by A J Burns
“A desperate army is a vicious army,” said Eryek. “Listen…. I’ll speak with Evoru myself. I’ll consider whatever it is he proposes, but I make no promises.”
“I’m appreciative, Your Majesty.”
“Yeah.”
Brenton bowed and exited.
“Where the hell are my guardsmen?” Eryek muttered to himself, opening the door and surveying the hallway.
He sat on his mattress, trying to recall the yester-night. He remembered an incident with Mauro; he seized a different bottle, cursed himself, and poured the alcohol outside the window.
Seventeen years ago, as the first revolution waned, Eryek had risked his fleet to rescue Orynaurian refugees, among whom were the dowager and her infant: Mauro. As the Elynaurian fleet sailed westwards to escape with the refugees, they were intercepted by the Wostaurian navy. Cannonballs tore through the starboard sides. Any attempts at countering would’ve been futile, and escape was equally implausible. Eryek decided, against all impulse (and in accordance with the advice of his officers), to maneuver southward, to escape by using his armada as a shield; three of his five ships perished, and six of his sons were pulled into the watery depths.
Eryek served as chief of his province for twelve years. Elynen had no agriculture on its cavernous inland, and its brackish water provided little to desire from fishing. For quite some time, it was a province reliant on trade: an export of minerals and an import of the obvious; but a debate arose about whom the channel (which separated Elynen from the mainland) belonged to. According to the congregation, it belonged to none and hence belonged to them. As imperial territory, its tariffs were adjusted accordingly: thrice what they had been.
So here he was, walking through the palace, traversing the twists and turns until he became lost. The second floor was reserved for officers and generals, the third for servants, and the fourth, which Eryek was on, for royalty and nobility.
He mumbled to himself, cussing more than not, as he followed the stairs to the third floor, which, against all logic, did not lead directly to the second floor. Turning left, he hoped for the best; he could hardly remember having gone to his bedchamber the night before, let alone what path he had taken.
His dreams had been morbid and were now trickling back into memory. He remembered a group of men standing around him, holding onto a rod and passing it around in a circle. A sudden migraine had seized him, worse than anything he had ever experienced from alcohol. He threw his head back against the pillow, and his next memory was of him waking next to that woman.
Rain was beginning to fall, and occasional gusts of wind would send it to brush up against the windows. Moans echoed through the corridor, an almost indistinct sound when combined with the thunder. Eryek halted when he was passing the room that produced the sounds. He was about to leave, but then he heard, “Gregh.” The Tekotaurian queen was afar, and Gregh had arrived with only his sons. “Fuck I love you,” said the woman.
Eryek contemplated just walking away, preferring not to present himself as a pervert at this moment; but his curiosity is what drove his actions. He knelt and peered through the keyhole.
The room was dimly lit, but he could see a couple having sex, Gregh identifiable by his larger-than-normal forehead. The woman looked familiar to him. Suddenly, she gasped and whispered to Gregh. They turned their sights to the door. A second later, Eryek looked down and saw the gap that existed between the door and the tile; his legs must’ve cast a shadow into the room.
Gregh removed the blanket; as he crept towards the door, Eryek jumped up and walked away. He glanced behind himself a couple of times, but Gregh never opened the door while within sight of Eryek.
Eryek chuckled and continued through the corridors, eventually arriving at one of the reception chambers. The captain of the guard was conversing with another man.
“He escaped from his holding cell,” said the captain.
“And how did we manage that?” the other man asked.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
Both men turned to look at Eryek as he entered. “Didn’t mean to disturb,” he said.
“You didn’t,” the captain said to assure him.
“What do you think he’s planning to do with them?” The other man was taller with whitish hair and a youthful face.
“He’s gonna get his daughter back.” The captain shrugged. “Can you really blame him?”
“We should’ve executed him when we had the chance.”
“Yeah.” The captain looked back at Eryek. “You need anything, Elynaur?”
“Where would I find Evoru?” he asked.
“Take a right at that entrance.”
Evoru was sitting in his office, mulling over reports, marking them with green ink, and sighing as he worked. The view outside his office was that of sunshine and clear skies; Eryek laughed at that.
“Nice of you to join me, Your Majesty,” said Evoru.
“Brenton had come to talk with me.” Eryek stood upright, ignoring the chairs that surrounded him.
“Yes, yes, of course—I sent him.”
“When are you planning the attack?”
Evoru shuffled his papers and put them aside. “Three nights from now.”
The response annoyed him. “Then why the urgency? There was no reason for Brenton to come barging into my room this morning.”
“We needed to discuss it some time,” Evoru said, unsure. “I’m sorry if you were still sleeping at that point in the day.”
“Well the plan sounds fine, but how do you expect the Mesals to just let us waltz on in?”
“He already told you the plan…?”
The door flung open, and the captain of the guard barged into the office. “Sir, Auron’s made off with the architectural records of the city—the streets, the sewers—everything.”
“How can this be?” asked Evoru.
“Someone freed him from his holding cell.”
“Send off a patrol to search for him; check every byway and trail north of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
He was already past the door when Evoru called for him. “And Admon…, send in Kron.”
