The Three Queens
Slowly, he came back to himself, after what seemed like an eternity floating in pain. He dimly remembered that he had done this before, many times, in the days since Djaar Tyndel.
It was different this time. He wasn’t being jolted along in a poorly-sprung coach, but lying still on a bed. Instead of the blasted healers slapping burning poultices on his wounds, someone was mopping his brow with a wet cloth. A feminine voice called to him.
“Rowb? Thank the Almighty, I think he’s coming around!”
He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too much for him. A shadow fell between him and the torchlight, and he tried again, squinting through crusted lashes at the pale face hovering over him. It couldn’t be…
He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. He felt the cloth at his lips, and he sucked at the dribbling moisture instinctively. A hand squeezed the cloth, sending a welcome rush of water into his mouth. He lapped it up without shame, then sputtered as a drop went down his parched throat.
“L-Liesel?” he managed to rasp.
A girlish smile broke out on her face. “Yes! It’s me! It’s your Liesel!” She turned away, and he winced as the light struck his face unhindered. “Send word to the Djun – at once! Oh Rowb,” she turned back to him, casting him in merciful shadow once more. “You’ve had us all so worried!”
“W-where…” Surely he could not be back at the Citadel Mound so soon. He had lost track of the days on the road, kept in a state of stupor by his wounds and the healers’ incompetence. But he doubted even the swiftest carriage could have carried him all the way home. “How…”
“You’re at Djaar Bosmer. Do you remember? Your men brought you here… after what happened at Djaar Tyndel.”
That much he remembered clearly. He could not afford to forget. He licked his chapped lips, tasted the stale residue of vomit from his most recent purging. “How…long?”
“Fifteen days. They brought you here just last night. We’d been here three days already. Oh, Rowb, we’ve all been so worried!”
“We…”
“We’re all here, Rowb. We’re all here for you: me, Alak, and little Urdi.”
Under the layers of pain, and stupefying drugs, Rowb felt a prickle of terror. “How… why? Liesel – how did you get here?!”
She drew back a little, surprised at his fierce tone. “The Djun, Threksh’t keep him. When we had word you’d been betrayed, he sent a man to Lowtown to fetch me and Urdinak right away.”
Rowb moaned. “The Djun…”
“Alak insisted on coming too, of course,” Liesel babbled. “I told the guard you wouldn’t want me travelling unchaperoned. Wasn’t that clever? And you wouldn’t have! Oh, the way the soldiers all look at me – Oh, no – no! Don’t try to move. You’re still so weak. You’ve broken three ribs, they tell me. And you took a bad blow to the head.”
“Sick…”
“They’ve been giving you purgatives. My poor Rowb. Too many.”
Rowb flinched at the hard clap of the door swinging open, rebounding off the walls. He heard the distinctive footfalls of steel-toed boots, and he didn’t need to look past Liesel to know who was approaching.
“So, my loyal saddle-chief is awake at last!”
“Dom-Dominance,” Rowb said haltingly. “Apo-logies… for my state…”
“I’ll overlook it this once,” Angrif said. “Can you sit up?”
“Dominance, please!” Liesel begged.
Rowb silenced her with a wave of the hand. “Peace, woman,” he grumbled. Slowly he shifted his weight, to get his arm under him. He pushed, fighting the pounding in his head, and managed to prop himself up on an elbow. “I… I fear this might be it, sire.”
“It will serve. You – tend to your man!” he commanded. Liesel scrambled to rearrange the pillows. She seized a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and added it to the supports. Once she propped Rowb up as best as she could, she scurried to the nearby table, and poured him a cup of water. She held it to his lips as he drank, wincing at the burn as the cold water went down his scarred throat.
“Enough!” Angrif ordered. “Leave us, woman.”
“I’ll be back,” she whispered to Rowb. “I’ll bring the baby.”
“Go!” Angrif snapped, and Liesel fled, with one last look over her shoulder at her wounded husband. She knew to close the door behind her. Rowb wondered what other lessons she had learned in the days under the Djun’s thumb.
Angrif glanced in the direction Liesel had fled. “You surprise me, Rowb. How did a brute like you ever snare such a sweet piece of meat? No wonder you’ve set her brother to guarding her when you’re out.”
“Common… for soldier’s wives…” Rowb murmured.
“I’m sure. Wager most soldier’s wives don’t need watching like she does, though!” Angrif chuckled. “And wager most of their brothers haven’t the mouth on him like hers does!”
“Dominance, if he has offended–”
“Oh no, I found him quite amusing. Though a few of my guardsmen wanted to run him through… after cutting the grin off his face. A rat who thinks he’s a lord. Very amusing.”
Rowb groaned softly as he shifted on the pillows. He knew how long Angrif’s indulgent moods lasted.
