by Mark Bowsher
The jovial atmosphere evaporated the moment they arrived at the Black Palace. Krish and Balthrir were escorted to the throne room in silence. The King was pacing not far from the apparently bottomless well cut into the ground on the far side of the chamber. His wives and husbands, scantily clad as always, were lounging nearby on golden chaises longues and in golden bathtubs. The pearl from the Night Ocean and the jar containing the feather from the FireHawk were being passed around. Many shrieked in awe at the sight of one or the other, smiled brightly and then passed it on to their neighbour. Many nobles, including R’ghir, Hesh, Elwynt and Vira, had placed themselves exactly halfway between the King and the throne. Eshter stood next to the well.
The King turned to Krish and Balthrir.
‘You!’ he said to one or both of them, neither was sure. ‘Here!’
The guards marched them both up to the King. His Most Royal Majesty stared into them, his brow heavy with the weight of his long years finally coming to an end.
‘You…’ This was definitely aimed at Krish. ‘I set you three tasks. You! And you alone. In return for this…’ The King’s arm gestured towards the Myrthali in the font made of crouching prisoners and in it Krish saw his home, the park, the streets, Bob’s Store on the corner. Even the hospital. And of course, his Mum, that laboured smile becoming lighter with happiness at the sight of him by her bedside. ‘That was my word. That you may be entitled to this bounty should you follow my requests to the letter… Did you dive into the Night Ocean to bring me back this pearl…?’ He now pointed towards the shiny object in the lap of one of the prettiest of his wives.
Krish looked at the pearl and back to the King.
‘Yes,’ answered Krish.
The King turned to Eshter, who looked down at the well. A few delicate notes echoed from the deep.
‘O wise Gulwin,’ said Eshter, ‘whose song of truth—’
‘Never ends, yes, yes, yes!’ came the King’s agitated voice.
‘—says the boy speaks the truth.’
The King turned back to Krish. ‘And the feather—’ Krish saw the jar in the hands of a slender husband ‘—you plucked this from a FireHawk…?’
Krish considered this. It was all about to come tumbling down. But he could not lie. Not this time.
‘No,’ said Krish. ‘I delivered it to you but I had assistance. From Balthrir.’
A look to Eshter and a distant chirp agreed on this.
‘And did this Balthrir help with anything else…? Such as acquiring the twine or helping transport it…?’
‘Yes. But I tied it.’
A look, a chirp, a nod. The King looked back at Krish, somewhat calmer now.
‘Then this is not your Myrthali…’
The sinking feeling in Krish was deeper than the Night Ocean, than any sea that could ever exist in any world. He just wanted to step forward and strangle the life out of the old King. What he would do now he had no idea, until a faint note from the deep sparked a little hope in him.
‘Gulwin,’ spoke Eshter, ‘proclaims this to be a lie.’ The King’s eyes widened at Eshter as the bird continued his song. ‘Gulwin says that His Most Noble Majesty promised the boy every last grain of his Myrthali if he brought him a pearl from the Night Ocean and a still-flaming feather from a FireHawk. Who acquired these items in the first place is immaterial. The challenge was that he was to deliver them, and this he has done. Similarly with the bow, using a wizard or indeed anyone else does not disqualify him. He set out to tie a bow around the world and we all witnessed him achieve it. From this day forth, King Obsendei’s Myrthali will become the legal property of the boy known as Krish.’
It was as if that sinking feeling had exploded into a joyous sensation which took over his whole body. Relief soared within him and he looked at Balthrir and both laughed with happiness.
‘Very well…’ The King’s voice was sly, hesitant. ‘So my commitment is to deliver the Myrthali to the boy? Nothing more…?’
Gulwin confirmed this.
‘I see…’ More pacing and pondering from the King before he eventually emptied the font of Myrthali into a leather satchel. He stared at the satchel for some moments, the realisation of his loss apparently spreading through his mind. ‘Then I shall indeed deliver My Myrthali, My Sands of Time, My Protector From…’ For a moment, a handful of seconds, the brutal, unforgiving King Obsendei was quiet, reflective. He stared at the ground, unmoving. A statue of his old self, frozen in a moment of realisation. ‘… From What Awaits Us All… eventually.’ The statue that was King Obsendei returned to life. The old man looked at Krish and Balthrir, something different in his ancient eyes.
