Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  Yet again, Navon had won in his infinite patience. Rationality once more surfaced from within Jikun. Yes, Darival’s troubles and Saebellus’ troops would still amass while he was in the south, and yet, there was something begrudgingly pacifying about Navon’s persistently calm demeanor. Perhaps it was the last words alone that allowed him to push his temper down just enough to return to a reasonable tone: his captain was right—his troops would make swift work of the task. Perhaps it would be no more than a brief—albeit foolish—aggravation. “Navon, you are an optimistic fool. A damn, optimistic fool.”

  But he allowed himself the slightest smile.

  Chapter Eight

  Hairem had watched the general and his army depart with a nausea that seemed to sit in the pit of his stomach like a stone. For two weeks, the city had been bustling to supply sixty thousand soldiers with the supplies necessary to engage the southern centaurs. And then, in a silent, almost shamed procession, they were gone at daybreak from Elvorium.

  And Hairem had done nothing. He rationalized it, of course. Reasoned that he needed more time to smooth the council to his desires. To his plan. But the tightness in his gut suggested his true motivations were far less noble.

  The council itself had treated the whole affair with mild disinterest, enveloping the following meeting with their primary concern—their own personal finances. Unlike the palace treasury, those of the council members were filling up like a halfling’s pockets in a treasure trove. They bickered primarily about who should send the supply caravans south to resupply the general during his mission. When it was finally determined that Ilrae should assume the responsibility, Nilanis stood with a satisfied, thin-lipped smile on his tightly drawn face.

  “And lastly, I have been informed that the inquisitors have discovered yet another shredded body.”

  The council grew still, the air snapping immediately to become formidably stifling. Hairem glanced across their knitted brows and white knuckles. “That makes seven now. One citizen every other day since Yulairm’s passing—may Sel’ari grant him solace,” Hairem spoke. “Seven elves murdered by—what we can only assume—is an assassin. The assassin.”

  Nilanis waved his hand dismissively. “Or a mimic. Perhaps there is an elf in this city who is using the murders of the council as a cover for his heinous crimes. Or perhaps, more likely, even a human. We receive human ships in from Ryekarayn from time to time. Why, one just came in last week. It’s due to leave in a few more—we should have it inspected before it departs. However, I have discovered nothing yet in my ship logs. Current investigations do not indicate any particular human as a primary suspect, but I shall endeavor to reach the truth of this matter.”

  The council murmured agreement as Hairem sat back stiffly and wondered who before him was involved. He remembered the general’s face when he had mentioned the reappearance of the assassin. And Yulairm’s murder. The deaths that had followed the council member’s… Hairem’s lips pursed. Could it be a mimic? Two such criminals? He frowned skeptically. He found it hard to believe any mortal was capable of such atrocities, let alone two. More likely, it was a weak attempt to cover the murder’s true intentions:

  Hairem’s loyal council.

  “The Night’s Watch should be doubled again,” Hairem decided.

  “Again?” Cahsari snorted. “Or replaced? You would think with how many there are roaming the streets, one of them would have seen something. It’s not like the murderer has even been committing his crimes entirely behind closed doors. Two nights ago, one of the guards was killed right in the street.”

  Heshellon broke in, coming to immediate defense for the soldiers. “One can hardly blame the Night’s Watch for being incapable of managing something like this. This murderer is exceptionally skilled. Back in Tavash, the city guard and night watch are trained for the usual beasts of the desert. Even our most experienced males once struggled to catch our city’s greatest assassin.”

  Mikanum nodded. “I must agree with Heshellon. This is unprecedented on Sevrigel. Never before have our people been subject to such vicious and consistent murders. No doubt this can only be a human at work. What seemed like deliberate and ordered attacks now has transitioned into a vicious rampage. The question is, why the change?”

  Nilanis paused for a moment in consideration, finally seeming ready to join the more probable theory. “It must be to draw off suspicion. Or perhaps he has merely become emboldened. It is futile to speculate why matters have diverged. Humans are, as we know, difficult creatures to understand.”

