“My people of Harlaheim, last night in this very castle, our beloved King Richmond the Second, was murdered. The priests and the Cardinal did all they could, but alas, he did not survive.” Phillip lowered his head, as did Johnas. The wailing began, sniffles, a people in love with a crown were heartbroken.
“With Queen Rosana missing and believed to have been killed at the terrible battle of Saint Erinsburg, the crown has no heirs. For now, until another noble lineage can be found, I, Seneschal Phillip Hiragille, will act as your king, and humble servant of Harlaheim.”
The crowd was mixed, boos followed cheers, cries blended with shouts. The people wanted Richmond, they wanted Rosana, many wanted Sir Phillip. Trumpets blared from the outer walls lined with royal guard and Crossguard Legionairres of Alden. Flags went to half mast, the crown and rose of gold upon purple with crimson trim fluttered, and the people silenced once more. Johnas Valhera handed the crown to the Cardinal whose shaking hands could barely receive it.
“May it be known, that Prince Edians del Barrato of Caberra, Bishop Balric D’Vrelle of Harlaheim, and Sir Sebastian Caunerier of Harlaheim are wanted in collusion with a red haired northern Kivanite woman. These four, with accomplices we already have obtained, are responsible for the death of King Richmond the Second and for stealing his body from the church in gross deprivation and treason. Ten thousand gold crowns to anyone who finds them, dead or alive.” Phillip bowed to the people, looking as saddened as possible.
Gold, gold flung from the balconies, bread from the guards, and promises from the soon to be king. The people stampeded, fought for the coins and the food, and none paid mind to the red headed northern Kivanite woman in green robes that weaved her way closer to the castle. Angeline kept hidden in the shadows of early morn, the shadows of her hood and robes, then blended into the very wall of L’Herrim Castle.
“My son of Alden, Phillip Hiragille, Knight and Seneschal of the holy realm of Harlaheim, do you vow to uphold your kingdom?” The words were feeble, tired, the Cardinal was perfect, yet not for acting unbeknownst to anyone present.
“I do Cardinal Desmonde.”
“Do you swear on the tome of the Aldane to rule well, just, and with honor and love?” He held the crown in one hand, the holy book in the other, and he teetered in obvious pain.
Phillip placed his palm on the book. “I do.”
“Then with the power of the Aldane, the will of the church, and the voice of God, I pronounce you King Phillip the First of Harlaheim, may your rule be…aaarrrghhhsssshisss…ahhh!”
The Cardinal collapsed as he placed the crown on Phillips head. The crowd fell forward in shouts of terror as he nearly fell over the balcony. Johnas and Phillip caught him at the last moment then helped him to the guards and priests that rushed to his aid.
Johnas wasted not a moment, raising his hand with King Phillip’s. “The king is dead, long live the king!”
“Long live the king!” The crowd chanted as more coins of silver and gold tossed from royal guards and the nobles on the balcony.
“Long Live the king!”
“Long live…” Angeline heard it as she passed through the stone walls, as disgusted as she could be, she knew it was not her affair. Only the doppelganger mattered to her now.
She withdrew from her passage of the rock, ancient walls of L’Herrim closing and reshaping behind her. Angry old walls, they did not care for walking through at all. She felt it, as if the very foundation had hate built up over thousands of years. Up the stairs, guards were scattering toward something, someone was screaming.
The ages old tapestries hung silent, great kings and queens upon stallions, statues she passed as well. She drew Charity from behind her robes. That garnered her some unwanted attention from servants and glancing guards.
“Assassin!” Someone yelled it, but she kept her pace toward the upper hall adjacent to the balcony, the false Cardinal could not have gotten far.
Angeline turned the corner, kicked in the door to her right, and there it was. Four armored guards, three priests, and four servants all mobbing the screaming Cardinal. They were all trying to help with what they thought was blood, all save the strange servants who were just trying to cover screaming mouths with their hands.
Some turned toward her, this red haired northern Kivanite woman, who beheld a hand and a half blade of unmatched elegance. Angeline took one knee to the floor, guards coming, and focused all she had through Charity, asking for the strength to reveal falseness on the wind. Seconds later, the screams of loss at a dying Cardinal turned to screams of horror. The weakened shapeshifter could no longer hold its guise with the strange forces the woman summoned against it.
