by A J Callen
Elric Skobb, Callor’s favorite protector, grinned, revealing a crooked line of cracked and spiked teeth. A small stream of dark blood flowed down, splattering Tanca Nakashian, one of the Velizar protectors. He grimaced and wiped the smelly mess from his face.
Marcus ran up and joined the others, his sword still sheathed and secure there in its scabbard. “What should we do, Mister Byrch?”
“Unless we need to shoot him down right now, I’m just as happy to leave whatever it is up there for the time being.” He turned to Quinn. “Fetch Lord Lionsbury and the others in the Council chamber. Tell them Mister Byrch sent you and it’s an emergency.” He pointed at Jardani Phearson and Wulpher Nancombe. “You two go with him and make sure he does it.”
The three Strathwald protectors scrambled down the stairs.
“Get out of my way, idiots. Out of my way!” Callor pushed his way to the front of the group, his icy eyes bright and his family sword clutched in his left hand as if his very life depended on it. He looked up at the ceiling. “Who did this to him?” He whirled around forcing the others back. “Who is in league with our enemies? Step forth and challenge me.”
Byrch raised his hand. “Who told you to draw your weapon? You were ordered to give that to Mr. Joren after your father left.”
“And what good would that do any of us now? Even Marcus understands that. We don’t need a lowborn guard’s permission to protect our noble lives.” He held up his sword. “This is my birthright and rightful claim.”
Marcus stood between them. “Have you already been chosen, Callor? The rest of us were not aware, if so? Pray, perhaps you’d inform us when this magnificent news came to pass?”
“The time is close at hand, Evermere, as my sword bears ready and just witness.”
He raised his blade and made small circles in the air with the tip. The blade began to glow, a silvery liquid metal just like mercury. Callor’s mouth fell agape, no doubt as startled as all witnessing the miraculous transformation.
“See? See all of you. What other proof do you need of my royal claim now?”
“Is that what your father told you before he departed in such a rush?” Marcus edged closer. His hand slid toward his side, then came to find his sword hilt which remained steadfast as before. “Was he afraid he would be late delivering his bribes to the Capitol?”
Callor bared his teeth. “You undeserving traitor. I should cut you where you stand. I know you’re responsible for this.” He turned and faced the others. “Unlike the other noble families, the Evermeres no longer have any wealth or power since the death of their uncle, the King.” He pointed his glowing sword up at the growling creature on the ceiling.
“How else then, can Marcus expect to wear the crown unless he steals it by summoning the dark powers to carry out his bidding?”
The protectors and guards murmured among themselves and more than a few agreed with the young Tiberion lord.
“The only darkness I see is in your eyes, Callor.” Marcus looked up at the ceiling. “Elric is your friend, isn’t he? So, why don’t you talk to him—or are you afraid of what he might have to say… if he still knows how to speak?”
Callor scowled and stepped backward. “That thing is no longer any friend of mine, Evermere. My last words to that traitor will be rendered clear by my sword. No man can misunderstand the meaning of a backbone without a head upon it, or a stabbed and bloodless heart.”
Lord Lionsbury parted the crowd. He looked up as Elric backed himself into a dark corner of the arch trying to hide himself in the shadows as though suddenly fearful. “Can you not follow a simple order? Hold your sword like Marcus unless I give the order.”
Lord Dowrick, out of breath, rushed to his side. He squinted up at the ceiling and snatched at his own weapon. “How is this possible? The Holy Seer gave us her word the demonic threat had been contained.” He flashed around at Simon. “What happened in the Corridor of Shadows, Blackfyre? Did you let something cross over and escape by mistake…Or is that only what you would have us believe?”
Callor stood by Lord Dowrick. “Exactly, your Lordship, and I told my father the very same. It’s Blackfyre who is to blame for this. He’s doing the Evermere’s unholy bidding. All these terrible things started when he returned from his sorcerer’s trance. None of us is safe.”
“No.” Simon moved closer to Mr. Byrch. “I had nothing to do with this or what happened to Robert and Felicity, or the attack of the Necrolos.”
