16
Leon sat atop his regal, white stallion. He ignored the flakes of snow that drifted through the silence to land on his nose and lips. He had called a halt outside the walls of the northern capital of Klendar. Whilst winter had commenced it’s departure in Bayerlon, icicles still adorned the trees and houses of northern Inkra.
Leon, as usual, wanted to make a grand entrance into the city. He had shed his heavier coat, wishing to display his gold-adorned, red one. He now willed himself not to shiver as he sat exposed, waiting for an honour guard to meet and lead them into the city.
It was almost laughable to Leon that they had to wait at all, and he was on the verge of taking it as an insult. As soon as they had crossed the border between Veresia and Inkra, guards had trailed them to the city, sometimes even leading the way when Leon’s retinue was heading off track. The Inkrans had not spoken to any of their party, keeping a wide berth. As soon as they had sighted Klendar in the distance, the guards had ridden ahead. Leon surmised their disappearance into the city had been to inform King Suklar of their arrival. A welcoming party should have materialised by now.
Leon reflected on their week-long journey through the hitherto unvisited land. As soon as they had crossed the border, the difference had been noticeable. The road was pitted and potholed, slowing travel. Brown weeds and overgrown shrubs grew as unkempt adornments, spiking out of the snow and marking either side of the roadway. The sun remained hidden behind heavy, dark clouds, although small patches of blue occasionally managed to peek through the oppressive curtain.
Snow started falling within two days of entering Inkra, and by the time they neared the city, the horses were labouring through chest-high drifts. Some of the soldiers smiled at the white beauty, which hid the sombre surroundings. Leon only noticed the biting cold and increased difficulty travelling, not to mention the snow blindness, which had affected many of them. Some of the men had brought gossamer thin scarves to place over their eyes. These enterprising soldiers sat around the fires at night, trading pieces of scarf for food and money. The thoughtful wives who had spent days slaving over their creations would have been mortified to know they were now reduced to small, scrappy eye coverings.
Every Inkran they saw, and those weren’t many, were clothed in the same grey woollen coats, shawls, and head coverings—it was almost a uniform. The houses were all the same, single-story stone huts, with the exception of one larger, two-level house in each town. Everything was neat and ordered, but dirty and morose. Each day further into the countryside saw tensions mounting amongst the troops: whilst they trusted their prince, there were those who felt they were being led into a trap. They were far into enemy territory where nothing could save them if Suklar decided their time on this earth was at an end. Leon’s arrogance gave him courage. No one would dare hurt him, the great Prince Leon. He never entertained the thought that everyone else did not necessarily share his perception of his own greatness.
The men’s forebodings weren’t helped by the fact that two of the men had gone missing. They had been travelling along with them one minute; the next they had disappeared. Leon had refused to risk any more men by looking for them. In Leon’s opinion, if his soldiers had not listened to him about the dangers of this place, they deserved whatever had befallen them. The life of a soldier was to obey his superiors; those who didn’t, suffered the consequences one way or another. The fact that no search was carried out, sent a clear message to the remaining men. Leon knew no one else would wander off.
Leon flexed numb fingers within black gloves. Feeling had also fled from his feet, pain replacing the warmth. Finally, the gates started to open. The sound of stone grating across metal shrieked through the falling snow. It vibrated in Leon’s teeth. He saw those closest to him squinting eyes and gritting teeth, involuntarily raising palms to cover sensitive ears.
An honour guard of grey-clad Inkrans formed on either side of the road between Leon and the entry to the city. Leon sat straighter in the saddle and ignored the urge to wiggle his fingers in the hope of generating warmth. Everyone held their breath. Would they all be paraded through the city in chains, their prince’s journey a foolish miscalculation? Were they moments away from death? No one spoke. There was no announcement introducing Suklar, King and ruler of this dismal land. The only sound was the occasional clumps of snow falling from where it had built up on the branches of nearby trees. Each thud caused more than a few of Leon’s men to jump.
