by Drew Wagar
‘I have returned.’
‘Good hunting?’
Ioric shook his head. ‘A beast was slain if that’s what you mean.’
‘You must tell me … wait, is Rajan not with you?’
Ioric sighed. ‘We were beset, a band of ruffians. We defeated them easily enough though …’
‘But then?’
‘This beast. It came from the marshes. It burst upon us, all slime and tentacles. Rank and disgusting. It would have taken both of us …’
‘And yet?’ Torin’s eyes were wide.
‘Rajan was slain by it and I would have been too had I not been rescued by my new maid here.’ Ioric turned to indicate Zoella. ‘Allow me to introduce Zoella.’
Zoella bowed. ‘My Prince.’
‘A maid,’ Torin said. ‘You jest, brother.’
‘I do not.’ Ioric turned to look at Zoella. ‘Do not underestimate her. She handles a bow with a skill few here could match.’
Torin bowed to Zoella. ‘My apologies for my doubts. Forgive me.’
Zoella curtseyed again.
‘And a story to be told if one so young can rescue a Prince of the realm.’ Torin gave Raga a quick look as the carn flapped his fans back and forth. ‘But you must be famished and tired from the road. Let us feed and water you, then you can regale me with your tales of adventure in the wild.’
Ioric doesn’t even trust his brother!
Torin turned and Ioric followed him, gesturing for Zoella to stay close behind. Zoella took a deep breath and began walking nervously, Raga growling softly at her side.
Zoella had followed Ioric and Torin up the tiers of the city, along wide stone stairways that took them ever upwards. The valley fell out before them. Zoella could see the river snaking off towards Lacaille, with the ruin of Ioric’s castle just visible against the red sky.
They entered a series of halls, Torin in the lead. As they proceeded down them, guards emerged from a passageway alongside. A quick conversation followed. Zoella couldn’t quite catch the words. She saw Ioric frown before nodding reluctantly.
Ioric looked down at Zoella.
‘We go to meet the King,’ he whispered. ‘I did not expect this. Do not speak unless spoken to directly. He should take little interest in you.’
Zoella swallowed.
The King? Now? But I’m filthy …
Torin dismissed the guards and then led them down an adjacent passageway. It was dark inside, lit by burning torches along its length. After a short interval they emerged into the light again, a smaller courtyard, edged by carefully tended gardens. Zoella looked up to see the palace above her.
It was huge, a colonnaded building standing at the highest point of the city, carefully crafted so that the water from the hills beyond appeared to run straight underneath it. Zoella turned and watched the rivers flowing down through the various contrivances to the lower reaches of the city. Guards flanked the lowest steps, standing stock still, facing into the blazing light of Lacaille.
The columns rose to support an apex that towered into the blue sky. Zoella could see intricate carvings in the stonework, but was unable to take them in before their party moved on.
The guards stepped aside and they mounted the stone stairs. Upon reaching the top they passed the enormous pillars, coming to a huge pair of doors that blocked their approach.
Zoella gasped in surprise.
‘The gates of the palace of Scallia,’ Ioric said. ‘One of the wonders of the world.’
The doors were enormous, towering perhaps ten times Zoella’s height. But it was the material that caught her wide eyes.
Bright burnished metal, blazing in the light from Lacaille. She couldn’t look at it directly, the reflection was too intense, but it gave the impression of a smooth surface, with hardly an imperfection. She could feel Lacaille’s heat reflecting back at her.
The light I saw from Ioric’s ruin …
It was a clever ruse by whoever had designed it long ago. The light put you off your guard and made it hard to see.
The doors folded back, pushed by two pairs of guards, as they approached. The interior of the palace was revealed. Sunlight arched through large windows set above the doors, and mirrors reflected the light of Lacaille around the inner rooms.
As they walked in, a smell of ancient tapestries, polish and wood greeted Zoella’s nose. It was the grandest, most spectacular place she’d ever seen.
