Secrets of the Elders (Chronicles of Acadia: Book I)

by D. M. Almond

CHAPTER 12

  Lady Penelope had lavishly decorated her palace for the evening’s festivities. Marble columns dotted the perimeter of the large ballroom, reaching high up to the arched ceiling and circled by colorful streamers. Glistening, polished tiles covered the floor, creating a mirror image of the large gathering.

  On either side of the area, temporary bars had been set up, tended by men in suspenders and starched, white collared shirts who were busy dispensing drinks to the guests. Logan noticed the bottles they poured from looked suspiciously similar to those he had seen in the backroom of the Grey Crow. Waitresses were wading through the crowd, carrying trays of delicacies. A small platform had been set up at the far end of the room, where a band played soft music while a tall, slender woman with scarlet hair sang. The gala was alive with the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses as the capitol’s elite celebrated.

  “This is a joke. We do not belong here,” Logan said as he and Corbin made their way down the wide marble steps into the ballroom.

  “Fix your tie and try to behave properly for one night,” Corbin said. He’d had quite enough of his brother’s complaining and had made it perfectly clear earlier that they would attend the gala out of respect to the magistrate.

  It had been a little surprising when they returned to the apartment above the wood mill to find suits waiting inside. As soon as they were dressed, Logan made a point to tell his brother how stuffy he looked in an evening jacket.

  “I think we look fine. This is the way they do things in the city,” Corbin had said, even though the attire did make him feel silly.

  “No, I look great. The ladies are going to eat me up tonight, little brother. But you look hilarious.”

  One of the younger noblewomen walking by shot Logan a lusty look of head-to-toe approval, as if proving his point. He looked over at Corbin, comically wiggling his eyebrows. “What did I tell ye, eh, bro? They love it,” he teased.

  “Logan, please, just stay low-key tonight, that’s all I’m asking.” Corbin said.

  “Ah, what little faith you have. I’m the king of low-key tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to mingle.” Logan winked at his brother and quickly slipped into the crowd.

  Before Corbin could move to follow, Magistrate Fafnir beckoned from a nearby group. Not wanting to be rude, he headed over with due haste, entering the small gathering.

  “Well, lad, I see you got the suit I had sent over.” Fafnir beamed, happy to see the man dressed in his attire. Everyone at the gala would be discreetly talking about how Corbin Walker wore Fafnir’s colors stitched into the shoulders of the jacket.

  “Yes, Magistrate, you have my deepest gratitude,” Corbin said, offering a formal bow. “This was too kindly a gesture, milord. I will need to repay you in some way.”

  “Hardly necessary. After all, you are one of Fal’s greatest heroes. If we can’t spare a little civilized society for you, then we are all much worse off than we thought.”

  The men and woman standing with Fafnir laughed, although the joke was lost on Corbin.

  “What a dreadful experience it must have been for you, facing all those vile beasts outside the city walls,” said an old aristocrat with an overly nasal voice.

  Corbin was not sure what the decorum in a situation like this would be. Was he allowed to address his betters? Did the man really want a response, or would he embarrass the magistrate by speaking out of turn?

  Fafnir enjoyed watching Corbin struggle with his words. “Where are my manners? Madames and monsieurs, may I formally introduce you to Corbin Walker of Riverbell, the hero of Fal,” he said with a grand flourish of his bony arms, waving his intricately carved cane in the air. “Corbin, lad, this is the Lady Aurelia, Lord Joseph Brussel, and his son, Sir Todrick Brussel,” Fafnir said, pointing to each in turn with the tip of his cane. When he was finished, he gave Corbin a discreet nudge to respond.

  “Pleased to meet your lordships,” Corbin said nervously, producing another half bow, which Lady Aurelia found deeply amusing in a charming. provincial way.

  “Well, I don’t want to be rude, I see you were in the middle of a discussion before I came over and interrupted,” Corbin said, breaking the moment of awkward silence.

  “Nonsense, my good man,” Sir Joseph said, draping an arm around Corbin and reeling him back into the gathering. “We were just in the middle of a debate, on the Great Crystal to be exact, and thought you could provide a novel perspective.”

  “Um, I’m not sure I’m qualified to offer any perspective,” Corbin said, but the man only smiled, swirling his drink.

