A Leopard in the Mist

by S E Turner

  'So, what happened to the General?' asked Cornelius.

  'He was so angry, beside himself with venom. I felt the wrath of his fist for letting them escape. But I believed her story.' He paused briefly at the recollection. 'Anyway,' he continued. 'The General decided to get an army to punish them and get the clan girl back.'

  'So how come he is dead?'

  'Because the clans got a bigger army than his. From far and wide, all across the subject kingdoms, all the clans he had attacked in the past, came together on the day. It was a total victory for them.'

  'How do you know this?'

  'Because a few of the soldiers were allowed safe passage. They returned from the battle and told us everything. The carnage, the death, how they were totally outnumbered and overpowered. That Namir is their leader and Skyrah is his betrothed. They saw everything.'

  But Cornelius was a troubled man now. 'So, if they can get a bigger army than the General, then they might come back and finish me off. I am the Emperor's son. I am the enemy. They will come and get me.'

  'No,' said Macus, visibly taken aback. 'Why would they? What they did was in retaliation, in self defence. They wouldn't come back and attack you for no reason.'

  'How can you be sure, Macus. How can you be really sure? '

  'Well, I can't be sure, Master Cornelius, but I would stake my life that they wouldn't.'

  Cornelius pondered. Gya could see his mind working.

  'Listen to Macus, Cornelius, listen to him,' she pleaded. 'You are not their enemy. Vengeance has been done. It is finished.'

  Cornelius looked at her, then at Macus, and frowned fervently; but his answer was interrupted by an announcement at the door. Macus scurried away and Cornelius invited the doctor in.

  The doctor prescribed a list of herbal remedies and treatments, all of which the driver with his pony and trap had been sent off to take delivery of immediately. 'She has the worst case of food poisoning I have ever seen,' said the doctor grimly. 'She is severely malnourished and dangerously dehydrated. On top of all that, she is gravely underweight.' He held her wrist between his fingers to take her pulse. He then reached in his bag and took out a bottle of liquid. A measure was poured into a spoon and given to the patient. 'She must also take this three times a day.' He put the spoon on her bedside cabinet and took a pencil from his pocket. He wrote the date on the bottle and muttered to himself, 'twenty-fourth of September.' The pencil was put back in his pocket and the bottle replaced on the table.

  'Will she be all right?' asked Cornelius.

  'She will be now, now that she is back here. But her recovery will be long. She will have to remain in bed until she is strong again. I do not want her getting up or being concerned about anything. Her food portions will be small with regular amounts of water. Only water, mind you.' The portly gentleman began to put his instruments away and folded his spectacles into a brown lacquered eyeglass case.

  'I can arrange all of that,' said Cornelius gratefully.

  'It's imperative that she gets plenty of rest. I do not want her being moved at all. She has lost a lot of fluids and a lot of body weight. This must be replaced before she even attempts to get up.' He moved towards the door.

  'Of course.'

  'The prescribed dose will be on the bottles and they will provide her with all the minerals and vitamins she needs to help get her strong again.'

  'Her maid will see to it.'

  'Good,' the doctor smiled. 'If that's all, my lord, I will bid you good day.'

  'Good day to you, sir, and thank you.'

  Cornelius turned round to Gya, but she was now sound asleep in her soft cocoon and layers of silk. He crept out of her room quietly and ventured back to the room he knew best: his own living quarters. He looked around the vacant space. It would be refurnished again soon—much more to his liking. He sat in the comfortable arm chair and perused the days activities, and what a day it had been. What a few months they had been. So much had happened. So many life changing events and experiences were now piling up behind each other that with his increased tiredness, it was becoming a blur. He went to the bed and stretched out. He had forgotten what being comfortable was. For too long, he had settled for hard surfaces with the raw elements brushing against his skin. Maybe he should embrace this moment and act more like an Emperor now.

