Matthew moved the white canvas to the side and entered the mellow glow of candlelight to find the King Bishop standing and alone, pouring himself a drink.
“General Zehnder, might I offer you a cup of wine?”
Zehnder looked at the clear fluid Craven poured for himself and decided not to deviate from the King’s own preferences.
“A cup of water would do me better, my King.”
“You continue to impress me, General. You give me confidence that I have interpreted the Holy’s will correctly in appointing you General of his Holy Army.” The King poured a second cup of water and brought it to Zehnder. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
The King sat himself in a padded chair, carved with decorative flourishes. Matthew Zehnder found himself a plain, wooden chair and brought it close to the King. Zehnder did not wait for the King before speaking. A perilous move, but he knew that the longer he waited, the better chance his nerves would have to ruin his plan.
“I fear there may be a distraction among the ranks, my King.”
The Bishop furrowed his brow and wrinkled his pointed nose. “A distraction?”
“Yes,” continued Zehnder. “You see, my King, we have many men; good men, able men. Men who are ready to die for the Holy; die for you. However, I fear that in the heat of battle these good and well-purposed men may find distraction from their duty. I had hoped we might speak of this distraction and find a way to alleviate it.”
“Well, out with it, General. You speak vaguely and leave me wondering why?”
“I apologize, my King. I do not intend to be vague. You see, for all of the capable men this great army has, I feel they might become distracted by the large amount of inept boys that surround them. My direct worry, my King, is that in the midst of war, a man might forget his duty in order to come to the aide of the children– I mean, the boys. It could be disastrous if these men should not obey direct orders with urgency.”
“General Zehnder, I wonder why you have not decided to have faith that these inept boys, as you call them, are needed, and would not have been used if it were not part of the Holy’s plan?”
“This did occur to me, my King. It is for this reason that I had not come to you sooner. But I did also realize that I am part of the Holy’s plan as well, as appointed through your immense piety, and if I am part of the Holy’s plan, then he must be giving these thoughts to me for a reason.”
King Bishop Craven moved uncomfortably in his chair. He set his cup down upon a side table gently and rubbed his hands together, never moving his eyes away from General Zehnder. Then, his eyes narrowed and he breathed deeply.
He sees my game, worried Zehnder. He knows what I’m trying to do.
“And so what would you have me do, General?”
Never flinch, Zehnder told himself. “My King, it is obvious that the Holy wished for these boys to march with us. You would never have made that decision if it were not so. However, I can’t believe that the Holy would put these thoughts in my head unless he wished for me to act upon them. The men love the Holy, but when they look upon the boys they are saddened. I can see it in their eyes. I think that the Holy wants you to use the boys to hearten the men. I believe that the Holy wishes for these boys to help refocus the men. I believe the Holy wants you to send the boys home. Send them home and the men will cheer, their spirits will lift and we will win a sweeping victory over Nefas. When the boys return, the entire Kingdom of Chreos will rejoice and praise your name. You will be a hero.”
“I would be a hero, would I not?” Craven gave his crooked smile and pondered. “The men would be lifted, the kingdom would be lifted, and I would be lifted.”
“Yes,” said General Zehnder. “It is the Holy’s plan, my King.”
Zehnder smiled at the King. I’ve done it, he thought. The boys shall be leaving by morning.
“But…” uttered Craven as his wicked smile faded. “The Holy did not give this message to me.”
“But you appointed me, my King. Quite possibly for this purpose.”
“Quite possibly, General Zehnder, this was meant to test my faith.” Craven’s eyes flashed and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.
And just like that, Matthew Zehnder’s heart sunk. I am not as adept at this game as he is. General Zehnder swallowed hard.
“We all must serve a purpose in the Holy’s plan, General. Tonight you have played your part faithfully, and now, I shall play mine. The Holy has tested me and I shall not fail him. If this idea of sending the boys back home were truly to be his plan, he would have revealed it to me, his chosen leader. He did not, and for this reason, it cannot be his true plan.” Craven walked over to Zehnder and placed his hands upon the man’s shoulders. “Thank you, General. You have been faithful, and you have helped me prove my own faith. Return to your tent and sleep well. We will continue our march in the morning. No one shall return home until victory is ours.”
General Zehnder nodded and left the King’s tent. Outside in the cool darkness, his head felt numb and he exhaled the way a man does after he has just seen his own life flash before his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep a single wink this night.
King Bishop Craven walked to a small chest at the foot of his bed and produced a small bottle of wine. He poured a small glass and uttered a prayer, before consuming the liquid in one gulp.
The man thinks he can best me at my own game, Craven laughed to himself. I suppose I’ll have to keep a closer eye upon General Zehnder, as feeble of an attempt as that was. Craven poured himself another glass of wine and consumed it in the same violent fashion. Though, I have to admit his concerns are not without merit.