The King approached Krish with the Myrthali. He stared into Krish but was reluctant to hand over the satchel. Obsendei was considering his next move. Krish had waited so long for this moment and, just after believing himself to be victorious, he now had doubts. He glanced over at Balthrir. She glanced back, a wary look in her eyes. She looked around to see where all the guards were standing, where Eshter stood, to the King and then back to Krish, who’d been following her gaze. Was she considering making a break for it if it all went wrong? She was staring again at Eshter’s staff. Eshter watched the King but her grip on her staff hadn’t slackened. Everyone was eyeing the King and Krish, wondering if there was going to be a fight. The walls tensed, breathing slowly in anticipation. All around hands were on swords, ready to unsheathe them.
Krish saw one guard, not too far away, so mesmerised by the goings-on in the chamber that his hand remained by his side, not on the grip of his sword. Could I reach it? thought Krish. Could I do it? Slay the King? His fury at the King for goading him in the throne room at their first meeting had been eating away at him for so long he decided yes. He didn’t care what was wrong, what was right, what he’d seen in the Sands of Tyraah. He’d do it. If he could reach that sword…
And then, the one thing nobody expected to happen occurred. Something that had never been seen within the walls of the Black Palace. King Obsendei bent one knee, lowered himself to the ground and knelt before Krish. He held the satchel of Myrthali aloft and bowed his head.
The reaction in the chamber was instantaneous. The entire palace seemed to gasp; a gust of air as every prisoner making up the walls inhaled in shock. The wives and husbands held hands to their mouths in horror. The nobles and advisors narrowed their eyes. All those who did not form part of the walls of the palace were looking down on their King for the first time.
Krish hesitated no more. He stepped forward and lifted the satchel out of the King’s hands. His eyes had been only on the satchel for some moments now, and as he pulled it away from Obsendei, he, and indeed the whole room, were audibly shocked. The King was no longer a tall, imposing figure. He was diminished in stature, his beard now completely white and thinning, his arms no more than bones with crinkled skin hanging off them. His whole complexion was paler, a hint of ash about him. His eyes were ancient and misty, staring up at Krish like a lost puppy.
Some nobles began to smile, to stand tall, to move into position, closer to the King. They eyed their prey with glee.
Krish was now aware of what the consequences of his quest were about to become. Although he was still breathing, the King was, to all intents and purposes, dead. Deposed. As he rose gradually to his feet, the robe hanging loose on his shrivelled frame, Krish noticed that the crown now looked heavy upon his head. He and Balthrir had effectively dethroned the King.
A few moments more and the former fierceness in the King’s eyes began to resurface. His voice was hoarse, croaky, but still strong. ‘I deliver my entire stock of Myrthali unto you at once and I shall never lay hands on it again…’
The frail figure of the King shuffled back towards his throne, hunched and exhausted-looking. The nobles gingerly moved apart, allowing the King a narrow passage to the throne. He collapsed like a bag of old bones. He wheezed. His eyes opened and closed slowly, as if a moment was soon coming when they’d remain shut for eve
r.
Many nobles were now circling the throne like vultures. R’ghir stroked his beard, his eyes on the throne as if no one currently sat on it. Hesh approached and ran fingers along the arm of the throne, enjoying the feel of the wood. Elwynt backed away, catching the eyes of a number of guards with robes a similar look and colour to his own. They nodded in acknowledgement, their hands on the grips of their swords. Vira stayed put. A simple, confident smile on her blood-red lips. One hand remained folded neatly over the other. She waited patiently, her eyes never leaving the crown on the dying King’s head.
The King’s eyes opened. His breathing steadier for a moment. He stared hard at Krish, those milky old eyes narrowing. There was something else in them now. Spite. Krish and Balthrir’s smiles wavered.
‘I say once more… my promise was to hand the Myrthali over to the boy, to be shared between himself and his companion also, if he pleases. They shall remain in possession of the Myrthali forevermore… but they shall never leave this palace!’
