Exiles of Forlorn (25 page)

“He said he didn’t miss. What did he mean?” I asked the Sand King. I couldn’t quite bring myself to question the savage directly.

Arn wiped sand off his breeches and took a drink of water before answering, “He killed one to scare us, another to slow us down.”

Uller wailed.

“Daevas, every glutton on this island will hear that boy’s cries,” said Efrot.

Arn walked to Uller and knelt beside him. I watched carefully as he stroked his hair and looked him in the eyes. “Your bravery is needed, young wizard.”

“I’m not . . . I’m no wizard. Not yet.” He looked down at the arrow jutting from his thigh and winced. “May never be, now.”

“Do not say such things. Yutan speaks quite highly of your skill and intelligence.”

That got a fast look from Uller. “Master Yutan speaks of me?”

“Of course. At least, I think he does. I can barely understand a word he says.” They both chuckled at that. Arn took off his cloak and rumpled it into a pillow, then eased Uller’s head onto it. “You’ll limp for a while, but you’ll recover. Soon, you’ll be the one teaching young apprentices, and this will be one of many stories you’ll tell them.”

I knew then where I recognized him from. It was in his voice, so calm and regal. I had not met him, but I had met his family. I had to look away to disguise my realization. Even that wasn’t enough to hide it from Reiwyn. “What?” she asked, crinkling her nose.

“It’s nothing. I am fair.” I understood at once why it was so important that his secret be kept.

Gargath picked up a stick. “I need you to bite down on this.”

Uller nodded and took it. “You’ve done this before, eh? Removed an arrow from a body?”

“Dozens of times,” he replied, then looked down at the wound. “Though this is the first time my patient has been alive.” He pushed the stick into Uller’s gaping mouth before he could respond. “He has to remain still. I need someone to hold him.” Sharkhart and Efrot were the biggest of us, so they grabbed his arms. Arn and I took his feet. “This is going to hurt.”

“It looks like it already does,” joked Blackfoot. I grinned at that, but that disappeared when I saw the look on Uller’s face. Pain mixed with fear and surprise. The body never really knows just how much pain it can be in until it’s pushed to that limit. Gargath had just informed him that what he was feeling was about to get worse, and that was more than my learned friend could reckon with.

Gargath grabbed both ends of the arrow. Uller groaned and tried to move, but we held him fast. Reiwyn stood behind him, stroking his hair and ushering him to stay calm. With a twist and a bend, Gargath broke the fletched end of the arrow with a wet snap. Uller’s voice pitched as he shook, throwing back his head so hard he almost knocked Reiwyn over. Then, holding the other end, Gargath pulled the broken arrow through his leg, drawing a stream of blood from both sides of the wound. I heard the wood in Uller’s mouth strain under his bite as he screamed through it. Once the arrow was free, he collapsed, unconscious.

“You should have just let me knock him out. Would have spared us the wails,” said Landis.

“Then I’d be treating a concussion as well as an arrow wound,” said Gargath. He poured water over the holes and pressed his hand to them. “Bring me the knife.”

Blackfoot scurried to the fire and returned, holding the handle of the glowing yellow blade. He handed it to Gargath, who took it gently. “Keep holding him,” he said, and we tightened our grip on Uller. Gargath brought the blade down and pressed it against one of the holes. Flesh sizzled, and the air smelled of burned meat. Uller screamed as he awoke, sitting up so hard that Efrot and Sharkhart lost of their grip for a moment. They quickly grabbed and subdued him, while Blackfoot shoved the dropped stick back into his mouth.

“Just one more,” Gargath said, wincing at the gruesomeness of it. Uller nodded and closed his wet eyes, his tear-streaked cheeks quivering. I patted my friend’s hand and Gargath lowered the glowing blade to the other hole. Uller took this one better, screaming and shaking only a little as his flesh seared shut. When it was done, he collapsed against the log, panting as he passed out again.

After, Gargath went down to the sea to wash the blood from his hands and clothes. The guards collected wood for the fire, while Blackfoot and Front-Strider carried our skins back to the spring to refill them. Reiwyn cradled Uller’s head in her lap; an enviable position, too bad he wouldn’t be awake to enjoy it. For my part, I was too astir to feel jealous. I promptly followed Arn down the beach to where he and Sharkhart conversed quietly.

