The Ardoon King

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 72: The Reckoning

  The darkened Great Hall was packed. The day of reckoning had come.

  All eyes looked forward, both at the platform between the two great staircases that wound upward and the platform erected between them. Peth in ceremonial armor lined the walls and, more significantly, blocked all exits.

  An invisible cue was given to the small group of musicians in a balcony above. There were five loud beats of an ancient drum and then the Song of Entrance rang throughout Steepleguard. It was melancholy, powerful piece traditionally used to announce the arrival of a king or queen, its chords intended to instill awe and terror in the hearts of subjects. It had never been played at Steepleguard. The Ardoon king was not a man for ceremony or the old ways.

  Yet now things had changed. Furious at the attempted coup, he was allowing his wife, the senior queen, far greater latitude in governing the citizens and nobles of the still small kingdom.

  The top of each staircase was suddenly illuminated.

  The two queens descended.

  Lilian descended from the right stairwell. She wore glistening white silk stola, so long that it concealed her golden sandals and trailed a foot behind her. A yellow palla was draped over her left shoulder. Around her neck was a millennia-old broad collar consisting of dozens of thin gold rods studded with diamonds and other precious jewels. The rods and jewels reflected the sparse light with such intensity that it appeared the sun itself was descending from the heavens into the Great Hall.

  In her right hand was a golden scepter, three feet in length, with cuneiform inscriptions.

  Behind her, barely visible in the darkness, was Lady Persipia, who wore a black stola. A rope necklace of seemingly luminous pearls circled her neck many times, the rows resting atop her barely-concealed breasts.

  Fiela descended the opposite staircase. Her stola was much like Lilian’s except that it stopped a few inches above her feet which were, unsurprisingly, bare. The girl’s palla was scarlet and her broad collar an intricate network of tiny silver links accented by dozens of rubies. In her right hand she held the long black dagger used to kill the bashmu in Cash. Its open display was greatly appreciated by the many Ordunas in the Great Hall.

  There were three large, ornately decorated wooden chairs on the platform. A product of a bygone era of opulence, each weighed several hundred pounds and took three men to move. Two of the chairs rested on additional, smaller platforms, one being four inches higher and the other eight. In this way the heights of the chairs were staggered, with the central being the highest, the one to its right, second-highest, and the one to its left, lowest.

  Lilian turned to face the spectators and sat in the second-highest chair, with Persipia taking up a position behind her. Fiela took the third-highest chair. The king’s chair remained empty. For now.

  The music stopped and the Great Hall became uncomfortably quiet.

  With a booming voice, Lilian said, “Citizens and nobles, this House has faced many challenges in recent months. Aside from the ongoing challenge to rebuild the world, the Fifth Kingdom has endured unnatural earthquakes, snow storms, attacks by strange animals, coups, and something approximating magic.”

  There were murmurs below the stage. A handful of superstitious Steepleguard residents believed that magic was being practiced by the royal family. The king most assuredly, having received the art from the Great Sage.

  “Yet the Fifth Kingdom stands, as does the House of Sargon, as does my precious family. We have suffered dramatic losses, to include nearly a quarter of our small army, and yet we have been gifted the technological marvel that even now hovers above us like a guardian dragon. Can there be any doubt that the Great Sage scripted this kingdom to rule the world?”

  As if on cue, everyone in the audience below shook their heads, knowing that the alternative was to lose them.

  “Many of you wonder at the fate of the failed usurper, Porazo. When he learned the true king was returning to Steepleguard, he took flight, like the coward he is. But not before a dastardly attack on me, in the royal suite, to which he had access as the temporary administrator of the kingdom. He might have killed me if not for the intervention of Lady Persipia, who was in an adjoining room and heard the disturbance. The toad had the audacity to demand that I declare him the true king. He threatened to kill me, and well he might have, if not for Lady Persipia’s appearance with a set of sharp shears. That set him to flight!”

