Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown

by Farrell Keeling

  ‘What things?’ Vaera pressed.

  He thought for a moment, then said, ‘I worry what I’ll find when we return to Obsidia.’

  ‘Your family?’ she asked.

  The memory of his brother peering through the bars of his cell with cold eyes made him inadvertently shiver. Not to mention the last memory of his father…

  No. He did not – could not – want to think about it.

  ‘I…’

  I What? Speak!

  ‘I… would rather not talk about it…’ he finished lamely.

  ‘Oh.’

  Vaera’s soft response and raised brows somehow made Nathaniel feel a hundred times worse than any insult she could have flung his way.

  Idiot, he thought to himself. Perhaps you would prefer her to bury a dagger in your back instead?

  She fell back behind. Nathaniel, feeling a fool, sunk back into his troubled thoughts, wishing he’d had the courage to share them.

  Hammers rung against anvils in an almost orchestrated harmony. A song of steel to guide their small procession through the tight squeeze of Morne’s streets. There were no dome-topped buildings here. Bricked towers, blackened by smoke, stood at irregular angles, almost seeming to lean toward each other. Overhead, fogged windows leered down at them.

  Had Nathaniel been on his own, he imagined it would take him days to navigate his way out of the winding corridors that snaked around the city. Even if someone hadn’t tried to murder him shortly beforehand.

  Eventually, the streets broadened out into a wide cart path, a few hundred paces away from the North gate - a massive wooden construction, fitted with thick metal bars. Beyond the burgeoning crowd of cart-pulling merchants, charcoal-covered blacksmiths, and villagers, the towering gates were slowly closing inwards. The city guard, outfitted in fine armour, formed a cordon in front of the gates, keeping the surging crowd back.

  One of the guards, his helmet tucked into the crook of his arm, climbed onto a stack of wooden crates to address the citizens. ‘Right! Listen up you lot,’ the guard hollered, somewhat pathetically, ‘it’s time for you lot to return to your homes!’

  ‘We don’t even live here!’ one of the merchants cried.

  ‘Where are we supposed to bleedin’ go?’ yelled a second.

  ‘Alright! Alright! There are taverns nearby and the rest of you will have to sit tight until this messy business gets sorted–’

  ‘–messy business? What bloody messy business?’

  The guardsman squeezed his eyes shut, looking like he suddenly regretted bringing up the matter. ‘It doesn’t matter!’ he waved his hand dismissively, ‘all you need to know–’

  ‘Well how ‘messy’ is it?’ someone shouted from the back.

  ‘Yeah!’ another added his voice to the mob. ‘On a scale between one of you lot fell off the wall and the Dwarves have come to conquer us all, how bad is it–’

  ‘Hey! What did you say about Dwarves?’ a third voice, like gravel, responded angrily.

  ‘There’s been a murder, okay!’ the guard said exasperatedly.

  ‘A murder?’ one of the merchants repeated dimly, ‘you’re going to pull the city to a halt for one bleedin’ murderer?’

  The guardsman’s helmet almost dropped from his arm, ‘no we–’

  ‘–one bleedin’ murderer? What? Did they kill the bleedin’ Steward?’

  ‘The Stewardess!’ the guardsman growled impatiently, ‘is in fine fettle. And it’s not just any damn murderer, we’re talking about an Emperor killer–’

  ‘–blimey!’ a woman cut in, ‘we have an Emperor?’

  ‘Not our Emperor, damn you! The Regal’s Emperor!’ the guardsman pointed behind him at the gates.

  ‘But–’

  ‘ENOUGH! No one in! No one out! Stewardess’ orders!’

  Chapter 27

  ‘Merchant?’ said the innkeeper, frowning. His eyes flickering between Zaine’s drooping hood and his ruby-hilted sword, unsure what to make of the Hunter.

  The owner of The Hammer and Anvil was a miserable man, though not unkind. He introduced himself as Jarl, ‘just Jarl,’ and led them inside.

  ‘Something about these lot rub me up the wrong way,’ Gabe muttered darkly but stopped abruptly, when Zaine’s hood had briefly flicked in his direction.