King Suklar appeared. He was borne on the shoulders of four grey-clad men, and he sat in what Leon could only have described as a heavy-set, small, ebony throne. The throne was open at the sides and front, and roofed with shiny black leather, which draped down to protect his back. The king was dressed in black with gold and silver thread around his collar. The threads chased each other around to form a symbol, which was composed of diminishing triangles, one inside the other, and so on. The throne bearers glided smoothly and expressionlessly toward Leon. As he surveyed those before him, he could see the Inkrans lacked reasonable height, and his men were typically a half to one foot taller. It was nice to have a natural advantage.
As the chair approached, Leon dismounted, feet sinking up to his knees in the freshly fallen powder. He knew he had impressed everyone already. Now he had to make a good and humble impression on King Suklar. Leon always felt that to be underestimated was an advantage, and he would pretend inferiority to gain favour. Although he had, technically, an inferior title, he felt his lineage to be superior. Veresians were the supreme race on all of Talia, and Leon was one step away from being their king—well two, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He schooled his face into meekness, touched with a hint of awe. Any king, and particularly this one, would have been used to reverence and fear from their people. By all accounts, King Suklar was a mean and hard man, quick to take offence, quicker to take fatal action to rectify the situation. Leon wasn’t stupid enough to think he was going to be a pushover.
The importance of this moment was not lost on the Veresian prince. The last person to meet with King Suklar had been a distant uncle of Leon’s, more than 300 years ago. What Leon knew about Suklar had been gleaned from spies who had never penetrated the castle, but relayed information from the outer Inkran villages. Suklar had ascended the throne after the suspicious deaths of his two older brothers. Suklar’s father had been an evil tyrant and it appeared the son followed in his footsteps. Suklar had also had his two younger siblings murdered, just in case they were as ambitious as he. Leon could relate to this side of the king and admired his ability to do what was necessary to get ahead.
After proceeding at a stately pace the chair reached Leon. He bowed low. When he straightened, the king offered a barely perceptible nod. No words were exchanged. The king remained in his chair, looking down at the foreign prince as if he were watching a cockroach. Suklar’s icy blue eyes gave a reception as cold as the snow Leon stood in.
Prince Leon swallowed a growl at the absence of ceremony on what should have been considered a momentous occasion, and at the obvious lack of respect he was being accorded. The Veresian soldiers held their breath as one; they had never seen royalty, in particular theirs, treated so negligently. The prince held his tongue with difficulty, lifted his head higher and returned the insulting nod. Leon told himself he enjoyed games, and this was going to be a good one. Before the end of his stay he would have the king bowing down to him.
He stood still, as the chair was turned around and the king’s hand floated negligently out from behind the leather in a gesture one would use to summon a servant. Leon mounted his horse and followed, signalling his men do the same. The Veresian prince smiled to himself as he pictured how much fun he would have repaying Suklar for all his hospitality. He felt like a child on the eve of its birthday.
The city of Klendar, to Leon’s surprise, was full of activity. People rushed around, heads bowed to ensure no one made eye contact. It was a wonder they didn’t endlessly bump into each other. As expec
ted, everyone was clad in grey. On closer inspection, Leon noticed coloured lines snaking the edges of everyone’s collars. The colours ranged from green to yellow, red, blue, and purple. It appeared that the purple-striped people had more authority over everyone else, being the only ones who dared lift their heads as they strode along.
Dirt pathways meandered lazily through the plain, level city. No children or animals played in the streets. Every now and then two or three purple stripes harassed, and in one case beat upon, a non-purple striped citizen. Although there was much activity, the silence struck Leon as they marched toward the king’s enclave. There was no chatter, laughter, or friendly banter—and there were no loud arguments. When the members of this strange society met to exchange or buy goods, they kept their voices to a whisper. Were they scared of being overheard saying the wrong thing, or did the king just dislike noise to an unreasonable extreme? Leon’s men had also noticed this strange phenomenon and chose to keep quiet. Most of them were wound tight after their long journey through the unknown; the eerie lack of noise added to their tension. An impatient snort from a horse, or soldier’s cough, triggered nervous starts from many of them.
