by A J Callen
“Because it was his very humanity, the fragile gift given freely to all, that he traded when he summoned demonic forces to help the patriarchs conquer the original inhabitants of this great land.” The hall broke out in a swarm of angry voices, though Simon was relieved her Holiness had finally revealed another mystery for all to hear.
He didn’t want to be one of the few in possession of dark secrets when every life depended on bringing forth into the light what was once concealed in the darkest recesses of forgotten history.
Dominique, meanwhile, sat passively on the bench looking straight ahead while her brother and the other protectors rose to their feet in a clamor. She had not looked at Simon since her formal introduction this morning by Goran.
Though polite and courteous, she was strangely subdued when Simon shook her hand; but perhaps it had been the extra drink during the banquet that made him feel that she had bestowed a special warmth upon him that evening when no such affection was intended?
Rachel whispered in Simon’s ear. “Finally. How much longer did she expect us to hold our tongue and not tell the others?”
Jack studied his pensive older brother. He whispered in Simon’s other ear. “Thought I was going to explode and tell everything, just to stop him asking more bloody questions.”
Callor strode defiantly to the center of the floor. He raised his hand silencing the other protectors. “Our illustrious patriarchs, allied with the ancient enemies of all mankind? Any loyal subject of the Crown would find that impossible to believe, yet, assume for a moment there might be some truth to the old tales. Koldrin fell into the Chasm of Aldreda Ilrith high in the mountainous land outside Avidene, or so it is said… is it not, your Holiness?”
“It is, and many believe he was taken prisoner by the one who dwells deep within, only to escape with the aid of his Choldath allies.”
Callor placed his hand over his heart. “Then why didn’t my great ancestor, Zadicus Tiberion, or any of the other patriarchs suffer the same demonic fate for their alleged betrayal of our people?”
The Holy Seer took a breath. “I’m as perplexed as you, young Tiberion, but perhaps we shall uncover that puzzling truth and others when next we meet our adversary… ”
She opened the little red book and leaned closer to the page. Smiling, she spoke as though telling a story to a group of children.
“When all appeared lost, the noble queen, the winged splendor of her people, gave to her five trusted barons swords of great power to vanquish the dark alliances who had become their mortal enemies. Their victory within grasp, she promised them the wealth of kings if they would but swear fealty to her and her rightful line.”
She turned the page. “And so, to appease their queen and her powerful kindred, the barons swore allegiance while avowing an oath on blood and stone that the crown would forever be treasure shared by five families alone.”
Callor shook his head and laughed. “Forgive me, your Holiness, but are we here to listen to more ancient slave tales or are we here to choose the King? Is that not our duty before the first snow, yet we waste time speaking of mythical creatures. What were they called? Ahh, yes, the Sirin, part bird, part bitch—or bastard, as the case may be. Are those the rightful rulers of our Kingdom of whom you speak? If that is true then I humbly forfeit my claim and trust they will not take great offense when their descendants are served on our banquet table.” Snickering broke out at the protectors.
Mr. Byrch lumbered toward Callor. “If her Holiness but raises her hand, I’ll lock you in the deepest, darkest cell I can find.”
“There is no need, Mister Byrch.” The Holy Seer folded her hands across her robes.
“A contender to the throne has the right to speak his mind, and those who will be his subjects have the right to hear it.”
Wulpher Nancombe cleared his throat. “They may be old stories filled with magic and make believe but there is a kernel of truth. There are many noble families in Miradora but only five ever profited from wearing the crown.”
“You should be more guarded with your jealousy, Wulpher,” Callor cautioned. “You and I and the other young nobles present have benefited from a proper education concerning the correct history of our great land, as is fitting to our class, do you agree?”
“And I am grateful for it.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are, yet you seem to forget the five patriarchs risked everything to establish this Kingdom long before any other noble families ever existed, which, I will remind you, only came into law by the good graces of my noble ancestor, King Uthred Tiberion. You Nancombes are not more than a hundred years removed from shopkeepers, are you not?”