  Hairem rubbed his temple as the tension only grew. He couldn’t possibly blame a council member without more proof than he was ever likely to get his hands on. How did the king of Ryekarayn handle such horrific crimes in his own land, where such atrocities were so commonplace? “Nothing but money has ever been taken from the homes.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Fildor ventured. “Last night a vase was taken.”

  Hairem regarded Fildor’s weak attempt to sound more informed with a sour purse of his lips.

  “…It was made entirely of gold…”

  Hairem continued with a vexed exhale. “Right, so nothing but money has ever been taken. All we can hope for now is that doubling the Night’s Watch will produce some sort of tangible lead,” Hairem sighed. Was it true?—A human was capable of out maneuvering the entirety of his Night’s Watch?

  Cahsari raised his hand slightly, his chin tilting into a haughty pose of superiority on the matter—Hairem was getting numbingly used to such a predictable tone. “This is something that should be taken to a vote. Doubling the Night’s Watch is no cheap expense. In addition, we don’t even have enough elves to double it. We’d have to pull males from the city guard and place them on the Night’s Watch.”

  Hairem’s eyes hardened at the haughty suggestion. “This is not a matter of vote. The Night’s Watch will be doubled. I will take care of the details.”

  He could see for the first time the council regard him more cautiously, and perhaps, somewhat, with respect. Not to be mistaken with affection. The mere rejection of their vote left all of them, even Heshellon, with a gleam of contempt in their eyes.

  “Your Majesty, a vote must be taken on a matter as large as this one,” Nilanis smiled at him. It was the type of smile that made Hairem stiffen, coated in false amiability and arrogance.

  In a wave of fury, Hairem opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted before he could begin.

  “His Majesty is right,” Mikanum ventured, to the clear surprise of the others. Even Hairem had begun to expect consistent disagreement from the Darivalian. “This is an unprecedented matter requiring military-level action. We cannot allow this murderer to roam our streets another night. This is a personal matter of Elvorium’s safety and is not a matter of vote. He is the king, after all.”

  Hairem glanced across the room at Cahsari, noting the pursed lips and hardened eyes of incredulity. Nilanis, however, gave a slow nod of agreement, casting his gaze to the side as though being pacified by some internal reflection. “Yes… of course…” Then, his gaze shifted toward Cahsari and Hairem struggled to interpret the meaning of his flickering gaze. No sooner did he feel he was just grasping the speaker’s true emotion than Nilanis turned to him and Hairem’s glimpse past the mask was broken. “If that is all, my brothers, Your Majesty? This matter should be taken care of immediately.”

  “And I shall take care of the shipments to General Jikun’s forces,” Ilrae spoke for the first time, his almost bored expression fading with the expectation of immediate release.

  The council stood as well.

  A face flicked briefly to mind: cold and furious. No longer so easily forgotten. “Wait,” Hairem spoke up, raising his hand. He felt the eyes in the room regard him cynically as he took command once more. “There is one other matter. A personal request from the general. While in Darival, General Jikun stated that the people there are besieged by white thakish in unnatural numbers. He requested that se
veral hundred soldiers be sent to aid them. I shall do so.”

  Ilrae laughed softly and Hairem felt the air thicken with menace. “Now this, Your Majesty, is a matter for vote. The day the king uses the military for his own uses is a dark day indeed.”

  “These are hardly—”

  “No, Ilrae is most certainly correct,” Cahsari joined in with a sneer. “Gods know you would never use the military for your personal reasons. Even in your desire to help the general. An honest mistake, no doubt.”

  Hairem’s lips hardened at their twisted phrases and he stood. “Cease the tone, Cahsari,” he replied solidly, hoping his young voice matched the severity of the far older Helven. “The matter may be voted on once I finish informing this council of the situation. Since the fall of the year last, the white thakish have killed Kaivervale’s hunters and wolves. This number is growing and they have no reprieve in sight. Our general has earned such an honest request. The Darivalian people are our responsibility as well. Mikanum, I would think such a matter would weigh heavily on your mind—I have not seen the likes of one myself, but the general’s countenance suggested a reasonable respect for the beast.”

