A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  And then I saw it, a small almost imperceptible tilt and turn of his head towards the eastern transept. He gave a short nod and turned back still chanting. Craning past him I saw Jalin plunge his hands into the flames of the brazier, his face completely blank and his gaze fixed on Voltax. My blood turned to ice and my voice froze in my throat.

  The priest let out a blood-chilling shriek and went rigid. Silence hit the gathering as if every mouth had been struck dumb. The Charter seemed to glow with an unearthly fire and the priest’s hands burst into flames which quickly spread down his arms. He was struggling to release the Charter but his hands had become welded to the stone.

  In less time than it takes to tell Voltax’s hands melted away crumbling to ash. The great stone Charter fell crashing against the golden lectern and broke into four pieces. It was then I felt Jalin’s thought’s touch mine. “Only you can complete this, my Lord. Please—I cannot sustain this alone and I cannot take my hands from the flame until it is done.”

  I turned to look at Markos. He returned a cold, hard gaze. And simply mouthed “Your choice,” at me.

  From where I sat I could see that Jalin was now struggling to maintain his ability. Voltax was still burning, lying delirious but still screaming on the dais. I glared at Markos and gathered my mind. The four pieces of stone rose effortlessly from where they had fallen as I pulled them into the air. Markos wanted a spectacle did he? Then I would give him one. The pieces began to rotate in the air faster and faster and then I pushed the shards outwards before bringing my consciousness to bear so forcefully that when I crashed the pieces together I almost fainted. The Qor-hadthin exploded into crystalline dust showering everyone on the dais. Through the haze of dust and smoke from Voltax I saw Jalin plunge his hands into a bowl of ice and water. Karyn was at his side in a heartbeat applying some kind of salve while her First Apprentice administered a potion of some description.

  When I recovered sufficient of my strength I shattered the lectern just for good measure leaving it a heap of nuggets.

  The marquee was in uproar, men and women were on their knees crying or laughing, sometimes both at the same time. Some just lay where they had thrown themselves too traumatised, I supposed, to even attempt to rise. Some might even have been too afraid to move or even gaze upon the scene.

  Markos stepped forward. “Morla, be still!” he shouted over the commotion and gradually order returned. People regained their seats or their original positions by walls. Some held on to the poles for support as they stood trembling. He pointed towards the destroyed lectern before stooping to grab up a large handful of granite dust.

  “Is this the Great God’s Justice? Is this His Will?” He called the question three times. Aldrigan stood up.

  “Yes, my king, it is.” The old warrior shouted. And the cry began to resound through the Court, until Markos raised his hand for silence. He turned to Tariq and Jae’nt who had remained standing in the centre of the floor throughout except now they appeared to be hugging each other like frightened children.

  “Tariq, your life is your own again. Take your Consort from this cursed ground and celebrate your freedom and your love knowing that it is vindicated. All charges are vacated. Get thee both hence.”

  The couple needed no second telling and they hurried away only to be mobbed by the titans as they went.

  Zarin was still standing by the edge of the decking staring at the smashed lectern and the dust. He was clearly trying to work out how Markos might have engineered such a shocking feat. He stared at me briefly, clearly trying to decide whether or not he believed I could have played a part in anything so massive. Then he seemed to conclude that not even I could have such power and he looked away.

  Markos stepped over to where Voltax lay writhing in agony on the floor by ruins of the Charter stand. He glared at the priest’s guard and pointed to the eastern transept. “There is a shield maiden and healer in there. Get her.”

  He turned to the four other priests who were attempting to soothe their mentor.

  “Your order is hereby dissolved. Remove your gold and place it there.” Markos pointed to pile of scrap gold that had once been the Charter’s podium. “Every last scrap,” he said coldly, “and do not think that I will not have you stripped both to your skin and of your skin if I have even the slightest doubt that you have not done my bidding.”

  He turned to Aldrigan. “General, please convene a State Council at once in my Enclave. I will join you all when I have concluded my business here.

