King Pallan interposed, wearing a sour look, “Yes, I am quite aware of the state of things in the kingdom, Errit.” He was holding his toast in his right hand.
The senior council member nodded quickly but pressed the king. “Sire, the kingdom is in disarray; it is greatly suffering. We have searched the scrolls for information about the stone mentioned by the Denaveive but have been unable to find anything.
King Pallan took a bite of his toast and chewed thoughtfully. Swallowing, he said, “Well, my good councilman, we will need to look harder.”
Errit, a handsome man in his late forties, wearing a white robe, answered anxiously, “Where?”
King Pallan mulled the question over.
Errit, in a show of frustration, stretched out his hands and vented, “These Mysterious Ones employ a type of magic unknown to us.”
King Pallan turned his head slowly and stared at Errit for a moment. With lowering eyelids, he remarked, “Perhaps what they employ isn’t magic.”
Errit complained, “I do not understand.”
There was some whispering among the six other council members.
King Pallan, toast in hand, watched Jaid juggle some red balls off in the corner of the room.
Errit prodded gently, “Sire.”
King Pallan slowly turned his attention back to him.
“The stone? Does it even exist?”
King Pallan took another bite of his toast. Crunching on it, with jaws wobbling, he soon said, after a hearty clearing of his throat that suggested annoyance, “We must be inventive, my good Errit, to unravel the mystery of what inflicts the kingdom; the stone exists.”
Errit came forward a little and challenged him. “How can you be sure?”
King Pallan was about to speak but paused to watch Jaid juggle several balls at once. Finishing his toast, he resumed. “These ‘Mysterious Ones’, as they call themselves, have challenged me to find a stone; and I intend to find it.”
“Could this all be a ploy—to waste our efforts in search of something that doesn’t exist, while the kingdom continues to fall?”
King Pallan responded gravely, “A very good question, Jost.”
The councilman nodded to him deferentially.
Errit chimed in anxiously. “Then where shall we find this stone? There is no reference to it anywhere in the scrolls.”
Rising from his throne, King Pallan fired back, “Then we will search the historical record.”
“In the Archives?”
King Pallan, descending the throne, answered in a firm tone of voice, “In the Archives, Errit.” Coming to the side of the anxious councilman, who was slighter taller than he, King Pallan took him gently by the arm and, with a grin, affirmed, “My very good Errit, we shall dig through the catacombs, if need be, to uncover the whereabouts of this stone.”
There was some hushed laughter.
Errit, with a lighter expression, replied, “Through the catacombs.”
King Pallan, smiling at him and nodding several times, “Through the catacombs. I want that stone found, the stone?”
A council member completed his thought. “The Kaiper Stone of Ayren, sire.”
“Yes, that’s it. Notify Reiluus that I wish to see him at his earliest convenience—nay, with all expediency.”
Errit confirmed, “With all expediency, sire. I shall notify the keeper of records of your wish to see him.”
King Pallan removed his hand from Errit’s arm. “Good; it is decided. If the whereabouts of this stone are to be determined, it will be there, in the monastery. Now, then, what else did the council wish to speak with me about today? I have a pressing matter to attend to (he had a card game to attend).”
Errit revealed with increasing urgency, “There is the matter of the dying crops due to the unprecedented changes in the weather. The prices of basic food items are on the rise in the kingdom, sire.”
King Pallan lowered his head somewhat and grumbled. He began to walk back and forth before the loosely dispersed members of the Council of Paladia. “Let us say, for argument’s sake, that the unusual weather we’re experiencing is the direct consequence of the visitation of the Denaveive.”
“There can be no doubt, sire,” stressed council member Grayven.
King Pallan turned to him. “I’m not completely convinced.”
Errit added anxiously, “But it is just not that, sire; there have been ground shakings in numerous places. And bolts of lightning from out of nowhere that have struck trees, causing fires.”
King Pallan narrowed his eyes. “Ground quakes?”
Most of the council members nodded, answering, “Yes, sire.”
