by William King
Zamara looked uncomfortable, as if the words had been a direct criticism of him. “Let us be off. We have been summoned to the presence of the King-Emperor,” he said. The words rolled off his tongue as if he relished them.
***
In daylight the Wizard’s Isle looked even more like a castle rising out of the sea. Not a trace of beach or natural rock was visible. There were only walls and windows, doors and a single desolate pier, jutting out into the harbour. The small ships did their best to avoid it.
Ahead of them and to the right, a huge wall ran along a section of the harbour front. Soldiers watched them from towers at either end. Enormous gates led to large slipways that ran right down into the water.
“The Imperial Shipyards,” said Zamara. “Most of our warships are built there. They are the greatest and most advanced in the world. King Aemon’s father ensured that it was so.” He spoke as if he had some stake in the armament works. Perhaps as a distant cousin of the King, he did.
Huge warehouses lined the water’s edge near the piers.
“Impressive town,” said Rhiana.
Frater Jonas gave a small shrug. “All the more so when you consider that less than a hundred years ago this was just a fishing village and a collection of First Empire ruins. Then the King-Emperor’s great grandfather made this place his capital. “
Rhiana said, “Port Blood is a great harbour but this makes it look like a village.”
Frater Jonas nodded and then said, “I would not mention your knowledge of Port Blood too often in this city, milady. There are those here who think the only good citizen of that place is a dead one.”
“Understood,” Rhiana said.
Tenements rose up the hillsides around the warehouses. Those were where the labourers dwelled. Most of the wealthy lived in the palaces and mansions that surrounded the base of the Palace Rock.
A gold-trimmed carriage waited for them at the docks. It showed the star and sea dragon emblem of Siderea on its side. A troop of tall cavalrymen in steel breastplates lined up to the front and rear of it. Their captain saluted Frater Jonas, then threw a less respectful salute at Zamara. He eyed Rhiana with a frank sexual interest and then his eyes widened as they came to rest on Kormak and the blade hanging over his shoulder.
Servants ushered them into the carriage. Once inside Frater Jonas relaxed. “It’s good to be home,” he said.
“You missed your little creature comforts aboard ship, did you?” Zamara asked.
Jonas smiled. “I fear that, proud citizen of Siderea though I am, I am a landlubber at heart.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Kormak.
“Spoken like a true son of mountain-girt Aquilea,” said Zamara.
“I like mountains,” said Kormak. “They never try to drown me.”
The carriage splashed through puddles left behind by last night’s storm. It moved past buildings whose plasterwork was dark with rain-damp. Horses’ hooves clopped as their escort moved into position and hustled the crowd out of the way. The people had a nervous starved look. They eyed the carriage with a mixture of envy and resentment that made Kormak think that all might not be well in the city of Trefal.
***
The carriage carried them up the side of Palace Rock. The road ran through street after street of fine houses. The view of the harbour stretched out below them as they gained height.
They swerved around a convoy of wagons under escort by soldiers in the livery of the Imperial House. Huge treasure chests filled the carts. Porters carried smaller containers on their brawny backs. The spoils from the treasure fleet were still making their way up to the palace.
Then the houses were gone, leaving only bare black rock as they performed the last leg of their journey to the Palace gates. These stood tall as the masts of a sailing ship. A carved sea dragon rose on either side. Between them they held a massive five pointed elder sign inlaid with sungold.
With the escort the carriage passed through unchallenged. They emerged into a large courtyard flanked by handsome buildings. The Palace was more like a small city on top of the cliff rather than a single structure. Servants rushed to greet the passengers as they clambered down.
Messengers came and went. Grandees in court costume drifted by in their peacock finery. They wore cloaks of the finest silk, dyed red and purple. Ruffed collars framed their faces and covered their necks. Jewelled codpieces covered their groins. Long swords curved at the tip hung scabbarded on jewelled belts. Most of the men had neatly clipped beards. Most of the ladies wore revealing elaborately patterned gowns.
