by Pierre Pevel
‘As you like. But I don’t believe Andara will attack me directly.’
‘Even so, keep an eye out.’
‘I promise.’
Lorn went off with a smile.
‘And take Logan with you!’ Vahrd reminded him from within the forge.
11
Their troubles started one morning when Sarne arrived late, halted the building work and asked to speak with Lorn alone.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Daril in alarm, seeing his father’s grave expression.
But Sarne did not explain and followed Lorn into the keep, where they shut themselves in.
‘Things will turn out fine, lad,’ Vahrd murmured to Daril.
All eyes were now turned towards the keep’s door, an odd silence falling over the Black Tower.
The interview did not last long.
The two men came back out. Lorn assembled his guards while Sarne went to explain to the bemused artisans and workmen that they would be paid for the week but should go home and were free to accept other contracts. Work on the tower would not resume until further notice.
‘Blast it, Lorn! What’s going on?’ Vahrd demanded to know impatiently as Sarne talked things over with his employees.
‘He was threatened,’ said Lorn. ‘Last night some men broke into his home and ordered him to abandon the building site. Three of his master artisans received the same visit.’
‘The bastards,’ Liam swore softly.
‘Andara?’ asked Yeras for form’s sake.
‘Definitely,’ said Lorn. ‘Although Sarne said he did not recognise the men who terrorised his wife and him.’ He turned to Daril. ‘Your mother’s all right, Daril. But no doubt she needs you by her side. Go to her.’
Looking very pale, the boy stammered his thanks and left. Vahrd then signalled Logan to follow him. The mercenary nodded and obeyed.
‘We need to stop these filthy swine!’ said Dwain.
‘Without proof of their crimes, there’s not much we can do,’ objected Liam.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ retorted Yeras. ‘We know full well the Redstone militia is behind this. We just have to corner a few one evening and have a little talk with them …’
‘Then we would be behaving just like them,’ protested Eriad.
Yeras turned towards the young man, looked him straight in the eye and, very calmly, asked:
‘So?’
Vahrd spoke up:
‘Sarne is perhaps lying when he says he didn’t recognise the men who threatened him. To avoid retaliation. If he agreed to testify—’
‘No,’ said Lorn. ‘He’s already done enough.’
They fell silent and turned towards the artisans and workmen who were putting away their things, packing up their tools and one by one leaving the site. Some of them addressed discreet but friendly farewells to the guards. Most of them left with a slow step and bowed heads, like a defeated garrison delivering a stronghold to the enemy.
‘They’re ashamed to be leaving,’ Liam remarked.
‘They know they were doing more than just rebuilding a tower,’ said Lorn.
It was, in some sense, a small victory.
‘Then don’t let them go,’ said Vahrd. ‘Detain them. Or at least, propose that they continue work on the project. Some of them will accept. Maybe others will come.’
‘Without a master builder?’
‘We’ll find another—’
‘Really? Where? And when?’ The blacksmith wanted to reply but Lorn did not give him time. ‘And even if we restarted the site? How long do you think it would be before Andara killed someone? They’re not messing about.’
‘And that’s precisely why we need to strike back hard! Believe me, Andara belongs to a race of men who only know one law: might makes right.’
Lorn looked round at his guards. All of them, except Liam, agreed with the Old Man and he felt their disappointment when he said:
‘I’ll find a solution. But for now, we do nothing.’
‘Damn it, Lorn!’ protested Vahrd. ‘You can’t—’
‘Yes, I can!’ snapped Lorn. ‘And I will! Do I have to remind you who commands here?’
Fuming, Vahrd balled his fists but succeeded in restraining himself.
‘I …’ he started to say. ‘I don’t understand how you can declare yourself defeated so quickly.’
‘Who says I’m declaring defeat?’
‘That’s what it looks like, at any rate.’
With those words, the blacksmith turned on his heels and walked off.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Lorn.