  “Todrick here was just making a case that some of the younger citizens have turned away from the All-Father’s path,” Magistrate Fafnir explained.

  Corbin arched an eyebrow in disbelief. Back home everyone in the village was deeply devoted to their god, the Great Crystal Baetylus. It was a way of life for his people. On every third day of the week, all would gather in the village circle to pray in supplication just at dawn. Corbin would often find himself deep in meditation, trying to commune with the All-Father, and never a meal passed without someone thanking Baetylus for his blessings. The notion that anyone in the capitol would be straying from the path of righteousness was so alien to him, you might as well have asked him if walking upside down was better in water.

  “Sir, I find that hard to believe. Certainly we have not fallen that far astray from the enlightenment of Baetylus,” Corbin said with the firm conviction only one of faith could possess.

  “You see, Todrick? Corbin is all the way from Riverbell and even he is still devout,” Lady Aurelia smugly proclaimed, revealing he was not alone in his steadfast faith.

  “He is an exception to what is happening out there in the lower levels,” the younger aristocrat said curtly. Straightening his small wire-framed spectacles, he snatched an hors d’oeuvre off a passing tray and nibbled at the pastry with impatience.

  “Hmmm...yes, ahem...Todrick may be hitting on some truth here, Fafnir,” Sir Joseph said, clearly trying to move the conversation along and not dwell on his son’s unseemly behavior.

  “Sometimes I wonder if the poor look for reasons to disagree with us, just for the sake of being contrary,” Lady Aurelia said with a superficial pout.

  Corbin could not believe what he was hearing. How could these nobles actually think there were people in Fal who did not worship the Great Crystal? The magistrate had been watching his reactions closely and could see the pained expression of disbelief painted across his face. He wondered if the young man was in actual physical distress over the idea.

  “If you will excuse us for a moment,” Fafnir said, ushering Corbin away toward the center of the room. Leaning in with both hands on his cane, he spoke a little lower. “I can see their doubt shocks you.”

  Corbin nodded silently in agreement.

  “I have no doubt in your faith to our Lord above, Corbin. Would that everyone your age had it still. Nay, of late there have been many whispers of a group in the capitol trying to convert others to their way of thinking. It is so sad to think that there are so many straying from the path.” He let the words hang out there for others around them to hear.

  “I don’t know what to say, Magistrate. I wish I could help in some way,” Corbin lamented, racking his brain to come up with a solution.

  “Just your devotion to the All-Father is enough, lad. It shows me that even in the far reaches of New Fal, a little village like Riverbell can still keep the kingdom’s beliefs strong.” He clapped Corbin’s shoulder with his bony hand then turned him slightly to face the stage. “Speaking of which, it appears our other guest of honor has arrived.”

  Corbin directed his gaze to where the magistrate’s cane was pointing, over the crowd of people all turning toward the end of the ballroom. On the stage was a man much taller than anyone he had met before, wearing a white tunic and some finely stitched, matching breeches that both had detailed gold thread embroidery along the edges, running over
the neckline and back.

  The man raised his hands high in the air and gathered everyone’s attention. He was bald like Fafnir, but in a cleaner more refined way, except for his thick white moustache that curled slightly at its ends, which was more playful than serious. He did not ask anyone to stop speaking, nor did he need to, for as soon as Arch Councilor Zacharia lifted his arms, the massive ballroom fell silent. Even the clinking sounds of glassware and plates were hushed.

  Corbin had never seen the arch councilor before, but there was no mistaking whom this great leader was. His very eyes conveyed power, the pale blue circles seeming to radiate in the candlelight of the chandeliers.

  “Honored, most esteemed citizens of Fal, it warms my heart to be here with you this evening.” His voice boomed across the gathering, carrying over the heads of the guests and surrounding them with his presence. “It is with both great joy and deep humility that I stand here before you. Just two short weeks ago, we faced a threat that surely could have decimated our entire civilization. During that siege upon our great city, we witnessed the very best Fal has to offer. I ask you, when we were face-to-face with death, did we cower into the night?”

  The room filled with the fervent response of everyone, simultaneously proclaiming, “No!”

  “Did we roll over and let the insect horde destroy everything Falians have worked so hard to build?”

