The Last King's Amulet Part 1

The Last King's Amulet.

Chris Northern.

For my Mother, who is far prouder of me than I deserve.

There are those who believe every day should be full of meaningful tasks, rising before dawn and only seeking their beds when exhaustion overtakes them. I am not one such. Left to my own devices I would spend the whole day in the comfort of my bed, so the gentle knock at my door was enough in itself to make me frown. My household slaves know better than to risk awakening me rudely, no matter the hour, as I often sleep late; for such inconsideration I have sold more than one slave with a bad reference and thought no more of their fate; they should have thought of the possibility of ending their days in a mine in the provinces before hammering at my bedroom door like deranged and desperate debt collectors.

"Enter." It wasn't what I wanted to say. I was reading, and 'Tetrin's Study of the Barbarian Peoples' had me enthralled. There was food and drink to hand, all my comforts were met. I wanted instead to say nothing in the sure and certain knowledge that no second knock would sound should I choose silence. Yet the slaves, few as they are, are well trained and would not disturb me lightly.

Meran was possibly the ugliest human being I have ever encountered. His naturally misshapen features are enhanced by a patina of burn scars on one side and a long scar from a cavalry sword on the other; the blow from the sabre (one of ours) also took out an eye. Still, he'd been cheap and had made himself indispensable once he had had the language beaten into him. Not that I did the beating, mind you; that's not my style. Get a slave to beat a slave, that's what I say. My overseer of the household slaves (all three of them) had done his job on Meran and then vanished under mysterious circ.u.mstances, a fact which hadn't come to my attention for several days. Of course I suspected Meran; who wouldn't? But what to do? Sell him and then be two slaves down? No, I'd reported the disappearance to the Vigils and forgotten about it.

"Is it true that the Retreni are shapes.h.i.+fters?"

Meran shrugged. "They are liars, also thieves and murderers but the pertinent point here is the first. They lie, so I doubt it. Yelian Shen to see you."

"I'm ill and contagious. Did you ever meet one?"

"He said that if you said that he knows a ma.s.s grave for plague victims you might want to investigate, and the only Retreni I ever saw was a rapist about to be hanged; he didn't turn into anything."

"d.a.m.n."

"Yes, I was disappointed too." He held up a robe for my approval.

I gave him a filthy look, slipped out of bed and pulled on the robe. "The floor's cold."

"There is no coal. I'm working on it, master."

I popped my freezing feet into the slippers he had put at my feet and headed for the door which he managed to open before I got there; not because he is slim and whippety and I a tad overweight but because that was his job and I let him do it.

"You will acquire sufficient combustible materials soon?"

"Before or just after nightfall," he a.s.sured me as he once more nipped ahead to open the door to the atrium and announce me.

a.s.suming my most charming expression I strode boldly forward with arms akimbo and greeted Yelian Shen like a favorite relative long unseen and completely unexpected. He wasn't a relative but responded much the same way.

"Got some money for me, Sumto?" Yelian Shen looked like a weasel but taller. He was new n.o.bility, not a social equal to one such as I, blessed with ill.u.s.trious ancestors to the dawn of time, but unfortunately a man with money, which I sorely lacked, hence the current situation.

"My dear friend, do you feel how cold it is in here? Don't you think that if I had a penny to my name I would send my man directly to you with every coin?"

"No, I think you would drink it."

Some of my creditors know me too well. I dropped the pretense of friends.h.i.+p. There really is no point in being polite to people who are willing to come to your home and pester you for money.

"I have prospects, Shen. Magisterial office awaits and with it wealth and power."

"You haven't held even the first military office, Sumto, despite your age. I checked."

d.a.m.n. The law of the city is clear; first military service, then magisterial office. No exceptions, not even for someone with ancestors as ill.u.s.trious as mine. There is an opportunity to make money in the military but there is also the opportunity to get killed. As I am over twenty, most people just a.s.sume, unless they know better, that I have done my duty. But campaigning is uncomfortable and dangerous by all the accounts I have read, and reading them was enough to put the idea firmly on the back burner of things to be considered seriously. Military duty wouldn't pay me, unless you count the potential gain in booty, which necessitated conflict, which I always considered it best to avoid. In theory ten years had to be served before standing for civil office, but in practice it could be as little as one year. Still, I doubted the weasel would wait even that long.

"I'll have something for you by the end of the month."

"Tomorrow it is, then. All of it?" His eyes gleamed, he'd scored good points and knew it.

Taken aback slightly by the proximity of month's end I glanced about for Meran, seeking confirmation, but he was nowhere in sight. Determining to chastise him later for abandoning me to the vultures I nodded speculatively as I turned back to Yelian. "Out of the question, I'm afraid. Still I'm sure we'll manage to make a dent in the sum; three hundred wasn't it?"

"Thousand, Sumto. Three thousand. Sell the house."

"Would that I could oblige, but alas it isn't mine to sell. Family, you understand. In fact I'm sure we discussed it."

"Then perhaps I should speak to your family? One of your prominent uncles perhaps? Or your father?"

"By all means! Speak to them, do. Ask them if they would mind dealing with the matter."

"Don't you think they would be a little disappointed in you?" Now he was smiling openly.

