A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “Oh, it will not stop there,” Anubis asserted. He moved back to his desk and picked up a scroll. “He will go on to take Cassandria, then Alfasia. And then? Then who knows . . . ?

  I sat quietly for a moment, bewildered. King Janir had never been a power-hungry man, and neither was he a grasping monarch nor a tyrant, for that matter. The gemstones and gold of the Alfasian mines had never held any interest for him. Anubis listened to me impassively, and then finally nodded his agreement.

  “This is not Janir’s plan. It stinks of Balten—and Shiraj’s drool is all over it.”

  The Crown Prince? The king’s Seer? A cold dread began to gripe my guts. Why would either of them be encouraging Janir to war? More to the point, why would a monarch of Janir’s integrity be swayed by such a suggestion? He had signed treaties with King Garrik when Zetaria withdrew from Mederlana and, thus far, had honoured them, even as he honoured the treaties he had signed to end the Pentageonate wars. Yet now it seemed that Anubis was drawing up battle plans for him. I rose from the fireside and went over to the desk.

  “What are you telling me?”

  Anubis dropped a scroll into a shallow filing basket. “It is simple, Meriq.” Anubis perched on the edge of his desk. And indeed it was disturbingly simple. Long-standing peace was not well tolerated in the militia. The men were bored in the barracks; bored with inaction, bored with the same boys—boys who were growing to manhood and losing the allure of youth. They were bored with the girls who, like the boys were growing older and who had birthed any number of barrack-room bastards.

  “He cannot do this. It’s unthinkable—to attack without cause . . .”

  Anubis nodded. It was as I said, but there was little anyone could do unless Janir could be made to alter his course.

  I frowned. It would not be an easy task to take Medravia, the capital city. The grass plains of Mederlana were as treacherous and challenging as any desert. And even if he managed to take the country, I doubted that he would have the military capacity to hold it for any length of time given the losses he would incur in the battles.

  Anubis gave a small, cynical smile. “Quite the tactician, aren’t you, my son? And what you say is true but,” the old sorcerer held up a hand to silence me, “it is only true if there are no others to support him.” He gave me a dark look.

  “Morla.” I spat the country’s name like a ritual curse.

  Anubis nodded. “Morla. King Keelan has pledged his troops to the effort.”

  “For a share of the spoils, no doubt. I hope King Janir remembers to don his back-plate before the summit.”

  “You think very little of Morlans.” Anubis observed settling again behind his desk.

  “Oh, I think far less than that.”

  Anubis picked up his quill, “Do you hate them for their part in Mederlana’s downfall?” he asked without looking up

  “I am indifferent to them.” I responded setting down another cup of tea for him.

  “Which of course is far worse,” Anubis observed drily.

  “With your leave, father, I shall retire. I have my studies to attend to tomorrow.”

  Anubis nodded. I made my way to the door, turning back as a sudden thought struck me. “You could always cast against Balten and Shiraj,” I suggested with a slight grin, “they would not stand a hope of winning.”

  Anubis set down his quill and glared at me. “Meriq! You know better than to say that, even in jest!” The old wizard glowered. “Yes, it is true I could cast to stop this foolishness,” he paused as if ordering his thoughts, “So could you for that matter, and you would probably do it much better than I. But we cannot interfere in the lives of Men unbidden. Besides, one willing, wilful step away from violence contributes more to the Spirit of Man than all the magic we have between us.”

  I looked down at my feet. I had not spoken in jest, in fact, and I rather guessed that Anubis knew this. I knew he was right, and said as much. But it did not change the fact that Mederlana was my birthplace and the thought of my home country being ravaged by war again, for no good reason (if ever there was a good reason for war), was abhorrent.

  Anubis smiled at my words. “Ah, but Meriq you have the ear of the Royal Guard. It is they, not Balten, nor even the King that holds sway with the men. Magic is not always the solution to a problem.”

  “I can only hope that reason prevails.” I said quietly. “Goodnight, father.”

  “We all of us hope that reason will prevail, Meriq.”

  “Do not work too late, father.”

  “Goodnight, my son.”

