Bruce Blake - Spirit of the King

They looked at their king, waiting for him to tell them why he’d summoned them. It must have surprised them-thus far in his rule, he’d refused their counsel, not even speaking with them before he opened the gates to their enemy, giving up the fortress for the first time in a thousand years. He knew they weren’t pleased by his actions, but the woman had forced his hand. Another action he’d change given the opportunity. If he’d known the Archon would take Graymon away to Kanos-or worse-he’d have defied her earlier. The result for his son would have been the same, but perhaps the fortress would have been saved. On the other hand, doing so may also have kept his son alive.

But for how long?

Somehow, he needed to relate all this to the men sitting before him, watching him with judging eyes disguised as loyalty.

“Gentlemen, everything is not as it seems.”

Nobody responded. Therrador paused, searched their faces one after another. Sir Alton still looked angered and hurt, betrayed by his friend and leader; Turesti and Dondon showed no emotion. Only Hanh Perdaro, the Voice of the People, looked like he might know what the king was talking about. Therrador took a deep breath and collected his thoughts.

Better just to tell them.

“Braymon was no casualty of war. His death was planned.”

The men drew a collective gasp. Sir Alton leaned forward, his ruddy face deepening to a shade of crimson. Dondon’s eyes widened; Turesti’s hand went to his mouth.

“What do you mean, your highness?” Hanh Perdaro asked.

Therrador looked at the man out of the corner of his eye. He’d always liked Perdaro, but suddenly found himself wondering about him. The Voice of the People usually knew all, seemingly before it happened sometimes. Did he already know what Therrador had to tell? Was this reaction for show?

Therrador looked down at his bandaged hand in his lap, at the blood soaked through where his thumb should have been. It didn’t serve to fortify him as he hoped it might; instead, it saddened him because of the mistakes he’d made.

Damn the Archon. Damn Sheyndust.

“It was planned from the start that I should take the throne of Erechania. I’ve been in league with the Archon since soon after Seerna’s death.”

Sienhin stood abruptly sending his chair clattering to the floor; his hand fell to the hilt of his sword. Therrador didn’t move.

“Treachery,” the general bellowed. Even his bushy moustache couldn’t hide the frown on his lips, the hurt in his eyes. “Assassin! You killed the king.”

The other men stared at Therrador, disbelieving or formulating responses. Sienhin was the least political of the bunch, a soldier who rose to the highest ranks on the tail of Braymon’s revolution, so his emotional reaction offered no surprise. The others were no doubt considering in what way what they’d heard would best benefit them.

Therrador thought about how to respond to Sir Alton’s outburst. As the king, he had the right to command him, or he could rise to the inferred challenge. Neither path would solve his problems.

Just the truth, then.

“She has Graymon.”

The room seemed to freeze. No one moved, scarcely even breathed, all eyes on Therrador as he fought to retain composure. He’d never admitted any of this to any save his own reflection, and then even the mirror had looked upon him with judgment in its eyes.

“She has the boy?” Perdaro repeated, his voice quiet. Therrador nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Lord Emon Turesti, the High Chancellor of Erechania asked. “We would have helped.”

“I thought I could set things right myself,” Therrador replied, eyes cast down upon his bandaged hand.

“The Archon is powerful. She-” Perdaro began.

“She’s a devil,” interrupted Hu Dondon, Lord Chamberlain of the Kingdom.

“She has your son,” Sir Alton said through clenched teeth, voice quieter, but his tone still betrayed his anger. “But that doesn’t explain why you killed the king.”

Therrador shook his head and met the general’s eyes. “I made a mistake, and I know I’ll pay for it, but there are bigger concerns for the kingdom now.”

“A treacherous king is a concern,” Dondon said.

“Truly,” Emon Turesti agreed as he fidgeted with his long fingers. “But more importantly, the Kanosee occupy our fortress. What are we to do about that?”

A hush fell over the room as the five men pondered the kingdom’s predicament. Sir Alton’s fingers loosened from the hilt of his sword and he glanced over his shoulder at the chair lying on the floor behind him but didn’t move to retrieve it. Turesti gazed at his entwining fingers; Dondon and Perdaro stared at the king.

“How is Graymon?” Hanh Perdaro asked finally.

“I tried to rescue him,” Therrador explained, his voice quiet. “But I was caught. As punishment, she’s sending him back to Kanos.” A pause, then he brought his bandage-wrapped hand from his lap and set it gingerly on the table. “And she took my thumb.”

“Gods,” Sir Alton spat. “She is a devil.”

“No, she’s no devil.” Therrador shook his head and raised his right hand. “I deserved this. Not for trying to save my son, but for what I’ve done to the kingdom. But she is responsible for raising the undead soldiers who fight beside her troops. She’s-”

“A Necromancer,” Dondon said completing his sentence. Therrador nodded.

Sir Alton retrieved his chair and slumped down into it dejectedly. “Things go from bad to worse.”

“Perhaps not.” Hanh Perdaro leaned forward on his elbows. The others waited for him to say more but he allowed the pause to linger.

“What do you mean, Hanh?” Turesti finally asked. “Out with it.”

The Voice of the People cleared his throat. “The Archon-Necromancer, whatever she calls herself-she holds your son, correct?”

“Yes, I told you.”

“So she thinks you her puppet, Therrador. Her pawn. The king of Erechania will do whatever he’s told in order to keep his son safe.”

“Of course,” Sir Alton agreed before Therrador could. The general once had a son, but the boy had been lost during one of the last skirmishes when Braymon took the throne. Twenty years had done little to dispel the sting of it for the tough old soldier.

“As long as she thinks her word is being done, we can enact our own plans now that we all know what’s happened.”

Perdaro looked around the table at the others, a meager smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“But what to do about a treacherous king?” Hu Dondon asked. Therrador looked at him, suppressing his ire at the comment-he deserved the punishment that would come.

“Nothing right now,” Turesti said nodding slightly in agreement with Perdaro’s words. “First we must neutralize the Kanosee threat. We’ll have to bring the people of the kingdom together, and for that they must have a king.”

Everyone at the table nodded.

“I’ll get the word to the people,” Perdaro said. “Tell them the version of the truth that will most suit our purposes for the moment.”

Therrador sighed. This hadn’t been as bad as he’d imagined. He’d thought his head might have ended up atop a pole in the courtyard before the end of the day.

“Rest assured, though,” Sir Alton said leaning toward Therrador. “When rightness is restored to the kingdom, we’ll deal with our traitor king.”

The city reeks of the evil it is rife with, like a stinking fruit hanging rotten on the vine. Daylight has recently left the sky as I approach the unguarded gates of the once great city, the place where an empire was born thousands of years ago. There’s no empire found here now, only cutthroats and thieves, rapists and murderers. Statues and temples stand in ruin. Steel is the one God who holds sway here-his last refuge from the Godly brethren who spurned him millennia ago.