ZIHAEN, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 2

CHAPTER 6 - RABOGST (Part 1)

The morning after their return from Steeklenborn, Zino intercepted Ghyll as he left his bedroom.

'Could I have a word with you?' Zino looked decidedly unhappy and Ghyll regarded him with some surprise.

'Of course. Come in.' Re-entering the room, Ghyll closed the door and turned to his friend. 'Is something troubling you?'

Zino's round face blushed an embarrassed red. 'Damn Mo for saddling me with it,' he blurted out. 'Someone from our embassy left a note for me with royal orders. My brother has a proposal for you and he believes I could speak more freely to you than any letter of his could do.'

'Be as free as you need,' Ghyll said, looking with some wonder at his friend's unusual awkwardness. 'Though I will receive your brother's letters with the greatest pleasure. What does he want?'

'My sister,' Zino said. He frowned and suddenly slammed his fist into the bedpost. 'Of course; it must be her idea. She's so clever, that twin sister of mine!'

'Come on, out with it. What does your brother, or your sister, want with me?'

Zino took a stance and looked over Ghyll's shoulder as if inspecting a tassel of the bed's canopy. 'My brother the king, seeing your as yet unmarried state, would greatly desire to tighten the already excellent relationships between our two countries by offering you my sister Kerianna's hand in marriage. There! That's the whole evil plan.'

Ghyll stared at Zino, his mouth open. 'M-marriage?'

'You will have to, one of these days soon,' Zino said hurriedly. 'It's expected of kings. Unless they're called Mojalman, of course,' he added sourly. 'My brother is in no hurry to commit his person. There have been times I wondered if he, too... But he's as straight as they come. Gals a-plenty in the royal bedchamber.' He sniffed. 'Still, if your heart isn't given already, you could make a worse choice. She's far prettier than me and loves ruling things. Keri would make a great queen.'

'I...' Ghyll was at a loss for words.

'Think about it.' The pudgy young prince moved toward the door. 'Thanks for not yelling at me.' He carefully closed the door behind him, leaving Ghyll in confusion.

'I did wonder who would be first,' the regent said when Ghyll told him about the proposal. 'Princess Kerianna is the only marriageable daughter of sufficient rank among the eastern continent's ruling houses. I am not conversant with the state of the western continent's nations, though the Bureau of Trade would possibly know more. That leaves our local nobility, and once the news of your return is announced, I expect a hundred or more supplications and outright bribes to intercede for this or that girl – all of which I will of course pass on for your consideration.'

Ghyll stared at the old duke with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 'A hundred? Why? I'm not that pretty.'

'You're a handsome and healthy young man,' the regent said with a vague smile. 'But were you as ugly as a piper toad, it would make no difference. The ladies aren't interested in you, Sire. The song of the crown pulls them to you.'

'The crown? Are our girls that mercenary?'

Kyssander's smile broadened. 'Yes, Sire. Can you blame them? Rhidauna, the most powerful country in the known world; her king the Champion of the Gods, and a personable young man with near unlimited wealth. There are girls out there who would do murder to get their hands on you.'

Ghyll shuddered. 'So my choices are limited. I can marry this Kerianna, I can choose one of my own subjects – and alienate all the others – or I can do as Mo and stay unmarried.'

At this, the duke frowned. 'King Mojalman has three heirs – Prince Zinobad and two sisters. You have none. It takes only one successful Dar'khamorth attempt on your life and Rhidauna will be ruined. You must marry as soon as possible, and beget children, Sire. You cannot afford not to.'

'Damn...' Ghyll's face had gone white. 'That's one duty above all others I hadn't counted on.'

'I suggest Princess Kerianna, Sire. She is of the right rank, well-trained and to all reports capable. It would be best to combine it with your Coronation, when all nobles and dignitaries are together anyhow. You can leave the arrangements to me, Sire. Is this agreeable to you?'

Agreeable? Ghyll swallowed and then nodded weakly. 'It seems there is no escaping it.'

'Not really,' the duke said soberly. 'Remember this, your father and grandfather both profited greatly from their marriages and both learned to love their wives.'

Ghyll sighed. 'So be it, Duke. As a boy, my life wasn't my own and it seems that even as King, it still isn't.'

'I'm afraid that is how it works, Sire.' The regent rubbed his hands. 'I will notify Opit immediately of our acceptance. Then we'll start negotiating. That's all about money, Sire. Don't bother your head about it.'

'Money?' Ghyll found the thought distasteful. 'I'm not buying the girl, Duke.'

'No, Sire; certainly not. An exchange of dowry and bride price are a tradition in any marriage. Those things are generally a father's responsibility – in this case mine and my Opitian counterpart.'

'Then I will leave you to it,' Ghyll said. 'I will be going to Rabogst tomorrow. Perhaps it will help me come to terms with all the changes in my life.'

Vasthul paused in his round of the market square. Hardingraud. Hatred threatened to choke him. Where was the cad? He had been in the capital a few weeks already and he hadn't seen his prey anywhere. Curse it; the bastard must have arrived long ago.

With difficulty he suppressed his anger, the square was crowded and he must not betray himself. Hardingraud... the brat had to pay for all Vasthul's pain. For his inflamed eyes, after that pepper trick in Theridaun, just when Vasthul thought he had him. For the burns he'd suffered that night he raided Hardingraud's streamside camp. That old witch in southern Leudra had healed him with her ointments, but now there was the other pain. Those wrenching cramps.

He looked around. Hardingraud. Every one of his ambushes the lout had circumvented; each trap had proved futile. Central's voice sounded increasingly urgent, telling him that the Master wanted results. He grunted. Let them all rot, he didn't listen to them. Yes, Hardingraud must die. No longer because the Master demanded it, but to satisfy his own hatred. The boy's luck couldn't last forever, and then he'd have him. The bastard would bleed for each injury he had caused.

He groaned. Oh Gods, he felt so bad. His head ached, his thoughts were so chaotic - he could barely concentrate. Luddeke's knowledge of the falmagic filled his head with kaleidoscopic bits of information and those strange attacks of chills, the terrible coughing, seemed to grow worse every day. He was almost too tired to drag himself around the market square again. Maybe he should go back to the cemetery, to Luddeke. He wrinkled his nose. Luddeke - just the thought of that old woman made him want to puke. Thank the Anti he'd almost drained her. A cramp hit him and he moaned. Suddenly he regretted killing the old herb woman. She would have known a remedy for these terrible cramps. By the Hamorth! His arms and legs felt as if made from the same bronze as those statues in the marketplace. The statues... more and more he felt their eyes following him. All those Gods around their stupid fountains, they looked at him and whispered among themselves. They laughed at him! Nowhere a trace of that cursed Hardingraud. Mechanically, he shuffled all the way back to the gate of the castle, risking the suspicious looks of the knights at the gates. Was that a musical note he heard? He looked around and tried to focus his eyes. Had that statue of Uthelno moved? Hallucinations, he scolded himself. Walk on; they're only fountain statues.