King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (41 page)

“You would be good for it, though,” Fenwyn said, with a sad smile. “And you know how little I sleep at nights anyway.” Josske leaned over, and whispered something in Fenwyn’s ear, and the Minister chuckled.

“Then perhaps one of the lieutenants,” Caliandra said. “Or a reward for Darryn, without whom we would still be in the clutches of Marrol’s conspiracy.”

“The soldier?” Sophine asked, suspicious. “Why him?”

“He has proven his loyalty, and his capacity to go beyond the call of duty for his country.” Caliandra said. And, she wagered, the women of the castle would enjoy having such a handsome face around, herself included.

“Your Majesty, I would recommend you consider someone more experienced,” Fenwyn said with concern. “A willingness for the job and such qualities will only take him so far.”

“I too, would suggest someone more experienced,” Sophine said, “It would create unrest among the guards who have given us so much of our lives in service. And being ordered about by someone so young… I do not think they will take it well.” Sophine wore her reticence like a winter fur, and pulled it tight around her; she regarded Caliandra’s suggestion with distance. “Pick one of the senior guards. They would have more experience in planning details, and the management of the castle’s safety.”

“I will not,” Caliandra said, her mind resolute and fixed. “Darryn rightly deserves it. I’ll not consider anyone else.”

Her mother gave her a lingering look of disapproval, as Fenwyn began to speak. “Is that the King’s will?” he asked, with careful suspicion.

“Yes,” Caliandra said. “It is.”
If I can strip a man of his land with a word, then I can certainly make a soldier the Captain of the Guard, if that is my will.

“Very well,” Fenwyn said. “We will need to make arrangements to have him trained as he works; there is a great deal involved with being a Captain of the Guard that he won’t know, and will need to. I trust Your Majesty is capable of dealing with any displeasure and unrest it causes.”

“That, I can help with,” Duchess Una said, cheerful. “I am good friends with Lady Wyna and Lord Bran of Westbrook, and they told me only the other week that their Captain of the Guard is retiring. I imagine he would not be ungrateful for the opportunity to teach, nor your young soldier the chance for tutelage, if you pay him well.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Caliandra said, gladdened by the offer. “That would be most helpful.” Sophine shot Caliandra another look of disapproval.

“Think nothing of it, Your Majesty,” the Duchess said. Caliandra noticed that her mother seemed dismayed.

“Mother,” Caliandra said, “Do you wish to talk privately?”

“Yes,” Sophine responded. Caliandra knew she was not pleased with the choice for Captain of the Guard, but whatever Lord Dugal had done was a matter best discussed alone - and far more disconcerting.

Caliandra looked about the room. “If you would all give us a few minutes alone, please,” Caliandra said aloud. “I would be most grateful.

“We have no further business for now, Your Majesty,” Fenwyn said. “We can discuss trade and agriculture later, before your meeting with the ministers.”

“Thank you,” Caliandra replied. She offered a nod of respect to the Duchess Una, whom Sophine helped out of her seat; Josske moved over next to the Duchess, and took her arm to lead her out of the room, alongside himself and Fenwyn. The doors were shut behind them, leaving only Sophine and Caliandra in the study, on opposite ends of the large circular table.

“I am sorry that you do not approve of my choice for Captain,” Caliandra said, with a gentle tone - not apologetic, but not pleading, either. “I thought it was right, given the circumstances.”

“Do not apologize to me,” Sophine said, with more demure fashion than Caliandra was used to. “You are King, and it was your decision to make. I only offered my suggestion, and it was ignored.” Still, however, she was displeased.

“I suppose I am not fully used to my authority,” Caliandra said. “It’s… it’s a strange feeling.”

“Your father felt much the same way,” Sophine said. “It will take getting used to, when you are familiar with not being the final authority. To be the one who makes the decisions, and know you are responsible for their repercussions.”

“Mother,” Caliandra asked, hesitant to speak it, “Why… what made you say what you did about Lord Dugal?”

