by Jeff Gunzel
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It was a beautiful morning, with birds singing and not a cloud in the sky. There was a gentle breeze coming from the north that gave the leaves in the trees a slight rattle. A rabbit peeked out from the rock he was hiding behind just to get spooked by nothing and return to his safe hiding spot once again. Squirrels danced about on a nearby tree branch, enjoying the day with not a care in the world. There was no sign that anything evil had ever happened here. On a nearby hill sat a young girl kneeling by a pile of rocks with a makeshift wooden headstone. With her hands clasped over her heart, she mumbled words of peace to her lost friend, a friend she would never forget—a father she would never forget. She lifted her head to the sky with dry, emotionless eyes and silently mouthed the words “I hate you.”
Chapter 6
Bright-red carpet with gold trim covered the dining hall floor. A large green banner with a single yellow star at its center graced the wall over the fireplace. Elaborate silk tapestries well over ten feet long hung from all four walls, each with fancy white-laced borders, displaying epic battle scenes from a time long ago. Mostly they were fictitious images relating to the famed Undead War, renderings of human knights facing insurmountable odds, surrounded by crytons swarming over the brave knights with their huge claws and sharp, pointed teeth. At least, that was how they were portrayed here. Another had an image of a warrior being knighted by the king himself in the middle of the battlefield. They were both surrounded by the heads of fallen crytons, each with fangs and forked tongues hanging from their grotesque mouths as the king laid his sword upon the kneeling lad’s shoulder.
Four shimmering crystal chandeliers hung from the loft ceilings, each one sparkling from the light of the bright oil lanterns hung everywhere. No one commented on the ornate scenery, as they had seen it many times before. The guests gossiped away as they sat at the twenty-foot oak table in the center of the room. The sturdy chairs of equal quality displayed ornate carvings set into the backs of each one.
Maids continued to scamper about with fine white porcelain pitchers, topping off crystal wine glasses that were still plenty full. The table was set with fine Athsmin dinnerware that the Queen had shipped in, along with many other elegant goods Taron was more than willing to overpay for.
Queen Ilirra Marosia sat at her royal table up on the dais at the front of the dining hall. With her head held high, she continued to pretend to be interested in the small gathering, which took a real effort on her part. Just shy of her middle years, the Queen’s beauty was the envy of most girls half her age.
Ilirra’s fiery red hair was tied back in two long braids that flowed halfway down her back. Her lovely green eyes held all the command and prestige of a queen, yet had a softness that could melt any man’s heart. Her blue silk dress with white lace gracing the neck and shoulders was stunning even by the standards of royalty. Long, sparkling diamond earrings that dangled to her shoulders and a necklace embedded with light-blue opals would appear gaudy on anyone else, but the Queen made them seem modest.
Etiquette required that the Queen have formal gatherings now and again. Among the folk attending the small dinner this evening were the steward, marshal, and constable of the castle. All three sat at the large table below, along with other rich merchants she was obligated to show great respect for. The ladies continued to speak of the latest fashions as well as the new shipment of silks coming in from Athsmin.
The men were having a spirited discussion about the latest round of the games they had attended. They had been getting quite interesting lately with the level of skilled fighters that had been acquired. One of the slaves, who had made quite a name for himself by cutting down everyone he had faced so far, was the main topic of discussion—Morkel or Morceller, something of that nature. The fact that nobles were even trying to remember the name of a slave spoke wildly of the impression he was making. Rumor had it he might win his freedom if he kept up this pace, a feat that had not been accomplished in decades.
Queen Ilirra was having a difficult time trying to focus on entertaining her guests. She was generally quite witty and worldly, and could turn the conversation from religion to politics in the blink of an eye.
The Queen related to common folk rather easily, as it seemed to her they had a better understanding of the world than people born into power and or money. An ongoing perception of the Queen was that she was just as comfortable seated in a tavern as she was on her throne. What people didn’t realize was just how close this was to the truth.
A few of the serving maids disappeared into the kitchen, returning with silver carts filled with hot food. While one placed bowls of soup in front of each guest, the others began to place other courses around the table. A large silver platter of roast lamb was placed at the center of the table, which was quickly followed by trays of roasted potatoes, salads, and bowls of beans.
Red wine had been flowing the entire time, and now was no exception—the girls continued to race back and forth with their pitchers, filling glasses that were more than half full.
The violinist, wearing green britches and a matching vest, played an upbeat tune as he stepped around the large table, flashing a smile at everyone.
