Mortal gods, p.20
Mortal Gods, page 20
“They simply told the better lies.” General Kauto had told him a few days earlier.
By the looks of the people within Khalen’s own city, he wasn’t wrong. They hissed and backed away from him. Some even spat on the ground their horses had yet to tread over. He was the King, but he felt no love.
“This is surreal.” Khalen said, but none of his companions seemed to hear him.
They descended Septimus’ Hill and into Wagners Square and the crowds parted even quicker than before. Ser Tremaine brought them to a halt part way through the square and turned to the King, “Your Grace, we may be well served to turn back.”
“Why?” The King asked, looking around for the cause of his alarm, but all he seen was eyes of the commons. The Knight waved a gentle hand around without drawing too much attention, and it took the King a moment to realise it was the eyes he worried about.
“This district is flooded with people.” He said. “The Faith knows our route.”
“We must press through.” The King said.
“Your Grace, these people have been put here for a reason.” Ser Royce added.
“Nevertheless, meeting with the Devine is crucial.” Khalan said, lookgn around the square. “We press on.”
“As you say, Your Grace.” Ser Tremaine said, but Khalen could tell he was not at ease with the decision. Exiting the square was a relief, as the crowded buildings on either side of the street provided some much needed shelter from the prying eyes of the many.
“Didn’t you tell me the Faith had a strong presence of knights in the city?” Ser Royce asked.
“They do.” Ser Tremaine replied, but by the look on his face, he knew what Royce alluded to.
“Then where are they?”
Khalen threw a short glance over his shoulder and realised that they had not seen a single Kalutha Knight since they left the Royal Keep. It was an oddity in itself, but on this day, it was no coincidence. The cathedral climbed over the surrounding buildings until they exited onto its grounds. The Kalutha had claimed a fair portion of the southern district for the cathedral grounds, in amove Khalan had been told was empty. They asked permission, it was denied, and then they went and started building it anyway. Khalen was very young when it happened, but Kauto had told him no more, than he “chose the lesser of two evils.”
They trotted through the open gate one by one then formed around the King again. At the head of tall stairs which crawled up to massive oak doors, only two Knights in dark blue cloaks with the eternal tree etched onto steel breast plates, guarded the door.
“There should be more.” Ser Tremaine said. Khalen dismounted Thor and climbed the stairs, Ser Tremaine and Ser Royce in tow, but the rest of the part remained.
“Wait here.” King Khalen said, climbing the last two steps on his own.
“Your Grace, at least take me.” Ser Tremaine said, his voice dashed in alarm. Khalen nodded and the pair strode up the stairs.
“Be on your guard, we don’t know what’s going on here!” Tremaine warned.
“Good day.” The King bid, but both Knights just glared straight through him.
“It is courtesy to bow to yout King and name him Your Grace!” Ser Tremaine snapped, his anger stroked.
“Now, now,” Khalen laughed, but flashed a strong gaze at the knight, “let us not be rude to our hosts.”
The Kalutha Knight turned away and shoved the door open without a word. It was a strong double oak door with white metal decoration of the eternal tree on each door which formed the symbol of the Kalutha when closed. When it swung open, the King was met with the actual Eternal Tree. At the head of the congregation, underneath vast windows of coloured glass, a sapphire light glowed from a tree bare of leaves.
Of course the tree wasn’t real, it was made from lightening glass and reshaped on a forge. To the unassuming or those who desperately desired answers for every happening in the world, the Eternal Tree of the Kalutha was a marvellous thing. It had the potential to mystify and captivate, but not the King. Lord Herald had his Shadows dig up the secret to this particular trick with the light and the truth of it was uninspiring to say the least. It was a tiny fragment of an Elemento orb that the Faith recovered during the Black King’s slaughter of the in the Daemon War. Pressed tightly to the floor underneath the glass, it only had to touch but a small portion to be amplified and spewed through the room.
“They just had a better lie.” Khalen said looking at the tree.
“The Divine awaits upstairs. Please follow me.” A Preacher in a white, hooded robe said.
“Preacher Thomas.” King Khalen greeted warmly, but his warmth was returned in the form of a cold stare. “I expected the Divine to greet us personally.”
“The Divine sends his apologies. Please, follow me.” Preacher Thomas said with a vacant tone. Khalen hesitated to follow him at first, sharing a look with Ser Tremaine. When the Knight didn’t react, Khalen patted down the sword on his waist and looked to Tremaine.
Why haven’t they disarmed us?
All Preachers of the Faith were devoted to the ideals and religion they preached. One of their tests of devotion was to accept dropping their family names and renounce all possessions and any lands to the Faith. Khalen always found them very vacant, almost like there was nobody turning the cogs behind their eyes.
The King and Ser Tremaine followed the Preacher past the Eternal Tree and between two pillars which hid a yawning staircase. The marble steps climbed high and turned away behind the wall but they also crawled down into a darkened pit, where for just a moment, Khalen could swear he heard voices drifting around in the darkness. The Preacher climbed the stairs, then up another set before turning into a corridor lined with the portraits of former Divines who had seen their days come and go.