  Mikanum nodded curtly, his reply strangely short and vague. “I have heard the rumors.”

  Hairem’s brow knit in confusion, certain he was missing something through the Darivalian’s stoic composure. “Does this not concern you?”

  Mikanum hesitated, glancing at the solid gazes of Cahsari, Nilanis, and Fildor, almost as though for permission. “…While it does concern me, Your Majesty, the matter does not seem to warrant military assistance from the capital, especially from Jikun’s few troops remaining guard of Elvorium. I’m afraid, with Saebellus not yet defeated, such a decision would be in poor timing.”

  “But the centaurs were not,” Hairem replied flatly.

  Mikanum smiled weakly.

  “You all will vote on this,” Hairem ordered, pulling out the parchment from his desk and briefly writing Jikun’s request. ‘He is the king, after all,’ Mikanum had just said—but Hairem knew enough now to be aware that the king was merely a pawn. Still, he would not be moved easily. He passed his request to the right, but not a single vote but his own scratched the parchment.

  “The council draws to a close. May the gods alight our future days with wisdom,” Nilanis spoke in calm triumph as Hairem coldly retrieved the paper. He stepped to the side and bowed low as Hairem moved to pass before him.

  May the gods alight our future days with wisdom. Hairem laughed scornfully to himself. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he spoke softly. The gods must be looking down upon what the great nation of Sevrigel had become, shaking their heads in pity. There was something to be said about the short lives of men—such established corruption was as swift to come as it was to overthrow. Ilrae had reminded him of their selfishness and corruption as rapidly as the discussion of the murderer had made it flee.

  ‘Sel’ari, I need your help!’ he heaved in inward exasperation as he stopped outside the doors of the council’s hall. His attention shifted as a shimmer of silk caught his eye. To the side of the council’s entryway was a female, standing quietly beneath the shadows of the columns, her upper back leaning against the stone, long blond hair pulled tightly behind her head in a half braid that fell over her left shoulder.

  Hairem bowed his head. “Lady Ilsevel,” he greeted. He had expected her there—she was often present, waiting for her father to emerge. He made a mental note to appear more pleasant and refined than he had on their last verbal encounter.

  His controlled attempts over his emotions seemed to be efficient. She smiled a politely sweet smile and curtseyed low before him. “Your Majesty,” she replied, allowing him to take up her hand with a swift kiss. “If I may dare to say, the council seems to have taken greater strides toward the positive this day?”

  Hairem gave a forced smile. “There are few council meetings that will impact me as heavily as did the first.” He released her hand, letting her fold it against her abdomen in that strangely passive stance he could only assume was a mask for her father.

  “Has Yulairm been replaced yet?” she inquired. Hairem noted in amusement how, even while her tone remained calmly inquisitive, she attempted to catch sight of the others still left in the hall by leaning slightly around him to peer through the crack in the ajar door.

  Nevertheless, he inhaled the sweet air with a heavy breath and regarded her question with a grave tone. It was, after all, yet another vexing matter of the council. “I’m afraid that the Noc’olari propose a number of candidates, all of whom the council—” He paused. This was certainly not a discussion he desired to have so close to the members’ ears. And perhaps… His eyes flicked daringly over her lean figure. “Ilsevel, would you like to join me for dinner? I would be more than happy to unburden these matters on you, but only if I can somehow return the favor.” He flashed what he dared suspect was a rather charming smile.

  The lady faltered in composure, a hue of red rushing to her cheeks. “Y-yes. Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  *

  As the two elves strolled toward the business district, there was little concern in Hairem’s mind about his association with Nilanis’ daughter. Whether the Sel’varian Speaker heard—or did not hear—what honesty he had to say about the council, there was little Nilanis could do. He was tired of playing the council’s game and if Nilanis’ daughter herself would listen to his vexations, then he felt some semblance of progress, as false as it was.

