King Ferghell straightened up in his throne and stared across the room at them, an unnerving gleam in his black eyes that verged on predatory. With a glittering flourish of ringed fingers, he indicated they should approach. Orlla threw an uncertain look at Akolom. He nodded gravely and then accompanied her across the mosaic tile floor where they both knelt before the king.
“Your Highness,” Akolom said, in a tone brimming with reverence.
“Rise!” the king commanded. He drummed his fingers on the gilt armrests of his throne and fastened a piercing gaze on Akolom. “How do you fare, master mentor?”
“Well, your Highness,” Akolom replied, dipping his head. “It is most gracious of you to receive us.”
The king nodded, apparently satisfied with the perfunctory exchange and then turned his unbridled attention to Orlla. All heads in the court snapped in her direction and muffled commentary bubbled up among the courtiers.
The king’s brows twitched mockingly toward each other as his molten gaze bored into Orlla. “And this is the protégé who has surpassed all other graduates of the Conservatory?”
Orlla shifted her feet, unsure if she was supposed to respond to what rang in her ears as more of a taunt than a compliment, but Akolom answered for her, sparing her any embarrassment. “Indeed, your Highness.”
“I am informed you recently returned from securing the runes on the mainland,” the king continued, his unsettling eyes still fixed on Orlla. “What is your report of our sovereign borders?”
She swallowed the uncomfortable lump wedged in her throat as the wounded Pegonian soldier flashed to mind. She couldn’t lie outright to the king, but she would have to omit the truth and that amounted to the same thing according to the creed to which all noble, just, and honorable Keepers supposedly adhered.
“We are well fortified, your Highness,” she said, a note of detachment in her voice. “The pass through the mountains remains shrouded from all save those who control the runes.”
Something flickered in the king’s eyes, and for a terrible moment Orlla wondered if he could read her mind and knew of her subterfuge. Then, his expression relaxed into a cool smile. “Excellent, I look forward to your future valuable service in the kingdom.”
“Thank you, your Highness.” Orlla bowed her head, grateful for the opportunity to tear her eyes from King Ferghell’s penetrating stare.
He leaned back on his throne with a drawn-out sigh. “Word has reached my ears that King Hamend and Brufus the Bonebreaker are once again on the cusp of war.”
Taking her cue from Akolom who inclined his head in acknowledgement, Orlla waited for the king to elaborate. It was nothing new. The fickle truce between the ruthless King Hamend of Macobin in the east and the tyrannical Brufus the Bonebreaker who ruled the kingdom of Pegonia to the west was constantly under threat.
“Scouting parties of Protectors tell me the number of those fleeing conscription is on the rise,” he continued. “Deserters from both Macobin and Pegonia may well venture into the foothills of the Angladior mountains to hide. If war breaks out, refugees will soon follow.” The king stroked his tapered goatee thoughtfully. “As the presence of mainlanders is known to weaken the veiling runes, I have deemed it necessary for the time being to establish a more permanent posting on the mainland to secure the pass from deserters and refugees foolish enough to attempt to push through the mountains.”
Orlla’s heart began to pound heavy as hooves against her ribs, making it difficult to breathe.
An ingratiating smile played on the king’s lips as his gaze once again locked on Orlla. “As you demonstrate an extraordinary aptitude for wielding the complex veiling runes necessary to conceal the pass, I have resolved to bestow the honor of this new posting on you, our acclaimed protégé. Akolom will accompany you for as long as he deems necessary. I will also dispatch two of my personal Protectors to have at your disposal. You will depart for your posting as soon as you have sworn your Keeper pledge.”
The courtiers jostling for position clapped politely at the announcement, nodding approval while exchanging scandalized whispers about such an important posting being assigned to so young a Keeper.
A shocked bleat escaped Orlla’s lips as she tried to collect her thoughts. The Protectors seemed to be shape shifting in front of her, the throne spinning, the king’s glittering jewels reflecting off the garish colors in the tiled floor and blinding her. She blinked rapidly to orient herself, her mind whirling in confusion. She couldn’t leave the island for a permanent posting. Not yet! Her father needed her, and Samten was far too irresponsible to be trusted with his care. And who would keep Samten in check? He had already taken full advantage of the three days she had been gone to skip all his classes and participate in a reckless dare that could yet have dire consequences for his future if she didn’t figure out how to return the cloak and chalice.
At her side, Akolom nudged her gently, reminding her that the king awaited her response. She fought to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t—didn’t dare—refuse him outright. Not in front of the entire court. It was a high honor to be recruited for such a significant security posting right out of training. To turn it down would be an unforgivable insult.
“Thank you,” she squeaked out, tilting her head to the floor once more.
“We are humbled, your Highness,” Akolom added, bowing low to the ground. “My protégé is overcome by your faith in her abilities and potential.”
“Excellent! Then you will join me at a celebratory luncheon,” the king declared. He rose, his heavy velvet robes pooling at his feet. Signaling with a flick of his fingers to Akolom and Orlla to follow him, he descended the steps from his throne.
