Mantle: The Return of the Sha

by Gary Bregar

  “Guard, let her through,” Zander called across the room.

  When she was released, she walked quickly—almost running, to where the king and the others were standing. She made a quick bow to the king before addressing Mr. Steed as protocol required.

  “Mr. Steed, I’m sorry, sir, but it is the queen’s sister. She is missing, sir.” The maid was at a loss for breath and her hair was wild, as someone who had been pulled from sleep.

  “Why do you say so?” Zander asked, now delirious with panic. Could he have taken them both? The thought of it was terrifying.

  “Majesty,” the maid began, breathing heavily still, “she was sleeping sound when I left her. It’s not like her to wander this late.”

  Coming from behind him, Zander heard the deep voice of the outer butler say, “She is safe.”

  “What did you say, Pike?” Zander asked, turning toward him.

  “Miss Lizabet is safe. I took her to keep her safe,” he answered with his head lowered. “Miss Lizabet is my friend.”

  “Where did you take her, Pike?” Zander said. His voice was reasonably calm, he thought, but his stomach was wrapped around anxious knots.

  “I can go get her,” Pike responded, as he started to turn toward the door.

  “Stop!” Zander yelled. “Turn back to me, Pike.”

  Pike turned back around and looked down nervously toward his feet.

  “Look at me and tell me where you took her.”

  Pike raised his head. Be brave.

  “Majesty, I took her to the door in the old part.”

  “The old part of what, Pike?” Zander asked, now confused and frustrated.

  “The old part of the castle, Majesty. I took her there, but she will be angry with me if I tell of the door,” he replied, now trembling.

  “Pike, I am her brother by law and I am your king. You will show me to her at once.”

  Pike thought that Lizabet would not want him to show the king the door, but he didn’t see a choice and hoped she would understand.

  “Yes, Majesty, I’ll show you,” he said, bowing before turning toward the door of the Throne Room. He would show them to the door—the one that would no longer be secret.

  ****

  Before they left to find Lizabet, General Brask dispatched orders to one of his captains, before insisting that he accompany them along with guards. Zander hadn’t thought it necessary, but the general was insistent, reminding the king that war was upon them and precautions should be taken. So Zander agreed, and was now accompanied by an entourage that he found unnecessary in his own home.

  When they reached the room with the now not-so-secret door, Pike stopped at the doorway. The morning sun was just beginning to enter the room, so two of the guards passed around him and lit candles, which now filled the room with light.

  “Where is she, Pike?” Zander asked in a tone reeking of frustration.

  “She is in here, Majesty,” Pike replied as he turned to face the room.

  Zander walked past Pike and entered the room, the others following. Pike only stood in the entryway, watching them look around at the dust-covered room—the painting of the sinister man looking over all of them.

  When Lizabet slowly opened the door, Zander caught it first from the corner of his eye, then turned to witness the door coming into view. It began as a shimmer and slowly formed a blurry image of a wooden door. The blur then lifted and the door was there, solid and open. Lizabet stepped out and curtsied. She had no idea what all the fuss was about. So Balki Touro meddled with the crown—what does that have to do with me? She still had no knowledge of her sister’s abduction.

  The king and the others only stood for a moment, staring at her and the door which seemingly appeared from nothing.

  “Lizabet, thank all the Fathers you are safe,” Zander finally said, rushing to her. “Where did you come from?”

  He was now looking past her to the door’s entry, where the first steps of the staircase were visible.

  “Majesty, it is a terrible place, but I’m not sure why the door hides from others. I wouldn’t have known at all, had it not been for my friend, Pike. It looked like any other door—to me at least.”

  “I would see it, this terrible place,” Zander said as he turned to look at General Brask, his eyes relaying that he would not be going down alone.

  The king began down the stairs to the room that lie at the bottom, with General Brask following along behind him. Lizabet had given Zander her light crystal and when they both reached the bottom of the staircase, and found themselves standing in the room, they both stopped and stood silent. Zander suddenly felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

  They saw large iron contraptions. Some looked like they had arms, each with blades pointing in various directions. Other devices were riddled with chains and pulleys, some ending with cuffs that were clearly meant for the hands of men or women. Zander nearly fell to his knees when he saw that at least one set of cuffs appeared to be designed small enough for a child’s wrist.

  I am standing in a room of death! A chapel of terror…in my own home.

  Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes and he forced them back. He realized that his own family had, at one time, sanctioned torture in this place, and the thought of it was too much to bear.

  He would hold his emotions in check, though, until he addressed more important issues, which had suddenly become plenty—his wife’s kidnapping, the skull, and impending war.

  “Majesty—” General Brask began.

  “Speak of this to no one, General,” Zander interrupted. “I will sort this out in good time. But for now, we must focus on the problems at hand.

  “I will send word to Bore and Tongar, advising that the announcements must be made now. I will speak to the people today at sunset.”

  “Very good, Majesty. I have scouts riding to catch up with the queen and her captor. I recommend we do not wait long to apprehend them. If they make it past the Outland Guard, we will have the Dark Weed to contend with.”

