The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two

by Gail Z. Martin

  Telhon, the rune of family, lay between the white and pink candles. At the pink candle, she marked Eshan, the rune of power, between the pink and black candles. Finally, Kiara reached the black candle and marked Rahn, the rune of fate, between the black and red candles. Kiara made the sign of the Lady over the candles and then made her way to the center of the labyrinth. She removed a scroll from the basket with the words of the ritual. As with all of the monarchs before her, the ritual had been altered subtly for her and the circumstances under which she found herself coming to the throne. Kiara took a deep breath and began.

  “Honored fathers. Esteemed mothers. I come before you to claim my birthright, the throne of Isencroft. I am Kiara Sharsequin, daughter of Donelan and Viata, heir to the crown. Honor me with your presence, grandfathers and grandmothers. I ask you to share your wisdom.”

  A breeze fluttered through the windowless chamber. It buffeted the candle flames but did not extinguish them. The torch flames swayed from the moving air, sending shadows dancing across the floor. Yet within the darker shadows near the opposite wall, Kiara sensed the presence of movement.

  Slowly, four shadows separated themselves from the darkness. The first to step into the light was a gaunt man, dressed in the manner of the Isencroft kings several centuries before Kiara’s birth. He had sharp features and hollow cheeks, with deep-set eyes that looked at Kiara as if he would see her soul. He took his place between the black and red candles. Next to emerge from the shadows was a tall woman, strongly built, with the stance and manner of a warrior. She wore the ghostly image of ancient armor, and her hair was caught back in a battle queue. This ghost stopped between the pink and black candles, above the rune of power.

  The third spirit was a portly man who looked to be in his middle years. Broad shouldered with a large belly and a full beard, the man had a pleasant look about him as he came to stand between the white and pink candles, next to the rune of family. Finally, the ghost of a thin woman in a long cloak emerged from the darkness. Her pale face was surprisingly young, appearing no more than thirty summers old, but the gown she wore was at least several generations out of fashion. This final spirit glided to a stop just beyond the rune of fate. Kiara swallowed hard, forcing back a wave of disappointment that Donelan’s spirit was not among her spirit counselors.

  Kiara gave a low bow. “Honored ancestors. Thank you for heeding my call. I have received the crown according to the ritual, and now I come to seek your wisdom.”

  “We cannot speak of the future, only of the past,” said the tall, gaunt-faced spirit. “It’s not given to us to know what will be. But the four of us have been called by the runes and ritual, because something we know may be of value to you. Ask your questions, Kiara Sharsequin, daughter of Donelan. We will answer as best we can. It will be for you to interpret how our stories may yet affect the days to come.”

  “How is it that my father is not among you?”

  The heavy-set ghost gave Kiara a sad smile. “Donelan’s spirit was not drawn to the runes because he struggled with the same questions that you do, and he had not yet discovered answers. In time, he will be able to come to you for comfort, as does the spirit of your mother. This is not a time for consolation, Kiara. We are a war council, gathered for you by magic and the will of the Lady. Make good use of what we have to offer you.”

  Kiara nodded in acknowledgment. “Share with me your wisdom, and help me save our kingdom.” She realized she was clutching the scroll in her hand hard enough to crumple the parchment. Now that she faced the ghosts, she hoped that the questions she had chosen would make the most of the opportunity to seek guidance.

  She turned first to the gaunt, hollow-eyed man who stood near the rune of succession. “Tell me, honored father, how can I protect the crown from the invaders and help the people of Isencroft accept my sons as the rightful heirs to the throne?”

  The thin ghost regarded Kiara with a sharp, unforgiving gaze. “You have returned to your homeland and accepted the crown. Complete the ritual, and the full power of the crown cannot be taken from you by force. The regent magic will elude usurpers, weakening their rule until descendents of the true regent line return to take back what is theirs.”

  “And my sons?”