  “No!”

  “No. No, we did not. Rather than cower in fear, we faced the threat head on. On that night, many of our citizens gave their lives to keep the dream of New Fal alive, and we will forever hold their sacrifice in our hearts.” Arch Councilor Zacharia bowed his head, sharing the grief he felt. “Our own Elder Alain Alderman gave his very life essence to overthrow the vile skex horde. Our dearest Elder Morgana Ellano, leader of Riverbell, lost her life in the first insect attack, defending her people unto her dying breath.”

  He let the words hang out there, wrapping around the crowd, settling into their thoughts.

  “I would ask a moment of silence, in their memory, to think kind thoughts and offer prayer toward their afterlife in the great light of Baetylus.”

  The room was quiet as anything Corbin had ever witnessed, and he closed his eyes, remembering sweet Elder Morgana, the woman who had taken him and Logan in, raising them like her own children. He silently thanked Baetylus for guiding her into the afterlife.

  “We owe much gratitude to the gift of survival you have given us, Morgana and Alain. May you both forever be at peace,” Arch Councilor Zacharia said, looking toward the ceiling.

  “May you bathe in the great light,” the crowd chanted as one.

  “Today, we also come together to honor some of our living citizens. Without whom many of us would not be here to tell this tale. These men need no introduction, as you have all heard the story of their perilous journey to warn us of the oncoming assault. Please join me in formally recognizing the Falian Heroes of Riverbell, Logan and Corbin Walker!”

  The arch councilor waved his left hand directly at Corbin and his right hand directly to Logan. The crowd turned to face the young men, surrounding them inside circles of applause. As much as Logan was beginning to despise these aristocrats, he could see their gratitude was genuine and could not help the cocky smile that spread across his face.

  “Gentlemen, we salute your bravery. The village of Riverbell has long been an asset to our Kingdom. Many of us use their furs or crops. Their village took a heavy toll in the aftermath of the skex raid, so today we would like to introduce you to Riverbell’s new leader, who has been groomed for this task under the late Elder Morgana all her life and is ready to face the challenges yet to come. Please join me in welcoming Elise Ivarone, who as of today is to don the title Madame Elise.”

  Arch Councilor Zacharia moved to the side so Elise could step forward, her pale skin almost glowing in the light of the nearby sconces.

  She stood in a fine blue silk dress that matched her eyes, with elaborately stitched golden branches and leaves reaching from the floor up to her slender waist. Her hair was plaited to the sides of her head, with rich blonde braids falling in front her bare shoulders.

  Logan’s jaw dropped, and he looked around to see if his brother was seeing the same thing.

  Entranced, Corbin watched her gracefully walk past Arch Councilor Zacharia. It was as if he were viewing a goddess brought to life, because for him that was exactly what she was.

  Elise held her chin up properly, as she had been taught by Elder Morgana, and cordially greeted the swelling crowd, a group much larger than any she had ever seen before, with as much confidence as she could muster, feeling grateful for the cumbersome dress’ ability to hide her shaking legs.

  The crowd ignited in applause, screaming praises for her, although Logan noticed more than one look of disdain.

  “Madame Elise will be undergoing the Rite of Baetylus later this month to become one with our All-Father and establish commune with the Council of Twelve. Long live Madame Elise!” Arch Councilor Zacharia proclaimed while she curtsied and returned to the back of the stage.

  “On the morrow our heroes will be heading back to Riverbell, where they will help in the efforts to rebuild.” Zacharia directed his focus solely on Corbin. “The people of Fal owe you a great debt of gratitude that we hope to repay through a tribute. We will be resurrecting a memorial here in the capitol for all of those who fell, including dear Elder Morgana.” Corbin bowed and Zacharia addressed the greater crowd once more. “On the morrow, the Walker brothers will be leaving, but they will not be alone. Some of the city’s finest craftsmen will be joining them to assist in their efforts to rebuild. We will also be sending along provisions enough to get our friends in Riverbell through this tragic event and into a brighter future.”

  The Arch Councilor clapped his hands, prompting the audience to do the same.