  Zander knew that General Brask was right. They could not wait long.

  “General, keep the scouts out of their sight. They are to stalk them only,” he said. “Assemble the armies and keep them alert and ready to ride on my command.”

  “Thank you Majesty, I will hand down the orders.”

  “Now let us leave this place. The spirit of this room is wrong—I can feel it prying at me.”

  ****

  King Zander sat behind his desk in his private office, contemplating. He would address his people in only a few hours and would choose his words carefully so as not to cause panic. He would lay it out before them honestly, though, telling them of the war to come and reminding them that all Fories must do their part.

  First, though, he wrote two identical letters, to be delivered to King Cergio and King Ekkill. By now they should have both arrived home in their kingdoms, or be close to it, at least.

  Majesty,

  I regret to inform that the skull has been taken and the Queen of Forris with it. We are in pursuit. However, a change of plan has been thrust on us all. I will make my announcement of war this very day, and humbly recommend that you do so, as well, at your earliest opportunity.

  All the Fathers guide us,

  Zander

  When he was satisfied with his work, he rang the bell for his squire and instructed him to send both notes by eagle immediately. His speech would be concluded long before his letters would arrive at their destinations, but they would still arrive sooner than any rumor might.

  When he thought of what he would say to the crowds, he thought of Lizabet’s reaction when he had told her that Bella was taken. Lizabet had at first become angry at everyone in the room, but then she finally directed her anger at Balki Touro and the Skites. She had immediately demanded to go with them to rescue her, and he had told her that it was far too dangerous and simply impossible.

  Now he wondered if the population of Forris would rise up in th
e same determination. He hoped they would, because that might change people’s way of thinking when it came to the subject of war. He now had a direct reason to thrust his kingdom into battle, instead of waiting for the Skites to attack them.

  He had, by now, explained to his councillors that the crown and the skull were one and the same. They had been surprised at first, but since the news had come from the Trees they had known it to be true. At first, they had been perplexed that Balki would be able to learn of such things, but Zander had managed to steer them away from that particular subject. He still hadn’t been sure exactly why he had told Balki of the skull, and wouldn’t have his councillors also questioning that, when he didn’t understand it himself.

  He handed out instructions to the entire body of his councillors, laying out the strategies that he had discussed with Cergio and Ekkill. They had sometimes murmured disagreement with the plans, but Zander was quick to point out the logic in it, so that by the end, they were all in agreement. The final decisions were his alone, but he needed no friction between himself and his advisers.

  When he was finally ready, he stepped out onto the main balcony of Bannister Castle to a crowd that seemed to include the whole of the city, as well as the surrounding areas.

  The crowd became silent as soon as he stepped out. Normally, he would be greeted by cheers, but the people of Obengaard knew that this would not be a celebratory speech. The rumors had squelched any thought of that.

  Zander looked out to the crowd and rested both hands on the balcony wall.

  “I speak to you today—in this solemn hour—of war, loss, and determination. I speak to you of battles on the horizon, battles of good and evil, as we understand them.

  “For centuries, the people of Forris have lived in peace alongside our friends in Bore and Tongar. Today, that peace has been broken—ripped from us, without regard for decency, by the Kingdom of Skite.”

  At this, the crowd began to grow uneasy, and murmurs could be heard spreading through them in waves. They had believed the Kingdom of Skite to be long forgotten, only to make its appearance in old tales and myths told around fires and in pubs. To confront the reality of the Skites was a shock to most.

  “As may have been rumored, the queen—my own wife—was taken from us, in a brutal attack by agents of the Skite Kingdom. I declare, here and now, that this action is a call to war.”

  At this news of the queen, most people began shrieking and crying out loudly. Some women were seen sobbing. Others who had already heard the rumor had looks of anger and determination. Zander was quick to block any hint of emotion on his own face. He was king and would stand strong.

  Once the crowd had calmed some, Zander continued. “The Skites have cast the first stone—and Forris will answer with mountains!”

  The crowd moved quickly from sorrow into angry resolve. They began yelling “Kill them!” and “Save her! Save the queen!” It was shocking to Zander how quickly such a peaceful people as the Fories could be moved into such fury. While he was a bit disturbed by that revelation, he was also glad for it. He needed his people to be angry.

  “But for us to cast this mountain over the Skites, we must be resilient, prepared, and strong!”

  The crowd roared.

  “Are we strong?” Zander yelled.

  “Yes!” they screamed in return.

  Zander waited until they quieted, then said, “Then let us be strong, and if you are able and of proper age, see the minister of Armies.”

  The crowd became silent as the reality of war came down on them—reminding them of what that would mean.

  “Some of you may not return—but know this—I do not carry you into battle with a light heart. We will prevail, we will return to peace, and we will tell our children of it.”

  Another round of energetic applause ensued.

  “Today, while our queen was being stolen from us, two of our Royal Guards sacrificed their lives to prevent it. Their names are Jonathon Springer and Joffer Preene. They were but mere boys—seventeen years of age. They are the first casualties of this war.