  He turned his attention to the Aergin’s Honour Guard. “You will take your men and report to General Varthas when the State Council ends. You will join the regular army as infantry or in whatever capacity the General deems fit. If you choose not to do this you may spend your remaining years as exiles in any country that will offer you shelter. If you are found within Morla’s borders you will be summarily executed. Go.”

  Bereft of their layers of gold the black priests looked pitifully thin. The young king gave them a scornful look. “Return to your enclave and gather whatever food and clothing you may need for your journey. You are not to return to Morla you are exiled from this moment. No Morlan is to give you succour or aid in any form whatsoever.” He signalled one of his honour guard, “Have the heralds announce this order throughout the camp and go with them to their Enclave and ensure that they take nothing other than what I have permitted. And Elan,” Markos said as the guard turned to go, “Lock down their herald birds and if necessary shackle their pages. None from this pestilence will send anything anywhere. I want no word of this going back to Morla until I am ready to send it.”

  It was clear that Markos was completely aware of the tenuous nature of his position and he needed time to consolidate it. He ordered the Gaerim, the priests’ personal guards to be corralled at once and held securely in the prisoner pens until the State Council was done and General Varthas could do what was necessary with the men.

  The guard saluted and escorted the priests from the Court.

  Jalin appeared from the transept in response to Markos’ call. The King embraced him fondly. “You, young man, are a spectacular page and will make a superb seneschal some day.”

  “I am honoured to have helped, Majesty.” Jalin answered.

  Markos smiled and patted the youth on the shoulder. “Hurry to your own King now, I am sure he has missed you.”

  Markos turned, stooping to inspect the gold the priests had shed. He turned as he became aware of me moving up behind him.

  “I would have words, King Markos.”

  “I am sure to would, Ez’n. But that will be at my convenience and not at yours. I have a State Council to attend.”

  As he went to walk away I grabbed his arm. King or not I was in no mood to play the diplomat. “You played me, Markos. You used me!”

  Markos turned, twisting free of my grip. “I am a King, Meriq. We use our soldiers, we use our nobles and yes, we use wizards. Kings use people, Lord Ez’n, get over it.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Jalin stared after Markos for sometime before turning to look at me. He suddenly paled at what I imagine my expression must have been.

  I stalked over to him and examined his hands. Apart from a small blister or two there was nothing to be seen. The injuries present could easily have been explained as occurring through careless replenishment of the brazier, or even as a kitchen burn. Considering the youth had plunged his hands to the wrists in coals the absence of burn was nothing short of miraculous.

  “The ability to pass such things to others goes hand in hand with my other skill, Lord Ez’n.” Jalin said. Markos had approached him several settans before his father’s death to quiz him on the demonstration he had given lunations ago to the War Council when he jabbed his own hand with a knife and nicked every man in the room but himself. Jalin had withheld nothing form the Crown Prince. He saw no reason to. The man was in my Guard, the son of an ally to his King.

  I almost groaned at the naivety
of the youth—and almost simultaneously wishing that I had been so innocent at his age.

  “Jalin,” I said finally, “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

  “Yes. Lord Ez’n. I know exactly what I have done and I would have done so with or without King Janir’s blessing and with or without your approval or consent.” The page bowed his head in a gesture of profound respect. “My Lord Ez’n,” he continued without looking up, “We all have been given skills of various kinds by the Great God—however He is called. He gives us these gifts that we may use them to benefit our fellows and serve Him to the best of ourselves. That evil stone and men who served it were a foul poison—a rotting plague devouring the very soul of King Markos’ nation. I could no more stand by and see a good man like Tariq destroyed by a madness so vile and wicked that it should never have come about.” He looked me directly in the eye. “And with the greatest of respect, Lord Ez’n, neither could you.”

  The sound of Dthor clearing his throat as if he was stifling a laugh brought me about. He looked down at me and twitched his head slightly. “The boy has a very solid point Meriq—I had to restrain you, remember?”

