by JF Smith
Gully began to panic when he heard the two men begin to converge on him. His hand found a fallen limb as he stood, so he grabbed it and began running again, having given away almost all of his lead and with the two men uncomfortably close behind him. He cut to one side, towards a large tree he picked out. At the last second, he ducked behind the trunk of the tree and threw the limb in the other direction. The sound pulled the men away from him and sent them off the wrong way.
His heart beating and a cold sweat covering him from fear, Gully silently ran off in a different direction, choosing a perpendicular route to the men rather than the opposite direction. A moment later, he heard their voices again, now realizing they had lost him and doubling back the way they had come. Gully slowed to be even quieter, to where he was almost walking away from the voices.
After a sufficient distance, rather than continue and risk the men hearing him again and the chase resuming, Gully found a dense stand of buckthorn. He pulled his dark surcoat tight around him, pulled the hood over his head and turned himself into a shadow inside the thick bush. Then he waited, hoping the thunderous beating of his own heart in his chest and the heaving of his breath would not give him away. In his mind, he could see the mouths of the poor victims, black crusted scars where their tongues should have been. Gully shivered at the sight and knew they must have had their tongues cut in only the last few days. The dread and fear at what those two poor men had been through, now running wildly through the forest with no clothing and no aid, made Gully lean over and spit up the wild bear pears and the little bit of greens he had eaten for his dinner earlier.
As he leaned over, emptying his stomach onto the dark floor of the forest, the truth turned even grimmer for him. He sat up on his knees and trembled at the realization, his blood turning cold in his veins.
His mind showed him again the note he had found in veBasstrolle’s bag that spoke of bindings of silver and tongues cut out, and he understood it now. The note wasn’t referring to animals. It was people! They, including the Noblesir Chelders veBasstrolle, were stealing people! They were mutilating them and selling them to Maqara, probably as slaves! Gully desperately wanted to believe that even the most uncaring nobleman would not be so evil towards the citizens of Iisen, but there was no way to avoid the connection. It was too clear. These men by the fire were not highwaymen after all. They were veBasstrolle’s men in disguise, guardsmen almost certainly by the tactics they had used in chasing him. This was being done to the people of Iisen to line veBasstrolle’s pockets with the profits from a slave trade!
This was where people had been disappearing for more years than he had been alive.
What these evil, black-hearted people were doing was almost inconceivable, and now they were chasing after him.
Chapter 9 — The Rot Within Spreads
The Domo Regent paced back and forth between the tall, timber-cased windows of veBasstrolle’s private offices. His mouth snarled every few steps and he calculated that in five more round trips of the study, his patience and his visit would be at an end. He glanced out through the windows, the late afternoon sun illuminating the city of East End which sprawled out below the rise that the manor house occupied. Beyond the city was the massive range of the Sheard Mountains farther to the east, clouds gathering and approaching for what looked like a bruising storm. Perfectly apt, he thought to himself as the bile boiled further up into his throat. He stopped and laid his hand on the scarlet leather of a high-backed chair for a moment. He counted silently to ten and then turned to leave, unwilling to wait a moment more for the corpulent nobleman to finally grace him with his presence.
Krayell turned on his heels only to see the door of the study swing open and the Noblesir Chelders veBasstrolle himself enter, his round body layered in breeches and expensive leggings, a lavender tunic, a pale gold ruffled doublet covered by an embroidered jerkin. Krayell wondered how the man didn’t sweat himself to death in all the finery within minutes of completing his wardrobe for the day.
Krayell could only force himself to offer the tiniest inkling of a bow in the direction of the head of the veBasstrolle line as he entered his office.
He remarked snidely, “Kind of you to join me, noblesir.”
veBasstrolle threw himself onto a large couch that creaked with the sudden stress and said plaintively, “Oh, you have no idea what today has been! The kitchen is fixing a lamb for dinner, and invariably, the cook gets the gravy too runny. If I don’t see to it myself before dinner, it might as well be a weak broth. What does it take to get them to do it right? It’s as if their minds function above the level of a groundworm only when I’m within thirty paces of them.”