“Well now, aren’t you going to thank me, Rowb? For bringing them all to your bedside? It’s not every wounded soldier who gets to wake up to his own woman tending him.”
“I… have no words… to do my grat-gratitude justice, Dominance.”
“Well, you’re certainly clumsy enough with the ones you do have. Oh, don’t pull that face,” Angrif laughed. “They’ve all been treated well. And they’ll continue to be… so long as your answers please me. Now,” Angrif sat himself down on the bed at Rowb’s feet and patted his knees cheerfully, though his smile remained brittle. “Tell me everything that happened at Djaar Tyndel.”
Rowb had prepared for this. He had spent every instant of consciousness rehearsing exactly which parts of his ordeal would satisfy his master, and which parts were best forgotten.
“We… entered the city. Under banners of truce. They took us – to – to the citadel. The Doma was there. I saw her. She… remembered my face. The… the guards – took me out after that. Doma… said she wanted – nngh! – talk to the lady alone….
“Guards took me…” he groaned. “Locked me in a room with my saddle-crew. There was food… water… not enough for all of us. Men ate. Soon they wanted more. Started hammering… ugh… the door. Said ‘Is that how the Doma treats guests.’ Must’ve been… three hours… four… since we’d last seen lady Gifa. Then they brought more food. And ale. Didn’t trust the ale. Abtrag… the first to drink. Said it tasted good. A little bitter… then he started shaking…”
“The widow’s wine,” Angrif guessed. “So Gifa botched her chance.”
“Aye. Saw the signs, but the others didn’t. Gaerd, Hayul… Behgun… they all drank before I could stop them. And when they were jerking and twitching, the Doma and her men came in. Accused us of treachery. Beat me. And the boys who didn’t drink. Tried to make us drink. Wouldn’t. All they could do was splash the ale around my lips. Heh… nearly enough, wasn’t it?”
“You were twitching like a man in the noose when they threw you out in the moat,” Angrif confirmed.
“Didn’t want me dead. Doma… the bitch told me so. Said to crawl back to you. Tell you… what happens to oathbreakers…”
“And Gifa?” Angrif pressed. “Is she dead?”
“I… I don’t know, dread lord. I never saw her again.”
“The Doma said nothing about her?”
“Only that… that you couldn’t have her back. That you wouldn’t…”
“What?”
“That… you wouldn’t want her back… now.” That was his own rhetorical flourish, but it seemed the sort of thing Angrif would appreciate. But by the way the Djun’s lips pursed in disapproval, Rowb amended, “Or… similar words.”
“You said the cur had a woman’s heart, under all that plate armor.”
“She’s changed. When I last saw her… she was a girl… barely older than Lady Gifa. She’s no girl now. No woman. A freak. A rabid dog. I saw it – she wanted to trust Lady Gifa. She did. And then she must have found the widow’s wine…”
“Do you think Gifa lives?”
Rowb made a helpless face. “She either slew her in a rage… or… she’s locked her up somewhere. To break her spirit. To use her.”
“Use her how?”
“The Djaarlander prince survived the fall of Djaar Bosmer, didn’t he? Ran like a coward to the hills. Maybe... if he took the girl – I mean the lady–”
“The failure,” Angrif growled. “The worthless chit.”
“She has Djun’s blood. That… that matters to the common folk.”
“Is the Doma that clever?
“No,” Rowb said at length. “But she has clever friends. Best hope she put your sister to the sword before she had time to think of it.”
Angrif got to his feet. “Well, the details don’t really matter. Breathing or not, Gifa is dead to me. And dead to Djunshold. I’ll deliver the proclamation myself,” he said as he walked away. “It’s one of many I mean to make.”
He looked back at Rowb. “You’ve done well, saddle-chief. Not as neatly as I would have liked, perhaps, but well enough to earn that house in Midtown. You can even send your hen’s strutter-cock back to the slums. You’ll be able to hire proper guards for her virtue now.”
Rowb’s chuckle turned into a cough. “Ah… but what guards could I trust better than her own kin?”
* * *
Gifa awoke to the now-familiar – if unpleasant – sensation of being watching. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and squinted up at the figure crouched on the foot of her bed.
“Nngh… greetings, good spirit,” she murmured.
“Gifa get up now,” the red-haired elf growled, her accented Djunnish laced with harsh burrs.
“Yes, yes… Gifa get up now,” Gifa parroted wearily. Half a moon sharing close quarters had not taught her jailer any courtesies.
She rose and washed, then exchanged her sleeping chemise for a sturdy shirt and breeches, all under the huntress’s critical gaze. She had been embarrassed at first, to be watched in all things – even Diena had let her use the chamberpot in privacy. But the elves seemed to have no sense of shame, and within a few days Gifa had given up any protests. Her jailer didn’t seem to consider her any different than a wild animal, and observed her preparations with a dispassionate eye.