  I awoke suddenly with a gasp. The enchanted light-stone by my bed flared to life with blinding ferocity in response to my distress. I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. All was silent in the atrium below. No night birds sang. The only sound was my heaving breath, and even that faded as it slowed to normal.

  What had woken me I could not tell, but there was a cold dread in the pit of my stomach; and there was something more, someone—something—else in the room. A soft rustle behind me brought me about.

  Perched on the back of my chair was a large, black mountain owl, the white triangular flash of feathers in the centre of its forehead glimmering like a small silver dagger in the crystal glow of the light-stone. It regarded me stoically with its great topaz eyes as it sidestepped along the backrest. Suddenly it shrugged its great black wings, like a sorcerer flaring his cloak, and launched itself screeching. I ducked as the huge bird glided past my head twisting in mid-flight so that it could escape through the window.

  I stood for several minutes just staring into the night. The bird was gone, and the moons were sinking over the distant mountains. I turned slowly, pulling a thick woollen dressing robe from the hook by my bed before making my way back to the living rooms. The suite was in darkness save for the soft glow of Anubis’ light-stone seeping under the study door. I sighed heavily. The old man was still working. I tutted irritably, padding quietly to the door. It gave a slight groan before gliding open on its well-oiled hinges.

  Anubis was slumped over the scroll he had been working on, his long white hair falling in a milky pool across the other scattered tracts. His right hand hung towards the floor, hovering over the quill he had dropped when he fell asleep. I moved silently over to the old chair by the ingle and pulled his heavy woollen cloak from the stand in the corner.

  “You really would try the patience of The Oracle of Linkopas,” I muttered as I went to throw the cloak over him. It was then I realised that he was not sleeping.

  He was lying over the pages of a treaty. His blue-grey eyes, wide open and staring, beheld nothing of the horror on my face. A thin line of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth tracking across the white page like a thread. His mouth was agape as if he had been cut off in mid-shout and his nostrils were caked with congealed blood. I leaned close to him and called to him. Not that I expected him to answer, but his name just seemed to call itself. I leaned close to him and kissed his forehead. It was then I smelled it—Bitter Sage—called Traveller’s Bane by the hillsmen of the northern steppes. A potent, aromatic contact poison prized for its subtle lethality, for if its fumes failed it would already have been absorbed through skin from the writing quill. Bitter Sage was the first choice of the Kayetim, the Morlan king’s own assassins . . .

  As I lay the cloak over the old man’s shoulders my bare foot slipped in a small pool of rubyspike tea and I knocked against him, spilling him to the floor. Almost at the instance Anubis hit the floor there was a screech from the window and the great black owl glided in and perched on the back of the old man’s chair. It regarded me stonily, its yellow eyes coloured copper-gold in the light of the dying fire. It gave a brief, crackling caw and, stooping to the sorcerer’s face, it took his eyes and then disappeared into the night.

  I remained beside the old man for sometime before my senses returned. I jumped to my feet and ran for the bell pull, intent on waking the house and alerting the palace guard. Somewhere in the castle, a m
urderer was lurking. My hand hovered over the intricately embroidered bell sash then I withdrew it, going instead directly to the servant’s quarters and knocking on Iannos’ door. There was a brief sound of muffled voices and it was several minutes before Iannos appeared.

  I briefed the youth quickly, cautioning him to be careful with the quill and the ink, instructing him to burn both. He nodded dumbly and made to come with me. I glanced past him into the darkened room. “And when you are ready, Alna, I should like some nettle tea.”

  I gave Iannos a small, approving smile and returned to Anubis’ study. There was much to do before sunrise, before I went to see King Janir and inform him of the death of his Advisor. And there was much to ponder. Why would King Keelan send a kayet to kill the vizier of the monarch with whom he was forming an alliance? And if not Keelan, then who? It made no sense. None.

  Alna placed a tray of tea and oat cakes beside me, giving a short curtsey before going back to the kitchen. Iannos and I moved Anubis from the floor to a low day bed and covered him properly and when this was done I sent Iannos to the Royal Barracks to get Faedron and Maegor.

  The pair arrived breathless from running. “What on earth could be so urgent that you need us in the middle of the night?” Faedron huffed leaning on his knees to ease the stitch in his side.