The floor beneath their feet was wooden, but of a firmness and darkness that Zoella had never seen before. The planks were thick and wide, engraved with heraldic symbols marking out aspects of Scallian history. She recognised a few, particularly the major decoration at the centre of the hall, an incredibly complex circle emblazoned with various creatures, some of which she’d only ever heard of in tales.
A fellin, a cainar, a herg. That flying creature must be a dach … I would so love to see one!
Their steps echoed as they walked onwards. Either side of them, murals and tapestries lined the walls, beautifully crafted as was everything else in the hall. Zoella could see that there were paintings interspersed, stern looking men, with the occasional woman, dressed in uniforms and gowns that looked ancient and unfamiliar. Clearly from times long ago.
Ahead a dais rose and atop it stood a throne.
Zoella felt her mouth going dry as she surveyed the man who sat there, watching their approach.
He was old, old in a way that was rarely seen in her experience. Yet here was a man of privilege, not constant work on farms or general labouring from cradle to grave. Zoella’s first impression was his beard, a flowing grey expanse that started from his mouth and reached downwards three or four hands in length. It was carefully groomed, arranged across dark maroon robes. In his hand he held a staff, composed of a golden metal, topped with some kind of clear crystal as big as a man’s fist.
A crown rested on his grey head.
King Marek of Scallia!
Zoella snuck a glance at his face before looking away. Lined and careworn, it was nonetheless bright and energetic, the eyes particularly sharp and inquisitive. She hung back, standing behind Ioric as they slowed.
‘My liege.’
Ioric and Torin both bowed the knee. Zoella copied them immediately, stance for stance. Only Raga remained standing just to her left.
‘Rise.’
Ioric and Torin rose to their feet. Zoella stood up too.
‘Prince Ioric. You return just after I have need of you,’ the king said. ‘Derelict in your duties, idly pursuing the hunt whilst urgent matters press upon us?’
Ioric paused. Zoella saw Torin glance nervously at him.
‘You sent me away, father,’ Ioric replied evenly. ‘Do you not recall … ?’
‘I do not recall that which I have not done!’ the king snapped. ‘Do not seek to confuse me. I know you have a modicum of intelligence in that head of yours, unlike your useless brother …’
Torin stiffened.
‘…use your wit for the good of the kingdom, not your own titillation. Urgent matters, Prince Ioric. Urgent matters that …’
Zoella watched in horror as the King suddenly looked across at her, as if seeing her for the first time. She stepped back involuntarily, shaking from head to foot.
I’m covered in dirt and grime and he’s the King!
‘Who is this that you see fit to bring them before me?’ the King yelled, pointing at her.
‘My new maid,’ Ioric said. ‘A girl from the sunward vales. Her father petitioned me to …’
‘What need have you of a maid?’
‘She rescued me from a beast. A molossc from the bogs.’
Marek frowned. ‘A maid? Did I hear you with veracity? I fear for your prowess in battle if you need such as her to rescue you from a mere beast of the wild. Your name girl?’
Zoella tried to get some moisture into her mouth so she could speak. She stepped forward. ‘Zoe … Zoella, your majesty.’
Marek frowned at her voice. ‘And ho
w old are you, Zoella?’
‘Eighteen rounds, your majesty.’
Marek, his expression bland, rolled back in his seat, still regarding her. Then a laugh burst from him.
‘My son and heir, saved from a beast by a girl! Such does Scallia have to look forward to. Perhaps I should make you a knight Zoella. The worthiest warrior in the land! What say you to that?’
Zoella looked nervously at Ioric, wondering what to say.
Ioric didn’t look around, but she could tell he was tense, taught as a bowstring. Zoella saw the King lean forward expectantly.
Zoella swallowed. ‘I would do your bidding whether I was a knight or not, your majesty.’
She felt Ioric relax beside her.
‘Well said,’ Marek replied. ‘Well said indeed. Truth be told, there is little true service or ability hereabouts! Would you swear allegiance to me, Zoella?’
Zoella looked up at Ioric, who inclined his head slightly.
‘I would, your majesty.’
‘Then it shall be arranged. Is this the beast itself? A trophy?’
Marek pointed at Raga, who sat down, watching the King warily.
