Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown

by Farrell Keeling

  He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and spun him around, but when he looked back, the man had gone.

  Chapter 3

  Regal weddings were highly extravagant affairs. From every corner of the hall Nathaniel was subjected to a barrage of sensory assaults. From the guests’ colourful array of formal dress to the platters of fine cuisine, beautifully presented on the long dining table that spanned the hall’s length.

  Nathaniel stood with Solas by the doors, greeting newcomers and exchanging hushed words with each other between arrivals. He needed the distraction. The thought of the skeletal man was difficult to shake from his mind.

  Nathaniel couldn’t help but wonder if he was going mad. Apparently, no one else had seen the tall cloaked figure, or an unsheathed scythe.

  ‘You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?’ Solas said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘About that skeleton,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘I’m telling you, Solas, I know what I saw,’ Nathaniel insisted.

  ‘It’s the hangover talking, brother, to draw a weapon in the markets–’

  ‘–is treasonous, I know, so why didn’t anyone stop him?’

  Solas sighed and bowed as a pair of women, dressed flamboyantly in bright green, passed them into the hall.

  ‘How much longer do we have to keep doing this for?’ Solas groaned once the latest guests were out of earshot, tugging uncomfortably at the collar of his white tunic.

  ‘Until everyone is inside, little brother,’ Nathaniel whispered back, shaking the hand of another Regal noble and returning his toothy grin with a smile of his own.

  Solas snorted in response, ‘well, it seems we’ll be here forever then.’ He grimaced, as he strained to adjust his waistcoat.

  ‘I give up,’ Solas announced solemnly. ‘The stupid wedding has beaten me.’

  Nathaniel was about to reply but his words fell short, as his eyes caught a flash of gold. Flanked by a Royal Guard bearing the black and gold of the Royal House, and another man, cursed with deeply ridged scars that ran diagonally across his face, came the Emperor.

  Despite the simplicity of his gown, he cut a magnificent, almost God-like, figure, draped in the shimmering gold of his station. The Obsidian Crown, a delicate piece formed of black leaves, was balanced atop the Emperor’s head, so perfectly it appeared to almost float above his hair, like a halo.

  Emperor Tolken passed the threshold of the hall and paused before the two boys.

  ‘Ismäera preserve thee, Nathaniel Grey.’ The Emperor inclined his head.

  Embarrassingly, Nathaniel found himself caught between the same greeting and an awkward half-bow. Fortunately, the Emperor did not seem to mind. To his right, Solas was equally awed, although the object of his wonder appeared to be the scowling, scarred man beside the Emperor.

  ‘Ismäera preserve all, my Emp– I mean your Grace.’

  Nathaniel found himself stumbling over his words and felt himself blush but tried to make it look like he was unaware of it. The Emperor chuckled, but indicated his mirth was in no sense aimed at Nathaniel’s expense, as he gently gripped the boy’s hands, the sheer warmth exuding from him easing Nathaniel’s concerns.

  ‘Please,’ he smiled, ‘just Jael.’ The Emperor’s eyes were dark but as every bit intense as the sharp blue of his scarred bodyguard. However, where the bodyguard’s wide eyes seemed to scour the hall like a hawk for prey, the Emperor’s eyes were more gently curious.

  The scarred man rolled his eyes and scoffed.

  ‘Have my words upset you, Draeden?’ the Emperor inquired of his scarred companion.

  The name sounded distinctly familiar. Indeed, given the man’s outspokenness, it was clear that Draeden was more than just a mere bodyguard.

  ‘You lower yourself in bandying your name around as freely as you do,’ he said.

  ‘I see no issue in ‘bandying’ myself to the people.’

  ‘You could do better than a Grey.’

  ‘What do you mean by th–,’ Nathaniel interjected, earning him a swift elbow from his brother.

  Draeden narrowed his eyes at Nathaniel. They cut so sharply into his own, Nathaniel began to wonder how anyone ever dared look at him. ‘You would do well to guard your tongue as well as your brother does, boy,’ he said, then turned back to the Emperor, ‘and what of your concessions to the sheep-herder?’

