by Mark Bowsher
‘Of course not!’ continued the King. He gestured to Eshter to raise her staff again. ‘MAGNIFICENT MAGNIFICENT!’ He turned back to Vira. ‘We are swimming in riches once more! Each one of them bought a ticket – well, was made to buy a ticket – and the gullible fools even seem to be enjoying themselves!’ Eshter quickly woke up and stopped pointing the staff at the King’s throat but the crowd were cheering too loudly to hear what the King had said. He scowled briefly at Eshter before staring daggers at Vira, who successfully hid the smugness in her smile. The King looked out to see the two knights still fighting over the gold plate. ‘This has become exceedingly dull. Let’s have these two executed. Yes! Let’s have a mass execution! Perhaps some prisoners or…’
While the King was lost in thought, Eshter jumped in with a suggestion. ‘Perhaps you should see how you feel after the half-time show, My Most Wise and Noble Majesty.’
‘The half-time what?!’
Eshter held her staff aloft. Krish glanced in the direction Eshter was looking. He just caught it – a guard by one of the entrances in the stalls had nodded in response. He in turn nodded to someone unseen behind the stalls. Krish hoped more than anything that it was Balthrir. If it wasn’t, should he risk trying to get the King’s attention? What if the King just had him dragged off before anyone could see? No. He had to wait. He’d gone through so much to win the Myrthali off the King, to save his Mum’s life, that he wouldn’t squander his only chance with impatience.
As he was still pondering this thought, a wall of fire shot across the stadium. The audience shrieked. The King looked up slowly, curiously in the direction of the flaming barricade which had just sprung up at the centre of the arena.
‘What new amusement is this…?’ he said, toying with his grey-white beard.
Seconds passed. The wall of flame remained. Anticipation mounted. All eyes were on this baffling vision on the arena floor. Then great shapes came haring forward out of the fire. Gigantic elephants performing somersaults, tigers doing back-flips, majestic birds pirouetting through the air and cows dancing jigs. People whooped and cheered. Krish knew Balthrir was good but this was unbelievable. He turned to gauge the King’s reaction. He sat in his throne, smiling and shaking his head, awestruck.
Then a figure emerged from the flames and Krish saw the familiar visage of… Elwynt. Yes, it was Elwynt, Lord of the West. The plump lord ran from side to side, being chased by an elephant.
‘Your Majesty!’ cried the vision of Elwynt from the arena floor.
The King burst into hysterics. He turned to the real Elwynt behind him. Elwynt looked at the vision of himself in dismay. He felt his own belly, just checking that it really was as large as it appeared out in the arena.
‘Please, Your Majesty, please!’ screamed the vision of Elwynt. ‘I don’t know how they escaped! I was just so busy eating cheese and smoked grambit and drinking lots and lots and lots of wine that I didn’t have time to make sure they were secure! AAARRRGGGHHH!’ The elephant caught up with Elwynt and squashed him. The real Elwynt winced, still holding his belly, as the King continued to laugh wildly. The crowd followed his lead.
As the elephant departed, a new vision stood up in the spot where Elwynt had been. This time it was Hesh, Lord of the South. Hesh was shorter and slimmer than Elwynt and he looked even more cowardly than usual. ‘Please, My Liege!’ The elephant chased him. ‘Please stop the elephant! I’ll do the whole harvest of Melkur myself! I’ll sleep in the cowshed and you can use me as a compost heap!’
Krish didn’t know quite how accurate Balthrir’s impressions of the lords were but the King was lapping it up. Hesh was caught between two elephants charging towards him. They crashed into each other. Hesh and the two elephant shapes became one unfocused blob and then morphed into two new shapes: R’ghir, Lord of the East, with his rich-looking robes and short beard, and a large, snarling tiger which R’ghir clutched in his arms. The tiger kept trying to bite and scratch at R’ghir but the lord was defiant. ‘I can tax a tiger!’ said the vision of R’ghir. ‘Look at me, Your Majesty! I can do it! I can tax a tiger! I can tax anything! A-ha-ha-ha-ha!’
Krish watched as the King rocked back and forth in his throne laughing. The crowd were also falling about the place in hysterics, much of it genuine, it seemed. Even R’ghir chuckled a little, until his own vision was swallowed by the tiger. The tiger burped then stood on its hind legs.
