by JA Andrews
The guard narrowed his eyes at Alaric for a long moment. “I’m afraid, sir, that you’ll need to bring your complaints about the detainment of this dwarf to Her Majesty herself.”
Alaric clenched his jaw. Of course the guard shouldn’t just believe him. Alaric looked like a dirty traveler who happened to be wearing black. But still.
Douglon bristled. “I’m not a traitor, and you’re not arresting me. If Horgoth wants me, he can get his fat head out of that throne room and come get me.”
Alaric looked at the guards surrounding them. “Douglon, I’ll talk to the queen. We’ll sort this out.”
Douglon growled.
Menwoth looked wildly at the guard. “You can’t trust him! He wants Horgoth’s throne! He’s plotting to kill him!”
Douglon rolled his eyes. “The only dwarf here who wishes he had the throne is you.”
Menwoth began to shake with fury. “I serve Horgoth faithfully. And I always have, which is why he trusted me with this position at Saren’s court.”
Douglon snorted. “He just wanted you far away from Duncave.”
“Douglon,” Alaric broke in, “just go with them so we can get this over with.”
Douglon ground his teeth then nodded. At the lieutenant’s pointed look, Douglon handed his axe to Brandson. The guards drew up around him and led the way through the wind-blown market toward the palace.
So much for getting through Queenstown quickly. Alaric took the reins of Douglon’s horse and followed the others into the beginnings of the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The air was heavy with the coming rain, and the wind smelled of the damp hills to the west. They were not quite halfway to the palace, leading their horses to keep pace with the guards, when the rain came. When it did, it was torrential. Alaric hunched down under his hood, pulling his cloak close. Within seconds, it was soaked through. Relentless fingers of wind wound around his neck, dribbling cold rain down his back, down his legs, and into his already sloshing boots. The crackle of lightning and constant rumble of thunder followed them as they hurried along the deserted streets.
They turned onto a wide avenue leading to the palace gates. Through the rain, the building was a grey, hulking shape behind grey, hulking walls. As they drew closer, the grey lightened into pale rock. They entered the palace grounds through an enormous portico and ducked into the nearest building, soaked to the bone.
Alaric stood impatiently, letting water drip off of him to puddle on the floor while the lieutenant ducked into a nearby room and returned with Captain Rold, captain of the queen’s guard. Alaric felt an odd combination of relief at being recognized and guilt at being gone for so long that all this was necessary, when the captain snapped off a quick bow to him. “My apologies, Keeper Alaric. You understand that my lieutenant needed confirmation of who you were. Since Her Majesty will be most anxious to see you, if you could all hang your wet cloaks in here, I will take you to her immediately.”
“This dwarf is a traitor,” Menwoth said, pointing at Douglon. “I demand that he be thrown into the dungeon until he can be transferred to Duncave.”
“Douglon is not a traitor,” Alaric said. “It is just a misunderstanding.”
“Yes, I understand there is some disagreement about a dwarf.” Captain Rold turned to Douglon. “If you will come with me willingly to the queen right now, you will not be bound until Her Majesty has made a decision regarding you.” He turned to Menwoth who was livid. “Your excellency, I will inform Her Majesty that you are anxious to discuss this situation.”
With a curt nod at the other guards to fall in around them, Captain Rold started off through the palace. Alaric fell into step behind him, his boots squelching with each step. The others followed, leaving Menwoth dripping and swearing behind them in the hall.
Alaric followed the captain through the familiar halls of the palace, the sounds of the storm now muffled by the stone walls. When they reached a set of enormous doors, two guards snapped off salutes and heaved the doors open.
Entering the room was like walking into a map. Painted on the walls was a detailed map of Queensland. To the right of the door, the Wolfsbane Mountains dwindled into rolling hills at the northern end of the country. The great river wrapped around the room, meandering south until it passed into the southern kingdoms just to the left of the door. The large square table that filled the center of the room was inlaid with lighter wood showing streets and major buildings of Queenstown. This map, Alaric remembered rather than saw, since the clutter on the table obscured it.
