“It’s good you could make it, Locken. We have much to discuss.” The High King’s words seemed unusually loud within the large throne room.
He nodded a curt reply, unsure if the comment carried tones of sarcasm. Recently, Richard always seemed to speak in tones of dark sarcasm. It made it difficult to decide what could be ignored.
“You were all asked to begin preparations, as have begun here. I trust everything has gone as ordered?”
Locken looked quickly to his sides and saw the other kings nod quickly. His own nod came more slowly.
He didn’t like Richard’s sudden interference in his kingdom. He and the others had been left to their separate rule for years with little direction from the High King. Those dictums that did come were usually nothing of import, and he used his own judgment to carry out what he felt prudent. Few were.
Lately though, Richard had been calling for him and the other kings to carry out certain laws that seemed strange to him. First, Richard had demanded that trade with Thealon be cut off, trade that was a vital part of the Saeline economy. King Robden had been required to halt all movement in and out of his harbor. The other kings had similar requirements, all closing Gom Aaldia off from neighboring nations.
Worse though, was that Richard had changed laws Locken had known his whole life, imposing new punishments and demanding they be enforced. And for the first time, he sent advisors to ensure that they were. It had become increasingly difficult for him to justify some of the High King’s requirements. He wondered how much longer his people would have to suffer through Richard’s new eccentricities, and he was sure it was the same for the other kings.
It irritated him because many of the king’s orders seemed strange, and he had struggled to enforce them. He supposed he had grown too accustomed to the freedom of rule, but it did not change the fact that there were some things he would not put his people through.
“You seem uncertain, Locken.” Piercing eyes pulled him from his reverie. “You have begun preparations as ordered?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed heads of the other kings turned in his direction. A smile turned on the lips of the man standing farthest from him, but he ignored it for now. Jeslen had always been jealous at the size of his holdings, and the fact that he was on the mainland.
His reply came quicker this time; a nod that staved off further questioning. He had begun the preparations ordered, but only barely. He needed to maintain the image of obedience. My people deserve better than this king.
“Good.” The deep bass voice seemed somewhat limp in the strange dimness of the room. “I suppose you all would like to know what we prepare for.”
Locken noticed nods from the other kings, slow and dignified, yet eager all the same. His own nod was careful.
“Many of you have heard the tales of strange happenings in the north.”
More nods. The tales were hard to ignore, frightening as they were. Cities north of Rondalin were empty. His own holdings had taken on many immigrants, more than he had ever seen. Considering how many likely went to Thealon, the numbers moving south must be enormous. Had he not been forced to deal with Richard’s strange requirements, he would have been better informed. As it was, his attention needed to be focused internally.
“Many of you worry for the day rumor will come to your ears that the threat in the north is pushing southward.” More nods. The High King smiled. It seemed darker than necessary. “But rumors are simply that. Rumors.”
“Why prepare then?” King Robden interrupted. “To aid the northerners in defense if these rumors turn out to be true?” Locken knew him to be an honorable man, the oldest of the four regional kings and wise with his years. He had lived during the reign of three different high kings and Locken suspected Richard was the least favored of them.
A smile escaped Richard’s lips. “Help them?” he asked. “No.” A shake of the head and a light laugh. “We will attack Thealon while their attention is to the north. They closely watch their northern borders. While they are distracted by these rumors, we’ll make our move. With the city and the Tower under my rule, we will have no reason to worry even if these rumors are true.” His words stopped momentarily, and his fingers gripped the sides of the throne. His hands pushed against the arms of the chair as Richard brought himself up. “The gods will be on our side once again when we stand before their tower!”
Locken tensed. How much of this rhetoric was coming from the damned warrior priests he’d heard were moving through the southern realms? They sought violence, and claimed strength through battle, but his own holding had known nothing but peace for generations. As they shared a border with Thealon, Locken had nearly as much in common with them as he did with the rest of Gom Aaldia.
Worse, if their preparations were not to aid the northerners, they should at least remain at home ready to defend their own lands, not run off to conquer Thealon. “Should we not be concerned with the protection of our own holdings, sire? What if this threat in the north is real? We will not be here for our own people when needed.” As he finished, he knew he had spoken more than he should. A dark glint came to the High King’s face. It was usually a sign of bad portents.
“You question my command, King Locken?” The words dripped sarcasm. It wasn’t the tone he had expected.
“I would never question, sire.” He feigned obedience and forced himself to meet the High King’s gaze, refusing to give him the fear Richard wanted. “Only offer my advice. I know the High King is a busy man. I wanted to ensure everything has been examined thoroughly.”
“You question my thoroughness now?”
This was not going as Locken had hoped. He had never sat very high in Richard’s favor, but this was something else.
“Or is it my devotion to the people you doubt?”
Locken shook his head quickly, and refrained from voicing his true opinion on the matter. “No, sire, merely worried about the fate of your nation and the people you protect.”
Richard smiled, much darker this time. “Let me worry about my nation and my people. You should worry about carrying out my orders promptly.”