  No music was played, but at least the inn’s patrons weren’t half as openly hostile as those they’d come across in Greymound. In fact, they weren’t much of anything. Of the few that occupied the establishment’s benches, only a couple lifted their noses from their tankards to acknowledge them. In much the same manner as those on the street, they stared blankly at Nathaniel and his companions, like cattle interrupted mid-grazing.

  There was something very strange about the people here, who seemed to reflect the husk of their once proud city. Morne’s people looked haggard, far too past the point of caring about the passage of time. Nathaniel wondered how he looked through their dulled eyes. Did a reminder of the outside world bring them hope? Or fill their mouths with the bitter taste of their once fruitful past?

  Before they were even seated on the benches, serving maids had arrived and planted half-filled goblets of wine on the table. When they had heard how much coin it would cost them to stay the night, Gabe choked on his drink. Jarl merely scratched at the strip of hair that remained on his head, though some colour briefly returned to his cheeks.

  Zaine however, handed over two gold coins and some silvers without complaint. ‘Two gold? For this place?’ Gabe spluttered. The innkeeper was halfway between them and the kitchens but he must have heard Gabe’s indiscreet comment, for he bowed his head and hurried the rest of the distance.

  ‘Did you always have to do that?’ Kaira fixed the curly-haired boy with a less than approving look.

  ‘Do what?’ Gabe said after a long gulp.

  Kaira shook her head mildly in a way that made it clear she wasn’t going to spell it out for him.

  ‘It could be worse,’ Nathaniel said. At least it smelt better than The Prancer back in Greymound and the patrons here looked less likely to attempt to rob or attack them.

  A flash of pink caught his eye as he searched the tavern. The woman was quick to hide it underneath the strange, long grey coat most of the Morneians seemed to wear. Even so, from their table she seemed awfully…well, clean. Every one of the people their party had seen, appeared to have some amount of grime or mud on them, presumably from their labours outside. However, this woman seemed unnaturally – for Morneians – untouched.

  The hood hid all but her lips, which split into a pearly white smile, when she noticed him staring at her from the back of the tavern. Too white a smile, he thought. He returned his attentions back to the table, his cheeks burning.

  ‘You just had to go and murder the Emperor, didn’t you, ginge?’ Gabe sighed, like a father scolding his child for having muddied their clothes. He went to lift the goblet to his lips and frowned, presumably at the now empty contents.

  ‘What?’ Gabe held his hands up defensively against Kaira’s withering look. ‘He knows I’m only joking!’

  Nathaniel glanced nervously at Vaera. The Regal’s face had gone taut at the mention of Tolken. No doubt, she was already reminding herself of the reason she’d tried to sneak into the Lycan Sanctuary in the first place.

  Great, Nathaniel thought, just what I need right now.

  ‘We only just arrived,’ Samir’s voice rumbled from the depths of his book. ‘How do they know Nathaniel’s here?’

  ‘Lucky guess?’ Nathaniel suggested hopefully. He hadn’t seen any other Regals, nor any posters bearing his likeness for that matter. How did the Szar know he was in Morne? And how did he hold sway with the city’s officials?

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it, Regal,’ Zaine said dryly. ‘It seems we will have to find another way out of the city.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ Gabe said, his eyes glistened troublesomely.

  ‘If it involves fighting the guardsmen, you can keep it to yourself,’
Kaira said. Her voice carried so much authority on occasion, Nathaniel thought the girl would settle in well amongst the lords and ladies of Féy. A silly idea of course, what with her being a Lycan.

  Gabe’s chest deflated and he muttered something into his goblet that sounded like, ‘no fun at all.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here,’ Nathaniel said, slapping his goblet against the table with more force than he realised. Embarrassed, he took a quick survey of the tavern to see if he had drawn any attention. No one seemed to care, though, he thought he saw the Pink Lady’s hood twitch in their direction briefly.

  ‘If you have a better plan, Regal, then speak,’ Zaine challenged him.

  Nathaniel looked down at his goblet. Truth be told he didn’t. But they couldn’t just wait around until the Stewardess opened the gates. Eventually, Zaine’s coin would surely run out or someone would discover that he was here. He wondered if the Sisters were close by, stalking the shadows, waiting. He daren’t lower his hood.

  Nathaniel glanced back at the benches beside him. He could have sworn that the Pink Lady was sitting closer to them than she had before. Was she listening in on their conversation?