  It had been a very long day, he should be asleep by now, but too much was on his mind. The conversation that he had exchanged with Macus was consuming him and keeping him awake. So instead of giving in to the hours of the night, he lit a brass oil lamp, closed the door to his private apartment, and moved about the palace towards the General's quarters. The moon was full, shining silver through the arches and windows. Only a few lamps or candles were lit at this late hour. Cornelius moved silently with his long shadow for company, his silk slippers brushing the marble floor. The guard captain, always alert now for treachery and secret invaders, simply smiled at Cornelius and left him alone with his business. He opened the General's door and saw the maps and documents filed away exactly how Macus had described.

  He rifled through the scrolls in their neat little compartments, and one by one he took them out and studied them. The oil lamp was burning low and the room was in shadow apart from a slice of moonlight that slanted through the window. Outside an owl shrieked. Cornelius looked up for a moment but soon returned to his reading. He pressed the temples of his brow between a thumb and forefinger as the words on the parchment blurred into a range of undecipherable encrypted codes.

  He had been in the General's quarters for hours now. He should have been asleep a long time ago. He leaned back in his chair and yawned. He looked at the ceiling, then all around him, always searching for clues and hidden messages. He opened a small drawer on the side of the desk, and in the dark, he felt about. His hand rested on an item: small, neat and square. He retrieved the article and held it to the light. 'A pack of cards,' he sniggered softly and looked through them one by one. They were exactly as Gya had described. He liked the touch of them, the size was most satisfying, and being accessible and compact, he could see how they could while away the time and be of benefit to someone in isolation. But now the pictures and numbers were tiring him, so he patted them neatly together and slid them carefully inside his coat pocket. The only thing keeping him awake now was the thought of one last scroll, hidden right at the back of the three-tiered bookcase that he had been rummaging through all night. But first he needed some empowering fresh air. He went to the window, opened it wide and breathed in the refreshing nocturnal breeze. The moonlight turned his skin the colour of ash, and the contrasting shadows made knife edge angles of his enviable high cheekbones and triangular nose. The owl swept past him and dived into the eaves of the forest out yonder.

  Cornelius closed the window and pulled the last scroll from its hibernation. Taking it back to the desk, he rolled it out under the light of his diminishing lamp. One corner of his mouth began to rise as he realised he had stumbled across a treasure trove. General Domitrius Corbulo had labelled all the castles and all the clans that had been attacked while seeking the Seal of Kings. In addition to that, he had documented all the clans that had been targeted for the killing games. Cornelius rifled through the bureau and the drawers and found further lists of tribes and clans that had been interrogated about the Seal's whereabouts. Some went back almost twenty-five years. Plus the names of those taken prisoner and held in the dungeons all those years ago. He scanned them over and over again. Then he discovered the lists of clan boys who had taken part in the recent killing games. Most had been crossed out, some had been ticked, others had been highlighted.

  Fully awake while the palace slept, he stared down at all the information in front of him. Meticulously detailed in its organisation were the compass points, the coordinates, latitude and longitude, crosses, ticks and stars. The best routes, the safe resting areas, the rivers, the glens, the passes—it was all there. He had spent half the night sifting through reams of paperwork, delving into du
sty vaults, pondering over charts and then pouring over it all again for the umpteenth time, and by morning he had found what he was looking for. The Clan of the Mountain Lion had two dates: one was twenty years ago where a young man had been imprisoned while he helped the Emperor with his enquiries regarding the Seal, and the other was a list of boys’ names from last year's games .

  But even more interesting was the name of the clan boy who had not only escaped amid a wrath of death and destruction, but who had led the revolt against the Ataxatan Army—and won.

  With jubilation and satisfaction, he looked up from the desk, sat back in the chair and displayed a gratifying smile. 'I've found you, haven't I.'

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A September wedding was considered most lucky in these parts, and this was the twenty-fourth day in the month of September. With a successful harvest and the field being turned for another crop, a wedding in this month would surely secure riches and prosperity for years to come.

