by C. J. Aaron
The rich floral scents that had been present in the courtyard outside seemed to follow them as they progressed further into the palace. Blooms of multicolored flowers made for vibrant pops of color, highlighting the narrow tables that dotted the edges of the hall.
Ahead, a massive staircase, the width of the corridor, rose into the interior of the palace beyond. The din of casual conversation filtered down the steps, the excitement of the event playing out on the lips of those waiting inside the palace for word of the proceedings.
Ryl struggled to maintain his focus both on the illusion and the visions presented by his mindsight. The blackened mass of the Lei Guard swarmed around the faint glow of the tribute. Their presence was close; less than a hundred meters now separated them, though they were clearly positioned at a higher elevation, likely on the floor above. The second anomaly was closer, on the same plane as they currently traveled, hidden in the bowels of the capital complex, secured beneath an impenetrable wall of stone.
There was little time to investigate the source of the disturbance. The inky darkness, though spread over a substantial area, was faint, nothing more than wisps of individual shadows packed together in a close formation. Far more troubling was the mass of Lei Guard waiting somewhere on the level above.
No doubt for their arrival.
Ryl did his best to maintain a constant view of his surroundings while holding a steady grasp on the illusion that covered the party. The activity and excitement in the hall above swelled as they ascended the great stairs. The chamber at the top of the stairs was substantial, stretching easily fifty meters across. Made of a similar smoothed white stone, the sun’s rays cut through the east-facing windows, reflecting off the polished surfaces, illuminating the vaulted room with a bright white glow. Servants carried silver trays laden with food and beverages as they weaved throughout the throng of finely dressed men and women. There was an air of anxiety to the area as those assembled waited for word of the Deliverance.
Was it to be their house or benefactor who was able to earn the ultimate prize? Greed filled the eyes that focused on the large wooden doors at the southern end of the chamber. The smiles that covered their faces were superficial. There was true venom lurking behind the guise. Every individual within the room, within the palatial complex, was a rival suitor. It was no secret that there was but one tribute.
Armed guards accompanied many of the small clusters of nobility who were scattered throughout the room. The groups were generally positioned with their backs against a wall, leaving the center of the chamber eerily vacant. Only servants seemed to tread in the open space without concern. The nobles, surrounded by men-at-arms, preferred to limit their vulnerabilities. They were far more likely to take a knife in the back than face a frontal assault.
A distinct wash of emotions registered from the phrenics walking at the rear of the party. They cut through the crowd with a sense of apathy. Heads turned away from their group as they moved unimpeded across the vaulted chamber. The official who had met them at the wagon led them across the room toward the guarded doors at the opposite side. His head held high, he ignored all others in the room, moving with a sense of haste and uncompromising importance.
Standing before the doors, a pair of guards blocked the entrance to the hallowed event. Ryl shook his head as he examined their uniforms. The level of decadence that was draped over them was sickening, easily matching the exalted importance of the event. Heavy necklaces with large, jewel-encrusted pendants hung from their necks. The symbol of the gate, the white image of the doorway, was emblazoned on the center. It sent a chill down Ryl’s spine. Gold was weaved into the fabric of their clothing; their shoulder pads appeared to be solid blocks of the same precious metal with intricate swirling designs etched into their surfaces. They were dressed for fashion, not function.
Their ensemble mirrored the greed and excess that were on display throughout the brief vision of the palace that they’d witnessed so far. He had no desire to view more than was necessary. They had come here for a purpose far greater than gaping at the richness of the palace.
The eyes of the pair guarding the door focused on their group as their official escort slowed before them.
“Make way. The remainder of Lord Kyoris’s entourage have arrived,” the official announced. His nasal voice demanded obedience. The pair of guards shifted to the center of the gate, each placing a hand on the golden handle of their respective panel of the door. They jingled as they moved; their motions were choppy and erratic, as they were weighted down by the heft of added decorations.
“Ladies, I’ll lead you to Lord Kyoris. The opening ceremony will be starting any moment.” His voice softened, though the annoyance was clear. His eyes turned to Ryl’s companions who were dressed as guards. “The rest of you may take your leave in the auditorium across the hall or on the grounds. You will not be permitted to enter the Hall of the King.”
Ryl cast a glance at Andr standing to his right. The mercenary tightened with anticipation. Cavlin shifted, moving forward a step. From the rear, Ramm and Paasek circled to the outside of the ring of their companion.
“Your request has been noted,” Paasek growled as he stalked toward the official. Ramm matched his progress from the other side. A wave of hopeless compliance hammered the unexpecting trio. “We are not bound by the same strictures as you. We will go where we please.”
The signal was nothing more than a subtle nod of the head. With a speed that defied convention, the two massive phrenics surged forward. Paelec joined the charge as the phrenics descended on the pitiful defenses of the outer doors to the Hall of the King. The army, likely the personal force of Kagran’s house, had been bolstered before the gate and within the capital grounds, yet within the interior of the palatial building, there were none visible save for the few clad in the clunky ceremonial garb.
