Pale Kings (Emaneska Series)

by Ben Galley

  ‘A wise decision sir has made,’ said the strange man, and he handed the mage the white nut. It looked like a fossilised walnut, and it was heavy for its size. ‘Throw it into the air when the stars are shining, and it will point the way.’

  Confused, Farden wondered how a small round nut could point the way, but he was getting to the point where he would have gladly tried anything, even if it was an old walnut and a strange furry merchant. ‘How much?’ asked the mage, expecting to be met with a huge sum. ‘And how do I know this will work?’

  The man thought for a moment, and hummed, and then thought some more, until he curled his finger for Farden to lean closer. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. Farden warily leant closer. The man whispered in his ear. The mage could feel his whiskers on his cheek. ‘The cost of such things can only be measured by whether they meet their worth, and their worth can be great, depending on how you measure it. It could cost you everything, or nothing, and sometimes it costs you more than coin,’ suggested the man. ‘In this case, I give you special offer. If it works for you, and you deem it worthy, then you can pay me on your return,’ said the merchant, opening his hands wide and smiling. His cat-ears twitched. ‘And if it doesn’t then it is free!’ he added.

  Despite his mystical words, it made sense. ‘Seems a fair deal,’ agreed Farden, and they shook on it. ‘I will be back,’ he said, before leaving.

  ‘Let us hope so,’ said the man, and with that their business was concluded, and he turned to next customer. Farden pocketed the nut and wandered on further into Belephon. Nothing in Paraia really surprised him any more; the whole place was a bundle of strange, upside down, wrapped in odd. It made Emaneska look mundane.

  Weaving his way through the rainbow crowds, Farden made it to the centre of the town and its wide bustling square. He made a beeline for a small shop with a shady cloth awning over the entrance. Cushioned stools and benches had been put out, with small tables like islands in between. A few patrons sat cross-legged on the seats and quietly watched their peculiar world go by. Farden nodded to them and went indoors, where a small woman with bright pink eyes and wispy white hair stood behind a table. She smiled and nodded, and then gestured to a tall set of shelves filled with every possible wine, ale, beverage, and drink the mage could imagine or want for, and many more besides. He pointed to his usual, and she nodded once more, silently. Farden went outside to grab a spare table and seat by the wall and with a long sigh, he sat. With a quick flick of his hands he rubbed the dust from his dark hair and leant back against the cool white-washed sandstone behind him.

  The white woman with pink eyes appeared with bowl of warmish water and a thin towel, and Farden used it to clean his hands and sand-covered face. It was refreshing, even though the water was lukewarm. He used the blue and white scarf wrapped around his neck to dry his face. Farden thanked her and she bobbed her head up and down in return.

  Soon his drink arrived, accompanied by a very tall, thin man with a thick crop of dark hair and an equally dark complexion. He had shifty eyes, and a turned-up nose. Protruding from his temples were two thin black horns, curiously twisted like a gazelle’s, and they coiled in a wide circle around his pointy ears. A long patchwork robe hung awkwardly from his lean frame, giving the appearance that he had been mauled by a tapestry, and it stroked the dusty floor with each shuffle of his wiry legs. ‘The magick man has returned!’ said the man, laughing cordially.

  Farden smiled and took his drink from the bronze tray in the man’s long-fingered hands. The liquid was bright blue and felt incredibly cold, distilled from something the locals called jenever. Farden sipped it slowly, savouring the stinging of the alcohol, the way it swam around his teeth and tongue. The sweet, herby taste slid down his dry throat with ease. The tall man took a seat and watched Farden sip his drink. ‘So, my sorcerer friend, any luck in the southwest?’ he asked.

  ‘None, and I’m not a sorcerer. I’m a mage,’ replied Farden, wiping a hand across his lips.

  ‘Apologies, my friend. I meant no disrespect.’ The dark man shook his head and tutted. ‘And that is a shame,’ he said.

  The mage leant forward and tapped his finger on the wooden tabletop. ‘I think you enjoy sending me out into the desert on these wild goose chases of yours, Lafik,’ he smiled, and the tall man grinned, slightly uneasily. His teeth were a browner shade of yellow, and were filled his mouth like a pile of mud bricks. Strings of black hair hugged the sides of his face, as if afraid to let go. Nervous, Lafik wiped a drip of sweat from his brow and dabbed it on his robe. ‘Hah, magick man, I never understand your strange jokes! How is your drink?’ he asked.

