Heir of Autumn Read online

  “A moment,” Baelandra said, approaching the apprentice. “You are Lenendra’s assistant, are you not?”

  “Yes, Sister.” She gave a slight bow. “You have a good memory for faces. My name is Rindira.”

  “Who is injured?” Baelandra wanted to know.

  The healer grimaced. “He asked me not to say, Sister.”

  “Trent?” Krellis grumbled. The Brother of Autumn took a step closer to the girl, looming over her. “Did my son ask you to hide something from me?”

  “No, Brother,” the girl admitted, backing away from him. “Actually it was Brophy.”

  “Show me to him,” Baelandra said.

  “Sister, he asked—”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  Rindira sighed. “Yes, Sister. Follow me.”

  “Baelandra,” Krellis said, “We will be late.”

  “So we will be late.”

  “If he wants to hide his wound, it is a man’s right.”

  Baelandra ignored him and followed Rindira. After a moment’s pause, Krellis went along.

  They entered Brophy’s room to find him and Trent joking. Brophy’s lip was split and oozing blood. He sat on the edge of the bed. His ribs bore ragged, pink scrapes that would soon purple into bruises.

  Trent turned pale the moment he saw his father, then shot a vicious look at Rindira, who held out her hands helplessly.

  Krellis frowned. “What happened?” he growled.

  “Well,” Trent began, “it was the damnedest thing—”

  “Not you, boy,” Krellis cut his son off. He tipped his chin at Brophy. “You. What happened?”

  Trent’s brow furrowed and he flushed. He looked at Brophy.

  Brophy opened his mouth, closed it. Baelandra let out a quiet breath. The boy’s curly blond hair and green eyes reminded her of Brydeon at that age. They were so much alike it hurt sometimes. Neither father nor son could ever sell a lie. Her nephew’s innocence made her want to smile. Or sigh. Or both.

  “We were hunting,” Brophy said. He glanced at Trent, who remained stone-faced. “I was staring at the sky, watching my hawk, and didn’t see the drop-off. I fell about five feet and landed on a rock.”

  “A rock?” Krellis repeated.

  “Uh, yes. A rock.”

  “Pig flies, boy. That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

  Brophy blushed deep red. He flicked an angry look at Trent.

  “We were playing a game,” he said.

  Trent clenched his jaw.

  “What kind of game?” Krellis asked, his voice low.

  “It’s a stupid game,” Brophy said. Baelandra had to give him credit. He never quailed under Krellis’s frown like Trent, like so many others. Brophy told them the events of the day. Baelandra hid her mirth, but Krellis was not so successful. The corner of his mouth revealed a bit of his crooked smile.

  Krellis shook his head. “What kind of half-wit would stand there and let a rock hit him in the mouth?”

  Again, Brophy shot Trent an angry glance.

  “Next time, move,” Krellis said, smiling as he walked to the door.

  Baelandra followed him toward the hallway, but he stopped just outside the door and turned.

  “Brophy, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?” he said.

  Trent gave Brophy a look of such bitter venom that Baelandra’s heart beat faster.

  “Aren’t we going to be late for the council meeting?” she asked.

  Krellis ignored her and stared at his son. The boy could not return the gaze. She wished Krellis wasn’t so rigid when it came to Trent. Anyone could see the boy idolized his father. A few compliments would help him more than a hundred harsh words.

  Reluctantly, Brophy slid off the bed and walked into the hall. Trent stared at the floor, stiff-lipped and angry. Krellis stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Bae,” Brophy said, with a helpless shrug. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “That’s all right, Brophy,” she said, lifting his chin to get a better look at his mouth. “No need to apologize to me. Pain is a harsh enough teacher…for most people.” She arched an eyebrow. He blushed and looked away. The Seasons bless him, he looked just like his father.

  The door to Brophy’s room suddenly swung open and Trent rushed out. He ran past Baelandra and shoved Brophy with all his might, sending the younger boy crashing into the wall.

