Day 13. Quake and Banquet
Chapter 31.
Evening fell on the second day into the Quakeslan, and no danger had occurred up to that point.
There had been tension the moment they were onto the narrow strip of land with oceans breaking on either side of them, and no one spoke in their usual voices, not even Hyg who was usually humming or singing some tune. Yet that first day came and went and the ground didn’t shake and no monsters crawled from the waves, and though Valia wondered if anyone slept well that first night, the second day came and the mood eased a bit across the whole company.
Then night fell on the second day and the ground fell into the sea.
Captain Oren had just called for a halt and the men were dismounting to set up a fire for the night. Meino and Luc had advised they gather as much dry brush and scrub as they could, because he couldn’t guarantee they would have any trees to burn once out on the Quake. No piles of wood could be set or started aflame, for the whole sandy ground shifted and threw everyone to the side, those on horses toppled over and those on their feet fell to their faces.
“Dismount!” shouted Meino, his accent standing out even stronger in his panic.
Valia had been thrown from her saddle and quickly picked herself up, looking around in the gloom to find her horse. The animal was getting back to his feet but she saw beside him Alett pinned beneath her mount, the animal screaming in terrible pain, one of its rear legs twisted at an off angle.
Men shouted and horses screamed as Valia ran toward Alett. The ground shifted again and she tumbled forward, landing on the horse and making both animal and girl cry out. The horse shifted and thrashed, trying to regain its feet, and in the movement it was rolling back and forth, crushing Alett into the sand a little more each time.
“Come on!” shouted Valia, holding the girl by her armpits, trying to time her pulling with the rocking of the horse.
Tears streamed down the girl’s face but she grit her teeth and pushed with her hands and her free leg, pressing against the saddle, rocking with the struggling horse. Just then, the animal found purchase in the sand with its front hooves and pushed up enough for Valia to pull the girl free. She dragged her back just enough and the horse sprang to its feet, dancing to the side a bit as it favored one back leg.
Red light, faint and waning, cast toward them across the long ocean, and Valia felt the first splashes of water as she sat gathering her breath, holding the serving girl. Turning around quickly, Valia saw that they hadn’t moved far enough to be in the wave, but the wave had moved up toward them.
“The tide!” shouted one of the men. Valia looked to see him lying on his side, pulling himself through the sand with only his arms, his legs dragging behind him in the water without bending at all.
Hyg’s voice rang out clear and strong in the commotion, a surprising beacon of control. “The land is sinking!” he shouted. “Abandon the steeds and go further down the Quake! Reach higher ground before you end up swimming!”
The ground shook again and Valia could see that yes, indeed, the entire section of land they were on was shifting to the side, away from the setting sun, splitting with long cracks that were filling with water, the entire stretch slipping down into the sea.
Valia stood and lifted the girl with her and the two of them ran as fast as they could through the ankle deep water until they were back on dry land, then up the shifting slope to where Luc and Meino already were, standing in still silence, watching the soldiers struggle below. Some of the horses had realized what was happening and made it for the high ground as well, but at least two others were being swept away by the current, their legs tangled in reins and half unloaded gear.
Valia watched in horror as a man was pulled along with his horse into the sea, his leg tangled in the saddle, his armor weighing him down. He was one of the few men who insisted on wearing some of his plate, while most of the rest only wore chain or leather. Surely he was regretting it now.
Then there were Hal and Ben, the boys who would be Spokesmen, running through the waves and the shifting ground, cutting loose horses and men alike, dragging the wounded out of the surf and up towards the higher stable ground. Hal had defeated the Ikylong, but Ben moved with as much heroism as his friend, both boys doing their part. Captain Oren was there as well, helping bring the scared horses along even though Hyg’s call had been for abandonment. But he was a soldier who knew the value of an animal and surely wasn’t ready to lose so much valuable gear so quickly.
When the waves settled and the two oceans broke upon each other in the center of what had been land only a few minutes ago, Valia looked around at all who had survived. They were all there in various states of wetness, and only the man in plate hadn’t made it. He was pulled out too far by the time anyone could reach him, and though no one else wore plate, chain was still heavy enough to make a man sink if he wasn’t careful.
“Where’s Gyor?” asked Hal, walking up and down the ranks of men sitting and standing on the sandy ground watching the waves crash into each other.
“His plate was too heavy,” answered the captain, speaking what Valia had already realized.
Hal shook his head and threw his sword down, then stripped off his soaked tunic and moved to leap down into the waves. Oren and two other soldiers quickly grappled the boy and held him back.
“Let me go!” he shouted. “You can’t just let one of your own die! We’re so close, we can save him!”
“NO!” bellowed Captain Oren, throwing the boy down onto his back. He leaned over him, pointing a finger at the boy. “Do not throw your life away for a dead man! Do not! We are in far more dangerous territory than I could have imagined, and I take his death in my hands. It is not your weight to carry. I’ll not lose two men tonight, even if one of them is just a foolish boy who thinks himself a hero!”
Oren kicked sand, not at the boy’s face but at his legs, and Valia could see without seeing the man’s face that he was beyond frustrated.
