Fall of the kings, p.13
Fall of the Kings, page 13
Arell stuttered.
“You didn’t even know him. Why would you go to that effort for one Potamian soldier?” She bit her lip, wanting to lash out at Arell for no other reason than the sorrow inside of her swelling like a beaver’s dam in a flood.
“You’re questioning my motives again? I’ll tell you why. Because he’s innocent. Isn’t that enough?”
“Is it? Why does it matter to you?” She walked back to the window and looked out over the rose garden. How can flowers bloom during times like these?
“There are a lot of innocent people who get shamed, hurt, killed. What about the people in Tellwater? Why don’t you save them?”
Arell shook his head.
“If my brother were well, none of this would be happening.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re always sorry. But sorry doesn’t resolve a bloody thing, Arell. What have you resolved? Nothing! I don’t even know why you came here!” She had trusted him to make things better, and they’ve only gotten worse. She picked up Rory’s hat from the pile on the floor and flung it at Arell. It bounced off his chest, and he stood there, looking at it.
Overwhelmed with grief, she battled with containing herself and not taking her rage out on him, a losing fight. He was the only man left that she loved. Heaven help her if he should return to Cho Nisi now. With the Casdamian emperor already within their borders, and Skotádi at the door of their kingdom, she needed his allegiance. She needed him. But here she was, driving him away.
Arell picked up Rory’s dusty cap. “Is that how you feel? Honestly?” He asked softly, straightening the folds, dabbing the dust out of it.
“I must because I said it.”
“Very well.”
At that moment, she wanted to take it all back because he started for the door.
“No!”
He turned around.
“It’s how I feel, but I don’t want you to leave.”
He stood there, completely perplexed.
“What do you want from me, Erika?”
She threw her hands up in the air and fell on the bed, staring at the blood-stained sheets on the floor, letting silence infuse the room. What did she want from him? She sighed and lowered her voice. “A connection. Just something I can hold on to.”
She leaned over, bowed her head, and rested her elbows on her knees. He would walk away. Perhaps he’d sail away. She and her sisters would fall to the oppression of a usurper, be it an insurgent, a Casdamian or a demon. Or the Council. She couldn’t fight all of her enemies at once.
A warm hand took hold of hers, and she opened her eyes. Arell knelt in front of her, still holding Rory’s cap, his hand strong and comforting, like Barin’s or her father’s had been.
“I pledged my loyalty to your father, and I won’t dishonor my word. Rory died saving King Tobias from a fate worse than death. It’s for that reason I will see that the Council doesn’t disgrace him and his family. I will make sure he is buried properly if I have to bury him myself.”
She studied him; his sincerity calmed her. She nodded.
“I also promised Rory that if he should die, I would bring word to his brother.”
She swallowed and focused on his hands wrapped over hers, and Rory’s silly beat up cap tucked in his palm. His touch quieted her racing heart.
“The Council is meeting in the great hall,” she said.
The Council
Arell burst through the double doors of the Council’s meeting hall, causing all five members to look his way and for Lord Derby to fly from his chair.
“This is a private meeting,” the nobleman announced, straightening his vest as if he were a gutsy rooster. He stood, indignant, glancing briefly at the others.
“I come on Princess Erika’s behalf,” Arell stated.
The other lords rose from their chairs save for Lord Marlowe, who only gazed at him with a surprised, but not imposed upon expression.
“That’s hardly necessary. We understand the princess’ grief, however we have protocol to follow. We know full well what to do with a traitor and a murderer,” Lord Sylvester reminded the men and Arell.
“I was told it is a meeting to establish justice for the death of your king.”
“You were told correctly,” Lord Charles said. “And this is strictly a matter for the Council.”
“Certainly not for a foreigner to interrupt!” Lord Derby added on his way to the door, motioning for Arell to leave immediately. Arell ignored him and addressed the others.
“I would hope it would be a matter of fair judgment. I come to defend Rory’s name. He did not murder King Tobias.”
