Simon Blackfyre and the Enemy Within

by A J Callen

  SIMON BLACKFYRE

  and the ENEMY WITHIN

  AJ CALLEN

  Copyright Notice

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  © 2019 A. J. Callen.

  * * *

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  No part of this book may be reproduced

  or copied without the written permission

  of the Author.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction.

  * * *

  Characters and events are the products

  of the author’s imagination.

  * * *

  Any similarity to persons living or dead

  is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Special Thanks to Annie Jenkins for her patience,

  encouragement, and superb editing skills.

  * * *

  You can contact her at: https://www.just-copyeditors.com

  * * *

  Cover by rebecacovers

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  ISBN: 978-0-9938784-3-5

  Contents

  1. Noble Aspirations

  2. Blood Before Duty

  3. Untested Steel

  4. Thy Family First

  5. Insults and Bruises

  6. A Survivor’s Secret

  7. An Uncertain Alliance

  8. Savvy and Shrewd

  9. No Safe Place

  10. Those Unseen Among Us

  11. A Difficult Reunion

  12. Buried and Forgotten

  13. Maps and Plans

  14. A Dangerous Decision

  15. Comforting Explanations

  16. A Most Mysterious Stranger

  17. It Follows at Night

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  Noble Aspirations

  High Priest Godric Worlaw, sitting statuesque and regal upon his sacred golden throne, drew small circles with his fingers on the serpent-headed armrests while he studied the ceremonious approach of his anxious guest.

  His Eminence—robed in a long mantle of plush scarlet velvet lined with ermine—was studying Sir Broga Gambryun, a short-stalked, squabby knight who came marching down the long, shining floor in the Great Hall of Thornfield Manor.

  Gambryun was dressed in his finest black silk coat and white tunic, and rather grandly escorted by two of the High Priest’s private guards.

  The olive-skinned Sir Gambryun bowed.

  “Your Eminence, I am honored you have granted me this audience, yet your first message explained it would be held in the private chambers at the Temple of Saint Kaja. I am honored yet somewhat surprised to find you have called me to your ancestral home.”

  Gambryun cast a furtive glance at the High Priest’s dedicated and obedient personal guard, Sir Premek Malenkov, as he stood away to one side. Malenkov observed the much smaller knight with his cool and steady gaze.

  The High Priest looked down, recalling how Gambryun had openly and unashamedly gaped at the beautiful Juliana Caerhope like a lovesick schoolboy during their last temple service together; the knight Gambryun had been but an ambitious, pining suitor, that time. It had proved to be something of an irritation and a spectacle.

  “Your fears are unwarranted, my friend, I may assure you,” he said to Gambryun. “Sir Malenkov here is sworn to secrecy in my service—as are all in the High Priest’s guard. Not a word shall leave this room. The Holy Seer herself shall not know of this meeting unless I decide otherwise.”

  Sir Gambryun, apparently unconvinced by his assurances, cast another suspicious look at the somber, towering knight. “Forgive me, your Eminence. I have no doubt at all that my privacy and person are protected under your keen and watchful eye.”

  “Then pray, cease your fretting and please be seated, Sir Gambryun. Let us waste no more time, and instead enjoy together the partaking of a glass of finely-aged wine from my family’s vineyard.”

  The High Priest gestured toward the long dining table. A sallow servant boy pulled out a chair for the short-stalked knight, not much taller than himself.

  Tess, a raven-haired, brown-eyed beauty and evidently the High Priest’s favorite—the only one to visit his bedchamber, no less—filled the knight’s glass from the crystal decanter. She cast a sidelong glance at his Eminence, a tempting invitation to the dark pleasures that still awaited once he’d concluded his business with the fulsome, somewhat galling knight.

  The High Priest duly took his place at the head of the table.

  He narrowed his eyes, confirming his initial assessment of the knight’s character and lineage; shoulder-length black hair combed back with tonic revealed a skull resembling that of a dull-witted barbarian, no less, with its familiarly stumpy and pinched contours. Eyes—dim and diminutive—fairly reeled in their murky and timid sockets. A dwarfish nose then spread out, to tip right over the top of his broad, wan lips.

  Sir Gambryun gulped his wine, neglecting first to raise a toast in the High Priest’s honor. “And if I may be so bold, your Eminence, what is this matter of great importance you wish to discuss concerning Lord Delcarden? Pray, have you come bearing some news of his return or is he lost at sea as many have rumored?”

  Tess filled the High Priest’s glass to the brim. He sipped his wine and glanced at Sir Malenkov. “We were expecting his ship to dock within a few days, though there are reports—from the fishing captains—of uncommonly strong storms over the Rhobinian Sea for this time of year. Lord Delcarden sailed aboard The Harbinger under Captain Grenfall’s command, of that much we are certain. Yet the ship appears to have disappeared without so much as a trace. The last sighting was over a week ago. It troubles us all.”

  Sir Gambryun smirked like a mischievous boy. “Then let us pray for his Lordship’s safe return, for one never knows when the unforgiving sea may put an end to the plans of any man turning his sail against the wind.”