Sophine took a breath; Caliandra could see the reluctance in her eyes. “You were too young to have known about it,” Sophine said, “But Marrol was not the first man to have attempted to take the crown.”

It stunned her. “Lord Dugal tried to… stop Father?”

“Worse,” Sophine said. “His men attempted to have…” She stopped as the words became more difficult for her to say. Caliandra moved from her chair, and took her mother’s side; she took her mother’s hand in her own, and saw the sadness in her eyes. “They tried to kill him,” Sophine finally said, the words a gasp from her lips.

“Why does he still have his title, then?” Caliandra said, furious. “Why does he have anything at all? Why have we not stripped everything from him, and hung him from the gallows?”

“We could never prove it,” Sophine said. “He was clever. He hid his connection well, but I always knew he was behind it. That is why I couldn’t let you even think of him for the position of Minister of War… it would give him too much power.”

“Does he have any connection to the other choices?” Caliandra asked, suddenly worried. “Perhaps, he might attempt something through them.”

“I’m not sure,” Sophine replied. “But his sister is married to a Silenian Lord, who is in great favor with Prince Ciusto.”

“We have nothing to worry, then,” Caliandra said. “Ciusto would lose the favor of Uncle Esio if he acted against us. He’d never chance it.”

“Not directly,” Sophine said, “But there are rumors that perhaps, Ciusto has hungrier eyes than his grandfather did…” Caliandra knew the reign of Emperor Rodioge well; he was the man who had pushed his Empire east, and South, with the help of the Erimeni, and come crashing up against the waves of the Amaniren shores. He had conquered out a large swath of Ariaci land, and what was once called Dans; those people joined the Silenian Empire unwillingly, at first, but were swayed by a diplomatic touch. It was thanks to him that the southern half of their land belonged to Silenia; his son, Alminio, had merely kept the peace.

But if Ciusto were still so ambitious and hungry for conquest twenty years on, when Alminio passed - or perhaps, with his father’s blessing - then it would not be unreasonable to worry. The slumbering giant would become a fearsome neighbor, no matter how much Silenian blood flowed through Caliandra’s veins.

“Then perhaps we should add him to consideration again,” Caliandra said, drawing a sharp look from her mother, “And see what we can discover of his intentions.”

“Clever and bold,” Sophine said, impressed. “Your father wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“He taught me to,” Caliandra said. “‘The more you know of your enemy, the easier it is to anticipate them.’”

“I would hope that you find nothing,” Sophine said. “But if his name has made it to the Council, he knows he is in consideration. He may make plans accordingly… and if your representatives come to visit, that may invite an opportunity.”

“Who should I send to visit him, then?” Caliandra asked.

“You have already established a reputation for boldness,” Sophine said, “Would such a woman do anything but go into the belly of the beast herself?”

CHAPTER
SEVENTY

The Erimeni camp to the east remained exactly where Kells had remembered it; just past the border, under the shade of Nemi’s Fist. His children had kept pace well, far better than he’d expected them to. Porthan wasn’t fond of long distances, and complained, though he had more than enough energy. Ibhaen had hardly been so far from town, and was nervous; but unlike her brother, she made no show of it. That much, Kells was thankful for. He hoped Porthan kept his complaints quiet as they reached the camp walls; the Erimeni were not fond of such weakness.

“Stay close to me,” Kells said. His children obeyed as they navigated the camp, with all its people observing them. He saw the wary eyes that followed Porthan and Ibhaen; he stared back, forcing the Erimeni who watched to break their gaze. Until he was brought into the tribe officially, intimidation was all he had to rely on. Drawing his weapon inside the camp walls, without reason, meant death. He kept it sheathed, and walked towards the leader’s tent.

Kells found the chief outside it; two women were busy braiding his loose hair into a single horse-tail. A flicker of recognition crossed the chief’s face as he looked at Kells. “Our Barrish friend!” the leader said, in glad Erimeni. “What brings you back to us?”

“The new King does not listen to me,” Kells replied. “There is nothing left for me in Barra. I wish to join your tribe.”

