A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  “But what will I tell the Prince?” Zhartal was almost beside himself.

  “Tell him the truth. He was not the best candidate for the job.” I almost laughed at Zhartal’s expression of abject horror. I smiled at the priest. “Zhartal, I very much doubt that the prince will have you beheaded for treason just because you followed my instructions and appointed on merit.

  “I wish I could be so certain, Ez’n.” Zhartal finished his tea and sat for a few moments nibbling on a biscuit like a neurotic dormouse.

  “Well rest assured, my friend, that if Jae’nt has you arrested I shall have you released within the secta.”

  “I find that curiously unreassuring,” the priest observed drily. He finished his biscuit and rose with a resigned sigh and left to confirm the appointment with his clerk.

  As the door clicked shut I poured myself another cup of tea and leaned back on the couch. In truth I was relieved that there had been a stronger candidate. I did not doubt that Jae’nt would have made an admirable secretary, and indeed, it would have been quite a political coup to place the prince royal in the employ of his father’s Viceroy, and had he been a homely-looking young man it would have been desirable. As it was, Jae’nt was far from homely, and it would not be too long before speculation began regarding the actual services he might be providing for Zetaria’s Ez’n. No. The appointment of Myrna Ibaq-Kildan was ideal. Those shallow-minded court gossips would not entertain ideas about any impropriety between a plain girl and me, any more than they would think anything could pass with an unprepossessing youth. I had no doubt that Jae’nt would rage for a few days at having been beaten at interview by a mere girl, but his pride would recover after a couple of nights in the fleshpots of the lower city.

  I leaned further back on the couch and pulled the despatch satchel from the desk, easing one of the half dozen scrolls out. It was a petition from Faedron’s father, Senator Morton of Lana. I placed the scroll in my lap folding my hands over it for a moment. It seemed somehow strange to be receiving a petition from Faedron’s father and my mind immediately switched into a number of cynical questions regarding it. As I began to look for hidden motives I pulled myself up short. My impressions of Senator Morton when I had met him with Anubis had been of an honest and honourable man, and not one who would connive using his son’s friends. I picked up the scroll and scanned it.

  I had been reading for only a short while when Aarin appeared with another tray of tea and cakes followed, to my great displeasure, by Crown Prince Balten. Aarin stood poised with the tray. Clearly he understood that there was quite a serious breach of protocol in this situation and was not about to serve refreshments without my approval. I signalled him to place the tray next to the one Zhartal and I had been using. He picked up the old tray and waited again to be dismissed.

  “Your servants are very well-trained, Meriq.” Balten observed moving to sit in the chair opposite me. I moved my hand slightly, flexing my mind. The chair moved away from him. Balten snatched his hand back as if he had been bitten.

  “They know and remember their manners, Crown Prince. It seems the same cannot be said of you. In the future you will not enter my chambers unless you are invited or have an appointment,” I rose from the couch, clasping my hands across my chest in a full formal stance. “And you will most certainly never again call me by name without using my title. Is that in any way unclear, Highness?”

  “It is abundantly clear, Ez’n-Kyr,” Balten answered looking for all the world as if would like to gut me where I stood.

  I seated myself back on the couch and motioned the chair back to Balten’s side. The prince stepped back before he could stop himself. I gestured for him to sit. Iannos appeared as if by magic and served the tea. “Now that we understand each other, Crown Prince, what exactly brings you here?”

  Balten took a mouthful of tea, watching me over the rim of the cup with the keenness of a striking snake. “Firstly let me apologise properly for my presumptuousness, Ez’n. I did not mean any offence. I have not quite adjusted to your new rank.”

  “I understand.” I was trying very hard to be gracious but the words still sounded terse. “And the reason for your visit?”

  Balten clapped his hands and a boy of about twelve appeared with two battle dogs. “These are two of my finest combat dogs, Ez’n. I would be honoured if you would accept them as a token of my esteem.”

