Bowing low, the soldier said, “Your majesty, I beg your pardon for waking you, but the queen has been taken! The Red Horns have won! The Rose Crown is yours by right!”
The queen has been taken! The words flooded Danly’s mind, leaving elation in their wake. At last, the Rose Crown was his! Throwing off the covers he rose from bed. “Call my valet; I must dress for the throne!”
Six guards dropped as one to their knees, their heads bowed in the presence of their king. A flush of pleasure rushed through Danly. So this was what it felt like to be king. He had gone to sleep as the second son, the spare heir, and woke to claim his destiny. Triumph swelled through him, the day he’d long dreamed of was finally at hand.
Eager to claim his throne, Danly glared at his valet. “Hurry, Talbert!” Frail and bent, the old man had served him since childhood, but now that Danly was king he deserved better servants. “I need my best silk shirt and the emerald vest of crushed velvet trimmed with gold. Be quick about it. You serve a king!”
As the valet hastened to obey, Danly looked down at the kneeling guardsmen and used what he hoped was a regal voice. “You may rise.” Remembering to use the royal ‘we’ that his mother was so fond of, Danly nodded toward the ranking guardsman and said, “Captain, we require a full report on the uprising.”
The young captain bowed his head. “As you wish, sire.”
Danly smiled at the captain’s quick compliance; royal authority was such a splendid thing. He listened to the captain’s report while his valet fussed to ease him into his best hose and riding boots.
“The Red Horns rose at midnight. Knives in the back slew those who would not join your cause. We took them by surprise, capturing many asleep in their beds. The only fighting to speak of was at the Queen’s Tower and the Throne Room. The battle to capture the queen was fierce, but in the end, your royal mother surrendered when she realized the cause was lost. The Rose Throne is yours, sire.”
His valet approached with a straight razor and a basin of rose-scented water, but Danly waved the razor away. His left cheek still throbbed, too sore for a shave. The five claw-marks from the virgin-wildcat had festered, refusing to heal. Rather than face the pain of shaving, Danly intended to grow a beard, a manly beard for a reigning king. Fingering the painful marks, he silently vowed to see the whore tortured and killed…but that pleasure would have to wait for another day. Turning his attention back to the captain, Danly asked, “And what about my royal mother? What about the queen?”
“She was given leave to dress and now waits to make her formal surrender to you in the Throne Room.”
“Excellent.” A pleasure that was almost sexual rushed through him. He was going to enjoy having his royal mother kneel before him. In his mind’s eye Danly imagined what the royal bitch would do to save her own life. Eager to discover which of his fantasies would prove true, Danly snapped at his valet, “Talbert, move quicker or you’ll find yourself serving in the kitchen.” Accepting an emerald green cape to complete his attire, Danly turned to the captain and said, “We are ready. You may escort us to the Throne Room.”
Saluting, the captain barked an order and the five soldiers drew their swords, forming an honor guard around their king. Protected by steel, Danly walked through the empty hallways of Castle Tandroth. The hour was early, well before the first light of dawn. The castle slept, still shrouded in darkness. Torches cast eerie shadows in the empty halls, giving the passageways a sinister look. Danly kept to the center of his escort, wondering if any resistance remained.
They came across the first bodies in the hallway to the Throne Room. Corpses lay strewn across the floor in various poses of death, the smell of blood heavy in the air. Witnessing the carnage, Danly appreciated the protection afforded by the guards. One of the guards sprinted ahead to throw open the great double doors to the Throne Room. As Danly crossed the threshold, the guard snapped to attention and announced, “All hail his royal majesty, King Danly, the rightful ruler of Lanverness!” Soldiers lining the Throne Room echoed back the refrain, “All hail his majesty, King Danly!” The accolades rolled on a tidal wave of male voices, crashing against him.
A triumphant thrill gripped Danly. Buoyed by the soldiers’ adoration, he swelled with the pride of a king. Danly crossed the checkerboard floor, eager to claim his victory.