“Hmm … that would foul a shot, I suppose.” King Pallan placed his hand to his mouth and looked down. He was silent for several moments. “Nothing in the scrolls?”
Errit responded emphatically, “Nothing, sire.”
King Pallan protested, “But they represent all that is to be—the summary of the past.”
Errit and others answered, “We know.”
King Pallan, with a disgusted shake of his head, replied, “Our only hope is to find information about that stone. If it is anywhere, it will be in the Archives of Yde.”
Errit made an expression of protest. “But—”
King Pallan looked him directly in the eyes, and said very firmly, “It will be there; it must be. The Archives represent the sum of all our people’s knowledge.”
Errit lowered his head and responded meekly, “Yes, sire. We will search them … most diligently.”
King Pallan returned a quick grin. “Good; it is decided.” He clapped his hands together once.
This was the signal for those assembled that a brief recess was in session. The council members huddled together and discussed various matters in low tones, at times with much animation. Jaid, the court jester and King Pallan’s closest friend, took out his flute and played a lively tune. Another dwarf, Trelas, accompanied Jaid with his timbrel, and the two danced in a joyous exhibition, the bells on their hats jingling.
King Pallan approached Barrow rather nonchalantly and whispered while looking away, “Are there any races on, today?”
Barrow, in an equally muted tone of voice, said out the side of his mouth as he puffed his pipe, “No, sire. Remember, the weather?”
King Pallan winced. “Right. I forgot.”
A magician entered the throne room.
Barrow whispered, “Watch this, sire.”
King Pallan leaned his head toward Barrow and, with light amusement, responded, “Oh?”
Jaid and Trelas continued to play as they danced in a circle. The magician, Corolas by name, Corolas the Magnificent, began a repertoire of advanced card tricks.
King Pallan whispered to Barrow, “The card game.”
Barrow observed Corolas with reserved interest. He nodded to King Pallan. “Aye, the card game.”
“What time does it start?” King Pallan strained to hear Barrow’s answer.
Barrow watched Corolas pull a card from his sleeve. “What?”
King Pallan came closer to him. “I said, what time does the game start?”
“Oh right; of course, sire.” Barrow leaned his head slightly to the side to watch as Corolas revealed a bouquet of flowers from his side. “Half past one; but it is encouraged to come a tad later, say, by two.”
“No later than three, right?”
Barrow shook his head slightly as Corolas shot a spark from his fingers. “Remarkable.”
“Remarkable that one should be there by three?”
Barrow looked slightly frustrated. “No; remarkable what Corolas did.”
King Pallan observed the illusionist for a few moments, with mounting intrigue. “So, by three?”
Barrow sighed faintly. “Too late—come by two.”
King Pallan bobbed his head as he continued to study the magician’s complicated moves.
“Quite good, isn’t he?” Barrow struggled to see what Corolas was doing.
King Palla
n nodded. “Yes, quite good. He’s the son of Adex?”
Squinting as he blew out pipe smoke, Barrow answered, “Yes, he’s the son of Adex, the former swindler and now financier.”
King Pallan was about to respond but instead paused to behold Corolas slice a melon in half and pull out a card from the centre of it, with the number a council member had guessed. “Oh, bravo! Bravo!”
Barrow smiled. “Yes, indeed—bravo. Very good.”
The throne room began clapping.
After the applause had mostly quieted down, King Pallan asked, “Is Donolaast going to be present?”
Barrow shot back, “Who?”
King Pallan said more loudly, “Donolaast; you know, the inventor.”
Barrow pressed his lips together. “Yes, he’ll be there, and so will Jainai and Kress.”
King Pallan bobbed on the soles of his feet. “Oh, very good; Kress. We have a card game …”
Barrow surveyed the magic act of the talented prestidigitator with elevating suspicion. “Aye, a card game.” He winked at King Pallan and returned to watching Corolas.
King Pallan began to grin. “Indeed.”