‘To have a drink,’ replied the other man without looking back.
He crossed the courtyard on the double and left the Black Tower muttering darkly.
Liam gave Lorn a questioning look.
‘Leave him,’ said Lorn. ‘He’ll be back once he’s calmed down.’
At the end of the afternoon, unable to concentrate, Lorn closed the heavy legal volume he was trying to read and called for Liam who arrived almost right away.
‘Yes?’
‘Has the Ol—’ Lorn caught himself. ‘Has Vahrd returned?’
‘No.’
Lorn sighed, beginning to feel a knot of worry. And as he put on his black armour, he said:
‘Go and find him. He shouldn’t be far. You’ll probably locate him in the first tavern you come across.’ Then, thinking it over, he added: ‘Or perhaps in that inn, where he usually goes …’
‘The Griffin?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. Start there.’ He put on the belt with his Skandish sword. ‘As for me, I’ll be at the Royal Archives for an hour or two.’
Liam nodded.
The Black Tower was now very calm and silent. Preoccupied and dissatisfied, Lorn welcomed seeing the bustling streets again and walked briskly to the Archives, crossing the Redstone district without worrying about who he might run into or – possibly – who might be following him.
When it came down to it, Vahrd was right. The Onyx Guard could not stand by and do nothing. They had to strike back at Andara, or else lose the small degree of credibility they had just started to gain with the local people. The Black Tower had given rebirth to a fragile hope among Redstone’s inhabitants, that royal authority and justice would be restored. But now that his building work was interrupted, it could become an unfulfilled promise and bolster the case of the cynics and the resigned, imprisoned in its scaffolding like a lame leg in its splint.
Sibellus gave Lorn a warm welcome and listened as the knight told him about the interruption of the building work and his quarrel with Vahrd. The master archivist confirmed that he was right not to confront Andara immediately, a misstep the militia leader was no doubt trying to provoke.
‘You are First Knight of the Realm. You know as well as I do that your title protects you. I would not be surprised to learn that the prefect Yorgast has forbidden Andara from attacking you. On the other hand, Andara probably believes he’s authorised to defend himself and no doubt he’s just waiting for you to strike the first blow. If you attack him, you must do so cleverly enough that he has no legitimate grounds to retaliate.’
‘Or else hard enough that he does not get back up off the ground.’
Worried by the determination he saw in Lorn’s eyes, Sibellus nodded glumly and conceded:
‘Of course, of course …’ Then, reconsidering, he said: ‘Wait, I want to show you something …’
The master archivist rose, leaving Lorn in his study, and came back with a very old notebook whose thick leather cover was worn, dog-eared, scratched and even burned in places.
‘Here, have a look at this.’
The notebook was open to a double page covered with a drawing representing a fortified gate. It was accompanied by spidery handwritten annotations.
‘It looks like a travel journal, but one that might have been written by a madman,’ explained Sibellus. ‘I came across it by accident and only the Grey Dragon knows how it found its way here.
Some pages have been torn out. Some are indecipherable and others make no sense. But my attention was caught by this drawing, which seems to be a faithful rendering. Read the inscription on the pediment above the gate. It seems as though someone tried to erase it with a chisel, but the drawing is precise enough to allow you to recognise the coat of arms and make out a few of the words …’
Lorn squinted and indeed recognised the coat of arms. The head of a wolf or dog, and two crossed swords: it was certainly that of the Onyx Guard.
But as for the text …
‘It’s in Old Imelorian,’ said Lorn. ‘But this is the motto of the Onyx Guard, isn’t it?’
‘It says: “The High Kingdom we serve. The High Kingdom we defend.” ’
Lorn looked up.
A shiver of excitement had run through him, as if he’d discovered the first element in a mystery unknown to him until now, but whose importance he sensed.
‘Where was this drawing made?’ he asked. ‘What does it represent? What is that place?’
