Mortal gods, p.11
Mortal Gods, page 11
Lord Darian Firth was the Keeper of Coin, the man who was charged with the welfare of Hyule’s financial health. He was followed by two other men and a woman. Lord Herald Gray, Master of Shadows, Lady Gretchen Rose, emissary to the Kalutha Faith and Ser Donald Sans, Captain of the City Guard. Together, along with the King and General Kauto, they formed the beating heart of Hyule. In this very room, they had constructed plans and raised schemes to further the city and rebuild everything that was lost in the war. But now it was different. Khalen welcomed them to the table uneasily, each of them earning a suspicion he knew he must conceal from them.
Beware False Friends. And so the King would.
He and General Kauto had thought it best to keep the contents of Preacher Warren’s letter between them, at least until they could discover who the subject of it was.
“Shall we begin?” Kauto said, taking his seat by the King’s right hand.
“Allow me, if you will?” Lord Herald said, clearing his throat. He was a fat man with rosy cheeks and jet black hair that played a part in accentuating how pale his skins was. He wore glasses of very thin frames that hung off a crooked nose which appeared broken, but never reset. “I have been brought some interesting developments of the Faith’s movements in the city. As we were already aware, they may be extorting some of the businesses around Knights Corner. But my Shadows have been reporting naked chatter of commoners disappearing. Until recently there was no concrete evidence of any wrong doing but I have on good authority that none other than the Knight Captain was seen in the Northern District, threatening the life of a young girl.” Lord Herald was the Master of Shadows, or as King Khalen called him, the Master of Assassins. In his own words, Lord Herald described himself as a purveyor of information. It made little sense at first, but when he elaborated that his operatives were everywhere, just like shadows, Khalen let him have it.
“Do we know why?” Kauto asked.
“It appears that the Knight-Captain may have been pursuing another and the girl was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Any word on the one who was being pursued?” Khalen asked, edging forward on the table.
“No. None. It is like the boy barely exists. But no matter, the Shadows will always find you, eventually.”
“Could the boy have been a simple thief or is there more to this?” Kauto asked.
“Perhaps. This whole episode demonstrates an escalation in the recent policy of the Faith. These disappearances are still hearsay, but the Faith’s growing aggression is evident.” Lord Herald said.
“Is this not a matter for the City Guard to Resolve?” Kauto said, looking to Ser Donald.
“May I offer a suggestion?” Lord Herald said abruptly, before Ser Donald hand mustered his words.
“By all means.” Khalen replied.
“A sit down with the Divine of the Faith may be forthcoming, best to arrange on the terms of the Crown, no?” Lord Herald said. The Divine. Khalen hated the self-anointed title that the Kalutha had bestowed upon their leader. It smacked of self-important, pompousness which the King just couldn’t abide. The Divine vacated all other names he was once known by, even his own, fully embracing the title of Divine.
“Lord Herald speaks the truth of it, Your Grace. Each time we sit at this table we have more grave news of the Kalutha Faith.” Lady Gretchen Rose said. “My own contacts within the Faith have slowly withered away to but a few, and getting information they would rather us not have, is becoming more challenging.”
Lady Gretchen was an older woman of fifty, with a thin waist and big bust that caught the eye of men almost as much as her piercing brown eyes. Her hair was greying in parts, but the thick weave of brown and the sun kissed tan of her skin made her appear younger.
The King and Kauto traded a knowing look before the King turned back to the table and spoke, “A meet with the Divine is already set. We foresaw certain aspects of this escalation in the last sitting of this council.”
“Lady Gretchen, tell us more of your contacts?” Kauto asked.
“The Faith has rapidly radicalised the common man. In year past I have had eyes in congregations, in sermons, inside the inner circle of Preachers, but now it has dwindled. Before the Daemon War, there was hardly a soul who believed in the Gods let alone those things we had to face. People were scared, the Faith offered a supposed higher calling to them in return for protection. At the rate I am losing contacts, I believe my role as Emissary to the Kalutha Faith may be redundant in near future.”
