The noble scars, p.6
The Noble Scars, page 6
“Ah yes, the prophecy,” the wizard sang. “It’s been a while since that’s been spoken of. How does it go?” Without waiting for a response, he recited:
“Witnessed by the Noble kingdom,
Shall a man defend an oath of righteousness against an army one score his size,
Truly shall this man be King.
“ Do you suppose this prophecy is referring to you, sire?”
“And why not? As far as the kingdom is concerned, I fought against a small army and survived, and I brought the traitor Shelton to justice.”
“Sire.” The wizard moved a little closer, emerging from the darkness. “Are you suggesting that battle of yours was victorious? The king and queen died under your so-called protection, did they not?”
Seething at the wizard’s taunt, Bardek momentarily forgot his trepidation. He stood. “Tell me, Maeldroth, have you ever envisioned this prophecy yourself?”
“No, sire, I have not.”
“Are you not a seer? Are you not Maeldroth the Wizard, disciple of the Mage and annihilator of Maktear? How can you hide in the shadows and possess souls but can’t observe a well-known prophecy? Is it because it’s nothing more than a fairy tale?”
The wizard smiled gently beneath his cowl, amused by the anger he evoked from the king. He held his answer until Bardek returned to his seat. “It is true that I haven’t experienced this vision for myself, but I have great faith in the one who has. She may have been mysterious, but the Lady of the Hood was faultless in her predictions.”
“Does your scope of decadence not permit you to sense a vision of righteous origin?” Bardek asked.
Maeldroth moved toward the king, forcing him to sit back in his seat, his countenance more than he could bear. “There is much of the spirit world you don’t understand, Your Majesty. There are powers of white and dark that protrude from the domain beyond. These forces can be manipulated with direct intent by someone such as myself or influenced by those of commanding persuasion. The Lady of the Hood was pure and righteous; thus, she drew The White from the Grand Spirit. Her intentions were selfless, and as such, her use of the power pitiful. The White cannot survive a direct confrontation against the dark.”
“If her power is so ineffective, then how has she managed to elude you all these years? You say you pursued her and those scripts across half the world, including the ruins of Maktear. With all your power, how were you thwarted by a simple prophet?”
The wizard’s brow furrowed. “She may have been misguided, but she was not without her resources. Along with the gift of foresight, she also had the skill to conceal her identity. No one I interrogated was able to describe her. It was as if she wiped her appearance from their minds. Fortunate it was, for her, that she disappeared. Had I caught her… I would have eaten her heart.”
Bardek flushed, a sickened look upon his face. “What makes this woman so important?”
“Visions of her came to me in a dream, along with the sect she belongs to. They compelled her to flee with something powerful.”
Bardek sat up on his throne. “You’ve never spoken of this before.”
“My visions are clouded, as if they were obstructed, convincing me further of its potency.”
“What do you think it is?” Bardek asked eagerly.
“An amulet, a sword, a book. I’m uncertain, but I know it resides in Noble. I can feel it.”
“So despite pretending to be advisor and protector of my kingdom, your real agenda is to find this woman?”
“Do not complain, Your Majesty, our paths have intertwined for a purpose greater than either of us can imagine. Of this, I am certain.”
“Well, I’m surprised you have so much time for reflection these days as you’ve been so busy grooming your latest executioner.”
“I trust you’re not objecting to my conduct regarding this matter. After all, it is my right—”
“Yes, I know,” Bardek interrupted. “I remember our agreement. You have complete control over the fate of new prisoners and domain over the lower dungeons.”
“It pleases me you remember it so well, Your Majesty. I have not forgotten the custodial duties you’ve entrusted me with regarding our criminals. Duties that I don’t take lightly.”
“I’m not convinced it’s duty that motivates you in regard to the prisoners.”
The wizard smiled coyly. “Need I remind you, sire, that my new executioner was provided to me from the agreement you made with the town of Brakton?”
“Yes, I know, and you’ve taken full advantage of the situation to further your reputation. Do you know that they refer to this beast as the Monster of Maeldroth? Some are even suggesting it’s the spawn of you and a demonic being of the underworld.”
“I would rebuke my self-indulgences, Your Majesty, but I know how ecstatic you are to provide entertainment for your friends and dignitaries. A pure stroke of genius it is to charge ten gold pieces to watch the executions, even if it doesn’t sit well with your delicate sensibilities. Besides, it serves both our reputations to have people think I can create demons.”
“Yes, Maeldroth, you are indeed resourceful. I can’t imagine what we would do without you.” The king turned sharply in his seat, his royal cape snapping as he did.
The wizard slowly walked around the throne to face Bardek, looking him in the eyes as he spoke. “As I’ve explained before, sire, there are forces that wish to consume Noble.”
“Yes, I know, you’ve said so before. There’s something that dwells beyond the Great Desert, even though no one has ever returned to speak of it. And there are hordes to the north of us whose power we can’t imagine.”
“That is precisely why no one’s returned. There are horrors beyond our borders and a being of wickedness that harnesses black magic. They stay away to avoid the peril of my wrath. The entity of darkness there knows I claim the Noble Empire as my own. While I’m here, you remain safe, but make no mistake, sire, they would devour your kingdom without my protection.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on it, won’t I?”