  Krellis emerged from the room with a weary frown. He flexed his fingers as he looked down at his enormous hand. “Shall we join our guests?”

  4

  THE AMBASSADOR’S GALLEY rocked gently in the soft evening breeze. About forty people lingered on the forecastle of the single-masted ship. High-ranking Children of the Seasons chatted with the ambassador’s entourage. The Ohohhim ship was exquisite in its simplicity. The gray wood of her decks shone like an oiled blade. The diplomat’s ship had none of the bloody-minded carvings of a vessel from Kherif or the gaudy colors of a slave ship from Vizar. The empire on the far side of the Great Ocean kept their ships simple and elegant. Krellis appreciated a well-crafted vessel, but he would happily burn the bitch to the waterline if it would get him off her a second earlier.

  He had been trapped here since sundown. The ambassador from Ohohhim had sailed through the Sunset Gate just before dusk. Six hours later, Krellis and the ancient diplomat hadn’t done much more than say hello and drown one another in an endless stream of pointless flattery. If Krellis wanted his ass polished, he’d have done it himself.

  If there was one thing Krellis hated, it was etiquette. Baelandra seemed to have limitless patience for the formal receptions, the endless dinners, and the polite but meaningless conversations in the gardens. Krellis simply bit his tongue and waited until he could sink his teeth into a ruthless negotiation behind closed doors.

  However, it took five years to arrange Father Lewlem’s visit, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize this meeting. If six hours of pleasantries were required, he would dance to any tune. The Emperor in the Opal Palace had been twenty years old when Krellis first sent emissaries. His men waited for a year to gain their first audience with the “immortal” ruler. Krellis’s request for an alliance was politely heard and politely ignored. It was just the same with the second group of emissaries and the third and the fourth, politely heard, politely ignored. They should have sent the men’s heads back in a basket. At least that would have been honest.

  Krellis took a gulp of the cloying, fermented yogurt the Ohohhim served. The taste turned his stomach, but he wanted the alcohol. He flexed his fingers as he watched his adversary. The shriveled ambassador hung on Baelandra’s every word. The tiny old man’s curly hair was dyed jet-black and cascaded to his waist. Like all officials from the bizarre far-western empire, Lewlem covered his face and hands with a white powder that protected him from the sun.

  For a people who painted themselves black and white, the Ohohhim certainly lived in shades of gray. It was impossible to get a straight answer from them about anything.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, Krellis decided to push the issue. He stood, walking over to the tiny man and his deaf-mute wife. Baelandra saw him out of the corner of her eye and quickly wrapped up the story she was telling about the Midwinter Festival of Lights.

  “Father Lewlem,” Krellis said to the shrunken ambassador. “I was admiring the ivory handle of your ship’s tiller. Is that whalebone?”

  The old man clapped his hands together like a small child. “You have a keen eye for beauty. That is my favorite part of this ship, but it is not a whalebone. It is the tooth of a striped walrus that my men killed while in the Vastness.”

  “Would you care to show it to me? I would love to hear what you know of the land of the horse clans.” Krellis raised an eyebrow, hoping the foreigner would pick up on the subtle meaning behind his words.

  The ambassador’s face lit up. “Nothing would please me more.”

  The two men walked side by side across the deck to
the back of the ship. Hierarchy was extremely important to the Ohohhim. It would have been a mistake for him to walk ahead of the ambassador, which would imply that Krellis outranked him. It would have been just as bad to walk behind, implying that he was subservient.

  Krellis reached the tiller and admired the handle. From a distance, he thought it was carved in a spiral pattern, but up close he saw the coils were natural.

  “The creature this tooth came from must have been enormous,” he said.

  Lewlem clapped his hands. “He fed my crew of fifty men for a week.”

  “I have heard many tales of wonders from the Vastness.”

  “It is a land of great beauty and unspeakable horrors.”