Ice flowed through him. Richard was aware of his delays. “Of course, sire.” He paused a moment, reflecting on Richard’s expression. He wasn’t sure what should follow. What assurances does he need? “My obedience has been and always will be to the throne.” A careful pronouncement of his fealty, but the most he was willing to offer at the moment.
A slow nod, slight, came from the High King as he sat thoughtfully on the throne. A finger pursed lightly on his lips and an occasional nod of his head made him appear to be listening to something.
Finally, Richard turned his attention back to his visitors. “When I summon, you will send your troops to Bastiin. There, they will assemble for the attack.” A concerned look crossed Robden’s face. Bastiin was within his holdings. It meant he would carry much of the financial weight of supplying the army while assembling, as it had been for hundreds of years. Richard knew tradition demanded the assembling army be supported by the province it assembled in, knew this would place a huge burden on Robden.
Locken wondered why Bastiin. It did not seem the most logical assembly for the army. Why not Gomald itself? The capital was surely a better place for Richard to ensure the assembly went according to plan than a distant city in one of the distant provinces.
“I will expect a swift response,” Richard continued. His attention focused on Locken as he spoke the last.
The throne room went silent, and Locken knew the meeting with the High King was over. He was unsure what choice he had. He suspected Richard would be watching him much more closely than before, and it left him little room to maneuver. He knew he must move carefully now.
“You may go.” The deep words sent them on their way, and each man turned quickly and quietly toward the door. Locken paused a moment after the third man had gone, his gaze searching behind the throne. A movement, slight though it was, caught his attention. He hesita
ted, but saw nothing more.
Finally, he walked quickly toward the door. A long journey for the summons of the High King for such a short meeting.
Passing through the door, the tickling sensation came to his mind again, leaving again just as quickly. He didn’t stop to think on it; rather he stepped hurriedly through the palace halls. He needed to think on the summons, but worse, decisions needed to be made.
Richard turned his head to scan behind his throne after Locken left. That man would need watching, he knew. He also knew he was the best war general he had, having spent nearly two years training with the Denraen long ago, so he dared not alienate him now. The loss of the battlefield skill of King Locken was not a distraction he needed, nor one to be taken lightly.
Movement in the shadows behind the heavy wooden throne caught his attention, pulling him from his worries. He opened his mouth to speak, but his advisor Raime emerged from the darkness before sound escaped his lips.
As he approached, a familiar smell came to Richard’s nostrils, one that was almost cloyingly sweet with an undertone that disappeared the longer he was around Raime. Almost a fog, it seemed to fill the room, pressing into his skull with unseen fingers, watering his eyes and tugging at his essence. It seemed to follow the man wherever he went. There was something to it that pushed and pulled at his mind, making it difficult for him to think straight.
Cocking his head, Richard could almost hear voices calling to him. He strained to hear, to understand, but could not. The sounds tickled his ears, his mind, and he shook his head. They stayed just beyond his hearing.
Sometimes, he thought he could understand the words, as if they instructed him. He had learned to listen. The voices had been right many times. He wondered if the gods spoke to him. He imagined one of the powerful gods, staring out across the plains toward him from high within the Tower, whispering him instructions.
He shook his head again. It was no clearer.
Raime neared, and Richard made out wrinkles in the dark cloak covering the man, long black sleeves obscuring hand and wrist alike, and the bottom hem dragging slightly along the floor. Faint stitching lined the throat of the cloak, the threading as black as the cloak it adorned, in patterns and symbols unfamiliar to him. He wondered at their significance, though he dared not ask the man. Briefly, he toyed with the thought that they must signify something, perhaps from the distant past, but the thought breezed through his head and was gone.
The hood of the dark cloak was pulled well forward over the man’s head as usual, only the red in his eyes from reflected light of the candles allowed Richard to see a face at all. The red almost seemed to dance, as if a flame were truly alive in those eyes.
The man made him uncomfortable, but strangely relaxed as well.
He sighed and inhaled the heavy fumes that hung in the still air of the throne room as he prepared to speak, tight muscles loosening. “Raime. Good to see you again. I trust you found the meeting entertaining?”
Richard did not ask directly why Raime had come to the meeting. Something about his advisor always made him cautious. He knew it was wise to be careful with words around him; he had seen many criminals falter, sealing their own fate, as they spoke more than they had intended. It was something he worried he’d falter with as well. Something in his head seemed to swirl, and he could almost make out the voices he thought there. He strained, listening, but there was nothing more.
“I felt it prudent to see if all could be trusted.” The voice was thick with an accent Richard had so far been unable to place. “A second opinion is always useful on matters of trust, don’t you think?”
Richard found himself nodding. The pressure on his head seemed to be building. He shook it quickly to try and clear it. The smell really was intoxicating. But something about it was also… It slipped his mind before he knew what he was thinking. Much did while Raime was around. He didn’t understand why.
“That last man will be dangerous, I think,” he heard Raime say, his accented words thoughtful.
