Manipulator's War

Chapter 4: Trouble in Tarlah-1

Chapter 4

Trouble in Tarlah

Ruarnon: Tarlah City

When Heir Ruarnon reached Tarlah City, home no longer felt so safe. The familiar sight of braided heads in the streets, Death Belt Desert’s dry heat blowing in from the north, and sweat trickling down their back were welcome. But as their carriage sped past scurrying servants, merchants in silks going to market, and labourers buying lunch at public dining rooms, it struck Ruarnon how small Tarlah City was compared to Zaldeaa City. It held so few people, yielding few defenders, impressing upon Ruarnon how vulnerable their home was.

A night and a day’s chariot journey to the nearest Zaldeaan port city and three days at sea made Ruarnon increasingly uneasy about the attempt on their life being an act of war. Uncle Omah assured them King Kyura wanted peace, but someone in Kyura’s court wanted war badly enough to provoke it themselves. How safe was Tarlah?

When Ruarnon’s carriage entered the open gates of Tarlah Castle, halting in the courtyard, Ruarnon was surprised to see their father had put work aside to greet them. King Urmillian stood tall and straight on the castle steps, fighting fit and as immovable as the stone he stood upon. His colouring was typical of Timbalens, like Omah’s, blond hair in a Timbalen braid, calculating blue eyes, and fair skin tanned by military training beneath a hot sun. They turned to their mother Corina, whose hair was darker, her skin olive, her eyes a warm brown, indicating her Murai heritage, features she had passed on to Ruarnon.

Their mother smiled and embraced them. Ruarnon hugged her back. Urmillian was reserved, merely clapping them on the back, as though conscious of Captain Arleath and the guards flanking the entrance to the castle doors looking on.

“I am glad you are safe,” said Urmillian. “My Council has been discussing the attack and is in frequent communication by bird with Omah. It is unclear who tried to kill you, though we believe you are safe enough here.”

“Unless war breaks out?” Ruarnon asked.

Corina’s mouth fell open and the premature lines across Urmillian’s brow creased.

“I know the attack was an act of war,” said Ruarnon. “If Kyura failed to prevent it and he wasn’t behind it, then how much power does he have over his subjects?”

Urmillian blinked, then bowed his head in acknowledgement. “That is precisely the question my Council seeks to answer. Your mother and I had not expected you to pose it so soon.”

Of course Urmillian hadn’t. Ruarnon hadn’t rushed to fight in a rebellion against Zaldeaan rule at fifteen, as their father had. Or defended Tarlah in the Sea Wars at twenty. Ruarnon was born of the Generation of Peace, and they were only sixteen.

“Only my Council knows of the attack,” Urmillian added. “So far as anyone in Tarlah knows, you returned a day ahead of my brother because you were taken ill.”

Ruarnon sighed. Urmillian didn’t want people to panic. Not until he knew the exact threat to Tarlah, who posed it, and had positioned himself to respond. The conversation Ruarnon had waited four days to have with their best friend Lenaris couldn’t be had. She would know something was wrong. But she wouldn’t press if Ruarnon didn’t speak of it. And they would worry and ponder in silence unless they cared to bring it up with their father, which they didn’t.

“It has been fifteen years since our allies were present in these waters in force,” said Urmillian. “Whoever tried to kill you may think them truly gone.”

Ruarnon blanched. Timbalen absence had resulted in the conquest Ruarnon’s grandfather had overthrown with rebellion. The Timbalen return had allowed King Kyomi the Peacemaker to proclaim war was futile, costing the people a high toll in blood and the crown great expense, and that war’s prizes were temporary. But if Tarlah’s allies were truly gone...

“Omah is convinced Kyura’s closest advisors support peace and will argue its case and support Kyura against opposition,” Urmillian added.

Would that safeguard Tarlah against invasion? It must. Kyomi had been dead for nine months and all that had happened in that time was an attempt on Ruarnon’s life, and only because Ruarnon had ventured to Zaldeaa City. If they and their family stayed away, and Kyura continued as he had, everything could be fine. Unless Zaldeaan warmongers used the Tarlahn absence to argue in favour of invading Tarlah when Omah wasn’t there to counter them. Ruarnon shoved both thoughts down.

“Omah and my Council will deal with it,” said Urmillian. “For now, you are to return to your studies. Focus on what you can do, Ruarnon. Dwelling on what you cannot never brought anyone peace.”

“Yes, father,” said Ruarnon. I will not warn my closest friend that there is opposition to the Peace. I won’t tell her what is bothering me. I will pretend to Companion Tor that everything is fine, and dutifully return to my studies. Because you won’t take kindly to me behaving in a way which suggests to the whole castle that something is wrong.

“Companion Tor tells me you need a challenge with a blade. I suggest you ask Lenaris for a duel.”

Ruarnon blinked. Their father was immovable in the face of an approaching storm. But Lenaris was the most skilled person with a sword of their generation. Companion Tor had paid Ruarnon a great compliment in suggesting that. Was that a hint of pride in their father’s eyes?

Despite everything, that glimmer lifted Ruarnon’s spirit.

“I will, Father,” Ruarnon replied.

Their father smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement. Then Ruarnon’s parents led them to the dining hall. But their mind wouldn’t stay quiet. Questions kept swirling through. They couldn’t drink in the soft yellow stone walls of Tarlah Castle or the airy frescoes of the colourful crystalline buildings in the Timbalen Empire’s capital. Not when someone had tried to kill them and they didn’t know who or why, exactly. Uncertainty kept their heart rate elevated, their eyes sweeping the room and ears pricked for sounds of danger.

