by Chris Ward
‘I see it now!’
And with that she took the Shadow Blade and inserted it into the Sceptre from beneath, into a slot perfectly formed to embrace the deadly shaft. As all assembled watched in astonishment, the Royal Sceptre and the Shadow Blade became as one, except for the hilt which had become the base and enabled Sylvion to hold the now completed Sceptre firmly as one object.
At the moment the two elements became complete as one, the Royal Sceptre burst forth in light far greater than before, and Sylvion turned triumphant to the fallen king.
‘Do you now wish to test this Sceptre one more, Petros Lord of Light, for as you see there is light enough for you here to demonstrate your claim. I will stand by my promise and allow you first to claim the throne.’
Lord Petros stood speechless, not knowing what to do for he knew deep within that it was now death to him to hold the Royal Sceptre as before.
‘Take the Sceptre now, Zelfos screamed. ‘You have been accepted before; you will again. Do it now you fool, can you not see that all hangs upon your rule?’
But Lord Petros was beaten. He turned his back on Zelfos and left the stage. He crumpled in a heap at Rema’s feet and took no further part in proceedings.
Sylvion held the Royal Sceptre high and out before the silent multitude. The light it offered clothed them all in white and blue, and it seemed that the line between it and its bearer was increasingly hard to define. They too had joined in some mysterious way.
‘I am Sylvion Greyfeld of the House of Hendon.’ Her words rang powerfully throughout the ancient hall and swept out over the waiting crowd without, and it seemed, down the lanes and alleys of the city, to the river and beyond. ‘I stand here before the citizens of Ramos and claim the throne of Revelyn, to rule with justice and compassion and see that the land is rid of all evil.’
She lifted the Royal Sceptre higher still, and cried out a final time.
‘I claim the throne; let the Royal Sceptre judge me now!’
And with a sudden flash the Sceptre poured forth its light in a single column of purest white. It travelled up in the merest moment and punched a hole clear through the roof and on up into the clouds and sent a shock wave out over all the city and its walls and fields beyond. The column stood and swirled continuously as Sylvion stood below it engulfed in purest light. It writhed and coiled around her body, and flashed through her very being, no dark recess of her mind was left untouched and no one who watched was able to move at all. It was the most awesome spectacle of power ever seen in Ramos since its history began almost an age before.
And then with a thunder clap which sent birds and wild ducks flapping and squawking in terror into the sky, it ended, and the mighty column of light collapsed and seemed to disappear into the Royal Sceptre.
Sylvion stood unharmed, and faced the throng before her without a word, and everyone in the hall began to kneel; one here, one there until with a great acceleration all save the cowled monk and the wild white man above her, were kneeling before her.
‘Hail Queen Sylvion!’ cried the bearers of the Royal Sceptre bowing deeply and seemingly deeply pleased that this official duty had found cause to be fulfilled; and all in unison cried out in reply.
‘Hail Queen Sylvion!’ And so it was completed.
She let them acclaim her rule for a time, whilst within a feeling of great peace and purpose overwhelmed her, and then she called for quiet, and they regained their feet and sat or stood as before, but now in great excitement for all the city knew that their ruler had been approved by the highest law of all, and her presence filled them with hope.
Sylvion slowly drew the Shadow Blade from the Sceptre sheath which she handed back to one of the bearers who accepted it as gently as if it were a new born child. She then turned to Zelfos who stood cowed and trembling before her. He did not speak for he knew that all was lost, and though the terror he felt was clear to all, not a single watcher felt any sympathy for his plight.
Sylvion took three quick steps and plunged the blade right through the quivering sorcerer.
‘In the name of El-Arathor, I slay you now and give warning to any other who would bring evil into this land that the Shadow Blade and Queen Sylvion will seek you out and see you gone.’
Zelfos collapsed, but did not bleed. Instead his body convulsed in great torment, until with a scream of disembodiment, some dark ethereal spirit seemed to rise up from the mortal remains and with a flash disappeared into the air, as a foul stench spread quickly over those round about. The scream persisted long and shook all in the hall and not a few without, until it faded and finally disappeared, leaving the sad body of a bald man lying quite dead upon the stage.
A cheer went up from several in the throng but Sylvion silenced them with a gesture.
‘There is still one pressing task which cannot be further left undone,’ she said in a loud and powerful voice which made Rema look at her again, for she seemed now a different person in many ways.
‘Refr Cantiri, come before me.’ She spoke to the fallen king and used his true name to break through the thin shell of shock which encompassed him in that moment.
The man obeyed without a word and stood with slumped shoulders and a face of pure misery before his ruler, the one he had sought to destroy by any means within his vast power...and failed.
‘You have ruled without authority Refr. You have brought this land almost to ruin. Many have fallen, many have lost all. You cannot expect to escape from under the mountain of trouble you have brought upon yourself.’
Her word were evenly offered, and each with a meaning well weighted and judged to prepare him for a deadly sentence. All knew that she was right. All knew that this man had ruled with a selfish indifference to those who most needed justice. He had allowed the sorcerer Zelfos to wield such power that none in Revelyn felt safe.