Ryl knew that resistance was close and deadly. The black mass that had registered in his mindsight was that of the Lei Guard. The entirety of the group was now clearly defined within the frame of his vision, though their strength was indistinguishable. Aside from the disturbing grey mist that was now nearly directly below their position, there were no hints of any other signatures.
The official’s eyes hadn’t the time to lose their arrogant stare before the calamity they faced became shockingly clear. Sharp thumping sounds of fists striking skin were overpowered by the jingling of metal as Ramm and Paasek subdued the two ornamental guards before their ill-prepared hands could reach for their blades. The pair hoisted the guards, carrying their unconscious bodies with them.
So in tune with each other’s habits, the attack occurred with an uncanny choreographed finesse. Paelec reached the official just as the attacks were unfolding at either of his sides. The phrenic archer spun their escort around, collecting a clump of tunic in his hands. With his forearm flat against the back of the startled man’s shoulders, he rushed forward, driving the man into the center of the doorway.
The air expelled from the official’s lungs in a hiss as the doors burst inward. Paelec carried him inward for a few steps before releasing his hold. Sputtering and gasping for air to refill his lungs, the man stumbled for several meters before falling face-first onto the polished stone of the interior chamber. The squeal of his skin on the stone echoed over the silence that descended on the assembled congregation.
Chapter 44
Ryl and his companions were only a step behind Paelec as he entered the Hall of the King. All eyes in the chamber fell on the disturbance at the doors. The gasp that registered left only silence in its wake as the astonished congregation watched the abnormal scene unfolding within the sacred confines of the hall.
Inside the doors, an alley progressed for several meters before opening onto the floor of the Hall of the King. To either side, a short staircase led to each level of the tiered seating that ringed the chamber. With few exceptions, the seats were all occupied with a sea of opulently dressed men and women. The tide of emotions written acr
oss their faces was a mix of shock, horror and vehemence. Ramm and Paasek deposited their unconscious charges as they closed the doors behind them.
With the illusions still intact, Ryl strode forward, passing Paelec, who had paused after releasing the unfortunate official. The man’s face had blanched of any color, his pasty complexion matching the white of his clothes. A growing stain of red colored his tunic; he dabbed dumbfounded at the blood that rushed from his nose, casting horrified glances at the intruders as he stumbled to his feet.
Ryl stalked after him; his companions followed closed behind. All eyes in the room travelled with him. With the exception of the garbled groans of the official, the room remained silent. Stopping a few meters into the open floor of the chamber, they formed a circle as he surveyed the stands of nobles that surrounded them. His calculating eyes darted from side to side; nowhere within the round chamber were signs of the black-cloaked guards, though their presence was close.
Without the gaudy opulence that covered the spectators, the construction of the room was exquisite. Large fluted columns ringed the room, supporting the dome above. Between each pillar just below the level of the convex ceiling, large panes of glass, framed in elaborate stone carvings, provided a clear view of the sky above. Great tapestries hung below the windows, adding color to the endless mottled white sheen of the stone. Ryl’s stomach twisted as emotion flashed through his veins.
The hands of the phrenics who had come long before him had crafted the structure that rose before him. The revulsion at its current purpose was palpable. Ryl’s gaze hardened as it settled on the focal point of the room. Opposite the door they had entered, an elevated dais held a massive golden throne. Perched atop, meeting his gaze with vicious eyes, Lord Kagran rolled his excessive frame forward, glaring down from the edge of his seat.
A solid thud echoed through the room as Ramm and Paasek dropped the massive wooden drawbar into place.
“Who are you to interrupt this sacred ritual?” he cursed, though his voice was raised for all to hear.
Ryl felt the anger, a permanent fixture in his veins, swell at the reverence he placed on the event. This sacred occurrence was a celebration of a child’s life being sold to the highest bidder. There was blood on the hands of all who participated whether they bid on the youth or not. He moved a few steps forward, though he had yet to reach the center of the circular floor.
The illusion he had carried faded as he released his hold. The strain that had been present eased as the flowing dresses that covered his body and those of his companions faded. A thin wisp of mist evaporated into the air, swirling in tiny eddies as he stalked forward. The collective gasps and cries of alarm roared through the chamber as the veil of illusion was removed. Ryl stood alone, a few meters ahead of his companions; his cloak flapped in the slight breeze that circled his body. Shadow covered the top half of his face, yet he was sure the raging inferno that burned in his eyes was visible to all who dared meet his stare.
The official shrieked as he clambered up the stairs to the raised throne. He toppled forward, using his hands and feet to crawl up the steps, pushing through the wall of guards who had descended to meet the threat. Six blades leapt from their scabbards, though their progress slowed as they reached the base of the steps. None seemed anxious to meet the menace who now stood less than twenty meters from their position.
“Hold.” Lord Kagran called the order to the guards who were slinking down the steps toward the floor of the hall. They needed no further motivation to freeze in place.
“The righteous saviors of Damaris have arrived,” he cursed. “I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t show.” The annoyance that had consumed his visage shifted; a devious smile sprouted from his lips. A breeze began to swell around Ryl’s arm. The speed that lingered in his veins waited anxiously for his call.
