Felinus cleared his throat. “Past rulers have been far too lenient with the staff here in the palace; a situation I hope will be corrected by future leaders.”
“I can’t speak for ‘future leaders’,” Gilmoure chuckled. “While I won’t tolerate insolence or disrespect, I do encourage my staff to speak their mind.”
“A wise policy,” Jarvus agreed.
Phalstave shifted his gaze between the two men, biting his lip once more. “Indeed.”
“Now just a moment,” Felinus interrupted. “We are not ‘your staff’ just yet. You have returned with the crown in your possession, but you are not the king yet. How do we know that it wasn’t our capable regent who found the crown, and you simply took him prisoner, stealing it from him in the process?”
“That is not true!” Aldrick objected.
Gilmoure held up a restraining hand. “I was indeed the one who found the crown, as Aldrick can attest. When Brodan found me with it, he went mad and ordered his guards to kill my friend Warren and me. If it weren’t for Aldrick here, I would not be standing before you now.”
“Convenient,” Felinus murmured. “Yet Aldrick questioned Brodan’s leadership even before the Crown Run. Brodan spoke to me of his concerns about this, and I saw evidence of it myself in a meeting with them both after the unfortunate death of Brandt. Aldrick’s word proves nothing.”
“How dare you question my son!” Tiberius began, but Gilmoure once more held up a restraining hand.
“I have all the evidence I need right here,” he said, and retrieved the note written by Brodan from an inner pocket. “I found this on one of the guards assigned to me by your former regent. It proves that not only did he plan to have me killed, but that he is responsible for the murders of every other finalist.”
The nobles gasped and began demanding explanations as Gilmoure handed Tiberius the slip of paper. The white bearded man unfolded the note and proceeded to read it aloud.
“Your group is assigned to Gilmoure, son of Zakhar. See that he does not return with the crown. Make it look like an accident.”
“It is Brodan’s handwriting,” Aldrick noted.
Felinus snatched the note from Tiberius’ hand. “Let me see that.” The dapper noble looked the note over and shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “This doesn’t prove he murdered the other finalists.”
“He confessed to their murders himself,” Aldrick interjected. “Whether you believe it or not, he is the traitor, not Gilmoure. Trust me, I almost can’t believe it myself; we have been friends our entire lives.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” Felinus stated.
“Fortunately, the matter is not up to you,” Gilmoure said. “Brodan will remain in prison until his trial. If anyone here cares to join him on a more or less permanent basis, please speak up now. I’m sure I can accommodate you.” The new king spoke to the room, but kept his gaze directly on Felinus.
The velvet clad noble blinked as Phalstave slunk back into the group behind him. “I am a patriot, first and foremost. If Brodan is in truth responsible for these…heinous acts, then I’ll be the first to denounce him!”
Gilmoure grinned. “Of course, Felinus. I’m sure your only wish is to protect your country, same as everyone else here.”
Every head in the room nodded in unison; no one wished to be on the wrong side of the new king. Felinus eyed those around him, before nodding. “Of course.”
Jarvus snorted as Gilmoure grinned. “Now let’s have no more of this until the trial.”
“Agreed,” Aldrick added.
Jarvus quickly introduced the remaining nobles that were assembled. After a few brief pleasantries, Gilmoure yawned. “While it’s wonderful to meet all of you, I am exhausted. I will meet with each of you individually starting tomorrow, but for now you are dismissed.”
The nobles began filing out of the room, wishing the new king well as they did, and chatting with each other. Aldrick followed his father out into the hallway, giving him the opportunity to ask about his family at last.
“Jelénna and Adrias are fine, they decided to return to your room to rest. Why don’t you go join them, and we’ll talk more tomorrow?”
Aldrick smiled. “That’s a great idea. We’ll see you at the coronation.”
Chapter 5
Aldrick yawned as the trumpets blared a triumphant march. Another noble ascended the broad stairs of the palace, preparing to give yet another boring speech. Aldrick scanned the crowd around him; nearly the entire populace of the city had turned out for the coronation of the new king. The square in front of the grand palace of Akkadia was packed to overflowing with people from every walk of life. Everywhere he looked he could see their smiling faces and hear their clapping and cheering. Was he truly the only one in the city who found the endless parade of pandering nobles giving tedious and monotonous speeches tiresome?
“How many more of these must I suffer?”
Tiberius took a puff from his pipe, and eyed his son out the corner of one eye. “Bored already? They’ve only just begun.”
Aldrick sighed. “I need a break. I’ve been thinking a lot about how Brodan is faring. I think I should go see him now. Perhaps a night in prison has settled him down, and I can try and talk some sense into him.”
“I doubt he has anything better to do at the moment,” Tiberius retorted with a thin smile. “I’ll watch over Jelénna and Adrias if you feel you must go now.”