  Krellis paused to run his hand along the ivory tiller handle. “I understand your Emperor has a great interest in the treasures of the Vastness.”

  Lewlem nodded. “His Eternal Wisdom has always been fascinated by items of great power and beauty.”

  “I was led to believe there is one item in particular that he would like to acquire. Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “As we both know, the four former Brothers of the Seasons left this city years ago to investigate a great tragedy that occurred in the far north.”

  “Reports of this tragedy have traveled across the Great Ocean.”

  “Ever since that time, those four men have remained in the Vastness, hiding the source of that tragedy.”

  “This news has also reached the ears of his Eternal Wisdom. You speak of the Legacy of Efften.”

  “I do.”

  “The incarnation of God on Earth is dedicated to acquiring any items from the fallen City of Sorcerers.”

  “I possess information that would be of great assistance to your Emperor’s ambition.”

  Father Lewlem shook his head. “It is not ambition, but sacred duty. The lost secrets must be kept safe from those who would abuse them. Only His Magnificence has the wisdom to wield such power.”

  “My apologies.” Krellis nodded in deference. “I had forgotten your Emperor is not a mortal man with mortal desires.”

  “You are forgiven. The Emperor is difficult for barbarians to understand.”

  Krellis’s lips tightened at the insult, but he continued on without a ruffle. He could afford a little indulgence in exchange for what he might gain.

  “The former Brother of Autumn sent many letters to his sister before his death. I intercepted those letters.”

  Father Lewlem pursed his powdered lips.

  “Do the letters say where the Legacy is hidden?”

  “They do.”

  Lewlem pressed his palms together. “These letters are less than I hoped for, but more than I expected. They might be enough to convince His Eternal Wisdom to extend an offer of friendship.”

  “I am pleased to hear that. I will make these letters available to you when the Emperor’s navy is within sight of Ohndarien’s walls.”

  The ambassador looked Krellis in the face for the first time. “It shall be as you say.”

  Krellis struggled to keep the smile off his face as he turned and walked back toward the others. He was pleased to see the foreign diplomat fall into step behind him. It was about time the ambassador realized who he was dealing with.

  Krellis had just traded a handful of paper for the most powerful navy on the Great Ocean. He had parlayed stories about an infant girl and a music box into a crown that would make him a king of two countries.

  Even a barbarian could see that His Eternal Wisdom was a colossal fool.

  5

  I’M READY to sleep with him,” Shara said out of nowhere, tossing the words in Brophy’s face. She bit her lip, hoping for the perfect reaction, not knowing what it could possibly be.

  Brophy stopped in his tracks. People in the crowd had to veer around him as he stood there staring at her. She felt a stab of disappointment, turned quickly, and continued on her way.

  The council meeting was starting late. People had grown restless milling and chatting in the Night Market for the last hour. Shara had spotted Brophy amidst the crowd, and they started up a conversation just like always.

  The two of them had been friends since they were children. Shara adored him, but she hated the way he followed Trent around like a shadow. Just look at his smashed-up face. She didn’t know who was the bigger fishbrain, Trent for coming up with the game or Brophy for playing it.

  A lone trumpet atop the Hall of Windows announced the opening of the Wheel, and hundreds of Ohndariens and foreigners joined the procession from the Night Market up to the Council Gardens. A single curving staircase spiraled around the circular plateau known as the Wheel of the Seasons. The stairs were ten feet wide and carved from the living rock. They spiraled around the Wheel one complete revolution before arriving at the top. The beauty of the design was its inefficiency. The trip gave people a chance to change their state of mind, to leave their normal life behind and join a higher one.

  Brophy caught up with Shara as she reached the steps. She watched him closely as they started up, walking slowly and stately. She chided herself for being hurt by his reaction. He was still young. He didn’t understand much about the real world. But it still stung. He was the only real friend she had, and it mattered what he thought.

  “You’re going through the ritual then?” he asked. “With Master Victeris?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly.

  He nodded.