She was glad her fine wardrobe had not survived her defection to Shuna’s side. The simpler peasant clothes were not only more comfortable but much easier to get in and out of, since she had lost all her maids as well. Sometimes she wondered where they had gone, after being locked out of Djaar Tyndel. No doubt the clever ones had found a soldier to ensnare. But dumpy Diena might have been stupid enough to go right back to Angrif and demand a pension. She was probably already dead. Gifa couldn’t say the thought troubled her overmuch.
“May I have some breakfast first?” Gifa asked, as she clumsily braided her hair.
“Shuna want you now.”
Gifa sighed, ignoring the pinch in her belly. Back in the Citadel she had always started the day with a hearty meal of pastries and roasted pork, with a small ale to wash it all down. “You could have woken me earlier.”
The she-elf shrugged. “Shuna call. I get.”
“Like a dog to a whistle,” Gifa muttered under her breath.
Like a flash, the elf was at her side, her hand reached up to seize Gifa’s earlobe and twist it hard until Gifa was forced to bend down and look her jailer in her animal eyes.
“Like a wolf,” Ember corrected with a snarl.
Gifa swatted her hand away. “You don’t like humans, do you?”
“Humans kill elves.”
“But you serve Shuna. You do her bidding.”
“Shuna is different. Shuna is… pack.”
“Elftouched.”
Ember nodded. “We go now.”
Gifa knew protests would earn her another twist to the ear, so she donned her boots and made for the door. The huntress walked behind her, taking two steps for each of Gifa’s, never letting her captive out of reach. Gifa was always aware of Ember’s spear, carried against her shoulder.
She expected Ember to direct her to the war room. Instead the elf told her to take the stairs down to the lowest levels of the drum-shaped citadel. They passed many guards, all in polished plate, all touching fists to chests in respect to Ember. Gifa wondered what mysteries lay in the cellars that required so many swords guarding them.
Her legs ached after the long descent. She imagined they had walked halfway to the base of the hill on which Djaar Tyndel’s citadel sat. They met Shuna in a simple-looking storeroom. It might have held anything, before the siege; now it was stripped bare. The Doma wore her full armor, and a long cloak emblazoned with the clasped hands of the Pactkeepers. A large silver-black wolf paced at her side. His too-long ears pricked up at the sight of Ember, and he loped over the elf, licking her outstretched hand. He had been her wolf once, Gifa understood. But now he chose to follow Shuna, and Ember seemed to have no choice but to do likewise. Dogs who chose their own masters – if master was even the right word – Angrif would surely call it further proof of the Hidden Ones’ demonic nature.
Angrif… her false twin. She would have to face him eventually. She would have to destroy him. And for all her brave words to Shuna, she hadn’t the faintest idea how.
The wolf returned to Shuna’s side, as cheerfully as any hunting hound. Gifa tried to avoid his too-bright eyes. There was an intelligence in Moonstrider’s eyes that frightened her. Shuna had explained that his father had been a shapeshifting elf, and Gifa still wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not. She’d once seen a freak in the Citadel menagerie that was supposed to be the spawn of a man and a pig, but her mother had told her it was only a shaved bear.
“Doma,” Gifa brought her fist to her breast in a sign of fealty. “Your… brave huntress said you wanted me.”
“I have something to show you,” Shuna said.
Gifa looked around, her face skeptical. She imagined Shuna wanted her to see the privations the city had endured under the siege. There had been many such lessons, conducted in the healing houses and the back alleys of the lower warrens. “War isn’t a ballad,” Shuna liked to say. Sometimes Gifa wondered if she’d made a mistake in trusting her fate to this strange woman. Perhaps she didn’t have the stomach for revolution after all.
Shuna withdrew her hand from behind her back, revealing a red, ripe apple. With her other hand, she drew her dagger and sliced off a wedge. Gifa felt herself leaning forward as the fresh scent tickled her nostils.
“A last taste of the summer,” Shuna said, offering Gifa the piece.
Gifa ate it in three bites, smiling at the sweetness. She looked up at the cavernous ceiling. “I’m sure in the times of plenty these rooms were bursting with all the fruits of the land.”
“Yes. And now the land is burned. And yet we can still share this apple.”
“We must be grateful for what small pleasures we can take,” Gifa said, reciting an adage Diena was always fond of quoting.
Shuna smiled, looking girlish for a moment. “I’m sure. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make.”
Gifa waited, hoping her confusion wasn’t too obvious.
“The first frost will be here any night. The earth is scorched for leagues in all directions. Where did I get this apple?”
Gifa’s eyes widened. “You do have secret supply lines!”
“But how could I? The Djun’s forces have my city surrounded.”
Gifa looked down at the bare floor. A single worn carpet covered a small square of flooring, just beyond Shuna’s boots.