  On this spectacular day of royal pageantry, one thousand banners waved furiously around the estate, and the huge flag of Durundal was set at full mast. Homing pigeons cooed from their very own ivory towers, patiently waiting for their turn to send out messages across the kingdoms, and gossiping guests swivelled round in amazement at the glorious sights.

  Though the centrepiece and epitome of the whole complex was undoubtedly the most magnificent hammered bronze wishing fountain. It was an elaborate structure, turned and twisted upwards, and transformed into a wolf looking up to the skies, howling into the moonlight, with a hare at his side, and a leopard ready to pounce. A cascade of shimmering water attracted an abundance of flying creatures, and a raven sat at the very top keeping a keen eye on the proceedings.

  Lyall entered the building by way of the huge double doors and strode into the Great Hall: a room decorated with rich tapestries and paintings of Lyall's ancestral family. Sensual jasmine and fragrant honeysuckle weaved itself round the carved oak pillars, whilst gold venetian vases were ablaze with the rich vibrant colours of a late summer's day. A thousand mahogany chairs, bearing red cushioned pads and golden fringes, seated the honoured guests and dignitaries.

  Lyall was looking regal in a weaved tunic of muted golds and reds bound with a decorative sash made from the most luxurious purple satin. He wore the King's Seal over his breast, and a green belt went round his waist with Wolfsbane's scabbard tied securely onto it. Completing the ensemble were the softest leather slippers crafted by the newly appointed cordwainer. He was preceded by his page, Arran, who carried the magnificent Wolfsbane, and was flanked by his groom's man, Namir. He walked slowly to the front of the Great Hall, acknowledging as many guests as he could with a nod of the head or a shake of the hand.

  The sword was placed ceremoniously on the altar, and Arran stepped back to sit beside his parents. Lyall took his place on a raised dais where he sat with Namir.

  With the sound of a drum beating softly and a hushed flute chanting melancholy in the background, he waited for his bride. He spent a few moments taking in the ambience and sat quietly immersed in private conversation with his brother. And then the atmosphere changed, and all chatter was interrupted by a gasp from the congregation, and those at the front knew there was nothing more elegant in the room.

  A beautiful woman entered, looking radiant in a dress of ivory silk that hung so perfectly on her body it accentuated the round of her curves. On her head she wore a close-fitting skull cap from which hung a simple square veil made of the lightest gossamer, so fine that it was almost invisible. Around her shoulders hung the priceless Queen's own Blue Diamond pendant that Lyall had given to her as a wedding gift, and spectrums of brilliance bounced from its many facets. The guests threw fresh petals at her feet as she glided down the aisle, her soft velvet slippers brushing the luxurious pile of the woven carpet that was now lined with a layer of perfumed flowers. The music stopped as she reached Lyall, and he faced her with a look of pride.

  A hushed audience eagerly anticipated Meric's words. 'Honoured guests and fellow countrymen, I am so very privileged and honoured to bring our very own King Lyall and our future queen, Arneb, together in marriage. I am especially pleased to be able to conduct this service with so many of their friends and family here as witnesses.'

  The congregation muttered and nodded in approval while others dabbed a tissue to stifle escaping tears .

  'A wedding such as this can only bring prosperity and riches to our land, and we thank the gods that Lyall and Arneb were destined to meet each other, and we pray that they will live a long and happy life together with many children to come.'

  The bride and groom acknowledged Meric as he continued. 'Marriage means so many things to different people, so I ask Lyall to speak first and tell us why he has chosen Arneb to become his wife.'

  Lyall took Arneb's hand and held it gently. 'Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, the gods give us the person of their dreams, the love of their life, the person who they hold most dear. For me, that person is Arneb. When I am with you, Arneb, I feel alive. Every breath I take is so that I spend that moment with you. Your life is my life now. I serve to make you happy, and I will never give you cause to shed a tear over me, for you are the key to my world.' He kissed her hands and then her lips.

  'And Arneb,' Meric looked at her. 'Please will you respond with your words of love for our king.'

