Suddenly I was aware of a sharp stinging pain in my left hand noting almost at once that it was bandaged with a strip of scarlet wool immediately realising that Markos’ cloak had been cut.
Markos, seeing my confusion took my hand and placed the goblet in it. “You spoke to us Ez’n,” he prompted.
I returned an even more puzzled look.
Keelan limped over and peered into my face. “I do not know what spoke to us,” he said, “but it most certainly was not this—boy.”
Markos crouched down beside me. “Ez’n, in a voice not your own you said “Allied Kings, when you go forward in your quest go in the name of The God for His sake and for no other reason. Follow only the God’s path for all others will lead you to ruin.” The prince glanced at Janir who merely nodded. “You even wrote it on the Treaty,” he took my injured hand and held it up for me. “You jammed the quill into your hand and wrote it in your own blood.”
I rose somewhat unsteadily and walked over to where Janir stood looking at me as if I was some kind of demon just escaped from the Dark Realm. True enough, I had written those self same words on the Treaty, but the handwriting was not mine. It was no script I recognised at all.
“Is there more to come?” Janir asked suddenly.
I regarded the King solemnly. “Yes, Sire, I very much believe there is, but I surmise that we will have to wait on the God to make it clear to us.”
Keelan came over to me and peered into my face. “I am content to wait upon Morgul’s word,” he said. “We shall see what He has to say.”
I sat by my withdrawing room window staring at the two moons for sometime after Markos and Jae’nt left me to go to a nearby tavern. The day had been long and arduous. My hand hurt like the blazes of the Third Hell despite the salve I had applied to it. Whatever had possessed me to drive the stylus into my hand had done an excellent job for the pen had penetrated to the bone. It would be some time before the wound healed.
Turning away from the window I sat at my desk and unrolled the Treaty scanning the lines I had added. The blood now dried was the colour of rusted iron and I knew that if I did not use some kind of fixer the words would eventually flake away from the page. I selected a lacquer made from the juices of a gall beetle. This would form a clear and flexible covering and seal the page without affecting the blood or the surrounding ink and when it was dry I rolled the treaty once more and slipped it back into its bronze case.
I sat for some time just tapping the case against my good hand. Keelan might be content to wait on a further sign from his God of War, and Janir might be content to wait for another augur from Zoar; I was not quite so disposed towards patience even though I could hear Anubis’ counsel to me that gods could not be rushed.
I paused briefly by the bedchamber mirror to check my robes. The tailor in the lower city had done a remarkable job of producing a set of state robes in just over two days, which was just as well considering Janir had suddenly announced a banquet to honour Keelan’s arrival in the capital.
The announcement had caused a good deal of excitement throughout the court and the city alike; much of it to do with the fact that stories of our statuesque guests abounded and those courtiers and nobles who had yet to meet the Morlans were agog with anticipation.
And where anticipation and excitement at the forthcoming celebrations filled the halls of the palace and its environs, my own response was one of trepidation. Such an occasion would, like as not, give the Queen the chance to embarrass Janir that I was convinced she was waiting for, and this banquet would be an opportunity too good to pass up.
Since his first meeting with Gor I had made several attempts to get Janir to acknowledge the prince formally. The king, however, remained steadfast in his refusal and would not be drawn on the subject despite my best efforts. I had even enlisted the help of Zhartal whose opinion the king valued greatly, but it seemed that Janir was set on a course that could only end in an encounter that would be destructive both for the monarch and his estranged son.
I smoothed the dark purple scapular over my right shoulder to straighten it slightly and sighed. Well, the banquet was here, the scene was set and all that I could do now was prepare myself to engage in whatever damage limitation would be necessary should the Queen play her hand.
Setting Anubis’ crest on my left shoulder and the circlet of office on my head I made my way into the main lounge and was surprised to find Dthor-Aid’n, Faedron, Maegor and Aenar standing to attention in full formal dress.