  “Now go, enjoy your evening! Lady Penelope has put together a grand gala for us and an even grander feast. Afterward, we will hear from Lady Cassandra and Magistrate Fafnir on why you should vote for their seat on the Council.” Zacharia spread his arms, releasing everyone back to their festivities.

  Corbin absently excused himself from the magistrate and made his way through the pressing crowd toward the woman he loved. From the base of the wooden steps to the stage, Elise was looking around the room for him. She jumped when his fingers tapped her shoulder. They shared a look, silently communicating everything they had gone through in the last couple weeks and how desperately happy they were to see each other, before melting together in an embrace that was a bit too scandalous for the presumably proper nobles surrounding them. For a moment that seemed to stretch on for hours, they held each other, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her lips softly pressing against his, lost in one another.

  Nothing mattered more to Corbin in this world than his sweet Elise. The journey he had taken, noble though it might have been, had left a void in his heart where only Elise could dwell. She had longed to hear his kind voice these last few weeks while tending to the wounded and dead in Riverbell. The attack had not been kind to their people and the shock of her new position among them had not been an easy one to adapt to. Corbin was her strength and Elise was his.

  “Ahem, decorum, Madame Elise, decorum,” Lady Penelope said through a clenched smile, lightly tugging the young woman’s sleeve. It simply would not do to have an unwed couple locked in such a passionate embrace, and certainly not in her house, of all places!

  “Oh, yes, of course, my apologies, milady,” Elise said, though she could not wipe the sparkle out of her eyes. She pulled back from Corbin’s strong arms and they both began giggling like schoolchildren. Noticing the lady’s disapproving stare, Elise straightened her silk dress and tried to put on a serious face, while Corbin blushed and gave an uncomfortable laugh, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

  “Come, dear,” Lady Penelope said, “there are so many people to introduce you to tonight. And Corbin, you si
mply must join us as the future Mr. Ivarone.”

  Mr. Beauford watched the couple disappear into the crowd with a smile on his face. It was nice to be reminded of the good in humans. The diminutive gnome had watched the kingdom of New Fal from its earliest beginnings and had grown rather cynical in the last few decades over what he would define as the devolution of man. He walked through the crowd with a polite tip of his brimmed green felt hat at customers here and there. Many tried to rope him into their conversations, but he politely declined, promising to return later. He was looking for his new recruit and spotted him ahead, talking with Lady Cassandra.

  “I would not call that doing their job,” Logan said, countering Lady Cassandra’s last statement.

  “You misunderstand. I do not mean the job of the guards in upholding the laws of New Fal, but the job they are being paid to perform right now,” she replied, wearing an amused expression at his clever nature. She clearly found Logan charming.

  “But—”

  “No buts about it, young man,” Cassandra said. “That is the grim reality of our capitol. What you did last night was noble enough. After all the progress we have lost in the lower levels, it is refreshing to hear of someone acting from a place of morality again.”

  “So you agree with me then?” Logan asked with uncertainty.

  “I agree with your morality, not with your actions. Think on it for a moment. Did attacking those guards do anything to help the unfortunate child who was murdered?”

  “Well…I guess it did not,” Logan admitted.

  “Now think—if you had stopped to gather yourself for a moment, you could have used this newfound hero notoriety you’ve gained to bring the situation to the attention of the Council of Elders.” Lady Cassandra firmed up her gaze to make him look her in the eyes. It was important he understand just how serious his new position in society was and what he could do with that kind of recognition.

  Logan looked at this lady, who had pulled him aside out of nowhere, with curiosity, thinking perhaps there was hope for the people of Fal after all.

  “As it is, the magistrate has already spread rumors of your drunken temper, attacking his noble city watch.”

  “Learning to control your emotions will be a journey worth taking,” said Beauford, jumping into the conversation.

  Logan swore to himself this would be the last time the little gnome snuck up on him.

  “Lady Cassandra, I am terribly sorry for your loss. When I heard the news of Elder Alain’s death, it filled me with great sorrow, noble though his efforts surely were.” The gnome gave her a slow bow, pulling his wide brimmed hat behind his back, as his head dipped close to the floor.

  Logan stepped back to take in the woman’s appearance. She wore black from neck to toe; even her circlet was obsidian with an Onyx set in the center. He suddenly felt like a wool-headed goat. This woman was clearly in mourning over the loss of her husband, and here he was rambling on about the city’s corrupt lawmen as if she did not have higher concerns on her mind.