Aldrick nodded with a smile of thanks, and bid his family farewell. He pushed his way through the crowd and headed towards one of the back entrances of the palace. After securing directions from a patrolling guard, he eventually found his way down into the deepest part of the complex: the dungeon. The dank and foul smelling prison––cut into the bedrock underneath the palace––now housed its most famous resident in many Summers: the son of the last king of Asturia, and its former regent, Brodan son of Hermanus.
The air was cool as Aldrick descended into the darkness, down a hard spiraling staircase hewn into the solid rock. Arriving at the bottom, he found a single torch sputtering in its sconce to his left, casting undulating shadows across several barred cells lining the opposite wall. Deep shadows cloaked the wretched chambers where men were sent to await their deaths, either by decree or neglect.
Aldrick felt his skin crawl as a dark rat skittered across a pool of fetid water at his approach, before darting off into the darkness. The dungeons of Akkadia might be better kempt than some of the hidden corners of the world, but even with a noble in residence, this foul prison was dismal and smelled of putrescence. He could not wait to be gone from it.
Hearing a scuff from the nearest cell, he peered into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. In a moment, he noticed a glimmering pair of eyes watching him through the rusty bars of the cell.
“What do you want?” A familiar voice nearly spat.
“Hello Brodan. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Brodan snorted. “How does it look like I’m doing?”
Aldrick ignored the obvious barb. “What happened to you? You were always strong willed and…arrogant, if the truth be told. But a murderer?”
“I didn’t kill anyone. The real criminal is standing outside the bars.”
Aldrick scoffed. “You ordered the deaths of the finalists in an attempt to win the Tournament and become king. You may not have swung the sword, but you are a murderer, nonetheless.”
Brodan jumped up from his dirty cot. “You killed my guards, Aldrick. That makes you a murderer!”
“That was self defense, and you know it!”
“Everything I did was self defense! I was defending my crown against commoners and usurpers. I will not allow a peasant to run my country!”
“That’s ridiculous Brodan. The crown was not yours to defend. That was the whole point of the Tournament, to choose the new king by ability, not heredity.”
“The king should be chosen the old way, by heredity!” Brodan declared. “Gilmoure just
got lucky. He has no real ability.”
“I believe he will be a good king.”
Brodan laughed. “The people will not stand for it. You think they will allow a commoner to rule their country? It’s ridiculous! Soon I’ll be freed, and you traitors will be the ones stuck in this abomination of a cell.”
“I’m afraid not, Brodan. I wish it were otherwise, but it is you who will stand trial as a traitor. You cheated at the Tournament, and murdered the finalists. I wish you would let go of these delusions. Admit your guilt, and give me a reason to help save you.”
Brodan launched forward and grabbed the rusty bars to the cell. There was a dark gleam in his eye that Aldrick had not seen before. “The only thing I’ll admit to, is that my childhood friend has betrayed me, and stolen my crown!”
Aldrick swallowed, surprised at the intensity in his gaze. Unconsciously, he took a step back. “I’m going back home to Ubarra. I pray that some time in here will bring you to your senses. Otherwise, I don’t know how else to help you.”
“Help me?” Brodan stammered. “Like you helped me get the crown? Like you helped me become king? No Aldrick, I don’t want your ‘help’. The only thing I want from you, traitor, is your neck in a hangman’s noose!”
“Brodan, please…” Aldrick began.
“Traitor!” The former regent screeched.
Aldrick knew he was only making matters worse, and shook his head sadly. “Goodbye Brodan.”
“I will see you hang!” Brodan shouted. “Traitor!”
Aldrick sighed as he climbed the hard stairs out of the dungeon, echoes of ‘traitor’ still ringing in his ears. Brodan appeared to truly believe he was in the right, as ridiculous as it seemed. What could he say or do to make his friend see the truth? Clearly nothing could be done with the former regent in his current state of mind; he was beyond reason. Perhaps a good long stay in the dungeon would calm him down and make him see the situation rationally. This was the only hope he had left for redeeming the man who was once his best friend; the brother his poor mother had never had the opportunity to give him.
Later, he was wandering the halls of the palace deep in thought, when by chance he ran into Jarvus giving Gilmoure a tour of the grounds.
“Aldrick!” Gilmoure greeted him with a smile. “I skipped out on the after party for the coronation. If I hear one more boring speech…” Noticing Aldrick’s expression, the king paused. “What’s the matter?”
“Brodan still doesn’t believe he did anything wrong. He thinks he was protecting his country.”
“Truth is in the eye of the beholder,” Gilmoure quoted with a sad smile. “I doubt he will ever see your side of it.”
Aldrick nodded. “You may be right, but I hope that he will eventually see the error of his ways.”
“Perhaps,” Gilmoure mused. “But I wouldn’t set my heart on it.”
“It’s all I have left.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Gilmoure smiled. “I will delay the trial as long as I possibly can. Evidence will need to be gathered. Who knows how long that will take? Maybe that will be enough time.”