The King Bishop had spent a very small amount of time among the bodies that comprised his army, but even in those short moments, he had noticed how truly unremarkable and sullen his men were. It would be folly to even refer to them as soldiers. Maybe we do need something more, pondered Craven. The man bent his angled figure low and retrieved a scroll from beneath his bed. He unrolled the scroll to reveal an open handprint in black ink. He placed the scroll upon a small table and pressed his open palm over the inked hand. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer, too low to hear.
Why do you contact me? asked a voice in Craven’s head.
Without speaking, Bishop Craven ran back the conversation he and General Zehnder had had just moments ago.
You remained faithful to me, uttered the voice. Here is your faith rewarded. They are yours to command.
Craven’s eyes shot open, glassy and red-veined. He moved briskly outside of his tent and into the darkness. The guards made to follow him, but he waved them away.
Far from the fires and the late-night noises of men, Craven walked out into the emptiness of Ephanlarea. He walked until the noises faded and walked until the only light he could see was the pale crescent moon, looking down on him like a malicious grin. He stopped in the silent, cool breeze and then he heard them and saw their burning, red eyes.
“I am your master,” Craven growled with delight. “I am your master!”
• • •
In the pale, morning light, as the men and boys yawned and rubbed their eyes, they all stood before King Bishop Craven as he sat upon his elegant, white steed. His milky armor seemed to glow as he moved slowly, back and forth in front of his army, and no one could miss the black hand painted freshly upon his chest plate.
“You are the Army of the Holy,” shouted Craven loudly, so that all could hear. “No one shall judge you but Him.” The royal guards shuffled their feet inside their armor. No one knew why the King Bishop had called them out in front of him this morning, but just being in his presence left a man uneasy; not knowing why you were there was simply terrifying. The Bishop continued. “As it is only the Holy that can judge the action of a man, there is no man who has the authority to keep you sworn to the service of this army. Not even I.”
Now, all of the men and boys looked at each other for answers.
What is this? wondered Zehnder. I
have a very bad feeling about this.
“Let every man who is among us remember this as their judgment day,” came the Bishop’s voice sharply over the plains. “Any man who wishes to leave, do so now. It is only the Holy himself that will pass judgment upon you.”
It was now that General Zehnder realized that the army was facing north. Beyond the horizon, past Carven, was their home. No, thought Zehnder. Don’t do it. This is a trick.
At the front of the massed army, a large man stood with his arms folded. His beard was black and his brow was furrowed. He looked down at the boy to his left and his hard features softened. The boy looked up at the man; looked up at his father, and his eyes spoke every wish left in his bones. Take me home, father. Take me home.
The black-bearded man grabbed his son’s hand and nodded stiffly but resolutely. Damn this farce of a war, damn that bastard King Bishop, and damn the Holy. The man looked back to the horizon, past Craven, and he and his son took their first steps away from the crowd.
The others watched, silent as stone, as the man and his son continued their march. Ten yards out, then twenty, they walked right past King Bishop Craven and his frigid gaze. Once the man and his boy were past the King, others started to gain courage and decided to follow in the man’s footsteps. But no more than the thought had crossed their minds, when a shriek came from the sky. A shriek that could curdle blood and freeze bones ripped the air, and the man who stood with his boy, fifty yards past Bishop Craven, looked into the sky and screamed. A black creature, with fire jetting from its maw, descended like a star falling from the heavens. The man clutched his boy close to him, and in a flash, they were gone, nothing but red death left upon the Ephanlarean grass.
Every man fell back in line, and those who had sons held them close with trembling arms. They were all around them now. The wretched writhing things that threatened to steal the light from the world and drown all in nightmare. The army cowered before their filth like moles before a mountain.
“Anyone else?!” screamed Craven with the voice of a madman. “Are there any others that are fit to be judged?!”
Chapter 13: A Wonderful Red Dress
When Callderwallder had returned to Nefas without his army of metal men, Queen Faedra had flown into a rage.
“Three?!” she howled. “Three, Callderwallder?! The people of this kingdom will tear my palace to the ground when they find out that there are only three metal men protecting me. How could you let this happen?!”
Callderwallder had tried to explain that he had only acted in accordance to the Holy’s will, but his sister was not listening to him. Fear had gripped the woman and she paced her tower, fingers tearing at her hair. The small man cowered before Faedra as she raged around the room, berating him, berating her guards, berating herself. Yet, as Callderwallder cowered, a small pleasure grew inside of him at seeing his sister in the midst of such displeasure. He smiled, delighted to see her suffer in fear, just as he had for minutes unmeasured. He began to relish in the justice of it all. Beautiful, perfect Faedra, not so perfect and untouchable anymore. A brief giggle escaped Callderwallder’s wet lips and the Queen spun around on him like a cat, her face trembling with rage.
“You laugh?” she muttered through clenched teeth. “You find amusement in your sister’s anguish? You find it funny that my days are numbered?” Faedra grabbed the small man around his shoulders and shook him like a child. “Without me you would have nothing, you little wretch. You should thank every star in the sky that I am your sister. You disgust me. Our parents should have fed you to the dogs when you were born.”
Callderwallder was furious. It was because of his sister that he had to hide from the world. She had done him no services.