The two men viewed the display with increasing levity. Jaid and Trelas had got in on the magic act, periodically playing ridiculous tunes in between. Corolas, impeccably dressed in a black cloak and trouser-like pants, holding a sable, white-tipped wand in hand, and with slicked, dark hair parted to the side, used his deep-green eyes to miscue his entranced audience, as he executed, with exceptional aplomb, one misdirection after another, further spellbinding all in attendance. Simultaneously, refreshments were brought in on trays by maidservants, as it was known the king had missed his early morning breakfast.
Before long, some of the council members began leaving. Jaid and Trelas resumed their silly dancing and jump-inducing melodies. Corolas quenched a candle flame with a quick swipe of his hand to much applause (the candle had not moved in the slightest as he put out its flame). There was a lighthearted air to the whole affair that seemed to contrast with the dilemmas threatening the kingdom and with the solemnity of the chamber itself, so regally adorned.
III
The following day, King Pallan and the council members (Barrow was not present), along with several guards and a historian by the name of Yarros, descended a narrow staircase that led into a dark tunnel. Carrying torches, they used a map to navigate a small labyrinth of passages to reach the Royal Archives, an old, massive, underground library or records hall beneath the royal court yards.
King Pallan ducked to avoid hitting his head against the sloping ceiling. Looking around, he remarked, “The air is quite musty.” Some sand fell onto them from the ceiling.
Yarros urged, “Only a little farther, sire. Reiluus should be waiting for us in the central hall.”
King Pallan gestured with his hand. “Lead on.”
Yarros, a rather elderly man with a long white beard of fine hair, drooping greyish eyes, and a hawk nose, squinted to make out the end of the tunnel. He swung around suddenly and declared, “This is it, the correct tunnel. One more junction to go, and we will be in the central records hall.”
King Pallan winced. “Amazing anyone can live down here …”
“Work, sire. Live no.” Yarros fumbled his lantern a little, its light throwing quickly disappearing yellow streaks on the tunnel’s walls and domed ceiling. “The Royal Archives represent all the knowledge of Paladia.” He fell temporarily silent. In a low tone of voice, almost in a grumble of complaint, he added, “But they have proven to be decidedly cryptic.”
Errit asked impatiently, “How much farther?”
Yarros responded, “Just a little farther, I think …”
King Pallan turned to Errit and smirked. Errit acknowledged him quickly and peered ahead, trying to make out the end of the corridor, what it might lead to.
After passing through three more junctions, a short hallway of sorts, and a vacant space devoid of fixtures of any kind, Yarros exclaimed suddenly, startling those behind, “That’s it! Take the first right after coming to the nexus; twenty paces thence to the hall.”
King Pallan said under his breath, “Well, bloody get on with it.”
The group reached the central hall in short time, and Reiluus, the keeper of records, awaited them quietly at the entrance.
“Reiluus! My good man, we have some company today.” Yarros hurried toward him.
The scribe, garbed in a plain, ankle-length, loose-fitting brown garment, with a red corded rope around his waist, made a faint bow. He was holding a lantern.
“Sire—this is Reiluus, the keeper of records.” Yarros stood aside for King Pallan to approach the stoic archivist.
King Pallan came before him and bent his head a degree. “It is an honour and pleasure, sir, to meet with you today.”
Reiluus bowed to him. “It is I who should be bowing to you, My King. Come, I have things to show you …”
They entered the central hall, which was nothing more than a room, lined with some dusty bookshelves and having poorly lit corridors, forking from it at regular intervals. The guards took their station at the chamber’s entrance. Yarros returned to the castle.
Reiluus set his lantern down on a table against the far wall, and sat, somewhat feebly, on a wooden stool. He revealed, “The true nexus of the Archives of Yde.”
King Pallan came to his side; he was studying the room with intrigue. “Here?”
Reiluus nodded to him slowly.
Errit approached the table and asked, “What have you found concerning the stone? Does it exist?”
Reiluus did not answer immediately but proceeded to remove a piece of parchment from a leather pouch lying on the table. The parchment had scribblings all over it and two strange geometric shapes near its centre, all done in charcoal, apparently (as if done by a pencil). “Notes the brothers and I have taken since the appearance of the watchers.”