  “Very insightful, my good sir. Am I to take it you and Lord Delcarden are not always in agreement when it comes to the decisions of the King's Council?”

  The sheepish knight lowered his gaze. “Though I should not cast aspersions against one of the highest-ranking nobles sitting on the King's Council Triumvirate, it is no secret that I and many young knights are not exactly allied with his Lordship and prefer the stern and tested leadership of Lord Coranthium.” He reached inside his coat and retrieved a yellow silk handkerchief. He patted his sweaty forehead and drew a deep breath. “Forgive me, but will you not replace Lord Delcarden on the Triumvirate?”

  “If he is, in fact, tragically drowned at sea, I would serve my Kingdom and its people in any capacity demanded of me.”

  “I am overjoyed to hear so, your Eminence, as will be many knights on the Council. We would all have voted Callor Tiberion our new King… who would have led Miradora to newfound glory under the watchful eye of his father, Lord Coranthium.”

  “Undoubtedly, he is the preferred choice yet we must all abide by the Holy Seer’s decision.”

  The High Priest motioned to Tess to refill Sir Gambryun’s glass again.

  “And there are others who do not see the world as clearly as you do, my friend,” he said. “Dead or alive, Delcarden’s views still hold much influence over others, such as the easily-swayed Lord Maydestone. What is your considered opinion of his proposal to fortify the walls of Avidene and increase the number of battalions?”

  “I would say, your Eminence, that if we were preparing for war it would be the correct course of action. But we are at peace and have been since before my great-grandfather’s time. Those once our sworn enemies have now turned allies and trading partners.”

  “So, you disagree with his proposal?”

  “Wholeheartedly, and I know
many others are of the same opinion. That gold could be better spent enriching the lives of the many knights and soldiers already serving our Kingdom. A well-fed man will serve his King better on a full stomach, and after a good night’s sleep with his good wife in his own home… if only he could afford both.”

  Sir Gambryun gulped at his wine as though suddenly parched.

  “Also, and I do not speak only for myself,” he said, “That gold would allow more of us to own slaves, thus helping quiet the growing unrest. Have we not already lost many courageous men in quelling our Kingdom’s rising slave revolts?

  “How many more of our brave knights must die at the filthy hands of those who refuse to accept their preordained places?”

  The High Priest sipped at his wine, restraining the sudden rush of elation beneath his refined demeanor. “On both accounts, we are in agreement, my good Sir Gambryun. Lord Delcarden’s loyalty is surely above reproach—yet his views serve to divide our people, especially when unity is paramount in the face of the challenges of this uncertain world.”

  “So, then what are we to do, your Eminence? If Lord Delcarden is not soon pronounced dead and lost at sea, others like Lord Lionsbury and Lady Bellemar will take up his banner and appeal to the growing fears that Avidene is vulnerable to external attack should our alliance with Varza crumble… which they believe is only a matter of time. Even Lord Coranthium has not publicly disputed Delcarden’s claim, though it’s fair to say they disagree on almost everything else.”

  “Then, the war we fear may come from enemies within. At least, this time.”

  Bewilderment contorted Sir Gambryun’s face as he slumped back in this chair. “But that cannot be allowed to happen, your Eminence. We cannot give those traitors and foreign spies within the slave ranks the opportunity they seek.”

  “Precisely, and that is why I ask you to gain the trust of your fellow knights and work tirelessly to convince them of the folly of all those who would still follow Delcarden’s plans. If another presents it to a Council vote, it must be struck down no matter who champions the cause. Do I make myself clear, loyal Sir Gambryun?”

  “Yes, your Eminence, and if you sat on the Triumvirate, none would be foolhardy enough to oppose Lord Coranthium and yourself. Lord Maydestone is certain to follow your guidance, and not even Lionsbury nor his questionable allies would dare press the issue once an official declaration of Lord Delcarden’s death should be proclaimed.”

  The High Priest nodded and straightened the sleeves of his scarlet mantle. “Of course, yet for the time being until the decision is made, the nobles allied with Lord Delcarden and Lord Lionsbury must not know of my influence… until the rites are completed and our rightful King bears his crown.”

  The humbled knight bowed in obedience. “Of course, your Eminence. I will follow your instructions. Lord Coranthium is your strongest ally and I say again freely that I count myself among many knights who wish to see his son, Callor, sit on the throne.”

  “Then you have chosen most wisely, my friend, as have many others. Do I take it you wish to be… my sworn servant in these uncertain times?”

  Sir Gambryun bowed. “Yes, Eminence, and one who shall defend our Kingdom and faith until death takes hold of my humble soul. I swear this on my life.”

  “Then so shall it be, and I insist you spend the night so that we may speak more at length. You must take time to prepare for the moment when you shall stand up and be counted amongst the worthy defenders of our new King.”

  He motioned to Sir Malenkov to leave and have the servants prepare a bedchamber.

  “Your generosity knows no bound, your Eminence.” Sir Gambryun plopped himself back down in his chair. “I swear this oath not for my sake only, but for Juliana Caerhope, whom I intend to take as my wife.”

