by Greg Curtis
Clearly Mayvelle didn't believe him. Her face said it all. Maybe she thought that he was lying to her for some reason? Still, he continued. He could not allow such a falsehood to go unchallenged.
“When she died it broke my father. He hadn't expected it. He never wanted it. And he wept at her funeral. He was a strong man, a brave knight and a king. But he wept for her.”
It was one of the few memories Sam had of those days. He'd only been small at the time, confused at why his mother hadn't come home. But he remembered that. He remembered his father standing there at the graveside while the priests intoned their prayers, and the tears running down his face. He'd been too young to truly understand what was happening. He only knew that his mother had gone away. But that image still stayed with him. Sometimes it even haunted him in the quiet times.
“He wed the poisoner not six months later.” Mayvelle said it without emotion, but it was an accusation as deadly as any he'd ever heard.
“He had no choice. He was the king and a king in Fair Fields can only rule with the support of the Court. He had no wife and no heir. The nobles were unhappy about that. And they were already unhappy with his rule. He had brought about sweeping changes to the kingdom. Ones that would leave the nobles without much of their power and would cut their income. They were very unhappy. There was talk of a coup. If he wanted to keep his throne, not to mention his head and mine, he had to have at least something he could show them. An acceptable wife from a good family. There were few choices that would not leave the kingdom in disarray.”
Of course Lady Dreasda had been a poor choice of Queen. She had been a lying bitch, and if what Heri had claimed was true, the murderer of both his parents. It was less than noble, but Sam was glad she was dead. And he found it ironic that it had been by her own son's hand, but also fitting. Heri after all had been her route to the throne – or so she had thought. It was just a pity for her that Heri had not wanted to be someone else's route to power. Not even his own mother's. And especially not the route to what he considered his own power. He did not share.
“So you say.” Mayvelle clearly didn't believe a word of it.
Sam's face whitened with anger and he had to suppress the urge to draw his sword. He couldn't though stop his fists from clenching tight. Now his father was a monster and he was a liar? How in all the hells could she suggest such a thing?!
“Well believe this. In my father's private bedchamber there were half a dozen portraits of my mother hanging in pride of place on the walls. He visited her grave regularly to speak with her and placed flowers on it on each anniversary of her birth and her death. And when he died, his only request was that he be buried beside her. My step mother despite years of trying, never managed to change a single one of those things. Theirs was not a happy marriage.” Of course it had been even more unhappy than he had known until recently, and it had ended in disaster. The price of love had been high. The price of wedding the wrong woman, death.
Mayvelle's response was a distinctly unelven grunt, something that surprised Sam. And the expression on her face was one of true disbelief, bitterness and barely suppressed anger. She might have learned the truth, but she wasn't happy about it. And Sam realised there was nothing he could do about any of that. But his anger in turn also did not help. Sam took a few deep breathes to still his anger before speaking again.
“Mayvelle, you may be my sister or not. I don't know. And you may share my parents. I don't know that either. The one thing I do know however is my parents. And you can choose to believe me or not when I tell you what I know of them. And I have nothing but love for them and sorrow that they are gone. I would thank you not to cast falsehoods on their graves.”
“Have a care before you ever dare speak to me again!”
“How dare –!” It was Mayvelle's turn to grow angry and to raise her voice.
“– You should return to your patrol now soldier.” Sam didn't care if she was angry. He didn't care about much at all just then. He wanted her gone. Out of his sight. And damned be whatever the priests might say about such a thing. No doubt they would say something. They always did.
“As you wish Fire Angel.” It was some time before Mayvelle managed to squeeze the words out. And when she did her face was filled with thunderclouds as she realised she'd been dismissed. But she said nothing as she flicked the reins of her horse, wheeled around and rode off.
Sam's face he expected, was not much different to hers. To have such baseless and horrid aspersions cast on his family! It was unacceptable. So what had she expected to get back from him? Agreement? Love and respect? She was lucky he hadn't thrashed her for such rudeness as she deserved! And it wasn't as if he didn't already have enough troubles on his mind.
Still, now he knew that when he returned to Ry he would have to tell her how badly he'd failed with Mayvelle. And she'd be unhappy with him. Then she'd tell him all the ways he should have handled it. The polite ways. The elven ways. After that she would no doubt ask him to speak with the priests.
Damn! He cursed the gods. He cursed Alder above all. Because this was surely his doing. It was beginning to look as though he was going to have to endure a bad peace following a bad war.
Chapter Thirty Three
Fall Keep was gone. Not just the keep which had become a mountain of rubble. But the city behind it, which was little better. Fire had raged through the entire city, and after it was finished, little had been left. Certainly nothing was intact.
