by Jeff Gunzel
“Exactly, my lord. Exactly,” Tamera cut him off. “The witch knows Dronin would never fall to her pitiful military. Unless...” It was clear she had Corzon’s full attention now, as his dark eyes stared a hole right through her. “Unless all the people believed they were fighting for a cause greater than their own survival, greater than merely the honor of Taron. If she could convince everyone this fable born from a time of darkness and superstition was not only real, but on their side as well—”
“They would fight like cornered animals,” Corzon replied absently while his eyes rose up to gaze at nothing. Then the strangely timid look on his face was replaced with solid resolve in the blink of an eye. “But I ask you again; what proof do you present?”
“What more proof do you need?” barked Grimton, taking a bit of a chance now. “To what other gain would the witch of Taron promote such nonsense? Her intent is clear, and she will use any and all tricks she has at her disposal. Taking down Dronin would leave Taron the strongest city remaining in Tarmerria. Surely you see that!”
Corzon’s eyes smoldered with fire. Threatening his power and authority was punishable by death. “That is, of course, unless you believe the drunken fairy tales. If that is indeed the case...my lord...I will be more than happy to notify the people that the great Corzon Thenalra happily throws his full support behind this farm boy from Bryer. Perhaps we will celebrate by cutting the heads of chickens while worshiping clouds in the sky...my lord.”
“Silence!” Corzon roared as his hand moved swiftly to his sword hilt. Tamera and Grimton both mirrored the pose as the apparent standoff ensued. All the energy and heated passion of heavy words had now become deathly silence, hanging in the air like fog after a storm. Corzon’s eyes shifted from one, to the other, then back again as he stalled to think. Then, with a heavy sigh, his hand fell from his sword, the gesture followed immediately by the other two.
“I will consider your words carefully,” he said, sounding weak and drained all of a sudden.
“Don’t consider too long. The fate of the city depends on whether or not its leader has the devotion to do the people’s will...my lord,” said Grimton as he and Tamera turned to leave.
When they were out of earshot, Tamera turned and said, “Good show. I didn’t think attacking his pride would bring such quick results, only a quick death.”
Grimton couldn’t hide his tight smile. “I merely pointed out the obvious threat to the things he loves most in this world: his power and authority. He now sees ghosts in the dark like a scared child. Besides—”
He stopped walking and turned to face Tamera. “When we receive the gift of eternal life, we will be on no one’s side. Gods don’t have to take sides.”
Chapter 5
The smooth, cream-colored walls of Taron still stood tall and proud, even though the outer portions displayed a crack here and there from the brutal raid only days earlier, although they were nothing more than badges of honor. The guard’s numbers had been more than doubled since the attack. They now lined the upper walls as they marched back and forth in sets of two.
Looking out over the grassy hill, more than one brave man had let his imagination get the best of him, running to sound the bell before realizing his mind was playing tricks. Nothing more than wind and shadows were present. There were no savages out of their minds, charging in with reckless abandon; no mindless, animated corpses searching for blood, not of any inner craving or primal instinct, but because the control of their bodies was no longer their own.
The puppeteers controlling the poor, weak-minded men had been stopped by the crytons. The very race condemned by all of mankind for reasons even they didn’t know came to the aid of the humans in their darkest hour—yet another historical occurrence known only to a select few.
Soldiers proudly wearing a yellow star on their chests roamed the streets in large packs, constantly searching for trouble under every rock—trouble that simply wasn’t there, even though their now fragile minds wouldn’t accept that. One or more would stop suddenly upon hearing the sound of a wind chime or child’s toy, whipping their heads around, wondering if that bloodcurdling nightmare would be relived once again. Everyone in Taron was jumpy since the bizarre raid, and a few days were simply not enough time for things to return to normal.
The city had become nearly chaotic with rampant rumors that that grew in absurdity each and every time a new one was given a voice aided by an ear. Most were born of the pure fact that the savage invaders had been brought within the city walls—not for execution or as fresh meat for the games, but given quarter, nourished, and clothed without a single formal explanation from Her Majesty or anyone else in representation of the Queen.
The odd silence and lack of explanation made for good fuel to throw on the rumor mill spinning out of control. Women stood around the market telling each other of the plot Queen Ilirra had masterminded to stage the entire attack, all for the sake of gaining popularity within her private factions when her forces inevitably repelled the acting invaders.
They would quickly have their facts corrected by the ears now turning to mouths, for everyone knew the Queen was most certainly being held captive within the palace. This was why the savages were brought inside the walls, for they had clearly won the battle and were now in silent command of the city.
Entire taverns had been roped off because the Queen had bought out all the rooms to shelter the wretched souls. Stables and inns were now added to the list of buildings that were no longer open to the public. People could hear the wailing and terrified crying coming from within these establishments whenever they passed outside a window opened even a crack. Servants from the castle would be sent out daily, pushing wheelbarrows full of sheets, clothes and food. They were always escorted by soldiers in their full chainmail. These sightings did nothing to stop the already out of control rumors from gaining strength by the day.