Lord Lionsbury kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling and circled, pacing the floor. “You rush to judgment, young Tiberion. Surely, you were listening when the Holy Seer explained that some protectors, like the unfortunate Felicity Craverston, are more vulnerable to the influence of the Choldath than others? Did you have a stoppage in your cloth ears as she spoke to explain it all?
“What Elric Skobb experienced during his initiation we will never know, but his weakness may have been exposed and used to breach the gateway to his very soul. Is that not true, your Lordship?”
Dowrick nodded reluctantly in deference. “As you say, my lord, and it is becoming increasingly evident that the defense of Farrhaven has also been breached.”
Callor pointed his sword at Simon. “And what about that miserable runaway slave he and Byrch found hanging in the woods, swinging from a tree, no less?”
Coughing and gasping sounds arose from the back of the group. Simon spied Tanca Nakashian hunched and covering his mouth while Mildrith comforted him. At that moment, Simon wished a sword to drop into his hand; though his fear was not yet visible to the eye, it was sharply felt both in the heart and guts. A chill seemed to wrap around his very intestines, and his bowels gurgled and moaned as his stomach, in turn, lurched and heaved.
Lord Dowrick raised his hand. “Callor, I understand your anger but you must lower your weapon. The Council has decided on the matter and found them innocent.”
“But what proof do we really have that it wasn’t Blackfyre offering to summon our enemies here so they could destroy us all?”
Callor looked back up to the ceiling. “Did the demons promise to set you and your kind free? Will the slaves then finally come to lord over their masters?”
Simon faced the grumbling throng eyeing him now with ever-increasing suspicion. The doubting faces of Marcus and the other protectors were the most disheartening of all. Only Rachel and Jack appeared steadfast, just as they’d been after witnessing the demonic treachery of Lord Fromund.
“Well?” Callor stepped closer. “What have you to say for yourself, slave?”
Simon rubbed vigorously at his pulsing temple. The hoarse, unworldly voice in his head goaded him. “It doesn’t matter what you say or do, Blackfyre. They’ll never believe you anymore. Once a slave, always a slave in their eyes. Join us now while you can, and you will rule over the likes of this insolent maggot for eternity.”
Simon shook his head violently as though a slithering worm had just crawled inside his ear. “What do you want?” he asked, beating the side of his face with a flattened palm in a desperate attempt to try and shake the monster free from his ear canal.
“What in the world’s wrong with you, Blackfyre?” Callor inquired, cocking his head.
“Nothing.” He wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. “Proof? Is that it? You want proof I haven’t betrayed us to the demons? So be it. Watch and listen to what I have to say if you have the stomach for it?” Simon marched to the center of the floor and stared up at Elric, feeling suddenly strong and resolute. He had mastered the demons whirling in the bottom of his gut and could do the same with the one on the ceiling.
“What are you doing, Simon?” Lionsbury reached out to grab him. “You are unarmed.” Simon darted past his outstretched hands and stood directly beneath Elric, who was drooling from above. “Dalach mair su faytoh— ”
Mildrith screamed. Someone leaped from the back of the group, hurling themselves against Simon and tackling him to the floor before he could finish uttering the ancient Asha
rru command.
Chapter 10
Those Unseen Among Us
Simon pushed back against the ferocious creature a head taller than himself, struggling to keep its frothy snapping jaws away from his neck; scaly, hook-fingered hands scratched at his face and drew bright blood in a fine trickle from his cheek.
Tanca, his scabrous face a hideous mockery of his former self, seethed with vile hatred through wild, yellow reptilian eyes and twisted teeth.
Another screech from the ceiling ensued before Elric fell shrieking to the floor.
Callor yelled and Simon lost sight of him in the terrifying tumult of unarmed protectors fleeing for their lives.
The thing pressed down, inching its clicking teeth toward Simon’s face. It reared for a final strike and in that instant, he glimpsed a fiery glow and flash of steel behind its grotesque head. The blade struck true in a sweeping arc, severing the eye-popping head cleanly from the body. The headless corpse fell off him to the floor oozing rancid, murky blood.
