The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  The room opened up and the vast vaulted ceilings towered over them. The ceiling was covered in intricate paintings depicting ancient battles, the frozen visage of Tirgaal’s loyal soldiers leading an assault on an enemy stronghold. The rest of the interior was subtler by comparison. The main walkway was flanked by three huge columns and it led to a large staircase that ascended to the floors above. Around the entrance hall, a series of low arches separated it and it split off into various rooms that were lost from view. The butler turned to check that his guests were still following. He ushered them on impatiently before turning on his heel once more and ascending the stairs.

  Kael and Ydari padded along behind the butler as they stepped onto the landing and immediately turned to the right. They quickly followed the man into a corridor that was lined with doors, all of them shut fast, until they reached its end. The officious man turned to stare at them before waving a hand. The brothers followed his impatient gesture and they found themselves in a small waiting room. The floor was of polished wood and the furniture here was surprisingly minimalistic. Two chairs sat opposite one another underneath large and overbearing portraits depicting past kings and they stared at the two men lifelessly as they each took a seat. A few seconds later the loud footfalls of the butler could be heard retreating back down the corridor.

  Immediately opposite the Captain and the vagabond was an antechamber. It led to a large door and Ydari surmised this opened into the throne room or some other form of meeting chamber where they would be admitted to see the Tirgaal’s new Regent. The minutes dragged by as the two men sat in unnerving silence. Every so often Ydari would see Kael smile as if he were entertaining himself with jokes and laughing at the result. He was silently thankful that, on this occasion, he was keeping his unique blend of humour private. As the Captain became lost in his thoughts the sound of more footsteps brought him to attention and he craned his neck to see who was approaching.

  The footfalls got progressively louder until a familiar band stepped into view. Four knights clad in black ringed a woman who was all too familiar to Ydari at this point. He saw the back of Arlydd’s head and inwardly sneered at the sight of the wretched woman while his brother averted his eyes nonchalantly. The cultist mage sensed eyes on the back of her neck and turned on the spot, levelling her gaze at Ydari and her visage twisted into a derisive smirk when she caught sight of the Captain. She paused for a moment before waving a hand mockingly at him. She turned on and entered the antechamber. Immediately the door swung open and a servant ushered them in. Beyond the door Ydari caught a glimpse of a man who was garbed in regal clothing and he guessed this to be Adaryn, the new Regent and uncle to the future King, Ferilan.

  The door closed with a snap and Ydari looked to his brother who shrugged in response. For a moment Kael thought that anger would well up inside his brother but the Captain merely looked at him without saying a word, the mental cogs whirring as his thoughts raced. All four guards that had accompanied Arlydd took up a post outside the door and stood there implacably and Ydari knew they would be loyal to their employer. Kael seemed to think the same thing as he opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head animatedly as he dismissed a thought. The silence continued for a few more moments until at long last it was broken, Ydari leaning in his chair and whispering conspiratorially to his brother.

  “I wish there was some way we could hear what’s being said in that room,” Ydari started. “We know those two are in cahoots but we still have no idea what they’re planning. Also, even if we get in to see Adaryn we’re not going to find out very much. This may be the only opportunity to actually learn something.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” Kael whispered in response, placing a hand over his mouth to prevent them from being overheard. He looked towards the guards stationed in the antechamber but they seemed disinterested in the two men that waited across from them. “I may have an idea though.”

  “Oh, what is it?”

  “If I remember correctly, there’s a secret passage that leads by that chamber. It’s used in case of emergencies and if the King has to flee quickly.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Well, while you were living in the lap of luxury, playing bodyguard to a princess, I was stationed all across Efealtor. One of my assignments was to play the role of a servant in this very Palace.”

  “So, this is where you were when you were spying for Ythelia?” Ydari asked with an impressed nod.

  “We don’t use that word in our profession. It’s espionage,” Kael chided.

  “My apologies. So, do you think you can get in there and eavesdrop on that meeting?”

  “I think so,” the vagabond replied as he looked about surreptitiously. “It shouldn’t be too hard to get away.”

  “Do it. I’ll wait here just in case there are any problems. It would be a bit too suspicious for both of us to go wandering about the place.”

  “Agreed,” Kael replied. He stood up and made a show of stretching his limbs and yawning loudly. Imperceptibly the guards in the antechamber eyed up Kael curiously but remained firmly rooted to the spot. “This wine has gone right through me,” he announced in an offensively loud tone before staggering up to the guards. “I’m about to burst. Hey, you there! Do you know where I can…” Kael’s voice trailed off as he made a crude motion.

  “I have no idea,” the guard responded in a gruff manner. “Piss off that way and ask somebody else,” he snapped, waving an arm irritably down the corridor.

  “I’ll do just that. Thank you, friend,” Kael burped, slapping the armoured knight on the shoulder, hiccupping noisily as he did so.