There on the ground in the upper hall, sat Arilli, a twitching doppelganger covered in deep blue blood. Its stomach torn in two places, two small rodent sized duplicates of itself were gnawing on its face, more eating their way out from the inside. The servants backed up slowly, silently. The guards went mad at the sight, smashing the little ones as they hissed and screeched. The priests fell to prayer, all but one who joined in destroying the madness. Eight more crawled out with black fangs bared, and eight more met their ends as halbreds and stomping boots greeted them into this world. The four servants pulled up masks from under their common garb, black masks, and withdrew curved scimitars and hidden daggers as well.
Angeline did not wait for them to turn on her, she ran down the stairs as fast as her legs would go. Her mind was weary from passing through stone twice, from all the focus in the crowd, and the immense strain of revealing Ariili for what it was. She felt fatigue wash over her. A dagger flung end over end from above the spiral stairs, she parried it safely away with a slash of her blade. Another whistled by, she ducked and it landed into a framed painting of Richmond the Second. A third grazed her hair, the fourth landed in her shoulder, deep.
Still on a dead run, the lady of the Knights Soujan dodged past armored guards that fumbled in surprise before they could even yell, By the time they shouted and were ready, she was two halls and three turns past. She pulled the curved dagger from her shoulder, blood running hot into her green adorned robes and clothing. No time to heal, she tossed the dagger behind her, clattering on the stone and then onto carpet.
“Charity, help me.” She asked outloud, sweat glistening on her light olive skin, pain shooting down her arm as she ran to the northern entrance to the castle.
The doors flung open with a gale of wind, the ten plate wearing guards were knocked down, covering their faces from the sudden storm of air and assault of the doors they protected. She ran with the invisible burst of wind, into the northern square, past the new golden statue of Alden and Saint Tarumin, then the air calmed. People stared, yelled, pointed and shouted as Angeline made for the sidestreets, sword in one hand, holding her bloody shoulder with the other. She followed her blade, its whims, not her own will.
An arm wrapped around her waist, pulled her into a doorway, then the door slammed. She struggled, it was dark, then she saw blue light, two blue lights.
“Quiet now, Angeline of Charity, be still.”
The voice was deep, his grip released, his eyes blinked. She blinked, adjusting to the dim room, only a trickle of light shone from the front of what smelled to be a bakery. The blue light came from his eyes, she had seen them before. His outline was of a well muscled man, nearly seven feet tall, black beard and wearing old peasant clothes of white.
“Annar?” Angeline sheathed her blade, fell to a knee, looking up at those irridescent blue eyes that met hers. Her blood dripped from the soaked sleeve of her robe, pattering onto the floor.
“I was waiting to find you alone. I expected to meet you outside of the city. I need you to take me to the west.”
“You are, you are…the son of Seirena, the God of strength and…why do you…” Her words trailed off into nothing as his hand touched her shoulder. She blinked, a long blink that had untold minutes she could not recall. Her arm felt no pain, her stomach no hunger, her mind w
as clear and refreshed.
“I am many things, yes. But I cannot travel without protection, not any more. My will on the world is nearly gone, I have passed it on to another. I have no great temples left to give me praise, I will explain on the way.” Annar showed no emotion, just looked, breathed, and waited for Angeline to stand and take him where he dared not go alone. The world had changed over the last several millennia, and he did not understand it. Cities, one sun instead of two, humans everywhere, it was all very strange.
“It is my duty, my honor, to protect you, Annar son of Seirena. Follow me.” She felt the words from inside, from her sword, and from the air.
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“That is rather messy, I dare say, what a monster.” Johnas rubbed his face, the scratches bothered him as he knew others stared at the temporary imperfections to his handsome complexion. The pile of Ariili, in true form, unmoving with ten squashed little Ariilis was disturbing, but he had seen worse. All that bothered him was that he had not known how doppelgangers reproduced, and that he was not made aware ahead of time. Now he knew.
