Andalon Awakens

by T B Phillips

  “Prince Robert, come quick! Something terrible has happened!”

  “What is it?”

  “The caldera! It erupted! The steppes are on fire!”

  At his words, Robert and Sarai ran from the kitchen, down the corridor and out into the night. They raced across the courtyard and up the nearest ladder to the parapet. Sarai slipped and nearly lost her footing on the top landing, crying out as she fell backward toward certain pain. Robert reached out his arm, catching her hand in his, pulling her toward him in an embrace.

  Sarai grinned at him through her curls, eyes flickering devilishly, and whispered, “My hero.”

  Robert was too out of breath from the run, and felt his lungs burning from the exertion. He couldn’t answer through his wheezing but managed a quick kiss to her still grinning mouth. By the time they reached the western facing wall, a large group had already congregated. The two teens pushed their way to the front of the line, still holding hands. A large man wearing a white tunic glared down at them with disapproval. On his tunic, he wore a crest of a horse rearing against the sun. Sarai dropped Robert’s hand like she had been stung at the sight of her father’s gaze.

  Robert did not notice the slight. His eyes were fixed on the western sky, which glowed with the brightest orange and red he had ever seen. The spectacle nearly caused him to forget his breathing exercises, and he fought against the excitement to slowly breathe in from his nose, and then out slowly from his mouth as if he were tickling the flame of a candle. Careful not to extinguish.

  He felt another large man approach and heard the voice of his mentor address the small grouping. “This will certainly drive the Pescari people to your walls, governor. They will be a wretched mass of sick, lame, hungry and poor. You should prepare to receive them as refugees,” was the advice given by General Reeves.

  “More wretched than the savages already are, Maximus? I assure you that the rabble will not receive succor within these walls.” The governor set his mouth in a line, clenching his teeth and wrinkling his nose against some horrible smell that only he could sense.

  “Abe, you should at least send scouts to determine how many days until they arrive, and to estimate their numbers,” the general pressed.

  “What? And risk losing valuable men, real men to the devils? No, Max. I will send a Falconer.”

  Aghast, the general stepped back with real fear flashing in his eyes. “A Falconer is here? When did he arrive?”

  “Two of them actually. They arrived this morning. Both have been touring the city, blessing the new births.”

  Maximus Reeves shook his head and then spat over the wall. “Blessing, indeed.”

  Robert realized that he had stopped watching the horizon and instead stared at the men after mention of the specters. He started to speak, but the general quickly motioned for him to stop and cocked his head toward the stairs. After a quick glance at Sarai, Robert turned to follow the man the way that he had indicated.

  Once they were out of earshot, Maximus warned, “We need to leave now.”

  “No, Max. I want to see how this plays out. I may be of use.”

  “You don’t understand, Robert. This is bad, really bad. We need to get you back to Eston. It will not be safe for you once several hundred thousand Pescari arrive, hoping for food and shelter, only to be turned away by the governor.”

  Robert blanched at the number. “Really? That many? How dangerous can they be with their sticks and clubs? We have steel.”

  “Gather enough insects into a swarm, and bones can be cleaned in minutes, Princeling. Trust me. No good can come from a flood of Pescari. And the presence of Falconers? That can only mean one thing… The people of Weston will be unsettled and looking for a scapegoat very soon.”

  “What are you talking about, Max? The Falconers do Mother’s bidding.”

  The general’s serious expression unsettled the teen and his words sent a shiver. “Quite the contrary, boy. Your mother is a slave to them. It’s time you learn the truth about your family.”

  Robert watched as his mentor strode away to confer with the captains of the city guard. As he did, Sarai approached and touched him on his arm. “You don’t believe them, do you?”

  He turned toward her, raising his eyebrow slightly and chuckling. “That the caldera is erupting? I can see that it is.”

  She wrinkled up her nose and hit him playfully on his arm. “No, silly. That one hundred thousand Pescari are marching toward us.”