“Underground?”
“Come. You’ve already met some of my friends here in the city. It’s time to meet some more. Moonstrider! If you please.”
The wolf seized a corner of the rug between his teeth and drew it aside. A simple trapdoor lay in the floor. When Shuna opened it up, Gifa could see a ladder leading deep into the darkness.
“Down you go,” Shuna said. “It’s not far, I promise.”
Swallowing her fear, Gifa climbed down the ladder. One step, then another, from rung to rung, she counted her way down. She expected the ladder to sway or wobble, being made of humble wood, but it held firm. By the time she had counted twenty-four, her foot struck stone instead of a rung.
“Drukk it!”
“Are you down?” Shuna asked.
“Yes. I think so.” Gifa slowly stepped onto solid ground.
“Good. Take two steps back and no more. Ember and I are coming down.”
Gifa stepped away and looked around. She could see Shuna’s boxy silhouette blocking the light above her. She could see the crudely hewn stone floor under her feet. But the light from the trapdoor illuminated no more than a puddle, some three feet wide. Beyond that was only darkness. Gifa reached out with her hand, expecting to touch wall, but found only emptiness. Mindful of Shuna’s warning, Gifa did not try to explore further.
Shuna came down first, lumbering somewhat in her heavy armor, followed by Ember, who seemed to glide down the ladder. Shuna took Gifa’s arm to guide her several steps into the darkness. Gifa was about to ask after a light, when Ember tipped back her head and let out a series of yips and howls.
“What now?” Gifa asked.
“We wait,” Shuna said.
They did not have to wait long. Light flared up ahead, sickly and green. It seemed to rise from the floor like some false sunrise. Shuna nudged Gifa forward, but kept a strong grip on her arm lest she stumble.
She heard the grinding of machinery, the moan of cables. As they neared the light, Gifa saw how the floor dropped off into a great hole. Or a mine shaft. The light was slowly rising from the abyss. A gurgling voice called up in the sharp tongue Gifa recognized as Trade jargon.
The source of the light appeared at last – a strange lantern held in the hand of a stranger creature. At first Gifa took it for a child or a dwarf in an lumpy green overcoat, with an equally ugly hood. But then she realized she was not looking at clothes, but at bare skin. And as the creature raised the lantern, she saw a face more misshapen and repulsive than the most deformed freaks in Angrif’s menagerie. She drew back in horror.
“Heh,” the creature sneered. “Ez zara hain ederra, arrosa azala,” it replied with a barking laugh. Gifa looked to Shuna for guidance.
“He said you’re not so good-looking yourself,” Shuna translated. “Kaixo, Igogailu!” she waved to the troll. “Erregina etxean dago?”
The troll grumbled wordlessly and jerked his head. Shuna led Gifa onto the metal platform upon which the creature balanced. The troll addressed Ember in another tongue – a lighter, lyrical chatter Gifa guessed was spirit-speak.
“Hold on,” Shuna said.
“What–” Gifa began. Then the troll threw the lever, and the metal lift dropped like a stone, deep into the bowels of the earth.
* * *
Gifa had to rest with her head between her knees for several minutes before the world stopped spinning. Shuna patted her on the back. “You get used to it,” she said in Djunnish.
“Speak for yourself,” Ember growled back in the elfin tongue.
The lift-troll was glad to be rid of them, turning they over to a trio of green-skinned escorts. They greeted Shuna in surly Trade, and led the way through the winding tunnels until they came to another metal platform, overlooking a trench and a steel track.
“Oh please, don’t tell me we’re going down again?” Gifa whimpered.
“Don’t worry. You get to sit down for this.”
The noise started not long after that, echoing throughout the tunnels. Gifa quailed at the sound of the engine, clinging to Shuna like a child. “Is it a stone demon?” she asked.
“No. Just a steam horse.”
After a short wait, a large metal tram appeared, chugging along on the track, propelled by a modest steam engine at its stern. It had seats for sixty on its flat top, but only some twenty trolls were riding it. The older ones barely blinked as the two humans and the elf boarded the tram, but the younger trolls gaped, and a fat child squealed in excitement and peppered her mother with questions. Shuna listened with half an ear, amused, as the steam horse pulled away from the station.
“Mumma, what’s wrong with those elves?”
“The big ones are humans, mumpling.”
“Phew! Why do they stink like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The troll matron pointedly withdrew a scented handkerchief and held it to her pendulous nose. “Because they’re humans, I suppose.”
“Well, what are they doing here?”
“I don’t know! Don’t stare. It’s not polite.”
“But their eyes are so little! How can they see anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, ask them!”
“I’m not going to ask them.”
Ember leaned forward, her arms of the back of the troll child’s seat. “They can’t see past their own noses unless the light is bright enough,” she said. “They’re half-deaf, and what’s worse, they have no sense of smell.”
