Seven Princes by John R. Fultz Page A

agreement. He had carefully led her to this line of thinking. Fangodrel saw it, even if his mother did not.
    “I cannot ignore my brother’s plea for help,” said the Queen, “or the suffering of my homeland. But I cannot commit the Uduru to war unless they agree. I am their Queen, but only at their sufferance. It was Vod they followed. He was one of their own.”
    “Let me speak with them, Mother,” said Tadarus. “Let me speak to Fangodrim.”
    “I will speak with them myself, Tadarus. You – and Fangodrel – must go to Uurz and speak with Emperor Dairon. You will have a sizable retinue. Once you have secured Dairon’s blessing, go on to Mumbaza. You will take gold, silver, and other treasures of the north to lay at the feet of the Boy-King and his mother.”
    Her eyes met those of Tadarus.
She never looks me in the eye
, thought Fangodrel.
    “You
must
gain the alliance of Mumbaza. Only then will I commit to war with Khyrei.”
    Tadarus stood. “I will do this, Mother. Have no doubt.” He clapped Fangodrel on the shoulder. “My elder brother and I will do this!”
    Fangodrel wrinkled his nose. He disliked being touched, especially by Tadarus.
    “I will keep Vireon near at hand,” said Shaira. “And you,Andoses, will stay as our guest until they return. Then if the Gods will it and the Uduru support us, we will march east to Shar Dni… and south to Khyrei.”
    Andoses stood and bowed to his aunt. “This journey will take many weeks. I beg you: let me accompany my cousins on this errand. I cannot bear to sit here while others speak on behalf of my father and our kingdom.”
    Shaira placed her small hand on his shoulder, stared at his face. “You are so like my brothers… so like poor Vidictus… so like your father. Very well. Go then, you three Princes together. But Vireon stays here.”
    Tadarus huffed. “He will not like that, Mother.”
    “He is off on one of his hunts,” said the Queen. “By the time he returns, you will be long gone.”
    Back in his private chamber, Fangodrel’s mind swam, and his body twitched.
    Where is that cretin Rathwol? He should be waiting at my door. I’ll flay his hide
.
    The Prince stripped off his fine raiment and stood naked to the waist before his mirror. A figure of palest marble, lean as a hungry wolf. The fire in his hearth blazed. This was the moment he had been waiting for. A trip into the Stormlands, and beyond that to Mumbaza. Certainly she was only sending him along with Tadarus to get him out of the way, but he did not care. There were many terrible things that might happen to a lumbering dullard like Tadarus on a long and perilous journey.
    He pulled from a drawer his unfinished poem. The scrawled words haunted him. He read again what had taken him so much effort to create. He knew he would never finish it. His life was an unfinished story so how could this piece of verse be complete? How could a living artist ever truly represent life when caught inthe middle of its tumult and fury? His poems were lies, futile yammerings unworthy of the ink in which they were scribbled. But this… this one should have been his redemption. It should have been the summit of achievement that validated his long climb up the mountain of suffering.
    It was imperfect… worthless. He was a fraud.
    Cursing himself for a misguided fool, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the blazing brazier. He watched it curl and blacken, and turn to ash. Tears stung his eyes, but he wiped them away before they could fall.
    A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, and he opened it to admit the lanky servant. Rathwol smelled as foul as ever, yet his threadbare tunic had been replaced by a gray satin shirt and cloak of lavender wool, marking him as an official of the court. Fangodrel’s personal attendant.
    “Where have you been, sluggard?” Fangodrel asked, shutting the door and bolting it.
    Rathwol winked, then wiped his dripping nose. The man was a walking sickness. But