  “You are not the first to wed an outlander. Your father’s marriage scandalized the Winter Kingdoms. At the time, many swore they would never accept the child of that marriage as the true ruler of Isencroft. Yet time passed, and now it is not you but your sons to an outlander king whose legitimacy to rule is questioned. So it was in my day, when I married a daughter of the Western Raiders to bring peace to our borders. There was great outcry that our son would grow up and deliver our kingdom into the hand of our enemies. He did not. Rule wisely and with strength, Kiara, and make sure that your sons are seen in Isencroft and know our ways. Such tempests are quickly forgotten once there is peace and bread enough for all.”

  “Thank you, wise father,” Kiara said with a bow. The gaunt spirit stepped back, his image becoming less solid, though he stayed near the circle of the labyrinth. Next, Kiara turned toward the warrior queen. The queen wore leather armor emblazoned with the image of a wolf, the symbol of Clan Dunlurghan.

  “Honored mother. How can I lead my armies to victory when I dare not risk the child I carry in the heat of the fight?”

  The ghost of the tall, warrior queen regarded Kiara silently, as if she were taking Kiara’s measure. “You have trained for battle, and you have drawn blood in battle,” the ghost said, watching Kiara closely.

  “Yes, honored mother. I take no joy in either, but I have done what I had to do when the times demanded it.”

  The warrior queen nodded. “Exactly so. Then this time, also, you must do what must be done as the times demand it. Tell me: If the babe you carry were already born, would you count it shame to hide him out of reach of the enemy?”

  “Of course not.”

  Once again, the ghost queen nodded. “Then why do you count it shameful to hide him before his birth, when both you and he would be a tempting spoil of war? There are many ways to fight an enemy. Swords are often the least effective, though we turn to them first more often than not.” The hint of a smile softened her features. “Generals and heroes can lead an army to victory, but none can be a rallying point like the one who wears the crown. Now, more than ever, you are Isencroft embodied. You are Donelan’s daughter, the crowned monarch. And you carry within your body the next heir to that throne. You are the nexus of past, present, and future, and that is a powerful focus for your magic.”

  “But I’m not even sure what my regent magic is!” Kiara’s voice carried a hint of desperation. “We don’t have time for me to find out by trial and error. There’s an invading fleet ready to attack.”

  The ghostly queen’s face hardened. “Battle proves the warrior, as fire tempers steel. I was the daughter of Leksandr, lord of Clan Dunlurghan, wife to Lord Gavrill of Clan Finlios. I saw many battles and fought alongside my husband. No soldier knows with certainty what sets him apart as a fighter until the battle. Is it his reach? Stealth? Speed and sure-footedness? Cleverness and guile? Brute strength? These are proven in the heat of battle. Since it is not for you to cross swords in this war, then you must use the gifts you have to change the tide.”

  Kiara bit back her frustration and bowed her head in deference. “Thank you, honored mother.” Again, the ghost took a step back and faded to a dim outline.

  Kiara turned next to the spirit of the burly, bearded king. While the other three ghosts looked forbidding, this wraith had a hint of mirth to him that set her somewhat at ease. “Honored father, I fear for the lives of both my sons, and for my husband. My oldest child, Cwynn, may not be suited to rule, due to a difficult birth. The child I carry would claim both thrones, since it isn’t advisable for me to have a third. Yet the prospect of a joint throne has brought Isencroft to civil war. What wisdom do you have for me?”

  Although the bearded king’s expression was thoughtful, his e
yes were kind. “Well-fed subjects rarely revolt. Find relief for their hunger, and you will undermine the traitors’ greatest advantage, because they claim to offer what the king could not provide. This war will force your enemies to reveal themselves, as it will show the true colors of the monarchy. Let your people see the real horror against which the army stands to protect them, and they will rally to your cause.”

  “Thank you, honored father,” Kiara said quietly as the ghost retreated to the shadows.

  Hesitantly, she turned to the last of the ghostly counselors. The thin woman wore an ornate dress with intricate beading that was a work of art even though its style had long passed from fashion. Kiara could see sorrow in the ghost’s pale features.

  “Speak, honored mother. You were drawn to the rune of fate. I fear to ask, and yet I must. If your gift is not to speak of the future, then what can you tell me of my fate, and that of my kingdom and kin?”