  The business district was, as usual, a teeming mass of elves, but without the chaos and tumult of noise the True Blood princes had told him lay across the sea in Ryekarayn’s human cities. The elven race seemed unhurried and casual, stopping to greet familiar faces and converse with acquaintances. The sight of their confidently carefree movement was somewhat inspiring, Hairem had to admit. Whatever happened within the Council’s Hall, the elves outside carried on seemingly unaffected. He felt the weight on his shoulders ease at the sight of their smiles and laughter—it was easy to forget that this side of the city would carry on, happily naïve to the council’s corrupt decisions.

  The guards that escorted them maintained their distance ahead and behind at a respectable and reasonable berth, allowing the two to speak idly to one another along the way. But as elves, of course, Hairem was fully aware of their ability to hear the pair despite the generous distance.

  Hairem enveloped himself in her words, losing sight of the crowd that melted respectfully about him and pressed into the walls of the nearby buildings to gawk shamelessly at the royalty passing in their midst. He was not a True Blood, but a recent successor such as himself had only made them more fascinated with his unnatural presence.

  Ilsevel herself spoke lightly, casually, all the while with eyes flicking with recognizable emotion in response to Hairem’s words: her verbal opinion she retained for herself. She too seemed to see nothing but the male before her, attentive, entirely, to his every word. And Hairem had to admit, such devoted attention was yet another respite from the arrogance of the council.

  ‘He is the king, after all.’ The thought of Mikanum’s words made him scoff. His decision for the Night’s Watch—that had been his first and only taste of power since he had ascended the throne. And the feeling that came with it… was that what the council felt every time they raised their chins? Rebuked him? Mocked him? Flicked their signature across a proposal he clearly disdained?

  Then how easy it was to understand how power could corrupt. Such a taste had only made him more wary of them. And himself.

  “Hair—Er, Your Majesty,” Erallus stumbled to attach a swift title to his candor, pulling Hairem from his thoughts. “You’re here.”

  Hairem blinked. Here? Oh, right. He straightened, pressing his hand more firmly across Ilsevel’s placement on his arm, reassuring her he had been listening to her most recent conversation—though he wasn’t actually sure if she had been talking at all.

  He paused to let his
personal guards open the doors and then, with a staunch, commanding gait, led the lady inside the quiet establishment.

  “My father used to take me here when I was a child,” Hairem explained as the guards led him through the vast marble halls to a lone table situated on a balcony overlooking the building’s courtyard. “He told me it was my mother’s favorite place.”

  Ilsevel leaned over the railing slightly, eyeing the green, flower-sprung courtyard with a gentle and understanding smile to his sentiment. Several elves moved about below, their voices and laughter soft. “I believe our mothers passed within a few days of one another… At least, that’s what my father said. I can’t say I knew mine well, either. That was a dark year for this city.” Her fingers curled around the railing and she swung herself away with a growing smile. “I do the same thing—visit the places she loved. Sing the songs she sang. And this. This is a lovely little alcove,” she replied. She turned, moving smoothly to the chair he had pulled back, sweeping her dress neatly beneath her before she sat. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Hairem took his own seat and leaned to the side to give his command. “You may leave us, Erallus.” He waited for the bodyguard’s footsteps to fade before he straightened himself and returned attention to Ilsevel. He was silent for a moment, uncertain whether or not it was more appropriate to ask her questions about herself or whether he should answer the questions about the council that led them there to begin with. Gods, when was the last time he had had time to see a female? His eyes widened. Was he really that absorbed with work?

  Ilsevel looked aside and coughed, as though trying to fill the silence as he drew once more into his own thoughts. “Thank you,” she spoke, raising her wine glass elegantly to the servant who entered through the curtain. “So…”