‘I don’t know. It’s said to be a desolate site the notebook’s author supposedly discovered after days and days of wandering … But that isn’t the main thing. This notebook is ancient and I surmise that the inscription copied by its author is even older. So this motto that certain parties wanted to erase was no doubt the Onyx Guard’s first …’
Lorn then thought about the inscription above the gate of the Black Tower and realised what the master archivist was driving at. There was only one word different between the Onyx Guard’s two successive mottoes, but it changed everything.
‘ “The High Kingdom we serve. The High Kingdom we defend.” The High Kingdom, Lorn. Not the High King. Before becoming the High King’s protectors, the Onyx Guards were originally protectors of the High Kingdom …’
Lorn returned to the Black Tower at dusk.
As he made his way, he thought about the strange travel journal tucked inside his armour. According to Sibellus, nothing permitted one to guess who the author was, but various clues led one to believe that he or she had lived about a century before. Other questions, however, excited Lorn’s curiosity. What was this place the fortified gate defended? Had it really existed? And if it wasn’t born of the demented imagination of some lunatic, did it still exist? And where? Lorn hoped very much to decipher the pages filled with spidery writing that Sibellus had failed to read. The text, he’d seen, was often absurd. But perhaps it concealed a hidden meaning.
And then there was the mystery of the Onyx Guard’s motto.
Why had it changed? Was this modification as significant as Lorn surmised? Had it long preceded the disbanding of the Onyx Guard, during the reign of Erklant I? Were these two events linked in some manner or another?
Lost in his speculations, Lorn had almost forgotten about the rest. But reality came rushing back when he found the Black Tower in an uproar, with several dozen onlookers gathered before its drawbridge. He pushed his way through the crowd to enter and, in the courtyard, saw Liam and Logan keeping an eye on things.
‘I was about to send someone for you,’ said Liam.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We found Vahrd. He’s in the forge.’
Lorn hastened to the blacksmith’s workplace, where Yeras was guarding the door.
Inside, Vahrd was stretched out on his cot, with Dwain and Eriad keeping him company. The old blacksmith had received several blows to the face and a blood-stained bandage was wrapped around his right hand. Numbed by alcohol, his eyes glassy, he was mumbling and complaining to himself.
‘He fought with the militiamen,’ explained Eriad. ‘We arrived too late.’
‘His hand?’
‘They nailed it to a table before leaving. To make an example.’
Drawing Dwain aside, Lorn sat down at Vahrd’s bedside.
‘How are you?’ he asked with compassion.
The old blacksmith recognised him through the fog of drink and grumbled:
‘You’re not going to be pleased …’
‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’
Vahrd groaned.
‘As you wish. I was drinking. Peacefully … And then these … these blokes came in. Militiamen. They hadn’t seen me. They wanted money in exchange for their … protection. But the innkeeper couldn’t pay them so they started to … And there were five of them but I gave them a nasty thrashing before they overpowered me.’ Vahrd grew heated. ‘Bloody hell, Lorn! Would you have let them have their way, if you’d been there?’
‘No,’ Lorn acknowledged.
He stood up, looked at Vahrd from a moment, and then, his mind made up, he said with a smile:
‘You win, you old fool. We’re going to wage war against them. But we’ll do it my way.’
‘Glad to hear it. But be careful. Andara’s men may be cowards that only attack when they have the numbers, but above all they’re killers. Being First Knight won’t protect you from a well-aimed dagger thrust.’
‘He’s right,’ Dwain intervened. ‘You might have a bad run-in with someone. Have an unfortunate accident.’
‘And we’d find your body the next morning, stripped of that signet ring,’ said Vahrd. ‘Believe me, that worries Esteveris far more than it does scum like Andara …’
Dwain nodded.
Lorn shrugged but Vahrd seized him by the sleeve with his bandaged hand.
‘Promise me, Lorn. Look what they did to me.’
Lorn received an official summons to the Royal Palace the following morning.