  “Honestly, I think that number is high. It is probably less than ten thousand, but I suppose that if the eruptions continue then more will make their way into this territory. Are you afraid?”

  “No. They are poor people. Refugees who have lost their homes and we need to help them.” Sarai looked thoughtful as she spoke. “I know that my father and your general feel differently, but I think we should help.” When she mentioned General Reeves her face momentarily took on a sour expression. “Do you think like they do, Robert?”

  “I don’t know, Sarai. This isn’t my city and I’m not supposed to interfere. I’m here as an ambassador and to study, that’s all.” He watched her face turn thoughtful as he spoke. She was so beautiful to him. Inside he kicked himself for making her more worrisome. He could tell that the fate of these people was important to her.

  “Robert!” Maximus called to him, beckoning him over.

  “I need to go, Sarai.”

  She smiled up at him, eyes again playful. “Better go, Prince Robert. Your general is calling you.” She kissed him before he left. As he strode away, he briefly saw her throw Reeves a look of disdain. He was beginning to understand that she despised warriors, especially the men who led them.

  As he walked over to the group of men discussing city defenses, he watched as Sarai was approached by one of the city councilmen. Cassus Eachann, he thought was the man’s name. He watched them for a while, jealous of the time that the older man was spending with his love. Sarai smiled as she spoke with the man, intently listening.

  “Princeling!” The word from Maximus snapped Robert from his jealous trance. “Did you just hear a damned word?” The city commanders had finished conversing with the general and had already departed.

  “I’m sorry, Max. My mind wandered.”

  Reeves shot a look toward the blonde girl with blue eyes. “Looks like you are thinking with the wrong head. That can get a man killed, you know.”

  Robert nodded at the general’s words, again drifting off to watch Sarai and Eachann. They had been joined by Abraham Horslei, and the two older men were in a heated exchange, although he couldn’t hear their conversation. Sarai stood off to the side, watching her father with anger and resentment in her eyes.

  “Those two hate each other.” Max gestured toward the two men.

  “Yeah. Eachann is Horslei’s arch political rival. He works to oppose him on every topic.

  “Abe could say that the sky is blue and Cassus would argue that it was sapphire. Two sides of a coin, those two men. Never seeing eye to eye and equally as powerful as the other, depending on which side landed by chance.” Max spit on the ground and turned to leave. “We should go and prepare our men. If there’s going to be a shit show, we must decide how to best proceed. This is one fight we cannot participate in.”

  Robert watched as the two men argued. “Can we trust Eachann, Max?”

  “I don’t trust either of them. Watch your step when around snakes, boy.”

  Sarai looked up and saw Robert watching. When their eyes met, she managed a weak smile which he returned before turning to follow the general.

  Chapter Eight

  Lady Crestal Esterling captivated every room she entered. It had always been that way. Her status as Lady Regent of the Realm increased the number of eyes that followed her movements, and she bore that burden with grace and charm. A flawless woman in both appearance and politics,
she exuded grace and steadfast leadership. On this day, however, the lady trembled with fear beneath her political mask.

  Half an hour before, Crestal had presided over winter solstice celebrations atop the Eston Span. The sprawling capital comprised two high-walled cities that overlooked the traffic on the Logan River. The span connected the cities and loomed over the vital trade route, demonstrating the ruling family’s power and dominance over both the farms of Loganshire and the resources of Weston. The Square of Unification sat atop the middle of the high bridge, recognized as the heart of civic events.

  All activities in Eston were celebrated in the square. A normal day would witness thousands of vendors crying their wares while thousands more travelers passed by, intrigued by the lure of exotic fruits, spices and cloth from the Southern Continent. A festival would add to the excitement, filling the square with mobs of menageries, circus performers and bards. The annual blessing the Esterling matron gave on this day drew the entire city. Hundreds of thousands of Estonians crowded the massive span in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Lady Regent while her personal guard stood vigil over the proceedings.