Queen Ilirra sat at her private table along with the captain of the guard, Azek Lamanton. The tall, graying man had been in the service of Taron for decades. His piercing dark eyes were that of a hawk’s, and commanded unquestioned authority. Although well into his middle years, his lean, hard frame still held the explosiveness of one many years his junior. He and the Queen sat in relative silence, both of their minds distracted by the same troubling thoughts, but each knowing better than to speak of it here.
The Queen’s elite guard stood on each side of the table like bookends, both monstrosities towering over seven feet tall. Both were covered from head to toe with dark-red body armor like none had ever seen before. Every inch of the fabric appeared to be flexible, yet was harder than steel. The material seemed to be nothing more than shiny red plastic at a glance. Under the hoods covering their faces were dark screens similar to the facemasks worn by fencers, made of the same red fabric. Each held an oversized sickle clearly custom-made for their size, with the handle resting on the floor in front of them. Even though they were as still as statues, both were totally aware of their surroundings—where everyone in the room was and what they were doing. Either one could move with the speed of lightning if necessary. But for now, their mere presence was more than enough. It was well into the evening when the guests finally began leaving the great hall.
Couples approached the Queen’s table one at a time and gave a formal bow, followed by the usual comments of how enchanting the evening had been. After a suspicious glance at the two monsters, who would have made anyone uncomfortable, each couple was accompanied to the door by a serving maid.
Ilirra could not say she was sorry to see them go. She had more pressing matters than playing host to the people her advisors deemed important. When the last couples had finally been escorted out, the maids converged on the table, grabbing plates and silverware.
Azek and the queen stood. When the two giant bodyguards fell in behind them, Ilirra turned back and gave a quick dismissal, snapping her fingers as if gesturing to dogs. The two beasts stopped, bowed, then turned to walk the other direction. Their movements were identical.
Ilirra and Azek strolled across the white tile floor decorated with a green tiles at random intervals. They both walked with an unmistakable air of command. Ilirra marched with the confidence of leadership and rank, with her head high and level; Azek, with the deadly grace of a man whose blade had taken many lives. But to the untrained eye, they appeared the same.
“What news did the witch give you this time?” Azek asked with a youthful arrogance that did not match his grizzled looks. Azek had only been captain of the guard for a few years, but had been a general for many and had earned his right to speak freely, even to the Queen.
“First of all, he is no witch!” she snap
ped at him with her eyes still straight ahead as they continued to move along the corridors. “Need I remind you he has been right about a great many things? I trust him as much as I trust you.” Her voice softened as she lowered her head just a bit. “And I trust you a great deal.” She had not meant to come off so harsh to the captain. Ilirra had a great deal of respect for him, but knew how he felt about unexplained phenomenon and even prophecies, and his unbending logic would get under her skin sometimes. Some truths could not be denied, even if they were difficult to explain. Why could he not see that?
“Apologies, my Queen. I meant no disrespect,” he said, his eyes staring straight ahead as they marched along. “It’s just that the man is so odd. He never leaves his chamber, and dabbles in black magics no one seems to understand but him. He claims to read the stars as well as find logic in fairy tales. I just don’t want to see you get caught up in his madness. I fear you might start to see what you want to see.” Azek swallowed hard, hoping he had not gone too far that time. But he had to admit it felt good to get his true feelings off his chest.
The Queen stopped dead in her tracks.
Azek took two more steps before doing the same, then turned to face her. Her eyes were cold iron staring right through him. With an effort, he was able to keep his gaze locked with hers.
Then cold iron slowly turned to soft silk. Her eyelids fluttered while she let out a long sigh. Ilirra leaned hard against one of the tapestries, her eyes rolling with forced tolerance. She calmly said, “I don’t expect you to understand, Captain. It’s just that...I’ve seen him do things, know things no one could possibly know. And he is correct far more often than not.”
She moved in close to the captain as she put both hands on his cheeks. “I know you mean well. You are a fine captain and an even better friend.” She paused a moment to let her words sink in before continuing, “But I am asking you to trust me on this. There are events taking place right now that neither you nor I can possibly begin to fully comprehend. I need his advice, his wisdom!” She paused a few seconds before finishing, “And I need you.” The Queen held his gaze for a long moment, still touching his cheeks before finally taking a step back.