“Had enough of your prison, have you? Come closer so I can see the faces of the brave traitors who thought to topple a kingdom,” Kagran ordered. Reflections of colored light sparkled from the jewels that adorned his clothing. His bravado was abnormal, the subtleties of his call far too transparent.
Ryl stepped forward, his footsteps echoing throughout the hall. His motions, seemingly a reaction to the commands of the self-appointed king, were measured and purposeful. He shifted slightly to his left, moving just beyond the centerline of the circular floor. He tracked the black signatures that appeared in his vision as he approached carefully.
A hush had descended upon the chamber. All eyes were focused on the lone figure who had separated himself from the meager party closely packed together in the center of the room. From one side of the room to the other, Ryl scanned the faces that glared at him. They appraised him with unrestrained disgust, yet the eagerness written across their faces was impossible to hide. Their lustful eyes were hollow, devoid of any true strength. The tangent of their focused glares shifted, avoiding his at all costs before they could intersect. They looked through or around him as if he weren’t there. Merely spectators to a theatrical production, they watched the performance with expectation.
They knew what was to come when the curtain opened.
They had been promised a show.
Ryl was prepared to give them one that would be burned into their consciousness for eternity.
He was determined to see them disappointed.
Of all those in the crowd, only one returned his gaze. Standing slightly to the side a meter behind Kagran’s right shoulder was a young man. Dressed in finery that mirrored the excess of his peers, his face was twisted into a questioning expression. The resemblance to his sire, now seated upon the golden throne, was unquestioned.
“That’s far enough,” Lord Kagran boomed as Ryl crossed the center of the room. “You have been foolish. I hear the grumbles from the citizens. They speak of revolution; they speak of ending the decree that has guided this kingdom to greatness. They desire change. They, like you and your companions, have failed. I for one salute you for a job well done.”
The lord clapped his hands together in a slow, yet steady rhythm.
“You’ve brought change to Damaris,” he continued. “The divisions in sentiment have become clear. Without your assistance, it would have taken cycles to root out the elements that have threatened our very way of life. Whether merely individuals or the influence of once noble houses, rest assured they will fall. Our coffers of elixir have never been fuller.”
Lord Kagran rose to his feet; he took a step forward from his raised throne, though he remained on the lofted dais.
“Your interruption of the Harvest will not go unpunished,” he growled, though his attention shifted to the blazing orb of the morning sun just peeking through the windows of the rounded chamber. “With the light of the morning, your pathetic forces in The Stocks will fall to blades from without and within. Do not believe for an instant that the loyalties of those who remained will not be made perfectly clear. The kingdom is united; the combined army will sweep over the walls; they will reclaim that which you have hidden away from us. The property that you’ve stolen. Lords and ladies, the tributes shall be returned.”
Kagran spread his arms wide as he regarded the room. What started as scattered applause quickly swelled into a rousing cheer.
The anger swelled in Ryl’s veins. The heat spread throughout his body as the fire raged inside. With effort he resisted the urge to act. There would be none who could prevent him from reaching Lord Kagran. The calls from within, for the moment, were aligned. The alexen cried for justice. The darkness of the nexela demanded blood.
The lord raised his hands for silence.
“You’ve made a grave mistake in coming here,” he grumbled as the applause ceased. “I will not forgive the interruption of the time-honored traditions. There will be punishment for your trespass in these hallowed halls. Your presence is an admission of your guilt. The sentence for treason is death. The irony of history is not lost on me. It was within this room that the rule of your ancestors was toppled.”
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br /> Lord Kagran clapped his hands together three times in rapid succession. No mindsight was needed to note the shift in the mass of the blackened guard that lingered in the distance behind the lofted throne.
“And it will be here that you die.”
Chapter 45
Ryl felt his knees buckle under the weight of the initial assault. As prepared as he was, the force of the emotion was overwhelming. The chamber had gleamed with the brilliant light of the morning, yet the approaching black shadow dampened the luster as if a thick cloud blotted out the sun above. The groans of his companions at his rear were equally matched by many of the spectators in the hall as the forced emotions of the Lei Guard spared none within their reach.
From behind Lord Kagran’s gilded throne, the stream of black-cloaked warriors poured unabated. The dam that had held them in check failed as their trap had been sprung. They entered with a devastating force of emotions. Desperation threatened to crush his will. Every fiber in his being constricted as the fear rooted his feet to the ground. The weight of hopelessness crushed him to his knees.
Ryl had been ready for the onslaught, yet the initial fury was overwhelming. They had been prepared for the advent of the severity of their emotions, yet even still, the relentless aggression threatened to break them where they stood. The throbbing in his left arm reached an agonizing fevered pitch as the churning sun struggled against the blackness that streaked its interior. A feeble white glow began in the crook of his elbow.
The strength of the initial offensive ebbed as the Lei Guard streamed into the chamber. As they entered, they split; one group rounded the outside of the circular hall to the left, while another moved to the right. A third group continued straight, leaping from the raised dais to the floor below. They wrenched their wicked curved blades from their sheaths as they reached the polished white stone of the hall. The shadow of their approach dulled the reflective shine to a muted grey.