  Crestal kept her attention on the city dwellers presenting offerings. She made a brief gesture of acceptance to each tribute, all the while taking in the peripheral activities. An Imperial messenger interrupted the ceremony with a whisper in the ear of Matteas Brohn, Captain General of Lady Esterling’s guard. She curiously watched as the little courier reached up on tiptoes to relay his message. The massive man gave away no indication whether the news wrought tragedy or triumph. He merely nodded and casually walked toward two of his men, quietly giving them orders.

  A farmer approached and placed a basket of gourds at her feet. “May the three bless you and the Esterling Empire, My Lady.” He looked older than he probably was, the result of spending his life under the sun. Beside him was a woman with long hair grayed before her time. Crestal thought that it may have been blonde in the recent past. She looked down at the woman’s hands, calloused and strong from working alongside her husband. One of them held the hand of a fiery haired girl with a burlap doll gripped tight against her chest. An eye was missing from the pitiful toy and an arm dangled loose.

  “Your daughter has the most beautiful freckles.”

  “She is our niece, My Lady.” The farmer’s wife nudged him with her elbow, correcting his slight. It was improper to correct the Lady Regent.

  Crestal ignored the impropriety and smiled down at the little girl. “May the three bless you through the winter with a warm hearth.” Something about the child unnerved the monarch as she stared sightlessly ahead, seemingly oblivious that she stood before a queen. She looked up at the farmer’s wife. “What is the child’s name, dear?”

  Shocked that the regent had addressed her directly, the woman dropped into a panicked and pitiful curtsey. “Anne, My Lady.”

  “Anne, would you like a new doll for the festival?” She gestured to her attendant who produced another in an exquisitely made princess gown. The girl’s eyes grew wide in amazement and nodded, still clutching the tattered toy to her chest. “I pray she keeps you company through the winters to come. May she remind you of this day, when your family were blessed for their sacrifice.” Anne nodded and let go of the woman’s hand, reaching out to take the doll.

  After the family had moved along, the regent stole a glance at movement to her left. Her carriage had been brought early and stood ready for a swift departure. The captain of her guard had his head down, near the ear of the driver. Something is wrong. With a smile painted on her face, she accepted the next offering. A brewer presented a keg of ale. Ugh. Wretched stuff for the lower classes. She preferred fine wines and would send the swill down to her guards. Nonetheless, she accepted the gift graciously.

  Finally, after what had felt more like hours than mere heartbeats, Matteas calmly strode toward his lady. He confidently bent down as if he were about to discuss the price of grain or the weather. After whispering briefly, she felt her soul rip out. The news hit her heart like a scythe on wheat during reaping. Maintaining her ever-existent composure, she nodded to confirm her understanding. To onlookers, Lady Esterling had received the news with as much disinterest as her captain had displayed to the courier, but internally she screamed and cried with indignity.

  She continued to welcome each offer with a warm smile. After she had listened to every petitioner, she completed the ceremony with a prayer for fertility and bountiful spring planting. Then, she listened patiently while the priests blessed the crowd. Exhausted, yet fueled with a flame of intensity, she walked with purpose toward the awaiting carriage, telling the coachman to ride with haste.

  They careened through the wide streets as the people of the city parted before her. The wooden vessel was flanked on both sides by an honor guard of the fleetest horses and bravest men that her empire could offer. The hard men and their queen blurred through the sprawling city until they finally reached the Rose Palace. The massive structure was beautifully adorned in the spring with massive blossoming foliage, but that beauty had retreated in advance of the winter months. Crestal always preferred the spring version of her city when the blooming vines reflected the vibrancy of her thriving empire.

  As the coach lurched to a stop at the base of a broad staircase, she winced at the news she had received. She swallowed back both tears and anger before stepping down from her carriage onto a velvet stool. Briefly accepting the hand of Captain-General Brohn, she seemed to float from the coach to the wide carpet bearing her family crest. She glanced at the sigil, noting the rose in the mouth of the eagle. Which one am I, she pondered privately, am I the eagle or the rose?

