It was as he had expected. Gods, or was it worse?
Saebellus’ army had come from the north, staying clear of the remnants of Jikun’s army still camped in their rows of white tents at the south.
But even so, what good would Jikun’s troops have done against what opposed the city now?
If the council had withdrawn the ban on Jikun’s troops to allow them to defend the city, they could have perhaps resisted. Laying siege to Elvorium from the south or north across the narrow bridge would have meant death for Saebellus, and he had no ships in order to attempt an attack from the eastern port—his losses at Elarium had been great enough for the southern capital to hold.
But then, Elarium had never truly been his objective to begin with, had it?
His mind reflected on the great city around him. Even now, if Elvorium closed its doors to the warlord, they could hold out for quite some time. He clenched jaw, frustration seething through his body. The council would never risk fighting and failing—not when their own lives would then be forfeit.
In their cowardice… no, in their corruption, they had surrendered.
‘Is this the future you saw for Sevrigel?’ he reflected inwardly toward Silandrus.
Even as his own pride and defiance rose, he could not help but grimace at the sight of them: sixty thousand well-armed enemy soldiers lined up across the canyon. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a flicker of movement from the ranks closest to the bridge. A white flag became visible, an escort of soldiers before it, and then…
Sellemar put a hand to the hilt of his sword instinctively.
The warlord, Saebellus. It could only be the enemy general at the center of the unit, flanked on either side by his captains. He caught sight of a slender, but unusually solid, body of an elf beneath the glint of the finest elven armor and a heavy black cloak. The male stood tall, dark and distinct beside his blond-haired elven brethren.
There was a sudden welcoming salute of trumpets.
“They would not…!” Sellemar whispered in stunned anger. How far had his Sel’varian brothers of Sevrigel fallen?!
And yet they were. The unit of soldiers, with Saebellus striding toward the front, began to march across the bridge. The city was nearly impenetrable, and yet the council had chosen to welcome Saebellus and his army into the city with a military salute. He heard another gesture of welcoming trumpets from the city’s walls and with their call, the white banner held by the enemy troops vanished out of sight.
And why should the symbol of truce remain when they were being escorted into the city like foreign guests?
“What in Ramul are they thinking?!” Sellemar growled to himself angrily as he spun about. He sprinted back down the tower’s steps, skipping several at a time and catching his balance on the wall as a few of the stony stairs crumbled away when he landed on them. He leapt over a broken beam on the floor as he reached the bottom of the tower and flung open the ancient door leading out to the estate’s grounds.
Was welcoming Saebellus Ilsevel’s doing? Other than his summons, there had only been silence from her since she had murdered Hairem and he had turned Erallus in to her. The city was left to mourn Hairem’s “suicide” and Ilsevel had withdrawn into the palace in “grief-ridden solitude.”
Sellemar ran out of the estate grounds to the street, moving swiftly toward the council’s halls. Ilsevel’s servant had said nothing about the council meeting with Saebellus. She had praised and doted upon him for turning Erallus in to her, but had left out such a detail as this when she had summoned him. He pursed his lips, feeling much like her latest pawn. At least he was aware of it—Hairem had not been so fortunate.
He vanished into an alleyway as he avoided the bustle of the city’s streets, brought to life by the unexpected trumpet calls. He could see the fear and concern on the faces of the elves around him as they stumbled from their homes to gather and whisper beneath the balcony overhangs, merely able to speculate at the unprecedented collection of contradictory trumpet signals. He turned a corner and slowed, hearing the sound of armor and marching feet in the cobbled street before him. He approached slowly, stopping behind a small number of elves who had sunk back into the alleyway shadows in hopes of catching a glimpse of the god-cursed warlord.
Sellemar remained hidden as well, watching as the city’s watch marched into view, their expressions unreadable beneath their polished helms. Shortly behind them marched a dozen armed enemy soldiers, stiff and steady in their movement as they vanished out of sight after the watch. And then… Sellemar leaned forward slightly.
