Winds of change, p.3
Winds of Change, page 3
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” said Captain Brodst, kneeling appropriately, preparing to make his exit.
“And captain?”
Captain Brodst nodded again.
“Rouse two guards to council doors.”
A pained expression crossed the captain’s face. Captain Brodst took great pride in his position as captain of the king’s guard and being told to do the obvious was an insult. Adrina sympathized with the burly captain. She liked him, though he seemed to have little love for her.
“At once, sire,” said Captain Brodst. Then he quickly departed.
Adrina was left to amble through the scattered remains on her plate. Her hope was to escape the dining hall and find a strategic position near the council chambers.
She waited, and waited, patiently thinking to herself that the matter wasn’t too urgent or else her father would have departed immediately. Then again, her father had never been one quick to stir to action. Sometimes it seemed that he mulled over the simplest of decisions for hours—like the color of a new flower to put into the gardens—and then those decisions that she assumed he would deliberate over for days were made in the blink of an eye. Still, she had seen him take seven days to contemplate a heated land dispute when a decision had been desperately needed that same day to keep two of the lower lords from mauling each other.
As King Andrew laid his dinner knife aside and rinsed his fingers in the dipping bowl for what appeared to be the last time, all eyes around the great oblong table rose to greet his. The time for Adrina to make her move was now or never. She shot a withering grimace to the pale little man to her right—stay where you are, she warned with her eyes—and attempted to follow in Andrew’s wake.
She glanced back as she gracefully but hurriedly exited the hall to see if anyone followed. Most of the courtiers were caught in the tangle of attendants swarming over the tables to remove the remnants of the meal. Some of the courtiers had guardedly returned to their fare as they always did. Some were already deep in meaningless conversations with whomever was to their right or left. These were the ones who had either decided they’d never gain the king’s favor and it was nearly time to depart Imtal Palace, or those who were just present because it was the thing to do. There were those who had chosen the evening meal as their final battling ground—their last chance to confer with His Majesty—and these were the ones that sought to follow but were caught in the tangle of attendants.
There were also those whose task it was to watch. They were the eyes and ears of many a lord and even the paid spies of other kings. Adrina was suddenly sure the rather pale looking man beside her was not only pretending to be aloof but was also listening to the King’s every word. He did not get caught up in the tangle of attendants. In fact, he moved rather adroitly through the crowded room and into the adjacent hall.
As she reached the wide open-aired corridor connecting the central wing of the castle with the West wing, Adrina’s heart and mind began to race with the possibility of excitement ahead.
“A messenger with grave news,” she whispered to herself. Change.
***
Crystalline walls mirrored Queen Mother’s innermost feelings. The day held promise. Her mood was bright. The room, bright.
Walls, ceiling and floor of the modest meditation cubicle were clean-swept, and broken only by the frame of the door before her. The chamber, designed for ascetic purposes, was meant to hold no distractions.
Queen Mother herself was outfitted in a flowing white robe. It too was without adornment, designed to hold no distractions. It dangled several feet beneath her crossed legs and levitated form. Her arms were also crossed. Her eyes, appropriately closed. Her head, level and directed toward the closed door. Her thoughts dwelled solely on cleansing meditation.
She did not respond to the soft summons the first time it entered her mind. Instead, she held persistently to her meditation. She was trying to forget.
My queen… came whispered words into her mind a second time.
A second time Queen Mother cast them away. She didn’t want anything to spoil her pleasant mood, especially as troubled as her mind had been upon waking and considering how long it had taken her to soothe those troubles away. The day held promise, she reminded herself.
My queen… the voice came more urgently.
Annoyed now, Queen Mother opened her eyes. A light wave of her hand stirred the cubicle’s door and swept it quickly open. Do come in Brother Liyan… What brings First Counsel to my door?
Following the unspoken whisper, the timeworn elder outfitted all in gray entered the room—the gray of the robe was a symbol of office, unlike the white of Queen Mother’s robe, which was a symbol of her whims. Brother Liyan nodded to the Red Brother who stood watch just inside the chamber. Dark brown eyes regarded him for a moment and a chill ran the length of his spine.
The crystalline walls slowly adjusted to reflect agitation. At first they dulled and darkened to a metallic bronze and then settled on a murky brown. Taking note of the falling and deepening of the cubicle’s glow, Brother Liyan turned pale.
My queen, Brother Liyan said as he stepped across the threshold. He kneeled appropriately, and awaited her response to make further comment. Under other circumstances, he would not have been so formal and formality would have been the last thing expected of him, but here in the halls of Sanctuary when Queen Mother herself had called a retreat it was expected of him and so he did his part.
Queen Mother responded again, only with feelings as she often did when annoyed.
Brother Liyan looked up into Queen Mother’s eyes and uneasily rose from his knees. My queen, a thousand pardons for the interruption, but this matter is urgent. You did not address it directly during the assembly, but I gather that Brother Seth prepares for the journey?
Yes, that is so.
I do not understand. Why Brother Seth, First of the Red? His strength is needed here in Leklorall, especially now.
Queen Mother held her position, her long white dress cascading to the clean, cold floor. It must be.