  Solid point or not—and I admitted freely that it was—I somehow doubted that Janir would have allowed Jalin to be involved in the proceedings had he any inkling that his page would be plunging his hands into burning coals and setting priests a-fire. I was just about to give voice to my thoughts when Jalin went very pale and leapt to his feet.

  “Lord Ez’n—the king—your spell—we must go to him at once. He is in great distress.”

  Dthor grabbed his cloak. I jumped to my feet cursing Markos as I did so. Using the amount of energy I had in destroying the Qor-hadthin—which I now realised was far more governed by my wrath than my reason—had disrupted the life link with Janir. Like as not the man had collapsed.

  As we hurried to Janir’s enclave Jalin kept me appraised of the situation. Janir was in considerable pain but not, it seemed, in any danger. Balten and the Queen were in the outer area with a couple of guards trying to gain access to the king’s quarters.

  “Trying?” I said, “What is going on?”

  Jalin grinned at me. “Lord Ez’n, I am not so stupid that I did not set the dogs.”

  “Keep trying my patience in this way, boy, and regardless of how much the king loves you, I will feed you to the dogs.”

  When we arrived at the Janir’s marquee Balten and two of his guards were trying to find a way past the dogs. Queen Eilen who had actually arranged a social visit with Janir for the mid-morning had arrived just as he collapsed. She could hear him within, but her attempt to enter had met with immediate resistance from the two Kal-tzarrak and it was clear that no attempt to get past them had worked. A guard who thought to use his initiative and cut is way in behind the dogs had suddenly found himself on Zorn’s business end and would have been killed had one of his colleague not managed to drag him back through the slash.

  “Varesh, q’orrimani.” Jalin called and the dogs settled and sat though their demeanour made it clear that none should attempt to approach.

  “Summon Karyn,” I told Jalin and hurried inside to the stricken monarch.

  In the outer area I could hear Balten telling his mother not to make a fuss about the dogs. They were there to protect the King at all times and that she should be glad that they protected him in all circumstances. He had fallen sick and stricken and would have been easy prey to any would-be usurper. I found my lips curling in a sinister, wry smile. Not just any usurper Balten, I thought. I had no doubt in my mind that he had worked out that the king’s collapse must have been as a result of a break in my concentration somehow, and I was equally certain that had Jalin failed to set the dogs Janir would most likely be dead now.

  The king was curled up by his morning bed clutching his gut. He looked grey and drawn and the ravages of his illness were so clear that I could have wept at the sheer tragedy of the man’s state.

  “Peace, Sire,” I said. “I am here. All will be well soon.”

  “Wh-what happened?” he gasped. “One moment I was working and the next . . . .”

  “Markos happened.” I said flatly. “Be still and quiet I will explain all when we have this mishavech back under control.”

  Janir managed a weak laugh. “Oh Ez’n. Markos really must have annoyed you if you’re cursing in Morlan!”

  Karyn and her First arrived moments later. She simply stood and raised an eyebrow at me.

  I needed the king to be pain free and relaxed if I was to undo the damage Markos’ little “Act of Divine Intervention” had caused.

  We managed to get Janir to drink two pain relieving draughts before he started to retch. A third, lighter potion scented with cherry and mint seemed to settle the nausea quickly and once the king was drowsing we hauled him on to his day bed and I began repairing the damaged life link. A secta later the king looked unwell but was close to returning to the normal level of glamour I had originally given him.

  “You do good work, wizard.” Karyn grinned at me. “The king looks almost healthy again.”

  “I sense a “but” in there somewhere.”

  Karyn shrugged her shoulders. “You, on the other hand look like a pile of trampled slevyak.” She reached into her bag and produced a small flask. “Here. Drink.”

  The stuff smelled like an alcoholic version of Aarin’s brew—which is exactly what it turned out to be. I almost laughed. Only a Morlan shield maiden would think of fermenting something so awful.

  “Or a Morlan healer,” the young woman said with grin. “My grandmother, the fisherwoman—you remember—always said if it’s good as a tea it’s probably better as a liquor.”

  I chuckled. “Yes I remember. I also remember that we both agreed your grandmother was probably moon-struck.”