“That’s absurd,” Lord Charles blurted. “There’s evidence enough that he did. Good idols, sir, you were there. You saw only two bodies.”
“Wait, hear him out,” Lord Marlowe held up his hand as he rose to his feet. “Let’s reason as noblemen of the court. If this man has information in the name of justice, we should hear him. Please, everyone, sit.”
“This is a secret meeting,” Lord Derby complained to Lord Marlowe. The older man nodded toward Derby’s chair.
“Please,” Lord Marlowe insisted. “We trusted this Council to be fair and just. Those were our promises to our late king. That means hearing all witnesses and testimonies. Would we deny the King of Cho Nisi, whose father died fighting with us, a voice? We shall be respectful of what he has to say. Please, Vasil, Arell, sit.” Lord Marlowe offered a chair. Arell strode to it but didn’t sit.
The lords returned to their places, Lord Derby none too cooperatively. In the center of the round table, they had spread out a map and placed stones on it as markers. For what? Slips of parchment bearing names of lords of the kingdom were scattered over the map. Names had been crossed out with dark lines and others circled. Arell regarded the situation, puzzled. Had they been discussing potential candidates for the throne?
“Why would we listen to the cousin of our enemy?” Lord Derby asked, watching Arell read the slips of paper placed randomly across the map. He quickly gathered the parchments and piled them neatly in front of himself, penned-side down.
“I doubt he’s an enemy. This man’s blood couldn’t be closer than a third cousin, and to look at him you can see he’s not even of the same race. As he told us before, Moshere would slay him over the death of Bahldi,” Lord Sylvester noted.
“This man is of peasant blood any way you add it up,” Derby muttered eyeing Arell. “The Crown of Cho Nisi is not a valid monarch but made up of rebels and murderers fleeing from their native country because if they didn’t the heir would have hung them for insurrection.”
“I beg your pardon?” Arell contested, but the men continued talking over him as if he weren’t there. Surprised by their candidness, he listened, ready to take offense should Lord Derby insult him again. A duel might be in line, though it wouldn’t be to his best interest.
“You’re right,” Lord Sylvester talked low, but Arell heard every word. “We should have never recognized the throne of Cho Nisi. That was Tobias’s doing, but we have the power now to nullify his unfavorable policies. We could easily take over the...,” Lord Sylvester glanced at Arell and sat back in his chair.
“We’ll speak later on that matter,” Derby whispered.
“Gentleman, please! Lord Derby, sit down and let’s let the King of Cho Nisi speak.” Lord Marlowe said. He nodded for Arell to also sit.
Arell took a chair. “My kingdom has been and still is, your ally. I would hope you are ours,” he said to Lord Sylvester. The man shrugged and avoided looking at him. This Council is dangerous, Arell thought to himself. Even more reason to destroy the Vouchsaver and bring Barin to the throne, lest they declare war on his island. Arell focused on Lord Marlowe, the only reasonable nobleman at the table.
“I wish that Prince Barin were healthy enough to attest to what I’m going to tell you. He’s seen the worst of mountain giants. No one can imagine what he went through during his captivity. I can, however, attest to the giants’ strength and fortitude. They manifest into physical bodies as they kill, turning to creatures of hard earth and stone. I suffered broken ribs because of one. They will squeeze the life out of you slowly and painfully, until you can no longer breathe, and then the Vouchsaver comes along to devour your soul.”
“Oh, please!” Derby complained. “What does this have to do with King Tobias?”
“A mountain giant killed King Tobias. The monarch had a broken neck, and whoever killed him crushed his chest. Someone recovering from an arrow wound like Rory’s couldn’t have done such damage. Rory didn’t have the strength. I visited him the day before. He could barely sit up. Had he any strength at all, surely King Tobias could have fought him off.”
“Then how does one account for the fire?” Derby asked.
“Fire is the only way to destroy a mountain giant. Rory knew this. He must have seen the creature in the hallway and followed, taking the torches from the wall to protect whoever the giant was planning to prey on.”