“Now what, will we need another doppelganger to pose as the cardinal?” King Phillip removed the heavy crown and set it on a pedestal. One of the Emerald Eight closed the doors and drew the curtains behind him.
“My king, my king, what terror infiltrates here? What demons are these that haunt the Aldane?” The priest, the only one not in shock, stood by the four royal guards. None bowed, they had forgotten in all they had seen that their new king stood before them. The doors leading out of the hall shut, then the doors to the stairs down closed as well. Masked agents, three of four, moving quickly as their Patriarch now stood in the room.
The priest was ignored as if he were not in the room.“No, I feel with a few more speeches like that, and with the Legionairres under your command, you will do well. Balric did manage to kill the five nobles with any tie to a claim for the crown, so that is indeed safe.” Johnas Valhera put one finger on his throat, dragged it down to his sternum, then touched near his left eye. The sign was seen by his three deadly assassins, the sign of no witnesses.
Two masked servants plunged their blades into four royal guards, the third sliced the necks of the two priests in shock, and King Phillip drew his rapier and drove it into the one asking the questions. Seven bodies fell to the floor, reaching for something, their blood spreading in seven pools on white marble.
“Well done Phillip, you learn quick. How is your shoulder?” Johnas stepped over the carnage and sat in a plum colored velvet cushioned chair.
“Burns like hell.” He had received the brand of the White Spider this morning, taken the oath to Johnas, and was King of Harlaheim a few hours later.
“Your only concerns are this, and you will have my full assistance. Finding the Kivanite woman, Richmond’s body, and the three fugitives, Balric, Sebastian, and Edians. Your bounty will spread easily, but I feel our agents will find them first. Once that is done, simply maintain peace here with the Legion. The Aldane will not withdraw them until they investigate the Cardinal’s death and meet with you, and a crate and a half of paperwork over years will pile up before they return to Shanador.” Johnas reached for the grapes on the night stand, popping them one by one into his mouth.
“By then, I will have my own army to replace the one you are taking.” Phillip sat across from Johnas, pulled a kerchief from his regal armor plates, and cleaned his blade.
“Indeed, are the ships prepared?”
“They are. You will have the entire five thousand of Harlaheim’s finest, and thirty of my ships. That leaves me with two thousand men, nine thousand legionairres, and forty galleons. I can keep peace with that, I would hope.” Phillip smiled.
“I would hope so, King Phillip the First, but, I will be leaving you some assistance nonetheless.”
“And what, praetell, would this be in reference to, my Patriarch?”
The knock at the door stopped the conversation, two agents listened, heard what they needed to hear, and opened it for their fourth. A rolling cart for the banquets preceeded the masked servant, covering the warlock mirrors.
“Impeccable timing, come forward, all of you. Read me my latest words from agents abroad, would you?” Johnas propped one boot on the chair across from the night stand, relaxing in a room full of blood and death.
Phillip watched as the agents weaved their fingers in traces of arcane patterns on a white marble slab, then did the same on gold lettering on a black marble slab. Then, more words appeared on the white one, all in a language that he had never seen. “Marvelous. And each city has one of these, that can contact you?”
“Each Domenarch must he himself, or a trained wizard in his employ, use these to report in weekly or as needed. You, Phillip, will be replacing Florin in that regard and learning how to use the warlock mirrors, so watch closely.”
“Vermillion of the South has nothing to report my prince, nothing since he informed you that he had captured Prince Bryant of Chazzzrynn.” Diamond of the Mountain read steady, without any emotion, just as Johnas liked.
“Next.”
“Crimson of the North and Sapphire of the East have arrived safely in Arouland, nothing to report, all is as it should be.” He had never met any of the other agents, besides his brothers and sister here in the room, but he did not show his interest, only read what was there.
“Good, the war is moving along then and Salah Cam must be behaving. Next.”