  Kael made a show of staggering down the corridor, leaving Ydari behind in the waiting room as he clomped off. He maintained his faltering gait for a few moments until he was well out of earshot, looking about for a moment to check that the coast was clear. On the other side of the staircase they had ascended, a couple of servants wandered by on their errands and Kael waited a moment until they disappeared down another corridor and he was entirely alone. For reasons unknown to Kael, the exterior of the Palace was heavily guarded but the inside was the exact opposite and servants and workers within these walls could go an entire day without seeing a guardsman on duty. He recollected that they typically followed closely behind the King but other than that, their presence was not tolerated within the Palace’s walls.

  Kael silently thanked the Tirgaalians for this oversight as he stealthily made his way downstairs and retreated into the right-hand corner of the entrance hall. He ducked into the shadows underneath the arches. Suddenly a door opened ahead of him and four servants exited from the kitchens, the noise of the cooks pottering about drifting to Kael’s ears as he swiftly threw himself behind the door. He heard the servants chatting with one another and laughing merrily as they shared a joke and a few seconds later the door closed behind them. Kael held his breath as the four of them continued to talk animatedly, clattering their way across the hall and through another door. The vagabond breathed a sigh of relief as he checked that the coast was once again clear.

  After a satisfied nod, Kael slipped down a disused corridor that vanished into the gloom. The corridor came to a deadend suspiciously and he ran his hands along the wall for a few moments until he felt a small knob hidden in the brickwork. He teased it quietly until he heard a faint click and a portion of the wall opened up with a light gust of air. He silently whooped to himself in triumph before pushing his way into the dank passage beyond and heaving the hidden door closed. The light here was non-existent and he was unable to see anything in front of him. Kael sighed to himself, pausing for a few moments to acclimate his eyesight to the gloom before shuffling his way forwards.

  Kael pressed on along the gloomy passage until his foot thudded into a carved stone that was raised above the level of the floor. He quickly realised that he had reached the first step of the hidden staircase that wound up to the King’s throne room and he held his breath in
excitement as he silently climbed them. As he ascended the stairs, he faintly heard voices through the wall and he realised that he was getting close to where the secret passage terminated. As Kael moved along the voices got progressively louder until he could make out clearly what was being said.

  Two pinpricks of light shone on the wall ahead of him and Kael slid over to it. He looked through the two narrow slits and it dawned on him that this was used to secretly observe meetings and he quickly wondered how many people in the past had been stood here while important matters of the day were discussed. In the room beyond Kael could make out two people. A man was sat on the ornate throne and a small circlet was placed upon his head while a mop of untamed brown curly hair fell about his shoulders. He had a large forehead that glistened with perspiration over brown eyes and an exceedingly large nose. Across from him stood Arlydd and she had placed her hands on her hips though her back was to him and he couldn’t make out any details of her facial features.

  “I don’t know exactly what he has been told but our shrine in the Melethynne Forest was attacked and he waylaid my brothers and sisters on the road so he has to know something,” the voice of Arlydd intoned indignantly.

  “This is not what I agreed to,” the shrill voice of Adaryn spat in consternation. “Your order assured me nobody would know anything about my involvement with Aynhar’s death.”

  “And they won't,” Arlydd reassured him. “But you can’t be naive enough to believe that there wouldn’t be consequences from his death.”

  “This is not what I agreed to,” Adaryn repeated hoarsely.

  “Well, either way you’ve made your alliance. Now, you have no choice but to see it through or be exposed. Which is it?”

  “I’m with you,” Adaryn said at last, albeit grudgingly.

  “Good. It is my fervent wish that the bonds of friendship between Tirgaal and Akanthir will be strengthened with this union.”

  “That sounds fantastic and all but do you have a plan to deal with the Ythelians?”

  “Of course, we have a plan. Do you take us for simpering fools? Don’t answer that. Just tell me, where is Aynhar’s son, Ferilan. Is the boy safe?” pressed the cultist mage.

  “He is being protected.”

  “Where? I need to know in case others are planning to get to him,” Arlydd persisted.

  “He’s in the old Palace on the outskirts of the city.”

  “Good. We’re almost ready to enact our plan and he is an integral part of it.”

  “When can we be ready to move?” asked the Regent.

  “All the arrangements are made. Don’t worry about a thing, the boy has his place in our grand scheme and soon nothing will threaten your power in Tirgaal.”

  “Excellent. Do you what you must.”

  Arlydd bowed to Tirgaal’s Regent reverentially and nodded at his command. She turned on the spot and walked to the door, throwing it open triumphantly before shouting a command to the guards that waited for her and she was gone. Adaryn remained sat on the throne and he smiled menacingly to himself as some cruel and vicious thought came to mind and brought him untold delight. Kael remained motionless in his hiding space but his brain kicked into gear. He still could not believe what he had overheard and now it was vitally important that he make it out of this crawl space and inform his brother of the cult’s machinations. Silently, he left the throne room behind and headed back downstairs to where the secret passage exited, almost certain that foul plots were afoot and that the young Prince was at the centre of them.

  ***

  The morning dawned and the sky was a blanket of dark clouds while ominous rumbles rolled out from the heavens. Sure enough, thick sheets of icy rain fell from the sky and lightning flashed its brilliant splendour. The rain fell in drizzles at first but soon it hammered onto the roofs of Arnanburg, thudding repetitively against the tiles. Ciphearyn’s King was glad of the tumult since it drowned out an elderly member of the People’s Assembly who droned on incessantly about him being the voice of the people and bringing their complaints directly to the royal ear. King Daingal mentally chuckled at this. He knew full well that the man purporting to be the champion of the lower class lived in the lap of luxury and a single evening meal for him was the equivalent of a week’s rations to the truly desperate.

