The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  Trelech stepped over the remains of the guards and advanced up the road towards the keep. A few of the more alert guards rushed out and took stock of the situation as the Prince continued unimpeded, before making the wise decision of letting him through without any fuss. He nodded to the armoured men as if he were at the head of a parade. They glanced at anything other than the Prince or the ghastly image that he had fashioned from two of their number as the word was spread rapidly and Trelech’s journey back to his old homestead went unmolested. A few moments later the doors that opened into the great hall stood before him. He looked at the grained wood and sighed contentedly, savouring this particular moment. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the doors open and stepped toward his destiny.

  The doors clanged majestically and Trelech took a couple of steps forward. Everyone in the room turned to look at him and at the far end of the chamber he could see his father sat ensconced upon the throne, his grizzled features draining of colour as he beheld the form of his youngest son. Barlech, Trelech’s older brother and new heir to the throne, was nowhere to be seen and he cursed inwardly; having expected him to have been snivelling at his father’s side. He quickly reminded himself that Barlech was very different from Tuirech. Father and son locked eyes for the first time and every man in the hall stood as if frozen in place and were waiting for a thaw. Slowly, King Zoirech stood and lowered his hand to his hilt. Trelech merely stood still and the room had gone deathly quiet, save for the light echoing footsteps of the King padding his way down the staircase that led up to the throne.

  “I knew you would come,” Zoirech announced without surprise. “Though, I expected you days ago.”

  “You understand what this is then,” Trelech replied.

  “I am no fool,” the King stated simply. “Let no man interfere. This is between me and my youngest son,” he commanded to everyone amassed in the room, his booming voice reverberating off every surface.

  As King Zoirech reached the foot of the staircase he pulled his ornate sword from its scabbard and held it aloft. Trelech eyed it hungrily and he knew its design from memory. The steel was untarnished and the hilt was in the form of two serpents coiling around one another in an eternal embrace, the tails making up the guard. At the top of the hilt, between two snakeheads, a flawless Ruby had been set and it still gleamed magnificently; finally, a blade worthy of him. He turned his full attention to the man holding the sword and, despite his advanced years, the sovereign of Akanthir stood tall and composed. Zoirech still possessed a stocky frame and the muscles that held the ancestral sword were like iron forged from the finest metal. Trelech extracted his own sword and the two men circled one another, each man sizing up his opponent and playing a waiting game in an attempt to anticipate the first blow. They were well versed in each other’s fighting style; having sparred one another on countless occasions. Everything froze in that moment as the two lions ceased their dance.

  Trelech roared a primaeval war cry as he lunged at his father. His blade sliced through the air before Zoirech parried it easily, the crash of metal ringing around the chamber. The King smirked before emitting a scream of his own. He slashed wildly and Trelech easily swatted the blade to one side. They exchanged grins as both men surged forwards and exchanged a flurry of blows, both men attacking and defending effortlessly as they both sought to exploit a crack in their adversary’s defences. Trelech wheeled suddenly on the spot and swung his blade overhead from behind. Despite this disadvantage, Zoirech raised his own weapon in defence and caught his son’s sword before it could bite into his flesh.

  Trelech struck his limb out, his foot ramming into the flat of his father’s back. The King was jolted forwards and he slammed unceremoniously into one of the large tables before whirling back around. The Prince quickly extracted a dagger and hurled it at Zoirech. The weapon sliced into the King’s arm and he grunted audibly but he ignored the stinging sensation pulsating from the shallow cut, the sovereign barely slowing down as he bore his son to the ground with a tackle to the mid-section. Trelech tried to scramble out from under the King, but Zoirech stamped on his wrist and kept it clamped firmly to the floor before bringing his free foot up sharply. His boot smacked the arrogant upstart in the face and his head rebounded off the ground with a resounding smack. Trelech squirmed feebly, finding his grip on his sword once more. As he attempted to move Zoirech rammed a closed fist into his skull, the Prince slumping uselessly whilst his father bellowed in triumph over his crumpled form. The Prince began laughing feverishly and the King gazed down at him in confusion.