“My father hated that one.” Khalen said pointing at the perfectly finished portrait of the twelfth Divine. He was a stocky man with a thin beard and wandering eyes. “Kauto told me he was a real bastard.” Of course this was all Khalen had to go on of his father’s quirks and traits; the General.
“I remember that one. He was.” Ser Tremaine agreed.
At the end of the corridor they climbed another set of steps and were confronted by a tall oak door barbed in decorative spikes. They pushed through into the Preachers Circle and descended the small steps closest the door to the centre of the room. In a lot of ways it resembled the courts of Seroyah, only it was a cylindrical chamber, where each and every seat in the room was pointed to the centre of the room. The torches hung from the walls which harboured the viewing gallery, licking shadows up its opposite. Khalne could feel the tension in the air, and the apprehension of the big knight, who tightly gripped the hilt of his sword.
“King Aeon Khalen of Hyule, First of his Name, Protector of the Northern Kingdom, Last of his Line.” The formalities offered by Preacher Thomas were dented by the not so subtle cleaving slash in the end of his introduction. It wasn’t customary for that to be mentioned, but Khalen had no doubt it was a jab intended to rile him at the last moment.
“Ser Tremaine, remind me to produce an heir.” The King said with steel in his voice, glaring at the Preacher.
“You are not alone!” A shrill, older voice snapped.
It belonged to the Divine who marched into the room from a false wall panel. He was a short man with many lines written across his face and a scowl that never usually seen the public eye. The centre spot of his head was completely bald, but was vacant the cap, that was the hallmark of the Devine. His robes where a long and grand helping of dark blue velvet with golden embroidery. Khalen pondered Knight-Commander Krone’s words and he began to fill with doubt. He traded a knowing look with Ser Tremaine that only served to agitate the knight further.
“Explain yourself!” The Divine spat. “Preacher Thomas, what is the meaning?!”
The Preacher said nothing. He observed the Divine with the same coldness that he had held in regard for Khalen.
“Something isn’t right.” Khalen said quietly.
The Divine demanded Preacher Thomas explain himself once more, but he ignored him, before he walked slowly back up the steps and straight out of the tall oak door. There was a vacant silence that filled the room, nobody within really knowing what was going on.
“Have you come here to kill me?” The Divine asked with a certain wobble.
“I…” Khalen said, but he was confused.
He tried to piece together what had happened to lead him here. He re-examined every detail of his meeting with Krone to find the falsehoods, but there was nothing he could allude to that was obvious.
“Krone wanted us here, in this room. Why?” Khalen said, turning to Tremaine.
“I do not know, Your Grace, but we should leave. Now.” He replied.
“You cannot leave so soon!” Knight-Commander Krone called. Khalen turned just in time to see the same wall panel shift to the side and through it walk Krone.
“What is this, Krone?” Khalen demanded.
“It looks very much like an assassination attempt to me.” Krone replied with a smile. “So many weapons in the Divine’s presence.”
He sauntered over to the table in the middle of the room and placed a dagger down on the wood. Khalen’s heart leapt as his earlier suspicions about the Preacher not removing their weapons became clear. It only became compounded when he recognised the dagger as the one General Kauto gave to him on his eighteenth birthday. The blade was old and ceremonial but it still carried a sharp edge that could rip a man’s flesh apart.
“Your Grace…” Ser Tremaine said, but Khalen was miles away. The thing he hadn’t quite seen earlier was bashing his head in like a war hammer.
“The crowds of people in the streets…” Khalen mused aloud.
“Do you know how much silver it costs to move that many people without explanation?” Krone said with a smile.
“Krone. What are you doing?” The Divine asked, his voice shrill with annoyance.
“I am sorry, but this is merely the nature of politics.” He replied sympathetically. Krone lifted the dagger and plunged it into the Divine’s throat. The blade ripped through his neck and out the other side before the old man could ever raise his voice. The body rattled the floor with a thud and Krone threw the dagger back onto the table. He withdrew a cloth from the desk and began to wipe the Devine’ blood from his hands, as though it was mere water.
“The people have seen their King march through the streets with an armed procession, on his way to the Cathedral. They will hear of his heinous butchering of the Divine and they will howl from the rooftops for your blood.” Krone said, still smiling.
“Why not just kill me?” Khalen spat.
“Assassinate a King and he becomes a martyr. Assassinate his character and his people will kill him for you.” Krone said, looking down at the Divine.
“You’re fucking insane!” Khalen yelled.
“Oh, on the contrary, young King, I am very much of sound mind.” His smile was callous and fixed with menace now. “I should have mentioned by now, but your men outside will have company very shortly.” Krone hushed with a grin. “Goodbye Aeon, and good luck.”
Khalen and Ser Tremaine took off running from the chamber and down the stairs. The clattering of their footsteps echoed everywhere throughout the cathedral, but there was no time for discretion.
“Double the City Guard, I don’t care where you find the men, if they have hands put a blade in it!” Khalen said as they dashed.