“What would we look to accomplish by sitting down with a man who has overseen such a rueful shift in the Faith’s identity?” Lord Darian said.
“Maybe there is space for a shared burden inside these walls.” Ser Donald said, before adding, “Your Grace.”
Khalen liked the Captain of the City Guard. He was an honest man whose hard work was written into the lines in his face, the sag in his back and the callouses on his hands. Ser Donald had an old head with old views, but he could always be counted on to call a spade a spade.
“Ser Donald?” Khalen said beckoning him to continue.
“I am not proud to admit it, but the City Guard are afraid of the Faith. These knights respect nothing but their Faith and see everyone else as inferior or worse. They flounder our laws so frequently, my men have trouble deciding which to challenge them on.” Ser Donald said.
“Ser Donald, I understand that we have placed great pressures on your shoulders to appease any violence, but the men of the City Guard must draw their own line. There is a time for appeasement and a time to push back and show the Faith that the King is still the absolute law in this kingdom. Kauto said, his voice strewn with edge.
“For the avoidance of doubt, what are your orders?” Ser Donald said.
“This city belongs to the Crown. Make sure they know this and I will make sure the Divine knows the same.” King Khalen said strongly. “Is there any other business?”
“The tournament, Your Grace.” General Kauto said stiffly. As long as Khalen could remembered, Kauto hated the tournaments that were held on the anniversary of the Daemon War. It was a mixture of things in truth. They reminded the old General of that fateful day in the shattered courtyard of Perulda, when he stood over Aeon’s father, Septimus and watched the life drift out of his eyes. But it was also the fanfare and the characters it attracted. Seroyah was the home of the largest tourney in the realm. Some five thousand combatants were expected again this year, with the vast baulk coming from as far afield as the Freemarches in the east. There was no honour in tourney duels, fighting for money using blunted weapons. Kauto couldn’t abide it.
“Yes, Your Grace, the details of your procession through the city must be worked out.”
“There will be no procession this year, Ser Donald.” General Kauto answered quickly.
“No?” The knight replied, confused.
“In light of the Kalutha’s heightened aggression within the city, and the impending audience with the Divine, it has been decided to be more cautious. I will still take my place in attendance in the final duel of the tourney.” Khalen said.
“As you wish, Your Grace. Does this mean the Royal Guard will not be at my disposal during the tournament?” Ser Donald asked.
“All Knights in the Royal Guard will be under your command except Ser Tremain, Ser Ulises and Ser Mallen. Each will be at the King’s side until further notice.” General Kauto said. This drew an unsettled look from eah of the council members.
“Is there something that we should know?” Lord Herald asked. The fat Lord always had to be in the know.
“No.” Khalan answered shortly.
“Very well,” Lord Herlad sniffed, but it was evident he was not convinced, “while we are tending the subject of the tournament, I believe it prudent to advise that it is poised to be the most profitable for the Kingdom’s treasury yet. I project some three hundred thousand gold to be collected after our outlays are settled.” Lord Herald said, with a lick of satisfaction.
That was another reason Kauto hated the tournament. It was about the gold, not the memory of the dead. The expense of hosting the tourney was providing the Septimus’ Square as the staging ground, and a banquet to end all others. On top of that there was compensating businesses for the inevitable trouble they would endure from an overcrowded city, erecting temporary accommodation and stables outside the city walls, paying the salary and overtime of the City Guard and of course, the extra Mercenaries that were added for security. Before the Daemon War, it was known as the Royal Square, located slap bang in the middle of the most densely populated area of the city, the Western District. The merchants came from far afield, and brought their wares. Jewellery, runes, artefacts – mostly fakes, and also food.
There was something about the meat dragged in from the Freemarches that made it gold dust to northerners. In particular, Khalen could always remember the smell of a roasted sheber tiger, a type that was indigenous only to the eastern lands. It made the mouth salivate with its rich, sweet smell but the eyes burned with its natural spice.