‘Well, well, well,’ said the tiger in a beautiful, seductive voice. It strode gracefully in the direction of the royal box. ‘What have we got here…?’
The laughter was dying down. The crowd were curious. They all recognised the voice. Then the tiger was on fire. Engulfed in flames it continued to stroll elegantly towards the royal box. Its eyes were still visible and looking directly at the King.
‘Is this a mirror your Lady of the North sees before her…?’ said the voice of the tiger. Except it was no longer a tiger. The flames had died down and the form of Vira came gradually to a halt. Upon her head was a crown. The laughter had ceased. ‘Yes, is this a mirror…?’
The King was frozen to the spot. He was eagerly awaiting the vision’s next move. Vira looked into her own eyes. Her expression was one of hunger, a smirk on her cherry lips.
‘Or a dream that will never become a reality?’ said the vision of Vira. ‘Oops!’ The vision tripped and the crown fell from her head. The crowd let out a laugh and for the first time it was the King who followed suit. The vision of Vira stood up straight but was still looking a little wobbly. ‘O Your Most Wonderful Incredible Smart-arse Clever-clogs Majesty! I was so certain it would fit me! Silly old me! I’m just so clever with all my amazing words that I thought one day you might just hand it over to me.’ The vision winked at the King. ‘But turns out I’m not as smart as I am beautiful and maybe I’m not as beautiful as I am smart and now I’m so confused by my own cleverness that I might just take a nap next to your bravest knight. Promise you won’t chop off my pretty old head now!’ The vision of Vira winked again at the King.
The King was hysterical. The crowd were roaring with laughter. It may not have been the most accurate impression but everyone loved it. Disturbingly, though, Krish saw that Vira was smiling. Her mouth closed, barely putting any effort into her grin, one hand folded tidily over the other. She was the very image of beauty, elegance and cunning. She nodded her approval to her own vision, then turned to the Lords Elwynt, Hesh and R’ghir and nodded at them also, her smile unwavering. Krish did not like the lords’ hostile glances at Vira any more than he liked Vira’s immovable grin. He was deeply suspicious but had quickly turned back to the vision of Vira. He had a feeling his cue was on its way. He began to untie the twine from around his wrists.
‘So…’ said the vision of Vira, marching towards the royal box. ‘You enjoy a seeing a familiar face…?’
The King was still chuckling away uncontrollably. The vision of Vira became a haze. All the animals and the wall of fire faded to nothing. The vision of Vira turned at last into Balthrir. She marched confidently up to the royal box and stopped. She tried to stay looking calm and collected while also scanning the vicinity for signs of Krish. Krish chanced sticking his head over the top of the chariot. Balthrir caught his eye. A nod between the two of them. With one hand Krish was fumbling with the bag containing the pearl and the feather, while with the other he kept hold of the two ends of the twine. Moments later he was prepared.
‘Well,’ said Balthrir, raising her staff. ‘One more won’t do any harm then.’ She turned and indicated the chariot. Krish took a deep breath and, with the eyes of thousands of citizens in the arena upon him, he emerged.
There was a murmuring of unrest among the crowd.
The sight of the King was enough to frighten the hardiest of men but Krish found himself feeling calm. He’d faced death so many times that this cruel-looking man in his crown no longer intimidated him all that much.
‘Your Majesty,’ Krish began in his noblest of voices, Balthrir’s staff ampli
fying his voice for all to hear. ‘I seek an audience with you.’
The King glanced around the near-silent arena. The crowd were intrigued – maybe this was all part of the show.
‘Well you seem to have an audience with me whether I desire it or not,’ said the King.
‘THAT’S HIM! THAT’S HIM!’ Eshter had stepped forward, wild with excitement, pointing an accusing finger at Krish. ‘I REMEMBER HIS FACE! HE’S—’
The King raised his hand to silence his court wizard. The urgency died in her tired old eyes.
‘Your Majesty,’ Krish continued, ‘you recall some months ago a young boy who visited you requesting your Myrthali in return for—’
The King was no longer amused. All his good humour had vanished in an instant. ‘I recall making no such promise for any price! Why would I—?’
