The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, it occurs to me that we could find another use for the Fenilax.”

  “How so?”

  “Well it’s really rather simple.” The Scribe proceeded to explain his idea in brief but concise detail. Elhara and Katharlis listened patiently while he spoke and after he had finished the two of them shared a look. A faint grin appeared on the Queen’s face as the possibilities of the Scribe’s idea slowly occurred to her. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re a genius.”

  ***

  The frigid cold began to make itself felt as the cultists of the Draconis Legium toiled in the frost. They had been working for weeks and progress had been painfully slow. The stone archway stubbornly refused to work despite their best efforts and they had enjoyed only fleeting moments of success that had caused them to excitedly celebrate, albeit prematurely. Twenty robed men and women now stood around the lifeless stones. One of their number approached with a hefty scroll and unrolled it. On the paper were many glyphs of an intricate design and the writing was in several different languages, all of them extremely ancient and most were forgotten to the sands of time.

  The cultists worked in silence for a few more minutes while the more senior members of the order pored over the writings. The stone arch had been carefully gathered from scree slopes of the Belegraad foothills. They had been used by an ancient people whose secrets had been lost over time and had been pieced together by scholars and archaeologists over many decades. Despite this, there were still gaps in the knowledge that the Draconis Legium had accumulated and, as such, it had become a trial and error process. The stones that had been used in the construction of the archway all had symbols carved into the rock and many of them had been translated. They all bore the marks of a language that had been derived from the Dragon tongue and the stones resonated softly as if dormant magic lay deep within them, merely waiting to be unlocked.

  Minutes turned into hours as the more learned members of the order reviewed scroll after scroll of ancient wisdom until finally a small footnote caught the eyes of a wizened figure who was practically bent double. He jabbed a finger at the scroll and his animated shouts of delight caused a heated debate over the document’s meaning. The back and forth discussion continued for some time until the elderly figure found his voice drowned out by the younger cultists that now clustered around him. Resignedly, he shrugged and backed away from their conversation, his aged mind whirring with ideas.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he hobbled his way over to the arch. The elderly man gazed at the stones and the symbols etched into them before running a hand along them until he found one in particular. He pushed his hand against the carving and it gave way with a faint click. The cultist looked at the stone fragment that lay in his palm with keen interest and saw a faint groove in it. Experimentally, he turned the piece over and slotted it back into the arch which abruptly sprang into life. A bright green hue now lit the stones and they slowly transitioned into different shades and colours, all the while a pulsating tremble ran through the ground. This caught the attention of every cultist present who all stopped in whatever they had been doing and came over to gaze in awed fascination at what now stood before them.

  The tremors increased in duration and intensity whilst a low hum rang out, slowly at first, but gradually increased in pitch until it became an unbearable squeal. Without warning the middle of the arch sprang to life as a mirror flashed into existence, reflecting the forms of the dozens of cultists who now gathered around it. They stared at it curiously as it began to ripple like a pool of water, the nasal whine increasing in volume until at last it could no longer be heard. The accompanying tremors rocked the world around them before a sudden flash of brilliant white light practically blinded those unfortunate enough to be standing too close.

  The blinding light lasted a few seconds and then faded. Awed gasps ran through the collective mouths of the Draconis Legium members as they looked up into the face of their God-King, Trelech, standing before them in all his divine splendour with a look of pure menace plastered on his features. Instantly they dropped to their knees and pressed their heads into the damp ground while Trelech’s eyes passed over them. The God-King of Akanthir surveyed his surroundings; his eyes rising to the summit of the mountain in front of him.

  “You have all done good work,” congratulated Trelech. “Without you, my moment of triumph would not have been possible. However, I require your aid to further our ambitions but I only need the help of a few of you.”

  Trelech took a few steps forward and touched the shoulders of four robed individuals. They rose and gazed into the face of their God with pride at having been selected for whatever purpose they had been chosen to fulfil. Trelech nodded to them as he motioned for them to line up in front of him, which they did so obediently. The God-King patted them comfortingly on the shoulder once before raising his hands as if in prayer. The red shard in his torso shone for a moment, the faces of the four cultists lighting up in adoration at being able to bear witness to such a glorious event. Their expressions of gratitude suddenly turned into ones of pain as they keeled over one by one and fell to the ground and contorted into misshapen forms. Their blood-curdling screams filled the void of sound and they jerked and convulsed wildly until they froze into terrified husks.

  “I thank you for your loyalty and sacrifice,” Trelech murmured with a satisfied scowl.

  The shapes of the four cultists dissolved into pillars of ash. The air was suddenly filled with a magical crack as another blinding flash of illumination exploded into life around the remaining robed figures. They kept their heads pressed firmly to the ground for a few more minutes but the sounds of agonised death had been replaced with absolute silence until one of them found the courage to raise their head and take a peek. The form of Trelech had disappeared and all that remained of the presence of the God-King was four blackened skeletons which drifted away on a stiff breeze.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Morning dawned bright and early with clear skies and barely a cloud in the heavens. The world around Elhara was still and calm and barely reflected the many thoughts that raced through her mind. She had hardly slept and in spite of knowing what she must do, the doubts reared up once more and the result was that she skipped from one worry to the next. Elhara sat up and glimpsed the trappings of royalty that were deemed a necessity for her journey. She was currently seated on a large four-poster bed that had been designed to be broken down and assembled just as easily. The same was true for the many cabinets and small bookshelves that had been temporarily erected around her tent. Someone had even thought to pack a large rug that now sprawled out on the grass beneath her feet that featured an intricate mosaic of red and green with a striking yellow border.