  I rose and went over to inspect the animals. There were tall, reaching my waist and dwarfing the boy who handled them with such impressive ease, broad shouldered and powerfully muscled they had clearly been bred for felling the enemy and, no doubt, killing them. Their golden eyes burned with cleverness, a cold intelligence that was both disquieting and reassuring. The two great square muzzles that presently nuzzled the boy standing between them could doubtless crush a man’s arm or his throat in a heartbeat.

  “They are magnificent, Highness,” I said, “And though I am no expert in such things am I right in thinking they are Kendirith.” I ran my hand over the glossy black coat of the nearest dog.

  Balten smiled. “Indeed, my lord. They are called Kal-tzarrak. It means Defenders of the Soul in our tongue. I am aware of your habit of riding out alone. Even for one such as you versed in the hidden arts the lands can be treacherous. In future when you ride out perhaps you will take Clarix and Zorn to provide you with the protection you cannot provide for yourself.” The Prince gestured towards the boy. “I should also like to present you with Jalin here. He is skilled with the dogs.” The prince paused and then smiled again. “He is skilled in many things, Ez’n, some of which I am sure you will find entertaining.” The prince genuflected. “And now, by your leave, Ez’n, I must go about my other business.”

  “By all means, Highness. And my thanks again for your gifts. I am sure I shall ride safe in the knowledge that no harm at all can befall me.”

  When Balten had gone I turned my full attention to the latest addition to my household. “Settle the dogs and come over here, Jalin.”

  The boy stood before me head bowed, hands clasped in a tight knot before his groin. He was Cassandrian, I guessed if his colouring was anything to go by. His hair was gold blond and his eyes were as green as the Medran veldt. And even given the length of the Zetan winter, he had kept the honey-tan skin tone. Southern Cassandrian, then, for the Northerners were blue eyed and as pale as Medrans. He was pretty with good strong, sharp bones that would keep him handsome even into old age; and he had a quality of unspoiled innocence in his face. That, no doubt, was what Balten found so alluring in him, and looking at the flimsy, barely decent chiton the boy was wearing; I could only begin to guess at what depravities the boy had endured.

  “Come Jalin, look at me. Let me see you.”

  Slowly the boy looked up and then shed his tunic, looking once again at the floor. I sat aghast for a moment and then leaned forward picking up the tunic. Jalin flinched at my touch as I re-fastened his clothing. “Jalin,” I said softly. The boy looked straight at me. “When I asked you see you, I meant I wanted to see you—I did not mean for you to undress.” Jalin regarded me suspiciously for a moment. I smiled reassuringly at him. “Understand this now, Jalin. The expectations I have of my servants bear no similarities to Prince Balten’s; and his tastes are not mine. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ez’n-Kyr.”

  Good! I thought, summoning Iannos and instructing him to find something decent for Jalin to wear. “Oh, Ez’n, Senator Dravin from Morkopia is in the anteroom. You asked me to notify you as soon as he arrived.”

  I nodded, calling Aarin to clear the table and bring more refreshments. “Kal-tzarrak!” He exclaimed as he caught sight of the dogs. “Ez’n these are Kal-tzarrak.” The youth looked horrified.

  “They were a gift from Crown Prince Balten.”

  “This Balten, is he a great friend?”

  I would not consider him an ally and I certainly would never consider him a friend of any degree or kind, and said as much to Aarin. He looked even
more worried. I motioned him to the couch beside me.

  “These dogs are great killers. The only way to stop a Kal-tzarrak is to cut off its head. Kal-tzarrak will not stop attacking until it or its target is dead.”

  I had to admit that I had heard of the Kendirith battle dogs, the soldiers’ songs and stories abounded with references to them. But Clarix and Zorn seemed quite docile. Aarin shook his head. The Kal-tzarrak were not only great defenders, they were deadly assassins. Young dogs were often given to an enemy king who would raise and train the dog only to be torn apart by it at the uttering of a secret word.

  I frowned. So, it seemed that Balten might have very cleverly infiltrated assassins into my home. And if it had not been for Aarin I would never have known. A sudden thought struck me. If a certain command could be issued to cause the dogs to target and kill and individual, there should be a way to undo the training. Aarin regarded me coolly. “It has never been done, master.”