‘You don’t recall asking for this…?’
Nobody had ever interrupted the King in his long reign and even Balthrir was shocked for a moment. But the world forgot the incident without delay when Krish, whose hand was curled up by his shoulder, clutching something hidden by the bag placed over it, unfurled his arm. The bag dropped to the ground. The crowd shrieked once more as Krish held aloft the shining pearl from the Night Ocean. Eshter’s eyes did not believe it. R’ghir, Elwynt and Hesh were entranced, greed in their faces. Vira let out a short, self-satisfied laugh.
The King considered this for a moment, his countenance stubborn. His expression cracked into a smile and a chuckle escaped his lips.
‘I know you remember me,’ said Krish. ‘I know you thought your precious Myrthali was threatened. I know you sent the Vulrein after me. And you know what? They ran off screaming…’
The King’s eyes hadn’t left the pearl.
‘Impossible! Absolutely impossible!’ said the King.
‘Ask me before Gul—’
‘And even if it were from the Night Ocean, I believe I also requested…’
The pearl thudded to the ground and revealed the smaller object Krish had been concealing. A glass jar containing a golden-white feather, still aflame, in the crook of his arm. Using the thumb and forefinger of his left hand (he was trying to hide the fact he was clutching the two ends of the twine in this hand) he transferred the jar to his right hand, which moments ago had been holding the pearl. He held the object aloft. The beautiful feather sat at the centre of the jar, surrounded by flame.
‘The feather of a FireHawk!’ said the stunned Eshter, not realising how loudly she’d spoken (or that her own staff was now amplifying her voice). ‘How can it still be aflame?!’
The effect it had on the crowd silenced the King once more. But he soon regained his composure.
‘I care not for these trinkets,’ he said. He gestured for the guards to approach Krish and Balthrir. Balthrir held out her staff warningly but guards were approaching on several sides. She was clearly conflicted as to whether or not attack was the best option right now.
‘But Your Majesty,’ said Krish, ‘you said before Gul—’
‘Oi! Let go!’ Krish was momentarily distracted from listening to the King while Balthrir struggled with a guard who’d snuck up behind her and was trying to take her staff.
‘If I had wanted a pearl from the Night Ocean,’ said the King, ‘or a feather from a FireHawk, I have no doubt—’
‘Let go!’ protested Balthrir.
‘Gimme the staff, miss!’ said the guard wrestling with Balthrir.
‘—I could have ordered one of my bravest knights—’ continued the King.
‘Give it back!’
‘—to obtain them for me!’
‘GIVE IT BACK!’
Eshter’s eyes narrowed and she gripped her staff tightly, raising it a little as she looked over at Balthrir struggling with the guard.
‘Besides, as my recollection is somewhat improved,’ continued the King, ‘I believe there was one more task I set… And I don’t see a pretty bow tied around the entirety of—’
‘Blimey!’ said Balthrir, glancing over the guard’s shoulder. ‘Is-that-a-guard-lookin’-the-wrong-way?’
‘What?!’
The guard followed Balthrir’s gaze and while he was distracted she snatched back her staff. In a single motion she swung the staff as far forward as she could reach and struck the twine. Eshter thrust her own staff forward, casting a spell that knocked Balthrir’s staff out of her hands, but its work had already been done. A jet of light flowed through the twine and seconds later it had travelled around the entire globe of Ilir and reached the end of the thread in Krish’s hands. The twine glowed in the midday sun and all the colours of the rainbow could be glimpsed as the light caught it. A gargantuan shriek from the crowd, then silence, then finally applause.
Krish brought his two hands together and—
‘STOP HIM!’ cried the King. ‘STOP HIM!’
The guards rushed forward but it was too late. Krish’s defiant eyes locked with the King’s as he tied the two ends into a little bow. Balthrir pulled Krish out of the way before the guard brought down his sword. The sword hit the twine, then rebounded and flew up into the air as the guard fell to the ground. Balthrir picked up her staff and smiled smugly at Eshter.
‘Sunlight twine! It’s sunlight twine!’ cried the King, unbelievingly. He reached for something in his pocket. ‘I’ll cut it!’ He rushed forward. ‘I’LL CUT THAT DAMN—’
‘Sire…’
Gritted teeth and wild, furious eyes met Eshter’s sheepish face.
