The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  The sun glinted off the magnificent armour of the Tirgaalian soldiers and they were angelic compared to the demonic blood-soaked visages of the soldiers who had been engaged in battle. The form at the head of the column shouted an order to the Knights behind him. They stopped in their tracks while a small group of six peeled away and rode into the centre of the battleground. The men of the Ljarthaal and Ciphearyn alliance parted to make way for them, all eyes upon the Regent of Tirgaal. A woman rode beside him clad in black clothing and a severe expression on her face.

  Everyone watched nervously as the Regent brought his mount to a stop and stepped down onto the muddy earth, the woman at his flank following suit. A strange few seconds passed and, despite the many thousands of men and women who dotted the battlefield, silence had taken hold. The woman beside Adaryn cast her arms about in vague gestures, the air in front of her shimmering with hues of yellow and green. Finally, after a time, she nodded to the Regent who took a step forward.

  “I request that the leaders of our armies meet now, where I’m standing, to discuss terms,” Adaryn’s voice boomed around the battlefield and beyond, his voice magically enhanced by an arcane ritual that had been invoked. The sheer magnitude of the spell sent more than a few soldiers close to the Regent reeling. “In the meantime, let’s end this madness before it gets out of hand. Tend to the wounded, bury the dead and let the soldiers enjoy a well-earned rest.”

  A huge cheer reverberated from the mass of men that were now huddled in groups around the killing field. Among them, many dead and maimed soldiers were strewn about and all of them exhibited some form of hideous injury or cut. The Ythelian ranks quickly parted for their brethren to be dragged back to safety before they locked shields once again, not taking any chances lest the assault should begin again in earnest. They maintained their defensive posture while the will to fight drained from their adversaries. Adaryn watched as the Ljarthaalian and Ciphearyn forces gradually shuffled back to the river where hasty camps began to be erected before he finally mounted his steed and galloped back to where his men were settling in for the day. It was only then that the Ythelian General, Katharlis, allowed his men to relax.

  Elhara watched this hive of activity with a mix of hope and trepidation. The sudden halt to hostilities had caught her off guard and even the General at her side had opened and closed his mouth a few times with incredulity at Adaryn’s words. The Queen decided to do something more practical with her time as she turned her back on where the skirmish had taken place and took to overseeing the efforts of her subjects as they retrieved the rest of the wagons and began erecting tents and pavilions of their own, making everything ready to feed thousands of hungry mouths and arranging sleeping quarters.

  Elhara had become caught up with these minutiae when a runner from the Tirgaal camp trotted into view, escorted by two soldiers. Elhara looked down and beheld a boy with a dirt-streaked face and a ragged tunic clinging to his slight frame. She also noted that he was not wearing footwear of any kind, adding to the dirty quality that had almost become a character trait. The boy held a note firmly in one hand and almost quivered as he offered it up to the Ythelian Sovereign. One of the soldiers snatched it from his grip roughly and presented it to the Queen with a bow. She nodded her thanks to the boy and watched as he was led away. Elhara opened the note and read it through pursed lips, nodding in satisfaction at the message’s contents but being unable to shake a feeling of looming dread.

  “Your Majesty,” Katharlis said to the Queen as the monstrously huge form of the General clomped into view. He walked up to Queen Elhara. “There is something I wish to talk to you about.”

  “It will have to wait,” replied Elhara. “We have been invited to meet with the leaders of the opposing armies.”

  “Then I shall await your return.”

  “I don’t think so,” Elhara countered pointedly. “You are coming with me along with a Scribe. And as my father always said, never separate yourself from your sources of information,” she finished mysteriously.

  “Why would you want a Scribe with you at this meeting?” the General asked, flabbergasted.

  “Because I wish him to be. That is all you need to know.”

  Elhara strode purposefully toward the edge of the camp. Along the way she stopped a servant and whispered an order in his ear. He dashed off into the chaos that was the Ythelian camp. Queen Elhara set off once more, not even bothering to see if Katharlis was following behind and the big man was forced to walk at a jog to keep up with the lightning-fast pace that the Queen had set. As they reached the edge of their encampment a small balding man with a potbelly came puffing into view. In his hand he held a brown cloth that had been wrapped around a suspiciously large item and tied in a knot. He rushed over towards the retreating figures of the Queen and the General and, with a wave of the hand from his Sovereign, he fell into step behind them. Parts of his hair were standing on end and he surreptitiously licked his fingers before desperately running it through his thinning hair in a vain bid to wrestle them into a presentable form.

  Queen Elhara swept through a maze of people who immediately retreated out of her way as she passed until she arrived where her horse had been hitched. Katharlis was only a step behind her as they mounted their steeds and turned them around. They cantered through the now myriad number of tents and the slaughter of the morning had been replaced with the hubbub of human activity. There was almost no sign of the skirmish that had happened hours before, save for the occasional glimpse of a bandaged soldier or wounded man languishing on a cot. The sombre mood too had given way to an atmosphere of merriment and joy.