‘No, your majesty,’ Zoella answered. ‘This is Raga, a carn given to my keeping. He has been my defender and ally.’
Zoella saw the King nod and purse his lips. ‘Clearly there is more to you than meets the eye, young Zoella.’
Zoella forced herself to breathe, conscious she was sweating under the King’s imperious gaze.
‘You will tell me your tales soon enough. I look forward to the telling. Wine and meat we will provide later. First there is a matter of state to attend to.’
Marek turned his attention back to the two brothers. Zoella let out her breath, glad to no longer be the King’s focus.
‘I received a demand from Drayden,’ the King said heavily. ‘They are not pleased with the tithe we conveyed to them.’
‘Not pleased?’ Torin replied. ‘I carried out their instructions as directed. We sacrificed twenty of our high-born girls to those fiendish witches, just a few passes ago …’
Zoella saw Ioric wince.
‘You believe your words should be heard above mine?’ Marek roared, half starting out of his seat. ‘Wait until I have finished speaking before uttering more of your inane babblings!’
Torin bowed. ‘Apologies, father.’
‘Imbecile …’ Marek gestured with his arm, as if sweeping Torin aside. ‘Drayden is not pleased. They claim that those we sent were not high-born at all.’
Torin fumed, but waited for the King to stop talking.
‘Then what can we do?’ Torin asked. ‘We have no others to send them.’
The King leant forward. ‘The witches have invoked their right to search, to search in person.’
Ioric looked puzzled. ‘A search?’
‘We are to host them in Varda. Whatever it is they search for, we will accommodate. They have requested it to take place within the pass.’
‘They ask too much,’ Torin fumed. ‘What of the women we sent them? Will they be returned?’
‘We do as Drayden dictates,’ Marek said, his voice low. ‘We do not question.’
Torin shook his head.
Marek sneered and pointed a trembling finger at Torin. ‘You will go to Varda and meet these witches and see to their needs.’
‘I, my Lord?’ Torin exclaimed.
‘I, my Lord?’ Marek mimicked. ‘Yes you, foolish son – do you think I would entrust the city to your incompetence? Here at least is a lesser task you might accomplish.’
‘It is an honour, father,’ Torin said through pursed lips. ‘Allow me to prove myself. I will leave within the pass.’
‘You will leave in two stretches, no more,’ Marek said.
It was clear that the decision was made. Zoella could see Torin fuming, his fists clenching and unclenching a number of times, his jaw set firm and his mouth working for a moment before he looked up.
‘As you wish, father.’ Torin managed to say.
‘This must be done, or we risk everything.’
‘Everything, father?’ Torin asked, looking across at Ioric.
‘Yes, fool! Everything. Those that defy Drayden are swiftly swept aside. We comply with their instructions, dispatch any that interfere.’
‘Dispatch?’ Ioric said, looking at Torin, who returned a worried glance.
‘Lop off their heads!’ Marek grinned. ‘Make an example out of them.’ The King’s expression darkened. ‘Or is that beyond your ability, perhaps I should send this maid and her carn instead?’
‘No, father,’ Torin replied. ‘But if you would only tell us why we must do this … why this endless compliance to Drayden, our army is strong, we have might, we could …’
The king fairly vibrated with anger. Zoella saw spittle form at his lips and dribble on to his beard. She stepped back involuntarily. ‘Ask me not of that unutterable place! Know that we do this or we die! Do not question my wisdom. Scallia will pay its tithe and comply, do you hear?’ His voice rose into a rage. ‘Scallia will pay its tithe and comply!’
Torin bowed. ‘I will see it done, father.’
‘At last! Acquiescence!’ Marek said, falling heavily back into his throne. He pointed at Torin whilst looking at Ioric. ‘See? He knows his place, does his King’s bidding. See?’
‘I must prepare, father,’ Torin said. ‘Ioric can assist me in that, with your leave?’
Marek glared at him for a moment.
‘Yes, yes, get on with it. Be ready!’