Lord Lionsbury, panting and with rivulets of sweat flowing down his face, stared at what was once the head of the sworn and trusted protector, Tanca Nakashian. “He… he was going to kill you. There was no other way.”
“On that, we agree, your Lordship.” Callor, bloodied and scratched, stumbled to the center of the floor. He tossed Elric’s foul-smelling head next to Tanca’s.
Lord Dowrick patted him on the back. “Well done, Callor. The creature attacked me from behind before I could draw my blade. If you had not acted decisively and without hesitation, I would surely have been his next victim. You have saved my life and Lord Rabek shall receive a full report of your bravery this day.”
Callor wiped the spattered blood from his face and bowed. “Most kind, my lord.”
Dowrick adverted his eyes and cleared his throat. “We have all made mistakes and been deceived as to the true nature of our enemy, I no less than any of you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, my lord. The righteous might of our great Kingdom's nobility shall prevail.”
“Yes, it shall.” Dowrick pointed at the headless corpses on the bloody marble floor and addressed all present. “And know this. Those things before you were no longer your friends the moment they became willing allies of our unholy enemy. Understanding that is the only way our new King can lead and save his people from this unspeakable foe.”
Marcus stood shaking, stunned by the macabre scene before him, his sword still in its scabbard. Lord Lionsbury placed his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Steady yourself. It’s all right. It’s over now.”
Marcus turned to him. “Is it? This time I did not raise my sword yet next time will I raise it against one of my brothers or they against me?”
Lord Lionsbury lowered his gaze. “You followed my orders, Marcus. Lord Rabek shall enter a full account of your faithful obedience and respect.”
“What? Like a trained dog, my lord? Is that the king our people deserve?”
A contemptuous expression hardened his features. Marcus turned on his heel and marched out of the door. Callor laughed and called after him.
“Well said, Marcus, and be sure to hand your sword in at the armory before you go to sleep. You won’t be needing it again any time soon I expect.”
“Nor you, my rash young lord.”
“Holy Seer.” Callor bowed, more to hide his surprise and embarrassment than out of respect.
Two silent, hooded monks parted the gawking protectors crowded around the grizzly scene. The Holy Seer tapped her cane and shuffled her way to the center of the floor. “Simon, why did you try to speak to the demon?”
Callor pointed at him. “Go on, explain yourself. Do you talk their language now, speaking in the lingua demonica… or whatever it might be the demons speak?”
Simon touched the bloody scratch on his cheek. How could this have happened so quickly? From his contact with the blood?
“I asked you a question,” Callor repeated. “The Holy Seer and all of us are waiting.”
Simon nervously rubbed his fingers on his trousers. “It’s a command to make it reveal its name. That’s all. The Holy Seer taught me.”
The Holy Seer lowered her head and sighed. “Then it is my fault. Apparently, I failed to teach you when and where to use it. This was, I’m afraid, most inappropriate.”
Simon stood next to Rachel and Jack. “I don’t understand. You said that once we learned their names it would help us destroy them if they attack.”
Robert edged his way between Mildrith Pitcaster and Balasi Wendaru. “We heard screaming from the armory.” His eyes went wide and he stepped back into the two dumb-struck protectors.
Goran pushed his way to the front. “What unholy thing has happened here?”
Callor gestured impatiently. “That too is my own question, brother. See what Blackfyre hides from us, my young lords? Many here have read passages from the old books and know of whom he speaks.” He flashed around to Simon. “Then he is not a myth? You saw Anthor Koldrin in the Corridor of Shadows?”
A blind, whirling panic swept through Simon. In his hunger to clear his name had he revealed too much too soon? He looked to the Holy Seer for a sign of how he should answer.
Her expression remained fixed and mystifying. She extended her shaking hand, palm open. “Speak the truth, child, only if you are willing to accept the responsibility.”