Yes, there was the warlord Saebellus. He was lightly armored, bearing the same crest on his cloak as he had worn before he had rebelled—the emblem of the True Bloods, as though it was their cause he served. His black eyes were focused on the cobbled streets, locked in the direction of the council’s hall. There was a visible flicker of triumph burning behind them. His long black hair was braided in the traditional style of Sel’varian males, although any true Sel’varian physical traits had long since left him.
“It is true!” Sellemar heard the male before him whisper in awe, a gangly male, with a smudge of charcoal still stained across his chin as though he had rushed straight from the forge.
“When he abandoned Sel’ari, she cursed him,” another lanky elf replied with their kind’s speculation—a brief glance at their hooked noses and their sweeping eyebrows told Sellemar they were brothers.
He focused back on their words. Had Sel’ari cursed the warlord?—was his appearance a result of his abandonment of their Sel’varian goddess? But then… why not so many others? Nilanis. Cahsari. Saebellus was hardly the first to turn his back on their god.
Sellemar’s lips pursed as the two males behind Saebellus came into sight. These two were still Sel’vi and perhaps this made their betrayal all the more grave. His eyes began to travel down the line of soldiers, but then his gaze froze onto the male walking on Saebellus’ right side. He had been slow to recognize him in his disbelief.
“Vale?” he spoke aloud in surprise. Damn! He had been certain the blow he had dealt the captain had been fatal! Certainly Saebellus had a healer as gifted as Riphath in his ranks!
He turned swiftly and moved back the way he had come, his chest swelling with frustration. He wound his way around the crowds, shoving his way forcefully through as the throng of people grew ever thicker the closer he came to Eraydon’s Square.
The first time he would sit on the council would be to the arrival of Saebellus.
It disgusted him to think that he was now a part of their corrupted union, but he would never give himself over in true loyalty.
Though the crowd slowed his progress, he arrived at Eraydon’s Square ahead of the warlord. He could hear the clamor shortly behind at the north, but all signs of Saebellus and his escort were swallowed by the buildings and the countless elves about him. He darted swiftly up the white marble steps, feeling small beneath the large pillars lining his way, as though here, on Sevrigel, he had finally become insignificant.
He paused briefly at the doors, resting his hands against them, hesitating even now at the thought of joining the council; the principle of the matter repulsed him. All of his work… all of it for months… The council’s self-centered ways had tarnished the dignity of the normally noble and proud Sel’vi! But he masked his anger as he threw the doors of the council chambers open.
Unlike his last forceful arrival, this time the council hardly noticed him. The seven members were arguing loudly, shouting and cursing, moving about their desks in a panic.
They at least still possessed the wisdom to fear Saebellus.
“We should kill him and throw his body into the canyon!” one of the council members shouted above the others, his dark eyes wild, arms thrown up to emphasize his point. Sellemar judged him to be an Eph’ven based on the darkly tanned nature of his skin. “And then barricade the city’s gates! Saebellus will never—”
“Are you mad! Saebellus will destroy the bridge
s and find a way to force a fight by water!” Another elf interrupted, brown-haired and boney of frame. Definitely a Galwen.
“Why do we not have a substantial fleet?! Wait, I know, it is because Nil—” another elf shouted. Cahsari.
Nilanis bellowed his interjection, waving his arms fervently. “Fleets have to dock at the port and Elvorium’s port is not large en—”
“—cut into your wealth—”
“—what Saebellus has to say!”
“If we had a sword for every coin you make—”
The tumult of shouting quickly grew louder, enveloping all sensible discussion with it. But it was enough for Sellemar to gather the reason for their madness: they were terrified. Terrified for their lives. For their wealth. Despite Elvorium’s ingenuity of defense and ability to hold out in water and food for months, their businesses would not survive barricading themselves in. Their wealth and luxury would be sacrificed in the name of defense. And that small chance of failure—that Saebellus would procure ships from his recent fight near Elarium or that aid would fail to relieve the city—that alone was enough to spread the gates of the capital wide. That, and perhaps a firm nudge from… Sellemar turned toward the front of the chamber.