“Pfeh,” the chief said, stroking the small measure of beard on his chin. “You brought your children without your wife? I should keep you in chains, and let her flay you with a rusted dagger.” It was as much jest as it was threat; family was everything to the Erimeni. Divorce and separation required approval, and any man or woman who ran away from their wife

“She’s dead,” Kells replied. His children didn’t know enough Erimeni to hear what he said properly. He couldn’t tell the truth; the Erimeni would have laughed him out of the village.

“Is that true?” the chief said, leaning forward. Kells could see a certain greed in his eyes, as if he already knew the value of what was before him.

“I thought… with what I’d done to keep the peace, you would be welcoming to me and my children.”

The chief stood up; the women stood with him, but he waved them away. With an open hand and a smile, he clapped Kells on the shoulder. “We take you in with open arms and sheathed weapons,” the chief said. “It would be a great honor to have you in our tribe. But your children… they are of the age, and they only have so much of our blood.” His smile gave way to concern. Kells’ even expression turned hostile.

“Absolutely not!” Kells said, outraged. He knew what the man meant; Porthan and Ibhaen would be tested for their fighting strength, against Erimeni children. It would not be an easy fight. By Porthan’s age, Kells was skilled in the basics; by Ibhaen’s age, he was proficient - lethal, even. Porthan had been in some fights, that much Kells knew, but Ibhaen had learned nothing more than what he had taught her, without Ostre pitching a fit - the absolute basics of fighting and wrestling.

He only hoped it was enough.

“Our problem is that we have a great number of children,” the chief said, “Almost more than we can support. There have been several fathers and mothers who have not come back from their recent tasks, and so we are thin on hunters.”

“Then I am glad to hunt,” Kells said. “I’ll hunt as much as three men. Please, just spare my children from the fight.”

“No,” the chief said. “I am sorry, but we must know that the blood of your blood are strong enough for our tribe.” Kells clenched his teeth. Nothing would change if he went to another Erimeni tribe - untrained children were next to useless to the Erimeni. But Porthan and Ibhaen had other skills - perhaps those would be enticing enough to save them from combat.

“My children are learned,” Kells replied. “Ibhaen can speak three languages. Both can read Barrish, and other languages, as well as write them. Bring the girl to do the bargaining for you, on your next visit to a Barrish village. She will haggle any merchant’s price so far down, you’ll think he pays you for take his goods away.”

“Excellent!” the chief said, delighted. “Then if they pass the test of strength, they’ll be most valuable.”

How can I ask them to do this?
Kells thought. And yet, there was no avoiding it - there was no going back. If he ever returned, he’d be arrested and branded a deserter - and his children would be given back to Ostre. There was no alternative: the children had to fight. Porthan tugged at his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” he asked, innocently. Kells was mortified by the words that he needed to say; more than any time he’d needed to speak in his life. “He won’t let us in, will he?”

“He will,” Kells replied, “But we must prove our worth, as a family. I did him a favor some time ago, and I told him of your skills with languages, and writing, but it was not enough. He… the chief wants you to see you fight.”

“What?” Ibhaen said, confused. “Why would we need to fight? They owe you a debt. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

“Can we go just home?” Porthan pouted. “I don’t want to fight anyone.”

It crushed him to see their faces, and to hear the reluctance in their voices. “You have to fight,” Kells replied. “I’m sorry… We can’t go home.”

“If we came back, maybe Mother would change,” Porthan said. His words were not hopeful; they were the protests of a child unwilling to confront reality. “She’d love us again. And we wouldn’t have to hurt people.”

“She’s not changing, Porthan. She hates us,” Ibhaen said, sour. “She doesn’t want us to be a family. And if we go back, Father will be arrested.” Kells raised an eyebrow. Ibhaen was more clever and attentive than he gave her credit. “We can’t ever go back, do you understand? We
have
to fight.”

Porthan looked mortified; Kells crouched, to be closer to his son’s height. He saw the fear in Porthan’s light brown eyes, and the hesitance in his face. “Porthan,” Kells said, “Do you remember what I taught you about fighting?”