Krayell frowned at the sweating form on the couch as veBasstrolle added, “You know all this well enough — you’re a servant yourself. You are the chamberlain of the Folly, after all.” And then, as if offering a slight consideration, he said, “A highly elevated servant, though.”
Krayell ignored the insult and his eyes darted at the valet that had followed the nobleman in. “I must speak to you about a pressing matter, Chelders. Privately.”
Chelders veBasstrolle waved his hand in the air laconically, without even looking in the direction of the valet. The valet bowed low and scurried from the room before the command could be rescinded or have various errands attached to it.
Chelders grunted as he attempted to sit up more properly on the couch and said, “Oh, I already know the wedding is off, my dear man. The real question is what are we going to do—”
Krayell hissed at him to be quiet. He crossed the room quickly to the door through which the valet had exited and peeked beyond it to make sure no one was listening.
Chelders chided him, “I won’t be talked to that way, Krayell. Don’t confuse acting in the place of the king with being king, no matter how long you’ve been play-acting. The two are entirely different, and quite frankly, I’m surprised I have to remind you of it.”
Krayell shut the door carefully again, his hand gripping the large iron handle so tightly he felt he would surely snap it off.
“So the news travels even faster than I can with one of the best horses in the kingdom and having just left the prince’s caravan no more than a few hours ago?” asked the Domo.
Chelders chuckled, “My dear, naive man! Nothing in this world travels faster than words of gossip on the tongues of peasants and servants! You can count on it! The account is true, then?”
Krayell, satisfied that they were not being eavesdropped upon, sat himself on the edge of a chair close to the nobleman. “It is true. That sodden fool of a king could have let me know his intentions so I could have prepared the boy, but I suppose that would have been too easy and too obvious. And now those plans are trampled beneath a Belder’s careless feet.”
Chelders seemed genuinely alarmed now. “But, will this interfere with our trade? I’ve come to depend on this income, Krayell! We cannot allow this to end our relations with the Maqarans when we were expecting this marriage to lead to more.”
Krayell bit at his tongue. He was about to have to do something that truly galled him, but it would guarantee veBasstrolle would agree to the alternate plan he would propose. At least the version of it he had specifically tailored for veBasstrolle in the carriage ride from Daum Maqa.
“It has interfered,” said Krayell as he stroked the silver beard on his chin. “You were right, Chelders.” The very words burned his tongue like stomach acid.
“Marrying Thaybrill to Quannah was always a timid plan,” continued Krayell, setting the stage a little despite how the words tasted bitter, “born of the necessity of not arousing suspicion after both Colnor’s and Sophrienne’s deaths. But with me acting as Domo Regent in the meantime, we’ve all been able to profit handsomely from the trade of stock with Maqara.” Chelders had always been in favor of simply killing the prince so that he could ascend the throne himself, no matter how ridiculously suspicious it would had been. No matter how, at the time, it would have all been an o
bvious plot by veBasstrolle to steal the throne, one for which the other, more faithful noble families of the Iisendom would never have stood.
“But I spoke with Azi. The dissolution of the engagement does not impede the demand they have for more slaves. Their appetite for slaves is as strong as ever,” he continued.
Chelders relaxed slightly and said, “That is a relief. I’m glad the boy didn’t ruin everything for us.”
Krayell nodded and said, “But we cannot allow the boy to attain the throne without Quannah there to occupy him. We’d never be able to maintain the supply of slaves to Maqara without inviting disaster. And now we find that the next option left to us is more drastic, Chelders, more reckless. I must know if you’re prepared for it as you were in the past.”
Chelders formed an enraptured grin on his face like he smelled the lamb cooking off in the kitchens even from his study. “Say it, Domo! The words are like a balm to me!”