You yourself said the chosen wouldn’t survive the ordeal. The chosen will never return to East Reach… Brother Seth must not go. Who would protect in his stead? Surely then… Brother Liyan paused and looked to the brooding figure standing beside the door. As the second, Brother Galan must stay…
That is a truth you would do well never to impart again… Only those of the assembly know the fate of the chosen… Brother Seth is free to choose as many Brothers of the Red as he feels necessary to accompany him. If it is in his will to choose Brother Galan, then she too must go.
Brother Liyan paled visibly again, yet would make the protest he had repeated over and over in his thoughts in preparation for this very moment. My queen, have you considered what it is you do? The Red are your chosen protectors. It will soon be too late to—
Shielding their thoughts and slamming the cubicle’s door abruptly, Queen Mother didn’t allow Brother Liyan to finish. Black walls mirrored her increasingly somber mood, for these were the very thoughts she had sought to cleanse away through her meditation. Precisely, was her response and the Brother Liyan’s eyes went wide.
My queen… Brother Liyan didn’t understand.
Good Brother, savor this feeling on a future day, but for now know that I am fully cognizant of my actions. I am the living prophet of my people, am I not? I know very well what it is I do… If I as Queen Mother, the heart and soul of my people, cannot pay the dearest of prices for the ridding of the greatest of ailments, then I, and all, fail the greatest of tests… Brother Seth is our only hope. He will fight to survive where others would surely succumb. Never have I seen such faith. Never have I seen such determination. He must believe he can succeed. And he must truly strive for this.
My queen, Brother Liyan gasped. I truly did not know or understand, forgive me.
There is no need for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. We each have our parts in this and we must play them out. We have waited too long to act. Sathar has the ear of King Mark. Our people return to the lands of Man… There was evident sadness in her voice.
Brother Galan, called out Queen Mother.
Galan opened her brown eyes and cleared her thoughts. Queen Mother?
Leave us now. Tell Brother Seth I await his presence…
Galan fixed her eyes upon Brother Liyan. Remember your place, her deep-probing stare said. Then she quickly departed the chamber.
***
Out of breath from the long run, Vilmos doubled over. The sharp pain in his sides told him the run had been especially good. The way he figured it, if the walk from his father’s house to the edge of the woods took thirty minutes one way and he ran it in five, he had nearly an hour to do whatever he pleased.
After the pain and the spots before his eyes passed, Vilmos quickly stretched. He knew from experience if his leg muscles were too tense or if he strained a muscle, he’d have to walk—or limp—home. Upon finishing, he put on his boots. He preferred to run barefoot; otherwise, the boots gave him blisters.
The air grew suddenly cold as an icy wind howled up the little country path that parted the dark wood. It was then that Vilmos noticed how quiet the woods were that morning.
He stared long into the dark wood—keeper of his secrets—as he often did. Here his childhood dreams had been realized. In the shadow of the great trees, he could run screaming as loud as he pleased, slay fire-breathing dragons by the score, discover incredible lost treasures, play with imaginary friends, and still return home on time—well, usually.
Vilmos easily collected a large bundle of light wood from the nearby thicket, and then laid it aside. The wind howled. He stared up the overgrown path. He never ventured very far into the woods—only far enough to be within their shadows, yet close enough to still see the sunlight of the clearing beyond.
He heard what sounded like footsteps. He turned and stared, but saw only shadows. An alarm went off in his mind. He picked up a large branch and wielded it before him.
“Hello?” he called out, “Is someone there?”
Movement in the shadows caught his eye. For an instant, he could have sworn he saw an old man carrying a gnarled cane.
“Hel-lo?”
Holding the stick before him, in what to him seemed a menacing pose, Vilmos crept into the shadows of the dark woods. Leaves crunched beneath his boots. He grimaced. Movement caught his careful eye again. He turned, raising the stick, ready to strike, then stopped cold. He saw a mound of black fur and dark eyes, a great black bear, kin of the much smaller browns the village huntsmen often sought.
The giant bear was no more than five feet away.
Two days ago in Olex Village, one of the three villages in their cluster, a young girl had been mauled to death by a bear. Vilmos didn’t want to share her fate. He stood perfectly still, his heart racing so fast it seemed to want to jump out of his chest. Then the great beast reared up on its hind legs. Terror gripped Vilmos’ mind. Warm urine raced down his legs. His every thought told him to run, but he couldn’t. It was as if he was frozen to the spot where he stood.
His eyes bulging, he stared at the bear, sure any moment it would swing one of its mighty paws and that would be the end of it. He didn’t want to die; he had so many dreams left unfulfilled.
Again, a voice in his mind screamed, Run! But he could not.
Images from his nightmare became real. In the nightmare, the dark priests had come for him and, like now, he had been unable to run. In the dream, blue flames conjured from his fright and desperation had lashed out at the priests. The priests had merely laughed and still they had taken him.
As if conjured again from his fear and desperation, the forbidden magic came. Vilmos felt a prickling sensation—raw energy—in his fingertips. In his mind, he screamed No! at himself and the bear. What if this was the one time too many? What if this was the time that made the dark priests come for him? Then he asked himself the final what if. What if the bear charged now?