They waited once more for a terrible retribution, but Sylvion turned to the crowd.
‘I am willing to listen to any who will speak for this man, before I pronounce sentence upon him.’ She looked out over all who stood before her and allowed them time to weigh her words and act as they felt best.
‘Is there none here who will speak for this fallen king?’ Sylvion gave another offer which only underlined the lonely plight of the man before her, for not even a simple murmur of sympathy could be heard anywhere within the hall.
And then a voice.
‘I will speak for him.’
Rema Bowman stepped up onto the stage and spoke loud and clear. In shock his brother, Refr, the one who stood condemned and almost dead at the Queen’s hand, looked up and wept, his hard heart suddenly broken by such an act of simple mercy, from the one whom he had slain.
‘Rema, you would speak for this man?’ Sylvion asked in quiet awe.
‘I request mercy not pardon Sylvion. You are now Queen and have already given judgement in death. Let the example now show mercy, for it will be a great lesson this day for all who see and hear of it, that the new ruler has both in easy reach.’
Sylvion smiled. ‘He is your brother, but what he has done cannot be easily dealt with. I will listen to any suggestion which you might make Rema, but it cannot be light or easy. He deserves death, and would easily offer this to us if the positions were turned about.’
Rema nodded and went and stood before his weeping brother.
‘I see a man lost. I see a man broken. I see my brother.’ He reached out and placed a hand upon Refr’s shoulder. He looked into his face and spoke gently.
‘My brother, I forgive you for all you did to me, but none here can let things pass which you have willfully set out to do.’ Refr looked astonished at his gentle word of forgiveness, and tried to speak, but no word came.
Rema turned to Sylvion.
‘I propose that this man, my brother be banished to Leper Island where he can work for the benefit of those others which he sent to such a place, and perhaps in time he might find redemption for his soul.’
Refr, the fallen Lord Petro
s could offer no protest, for this sentence held some hope of life, but deep within he felt a bitter recoiling at what such a reality would mean. He knew what such a place offered him in the flesh. It was a nightmare, and yet there seemed to be a little light; and it was not the death he had expected. His brother, for whom he had long searched and once loved above all else now smiled upon him in mercy. He took a deep breath and wept once more as the new Queen accepted the proposal and ordered that Leander have him taken away to the dungeons below. As he walked away, in the company of the body of the slain Zelfos, carried by two Wolvers under Leander’s direction, he looked back at Rema in a fog of lost thoughts and smiled weakly, and felt a tiny joy as Rema smiled back, and nodded once.
And then the cheering started. The crowd roared, and soon the whole city was in an uproar as word of all that had come to pass quickly circulated. Within the hall, the sound was deafening as a new age of Revelyn was ushered in. On the stage, alone, stood the new Queen, turning this way and that and acknowledging humbly the wild acclamation of her subjects. She did not see the old pale man with the long white beard make his way down the steps and with his crutch hobble slowly toward her. Suddenly he was at the stage and with great difficulty he climbed up upon it and stood before her. She turned and smiled at him, and went to speak of her deep gratitude for his brave words and deep wisdom, but something made her heart jump with joy. The crowd sensed the change and fell silent, as she stood there with tears running now down her lovely face.
‘My child,’ said the old man. And she was in his arms in an instant, for she knew him now.
‘Kindpa, it is you, oh my breaking heart it is really you! I had given you up for dead. I cannot believe this, but I must.’
She sobbed a river then, for some deep barrier had now burst, and all the many days of anxiety and worry seemed at last to be over. Sontim Greyfeld held his daughter close as though to never let her go, and then cried as well so that once again the cheering started, for all were deeply touched by the humanity of what they witnessed then before them, despite not understanding any of it.
Rema stood in shock once more and wondered what further surprises lay in wait for them that day, and as he did he looked up and noticed that the cowled monk was beckoning to him. With a smile he eagerly leapt up the steps and came before the one for whom Revelyn owed so much, and yet knew little enough about.
‘In short time we meet again Rema Bowman,’ said El-Arathor quietly as they stood and looked down upon the happy throng. Rema said nothing, sensing that the mighty one wanted to speak without interruption.
‘You have done well. Sylvion has done well,’ said El-Arathor in the most peacefully entrancing voice Rema had ever heard, ‘ Revelyn is safe for the time being, but such evil as has been defeated this day is always close at hand, waiting to pounce upon those who would entertain it for a moment. You will not see me again Rema. Take care; you have yet to finish matters with one in your life. Tread carefully there.’ He paused and stood back, putting both hands upon the stone parapet. ‘Now is there any matter you would like to mention before I go, for I sense that you are troubled by some matters unresolved.
Rema thought hard then for he was not sure what this might be, but suddenly a memory came to him, and he spoke of it.
‘There is man who served me well in this quest, a humble man treated badly by my brother. His name is...’
‘Gymble Barger,’ El-Arathor finished his sentence with a chuckle. ‘Yes I know of Gymble; a sad story. What would you like to mention concerning him?’