“Your Majesty,” the captain said, “Keeper Alaric.”
A stout woman looked up from the sea of papers, which were drowning the city on the table. The queen glanced at Alaric for a moment before her eyes lit up and her mouth split into a broad smile. Alaric dropped into a low bow.
“Alaric!” She crossed the room to embrace him.
He had forgotten how short Saren was. Her head barely came up to his shoulders. She had aged more than two years since he had seen her. Her thick braid held much more grey than it had, and deep creases were carved between her brows. More than just a greeting, there was a deep relief in her words.
“It’s been so long,” she said.
Alaric opened his mouth, but couldn’t settle on one answer to that.
Saren looked around at his companions, her eyes widening when she saw Ayda.
“Your Majesty,” Alaric said, “may I present Aydalya, princess of the western elves.”
Ayda curtsied gracefully, and Saren’s eyes widened even further.
“My dear, you are most welcome! I was a child last time one of your people visited us. We are honored to have you as our guest.”
Alaric introduced Douglon as well, and Queen Saren nodded her head at the dwarf. “We see far too few of your good people as well, master dwarf. Please consider yourself our honored guest.” Saren looked at Milly and Brandson, who were hanging back behind the others. She gave them a warm, welcoming smile. “Are you going to tell me that these two young people are also royalty? A young king and his queen from the Winter Island, perhaps?”
Milly and Brandson both smiled stiffly.
“This is Brandson and Milly, blacksmith and milkmaid from the village of Kordan’s Blight.”
Queen Saren nodded to them. “Companions of Alaric are always welcome. My house is at your disposal.”
At that moment, the door behind them flung open, and a tall, angular man strode into the room. The queen’s eyes went flat, and the man, taking in the group before her, drew up short. A flicker of irritation crossed his face before he tossed off a bow so shallow it was barely a bob of his head.
Saren’s smile grew icy.
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, striding forward to stand a step ahead of Alaric without glancing at him. “I didn’t realize there would be guests at our discussion.”
The man’s fingers were weighted down with gold rings. A thick gold chain hung around his neck holding a ponderous disc printed with the seal of the Black Hills. He was a hand taller than Alaric, and he used his height to tower over the queen. He must be the son of the Black Hills duke who had governed when Alaric had been at court. Although no older than thirty, this man’s face was already carved with arrogance.
The smile fell off her face completely as Saren lifted her chin to look the man in the eye.
“Duke Thornton,” she began, “we’ve been honored this afternoon with important guests. We’ll have to postpone our discussion until a later date.”
Thornton kept his eyes on the queen, “Your Majesty, I’m afraid I have other obligations at a later date.”
A surge of anger rolled through Alaric at the duke’s arrogance. He stepped forward, positioning himself alongside Saren, facing the man.
The duke flicked an unconcerned glance at Alaric, then returned it to Saren.
“You’re too new to court to recognize our guest, Thornton, so I’m sure he’ll excuse your rudeness.” Saren set he
r hand on Alaric’s arm. “Allow me to introduce Keeper Alaric to you.”
Alaric put on a courteous smile.
The duke stiffened and turned toward Alaric. He took in the Keeper’s worn travel clothes with a slight raise of his brow. His expression remained haughty, and he gave the slightest nod in acknowledgment. “I didn’t realize a Keeper was needed at court any longer.”
Alaric didn’t have to look down to know what he looked like. He wasn’t even wearing his blackish robe any longer. His smile soured.
Saren’s face took on a decidedly dangerous look. “There are many people at court who aren’t needed, but a Keeper is not one of them. We’ll find another time to have that discussion you were looking for. A time when Alaric is available as well.” She turned away from Thornton and back toward the others.
The duke gave her a stony glare. He turned it on Alaric for a long moment before striding out of the room.