“I’ve never seen so much incompetence in my life,” said Eryek. “My riders will have him tracked and buried by sunset.”
“My guard is capable of handling it,” Evoru demanded. “We have other matters to discuss.”
“It was probably one of your guards who freed him.” Eryek looked him over. “Send them if you wish, but I’m sending my own.”
Eryek summoned Ritek and a dozen other men, splitting them into two units, and leading his unit northwest, cursing the entire time.
A wirily man drank from the stream; as the riders approached, he mounted his horse and pressed his spurs against it. Eryek chased him over the bridge, smacking his stallion and grabbing his bow. His first, second, and third arrows missed, and his fourth fell from his hand. Dust spewed from beneath the hooves.
The sky before them was orange and red as the moon eclipsed the sun.
The two men rode parallel to the other; and when Auron strayed right, Eryek followed until the distance between them was the span of a sword. Auron dodged and ducked and drove into the woodlands. The pursuit continued around trees and over stumps, creating a passage through the branches and spewing mud in all directions. The men rode onward, at mercy to the will of their steeds.
“Flank right,” said Eryek, and one of his men diverged.
They emerged from the forest and came upon an expanse of hills. The man who had been sent away was now within range of Auron. They turned down a hill and outside the view of Eryek. When his view was again on them, the pursuer was dead, and a platoon of Mesals stood before Auron as he pleaded for his life. There was an entire conversation of nothing but glances and gestures. A Mesal crouched, aimed his musket, and shot at Eryek, hitting his stallion. Eryek was flung to the ground.
The only remaining rider jumped from his horse. “Take him,” he said, giving th
e reigns to Eryek. “Hurry!”
Eryek climbed onto the saddle and sped away, staring ahead so he didn’t have to witness his savior being hacked behind him. Having returned safely to Grofven, Eryek removed the saddle from his horse and entered the palace.
There were no witnesses when someone yanked him from behind, slit his throat, and spilled his blood into the cracks of granite.
Interlude
A Chamberlain
Chamberlains ran into the reception chamber, yelling and waving for everybody to follow.
“Who could’ve done this?” asked Fryne, turning away from the dead body.
“Mauro,” Ritek said. “The little bastard couldn’t handle—”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blame me for my own humiliation.” Mauro spoke sheepishly and with little to no authority. “I am not your father.”
“He didn’t do it.” Gregh lit a cigar. Of all the royalty and nobility who stayed at the palace, the chamberlains admired him the most. He was brusque but kind, having never made the servants feel inferior.
“And how do you know who did it?” asked Ritek. “His guardsman threatened my father’s life not even a day ago.”
“Is Simon not a follower of the Light of the World?” asked Brenton.
Mauro nodded. “He is. He would still be at the gardens praying this hour.”
“Fuck Simon,” said Ritek. “It could’ve been any of you.”
“My husband is not a murderer,” Fryne said.
“Everybody has the potential.” Brenton was seated, watching logs burn in the fireplace and acting rather indifferent to the corpse within an arm’s reach.
“We don’t even know it’s one of us,” said Gregh. “Whoever it was, was the same person who helped Auron.”
“Not necessarily.” Evoru glanced at the dead body. “Though we have had our problems with authority, haven’t we?”
“Don’t you blame me.” Kron spoke bluntly. Although a hefty man, he had slimmed some since his first appearance at the palace.
“Let’s not descend into adolescence,” said Brenton. “It wasn’t Kron.”
“And it wasn’t my guardsmen—nor my cousin.” Mauro pressed his back against the wall and rested one leg atop the other.
“Where is your cousin?” Evoru asked.
“He’s…. He left yesterday.”
“Convenient.”
The others hadn’t given Evoru much attention. To them, the chamberlain knew, he was nothing but a sheriff. Even though he was now a magistrate, such a title meant nothing to the clans; it was an innovation of the congregation.
“I told you it wasn’t him,” said Mauro.
Brenton insisted that none of them had a reason to kill him. “The last thing we need is infighting.”
“Oh no?” Ritek was mocking Brenton. “How about Bivek? How about Mauro or Gregh?”
“What have I done?” asked Mauro, his voice bordering on whiney.
Gregh appeared startled at the accusation. “I’ve no reason to kill him.”
“You always despised him,” Evoru said as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Admon joined him in his display of paranoia.
“Ritek’s the one who will prosper from this,” said Gregh. “It’s not like any of us will see something of the inheritance.”
“Such a thought says more about you than it does me,” Ritek replied.
“I was with Fryne in the study.” He plucked the ash from the top of his cigar.
“Yes,” said Fryne. “It was not Gregh.”
Kron looked at Gregh and Fryne, lips pressed together as if about to speak, but he let words leave him silently.
“And what were you doing in the study?” asked Ritek, his sight on Gregh.
“She was helping me write a letter to my wife.” Gregh continued to puff as if he could find an answer in his cigar’s completion.
“Her word is no better than yours.” Ritek would turn his left ear towards whoever was speaking; he seemed annoyed when one speaker was to his left and another to his right.
“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” said Evoru.
“You speak like anyone here actually takes you seriously.”