Meino stepped close to the Captain and whispered something. Oren nodded and turned to survey the men. “We walk from here, bring your horses along, those that survived. We are close to the pirate fort if our guides are correct. Let us move out.”
The men gathered themselves together and began their march. Valia followed, pulling her horse along with one hand, holding Alett’s hand with her other. The girl had lost her horse, the animal not able to move well with its broken leg. She was shaking even though the ground had settled.
“Why did I come?” whispered the girl.
“For adventure,” said Valia as hopeful as she could.
“For death, it seems,” countered the girl.
Valia didn’t have a reply for that.
Chapter 32.
Dancing and singing and food and drink, and Kit wished he were somewhere else.
Hyn sat among the musicians dressed in a form fitting ivory gown that Kit found rather inappropriate, and every time he looked her way he found she was watching him, an odd smile on her lips even as she strummed her harp.
Rogo had set up the banquet hall in such a way that the head table was reserved for only the King and the foreign dignitaries, while other smaller tables were for the local nobles and courtesans as well as the dignitaries’ retinue and their knights. Kit sat alone, though he was surrounded by people, and though he interacted and laughed and did his best to speak with eloquence and poise, he found he was tired of the whole affair before the real dancing even began. There were performers, an exotic troupe of men and women short of stature but limber and agile, and they danced a while, but none of the courtesans had yet been invited to the floor.
Rogo was nowhere to be seen.
He should have been at Kit’s left hand, but the seat was empty and had been since the herald first announced seating and had everyone put in their places. Before the wine was even poured the short man slipped away, whispering to Kit not to drink the wine. Then he was gone with his foreboding message.
Kit laughed at a joke from one of the northern plainsmen, a tall fellow with a drooping mustache and windworn features, but the laugh was emotionless and he felt nothing. What was wrong with him? These were people he was supposed to make alliances with, this was kingdom work, the job he had been thrust into and one he vowed to do to the best of his ability. And here he sat, sipping wine he had been told to avoid, and pretending to be a good host. Even more than all of that was the woman who sat at his right hand, the Queen of Midcharia, a vision in purple and white, her hair done in curls up about her head with bits of golden strands cascading along the edges of her face.
He had barely spoken to her beyond what was customary, for if Rogo was right and there were talks among the advisors about a marriage alliance between Raelle and Midcharia, he wanted to have as little to do with the woman as possible. She was without a question the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that was perhaps the worst of it, for he wanted no part in a marriage alliance, and he was bound to keep his heart from betraying him.
The herald, a man Rogo had picked from one of the theater troupes in lower Midcharia, came to the center of the ballroom and blew two short notes on his trumpet, a short silver thing that sounded clear and high pitched, adorned with a small red pennant.
Talk in the room quieted and Kit sat up a little straighter in his chair, chewing the last of a honeyed melon he was eating.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, esteemed guests, valued travelers all! We welcome you to the banquet of the High King of Raelle, to celebrate unity among nations and kingdoms, to enjoy the peace we have and will continue to strive for, and to ensure such systems remain in place. Now, we have prepared several wonderful pieces of music for your pleasure this evening; I hope you will find the floor suitable for dancing. Thank you all!”
The man gave a theatrical bow and swept his arms wide, turning about in a half circle and marching away to his table far from where Kit sat. The crowd cheered and the music began to play and people got up to dance. It must have been a tune that was well known for the men and women split to either side of the dance floor and began moving back and forth, trading partners and dancing in time with the music, all in a practiced and organized dance. Kit had never heard the song before and certainly didn’t know the dance.
“Is there anything you would like to ask of me?” asked Queen Ynar at Kit’s right.
He turned from the dancers to see the woman watching him with a pleased smile, her eyes alight with life. She was stunning, but Kit shook his head and managed to keep his voice neutral. “Forgive me, my lady, but I know not what I would ask of you.”
Her face soured just slightly, even her practiced ease couldn’t hide it, and strangely Kit felt a bit of joy at this crack in her armor. “I would hope you are illiterate in the ways of dance, or born with a cruel twist of your feet, rather than feel the slight of your avoidance of me as a partner,” said the woman. He knew she meant dancing partner, but the way she laid emphasis on the word made Kit pause.
“I mean no offense,” he said, “but I can admit that I am woefully devoid of any dancing acumen. And though I was born with both feet hale and whole, I would not trust them to stay in time with the music and keep your feet from being stepped on.”
“I’m quite skilled,” she said with a spark growing in her eyes. “I could take the lead.”
This burned in Kit’s chest with a fire he couldn’t understand, and all he could do was smile for the moment and turn back to the dancing. In that moment, a few things happened at once.
The dancers parted in the center of the room, spreading to either side, opening a long line of sight down the dancing hall for Kit’s view. At the far end a man stood there, dressed in black armor, a giant of a man well taller than the biggest knight in the room and thus far taller than Kit. He held a warhammer in one hand and a round black shield in the other. He wore no helm but even if he had, Kit would have known who he was.