The troll girl’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Why else do you think they let themselves get so stinky?”
“Are they your pets? You should bathe them more!”
“Oh, I try! But they just roll around in stink when I turn my back!”
“Ember…” Shuna muttered.
“I have a pet! His name is Snuffles and I make sure he takes a bath every ten days.”
“Good for you. Well, you take good care of Snuffles, and maybe when you’re older, your mumma will let you have a human of your own.”
“Mumma? Mumma, can I?”
“Absolutely not!” the troll matron hissed. “Now sit still and be quiet! The next stop is ours.”
After three stations, Gifa grew restless. “Where are we going?” she asked at last.
“Do you remember how I said I was prepared to surrender Djaar Tyndel in exchange for a peace treaty?”
“Yes.”
“Did you wonder why?”
“I assumed you were just lying,” the girl said.
Shuna laughed. “Oh, I would have let the Regent take it. I would have insisted he come in person to sign the peace treaty on our citadel. And you’re about to find out why.”
The tram steamed on through a narrow tunnel, the walls close enough for Shuna to touch them, if she extended an arm. Then the walls peeled away, and the tram burst into a great cave chamber, large enough to enclose a small town.
The cave floor was carpeted with fungus farms. The roof was so high overhead it was almost invisible. Great roads lit with glowstones teamed with traffic, both foot and wheeled. And at the far end of the chamber, a half-mile distant, were the shimmering gates to the royal court.
Shuna turned and smiled in approval to see Gifa’s jaw hanging open.
“What… what is this place?” Gifa asked, when she regained the powers of speech.
“This is Undermount,” Shuna said. “And that,” she pointed to the distant gates, “is the palace of the Grey Queen.”
* * *
“Back already, Beanpole?” Drub demanded, staring at Shuna skeptically. “And you’ve got the Wolf-Mother with you!” She whistled in appreciation. “Don’t see you under the ground very often. Let alone beside a human! Thought that went against… the… ‘Way of Things’ or whatever you call it.”
“Ways change,” Ember said. “I don’t have to like it.”
Drub smirked. “Guessing running with this five-finger beats running from the other one. And since Rayek’s sworn off the death-light–”
“Don’t,” Ember said.
Drub shrugged. “Not my place to tell you elves that you’re letting your best weapons rust.”
“If you feel that way, why didn’t you ask him to cast the death-light at Port Bane?” Ember challenged.
“I did! If he could have promised me it would spare the buildings… the few he and his kin left standing after that water-ram! Bah… I’d rather he cast it on the Citadel Mound. But he’s lost the guts for war, it seems, and I had to cut my losses.”
Ember nodded. “We all trade things – big things – for what we really want. You gave up Port Bane. I gave up my freedom –”
Shuna turned a frown Ember’s way.
“Some of it, anyway,” Ember amended. “To keep our pack safe.”
“Your pack… my kingdom!” Drub said pointedly. “Which was doing just fine before you elves set off the Djunsmen. Right, so what do you want now? I don’t see the Regent in chains. I’m guessing he wasn’t as easy to bluff at toss-stone as you hoped.”
“Not quite,” Shuna admitted. “It was a wild throw, but worth the effort. And if the bait didn’t catch the Regent, it did catch us someone else. Maybe someone better.”
“What, that little weasel?” Drub pointed a finger at Gifa, who was hovering off Shuna’s elbow, visibly shivering with unease. “What is she to me?”
“Tell her who you are, Gifa. Speak Djunnish, I’ll translate.”
Gifa took a breath. “Great… Grey Queen. I am Gifa, sole trueborn heir to Grohmul Djun. The boy who calls himself my brother is an imposter, a lowborn cur forced upon my mother by the Regent Korik. Grohmul sired only a daughter, but the men of Djunshold will not suffer a woman to rule them…. But the Pactkeepers will. So… so I have run away from my false brother. I have denied him. And I have pledged myself to Doma Shuna’s cause… in exchange for her support in overthrowing the Regent, and the false Djun.”
“Well well,” Drub said, when Shuna had finished translating. “So another little chick has had enough of the henhouse! How many warriors does she bring you?”
“None,” Shuna admitted.
“Weapons? Horses? Gold?”
“Nothing but the clothes on her back.”
“Pfft. Well, I wish you well, mumpling.” Drub addressed Gifa. “I remember what it’s like, being a clever girl surrounded by stupid boys. But I hope you aren’t here to beg me for help. Five times your friend the Doma has come to me wanting my warriors and my earthmovers, and five times I’ve turned her down.”
“What… what did she say?” Gifa asked.
“Now, you, Beanpole,” Drub turned back to Shuna. “You know the terms I gave you. The same ones I’ve given every prince and king who’s ever set up at Overmount. Fair trades.”