  “Laugh all you want Trelech, but there was no way you were ever going to defeat me,” Zoirech stated bluntly.

  “I’m laughing because you still think that this was going to be a fair fight,” Trelech guffawed.

  Before his father could comprehend Trelech’s warning, the Prince grasped the King’s ankle as he once again tapped into the power of the gem. His hand was wreathed in flame as his very touch melted through Zoirech’s clothing and seared the flesh away from the bone. Zoirech emitted a blood-curdling scream and he desperately tried to wrench his limb free before suddenly his leg gave way and he slammed to the floor. The monarch grabbed his leg and his eyes bulged in their sockets as a cauterised stump greeted his shivering fingers. His agonised screams died away as shock overcame him. Trelech stood up and gloatingly stood over the King of Akanthir as thin tendrils scorched their way up his leg.

  “Look at me old man,” Trelech roared. “Look at the face of the man who is going to end your life.”

  “I see that,” Zoirech replied solemnly between pained gasps. “You must know one thing before you do it. You were the most like me and I always knew you’d be an able King but you are vicious and cruel and you’ll bring nothing but destruction. That is why I was glad I had your brothers before you. That is why you will never succeed.”

  “You are a fool, just like the rest,” Trelech cursed. “I’m at least glad to see you didn’t beg for your life. That would have only guaranteed it but now you can at least die with honour.”

  Trelech placed his hands on either side of the King’s head and heat rose from him as he closed his eyes. In an instant Zoirech began to thrash and shudder violently and his roiling screams sent a shiver up the spines of those in attendance of this horrific display. A few of the courtiers decided they had somewhere else to be and surreptitiously made their exit. Trelech’s manic laughter echoed around the room and even drowned out his father’s howls of torment as heat consumed his head and his body twisted this way and that with every jolt of agony. Zoirech’s skin fizzed and fell away in hideous chunks. His dying scream faded on his lips before he fell to the ground, his open maw burned eternally into the brains of those who had decided to stay and witness the gruesome spectacle. Trelech raised his hands with glee and strutted around the room, all eyes on him.

  “Cast your eyes toward me gentleman and look upon the face of a new age,” the Prince exulted, the arrogance practically oozing off of him from every pore. “Look at me and know that I have the power and authority to rule. Look upon the face of your new King!”

  ***

  Ydari’s mind was still reeling from everything Raelynne had told him and he raised his hand up to his chest, uncertainty and confusion threatening to overwhelm him. His only solace was that he had a job to do, and that was where he now focussed his mind. The Captain trotted through Maleardhus at a steady pace, flanked by Idrahil and Raelynne as they wound their way through the streets. Lothram had stayed back to tend to matters at the Watch House. That and, as Ydari had thought to himself, to cease another tirade between him and the mage. For his part, Ydari had mostly ignored her presence since he had donned his watch armour and had set out. Idrahil had said nothing either since they had left and that unnerved Ydari since, though he would never admit this to Lothram given the man’s tendencies, she was the one he turned to most for counsel and her blank expression troubled him deeply.

  The summons from the Queen had arrived
shortly after they had begun their conversation, having been interrupted by a tentative knock on his office door. Now he huffed wearily, the effects of his jaunt into the subterranean depths still lingering on him. The three of them headed in a beeline towards the White Tower whilst Raelynne shot him furtive looks every now and then. Ydari could usually relax his mind merely by listening to the din of the city but today he experienced the overwhelming sensation of the weight of Efealtor bearing down on him and Raelynne’s expressions were doing little to ease the feeling. In spite of his unease the three of them arrived at the foot of the White Tower surprisingly quickly. The Captain couldn’t help but notice the usual array of newcomers to Maleardhus gazing upward at the towering beauty that was the Royal Palace amid excited pointing.

  Ydari shuffled passed the gawkers, Idrahil and Raelynne falling into step behind him. The three of them wound their way into the entrance hall and up the staircase that ascended to the first level where they were barred entry to the floor above by two officious looking officers of the Palace Guard. They loitered an extravagantly long time and he padded about aimlessly as he waited. It wasn’t too long until the sneering form of Londorff, the Queen’s Chamberlain, stepped down the grand staircase into view. His smirk widened as he noticed Ydari’s impatient and flustered demeanour and he bowed mockingly as he approached. The Captain shot him a look that was practically laden with daggers and, if looks could kill, Londorff would have now been an oozing puddle of man.