‘NO!’
‘That is the extent of our arrangement. I shall honour it.’ There was still some of the King’s hateful energy in the old bag of bones collapsed on the throne.
‘NO!’ The guards had already seized Krish by the arms.
‘You have no right to leave my domain for the heinous crime you have committed!’
‘NO!’
‘You slimy old ba—’ the last word was muffled as a guard clasped a hand over Balthrir’s mouth.
A line of prisoners were being ordered to lower themselves from the ceiling and soon their sweaty hands seized Krish and Balthrir. Krish and Balthrir were hauled over to the mouth of a shaft at the far side of the throne room. They were lowered into the endless dark of the dank well, a dot of light shrinking to nothing high above them.
‘Live out the millennia in the dark with your precious Myrthali if you will… but you shall never venture out into the world again!’
CHAPTER 32
‘I WILL LET BLOOD FLOW IN THE HALLS OF THE BLACK PALACE…’
All was cold and darkness. In the dank at the bottom of a narrow funnel of earth, Krish shivered in a corner. Although she was probably only a metre or so away, he was only just able to see Balthrir’s outline as she paced back and forth in the gloom. Between them, at the centre of the chamber, was a small, round, waist-high podium which narrowed a little from the base to the top. A little shape, no bigger than a sparrow, sat patiently, caped in shadow, next to the perch he was chained to. Krish had not yet paid much attention to Gulwin on his podium. He stared across at his friend. Agitated breaths infused with terror and anger in equal measure flowed from her mouth. As she spoke her words themselves seemed to quiver.
‘You’ve killed them…’ she muttered and then louder: ‘Yer’ve killed ’em! They were all I ’ad and yer’ve bloody killed ’em!’
‘Balthrir… You-you don’t know and I’m… I’m sor—’
‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you DARE! Yer come ’ere, tryin’ to save one person’s life and look what yer’ve done!’
‘Balthrir, please! I never wanted this to happen! I—’
‘Well it bloody well ’as, mate! You just wait! If Obsendei lives long enough ’e’ll execute a fair few prisoners outta pure spite! If ’e snuffs it and someone else seizes the throne then there’ll be blood sacrifices to honour the late old codger! Just you wait! They are DEAD, Krish! Dead because of you!’
Her dark beautiful eyes shone in the dimness of the well, piercing him. The guilt sank any glimmer of hope he might have had and clouded his mind, preventing him from even attempting to come up with something vaguely resembling a plan. When he could no longer look into Balthrir’s furious eyes he glanced inadvertently at the leather satchel on the ground. Balthrir saw what he was looking at.
‘Well go on then!’ she screamed at him. She picked up the satchel and hurled it at him. ‘Get the hell out of here! One touch, eh? And y’er gone? Can’t wait! Can’t wait, mate! Get out of my life!’
Those last five words hit Krish harder than any he’d ever heard in his life. One touch and he’d be gone. None of this would be his problem any more.
Krish didn’t move. He looked back into Balthrir’s eyes.
‘No.’ He kept Balthrir’s stare and the two of them looked into each other for what seemed like hours.
Balthrir broke eye contact with Krish and looked down at her feet. She muttered under her breath.
‘Bloody idiot.’ Then louder, to the centre of the compact little chamber they stood in at the bottom of the well: ‘What d’yer reckon? ’Im? Bloody idiot, eh?’
There was a slight pause and then for a few seconds the dank air was filled with sweet notes from the beak of the little bird covered in shadow on the small stone podium in the middle of the floor. Krish had still not really seen Gulwin. He could make out the shape of a small bird perched on the cold stone, unable to move more than a few inches from the spot where he was tethered.
‘Blimey!’ said Balthrir. ‘Apparently y’er not that much of an idiot. Let me tell yer, if I ever met another kid who’s as stu…’
Balthrir’s voice trailed off. She listened for a moment and then looked up. Krish’s eyes followed hers to the pinprick of light at the top of the shaft. There had been the faint sound of voices in the chamber above the whole time they had been down there but its volume had suddenly increased. Krish could just make out the voices of the nobles and advisors speaking over each.