Saren watched the duke leave with a troubled expression settling on her face. “Alaric, there are a few problems I could use your assistance with.”
“Speaking of problems,” Alaric said, glancing at Douglon, “we brought one with us.”
The queen gave a tired sigh. “Of course you did.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Not just a problem, then.” Saren frowned after Alaric explained the issue. “A problem with the dwarves, who are notoriously stubborn.”
Douglon’s brow creased.
“Don’t scowl,” Ayda whispered loudly to him. “It makes you look stubborn.”
Saren gave Ayda a weak smile. “I’ll talk to Menwoth.”
“It might take more than that,” Alaric said. “If Douglon isn’t arrested, Menwoth has threatened to tell Horgoth that you shelter those bent on his overthrow.”
“Menwoth did all this? He’s usually so reserved.”
“He has a special place in his heart for me, Your Highness,” Douglon said. “I am closer to the throne than he is, and he feels that he deserves my place. In truth, he does. Menwoth has been working to make himself useful to the crown his entire life. I avoid the throne room like quicksand for fear it’ll suck me in and force me to do something royal.”
Saren narrowed her eyes. “Are you the dwarf who lined Horgoth’s crown with lead before his coronation?”
Douglon laughed. “His head kept tipping to the side. He’d never worn the crown before, so he didn’t know anything was wrong.”
Saren allowed a small smile but shook her head. “This will definitely take more than a word from me to fix.”
“Douglon is innocent, Your Majesty,” Alaric said. “He can’t be arrested.”
Saren turned to the captain who still stood by the door. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”
“With Keeper Alaric and Ambassador Menwoth disagreeing, my lieutenant thought it best that you make the decision regarding his arrest.”
The queen scowled at Douglon. “Menwoth will feel insulted. It might have made things easier if you’d just let him arrest you.”
“I’m not keen on entering a dungeon, Your Majesty,” Douglon said. “More people go into them than come out.”
Saren shook her head. “The whole reason Menwoth is here is so we can reach some trade agreements with King Horgoth. It won’t help anything if I harbor a dwarf they think is a traitor. Douglon is Horgoth’s subject. I’m not willing to strain relations with Duncave over this. “
Douglon let out a low growl, and Alaric laid a hand on his shoulder.
Alaric said, “I assure you, Your Majesty, Douglon is not a traitor. A misunderstanding between him and his cousin Patlon was… misconstrued by King Horgoth. The matter is being cleared up as we speak.”
“It will be your word against a royal decree from Horgoth. Your word won’t be enough for Menwoth,” Saren said. “The dwarves have no regard for Keepers. You are just another human to him. I would have to offer the ambassador something very valuable to get him to forget about this whole affair. Now that I realize who you are, Douglon, even that might not be enough. The hatred between you and Menwoth is almost legendary.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Alaric said. “Douglon’s problems often have a root in his personal relationships.”
The dwarf had the decency to drop his eyes.
Saren rubbed the end of her braid while she contemplated Douglon. It was such a familiar motion that Alaric smiled. When she had first married Kendren, it had been her nervous habit, running her thumb down to the end of her braid while she tried to answer questions posed by the people who had intimidated her. But now, the motion was slow and calculating as she contemplated the problem before her.
Her eyes flicked to Alaric, and irritation flashed across her face. “What are you smiling about?”
Alaric smiled more broadly. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“It would be nicer if you hadn’t brought problems with you.” A small smile crept into her eyes, despite her sharp voice.
Alaric’s smile faded. “This thing with Menwoth is nothing. We have a great deal to talk about. Urgently.”
Saren’s shoulders drooped, and she gave Alaric a tired look. “One problem at a time, please. Let’s take care of this, and then I will clear my afternoon.” She turned back to Douglon. “What if we took the question out of Menwoth’s hands? Nurthrum arrives from Duncave sometime today for an annual discussion of our relationship with King Horgoth. He outranks Menwoth, doesn’t he?”
