Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (45 page)

“Aye,” said the prince. “At least till the drink is gone. Even if I’m in full rage at something you or your country has done, I’ll remember the day you bound that devil’s feet. For the sake of my throne, I will listen.”

“How about you, Defender?” asked the prince. “You’ll be the only one permitted to bear arms in my presence. You could head my royal guard. Or would you rather dress up as a general?”

“I was paid when I came out of that hole unscathed. Blessings be to Kiateros for his aid. My faith in Pinetto saved me,” said Baran Togg quietly.

Legato rolled his eyes. “Come on, stop making me coax you like one of my wives.”

“If I must have something by your hand, I want a brewery for Anna. She makes the finest ale you’ve ever tasted,” the smith asserted.

The prince roared with approval and pounded him on the back. “Done! Now, vizier, name a favor or I won’t let you rest. You shame me when no one can see my gratitude.”

“Very well,” Pinetto sighed. “I’d like to visit a certain sacred grove. It’s on the border between Semenos and your country. It has plums on one side and apricots on the other.”

Next, the prince asked around. Luckily, one of the archers from Semenos knew about the orchard in question. Locating it on the map, the prince began to grumble. “That’s about four hours travel from the main road. We’ve got to meet up with my troops at the border as soon as possible.”

The smith scratched his chin. “I believe your exact wording was ‘anything in my power’. You’ll still make it by Emperor’s Day. Besides, I think going someplace we can thank the gods is an excellent way to start your reign.”

During the third day of westerly travel, Pinetto grew bored. As there could only be so many permutations, he fiddled with the puzzle of the throne in his head. Unfortunately, he couldn’t lift the larger pieces. Therefore, he began with the smaller, curved parts in the back. Whenever they stopped to rest, he’d have the smith, Sajika, and Legato push around the seat and supports. “This is ridiculous. It’s too heavy,” complained the ambassador.

“It has to be done with me and my advisors alone,” the prince insisted. After almost an hour of trial and error, the bottom pieces snapped into place.

By nightfall, the astronomer had interlocked half the pieces with their help. Sajika and the smith had each been inspired once or twice, but the lion’s share of the assembly had been Pinetto’s brainchild. “There’s an underlying pattern,” he insisted. “I just don’t know what it is.”

Legato waved the thought away. “You’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Bedrolls were scarce, so Sajika shared her roll and tent with the astronomer. This close to snow-covered mountains, they were both grateful for the added warmth of simple human contact.

“I want to know what the god said,” she whispered to him, like a child wanting to know what was wrapped in a gift box.

“I’ll tell you anything you ask when we reach the middle of the orchard, tomorrow,” said the astronomer sleepily as they spooned.

She punched playfully at him, and he winced in pain. “Careful. My bruises have bruises after this ride. Our children are going to be convinced that you beat me.”

Sajika stopped moving, stopped breathing. Her career, the war, the sterility between races—there were a dozen reasons why they could never have children together. But in his weary and medicated state, he’d revealed his innermost desire and his intentions. Long after he drifted off, she lay awake, deciding how she felt about the slip. It was huge and felt like sprinting up the side of a steep cliff—exhilarating, but there’d be a fall the moment gravity remembered. She turned to watch his kind, battered face. He never thought about odds, only what was right, and what she wanted. The thought of what her secret police training might do with such loyalty and power terrified her. But she wouldn’t use him. Her only wish was for him to be there every night, to listen—just like this. When she finally drifted off, the memory of the howling didn’t disturb her anymore.

****

They diverged from the logging road at mid-day. After that, Pinetto was too excited to play with the throne puzzle. Over each hill and around each curve, he kept asking himself,
Is this the orchard?

When the astronomer had only added one piece in four hours, Legato complained, “If you’re staring at that ambassador’s ass again instead of working . . .”

Eyes fixed on the distant grove, the wizard said in low tones only the prince could hear, “Hush, this is a holy place. You may want to remove your boots and tell everyone but your inner circle to stay here.”

The prince jerked his head back. He wasn’t accustomed to being given orders. But by the same token, Pinetto was far-sighted and only bothered to give unsolicited advice when it was a matter of life and death. “Halt. Make camp and wait for us here,” the prince bellowed. “Advisors, come with me to that clearing.”

Pinetto said to Sajika, “Could you bring the tent along?”

After his odd behavior in the mine, the woman grabbed her pack from the wagon without hesitation. There might be a monster ahead vulnerable only to wooden stakes.

The smith helped Pinetto hobble after the prince. Plums were on their left, apricots on their right. When the four reached the grassy gap between the orchards, the others saw what was waiting for them and stopped in their tracks. There were three Dawn creatures standing around an odd tree in the center, two eagle-headed, winged beings framing a hairless, red-skinned giant. The red reminded the smith of rust. The giant was wider, and more squat and muscular than those in paintings. It could have been carved out of roofing clay. Alone, Pinetto limped toward the tree in the center.

When he was within seven paces, the astronomer knelt painfully. The other three humans fell to their knees, following his lead.

“
Arise
,” rumbled the giant. The smith recognized the voice as Kiateros. The slender, winged creatures rushed to help the Imperial stand. Handing Pinetto a piece of fruit from the tree, the giant whispered, “It was harder than I thought. I had to get help from some friends. Would you mind if they . . . took a sample from you?”

The creature with a blue dot on its bare, human chest bent over the astronomer’s left wrist.