  “Almost dawn,” Maegor observed, equally breathless.

  “Anubis is dead,” I told them quietly.

  Faedron look aghast. “Dead? Oh, Meriq . . .”

  “It is worse than just dead,” I cut across him before he could finish the condolence, “I believe he was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Maegor echoed, “Who would dare.”

  “The Kayetim.” I paused to order my thoughts. I did not want to make rash statements that might find their way back to the Royal Guard. “One of them—or someone wishing us to think it was a kayet. Anubis’ ink was laced with Traveller’s Bane.” I gave the men a forbidding look as they went to speak. “Above all others, I trust you two will prepare Anubis for Passage.” The pair nodded silently. “And I trust that this news will only reach the king’s ears when I tell him.”

  With Maegor and Faedron engaged in Anubis’ study, I set to ordering the treaty papers; the king would need to have them organised if they were to be completed in time for the Morlans’ arrival after the Spring thaw.

  †

  CHAPTER 2

  THE BODY BREAKERS

  KING JANIR sat back in his throne as if I had shoved him into it. The councillors in the chamber erupted in consternation, much as I expected they would. Janir scowled heavily. I suspected that he, like many, considered the old wizard immortal—or at the very least, indestructible. But he was not, and here was Anubis’ pupil and ward telling the Zetan ruling class that one of their guiding lights was extinguished. He turned to Zhartal, the High Priest of Zoar. Janir raised a hand, silencing the throng with the gesture.

  “What have you to say, Priest?”

  Zhartal looked decidedly uncomfortable and began fiddling with his robes. “Well, sire,” the priest responded at length, “the Hand of Zoar is above all other hands.”

  “It is a sign, my liege,” Shiraj, the Seer stepped forward, his obsidian scrying globe glistening under the torches of the great hall. “A sign that all opposition to your majesty’s plan will be swept aside—even as the great and wise Anubis was swept aside.”

  Janir leaned back in his throne once more, one hand worrying at his dark, auburn beard, the other drumming on the terminal of the armrest. At length he leaned forward fixing me with his dark, chestnut eyes. “And what say you, little wizard?”

  There was a buzz of disapproval from the gathered lords and generals. It was unthinkable that the king should seek counsel or opinion from a mere boy of fifteen. In fact, it was unprecedented for a Zetan monarch to ask anything of anyone not a Royal Advisor. Janir cocked his head turning his face slightly towards the dissenters. Silence fell like an axe. I shivered slightly. Janir had an uncanny knack of controlling his subjects with understated gestures, the twitch of a hand, a slight cough, the turn of his head . . .

  “I?” My voice was little more than a strangled whisper, but it sounded like a shout in the silence of the hall. “My king, I am a youth, I know little.” There was a mutter from the ranks of generals to my right; clearly they were impressed by the fact that I knew my place.

  “Come now, kyr-sini, do not be coy. What say you on the matter?”

  I took a deep breath. Well, I had started along the road, and even if I was to have my tongue torn out for it, I might as well speak the truth as I saw it. “I believe that Anubis was murdered.”

  Tongues hissed like vipers, the rough susurrus becoming uproar in less than a heartbeat. Janir turned to his priest and his seer, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

  “It is as I say, King Janir,” Shiraj asserted, giving me a venomous glance, “the Will of the God is clear.”

  I rounded on the Seer with such sudden ferocity that the man took a step back. “It is men, Seer, not gods who work under the cover of darkness. It is the way of men to kill hidden in the veil of the night, not the way of the gods.” I rebuffed the Seer far more acerbically than I had intended, or than was proper.

  The Seer went to speak again but the king silenced him with a glance. “Priest?”

  “We know that only the Great One may end a man’s life.” Zhartal answered giving me a carefully sympathetic look, his tone almost an apology.

  I let out an impatient, contemptuous growl. “Then let the God give us a sign.”

  Shiraj gave me a mordant smirk, scarcely making any attempt to conceal his scorn for me. Zhartal, on the other hand, looked as affronted as a spinster just accosted by a beggar for her maidenhead; but as he opened his mouth to speak, a blood-chilling shriek echoed around the council hall.

