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  His plan would work well enough, though. He would still get Rendle in the end.

  But first Lynan, he reminded himself. Lynan was the key to the whole thing. The thought struck him as morbidly funny. Imagine that useless whelp playing a role in helping him exact his revenge against Rendle. He realized then it was also right that Lynan should be at the center of the design. After all, everything had started with him all those months ago. He wondered if he should let the prince live long enough to see Rendle die. It would not hurt to have a royal prisoner—no matter how out of favor—should things go awry.

  Yes, he thought. Maybe I’ll let the prince live for a while. A little while.

  Chapter 3

  “The best strategy is clear,” Kumul said. He was walking with a slow determined pace around the campfire and the small group gathered around it. In the flickering light his huge size and gray head made him look like something out of ancient legend. Gudon and Ager followed him with their eyes, while Korigan stared straight into the fire. Kumul’s hands were behind his back, his head down in thought. “We raise an army here in the east of the Oceans of Grass. We are close to the Algonka Pass, and through there to Haxus and Hume. We can keep an eye on our enemies, and do not have so far to travel when we are ready to move.”

  Queen Korigan’s gaze did not waver from the flames. “No. That is not the best way.”

  Kumul stopped his striding and looked at her. She was young, not much older than Lynan, but Kumul could tell by the way she carried herself that she was already an experienced warrior. She had a commanding, even haughty presence that sometimes reminded him of Areava. When he had first met her, he had noted the ragged sword scar on her left arm, new enough still to be bright against her golden skin. But, for all that, she did not have his experience in warfare.

  “We have both fought in many battles,” he said to her. “Oh, yes, I can tell. But how many wars have you fought?”

  “I was fifteen when I slew my first warrior,” she said defiantly.

  Kumul nodded. “Fighting Haxus or Grenda Lear will not be the same. I have fought against Haxus, and for Grenda Lear, almost my whole life. I know them. I am telling you we need to stay close to their borders; when it is time to move against one or the other, we must move quickly.”

  “No,” Korigan repeated.

  “I cannot believe you are saying this,” Kumul said. “You are a Chett; no one understands the importance of mobility more than the Chetts.”

  Korigan nodded. “That is true. But you insist on thinking about the coming struggle as a military problem. It is more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Prince Lynan has my full support in his struggle. My people have a great respect for the one who holds the Key of Union, and also a great respect for the son of Elynd Chisal.” She looked up at Kumul then. “And also for the famed captain of Elynd Chisal’s Red Shields. But my support will be meaningless if the northern Chetts do not, in turn, support me.”

  “But you are their queen!” Ager protested. Korigan and Gudon glanced at each other. Ager did not like the meaning he read in that. “You are their queen, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gudon said, “she is definitely our queen.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Kumul demanded.

  “My cousin is queen in name only.” Gudon spread his wiry arms to encompass the whole camp. “All these Chetts belong to her clan, the White Wolf clan, and would follow Korigan even across the Sea Between if she asked them. But the northern Chetts are made up of many clans, and not all of those would be as keen to follow her.”

  “The truth is that some of the leaders of those clans would be queen or king in my place,” Korigan added.

  “But your father united them.”

  “My father united them against their will. We had a common cause back then: the defeat of the slavers. Once your General had defeated them, some of the clans believed there was no longer any need for the Chetts to have a monarch.”

  “But the threat hasn’t gone,” Kumul said urgently. “Prado and Rendle are back.”

  “Those clan leaders most opposed to me will not take my word for that. They would suppose I was lying to remain their queen.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “That we move to the High Sooq for winter. The clans gather there to trade and arrange marriages. Since my father’s time, it is also where the monarch consults with the other clan leaders. Last year there was a move against me, but most of the clans would prefer me—someone they believe is naive and bendable to their will—than one of the current clan heads.”