  “How very kind of you to grace us with your presence,” Londorff greeted, his voice dripping with insincerity. “We heard you were poorly. Feeling better I trust? I was practically wracked with worry when I heard you had a nasty case of the sniffles,” the Chamberlain drawled sarcastically.

  “Is the Queen ready for us?” Ydari asked, not rising to the bait.

  “She will momentarily,” Londorff responded. “Still feeling under the weather? I see what it is, you lack the mental capacity today to exchange taunts.”

  “Not today handmaiden,” Ydari fired back testily, his voice deathly quiet. The Captain stepped up to the Chamberlain, his face hovering mere centimetres from the arrogant man’s features whilst his voice remained steady and low. “You’d best keep your comments to yourself. I’m not in the mood for games and if you push your luck, I will end you!” Ydari exclaimed, almost in a whisper.

  “Understood. Ri... right this way,” the Chamberlain stammered. His face drained of colour and went deathly pale, accompanied by a hidden shudder of terror that trembled up his spine. He meekly turned on the spot and began leading the way up the stairs. “Your companions are welcome as well,” Londorff said in a measured tone.

  “You’re most kind. I’ll have to extend my thanks to the Queen,” Ydari replied icily.

  “Good, good,” Londorff responded simply, walking stiffly as if a blade was pressed against the flat of his back.

  Londorff walked the remainder of the way in silence with Ydari trotting softly behind him. The Chamberlain could feel the Captain’s looming presence and he knew from Ydari’s demeanour that he had overstepped the mark and now he merely did his best to walk with a level head and blank look. They walked in silence as Londorff swept ahead of them and past numerous, implacable guards. Every now and then they passed various dignitaries, ambassadors and members of the imperial Court who milled about aimlessly on various levels; having been separated and made to wait in sections of the Palatial tower that were appropriate to their station. Many of them shot irritable glances in their direction as their party trundled past and headed directly to an audience with the Queen. Ydari and his companions were ushered further up the tower.

  They finally finished ascending and the entire space was filled with finery that Ydari was unused to and it put him on edge. Memories of these rooms lingered in the foggy recesses of his brain and he moved down the corridor until they stood in front of a particularly opulent door. He recognised the finely carved oak and he remembered it being where the previous King had resided and now were the personal quarters of Queen Elhara. The aged timbers were intricately decorated; the door frame had gilded leaves all along its edge until they reached an arch that had been separated into three panels.

  Each of the panels had been exquisitely painted in a classical style and each panel depicted fables of legend. The central painting was of mighty Azreus, the father of the Gods, sat upon a stone altar with the clouds ringed around his head, resembling a celestial crown atop his brow. The left-hand piece was of Elhaer wandering idly through the forest, her hand raised as she caressed a curious doe whilst beams of incandescent light pierced through the canopy. The final painting showed Cayrothe perched on a rock and gazing out over a scene of chaos, volcanic ash spewing into the sky while a torrid river of lava wound its way through the blackened landscape. The door itself was painted pure white and it seemed that it took a painstaking effort on a daily basis to keep it in such immaculate condition.

  Londorff stepped up to the door and rapped on it almost timidly, as if the simplest touch would mar its perfection. A few seconds passed before a blank-faced Steward opened it. He cast his eyes up and down the Chamberlain before nodding once. In an instant, the door was thrown open and the Steward stepped to one side professionally. Ydari and his companions trooped in behind Londorff and behind him he heard the awed voices of Idrahil and Raelynne taking in the magnificence of the room for the first time whilst he maintained his quiet vigil and merely stared straight ahead. The room was enormous and served the function of an entire apartment in its own right. Far off, against the back wall, there was a huge four-poster bed surrounded by the finery of royalty. Off to one side there was another door that, Ydari recalled, led into a sizeable closet and private bathroom. The main area in which they were now standing was the most decorated space Ydari had ever seen; every wall and surface was finely painted in shades of deep blue or cream and lined with gilding whilst sprawling landscapes adorned the ceilings. Bookshelves were nestled against every wall and in the centre of the room stood a smaller desk than the one in the Queen’s official office but no less opulent.