The dancers moved together once again, hiding Borneld from Kit’s view.
The second thing that happened came from the right side of the room, where a figure stood from one of the tables, dressed in green and gray doublet and trousers, no coat of arms on his shirt but a curious white mask covering his face. He moved forward, holding one hand inside the fold of his shirt, his masked face turned only toward the dancers in the center of the hall.
The final event that took place was a sudden strange drowsiness that seemed to fall over Kit. He felt his eyes droop and his breathing grew heavy and his chest felt very warm. Distantly, as though from across the room, Kit felt the Queen’s hand on his arm and heard her voice in his head.
“Sild,” she was saying, and though he understood what she meant, he found he couldn’t grasp what to do about it.
For a moment his vision cleared and he looked out to see a room full of people stumbling about with lowered heads and hands hanging at sides. In the center of it all walked two men, one massive in black with a hammer, the other in green and a white mask.
Then, fingers were pushing their way into Kit’s mouth and he struggled against them for a moment before he noticed the taste of meat on his tongue. The fingers vanished and he chewed and swallowed the meat, an instinct taking over.
The Sild burst to life in his stomach, giving him a burst of speed and a feeling of new life. Goma might have worked, he realized in a frenetic channel of thought, but Sild surely would clean out his system quicker. He glanced down at the wine, still dark in his cup, and knew he should have listened to Rogo.
“My lord,” said Queen Ynar at his side, her hands tugging at his arms.
Kit looked over and saw the worry on her face, but he saw the determination too. Here was a strong woman, one who reminded him of Valia in the best of ways. Kit pushed his chair back and stepped aside, reaching behind the tall seat to tear the false back away and reveal Bloodswill, the massive greatsword few men could wield.
Out on the floor, Borneld was moving closer, stepping over the bodies of those who had fallen asleep where they stood. He moved past the man in the white mask who knelt over one of the patrons, a flash of silver cutting through the room as the masked man struck his hand down and down at the patron.
It was murder, Kit could see that, though he couldn’t see the deceased.
“Behind me,” said Kit, knocking his high backed chair aside and gripping the blade with both hands, holding it before him as Queen Ynar moved to stand behind him.
“You’ve killed them all,” said Borneld in a deep growl. He stepped on a man’s wrist, shattering the bone with a terrible crushing sound, and Kit couldn’t tell if he stepped on him on purpose or not. Either way, it didn’t seem to bother the man as he continued to advance until he reached the head table.
“Do not do this,” Kit said. “Not here, Borneld. I did not poison them, you must see that, for the wine was given to me as well. Let me determine their wellbeing and I will face you another day.”
The big man tipped his head back and roared laughter, then smashed his hammer down on the head table, splitting through the wood and sending dishes and food scattering.
“I will best you!” shouted Kit, perhaps more to himself than the man, but at that moment a fourth thing occurred, and Kit decided there was nothing he could do in the moment.
Side doors opened in the hall and soldiers stepped out, some men Kit recognized from the Knights of Arl, some he didn’t know but could see were city guards, those of the old king.
“I’ve been busy,” said Borneld, smashing the table once more.
The Queen grabbed Kit’s arm tightly and he turned to see her putting a bit of sild in her mouth. She swallowed and grinned at him.
Kit tucked Bloodswell under his arm and dashed off to the back of the room, away from Borneld, the Queen on his heel.
Black swordsmen emerged from the rear exit of the hall and Kit adjusted his sword and sliced through two of them in a sweeping motion, knocking them to the side to give him and the Queen space to move past. Another guard stepped through the door and Queen Ynar dropped to her knee and slid on the floor, snapping her forward foot up into the man’s knee before he could bring his sword down. He cried out and fell to the side and the Queen was up quickly, running next to Kit.
They reached the door and Kit burst through, out into a hallway full of guards.
Kit froze for a moment as the guards to the right and left of them realized who was there, and prepared to charge. Borneld could be heard shouting from behind them and Kit looked at the Queen, then looked at the window across the hallway from where they stood. The banquet hall was several stories up and if Kit was correct, that window opened out onto the main courtyard.
“Goma,” whispered the Queen, and held out two pieces in her hands.
The guards were moving forward, not in a rush but in careful formation, and Kit took a small measure of pride in his reputation. Yet, he wore no armor and neither did the Queen, and she had no weapon.
“We can’t take both meat at once,” said Kit. “We’ll go mad.”
“Madness or death?” asked the woman, and popped one of the pieces in her mouth, tossed the other to Kit, and sprinted for the window.
Kit caught the meat in his hand just as Queen Ynar of Midcharia jumped in a full sild infused run into the painted glass window, shattering it out into the night, flooding the hallway with moonlight.
The guards were running then and Kit found he had no choice. They had been attacked, drugged in the wine, and a man in a white mask committed a murder. It was not a night Kit could have anticipated and he worried that he had some part to play in the turn of destiny, as he sat only minutes earlier with such a sense of boredom and annoyance.
“To the Pits,” Kit said, then chewed the goma meat, felt an eye widening rush of strength, and sprinted after the woman and through the shattered window.