  “I’ll graduate and finally be a full Zelani.” She was a year overdue. She’d put it off as long as she dared if she ever wanted to graduate.

  “Will you have to leave?”

  “I don’t know. I will be assigned wherever the council requires.”

  “Like Syrol and Payter?”

  Syrol and Payter were the first students to graduate from the Zelani school in Ohndarien. Shara had been recruited at the same time as the others. She was more talented than either of them, yet she remained a student.

  Payter had been sent with an ambassador to Kherif more than ten months ago. Syrol was still in the city, attached to Gorlym, Master of the Citadel. Shara still saw her every now and then. She envied Syrol’s elegant gowns and the beautiful silver chain that encircled her waist. The chain was set with the pale blue stone of the Zelani that brought her respect and deference wherever she went.

  News of the Zelanis’ power was spreading across the two oceans. Master Victeris’s mother had revived the secrets lost in the destruction of Efften. After her death, Victeris founded his school here in the Free City. The sorcerers of legend were being reborn in Ohndarien, and Shara would be the latest to join the fabled lineage.

  “And when you’re chosen, what will you do with them?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Brophy.”

  “Will you have to…all the time?”

  “When they need me, yes.”

  He frowned, and she gave him an amused glance. “Think of the things I will see, the places I’ll go. If I wasn’t here, I’d already be some farmer’s wife with a screaming baby on each arm and pig shit on my feet. If I was lucky.”

  Brophy looked back at her, his serious green eyes inevitably drawn to her breasts, barely covered by the gossamer blue gown all Zelani students wore.

  “At least I won’t be on constant display anymore,” she said.

  Brophy’s eyes snapped back to her face. He grinned sheepishly. Shara laughed and gave him a little shove. He was growing up. Mostly, she found it amusing, but it was also a bit sad.

  Men had been sneaking glances at her all night. She had become accustomed to it. People were supposed to look. That’s what the split-sided wisp of a dress was for. Still, sometimes a bit of privacy would be nice. Perhaps that was why the glamour was so exciting. Being noticed gave one power, but going unnoticed gave one freedom, which was a different kind of power entirely.

  Brophy stayed silent. He always became so serious whenever he visited the Wheel. It was like he aged fifty years every time he p
assed through an archway into the Hall of Windows. She left Brophy to his silence and looked out over the city as they came around the west side of the Wheel. The dockside piers swarmed with sailing ships, coming and going. The hills beyond were covered with scaffolding, clinging to new construction projects like a net of vines. In recent years, the council had allowed more and more foreigners into the city. The face of Ohndarien was changing as these newcomers built their homes and tried to make their fortune.

  The Free City was beautiful all year long, but autumn was especially nice. In a few weeks the trees would erupt into brilliant hues of gold, orange, and crimson. Shara had grown up in the blue-green pines of Faradan. They had their own beauty, but they stayed the same all year. She preferred the turn of the seasons in Ohndarien.

  Shara inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. Breath was the First Gate, the foundation of everything she did.

  She turned to her friend, and he smiled. For a moment, the lines between them vanished. She wasn’t a Zelani-to-be and he wasn’t a Child of the Seasons. They were simply two kids who met swimming in the bay so many years ago.

  “I’m scared, Brophy,” she murmured.

  He looked up, his face full of concern. “Of Victeris?”

  Shara felt a flood of affection for the boy. He knew her so well. It was one of the most wonderful things about him.

  She nodded. “Yes. There are some things…” She paused.

  “What things?”

  She looked around. There were too many people. She couldn’t talk about this here. “Let’s just say, when I ran away from the school when I was eleven, I might have had the right idea.”

  His brow furrowed. “Then run away now.”

  “No,” she said fiercely, then quieter. “No. I’ve made my choice. I’ve trained for nine years, and I’m not throwing it away.”

  He nodded, returning to that serious face he always wore in the Hall of Windows. “I understand. There are some things you just have to do, even when you don’t know why.”