  Persipia blushed as every eye in the Great Hall was focused on her. She was overwhelmed with the sudden change in her fortune. She was redeemed. Before she had been a traitor and a coward. Now she was the queen’s savior, and hero of Steepleguard.

  True, she did not remember events exactly as Lilian did. She did come after Porazo, but on her hands and knees, with a relatively small pair of scissors, and in such a weakened state that she would probably have been unable to injure a bound and unconscious hamster. She did not remember Porazo fleeing, but she did remember him suddenly being gone, and with him, Lilian. She had learned later that Lilian was lying on the floor behind her when the delirium hit. The physicians said she’d had probably experienced a vivid hallucination brought on by trauma, and perhaps, the herbs that she had ingested in preparation for the bath.

  Persipia didn’t quite believe all of this, and there remained the matter of the strange sheet of paper she had found beneath the door and hidden away. Yet the reality proposed for her by others was far better than the reality she remembered. Their reality had her reborn as a hero bravely confronting Porazo, slashing at the man with long, sharpened blades until he fled in terror. Her reality was that of a sniveling, weakly, and ineffective consort crawling on the floor, confused and terrified.

  She embraced the enhanced reality fully.

  Lilian was still speaking. “We have yet to locate the cretin, despite the valiant efforts of our Peth. I take comfort in knowing that he is, in all likelihood, a frozen statue in some nearby field. It would be better for him if he were. He does not wish to be captured, I assure you. If he is, the manner of his execution will be legendary.”

  She gazed angrily at the crowd, making eye contact with a special few.

  “I know that many of you supported Porazo’s bold bid at power, seeking advancement for yourselves or your families. You think that I will unleash my sister on you and have your heads on spikes in the courtyard. But, no. The king you pronounced dead has dictated that I should refrain from such punishments.”

  There were audible sighs of relief from the darkness, which the queen interrupted, saying, “He shall deal with you personally, as he dealt with Lord Moros.”

  The sighs became gasps. It was common knowledge that Moros and his Peth and been burned alive from the inside. No one could remember exactly how it was done or even where the bodies were. Only Lord Disparthian knew and he wasn’t talking. Those citizens and nobles who had aligned themselves with Moros were force marched to Denver. Most died of starvation or at the hands of the Ardoon mobs. Only Lady Persipia survived, and rumors were that she had paid steep price each evening for her treachery.

  It would be better to be dispatched by the unwavering daggers of the girl queen.

  Lilian continued. “That leaves me with the more pleasant duty of rewarding those who have served the kingdom well during our recent trials. These rewards are endorsed by the king and are thus uncontestable, even by the council.”

  This swipe at the council of nobles did not go unnoticed.

  “Challenge me at your peril,” warned the queen, leaning forward, more than a little venom in her voice. Sitting back, she said more cordially, “You will hold any applause or congratulations until I am done speaking, please.

  “Captain Vedeus, albeit a newcomer to our kingdom, was unwavering when confronted by almost certain death, and played a large role in preserving the king’s life. He is a role model for you all, and, in particular, the Peth legion. He is hereby elevated to Lord, with all the honors and rewards
commensurate with the title. He is second only to Lord Disparthian in rank and is made Commander of the King’s Guard.

  “Dukes Hobuk and Romini delayed the reinstatement of the mark against me. The thinly-veiled attempt at a coup by the intruder, Porazo, and those was allied with him, was thus prevented. For their loyalty, the allotment of lands to these dukes shall be tripled, and they shall be allowed first selection when territories are drawn up.”

  All present noted that Lilian had tactfully refrained from mentioning Hobuk’s other, and unofficial, reward. His daughter, Thal, would live to see another day.