But that was child’s play compared to where the baulk of the gold was made. Around a tenth of the income was made on taxes by the Crown on any goods sold inside the city. The rest came from the levy they collected from the wagers that were placed upon the duels. Seroyah was a city where the line between poverty and wealth was so blurred, it was difficult to tell which was which. The poor lived like the rich, and the rich lived like they were poor. This was especially true when it came to wagers on the tournament. For the last three years, Tyros Almarra had won the tournament in Seroyah, taking home the top purse of ten thousand gold coins. But there had been rumours in the taverns and across the docks that the travelling Merc was not in Seroyah this year.
“Good, see to it that it is spent to train and arm more men for the City Guard.” King Khalen said. “Two hundred should suffice for now.”
“Two hundred, Your Grace?” Ser Donald asked, clearly shocked.
“Yes.” Khalen answered.
“Your Grace, forgive me, but where are we to find two hundred good men, untouched by the Faith?”
“You don’t. I Will.” General Kauto said.
“I will send a bird to the Dwarves of the Steel Mountains. They craft the finest armour and swords in the realm.” Khalen said.
“They have scarcely been sited around the Trenches in recent years! I would be shocked if they’re even still alive!” Darrain scoffed.
“They’re alive.” Kauto said disapprovingly of such a comment, but he expected little else from Lord Darrian.
“If there is no more to discuss…” King Khalen said, standing from his chair.
“There is the matter of Kalusca…” General Kauto said, somewhat despondent.
“Ah, yes.” Khalen said, looking to the others around the table. “General Kauto will be attending the tourney in Kalusca this year.”
“That seems unnecessary, Your Grace?” Lord Herald said. “Surely the General would be a great asset in the forthcoming duel with the Divine?
“Do you not trust your King to lead the way?” Kauto snapped.
“Not at all. I merely believe there is no substitute for experience.” Lord Herald quickly rebutted.
“I understand your concerns, but they are misplaced, Lord Herald.” Khalen said calmly. “Ser Fallon reported that there is some unrest in the Kalusca. General Kauto is needed there to settle the locals more than he is needed here at this moment.”
“When do you depart?” Lord Darrian asked.
“Imminently.” Kauto replied.
“The Divine is a shrewd man, well versed in the dark arts of politics, you should tread very carefully, Your Grace.” Lady Gretchen said.
With the meeting at its close the council members mumbled their exits as they left, leaving only the King and the General, alone in the audience chamber.
“What do you think?” Khalen asked, sitting back down.
“Difficult to tell. I don’t believe this enemy Preacher Warren spoke of will be so easily exposed. Lady Gretchen has spent long years immersed in the Faith. I would council we keep a keen eye on her.” Kauto said.
“Ser Donald is too old and too loyal for the stain of treason. Lord Herald on the other hand, runs spies for a living, so that’s anyone’s guess. Lord Darian is a man a very few words, difficult to read.” Khalen added.
“When I am gone, keep your council close to you at all costs. If there is a traitor in the camp, let us not make it easy for them.”
“Agreed.” The King replied, quickly.
Kauto rose from his seat and strode to the far wall where the window overlooked the battlements of the Royal Keep. He grabbed a flagon of wine and poured two small cups, placing one in front of Khalen,
“What are we drinking to?” Khalen said, leaning back in his chair. “Good health? Vast Wealth?”
“To the secrets our secrets keep.” Kauto said with a hint of sarcasm. “The Divine wants something from you.”
“Of course.” The King replied.
“Lady Gretchen was not wrong, the Divine is a seasoned politician and a master wordsmith. He has verbally jousted with the best of them and come off the better. We should not underestimate his reach. The fact he has accepted this meeting, leads me to believe he has his own agenda. He will ask for something. It will be something substantial that only the Crown can grant.”
“The Kalutha stopped asking permission a long time ago.” Khalen surmised.