  “And truth, that’s our problem,” Gudon said. “If you want to raise an army of Chetts, you’ll need more than our clan. But if Korigan tried to raise the other clans, they will have more reason to depose her.”

  “The solution’s simple—and obvious,” Kumul said flatly. “We stay here in the east, watching the Algonka Pass and carrying out raids on our enemies. Word will spread to the clans eventually and they’ll join our cause.”

  “Kumul, how many years do you have?” Korigan asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean how long do you have before Grenda Lear will not care whether or not Lynan is alive or dead, forgotten, or reinstated? If they have ten years of peace and prosperity under their new queen, what chance have you of pressing Lynan’s claims against those who murdered Berayma? For it will take ten years to gather an army the way you propose.”

  “And what do you suggest we do? From what you have said, the clans would rather depose you than follow you into war.”

  “We all go to the High Sooq. I try to rally them, but if they waver, Lynan will be our key. They will believe him.”

  “Would he be in any danger there?” Kumul asked.

  “No one would harm the son of Elynd Chisal,” she said.

  “Not even if it means getting rid of you?”

  Korigan stared at him levelly but said nothing.

  “Then I say again, our solution is simple. We stay here. We carry out raids. We send out messengers to the other clans, gifts, booty, anything we need to do to make them rally to our cause.”

  “You do not understand the Chetts. Gifts and booty are well and fine, but they do not feed our cattle, they do not bring rain to the Oceans of Grass, they do not control the seasons. We need a cause, and Lynan can give them that cause.”

  “You mean Lynan can secure your throne for you,” Kumul said sharply. Even as he said the words, he knew he had overstepped the mark. There was a sudden and cool silence around the fire.

  “Kumul, that was unnecessary,” Ager said softly.

  Kumul nodded. “Ager is right. My apologies, your Highness. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Better it had been left unsaid,” Gudon agreed.

  “But Kumul is right,” Korigan said. “I do need Lynan to secure my throne.” Her gaze never left Kumul. “But do you not need my support to secure Lynan on the throne of Grenda Lear?”

  Lynan had feigned exhaustion and retreated to his tent soon after dark. He needed to be alone. He tried to think about his future, about what needed to be done to return to Kendra, to reinstate Kumul as constable, Ager as captain, Jenrosa as student magicker, and himself as a prince of the realm. Most of all, he tried to think about what needed to be done to revenge Berayma’s murder.

  Had Areava been a part of the plot? He could not believe it of his half-sister. She had loved Berayma, and anyway would never have done anything to betray Usharna’s last command. But how else could the murderers have hoped to pull off regicide? Neither Orkid nor Dejanus, who had performed the deed, could hope to ascend to the throne themselves. They needed one of Usharna’s children to succeed to the crown, but they had killed Berayma and tried to kill Lynan, and he did not think for one minute they would try to place Olio on the throne. That left Areava. Did she really believe Orkid and Dejanus’ claim that Lynan had murdered his own brother? Or had she been a member of the conspira
cy from the very beginning?

  Hard as he tried, he could not see his way through it. Something else was occupying his mind. At times just a flash—the exultation he felt when he snapped the neck of the grass wolf—and at other times it was as if he was reliving the whole hunt.

  He did not know what happened to him today. He remembered the rage filling his whole being when Gudon’s life was in danger, as hot and great as a summer storm. He remembered spurring his horse out of the protective group and leaping off it to grapple with the wolf. But he did not know how any of this had happened. And he did not know where his great strength had come from.

  He swung his feet off his cot and stood up. The plain gold circle of the Key of Union dangled from its heavy chain around his neck. When he looked outside of his tent, he saw a few fires burning, some with people gathered around. He could also see the shape of the grasslands gently rolling away from the hill on which they were camped. Far away, he could make out clumps of trees. Gudon had called them arrow trees. Lynan could even see individual leaves as sharp and deadly as the weapon they were named after. While he could barely squint in the daylight, at night his vision was as good as a hawk’s. He stepped outside. Nearby was a large boulder. He bent over and tried to pick it up. It would not budge. He might as well have tried to move the world. Whatever strength he had during the fight with the wolf was gone now. He was just plain Lynan again.