One swipe of its powerful paw was all it would take to end his young life. The girl from Olex Village had been taken nearly so.
What had the village huntsmen said about bears? Had the girl not run when she should have? Or ran when she shouldn’t have? Vilmos couldn’t remember. He stared directly at the bear. It was sniffing the air as if insulted that it was crosswinds from him. Then suddenly it dropped to all fours—Vilmos was sure this was it, this was the end. The bear would charge, swipe and he would die.
The bear roared. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tight. A scream built in his throat, but died as it escaped his lips. Silence followed.
Vilmos waited—surely the great bear must be charging—and waited. The forest was deadly still. Vilmos inched one eye open, then the other. The bear was gone. Astonished, both his eyes grew wide. He stared into the shadows. Listened.
Nothing.
He sniffed the air; there was a strange scent in it. Scorched wood. Burnt flesh. Singed hair. All three?
Slowly, Vilmos edged forward until he was directly in front of one of the forest’s giant oaks. He ran his hands along two still warm scorch marks in the tree’s trunk. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He had done what he shouldn’t have. He had conjured the blue flames.
Suddenly remembering breakfast and the woodpile, he turned his gaze to the forest’s edge. He saw the sun in the clearing and ran for its safety.
***
Seth glanced at the piles of scrolls and tomes spread across his desk. No matter what Queen Mother had told him, there was no way he could remain unaffected by such writings. The fact that she wouldn’t listen to his protests only served to agitate him.
Focus, Seth told himself. He set one of the leather-bound tomes before him, tried to convince himself he wanted to read it, then after a long pause opened it. The book was titled, “Courtship rituals of the noble class.” He read the first page without any difficulty; it was an introduction. In fact, he waded his way through three entire chapters without any difficulty.
Yet, he wasn’t expecting to find a drawing as he turned the page to chapter four. Disgusted, he pushed the book away. There was no way he would continue to study such perversity. His thoughts were cluttered, so much had happened yesterday.
He focused his thoughts on the breeze blowing outside the protected fields of Sanctuary. He raced with the swells, danced in the swirls and accompanied the currents into the heavens. There was moisture in the clouds. This was good. The rain was needed to quench the dryness of the earth.
Peace of mind swept over Seth. The will of the land found him. He pushed away the troubled thoughts of today and yesterday, and returned to the book. Hastily, he turned to the next page and began to read.
Without announcement, a figure clad in red burst into the room. Seth looked up from his studies only long enough to see it was Brother Galan. He glanced up once more to see her prepare for a bath, then his thoughts returned to the book.
You study too much. You need to relax… whispered a soft voice in his mind, You should join me.
Seth looked up again to see Galan standing before him. I wish I could.
Is it true then what I’ve heard? Galan sent strong emotions with the words, longing and curiosity.
For the first time as he looked at her, Seth saw Galan as different, beautiful. Suddenly uneasy and not understanding why, Seth stared down at his books. Their strange ideas pollute my mind even now.
Then it is true.
Seth wavered his head left and then right in acknowledgment.
Galan asked, What do you find most odd about them?
Seth smiled. Galan had the insatiable curiosity of a preborn child. She held the same view of looking at the world. She saw things as flashes of colors and feelings. Only Galan would ask what he found most odd about them. I find them most odd. Everything about them. This notion of marriage. Their idea of distinct gender. Their class structure. They would find me calling you, Brother, very odd.
Why is that? Galan scratched at her side. Why has Queen Mother told you to study their ways?
Will you stand my watch again this day?
Galan answered not with words, but with feelings, playfulness.
There were times Seth could easily forget Galan had only recently ascended. At times like now, however, he was painfully aware of it. Galan had many seasons of maturing ahead. Yet, Seth also knew that beneath the facade of youth lurked a mind that was quick and strong, already nearly a match for his own—which when he had ascended had also been advanced. In twelve short seasons, Galan had become the second highest of the Red Order.
Galan sent him impatience.
Seth shook his head again. All right, all right, I’ll join you… One hour away from my studies will do more good than harm.
Chapter Three:
It Begins
Days passed. News of the messenger from the Far South spread throughout Imtal Palace. Word in the halls was that it had been a personal message from King Charles of Sever. Something was terribly wrong in the small Kingdom of Sever, though none knew what it was. To Adrina it seemed servants knew more about the visit than she did. She had always been adept at gathering bits of information and tying them together, finding connections between the smallest of occurrences when there seemed none, which gave her enormous pleasure—a small triumph in an otherwise gray, boring world. She had truly done her best to listen outside the chamber doors, but had not succeeded.
Now it seemed she had a second chance. She was sure another messenger had just arrived. The palace heralds had just sounded in greeting, and minutes earlier she had heard the outer city heralds’ trumpeting calls. Adrina glanced at the flowing blue gown Lady Isador was still in the process of hemming—Lady Isador wouldn’t hear of allowing a servant to do the work. “Proper hands do proper work,” she had said and chased the servants away. That had been hours ago. It was now well past midday.
The clatter of hooves against the stones of the outer courtyard caused Adrina to jump and turn.