  Tolken’s smile, whilst perhaps slightly thinner, remained almost as firm as his patience. ‘The Samaii Chief’s name is Emir,’ he said, ‘and if you do not feel comfortable acknowledging him so, then his title will more than suffice.’

  Draeden’s cursory glance past the two boys toward the throng of guests and the grimace that followed, suggested that he found the idea of talking to another person – let alone the Samaii Chief – distinctly unbearable.

  ‘He is a guest of the Regal people, Draeden,’ Emperor Tolken said, more sternly this time, ‘and I expect you to be at least tolerable.’

  ‘Perhaps that would be agreeable, your Grace, if your tolerance stopped with the Scorched,’ Draeden replied bitterly, before whipping his arms out from under his cloak and storming off. ‘I sincerely hope for your sake you treat your bride with more respect, boy,’ he hissed, as he passed Nathaniel.

  Tolken watched him leave and shook his head sadly. ‘You must forgive Draeden for his… mood,’ he told the brothers. ‘He only wants what is best for the Empire.’

  He offered them both another smile and indicated that he would go and greet the other guests.

  Nathaniel garbled something that was a cross between ‘your Grace’ and ‘Jael,’ whilst Solas remained captivated by the scarred Draeden, who had marched towards their father.

  Whilst slightly perturbed by the man’s treatment of him, Nathaniel found his mind occupied with other matters… in particular, the attendance of the Scorched. There had been rumours that a few tribe’s members had travelled over to Horizon, but nothing concrete, until now. Perhaps he had seen them already, no… a silly thought, they would surely have stood out from the other Regals. Then again, he had never seen a Scorched man or woman before.

  So many questions ran through his head. Did they look as fearsome and rough at the edges as the stories suggested? Would they arrive on the backs of wild horses, swords cleaving the air as their untamed beasts reared before them.

  ‘I can’t believe it, do you know who that was?’ Solas murmured beside him.

  ‘What did he mean by “tolerance stopping with the Scorched?”’ Nathaniel said absently.

  ‘I can’t believe the Szar came!’

  ‘The Szar?’

  ‘Draeden Kusk. The Szar. The one the Emperor was arguing with.’

  Nathaniel was about to point out that the Szar had disrespected the Emperor but thought better of it, ‘I thought I’d seen him before…’

  ‘He’s a war hero,’ Solas looked at him incredulously. ‘They say he’s killed thousands of Lycans.’

  ‘Looks like one of them nearly returned the favour,’ Nathaniel noted darkly.

  ‘Apparently, he got the scars during the last rebellion,’ Solas continued unperturbed. Solas stood on his tiptoes for a moment, to check if anyone was coming up the steps. ‘And’ he whispered, grinning maliciously, ‘I heard that he’s still got its hand.’

  Nathaniel had never seen such admiration from his brother before and found it almost amusing how unfazed he was by the Emperor’s appearance.

  Nathaniel looked past Solas at the scarred Szar, as he engaged in conversation with his father beside one of the Emperor’s banners, supported by poles lining the walls. Even from across the hall, the deeply trenched scars glared vividly out at him. He shivered as his mind pictured a severed hand framed atop a desk. Surely no one would be so morbid as to keep a hand as a war trophy. However, studying the Szar’s grim demeanour, he was starting to think that he just might.

  ‘Master Grey?’

  Nathaniel tore himself away from the Szar, disturbing thoughts still swirling in his mind
, and turned his attentions to the servant who had appeared before him.

  ‘Which one?’ Solas smirked.

  ‘Master Nathaniel Grey, sir,’ the servant replied apologetically.

  Solas clutched his chest as if wounded.

  ‘Forever the bridesmaid,’ he said, in mock disappointment.

  The man laughed nervously and produced a folded slither of paper from his breast pocket, offering it to the older sibling. Nathaniel thanked him, and opened the message, which was short and read simply:

  “Meet outside, in the Orchid Gardens.”

  The note bore no signature, let alone any indication of who it had come from, and when Nathaniel looked up he found that the servant had disappeared out of sight.