Orlla felt the eyes of the king’s Protectors scraping over her as she crossed the throne room, assessing her, weighing her and finding her wanting. The king was putting his faith in her, not knowing her heart was divided—torn between loyalty to Efyllsseum and dedication to her family. She struggled to retain a mask of composure as she trailed Akolom and King Ferghell past the groveling courtiers and out into the hallway lit by flickering iron sconces. In a daze, she followed the king and Akolom past countless suits of armor that seemed to berate her with their slit-eyed stares as she dragged herself along the arched corridors fluttering with candlelight, to a cavernous dining hall.
At a heavily-laden banquet table, piled high with tiered displays of colorful fruit, rolled meats, sausages, cheeses, sculpted vegetables, and seasoned nuts, Orlla struggled to gulp down the few morsels of food she forced past her lips. Servants scurried back and forth over the flagstone floor carrying heaped platters of duck, pheasant, and fish, and pewter flagons of wine. The overweight courtier on Orlla’s left plied her with recommendations on what to eat, but was thankfully too preoccupied sampling everything herself to notice that Orlla was barely ingesting a bite.
Akolom, on her right, was talking earnestly to the king, his forehead deeply furrowed. When the king caught her glancing his way, he raised his goblet of wine to her, but the look in his eye radiated an iron will not to be trifled with. She inclined her head and reached for a handful of grapes, forcing herself to swallow one before setting the cluster down on her plate.
The courtier grabbed her wrist with a pudgy hand and beamed at her with berry-stained lips. “It would behoove you to eat while you have the chance. Rations at the outpost will be bleak in comparison to this feast in your honor.”
Orlla grimaced as the woman’s turquoise ring cut into her flesh. Her dismal prediction was more accurate than she realized. Akolom would never approve of them eating fresh meat from the mainland. They would be living off jerky for whatever length of time they were stationed at the outpost. It was impossible to predict if and when war would break out between the egomaniacal monarchs who governed Pegonia and Macobin, or how long that war would last, or how many hundreds of refugees and deserters would flee to the foothills, threatening the stability of the veiling runes and heightening the risk of someone discovering the pass
through the mountains.
Orlla’s head swam as she tried to reconcile the idea of her new posting with the responsibilities that weighed on her at home. How could she be the daughter her father needed, not to mention her misguided brother’s guardian, without shirking her duties to the crown? Her stomach churned. The rich aroma of the food and the relentless mindless chatter of the courtiers was beginning to nauseate her. She exhaled a silent breath of relief when the king finally got to his feet, signaling an end to the excruciating luncheon in her honor.
Along with everyone else, Orlla stood and bowed her head, not raising it again until the king’s footsteps faded from earshot and the courtiers at the table began to disband.
“What am I to do?” Orlla asked Akolom in a cracked whisper. “You know I can’t leave my father and brother alone in Ballinkeld.”
Akolom traced his fingers along his trailing mustache. “I will make arrangements for my sister, Grizel, to bring Magnulf food and check up on him regularly. As for Samten, it is up to him now to take responsibility for himself. You cannot drive another’s destiny.”
Orlla chewed on her lip as she fought the fear clawing its way up her chest. If Samten was dismissed from the Conservatory with no references, he would be sent to labor in the fields. Their family had no trade to fall back on. Her father was from a long line of Keepers and had expected his children to follow in his footsteps—which left Orlla with a scant few weeks before she took her pledge to convince Samten to change his ways.
“My swearing-in ceremony is in three weeks,” she said in a low, urgent tone. “It is not nearly enough time to make all the necessary arrangements to guarantee my father’s welfare while I am gone, and to ensure my brother’s commitment to his training.”
Akolom frowned. “We no longer have three weeks at our disposal. The king has ordered the ceremony to be brought forward.”
“What?” Orlla stammered. “When?”
Akolom gripped the hilt of the dagger hanging from his baldric, a stiff grimace on his face. “Now, in the castle chapel. We leave for the mainland tonight.”
Chapter 3
Dread surged through Orlla’s veins as Akolom’s words sank in. That must have been what he and the king were discussing so earnestly at luncheon. King Ferghell wanted Akolom to forego Conservatory protocol and graduate her early.
She shook her head vehemently. “No! It’s impossible! I can’t leave tonight! Not without seeing my father and explaining to him that I’m not abandoning him. He will surely sink into despair when I fail to show up day after day. And Samten will lose his way without me to rein him in.” Even as the emotionally-charged words spilled out, Orlla realized how foolish they sounded. Her father wouldn’t understand what she was telling him, much less a day later remember having had a conversation with her. As for Samten, she had a sinking feeling he had already lost his way.
Akolom’s expression betrayed no emotion, but his tone was heartfelt. “Believe me, I did everything in my power to persuade King Ferghell that you need more time, but he insists we establish a permanent outpost forthwith. If war breaks out, the number of deserters and displaced people seeking refuge in the mountains will swell overnight. At all costs, they must be prevented from penetrating the runes that veil the pass.”