“The king commands that you have an escort, Ez’n. We could not agree on who it should be,” Aenar explained as the group fell in around me.
“Could you not have drawn lots?” I asked.
“It would not have been proper, Ez’n.” Maegor offered as he opened the door for me.
“Then should it not have been the ranking officer?” I gave Dthor-Aid’n a questioning look.
“I considered that given our history, my lord, I would not have been high on your list of preferred companions.” The captain gave me a broad smile.
“That much is certain,” Faedron observed dropping my cloak over my shoulders as we entered an unheated section of corridor.
The great hall was alive with chatter when we arrived. Maegor took my cloak and handed it to a nearby page. I had scarcely set foot in the salle when Janir caught my eye and motioned me over.
He greeted me with a formal embrace. “When I told you to reinstate the Ez’n’s guard, I had no idea you would be bringing them all with you.”
“You commanded that I should be escorted,” I replied, “The royal guards you see before you could not decide who should do so. Thus am I beset, sire.”
“A man beset by such friends is indeed fortunate.” Keelan observed as he joined us.
“I suppose that is one way of looking at it, your highness.” I answered cordially, “And speaking of being assailed, it seems that Prince Markos and his guard, Kylos, are equally beset.”
Keelan glanced over to where Markos and the young archer were surrounded by a number of young noble women who were thrusting dance cards at them. “I suppose there are worse ways of dying than of female attention,” the king observed dryly and excused himself.
“Is there a reason the gallery is screened off your majesty?” I asked indicating the drapes that were cutting the great hall almost in half.
“Yes.” Janir replied.
I sighed. Clearly the king was in one of his cryptic moods and given my current state of agitation concerning the queen I was in no mood to rise to the bait. And thinking of the Queen . . .
“I do not see the Queen, sire. Do you suppose she is being fashionably late?”
“Undoubtedly,” the king answered, gazing around the throng, “I could never be so fortunate that she could be the other kind of late.”
Janir had no sooner finished speaking than a fanfare sounded at the end of the hall and Eilen appeared accompanied by Gor and Petros. The king frowned. “And of course, she would allow the boy to bring his catamite.”
“Majesty, I believe their relationship is a lot more than that. Gor holds Petros in very high esteem. He considers him his consort.”
The king gave me a venomous look. “He may consider what he wishes, Ez’n. No royal consort is made without the consent of the king.”
Janir was definitely in a perverse frame of mind I concluded. If Jae’nt had arrived with a man or youth on his arm the king would not have batted as much as an eyelash at the occurrence. “Ready yourself, Meriq.” The king muttered and took up position one tread below me on the gallery steps.
The room fell silent. Eilen, resplendent in her gown of royal purple, white and gold had made no attempt to understate her rank as was Zetan custom when greeting foreign royals. Her dark auburn hair had been carefully styled and pinned into numerous curls and bedecked with small jewels and tiny golden flowers. She had clearly taken a great deal of time in her toilet and her skin glowed like moonlit alabaster under the lights of the great
hall. Looking at her in that moment none could fail to see the beauty and poise of the elegant woman Janir had fallen in love with and made his queen.
The murmurs of admiration began to change to mutters of disapprobation and scandal when it became clear that Eilen was not about to bend her knee to her husband as tradition and the Law demanded.
Janir affected not to notice the breach and merely opened his arms in greeting to the gathering. He turned to face Keelan, “Honoured King and Prince of Morla, Lord Ez’n, Honoured guests,” he fixed Eilen with a burning look that brought a flush to her cheeks, “my lady,” he made a short bow to Eilen. “Tonight we not only greet our noble ally King Keelan and his heroic son, we welcome home my wife and,” he turned and gestured to the two pages standing at the join in the drapes, “we welcome to the capital a great and imposing talent.”
At Janir’s signal the pages drew back the screens.