  ‘Whose it from?’ Solas inquired, slyly peering over his shoulder.

  Nathaniel shrugged, showing his brother the slip of paper. Solas’ eyes flickered over the note once and his face broke into a wide grin.

  ‘What is it?’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he replied, his grin broadening further.

  ‘You know who it is,’ Nathaniel said, narrowing his eyes at Solas.

  ‘A hunch, nothing more,’ Solas held up his hands defensively, ‘you’d better get going.’

  Nathaniel glanced back at his father, who still remained by the Szar’s side.

  ‘Don’t worry about father,’ Solas said, ‘if he asks, I’ll tell him you were occupied with one of the nobles or something.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be fine on your own?’

  Solas nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and ushered him away from the steps, ‘go on, quickly, before father catches you.’

  Solas must have caught sight of more guests arriving, for Nathaniel heard him groan audibly as he edged away.

  He kept his head down, forcing himself to avoid looking in his father’s direction, darting out of the hall through the open archway without trouble.

  He found himself in a long corridor, well-lit, with sconces either side illuminating the black and gold carpets that trailed off into the distance. There were several heavy wooden doors on either side, thankfully all closed. Nathaniel was expecting his father to leap out at any moment, scolding him for abandoning his post. With that in mind, he made every effort to step quickly and quietly until he had rounded the bend at the end.

  The note he had received felt heavy somehow inside the breast pocket of his waistcoat, and he found himself plucking it out once again. No matter how many times his eyes danced over the words, he could glean no further meaning from them. But Solas - he seemed to have known exactly who it was from. But how? Had he recognised the handwriting? There wasn’t exactly much to assess… but perhaps…. Nathaniel drew the note under his nose. No, not even a scent, and, as he passed into yet another corridor, he became abruptly aware that he had absolutely no idea where he was going.

  He had thought that he vaguely remembered where the Orchid Gardens lay, but apparently the memory was fainter than he had realised. There was certainly nothing around him to suggest he was even going in the right direction.

  Just as he was about to retrace his steps, however, Nathaniel caught sight of something darting across an adjoining corridor. A flash of green. Perhaps the hem of a dress?

  ‘Hello,’ he called across the hallway.

  Nathaniel stood there for a while waiting, but no one stepped out to greet him. Had he imagined the green dress too?

  ‘Psst!’ a hand beckoned to him from around the corner.

  Glancing back to see if anyone else was around, Nathaniel half-walked, half-ran to the end of the corridor, in time to see the back of a green dress whip out of sight once more.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he gave chase. He realised quickly, as he was led across what felt like miles of winding hallways, that he would have had no hope of finding the Gardens without his mysterious guide. Each sharp turn presented a new passageway, seemingly the same as the previous one. Left, left, right, left, right… Nathaniel began to wonder if he would find his way back to the great hall.

  Another sharp turn was taken, and Nathaniel had to steady himself, nearly tripping and tumbling down a sudden decline of stone steps that spiralled into one of the palace’s turrets. He peered down into the gloom, his eyes picking up no sign of movement given the dim light cast from the few torches bracketed on the brick walls.

  ‘This way,’ a voice echoed up towards him.

  They must have been getting close, Nathaniel thought, as he raced down the turret, taking two steps at a time in his eagerness to catch up with the girl. Indeed, sweet aroma of vanilla, had begun to permeate the air, the further down he went.

  And sure enough, when he finally reached the bottom of the turret, he found himself on a large balcony, facing the bowl of land between the three mountains, stretching from the market to the outlying farms.

  The balcony itself was lit by braziers, surrounding a greenhouse that sparkled under the moonlight. Orchids of midnight blue, scarlet and violet swayed before his eyes as he stepped inside and, at the centre of it all, the girl.

  She cut a resplendent figure in a green dress that flowed loosely over her frame, covering all but her shoulders and forearms, and just allowing for the tips of her slippers to poke out from under the hem. The skirt had multiple layers, each fold lined with tiny sequins that glittered subtly in the night.

  She held up her hand suddenly and Nathaniel stopped dead in his tracks, ‘that’s close enough,’ she said.