  Behind us Janir stirred and pushed himself unsteadily up on one elbow. He looked at us blearily through the haze of the soporific we had given him. “Ez’n, do I have a flux again?”

  “No sire,” I replied. “I think it was probably the cooked meats you did not have cleared away and then ate this morning at breakfast.”

  He flopped back on the pillows with a small satisfied smile. “Oh good.” He slurred. “I have food poisoning this time. It makes a change I suppose.” And with that he fell asleep.

  When I left the king to speak to Balten, Eilen had already returned to her tent. Upset by the dogs she felt she could not remain nor visit again while the beasts were present. I made a mental note to ask Jalin to give the dogs some special treats for their part in that particular piece of good fortune and then set to explaining the situation to Balten.

  The Crown Prince received the intelligence with little surprise and readily accepted my explanation that the link between Janir and I had been disrupted by the events in the Morlan Court.

  “Do not worry, my Prince,” I said smoothly. “All is restored and the plan will continue to unfold in accordance with your will.”

  He placed is hand on my shoulder and smiled. My flesh felt sullied by his touch but I smiled back. “You are never going to regret this, my friend. When I am king you and your house will soar to such height as to rival the gods themselves.”

  “Should I live that long,” I thought. I said nothing. I knew that Balten would kill me or attempt to as soon as look at me once he perceived I was no longer of use to him. Turning quickly I returned to the inner tent to find Jalin curled up on the day bed with the king one arm around the monarch’s neck and the other thrown across his chest as he anchored himself in the remaining space. He turned when he heard me approach, his face wet and grubby from the freshly falling tears.

  “Oh Ez’n how could I? How could I allow this?”

  “You Jalin? You did not do this. You did not cause this.”

  The boy swung himself around and perched on edge of the day bed. He wrung his hands, his tears falling heavily as spring rain made tiny tapping sounds on the woven grass matting. “If I had not agreed to Markos’
plan, my king would . . .”

  I put my hand up to silence him. He was not in any way to blame for this sad, sorry state of affairs. He had acted to his conscience and none could judge that. If there were villains to be accused in this business it was Markos and me. Markos because of his vendetta against the M’rgaerdjinn and me because I let my rage get the better of me and lost control of the most important enchantment I had ever cast.

  “Now,” I said sternly, “No more of you blaming yourself. Go. Wash your face and compose yourself so that you can properly comfort your king. When he awakes he will want to see the young man who decorates his breakfast with flowers. He would be hurt to think he had caused you sadness.”

  Jalin returned swiftly from the monarch’s wash area. His hair was combed and his narrow page’s temple braid had been looped along the side of his head held firmly by Janir’s gold crested braid pins denoting the youth’s status as the king’s most trusted page and his declared Favourite. It was an honour that Jalin bore with great dignity and humility and it made him hugely popular with the Generals and the Councillors.

  The youth responded to their every request quietly and quickly and always behaved as if every request made of him came from the king himself.

  I left the couple a few moments later as Jalin stretched along the king’s side. The king stirred slightly and opened his eyes. “Ah, there you are.” He smiled. “Will you bring me flowers in the morning?”

  Jalin smiled. “Of course, your Majesty. When do I not?”

  †

  CHAPTER 37

  KING TO PRIEST—EXECUTED

  (Choctaw Move—the piece is removed from play)

  IDID NOT see or hear from Markos for almost a settan after Tariq’s dramatic acquittal in the Court. The young archer and the Prince Royal were also conspicuous by their complete lack of presence anywhere on the camp. It was not difficult to deduce where they were located because there was a double sized tent set where Tariq’s lone one have been and it was clearly being protected by the titans as they sprawled casually around a hearth, their bedding spread in an arch facing away from the doorway and arranged in such a way as to give the brothers a clear view of every possible approach. I found myself smiling. Perhaps finally Jae’nt had learned the value of discretion. The pair had become celebrities almost overnight and I suspected that the mixture of congratulation and condemnation was probably mightily mixed and had finally become too much.