It was Panchessa’s turn to laugh then — though the sound was every bit as far from humour as Kalyxis’s acid cackle had been. “You’re as mad as your damned son was. What makes you dream you can make demands of me?”
“The fact,” said Kalyxis, “that without an order from me, the fleet of Shoanish warriors that have navigated their way around the Castovalian mountains, who are presently sailing up the Mar Paraedra and will soon be occupying your great capital while your army wastes its time here, will never let you enter Pasaeda again.”
The fleet. How could I have forgotten the fleet? How many boats had chased us from that barren Pasaedan shore; how many men? Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t believe they numbered enough to take so vast and well-defended a city as Pasaeda. If its defences were severely depleted by the King’s hurried march south, however…
“You lie,” said Panchessa. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve, but you lie.”
“Oh, don’t take my word. I’m sure a messenger will be along presently. And you saw it, didn’t you?” asked Kalyxis, rounding upon Estrada. “You had the good fortune to witness the glory of Shoan.”
Estrada’s pursed lips told me she recognised a question with no right answer. “There were ships,” she agreed. “They chased us from a beach off the coast of Pasaeda.”
For all Panchessa turned the full force of his rage on her, Estrada might as well have admitted to single-handedly building the Shoanish fleet. “So you knew about this all along, did you?” he roared.
“That’s ridiculous! We didn’t… I mean, we thought…”
Alvantes put his hand on Estrada’s arm. “We’d assumed that Kalyxis’s forces were waiting at anchor,” he said. “We believed she’d come here to recover her grandson.”
“Ah yes,” said Panchessa. “The boy.” I realised just too late that his gaze was about to turn in our direction, so that his first sight was of me trying discreetly to cower behind Malekrin. I supposed I should count myself fortunate that, amidst all the dire rhetoric and decades-long vendettas, my past indiscretions were suddenly looking very insignificant. “The boy,” Panchessa repeated. “The skinny little abortion who thinks he should be king.”
I couldn’t see Malekrin’s face of course, so I had no idea how well he was holding up before the contempt in his new-met grandfather’s eyes; but his voice was steady as he replied, “King Panchessa, I have no interest in your or any other throne.”
“No?” Panchessa chuckled, a horrible, rattling sound.
“No,” said Malekrin. “My grandmother doesn’t speak for me.”
“Malekrin…” Kalyxis’s tone was rich with threat. However, when Panchessa held up a hand to quiet her, I was amazed that she did in fact drop silent.
“Whatever my grandmother has said,” continued Malekrin, “whatever she’s done, it has nothing to do with Altapasaeda. Whatever mistakes their leaders may have made, they have nothing to do with the people of Altapasaeda. That’s all I came to say. I have no quarrel with you. Neither do the men and women behind those walls. Can’t they be left in peace?”
Panchessa nodded thoughtfully. “An interesting idea, boy.” For one ever so brief moment, I wondered if Malekrin might really have got through to him. Then Panchessa said, “Remind me, what is it they call you?”
“My name is Malekrin, sire.”
“No. Not that. The other name.”
Malekrin tensed. “I’ve heard they call me the Bastard Prince.”
“And tell me this, bastard,” said Panchessa, “what makes you dare to dictate to me?”
Finally, Malekrin faltered. “I came…” he began. “I just wanted…”
Fortunately, hiding behind Malekrin had placed my mouth close to his ear. “Let it go,” I hissed. “Let it go!”
The half-finished words in Malekrin’s mouth dissolved to nothing, but I was certain it was too late, that Malekrin had just damned himself to unspeakable tortures, and me along with him…
However, Panchessa merely returned his attention to the others, seeming in an instant to forget Malekrin and their entire conversation. “This meeting is over,” he said. “You should never have brought that… woman here. Because I’m a man of my word, I’ll give you time enough to leave my camp, but once you’re inside the walls of Altapasaeda, my armies will pick them apart brick by brick. Do you hear me? Fight hard, Castovalians. Because when we meet again, your deaths will not be quick.”
Estrada and Alvantes led the way. I wanted to scream at them to hurry. Didn’t they see how every eye was trained on us, how every Pasaedan hand hung close to a sword hilt or held an arrow ready to be nocked? That I kept my mouth firmly closed had nothing to do with faith in Alvantes or Estrada; it was simply the certainty that all of our lives hung on a knife’s edge just then, that any noise would shatter the fragile armistice. Even our footsteps sounded too weighty.
Yet we were moving. The remnants of the Suburbs were drawing closer. Once we reached them, we had a chance. If we made a run for it in those close streets, maybe one man in ten might make it as far as the gates — and a thief of some small competence could surely find a shadowed cranny to hide himself in.
From all around, however, there came a sense of unrest, and though it seemed impossible that the Pasaedans could know what had taken place between us and their king, I was sure they were pressing nearer. Perhaps it was only that, like a dog held back from a bone, they saw what they wanted and were frustrated not to get it.
Nevertheless, we were still moving — still approaching the verge of the camp. So long as nothing stopped us, so long as nothing went…
I should have known I’d never finish the thought. For ahead of me, Kalyxis had come to a halt, had turned around, and her two bodyguards were looking nervously after her, hands already hovering near swords. I thought again about running. Maybe whatever was about to happen would be distraction enough for me to make it to that wretched line of shanties. But the Pasaedans were poised ready to close the gap; we were already trapped. I turned instead.
There, approaching rapidly, was Panchessa, ringed by half a dozen of his guards — who looked as though they’d willingly have dragged him back inside his tent like some errant child. Panchessa was pacing towards us in their midst and they were hurrying to keep up, whilst striving to maintain a fitting distance from the common soldiery nearby.
When Panchessa was nearly upon us, one of the guards finally snapped, and hurled himself in his king’s path. He probably thought it would be the last thing he ever did, but Panchessa barely seemed to notice. I doubted he was aware of anything, just then — anything except for Kalyxis. His eyes bored into her remorselessly.
“I never raped you, woman,” said Panchessa. His voice was a rasp, yet it carried as well as any crow’s caw. “I barely even had to ask you. It wasn’t enough for you to be the wife of a lord amongst savages. You dreamed of being a queen.”
Kalyxis took a step towards him. I thought there was something almost longing in the way she did it. It was like the motion of a lover kept apart from their paramour for too long, or a warrior ready at last to confront their ancient foe — or perhaps it was both at once. “You are a pig of a man,” Kalyxis said, “and I will spit on your corpse if it’s the last thing I do.”
She said it softly, almost affectionately — but so very clearly. I had no doubt that those words had reached to every corner of the camp.
I heard the first sword rasp from its scabbard.
But I couldn’t say where it had come from, their side or ours, because in an instant the sound was everywhere, and the ring of metal scraping free from metal was all I could hear.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The air was rich with tension. No one on either side seemed quite certain what had just happened. Were we fighting? No blow had been struck. Words had been exchanged, and they’d been sharp to be sure, but the Pasaedans were soldiers; they fought for orders, not insults.