The men looked at each other and were silent for a long while. Arell leaned forward now that he had their attention.
“The Vouchsaver was there. Rory died from a strike as mighty as a lightning bolt, which burned a hole through his chest. You can see it if you inspect his body. Slaying the Vouchsaver’s minion drew Skotádi’s attention at the moment of the king’s death. The lad might not have saved the king’s life, but I believe he saved the king’s soul from being consumed by the devil.”
With this, the noblemen sat upright, all except Derby, who held his hand over his mouth and coughed.
“Superstition.”
“Superstition?” Arell contested.
“An old wives’ tale. These Fairmistle legends bear no weight in the prevailing world.”
“I beg to differ, sir. Both the giant named Sol, and Skotádi attacked me. If it hadn’t been for Princess Erika, I wouldn’t be here to attest to this. When she saved me, Skotádi burned her in the same way he killed Rory. Fortunately, his fireless flame only scarred her hands.”
Derby laughed. “Your theory does not match ours. The man snuck into the king’s room, and seeing him asleep, strangled him. He sought to burn the evidence hoping we would think the king died from a fire, but because of his condition, fell and burned himself to death instead.”
“Your theory is wrong.”
“You’re wasting your efforts and your reputation, what little you have. The Council has already come to a resolve. Rory had already been in prison once for treason. If it weren’t for the soft-hearted and foolish princess, he’d still be locked up and the king would still be alive.” He turned to the others and raised his voice. “The traitor set the room aflame to hide his treacherous deed after killing the king. Don’t listen to this foolishness, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
The lords shook their heads and mumbled to one another. Arell slapped his hand on the table.
“Skotádi has your prince captive right under your very eyes! Open them! Barin is under the Vouchsaver’s curse. Your kingdom is in danger, lords. Not only by Barte son of Moshere, but by this phantom wizard and all his deviltry! He killed your king!”
They exchanged glances.
“So, what are you suggesting? That we should walk the halls as if some ghosts would pop out at us in every closet?” Lord Derby snickered, coaxing a smile from Lord Sylvester and Lord Charles.
Arell set his jaw. These men were incorrigible. He sat up straight and attempted to control the anger in his voice.
“I have pledged my allegiance to King Tobias, and I confirm it to you as well. I will help you find and destroy Skotádi.”
“What’s in it for you?” Lord Sylvester asked.
“I save my people and yours.” Arell eyed the parchments now resting under Lord Derby’s hand. “With any good fortune, I will see your prince returned to the throne as king, so you don’t have to walk the streets, soliciting another.”
“The prince is a vegetable. He’ll never be king.”
“You don’t know that.”
Lord Derby shook his head.
“How can you help? You’re no commander in our army, neither are you a physician.” Lord Charles spoke quietly, in a more congenial manner than Lord Derby, but skepticism still darkened his face. He folded his arms across his chest and locked eyes with Arell. “Derby has valid points. This red-haired soldier was a criminal before the king’s death. Your argument is one of fantasy. We’ve known of skura, that’s true, and a few of our soldiers have died from their attacks. But no one has proof that a phantom wizard commands them. That rumor comes from Fairmistle, a village as guilty as the king’s assassin.”
“I’ve seen him, myself.”
“And who are you that we should believe you?” Derby interjected.
Arell had enough. They would not listen. What was worse, these men were now in control of the kingdom, and were, themselves, a threat to Erika and her family, as much a threat as Moshere’s army, or Skotádi. Arell no longer questioned his decision to stay. He must save Barin, save the kingdom, and save Cho Nisi. He stood.
“I will pursue the one who put the prince under a curse, and I will kill him.”
Lord Derby laughed.