  Lilian continued. “Samuel, the Ardoon, has provided shelter to my sister and has proven a faithful ally to my husband. He is yet averse to being accepted as Nisirtu, given certain peculiar sensibilities, and thus cannot be granted Nisirtu titles. Instead he has been offered, and accepted, a role as ‘representative’ of the local Ardoon, in which role he will act as the king’s ambassador to, and representative of, the Ardoon population, both within and without Steepleguard. He answers to no Nisirtu except the king, myself, and Annasa Fiela, and shall not be interfered with, manipulated, or compelled to act against his will by any citizen or noble of the kingdom. He will be granted lands commensurate with his new station.

  “Unfortunately, Sam is not present, nor his granddaughter, Celeste. Both are in seclusion grieving the tragic loss of Sam’s wife, and Celeste’s grandmother, Eliza. Though she found refuge here at Steepleguard, the trials and tribulations of living so long in the wild had worn Eliza down. She was not a young woman, and she arrived here in a poor state, malnourished and ill. Her heart was weak.

  “The morning she died, Eliza spoke to me about her deteriorating health. She knew her time in this realm was ending, and she asked if my sister and I might help Sam raise Celeste, when she, Eliza, was no longer with us. Can you imagine the audacity? A slave daring to ask a queen of the Nisirtu for such an impossible thing? Yet I admired the woman for her courage, and I see that same courage in her granddaughter. And are we not a compassionate society, ready at all times to show charity to our inferiors?”

  Lilian nodded. “I told the slave woman, ‘Yes, Eliza, we will raise her in our image, a proud and powerful Nisirtu, for in her I see the spark of greatness.’ She smiled at me. It was perhaps her last smile. Yet it had power. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and she fell at my feet, and praised me. It was too much praise, by far, but the dying woman could not be stopped. Lady Persipia was compelled to intervene and gently escort her away. She died a short time later.”

  Lilian shook her head in mock awe. “Such was the love of this woman for her granddaughter. I pray that she can see me now, and to know what I have done, in her name. Commensurate with Eliza’s dying wish, and the girl’s own wishes, and with permission of her grandfather, Sam, Celeste is now under the tutelage of her mistress, Lady Persipia, Annasa Fiela, and myself, until such time as she is of age to be accepted into society as a lady.”

  She surveyed the crowd a last time. “You may now applaud.”

  The crowd responded and the applause continued for several minutes. When it died down, Lilian looked serenely at the audience and said, “Kneel.”

  Every man, woman, and child kneeled, their eyes downcast, knowing that both queens were watching for the one foolish individual who dared to lift his or her head. Neither was in a mood to tolerate insubordination.

  The lights went out, and the Great Hall was silent except for the occasional cough or the sound of a mother speaking harshly to a young child who did not yet fathom the importance of obedience to a sovereign.

  Two candles on tall stands behind the king’s throne were lit by Peth. When the Peth moved away, Lilian said, “Rise.”

  The citizens and nobles obeyed and found the barely illuminated center throne now occupied by the king in his yellow robe. His hood was raised over his head and drooped over his face, concealing his eyes and casting the rest of his face in shadow. The queens on either side of the man were almost invisible in the darkness, aside from the glimmer of their jewelry and Fiela’s glowing violet eyes, which were haunting.

  Ben was a little more than angry with how quickly the Nisirtu residents of Steepleguard had abandoned Lilian. He did not blame them for assuming he was dead; that was a conclusion he would have reached, as well. He did blame them for seeking to use his death as an opportunity to immediately oust Lilian. Had Romini and Thal’s father not intervened and demanded a delay on the mark until Fiela returned, Lilian would be dead and, as Vedeus had warned, Steepleguard would be in chaos. Ben detested the Nisirtu’s “reboot” of civilization but he believed that Steepleguard was the last, best hope for humanity.

  As loathe as he was to use the Empyrean to enforce his will, he decided a little whiz-bang was justified to deter future disloyalty. He would not enforce his will on the residents but he would show them the dangers of varying from the path he had set forth.

  He spoke a word.