But while the keep had been destroyed by the explosion, Heri was pleased to find that his private sanctum had survived very much intact. He was relieved too. He had always intended that it should survive even such a catastrophe as the destruction of the keep. So he had built his sanctum to the rear of the keep and had buried it underground. In fact it was accessible only through a secret passageway beneath the gardeners' hall. But he had still not known for certain that it would survive. Not until just then. And it had survived even better than he had expected.
The gardeners' hall itself had been burnt out and suffered a partial collapse. That was no great loss considering that there were no gardens and no gardeners left anymore. And he'd had to push aside some rubble inside the hall to reach the secret passage. But once he'd reached the passageway everything else had been in perfect condition. There wasn't even any dust.
The sanctum was intact. That was the first thing Heri had noticed as he entered it from the long dark steeply sloping hallway. It was also the only thing that mattered. That and the treasures contained within. There was no rubble on the floor. No holes in the ceiling. Even the paintings were still hanging on the walls. It had survived the destruction of Fall Keep completely and he was grateful for that. He needed this place. Because without the sanctum he would have had no hope of regaining his throne.
But it was intact, and he let that wonder fill him with hope as he went around the huge circular chamber with his torch, lighting the candles on the wall shelves so that the light could once more shine in it. And the light showed that not only was the sanctum intact, but so too were his treasures. Hanging on the walls, sitting on shelves, or even on the floor. But all of them were intact, and presumably all of them still had their magic. All of them could still be used.
It seemed something of a minor miracle after the explosion he had caused. Perhaps it was a blessing from the All Father? Maybe that worthless god had finally done something for him. He had spent enough time in the temples to the god after all. It wasn't that he wanted to or that he even really believed in the All Father or any of the gods. As far as he was concerned the gods were for the simple minded peasants. Something to keep their minds off their troubles as they worked. And hopefully something that stopped them rebelling. But as king he had had to be seen to pay his respects to the god of the kingdom. The last thing he had needed was upset priests and temples as well as everything else. So he had prayed and paid his tributes. Perhaps it had been worth it?
Of course the real reason the sanctum had sur
vived was probably because it was underground. Buried deep beneath the solid earth and protected by it. Heri felt fairly good about his foresight in building it there just then as he collapsed into the welcoming arms of the huge leather armchair. It was intact and he was safe here. No one knew about this place.
If they had, treasure hunters would have long since descended on this place in packs. Wizards too. Because the ancient treasures he had obtained over the years were worth a fortune in gold. They were probably worth even more to the wizards. The ancients – before they had been torn apart by the Dragon Wars – had been a powerfully magical people. And they had not been peaceful. So what he was surrounded by included an arsenal of some of the most deadly weapons ever created. But it also held some of the most useful tools and a large number of amazing curios that might or might not be of some use. And all of them still worked despite the thousands of years that had passed since they had been created. All of the artefacts were priceless too. He could sell some of them if he had need of gold.
Despite his need for weapons and tools to help him maintain his rule, Heri had collected a lot of other ancient treasures. Things which were precious in their own right. So he had an ancient golden hoe that would return life to barren soil. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the gnomes of the Fedowir Kingdom would pay for that if they knew he had it. And the horn of Aural which would call unicorns to him. Augrim had been particularly keen that he get that one as he recalled. Hanging on the wall to one side was the Drum of Hester. If he was to beat it during a riot it would immediately turn into a festival as people started losing themselves in the dance. He had a horse's head that would transform a man into a horse. That one could be useful for getting rid of your enemies without leaving a blood trail.
Of course there were other ancient curios in his collection that were of even less worth as far as he could see, but which Augrim had collected for him anyway. There was a painting on the wall which regularly and randomly decided what pictures to display. Beside it was a candle with no name that when lit would transform the sky into a sea of rainbows. He could think of no use for it but had no doubt it would sell for plenty of gold if and when the time came. And it was pretty. There was also a knife that for no reason he could determine turned your hand scaly while you held it.
These things were not of any use to him. But they were valuable and if ever his rule was threatened and he needed gold, they would bring a lot of it when he sold them.
Having surveyed his treasures and found them all intact Heri collapsed into the huge leather arm chair in the centre of the chamber and let a feeling of euphoria wash over him. Here at least he could sit surrounded by his treasures and know that everything was in order in at least one little part of his kingdom. Everything else was gone. But not this place. And after the last few months it was important that he had something left to him. Some little piece of his kingdom remaining.
He had lost so much, and the pain of his miserable brother's sword in his back was with him as a constant reminder of that. But it was also instructive. Because it told him that now was the time when he had to start reclaiming all that was his. To do what he couldn't do when he'd first fled the keep. Then he had had to hide. To make sure that no one saw him. And he had let his hatred for his brother take hold. Now there was no one to see him. No one who knew he was alive. And he could no longer go after his brother no matter how much he hated him. It was time.