‘—sub-section forty-seven, paragraph three—’ said R’ghir, Lord of the East.
‘—in the case of abdication. Not—’ said Elwynt, Lord of the West.
‘—was drawn up to prevent precisely this manner of debate and—’ continued R’ghir.
‘—coalition of monarchs is not unheard of, if the crown—’ said Hesh, Lord of the South.
Krish became aware of another sound too. A constant rasping cough from a hoarse throat. When the accompanying voice spoke it was just as fierce as Krish had ever known it to be but its tone of authority had waned to one of desperation.
‘I’m not-a-hhuh!-a-hhuh!-dead yet, you cretins!’
‘Your Majesty, we are simply speculating the very worst-case scenario,’ added Elwynt. ‘For the good of the people, you understand. Should the unfortunate hour arrive I am sure His Majesty would want nothing more than the best for—’
‘I AM YOUR-a-hhuh!-a-hhuh!-KING!-a-hhuh!-I command!-a-hhuh!-a-hhuh!’
It was barely a voice, more a noise, like dried, brown, autumnal leaves being crushed underfoot. Krish could picture the scene up above clearly. The withered old King stumbling around as the nobles and advisors discussed what would happen to the kingdom as if its ruler were already deceased.
‘Your Majesty, the last thing I or indeed any of us here want—’
‘Why waste your breath?’ A new voice cut in. ‘He is finished.’ The voice was calm but heavy with threat. ‘The decrepit ruler of yesterday is no more use to anyone than the dust he is about to become!’ Her voice was rising. ‘Fresh young blood must course through the veins of the kingdom’s new sovereign!’ He knew that voice. ‘When the time comes there will be actions, not words!’ Her voice was becoming louder and louder, fiercer and fiercer. ‘And all those who do not bow before me and hailme as their queen better have bones fit to sharpen my blade with! I will let blood run in the halls of the Black Palace before I see ANY ofyou on the throne!’
It was Vira. He could picture the fire he’d seen before behind those terrible, seductive eyes. They must be ablaze now. This was her time. He could see her striding about the chamber, surveying it, making it clear to all that this was her territory now.
‘Yer see?’ Balthrir’s voice was low and heavy. ‘I told yer. I told told yer, I told yer, I told yer! There’s worse than ’im. Didn’t yer learn nothin’ from the Sands o’ Tyraah? This was never about Obsendei.’
As if he had heard his name over the hullabaloo, the King screamed in the chamber above, his voice full of
terror and desperation. That crunching sound, crushed leaves, brittle branches being twisted slowly, splintering, followed every footstep.
‘I AM KING! I COMMAND!-a-hhuh!-a-hhuh!-I will execute fifty-a-hhuh!-a-hhuh!-prisoners at once to sh-a-hhuh!-to show my strength to the people! You will see!-a-hhuh!-You will see! They will still fear and-a-hhuh!-ahhuh!-bow to me!’
‘’E must ’ave been on the brink o’ death from the first time ’e took a spoonful o’ that Myrthali!’ said Balthrir. She looked over at Krish’s guilt-ridden eyes in the darkness and offered him a sympathetic little smile for a moment. ‘Yer in’t killed ’im, Krish.’
Krish looked down sheepishly.
‘Oooh,’ said Balthrir, something dawning on her. ‘Yer not annoyed about him dyin’. Yer annoyed that you in’t gonna—’
‘SHUT UP!’ spat Krish.
Awkward silence for a few moments and then a few notes of birdsong trickled through the gloom.
‘What did he say?’ asked Krish.
Balthrir nodded towards Gulwin. ‘Get closer.’
Krish turned. He could just about make out the shape as it hopped nearer to him in the darkness. He knelt. Gulwin was tiny. In the shadows he saw little more than a rather ordinary-looking garden bird like a sparrow or robin on his thin legs. He could see nothing of whether Gulwin was dull or bright in colour. All he could see was the slightest glimmer in a line of dim light, which was the tether, attached at one end to Gulwin’s leg and at the other to a small, simple perch. The only other place he saw light was a reflection in the bird’s tiny black eyes, disappearing and reappearing as he blinked.
