22 

Akabe’s warning was entirely justified. A tight-coiled set of spiraling stone stairs twisted upward within near-airless darkness. Blinded at the first turn, Kien paused and nudged at the steps with his boots to find his way. Several steps above him, Akabe said, “We could have brought lamps, but that would have meant calling the servants. I didn’t want them to interfere.”

“I don’t blame you.” The higher they climbed, however, the more the darkness pressed in like a strangling force. Kien pushed at his growing agitation. Since when had darkness and confinement affected him so badly?

His stomach muscles tightened as he remembered being inside the sea beast’s gullet after ToronSea. The stairs’ stifling, twisting blackness evidently bore enough of a resemblance to the sea beast’s innards to rattle him. Severely. Infinite? Will this be a lifetime affliction?

No words met Kien’s unspoken plea. Praying, he fought his panic and continued up the stairs. He must control himself and convince Akabe to hurry Siphra’s army to Parne.

At last, Akabe said, “Wait.”

Kien paused, gripping the stone wall, listening to the clink of metal bolts and locks in the stifling blackness. Akabe exulted as the door opened. “Ha! It worked!”

“You led me up here without being certain you could open the door?”

“I believed I could, so I did.” Akabe stepped up into the sunlight, then squinted down at Kien. “Majesty, you look like something dug from a grave. Why? Does darkness alarm you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Another mystery?” Akabe retreated, allowing Kien out of the stairwell. “Never fear, I will learn your secret soon enough.”

Kien hoped he wouldn’t. The truth was too mortifying. Sucking in huge, reviving breaths of fresh air, he looked around. They stood within the rim of an encircling stone wall, which was garnished with elaborate bow loops. Surrounded by brilliant blue sky. Curious, Kien peered out a bow loop. More sky. With the palace courtyards below. Too far below.

Too sickeningly much like the cliffs of ToronSea.

Kien shut his eyes. Wonderful. Now he was afraid of heights, as well as closed, dark places? Not good for anyone in the military. Infinite, help?

“What is wrong?” Akabe demanded. He shut the stairwell door with a thud. Sounding impatient, he asked, “Is this part of the mystery?”

Kien saw how this would end. Akabe would have him investigated. Probably send servants to make inquiries in Adar-iyr. It might be best to confess the truth now. He turned and eyed the king. “Swear you’ll never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Your word of honor. On your sword.”

“Is it such a secret?”

Kien hoped it would remain one. He frowned at Akabe, silent, until the young man lifted his sword. “You have my word, my friend. Now tell me.”

“The Infinite threw me off a cliff in ToronSea. I was swallowed by a sea monster.”

“You are not serious.”

“I am. By the Infinite’s will, it’s true.”

Akabe stared. “And you lived.”

“Barely.” Kien pulled in another deep breath, then exhaled through his nose. Be calm. Here, surrounded by sunlight and solid stone walls, he had nothing to fear. “The beast heaved me up on the beach at Adar-iyr. I spoke to King Ninus and his people, as the Infinite commanded, and then I journeyed here. It seems my adventures have left me with a few troubling symptoms.”

“Perhaps time will ease them.” Akabe shifted the sword loosely in his hands, a disappointed gesture. “I suppose you are now too ill for a bout.”

“No. I’m not.” He couldn’t allow himself any weakness. For Ela’s sake, he must win this bout and prove to Siphra’s king and royal council that, because of their Azurnite, the Tracelands had reason to fear an invasion from Belaal. And that Siphra would be overrun in the conflict. Fortified by another deep breath, Kien unfastened his cloak, dropped it, then walked to the center of the tower’s wall-encircled crest. This was a perfect practice area for a king. Isolated. Reasonably level. Open, yet hidden and secure. Kien prayed for an instant, took a few calming breaths, and felt better. “Let’s have a bout, sir. Then we must talk.”

“Akabe,” the king insisted. “Someone has to call me Akabe, and you seem to be the approved someone.”

“Fine.” Kien swept his Azurnite sword from its scabbard and saluted Siphra’s reluctant king with the glistening blue-silver blade.

Akabe’s attention fixed on the sword. “May I test it?”

“No.”

“If I win?”

“You won’t.”

“Tracelanders!” Akabe grumbled, unsheathed his spare sword and tossed its scabbard to the foot of a wall. Then he advanced, cold-eyed, his mouth set. Obviously determined to fight close-in, hoping to seize Kien’s sword.

Kien answered with an attack, a lunge and a feint, forcing Akabe to step back. Akabe swung away and threw him a taunt. “You’re nothing but a dance master!”

“You don’t want to cross swords with me,” Kien warned.

“But I do!” Akabe countered, bringing his sword downward—a falcon’s guard, stooping for prey.

Kien parried with the flat of his sword and shifted, putting more distance between them. Akabe attacked again with a swift thrust. Kien stepped back to lull him, then lunged, sliding his blade along Akabe’s sword until the Azurnite rested at Akabe’s throat. “See it?”

Akabe grinned. “If my guards could see this they would have convulsions.”

They unlocked blades, circled, then traded strikes until Akabe became impatient. He advanced energetically and swung at Kien in a wide, ferocious arc.

Kien instinctively met the strike with such force that Akabe’s blade snapped beneath the Azurnite.

Akabe whooped, waving his broken sword. “This is what I wanted to see!”