‘I promised him that I would not forget his plight,’ whispered Rema in fervent hope that El-Arathor might in some way bring happier times to his good friend. ‘He had a wife taken cruelly from him, and a son who took his own life,’ Rema continued, and then fell silent for he did not know what to ask for from such a one who seemed able to give all, and yet might hold back and not interfere for such action would not sit well with the affairs of man.
El-Arathor turned to face Rema and put a warm hand upon his arm.
‘It is good that you ask for the needs of another. I am well pleased with this, Rema Bowman. Gymble’s wife Gracelin has suffered much from the leprosy which has eaten at her flesh, but yet I feel it will heal if she is brought back, away from the others who keep infecting her.’
Rema was about to inquire what he should do, but El-Arathor easily turned his attention to the happy throng below, which was beginning to leave the public hall, and to Sylvion who now sat upon the throne with many round about in earnest conversation. She seemed to sense then that she was being watched, and turned and looked up, catching Rema’s eye. She waved once, and beckoned to him to return. He nodded to her with a weary smile, and turned back to speak to El-Arathor once more, but his words echoed emptily around about him for he was alone; although one simple thing remained. On the floor where he had been standing just moments before, was a strange object. Rema bent and picked it up. It was of highly polished black marble, quite rare in Revelyn, and resembled a key for it had three small protrusions at its base.
Rema examined it closely and within moments recognised its form. It was near identical to the key which Reigin had used to open the gates to AlGiron. He knew than that this was some clue to a new mystery not yet before him. He placed it safely in his tunic and wondered for a moment what next would come to pass, before with a sigh he descended the stone steps and rejoined his companions.
Chapter 23
Rema stretched slowly as he exercised on the stone balcony which jutted out from his rooms high in the White Palace overlooking the city and the Luminos River below. He had felt a stiffening in his wounded leg over recent days and found he needed to test his muscles daily if he wanted to remain fully fit, and had taken to doing so on the balcony for it afforded him an unparalleled view for many leagues.
The warm early morning sun was lifting the dew from the stone work all about him in tiny humid vapours as swifts darted from the eaves and caught insects with deadly precision, just flashes of tiny feathers with almost no sound except a constant soft and quite delightful chirping.
After two spans of hard exertion in which he worked all his powerful upper body as well as his wounded leg, he went and stood before the parapet, resting his strong hands upon the edge. He was stripped to the waist and the thin film of sweat from his exertions glistened in the strengthening light. He surveyed the view in quiet but serious contemplation, for it was the last time he would see it. He had made up his mind. This was the day he would leave Ramos.
Two seasons had passed since Queen Sylvion had secured the throne, and many changes had taken place under her rule even in this short time. The people had accepted her with a passion for they had known only fear and oppression under Petros and Zelfos. She had shown herself to be fearless in the face of arrogant men and petty officials who had tried desperately to hang on to some remnant of power by cunning and lies. She had quickly developed a reputation for justice which was fair but hard, even severe when the need arose. She had sat almost every day in the public hall and listened and judged and handed down new rulings which were slowly transforming Ramos and Revelyn itself.
Rema had watched proudly as Sylvion had grown into her new life, but this growing pride was matched by a deepening grief, for he saw her grow away from him. Day by day, Sylvion became more and more wrapped up in her work as Queen of a damaged land. They had little time together, and although she would send for him now and then so they could be together alone, there was little talk of what might be, for them. The tension which had developed on the subject hurt them both, but Rema knew now, after two seasons, after all the battles and adventures, after all his desperate longings for them to be together as man and wife, he had lost to her to the people; to Revelyn.
Leander had died; quite badly in the end. His wounded leg did not heal and he refused attention, wanting to show that he could still serve his ruler. Sylvion allowed him some power under Reigin for his vast experience was useful in the early days
of her reign, but the wound festered and finally he lost his dark battle to a poisonous enemy from within. Before he died, for an entire day, he had cried out in an unconscious fever of pain and guilt, begging forgiveness for many cruel deeds. He was buried by his wife, a passionless woman who seemed relieved to be rid of him. The city did not pay for a headstone and she never visited the lonely grave tucked away in a barren corner of the soldier’s cemetery outside Ramos’ walls.
Ofeigr had returned home to the Faero Islands almost immediately after the amazing defeat of Zelfos and Petros in the public hall, when the Royal Sceptre, now complete, had confirmed her authority and right to rule. He took with him the Queen’s blessing and an assurance that the Islands would remain free from the rule of Revelyn. He had visited Refr in the dungeons once before he departed, but none knew what passed between them for he would not talk of it. And so ended a strange and turbulent friendship of intense love and greater hate, and perhaps no great resolution for either man when all was said and done.
Scion had become a Barger. His immense strength and love of the water meant he was a naturally gifted captain of those beloved craft which had served so long upon the Luminos River. He had met a slender woman of great character by the name of Willows Downe, by chance a cousin of Gymble Barger, and the two decided to run a barge together. Scion had travelled with Gymble for a season learning all he could, and even the gruff master Barger had been mightily impressed at the skill of the huge black sailor. Rema saw him every now and then but Scion had quickly immersed himself in life on the river and his new love. Rema was happy for his friend although to see the two together so in love with each other and with their simple life, only made his grief for the loss of Sylvion the harder to bear.