"Don't you suspect they are already? Still, blood is thicker than water."

"Ironic. A friend of mine heard your uncle Orlyan use that term just the other day. 'If he doesn't mend his ways I will d.a.m.n well find out if his blood is thicker than water,' I think he said."

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Orlyan was military through and through, old and grizzled and not the least bit accommodating. I'd spent a wretched summer at his villa as a child in the company of a half dozen cousins and the man himself. One of the few years he wasn't away campaigning. Awake before dawn, thin breakfast and then work. Then 'run them till they drop'. Then combat training. He treated us like common recruits. Not fun. Still, there was a pretty slave girl...

"Shall I speak to him? Or might that not be politic?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled like a shark. "Of course."

As soon as I had let him out I collapsed on a st.u.r.dy chair and stared blankly at the wall.

Money. Needed some. The slaves were worth about a hundred each for a quick sale. The house had long since been denuded of valuable statuary, furniture and such. Two horses, but I owed for stabling, and they were worth only as much as the slaves. Good horses. That made about six hundred which isn't three thousand no matter which way you look at it, and besides, I didn't want to sell my slaves or my horses. There was one thing in my possession, as a n.o.ble, that I could sell. I turned the gold ring on my index finger and examined the black stone that rested in a simple setting. One carat, black stone, twenty candlepower of magic energy. Illegal to sell to anyone outside the n.o.bility, which would be where I would get the best price, it was the single possession (apart from a few clothes) that marked me as a n.o.bleman of the city. Selling it, legally or otherwise, was clearly out of the question. I needed another plan. Relatives, I decided. Time to visit. Best bet first.

"Meran!" I heard his voice call back from the kitchen but didn't see the point in waiting until he arrived before continuing. "Get your club, we're going to visit my Mother!" I glanced down at my robe and slippers. "But find me some clothes first!"

"Sumto!"

I strode on. I had a mission to accomplish and a time limit to accomplish it in. Sheo, the acquaintance who hailed me in the street would not, I knew, be able to help me with that. The streets were busy and noisy enough that I could realistically pretend not to have heard him, and with any luck he would not be able to catch up to me through the throng because of his ruined leg. A horse had fallen on it years ago and he had not then been able to afford a healing. Ironically, though he now hated and feared horses with a manic pa.s.sion, he was d.a.m.ned to ride them if he wanted to make progress at any speed. A few months after the fall he had inherited a small fortune from one of his few surviving relatives, but by then the damage had healed as well as it was going to. He walked with a p.r.o.nounced limp. I ignored his second hail, stepping out at a brisk pace in the wake of Meran who was clearing a path for me by the simple expedient of looking fierce and keeping his cudgel on the move. I was shocked and appalled when someone reached out of the crowd and grabbed my arm.

"Get your b.l.o.o.d.y hand off me... Kerral!" This last exclaimed as I recognized who it was who had caught me and plucked me from the crowd. A grin leapt unbidden to my face. I was peripherally aware that Meran spun about, cudgel raised, and that Sheo was rapidly gaining ground. Neither one mattered to me, though I was just as glad to see Meran relax. He might be a rangy and useful fighting man but Kerral was lethal. You will have seen short men who are unnaturally broad of chest and shoulder. Well, Kerral was my height and built that same way. He filled a doorway side to side, though not top to bottom. I have seen him pick up an anvil by the horn and hold it out at arm's length, a small smile playing about his lips and showing not the least strain.

"Sumto, my friend." His voice was softer than you would guess from his size, though deep as a chasm.

"Kerral," the hug was entirely spontaneous. It's not my custom to be over-familiar or physical, especially with men, but it's hard not to love a man who has saved your life. "How are you here? I thought you had been exiled! Why didn't you write?"

He grinned at me as he grabbed me and held me at arm's length. "So I was, but I managed to redeem myself. And I did write, at least once, I'm sure."

"Sumto!" Sheo had caught up with me and I turned my face to him, smile still in place.

"Sheo! Good to see you." I paused for a beat and then let the day go for now. "Let's go for a drink." Yelian Shen was right of course. Drink has ever been my downfall, the cause and solution to all my problems.

"Good idea," Kerral chipped in. "I'll buy."

I heaved a mental sigh of relief at that, turned and gestured Meran to lead the way. "Find us an alehouse. The d.a.m.ned Hangman is round the corner," I reminded him.

"I was lucky. Ran into a rogue sorcerer and broke his neck."

It was only then that I noticed the red gem, glowing with that effervescent light that told of its origin, set in a gold ring on his finger. His hand was wrapped around a clay tankard of watered wine; anything smaller than a tankard would just look stupid in his big hand. Not that the stone would be any use to him until he learned to use it; almost all n.o.bles knew some magic, but I guessed Kerral would be the type to put his money and energies elsewhere.

"Is that it?" I couldn't help feeling his telling lacked polish.

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"How did you find him?" Sheo said.

Kerral shrugged. "I wasn't looking. Just out at night and saw him. He was using the power to lure a girl. It was obvious."

"Not to mention base," Sheo sounded genuinely offended.

