“As I was saying your Majesty, I was cooking when Prince Trelech came and was skulking about and when he thought I wasn’t looking I thought I saw him put something into Tuirech’s meal. After the Prince died, I knew then that Trelech had a hand in this,” said Telvia.
“Thank you Telvia. What do you have to say about that Trelech? You’d better have a good answer,” said Zoirech ominously.
“She’s just a servant spreading vicious lies to sully my name,” Trelech retorted. “Why would you believe her over your own son?”
“Because I have no illusions about my sons Trelech. I know too well the content of their character and I know you have a spiteful streak and wouldn’t think twice about resorting to such measures. Telvia has worked in this keep longer than I have been King. I trust her as much as my sword in the midst of battle. She tended to your mother while she was giving birth to you and did her best to save her. Tell me, whose word would you have me believe?” Zoirech asked.
“Mine, father,” said Trelech. “I cannot ask you to believe the truth of your eyes, only the honesty of my words. I did not poison Tuirech.”
“Interesting,” Zoirech noted. “But I don’t have to rely on your supposed honesty. I had the guards search your room as soon as you exited so I will know soon enough what secrets you thought you could hide.”
Trelech’s mouth dropped open and the King turned his back on his son. The Prince fought hard but the two guards held him fast in their grip and his struggling was all for nought. Zoirech paced for a moment whilst they waited for word from the guards who had been sent to ransack Trelech’s quarters and the King kept clenching and unclenching his fists furiously. A few minutes passed before a knock on a door announced the arrival of the guards. It was opened and four similarly clad men marched into the Great Hall. One of their number was holding a book and three vials and he approached the King smartly, holding these items out to his sovereign.
“Your Highness, as commanded we searched the Prince’s quarters and found this book and these vials hidden inside a recess behind a bookshelf,” the guard reported.
“What do we have here?” Zoirech enquired. He picked up the book first and thumbed through it, an eyebrowraising as he read the document’s contents. He turned his attention next to the vials. Clear liquid swilled about in two of them as the King held them up and turned them this way and that before turning his attention to the glass container that was suspiciously empty. “How am I to believe you are telling me the truth when my guards present me with this and a book on poisons? And who were your intended victims for these? Barlech’s life and my own no doubt,” his voice thundered.
“Of course not!” Trelech started.
“Lies and deceit!” Zoirech vociferated. “You were never the most intelligent of my sons but I thought you would never be this stupid. I expected that you would hide your machinations a little better than this.”
“Please father, you have to believe me,” Trelech pleaded.
“I don’t have to do anything! This crown means I do as I please,” his father roared as he smashed a fist into his son’s face. Trelech’s head jerked to the side and an ugly gash was opened up on the young man’s cheek. “I don’t care if the evidence presented here is tenuous, I’ve heard enough. The look on your face tells me all I need to know. I hereby banish you from my city and if you set foot in Mal Ithir your head will be decorating the wall. Take him out of my sight,” Zoirech bellowed.
Trelech scrabbled in the grip of the men who held him tight and he tried to raise his voice in protest but he was silenced abruptly as one of them smashed the pommel of their sword into his forehead. The Prince slammed into the cold stone floor at speed, whining miserably. He tried to get back but those same hands tore him from the floor’s embrace and hefted him back to his feet before dragging him unceremoniously from the hall. His wails of misery fell on deaf ears as the King turned his back on Trelech. Barlech followed suit and the last Trelech saw of his family was the two of them engaged in conversation as the door thudded shut.
The guards dragged the Prince bodily from the keep, his wails filling the air as they tumbled out into the main square of the Plateau District. Intrigued onlookers approached as they saw Trelech being hauled down the steps. Just beside the stairs three horses had been readied while a fourth man awaited their arrival. Trelech’s pleas went unanswered as he was towed to the waiting equine. The men went about their task with remarkable speed and efficiency, lashing the young Prince’s hands together before shoving one of his feet into the stirrups. They barked commands at Trelech as he swung his leg and took a position in the saddle while the guards took up station on the other horses. One of them grasped the reins of Trelech’s horse and soon they were trotting through the streets, the keep shrinking from view.
