by David Rice
Discipline required a few examples along the way. Poll had already proven he had the stomach for such measures even if Egrant did not. Fear could not be allowed to take root. His army would stand. It would fight, and it would prevail. Lord Gow tucked the order into a scroll case, applied his seal, and handed it to the Major who beamed with self-worth.
XVII
Each morning after his flagship had sunk was the most difficult of King Lornen’s existence. He wavered upon the edge of his bed while servants rushed nervously to fetch the best robes and linens. Meals were ushered in on polished gold platters but their scents made him queasy. In the harbour below the palace, distant cries of lamentation formed a dull harmony with the crash of waves and shieks of gulls. A messenger arrived with notes indicating notable visitors had been waiting since dawn to beseech his aid.
Lornen took a deep breath and forced himself to stand tall while the servants pulled up his stockings. Hadn’t he made them all rich and given them new purpose? And they were still unsatisfied? It was so petty of them to ask for more than they deserved. It was so off putting.
With a heavy sigh, Lornen accepted a drink of blended fruits, followed by a wafer of mint to settle his stomach. Clutching his mantle tightly, he strolled into the throne room and gracefully took his seat.
Handris, the Captain of the Royal Guard, knelt nervously before his King.
Lornen pointed lazily and twitched his finger. “Stand up and give me your report,” he yawned.
“The harbour’s fires are out, Your Majesty, but the people are scared witless. Even the guards.”
“That won’t do. Be sure the stocks of food are secured.”
Handris frowned. “And there’s more unhappy news, Your Majesty.”
Lornen shrugged. “Get on with it,”
Handris looked down. “Lord Brakkit was killed by the explosion of a ship in the harbour, Your Majesty.”
Lornen’s eyes flared. Brakkit was supposed to be uncovering the location of the hidden gold. “That is highly—unfortunate.”
“Pieces of the ship landed all across the docks, Your Majesty. His body was found under one of ‘em this morning.”
Lornen groaned and waved his hand dismissively. “Go.”
Handris bowed deeply and retreated. Incense bearing assistants announced the next visitor so clearly that Lornen did not have to open his eyes.
“Father Stigand. Have you no prayers to oversee?”
Stigand glided into the room with a smile and his shoulders twitched the smallest of bows towards the King.
Lornen winced under his beaming smile. “The gnomes have betrayed me, my flagship is sunk, the docks are in an uproar, my treasury is thinning, and one of my trusted Barons is dead. I need good news, Stigand.”
“Tbe people’s spirits are being rallied by prayer, good King,” Stigand gushed. “It brings tears to my eyes to see how they lift their heads to hear the will of the One.”
Lornen tilted his head and sat straighter in the throne. “And your healers are winning the loyalty of the people again, I assume?”
“Past transgressions are being forgiven, King Lornen, with every blessing, every cure, every benediction.”
Lornen looked towards the pillars of light shining through the stained glass. “The people are fickle,” he grumbled loudly.
“Yes,” Stigand replied. “Present favors balm over old grudges. Already, my Order is explaining how the defeat of the drake is a miraculous and favorable event.”
Some confidence lifted Lornen’s shoulders and a smile crested along the edges of his lips. “Yes. I had been speaking of that only days ago.”
“The people are scared, tired and hungry. They need a happy distraction from these recent tragedies.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Stigand’s smile widened and his tone shimmered with hope. “You could do much to mend their spirits, if you gave them a proper heir.”
Lornen laughed. “An heir? Hasn’t your order been doing everything in its power to prevent that?”
Stigand blushed. “Your Majesty’s indescretions were part of his fiery youth. Now you exercise a—mature—rule, and deserve to take a queen.”
Lornen leaned back. A queen? A royal wedding? The expense would be intolerable without Gothert’s gold to make it possible. And it would mean the end to all of his recreation
and fun. Or at least curb its more extravagant indulgences.
“Oh, I can see by your troubled look that you worry about the expense and the detailed planning involved,” Stigand soothed. “If you place this in the capable hands of my Order, we could provide the necessary resources—”
“I don’t know, Stigand.”
High Father Stigand approached Lornen and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “The people’s fear would be completely disarmed by a wedding, Your Majesty, and you could still revel in your pleasures with our discretion to protect you.”
Lornen leaned back and stared at Stigand. “You would do that?”
Stigand stepped back and bowed a little more deeply than before. “With pleasure, Your Majesty.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
Stigand looked up and, in the most sincere terms, responded simply, “For the good of the realm, my King.”
Lornen sank back into his throne. “A queen. A royal wedding. A promise of hope after so much suffering?” Lornen smiled. The Order would have its tasks, and the kingdom would have its focus returned to its proper place. Him. Lornen grinned. “That is the most marvellous idea, High Father. But don’t draft the announcement yet. I want to surprise the lucky lady with the news first. And her father.”
Stigand ventured to ask, “Who do you have in mind, my King?”