Aldrick nodded. “Thank you.”
“The mountains might collapse into the sea before that man sees reason,” Jarvus said in a soft voice. He then blinked as if realizing he had spoken aloud.
Gilmoure laughed. “True, but we’ll try it for Aldrick’s sake. I do owe you that much at least.”
“Be a good king…that’s all the thanks I’ll ever need.”
“That’s all? A mere lifetime of beneficent rule?” Gilmoure asked with a gasp, before giving him a genuine smile. “Consider it done.”
Aldrick smiled and said his goodbyes, before heading back to his rooms to gather his family for the journey home. They had just returned from the coronation, and Tiberius was saying his farewells to Jelénna and Adrias when Aldrick arrived.
“There you are dear,” Jelénna smiled and embraced him. “Where have you been?”
“Wandering the halls”
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well with Brodan,” Tiberius mused.
“No. Gilmoure said that he would push back the trial to give Brodan time to cool off. For now, we’re going home. There’s nothing more left for me to do here.”
“Awww,” Adrias whined. “I don’t want to go home!”
“I thought you’d be thrilled to go home,” Jelénna said. “You didn’t want to come here in the first place, and leave your friends behind.”
“Now I made friends here. I want to stay!”
“Well we’re going home,” Aldrick announced in a tired voice. “Go and get your things.”
Tiberius put a hand on Aldrick’s shoulder as Adrias stomped off. “Son, are you going to visit your mother’s grave before you return home?”
“I think we should get on the road before it gets too late. I want to get home as soon as possible.”
Tiberius frowned. “You haven’t been to her grave in Summers!”
“I’ll do it next time.”
Tiberius nodded. “As you wish. Have a safe trip home son.”
Chapter 6
Phalstave wiped the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve as a towering guard swung open the heavy doors leading into the throne room. The heat of the late summer day was only partially to blame for his perspiration, for it was not quite as warm here in Illyria as it had been the day he left Asturia. No, the man who was now a noble in the palace of the great city of Akkadia had another reason to sweat.
As he stumbled into the dim, musty-smelling throne room he came face to face with the true reason for his discomfort. The shadow mage that he had traveled so far to report to was seated across the chamber from him, atop his magnificent basalt throne. Although he had taken the guise of the former king of Illyria, King Zabalan, Phalstave knew the man was much, much more.
Phalstave bit his lip as he scanned the dark room. The shadowed chamber was ringed with guards, all of whom appeared as imposing as the ones who had been standing watch at the entrance. Even here inside the palace they were heavily armed with swords, axes and cudgels. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead and fell, plummeting to the floor with a splash.
The silence in the dark chamber was oppressive as the shadow mage glared at him from across the room. Phalstave felt a shiver run down his spine from that excruciating gaze. A guard standing behind abruptly pushed him forward, and he stumbled towards the throne. He came to a stop near the center of the room, atop the iconic ebon tiled emblem of a mountain on a field of crimson, the proud symbol of Illyria.
“S-Sire,” Phalstave stammered, and swallowed hard. “I’ve b-brought you news from Akkadia.”
“Get on with it,” Sargon growled.
“A new k-king has been crowned in Asturia.”
“That brat of the old king, Brodan?”
“No sire, it was a commoner who won the Tournament.”
“A commoner?” Sargon rasped, rising from the throne like vapor and stalking forward. The guards around the room tensed and a few took a step back.
Phalstave felt a weakness in his knees. “Y-yes sire.”
Sargon began to pace in front of the throne. “What does it take to get things done right?”
Phalstave shook and bit his lip.
The shadow mage turned his gaze towards the trembling noble. “I’ll tell you what. You must do it yourself. Once I am fully regenerated I will no longer need to rely on incompetents…like you.”
Sargon gestured and the two guards behind Phalstave grabbed him, pinning his arms. The noble whimpered as a third stepped forward, unslinging a massive axe, chipped and stained from heavy use. His lip trembled as he gaped at the grinning guard, and he felt wetness in his pants as he lost control of his bowels.
Sargon continued pacing. “So that brat lost the kingdom, even with Jahann’s help. How much magic does one need to win a simple competition? Where is that sniffling ass by the way?”
Phalstave swallowed hard and forced his voice to work. “J-Jah
ann left the city some time ago. Before the Crown Run.”
“Damn him to Urkalla,” Sargon growled, and turned to an attendant who stood near the throne. “I want Jahann found. Make certain he reports to me!”
“Yes your majesty,” the man replied with a bow, before running from the throne room.
Turning his gaze back to the center of the room, the shadow mage continued. “What of the soldiers I sent?” Phalstave trembled, but before he spoke, Sargon answered his own question. “No matter, I suppose they are dead. If not, they soon will be.”
The Key of Creation: Book 02 - Journey to Khodara Page 4