Kauto remained in silent thought for a few moments then necked the bottom of his cup and placed it on the table. “Best make my preparations for my journey.” He stood from the table but was stopped short of the door before he could leave.
“How has it come to this? How did their reach become so vast?” Khalen asked, but he knew the answer in himself already. The Daemon Wars.
“When there are people who can conjure magic, Gods waging wars in our streets for a prize we hold no stake in – the people will look for answers. The Faith simply had the most convincing lie.” The General said sourly, patted his young King on the shoulder and left.
It was not long after, but the King eventually found his feet and followed him out the door. When the frame closed at his back, the hallway was crowded with men in steel plate and longswords. Ser Tremaine was the tallest knight of the trio, and perhaps the most fearsome of them as well. Before the knights of the Hyulian army were forbidden from entering the tourneys, Ser Tremaine was a mainstay. Winning two of his three entries, his last seen him lose the final melee against a very young Tyross Almarra. Khalen was by no means small, standing at around six foot, but even then, Ser Tremaine was a good head and shoulders above him. His eyes were in a constant glare, a stare that whispered the names of the men he had killed like they lived within. His greying black hair almost hinted at his mortality, but in all other ways, Ser Tremaine was daunting unit of a man.
“Your Grace.” Ser Mallen said. He was a knight who never forgot his courtesies nor manners, but mistaking that for softness was perilous to his would be foes. His armour was polished to a shine and his red cloak dangled by his ankles. Ser Alistair Mallen was among the Hyulian men left standing when the battle of Perulda had fallen silent, but Khalen had never asked him about that day.
Of course if the King wanted to know, he could simply order the knight to spill all and his subject would have no alternative but to relive every last detail he recalled about the final moments of his father’s life, but dragging memories such as those from a man, seemed too cruel. He had scarcely asked Kauto about that day either, but that was more the General’s reluctance to be more forthcoming rather than the King’s indifference. He had too much respect for the warriors who had battled alongside his father. Khalen had already built a narrative in his own mind, a time line of how the battle unfolded and the heroism displayed. Asking these men to reveal the true details could taint the heroic foundations of his father’s legacy. Of what Khalen did know, his father and his men marched forth from Kalusca, on the back of repelling a horde of the Necuratu. He knew that those men marched three hundred miles in ten days. He knew they were exhausted and outnumbered, but they marched and they fought, knowing the Black King awaited them - death awaited them. Those men gave everything and more to their King as he did them.
“I am to retire to my chambers, Ser Mallen.” The King said.
“Very well, Your Grace.” He replied.
Ser Ulises lead the way through the bright corridors while Ser Malin and Ser Tremain followed closely behind. The bare stone seemed to make the Keep feel colder than it actually was, not even the naked flames of the torches providing a warmth to soothe. The Royal Keep itself was vast, inside walls of tall stone and manned battlements, it was a fortress within a fortress. Most of the Keeps in Thaurel were built by the same minds of the same time, but Seroyah was unique. Where the others were built in cylindrical towers joint at the foot by smaller structures, Seroyah was constructed from the core. Beyond the gates of gold, there were grand stairs that, when not covered in the northern snow, were wide and proud. Flanked at either side, were guard posts where there was not a passing moment when they were not manned by the Royal Guard. As the stairs levelled off, the Royal Keep emerged from the stone and screamed high into the air, higher than any other in the realm. The first level is one in the same, a great rectangular mass of stone and granite, decorated by sculptures of gargoyles and Kings that overlook the city. The second level was taller and slimmer. At the third and highest level, the minds of old seen their influence come to fruition with the cylindrical tower of the King’s Peace. This was where the King headed now. He trod through the corridors and up a flight of stairs, flanked closely by his trio of Royal Guard. They became shifty and Ser Tremaine pushed ahead of the King, joining Ser Ulises at the lead while Ser Mallen pulled the King closer to him, his hand gripped around the hilt of his sword. Ahead of them in the corridor towards his solar, was a young boy, red of hair and his cheeks flushed even redder, puffing for breathe.
