The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  It was almost as dark as the alleyway the hooded man had just left, save for one torch that sat miserably in a sconce, on the verge of burning out. He shoved the door closed with all his might before heading into the dimly lit expanse. In the distance an ominous red glow beckoned to him and he rushed forward as if to greet it like an old friend. His face lit up at the sight of it, as it did every time he beheld the mystical item. He felt a surge of excitement as he stared at it hungrily, almost jealously so. He continued to savour this moment as another man stepped up behind him, clapping a hand on the former’s shoulder. This made him turn with a start and the ringing noise of a dagger being snatched from its sheath rang out in the still air. A wizened face smiled haughtily at the sight of the iron dagger being pointed at his throat and the younger man instantly relaxed.

  “By Cayrothe, I nearly ran you through,” the younger man exclaimed as he took a moment to recollect himself. “Why would you do such a thing?” he asked with a haughty snap.

  “Not what I’d expect from the man who claims to be the next ruler of Akanthir,” the old man retorted with a laugh. “That’s the reaction I expect from a startled doe, not Trelech, the son of Zoirech the Scourge. I protect what is mine and I have cause to trust few men so it is my duty to ensure that unwelcome guests don’t come for a visit. But you know this well enough whelp.”

  “How dare you address me this way Old Man. If I were in power, I’d have your tongue cut from your mouth for that insult,” Trelech snarled at the old man. His features twisted into a snarl as all his hatred was turned toward this man who dared to treat him in this manner. “We have an accord and I came for answers Zyffhal.”

  “You may want answers boy but this is my domain and you will treat me and our order with respect,” Zyffhal retorted, flashing a grin of yellowing teeth. “You come seeking answers and I came seeking the rewards you promised me but have yet to deliver.”

  “You are a fool Zyffhal,” Trelech snarled. “You only get rewards when I get results. I was otherwise engaged when a messenger delivered this news to me. The successful assassination of Aynhar and the not so successful attempt on the Queen of Ythelia. Now, can you explain to me, old goat, as to why your agents can be so skilled in Tirgaal but get caught out like wives of cuckolded husbands in Maleardhus? You promised me both their heads and yet I receive word of your ineptitude instead.”

  “A setback but my agents have the means and capacity to strike again. You do nothing but act as the child does in the midst of a temper tantrum. You have ambitions beyond your means, yet not the patience to wait for your efforts to come to fruition. We offered you the means to wrest power from this entire continent in exchange for our influence to spread in Akanthir. We have acted and yet your indolence keeps you from meeting your obligations to us,” Zyffhal roared. Abruptly he grabbed Trelech’s neck and shoved his face forward toward the source of the red glow that filled the room. Before him a blood-red gem with cracked edges gleamed and hummed and Trelech could feel the vibrations coursing through his body as the mysterious jewel pulsed with power. Trelech squirmed in Zyffhal’s iron grip, the old man’s strength surprising him. “You spoke of a plan to become King and yet your father remains sovereign and your brothers are still in line for succession before you. We are still waiting for you to keep your promise.”

  “It is a work in progress. These things take time,” Trelech screamed. Suddenly he unleashed an elbow that cracked into Zyffhal’s ribs that caused him to stumble backwards, grunting in pain as he did so. “I will meet my obligations when you have shown me you can act as I demanded. Then and only then will power and influence be yours.”

  “Ahh the folly of youth. You speak of power and influence as if you wield it already. Only one of us here knows what true power really means and it sits just inches from your face. Don’t forget Trelech, you need me more than we need you. Our order has endured for centuries and we have the blood gem. You will have nothing but empty promises until you act. It was my influence that made King Aynhar’s death possible and it will be my bidding that will bring the death of the White Queen,” spat Zyffhal. “Now I suggest you run along before your father misses his whelp.”

  Trelech started to protest but Zyffhal raised his hand sharply, cuffing the younger man across the face. Trelech’s head snapped to one side and his eyes turned wild as he returned his gaze to those wizened features. His anger was enflamed as the old man merely laughed in his face before turning and leaving the young prince fuming alone. Trelech clenched his fists and he started shaking visibly while a low otherworldly voice whispered deep in the recesses of his brain of power beyond comprehension. He turned to stare fixedly at the blood-red jewel once more and his mind resolved to settle accounts sooner rather than later.

  “I’ll show you, old fool, who has the true power here. Just you wait Zyffhal, your order will be mine and you’ll be left with nothing,” Trelech muttered angrily to himself. With one last glance toward his destiny the young Prince gazed at the gem before striding furiously toward the door that had brought him here, more certain than ever of what the future held.