  Elhara got up and quickly dressed herself, taking a seat at a small table after she had finished this mundane task. Reports from all over Ythelia still found their way to her and she tried to clear her mind and settle her nerves as she made herself comfortable and looked over the reports. This had become almost a ritual for Elhara and it had worked wonders many times when she had been plagued with indecision. This morning however she could not focus on the documents in front of her and their contents spoke of regions of her kingdom that now seemed far away and insignificant compared to the trial that was to come.

  The morning passed by agonisingly slowly. Elhara had a front-row seat as she resigned herself to standing just outside the entrance to her pavilion and watching as the camp around her gradually came to life. Men and women from all corners of her Kingdom awoke and set about the duties of the day, all observed by their Sovereign as she whittled the time away. Elhara relaxed as she stared blankly at the cooks in the distance preparing the morning meal and it was almost as if the events of the day before had happened to someone else entirely and she was just a bystander, merely watching as the whims of fate played out.

  “Good morning your Majesty,” t
he unusually jovial voice of Katharlis rang out in greeting. “You had a pleasant sleep I trust?”

  “Indeed,” Elhara remarked blankly before she came to her senses. “Have the arrangements been made?” she asked, her gaze turning to the huge man as he walked over to her.

  “Just waiting for you to issue the orders and send the messengers out.”

  “Very good. I’ll inspect the documents first.”

  At Katharlis’ word three scholars approached with large scrolls on which lengthy messages had been written. Elhara took each in turn and read the words, nodding that everything was to her satisfaction. Finally, the Scribe that had accompanied them to the meeting the day before stepped forwards with the Fenilax in hand. He carefully reached into the mysterious device and gently lifted a piece out from the middle of it. He placed it in the palm of his hand momentarily and then lifted it up to inspect it closely. Elhara noticed that it was in the shape of a diamond and it looked as if a moon had been painted onto the face of one side.

  “Take that over to the blacksmith and fashion it into a necklace. Then, I want you to send that with the message for the Regent of Tirgaal. Make sure those other messages reach Farandir and Daingal,” instructed the Queen. Elhara took each note and pressed the royal seal into the wax. Finally, she handed the messages back to each scholar, regarding each one of them with a serious expression. “Remember, timing will be crucial. You know what to do.”

  Elhara motioned to them with an officious wave. They bowed and left while the Queen retreated back into her pavilion and waited for her orders to be carried out. Katharlis joined her inside the tent and the two of them passed the time with the General suggesting ideas should their plan go awry while Elhara merely half-listened to what the man was saying. The General made himself comfortable by taking a seat on the edge of a bookshelf while Elhara sat at the table and looked over the reports in front of her. The General had stopped talking long ago in the face of his Sovereign’s disinterest and the two had merely fallen into an awkward silence.

  Elhara’s imagination flared up as she envisioned her manservants delivering the respective messages and she attempted to picture how each exchange had gone. It was an hour later when a guard marched into the pavilion and politely addressed the Queen, the familiar visage of the Scribe standing at his heel as he hovered patiently. Elhara nodded at the Guard who turned on the spot and stomped from the tent, retaking his post outside. The Scribe was waved over to the desk and he placed what remained of the Fenilax on the table, nodding occasionally at the questions that Elhara directed at him. The Queen relaxed somewhat at the news the Scribe had given her. Only a few more minutes had passed when the Sentry entered once again.

  “Your Majesty,” the Sentry began formally. “King Daingal of Ciphearyn and Queen Farandir of Ljarthaal are here to meet with you.”

  “Very good,” replied Elhara. “Could you show them in please and make sure we have absolute privacy.”

  The burly form of Daingal was shown into Elhara’s pavilion with the smaller figure of Farandir following closely behind. The two rulers walked into the centre of the space where Elhara greeted them diplomatically, motioning for them to take a seat by the table so that the two monarchs were sat around the Fenilax. A puzzled expression creased across the features of the Ciphearyn King while Farandir merely did her level best to look as confident as she possibly could. Elhara stood at the head of the table and both rulers turned to look at her intently. A few seconds passed while the Ythelian Queen took those fleeting moments to gather her thoughts.

  “I want to thank you both for coming. I know there is no reason for you to trust my word so I very much appreciate you agreeing to this meeting,” said Elhara.

  “I can’t help but notice that Adaryn hasn’t been invited to these proceedings. What tricks are you up to now?” Daingal’s deep voice growled in suspicion.

  “Give her a moment to explain the purpose for us being here,” Farandir chided, whose voice cracked for a moment before she found the confidence to finish the sentence. “I am willing to hear you out, your Majesty.”