  Around the elderly councillor sat a ring of equally old and equally corpulent men who looked as if they had never known the hardships of manual labour or the ache of an empty stomach. Such thoughts drifted through the King’s mind as he half-listened to the old man’s bleating and though he too had to admit he wasn’t intimately aware of the daily struggles of the common man, his father had insisted he had spent some of his youth working on a small farm so that if he didn’t share their plight he was at least aware of it. Silence brought Ciphearyn’s Sovereign back to reality and he was aware of eyes staring intently at him. A question had been asked of him and he had completely phased out and let it pass him by.

  “So, what say you, sire?” the elderly councillor enquired.

  “You make excellent points but I’m afraid I have to take this matter under advisement before I reallocate food. We are a kingdom of one people and to take food from one person’s mouth to feed others who are more privileged is morally contemptible.”

  “Very good sire. Your wisdom and insight are to be commended, especially to come up with so eloquent a response when you were in fact not listening,” the councillor quipped with an arrogant smirk.

  “It’s only your voice I find hard to concentrate to. The droning tone is melodious and it sends me to sleep every time,” the King countered.

  A ripple of laughter ran through the members of the assembly that surrounded the throne on three sides. The King looked down from the dais on which the throne sat and mentally catalogued the faces of those he loathed with a passion. Governing in Ciphearyn was drastically different than the neighbouring kingdoms. Here the monarch did not have absolute power. Rather, he had nominal power to devise laws and he could push back against certain recommendations but ultimately it was the assembly that voted on what became law or how domestic matters should be decided. The only area where the King had absolute authority was Ciphearyn’s army and the wisest of councillors knew that they would not be able to dissuade the King of anything in that regard.

  King Daingal scanned the crowd of faces absentmindedly as another member of the stuffy group stood up and drawled on and on about the conditions of country roads far away from the capital city. As the King looked from face to face, he did a quick double-take as he beheld a pair of eyes that belonged to a man he had never seen before. Their gazes met and Daingal felt a shiver run up his spine as the stranger continued to glare at him through unblinking eyes. The sovereign quickly turned his head to one side but he could see the stranger staring at him on his periphery and it unnerved the Ciphearyn monarch immensely.

  The minutes wore on as member after member of the People’s Assembly stood up in turn and each said their piece. King Daingal focussed his attention on this and soon all thought of the man who had watched him creepily from the crowd fell from his mind as the affairs of state took precedent. The rest of the morning flew by unremarkably and every so often the monarch would glance over the sea of faces but there was no sign of the man who had watched him so doggedly and gradually he let the strange encounter slip from his mind. This was until the man’s visage caught his attention from the front row and Daingal quickly realised that he had moved gradually closer over the course of the morning and his menacing black eyes remained on him much as they had done before. The King tried to focus his attention elsewhere but each time he glanced back the man had not moved and, more unsettling still, he had not blinked the entire time.

  Finally, the oldest and most respected member of the Assembly stood up to speak. It was generally recognised as a tradition that he be the last to voice his opinions on important issues of the day and Daingal breathed a faint sigh of relief at the prospect of leaving. As the man spoke of
the role of the Assembly in making laws fair to all men of the Kingdom, Daingal subtly signalled a couple of guards who were stationed close by. He indicated the individual now in the front row with barely a flick of his eyebrows and an answering nod was enough for the monarch to know that his silent instructions had been understood. After a few more minutes the man who had been talking finally finished his rhetoric and bowed respectfully to his King. Daingal returned the gesture with a nod of his own while the rest of the men assembled rose and began to file out in orderly fashion.

  The stranger in the front row stood up as the two guards quietly approached him from either side, eyeballing them as they stepped toward him. Daingal watched closely as one of them leaned in to whisper something to the stranger and the monarch was quietly thankful that the situation was being resolved without much fuss. Abruptly, one of the guards cried out in pained shock, as blood poured profusely from a deep cut to the chest. The stranger yanked a stiletto free and the guard keeled over with agonised gasps. Instantly, people backed away in sudden panic. The second guard pulled his sword from its scabbard but the unknown assailant surged forwards and buried the blade deep into the man’s jugular. He whined for a second before he clattered to the floor in a puddle of man, thick crimson blood pooling around him and growing with each fading heartbeat.

  A hoarse voice rose over the tumult of frightened squeals as men and women of the assembly bounced off one another as they recoiled from the sickening sight. The unknown attacker raised his weapon to his mouth and licked the blade clean, sending a collective shudder of revulsion through the onlookers. King Daingal snapped to his senses and jumped to his feet. He began sprinting on powerful legs as fast as they could carry him. Suddenly the assailant threw the knife expertly towards the monarch, the blade cartwheeling through the air until it struck Daingal in the shoulder and buried itself up to the hilt. The King reeled from the impact and stumbled into a servant who had been walking towards him and the two of them slammed into the ground.