  “They are also heroes—and we will honor them as such. No longer will conflict be kept from our descendants. If you fight with us, you will be honored as legend, hero, and savior.”

  The crowd became loud once more, and Zander saw that already young men were leaving the crowd and walking around the corner of the castle. They were walking in the direction of the gate where the minister of Armies would be found. A feeling of both relief and satisfaction washed over him.

  “Band together, Fories, and stand as one. We will prevail!” he yelled, and turned to leave the balcony. Under the circumstances, he thought things could not have gone better.

  ****

  With the sun setting, King Zander had summoned an entourage of Royal Guards to accompany him while he sought counsel from the oracle. Under normal circumstances, he would not wish to visit the oracle after dark had settled, but things were not normal, and time was against him (and the queen).

  As he approached the oracle’s small cottage, he saw that a garden of rotted vegetables littered the front, with only a small broken path running between carcasses of pumpkins and summer squash. The smell of the vegetables attacked his senses immediately.

  Zander got down from his horse and began walking toward the cottage, raising his left hand to signal that his men should stay back and wait. He walked down the thin path, stepping left and right to avoid the mounds of moldy rot.

  When he came to the door, he reached for the door knocker with his right hand. It was a large iron knocker in the shape of a bat—its wings spread back to form a circle that connected at the hinge. He lifted it by the wing, avoiding the head of the bat that hung at the bottom, and let it drop once.

  A moment later, the door creaked open and the oracle leaned his old and wrinkled head out from behind.

  “I expected you, Majesty,” he said, now opening the door fully. “Come, sir,” he continued, motioning for the king to enter.

  When he stepped into the oracle’s cottage, it was the air of the place that struck him first. It was musty and the air felt thick. It was the books that caused that, he supposed. They were everywhere, stacked haphazardly on the floor and on shelves that stood against every wall. On some shelves stood books and on others there were brown faded scrolls stacked every which way. There was but one table and one chair, and Zander supposed that the oracle was not in the habit of entertaining guests. The table was covered with more papers strewn about over it. At the back of the room hung a purple velvet curtain, faded and dusty. It was the only space not covered by shelves and Zander wondered if the cottage was not larger than it appeared from the outside.

  “Thank you for seeing me, oracle. I suspect you know the reason for my visit—in part at least,” Zander said.

  “Yes my king, I know of the war—and of the queen’s predicament. In fact, I know a great deal of it,” the oracle replied, now shuffling over to stand at the far side of the table. “I have also spoken with Dicen, Majesty.”

  Now he was looking directly into Zander’s eyes for the first time. His cloak hung down his back and he had the same gray-haired appearance as he did the last time he and the king had met.

  “What can you tell me of it?” Zander asked.

  “You will be at war soon, of this there is no question. As for your success in it, I cannot say.”

  “You cannot say—or you will not say?”

  The oracle smiled his toothless grin and said, “Majesty, I would not play such sneaky word tricks with you. I cannot say because I do not know.”

  “And as to the matter of my wife?”

  “Yes…the matter of your wife, that is a tricky one, indeed. The Crown of Forris, you well know, has been kept for centuries under the throne. Protected by it, or so it was thought.

  “It was held in a glamor box, charmed for a second layer of protection. Here is a drawing of the box—and the crown as well,” the oracle said as he pulled a scroll from t
he pile on the desk.

  He unrolled it, displaying a detailed drawing of the box. On the top of the box, the drawing showed the words written on the lid. It was in the old language, but Zander had been taught. It roughly translated to: Guarded Under Touch of King or Queen.

  The bottom of the scroll had a drawing of a crown that appeared to be made of wood. He could see the grains of the wood, intertwined together at the base and carved with spires circling the top. He became curious by this immediately.

  “Oracle, was the crown ever placed in the box, or was it invented for the sake of secrecy? If it was placed in the box, then we have lost both the crown and the skull.”

  “I cannot be sure, Majesty. There are no clear records of that time, as you well know. I believe it wise to think of it as losing both—whether they are separate items or not.”

  Zander understood and realized that crowns could be replaced, but the skull could not. It didn’t matter if they were two pieces or one.

  “And what do you make of the writing?” Zander asked.

  “The writing in the old language is clear. It tells that the box may only be opened by a king or queen of Forris. But here is where fate has been sly, Majesty. I believe that Balki Touro and the inflock are convinced that he holds captive a queen who may open the box—handing him the skull.”

  “Is he wrong?” Zander asked.

  The oracle smiled and said, “Yes Majesty, he is mistaken. Queen Bella is only queen by marriage and title—she is not a sovereign. There has not been a sovereign queen of Forris in some nine hundred years by my count.”

  Thoughts were suddenly rushing into Zander’s mind. The first thought, which terrified him, was knowing that Bella’s fate might be tied to her ability to convince Balki (and the inflock) that she did not have the ability to open the box. As king, he would be the only person able to open it.

  “Are there other ways of opening the box, without my touch?”

  “There is nothing that I can find in the written history, and I have not been shown or told of a way. However, I am certain that Menagraff and his minions will have a method for opening it without worry. You would be wise to take it back before it reaches them.”