  Moonlight reflected off his the pale skin of his hand. Not quite plain old Lynan anymore, he thought. Or ever again. He did not fully understand what he had become, but the callow, frightened, and often self-righteous boy who had fled Kendra was no more.

  Suddenly he was alert.

  He looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. What had captured his attention?

  He pricked his ears, but heard only the sound of snuffling horses, a few snoring Chetts, the indistinct mumble of close conversation, the crackling of the fires. He could smell the fire smoke, too, and the horses’ hides. And he could smell something else.

  That was it. That smell. He slowly turned on his heels. There, to the northwest. He knew that smell, had come across it only recently. Karak. He drew in air through his nose. One karak, he was certain.

  And then a new sensation. Akin to hunger, but greater and fiercer.

  He strode rapidly toward the source of the scent. He passed a lone sentry, who bowed to him. He broke into a trot. The sentry called after him. He waved at her to keep quiet, and she shut up. In a few moments he was almost out of site of the camp. He hesitated. Part of him wanted to return to his tent, to find rest, but another part, a greater and more urgent part, drove him on.

  Korigan’s remark left Kumul and Ager speechless.

  “You mean you don’t intend for him to replace Areava as ruler of Grenda Lear?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Of course not,” Kumul said, his tone more confused than righteous, staring at the queen. “Areava was next in line to Berayma. And after her is Olio, her brother. No one would accept Lynan being placed on the throne.”

  “The Chetts would,” Korigan said evenly, meeting his gaze.

  “Lynan is of royal descent,” Gudon added. “He has been wrongfully outlawed. Those who actually murdered his brother now rule behind the throne, and if Areava was not complicit in Berayma’s killing, she is certainly taking advantage of it.”

  “But we don’t know that Areava knew of the murderers’ plot,” Ager argued. “She was crowned because she was next in succession.”

  “And she gave amnesty to Lynan to argue his case in front of the court?” Gudon said.

  “Well, no ...”

  “Then maybe she does not want to hear what Lynan might have to say.”

  “This is ridiculous—”

  “What is ridiculous,” Gudon interrupted, “is that neither of you have tried to see to the very end. Whether or not Areava is guilty of conspiracy is meaningless. She is Lynan’s enemy now, not Berayma’s murderers, however just it might be to want to reveal their wrongdoing.”

  “Lynan will never be safe in Grenda Lear until he is crowned himself,” Korigan added. “And as for cause? He has the blood, he has the goodwill of the Chetts and—from what Gudon has told me—the goodwill of the ruler and people of Chandra as well. Lynan has one of the Keys of Power, the Key of Union, the Key that represents all the provinces in the kingdom outside of Kendra itself.”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Kumul said. Ager thought he looked suddenly gray, and his voice sounded uncertain. “We still have to decide what to do now, not years ahead.”

  “Then shouldn’t Lynan be here?” Korigan asked.

  “Ager and I have been advising him. When we have all made a decision as to our best course of action, we will present it to him.”

  Korigan’s eyes widened. “Is that how it works in Grenda Lear?”

  “Lynan is still young,” Kumul explained patiently. “He was never expected to succeed to the throne, so he was never taught how to rule or how to lead. He must learn these things under our tutelage.”

  “Truly, it is better to learn by doing,” Gudon said.

  “In the proper time and in the proper way,” Kumul said shortly.

  As the discussion returned again to whether the clan should move west to spend winter at the High Sooq or stay where it was, Ager found himself no longer listening to the words. He stood up, excused himself and drifted into the night, his crouching walk making him look like a giant spider in the dim light.