  Chapter Three

  Ydari walked back toward the staircase, his mood having turned pensive in light of what he had been told. The thought that someone had threatened the life of the Queen whom he had known for so long angered him greatly. The Captain quelled his growing wrath as he geared his mind toward the task at hand. He had been given a mission and he would follow the one lead that lay immediately before him. The Watch Captain resumed an easy walk as he strode down the stairs, still lost in his own thoughts. As he did so the Chamberlain came into view once more. The man’s face set into a mocking sneer. Ydari flashed him a beaming smile and the Chamberlain’s face furrowed in annoyance. It was over in a moment but that small gesture seemed to shine a light on the day’s proceedings. Ydari descended the gleaming staircase until he was once more in the entrance hall. He cast his eyes about and found what he was looking for. A nondescript door made of simple wood stood in the opposite wall and a guard stood dutifully to attention by it. This humble entryway marked the entrance to the dungeons. The Captain approached the Guard who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I’m sorry sir, nobody may enter here without permission,” the Guard squawked professionally.

  “I wish to enter on the order of the Queen, on a matter of some delicacy,” Ydari intoned, leaning in close to the man in order to prevent his words from travelling too far. Ydari’s hand slipped to his waist where his coin pouch resided and touched it meaningfully. “I trust we can come to a price for your silence.”

  “I see,” the Guard responded. His face remained implacable though his eyebrows had raised ever so slightly at the jingle of coins. “Now that I think about it, I was thinking about getting my wife a gift to mark our upcoming anniversary,” he continued helpfully.

  “Then allow me to wish you both much happiness,” said Ydari. His hand dipped into the coin purse and extracted four gold coins. He nodded and strode past him, depositing the coins into the Guard’s hand surreptitiously without breaking stride. He pushed on the door and it swung open to allow admittance. “My thanks,” Ydari remarked gratefully.

  The hall was lost from sight as the Guard stepped up to the door. He extracted a large copper key and unlocked it, the well-oiled hinges showing no signs of age as the door swung silently inwards. Ydari returned an appreciative nod and stepped through. Abruptly the door was pulled shut with a gentle thud behind him followed by the characteristic locking noise that accompanied it. Ydari was left with a stone staircase that dropped away sharply; the walls whitewashed and bare, save for a torch burning in a sconce every few feet or so. He was glad of their presence as he descended. The Captain walked down an ever-narrowing passage for several minutes until at last another plain wooden door greeted him. Ydari pushed on the wood but it stubbornly refused to budge. He rapped on the surface that blocked his way. A couple of seconds passed while the same procedure as with t
he door above was repeated and a shrill voice instructed him to enter. He reached for the loop of metal that acted as the handle and he lifted it up with a clang before entering the dungeon beyond.

  The space opened up into a surprisingly large area, the way down doing little to prepare Ydari for the sheer size of the royal prison. Three tiers of cells had been erected into the dank area, interconnected with walkways and staircases that ran the entire length. The prison was easily twice as large as the entrance hall above and each of the cells was enclosed in thick ageing bars that had stood the test of time and the more determined prisoners who sought to test their limits through escape. The cells too were unusually large, much bigger than the ones that had been erected at his watch house. They were single-occupant cells but the royal dungeons could easily accommodate five times that number. Another dozen guards were visible. Some of their number were lounging to one side in what passed as the guard station while half a dozen others walked at various points along the walkways, their eyes keeping watch over the nearly eighty men currently imprisoned within these walls.

  Ydari approached the guards who were idling by a cheaply made wooden table and a long stool for shared seating. One of them was sitting on the tabletop and he was the first to look up as Ydari walked closer. He had all the bearing and grace of an ailing pig. He had lank brown hair that looked as if it had never seen a brush. He had porcine eyes over a rounded nose and a dirty smear spread across one side of his face, a testament to the man’s cleaning habits. He sported a paunchy gut that showed, in spite of his poor hygiene, he didn't lack for food and his approach to his job screamed of laziness. He silently thanked the Gods that he didn’t have such officers under his own command. His uniform was in tatters and seemed to match his personality. Ydari could see that he was the lowest ranking soldier in this particular posting but he could already tell this man had ideas above his station and liked to remind people of his supposed superiority. As he continued to step forward a lingering odour about the man filled Ydari’s nostrils. He stopped suddenly and silently retched to himself as he turned to the Sergeant who was seated at the head of the table.

  “Good morning gentleman. I need to speak to one of your prisoners,” Ydari demanded, phrasing it as if he were speaking to the entire group but subtly facing the seated Sergeant. Ydari saw the figure that exuded the vile aroma lean forward in his periphery but paid him no attention.

  “Of course you may because it’s our job to meet your every request. Any particular one you had in mind or are you just making a house call?” the owner of the offensive odour drawled sardonically. Behind him three of his companions smirked audibly. The man sat up straighter, clearly pleased with himself and the laughter emboldened him. “What’s the matter friend, can’t handle a joke?” he asked, seeing the crease of annoyance in Ydari’s brow.

  “I can if it’s a good joke,” Ydari retorted. “It strikes me you think you have a rapier-like wit but I’m afraid to say it’s more akin to a butter knife. Now, if you excuse me, I was talking to your officer.”

  “I’m Vedile,” the brusque man snapped. “And…”

  “Fascinating I’m sure but I’m not here to dodge the traffic of memory lane with you. I have more important things to be getting on with,” Ydari interrupted dryly.

  “You should know who you’re talking to friend,” Vedile spat acidly, his intonation clearly indicating they were far from friends. “I’m the most senior man here. I’ve been here for twenty years.”