* * *
Ilirra and Azek sat at their usual table high up on the platform. Azek wore plain brown britches with a black wool button-down shirt. His shiny black leather boots looked rather festive, given his drab attire this evening. The queen wore her dazzling bright-red dress edged with white, lacy ruffles, red sapphire earrings dangling to her neckline. Her dark red lipstick accented her stunning apparel, which became even more amplified still by her fire-red hair tied back in two thick braids.
Her large bodyguards, also sporting their red armor, loomed behind her as usual. Seeming to be nothing more than statues, they gave no clue that they were even living. They never appeared to blink, move, or even breathe. Most folk had given up trying to guess their origin many years ago, but most certainly agreed they couldn’t possibly be human.
The flute player sat in the corner while he chirped a soft, somber tune. The background music seemed more than appropriate, for it fit the subdued mood. The dining hall was mostly empty except for a few who lived or worked in the castle. There were no parties to be thrown these days, and many just didn’t feel like being around the Queen right now, what with rumors spreading like wildfire and Her Highness doing little to dispel any of them.
“My Lady, do you believe there is any reason to think Morcel is holding anything back?” inquired Azek in his usual questioning fashion. “Are you sure he has told you everything there is to know? What if he forgot som—”
“His detailed reports more than met my standard, Azek,” she said impatiently before draining half her wine glass in one gulp. “The man is more than competent, in case you didn’t notice. I’m surprised he had the self-control not to kill all the scouts. Showing enough composure to take one alive and extract crucial information speaks highly of his character. He is far from a mindless brute.”
She drained the last of her wine before slamming the crystal glass onto the table. Azek winced, looking a bit surprised when it didn’t shatter. One of the serving girls dashed over with her porcelain pitcher and filled it promptly.
“Dronin scouts are highly trained to keep their mouths sh
ut. No doubt the man used some despicable barbaric tacti—”
“As was necessary!” she cut in. Ilirra was under tremendous pressure and had no time to pity those who wished ill will on her or anyone else in Taron. “Besides, this information could prove invaluable. For one, we now know the Dronin have had full knowledge of the crytons’ existence for some time now.” She drained half of the freshly poured wine once more before slamming her glass on the table again.
“We’ve always known their fear and suspicion of nature’s unexplained mysteries is rivaled only by your own!” she hissed, glaring right at Azek with one fluttering eyelid threatening to close completely. “And now it seems they have gotten a good look at Eric and what he’s capable of. Knowing full well he was under the sanctuary of Taron before being sent into the Dead Forest, their suspicious eyes are no doubt squarely on us. So don’t even think about lecturing me about tactics used to gain information that may save many lives!” she said with a finger pointed at Azek as she swayed back and forth in her chair. One of the serving girls scurried over to top off her glass before Azek covered it with one hand while shaking his head frantically back and forth. “Her Highness has had quite enough, thank you,” he said as quietly as possible.
“I will decide when I have had enough!” she said, leaping from her seat. The Queen hobbled a few steps backward before slowly being able to lean forward once again. Deciding it was best to take advantage of her forward momentum, the Queen just kept on going.
“And I’ve had quite enough,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared from the dining hall. Azek remained seated, shaking his head while hiding his face with both hands, but his shoulders jerking up and down did little to help him disguise his laugher.
The Queen did her best to glide with her usual grace as she moved through the white-tiled halls, driven by a mild sense of urgency as she watched the tapestries of former kings and queens drift past her; works of art she had seen countless times before. A feeling of sadness began to creep into her heart. Their eyes felt judgmental as she rushed past. The feeling that she had somehow let them down grew stronger and stronger. It was everything she could do to resist the urge to cry.
But what could she do? Announce to the people the invaders were not of their own minds? That they were controlled by otherworldly beings, so it was not really their fault? That no punishments would ever be handed out, and instead the ones who tried to kill them would be taken in and cared for?
Was she to announce she had known for years the Gate Keeper was alive, and that his secret needed to be guarded at all costs? That he alone had the power to save Tarmerria and would someday need her and Taron’s full support?
All these secrets burning her from the inside, and all she could do was stall while the restless people wanted answers. They weren’t ready to know the truth. She wasn’t sure she was ready to know the truth! And all the while, having to deal with whispers of her being a traitor, whispers of her own agenda coming to fruition, with the people’s needs being deemed secondary and of little importance.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Ilirra loved her people so much it hurt, but trying to run the city holding all these secrets, with the people she loved looking in her direction with suspicion and doubt, was enough to drive her to madness.
With her mind numb, full of pressing, complicated issues—and liquor— she suddenly found herself in the familiar brown room, lit with flickering oil lamps. She approached the wooden door and knocked lightly. Her old friend peeked out while holding a lit candle in a silver candleholder. Berkeni smiled wide as he stood there in loose brown pajamas, wearing a silly, long, white hat with an orange fuzzball on the end. “It is so good to see you, my lady,” he said through his huge smile and long, white, stringy beard.
“May I come in? I need to speak to you on a pressing matter.”