“Cadius of Devonmir says that Jade of the West is dead, killed by Chalas Kalaza, the brown minotaur. He says that Rinicus has also been slain, and the Lords of Devonmir demand answers for a recent attack to their arena and barracks. They wish to meet with you, or they will take matters into their own hands as they have lost many men and slaves over this incident. Also, Cadius says that this minotaur has taken over operations in bloody fashion there, and Sylette Sassari of Shalokahn is most dipleased by the recent news that Kaya T’Vellon has murdered her cousin, Vossir. He has rebuilt the mirrors, and mild control is being attempted.” Diamond of the Mountain realized now that he was part of seven, not eight. He felt sad, even though he had never met Jade of the West.
“Now here, Phillip, is where action is required. All the chaos that is in Devonmir will require a few of the Emerald Eight to straighten out.” Johnas furrowed his brow, he hated hearing of his favorites meeting their ends. Phillip looked confused as Johnas raised his head back up.
“I am sorry, truly. The Emerald Eight are those I have trained myself, for many years, and are the deadliest with the blade, their killing, stealth, and their undying loyalty. Their names are given by me, covers to hide any identity. Each one watches the actions of many domenarchs and one other of the eight, keeping this organization of mine, honest.”
“So I heard four in the messages, one being dead, who are these four then?”
“Diamond of the Mountain, Emerald of the Ocean, Ruby of the Sea, and Silk of the River. Quadruplets, all brown hair and brown eyes, three boys, and Silk is the sister. I had them since shortly after birth, ingenious of me, I might add. Once you see the small moles and scars, you will know who is who. Took me years.”
“Impressive.” Phillip could barely tell that Silk of the River was a girl, they were all identical in hair, eyes, skin, and motion. Only the girl was a bit smaller and had some feminine curves that she tried to hide.
“Speaking of, Diamond, did you get the woman responsible for these little hit and run attacks upon us?”
Diamond of the Mountain shook his head.
“No? She is well trained this Kivanite woman.”
Diamond unfolded a dagger from a black cloth, his curved dagger he found on the hall floor, still red with the womans’ blood. “I will track her, Prince Johnas. It will be easy with this.”
“Excellent, at least we have something.” Johnas nodded back.
“They can track with just the blood? I could use those skills here indeed.” Phillip watched as the black robed
assassins moved about the room, sharpened blades, all in silence.
“Silk and Diamond will be staying here, with you. My gift. However, Ruby and Emerald will be travelling to Devonmir. Meet with Cadius and Chalas there, meet with the old sorcerer lords, and send me word of what will need to be done to keep the peace and prosperity.” Johnas stood, having no further business in Harlaheim that he could think of.
“My Patriarch, my Prince, it has been a pleasure. I will knight many loyal blades, kill our enemies, and see Harlaheim to better days. Then, to Willborne.” Phillip put his crown back upon his head, stepped over the blood pools on the floor, and walked Prince Johnas out of L’Herrim.
“Remember to announce my position as regent of Harlaheim, the papers are already signed and in the vaults. That peace agreement explains my need for soldiers, make that public as well. Send money every month, I have taken as much as the ship will hold for now.” The Prince of Valhirst walked down the halls, receiving bows and curtsies just as King Phillip did. His king, his man, so his kingdom.
“The mess in the upper hall, will…”
“Yes, the eight will have your agents take care of the bodies. You will meet your contacts and branded members soon, but you only have twenty or so in the city. Harlaheim has been a sorespot for me, here in the capital, and in Devonmir. You have your work cut out for you, I expect great things, King Phillip.” Johnas turned and embraced him having seen his men from Chazzrynn waiting for him at the western gates to L’Herrim Castle.
“Safe journey, good conquest, and next I hear from you it will be King Johnas Valhera of Chazzrynn, no?” Phillip waved.
“Yes, yes indeed it will.” Johnas walked with his armed guards and soldiers to the docks and piers that had the Morninghawk and another five thousand soldiers that would be returning to Valhirst with him. He breathed in deep the fresh salty air, people waving and bowing as he passed. Here he was already regal and noble beyond that of an ordinary man. In Chazzrynn, he knew, he had some wars to wage and men to kill to achieve that. Johnas smiled more at the thought of it. Despite some loose ends here, this felt more like his seat than in Chazzrynn, it felt like victory. The Prince of Valhirst nodded to the captain, and boarded the Morninghawk, destined for home.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 39