“As you will,” Pinetto answered. There was a brief sting as something sharp punctured his left arm, but the pain soon faded, as did the aches from his countless injuries.

After conferring in a high-pitched drone, the pair seemed satisfied, and the blue-dotted creature injected the fruit. As the purple-dotted creature punctured Pinetto’s right arm, the first creature explained something to Kiateros. The giant relayed, “She’s giving you a few important minerals, fear not.” To the others, he said, “This one should be an example to the rest of you in obedience, wisdom, and reverence.” The giant smeared a fingertip over Pinetto’s lips. “When he speaks, kings and spirits of the air shall listen.”

Trundling over the trio of bowed humans at the edge of the trees, the rust-colored giant placed his hand lightly on Sajika’s shoulder. “For all that you have forsaken in my name, I name you friend of the kingdom and give you the ancient palace of Therak Umnarfor to dwell in for as long as you live. Go to your man, he has something to give you.”

Puzzled, Sajika obeyed, walking to the clearing to be with Pinetto.

Kiateros towered over Legato. “Time to grow up, boy. You’re not a whoremonger anymore; you’re my king. Did you finish the throne yet?”

“No, Lord, my vizier . . .” Legato began.

“It’s not his job; it’s yours. In fact, they’ve done enough.
You
need to assemble the rest of the pieces. Your advisors can’t think and have character for you. Remember the teachings of your father while you still can.”

Legato almost objected, but said, “Yes, Lord.”

“You have one day. The throne must be complete for me to ascend again. If you succeed, you’ll be the most famous king in history the moment you cross the border. If you fail, I’ll find someone else to be king by next Emperor’s Day. Am I clear?”

Legato could only nod.

To the smith, Kiateros said, “Forces are converging: armies, wizards, Dawn people, and prophets. I don’t know what’ll happen; we’re not all playing the same game. But I need you to cover him until he becomes king. Your blood will protect you. Your blood will also pick the next emperor. Choose well. It was an honor working by your side.”

The prince started laughing uncontrollably. When his troops gathered around, asking what had happened, the smith held up the torc and said, “The gods themselves provided a crown for King Legato, blessing his reign.” A cheer rose from the weary rabble. “His coronation will be on the battlefield, tomorrow at sundown!”

Legato snorted amen clapped him on the back. “Yeah, go celebrate. I’ve got work to do.”

****

When Sajika arrived next to Pinetto in the middle of the clearing, he began to unpack the tent she was carrying. “We’ll set up here by the tree while the others get their instructions.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Pinetto said, handing her the odd fruit. When she wrinkled her brow, he gazed into her brown eyes, and added, “A metaphor for us.”

“I’ve never seen this kind before,” she noted.

“Because this is the only place in the world it grows. This tree partakes of the nature of both orchards, both types of fruit. Try it.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Sajika shed a single tear without bothering to hide it. “You don’t know how to give up, do you?”

“It can work,” he insisted. The ground still felt warm.

“Shut up and lay down,” she demanded, a smile playing at the edge of her mouth.

The couple didn’t return to camp for three hours. When they did, the ambassador had her hair down, and she was wearing the wizard’s cloak. Pinetto was hobbling, but had a stupid grin plastered across his face.

“Somebody’s glowing,” the smith whispered to Legato as they passed by.

“Shut up and hand me that arc over there,” the prince groused.

“Get it yourself, remember?” the smith said, chasing after Pinetto. When he caught up to the shuffling Imperial, he said, “You’re moving better now.”

“Whatever the gods did to me eased most of the pain; the rest I’m oblivious to because she said yes.”

The smith handed him the fire-opal ring to use for the engagement. No words were necessary. Pinetto bumped fists with him and whispered, “Brothers.”

While Sajika set up their tent again, she asked, “Would you like to share our last cup of brandy to celebrate?”

The smith shook his head. “I need to scout where we’re heading tomorrow. The big fellow said something about armies and Dawn creatures.”

“I wish I could make that walk and be your eyes,” Pinetto apologized.

“That’s all right; I’ll just grab Kasha and . . .” The smith faltered.

“Wait,” Pinetto said laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll send the chipmunk to map the valley tonight. It’s about all I have left.” After he drew his rune-circle around Sajika’s tent, the pattern flared white.

The smith could have sworn that he saw the afterimage of two eagles, facing outward, guarding the tent.

For the rest of their journey, Tashi had taken to calling their destination “Death Valley.” The actual name on the town on the map was innocuous—Mud Springs. The health effects of the waters were
famous, which was why the temple had been built there.

That afternoon, after almost everyone was sitting around the small cook fire, Brent presented the group with drawings of the Final Temple on the plateau. “Where’s Simon?”

“Sleeping in a little,” guessed the seeress.

“Before the trip, Owl and Tatters went into town and bought chocolate and griddle cake ingredients,” noted the boy. Since this was potentially their last meal, the gravediggers shared all the delicacies they had remaining. “Simon missed all the good stuff for breakfast.”

“I think he got his already,” muttered Owl.

“Show us the maps, please,” requested the old priest.

Brent laid the pages out side by side. “The west side of the river is the temple. The cliffs go to the edge of the water. You can get into Kiateros via the temple plateau. They’ve sanctified and walled in almost every square cubit of flat land at the top. Getting there requires traveling this road over a narrow rope bridge . . .”