Leon rode his horse into a large shadow. He turned his attention from the surrounding city and looked up to behold a monumental structure. The castle, standing a few hundred metres in front of him, was unlike its bland surroundings. The main tower, which rose from the middle of the edifice, was the origin of the exaggerated darkness on an already gloomy day. Heavy squares of pink, yellow, and grey stone climbed one atop the other, many stories high, fading into the falling snow.
The foreign prince had never seen a man-made structure so tall, nor so impressive. The castle walls were reflective and shiny—inky black stone appeared to have grown out of the ground naturally, later to be polished by the hands of man. The luminescent tower appeared as a shaft of light, a heavenly pathway toward the sky. Various-sized arched windows cut into the building at uneven heights. Obsidian walls stepped down in height from the perimeter, to lie lowest in the centre, where the bright stone stamen appeared to have burst forth.
Leon was instructed to halt at the vast doors. The lack of defence in the form of a moat or additional stone wall did not escape Leon’s notice. What a foolish thing, to leave the castle unfortified.
“Excuse me, but the king is waiting. You may bring two men, as a courtesy.” The young man in grey castle liveries addressed Leon as he would have addressed the commonest worker, “Follow me.”
His voice carried a harsh accent, each hard consonant inflected even further, to the point of sounding stunted. Leon dismounted in annoyance but did not speak. He would not give them the pleasure of seeing they had insulted him. He would play their little game, for now.
His realmist, Fendill, and the king’s captain, Pernus, accompanied Leon. The captain of his own guard, Seth, was not impressed about being left behind. Leon had explained that he resented having to take Pernus everywhere, but he preferred to have him where he could see him. Seth would never argue with his prince, so whilst he acquiesced, he also left Leon with no doubt about what he thought about the arrangements. Leon pushed his frustration aside, knowing he was clever enough to do what he needed to, right under this upstart’s nose. If he didn’t keep an eye on Pernus, who knew what mischief he might contrive?
In great contrast to outside, the main hallway of the obsidian castle was clothed from floor to ceiling in white marble tiles. It was an amazing display of wealth, and Leon had to admit, beauty. Every few metres there was a triangular, obsidian tile so black it looked as if it were a bottomless hole, waiting to swallow up a careless passer-by. The prince was not the only one who tensed as he passed over the first black tile.
At the end of the hallway there were two sweeping staircases, one spiralled down, the other up. The grey man went down. Leon and red-haired Fendill exchanged glances, both men trying to be reassuring, neither willing to show any fear in the face of the obvious risk they were taking. Pernus noticed the exchange, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your backs.”
“What? Oh you’re still here. I’m not really all that reassured. Thanks anyway.”
Pernus shrugged. The king had ordered him to keep an eye on Leon, however he was still here as additional protection, a role he took seriously. If it were up to him, he might be inclined to let Leon get himself killed, but he was loyal to King Edmund and was intent on seeing his job through to the end, if need be. The fact that the prince was unappreciative was no concern of his.
They descended two flights then continued down another corridor, which conveyed them back in the direction of the entry. This hallway was also laid with marble, this time pink, shot through with inky lines, the obsidian tiles still placed at intervals. The corridor abruptly ended in a smooth black wall. They stopped. Leon noticed his feet and hands had lost the pins and needles feeling and he was warm again, a warmth that had eluded him for many days. He could feel it coming up through his boots. Removing one glove, he felt the floor. It was warm, as if fires burned underneath, heating the tiles to a pleasant temperature. He made a mental note to find out how they had contrived that convenience. When he took over as king, he would make sure all his floors were heated; no foreign king was going to outdo him.
The grey-clad man, whose collar was adorned with purple and green stripes, turned and spoke his first clipped words since entering the castle, “Wait here. Don’t move. You will be watched.”
He turned to the black expanse in front of him. He spoke a few words in Inkran, a language none of the Veresians knew; Inkra was well-protected and so was its language. The door silently shimmered; its black solidity peppered with pinpricks of light, before it disappeared. The three guests couldn’t help but widen their eyes at the impossibility of what they had seen. Fendill rubbed his forehead with an index finger, a sign he was furiously thinking.