In separate groups other nobles stood, just as superbly tailored but this time garbed all in black with white ruffs. The women in this group wore black gowns that covered their breasts and wimples that hid their hair. The two groups glared at each other with barely concealed loathing.
Servants and messengers threaded through the nobles. They wore tabards showing the Star and Dragon. Kormak judged that the elaborateness of their garb showed the rank of the servant. Frater Jonas took in the scene at a glance and nodded to members of each of the groups.
“I have not missed the intrigues of our courtly factions,” he murmured so low that Kormak was the only one who heard it.
A servant in a more elaborate uniform than the others came forward. “His Imperial Majesty is at afternoon prayer in the Sanctum of the Angel. You may wait upon him there.”
He did not speak like a servant. He spoke with all the authority of his royal master. Jonas gave him a small bow and said, “Thank you, Hans. I will await His Majesty’s pleasure.”
He gave a small gesture for them to follow and led them across the courtyard. The stares of the nobility followed them.
***
They passed through two open-brass-bound oaken doors that looked thick enough to resist a siege engine. The cool, dark interior of the Cathedral smelled of incense and floor wax rather than storm-cleansed sea air.
The ceiling of the Sanctum arched twenty times the height of a man. Small armies could have fought within the nave. Paintings of scenes from the Testaments covered the walls. Statues of saints filled the alcoves. All of them gestured towards the holy relic that dominated the chamber.
Light falling through the stained glass window illuminated the armour of the Angel Zhamriel. It reached halfway to the ceiling. The proportions were wrong for anything human-shaped, too broad at the shoulder and too short in the leg, as if the Angel had been a monstrous dwarf. Kormak had no problem with that. Why should one of the Holy Sun’s greatest servants wear the form of a man unless it wished to do so?
A massive elder sign covered the breastplate. The faceplate bars of a helmet large enough for a man to stand inside formed another elder sign. Solar runes marked the huge shoulder-guards. Scars marred the metal. The armour looked as if it had been struck by some unimaginable force and survived.
The armour had stood here for thousands of years. Before the First Empire had smashed the falling kingdoms of the Old Ones it had occupied this spot. It was a reminder of the times when the Angels of the Holy Sun had walked with earth-shaking stride across the lands of men. This cathedral had been built around it.
Here was a relic of the time when angels had fought with the demons of Shadow to decide the fate of the world. It was a thought to stagger the mind.
“It looks like a Solari war-golem,” said Rhiana.
“Yes, it does,” Kormak said, impressed that she knew what a war-golem looked like. The armour of the Angel was much larger and the workmanship made even the intricate metal crafting of the First Empire look crude but the resemblance was obvious.
He inclined his head and offered up a prayer. Only after he had done so did he notice the man on his knees on the steps of the plinth upon which the armour stood. He wore plain brown robes. If it had it not been for the small gold circlet round his head Kormak would have taken him for one of the sanctum priests.
The figure brought his head to the floor for the last time and
spoke some ritual words. The elder sign on Kormak’s breast warmed as it always did when eddy currents of magic swirled around it. Kormak peered around looking for a threat but nothing was visible. Zamara noticed Kormak’s sudden alertness and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhiana glanced around. Her narrowed eyes had the blind milky look once again.
The slender figure on the steps turned, rose, bowed to the relic and walked slowly and reverently away. As he came closer, Kormak could see he was a tall man with mousy brown hair and a stringy beard. His face was ascetic, his hands fine. The front of his circlet contained an ancient five-pointed star of protection.
He walked straight towards them and opened his hands wide. As he did so, the amulet on Kormak’s breast gave out faint flickers of heat.
“The Angel sometimes talks to me,” the man said in a soft pleasant voice that held not the slightest hint of madness. “It tells me what must be done.”