  “I came to the throne quite young, without the benefit of advisers among the nobles or the castle staff whom I could trust,” the ghost replied. “Doubting myself, I put my faith in seers and rune scryers, and in the words of the Oracle. I took their prophecies and omens at face value, without testing them for deeper meanings. Without intending to do so, I abdicated the throne by ceding my decisions and choices to what I believed was fated for me.

  “By acting on what might be as if it were what would be, I narrowed the options open to me and brought about the future I most feared. Omens and prophecies are meant to alert you to what is possible, but do not believe that what is foretold is certain. The victory comes most often to those who deny their fate and forge their own paths. Do not make my mistake.”

  “Thank you, honored mother,” Kiara murmured.

  “You have chosen your questions well.” It was the first ghost, the gaunt old king, who spoke. “We leave four gifts for you. Use them wisely. Remember that the blood that flows through your veins gives you not only the magic but the wisdom of all those who came before you, if you will but open yourself to the power.”

  The gaunt king raised his hand in blessing, and the other ghosts did likewise, making the sign of the Lady. One by one, their shadowed forms blurred and then disappeared, leaving Kiara alone with the circle of candles. Where each ghost had stood, an item lay on the floor next to the runes and candle. Kiara saw that the path out of the labyrinth would bring her close enough to each of the candles to retrieve the gifts. She made her way carefully through the labyrinth, stopping at each of the colored candles to whisper thanks to the spirit who had appeared before gathering the gift. At each candle she smudged the rune before extinguishing the flame.

  In the place where the gaunt king had stood lay an intricate necklace made from silver and glass beads in a fashion Kiara did not recognize. It looked very old and was of fine enough craftsmanship to be worthy of royalty. Near where the portly king’s spirit had been lay a weighty piece of glass. At first, Kiara thought it to be a scrying ball until she lifted it in her hands and found it to be flatter than a sphere, yet convex on either side.

  By the spot where the young, thin queen had been lay a handful of rune dice, rectangular polished pieces of bone inscribed with runic symbols. The calligraphy on the rune dice was magnificent, and in the dim light of the crypt, Kiara thought she saw the intricate symbols glow with an inner fire.

  The final gift was from the warrior queen’s ghost. It was a finely forged sword, and as Kiara hesitantly lifted the weapon, she realized that it was very old. The crest of the crown of Isencroft was worked into the guard and four gems were set into the end of the pommel in the shape of a cloverleaf: sapphire, onyx, emerald, and ruby. Kiara frowned, trying to match the gems to the faces of the lady, and then she noticed writing etched into the blade. She moved closer to the torch to see better.

  Inscribed along the blade were the eight names of the ancient clans of Isencroft. Once the followers and families of long-ago warlords, the clans still retained a powerful hold on the imagination of Crofters, and even those who had lived for generations mingled in Isencroft’s cities could proudly trace lineage back to one of the eight old clans.

  Eight for the clans that became a kingdom, the first lords of Isencroft, who chose among themselves for its king. Raise this sword, Goddess Blessed, and remind your people who they are. It was the voice of the warrior queen that sounded softly in Kiara’s ear, close enough to be whispering over Kiara’s shoulder. When she stepped across the opening to the labyrinth, air and magic stirred through the room, extinguishing the ring of candles around the labyrinth’s edge.

  She placed the gifts in her basket, then turned and made a deep bow.

  “I am grateful, honored spirits. Thank you for your wisdom.”

  To Kiara’s surprise, the heavy door unlocked of its own accord. Kiara pushed the door open, feeling the magic of the threshold tingle as she stepped back into the corridor. Jorven and Balaren were waiting for her. Relief and exhaustion flooded over Kiara as Jorven and Balaren walked her back to the vigil room. Kiara’s companions crowded around her, and Cerise helped her sit next to the low wooden table. Kiara realized that she had no idea how much time had passed. Cerise shooed the others away until she could verify to her satisfaction that Kiara was well. Only then did the healer permit the rest of the group to ply Kiara with their questions.

  “Can you tell us what you saw?”

  “Did the kings appear to you?”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “Did they leave anything for you?”