“And we are grateful, Queen Drub.”
“Drukk gratitude. I want payment. Now I know the siege is holding, and I’ve been patient. I’ve kept the tunnels open. I’ve let your friends in the mountains use them without paying tolls. Slugscat! I’ve extended you more credit than I’ve ever given a human – your bill’s longer than Gypsy Moth’s now! But when you called for the meeting, I thought I made it clear I expected to hear results! I was hoping for Korik, all trussed up and ready for the cooking pot. I have a pile of kindling from Port Bane all set to put on the stove. But I’ll settle for a repayment plan. Signed and witnessed.”
“The only promises I could offer are empty ones. But I think we have a real opportunity in Gifa–”
“To do what? Topple the Djun? The girl just said it herself – her lot don’t take to girls on thrones.”
“She is the only true blood of the Djun. When the people know…”
“What? They’ll rise up? Like they’ve been doing for you, Doma Elftouched?”
“I am not of royal blood. You of all folk should understand the power of royal blood.”
“Phaw! Nice try. My sire was a doorkeeper before he was a king. And he made a better doorkeeper than a king.” She addressed Gifa again. “You want to be a queen, little mump? Then you earn it! With sweat and steel and stones!”
“What is she saying?” Gifa pressed. “Will she help us?”
“I think no,” Ember answered for Shuna, in clumsy Djunnish.
“The men of Djunhold have always placed great store in Djun’s blood,” Shuna insisted. “They follow Angrif because they believe him to be Grohmul’s son.”
“No. They follow Korik. Because he’s proven himself. Because they fear him.”
“Korik has three more years in power at most. Angrif is almost of age. And Gifa tells me he hates the Regent. Korik has raised a monster, and it’s almost strong enough to turn on him.”
“So Korik’s not just a butcher, but a fool. Well… I don’t much care whose belly he fills, so long as he’s eaten. You said we have an opportunity with the girl. I’m not seeing it.”
“Ember?”
“You know the Wild Hunt has been keeping watch on both the Citadel and the front lines. My daughter Haxhi is lying low just outside the Citadel Mound, and my grandson Kaldan is camped not far from Djaar Bosmer.”
Drub nodded. “I’ve got scouts of my own.”
“Then you’ll hear the news yourself… once it works it way up your chain of half-senders and messenger relays. Angrif Djun is at Djaar Bosmer.”
Gifa could only make out the key words, but she understood and gasped. “Angrif… what about Djaar Bosmer? Is he there? Is the Regent with him? He’d never let Angrif out of the Citadel unescorted!”
Shuna explained in Djunnish for Gifa’s benefit. “He rode in some days past with a heavy escort, including high-ranking war men, but no sign of the Regent himself.”
“So, the pup is at Bosmer,” Drub dismissed. “What’s that to me?”
Ember smiled tightly. “It’s not where he is, but what he said when he got there.”
* * *
The boom of crude cannons scattered the crows that perched on the ramparts of Djaar Bosmer’s Old Keep. Stepping out onto a railed balcony, overlooking the central square, Angrif Djun was decked in sparkling new finemail, his gold crown balanced on a gleaming steel helmet.
The approving roar of the crowd was loud enough to compete with the cannonfire. Most of the crows flew off in search of quieter perches, but one remained, circling overhead, a dark omen for anyone who dared take their eyes of the young Djun as he bellowed his pronouncement over the square.
Words drifted up in fractured pieces, partially distorted through the bird’s inner ear. “…My virgin sister despoiled and killed… our offer of truce scorned…. My sister! Only a child… sacrificed… trap I foresaw… Regent did not… his folly… Gifa paid the price….
“No more… I be led … will this realm be led… dotards without the stomach for vengeance… this moment… I take up … sword my father left me… declare myself of age to lead the fight!”
Miles away, safely concealed in a burrow, Kaldan broke off the connection to his bond-bird and turned to his uncle Dunecat.
“Ember needs to know.”
* * *
Drub laughed heartily when Ember explained the sending she had received. “So the pup has finally slipped his leash. Good for him, I say. The Regent will shit himself when he hears!”
Shuna had been whispering translations to Gifa. Now the girl’s eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched in anger. “But this terrible! Why is she laughing? You haven’t been listening!” she accused. “Korik is a vicious man, but he is still a man. He can still reason. Angrif is a mad cur. The only thing that’s held him back is the Regent’s hand on his shoulder. How can he do this?” she demanded of Shuna. “The terms of the Regency have always been clear. He comes of age on his eighteenth birthday, not before! We still had three years to stop him! He can’t do this!”
“He has,” Shuna said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“What’s she squawking about?” Drub asked.
“It seems Angrif is using your ‘death’ to his advantage,” Shuna explained. “He’s blaming the Regent for sending you into a trap. And though the Regent will surely dispute it once he hears… it’s seven days hard riding to the Citadel from Djaar Bosmer. And perhaps a month for him to ride out in state to confront Angrif.”