  Queen Elhara looked up from her position from behind the desk and her three visitors walked in front of her. They all bowed to her, following the Chamberlain’s lead. She remained as immobile as a statue as her blank stare went from face to face before she raised a questioning eyebrow. This was returned by a nonplussed look that the Chamberlain appeared to have practised thoroughly and, at which, had become quite adept. Wordlessly, the Chamberlain turned on his heel and exited the room. The Steward followed the Chamberlain from the room and the door closed silently behind them, Queen Elhara’s glaring eyes affixed on it until the two men had left and then she, almost imperceptibly, relaxed in her chair. She motioned her hand for her guests to take a seat.

  “Greetings Captain,” Elhara began formally, “I was under the impression that this was to be a confidential meeting.” She cast her eyes to Idrahil and Raelynne with an accusatory look

  “I can explain your...” Raelynne began.

  “All in good time,” Ydari interrupted. “I know your summons only asked for my presence but certain events occurred during my investigation and it became necessary to include others in this conversation,” the Captain said apologetically.

  “I see,” the Queen replied simply, an eyebrowraising once more. “And do they know about the... incident?” she asked with a meaningful pause as she pursed her lips.

  “Yes, they do,” the Captain responded matter-of-factly. A look passed between the two of them that spoke volumes but his words did little to assuage the look of doubt that now crept across her features. The awkward silence continued a moment longer before Ydari’s voice filled the void. “I trust Idrahil implicitly and Raelynne is here because she can explain things that I cannot.”

  “Very well. I would like to hear your account of what happened before I share with you what I have learned,” said the Queen. “From the information I’ve been given it seems an entangling w
eb and the truth alludes me. Perhaps you would like to cut away the false threads,” Elhara finished, waving her hand as she invited Ydari to begin talking in earnest.

  “Well, your Majesty, I was investigating a lead into the attempt on your life. Quite by accident, a tangible suspect presented itself after I finished interrogating the would-be assassin in the dungeons. The information I gleaned from him led me to suspect a member of the Dungeon guards,” the Captain said.

  “Who was this miscreant?” the Queen asked demandingly, her face going rigid.

  “A vile man who bullies his way through the world. He goes by the name of Vedile,” Ydari replied.

  “Oh, him,” the Queen responded simply. “I won’t go into details but that is hardly surprising. I have heard many accounts of his supposed activities but he was always too clever to leave any trace of it which is why he was assigned to the dungeons,” explained the sovereign. “Where is he now?”

  “We have him in custody at our watch house. He’s been there for a few days,” Ydari responded. “I had members of the city watch follow him but he was always too careful so I simply hauled him in for questioning and he folded like a piece of paper. He told us about the conspirators who met in the catacombs beneath the city. I took Idrahil here and two other officers and went down there and then things got…” Ydari said, with a pause, “complicated.”

  “Complicated, how?” the Queen asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

  Ydari’s gaze passed over the two women that were perched on either side of him. They shared a look that spoke volumes and, after a nod of assent from each of them, Ydari began recounting the events that had transpired within the catacombs. At moments where his recollection was clouded and fogged, Raelynne or Idrahil would take up the mantle and fill in the voids of his memories. They spoke at length for some time whilst the Queen merely listened and took everything in. She remained composed save for a couple of moments where her eyes were agog and her mouth gaped with incredulity; particularly when Raelynne told her of the prophecy and Ydari’s part in it. The Magi’s voice trailed off as she finished explaining her involvement and there was a pregnant pause, accompanied by the uncomfortable fidgeting and shifting of feet as they waited for Elhara to respond. She continued to sit deathly still as she contemplated what she had just been told. As she did so she steepled her fingers in front of and lightly tapped her outstretched fingers against her forehead; her gaze firmly fixed on the floor as she became lost in thought. For the longest time her guests sat in awkward silence until at last Queen Elhara stood up. She hovered for a moment before turning on the spot.