“You should be more gracious for the gifts I have given you, Sister. You forget the help I have provided you through the years.”
“Help,” scoffed Faedra. “You hold me back, Callderwallder. You, your bent back, brittle limbs, and bulging eye have done no great service for me, nothing that someone else couldn’t have done better. I gave you things to do as a master gives his dog a bone to chew. If you were a true brother to me, you would solve this quandary I am in. If you truly loved your sister, you would keep this damned kingdom from tearing me apart the first chance they get.”
The wheels in the crippled man’s mind began to spin. It was true that without the metal army the Royal Palace and everyone associated with Faedra was in perilous danger. It would not take the people of Nefas long to realize that there were only three metal men, and once they had that realization firmly in their minds, revolution would not be far behind. The people had to be won over if they had a chance of survival. Callderwallder looked around the room at the few guards that witnessed this sibling rivalry. These were not men loyal to he and his sister. They merely feared her more than others. They would turn on her at the first sign of weakness. They might be plotting her demise already. In truth, Callderwallder and his sister were alone unless they could win back the Kingdom. The truth bit the small man like the stab of a dagger. He needed his sister. He could feel the bile rise in his throat.
“I will fix this problem,” Callderwallder said reluctantly.
“Thank you, Callderwallder,” said Faedra, a relieved smile stretching its way across her face. Behind all of Faedra’s acting, she knew she needed her brother’s brain to solve this puzzle.
“Give me a day, Sister… I shall come up with a plan.”
• • •
Callderwallder had spent the day poring over his books and histories, trying to find the one piece of information that might save he and his sister’s necks. He realized that unless he was able to give the people of Nefas something they wanted, the palace would forever be in danger. He decided that reading about societies and the people who ruled them might yield the information he desired. He read and studied about ancient societies and how they arranged their kingdoms, but mostly he concerned himself with the civilizations that did not have kingdoms. He found it very interesting, all of it, the successes, the failures, the politics. After hours, he pulled his glazed face from the dusty pages of his tomes and made his way up the stairs to visit his sister.
The plan Callderwallder concocted would be quite simple, but he decided that Faedra would have to give him something he wanted in return for his scheme. He was tired of living in the darkness of secrets and shadows. Callderwallder wanted the freedom to do as he pleased, and in order to have this freedom, the Queen would have to reveal that he was her brother. Nefas would reject Callderwallder if he were merely some man among the people, but as the Queen’s bother, there was a real freedom in that station. New stations, in fact, were exactly what his plan required.
“You wish for me to be exiled?” asked Faedra with venom in her voice. “This is your genius plan?”
Callderwallder had ushered the Queen into a large closet in her royal chamber. It was very dark and the Queen was perturbed at being asked to hide in her own palace. It was beyond her comprehension why she should need to whisper.
“Hush,” urged Callderwallder. “Do not trust those around you so much, Sister. Keep your voice low. The exile will be temporary. Think of it more as a vacation; a reprieve from duties.”
Faedra folded her arms and looked away, frustrated at her inability to quickly grasp Callderwallder’s ideas. “I do not understand this Royal Speaker position you wish to have.”
“Here,” began the small man. “I’ll detail the plan again. Tomorrow you will begin with a public apology to Nefas. You will hang your head and ask for forgiveness. This will not be received well, but it will at least be a start. At this public apology, you will also announce that you have been recently acquainted with a long-lost brother. Me. You will introduce me and announce me as Royal Speaker. I will then address the crowd, explain my position as Royal Speaker, and go on to explain the new election process that will be instituted. I will let the Kingdom know that this is your plan to allow the voice of the people to be heard.
&n
bsp; “We will then hold an election for the North, South, East and West sections of Nefas, and each section will have their own appointed representative. These representatives will hear the desires of the citizens they represent and vote on issues of the Kingdom. I will oversee these four representatives and break any stalemate in voting.”
“Why would I relinquish my power to you and four commoners?” said Faedra angrily.
“You are thinking too literally, Sister. We are still in possession of three metal men. They may not be enough to stave off a mob, but they are certainly enough to ensure that four people vote exactly how we want them to.”
“Won’t the masses eventually notice that their elected representatives never vote the way they wish?”
“We pick our battles,” answered the man. “Let them win the inconsequential votes. We retain power in the important issues. We will hold these elections every two years, so the people’s anger will never be focused at us. If they are displeased with the results, they may elect new representatives when elections come. They will constantly be bickering amongst each other over who to vote for, never realizing that, in the end, it is futile, they still have no power.”
“And what of my exile? I do not like this decision.”
“It is a show of good faith, Sister. After the elections are held, we ask the four representatives to come up with a fitting punishment for your crime. We force them to choose temporary exile. The people of Nefas will think they have won a major victory, and you will merely spend some time with the Midnight Grace upon a distant beach. We’ll send all the servants you need to see to your care and security. Then, after a time, you will return and the people will have lost their anger toward you. You will be able to continue your rule through the mask of myself and the four representatives.”
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 82