“In a month Angrif could turn the army against Korik…” Gifa realized. “If he plays the grieving hero – but we must tell them! I must appear to the people – tell them of our alliance! Tell them of his base blood. I must openly challenge him!”
Shuna shook her head. “Not yet.”
“But he will rally the army to his banner using my death as his cause!”
“He will try.”
“If I show the people I am alive–”
“He will denounce you as an imposter. Or a helpless prisoner, speaking the lies I whisper in your ear.”
“But he is the imposter!”
“And it is only your word against his. For the moment.”
“Then we let him win?” Gifa demanded, incredulous. “We let him weep his false tears for his false sister? And I stay locked in a room just like I’ve done since the day I was born, letting him take everything that’s mine?”
“Think, Gifa. You said it yourself: you’ve been locked in the Citadel all your life. How many people know your face? How many people would believe you if you stood up and demanded your birthright?”
Gifa’s fallen face was answer enough.
“But who else knows the secret of your birth? And who has the power to properly speak the truth and be heard?”
The girl shook her head. “Korik’s the only one who knows… he’s killed all the other witnesses.”
Shuna nodded. “Exactly. And Angrif has just declared war on Korik. You say the whole capital expects the Regent to fall the day Angrif comes of age. That day has come. Do you think Korik will submit meekly to his fate?”
“No. He’ll fight. He’ll fight to keep Angrif a child, to declare Angrif a madman, to do anything to keep the Regency alive as long as he can.
“To keep himself alive.”
Gifa nodded. “That’s all he cares about.”
“Would he consider a different Djun? One who perhaps… might be persuaded to grant him an honourable retirement?”
Gifa’s eyes widened. Behind Shuna, Drub was growing restless. “What are they jabbering about?” she demanded of Ember.
“Shuna wants to make friends with Korik.”
“Wormwater, she will!” Drub roared. “I swore I’d pick him from between my teeth!”
Shuna turned back to the troll queen. “I want to end this war. We all do. Ember is willing to work with humans to see him fall. You were willing to gamble the largest gate to Undermount. And I am willing to reach an accommodation with Korik.”
“So what? You send him a scented letter, like you did the last time?”
“I was thinking something more direct.”
“Oh, what, pay him a visit? So he can laugh in your face instead of behind your back!”
Shuna put a hand to her dagger. “He won’t be laughing when he faces me.”
“So we’re back to capturing him, eh? When he never leaves the Citadel itself. When I’ve told you before that I will never risk my folk trying to tunnel under that ant-hill!”
Shuna smiled wolfishly, her small eyes gleaming. “He’ll leave this time. Angrif’s given him no choice. He’ll ride to Djaar Bosmer. And that’s where we’ll take him.”
“The Wild Hunt has already sworn itself to capturing him,” Ember added. “The only question is… will it be my folk and Shuna’s who take him down on the road – spilling blood on both sides – blood of your allies! Blood my kin will blame you for? – or will you help us reach up into Djaar Bosmer and rustle him like the pig he is?”
Drub considered it a long moment, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Drukk,” she muttered at length. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d charge a full war party of those slugs just to shame me. They always said you’ve been head-cracked since Howling Rock.”
Ember crossed her arms. “Is that a yes or a no, Drub?”
Drub massaged her brow wearily. “I never will hear the end of it from you wisps if I let you run off and do this yourself, will I?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I won’t be doing it for free. You there! Djun girl. Suppose I do join your little quest? You, me and the Doma here: three queens in arms and all that slugscat. What will it get me?”
“She wants to know how you’ll repay her for helping us,” Shuna whispered to Gifa.
Gifa did not hesitate. “Great Grey Queen. The Regent took Port Bane from you in my false brother’s name. I will return it to you.”
“Port Bane?” Drub sat taller in her throne. “Did she say Port Bane? What do I want with rubble?”
“Port Bane is destroyed,” Shuna reminded her.
“I will have it restored,” Gifa declared.
“And that turdhole to the north of the Blood River?” Drub pressed. “‘Freeport’ or whatever you call it?”
Gifa heard the Djunnish word, butchered as it was by Drub’s accent. She did not need Shuna’s prompting. “With your gracious consent to a new Pact, I will see Freeport razed to the ground, and all our ocean-going fleet dock at Port Bane again. With all the proper tolls. As it was done in my grandfather’s day.”
Drub stared long at Gifa. A low thrumming chuckle began to build in her throat.
“And suppose the men you want to rule don’t think much of your pledge?” she challenged. “Suppose they tell you you’ve run mad, that you’re just a silly, cracked-skulled little girl and they’ll never serve you?”
“Then they won’t serve,” Gifa replied, once Shuna had translated. “They will burn.”