“Of course. Of course, my lady,” he said, opening the door wide as he seemed to disappear behind it. She hurried through and flopped down into one of the plain wooden chairs placed around an oak table graced with a pearl-like object, held in what appeared to be a silver cup, at its center.
She glanced around at his drab-looking room with blue walls and an old, brown hammock strung in the corner; at his jars of strange little creatures submerged in clear liquid. Ilirra had offered the man larger quarters and new furniture many a time, but he rather enjoyed his simple surroundings, away from most of the other patrons in the castle. “Long night, my lady?” he asked with one eyebrow raised high. He was no doubt referring to her current...condition.
“You could certainly say that,” she replied while burying her face in both hands as she slumped over.
He strolled up behind her and began rubbing her shoulders. “My lady, I promise you, this too will soon come to pass.” It was as if he could read her mind. “The people love you. They talk because it helps to distract their thoughts. Their eyes tell them something is not right, and we both know there is plenty of truth to this.” He leaned over her shoulder to flash her an upside-down wink. “But their hearts are at odds with their eyes. And believe me...the heart always wins. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
She grabbed one of his hands from her shoulder and held it to her check, using it inadvertently to wipe a tear. “I don’t know what I would do without your counsel. Thank you.”
He dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand. “I accept no thanks for pointing out the truth. After all, the truth happens with or without me.” He flashed yet another wink, which brought on a grateful smile in return. “Now, my lady...you wished to speak to me on some pressing matter.”
Just like that, the temporary relief brought on by kind words from an old friend was replaced with cold duty in the blink of an eye. “Yes, Berkeni. I need you to do something for me.” Her eyes flashed toward the white pearl sitting on the table. “You must keep an eye on the city of Dronin. Report to me any and all suspicious activity.”
He lowered his eyes a bit at the rather unsavory request. “I assume this ‘command’ is due to the information brought to us by one Morcel Quaron.” This time the queen lowered her eyes but nodded passively, indicating that his guess was indeed correct. He sighed deeply. “My lady, just because they have interests that don’t exactly line up with our own doesn’t mean they are planni—”
“I know!” she said, far more forcefully than she intended. She quickly crossed the room and placed a hand on her good friend’s shoulder. “I know,” she repeated in a much softer tone. “They might not be planning anything at all. It’s nothing more than a precaution. Please. Do it for me.”
The distant look in his eyes hurt her. She knew the request was immoral, but she was also telling him the truth. This was not some sneaky plot to gain an advantage in trade or simply spy on them just because she had a gifted man at her disposal with the power to do such things. It was exactly as she said, a precaution—one that would be lifted the moment they were sure no foul play was in the works.
“Very well, my lady. But as a small favor to me, I ask a little something in return.”
The corner of her mouth turned up as if threatening to smile. Why, this little man. This little wonderful man had just played her emotions perfectly. It always seemed as if he were one step ahead of everybody, even Her Majesty. “And what exactly is this favor you wish, my friend?”
“Why, I’m glad you asked,” he said with a clap, clearly enjoying the game. But then his face turned a bit more serious. “There was a capture after the battle: a rather unique individual, unless I miss my guess.”
“I know of whom you speak,” she said, sounding as serious as he looked. “The witch. The old lady who served Dragot, but claims to have betrayed him at some point.” She crossed her arms and gazed upward with an amused smile. “I suppose I would have said the same thing if it were me sitting in a cell.”
“Ah, yes...the very one.” He clapped his bony hands together once more. “I think it would be beneficial for all parties involved if I
could have a few words.” He continually rubbed his hands together as he spoke, but abruptly stopped when Ilirra seemed to be taking a bit longer than what he deemed necessary to give a simple answer.
“I am under the impression you would sneak down there anyway regardless of what I say, so I will spare us both the trouble of that and arrange a quick meeting.” She then turned and began to leave. In reality she thought it was actually good idea. Who knew what the witch was capable of, and it was probably best for someone like Berkeni to have a look at her.
She just hadn’t wanted to give in to the man that easily.
* * *
Addel leaned back against the ridged brown stone wall with her bony legs straight out in front of her. Each block was jagged and could easily cut anyone who ran any exposed skin across its cold, rough surface. Two small piles of thick yellow hay were separated into adjacent corners of the dark musty room. One was used as a bed, the other as a lavatory. The choice was entirely up to the prisoner. However, it was always advisable to remember which was which.
The small, dank cell contained no source of light. The only light was provided by four small torches out in the walkway, one of which she could see through the wall of narrow bars, complete with metal cage door. She actually felt fortunate to have a burning torch on the stone wall just outside her cell, for this room got far more direct light than any of the others. They must love me. The fleeting thought entertained her enough to crack a small smile as she lay there, pondering what her fate might be.
Her thoughts were not haunting, or even of a dark nature. Nothing mattered now, as even the probability of execution seemed no less than she deserved. Had she stayed in the black crystal tower with Dragot, her death could never have come soon enough. At least this way it would be quick and merciful, or so she hoped. No matter; her conscience was clear, knowing she did what she could to help Eric. In fact, if she hadn’t, things could have gone much worse for him.