  “There’s no need for you to be so formal Farandir,” Daingal retorted. “She is Elhara, Queen of a nest of vipers.”

  “Thank you for your kind words,” Elhara responded sardonically. “As you so astutely observed I did not invite Adaryn to this meeting. This is because I have reason to believe that he is the one that has been plotting against all of us and he has been manipulating everything to place the blame for everything that has happened squarely on me.”

  “Where is your proof?” Daingal scoffed.

  “I have none,” replied Elhara. The Ciphearyn King opened his mouth to respond but Elhara skilfully cut him off before he could speak. “I have taken a gamble in the hope that it will reveal something pertinent to this discussion. On the table before you, you will see a device that is called a Fenilax. It allows two-way communication of important messages almost instantaneously. It was pointed out to me that it could be used as a listening device if calibrated properly and that is what I have done. I sent a separate note along with the missing piece of this device to the Regent, who should have received it by now, as a way of listening to whatever private conversations he is currently engaged in to expose him for the liar he is.”

  “This is all supposition. You have no way of knowing if he would say anything of the sort,” Daingal pointed out. “This is just another cheap trick to try to turn us against one another. You could manufacture anything with this and if it does work in the way you described you could have already heard evidence that he was telling the truth.”

  “Of course, you are right but I have not yet listened to it. I was waiting for your arrival and, as you say, he might not say anything at all.”

  “So, what is the point of all this then?”

  “What’s the matter Daingal?” Farandir asked abruptly with a new fire in her voice. “Don’t you want access to as much information as possible before you decide to plunge your nation into a war that will cost countless lives? Even if we hear nothing of note I for one would like to see if he has hidden something from us.”

  “You believe this snake?” Daingal quizzed Farandir with a flabbergasted look on his reddened features.

  “I’m not sure what to believe yet and I don’t want to rule out any possibility before I have given Elhara a chance. You have to admit, Adaryn’s version of events seems all too convenient. He did not actually give us a chance to review his so-called evidence and almost expected us to take him at his word.”

  “Well, I suppose,” the Ciphearyn monarch conceded uncertainly. “Fine, do it but I reserve the right to remain sceptical.”

  “And that is your prerogative. Shall we begin then?”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  Elhara nodded to the Scribe who had been waiting patiently while the monarchs had conversed with one another. He gingerly approached the table, stepping between Daingal and Farandir carefully as he busied himself with getting to work on the Fenilax. He reached into the device and adjusted some of the internal mechanisms, his brow creased in concentration as he flipped the machine around several times. Eventually the Scribe moved a small lever and set it down. Instantly, the Fenilax sprang to life and the voices of Adaryn and Arlydd crackled through the contraption as he took a step back. Everyone’s gaze rounded on the Fenilax as they listened attentively.

  “I would advise caution, your Grace,” Arlydd’s voice cracked. “Elhara came more prepared than we thought.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Adaryn’s voice replied. “At this point nobody is going to trust her word over mine. Besides, she is desperate. Why else do you think she sent that message practically begging me for another meeting later along with that thinly veiled attempt at a peace offering? She knows that she cannot talk her way out of this and she is trying so hard to avoid conflict she will accept any terms that we put to her.”

  “I am not convinced as you are, your Grace,” Arlydd cautioned. “I think
she may well fight a war even if the odds seem hopeless.”

  “Well, that benefits us too. Either way Ythelia will be weakened and rightly so.”

  “So, we keep to the agreement. You stay neutral while I mediate between Daingal, Farandir and Elhara. They will come to a decision of their own accord and your hands remain clean.”

  “Then it is decided, we change nothing,” Adaryn concurred. “I shall have to thank Trelech for sending you to me. Your service has proven to be invaluable.”

  “You do me a great honour by saying so,” Arlydd replied. As the mage and Regent continued to converse with one another, an unconvinced Daingal rose to his feet and shook his head at Elhara in disgust. He threw some choice phrases at the Ythelian Queen and began to head back outside when the mention of his name pulled him up short and he turned to listen with interest. “It’s almost a shame that Daingal lived. Farandir is new to the game of politics and she will be easily swayed by those around her. Daingal however is more cunning.”

  “No, that is where you’re wrong,” Adaryn responded, the tone of his voice giving away the delight that dwelled behind the Regent’s statement. “He is a hot head and his survival from that attack was perfect. He is so blinded by anger and hatred that he will see what we want him to see. He has always been threatened by the power of Ythelia and we will use that to ensure they become embroiled in a bitter fight that will weaken them both. Plus, he is too stupid to suspect that I am working with the Draconis Legium. Aynhar didn’t see it coming and neither will he.”

  “What did he just say?” Daingal asked, the anger welling up inside of him giving his voice a hard edge.

  “Farandir is little better than a puppet. She will be led by the hand by whoever makes her feel important and she will allow the Ljarthaalian moot to control her every move,” Adaryn continued with confident arrogance. “Neither will ever be in a position to suspect that I was the one who manipulated events to further my ambitions.”