  Without losing her step, she glided across the stairs. She paused only once, turning to blow a kiss to her adoring crowd that had gathered with hopes of sighting their beloved Lady. They roared with delight. To them I am the rose, she muttered through clenched, yet smiling teeth. She could barely hold back tears and she seethed with anger, but walked with majestic grace.

  Quickening her pace, she entered the palace. Walking with regal determination she made for the Room of Light on the far side of the great hall. The Room, as it was called among her advisors, remained closed to all but her most trusted and loyal administrators. It was here that she truly dominated and only those few advisors ever witnessed her lioness ferocity. This room of decision making, politics and intrigue is where she set aside false niceties and ruled her empire with true despotism. She walked with haste toward this room, hoping to reach it before both her smile and her patience faded.

  The air within grew thin and cold when she strode inside. “In here, I am the eagle,” she muttered and dropped her mask. The gilded iron door to the council chamber slammed shut behind the trailing Matteas Brohn. The fury she had suppressed through the city erupted as soon as the doors shut. She looked around at the assembled faces. “How in the name of the gods did you imbecilic bastards allow my son to be kidnapped?” She hissed these words more than shouted them at her gathered assembly.

  The men seated around the table gaped and their eyes fixated on the stone floor, making them appear even more idiotic. They had not had time to rise when she entered and sat, staring at the floor. Is Matteas the only man in the room who possesses a backbone? “I will repeat my question for your simple minds,” she went on, separating each word, “How…did…pirates…kidnap…my youngest son, the second heir to this kingdom?”

  She emphasized the word “son” by slapping the aged chancellor across the face. The gray-haired man fell from his seat and lay in a heap on the stone. He was so feeble that he struggled to right himself. Instead, he pulled his feet to his chest and placed his hands to his face. None of the other men moved to help him. They stared silently at the floor, looking pointedly away from the chancellor and Lady Crestal.

  After what felt an eternity, Crestal heard a throat clear from behind her. “Your majesty, uh, Lady Regent,” a voice stam
mered. She whirled around to see a familiar looking man kneeling behind her. He forced the words out of his mouth and continued, “Lord Esterling, um, your son, was in the company of a whore when he was taken.” As he spoke his eyes darted at Matteas as if he were about to take off his head at any moment.

  Heavens! He looks like he does want to remove a head. She raised a finger to stay her guard. “Go on.”

  “He had left his personal guard outside of the room with instructions not to be disturbed. I believe his orders were, ‘Interrupt me during the next three hours and you will find yourself six inches shorter,’ or something to that effect.”

  Matteas grabbed his sword intending to draw. She shot him a look and his large hand released the hilt.

  She looked closer at the man. His name is Shol… something, she recalled. She had seen him attending the feeble old chancellor throughout the palace. He’s the chancellor’s assistant, she thought.

  “The men stationed outside the room heard nothing, suspected nothing, and even had to beat down the door when the three hours were up. Upon entering there was no trace that the prince had been inside the room at all. Quite perplexing actually.”

  Damn Marcus’ whores! She had made a mistake of allowing him his fancies, hoping to distract him from finding a suitable wife. No doubt every woman in the realm would saddle him at the prospect of ruling the empire beside one of her sons. But she would not allow a fluffed up noble hussy pry her own hands from the reigns. The realm was hers until her oldest son, Robert, came of age in the next year. Only if the pathetic and sickly weakling actually passes the trials. Even then she planned to rule it through him.

  “You are Lord Shol, are you not?”

  “I am Lord Campton Shol, your majesty.”

  “That is right. The council appointed you Deputy of Information. But that doesn’t explain why you are here in the Room with my advisors.”

  “I am assistant to Chancellor Gedon.” He gestured at the old man lying on the floor. “In his current state of mind and body, the council has asked me to attend him more closely.”