  Queen Elhara paid her subjects little heed as she rode through the camp. Her gaze was firmly fixed on a large pavilion that had been placed in the centre of the open space that now separated the three armies. Already, a number of people were clustered under its awnings with one of the figures pacing back and forth. The Queen kept her face blank as her small retinue approached, the Scribe having found a worn-out nag to ride which matched his tired demeanour. The Ythelian entourage brought their mounts to a halt outside the tent and handed the reins off to a waiting stable hand after they had dismounted. A flap was pulled back by another blank-faced servant and Elhara gracefully walked into the open space beyond.

  Regent Adaryn straightened and spun on his heel at the admittance of the Ythelian Queen and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Standing beside him stood the imposing form of the mysterious woman who had projected his voice across the battlefield and she barely registered Elhara as the Queen’s gaze swept from face to face. She recognised the ruffled features of Daingal, King of Ciphearyn who was surrounded by a group of diplomats and nobleman who were all garbed remarkably similar to him as if their liege lord had set the trend and they all desperately followed his example.

  Standing beside him stood the demure figure of a woman that Elhara only vaguely recognised. She was a foot shorter than Adaryn and Daingal and she possessed mousy features with black hair that had been braided into an elegant style that draped halfway down her back. She wore a long dress of muted yellow and green and a circlet topped her head, perfectly framing her hazel eyes. Two other women fussed around her and they spoke with one another in hushed whispers. A slightly larger man stood at her back and merely waited behind her, arms folded behind his back. Katharlis stomped his way to Elhara’s side in marshal fashion and glowered sourly at the men and women around the room. They had all broken off into small groups and they were each having their own private conversations when Adaryn cleared his throat once more and stepped into the centre of the pavilion. All eyes turned to him and silence prevailed as the Regent of Tirgaal commanded their attention.

  “Ladies and Gentleman. I would like to thank you for agreeing to meet one another. I thank the Gods for achieving this small miracle, especially after the unpleasantness that caused us all to be gathered in this place,” said Adaryn. “I called for this meeting to open discussions on recent events that have transpired within
the Western Kingdoms and to settle our disputes before they break out into open war. Which is why I have brought along Arlydd,” the Regent continued, gesturing an arm towards the woman who stood beside him. “She is an ambassador and, as such, has no vested interests in the outcome of these talks. She is to act as an unbiased mediator.”

  “It is an honour to be trusted in this matter,” Arlydd replied, nodding to the assembled leaders and nobleman.

  “Now, with that out of the way I bid welcome to Daingal of Ciphearyn; Elhara of Ythelia and Farandir, newly crowned Queen of Ljarthaal.”

  “Thank you, Regent,” Farandir said in a quiet voice. “But until the moot convenes and officially confirms my coronation I am only acting in their stead.”

  “It is good to make your acquaintance, your Majesty,” greeted Elhara politely as the fog of memory lifted. “What has become of your cousin, Fazhrae?”

  “As if you don’t know, vile temptress,” Daingal hollered hoarsely, a thick glob of spittle showering from his mouth amidst his enraged snarls.

  “No Sir, I do not,” countered Elhara, turning to face the overbearing monarch of Ciphearyn. She kept her head held high as she levelled her gaze and the two rulers locked eyes, neither one backing down until at last Daingal was forced to blink furiously and look away. Elhara smiled to herself briefly before readopting her regal authority. “What has gotten you all so excited that you seek to invade my Kingdom?”

  “Perhaps I should begin by explaining what has enflamed passions so much,” Adaryn interjected. “We have all been victims of attacks that ended with the assassinations of King Fazhrae and my own brother. There was also a failed attempt on Daingal’s life and Aynhar’s son. We uncovered evidence that the assassins had been hired by you Elhara and we came seeking answers.”

  “That isn’t what you told me!” Daingal shrieked venomously. “The dog has been put to death but I won’t be happy until I see the head of his master decorating the wall next to his,” the King shouted, jabbing a finger in Elhara’s direction.

  “This is outrageous,” Elhara replied coolly. “There was also an attempt on my life. Why would I send out assassins if someone tried to do the same to me?”

  “Simple. It’s a bald-faced lie meant to distract us from your wiles long enough for you to sink your claws in, harlot!” exclaimed Daingal.

  “Have a care with what you say,” Katharlis yelled as he stepped forward protectively. “I don’t care if I cause a diplomatic incident, I will cut your filthy tongue from your mouth if you impugn the honour of my Queen again.”

  “That’s enough,” Arlydd interrupted before tempers flared beyond boiling point. “I think it would be wise if Daingal and Farandir were to present their case first before Elhara responds. Let’s keep this civil,” she finished in a tone that commanded respect.

  “Very well,” agreed Daingal. “I shall go first. I had just finished addressing the Ciphearyn assembly when the assassin leapt up and tried to kill me. Fortunately, I proved too difficult to kill and during the attack he shouted ‘For Ythelia’. That is all the evidence I need to know that you had your hand in all of this.”

  “Now, what would you like to say Farandir?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what I can rightly,” Farandir mumbled falteringly. “My cousin, King Fazhrae, was murdered within a couple of days of the attack on Daingal and the timing is highly coincidental, if nothing else. I cannot prove who hired the assassin but that alone is enough to raise suspicion,” the young woman said in a drab monotone as if she were reading from a rehearsed monologue.