  She had rehearsed this speech a thousand times now and dutifully obliged. 'Lyall, when I sleep, I dream of you. When I awake, I reach out for you, and I know that the day will be full of loving you. Laith found me as a newborn and gave me my name, then his son found me as a woman and gave me his love. Both will stay with me forever.' She, too, kissed his hands and planted her seal of a kiss on his lips.

  'Thank you, you have pledged your love to each other. Now you will become one with our customary ritual. Arran, could you bring me the sword.' The young boy stepped forward and lifted Wolfsbane from its resting place and gave it to Meric. The blade was wiped with the ceremony ribbons as Lyall and Arneb knelt before the sword. At the same time, they pressed their thumbs on an opposite blade and waited for the blood to run. Then they pressed their thumbs together and watched as their bodies became as one. Meric lifted the sword and proclaimed, 'Today we have witnessed the joining of two people. They have declared their love in front of chosen guests and loved ones. The spirits have looked down on them and have blessed them.'

  He gave the sword back to Arran to wipe clean, and then held out his hands to conduct the next part of the ceremony. 'Who has the rings that will bind these two people in marriage?'

  'I do,' said Namir. And he placed them on the blade of Wolfsbane that Arran held so proudly.

  Arneb's was the brightest, purist, most exquisite aquamarine set in the middle of a faceted collet with flawless rubies and amethysts embedded around it. Lyall's ring was the striking Lapis Lazuli stone of a king and set as the centrepiece flanked by rows of perfectly cut diamonds.

  'I am so happy,' she whispered as Lyall slipped the jewel on her finger.

  'We are blessed,' said Lyall as his was secured.

  'With these rings, and in the presence of these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife.'

  The guests cried and cheered, the acrobats tumbled in, the minstrels strummed their lyres, and the jesters juggled their bats.

  Lyall held Arneb's face in the palms of his hands and kissed her lovingly. As he did so, the first few notes of the reed pipes began to shiver across the room. At the fourth quatrain, the dancers began to move. Not taking their eyes off each other for an instant, they kept their posture graceful and their stance defined. They moved with subtle gestures as they circled around each other; seductive, passionate, empowering. They had the congregation not daring to breathe. Arneb picked up a ribbon of blue silk and made circles around him with the streamer; entwining him and prowling round him as the silk touched his face. He reached out for her, so she stopped, let the ribbon fall to the g
round and stroked his cheek. He took her hand and pulled her into him. She felt his strong arms around her as she fell back, confident that he would not let her fall, and felt his beating heart as she rose again, her breast pressed to his chest. She spread her arms wide and he lifted her. As she dropped to the ground, feeling almost weightless, the drumbeat started. Without conscious thought, they both slipped into the arise, parted, hands raised, meeting for the merest fingertip touch, parted again and then he lifted her high into the air before letting her slide down against his body till her feet touched the floor. They held the embrace until the music stopped and then they wrapped their arms around each other as a final embrace.

  In the next room, a string of servants were waiting, and as the applause died down, the king led his queen to the head table and everyone followed. When all were seated, servers lifted the silver domes and exposed plates full of exquisitely presented food: pulled pork and shredded beef, roasted duck with brandy sauce, glazed guinea-fowl in turkey dripping, red cabbage with pine nuts, potatoes drenched in honey, and carrots dipped in wine. And for dessert was a range of pastries, cakes, fruits and sweets. The congregation celebrated until the early hours with speeches, renditions, accolades, and songs, and when it was time to sleep, those who didn't have a bed just slept where they lay.

  As Namir and Skyrah slept in the grandest guest room in the castle, she had a dream that was so intense it woke her at an unearthly hour. She sat up in bed and found that she was sobbing. She was unable to stop herself. She tried to smother the sobs with the hem of the blanket, but this produced a snuffling noise that was even worse, so she got out of bed to pour herself a glass of water from the jug beside their bed. Once up, she found she couldn't stand properly and she had to sit down again rather suddenly on the bed. That woke Namir. He saw the streaks of tears on her cheeks and became alarmed.