‘It is already done.’
The look the King gave the old wizard in return had the desired effect. Eshter gave a polite smile and a tired sigh in apology. ‘I’ll just…’ She reached for a sword and held it up high, hoping she could lop her own head off before one of the clumsy palace guards made a mess of the task. (She’d seen the one standing closest to her trying to saw a loaf of bread in half with a rusty spoon once before so she didn’t hold out much hope of her own demise at his hands being a swift affair.) But the King wasn’t interested in punishing her right now.
‘I have no time for fools! A SEA OF FOOLS IS LAID OUT BEFORE ME! I AM DROWNING IN THEM!’ The King screamed at the crowd. Then he paced back and forth, the crowd clapping and chanting in celebration at Krish and Balthrir’s achievement all the while.
‘Pretty!’ the King spat out. ‘I-I-I said it must be pretty! A-a-a-a pretty bow to tie around the world, I said! I do not consider this monstrosity pretty!’
‘Oh, come off it, mate!’ chipped in Balthrir. ‘’E tied it round the bloody world! What d’yer want? Flippin’ great flowers on it or summink?’
‘And you! YOU!’ The King pointed accusingly at Balthrir. ‘YOU helped him! I-I said him! And him alone!’
‘He dived into the Night Ocean! He tied the bow—’
‘But the feather! The feather! Did he take the feather or did—?’
‘Sire…’ Eshter clearly hadn’t diced with enough death for one day. Not that anything seemed to trouble the tired old wizard that much any more.
‘What?!’ said the King.
‘Erm. Well… Gulwin, whose songs of truth never e—’
‘Yes, yes, yes! I am more than well acquainted with the feathered little jackanapes!’
‘Well… the law decrees that if there is any doubt in the truth of matters then he must be called upon to determine the facts.’
The King’s sigh would have been a roar if the excitable crowd were not doing an excellent job of drowning him out.
‘Very well.’
CHAPTER 31
THE BIRD IN THE DEEP
The King declared Krish and Balthrir prisoners until their testament was proven true and imprisoned them in the slave carriage, which, despite the smell, was quite a relief to them, seeing as they had just travelled the world by foot. The carriage was essentially a cage on wheels, the size of a lorry, pulled by six horses. The slaves found the whole story of their adventures hysterical. Balthrir must have re-enacted it about a dozen times before th
ey reached the Black Palace. They particularly loved her retelling of Krish’s first encounter with the Vulrein.
‘Oh, Balthrir! Balthrir! Help me! Those nasty dogs are coming to get me!’ The high-pitched voice she added and the exaggerated feint that followed were met with guffaws and even Krish found it hilarious. Many didn’t believe all the stories of the strange creatures Krish had encountered in the deep or the way the Vulrein had formed a single creature but Balthrir had a secret weapon which she used to convince them: the Salvean blade. It was so small, only the handle visible unless held up in direct sunlight, that the guards hadn’t confiscated it as they had her staff. She cut a beam of sunlight out of the air and the slaves gasped in disbelief as it fell and sizzled on the ground. Balthrir loved all the attention and even gave away some of her itching powder for the slaves to use on the guards, although she spilt some of it and three slaves found themselves itching like crazy on the floor of the carriage while everyone else roared with laughter. The merriment put from their minds the fact that they’d be in trouble once the King realised it was Balthrir who’d caught the feather from the FireHawk.
The festival had been declared over (due to the King’s rotten mood) and as they left the festivities Krish and Balthrir saw the stalls, the seating areas and the walls of the festival enclosure itself being taken down. The carts and carriages on the road moved aside for the King and his prisoners. A second carriage of slaves followed them, Eshter riding on a horse in front of this carriage. Krish was less than happy to see Madam Nboosa imprisoned in the large barred carriage behind them. Every now and then Eshter snarled at Balthrir’s teacher. Krish had a nasty feeling they could be seeing Nboosa in the walls of the Black Palace very soon. Despite the sight of the imprisoned Nboosa leaving Krish with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he turned back to Balthrir and enjoyed the unexpectedly jolly proceedings aboard the slave carriage for the rest of the journey.