  “Could it be done? Could you do it?”

  “I can try, master. I will send word to the Dog Master of my tribe. It will take time,” Aarin added, “but without the command I hold out little hope.” He gave the dogs a fearful look. “And there could be a second command that only this Balten knows.”

  “I think there might be one other who knows both,” I replied as Jalin re-appeared more suitably attired with Iannos and looking a good deal more relaxed. “And I think time is on our side, because Balten is unlikely to get the dogs to attack me here, and certainly not so soon after presenting them. No. He will wait for an opportune moment.” I turned my attention to Jalin, introducing him to Aarin and telling him that he would be working with the young Kendirith from now on.

  That being arranged, I instructed Iannos to invite Senator Dravin to join me, and repeated my instruction to Aarin to bring the refreshments. The youth regarded me stoically for a moment. “I hope we have enough food left,” he said and guided Jalin towards the kitchens.

  The Senator’s propensity for over indulgence was quite readily apparent, and as he heaved his bulk on to a couch opposite me I finally understood Aarin’s concern for our provisions. And it was not just his fondness for confection that was obvious, his partiality for girls just coming to womanhood was also apparent—if the girl he presented me with as a chambermaid was anything to go by.

  The meeting was brief, mainly because I wanted the man out of my rooms as soon as possible, and I was not disposed to allow him to levy taxes without firsthand knowledge of his current taxes and what the money was being spent on. Dravin left muttering and I despatched the girl, Karra, with Alna to get some decent clothes.

  “Why is it that when I ask these children to let me see them, they think to undress?” I demanded of Maegor as he groomed his horse. The sergeant shrugged at me. “Is it I or the world that has gone mad?”

  Maegor chuckled. “I am almost certain it is the world, Ez’n.”

  “And I am almost certain that you are simply saying that because I am the viceroy.”

  “It is because the men who present them are depraved pigs,” Aarin said as he lugged a bale of hay into the stalls.

  Maegor shot me an eloquent look and Faedron looked aghast. It was clear that both men were in full support of Aarin’s statement despite their disparate reactions, and I had to agree there was merit in it. “That, Aarin, is a sentiment that many may share with you,” I told the youth, “but it is not an opinion you should air outside of the present company.” And especially not in places where the Crown Prince might get to hear of it, I thought.

  “Your pardon, Ez’n.”

  The sound of a new and unfamiliar voice brought me about. A young boy dressed in a somewhat ill-fitted squire’s tabard bearing Dthor-Aid’n’s crest hovered uncertainly in the doorway, regarding me as if he thought I might eat him alive. I motioned him forward.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “The king wishes to see you urgently, Ez’n-Kyr.”

  Maegor’s eyebrows nearly disappeared under his hairline. “And he sent a squire as escort?”

  I gave a short, covert smile. Maegor could not have made the word “squire” sound any more obscene if he had tried.

  “Yes . . . that is . . . . no,” The boy was clearly flustered and discomfited by the sergeant’s gruffness. “Your escort waits without, Ez’n.”

  “So I should hope!” Maegor growled making the boy go an even deeper shade of scarlet.

  I gave the sergeant a reproachful look. “Go softly, Maegor.” I said quietly, “He is little more than a child.”

  In the courtyard Captain Dthor stood in full ceremonial dress, the white, tightly laced knee boots and flawlessly polished dark purple leather breastplate with the embossed gold dragon denoting his rank almost glowed in the afternoon sun. His gold blond hair that normally hung in rough waves to his waist had been painstakingly combed and braided held framing his face by his circlet of office. The formal soldier’s braid had been laced with red and purple cord and was wound several times around his neck the terminal held at his left shoulder by a gold dragon brooch. He gave me a smile heart-stopping in its perfection before making his formal salute.

  “Your pardon for sending my squire, Ez’n, but,” he paused indicating his soft, white calf skin boots, “I fear this is not suitable footwear for stables. The king wishes to speak with you.”

