by John Gwynne
The road curved, and a building appeared ahead, framed by the arched branches. A grey-stone wall about a squat tower, thick with creeping vine, and beyond it the sound of running water.
We have reached Brikan and the River Rhenus, then. Am I about to see my son finally, after so long?
She was close to the head of the column, riding with the men of Ripa – Krelis and Ektor, Alben and Peritus and almost the full strength of their warband, more than eight hundred men. Veradis had suggested he only bring an honour guard, but Krelis had refused. Fidele knew it was because he trusted no one on this journey, not even Veradis.
Even with eight hundred, if the Vin Thalun turned on us we would be sorely outnumbered. And whose side would Veradis stand upon?
Ahead of them Fidele could see Veradis, sat upon a white horse, his young captain Caesus at his side, eagle-guard marching in disciplined ranks behind them.
He has changed, been changed by this war, but there is something I still trust about Veradis, something solid at his core. In truth it was Veradis who gave her a glimmer of hope about the outcome of all of this. He clearly tried his best to remain neutral whenever Fidele spoke to him of Lykos or Maquin, impartial and objective, but she knew, could sense, that deep down he agreed with her. And that he and Maquin shared an old friendship did not hurt.
There is hope. If Nathair will not listen to the counsel of his mother, surely he will listen to that of his oldest and closest friend.
The chamber was high in the tower, a fire and torches crackling both to warm the room and to brighten the constant twilight of the forest; they were only partly successful at both tasks. Fidele sat upon a long bench; an open space lay before it, then a raised dais, a tall, high-backed chair empty upon it. Beside Fidele sat Krelis, Ektor and Peritus. None of them was in chains or bound in any way, but Fidele felt as if they were captives on trial, with eagle-guard scattered around the room, along with the black-eyed Jehar watching them dispassionately. There had been hundreds of them in the courtyard of this old giant tower, gathered around a great wain that sat in the courtyard like some brooding beast. Once upon a time the Jehar had made her feel safe, the thought of them about her son comforting her through dark nights of worry for Nathair. Now, though, with their flat black eyes and dead stares, they scared her.
Veradis was also in the room, standing with his back to Fidele beyond the empty chair, staring out of a window at the forest and wide river beyond the tower, the noise of wains creaking, auroch bellowing, whips cracking, drovers yelling orders. Fidele had glimpsed a wide swathe cut into the far side of the forest, beyond a stone bridge. A road cut straight as an arrow through the trees, heading north-east, a steady flow of traffic travelling both ways.
A door creaked open, cold air washing into the room, and Nathair strode in.
My son.
Fidele felt her heart lurch at the sight of him. He had lost weight, making the bones of his face more apparent, and there were shadows under his eyes, though he still walked with purpose and confidence, more, if anything. And beneath it all, still her boy, the child she had held and comforted and laughed with. She took a step towards him and stopped herself.
This is a trial and I must be strong. Be seen to be strong. My son is two people: my son, and the high king of these Banished Lands, as I am two people, his mother, and the regent of Tenebral.
Calidus and the giant Alcyon walked at Nathair’s heels, Jehar behind them, moving with the grace and contained power of predators at the top of the food chain.
And behind them all, Lykos, walking with head down, eagleguard either side of him. He was led to the bench Fidele was sitting on and ordered to sit. He did so without any complaint or hesitation. Fidele had never seen him so submissive.
‘Mother,’ Nathair said, and she looked up. Nathair had paused on his way to the empty chair, was staring at her with a faint smile upon his face. Then she was moving towards him, arms rising to enfold him, but something in his look caused her to falter and she stopped before him. He took her hand and kissed it.
‘It is good to see you, Mother,’ he said. He gazed into her eyes, studied her face as if he had forgotten what she looked like. ‘You have changed.’
‘As have you,’ she replied. ‘We have much to tell one another.’
‘And to not tell,’ he snorted with a twist of his mouth.
What does that mean?
‘Nathair,’ Calidus called, a tone in his voice that Fidele had not heard before, and one that she did not like. Commanding. Impatient. She thought of Ektor’s chamber of scrolls deep beneath Ripa’s tower, of the hints she had read about Ben-Elim and Kadoshim. As she returned to her seat her eyes met Ektor’s.