  The High Priest plucked a white grape from the bunch in the silver dish. “So, you wish to present yourself to Lord Maydestone as the most eligible husband for his daughter?” He examined the fruit’s skin for any minute blemishes or bruises.

  “I do, yet Juliana can be just as proud and assertive of her own opinion as any gentleman I have known. It makes me angry to see her act thus before her father and the other nobles.”

  “In these challenging times, a young woman’s mind becomes filled with too many excitements, too many distractions and trifles. They are divine creatures, yes, filled with infinite emotional strength and compassionate resolve, but sadly…” the High Priest answered.

  The forlorn suitor’s interest itself appeared to wane as he seemed more interested in heaping his plate up with meat, fish, and cheese. Then, taking up the thread of the High Priest’s argument, he resumed the conversation.

  The young knight washed his food down with a mouthful of wine. “Though it is over a year later and Juliana still berates Lord Delcarden, there is more heartbreak than hatred in her voice.”

  He jabbed his fork into a piece of smoked sea trout. “But why, your Eminence?” he continued. “This is what I do not comprehend. Why does she continue to embarrass herself after the way the scoundrel treated her? He may have left under the pretext of Council business, but from the rumors I’ve heard the only business he’s been up to is six months of whoring on Kardi and living off the generosity of a certain Lady Omarosa, a widow of questionable moral integrity from all accounts.”

  He spat out his derisive laughter along with bits of half-chewed fish. “I say his drowning at sea is a blessing to Lady Juliana. She is finally free of the bastard forever. And good riddance to the scoundrel.”

  The High Priest leaned back in his chair and dabbed his ermine mantle with a silk napkin. “Tell me, Sir Gambryun, when was the last you heard… of the Choldath?”

  Sir Gambryun turned his oafish head and coughed up a piece of chewed meat on his plate. “Not in many years, Eminence. My dearly-departed grandmother would tell me stories on her knee. They scared me no end when I was a child, just as they did all I knew.”

  “Of course, and that is where such foolishness should remain, yet I have it on impeccable authority that there are dark things happening on Kardi as we speak.”

  “What— what sort of things?”

  “Treason masquerading as sorcery, no less, where the only demons being summoned are the flesh and blood enemies of Miradora, and these enemies lie in wait within.”

  Sir Gambryun leaned forward and spoke softly. “Of whom do you speak, Eminence?”

  “The pretext of Lord Delcarden’s official visit to Kardi to investigate so-called unexplained disappearances was used so he could meet with foreign spies from Salak under the command of one Count Borodin. They seek to undermine the Rites of Succession and thereby deny the rightful King his crown.”

  A muscle in the knight’s jaw ticked. “And you have proof of these accusations to present to the Council?”

  “Well, why do you think Delcarden and his allies asked for so much gold? It is not for Avidene’s defense but to raise a private mercenary army here and abroad, to overthrow the Council. This would place Marcus Evermere upon the throne where he would be King in name only, while Delcarden and his traitorous allies wielded complete power over all.”

  Sir Gambryun dropped his knife and fork. “Then we should call an emergency meeting of the Council at once! Let us uncover all these heinous traitors and tie rocks around their necks so they can join Delcarden in his watery grave.”

  “I admire your loyalty but do not let your zeal for justice be sabotaged by a lack of stealth. Remember that—dead or alive—Lord Delcarden has many powerful allies on the Council and we do not wish to cause a civil war given the unrest among the slaves.”

  His Eminence gestured toward Sir Malenkov. “My loyal guard are discreetly gathering the evidence needed to convict all traitors plotting to deny the one true King his crown.” His Eminence rolled a grape between thumb and forefinger. “And when the time is to our benefit, then I, and I alone, shall choose the time and place of each traitor’s downfall and the arrest of his fellow conspirators
. Do I make myself clear?”

  Sir Gambryun nodded obediently. “Yes, your Eminence, as clear as crystal. But what would you have me do until then?”

  “Remain steadfast in duty and manner, speaking in confidence with any noble and knight who will join our cause. If they prove themselves trustworthy you must send them to me, and me alone, for further instructions. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, your Eminence, but then… what of the Holy Seer? Does she give us her blessing and compel us to proceed in this dangerous endeavor?”

  The High Priest crushed the grape. “She does, yet I do not trouble an ailing old woman with every detail best undertaken by those younger and stronger. For what compels me, good Sir Gambryun, is a far more powerful and worthy ideal than any represented by this richly-woven mantle I must wear.”

  The young knight rose, wobbly at the knees, and bowed. “As you wish, Eminence, and if I may be excused I should like retire for the night. I am suddenly more light-headed than I wish to be. Your delicious wine casts quite the spell.”

  Servants entered, carrying censers of aromatic sandalwood and sprinklers of belladonna water to purify the hall. Tess untied the knot on her tunic, then opened the crystal windows allowing the dark breezes of night to enter and cleanse the fouled air she and the High Priest had both endured.

  “As you wish. Sir Malenkov will see you to your room.”