Azek slowly lowered his head. He almost appeared meek for a moment. Almost. After nearly a minute had passed, his head snapped back up. If her eyes had been cold iron, his were now hot steel. “Queen Ilirra,” his voice was far calmer than his eyes, “I have sworn an oath to you. To protect Taron...to protect you.” His voice softened to almost a whisper. “Your command is never, nor will ever be, in question. My life will always be yours to command.” He bowed low to the ground, turned, then continued down the hall.
The Queen kept her eyes fixed on him until he disappeared around the corner. She knew he was a good soldier. And despite her occasional irritations with the man, she admired how he spoke his mind.
With a sigh, she continued to move across the tile floor. Past the common room and bedchambers she went, now feeling a bit rushed, although she hoped no one else thought so. Down a flight of wooden stairs she flew, and into the cellar she scurried.
The small wooden room housed all sorts of bottled wine. Some had been imported, but most were domestic brands enjoyed by the people of Taron. Others were covered in dust and seemed as though no one was enjoying them.
But the Queen had not run in here for wine. Through the cellar she dashed, past two maids who saw her at the last minute. They quickly dropped down into awkward bows.
Ilirra never even noticed. Whipping right past them, she rushed through the wooden door at the far side of the cellar and down one last flight of wooden steps. There, she stood in a medium-sized room with the stone walls painted a sickly brown, lit up by several oil lamps hung around the walls. She approached the wooden door and lightly knocked. She was the Queen of Taron, yet she knocked!
The door opened a crack, just enough for the old man to get a look at the intruder, as if he didn’t already know whom it was. A large smile crossed the old man’s face as he flung the door wide open and gestured for his visitor to enter. The short, bald man had a long, thin gray beard and was dressed in a worn-out pair of gray pajamas. Standing next to the queen in her radiant silk skirt, the man looked laughably out of place, but he seemed perfectly at ease, for his warm smile never wavered.
The small room had a thick layer of dark blue paint slathered on the walls, and contained almost no furniture at all. A brown hammock was tied between two poles in the corner, and an old wooden table in the center of the room was all the furniture there was. The table housed a small sphere, which looked like a large pearl, embedded within a silver cup. The east wall contained a metal rack with various jars filled with clear fluid and strange little creatures most folk had never seen or heard of.
Stroking his thin beard, the old man said, “And to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Your Highness?”
The queen impatiently got right to the point. In a blur, she said, “I need an updated report, Berkeni. Have you been able to locate him? What news do you have?” Ilirra suddenly composed herself and began straightening her dress, which was already perfectly smooth. She had been forced to remain patient while a pack of fools ate her food and drank her wine, all the while oblivious to the stirring evils growing in the world, far beyond the comprehension of those simpletons. She had not meant to take it out on Berkeni.
Berkeni stood in silence for a moment, then clasped his hands behind him as he began to pace slowly back and forth. “I’m sorry, there is nothing new for me to report as far as he goes,” he said in a scratchy, high-pitched voice. “I’ve told you what I know already. He has come of age, that much I can sense. To be honest, I don’t really even know if he is indeed a he, or she, or it. I just know the exotic power can now be detected.” He stopped pacing and looked squarely at the Queen as he said, “And if I can feel him...”
“I know!” the queen snapped. Then, putting a hand to her forehead as she closed her eyes, she repeated the words calmly, as if more to herself. “I know...others can sense him as well.”
“However, I do have some other news that I feel would be of interest to you, Your Highness.”
Ilirra took her hand from her forehead and flashed her brilliant green eyes at the man, clearly growing tired of his usual beating around the bush. His cryptic games had become tiresome.
He confidently returned her look, even paused a moment longer than was necessary to make a small point. “The guardian lives,” he said in a near whisper, “she was not killed during the raid of Brinton.”
The Queen’s expression never changed. She just stood there staring at the man with a blank, unreadable face. “You are sure of this,” she finally said in an even tone.
“Yes, I’ve even located her.” He gestured towards the globe sitting on the table. “But there is no reason to go after her,” he spat out quickly, as if knowing what the Queen was thinking. “She knows her duty. If I can feel him, she can as well. And she is better equipped to find him than either of us.”
The Queen’s expression still never changed. If fact, her calmness was a little unnerving to Berkeni. “You will continue to keep me informed of any, and I mean any new details that arise,” she said in a chillingly soft voice, then turned to leave.
When she closed the door behind her, she threw her back against it and let out a deep breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Both hands covered her face as she began panting, unable to catch her breath through the trembling. She bent over and dropped her hands to her knees, trying to get sufficient air with every short, panting breath. Emotions swirled through her like a raging river. By the gods, Jade’s alive!