His stare focused on the royal prisoner caged by swords at the foot of the empty throne. Circling the guards, Danly studied the captured Spider Queen. Bedecked in a green velvet gown ornamented with thousands of seed pearls, she stood haughty and stiff despite her defeat. His royal mother had taken the time to dress for the part…but all of her precious powders could not rescue the severe, pinched look of her mouth or the deep shadows beneath her eyes. The strain of defeat was showing. The royal veneer had cracked.
A smile filled his face and his loins stiffened with pleasure. Laughter bubbled from Danly’s throat. “So the great Spider Queen falls prey to another’s webs! Defeated by superior plots, the Royal Intellect is at last laid low by the genius of mere men. How does it feel to lose, mother? How does it feel to be stripped of the crown?”
Her face remained a mask of ice. The queen stood mute, a stone statue surrounded by a ring of drawn steel.
Disappointed, Danly sneered, “What’s the matter, mother, have you lost the royal ‘we’?” Amused by his own wit, Danly chuckled. “I shall enjoy finding ways to make you talk.” He dropped his voice to a hiss, “I warn you mother, I won’t be denied my pleasures.”
He spied the empty throne and mounted the dais. The rose crown and scepter waited on the velvet seat, gold and emeralds gleaming in the torchlight. His eyes widened in delight. “What’s this, mother? Presents for me?” Lifting the heavy gold circlet high into the air, Danly pivoted to stare down at the captured queen. The woman stood with her back to the throne, ignoring his triumph. Anger pulsed through Danly. “Turn around mother.” His voice held a deadly edge. “You will not ignore our victory.”
He thought for a moment that she would refuse…but then she began to pivot. Stiff with irritating dignity, she moved with a glacial slowness that sapped the warmth from the chamber. He half expected to hear the marble floor grind beneath her feet. Coming to a stop, she stared up at him with unrelenting eyes, her arms held stiff at her side, her hands clenched in fists.
Even defeated, she tried to steal his glory…but he would not be denied. His anger boiled over, years of hatred welling within him. Pinning his royal mother with his stare, Danly slowly lowered the Rose Crown onto his head. “I crown myself, Danly, king of Lanverness, sovereign ruler of the Rose Court!” His voice rang hollow in the marble chamber….but then the soldiers answered their king with a cheer. “All hail Danly, the rightful king of Lanverness!” The refrain shook the room but there was no reaction from the queen. His royal mother stood still as a statue carved of frozen marble.
Danly claimed the throne. He draped his left leg over the gilded arm, making the throne as his own. Fondling the royal scepter, he stared down at his mother. “I wear your crown and sit on your throne yet you say nothing.”
An accusing glare was her only response.
Seeking to punish her stoic silence, Danly decided to twist the knife further. “Perhaps you don’t realize the extent of your loss. The signal for the Red Horns to rise was the untimely death of my dear brother, Stewart, killed in an ambush by mercenaries.” His voice became a knife seeking the queen’s heart. “Even as we speak, my dear brother’s head graces the portcullis of Castle Tandroth.”
The queen’s mask wavered. For a half a heartbeat Danly thought she might behave like a natural woman and swoon, but the queen remained rooted to the marble floor, staring up at him with accusing eyes.
“So, you won’t even shed a tear for the shiny knight? And I always thought you loved him best.” Willing the queen to break, he said, “Perhaps I should have a guard fetch the grizzly trophy so you can give your firstborn son a final kiss.” Anger burned within him. Rising from the throne, he
glared at his mother and shouted, “Damn it to the nine hells, is there no woman left in you? Are you so unnatural that you care nothing for either son?”
Her eyes never wavered; her face never changed.
When his outburst gained no response, Danly roared, “On your knees woman! You will kneel before your rightful king, or I will have your head as a second trophy for the castle gates! Kneel!”
The ring of guards tightened the noose of swords.
He almost hoped she would not obey…but the stiff-backed queen slowly sank to her knees, her face a cold mask. Despite the bent knee, her posture screamed of unrelenting pride.
His anger exploded. “Speak or I will have you killed.” He would break this woman in death if not in life…but before he could issue the command, she broke her stony silence.