“Locken?” he asked lightly and Raime nodded. “Although he may have his doubts and prefer to do things his own way, he has always been a faithful servant to the throne.” He paused and left unspoken his own concerns if Locken’s battle strength turned against him.
The hood shook slightly, almost as though from a breeze. The red of Raime’s eyes seemed not to move. “Yes. The throne is what he is faithful to. I worry his loyalty does not extend to the man who currently sits atop it.”
Richard sat quietly while Raime spoke, unable to hold a thought.
Raime’s tone suddenly changed. “But if you believe him faithful, we only have to wait until he proves otherwise to measure the extent of his loyalty.” Richard was unsure how to reply. “But waiting can sometimes be dangerous.” The words resonated in the air, his voice pausing a moment. “Your son. What have you heard of him?”
The sudden change of subject was a relief.
You must know where Allay has gone!
The words were quiet in his mind but seemed screamed. He had never heard the words so clearly.
The gods? he wondered. What he planned would honor the gods.
“Nothing has been heard about Allay. There are stories in the city that say he slipped out in the night with one of the Magi, but I think that unlikely. The Magi do not steal children, especially noble-born children.”
No, they do worse! the voice told him.
He froze, listening, then silently asked What do you mean?
There was no answer.
He hadn’t worried over Allay’s disappearance until Raime had mentioned it only a week before. He was not close with his son, and Allay rarely told him where he went, but he was second in line to the throne.
But If something should happen to Theodror during the attack on Thealon, Allay would need to take his place, he was reminded.
He nodded. The royal line needed to be preserved.
Even Raime seemed more concerned about the boy than he was. He supposed that made him a bad father. He preferred to think of himself as being preoccupied by the pressures of ruling.
Raime shook his head slowly. “No, I suppose the Magi do not steal children.” Richard thought the man sneered as he spoke. “It still leaves the issue of his location. We need continuity within the kingdom. If something should happen…”
Richard wondered why Raime worried about an heir, but it slipped again from his mental grasp. He worried for the kingdom.
It is his job, the voice reminded. You must focus!
He knew he needed to focus.
“Yes. We do need continuity, but I’m sure Allay will return soon. I’ve been told he often disappears like this.” He paused, trying to judge Raime’s response. He couldn’t. “Perhaps he enjoys traveling around the kingdom. He is certainly entitled to do such.”
The hooded man nodded again. Richard wished Raime would just once lower the hood. Ever since the man had arrived to serve him, Raime had never shown his face.
Perhaps he is scarred, he thought.
It matters little, the voice answered.
True, Richard admitted to himself. His advice had been invaluable.
“Certainly…” came Raime’s response, though it was slow in coming.
“We must send word to our Regrars to begin the preparations in Bastiin. We must also soothe Robden and help with burdens he worries he alone will shoulder. All the men must be focused on the task that lies ahead of us.” Including me, he reminded himself.
Raime nodded. Richard wondered briefly how this foreigner had so quickly risen to such great influence over him. Sometimes, he didn’t remember ever meeting the man before he suddenly had become his advisor. Other times he couldn’t remember ever not having him as an advisor.
The thought left him as Raime spoke. “The Regrars will receive their mission. It will be one that they will carry out well, you can be assured.”
Richard nodded. He had expected no less.
“And I will personall
y see to it that Robden is focused.” The words seemed somehow tainted by the man’s tone.
“We must begin preparations for our initial strike. It must come as a surprise to those bastards in Thealon. We will have the city and we will have the Tower.” Richard was almost surprised by his own vehemence. Almost. “The gods will look upon us once again. They will smile at the strength that defends them.” He thought he faintly heard a dark laugh from Raime but dismissed it. He knew the man was strange. He had a sense of humor to match.
The Tower, we must have it, the voice reminded.
“Ah, the attack. Yes.” A pale, slender finger tapped hidden lips thoughtfully. Richard was briefly tempted to throw back the hood to see how scarred the man was, but the urge passed. “It must be timed just right.”
Yes, just right.
“That is what I said. I will meet with the Regrars myself to gather suggestions on the initial attack. Then I will decide on the first strike.”
The hood shook from side to side as Richard spoke. “You will meet with your Regrars, but you will wait to strike at Thealon until news from the north distracts them. Only then will the first attack take place.” The words hung in the air, the command heavy.
Richard would not let his advisor tell him when his army could move, even though he’d already decided the attack would occur when Thealon was distracted. “I think you get ahead of yourself, Raime. I will attack when I choose.” He spat the words out in his rising anger.
The room seemed to flicker and darken, all the candles about the room swaying in some hidden wind. Richard knew it must be his imagination. Raime straightened his back, fingers gripping the hood of his cloak, and Richard saw the room sway. He grabbed the arm of the throne, seeking balance that was suddenly lost. His fingers dug into the hard arm of the chair as he forced his mind to still the motion his eyes saw. His ears were suddenly filled with the sound of Raime’s voice, a deeper tone than before.
The Warrior Mage (The Lost Prophecy Book 2) Page 7