  Farden sipped at the blue liquid again and winked. ‘Good,’ he said. His eyes bored into Lafik’s moist forehead. ‘I met someone in the desert last night,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes?’ asked Lafik, rubbing his hands on his knees.

  Farden nodded. ‘Yes, a man, who looked like a goat.’

  ‘A goat?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Lafik smiled again, flashing his dirty, piled-up teeth. ‘Then you met a faun, my friend, a magick creature of the deep deserts. Did he say anything to you?’

  Farden nodded once more. ‘He told me to stop digging for the sun after it had set,’ he said.

  Lafik nodded several times, big, deep nods that tried their best to appear sincere. ‘Fauns are known for their wisdom. Perhaps you should listen to him.’

  ‘Perhaps I should,’ mused Farden. ‘And where would find such a faun?’

  Lafik held up his hands. ‘Who could know, magick man. As I said, they are creatures of the deep deserts. Unpredictable. Nobody has ever caught one, and nobody has ever tried.’

  ‘Then how would they know if they’ve never tried? Asked Farden, his eyes still locked on Lafik’s. The tall dark man looked away and brushed his stringy hair over his one of his horns, unable to meet the mage’s scrutinising gaze. He stared at the passers-by in the square. After a quiet moment he clapped his hands together as if he had suddenly remembered something. ‘Ah! There is news from the north,’ he said. A change of subject.

  The mage drummed his fingers on the table again. ‘Tell me,’ he said. Lafik cupped his hand conspiratorially and his brown eyes grew wide, as if his news was of the utmost importance.

  ‘There is snow in the mountains!’ he hissed. A fleck of spit narrowly avoided the mage’s face. Farden shook his head and sighed. ‘That isn’t news Lafik, there is always snow in the mountains.’

  But Lafik frantically waved his hand. ‘No no, not in your mountains, our mountains! It has rained every day for a week and now snow is falling on their peaks. The rivers are full! We have never known anything like it,’ he hissed. Farden hummed and took another swig. He had been hearing these stories ever since he had come south, news of the weather getting slowly worse, that the icy fingers of the Long Winter were reaching deeper and deeper into Emaneska with every week that passed. Farden suspected it had something to do with Vice, but for the moment it was just a suspicion. ‘That is strange,’ he murmured, grudgingly agreeing with the annoying man. Farden cleared his throat. ‘Any news of the Arka, or Skölgard?’

  Lafik’s tapestry-robe rustled as he picked at a stray thread. He shook his head. ‘Nothing changes, my mage friend. The winter stays. The armies of the Skölgard grow larger every day. Your Krauslung is still under, the er, how do you say, the thumb, yes, the thumb of the Bane king and the tall Arkmage. The sickness in the city remains. Your Arka continue to leave. Your gods do not smile on your country any more, my friend. It seems like your people need help.’

  Farden didn’t respond. He simply watched the busy square and listened to the noises of the crowds. Lafik toyed with a tassel on his robe to fill the gap in conversation. The mage flicked his fingernail against the glass cup and made a little chiming sound. ‘Tell me again Lafik, about the man I’m looking for,’ ordered Farden, staring at the crowds.

  His nervous host looked confused. ‘But I have already t
old you,’ he began, but Farden flicked the glass again, louder.

  ‘Then tell me again,’ said the mage.

  Lafik thought for a moment, nibbling his lip. ‘He was a tall man, perhaps, but he stooped like a beggar and wore a long cloak. He had a tanned face with dark hair like yours, my friend, and scars on his hands. Many scars. His voice was quiet, rough, and just as you said, he spoke like you, a man of the north.’

  ‘And that is everything you know?’ asked the mage. Lafik spread his hands wide and nodded his most eager of nods.

  ‘It was a long time ago now, I…’

  ‘Think,’ interrupted Farden. The men at the nearby tables were watching them now, their peaceful drinks disturbed by the loud conversation. Lafik tried to think of an answer. ‘He, er, had green eyes, no, blue eyes like your drink, and a gold coin on a string around his neck, and…’

  Farden shuffled even closer. His eyes had a dangerous glint in them. ‘And how much did my uncle pay you to keep me away?’