“I need to speak to you,” I said to him.

“Yes?”

I didn’t dare look at Sharkhart as I quietly said, “Alone.”

“That’s not going to─”

Arn interrupted him by softly placing the back of his hand on the savage’s arm. “It’s fair. I will speak to the wall builder alone.” Sharkhart left us, though I could feel his eyes on me even from across the beach. I had no doubt if I deigned to bring any harm to Arn, the Tallfolk fighter would be on me before I could land the first blow.

“I know who you are,” I said quietly once we were alone.

Arn crooked a blond eyebrow. “Do you now? Then who am I?”

“You are Arnyld Mierdean: secondson of King Gerold IV and rightful heir to the throne of Morment.”

23.

T
he ascension of Morment’s current king, Rorineld II, was a tale of intrigue and surprise. But, then again, weren’t all kings crowned in such ways?

Eighteen years ago, Morment’s glorious fat king, Garold Mierdean IV, died, leaving the throne rather predictably to his almost as fat firstson, Garold V. He served capably for three years before being assassinated. The Illyrians were blamed for that, though other speculation fell upon some of the advisors and military leaders after rumors emerged that Garold V was considering suing for peace with the Illyrians. In any event, he died without an heir, so rightful hold of the crown fell to Garold IV’s secondson, one Arnyld Mierdean.

Unfortunately, Arnyld wasn’t available to take the throne, having defected to the Republic of Illyr five years prior, much to the shame and dishonor of his noble family. The royal counselors and advisers convened, attempting to determine who should become king. While his defection to Illyr should have made him ineligible for the throne, the king’s spies had learned that Arnyld had left the Republic of Illyr after just four short years, and subsequently vanished. That meant the throne was legally his, but no one had any idea where he was. He was declared dead and rightful rule fell to the king’s only uncle, brother of Garold IV, Duke Rorineld Mierdean. Further complicating things, he too was dead, having been mauled by a bear during a hunting trip in Bulorwai the year I was born. Fortunately, he had a firstson of his own, Rorineld Mierdean II, who happily ascended to the throne and began ruling all of Morment.

The mystery of the lost prince of Mierdean became a source of much speculation and debate. Witnesses of dubious reliability reported seeing him as far away as Ket. Imposters emerged claiming to be the prince, some more convincing than others. Some theorized that he’d been killed by the Illyrians to protect vital state secrets he’d uncovered while serving in their government as a defector. Others said he went mad and lived as a vagrant. A few said he found a temple to the Daevas of peace and contemplation and spent the remainder of his days as a silent monk in their service. They were all wrong, and I knew why. Because I’d found him, sixteen years after his disappearance, on the shores of the most far flung region of the empire.

It was rather risky using his own name, but I supposed it wasn’t too controversial since Arnyld was such a common name in the empire. I began to understand why he despised the appellation of Sand King: it must have been ascribed to him by those few who knew his true identity, but for him it would be a reminder of the life he’d abandoned and the feudal system he so detested.

“So you think I’m the lost prince?”

“I know you are,” I said, not sure if I should kneel or something. He’d never wanted me to do so before, so it probably would have upset him if I attracted such attention to our private conversation. “The family resemblance is unmistakable. I met your cousin, the king, when my older brother was knighted.” I hoped my excitement was held in check well enough to not embarrass me, but I feared it wasn’t.

“Lots of people could resemble the king.”

“Indeed, but very few carry themselves with such regal poise and dignity. I saw it in you, in the way you speak, the way you talk to your subjects—”

“I have no subjects.”

“Sorry, poor choice of words, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that.” He looked around quickly, lowering his voice. “Even if I am who you believe me to be, what makes you think I’d admit it to you? Who would believe you, anyway?”

“No one, your high . . . sir. I scarcely think they’d believe it even if you declared it about yourself. You have little to fear, though. Your secret is safe with me.”

He crooked an eyebrow. “I’ve still not conceded you’re right, Lew Standwell.”