Lornen grinned. Her father was a distant Duke whose loyalty would be cemented by such a move. “A girl I should have pursued more diligently cycles ago, Stigand. Many cycles ago.”
Stigand’s grin filled the room.
Lornen stood. “But to do this right, I need Gothert’s hidden wealth, by any means necessary. Bring me Koppinger,” he demanded.
Stigand bowed and glided from the room, another egg planted in its proper nest awaiting the proper moment to hatch.
***
Koppinger was not surprised to have been summoned so many times by the King. He was surprised to have been greeted in such a pleasant manner. The rooms of the palace, though less crowded than in past years, were cloyingly saturated with smiles. Koppinger knew this was a set-up and wished they had been subtle about it. It was unnerving. Especially when he had plans of his own. At least he was allowed to keep an escort of twelve guards all the way to the Great Hall.
“From here, you must proceed alone, Baron Koppinger,” King Lornen’s guards bowed and drew the thick velvet curtain.
“Wait here, boys.” Koppinger grinned a little too easily. “If I scream, you’ll know what to do.”
Ducking under the curtain’s edges, Koppinger noted the darkened balconies unshadowed by the usual crossbowmen. Keeping them just out of sight, he thought, to put me at ease.
Lornen was standing behind the throne, grasping its top with both hands, and tapping his fingers nervously. He came from behind the throne only after Koppinger bowed.
“Your Majesty,” the Baron of the Docks greeted Lornen with a lilt in his voice as slippery as an eel.
Lornen took his time sitting upon the throne so that Koppinger was forced to maintain his posture of supplication.
“Rise, Baron Koppinger. It has been some time since I have seen you last.”
Koppinger straightened his back and stretched to his full height. He smiled his best smile. “Your Majesty’s servants have been kept busy feeding the city, rendering aid to wounded sailors, and cleaning up the debris of exploded ships.”
Lornen twitched. “I am—grateful for their service. Today, the King needs more.”
Here it comes, Koppinger’s inner voice thundered. The Rajala. The guards he had bribed. The prisoners hiding in
the sewers. Gothert’s hidden gold. All of it. The Baron steadied himself and chanced another glance from the corner of his eye. Still no crossbowmen. “Just state your wishes, Your Majesty, and it shall be done.”
“I don’t exactly know how to ask this of you—” Lornen started then smiled as if chastised by the fleeting appearance of embarrassment.
Koppinger’s back knotted like a hangman’s rope. His guards were close by. Would they act if he called? He waited for the king to continue.
Lornen’s voice tightened. “Gothert has left a terrible mess, I’m afraid. And the people will not stand against drakes. The fleet humbled those upstart Rajalans but that Banefathered drake—”
Koppinger almost felt a twinge of sympathy. It was easily suppressed. “It was a sight to see, Your Majesty.”
“The army has stalled. Dwarves have blocked our trade routes with Halnn. The Dukes never stop complaining, and I’ve had to halt construction of my summer palace.” Lornen stopped to catch his breath. “The gnomes are leaving, Koppinger! It’s a disaster. But I’m sure you’ve heard. You have so many connections.”
Was that Lornen’s game? Did the King expect him to sell out his allies? Friends?
Koppinger admitted he didn’t have many but he’d be cursed by the Banefather before he turned. They had worked so hard holding the city together for cycles now. Or was Lornen looking for enemies further afield? Had he heard of their conspiracy? Had Nialle sold them out? Could he have misread the man so much? Too late for self-doubt. Hold a steady course.
Koppinger ventured a positive tone. “I have heard much, Your Majesty. The more our many talents work together, the more Graniteside thrives.”
Lornen’s face glowed with relief. “I agree entirely, Baron Koppinger.” The King stood and smiled again. “Captain Nevar?”
A brilliantly armoured guard appeared in a flourish and knelt before the throne. Only one guard, Koppinger noted with marginal relief.
“Your sword, Nevar.”
Koppinger’s smile tightened as the Captain presented the King with a glimmering longsword. The Baron could still smell the fresh iron of a recent sharpening.
“This is sudden, Baron Koppinger, but I’m sure you’ll understand. Kneel, please.”
“Of—course, Your Majesty.” Please? Koppinger considered calling for his guards but decided to see where else this might lead. Some bluffs were worth calling.
Lornen touched each of Koppinger’s shoulders with the tip of the sword. “I name you Duke of the Docks and Chancellor of the Realm.”
Chancellor? Second only to the King? This was a set up. It had to be. His mind buzzed with counter-moves to Lornen’s surprising tactic. Had Sigrand put him up to this? The bastard. Now he was caught between two masters most visibly.
Koppinger was pleased to discover that he was strong enough not to scream or faint. But he desperately wanted to.
XVIII
The first time the request was made to attend the Circle in the place of Alvilas, Eko was moderately appreciative. This time, the request interrupted his reading of ancient texts that his aging mentor had clearly misunderstood, and it stung like an annoyance. He decided to bring his notes in the small chance someone asked about anything interesting.