“The Lord Marshal and I will see to it that the prince disappears. Your men will take His Highness and sell him to the Maqarans. Azi seemed interested in having him as a slave since having Thaybrill as a son-in-law is out of the question.”
“Yes,” sang Chelders, eyes closed as he drank the words in.
Even as they were sweet to Chelders, the next words were bitter ones for Krayell to speak, despite their being lies, “You will be king of the Iisendom, noblesir! And we will be free to trade the peasantry to Maqara with impunity if we like.”
“I must say, I like hearing you tell me I was right all along, Krayell!”
“Do not mistake the danger, Chelders! Once we set foot down this path, there is no going back!”
“My dear Domo, I wanted to run as fast as possible down this path years ago! I will finally be king! Just think of it! And I’m sure you’ll be delighted to finally lay down the burden of being Domo Regent. You’ll be able to go back to merely running the Folly! Come to think of it, you’ll be working for me! And it will remind you of your younger, less complicated days! We will all be where we should rightly be with this plan!”
Chelders veBasstrolle had sat up on the edge of the couch, stars in his eyes at the thought of what would soon be his.
He was so caught up in his own fantasizing that Krayell didn’t even bother to disguise the angry flaring of his nostrils at the repulsive prospect of working for the lout.
Krayell said, “Send two of your guards with me, ones that are trusted to deal with transporting slaves and trading with the Maqarans. Soon, the Lord Marshal and I will arrange for the prince to disappear and your men will take him to the woods to... prepare him... for the trade. Once his mouth has healed sufficiently, they will take him into Maqara to sell him to Azi.”
“Yes, I understand,” said Chelders, happy to hear the specifics.
“Now, the next part is critical,” said the Domo Regent. “As soon as the prince disappears, there must be a huge uproar in the kingdom over it. I will ensure that virtually all of the Kingdom Guard in Lohrdanwuld is involved in searching for the crown prince, sparing no effort to recover him. Lord Marshal Jahnstlerr will also direct your Fief Guard to join in the search, directing them away from the South Pass. It is critical that we make this effort believable, sending out the Guard to search for the prince more times than merely what it takes to sneak him through the South Pass. Is it perfectly clear, Chelders, that you must send your battalion wherever we direct, whenever we demand it, to make the recovery efforts believable?”
“Of course,” said Chelders, barely listening while his mind still daydreamed of the throne.
Krayell repeated, “Again, Chelders, it is critical that you send your battalion off wherever we request, whenever we request that you do so. You understand that completely, yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Krayell,” said Chelders, losing his patience at being forced to dwell on trivial details. “I’ll send them on whatever goose-chases you think up if it will make it all convincing. I’ll even shout the loudest of all the noble families, demanding we spare no effort at recovering our beloved Prince Thaybrill!”
“Good,” said Krayell. He added, “Patience, Chelders. Keep your head, noblesir. And in a matter of a few months, when we give up the search as hopeless, you will be crowned king of all Iisen!” Krayell allowed himself a smirk at the thought of soon seeing this buffoon of a nobleman hauled off in chains to a slave market in Maqara.
Chelders grabbed at a nearby pillow covered in rich indigo velvet. He hugged it to his round belly and sighed, “Yes, rid of the veLohrdans for good!”
The fat nobleman bit at the pillow a moment as his mind spun on the sweet daydreams. “Who would have ever thought, my dear Krayell, from that first condemned criminal we sold to Maqara twenty-three years ago rather than hang him, that we would one day sell the crown prince himself into slavery so that Iisen could dawn a new day with myself on the throne?”
Krayell nodded knowingly to veBasstrolle. It would definitely be a new day for Iisen, without any doubts.
Chelders’ face clouded for a moment and he said, “But you must help me, Krayell! I will be king, and that means it will be only a matter of days before my own two blackguard sons will start plotting against me to take the throne for themselves! Probably even one of my illegitimate sons will plot as well, donkey-headed sods that they are! I will need you and the Lord Marshal to be vigilant for me!”
Krayell glanced out the windows again at the dark storm forming in the east.