“You don’t have to, sir.” I stared at him, in awe. Here was a man who could have been king. Who should have been king! And he lived here, on Forlorn, in relative destitution. I found him fascinating.

“What do you want?” he asked at length, stroking his yellow beard.

“Want?”

“For your silence. Assuming you’re not mad, you’re no fool. You wouldn’t reveal your knowledge of my secret identity without hope for some gain. If you’re seeking gold, you’ll find none here.”

“No, nothing like that. I don’t want anything. Except . . . maybe you will answer some questions?”

Arn took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at the White Road. He then looked behind me to where Gargath was tending to Uller. Uller had woken up and was complaining about the sticks they kept bringing him to use as a cane being too short. Arn gestured for me to follow him down the beach, and I did. Then he allowed me to question him.

“Why did you defect to Illyr?”

“That was youth and foolishness tempered with naivety. I believed then, as I do now, that democracy is a far fairer system of governance than the rule of kings, and that divine right flows from the people up, rather than from the monarch down. In my youth, I envied the democratic system of the Republic of Illyr and thought it greatly superior to ours.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“I lived among them for four years. I was treated like royalty, even though the Illyrians claim to not recognize such things. The secondson of the king of their greatest enemy defecting to them, it was quite a win. And quite a shame, to my family at home. I fear my father died hating me. I didn’t care much about it at the time, but looking back it is the single most regretful thing about my life.”

He took a moment, looking out at the ocean, sparkling blue under the beaming sun. He continued, “Living among the Illyrians taught me much, foremost among those lessons being that things are not always as they seem, especially from afar. Though the Illyrians have no kings or nobles, they are no less stratified by social class than Morment. Worse, in fact, because they steadfastly deny that such distinctions exist. All are equal in the Republic of Illyr.” He snorted softly.

“But they
are
a democracy?”

“In name, perhaps. They allow votes only to those men fortunate enough to own land, and in this system they apportion votes based on the amount of land owned. So, those who have greater wealth have greater power. They call this system equal because under their laws any man can purchase land, but in truth power is strictly concentrated in the hands of a wealthy few who do everything to prevent those under them from expanding their holdings. Most land is inherited, and those who do not inherit have small chance of ever buying land because its ownership is such a precious commodity that the landowners rarely sell it, preferring to let it sit unused rather than develop it for the good of the nation. As such, thousands of acres of farmland lie fallow while the poor and destitute starve.

“Illyr controls the flux of poverty from reaching revolutionary levels by continuing this perpetual war against Morment, who controls their population the same way. In just four short years, I came to learn that the system I’d defected into was as corrupt and immoral as the one I left.

“So I returned to Morment and lived among different people for a time. I stayed with the Tallfolk the longest, which is where I met Sharkhart. During a tribal feud I saved his life, and he became what the Tallfolk call
ik’rit’tak
, or my blood-brother.”

I understood that relationship well.

“That’s where you met Zin?”

He nodded. “That was thirteen years ago. She was barely five at the time, and an orphan in the care of the priests of Oralae. Some of them knew who I was, but they swore never to reveal my secret. I’m surprised she remembered me,” he said, uncorking his water skin. “I guess I made more of an impression than I thought.” He took a drink.

“A year later, I came here. Other exiles had fled the struggle to live with the Tallfolk, but were quickly wearing down their hospitality. Bounty hunters and mercenaries harassed us constantly. The empire’s tolerance of the Tallfolk’s way of life waned as it became apparent that those fleeing punishment of the crown could live among them in relative peace. I knew of this place, and I decided I would found a new colony, in a place the empire had no interest in, where everyone could be equal and free.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“But why leave? If you believe all are truly equal, why not take the throne and implement reforms?”

“Reforms?” He looked at me and laughed. “My brother tried to reform and look what it got him. No, the people of Morment are too far under the yoke of their oppressors. They worship nobility with religious zeal. If they rose up, perhaps then there would be change, but they will not. They cannot. The military is firmly under the control of the nobles, who all struggle for the crown’s favor. The system is mad, and it would take far more than one ideological king to change it.”