When he finished speaking Kormak’s amulet had cooled again. The stranger stood there for a moment then tilted his head to one side as he inspected Frater Jonas. “Jonas, my friend, it is good to see you once more.”
He opened his arms and Jonas walked forward to accept his embrace.
“And it is a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE KING-EMPEROR released Jonas from his embrace and turned his eyes on the rest of them.
“And it is good to see you too, cousin,” he said. Zamara was on one knee, head tilted forward in a respectful bow. As court protocol dictated Kormak had done the same. Rhiana made a curtsey.
“And who are these two stalwart strangers?” Aemon asked.
“This is Sir Kormak, of the Order of the Dawn,” said Frater Jonas. “And this is Captain Rhiana, a valued servant of my order who worked on our behalf in the benighted precincts of Port Blood.”
Aemon steepled his fingers as if at prayer then placed them against his lips. He looked as if he was trying to recollect something important, smiled and said, “Rise my friends. There is no need to stand on ceremony. Be welcome in my house.”
He strode past Jonas, moving with the confidence of a man who knows that others will follow and listen. “You have returned from a great distance, I see, on the wings of a storm, as the first Solari did. Can I take that as a good omen?”
“We have succeeded in the mission assigned us,” Frater Jonas said.
“That is most welcome news,” said King Aemon. His pleasant tone did not waver even though the news concerned the death of a long-lost half-brother. “Of course, I expected nothing less from you. There are those who have tried to cast doubts on my certainty but it has never wavered.”
The King was not looking at Jonas but towards the Cathedral doors where his guard waited.
“My brother and I have complete faith in you,” Aemon added.
“We have brought tokens of success,” said Jonas, an ingratiating note in his voice. The priest leaned forward as if straining to hear the slightest word of the king.
“Your word is enough for me, old friend,” said Aemon. “Of course, my brother will demand proofs. You know how he is.”
Jonas said nothing, not wishing to utter a criticism of Prince Taran, even if all he was doing was agreeing with the King.
As they reached the doorway Kormak understood why. Among the soldiers stood a man garbed all in black. He bore a family resemblance to the King-Emperor but his features were bolder. His hair and beard were night black. His eyes were dark and magnetic. He looked more like a king than the king.
“And there is my dear brother now,” said Aemon.
The black-bearded man smiled, a predator revealing its fangs. “Frater Jonas. It is good to see you once more. Your preliminary dispatch indicated your mission was a success. I am so glad to hear it.”
His tone implied that any other result would be unacceptable.
Aemon turned and looked at them. “I must retreat to my chambers and meditate on what the Angel has told me,” he said. “Until we meet again, consider yourselves my most honoured guests. My brother will see that suitable accommodations are provided for you.”
“Yes, indeed, your majesty,” Prince Taran said. “Most suitable.”
The king placed his hands together, bowed his head and disappeared through a small door. They were alone with the prince and the soldiers of the Household Guard.
Kormak was all too aware that he had come to this place entrusted with a secret that many royal houses would kill to keep.
“His majesty seems well,” Frater Jonas said. The little priest was sweating.
Prince Taran showed his gleaming white teeth again. “His Majesty is very well. And seeing you has only made him happier. I can tell.”
He gestured for them to follow him. “In any case, we have much to discuss and this is not the place to do so.”
***
Weapons covered the walls of Taran’s chamber along with paintings of famous battle scenes. Suits of armour stood at attention in alcoves. A massive desk dominated the centre of the room. On the far side was an open window showing a view of the treasure fleet at rest in the harbour.
Prince Taran dismissed the soldiers with a wave of his hand, strode across the room and took a seat behind his desk. He looked them over and then smiled. This time there was a little warmth on his face.
“It is good to have you back, Jonas. You have been badly missed. We are surrounded by heretics and traitors. Rebels swarm the cities. Cultists haunt the night. Your skills would have been useful.”
The smile vanished and his eyes turned to look at Kormak then Zamara and finally at Rhiana. He seemed to realise he had been on the verge of saying something indiscrete in the presence of strangers.