“Gentlemen,” Lord Marlowe interrupted. “There is no need to argue among ourselves. Indeed, there are threats hovering over our kingdom, and it is for us to determine where they’re coming from and what to do about them. With the king’s death, we are late in assisting Commander Neal. We should have sent troops there two days ago. We have much on our plate before us.” He turned to Arell. “As you know, Potamia has no ruler at the moment. That is first on our agenda, aside from burying the dead. We will take into consideration the innocence of this man we were about to condemn. If the evidence you have presented proves true, Rory of Fairmistle will have an honorable burial. If not, we will proceed as planned. As far as your quest, you’re free to do what you want. However, we cannot provide you with an army. Not with Barte son of Moshere threatening our kingdom. You have given us much to think about. The Council will now discuss these matters in private, Arell King of Cho Nisi.” Lord Marlowe stood and bowed.
Arell nodded, regarded the others, especially Lord Derby, who tucked his lists into his doublet.
Arell had done what he could here, and so he left the room and they shut the door behind him. He could hear them though, so he stood by the ingress and listened.
“This stranger is going to destroy us,” Lord Derby's voice rang loud and clear. “We have legitimate prospects for the throne. Throw away the testimony of this superstitious imbecile and step into reality. Our king is dead, and our prince might as well be.”
“His story of mountain giants could be true, you know,” Lord Sylvester suggested.
“We should keep our guard up for anything out of the ordinary,” Lord Charles said. “That’s the best we can do. But following a tall tale, no.”
“What do we do with the body of the red-headed soldier? That’s the sole reason we called this session.”
“Even if Arell theory is correct, we must think about how the people of Prasa Potama will react to the news of even more threats than Barte son of Moshere. They want someone to pay for the king’s death. They don’t need to hear of an assassin wizard invading the castle.”
After that, their voices quieted. The conversation had been disheartening, but what more could Arell tell them? As long as Lord Derby defamed him, the nobleman’s influence reigned over the others. Regardless of the Council’s decisions, Arell had work to do. He must now find Stormy.
LOCATING A SOLDIER in King Tobias’ army should not be this hard, but from one station to the next, the men he sought help from shook their heads in response to his questions. Arell had never met Stormy, but word had it that he resembled Rory in appearance and joined Neal’s troops when Barin laid siege on the castle. Mentioning Rory’s name sat ill with the soldiers and the first couple of times he did so, they were unwilling to admit they knew the murderer of the king. He tried to persuade them that Rory didn’t kill King Tobias but only a declaration from the Council would do that, and so Arell no longer mentioned Rory’s name.
A chill in the air fell upon the castle grounds as the sun set. Arell had spent all day talking to soldiers with no success. One man suggested he bring the matter to Colonel Ferguson that evening. He said the colonel usually puts up his own tack. So Arell waited by the stables when the sun went down.
He watched the stable boys tend to the horses, clean the stalls and oil bridles. Their work reminded him of his own horse, Honor. He missed his home. Mostly he missed the beaches and the people he called family, the Cho Nisi people. He could leave this madness easily enough. Just go home. But home wouldn’t be the same after the skura attack. People would be afraid. They’d feel unsafe. They’d be cautious and suspicious. The same perils that threatened the Kingdom of Potama, also endangered Cho Nisi. This mission he assigned himself—killing Skotádi—if he succeeded, would save lives, and bring peace to the world again. Then he could go home. Perhaps marry a beautiful woman.
Erika’s name came to mind, but he put her name away. She’d become as hostile to him as he had been to her. Too much resentment had come between them. They could never marry.
Three soldiers on horseback appeared in the courtyard. They dismounted and walked their animals toward him, toward the stable. They wore military cloaks and three-cornered hats. Ferguson? With any luck, the other two men would finish putting up their horses first and Arell could be alone with the colonel. As he stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight, one man turned and nodded at him. The others stopped.
“You must be the gentleman looking for me?” The tallest said to Arell and held out his hand. “Colonel Ferguson.”
“Arell,” he replied, feeling a bit out of place announcing his eminence. He didn’t feel like a king in Prasa Potama, he felt more like a borderline criminal.
“King of Cho Nisi? I heard you were visiting. My apologies, Vasil,” Ferguson bowed low, as did the other men. “I did not know a royal prince pursued me. Jamie, take my horse and let us speak in private.”