All of the protectors had assembled on the floor or stood on the stairs leaning against the banisters, watching. Rachel leaned in. “It’s all right, Simon. We’ll stand with you.”
The voice inside still clawed at Simon’s skull. “Beware, as it was before so shall it be again. Those you trust the most will turn on you once they know the truth.” Simon drew a deep breath and faced his fellow protectors.
“The nobles overseeing these rites have told us that it is our sacred duty to help choose our next King… and now they tell us we may have to go to war against something we don’t understand and which strikes fear into the very hearts of men unlike anything we have ever known.”
Simon bent on one knee and examined the headless corpses. “We are told we must have faith in each other and trust the honorable words and wisdom of the Holy Seer and the King’s Council, and do you know what I think of that?” He rose, walked up to Callor, and stood inches from his sneering face. “I will fight to the death against the Choldath if they threaten our world, but only if I am allowed to fight alongside each of you as your equal.”
Quinn, Jardani, Wulpher, and protectors from the other families cheered and clapped.
Callor admired his blood-spattered sword. “You may fight, and you may die for my Kingdom for all I care, but it will never be as equals.”
Byrch draped a sheet over Tanca’s body. “That’s your problem, young Tiberion. You keep forgetting the rules. All are equal in battle as long as we’re governed by the Rites of Succession.”
Simon looked at Callor’s sword. Thick, dark blood dripped from the tip. “That is a fine and powerful blade. If more exist I should very much like one for myself if I am to risk my life against our common enemy.”
“I’m certain that you would but, alas, you covet what you cannot have.” Callor wiped the flat side of the blade on the shoulder of Simon’s tunic. “But I’m sure Mister Byrch can find you a dull and rusted old piece of steel in the armory so you can lead your little slave insurrection to their doom if you’re fool enough to try it.”
Simon lowered his head and glared, fighting his instinct to leap on the arrogant bastard’s throat and rip out his windpipe with his bare hands. That way, he would never hear his venomous voice again. “Do it. Do it now! You become the master and he the slave!” the voice in his head goaded him on.
“Stop your bickering at once!” Lionsbury strode to the center of the floor and pushed Simon away. “We can no longer remain safe and secure behind the walls of Farrhaven or any fortress in the land waiting for the next surprise attack. Day by day, they will undermine our defenses a
nd morale, turning friend against friend, brother against brother, and families against themselves until they overpower us all. We must force them to a final battle in the open and destroy their entire legion once and for all.”
“Or, of course, be destroyed ourselves if we cannot unite.” The Holy Seer was helped to his Lordship’s side by her two hooded monks. “And to become allied in spirit, you must first become allied in arms.” She withdrew her dagger from within the fold of her white gown. It sparkled like a diamond for a few moments.
Robert glanced down at his empty scabbard. “But Callor speaks the truth, does he not? Only those descended from the five patriarchs possess such powerful weapons.”
The Holy Seer pointed her trembling finger at him. “That is what our people have been told for generations, and though a deception, it was for their own safety.”
She cast a curious sideways glance to Simon, an odd look that he could not fathom. Lord Dowrick turned to her, his consternation furrowed into his damp brow. “With all due respect, your Holiness, is this the time to speak such mystifying words? Plainly, there are but five holy swords and no more are known to exist.”
“At Farrhaven, no, but more are said to await in the fabled armory of the Asmadu Vohra.” A flurry of doubts and suspicions rose from the protectors rose.
Simon’s blood whipped through his veins.
He wanted to believe what he heard, every word of it, yet an inexplicable sense of impending disillusionment almost overwhelmed his hope that it was true.
Callor scoffed and sheathed his sword. “Forgive me, your Holiness, for my less than enthusiastic response to your revelation. You say we have been deceived but for a good reason? Then I applaud the deception, for if more of these weapons exist, is it not best they remain hidden away from the likes of any in this room lest they are raised to challenge the authority of our chosen King?”
“Yet raised they must be, young Tiberion or our rightful sovereign will never sit upon the throne.”