  “Precisely!” Daingal roared emphatically with a smug grin. “I dare you to refute the veracity of those conclusions.”

  “In fact, I can,” Elhara responded before Arlydd had a chance to intervene. “After the attempt on my own life was thwarted, I sent someone I trusted to find the perpetrators. They uncovered evidence of a secret order that not only operated in my city but almost every nation on the continent. They have a network spread far and wide and have the means to carry out such brazen attacks. It would not be a huge leap that they would try to implicate me in their misdeeds since they failed so abysmally in Maleardhus.”

  “And where is your proof?”

  “Right here,” said Elhara. The scribe that was standing beside her fumbled with the oddly shaped parcel that he had brought with him. A few awkward seconds passed as he extracted a large stack of papers and held them up for all to see. “These pages were found in the catacombs that run underneath Maleardhus where the cult, Draconis Legium, operated. They are correspondence between members of this order going back decades and speak of how they have infiltrated every one of our Kingdoms.”

  “How did I know you were going to trot out the Draconis Legium in your defence?” Daingal guffawed in triumph.

  “What in Efealtor are you talking about?” Elhara asked.

  “Adaryn, would you like to do the honours and inform the Queen that her ruse will not work?”

  “Very well,” the Regent sighed. “Before the attack on Daingal several agents of this order tried to kill my nephew. I believe you know of one. He goes by the name of Ydari Astaugh.”

  “I have no idea who you are referring to,” Elhara responded in a neutral tone, although secretly her heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name.

  “He was caught attempting to flee Tirgaal City. Under duress he broke down and confessed that he had been sent by the Draconis Legium to spread dissent among your rivals through assassinations with the sole purpose of undermining and ultimately weakening our nations to make them easier for conquest. Apparently, they had killed Aynhar and meant to do the same to the future King of Tirgaal and place their own puppet in his place. I too have brought documents to back up my claims,” explained Adaryn. At his word a servant stepped forward and held up another stack of papers.

  “You’re lying,” replied Elhara. “Those documents could be forged easily.”

  “And you could have done the same. Only one of us is telling the truth and I have testimony from my neighbours to prove my claims,” said Adaryn, his manner becoming more arrogant as he spoke. “I did not want to risk open war on lies and falsehoods but it is difficult to ignore the wealth of information at my disposal.”

  “You have been found to be a fraud, your Majesty,” Daingal chimed in. “So, will you admit your involvement in this now or do you wish to continue to claim your innocence?”

  “I will not admit to a lie,” Elhara answered.

  “Then we have reached an impasse,” Adaryn said. “We are only ready to tell our versions of the truth and I fear nothing more will come of this meeting.”

  “I concur.”

  “Then, might I suggest that we reconvene tomorrow at which point, I trust, that her royal Highness of Ythelia will be willing to make concessions to the aggrieved parties.”

  “You can ask but you may not like my answer.”

  “Then I must say good day to you. I must confer with Farandir and Daingal in this matter and I hope we can reach a satisfactory outcome in the morning. Your Majesty,” the Regent finished formally.

  Elhara fixed a blank stare on the Regent. Katharlis hovered protectively at her flank and his posture remained stiff and upright while his Sovereign turned around and strode from the pavilion in silence, her face betraying nothing. The General and the Scribe followed in her wake as they stepped out into the sunlight once more. It was only the work of a moment for the three of them to mount their horses and begin heading back to the Ythelian camp. Elhara had remained silent the entire time though inside she was fuming and the anger roiled volcanically deep within her. Katharlis looked intently upon the Queen with a mixture of concern and admiration. The shapes of the Ythelian army greeted them as Elhara pulled on the reins of her horse and pulled up short as she sorted through an internal dialogue of frustrations and worries.

  “What the hell was the purpose of that meeting?” Katharlis asked at last after a pregnant pause.

  “That Gener
al, was an ambush. It's effective in putting someone on the back foot.”

  “Your Majesty,” the Scribe began “There’s something you should…”

  “Not now Scholar,” Katharlis interrupted rudely. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I shall have to consider that quandary very carefully,” she intoned through pursed lips.

  “Your Majesty, I think you should see this,” the Scribe repeated more desperately this time.

  “Very well. What is it?”

  “You have received a message through the Fenilax.”

  “Let me see it.” The Scribe passed the message over to Elhara who held it up. Her eyes traced the words on the paper before a smile crept across her face. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured as she read the message again.

  “What is it?” the General asked.

  “It’s proof that we’ve been lied to and who our real enemies are,” Elhara replied puzzlingly. “I have received a message from Ydari.”

  “Ydari?” Katharlis said with a surprised croak in his voice. “The Regent said that he had been captured.”

  “Exactly, which proves he is the one that helped to orchestrate all of this. The message reads ‘Beware of Arlydd. She is in league with Adaryn and has become the new leader of the Draconis Legium.’ They have been working together the entire time. Now, we just have to use this information to our advantage and be able to communicate this to Daingal and Farandir without them being wise to our plan.”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I think I have an idea,” the Scribe said, raising a finger as he did so.