Nathair strode towards the empty chair, saw Veradis and smiled, something of the young man Fidele had bid farewell to returning to his features. The two men embraced, and then Nathair was sitting in the chair, Calidus and Alcyon standing either side, the Jehar spreading behind them.
‘We await two more,’ Veradis said as Nathair opened his mouth to speak.
‘Who is that?’ Calidus asked.
‘Some strange prisoners I encountered in Tenebral,’ Veradis said.
‘What?’ Lykos now, looking concerned, scared even, staring at Calidus. ‘I told you that Calidus must see them privately. They cannot come h—’
The door opened once more, eagle-guard entering first, then the giants Raina and Tain behind them. Iron collars were about their necks, their hands bound.
‘Stop!’ Calidus shouted, the eagle-guard snapping to a halt, the giants stumbling behind them.
‘There was a frozen moment, the whole room staring at Raina and Tain, the two giants looking around the room with disdain at those gathered there.
‘Raina?’ a voice grated. ‘Tain?’
It was Alcyon. His face had drained of all colour, skin as pale as if he’d been dead a ten-night.
Then he smiled.
‘Raina, Tain,’ he repeated.
‘Alcyon,’ Raina whispered.
‘Get them out of here,’ Calidus hissed.
‘No,’ Alcyon said, taking a step, reaching a hand out.
‘Now,’ Calidus yelled.
The eagle-guard behind the giants must have tugged on their collars, for they were both jerked backwards.
‘No,’ Alcyon snarled, reaching for his hammer. Then the strangest thing happened.
He froze, his arm part-raised, then, slowly, tremblingly, he lowered his arm, his face smoothed of all emotion and he passively watched Raina and Tain as they were dragged shouting from the room.
The door slammed shut, the giants’ cries fading down the corridor.
Calidus said something to Alcyon and the giant took a step back, resuming his position behind Nathair’s chair.
Fidele frowned. She noticed that Veradis was looking concerned at the turn of events as well.
‘So,’ Nathair said, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers, appearing as if nothing unusual had just happened. ‘Tenebral. Our home. There can be no conflict, no state of war within my own realm. Veradis has spoken to me briefly of the various grievances and accusations between you, but for the sake of clarity I will have him recount the disputes now, for all to hear. Then, if any disagree, they can speak up now. Once we have dealt with this I will not go back to it.’ He looked at them all, then nodded to Veradis, who tore his frowning gaze away from the now-mute Alcyon and stepped forward.
Veradis stood between them and began to talk. He spoke of the rebellion within Tenebral, the factors that he thought had contributed – the insensitively handled influx of the Vin Thalun and their ways, including the legalizing of fighting-pits, the order of Peritus’ execution, the wedding of Fidele to Lykos, clearly unpopular amongst the people of Tenebral, especially so when Fidele’s first husband Aquilus had ruled the realm for so long and was a figure of such great popularity and respect. Veradis criticized Lykos’ handling of the power given to him, his hasty resort to violence rathe
r than negotiation, his inability to politick.
For a while Veradis’ words filled the room, an ebb and flow to them as he recounted the facts as he understood them.
The reality was worse, far, far worse than you even begin to touch upon.
Fidele realized Veradis had stopped talking and was looking at her. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for battle.
‘Lady Fidele has accused Lykos of terrible things,’ Veradis said, ‘misuse and abuse of power, manipulation, murder . . .’ He paused again, took another deep breath. ‘Sorcery.’
‘Sorcery?’ Calidus said. ‘What exactly does that mean?’ His mouth twitched as he spoke, a contained smile. ‘Specifically?’
‘The control of another’s mind, and their body,’ Veradis said.
He is trying to spare me.
All in the room looked at her now. She felt the desire to leave, to run from the room, to get away from their eyes. I will not feel ashamed. I fought him with all that I am. She raised her head and looked only at Nathair.
‘Mother, that is a grave accusation.’
