animal!”

  “If you harm a hair on his head!” She struggled to get away.

  “Don’t worry. Children do not interest me, although I hear there are some here who don’t differentiate –ʺ

  “Silence!” Clyfe snapped. “You and I both know there is a line we do not cross!” He stalked over and grabbed the squalling babe from the warrior. “Have some shame, Grike.” The child’s arms flailed as Clyfe held him. He glared at Samseen, the warrior who had the woman by the upper arms. She had stilled when Clyfe intervened. “This babe is still at the breast. This woman will not be touched.”

  “You must ruin our fun, Fleetfoot? You must be first to battle and defend our enemies?” Samseen let her go, however. She dashed forward to take her son from Clyfe, then looked around in uncertainty, as if unsure whether to flee or stay in his protective shadow.

  “Find your pleasure elsewhere, warriors. We will not defile ourselves as the Greigans do.”

  “The Greigans slaughter our wives, our daughters...” Grike started to protest, but stilled when he saw the look on Clyfe’s face. Then, with a sulking shake of his head, he sauntered off. The others followed, unwilling to face Clyfe.