Trelech’s mind raced as the immediate events of the day replayed in his mind and he began to ask himself hysterically why hadn’t he done a better job of covering his tracks. The horses cantered through the streets as the road sloped downward. Soon the three men were trotting into the Ash Quarter and familiar streets beckoned to Trelech. He mentally prepared himself as he began to fight against the knots but the rope was too secure and he quickly realised the struggle would be futile. As he came to this realisation an idea flashed in his mind and he grinned evilly.
As the three men turned a corner Trelech suddenly leaned to one side and fell to the ground heavily, the impact immediately catching the attention of the guards who uttered a despairing grunt of annoyance. One of them brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. Trelech began backing away from the approaching man, holding his hands up placatingly but his escort remained unmoved. The guard reached down for his prisoner and grasped a handful of the Prince’s locks and yanked painfully. Trelech moved like lightning as he surged up to his feet and shouldered the escort in the gut. The sudden blow drove the wind from his lungs, doubling him over and he threw up a hand to break his fall. Before the second guard could react, Trelech snatched the sword from the fallen man’s sheath and plunged it deep into his torso, his eyes bulging in his skull and a thin raspy whine escaping his lips as the colour drained from his face. He had only enough time to gaze down at the blade buried in his ribs before slumping to one side.
The second guard wheeled his horse about and drew his own blade, cantering forward as he bore down on Trelech. The Prince kicked the fallen man onto his back and yanked the blade free from the wretch’s carcass, the ominous noise of clattering hooves approaching. The Prince threw himself to the side, the hiss of a sword whipping past his ear. The second guard whirled his horse around for a fresh attack with his blade held high, ready to deliver the killing stroke. Trelech darted forwards and thrust his weapon upwards as the mounted guard thundered toward him. It was over in a flash as the point spiked deep into the guard’s chest. The rhythmic pounding of the horse ceased as the guard thumped to the floor, his mouth hanging open in surprise as blood bubbled on his dying lips. He wriggled as Trelech rounded on him. The Prince levelled the weapon at the man’s chest before a mighty swing cleaved the guard’s head from his shoulders.
Trelech gazed at the carnage he had wrought for a moment before he came to his senses, using the sword to quickly cut his bindings as he walked. Cries of horror went up from watching citizens and Trelech raced through the squalor as he sprinted away, trying to put as much distance between himself and the scene of bloody slaughter. Muscle memory kicked in as Trelech ducked from one street into an alley and then into another street until he was well and truly lost from sight. He thought he could hear the alarmed calls of more of the city guard but it could have been just a trick of the mind.
Trelech stopped for a moment as his mind raced and he quickly weighed his options. Sighing heavily, he set off once more as he headed to the only destination where he knew he would be truly safe. He knew his father would hear of his escape before too long and he needed to be off the streets well before then. Trelech flew along dirty paths before he finally found what
he was looking for. The familiar door called to him and he gave it a push, but it refused to budge. He hammered on the woodwork for what felt like an age before it was yanked open and the wizened features of Zyffhal peeked out at him, a haughty expression of smug satisfaction resting on the aged man’s face.
“Sorry, I’m not accepting visitors today,” Zyffhal remarked sarcastically.
“Just move you oaf,” Trelech blurted irritably as he pushed the old man out of the way. “I’m not in the mood for your dull wit.”
“Is the day not going to your satisfaction, majesty?” Zyffhal asked with a mocking bow.
“It isn’t actually. Someone told my father of my part in my brother’s death and he tried to exile me from the city. So now I’m a fugitive from my own family so a little less of your tongue if you please,” Trelech replied.
“Ahh so your grand plan falters?” Zyffhal joked with a rasp. “I’m shocked that your brilliant plan is now in tatters. Of course, this puts us at odds and I don’t harbour criminals, especially those who can’t deliver on their empty promises.” His shrivelled face turned serious. “I knew sharing the secrets of our order with you was a mistake. Every part of this deal has been a disappointment.”