‘Accusation? It is no accusation,’ she said, feeling her anger stir. She wished she were back in the wild with Maquin, where you faced an enemy face to face with sharp iron, and where you trusted the man at your side. There was a simplicity to that, both appealing and utterly absent in this room. ‘It is a statement of fact.’
‘Fact?’ Calidus said, frowning. ‘It is a vague accusation which is open to a multitude of interpretations. Control of your mind? So Lykos somehow invaded your mind by his sorcerous powers.’ There was a snigger to her left.
Lykos.
‘And he forced you to do . . . what?’
Fidele just stared at Calidus, at that moment felt an overwhelming hatred for the man. She forced her gaze back upon Nathair.
‘I would talk with you of this in private,’ she said to her son.
‘No, Mother. This must be open. I cannot, will not, be accused of nepotism.’
Fidele closed her eyes, bowed her head. ‘Very well then. What I mean when I say that Lykos used sorcery to control me is that he raped me.’ She looked away, swallowed, fought the tears. Saying it aloud seemed to give it a new power. She composed herself and looked back to Nathair.
Emotions swept across his face. Outrage. Anger escalating to fury. He glared at Lykos, then his head turned to stare at Calidus, who returned his gaze dispassionately. The old man said something, too low to hear, and slowly, incrementally, the emotion drained from Nathair’s face. He cocked his head, as if listening to another voice, then screwed his eyes shut, some kind of internal debate consuming him.
When he opened them he regarded Fidele with a deep sadness, mingled with something else.
Pity?
‘Oh, Mother,’ Nathair said, and she felt a glimmer of hope that he would now set things right, that justice would be done.
‘The loss of Father has hit you so much more than I ever conceived.’
‘What?’ What does he mean, why . . . ?
‘Your grief has overwhelmed you, I fear. I should never have given you the responsibility of a realm, and so soon after Father’s death.’
Fidele felt those strong walls that she had built within, layer upon layer of will and strength to protect her from the hurt Lykos had inflicted upon her beginning to crumble. She filled her lungs, slowly blew out. ‘This has nothing to do with your father’s death. Lykos—’
‘Is a Vin Thalun sailor, a ship’s captain, lord of his people. Not a sorcerer. Look at him.’ Nathair waved his hand. ‘He is a man of many talents, but a sorcerer?’
More sniggers, louder.
‘His thirst for power drives him,’ Fidele said, her voice sounding reed-thin in her ears. ‘Whatever he has, he wants more.’
‘Power?’ Nathair said. ‘I had already given it to him, appointed him regent of Tenebral, made him one of the most powerful men in the Banished Lands.’
‘It was not enough for him,’ she said, almost a whisper, feeling her strength and will fading away, draining from her.
‘Mother, please,’ Nathair said, still regarding her with that maddening pity in his eyes. ‘It is clear to me that you are grief mad, and that in that madness, out of it, you have brought Tenebral to the brink of civil war. But I cannot punish you for it. You are not to blame. If anyone is, it is me, for placing too great a responsibility upon your shoulders. There will be no punishment for you, but you will retire, to somewhere safe and calm, away from all of the pressure and strain of these dark times.’
Am I really hearing this? Can my own son be saying this to me? It is some terrible nightmare. She wanted to say something, to convince him, but her mind was a blank.
‘Now,’ said Nathair, ‘as for the rest of you, I can hardly believe what I have heard. Tenebral, my home, the realm of the high king of the Banished Lands, has collapsed upon itself like so many squabbling children.’
Krelis muttered at that, Peritus sitting straight and tense.
‘The right of the situation clearly lies in Lykos’ favour.’
Krelis made to stand, but Peritus and Ektor both held him.
‘Ripa chose to defend a man sentenced to death – you, Peritus – and to take up arms against my appointed representative. I appointed Lykos – Mother, you saw my letter with my seal, and Veradis reported my sanctioning of him as regent of Tenebral. What you have all done is treason, and I could have you all executed.’
‘This is outrageous,’ Krelis exploded, lunging to his feet, Peritus following, trying to calm him.
Jehar were suddenly circling Krelis, swords half-drawn from scabbards. Krelis froze.