Douglon considered for a moment. “Not officially, but Nurthrum is older than the mountains. Menwoth would feel compelled to respect his decision.”
“And would Nurthrum consider you a traitor?”
“He’s got a clear head and can be reasoned with. I could convince him it’s all a mistake.”
Saren nodded. “Then until we can talk to him, you are officially my guest. I will hear grievances between you and Menwoth, and we’ll make sure Nurthrum is present as well.” She looked at the dwarf sternly. “Until then, do not leave the palace. Unless you want all of my resources, as well as Horgoth’s, tracking you down.”
Douglon grumbled something into his beard, but gave her a reluctant nod.
Saren let out a long breath. “Good. Alaric, there is a small council meeting tonight. Since you’re finally back, I think I’ll make it a full council. It will be a good way to get you up to speed.”
“Your Majesty,” Alaric said, “we’re leaving at dawn.”
Saren’s eyebrows shot up. “Leaving? You just arrived.”
“We were just passing through Queenstown. This thing with Douglon is the only reason we stopped.”
Saren studied Alaric, her eyes hard. “Well, it’s good to know that military force will bring you back.”
“You will understand my need for haste once I explain to you what’s going on.”
“I expect an explanation of many things,” she said curtly. “First, there are things that require my attention this afternoon. Let me take care of those, and I will send for you afterward.”
She rang a bell on the table, and a smartly dressed steward entered the room.
“Send word to my full council that we meet tonight. And see our guests to their rooms so they can change. Alaric, I’ll send for you shortly.”
The steward bowed and turned to lead them from the room.
Alaric bowed, frustration gnawing at him. Outside, he could still hear the thrumming of the rain. Even if he could get everyone out of the palace, this storm would make any progress slow. He resigned himself to an afternoon and evening of plodding through the cumbersome workings of palace life.
Alaric’s feet could have found his room by themselves. At the end of a long hall of apartments and separated from them by a wide-open room with chairs and a large fireplace, a black door greeted him. This apartment had been his home for the eight years he had lived in Queenstown, advising first King Kendren, then his widowed queen.
Alaric stepped in to find it unchanged. Bookshelves dotted the room, shelves of sc
rolled maps filled one corner, and there were at least a half-dozen small tables and desks scattered around the large room. The doorway to the bedroom opened in the wall to his right.
He walked along in front of the bookshelf, running his hands over the spines of the books like greeting old friends. At the door to the balcony, he watched the rain pour down into the garden. Everything outside was too large, as altered as any garden would be after an absence of a couple of years. Alaric felt the time wash over him. The man who had lived here before had been so sure of everything, so confident in his place, his beliefs. Now, he felt more like one of the leaves careening by, tossed by the wind and battered down by the rain.
He washed and changed into clothes waiting in the room for him before he returned to the window. Across the courtyard, a student of the apothecary hurried out of Ewan’s quarters, ducking through the rain. Alaric’s hand went absently to the pouch hanging at his chest. His fingers rubbed the stone through the worn leather bag.
He thought about going over there now, but knowing Saren would call him soon, he turned his back on the window and began to pace the room. A polite knock sounded, and he opened the door to the queen’s grey-haired steward.
“Is the room acceptable, Keeper Alaric? If it doesn’t suit you, we can find you another.”
“No, Matthew,” Alaric said, smiling at the man, “the room is perfect, just as it was when I left. If anything has changed, it has been myself.”
“Her Majesty is pleased that you are back.”
Alaric shook his head. “I’m not sure she’s entirely pleased.” Alaric looked around the room. It was exactly how he had left it. “I thought they would send another Keeper.”
“As did Her Majesty.”
Alaric sank down into the nearest chair. Of course the queen’s last years had been hard. She had relied on Alaric heavily. And he had still left.
“Everyone has felt the absence of a Keeper. Having one here gives us all hope.” Matthew bowed and left.
Alaric stared at the closed door for a long time.