Maeldroth smiled. “But onto other matters, sire, matters of joy. How are plans for your upcoming nuptials proceeding?”
“Agonizingly slow.”
“It must be difficult remaining patient after the terrible misfortunes you’ve had trying to build a family. The multitudes of concubines and maidens you’ve bedded over the years have certainly been no replacement for the wife and offspring that you seek. I trust everything will work out for you this time.”
“Your concern for my domestic welfare is touching.”
“What happened to that beautiful young prophetess who was to be your wife? What was her name—Randori? It must have been disheartening to know that poor girl would rather kill herself than be your wife?”
“I hardly remember,” Bardek retorted.
“Wasn’t she the one who also shared the vision of the prophecy?” the wizard asked, grinning through a smile of decayed teeth.
“Her death was of no loss. I would have killed her anyway. She wouldn’t shut up about that damned prophecy. Always going on about me not being the true king.”
“Then how did you feel about the daughter of the Renthem dignitary who was carrying your child? You’d finally managed to plant your seed, only to lose her and the infant during childbirth. You were so close to having an heir.”
“What’s your point, Maeldroth?”
“No point at all, Your Majesty. I just hope you achieve greater fortune with your Fergasmythe arrangement.”
“As do I—”
Before Bardek could finish speaking, Maeldroth held up his hand, pointing to the entrance of the throne room.
“We have company.”
“I hear nothing,” the king said, just as the doors to the throne room were flung open.
Bardek turned uncomfortably toward the wizard, ill at ease with his intuitive perception.
Chapter 6
Trenwulf, commander of the Noble forces, marched into the throne room with a firm gait, carrying a polished ebony helmet under his right arm. He was broad shouldered and stout, gleaming from his shiny black boots to his glimmering tunic of chainmail. His hair was dark brown, almost black; thick, but not particularly long. He wore a full beard, an exclusive right he claimed among his forces. A flat nose tarnished a handsome face.
“Welcome back, Commander. I trust your excursion across Noble was a success.”
“Greetings, sire,” he replied, taking a knee and bowing his head to the king before exchanging an uneasy glance with the wizard. “I am pleased to report that I’m still your champion, despite my search to find an equal.”
“And what exactly do these searches entail?” the wizard inquired.
Trenwulf gathered his thoughts carefully before addressing the wizard. “While inspecting our garrisons throughout the king’s land, I hold tournaments, selecting our best soldiers and a few of our good but reluctant citizens to take part in the events.”
“Many injuries?” Bardek asked.
“Never my own,” he answered with mocking indifference.
“And how many women did you champion on your trials?” Bardek asked eagerly.
“Women’s hearts, I’m afraid none. It would appear I’m not husband material. I did, however, conquer the odd virtue or two.”
Bardek joined Trenwulf in a vile but hearty laugh.
“And the state of my kingdom? Is there turmoil? A need for more discipline?”
“There’s always need for more of that, sire, a point I emphasized with several executions during my journey.”
“Excellent.” The king applauded.
Trenwulf placed his helmet on the ground. “There are, however, several daunting issues that require your attention, sire. There is more evidence of the rogue’s work at hand.”
“Zerin?” asked the king, sitting up on his throne. “What has he brought them now?”
“Hope, sire. He brings them hope. You can see it in their eyes. His deliveries continue to reach the impoverished.”
“Good, let him. It saves me from having to provide for them.”
“How does one man continue to elude your entire army?” Maeldroth asked, stepping forward.
Trenwulf paused and swallowed. “That’s just it. He’s just one man. He knows the countryside and the currents of Jorjun. He challenges the open waters like no one we know.”
“How does he fund these endeavors?” Maeldroth inquired.
“Most likely from tax money that he robs from us. Just a few weeks ago, a six-man garrison was overtaken in the Fields of Thorn. They were ambushed and robbed of their collections.”
“And they lived to speak of it?” Maeldroth demanded.
“He doesn’t kill indiscriminately. Only if he needs to. Other soldiers have survived his attacks.”
The wizard sneered as if disgusted with the sailor’s clemency.
“Well, he’s not likely to survive our next encounter,” Bardek said. “Two of our finest galleys have been sent to engage him off the east coast of Jorjun. I expect news of our victory to come soon. If he represents hope for these people, then we’ll execute him in public.”
“Actually, sire, not all of Noble reveres him as the people’s champion, some regard him as… a fool.”
“You mean he’s not even appreciated by the people he risks his life for?”
“It would seem so, sire.”
“Then he is a fool.”
“Albeit a dangerous one,” Maeldroth added.
“If I may, Your Majesty?” Trenwulf offered. “When the time comes, I would prefer to beat him in combat myself. He is said to be a master swordsman. I’d like to kill him in public. It would crush any support he might have.”
“No,” Maeldroth snapped. “I would see this rogue in my dungeon. Bring him to me when you apprehend him. After I’ve finished with him, you may display his body in public.”
“As you wish.”
“But what else troubles you, Commander? I sense you’re uneasy with another affair,” the wizard asked.