“Why?”
The single word lanced him like a bolt of ice.
Danly teetered on the edge of rage. One word had saved her from oblivion. Mollified, he reined in his anger and barked a laugh. “You ask why? Isn’t it obvious, mother?” He resumed his seat on the throne. Throwing one leg over the arm, he toyed with the scepter. “Women are not meant to rule. No real man will long bend the knee to the weaker sex…but then you have never been a true woman, have you, mother? It is passed time you learned. Stripped of the crown all that is left to you is your sex. You kneel before me, devoid of power, nothing more than a woman. How does it feel to be merely female?”
Cold eyes stared back at him. Even on her knees, the woman seemed indomitable.
A killing rage rushed through him. “Answer me, woman! Your king commands it!” Gripping the scepter, he took a step toward her, murder in his stare.
The queen glared, her voice a knife in the dark, “Who designed the plot? Where is the one who defeated me?”
Danly gaped in shock, amazed that she did not know. A bark of laughter erupted from him. “Even now you do not know? He weaves his plots so deftly that even in victory his identity is disguised!” He shook his head, his voice incredulous. “You sat beside him on your royal council. Madam, you are too easily deceived! Small wonder you lost the throne.” He laughed, the irony of the moment gripping him. Recovering himself, he spoke to the guards. “Where is the noble councilor? He should be here to witness the triumphant crowning of his king.”
The guards shuffled, but no one answered.
Danly spied the captain who had first brought him news of the victory. “You there, captain, where is the councilor? He should be here in our hour of triumph.”
Blanching, the captain bowed low and stuttered a reply, “Y-your m-majesty, I last saw him at the…Queen’s Tower. I had orders to wake you and bring you safely to the Throne Room. I assumed he would be here awaiting your triumph.”
Puzzled, Danly gestured toward the captain, “Well go and fetch him! It is past time our dear councilor rushed to our summons for a change. Tell him that the king demands his presence in the Throne Room.”
The captain bowed low and made a hasty exit.
Turning his attention back to the captured queen, Danly said, “While we wait for our advisor, you will entertain your king.” Reclaiming his seat on the throne, Danly struck a regal pose. “It is time to put aside your stiff-necked pride and beg for your very life.” He extended his booted foot. “You may grovel before us, begging for our mercy…or you will take a turn on the rack.” He thought he spied shock in her eyes. Pressing his advantage, he said, “Yes, Madam, torture. Lanverness will resume the practice. A king must be strong in the face of his enemies, something you never understood.” Thrusting his right foot forward, Danly said, “You may kiss our royal boot and beg for your life. If your pride will not allow it, then you will go to the dungeons and beg after a turn on the wheel…or perhaps we should order one of the guards take you here on the steps, a reminder that you are nothing more than a mere woman.” His voice turned to a sneer. “Grovel well, mother, and avoid the pain.”
A deathly stillness settled over the room.
The queen remained on her knees, cloaked in stern dignity. “Anger and cruelty will not avail you.”
The woman’s haughty arrogance was impossible. Danly exploded out of the throne. “I said grovel!”
Footsteps approach from behind. Confused, Danly turned.
From the shadows behind the throne, a dark figure emerged. The flickering torchlight revealed the stern face of the Master Archivist.
8
Katherine
All doors were forbidden to her, both the golden-yellow and the mysterious midnight-blue. Kath’s doeskin boots whispered down the hallway, the maze of the monastery growing familiar. The warmth of the floor increased, a telltale sign that she neared her destination. Descending the steps, she found the golden door with the glass pane shaped like a diamond...but the door was closed. She stared hard at the challenge. So easy to turn the knob and enter, but somehow they’d know. The monks had their own way of training. Magic could be even more exhausting than sword practice, yet she dared not miss a lesson. She’d need every weapon for the fight ahead.
Resigned to the task, she placed her left hand on the stone wall next to the door. Wood was impenetrable to her magic but not stone. Shivering with apprehension, she gripped her small mage-stone gargoyle. Kath leaned against the wall, a solid barrier, yet the monks had taught her another way. She stared at the wall, summoning the courage to try. In her worst nightmares she became trapped in stone, her mouth forever frozen in an endless scream. Banishing her doubts, she closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching for the magic within.