  ‘Right, sorry,’ he replied, ‘I probably shouldn’t even be looking at you, let alone standing here… bad luck and all.’

  ‘Well, it’s too late now isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I think… probably… you look….’ Nathaniel hesitated, fumbling for words, ‘…nice.’

  She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side, ‘just nice?’

  ‘I… don’t know, this is all quite strange.’

  ‘To be talking to a girl?’

  ‘I’ve talked to girls before,’ Nathaniel replied indignantly, suddenly reminded of the similar conversation he’d had earlier with his brother. ‘I think it may be the veil, would you mind?’ he motioned for her to pull the veil back over her head.

  She leaned forward slightly and held her hands together, ‘you know, I’d love to, but… I’d hate to ruin the surprise.’

  ‘I’m sure I could live without it,’ Nathaniel grinned.

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ the girl giggled.

  ‘You look… beautiful,’ the words finally fell out of Nathaniel’s mouth, clearing the sudden pressure he felt on his chest.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, rolling the material round her fingers, ‘it’s a bit much, but… I suppose it is a wedding, after all.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Nathaniel said, his eyes wandering over the girl’s veil, seeking any possible chink in the material that could give him some idea of who his future wife was. He was left disappointed. The veil, while fine in appearance, was so frustratingly opaque, it was difficult to see even an outline of the girl’s face. Indeed, it puzzled him how she could manage to see out of it.

  She giggled as Nathaniel squinted before her and held out an arm. ‘Would you escort me back?’ she asked, twirling her fingers at him.

  ‘I would be honoured,’ he smiled, ‘but what if we are caught?’

  ‘There’s no harm in simply walking up the turret together, is there?’ she said, shaking her arm insistently.

  The thought of Nathaniel’s father storming into the greenhouse crossed his mind, and he cringed at the prospect of a public scolding, especially in front of his bride-to-be. No, he told himself, don’t be ridiculous. His father would still be with the Szar or the countless other guests that littered the Great Hall, and his brother was unlikely to reveal where he’d gone.

  Pushing his worries aside, Nathaniel went to link arms with the girl. Even this close to her he could still only wonder as to her appearance.

  ‘Come on,’ she sighed, tu
gging him along with her beyond the orchids.

  It was a silly thing, his curiosity, for it would not be long before he witnessed his bride unveiled at the altar. He pictured his father beaming with pride and the Emperor clapping, as brightly coloured confetti criss-crossed the Great Hall. Onlookers, made up of nobles and commoners, filling the palace, right down past the marble stairs, clapping and cheering.

  However, his day dreaming was interrupted abruptly. They were not alone.

  ‘Who’s that?’ his bride whispered.

  A boy, surely no more than ten or eleven years of age lay in wait as they emerged from the greenhouse, blocking the entrance to the turret. He stared at them intently, as he sharpened a sword that looked far too heavy for him to hold, going rhythmically back and forth across the curve of the blade.

  As they approached tentatively, the boy jumped to his feet. Whetstone and sword still in hand, his eyes widened, brimming with excitement.

  Chapter 4

  The boy was not a Regal, that much was clear. His dark skin and braided hair marked him as an inhabitant of lands beyond Horizon’s shores. The boy had to be one of the Scorched, a nomad of the Scorched Isles.

  What struck Nathaniel most, was the sheer height of the boy when he rose. He had to have been at least five years his junior, but already he stood about half a foot taller.

  ‘Grey!’ the boy bowed before them, harsh accent belying his seemingly good nature. ‘It would be an honour to challenge you.’

  ‘Errrrr,’ Nathaniel began. ‘What do you m-’

  The boy dropped the whetstone on the ground beside him, as he considered Nathaniel.

  ‘Hmm. It would probably not be appropriate to be bloodied before the wedding.’

  Bloodied? What did the boy intend? Nathaniel glanced at the sword and then back at the Scorched child. Surely not?

  ‘Shall we say till first garment rip?’ the boy suggested, tilted his head inquisitively.

  ‘Well, now just a wait a momen-’

  ‘May the Sun grant you her favour.’