It was strange being back in the keep. Or at least underneath what remained of it. But Heri could be there because there wasn't much of a keep left and because the city itself was largely deserted. There was no doubt that when he'd blown up Fall Keep he'd destroyed most of the city as well. He hadn't intended that. But it seemed that the explosion had set the city ablaze as well. Now all that was left behind the damaged city walls was blackened stone and ashes. There was actually little left to fight over and few to do the fighting.
He was saddened by that. Destroying the city had never been his intention. He wanted to be king once more and a king had to have a realm and people to rule over. Now the largest city in the realm was gone and the people with it. His kingdom was less than it had been, and he would be less of a king because of it. Still, the destruction had made it safer for him to return to Fall Keep.
Of course the other reason he could be there in complete safety was that he looked nothing like the Heri of old. Nothing like the king. If someone did see him they would simply assume he was someone else. Maybe a noble. Maybe a merchant or even a scavenger. But the king was dead so he absolutely couldn't be him. In fact for the whole month that he'd spent on the trail riding here, no one had stopped him or asked him any questions. The land was just coming through the end of winter, and people were shaking out the cold and preparing for a busy spring. The noble houses were threatening one another with war. One more stranger on the road simply didn't matter.
He'd even revisited the black market to purchase some more knife throwers – the elves still had his old ones – and no one had said a word to him. They hadn't even recognised him from the previous time he'd visited.
Heri hadn't had to return to Fall Keep and his sanctum. After realising that he was completely unrecognisable, he knew that he could have chosen instead to ride off somewhere else. Made himself a new home somewhere and a new name and lived on his gold. He had thought about it. After all, he had lost so much. And it would have been an easier life. Especially now that he was carrying so many injuries. He could have bought himself a mansion somewhere. Had healers attend to him. Lived comfortably. But in the end he had to rule. He had to be king. And he had to have his vengeance. And his sanctum was the only place where he could begin that journey again. Because it was here that he had kept his most prized possessions. Not gold, though there was plenty of that here as well. Not wealth of any sort. But those things that would protect his rule. Or in this case, restore it.
Augrim, bless his worm infested corpse, had been more than just his magical advisor. He had been his purveyor of the most powerful and dangerous, and highly illegal items. He had found for him magical treasures from ancient times. And he had been extremely good at his work.
Despite what people thought, Heri wasn't averse to magic. He just didn't like wizards. He hated that they had power which he didn't. He was especially averse to his brother having magic. But there were many magical items that a man without magic could use, and he had purchased a lot of them over the years. You never knew when a good magical weapon might come in handy.
Sadly, though as he sat in his grand leather armchair surrounded by them, he realised that even the most powerful weapon couldn't keep you warm and fed. He had only trail food to eat and watered down wine to drink. The keep was gone and so were his servants. Most he suspected were buried somewhere in the keep's remains. Just then he would have loved to have been able to call out to one of them and have him come rushing to do his bidding. Perhaps serve him a hot meal. He would have loved the comfort of a soft bed too and a few wenches. But none of that was possible anymore. And it would be a long time before it was again.
Rebuilding the keep would take years. Rebuilding the city behind it probably a decade or more. And absolutely none of that could even begin before the noble houses were destroyed.
So it was best he decided that he begin that task quickly.
That began with the Window of Parsus – his most precious tool. It wasn't actually a window despite its name. It was a mirror. But it hung on the wall looking much as a window would and with a command it showed the outside. Anywhere the viewer wanted to see. The window had cost him a fortune in gold and precious stones, but it was invaluable as it allowed him to see right into the hearts of his enemy's homes. They had often wondered how he could possibly always be prepared for their plans, and had assumed that it was his spies. And his spies were good. But this was his best spy.
The window had allowed him to find the Dragon. It and his spies that was. And Augrim too if he was honest. The spies had told hi
m of the machina and Augrim had connected them to the ancient Dragon, of which he had happened to know a lot. The Window and chance had done the rest.
He'd often used it to spy on neighbouring realms as well, mostly out of curiosity. And one of those realms he had always been fascinated by was Ragnor's Rock. It had been by good fortune that he had been watching when the city had been besieged. That had been nearly a week before he had lost his throne, and then, while he had still had living hostages, he had had only one thing on his mind. Spying on the nobles and trying to work out their plans. But somewhere during that time he had grown tired of staring at them and wanted to see something other than their ugly faces. Something like the greatest city on the Continent of the Dragon's Spine. A city that he had dreamed Fall Keep would one day resemble. But then he'd seen the rats and spiders attacking it.
After that it had simply been a matter of using the window to back track the machina's path back as they marched towards the impregnable city, all the way to the dock where they'd landed, and then to follow the black ships as they came and went. That had shown him the island and in time, the Dragon himself.