At the summit of the steps they were greeted with a single Kalutha Knight, but as Ser Tremaine drew his steel, the Knight simply stepped aside and gestured they pass. It was unexpected but they had no time to question it. They bust into the congregation and could hear the rabble of voices outside. Making for the door, Khalan’s hand fell to his sword and he almost drew it towards a boy, crouched low behind the benches. He never got a clear look but Khalen took him for a simple prayer seeker and pressed on towards the door.
The sunlight blasted through the crack and engulfed the King in a blinding shine. When the glare cleared, the King’s hand sank to his blade and his stomach sank even further. Blood had already been shed. There was four men clad in armour already scattered across the stairs, but he wasn’t sure who they were until he looked to the faces that stood at the stairs summit. Ser Berrick Dunlash and Ser Jorah Friend were the only two missing from the King’s guard, and a closer glance at the crimson cloaked man closest the door, showed the gaping throat of the latter.
“They came out of nowhere, Your Grace.” Ser Mallen said, gathering his breath. The other two men who lay dead were Kalutha Knights, but they were only two of the dozen who stormed the Cathedrals yard.
“They have the numbers.” Ser Ethan stammered.
Khalen looked straight through his bright blue eyes and seen the yellow stain of fear.
“Ten to five isn’t that bad? Two each?” Ser Royce said, with a hint of laughter. There was something in his eyes that glowed with a confidence the King had only ever seen in General Kauto.
“Stay close, watch the man to your left.” Ser Tremaine said. The crisp rasping of ripping steel being drawn from its home rattled around the Cathedral grounds. Word had spread that there was some sort of confrontation, and the crowd quickly began to flock.
“Spare them if you can. Kill them if you must.” Khalen said.
The five moved down the steps as the Kalutha Knights moved up. It was an inopportune moment, but Khalen had suddenly realised he had never swung the sword in his hands let alone killed another with it. It was a simple sword with a golden handle and a razor edge. The first knight broke from the ranks and charged Ser Treamine, but the big knight was ready for him. He swotted aside the knight’s sword, like he would a fly, and ripped his own through the joint at the shoulder of his mail. The Kalutha Knight went down with a scream and rolled down the stairs.
“Nine.” Tremaine said. Ser Royce leapt forward from the line and cleaved one down with a swoop of his broad sword. Khalen had heard the stories, but he scarce believed them. Royce moved as swift as a mountain lion and as deadly as one too. No sooner had he cut down his first man, he sliced the throat of the second. “EIGHT! SEVEN!”
Khalen was dragged back to the fight, parrying a blow from the knight that shocked his arms into action. The reverberation danced around his muscles for a moment before he cut back. His blade scraped across the Knights breast plate, scratching it as it went, but he ate a forceful jab to the face from the same man. The King stumbled and almost lost his footing on the steps, but he pushed himself back to balance with his free hand and cut at the knight again. The skill with which his blow was parried told him this man was better with a blade than he was. The metal sang against each other until the sword of Ser Mallen burst through the knights skull. Blood splattered over his face to join the gentle trickle that had been rolling from his mouth.
“FOUR!” Ser Mallen called.
It may have been the adrenaline pulsing through their bodies, but Khalen felt like they were enjoying this. Particularly Ser Royce. His black hair was stained crimson as he slashed the face of one Knight and planted his blade through the throat of another, all in the same movement. “THREE, TWO!”
His jovial spirit was dampened by the curdling scream of Ser Ethan. The blood gargled from his mouth when the Knight pulled his sword from his chest. He had been hit with such force that the blade had smashed through the metal links in his chain mail and tore into his heart. The screams died and so did Ser Ethan. Tremaine and Royce blasted forward quickly and ended the remaining two knights. “Zero.” Ser Royce said quietly.
The crowd had gathered around the gates and the fences of the Cathedral. Some had even climbed the walls for a better look and perched there, staring in stunned silence.
“We should go.” Ser Tremaine said stiffly. He eyed the wall with a weary caution and hushed a few quiet orders to the remaining Kingsguard, and they filtered in around the King. All except Tremaine himself who went to fetch the King’s horse before bundling him onto it. The crowd began to jeer and whistle and they knew it was only a matter of time before it grew uglier. Ser Tremaine gathered his own horse and the other followed suit. As they galloped from the Cathedral’s yard, Khalen was in a trance. His head swam with what ifs and notions of what he should have done differently. But the only thing he could settle on for certain; he needed Kauto by his side again.
Chapter 10
The Wolf Within
Mirav
“Ten thousand gold pieces!” Lord Juror boomed.
The Chamber of the Speaker had been in session for hours now, longer than Mirav had cared to count. But the Chieftain’s mind had been elsewhere. Every now and then he was called upon to add one of two words – yes or no. The way the Assembly conducted itself was both a help and a hindrance to whomever sat at its head. On the one hand, it required little input from the Chieftain other than to confirm that a deal was acceptable or not. But on the other hand, it had the tendency to descent into somewhat of a heated garble of furious voices and general chaos.
Today, it was the latter. Mirav only half paid attention, often being prompted by Milan, who sat next to him on a smaller throne, to meet his cues of formalising the business. It was his affliction, it had stolen his mind from the moment and warped his body into a curious state of laissez-faire.