“This changes nothing old man!” Trelech hissed. “I will be king if I have to walk ankle-deep in blood to achieve it! I’m sick and tired of you thinking you’re better than me. Your order is nothing but lies and silly trinkets that hold no real power. The instant there is one setback you wither away like the cowards you are!”
Trelech elbowed his way past Zyffhal and entered the main chamber where the red gemstone was housed. It still gave off an eerie blood-red glow and every detail of the room was utterly familiar to the young Prince but something seemed different now. The faint voice that he believed he could hear every time he beheld this oddity was now a torrent of voices all screaming to him; the promise of eternal life and of power beyond his comprehension. Images of his coronation burned into his brain but Trelech scoffed internally as he turned his attention back to Zyffhal. The old sage hobbled over to him and sneered at the Prince. Anger tore at Trelech as he once again had to endure the man’s disrespect and every compulsion tore at him to end this man’s life just as he had done with the guards.
“You really are a child. I told you our secrets, the power of this shard of the Heartstone, and you treat it like a story. You gain our aid to weaken your enemies abroad but can’t even put an end to your own snivelling family. The power of the gem will never be yours to wield just as you will never gain the throne for yourself. You are a whelp, a cretin who cannot be trusted and is too dull-witted to even get away with a simple poisoning. Leave this place!” Zyffhal spat, his face contorting into a mask of ire.
“I’ve had it with everyone telling me what I can and cannot do. I am a Prince of Akanthir and I will be respected!” Trelech barked furiously.
In that moment Trelech’s rage got the better of him and he buried the sword in the old man’s shoulder. Zyffhal yelped as the blade plunged into his flesh and he fell to the floor. Trelech loomed over him and huffed with a renewed anger that burned and coursed through every synapse, his blood pounding in his ears. He could see Zyffhal’s lips moving but his words were lost as the same ethereal voice echoed in his mind. This mixed with his thudding heart and all he could feel was burning hatred. The red gemstone suddenly lit up brilliantly and Trelech turned to it.
Pulses of energy struck Trelech in waves and he could feel the gem crackling with power. He reached out for it and the voice intensified and images came thick and fast; Trelech sitting triumphantly on the throne while his enemies quavered at the mere sight of him; his armies marching across the continent and covering the land in an all-consuming darkness and an ancient serpent roiling and hissing frantically. Zyffhal moaned and raised a hand, his warning cries falling on deaf ears as the Prince reached out to touch the gem. The images had become a barrage, assailing Trelech’s senses.
“Don’t touch it, the gem will consume you!” Zyffhal shouted, his words cutting into the Prince’s consciousness like a knife.
Trelech paid him no attention as his hand closed around the gem and he felt its cold embrace. His form convulsed and writhed sickeningly. The luminescence from the gem increased until every corner of the room was bathed in blinding light and Zyffhal had to shield his eyes. The Prince’s body danced this way and that and the air cracked until it was a cacophony of noise that threatened to deafen the terrified form of Zyffhal who could only look on in horror as Trelech’s body was consumed in that otherworldly glow. The scene played out for an impossibly long time until at long last the light finally subsided. Trelech stood before Zyffhal and, to the old man’s surprise, the Prince was unscathed from his encounter with the gemstone. Trelech opened his eyes and his grey orbs had been replaced with two piercing rays of blood-red and an evil grin slowly stretched across his features.
“What were you saying old man?” Trelech inquired, his voice now deep and coarse. “I will have my time and I will burn anyone who gets in my way, including you Zyffhal. You have lived a drab life but at least you get to behold my glory in your final pitiful moments!” Trelech announced as he raised his hand and the old sage was devoured in a lancing bolt of fire.
Chapter Five
The swathing mass of humanity drifted along the street below, completely oblivious to the hooded watcher that loomed over them. Immediately before them the vast temple complex rose up like a marble mountain. The robed figure’s gaze passed over the huddled masses and the wagons as they wheeled past with disinterest while her eagle eyes sought for particular game. She had watched the four watchmen marching by and disappearing through the temple door. This had been hours before and now she had settled into a monotonous routine of counting the meandering pedestrians as a way to pass the time and alleviate the crushing boredom. Minutes dragged by before the familiar footfalls of her companion disrupted her thoughts. The sound was faint but her sharp ears could pick up the tiniest noise amidst the hubbub of city life.