  “Thank you, Mr. Beauford. Your kind words mean much to me. Logan, never you mind, no apologies are necessary,” Cassandra said as if she had heard his thoughts spoken aloud. “In any event, I want you to watch your back carefully around that one,” she said, nodding across the room at the magistrate. “He is not to be trusted.”

  “I’m sure this has nothing to do with your competition for the Council seat, milady?” Logan replied.

  “I see. You are a cynical one. That is good, it will serve you well. But if you knew me better, you would know falser words have never been uttered.”

  “Logan, I believe we have unfinished business that beckons?” Mr. Beauford asked, wanting to pull him away before he had an opportunity to make more of an arse out of himself.

  “Of course, gentlemen, I will see you at the dinner hall. I’ve reserved seats for the three of you nearby my table. Let us discuss this further then,” Lady Cassandra said.

  “It will be our honor, milady.” Mr. Beauford bowed again, before cutting through the crowd.

  Logan followed the gnome to the left edge of the room, down a long hallway, and into an area away from the action of the party, safely removed from prying ears. Mr. Beauford knew that everything Lady Cassandra had to say was not just for this young man’s benefit, but also for the nearby listeners whose votes she hoped to secure before the night was through. Beauford, on the other hand, had no such inclination to have others privy to his dealings.

  On either side of the corridor stood richly decorated columns reaching to a flat ceiling that was lower than the ballroom. Small, dark alcoves dotted the hallway, filled with barely visible marble statues. Only the sconce at the end of the path was lit, where the hall split in either direction. Above this was an oversized painting of the Lady Penelope with fan in hand, the very embodiment of sophistication.

  The gnome stopped once they were past the middle of the corridor and turned to address Logan. “I understand your package was compromised?” he growled.

  “Compromised? No, I just delivered it to Lady Cassandra as you asked,” Logan said, surprised by the accusation.

  “While ye were in section six…,” the gnome offered, leading him to think through the series of events.

  Logan slapped his forehead. “Those bastards went through my belongings?” He was upset with himself for his lack of foresight, realizing the guards must have gone through his things while he was unconscious.

  “My sources were right, then. What ye just delivered was not the intended message, lad. No trouble, I will deliver the proper information tonight, in person.” Beauford spoke more to himself than Logan, thinking aloud while he twiddled stubby fingers, lost in thought over the implications of his message being intercepted.

  “That rotten bastard. I’ll shove his face so far up his arse...,” Logan said as he began pacing.

  “This is precisely the point the Lady was trying to make,” Mr. Beauford said, folding his arms across his chest. “Ye need to control your emotions, boy.”

  Logan was at a loss for words.

  “Ye have much curiosity and skill to boast of. There can be so much good brought to the land by your family, if ye only learn to control your passion, lad,” Beauford explained.

  “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I just get a standing ovation from the entire city, and wasn’t I just recognized by the Arch Councilor himself? Looks like I’m doing pretty good without your advice, old man,” Logan said.

  “I wouldna’ call being sent back home on the morrow with your tail tucked between your legs doing alright. That is Fafnir’s doing. He is not going to keep a meddlin’ little scallywag like yerself about.”

  As stubborn as Logan could be, he recognized the truth of the gnome’s words.

  “Aye, but we won’t let that stop us, eh, lad? Under all that bluster, ye’ve got a good heart, you do. Now be a good little mule and do as the Council decreed—get back to Riverbell and help your people fix the village right and proper. When that’s all done and clear, I’ll send for ye to come back to the capitol. There is still much for us to discuss that ye don’t be knowin’ just yet.”

  “Sounds like a plan, old timer,” Logan readily agreed.

  “Alright then, be off with ye. It’s already about time for the feast to begin,” Beauford said.

  “And the other half of my pay?” Logan asked, holding his hand out expectantly.

  “Eh? Nice one, kid. Scram.” The gnome laughed at his tenacity.

  “Can’t blame me for trying.” Logan laughed, turning around to head back into the gala, oblivious to the dark shape that silently dropped from the ceiling down the hall.

