The Grace of Kings (18 page)

“You're the bravest men of Tunoa. Once we have stepped onto the boats, we won't come back until I take Emperor Erishi's head!”

“Zyndu! Zyndu! Zyndu!”

“And when we do come back,” one of the soldiers shouted, “we'll all come back riding on tall horses and dressed in silk!”

All the men laughed, and Mata the loudest among them. Their laughter seemed to rise like a spear stabbing into the heart of the sky.

The men could feel the wind grow stronger and shift to the southeast, blowing toward the Big Island. Though it was only early spring, the wind felt as warm as the hot breath of smoldering Mount Kana.

“Lady Kana favors us,” the men whispered among one another. “Mata is her champion.”

The crater of Mount Kana in Cocru erupted and spewed forth thick plumes of smoke and fiery ash.

Strange strategy, Kiji. You would match a tax collector against a true marshal?

A strong gust of wind blew across the crater, and the dull lava within brightened.

Looking down on Xana has never served you and your sister well.

I can't see how an abacus will prevail against the Doubt-Ender.

Don't forget that barbaric club with teeth. I know why you've chosen this bloodthirsty mortal bent on revenge.

The glaciers of Mount Rapa, nearby, cracked and seemed to shift.

Do enlighten us.

Because you think he is Fithowéo's type, and you hope you might draw the god of war onto your side with this ploy. If Fithowéo decides to make one side's blades stronger or another side's horses tire faster, he will technically not be in violation of our pact to not directly interfere.

And you picked your champion because you think you might get Lutho to help a fellow number cruncher. You're as transparent as those lakes on your mountain.

We'll just have to see who has offered the more tempting choice, won't we?

Once they arrived on the Big Island, Phin Zyndu wanted to head for Çaruza right away.

But Mata had a different idea.

“I want to go see this Huno Krima myself,” said Mata. “I don't know much about how to talk to kings and ambassadors, but I know how to talk with fighting men. Perhaps there is something that sepa­rates this man from his fellow commoners, and that is why King Thufi values him above us.”

“I will wait with the eight hundred volunteers outside Çaruza until you're back,” Phin said. “May the Twins speed your way.” And when Mata was out of earshot, he sighed and shook his head. “You're wasting your time, child. Even a king cannot tell a diamond apart from a white topaz without a hard enough surface to test them against,” he muttered.

And so Mata rode alone west through the broad plains and rolling hills of Cocru, following the path taken by the Krima-Shigin Expeditionary Force. He had always been too heavy and tall for most horses, and Phin had lacked the resources to train Mata in horsemanship during the time when he and Mata were living in exile from the family castle. For the young man, the long ride was an opportunity to practice. Purchased at great expense from the markets outside Çaruza, the horse he was on was of Xana stock, and so taller and stronger than most of Cocru's own breeds.

Mata found himself rather enjoying the company of horses. Horses had an inborn respect for authority, for fitting into the natural role meant for them in the scheme of things. As he rode farther and farther west, Mata thought of the complex dance between horse and rider, the coordination necessary to provide a smooth ride, as an analogue of the complex web of mutual duties and obligations between vassal and lord, between subject and king.

But even with the Xana horse's stronger and larger frame, Mata was just too heavy for it. After days of chasing after Krima and Shigin, the horse was exhausted despite Mata's attempts to care for it. Just outside of the city of Dimu, located at the mouth of the Liru River at the western shore of Cocru, the horse lurched and broke a leg, and Mata tumbled from its back. With great sorrow, he ended its life cleanly with Na-aroénna.

He blinked away the unexpected hot tears and reflected that he still had to find a suitable mount, just as he believed that Cocru still had to find her rightful marshal.

Back when Shigin had suggested that they find the heir to the Throne of Cocru to make the rebellion legitimate, it had sounded like a good idea, but now Krima wasn't so sure.

He and Shigin had been the ones to risk their necks to raise the banner against Xana. Theirs were the names that the soldiers recognized and followed, and they were the ones to chase the Imperial troops out of city after city. Yet it was that young man, that mere boy who had done nothing other than have the right father, who sat on the Throne of Cocru. He pointed here and there, said this and that, and Shigin and Krima had to
obey
him.

This did not seem right.

And the prophecy—well, the prophecy was indeed a trick that he and Shigin had cooked up, but Krima preferred to no longer think about it that way. Indeed, hadn't things mostly worked out the way the prophecy said they would? Weren't they winning? So, maybe it was the
gods
who decided to give him and Shigin the idea for the scroll in the first place. And maybe the gods had moved his hands and fingers and composed that message and rolled it up and pushed it into the belly of that fish. He was merely the gods' instrument.

Why shouldn't he think about it that way? Who knew for sure that the gods
didn't
work that way? Wasn't it all a mystery even to the wisest thinkers?

Shigin, always too shortsighted, made fun of him for these thoughts. “You think my writing comes from the gods? Ha-ha, I cribbed it from a play I saw once.”

But Krima now thought of the prophecy as something entirely external to himself, a true sign from the gods that he had been given. Shigin was the only one who might dispute that version of events. . . .

And the prophecy said that he would be king. King, not merely Duke of Napi, not merely Marshal of Cocru. King.

News that Huno Krima had declared himself King of West Cocru threw Çaruza into an uproar. Advisers to King Thufi demanded that the king immediately strip Krima of all his—imprudently granted—titles and send out a punitive force to seize the man and bring him back to face charges of treason.

“Bring him back?” King Thufi laughed bitterly. “How exactly do you propose I do this? Most of the army is in his hands, and his soldiers have followed him from day one. I can sort of see his point. He did all the work, so why should I get all the glory?”

The advisers turned silent.

“I should be glad that he has decided only to claim
West
Cocru, as opposed to the whole thing. There is no choice for me but to congratulate him.”

“This sets a terrible precedent,” the advisers murmured. “There is no such thing as ‘West Cocru.' ”

“Nothing we are doing right now has
any
precedent. Who could have seen that an empire would be quaking because two laborers decided that they had nothing more to lose?

“Why can't new Tiro states be created out of thin air? Many things in this world become real when enough people believe them to be real. Krima has declared that he is a king, and he has twenty thousand armed men who agree with him. As far as I can see, that is strong proof. Let us now do what we must and welcome him to the ranks of the Tiro kings.”

A royal messenger was dispatched to congratulate King Huno on his coronation.

“Just think, we knew the king back when he was just like us,” Ratho said in wonder. “I was the one who cut open the fish with the scroll.”

He gazed at King Huno sitting on his throne at the far end of the banquet hall—formerly the stable for the Xana cavalry here in Dimu, the great port city at the mouth of the Liru River.

The stable was the only building with the right shape and size for King Huno's purposes, though it was not exactly clean. So the surrendered Imperial soldiers had been put to work to make it ready for the coronation banquet. They had swept it and mopped it for three days, and the floor was sprinkled with water perfumed with sea rose to keep the dust down. All the windows were open to let in fresh air, despite the rain outside.

Yet, the odor of years of keeping horses in the place could be detected underneath the smells of sweaty bodies, cheap wine, and badly cooked food.

Tables from every restaurant in town had been requisitioned and hastily assembled into misshapen long banquet tables and then covered with crude tablecloths patched together from curtains and flags. It was dark in the hall with so many people squeezed in, so torches and candles were stuck into every nook and platform that could hold one. The mood was bright, warm, and festive, but not . . . regal.

“He was never like you and me,” Dafiro said. “We don't dream of prophecies that would award us kingdoms. Actually, best you never mention that we were with him back when this whole thing started with that fish. I get the feeling that the king will not be interested in hearing much talk about his humble origins.”