  When they were eventually escorted up to their rooms, the Pink Lady remained on the bench, even closer to its edge. Nathaniel thought he felt eyes on his back, as he followed Jarl up the stairs.

  Chapter 28

  The Obsidian Throne made for a highly uncomfortable seat. Draeden wondered how Jael had managed to survive it for so long, without so much as a cushion to safeguard his rear. He shifted his weight from one side to the other, as subtly as he could manage, and put his attention back on the peasant before him.

  There had been a few farmers like him from Obsidia’s border reaches, complaining of taxes on grain prices. Grain prices! Meanwhile, in some hovel in Dalmarra, the Lycans were nesting and plotting, and these people were more concerned about their damn levies?

  Draeden dismissed the man with a raised hand and vague promises. The farmer didn’t look entirely convinced but arched his back into a stiff bow, before being escorted out. How many Lycan rebellions had he put down, so people like that could sleep safely and then make their little demands of the throne?

  Draeden shook his head solemnly; this wasn’t for him. Jael always had a knack for this kind of thing – the trivial matters of the State. He peeled the circlet of black leaves from atop his head and rolled it about in his hands. How could a thing so delicate feel so heavy?

  A reflection that was not his own shone back from the polished surface of the Obsidian Crown. Dark eyes, gently curious, staring into his pale blue.

  The crown clattered noisily against the marble floor.

  Within seconds, lances were raised and guardsmen rushed to his side.

  ‘Your Grace! Are you–’

  He waved them back to their posts, as he stooped to collect the crown. Blue eyes stared back at him now.

  ‘Bring in the next petitioner!’ Draeden barked.

  A woman, smooth of face, despite her plume of snowy hair, appeared. She carried herself with the sheer level of certainty that only a life, long-lived as a Regal, could earn. She did not wait for the guardsmen to fully open the doors and her shoulders only narrowly avoided scraping either frame as she passed through.

  ‘Sister Lucerne!’ the Guardsmen by the door announced.

  He had not necessarily expected her to be swinging a bag containing the head of the boy. However, the Sister’s especially stern look didn’t suggest she was bearing any news he would consider welcome.

  ‘Sister,’ the Szar greeted Lucerne with a curt nod.

  ‘Draeden,’ Lucerne replied stiffly.

  Lucerne had never been one for titles. A tendency that she hadn’t bucked, even after he’d taken over the Obsidian Throne.

  ‘There were complications,’ Lucerne said, bluntly, looking the Szar squarely in the eye. ‘That you will want to hear in private.’

  The Szar’s eyes narrowed at the assassin, then flickered to the guardsmen behind her.

  ‘Leave us,’ Draeden commanded.

  The Emperor’s Guardsmen shared uneasy looks. The last time the Emperor had been left alone with only a guard to protect him, Tolken, and his bodyguard, had been slaughtered by a mere child.

  ‘That was not a request,’ said the Szar coldly.

  One-by-one they walked the length of the throne room’s narrow hall of pale columns, peering behind each for hidden assailants. Once the last guard was out, Draeden fixed his eyes on Lucerne.

  ‘Continue.’

  Lucerne took one last glance at the double doors behind her, before turning back to the Szar.

  ‘We tracked the Kinslayer to a human village, south of Féy, and waited for the right moment to strike,’ Lucerne explained. ‘Once he was isolated, however, my sisters and I ran into some… unexpected difficulties.’

  ‘As you mentioned,’ Draeden replied curtly. ‘Though I doubt this is the first complication the famous–’ Lucerne’s lips pursed tightly, ‘–Sisters of the Dagger have had to overcome. So why do you return to me empty handed?’

  ‘The Old Ones have favoured Nathaniel Grey,’ Lucerne said.

  The laughter that escaped the Szar’s mouth was cold and mirthless.

  ‘You think me a fool to believe your excuses?’ Draeden said.

  Lucerne bristled, before quickly regaining her composure.

  ‘Had you charged me with hunting the Kinslayer across the Southern Seas, I would not return until I had scoured every last drop of ocean for his head,’ Lucerne’s voice was tight as she spoke, yet tinged with defiance. ‘Punish me for my failures, if you must, but do not pass the blame to my Sisters for their mentor’s inability to defeat the will of an Old One.’