  “Judging by the smell I don’t have a hard time believing that,” Ydari fired back. Vedile’s cronies guffawed loudly and his face turned crimson with fury. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough. Unless you’re about to tell me that you’ve been here for twenty years acting as an overpaid paperweight or you’re just going that extra mile to make sure the Sergeant’s papers here remain firmly on the table I have business that doesn’t include vomiting on your stench.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” roared Vedile. “I’ll…”

  “Oh, shut up Vedile! Go clean something,” the Sergeant bellowed. Vedile’s mouth opened and closed a few times incomprehensibly but he remained silent. The Sergeant waved him away irritably. The odorous oaf lingered a few moments as if trying to think of a retort. “Just leave, now!” the commanding officer barked. Vedile finally retreated, clapping his friends on the shoulder as he did so and the group shuffled along. “I apologise for him Captain. He has delusions of grandeur I’m afraid and he needs to be slapped back down every now and then,” the Sergeant continued. “Now, you wish to speak to one of my prisoners?”

  “That is correct Sergeant,” Ydari said, satisfied that Vedile had been adroitly dealt with. “It’s a matter of state.”

  “Oh, him,” the Sergeant said simply, understanding showing on his features immediately. “I wondered what we were going to do with him. So far the order has been to keep him isolated and fed.”

  “May I speak with him?” Ydari asked once more.

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” the Sergeant said, standing to his feet as he did so. He raised an arm and indicated for Ydari to follow. “It’s this way Captain.”

  Ydari fell in behind the Sergeant and the two of them retreated to the far wall opposite where a single door was tucked and hidden away. In the distance the Captain could see Vedile glaring in their direction. Ydari returned the look and Vedile suddenly snapped his head around and pretended to have not seen anything as he went about his duties. Ydari put the loathsome creature from his mind as he followed the officer to the isolation cells. The room that greeted them was far more dismal than Ydari had been expecting. The stench of neglect permeated the still air and the space was in desperate need of a cracked window. Inside this almost forgotten room sat six cells, all separated from one another with dank walls interconnected with archways. All of the cells were vacant, save one which was situated at the extreme end of the room. The poor lighting cast long shadows and the prisoner was barely visible in the squalor.

  The two men approached the cell and from the dimly lit interior of the prisoner’s confines they could make out the ragged outline of the cell’s occupant. He was a thin and haggard man, his physique accentuated by the drab garments that clung miserably to the shell of his body. The Sergeant slammed his hand against the bars to rouse him. In spite of this the prisoner didn’t even turn his head. Instead he continued to stare off into empty space and acted as if he were still in his own private world instead of withering away in this little slice of hell. The officer slammed his hand a second time, even louder than before, coughing loudly as he did so. The prisoner turned his head and leaned forward slightly; his features still obscured but Ydari could tell his skin tone was darker indicating he hailed from more exotic climes. Ydari knew little of the prisoner’s homeland, save from the merchants who made the perilously long journey to the White City.

  “You should get a physician to look at your chest Sergeant,” the prisoner intoned humourlessly. “After all we don’t want an epidemic to break out amongst her Majesty’s finest,” he drawled, a thin raspy laugh escaping his slender frame.

  “Just be quiet and listen,” the Sergeant barked back.

  “I don’t really have much choice, do I?” asked the prisoner through cracked lips.

  “Not really, so just answer this man’s questions and maybe you’ll live long enough to…” the Sergeant began.

  “Don’t make me laugh. I’m not leaving this prison alive. If you fools don’t send me to the gallows or some other more imaginative means of execution, you’ll find me dead in this cell,” the prisoner promised.

  “Is that because your employers don’t forgive failure?” Ydari asked, stepping up to the bars.

  “Something like that,” the prisoner replied. “If you have questions, then ask them. But I won’t say a word until he leaves,” he continued, pointing his finger at the Sergeant.

  “Very well,” said Ydari. He turned to the Ser
geant who merely held up his hands in acknowledgement. The two men watched as the Sergeant exited before the Captain felt comfortable enough to return his attention back to the captive. “I want to know who sent you?” asked Ydari.

  “You figure it out.”

  “Who aided you in this? You didn’t do it alone.” Silence filled the air except for a faint dripping of water. “How did you hope to escape? How were you going to get paid? Are you going to say anything to save your hide?”

  “I’m dead either way and a man should go to his grave with a few secrets,” the prisoner wheezed, a haggard grin beaming at Ydari. “I’m happy in the knowledge that mine will not be the only soul that Cayrothe will be receiving,” he finished enigmatically.

  “I see,” said Ydari. “What if Cayrothe only received his soul instead of yours?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What if you were to disappear? Prisoners are transferred all the time and another could take your place. The Queen demands a life but who’s to say which and one tortured body looks much like another.”

  “Why should I trust you?” the captive inquired.

  “What choice do you have?”

  “That’s true enough,” the prisoner conceded. “But I will not betray my order however, my accomplice has no such honour. He was more than happy to betray his comrades.” Silently, he came to a decision. “Very well, I will give you a trail to follow, nothing more.” the prisoner responded.