I resisted the urge to shrug. Every n.o.ble-women in the city wears a charm that will protect her against such inimical magic. As for the commoners, well, who cares, frankly? I had to agree it was a pretty trivial use of magic, and a pretty stupid thing to die for.

"How ugly was he?"

Kerral laughed. "That's the funniest thing; he wasn't, you know," he inclined his head toward Meran who was sitting a few yards away at the door. He watched us to see I was not molested but was not close enough to be privy to our conversation, "really ugly. Just a kinda ordinary looking Gerrian, really."

"Retreni?"

Kerral looked puzzled. "Does it matter?"

"Not really, just wondered."

"How would you know, anyway?"

I didn't feel it would help me at this point to ask if he had changed shape at all. Unlikely, as I'm sure Kerral would have mentioned it, as in "Strangled this shape s.h.i.+fting b.a.s.t.a.r.d," for example. I thought it best to change the subject. "So you are a n.o.ble now! Congratulations, cousin!" Not all n.o.blemen call each other that, but it's polite whether related or not.

"To the new knight! Welcome to the order." It was the law that a commoner be raised to Knight status for services to the city, and taking down a rogue sorcerer who had been using our magic definitely counted as a service to the city. Bad enough that our potential enemies had spirit magic without them having access to the power of the stones. The magic that we dug from the volcano gave us powers we most definitely did not want to share. To sell a stone to anyone not of our own n.o.bility was a crime punishable by death. Sometimes, through various means, foreign individuals would get their hands on a stone. Sometimes they caused problems, but large and powerful stones were rarely taken from the city, and then only in the hands of experienced and knowledgeable sorcerers. Getting one of them meant getting by the sorcerer. It doesn't happen often.

We drank a toast to our new cousin.

"Of course," Kerral said, "I still need to make money, so I'm off to war!"

"War?"

Sheo looked disgusted. "Yes, Sumto, war. With the Alendi."

"Oh." It didn't seem like enough. "I've been busy."

"You've been drunk. The patron Orthand is taking his clientele to war. Tulian too. I'm going, of course," Sheo said.

Of course. He was a client of Tulian, of the right cla.s.s and unable to give money instead of service. Being of a more ill.u.s.trious family I was no-one's client. Technically I should be a patron and have clients of my own, but having successfully ducked military service I had not yet stepped foot on the lifelong Course of Honors, the political career that was my birthright and toward which my father's occasional stiff messages directed me. No one could make me do military service. I was a free born man of this city, my own master, and I owned no armor. My family occasionally had some delivered and I sold it. Weapons too.

"You should come with us," Kerral said.

I'd known he would say it.

Sheo nodded enthusiastically. I had my cup to my face and was taking my time. They were both going to be disappointed, it was just a matter of how to say it without appearing spineless. Which I was, by the way. Have you seen what swords and axes, maces and spears do to a man? Well, neither have I, at least not that I remember well, and I have absolutely no desire to do so. I am fat and lazy and I like it, and anyone who doesn't can shove off, frankly. My family included. Uncles, cousins, the lot. But I didn't want to upset Kerral. He was my friend and had saved my life once. Sharp things, dark alley, bad people, I was drunk. "I'll see if I can get some armor."

"Good man!" Kerral said.

Sheo was smiling. "And see if you can get your father to give you that two hundred you owe me while you are at it."

"Not at home?" I was a little surprised. Mother never left the house. She was a good wife as these things are measured in the city and the home was her territory, supervising slaves and such, balancing the household budget and hopefully giving me three thousand of it without father knowing. "Where is she?"

The slave wasn't as deferential as I would like. He didn't actually try and stop me from entering, but I had the feeling that he wanted to. d.a.m.ned impudent of him, if you want my opinion. If he were mine I'd slap him down a bit. Not that I'm a bully, you understand, but a slave has to know his place. Captured, born or self-sold, an air of deference to free men is the least they can offer for their food and board.

"Your mother did not see fit to inform me, young Master."

At least he knew who I was. I'd never seen him before. Father had many slaves and traded them as some men trade horses. Buy or breed, train and sell. Actually, he kept other slaves to do the actual training. It was a cla.s.sic case of have money make money, and he never missed a trick, which is why his fortune continues to grow. Personally, I'd never had enough of the stuff to make more than a token stab at it, and I was never very lucky at games of chance.

"When will she be back?"

"I was not informed, young Master."

I kept moving, forcing the ignorant swine to follow me while we talked. I was heading for the private areas of the house, which I of course knew well. "Anyone else home? Sisters and such?"

"Lady Rhia is in the sewing room, I believe."

"Get some food in my slave."

It was an order, and he couldn't refuse. One less mouth to feed for the day is one less mouth to feed. I'd get Rhia to have someone bring me something while I was visiting. The household was busy with slaves, whom I ignored as I made my way through the public areas and back to the sewing room where half a dozen women were doing woman things with cloth, my sister among them. She looked up and smiled as I greeted her.

"Good morning, spinster."

"h.e.l.lo, fat boy. And not for long, haven't you been told? I'm to be married."

"Commiserations," I flopped down on a seat next to her and stretched out my legs. "Who's the unlucky fellow?"

"Lucky. Think of my dowry!"