  The Nisirtu standing below the platform recoiled. In the darkened space above the king a three-dimensional image appeared of the Cash temple and the bodies inside it. The inscriptions on the walls glowed. Because the image was a result of the Empyrean, the image seemed absolutely real to the audience below – more real than reality itself. They not only saw it, they smelled the ozone that radiated from it, and heard the buzz made by the glyphs as they ignited one after another in rapid succession.

  “This,” said Ben, “is what we now face. Thousands of these temples exist around the world. Several are nearby, as this one is.”

  Here he spoke a word that caused the children in the audience to fall asleep.

  A moment later, there were screams in the audience as a temple beast roared and shot from the temple entrance. The ribbed, gnashing monstrosity leapt into the air above the crowd and grew in size until it was very near half-scale. The thing seemed like it might land directly atop them, which caused the Nisirtu in the center of the hall to flee. It did not fall, however. The beast floated above them, writhing and contracting and expanding and howling, seemingly caught in an invisible cage that it might, at any moment, escape.

  Fiela jumped to her feet, alarmed, and Ben spoke to her. She slowly sat, a dazed expression on her face. Looking to his right, he saw Persipia crouching behind Lilian’s throne, her eyes shut. Lilian, however, remained stoic. She merely returned Ben’s gaze and nodded knowingly.

  Tough woman, he thought. Then again, it was Lilian. “Tough” was her middle name.

  Or one of them. She had about twenty.

  Ben turned back toward the crowd. “This is your new world. I will fight these things, called bashmu, as will your queens, and the Peth loyal to us. We have already done so, and won, though with many warriors lost. Any here who wish to take this throne would do well to consider what must come after. Who here is equipped to fight these things, which now exist in the thousands? Who here will defend Steepleguard when they come, en masse, over the walls of this fortress? Who will colonize the lands below knowing that these things may appear at any time in any place? Who here knows the secrets of the glyphs that bring these creatures here? Who here understands the secrets of the tablets?”

  Ben stood, willing himself not to fall over as his fractured foot sent a jolt of pain up his leg. “You will not enjoy the throne long, I promise you that, and your short reign will be marked by one failure after another as your kingdom is whittled away, your people killed, and your walls crushed. If I die, you die. If my queens die, you die. If I hear so much as a rumor of a coup, I will leave all of you to your miserable fate and make a new kingdom with the Ardoon. Any Nisirtu who survive the inevitable calamity will be welcome to serve in my new kingdom – as slaves to the Ardoon.”

  This last statement seemed more horrifying to the Nisirtu than the beast hovering above them. There were shouts of “No, Anax!” and “Forgive us!” and “Have Mercy!”

  Bastards, thought Ben.

  He collapsed back into his chair and the bashm
u in the air dissipated. He said another word that caused his listeners to believe they had only imagined the temple creature. They had not actually seen it in the air above them; that would be silly. They would later say that it was merely the king’s exceptional abilities to describe the creature that made the visions so vivid. Yet the terror they felt in their hearts would remain.

  That task accomplished, he moved to the punishment phase. He had promised Lilian he would be severe in punishing the coup plotters. She wanted them killed very, very slowly, and in public. That was out of the question. Still, the punishment had to be suitably harsh.

  He spoke a word that reached into the minds of the guilty, even those who were not known to be part of the coup. He then said, in Agati, “Those who plotted against me or my queens, you have been found out, and this day have ingested a poison which does not kill, but which renders you blind, deaf, and lame. There are three antidotes, one for each effect. You will be given the antidotes one at a time, no more than one a month, if and when the queen whom you have wronged forgives you.”

  He then spoke the word that made the penalty real. The affected fell to the floor, their hands over the eyes, not yelling, but making pitiful sounds of anguish. Ben said, “If you are a relative or loved one of the guilty, you may petition the wronged queen on the guilty party’s behalf under the guidelines I have set forth.”

  “Now,” he said, “I leave you to Annasa Lilitu. She has details regarding the rationing that will begin tomorrow.”