A deep vein of power throbbed at the heart of her gargoyle. Kath felt the pull of magic, the seductive call of stone to stone. Leaning forward, she pressed against the wall, pushing into it, pushing through it, needing to get to the other side. Mage-stone surrounded her with a hard embrace. Solid, sedentary, stubborn…streaks of granite and veins of quartz, the stone called to her, trying to hold her in place, offering her permanence, a whispered dream of eternity. The stone sang its siren’s song, enduring, constant, forever. So hard to be herself, hard to remember…hard to move yet she needed to push through, needed to breath. Refusing to be a prisoner, she pressed forward. Crack!
Like a flash of lightning, the world returned in a rush. Kath staggered into air. She gasped, remembering to breath, hungry to fill her lungs. She checked herself, two arms, two legs, flesh not stone, her heart thundering in living proof. Damp with sweat, she sighed, her muscles quivering with strain, but she was whole and on the other side. Kath sagged against the wall, breathing hard, wondering if it would ever get easier.
The moist warmth of the garden embraced her, the rich fragrance of living green. She breathed deep, welcoming the scent of life, relishing the lushness of the garden. Even for the monastery, the Garden of Contemplation was a marvel. Heated by piped water from underground thermal springs and flooded with sunshine through a vaulted ceiling of glass panes, the garden was both a refuge of green and a sanctuary of art. Statues peered out from among the fronds, a story or a lesson behind every one. Kath followed the stone path along the reflecting pool. Her fingertips brushed the verdant green as she gazed at the secluded art.
Reaching the far end of the narrow pool, she took a seat on the stone bench. The statue of the three monk-keys peered out from the fronds. She studied the carving, remembering her first meeting with the master, only a moon turn ago. So much had changed, the weight of destiny felt heavy on her shoulders.
“Power begets power.”
Kath jumped, her hand reaching for her sword…but it was only Master Rizel. Her mentor had a knack for suddenly appearing. She meant to catch him but never did. She wondered if it was magic but knew better than to ask.
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes, as if he knew her question and dared her to ask. But Kath knew from experience her questions would only lead to a maze of riddles, so she kept quiet, waiting for the lesson to began.
He took a seat on the bench, sharing her view of the monk-ke
ys. He gave her a sideways glance, his sun-kissed face lined with deep laugh line, his jewel-blue eyes hiding as much as they revealed. “Power begets power…the saying is true for magic as well as for politics.”
Kath sighed; the day’s lesson always began with a riddle. Easing back on the bench, she considered the master’s words. Daring a sideways glance, she searched his face for clues, but he gave nothing away. The masters of the Kiralynn Order were sparing with their explanations, forcing their apprentices to puzzle out the full truth from mere kernels of wisdom. Master Rizel had explained it as a type of sword play of the mind, but sometimes Kath found it slow and frustrating…especially since the sands of time were slipping away.
The master raised an eyebrow, drawing her back to the lesson at hand.
Tumbling his words within her mind, Kath thought out loud, “Power begets power…magic begets more magic. So you’re saying that because I have the ability to unleash the power of my gargoyle, I may be able to do other types of magic?”
“Just so. Magic is an innate gift, born to only a few mortals. For each person, the gift takes different forms but most magics can only be unlocked with the enhancing powers of a focus.”
Kath smiled with victory…but her triumph was short lived.
“And?” The word held a challenge.
She shook her head in frustration. One layer of understanding was never enough. The monks offered riddles wrapped in endless layers of logic. It was the student’s task to peel back the layers, exposing the wisdom hidden within. She fondled her gargoyle and searched her mind for the next step in the lesson. “Power…magic…focuses. So, if I find another focus, besides my gargoyle, I might be able to use it?”
“It’s possible, yes, but first you will have to establish a bond, like the one you have with your gargoyle. Without that affinity, you will never be able to unlock the magic within.”
The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 6