What currently buzzed through his mind was the distinct probability that the Fahde could only be wielded by a half-elf because it had been forged by half-elves. Of course, no one in Longwood would dare entertain such a thought, their prejudices were so limiting. And Alvilas’s prejudices were stronger than most, blinding the sage to the obvious.
From the fragments, Eko had pieced together so far, the ancient tragedy of their ancestors was becoming clear. The Drakes were wakened millenia ago by elves, and were destroyed by what they could not control. It took the actions of the survivors, no, the descendants of the survivors, to somehow imprison the drakes and the mother of all dragons. But how? Only through a connection with The One would such power be harnessed. How could that be? He suspected, hoped, dared to gamble that the answers would be found once the hidden scrolls were washed clean. Dria needed to finish her work for him as soon as possible. Why did she delay when so much was at stake? Of course, if he pressured her it would only result in suspicions— Eko detested puzzles that refused to be solved but he knew impatience would be his undoing. He fought to calm himself and open his mind. In contrast to Alvilas, Galen, Dorak, and so many other respected sages, he knew he had the talent to solve anything. The council recognized that quality and they would not be disappointed. No, Eko resolved, one day soon they would be amazed.
When he arrived at the usual meeting place, he was directed towards a large platform high above the Heartwood. Eko was surprised by pleasant memories as he climbed past areas he had not visited in a century or more. It had been upon one of these platforms where Alvilas had first selected him for mentoring. He smiled to himself as he reached the top. Those were proud days. Now, look how far he had come.
The irritating smile of Woodmother Vendete greeted him. Her grin seemed to glow at the least provocation, nothing more than a mindless luminosity discharging spores when brushed by a breeze or poked by a stick.
“Please join us, Eko.” The Woodmother motioned to a group that was smaller than he expected.
Ballok and Siandros stood together. Galen was nearby speaking quietly to Tyrin, a forestward of some repute. Eko’s eyes followed the Woodmother as she crossed towards another young lady. Eko stopped in mid-step as she turned.
What was Dria doing there?
Her long blonde hair was decorated with a coronet of winter berries and her fathomless blue eyes danced with wonder. She looked towards him—and smiled.
Eko wanted to rush over and ask her about his request but this was hardly the place. He attempted to return a confident grin but his satchel fell from his hand and spilled scrolls at his feet. The Woodmothers tittered. Ballok guffawed. Thankfully, Galen approached and helped
Eko gather himself.
“Thank you for arriving so quickly.” Galen motioned towards the edge of the platform where a small figure sat, legs dangling from a humbling precipice. “I felt that you should be here. You may have some future dealings with our newest student.”
Eko recognized the girl. She was the half-elf. The abomination, others called her. Eko smiled a different smile. They were fools who called her that. She was the bearer of a legendary artifact. Perhaps, through her, he could learn more about the Fahde and tap into its power?
Galen tapped his staff lightly upon the tightly woven wooden floor. “Your attendance honours the Circle of Elders. You have been summoned to bear witness. History is made today, and we call for the blessings of the One to guide us.”
All of the Elders bowed their heads and murmured a personal prayer. Eko gave a slight nod. He noticed that the half-elven girl had turned to watch. At least she seemed curious, Eko acknowledged. That was a positive. That could be used.
Galen motioned for the half-elven girl to come forward. As she stood, the Fahde glimmered at her side, silently commanding the attention of all.
“To the matters at hand,” Galen continued. “Kirsten Starwatcher, daughter of Alandris of the Salt Isles, has requested mentorship. Our sacred duty requires that her request be honoured. Today, we must assign mentors.”
Ballok chuckled and Siandros squirmed.
“Ballok, as First Warden, who do you select for Kirsten Starwatcher’s martial instruction?”
Ballok’s eyes were dark while he smirked at Kirsten. “Third Warden Siandros will teach the little whelp the basics. I’ll take care of her field training.”
“You can’t,” Kirsten blurted. “That’s the one who tried to kill me. The one who tried to kill my friend. Who stole my sword.”
Galen looked down with serious eyes. “Do you decline your mentors?” he asked.
Eko stepped forward quickly. “Don’t. She doesn’t know.”
Kirsten’s eyes flashed frustration. “What do I need to know?”
&nbs
p; Ballok levelled a damning gaze at Eko. “You’ve just ruined my fun.”
Galen sighed, ignoring Ballok. “If you decline your offered mentors, you will be cast out.”
“Not cast out, Galen. Not this one,” Ballok corrected. “Judged.”
Siandros smirked. “And we all know what that means.”
Kirsten stomped her foot. “You were trying to trick me?” Her voice filled with contempt. “You think I’m afraid? My father warned me about you. Told me how you tried to kill him. How you would’ve killed me if I had been a boy.” She looked towards Tyrin.
Galen’s eyes softened. “But here you are.”
“Yes,” Tyrin offered. “Don’t be angry—”
Kirsten thrust out her jaw.
“—and don’t be afraid. Be aware.”