Embarrassment ran in red streaks across Wulpher’s pallid face. “I was only stating that there is some truth to the old stories. That is all. No more, no less.”
Callor nodded. “I see. So, you believe in flying bird people and that our most revered forefathers engaged in some sort of murderous conspiracy to steal the crown from them?
Wulpher wiped his damp brow. “No, no, that’s not what I said.”
“And next, will you have us believe this mysterious queen and Saint Kaja actually existed and were one… in the same as many superstitious fools believe?”
Wulpher blinked rapidly and rubbed his cheek, as though he could wipe away the humiliation from his face. “My duty is the same as yours. I am here to help choose the King, our rightful sovereign who will lead us forward from the first snow. I care not for fanciful tales nor winters long gone.”
Callor grinned and turned to the others. “And what say the rest of you?”
The protectors looked down at the floor or glanced away mumbling and shaking their heads. Callor smoothed back his blond hair. “And what do you think, my lord, if I may be so bold to ask?”
Lord Lionsbury rose from the head table and addressed the gathering. “It has been many centuries since one of my ancestors sat on the great throne of Miradora, and the time of my family’s future claim may pass unless I choose to marry again and am blessed with children once more.”
A sly smile curled around Callor’s thin lips.
“Yet what is myth and what is truth is only now being revealed. What these revelations hold for all of us, I cannot say, nor do I speak truth to the winged queen for I will not believe anything—lest it stands before me and I see it and hear its words as plainly as I do each of you in this hall.”
Lord Lionsbury bowed to the Holy Seer. “I trust in her Holiness, in her wisdom, compassion, and courage… and to that sacred end, I await her command.”
The Holy Seer closed the book. “There is a treacherous journey ahead and no proof beyond this crumbling map that what we seek even lies at the end of the ordeal.”
Lord Rabek cleaned his spectacles, huffing a faint breath onto each lens and buffing it with a small yellow cloth. “The Holy Seer has shown the map to the Farrhaven Council. It is a grueling and dangerous trek to the barbarous southern lands through the Mountains of Haramir, to a place of legend called The Eye of the Overseer—on the border of the wastelands of Nadruth.”
Robert coughed. “Forgive me, your Lordship, but those trading routes were closed centuries ago. So, it is not possible. Not even the most hunted murderers and brigands venture that far or they will end up led under the whip of the vile Nadruth slavers. And as for any place of legend, I’ve never heard it mentioned among my father and his trading partners.”
Goran stood from the Velizar table. “Robert speaks the truth. What can be gained by traveling to that faraway, desolate place when our enemy may strike at any moment at the very heart of our Kingdom, right under our noses?”
The Holy Seer tapped her cane twice. “But it is we who must strike at their hearts and do so without sacrificing a generation of our people. The treasure we seek is the fabled armory of the Asmadu Vohra whence came your family’s mighty sword, and those of the other contenders to the throne.”
Simon’s pulse scudded through his veins. Yes! I will have as powerful
a sword as any here who claim the throne. Let them hunt for me then.
Lord Dowrick rose from his seat. “The King’s Council Triumvirate in Avidene is aware of your intentions, Holy Seer, and although the Triumvirate cannot officially sanction this dangerous undertaking, the members will not prevent it. Troops from the Capitol are being transported and deployed across the Kingdom after terrifying news of several more attacks. You are permitted only those riders, provisions, and horses Farrhaven may spare.”
“Thank you, Lord Dowrick,” the Holy Seer said. “In times of strife, those who do not hinder often prove as valuable as those who help. I must thank High Priest Worlaw when next we meet, for intervening on our behalf.” She stepped from behind the table. “The four noble contenders to the throne must be protected at all costs, and so I cannot call upon them. Instead, I will ask each of them to select one from among their number to accept this quest.”
Goran glanced back at the empty chair by his table. “Tanca is dead and damned. So, would you have me order another to suffer the same fate?”
Dominique rose. “I will volunteer.”