He darted to the wall and returned with his second sword, a two-handed blade. “Once more, then I must attend my council.”

The council. Kien nodded. He would plead for their intercession on Parne’s behalf. “If I win, I attend with you.”

“Do you believe my counselors will discuss our country’s affairs while you listen?”

Kien smiled. “Perhaps they’ll be the ones listening.” He advanced, forcing Akabe to defend himself, parrying each strike. At last, Akabe charged through an attack, swung around, then brought his blade crashing high against Kien’s uplifted Azurnite sword.

Sparks flew, and so did the tip of Akabe’s longsword. Over the tower’s edge. “Infinite!” Akabe gasped. “Let no one be standing beneath!”

They ran for the nearest bow loop, jostling each other to see the courtyard below. Empty. Akabe heaved a grateful sigh, then laughed. “That was worth ruining two swords!” He backhanded Kien’s arm. “Let’s hurry. My council waits. Now, why must they listen to you?”

Queasy, Kien dug General Rol’s note from his money purse and handed it to the king.

Akabe read it, his elation fading. His gaze went distant. “May I share this with the council?”

“The sooner the better. As it is, half of Parne might be dead before the Tracelands arrives.” With Ela among them.

Siphra’s king gathered his broken swords and led Kien to the tower’s door. While they edged down the spiraling stairs in the unrelenting darkness, Akabe asked, “Why should you have escaped ruling Istgard, when I was not permitted to escape ruling Siphra?”

Concentrating on finding the stairs, and on quelling his panic, Kien took another step downward. “By the Infinite’s advice, I knew I would best serve Istgard by refusing the throne. Just as He knows you will best serve Siphra by ruling. A king must always consider his people’s welfare before his own. Besides, I’ve no wish to become a king.”

“Nor have I,” Akabe muttered. “Yet here I am, wishing I were you—free to travel about with an Azurnite sword and a . . .” He hesitated, as if realizing something. “Where is your destroyer? The one I saw you riding last year?”

“In Parne with my sister and brother-in-law, and Parne’s prophet.”

Akabe released a gusty sigh. For a few more steps he was quiet. Then he said, “If Parne is conquered and Belaal removes their treasures and particularly their ores, then nothing will prevent Bel-Tygeon from marching across Siphra into the Tracelands for its Azurnite and destroyers.”

“Exactly!” Kien hesitated. “Siphra is undoubtedly considered vulnerable.”

“Meaning Belaal considers me inexperienced and weak? No doubt, but I will prove Belaal wrong. You must show your sword to my council. And I will show them mine, newly broken. They will not be pleased.”

Reason to celebrate. Once he escaped this panic-inducing darkness. Breathing, praying, Kien edged the toe of his boot forward. Downward.

One by one, Siphra’s royal council members read General Rol’s note, stared at the swords strewn across the polished stone table, then frowned.

Kien pinched the bridge of his nose hard, wishing his queasiness would end. Infinite? How do I convince these noblemen to fight for Parne?

They are pledged to Me, the Infinite murmured into Kien’s thoughts. Yet they have not asked My advice.

Kien caught his breath at the realization. Too loudly. The entire council and its king turned to him. Trying to sound rational despite his mutinous stomach, Kien said, “You should not listen to me.”

Their surprise, a unified chorus of uplifted eyebrows, was really quite amusing. Kien wished he weren’t too nauseous to laugh. He looked at Akabe. “Doesn’t Siphra have prophets? Call them. Ask them for the Infinite’s will.”

“Of course!” Akabe started in his chair, then paused as if reminding himself he was the king, not some minion who ought to run to the door and summon Siphra’s prophets. The arguably youngest council member stood, bowed to Akabe, then swept grandly toward the council chamber’s door to beckon a servant.

While they waited, the noble council members passed around General Rol’s message and Kien’s Azurnite sword. A furtive scratching sounded at the door. A scrap of parchment was passed through to the council. The youngest nobleman cleared his throat and read, “‘From the citizens of Parne to Siphra’s king and his people. Belaal’s armies have besieged our city and killed our young men who defend us. We beg your army to rescue us before we are overrun and slaughtered by our mutual enemy.’”

Akabe sat back. “This, then, is our tardy plea from Parne. What—”

He was interrupted by another rap at the door. Two men entered, one weathered, lean, and rough-clothed, the other younger and well dressed. The weathered one nodded to Akabe. “Your servant met us as we were coming to speak to you, Majesty.”

Straightening, Akabe asked, “The Infinite has already sent you, His prophets?”

“He has,” the younger one agreed.

The weathered one nodded. “Your Creator commands you, O King, to lead Siphra’s army against Belaal at Parne.”

Akabe eyed his silent council. “I agree. Will you also obey the Infinite?”

The eldest council member ruffled his elaborately waxed gray beard. “How can we not, sir? It seems Siphra is at war. May the Infinite spare our lives and take Belaal’s.”

Kien’s nausea vanished. “The Tracelands thanks you, sirs.”

Now, Infinite—I beg You—let us arrive in time to save Ela!

Ela jolted awake, seeing the branch’s blue-white fire before she opened her eyes. Senses screaming, she gripped her precious insignia and looked around the Roehs’ night-stilled home.

Infinite?

Stand!

She scrambled to her feet. A thud hammered the door with an alarming crack of splintering wood. Outside, a man raged, “Prophet! We’re going to kill you!”