Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) by Jim Grimsley Read Free Book Online Page B

starlight, and his skin nearly glittered in light. I noticed this and the commander looked up again, smiled gently. “You’ve had a hard day’s ride. Are you sorry you’ve come to the Woodland after so much trouble?”
     
    “No. I like it here, I don’t know why.”
     
    “Your first taste of soldiers’ life hasn’t discouraged you?”
     
    “Blue Cloaks were quartered on my father’s farm two seasons, nearly three. I know something about them.”
     
    “And the woman in the white cloak?”
     
    I shivered. “I haven’t seen anything like her before. But the village folk have always said my Grandmother and Mother both knew witchcraft.”
     
    “Did they?”
     
    “Not enough to call down lightning,” I said.
     
    “Your father’s name is Kinth?”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “Your farm is near Mikinoos?”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “I remember Mikinoos from old days,” he said. “Once there was traffic between your village and my native city, Drii. Did you know I was Venladrii?”
     
    I nodded. He bowed his head. “My name is Imral Ynuuvil and I’m King Evynar’s son.”
     
    I was speechless then, and turned away in confusion. There were two shocks in what he told me. Uncle Sivisal had only just affirmed that there was really a city called Drii and here I was, meeting a man who claimed he was the son of the Drii King. More astonishing, however, was his name. Among us, the greatest honor conceivable is to be called by two names.
     
    His laughter continued in a gentle vein. “Your uncle should have warned you.”
     
    “Jhinuuserret” is the old word for twice-named. Grandmother Fysyyn taught it to me. In our world, only a few are Jhinuuserret, and they are said to live forever unless misfortune comes to them. The second name comes as a gift from God.
     
    The Prince dismissed me soon after. I kept watching him, realizing who he was. One of the Twelve Who Do Not Die, the inheritors. Later I saw him deliver a message in writing to one of the riders. She got a horse from the line and was gone in no time. What message she carried I could only guess.
     
    2
     
    When supper was ready we ate it seated around the campfire, good venison and warm bread, dried fruit, fresh cheese, wine to wash it down. Uncle Sivisal was propped close to the fire with me to serve him. His wound and the story of our glorious ride had made the rounds quickly, and he had to tell it again and again. At the conclusion of the last time he slapped my knee and said it was a long way to come for such a small package. Everyone got a good laugh at that.
     
    There was a woman who had brought her guitar with her, and she sang with Prince Imral after a while, an old song from the mountains, with a sweet harmony. I couldn’t understand the words but the singing was fine. Prince Imral had a good voice and the woman, Trysvyn, offered a clarity of tone and total ease in gliding from one note to the next. We Jisraegen believe that to hear music is to hear the mind of God, or as close as we can come when she is far away. No one spoke for as long as they chose to sing and afterward in the silence I found a place for my pallet near my uncle. It felt good to lie back and look at the stars with the echo of those songs running through me. After a day full of so much adventure I thought I would have trouble sleeping, but I was wrong.
     
    In the morning we rolled our bedrolls and downed our jaka by first sun. We sang “Velunen,” the Morning Song, before riding. I did what I could to help strike camp, packing Uncle Sivisal’s belongings while he grumbled about his shoulder. I waited a long time before getting Nixva in case somebody had forgotten to tell me I wasn’t supposed to ride him any more. When I slipped the saddlecloth over his back, the horse seemed content with the prospect and I asked no more questions. One of the soldiers checked my cinches, but I had saddled my father’s horse a thousand times on the farm.
     
    I was lost in