“You have something for me, I believe, Sir Kormak,” he said. He stretched out his hand. Kormak produced a ruby seal ring from within his tunic, stepped forward and dropped it into the Prince’s hand. Taran squinted down at it. “It matches the catalogue description,” he said.
The ring had come from the Kraken’s own hand and it had once belonged to Taran’s father. “Its wearer is dead, of course,” he said.
“Yes,” said Kormak. “Very dead.”
“Then we owe you a great debt. It will be paid in full.”
Kormak’s eyes narrowed. He did not like the way this man talked, as if he was just one more thing that money could buy.
“Please make an offering to the local chapter house of the Order of the Dawn. To the full value of what you believe your debt to be.”
Taran looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He leaned forward on his fist and gazed up at Kormak. Small lines appeared on his forehead. His mouth thinned. He stared at the Guardian for a moment, then brought his fist up to cover his mouth. He gave a small laugh, as if Kormak had made a joke he appreciated and said, “It shall be as you desire.”
His glance flicked to Zamara. “And cousin, you have performed admirably. You seem to have lost three ships but at least you have replaced one of them.”
Zamara’s shoulders slumped. Having watched his victim squirm enough, Taran said, “We would have considered a dozen ships a small price to pay for the death of the Kraken. We are indebted to you too, cousin. His Majesty will show that gratitude soon enough.”
Zamara’s shoulders straightened. A smile came to his lips and he bowed.
Taran eyed Rhiana and licked his lips. “And you, milady. If I had known that Frater Jonas employed such beautiful agents, I would have paid more attention to his reports.”
He measured out his smile to let them know he was joking. Kormak imagined that Prince Taran paid minute attention to every report that crossed his desk.
Rhiana’s smile conveyed genuine amusement. “I was only a part-time agent. Now the Kraken is dead, I may be leaving service entirely.”
“We shall have to see what we can do to convince you otherwise.” Taran glanced out the window to check the position of the sun then picked up the small bell that sat
on his desk and rang it. Liveried servants appeared moments later.
“You are all guests of His Majesty. Rooms have been prepared for you. You must remain with us until the King-Emperor can show his appreciation for your services.”
It was clear they were dismissed.
***
“Prince Taran is a shark,” said Rhiana, looking around the sitting room of her chambers. She fingered the rich brocade of the tapestry as if she were assessing its value as plunder. Then she threw the doors open to reveal a balcony covered in flowerpots filled with blossoms.
Frater Jonas gave a faint moue of disapproval then put his finger to his lips. He walked to the door, opened it, glanced out, closed it then moved over to the large couch and slumped down on it.
“What did he mean telling us we must remain until the King can show us his appreciation.”
“Exactly what he said, my dear.” Jonas’s voice was mild but contained a lecturing note. “Men like Prince Taran are used to getting their way. Never forget, you stand at the heart of the most powerful nation in the western world.”
“I have half a mind to go down to the harbour and find a ship,” Rhiana said. She glanced at Kormak.
“And doubtless you would find your way politely blocked until such a time as suits their highnesses.” Jonas picked up a decanter from the table and poured some wine. “I believe the Prince intends to do you a favour. And when a member of the House of Valasa shows his gratitude it is on an Imperial scale.”
Jonas looked at Kormak. “I do not think Prince Taran is used to being talked to as you talked to him.”
“I am not his subject or his servant,” Kormak said. “Nor am I his paid assassin.”
“That touched a nerve, did it?”
Kormak said nothing. Perhaps it did.
“Look, my friends, just remain here for a few days and try to be polite. It will make your lives much easier and by the Light of the Holy Sun you might even enjoy yourselves.”
Zamara nodded, albeit reluctantly. Kormak felt a little sorry for him. The captain did not like agreeing with the priest but he too did not want Kormak or Rhiana doing anything to embarrass him. He had risen far in the past hour.