Drub cackled. “Oh, I like you, weasel! You remind me of me when I was a mump. Drukk it, why not? Let’s toss the stones! Three queens together. What’s one sad king to do against odds like that?”
* * *
The blade scraped against the tender skin of Rowb’s throat. He swallowed instinctively, gulping his air, earning himself a tut from the hand holding the blade.
“Hold still,” Alak murmured, as he shifted slightly and gave the patch of skin another pass with the razor. “Threksh’t, didn’t you shave the whole time you were gone?” He drew the razor up under Rowb’s chin, his practiced moves tracing out a neat inch of beard following the jawline.
“Don’t you kill my husband, now,” Liesel piped up from the chair where she sat nursing little Urdinak. Backlit by the fire, mother and child were a picture of domestic peace. Inwardly, Rowb cursed the Djun yet again for dragging them into his games.
“Am I likely to?” Alak shot back wryly. “There.” He wiped down the excess soap suds. “That’s the neck done. Let’s see what we can do with your face.” He shifted his stool until he was seating knee-to-knee and eye-to-eye with the soldier. A sad smile ghosted over his lips as he contemplated the face in front of him.
“That bad, eh?” Rowb asked, and he heard the weariness in his voice. It had been five days since he’d first arrived in Djaar Bosmer, and only three days since his family had forced the healers to stop the burning plasters and purgatives. Alak and Liesel had kept any mirrors away from him, but he could tell he had lost weight, especially in his face and hands. His first solid meal since Gifa’s defection sat uneasily in his belly.
“You’re looking much stronger,” Liesel insisted.
“He looks like a starved bear,” Alak protested, his voice catching slightly on the last word. He dropped his gaze to pot of shaving soap as he re-lathered the brush. “I wish you’d just let me take it all off,” he remarked brusquely.
“Liesel likes my beard, don’t you, girl?” Rowb said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you bare-faced, to be honest.”
Traitor, Rowb thought sourly. “Oh, maiden-faced, you mean? And lily-skinned? Like this one?” He jostled Alak’s knee. Alak’s reply was a dollop of soap between Rowb’s eyes. “Didn’t your father teach you? Never mouth off to the man with the blade at your neck. Now hold still!” Alak began to scrape the razor down from Rowb’s cheekbones, removing a half-moon’s worth of stubble.
“Play nicely, boys,” Liesel urged, before turning her attention back to the infant at her breast. She began to sing, a soft lilting tune:
The moons have risen round and bright.
No clouds will dim their steady light.
The stars like eyes have pierced the night.
To see the hunters pass.
A sharp stab of fear made Rowb flinch. “You shouldn’t sing that here,” he said, more gruffly than he had intended.
Liesel looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just… not that song. Not here.”
“You taught it to me,” she protested.
Now Alak was looking at him curiously. Rowb felt the heat flood his cheeks. “Aye. It’s… a Djaarlander hunting song… but it’s… it’s not one to sing to a babe. Poor taste, someone would say. If they heard.”
“But little Urdi loves it, don’t you, sweetling?”
Of course he does, Rowb thought, with a pang of nostalgia. His namesake did too.
“And besides, who would hear?” Alak asked. Rowb recognized the suspicious furrow to his brow. He could always tell with Rowb was lying.
“You don’t know what it’s like, to live close to the Djun,” Rowb temporized. “I… I never wanted you to know what it’s like. I wish to Threksh’t he’d left you all in Lowtown.”
Alak’s expression turned to one of exasperation. “Well, I don’t! How about you, Liesel? Should we have let this gwit shift for himself? ‘Left us in Lowtown.’ Say what you will about the pup, at least the Djun understands something about family.”
“Don’t call him that!” Rowb hissed. “Not even with me. Not here! Not under his roof.”
“Well. Your loyalty is commendable–”
“Oh, bugger my loyalty,” the words tumbled out of Rowb’s mouth before he could stop himself. The naked terror that must have blazed his eyes at the slip was enough to make Alak draw back.
“Rowb? What’s wrong with you?”
Rowb staggered to his feet. “You can’t say those things,” he said. “This isn’t Lowtown. You can’t just go about –” he looked to the door, found it properly barred, then turned his gaze to the window, and its imperfect wooden shutters. He thought he spotted a shadow behind the gap in the slats.
He threw the shutters open. Outside night was beginning to fall. The shadow was revealed as a crow. It stared long and hard at him before taking flight.
“We’re caught in the net now,” Rowb murmured. All of us. We’re dead men breathing. Even little Urdi. Threksh’t have mercy, what have I done? What am I going to do?
“It was just a bird,” Alak said.
Rowb laughed humorlessly. “Here you can’t even trust the birds to keep your secrets.”
Elfquest copyright 2017 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2017 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2017 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.