  Lafik’s mouth hung open. He didn’t bother to close it. His nervous eyes met Farden’s piercing gaze and he stuttered. ‘L…listen…’ But he did not get any further. Farden reached across and with the tip of his finger, he closed the dark man’s mouth for him. He brought his face uncomfortably close to Lafik’s, so close he could smell the cloves on the man’s breath.

  ‘Enough games. Tell me where I can find him,’ the mage hissed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Lafik. He tried to shuffle backwards but in a flash Farden had knocked aside the table and wrapped two iron hands around the man’s neck, pinning him to the nearest wall. Lafik struggled futilely. ‘Where is he?’ growled Farden.

  ‘Agh, the dune sea, to the east!’

  ‘That’s a big place,’ said Farden and he squeezed just a little bit tighter. Lafik choked and pawed feebly at Farden’s arms. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall. ‘And this faun?’

  ‘I swear, I don’t know!’ gurgled Lafik. The mage let him go and the tall man slumped to the ground. He wheezed and put a hand to his throat. Farden looked around. The pink-eyed servant woman stood in the doorway, expressionless and silent as always, while the other patrons busied themselves with looking in the any direction that wasn’t the mage. Where it had fallen and spilt, the jenever had turned the sandy flagstones a dark blue colour. Farden reached into his pocket and calmly placed a solitary silver coin on the edge of the upturned table. He looked to the woman and she nodded solemnly. The mage turned to Lafik. ‘The dune sea?’ he asked once more.

  Lafik looked at Farden with daggers in his eyes, useless blunt daggers that had as much edge as a pillow. ‘To the east,’ he replied hoarsely. Farden winked once more, and, turning smartly on his heel, he left the little shop and disappeared into the crowds of Belephon, leaving Lafik to nurse his bruised throat and brush the dust from his ugly robe.

  Chapter 2

  “Fearing that their human partners would dig too deep into their history as slaves to the elves, and learn too much about their dark magicks, the first great tearbooks were burnt by their own dragons. Only one remained, belonging to a young golden dragon whose name has long since been forgotten…”

  From the Nelska Archives

  Elessi had never befriended a talking animal. To tell the truth, she had never even entertained the thought of their existence, not to mention considered befriending one. It was unnatural, she felt, for an animal to have such profound thoughts and feelings, and it was even stranger for it to voice them aloud. Hence, it had taken quite a long while for it to sink in that the cat was not really a cat, but a girl in a cat’s shape, with a cat-face and cat-features, but still undeniably a girl.

  For some reason, the duty of taking care of the girl-turned-cat had fallen on her, and Elessi had been a little dubious at the start. But that had been a long eight months ago, and now the chambermaid was finally safe in the knowledge that the shapeshifting cat was perfectly safe, and far from unnatural. Her name was Lerel, and she was from Paraia, another place that Elessi had never heard of, but everything else about her seemed to be shrouded in mystery. As a simple maid Elessi was not privy to the peculiar ways and politics of the Sirens, and Lerel was equally unwilling to tell her. Only Durnus had been the lucky recipient of the cat’s secret message. It turned out that even the dragons did not know. Everything had been so complicated since they arrived. The machinations of this complicated world flew over the chambermaid’s head like a kite. But luckily for Elessi, she was beyond caring, and she was just glad to have the cat as company.

  There was one problem in Nelska, however, that bothered Elessi immensely. It wasn’t the dragons or their riders, as both were equally kind and friendly to the curious maid, even their stern queen was tolerable, nor was it the food, although in the past months she had eaten enough fish to fill a lake. No, it was the cold.

  At first she hadn’t minded; the rock of the mountain fortress kept the wind at bay and the bubbling-hot springs below their feet filled the caverns and corridors with constant warmth. But day by day and week by week the weather had become increasingly bitter, and the ice had all but surrounded the rocky island. The springs, it seemed, were slowly dying.

  Elessi grabbed another log from a nearby basket and threw it on the cavernous fireplace. With a hiss and a thud, the log landed in the glowing embers. A few sparks yelped and jumped into the air. The damp bark of the log began to crackle. The maid shivered and pulled her blanket around her and walked back to the big armchair. Next to the chair was a table topped with more blankets, and on top of them sat a skinny black cat. It blinked at the maid like a sleepy owl.