Set in the gallery on easels wall hooks and anything else that could support them were Gor’s paintings; every last one of them, even the black canvas he had entitled “The Queen”. A gasp of astonishment went up from the gathering. Eilen’s luminous skin went the colour of tallow. Janir waited a suitable length of time for the applause and voices to abate slightly before raising his hand for silence.
“Honoured guests, it is with great delight and indeed it is my duty to present to you the artist of these astounding masterpieces. I give you a young man who as suffered the indignity of his father’s ignorance and prejudice and borne it with fortitude and generosity of spirit. And if he can forgive me, may I present my son Gor, Prince of Zetaria.”
My gaze shot at once from the assembled artwork to Prince Gor who was standing away from his mother and Petros quaking like a newborn faun. “My son,” Janir said again, “please forgive me and join me. This is your rightful place.”
In the time it took for Gor to take his first wobbling step towards the king Eilen had recovered her composure and moved quickly to her son’s side as if to steady him. “Gor, my dear, go to your . . .”
The word “father” never formed. Before she could utter it my mind flexed and I cut off her breath. She grasped at her neck, pulling the jewelled choker from her throat as she fought for breath. Janir turned to me.
“Let her speak, Meriq.”
I was so startled that the king had discovered my action that I released the queen before I even realised it. She heaved in a great breath. “Gor, dear, go to your father.”
Janir was down the gallery steps and had scooped up the prince before the first spasms had time to fell him. With the prince in his arms he rounded on Eilen with such ferocity that the women stepped back. “You unspeakable Witch! Do you suppose that I would not know what you have been about?”
“My husband, what are you saying?” There was something vaguely ridiculous about the queen feigning innocence and the response of those witnessing the altercation made it clear that all believed Eilen was culpable for something.
“Mention me and the boy throws a fit.” Gor convulsed with such violence that Janir nearly dropped him. I ran forward but Janir froze me with a glance and as Gor’s faeces splattered the floor tiles splashing Janir’s shins he clutched the boy closer. “Stop this now, Eilen, or I swear I will have Meriq put The Eye on you!” he gave the queen a dark, brooding look. “Think carefully now, woman, or the next breath you draw will be your last.” Janir told his wife as she made to protest her innocence once more. “Meriq!”
As I moved to the king’s side I drew my ceremonial wand more for effect than anything else for I had no need of a magical weapon for what I was to do for my king.
The queen moved forward quickly and whispered something in Gor’s ear. The seizure stopped almost at once and the boy came to himself a few moments later. Janir set the youth on his feet. Gor was staring at the mess on the floor and at his father’s excrement-covered robe. “This is no shame on you, Gor. This is my shame. Mine and your mother’s.”
He signalled to a couple of pages who took Gor away through a side door.
“Ez’n, please be good enough to continue with the proceedings.” The king threw off his soiled tunic revealing a fresh one beneath. Tossing the filthy tunic aside he covered the dirt on the floor before excusing himself and following Gor through the side door.
“You knew,” the queen hissed as I stooped to recover her necklace and handed it back to her.
“I knew.” I admitted, “But I assure you, highness, the king did not learn of your perfidy from me. He obviously has his own sources.” And that, I thought, though not entirely unexpected, was deeply troubling.
I turned away from the queen to find that the pages had moved Gor’s paintings opening up the way to the great gallery where the tables had been laid up for the feast, and as the last of the guests took their places at the table Janir reappeared with Gor, Jae’nt and Balten at his side and as Eilen seated herself beside her husband the banquet began.
As the main courses drew to a close Keelan turned to Janir. “I have arranged for some entertainment, King Janir, if you would permit.”
The king rose and clapped his hand. Half a dozen Morlans appeared with a company of musicians. A sombre drum beat began to sound, slow and quiet at first gradually growing louder while the soldiers promenaded and strutted, then as the music gathered speed and volume and as the drumming gathered momentum the soldier’s threw off their cloaks much to the delight of the ladies and many of the men and began to dance. Slowly at first, executing long slow back flips and cartwheels that made almost every sinew in their bodies stand out. The movements were extraordinary; the men lifted each other effortlessly, their glistening, oiled bodies sliding against each other like the parts of a well-oiled machine. And then, as the dance sped up the men let out a great cry and Kylos launched himself high over one of the tables as if he had been fired from a ballista. He tucked into a perfect triangle like a double bladed knife before heading towards the floor like a bolt of golden lightning.