  “Judging from your appearance, Captain,” I said when I had finally found voice enough to speak, “this is to be a formal interview. I take it I have time to bathe and change?”

  “I am to attend the inauguration of the Commander of the Third House.” Dthor-Aid’n explained, “The King commanded that I call upon you first.” He turned slightly gesturing to Maegor and Faedron at the stables. “I shall wait here while you take your leave, Ez’n”

  “Duty calls,” I said taking my cloak from Aarin’s outstretched hand.

  “It practically bellows!” Faedron said. He craned his neck to get a better look at Dthor-Aid’n. “By the gods! I had no idea he could look so . . . well, so . . . .”

  “Stunning?” Aarin offered with a smile.

  “Formal.” Faedron corrected, sniffing.

  Maegor picked up a shovel clouting it across Faedron’s shins as he turned. “Ingrate,” the sergeant laughed. He turned to me. “Beware, Ez’n. No man has the right to be that beautiful.”

  “You think him beautiful, Maegor?” I asked flatly.

  The sergeant gave me a grin and turned motioning the others back to the stable. “My lord, Ez’n,” he said in quiet confidential tones, “a man would have to be blind or dead or a Morlan not to find him so.”

  “Or perhaps a Stone Virgin?” I ventured with a smile. “He certainly carries his formal dress well,” I conceded, ignoring Maegor’s mischievous grin.

  In the courtyard, Dthor-Aid’n offered me his shield arm. I looked past him briefly, “Your squire?”

  “I took the liberty of sending him ahead to have your bath prepared, lad. I believe the king wishes to see you as quickly as possible and you are scarcely in a condition to attend a meeting are you?”

  King Janir was stretched out on the couch in his withdrawing room and made no attempt to rise when I entered accompanied by Dthor-Aid’n. The captain saluted and left. As the door clacked shut behind the departing soldier the king rose, went over to the credenza and poured two goblets of wine.

  “What do you think of the plans I have for Mederlana, Meriq?”

  “I think your majesty must do as he feels he must, sire.”

  “But you do not approve.” The king’s words were more statement than question. He held out the wine to me.

  I took the goblet and sipped the rich red wine carefully. “I cannot approve of war, no. I am sure you have reason for breaking the Treaty you have with the Medrans.”

  “Are you, Meriq? Are you really?”

  “No, Sire. But if the decision is just then I am sure the way will be made clear. That is the way of the World.”

  Janir set his
goblet down and looked at me hard and long. “You sounded just like Anubis.”

  “I am not Anubis, sire. But I do think I am my father’s son.”

  Janir smiled and picked up his wine once more. He rose and walked over to the window staring out over the city for some time before he spoke again. “Yes,” he agreed, “you most certainly are.” He turned, his mood suddenly lighter. “My son is displeased,” he told me, rejoining me on the couch by the fire.

  “Which one?” I asked. That Balten was displeased would come as no surprise, he had just parted with two fine dogs and a boy he had clearly invested a great deal of time in “educating” to pander to his salacity and all as either a political blind or a bribe, neither of which would work; and the Crown Prince probably knew it. Then, of course there was Jae’nt.

  “Jae’nt thinks he was cheated out of the post in your household.”

  I grinned. “Of course he does, sire. He was bested by a girl.”

  The king smiled offering to top up my goblet. I placed a hand over the rim. I was already feeling the effects of drinking early in the day, and had the sudden feeling that I should be keeping my head clear.

  “That is precisely what I told him.” Janir laughed sketching a gesture of amused resignation with his free hand. He took a mouthful of wine, savouring it slowly before swallowing. “But he, like you, is his father’s son and does not take kindly to defeat.”

  That was rather an understatement, I thought, given what Zhartal had disclosed of the Prince Royal’s conduct during the interview and selection process. “Indeed.” I agreed.

  Janir stood moving quickly over to the credenza and picking up a plate of sweet bread and oatcakes. “Anubis’ squad is to be rebuilt.” Janir announced suddenly. He passed me the plate which I set down on the low table to my left.