  A deep darkness shrouded the chamber fleetingly, as if thick cloud had suddenly obscured the sun. Overhead the black mountain owl wheeled and shrieked, then stooped, suddenly, hurtling earthward like a black thunderbolt, its wide-spread black talons etched with silver from the light of the clerestory as it stooped. The great bird dropped like a stone, dashing the sacred scrolls from Zhartal’s hand and knocking the Seer’s scrying crystal from his grasp. The black globe shattered on the marble flagstones, scattering fragments far and wide. The owl turned tightly forcing Janir to duck as it swooped upward and alighted on the back of his throne.

  Janir smiled, his face taking on an aspect I liked little and trusted less. “It would appear that you are both mistaken.” He turned to me, “And it seems that The God is inclined to hear you, little dragon. So, wizard who is no wizard, and priest of no god, what say you now.”

  Janir’s use of Anubis’ own pet name for me wrong-footed me for a moment, but eventually I found voice enough to answer him. “That it was murder,” I answered simply, raising my voice over the ensuing brouhaha, “but that it was the will of the god, nonetheless.”

  The great owl shrieked from the back of Janir’s throne, bringing silence to the council chamber once more and making the king flinch once again as it launched itself. It glided straight for me on silent wings, and as I put my hand up to shield my head, it alighted on my forearm where it sat glaring balefully at the assembly. Several of the gathered lords made signs against the evil eye, while the archers stationed in the gallery nocked arrows and took aim.

  Janir rose from the throne, stepping down from the dais to where I stood. He approached me slowly, his hands clasped in the gesture of mourning. A slight movement of his head set the archers back at ease.

  “So, murder you say?” It was more statement than question, and I could see in his eyes that he himself believed as much.

  “I do, sire.” And, I thought, I think either your son or sycophantic seer had a hand in it. I said nothing. I considered that I had already said more than enough.

  The black owl flared its wings and took to the air, circling the council hall once before soaring effortlessly out throug
h the clerestory.

  Janir stood staring after the bird for several minutes before turning his attention back to me. He placed his hand slowly on my shoulder, “Your loss is my loss, Meriq. My heart weeps for you.” He took the despatch satchel and returned to the dais. “Anubis will be mourned and sorely missed. He shall be sent forward in full honour at Kor Sian. As I say, so let it be written, and as it is written so let it be done.” He sat heavily in the throne, his head thrown back. Eyes closed. He sat up abruptly. “Leave me, all of you.” He stared directly at me, his chestnut eyes glowing like coals. “All of you,” he said again.

  The tower was cold and slightly damp when I awoke. The brazier was dark, and long cold. I cursed to myself, shivering as I climbed out of bed swathing myself in the thick, homespun blanket. “Well, next time do not be so idle and bring up the wood and coal.” I admonished myself as I trudged down the steps to the main door. Grabbing an armful of wood I threw it into the hearth in the vestibule, muttering an incantation as I did so. The wood burst into flame, filling the room with sudden, intense heat before it settled to a more sensible level. “Thank the gods for NeedFire,” I mumbled as I returned to the upper floor with a scuttle of coals and some kindling. Within moments my bedroom was warm and the damp had been driven back.

  I washed and dressed quickly, threw the blanket and skins over the bed and drew the thick home spun woollen blanket back from the window jumping back as I came face to face with the huge black mountain eagle that had so mysteriously appeared the night of Anubis’ death.

  I recovered myself quite quickly for I had no real fear of wild creatures and it occurred to me as we stood looking at each other that this bird and I were sharing a mutual interest in each other.

  “Well,” I said, addressing the owl as I might any other visitor, “Have you come to take my eyes as you did with Anubis or are you just lost?”

  The owl tilted its head at an almost impossible angle as if it was trying to look at me upside-down before righting its head and jumping from the window cill to the night stand and from there to the back of my bedside chair. I shrugged. Perhaps the creature was merely seeking warmth after a night of hunting. I decided to ignore it and returned to the atrium to cook some breakfast. I would soon have to return to the city; my stores were almost exhausted. I looked at the meagre rations. There was no choice, I would have to go back for I was no hunter and as winter drew on the fruits of the forest were becoming scarce.