The nape of Orlla’s neck prickled as an elongated shadow fell over them. She turned to see two of the king’s black-masked Protectors approaching. Their black leather boots squeaked in tandem as they came to a sudden halt in front of her. “We will accompany you to the chapel for your swearing-in ceremony now,” the taller one said, stone faced.
Orlla stared at him, her throat clamped shut. This was really happening, and she was powerless to stop it. Judging by the Protector’s icy tone, his offer to accompany her had little to do with comfort or convenience, and everything to do with ensuring she complied promptly with the king’s edict. She was out of time to reason with the king, or beg for leniency, or flee the castle as Samten would no doubt have attempted to do in her place. Not for the first time, she wished for some measure of her brother’s rebellious spirit—at least enough to follow her heart like she had done when she had spared the Pegonian soldier’s life.
Numbly, she followed Akolom and the two Protectors out of the banqueting hall and down another long, echoing hallway, lit by guttering torches. Her mind ran in several different directions at once as she steeled herself for what lay ahead. She had to get word to Samten to explain what had transpired. Despite their vexatious relationship, the last thing she wanted was for him to think she had given up on him and accepted a posting on the mainland to be rid of her kin. Perhaps she could persuade the Protectors to let her stop by Ballinkeld before they took her to the boat.
And then there was the question of her father to contend with. Would he even notice that she had disappeared again? Akolom had promised to send word to Grizel to bring him meals and make sure his needs were taken care of, but Orlla dearly wished she could talk to the woman first and explain to her exactly how to prepare her father’s food, and what he liked and didn’t like to eat, and how best to calm him down when he became agitated.
As if reading her mind, Akolom laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Must I remind you again not to trouble yourself with things you cannot control? I assure you, Grizel is a competent woman and will look out for Magnulf. It is time for you to focus on the bigger task at hand, and it will not be an easy one if war breaks out. The days of darkness will be many.”
Orlla tore her thoughts away from her family and gave some consideration to the grave responsibility being laid on her shoulders. She felt a certain level of pride that the king had tasked her with holding Efyllsseum’s borders—that her talent and dedication to her studies had been recognized. She would do whatever it took to defend the island from the mainlanders, including killing soldiers if she had to. But deep down she balked at the thought of taking the lives of innocent refugees fleeing a war between King Hamend and Brufus the Bonebreaker—equally despicable monarchs. Brufus ruled by instilling fear in his people’s hearts and making examples of any who dared speak out against him. Hamend, on the other hand, levied back-breaking taxes on his subjects, leaving Macobin impoverished. Petty crime was rife as vagrants turned to whatever means at their disposal to survive—as she would have been forced to do if she hadn’t had the privilege of growing up under the power and protection of the Opal of Light.
When they finally arrived at the chapel, deep in the bowels of the castle, the Protectors ushered them inside and barred the doors behind them. Orlla’s discomfited gaze slid to Akolom.
“They do not wish the ceremony to be interrupted. There can be no chance of us missing the tide at Grisalt Wharf,” he offered by way of explanation.
“And no chance of us recanting our acceptance of this posting,” Orlla added under her breath.
Her gaze traveled slowly over the chapel’s dark-beamed, vaulted roof, golden icons, gem-inlaid statues, carved panels, and elaborate candelabras. She suppressed a shocked gasp when she noticed the king himself in attendance, seated in an ornately-carved pew in the front row along with a dozen or so courtiers, several of whom she recognized from the feast, including the overweight woman who had sat next to her.
With every step, Orlla’s dread increased as Akolom led her down the aisle to the front of the chapel. The gloom of the dark space wrapped itself around her like an invisible fog, equal parts disconcerting and suffocating. A censer of burning incense suspended on a staff hook lent a peculiar peppery aroma to the stale air, making her light-headed. A tense silence built as the congregation shuffled in their seats, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
“Are you ready?” Akolom asked in a low tone, his granite-gray eyes scanning her face.
She wasn’t in any way prepared for what was being forced upon her, but she nodded dutifully. War called for compromise and sacrifice, she reminded herself. The greater cause of the kingdom outweighed her personal affairs. So why was her heart so conflicted?
“All glory to Efyllsseum!” everyone in the room chanted.
Akolom opened his eyes and nodded at Orlla.
She took a tentative step toward him, then turned to face the witnesses, working hard to stay calm and in control of her fraught emotions.
“What is your pledge before your king?” Akolom asked.
Orlla sucked in an icy breath, the familiar words tumbling over themselves in her frenzied mind. Many times over the past months, she had repeated the words of the Keeper pledge, trying them on for size, savoring them, emphasizing certain phrases, imbuing them with the passion she carried in her heart to serve her kingdom—a passion she had wanted to be evident when she recited the words before witnesses. But, she had prepared for a very different occasion—a ceremony with family and neighbors in attendance. A ceremony that she had hoped might prompt a smile in the vacant face of her father, a swearing-in that she had dreamed would make an indelible impression on the young heart of her wayward brother.
Opal of Light: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 3