  It was only the shuffle of Mr. Beauford’s boots kicking against the tile that made him turn to see what the gnome was doing that could make such a strange noise.

  Logan’s skin crawled, his body frozen in place, unable to comprehend the spectacle in front of him. The gnome lay on the floor with a dagger stuck deepl
y into his chest. A shadow bent over him, wearing tight black wrappings around his upper body and shoulders, with ash-colored, baggy breeches that flared from the top but securely fitted around the soles of his bare feet. The assassin’s skin was ebony, glistening with sweat that was dimly lit by the far sconce.

  The man turned slowly to face Logan, revealing a wicked grin from ear to ear. He seemed to move like water, flowing backward over the floor, never taking his eyes from Logan. Slipping into the nearest alcove, taking with him the pilfered pouches from his victim, the man melded into the shadows. Raising a finger to his lips, he whispered, “Shhh.” It was like the purr of a tiger. As the assassin slipped deeper into the darkness of the recess, Logan could only see his wicked eyes and toothy smile taunting him.

  Snapping out of it, Logan hurried over to Mr. Beauford, lifting his head off the floor and screaming for help. Blood poured from the gnome’s open mouth, staining his bushy white moustache scarlet, and his eyes already held a dazed, faraway focus. Logan reached down to the black metal of the dagger hilt and wrenched it from his friend’s chest, hoping to apply pressure and stem the bleeding. The action had quite the opposite effect. Blood poured from the wound as if a river had opened in the gnome’s torso, spraying past Logan’s hands, which desperately pressed against the gash to keep the man alive.

  “Hang on, we’ll get some you help.”

  “Loga—argh...y-you must get out of here…,” Beauford gurgled, feebly attempting to push him away.

  “What in blue blazes are you talking about? I’m staying right here by your side!”

  “Run, Logan. It’s all lies. Run to the surface...argh...t-they need to know t-the truth..w-we were going to show them together,” Beauford rambled.

  “You’re babbling, man, just take it easy,” Logan said before calling for help again. Down the hall, toward the party, he heard a woman let out a scream.

  The gnome gathered the last of his strength to grip Logan’s collar and bring him closer.

  “Shut yer damn mouth and listen to me, ye knucklehead. Go to the Crow and get the pendant…argh. Get the pendant, it’s in me favorite drink at the shop…bring it to me family…get it away from them…get it…get...out…of...here...,” Beauford’s voice became weaker, but the wild look in his eyes could not be shaken.

  The woman was still screaming for help and a small group of aristocrats gathered near her, pointing to the men and shouting for the palace guards.

  “It’s all lies…you have to leave...waited so long for you...,” Mr. Beauford whispered, loosening his grip and slipping away.

  Logan felt the warmth of salty tears running down his cheeks as the light faded from Mr. Beauford’s eyes. This was the second time in as many days that someone he had just met was murdered.

  He finally heard the sounds of boots running behind him as the palace guards approached, but it was too late for them to save his friend.

  “Halt, murderer!” the commander of the guard ordered, threatening Logan with a polished two-handed trident.

  “Wait, what?” Logan asked.

  “Drop the weapon and move back, dog,” the commander ordered, while his men slowly edged in, setting themselves up to flank him.

  Logan followed the commander’s eyes down to his hands. He flinched when he saw he was still gripping the bloody dagger he had removed from the gnome’s chest. He dropped it to the floor and hastily tried to wipe the blood from his hands to no avail. The floor all around him pooled with the murdered gnome’s blood, sticking the fabric of his pant legs against the tile.

  “Look, you don’t understand,” he said with upraised hands, trying to show he was not armed.

  “Execute the murderer!” Magistrate Fafnir snarled from behind the guards.

  As the men rushed in, tridents thrust forward, Logan screamed defiantly, throwing his metallic hand in front of him to protect his body. Energy crackled from the palm and burst forth in a bright light, sending the soldiers, and crowd behind, sprawling on the floor after being blasted by the stunning shockwave.

  The ringing in Fafnir’s ears dulled the groaning and shouts of the people on the floor around him. Some of his soldiers were helping him to his feet, and he rubbed the dull ache from his swollen eyes. The only resident of the arched hallway remaining was a dead gnome.

  Logan Walker had escaped.