The Dining Hall glowed golden from silver candles suspended around its walls and candelabra on its tables. Its walls were brightly painted with the bounty of the Earth Goddess Mijora, and talk and laughter drifted towards Ruarnon from officials and their families seated in rows beside the high table. It was a vast space in which potential assassins could lurk. Ruarnon tried to shake the thought and followed their parents to the head of the high table.

They greeted their father’s Companions, Tor and Pamoran, and the Companions’ families courteously, then Ruarnon sat beside their mother. Laughter filled the room as the Companions and their families selected cuts of roast meats off silver platters with silver skewers and sipped wine from gold goblets. Ruarnon picked at the fruit on another platter until their father eyed them sternly, then forced themself to eat as though nothing was wrong.

A flute’s notes cut through Ruarnon’s thoughts and conversations broke off as their mother stood and played. Her lively Murai tune turned Ruarnon’s mind to flights of fancy, monkeys swinging between ancient trees in the southern jungle and their wish that the Murai Tribes would emerge from their fabled treetop homes once more.

When Queen Corina finished playing, Ruarnon clapped with the others. Their mother took her seat beside Ruarnon, laying her flute on the table.

“Mother, do you think the Murai will contact us again?” Ruarnon asked.

“It is unlikely,” Corina replied. “With the passing of each generation, more Tarlahns think the tribes and their jungle will become a mere myth, but I hope it is not so.”

“Are you corrupting our future ruler with idle daydreams?” King Urmillian asked playfully from her other side.

“If they cannot conceive of daydreams, how can they conceive their vision of Tarlah and lead the people towards it when they rule Tarlah?” Corina asked.

“I knew my parents had reasons when they insisted I marry you,” Urmillian replied with a spark in his eyes that made Ruarnon turn away in embarrassment.

“It must be pleasant to know those reasons.” Corina laughed. “I have always taken it on faith that my parents had reasons for demanding I marry you.”

Ruarnon shook their head. Uncle Omah insisted their parents had bickered incessantly for half a year after marrying and took months to admit being in love, but Ruarnon found it difficult to believe.

People rose along the table, and their mother said, “Goodnight, Ruarnon,” with a twinkle in her eyes. They bid their parents goodnight, but Lenaris approached before they could follow their parents out.

“Come with me,” she said.

Her sleeveless pink silk tunic fluttered in the breeze as she strode across the hall wearing a silver chain for a belt and her golden hair braided into a bun, both touches fancier than what the Companions’ families usually wore to dinner. Curious, Ruarnon followed their older friend through stone corridors and up spiralling stone steps, down which voices echoed from above. Had Lenaris’ father, Companion Pamoran, told her about the attack? Could they discuss it? But Lenaris seemed happy. It must be something else.

At the top of the steps, Lenaris opened the door to a lamp-lit rooftop beneath a vast sky of twinkling stars and full twin moons. Tables lined the battlements with supper, silver goblets and glass jugs of drinks spread across them. The rooftop was crowded with talkative young people and musicians playing lutes. Faces turned towards them, and Ruarnon edged instinctively around the crowd, beside crenellations lining the rooftop.

“Welcome to the Festival of Life,” said Lenaris.

Ruarnon recognised the name. “But I’m underage!”

“That means you’re a guest of honour,” Lenaris said with a smile. “During the Wars, anyone could be called to battle the day after they came of age, so the Festival of Life grants everyone more opportunity to experience life before battle.”

Ruarnon raised an eyebrow. “But the Wars ended fifteen years ago!”

“Do you think that is sufficient reason to tell everyone to stop celebrating?” she asked, her blue eyes shining with mirth.

“You want to learn how many drinks you can hold, Benevolence,” Arlian, the Censar’s son, called across the crowd. “When you first consume drink on your seventeenth birthday, everyone will be watching!”

“Surely my servants can tell me how much drink I can consume before becoming drunk?”

“Ah, but it’s never the same from one person to another,” Arlian objected with a wink.

“Here,” said Lenaris, offering Ruarnon a goblet of wine.

Ruarnon held down the eyebrow threatening to raise again and smiled as they accepted the goblet. They took their first sip of sweetly fragrant, intense white wine. Others around them drank thirstily, and they suspected standard social protocols wouldn’t apply tonight.

Harps were strummed and drums beat. Lenaris pulled Ruarnon towards a dance. The pair joined a human chain bowing left and right, and laughter rose as two people got it wrong and banged heads. Then the music slowed and softened.

“Would Your Benevolence care to dance?” Lenaris asked, her smile slightly mocking.

Ruarnon grinned and took her hands, deciding to set their worries aside for the night. They raised conjoined hands in a series of graceful motions, shuffling sideways periodically. Other couples shuffled around them, some women dancing with women, some men dancing with men, midluns dancing with any of the three genders. The merriment, public displays of affection, and some gender pairings would have been a scandal to the rigid conventions of the Zaldeaan Realm, but not here. This was home, where every Tarlahn generation save Ruarnon’s had fought for its freedom, and in return, everyone let everyone be as they were.

Beside the dancers, Arlian kissed a serving girl passionately, and smiles around Ruarnon became infectious.

Later, a circle dance ended with half the dancers falling to the floor and the rest laughing hard. The musicians stopped playing, one shouting, “My friends! You have all had enough of Life tonight! Goodnight! And to those who continue celebrating: happy celebrations!”

Ruarnon blushed as Arlian’s serving girl laughed and tugged Arlian’s arm towards the stairs opposite the dancers. Arlian smiled, gently tucking a loose hair behind her ear. She beamed back at him. Then they ran off hand in hand. Other couples hurried off together too.