Ilsevel had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and feverish, her usual countenance disheveled and worn. He found himself impressed—there was not an elf alive who would have guessed she had killed her husband. He found himself wondering if she truly was afraid of Saebellus’ arrival. He squared his shoulders as he released himself from the council’s doors.
“Silence!” he heard her attempt to shout, but her high voice was swallowed by the males.
Sellemar regarded her in mild wonder. Even now, her demeanor was of concern and gentleness while her countenance was fragile and passive. His thoughts were quickly broken as the noise of the council only grew louder. He slammed the doors of the hall heavily behind him.
The noise broke just long enough for Mikanum to demand, “How dare you enter this chamber again! Why have you come?!”
“You think rescuing the queen grants you some special permission to just come and go as you please?” a thin elf snarled, turning his chin up haughtily. Sellemar saw the arrogance displayed clearly on every clammy feature of his face as he raised his chin to challenge him.
“Silence!” Ilsevel raised her voice, her slender hands balling into fists that she slammed angrily down upon the desk before her. She inhaled sharply, her body shaking as though racked with fear and anguish. She reached out a hand to her desk, steadying herself upon it.
Sellemar could see Nilanis’ lips purse in concern and he drew his gaze back to her. How genuine her vexation truly seemed.
“Saebellus is almost here,” Sellemar finally spoke, his voice just loud enough to rise above the tumult of the crowd outside.
Ilsevel looked up, raising her hand before the council could respond. “I have asked Sellemar to sit on the council. Not only did he save me from Saebellus, but he has once again shown his devotion to the crown. He turned in the traitor Erallus.”
Sellemar could see the Galvarian council member purse his lips in disgust.
The Eph’ven ventured in a tone that was nothing but cautious, “Hairem’s will placed Erallus as—”
Mikanum laughed, throwing his head back. “Heshellon, a common soldier to be our next king? Hairem—may Sel’ari grant him safe passage—surely could not have intended to mock our tradition so. Erallus was simply meant to watch over Ilsevel until she has wed again.”
Sellemar could see Heshellon’s eyes narrow in anger, his devotion to Hairem dangerously obvious. “We all know what Hairem meant. Erallus—”
Cahsari sneered as he interjected, “What you are saying sounds rather treasonous. Are you suggesting that Ilsevel is not our queen?”
Sellemar could feel the tension in the room quiver. Ilsevel’s gentle expression had grown hard.
“…No, of course not… I’m merely trying… It’s…” Heshellon trailed off as the brown-haired council member beside him gave a faint shake of his head to dissuade him further.
“Erallus misunderstood as well,” Ilsevel finally spoke, lowering her head. “He attempted to usurp me the moment Hairem…” she trailed off, emotion choking her voice. The room remained silent for a moment. Ilsevel raised her head. “Hairem wanted me to marry Erallus. I know this. But Erallus attempted to discard me and take the throne for himself. It would have broken Hairem’s heart to see his friend betray him so…”
Sellemar felt his cheeks grow hot. Here, her act seemed so forced, every pause a stage for her to bathe in their sympathy. There was a fierceness in her eyes, a fire of triumph burning. Every movement, every trembling fluctuation of her voice seemed carefully controlled to emphasize and sell her anguish. How could the council not realize this?!
Nilanis raised his hand slightly in a comforting gesture. “Let us speak no more of this. Even the suggestion that nobility such as yourself could be bound to a common soldier… sometimes our dear king thought more with his heart than his mind.”
“Always,” the Galvarian council member muttered cynically.
Ilsevel continued, locking eyes with Sellemar. “I have made a new position for Sellemar. It shall be a position that is granted out of honor. He shall be the first to sit upon it. He shall be the El’ismaldra—the speaker of the honored.”
Sellemar drew himself up to begin his carefully composed response, but was suddenly interrupted as the doors behind them swung open. The sound of armor echoed around them into the chambers.
“General Saebellus, Your Majesty!” a soldier announced, stepping aside.