‘Sit. Down,’ Nathair commanded.
Krelis just stood, glaring rage at Nathair. ‘My da was slain,’ he growled.
‘Please, Krelis,’ a voice said – Veradis. ‘Please, brother, take your seat.’ And slowly, with a final glower, Krelis did.
‘I could have you executed for treason,’ Nathair repeated, holding Krelis’ gaze, daring him to move. Krelis didn’t.
‘But I won’t. I want peace in my realm, order, trust in those ruling so that I may focus on the real task at hand. The defeat of the Black Sun. What we are discussing is petty by comparison.’
Fidele’s mind was swirling, a turmoil of shock and pain, that her own son would disregard her so utterly and completely . . .
I do not recognize the man he’s become, do not know him. How could someone change so completely. Nathair was still speaking, though his words were a blur in her head now. Fragments began to coalesce, spinning together, like a broken window reforming, and slowly she began to see.
See Calidus meeting with Nathair, all those years ago, introducing him to Lykos, advising him to leave Tenebral, to chase after the cauldron, whispering in his ear, as he was even now. She glanced at Ektor, saw him frowning, gaze flitting between Calidus and Nathair, remembered his giant scrolls that spoke of the high king’s counsellor being Kadoshim, a demon of Asroth. At that time they had been talking of Meical, who had been Aquilus’ counsellor, but Nathair was high king now, and Calidus his counsellor . . .
‘What have you done to my son?’ Fidele heard herself say, loud and clear as she stood and pointed at Calidus.
For some reason she shocked everyone to silence.
‘What do you mean?’ Veradis said, looking between her and Calidus.
‘I have done nothing but give good counsel, my lady,’ Calidus said, his voice calm, reassuring. Suddenly she knew, beyond all doubt, every fibre of her being screaming the same thing.
‘You are Kadoshim,’ she said. Quietly, but seeming to impact everyone in the room.
Calidus pulled a face, part surprise, part sneer. ‘You are mistaken, my lady,’ he said.
‘And if we needed any more evidence of her madness, there it is,’ a voice shouted, Lykos, laughing.
‘You are Kadoshim,’ Fidele said, louder.
‘What are you talking about, my lady?’ Peritus called to her.
>
‘Nathair, tell me it isn’t so,’ she pleaded with her son.
He stared at her, blinking, almost startled.
‘Be silent, Mother,’ he mumbled.
She looked around the room, Calidus regarding her as if she were an insect to be crushed, Veradis was confused, looking from her to Nathair, Alcyon the giant – hulking, solemn, sorrowful – the Jehar just staring with their dead eyes. A hand touched her wrist, Ektor.
‘Not here, not now,’ he hissed, shaking his head. She shook him off and looked back to Nathair, who was still staring at her.
‘What have you done?’ she whispered.
‘Take her away,’ Nathair said, looking away as if he’d been slapped. ‘Her madness is deeper than I feared, she must be protected from herself.’
Eagle-guard moved forwards, Krelis and Peritus standing to protect Fidele. Swords were drawn.
‘No,’ Fidele said furiously to Peritus and Krelis. ‘You will die here, for nothing.’
‘You dare draw your blades, before me?’ Nathair said, his voice rising from a shocked hiss to strangled yell.
‘I have offered you all kindness and mercy, and you throw it back at my feet. Draw your swords in my presence. Well. I. Say. This.’ Nathair was on his feet now, fists bunching. ‘My word is law, and you will abide by it, whether you be my ancient friend or my closest kin, else you will lose your heads.’ Spittle was flying now.
‘Take them away,’ Calidus said.
‘Aye, that’s right,’ Nathair cried, voice still charged with emotion. ‘Get them out of here, all of them, take them below. I want them under lock and key.’
Eagle-guard swept forwards now, firm hands steering Fidele towards the door; Krelis, Peritus and Ektor herded along with her.
As she reached the door she looked back and saw Calidus staring at her, eyes flat and dead, like one of the sharks in Ripa’s bay.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
VERADIS
Veradis watched the door close behind Fidele, Peritus and his brothers.
What have I just witnessed?