  Korigan and Gudon’s words had shocked him because the idea of Lynan becoming king himself had never occurred to him, but the more he thought about it the more logical the Chetts’ conclusion seemed to be. He did not agree with it—his whole upbringing and training as a soldier loyal to Grenda Lear rebelled against it—but he could see the sense behind the argument.

  He turned back to the others. The fire flickered dimly in the darkness, the giant silhouette of Kumul casting an eerie shadow across the camp.

  Lynan forced himself to turn back.

  What was I doing ? I am a prince of the realm, not a beast in the night.

  He laughed wryly at his own pride. Some prince of the realm: exiled to the Oceans of Grass, with a future only the greatest optimist would find any hope in, and now plagued by desires that were inhuman. Areava would not be surprised, of course, she always thought of him as almost less than human. He could remember vividly their last conversation on the palace’s south gallery only hours before Be-rayma was murdered; he had seen in her eyes then how she truly thought of him.

  With that memory came a very human anger, and the emotion threw out the last vestige of his unnatural hunger. This is how I control it, he thought with surprise. By never forgetting the first cause of my exile and transformation.

  His confidence renewed if not wholly restored, Lynan walked back past the sentry and into the camp. He reached his tent and looked east, back toward civilization, back toward his enemies. He imagined Areava in her throne room, thinking he was dead and celebrating the fact, Berayma’s murderers by her side.

  If only she knew what had truly become of him.

  He was about to enter his tent when he caught sight of Ager standing alone. With his bent body he seemed almost to hover over the ground. Lynan went to him and put a hand on his warped shoulder.

  “I thought you would be asleep by now,” he said to the crookback. “You were as excited as a child on the hunt today.”

  Ager grinned self-consciously. “It has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure. Since before the Slaver War.”

  He nodded at his back. “And I have always found it easier to ride than walk.”

  “Are the others still up? Where’s Gudon?”

  “With Korigan.”

  “Ah,” Lynan said, misunderstanding. “I’ll leave him be, then.”

  Afterward, Ager was never sure what made him say next: “And Kumul.”

  “And Kumul?” Lynan blinked. “I see. And you were with them as well.�
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  Ager nodded.

  “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “You had gone to your tent. You said you were exhausted.”

  “You could have waited until tomorrow.”

  “Lynan, it’s not like that—”

  But Lynan was not listening. He turned on his heel and made for Korigan’s tent.

  “Lynan, wait!”

  But Lynan ignored him. As he drew near the tent, he saw the Chett queen with Gudon and Kumul around a fire. When they saw him coming, they stopped talking. He smiled at them but said nothing.

  “You could not sleep, lad?” Kumul asked. His lips were pressed close together, and the skin around his salt-and-pepper beard seemed drawn and lined.

  “You look like you could use some,” Lynan replied.

  He waited.

  The other three looked at each other uneasily. Then Ager joined them, slightly out of breath.

  “Where have you been?” Kumul demanded.

  Ager shrugged. “I needed to walk.”

  “Walk? I could have used your support—”

  “Support for what?” Lynan interrupted.

  Kumul glanced at Lynan, then at Ager, but Ager was looking determinedly at the ground.

  “Truth, little master, it was of no great concern,” Gudon said, his tone light.

  “The weather?”

  The way Lynan held himself, the tension in the skin around his eyes and mouth, told Gudon the prince was in no mood for banter. “No, your Majesty.”

  “I am not your Majesty, Gudon. Officially, I am ‘your Highness.’ I believe Areava is still queen of this kingdom.”

  Gudon joined Ager in staring at the ground.

  Lynan caught Kumul’s gaze and held it. “My friend. My oldest friend. What were you talking about?”

  Kumul’s jaw set. “We can discuss this later, Lynan.”

  “No.” He said flatly.

  “We were discussing what we should do next,” Korigan said suddenly, and got to her feet. She walked to Lynan and stood straight in front of him. Lynan had to look up to see her face. Her skin shone like real gold in the firelight. “In fact, we were arguing about what we should do next.”