12
‘In the middle of Oriale’s nine hills there was a tenth, taller and vaster than the rest. It was occupied by the Palace, which had once been that of the kings of Langre and before them, of the Great White Dragon of Knowledge and Light. Ringed by gates and ramparts raised with the help of magic against the powers and influences of the Dark, the Hill of the High Kings was like an island with a palace containing countless courtyards and terraces, temples and private residences, towers and gardens, orchards, a wood, a river, ponds, ancient ruins and a port bathed by the waters of the Eirdre. It was said that one could live an entire life there and it would not be enough to explore all of it.’
Chronicles (The Book of Oriale)
Lorn passed through the Bronze Lions Gate and presented himself at the guard post. A palace usher was waiting for him. The functionary greeted Lorn with considerable respect and bade him to follow. The knight having nodded his assent, a small escort of halberdiers fell into step behind them.
Lorn grew tense.
The summons had arrived that very morning, brought by a royal messenger on horseback who did not go unnoticed in the Redstone district. He was trailed by several curious onlookers who had halted before the Black Tower while he crossed the drawbridge, which remained lowered, and entered the courtyard. Greatly impressed by the rider’s livery, Daril had hurried to find Lorn. The latter had descended from the scaffolding, in shirtsleeves and covered in perspiration, his hair full of dust.
‘What is it?’ Liam had enquired after the messenger left.
The Onyx Guards were continuing restoration work on the building as best they could in the absence of Sarme and his team of skilled artisans, when Lorn did not assign them other missions. That morning, only Yeras was absent. The others followed Lorn and Liam into the forge, where they now usually held their meetings, beyond earshot of any eavesdroppers.
‘I’ve been summoned to the Palace at noon,’ Lorn had announced after reading the message.
‘By whom?’ Dwain had asked.
‘It doesn’t say. But the seal on the bottom of the page is that of the High Kingdom.’
‘A royal summons,’ Liam had observed.
‘Beware,’ was Vahrd’s only comment, working the joints of his wounded hand.
Lorn thought about the blacksmith’s warning as he followed the usher through the Palace corridors, with six halberdiers at his back. How many arbitrary arrests had begun this way since Queen Celyane had been in power? H
ow many had answered a summons before being imprisoned for a month, six months, a year? And how many had disappeared for good? It was difficult to separate rumour from fact. Because she was hated, the most far-fetched gossip circulated about the queen. But her cruelty and brutality, especially when she was angry, were by no means mere legend. As for Esteveris, he had waited for no one to start practising political assassination.
Lorn was convinced he would be meeting the minister, as was bound to happen eventually. He knew Esteveris had been keeping watch on him since his arrival in Oriale. Thanks to his spies, the minister had certainly been informed of his every deed and gesture. But the things Esteveris still did not know must intrigue him all the more. And perhaps even alarm him. What goal was Lorn really pursuing? Did he obey the king or himself? And to what end? Esteveris was too able a politician not to worry about the appearance of a new piece on the chessboard of the High Kingdom.
Lorn noticed that the usher was walking slower and taking more time than necessary to open certain doors. The man presented an expressionless face but his hands shook slightly, which aroused Lorn’s wariness fully. All his senses on alert, he made ready to draw his sword and paid particular attention to the movements of the halberdiers at his back. They did not pass many people in the corridors and were walking through a part of the Palace Lorn did not know well. He had not really worried about this at first, thinking that Esteveris wanted to receive him in complete privacy. But these almost deserted hallways were also perfect for an ambush: a dagger thrust; the assassin who escaped as easily as he struck and would never be caught; the halberdiers who chased him and came back empty-handed, but not before Lorn bled out his life.
Lorn felt vulnerable.
Had he been mistaken in refusing to allow Liam to accompany him? A witness was always embarrassing and two swords were always better than one …
The usher left him in a cloister where climbing roses decorated the columns and arches. The halberdiers remained, watchful and impassive sentinels.