  ‘You sound sincere, Sister but I find your explanation… an impossibility,’ the Szar said.

  ‘I understand the gravity of what I suggest,’ Lucerne said sharply. ‘But I would not ask for a private audience without evidence.’.

  ‘Your word, and that of your fellow Sisters, is the only shred of evidence you seem to carry.’

  ‘I have more – the Conductor – stolen from our vaults. It now lies in the hands of the Kinslayer.’

  ‘So, another Grey wields the rod,’ the Szar spoke his thoughts aloud.

  ‘It may be nothing your Grace,’ Lucerne said. ‘Nonetheless, I know at least a few of the Royal Guardsmen would be old enough to remember some of the stories. If it were to spread that we were potentially hunting a Ph–’

  Draeden had risen from his seat, blue eyes furious.

  ‘He. Is. No. Phoenix,’ the Szar hissed.

  ‘I did not claim he was, your Grace,’ Lucerne replied calmly. ‘I merely wished to protect the throne against any harmful rumours that could have arisen.’

  ‘Do you have anything else?’ Draeden’s voice was ice, as he settled back into the throne.

  Lucerne’s eyes narrowed even further at the emphasis. ‘Only, that the boy claims innocence in a convincing manner.’

  Was that just a statement or more of a question, assassin? Draeden pondered. Lucerne’s tone had been typically unclear on the matter.

  He had known Lucerne for centuries. Had broken bread with her. Had fought beside her in the deserts of the Scorched Isles and on the snow-capped peaks of the Black Mountains. Yet for all the time spent, he could still not read her. There were flashes of understanding, of course, but Lucerne was roughly the same as she’d always been. Only a rare moment of candidness would reveal how she truly felt about something.

  Perhaps he ought to keep a close eye on her.

  ‘Should my Sisters and I resume the hunt for the Kinslayer?’

  The Szar gave Lucerne a searching look. What game are you playing, Sister?

  ‘No,’ Draeden decided. ‘Let him come to us. Let him make the first mistake.’

  ‘As you command.’ Lucerne said with a sharp nod, turning sharply on her heels. ‘I will inform the Guardsmen they may return to their posts.’
<
br />   The Szar tapped one of the throne’s arms methodically, as he watched Lucerne sweep out of the door. He only stopped, as the guardsmen began filing back in.

  ‘So, you have greater pretensions, boy?’ he whispered to himself.

  Chapter 29

  Rumbling like a building collapsing in on itself, Gabe snored intermittently through the night. Samir somehow managed to sleep through this unnatural racket but Nathaniel found himself wide awake in bed. He lay on his side, staring down into the dimly lit streets below his bedside window, waiting. For what, he couldn’t quite say.

  The almost total silence – admittedly, punctuated by Gabe’s irregular growling – felt strange. The absence of hammer blows and the caterwauling of drunkards made Morne feel even more hollow.

  Nathaniel glanced at the door, checking it remained just as closed as it had been the minute before. He half expected it to be blown off its hinges every time he looked away. He supposed it was a good thing that Gabe was in the room with them. Still, Nathaniel would have felt far safer with the Hunter kneeling – as that was how he apparently slept – at the foot of his bed.

  A blur of movement in the corner of Nathaniel’s eye brought his attention back to the window. A pink dress revealed underneath an unbuttoned grey coat. The ‘Pink Lady’ traipsed the muddy streets, looking this way and that. Had she just left The Hammer and Anvil now?

  Nathaniel slipped out of his bed slowly, keeping an eye on the Pink Lady’s movements, as he began to dress.

  *

  It had been some effort to open the latch of his window and slip out without waking the Lycans sleeping beside him. Though, considering Gabe’s snoring, Nathaniel wondered whether he could have broken the window instead, without them noticing.

  In Morne’s quiet streets, the squelching of mud underfoot seemed to echo around Nathaniel. He made sure to keep his distance in his pursuit of the Pink Lady, whilst keeping track of every corner she turned.

  He almost lost track of her several times and, on one occasion, had to make a guess as to where she’d gone. Nonetheless, fortune, it seemed, was on his side, as he spotted the tail of the Pink Lady’s grey coat slip into an alleyway, lodged between a boarded-up smithy and a nondescript building.