“One of the executions I was party to involved an old man in the town of Thortel. During his last request, he spewed treasonous blasphemies.”
“Who cares? These bloody peasants hate me anyway,” Bardek said.
“Go on, Commander,” Maeldroth insisted.
“He screamed out, before the entire congregation, ‘Hail King Janith, May the North stay cold!’”
“How could you let him say that?” Bardek snapped.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I was at a considerable distance and unable to silence him until I fought my way through the crowd. Besides, I don’t even know what that phrase means.”
“Who bloody knows?” Bardek answered. “It’s intended as some sort of farewell. Apparently, Janith made use of it.”
“There’s a lot more to it than just a farewell, trust me,” the wizard remarked.
Both Bardek and Trenwulf stared at the wizard, waiting for an explanation that didn’t come.
“Commander, is there anything else before you’re dismissed?” Maeldroth asked.
“Aye.” Trenwulf shifted his stance. “There’s been a series of grisly murders in the cities of the southwest.”
“Bah!” Bardek snorted. “Who cares? Let them kill each other.”
The wizard came closer, forcing Trenwulf to step back. The candles in the hall flickered. Maeldroth’s sneer sprouted under his cowl.
“Tell me more,” he commanded.
“The first murder was in the town of Rashene.”
“Who was it?”
“It was an old chart master. He had a shop full of maps and transcripts that were ransacked, although nothing seemed to be stolen.”
“Tell me about the murder.”
“He was mutilated; his privates were torn off, and he was impaled through the arse with his own sword. Shortly afterward, there were two other murders of similar fashion, although in different towns.”
Maeldroth held a hand to his mouth, caressing the smile that forced its way across his lips.
“I want full reports on all these murders, and if you manage to apprehend the fiend, you must bring him before me. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” Trenwulf answered.
“Do you have any clues as to his identity?” the wizard asked.
“I only know what they call him—the Madman of Rashene.”
“The Madman of Rashene,” repeated the wizard. “I couldn’t have named him better.”
Just then, the doors to the throne room swung open, and another soldier entered. He was tall, well groomed, rugged—a man near thirty. A confident stride carried him down the blue carpet toward the throne.
“Robertson, you’re supposed to wait for consent before entering the king’s hall,” Trenwulf said.
Robertson ignored him until he arrived at the foot of the throne. “I have urgent news that I’m sure the king would like to hear straight away,” he boldly answered, staring into the eyes of his commander.
Trenwulf strutted over to Robertson and stopped inches from his face. “Unless the palace is on fire or we’re under attack, you’ll follow protocol while in the king’s presence.”
“Robertson,” the king asked, “are you unhappy with your post?”
“I’ve sworn an oath to protect the Noble Empire.”
“You’ll address the king as Your Majesty or sire. Do you hear me, soldier?” bellowed Trenwulf.
Robertson stared straight ahead.
“You know, Robertson, it seems to me I never actually heard you give your oath,” Bardek said.
“That’s because I didn’t. I gave my oath to my father’s spirit after he died trying to protect King Janith. He once told me that being entrusted with the lives of the royal family was the greatest honor bestowed upon a citizen of Noble. An oath that I swore as well.”
“Then you have sworn an oath to your father, not to the king,” Maeldroth said.
Robertson turned toward the wizard, looking him square in the eyes, something most men didn’t do. “Are you challenging the validity of my oath?”
The wizard approached. “I would choose my words and tone more carefully, if I were you.”
“If my valor is in question, you need only ask Commander Trenwulf. He will attest to my bravery.”
“He is indeed a fine field soldier, one of my best,” Trenwulf responded grudgingly.
“I remember your father, Robertson, well,” the king said. “He, too, was a fine soldier, except that it was under his watch that the king and queen were killed, which is why you continue to serve in the field. I couldn’t have his heir in the castle protecting me. I wouldn’t feel safe. You understand, don’t you? You also remember that I offered you the chance to escape your family’s humiliation. It is within my power to grant you a change of name, so you can live without the shame of your father’s failure.”
“I recall the offer.” Robertson stared forward, unfazed by Bardek’s words. “I will never regret carrying my father’s name, nor will I question his fealty to King Janith.”
“And why is that?” the wizard asked.
“Because of the devotion my father spoke of in his journal.”
“Journal? Your father kept a journal?” Bardek demanded.
“Aye, he did.”
“And what were your father’s words? How wonderous it was serving under Janith?” the king asked.
“Hardly,” Robertson said, piquing the interest of his audience. “Damned is the man duty-bound to protect a king who rides first into every battle, were his words. He said that King Janith founded the Noble Empire with his own sword, and he wouldn’t have anyone else spearhead his battles for him. He was the bravest and fiercest warrior ever.”
“Tell me, Robertson, do you feel indebted to me for capturing and executing the traitor Shelton, the man responsible for your father’s death. You do remember Shelton, do you not?”
“I do. I used to sit on his knee while he told me stories. I called him Uncle.”
“You don’t doubt his guilt, do you?” Maeldroth demanded.
“I was only a boy at the time, forced to accept the word of my elders as truth of the events.”