If any small sounds had remained in the chamber—the rustle of fabric or the shifting of feet—they were immediately silenced. Sellemar strode quickly to the side of the marbled hall and out of the doorway as the other council members fell back in silent fear.
Standing in the great and towering doors of the council’s hall stood Saebellus—but unlike the elves around him, he neither appeared small nor insignificant. The sunlight fell through from the chamber’s high windows, glinting off of his battleworn breastplate. Sellemar could see traces of blood and dirt ground into the filigree and crevices. The light bounced and the shadows dipped off its surface, exaggerating the damage. His black cloak was tattered and stained, falling behind him in a great, sweeping breadth of fabric. Like day and night, his black-eyed and black-haired form contrasted the gentle beauty and light of the hall, seeming to suck the life from it with a solid, chilling presence. And unlike the other elves in the chamber dark of hair or skin, Saebellus’ appearance was a stark reminder of his abandonment to Sel’ari and his people.
With a start, Sellemar’s eyes fell on the second medal clasped to Saebellus’ chest. It was the medal of Sevrigel’s general. He wondered briefly if the warlord had taken it from the general he had killed upon rebelling years ago, or if this was the medal that Jikun had worn the day he was slain.
Sellemar glanced briefly at the huddled council members who were gazing at the general in stupefied silence, uncertainty rippling through their ranks. Ignoring them, Sellemar stepped off the marble floor of the chamber and onto the upraised stone platform beside the desk of a one-eyed council member.
“If they had shown the late general this level of respect, he’d never have lost to Saebellus and we wouldn’t be in this predicament right now,” the male muttered to Sellemar, his breath cool against his ear.
Sellemar leaned slightly away, glancing once at Ilsevel and feeling his mind call for caution. Despite the mild trust she had demonstrated toward him, she no doubt regarded him as expendable as the others. But for now she was fixated on the parted soldiers, her bright eyes heavily focused.
For several tense moments, Saebellus stood completely motionless, eyes searching the males before him as though looking for something in particular…
Mikanum stiffened as Saebellus turned to face him. “You are the Darivalian council member, are you not? Your general w
as a fierce warrior. When we find his body, I shall have it returned to Darival. As for the rest of the army,” he continued, turning to regard each of the council members momentarily. His eyes lingered on Sellemar curiously. “…No doubt you have been informed that every last one of them is dead as well. This country is now mine. Whether you give me Elvorium or I leave it alone until I build a fleet to take it by force, the choice is yours. I have not come to negotiate. There is no room for negotiation. The end of Elvorium shall either come in bloodshed or through a peaceful surrender. Should you choose to surrender, my position will be solidified immediately; Ilsevel will marry me and formally make me this country’s king.”
Sellemar’s eyes widened as the room sucked in their gasps of disbelief, and he jerked his head to look at Ilsevel. Was that her plan all along?
With a start, he recalled the ease with which he had stolen through the halls of Saebellus’ palace to reach her. No soldiers save two had given them any resistance, and even the one outside Ilsevel’s door had not seemed particularly vigilant for a possible escape by his captive. In fact, now that he recalled the relaxed posture of Kraesin, his bored gaze directed to the ceiling above him, he seemed to have been posted there more as a formality than as an actual guard. Even Vale, under torture, had said there had been no guard… His stomach dropped; he and Itirel had had to force the door down because it had been bolted—from the inside: privacy, not a bolt to contain a captive.
With another flash of anger, he realized just how much time Ilsevel would have had to plan this moment with Saebellus during her “capture.” Had this plan come to her after Saebellus had taken her? Had she even truly been captured at all? The unexpected defeat of Jikun and his army… Had she even planned the details down to the general’s position and defeat at the end? His mind whirled. As he stared around the council chamber at a scene he never dreamed would come to pass, no theory seemed too far-fetched.
“Why?” he whispered out loud. Her expression read vexation, but he could catch a glimmer of elation behind it. Why turn the country over to Saebellus when she already had been made queen by Hairem? What more had she to gain?
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 44