“And I will not allow it.”
“But the Holy Seer asks—”
Goran turned on her in a flash of rage. “And I said I will not allow it. Know your place, sister, and what the future holds as Father and I have told you.”
Dominique sat down at the Velizar table, her head lowered, gazing at the floor.
Robert gently smoothed the wood on the chair next to his. “I am grateful Felicity is not dead but the scars on her heart and soul will never heal. I would not wish that pain upon another nor will I command it.”
Callor jerked to his feet. “And I have already lost poor Elric, his unholy death forced by my own hand. How can you ask me to choose another to risk the same?” He glared at Simon. “The only family unscathed thus far are the Evermeres. Let Marcus prove his worth as a commander.”
Marcus rose from his chair. “And if they refuse because they fear, as we all do, for their lives? What then, your Holiness? Will they be punished or worse? Will I be dishonored and forfeit my claim to the crown?”
“The rites continue, Marcus Evermere, and every decision each of us makes now weighs in the balance, and this shall decide if there survives a Kingdom worth having a crown. This, you must choose or not amongst yourselves.”
Marcus looked to his brothers then to Simon and Rachel
The protectors’ voices filled the hall with misgivings. All cast wary glances at the Evermere table. Jack nudged Simon. “I can’t tell if they’re glad it’s not one of them or if they’re jealous.” Simon’s throat was dry, the elation felt only moments before now giving way to disbelief and panic as he struggled to comprehend the enormous peril of what they were being asked to do.
Rachel weaved her fingers together and stared at the table. “I must trust the Holy Seer as his Lordship does, but who in their right mind would be envious of us?” She looked directly at Jack. “Are you?”
Jack didn’t answer. He swallowed and looked away as if he had not heard.
“So, what say you, Marcus?” Callor swept his hand in a grand gesture before the Evermere table. “Are your protectors up to the challenge and, more importantly, are you?”
Lady Bellemar raised her hand to silence the others. “Each and every one of you has acquired special talents needed to help defend our people. It is our responsibility to see that each of your powerful skills is put to the best possible use, to defend our people against any threat should the atrocities of war come to our land.”
Marcus sat back on his chair. “If I must command, then I shall. I command that my friends choose of their own free will and that all present accept their decisions without malice or condemnation.”
Callor clapped politely. “Bravo, Marcus. On my life, I have never heard such smooth-tongued words from a sworn protector of the realm.” He bowed. “I applaud your fair decision. I know I speak for the other young lords when I say it is only fitting that those with the most experience in eluding the deadly jaws of our enemy should be chosen if they have the courage to accept.” Callor grinned at Simon.
Rachel folded her arms in front. “He smiles just like one of them. I half expect fangs to stick out at any moment.”
The Holy Seer tapped her cane again, this time in a pattern of three, upon the dais. “Very well. Rachel Fallbrook, Jack Evermere, and Simon Blackfyre, will you undertake this journey with a clear heart and with the full understanding of the risks to your body and soul?”
“Wait!” Niall interrupted. “What about me?”
Marcus touched his little brother’s arm. “I need you here to help me, Niall. Who else can I trust if Jack goes?”
Niall frowned. “All right, but I’m getting one of those magic swords just like Bella when they come back.”
Marcus smiled and ruffled his little brother’s hair. “You’ll be first in line, I promise.”
The sound of Jack’s finger-tapping on the tabletop sounded throughout the hall. “But you’ll have to think of a good name first.”
Marcus turned to Jack. “I can’t ask you to do this…not for me, not for the crown. Whichever decision you make, you will always be my brother and nothing will break our bond.”
Jack drew a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, big brother, I feel like a hunting dog locked in a pen. I need to get outside and run with the pack before I start chasing my own tail and howling at the moon.” The brothers laughed and hugged each other.
The Holy Seer turned abruptly and pointed at them. “We will take that as an acceptance from the Evermeres, then; enter that in the record if you please, Lord Rabek.” She turned to Rachel. “And you, my dear?”