Zoella watched as both brothers bowed and she hastily followed suit. She copied them as they turned on their heel and strode out of the hall. She had to hurry to keep up.
They didn’t stop until well outside the courtyard, past the waterfalls and into the cool of the colonnade. Only then did Torin turn, whispering under his breath. Zoella could only just catch his words.
‘He grows worse daily. If he was any other man I would …’
Ioric caught his arm, likewise talking in a low voice. ‘Say it not. There are spies about. It was no accident that Rajan accompanied me. He was in the pay of someone who meant us ill.’
Torin looked confused. ‘Rajan?’
‘I encountered Lord Westin on my travels. Rajan betrayed me. Fortunately the molossc intervened; otherwise I would be lying dead in some unmarked bog. Westin schemed to have the King removed, Torin. Other Lords may have the same idea and seek our demise. Take only those guards you trust completely.’
‘I feared the Lords were scheming.’ Torin shook his head. ‘Then you must stay here whilst I carry out this duty.’
‘Fear not brother, I will not leave our people unguarded. Now you have a chance to find out the truth of this. What the witches do with our people …’
Torin shuddered. ‘I took the last tithe to them. Twenty beautiful young daughters of Scallia sent into …’ He stopped, lowering his voice further and looking up at Ioric. ‘I met one of them, Ioric. A witch, standing before me like I stand before you now. Dressed in black, eyes like the depths. They have powers brother, inflicting pain without weapons. We were helpless against it …’
‘We must find out how this power works. If we are to resist them we need to know their weaknesses. Observe them, but comply as you must. There must be a way to undermine them.’
Torin nodded.
‘Meanwhile,’ Ioric ventured. ‘We must consolidate support at home too.’
‘The army will follow me,’ Torin said. ‘I remain the general, even if in name only. They are disgusted with the king.’
Ioric nodded. ‘I will seek out the Lords that are loyal.’
‘How?’
‘I will say I fear an attempt on the King’s life and command that they send some forces over to my command. That will test their loyalty. Those that refuse or claim they cannot …’
‘You are wiser than me, brother.’
Ioric grabbed Torin’s shoulder. ‘He grows weaker stretch by stretch. It will not be
long. We will turn this around. You will be a true Prince then, little brother.’
‘You will be a king worthy of the title,’ Torin said.
‘Enough of that talk for now. You must plan a trip to Varda.’
Torin nodded and then looked at Zoella. ‘My apologies for my father’s conduct, he is not … how he once was.’
Ioric smiled at her. ‘I think you did rather well for your first appearance in court. A brave maid indeed.’
Zoella saw Torin look at her quickly. ‘More in favour with the king than we are, I would venture.’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
A new voice, light, melodic, playful and abundantly feminine, interrupted their conversation. Zoella looked up to see a young blonde-haired woman walking across towards them. She was beautiful, perhaps just a little older than Zoella. Her face was paler than most, but flushed with health and vigour, someone who did not venture outside for long spells. Zoella felt a pang of envy at the woman’s beautifully kept long blonde hair, nervously running a hand through her own. By contrast the woman was all confidence, poise and possessed of a manner that spoke of close familiarity with the ways of high society.
The woman walked across, hips swinging engagingly, her figure full and clearly drawing the attention of the men dotted around the colonnade. She was dressed in a striking bright orange gown with an ornate metal belt buckled across her midriff. A small knife could be seen secured at one side, counterpointed by a brooch of similar design. She wore a heavy necklace and a thin metal band upon her head set with gems that flickered in the light of Lacaille.
Zoella saw Ioric and Torin step apart as she approached.
‘No need to be so mysterious, you two,’ the woman scolded. ‘People might say you were scheming some nefarious plan.’
‘Planning perhaps,’ Torin said. ‘But not scheming.’
The woman looked up at Ioric. ‘I heard you had returned, were you not going to say hello, or am I still at the bottom of your list of priorities?’
‘You were never at the bottom …’ Ioric returned.
‘Your words say the right things as usual,’ the woman said with a shrug. ‘But your actions, alas! It was ever thus, I know my place, the unwanted daughter …’