The men caught him, lifted him and threw him from one to the other with such perfect timing that the audience began to shriek and clap in time with the music. Then as Kylos stepped up on to the hands of one of the dancers the men formed a circle and the young man danced from hand.
I glanced at Markos who merely cocked an eyebrow at me and made a covert gesture towards Aenar who was sitting two seats away from me next to Dthor-Aid’n. The Provost sat mesmerised, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes never leaving the archer as he moved from man to man.
In the final set the circle broke away to reform leaving Kylos in the hands of one man. The youth raised himself in a slow handstand over his partner’s head before flexing his back into a horseshoe and stepping down on to the network of hands formed by the remaining troop. With another cry they tossed the archer into the air breaking the net with a shout and throwing their hands wide. Kylos turned and twisted in the air and fell—and the men fell with him. The youth came down in the centre of the circle to a great scream of alarm from the women. People jumped to their feet in shock. Slowly the dancers rose forming a human catafalque and lifted the fallen youth high above their heads. The men turned slowly in time with the drum beat pausing briefly in front of Keelan who gave a short nod. They moved slowly around until they were facing Aenar who looked as if he had just choked on his own heart and slowly they passed Kylos towards him until finally they set the young man on his feet before him to the last beat of the drum.
As the applause abated the strongest looking man amongst them crouched once more lifting the young man above his head and walking around the floor with him. They were a short distance from our table when the dancer turned. Kylos crossed his arms over his chest and fell back. The remaining troop did not move.
Realising that Kylos was expecting his comrades to catch him and that the men seemed not to be expecting the particular move Aenar leapt over the table and caught the youth. The other dancers cheered and rushed forward clapping Aenar on the back as he set Kylos back on
his feet.
The archer glanced over at Keelan and Markos both of whom nodded. The young man walked with Aenar as he regained his seat. He stood for a short while before the provost and then smiled drawing a gold dart from his belt. “I knew that you would never let me fall,” he said setting the dart on the soldier’s plate, “that is why I chose you.”
“I understand that you are a dancer too, Ez’n,” Keelan said leaning around Janir and, I felt, rather skilfully directing attention away from the somewhat strange occurrence at the neighbouring table, “would you honour us?”
“Your majesty, I fear that I could not live up to the demonstration of skill we have just witnessed.”
“Nonetheless, my lord, you would honour me.”
When the applause finished I bowed to the kings and then to the assembled throng. Keelan rose and pulled out my chair for me. “That was indeed a spectacular performance, Ez’n.”
“You flatter me, King Keelan.”
“I am never guilty of flattery, Ez’n, only truth.”
The evening carried on borne on the wings of music song and dance. It was sometime before I managed to find the king in a suitably discreet place. “That was, as Keelan says, an impressive display, my little dragon.” Janir told me as I took the goblet he offered me.
“If you already knew about Gor’s fits, you might at least have warned me.” I said coolly.
“Ah, Meriq!” The king said craftily, “I tell you as much as you tell me.” He glanced past me to the dancers. Without warning he took my hand and led me on to the dance floor. “I have to say, Meriq, you are remarkably quick on your feet. But then,” he concluded, passing me to Dthor-Aid’n as if I was nothing more than a parcel, “that is why I made you Ez’n.” And then he was gone before I could reply.
Dthor-Aid’n picked up the pattern of the dance and guided me to back to our table. “I warrant this will be a banquet not soon forgotten.” He gestured to where Aenar and Kylos were seated with Markos and one of the dancers. “By any of us. Do you suppose that was some kind of courtship we witnessed?”
A Rising Darkness Page 21