The chamberlains had been standing with their backs against the wall. They weren’t allowed to speak or cast sight upon the higher castes. One chamberlain wasn’t sure whether he should be cleaning the blood; he didn’t want to act out of place, but he didn’t want to appear inept either. There were hundreds of customs and procedures for him to follow, but such an incident as this had never been covered.
“Byson and I were in the reception chamber,” Kron said with a shrug of the shoulders. “And he can attest to that.”
“Why are we to believe him?” asked Evoru. “He wouldn’t dare speak against the Vyktaurian prince.”
“Byson’s nothing without his word,” Brenton said, trying to assure him.
“Well, we already know where your allegiance lies.” Evoru stared at him. “Of course the Vyktaurian families will protect themselves.”
“This speaks nothing of my allegiance. This entire discussion is a slight to everyone involved.”
“You aren’t out of the question either,” said Gregh. “Eryek had been undermining your leadership since he arrived.”
Evoru said: “Me and Eryek had a mutual understanding.”
“You had nothing,” Mauro said. Everybody in the reception chamber seemed to have forgotten he existed.
“Tell me,” said Ritek, turning his head, “My father had the ‘audacity’ to criticize your leadership, and you took care of him.”
“This is ludicrous!” Evoru stuttered. “I have no reason—”
“He was cursing your name as he gathered us to go after Auron. What was that all about?”
“He was frustrated at the escape!” Evoru extended his arms. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve said this before,” Brenton put in, “but since we’re still at where we were back then, I’ll say it again—this is getting us nowhere.”
“My father wasn’t acting himself last night.” Ritek surveyed the people around him. “I don’t know what it was—yet—but there was something he wouldn’t go along with, and I’m not talking their little ruse on the battlefield.”
Brenton hadn’t wasted one second before replying. “Watch your tongue, Elynaur. The business of men is of no concern to you.”
“Is there anyone we can all agree was innocent?” Gregh asked them collectively.
“What business?” asked Kron to no avail.
“Fryne,” Mauro suggested. “And if she’s innocent, then I guess we can assume Gregh is as well.”
“Not so fast,” said Ritek. “A woman can murder just fine. You can stop playing the little white knight.”
“This isn’t about capability; it’s about reason.”
“Gregh and Mauro have been protecting each other this entire time,” Ritek said to Evoru.
“So have Kron and Brenton,” Evoru said. “But, you know what? I’m starting to agree with him; we’re beating a dead horse.”
“Why would either of us want him dead?” asked Kron.
“You were quick to cut off a man’s head the other day.” Mauro nodded inquisitively at Brenton, and Brenton shook his head; none of the others had seemed to notice.
Kron had reddened from anger. “It was your cousin who acted rashly.”
“My cousin isn’t here.”
“We’ve been over this,” Brenton said, yawning. “We’re no further along than when we had started pointing fingers.”
Ritek pulled a knife from his back-pocket and unsheathed the blade. “I’m not leaving here until one of these men is punished.”
“Even if it’s the wrong man?” asked Brenton. “Use your brain for once.”
Ignoring Brenton, he said, “This is your fault, Evoru; you should have had guards posted at every turn.”
“Evoru’s campaign has been nothing but failure,” Gregh said.
“So now the truth comes out,” Evoru said. When everybody looked away from him, he flashed a sad smile at Fryne.
“Evoru’s doing fine,” Brenton remarked. “How is he supposed to provide for an army by his lonesome? Grofven’s a wasteland.”
“He is a coward,” said Kron. “Why are we still letting this official of the congregation chaperone us anyhow?”
“Learn your place.” Brenton scolded Kron.
Kron had been upset on numerous occasions, but the comment from Brenton was by far the most grating. “Did you really just say that to me?”
“Stop with the silly questions.”
“I’ll say it again; it couldn’t have been Gregh,” Fryne stated. “And Evoru would’ve never done such a thing.”
“You’re going to feel moronic when it turns out to be a conscript.” Gregh was the only man who hadn’t taken a defensive posture.
“There are no foot soldiers on the fourth floor,” Admon said.
“Oh, yeah,” said Ritek, “with the security here—that’s guaranteed.”
“Let’s go back to when it happened.” Brenton tugged on his medallion. “Evoru was in his office. Kron and Byson were talking in the courtyard—and let us assume that Fryne and Gregh were in the study.”
“That leaves you.” Ritek strengthened his grip on the knife.
“And you.”
Ritek and Brenton had forgotten to factor in Mauro’s whereabouts. The chamberlain peeked at him, witnessing him as he crinkled his face before giving a silent laugh.
Ritek chuckled. “You think I’m capable of patricide?”
“Wynore,” said Brenton suddenly.
“What about her?” Mauro asked.
“Eryek was especially vulgar to her earlier in the day. Kicked her from his bed. Almost hit her with a bottle.”
“Oh, I see.” He lowered his head and looked at his feet.
“I will be speaking to both of them—Byson and her … and Simon as well,” Evoru said. “To ease my mind if nothing else.”
“She’s always been a spiteful little bitch,” Gregh said.
“You don’t even know her,” said Mauro.
“I’m probably the only one who doesn’t ‘know her.’”