They could see through to the other side of the great expanse of what appeared to be the throne room. At the far side, to which the grey man was still walking, stood a dais accessible by four tall steps. Leon imagined that the shorter stature of the Inkran king would make his ascent and descent a laughable sight. He kept his thoughts to himself.
Grey man finally reached the dais and prostrated himself in front of the massive throne. It was unclear what was happening due to the distance and the fact that the throne appeared to be crafted from the same obsidian of which the door and castle walls were made. The throne, and the king, blended into the background, which consisted of a midnight marble slab, which rose to the ceiling.
Eventually the grey-clad man stood and backed away from the throne, bowing every few paces. He continued in this manner until he reached the trio. He turned to the men and shouted in his loudest voice, the sound reverberating around the stone-clad room and causing the Veresians to jump. “You may approach. Revere and behold, King Suklar, ruler of Inkra, Highest Priest of Klar and The Ultimate Sacrifice.” He lowered his voice “You are always being watched. Do not attempt to harm Our Beloved. When you reach the dais you must prostrate yourselves as I have. Do not rise until He commands you. When He is ready to dismiss you I will be summoned to take you away. Obey and all will be well.”
Leon led the way, however the grey man grabbed the sleeves of Fendill and Pernus, “You must not go further. You may watch from here.”
After his first few steps Leon sensed he was alone. He turned and saw anger on his men’s faces. He schooled his features into a mask of serenity whilst he mentally added this latest grievance to his list.
The grey man watched him undertake the long journey across the warm floor, until he was satisfied. When he exited the room the stone door returned, appearing as immoveable as ever. Much to their disgust, Fendill and Pernus stood transfixed, watching their prince glide unprotected, but proud, across the patterned expanse of black, white, and pink marble.
The approach was filled with tension. Leon, head held high, had a distinct lack of reverence on his face. Pernus, whose sword sti
ll hung at his side, itched to draw it in defence of his arrogant prince, and Fendill held his mind ready: ready to reach into the starry expanse of the Second Realm and strike down any who dared threaten his prince. Leon drew closer. He was close enough to see King Suklar’s dusty brown face. Half-closed, hooded eyes regarded him. Leon couldn’t begin to know what his adversary was thinking.
Leon stopped a foot from the base of the throne. He cast his eyes down and bowed low, however refused to prostrate himself as his predecessor had done. He was the prince of a great nation and would not demean himself for anyone. The gods knew he had endured years of playing second fiddle to his brother; he sure as hell was not going to do that for an alien king. He stayed in his position a few seconds, then rose and looked at the monarch as directly as he could. Suklar’s position, high upon his dais, ensured Leon was forced to crane his neck if he wanted to look into his cold, blue eyes. Suklar was well aware of the discomfort of holding that position for a lengthy period.
After a longer than comfortable time had passed, King Suklar surprised Leon with his deep, mellow-toned voice; something unexpected from such a short man. “Welcome to our beautiful kingdom. I trust your journey was pleasant.” Suklar’s face remained expressionless.
“Yes, thank you. Our journey was most satisfactory.” Leon smiled as sincerely as he could under the circumstances. They both knew the journey had been cold and uncomfortable at best, two of Leon’s men had disappeared, and five others had lost fingers and toes to frostbite.
“Why do your men stand and watch. Why are they not here, under my observation? Are they cowards?” The king watched Leon, who was a fly trapped in the spider’s web.
“I ordered them to stay there. I need no protection from a fellow royal personage. I trust you are civilised enough not to endanger the life of an important guest.” The king’s expression didn’t change. He turned his head to the left and whispered a few words. A short, wiry man materialized out of the black. He was clad in black; a collar unadorned by stripes framed his ebony skin. A strip of loosely woven black gauze covered his eyes; the same black gauze which camouflaged Suklar’s white hair. He had stood invisible in front of the inky background. On reaching the base of the dais he prostrated himself then went to do his master’s bidding.
Shadows of the Realm (The Circle of Talia) Page 15