  Cerise brought Kiara a chalice of watered wine and a hunk of bread with honey, nudging her to eat before launching into long explanations. Gratefully, Kiara finished the food. The others waited, trying to mask their impatience to hear her story.

  When Kiara finished recounting the counsel of the spirits, Allestyr looked thoughtful. “The advice appears sound to me. A bit vague, but that’s to be expected.” He managed a tired smile. “You weren’t really expecting an otherworldly checklist, were you?”

  Tice chuckled. “I’m intrigued by the first ghost’s comments. Which of the gifts did you think might have been his?”

  Kiara laid out the ghosts’ gifts on table, placing the sword next to the smaller items. Tice hunkered down next to the items and raised an eyebrow. “Now, that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  Tice gestured toward the beaded necklace, although he was careful not to touch it. “It’s been my privilege to be the archivist to the crown for some time now. I catalog the gifts and important purchases. This necklace is similar to another in the ‘crown jewels’ collection. Or perhaps it’s the same piece, ‘spirited’ from there to here by our friendly king.” He looked up at Kiara.

  “It’s every bit as old as the first king’s spirit claimed to be, and I’m betting it was King Vestven who was among your advisers. He was the monarch who created the longest-standing truce with the Western Raiders, and his reign enjoyed great prosperity. Vestven did indeed marry a chieftain’s daughter, which raised a fuss here in Isencroft but brought him high esteem among the Raiders.”

  Tice smiled. “A bit of trivia. Did you know what the Western Raiders call themselves?” When Kiara shook her head no, Tice grinned. “The Adares of the West. ‘Raider’ is a mispronunciation of their language into Croft. They’re actually a very sophisticated society with thriving commerce. We forget that their scholars, seers, and mathematicians have contributed a great deal over the centuries to knowledge in the Winter Kingdoms.”

  “Then why did they make war on Isencroft?” Kiara asked, sitting back and sipping at the watered wine. “Father had to fight them several times. Once, I went with him.”

  Tice nodded. “Every kingdom or people have the misfortune to have a bad leader once in a while. The Adares had father and son rulers who fancied themselves the eighth kingdom in the Winter Kingdoms and wanted to do their share of pushing and shoving to get respect.” He shrugged. “That was nearly a decade ago, and I understand from ou
r spies that when the son’s rule was cut short by an untimely and mysterious death, the new ruler led the Adares back to a more traditional outlook.”

  He drew a deep breath, thinking. “About eight years ago, an envoy came to the palace from the Adares with a peace offering. Donelan was skeptical, but in the time since then, while the border lords are constantly whipping the villagers up in fear of the Raiders, there’s been no organized action beyond some minor bandits. I believe the Adares were sincere.”

  Kiara frowned. “What does it mean for us now? Why would the ghost bring that up? There has to be a connection.”

  Tice and Allestyr exchanged glances. “The most obvious connection would be grain,” Allestyr said. “The ghost mentioned that ‘well-fed subjects rarely revolt.’ While the Winter Kingdoms, and especially Isencroft, haven’t had good harvests recently, the western plains have. Your father was too proud to approach the Adares to see about purchasing wheat and barley. But if I’m correct, Vestven is advising you to use this necklace and remind the Adares that you share a royal bloodline with them. They’re a culture that takes blood ties very seriously. For example, it’s considered a fault of the highest order not to share your food with blood kin who are hungry.”

  Kiara smiled slowly. “What are we waiting for? How quickly can we send an envoy to the Adares?” She chuckled. “Let’s keep it quiet though. The Divisionists are angry enough about my ties to Margolan. They’ll be livid if they hear that we’re trading with the Western Raiders!”

  Allestyr gave a slight bow. “A wise decision. I’ll see to it tomorrow, or rather, later today,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  Kiara turned to Brother Felix. “What do you make of the glass and the runes? At first, I thought it was a scrying ball,” she said, indicating the oddly shaped glass, “but it’s the wrong shape.”

  Felix picked up the weighty glass and turned it in his hands. “I haven’t seen many of these,” he said with a touch of awe in his voice. “There aren’t many mages who can use one.” He looked up at Kiara. “It’s a mage lens, a mage’s burning glass.”