“You’re back,” Raelynne noted without turning her head.
“One day I’ll be able to sneak up on you,” Feraal retorted.
“Only if you learn to step quietly and less like a stampede in a brothel,” quipped Raelynne. “What did you see?” she inquired, cutting through her companion’s protestations before they had begun.
“It was them, just as you thought,” Feraal replied. “What does it mean?”
“It means we won’t have long to wait,” Raelynne replied. She rubbed her chin contemplatively.
“Call me a cynic but I have a hard time believing in any of this,” Feraal drawled.
“Ahh Feraal, still feeling sceptical?”
“I’ll readily admit that I’m sceptical. Of all the people to be chosen by the whims of destiny, a policeman?” Feraal scoffed incredulously.
Before Raelynne could reply she felt a strange vibration buzzing softly next to her chest. Intrigued, she reached into her tunic and pulled out an amulet. It was a curious design, a circle, inside of which was a dragon in flight seen from below and around it there was a faint red aura. The mage stared at it for a moment as it continued to resonate against her palm. She held it up for Feraal to observe and his expression of consternation instantly turned into one of awe as he clapped eyes on the mysterious pendant. It increased in frequency until there was a faint hum. Raelynne nodded her head solemnly and her gaze turned to the crowds once more, silently envious of their collective ignorance. At her side, Feraal leaned in closer and touched the medallion himself as if to confirm for himself that what he was seeing was in fact true, shaking his head in disbelief as he clung onto the final threads of doubt.
“It seems there really is such a thing as destiny,” Raelynne said, the pendant continuing its siren song.
***
Ydari’s gaze flickered at lightning speed as more and more silhouetted figures advanced on their position and, through the gloom, they seemed too many to coun
t. To his left Lothram had drawn his sword and was holding it at the ready. Idrahil too stood poised to attack as she took up a flanking position on Ydari’s right whilst Teobrin shrank back behind his captain protectively, though he too had taken the precaution of drawing his dagger. The press of their foes inched forward inexorably and the four watchmen retreated, step by step. One of the mysterious shrouds stepped forward and a lined face greeted them in the light wearing a menacing grin of yellowed teeth and a look of pure fanaticism. As one, the rest of their horde began chanting in unison. It began quietly at first but rose in volume until it was a crescendo, the voluminous space sending their voices bouncing around the cavern.
The four watchmen shrank back into a circular formation and, as their enemies pressed tighter, Ydari could hear a strange whisper coming from behind them. He ignored the hushed voice as his eyes wheeled about, assessing the worsening situation. It dawned on him that it was fast becoming hopeless and in a straight fight they were surely doomed. With a manic war cry Ydari hurled himself into the first line of attackers, his blade whistling musically through their air as his nemeses dodged his attacks. A couple of his sword strokes found their mark, the metal biting viciously into their tender flesh and they fell to their side holding their limbs as blood sprayed from fresh cuts. Emboldened by their commander’s sudden bravado, Lothram and Idrahil sprang into action.
The three of them whirled and dashed about with astounding ferocity. Their attackers hastily reached for weapons of their own and the grotto was filled with the tremendous clangs of steel on steel as the three of them fought desperately. The sudden onslaught had caught their foes off guard but they were quickly rallying and soon their numbers began to become overwhelming. Ydari was conscious of this as he ducked and weaved, his form dodging past aimed thrusts expertly. The Captain’s sword found its mark time and again but as one man fell a fresh body would spring up to take his place. The fighting was unrelenting as their assailants closed in, the three skilled swordsmen of the watch falling back once more. Ydari felt a stinging blow to the back of his head and he tumbled to the cold stone floor. From behind Teobrin leapt to his feet like a tiger and screeched furiously. The young man sank his dagger into the back of an attacker who was poised to snuff out Ydari’s life and the man fell to the side limply as pain and death quickly consumed him. Teobrin helped Ydari back to his feet and he was back into the fight in an instant.
The Fractured Heartstone Page 9