“Of course, Chelders,” promised Krayell through gritted teeth. “Your well-being is my highest concern, noblesir!”
Chapter 10 — Confessions, Doubts, And Expectations
The city of Lohrdanwuld was situated against the western face of Kitemount, southernmost of the Trine Range mountains. The original village, far back in time and before the scattered fiefdoms collected into a unified kingdom, had situated itself on the promontory that stuck out from the foot of the mountain to take advantage of the natural defenses it afforded. The mountain at the village’s back served as one defense, and the high ground of the promontory was the other. As the city grew, and the Iisendom took form as a kingdom, it spread out to the west at the foot of the promontory. Strong walls were erected around the city to protect its exposed side, but the prosperity and growth of the city would not be defined by the walls that guarded it. Twice in its history, the city had grown far enough beyond its walls to abandon them and build new ones farther out. The old walls were left in place, a permanent reminder of how time had passed, how new turned to old, of how modest and humble beginnings became great and powerful later. The old walls became incorporated into new structures that defined neighborhoods instead of serving their original purpose to separate defended land from the risks of the open.
Once the city reached a certain size, the kingdom a certain level of wealth, and the royal family a certain amount of power, the promontory that was the location of the original village was cleared to become the site of the Iisendom’s first royal palace. It would be the seat of power of Jennal the First, the first king of the Iisendom to demand a palace that befitted the monarch of a growing kingdom, a seat to separate his august self from the more primitive monarchs who preceded him. Those of the time deemed it madness to try to build it, whispered that it was a symptom of excess, and described it as the folly of a king with an ego the size of Thayhold. It immediately came to be known as Jennal’s Folly. The name did nothing to dissuade Jennal the First from his plan, however, as he was never one to shy from bold plans, or to let the opinions of others dictate his course. The castle wasn’t finished until Jennal the Second had ascended the throne, but the name Jennal’s Folly had long since stuck, and so it had remained unchanged through the line of monarchs that ruled from its great Throne Hall. The name, which had started out as a way to mock the magisterial arrogance of a king that had only barely managed to usurp power, violently, from the previous ruling family of veWeldenn, became a fond point of pride for the veLohrdan family and the capital city of
Lohrdanwuld.
Below the Folly, the city spread out as a patchwork of neighborhoods of varied wealth, roads and avenues snaking among and between them, and markets humming with the trade of goods, services, and coins of the realm. Nestled into the city were eleven oratory towers, ten of which were for the public to practice the astrolatry universal throughout the Iisendom. Some of these ten towers had been built specifically for the purpose, and others were unused guard towers in the older city walls that had been expanded, making them higher to bring those in prayer and communion as close as possible to their ancestors in the sky.
The eleventh oratory tower was not for public use, and it was the highest structure in all of Lohrdanwuld. At the back of the Folly, rising far above even the tower of the royal residence to which it was affixed, was the final and most beautiful oratory tower of all. Behind this tower rose the slope of Kitemount’s face, and far below on the side opposite the royal solar was the palace’s grand Courtyard of the Empyrean, which ran along the edge of a deep crevasse that cut into the side of the mountain. This eleventh oratory tower was for the exclusive use of the royal family and the highest members of the Iisendom’s religion. It looked up not only to the stars and the many ancestors of Iisen, but out and across the markets and neighborhoods and city walls of Lohrdanwuld, across the farms that fed and supplied the residents of the city, beyond the Trine Runnel and the mighty River Tib which joined together to the south, as far to the west as the human eye could see. All that was in view, and more, belonged to Iisen.
In the distance, the sun had emerged from its occultation behind the trickster moon, bringing to an end the moongloam and washing the kingdom in the last red and orange lights of day before it winked out below the horizon. Prince Thaybrill stood out in the open at the top of the royal oratory tower, his face warmly illuminated by the diminishing light of the sun. He leaned against the parapet wall of the tower in solitary contemplation and counted off one day less before his coronation.