Rachel rubbed her fingertips together. Simon glimpsed the same caged spirit in her own eyes, yearning just as much to break free. Just like himself, she seemed anxious to move, to do something more than practice her skills behind the walls of Farrhaven. When the rites were finished, the new King crowned, and the enemy defeated, well, what then, Simon wondered? Would she merely return home, settle down and become an apothecary out of a sense of duty? Perhaps join the traveling jongleurs on a whim?
Or would she and the rest of them become something else, something far greater like the blood that coursed through their veins?
Rachel took a deep breath and stood. “Yes, Holy Seer. I accept.”
Simon’s heart jumped and propelled him to his feet. Once Rachel spoke, he didn’t need time to think about the consequences or wait to be asked.
Lord Rabek whispered in Lady Bellemar’s ear. Her Ladyship rose gracefully. “It is hereby resolved and entered for all posterity that this small band of protectors be allowed to undertake this dangerous journey. Rachel Fallbrook, Jack Evermere, and Simon Blackfyre have encountered the Choldath and escaped their grasp in the Corridor of Shadows. Under the command of Lord Lionsbury and Mr. Byrch, they have proved the best suited to move swiftly and elude capture should the demons learn our purpose.”
Simon’s anxious mind clouded with more uncertainty, yet he had to dispel these misgivings as quickly as they arose. Alone in the Corridor of Shadows, they would have each fallen into madness—but together, they had survived and returned with a valuable treasure.
Perhaps then—again united—they might yet overcome their unspoken fears, and like Rachel, let loose their anger with Rachel’s own arrows and strike at the cruel heart of the most sinister thing she had ever imagined.
His mouth suddenly dry, Simon gulped down a cup of stale water. It was as if the past, like the encroaching mist outside Farrhaven, was closing in around them once more.
Chapter 14
A Dangerous Decision
Lord Rabek jotted Simon’s name in his book. “All are entered and accounted for, your Holiness.”
Rachel took Simon’s hand and squeezed it. “I knew you wouldn’t leave us to fend for ourselves, but you didn’t have to jump up like that. What will the others think?”
For those brie
f moments allowed, Simon savored holding Rachel’s cool fingers, warming them with his hand. “Let them think what they will. When I’m a freeman we won’t have to care.”
Rachel blushed and withdrew her hand. She brushed back her hair and looked away.
A hooded monk helped the Holy Seer into her cushioned chair on the dais. “Thank you. Standing is good for the circulation but my legs have lost all interest and no longer wish to heed my advice.”
She leaned forward on her cane. “Everyone in this hall began as strangers from distant parts of the Kingdom, some with the advantage of noble birth, others without, yet each summoned here to fulfill their sacred duty. Now, you are protectors of the realm, untested in the battle that both rages outside these walls and within your soul. I see, in your drawn faces, the doubts and fears that plague you.
“This is our enemy’s intention and their first great victory. We cannot escape these feelings, for we are human, and they are not, but we can unite to overpower the dread that undermines our will. Each of you is bound to the other in this single destiny, the outcome of which only you can decide.”
Lord Lionsbury unfurled a map on the great table. “We have scoured the ancient archives for other maps of the region. To our knowledge, only one exists and it is impossible to verify its accuracy. The Eye of the Overseer is a great mountain, the highest peak in the region, sited at the very edge of the wastelands overshadowing all. It is said to contain vast caverns reaching down to the fiery forge of the earth. One of these, according to the Holy Seer’s book, is the armory of the Asmadu Vohra.”
Lord Dowrick traced his finger across the map. “Yet, even if that were true, and the entrance found, I wonder if our brave protectors could simply enter as though passing through the unguarded gates of an abandoned fortress? Is it not also said that demons were vanquished to this abysmal prison during the Age of Heroes?”
A welter of grumbling and misgivings rose from the protectors. Simon, afraid that his eyes would play him false and his courage suspect if he reacted to these ominous words, steeled his gaze upon the smirking Tiberon.