King Pallan was about to speak, but Errit interjected, “You know of them?”
Reiluus, in his mysterious way, gave a faint nod. “A little, perhaps. But that is not important.” He arranged the parchment so that those gathered around the table could better view it. Bringing the light closer to the document, he pointed at a crude sketch of a wall. “Here.”
King Pallan glanced at the reticent records keeper and shrugged. “Where? What does it indicate? I do not understand.”
Reiluus answered deliberately, “My Lord, you have a problem with a stone.”
King Pallan nodded to him cautiously.
“Then there is your stone.”
“The Kaiper Stone of Ayren?” Council member Gileaind scoffed.
Errit shot a look at him and quickly returned his confused gaze to the parchment. “The stone—there?” Focusing intensely on the drawing of the wall, as though almost doubting himself, he remarked, “That is the Temple of Xydan, if I’m not entirely mistaken.”
Council member Gileaind demanded, “Give it here. Let me have a look …”
Reiluus slid the parchment closer to the aged man, of portly figure, who raised his chin and squinted his eyes to better make out the details of the sketch, wearing rudimentary spectacles. “Oh … well. Bah! That’s not it.”
Errit re-examined the document and concluded, “I’d say it is. What do you think, sire? Have a look.”
King Pallan came closer and examined the sketch. “I do not know. I suppose, it could be anything, really.”
Reiluus shook his head slowly.
King Pallan’s countenance dimmed. “Or not.”
Errit inquired hastily, “Then what is it, really?” He stared at the peculiar records master, his hand on the table, awaiting an answer.
Reiluus, altogether unmoved by their indecision and impatience, removed a smaller piece of parchment from the pouch that showed the sketch of the wall in much greater detail. He placed it before them and leaned to the side a little.
King Pallan looked at Errit, confused; Errit returned the sentiment.
“My good records keeper … do you expect us to believe that the Kaiper Stone of Ayren has been or is perhaps in a pagan temple—attached to the Hill of Dekadam, now in total ruins, long abandoned? The depiction is clearly of the Temple of Xydan. Wouldn’t you agree, sire?”
King Pallan, after glancing at Errit, stared for a time at the drawing. Curling his lower lip, he nodded slowly. In a low voice, he said, “Yes … it appears so.”
“Well, then”—Errit shook his finger at Reiluus—“pray, tell us how you came to such a conclusion. That temple has not been used in millennia.”
Reiluus stalled, and Errit hovered over him with growing impatience.
“My brothers and I, after searching the historical record as best we could in the time given, found nothing regarding the stone. It was by mere chance that a brother, after returning from a long meditation, came upon a drawing on a tunnel wall that reminded him of the temple. Intrigued, he studied it and noticed an image, albeit quite small, of a tetrahedron stone at the base of an altar. There was”—he paused for a moment as if to recall something—“a word or phrase in Gaidac that seemed to reference the stone. With the parchment he had with him, he at once traced the image as well as he could. He brought his drawing back to the brethren, and it was then that the Order began, in earnest, to attempt to decipher the phrase’s meaning.”
Errit prompted, “And what was its meaning?”
King Pallan cut in, “Gaidac; that is an ancient tongue.”
Reiluus soon responded to Errit, “The phrase ‘Kave’rea Jan-lest mora’tar Veind daay und’, which loosely translates, in the Paladian tongue, to ‘the four-sided gem of triangles of translucence of Kov’.”
Errit raised his head, for it was down near the drawing; he had a very perplexed look. “Kov? What is Kov?”
King Pallan chimed in, “Yes, what is Kov?”
Some of the other council members also complained, “What is this ‘Kov’ you mention?”
Reiluus replied, “A name for an ancient race of people, later called (the) ‘Ayren’. More formally, their progenitor.”
Errit shook his head and protested, “You mean to tell us this stone—belonging to a long-dead people—somehow got into the Temple of Xydan and was embedded in the base of an altar by our pagan ancestors? Poof; you would have us think that we are a bunch of street-corner fruit-cart pushers, records keeper.”
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