  ‘It’s getting worse,’ said the cat, in a voice several sizes bigger than her body.

  Elessi shivered again and scowled mockingly as she took her seat. ‘At least you have fur, Lerel. All we have is blankets and fire and this horrible drink. What do they call it again? Singul? Syngurb?’ The maid jabbed a nearby mug of steaming red liquid. It smelled of bitter spices and fish, but the Sirens swore by its strange warming properties. Elessi had to admit it worked, but that didn’t prevent it from tasting like the armpit of a pickled squid.

  ‘Syngur, and it doesn’t make that much of a difference,’ Lerel replied. She looked down at her paws and nibbled at a section of matted hair. ‘I wish I could get out of this body,’ she muttered, her tiny pink cat tongue moving strangely with her human words.

  ‘Well if Farden ever finds what he’s looking for then you might get your chance,’ said Elessi. She looked into the flames wistfully. It had been months since the mage had left, with no word or hawk or anything of his progress. Elessi was beginning to miss him.

  Lerel shook her head. ‘Like I said to your vampyre, he’s wasting his time, he should be back here, getting ready to fight.’

  ‘Well, whatever you said to Durnus obviously shook him, he ain’t been himself at all, I say.’ And that had been several long months ago, thought Elessi.

  Lerel didn’t reply. She had a habit of doing that, as if Elessi weren’t allowed to know certain things at certain times. The maid sighed and tapped her hands together and hummed to pass the silence. The cat yawned and twitched her whiskers, and keeping her eyes on the fire, she voiced her thoughts in a wistful voice. ‘I suppose Durnus and I are the same, in a way. Both of us are stuck in a shape we didn’t ask for.’

  Elessi looked confused. ‘Didn’t you choose to be a cat?’

  ‘No. When I was a little girl, before I got caught up in all of this, I used to watch the big desert birds fly over our town. I always wanted to be like them. But somebody said it wasn’t a good idea. Something about the lack of fingers,’ muttered Lerel, looking at her paws. ‘Don’t see how it’s any different, but apparently shapeshifting is never an exact art,’ she added, from the corner of her mouth.

  Elessi nodded as if she understood, but she really didn’t. Lerel said a lot of strange things. ‘Durnus seems happy being a vampyre,’ she said, grimacing as she sipped her syngur.

  I
f a cat could smirk, then Lerel did. ‘Have you ever asked him?’ she posed the question.

  The maid slowly shook her head, thinking. ‘No, I don’t suppose I have.’

  ‘Ask him, and then you’ll see,’ replied Lerel, stretching out her legs and feet as far as they could go, each little toe separated like branches on a furry tree. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. ‘I wish I could get out of this body,’ she mumbled, and said no more.

  Elessi watched the cat until she fell asleep, and then went to the robust wooden door to the left of the window. With a nudge and a pull, the frozen door became unstuck and the maid pulled it open. Pulling her blanket even tighter around her body, she wandered outside into the wintry afternoon, grey and gloomy as it was. Elessi blinked and squinted as the flakes of wet cold snow pelted her face. She tried to look around. The torches lining the walls of the little balcony had long since died out, but there was an orange glow coming from some of the other windows above and to the side of her. The whole mountain was shrouded in impenetrable snow. Elessi liked to watch the dragons fly on days like this, but the skies that day were empty. She could barely see the sea beyond the weather.

  The sun was a hazy myth somewhere behind the thick, black clouds, heavy with sleet and snow as they were. The bitter wind ravaged the cold and rocky slopes. Far beneath her balcony, at the foot of the mountain, drifts of snow piled up amongst the scattered buildings and blanketed the empty fields. Everything was a grey shade of jagged rock and ice.

  Elessi wondered where Farden was, and what Durnus and that big one-eyed Siren were up to in Krauslung. She missed the mage terribly, more than she would ever let on, and she prayed constantly, and to a number of gods, for his safe return. Lately it seemed that everything was getting rather complicated. Everybody in Hjaussfen seemed agitated, balancing on some unconscious edge. Even she, someone on the fringes of the activity and hustle and bustle, someone who knew nothing of wars and magick, could tell that the sand in the proverbial hourglass was quickly running out. She could taste the mood in the fortress, and wished she could help in some way. She sighed and brushed ice from her eyes; nobody told her anything.