Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  “Your highness, please accept my abject apologies. I was badly affected by the waste of life at the mines.”

  “I see. And where is Aurelan Crossis? Was he badly affected too?”

  “Like me, sire, he is battle hardened, and not queasy about the dead and dying. The mine disaster was different, however.”

  Jikkos leaned forward, a hand resting on her knee. How dare he covet her! “The king asked you about Aurelan Crossis!”

  Bowing to her, his gaze evading hers, Tanellor eyed Sauri. “Aurelan was called to Goldalese. A sudden death in his family, sire.”

  “Ah, is that so?” Saurosen rasped. “I didn’t know he had family in that fine city.”

  “Me neither, sire. He is a man of few words.”

  “Well, I trust you have a few more words to say about the mines?”

  “Yes, sire,” Tanellor said and delivered his report about Oxor, while his eyes continually avoided contact with hers. She took small pleasure in his unease in her presence; perhaps one day she might make use of his foolish infatuation.

  “Thank you, Lord Tanellor,” Sauri said, finally, breaking into her reverie. “I suppose this will delay mining?”

  Tanellor pursed his lips then said between gritted teeth, “Yes, it will, sire.”

  “Ye gods, there’s another!” shrieked Sauri, scambling up onto his throne, crouching in the seat, feet raised. He stared as a black hairy shape scuttled over the dais, heading for the ruffled bottom of curtain to the left.

  In an instant, Lord Tanellor dropped his helm and drew his sword.

  “Hold, Lord!” shouted Sergeant Bayuan Aco, rushing from the doors, unsheathing his sword.

  Tanellor’s sword point skewered the spider and it ceased moving.

  Jikkos raised a hand, shouted, “Stay, Sergeant – Lord Tannellor has done the king a great service!”

  “A shomshur, your highness,” said Tanellor. “Now it’s quite harmless.” Milky yellow puss dribbled from the dead arachnid.

  Trembling, Saurosen lowered his feet to the floor. “Thank – thank you, Lord Tanellor.”

  “Glad to be of service, sire. I must admit to being surprised to see one of these creatures so far from their usual habitat.”

  “That is the second,” Jikkos said.

  Tanellor’s brow furrowed. “That’s most odd.” He stepped off the dais and scanned the patterned tile skirting of the room.

  “I wonder if somebody’s putting them in the palace,” Sauri rasped.

  “Somebody from beyond the ranmeron border?” queried Tanellor, moving over to a cupboard on the far wall.

  “You’re ever the diplomat, Lord Tanellor,” Jikkos said. “Perhaps the Tarakandan Empire is involved. Not enemies of the king but enemies of Lornwater?”

  Tanellor heaved the cupboard to one side and pointed with his sword. “There’s a nest here, so you can expect to find more.”

  “Oh,” railed Sauri, “I must pray to Nikkonslor that he will deliver me from this darkness!”

  “Better still,” Tanellor said, “get Osasor on your side!” He beckoned to Bayuan Aco. “Bring a torch, quickly, Sergeant!” Plucking a shagunblend torch from a sconce, the sergeant carried it over and handed it over.

  Tanellor thrust the flames at the dark nest and a mass of cobwebs. It all burst into bright purple flame tinged with yellow and sizzled. Two faint squealing sounds rose from the pyre and then were stilled as a noisome smoke spiralled.

  “I’ll order the spider patrols to be on the alert,” Jikkos said and shuddered, her stomach feeling queasy.

  ***

  Once Lord Tanellor had been dismissed to “spend time in my town-house”, Saurosen stroked his chin hair, deep in thought. He had no proof other than a message slip: Be warned. Tanellor recruits an army of rebels. Damning for Tanellor, though, wasn’t it?

  He was confident in his own swordsmanship, since he practised almost daily with Cla-Damen. But not every political opponent would resort to a fair sword-fight. Knowledge was power, as well as possession of the Black Sword. Knowledge gleaned from spies.

  He beckoned Bayuan Aco. “Go to the watchmen’s headquarters and arrange for Lord Tanellor to be followed. The Prime Watchman is to report to me, directly, concerning the lord’s whereabouts.”

  Bayuan saluted. “It will be done, sire!”

  When the sergeant had left, Saurosen turned to Jikkos. “Your sergeant is an obedient man, my dear.”

  “He is, Sauri. If we foster his ambition, I believe he would do absolutely anything for us.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GARSTIGG

  “Killing a bad monarch is not murder.”

  - Creed of the Disbelievers

  Underground

  Three garstigg pounded over the ground, their hairy snouts snuffling, their claws scraping on the hard stone. They lumbered with a rolling gait, shoulder-barging each other as they vied for room in the cramped space, snorting, clearly scenting prey: Sos and Dasse.

  Sos tensed, his heart-beat rapid, the base of his spear wedged against a rock on the tunnel floor, his torch held aloft.

  The foremost garstigg let out an eldritch yell and charged, straight into the spearhead which pierced its chest. The haft snapped with the onward rush of the animal and weight. Sos barely had room in the confines of the tunnel to step to one side and avoid the heavy creature as it collapsed at his feet. Thick bristly hair scratched his leg as it gasped its last.

  This creature’s death did not deter the other two, though. The second one crawled over the corpse, its jaws wide, breath hissing, while moisture drizzled over its chin.

  Dasse half-leaped half-limped forward and thrust his wooden club into the gaping maw. It shrieked and backed away, but was prevented from going further by the third creature.

  Clambering over the corpse, Sos swung his torch left and right, singeing the fur of both animals. He managed a lucky blow of the torch on the third garstigg, incandescent red sparks flying as the flaming brand ignited the animal’s head.

  Sos was quick to follow with the knife, slitting sideways across the garstigg’s throat. Instantly, he was spurted with blood, and the animal slumped on top of its dead companion. The other one now backed away, mewling, swaying its head from side to side; here, there was no room for it to turn.

  Sos and Dasse clambered off the corpse and sat on the floor, breathing heavily after their exertion. Then they began coughing as the tunnel filled with the acrid stench of burnt fur and flesh.

  “It seems you intend cooking the food before you even get it back to our cave!” said U-Gath, appearing behind them.

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Badol Melomar approached and bowed obsequiously, restricting his gaze to the shining tiled floor at the king’s feet.

  Saurosen liked that in a man; Badol knew his place in the scheme of things.

  The king shifted in his throne, briefly glanced at his queen, and then demanded, “Now that you are in my presence, Badol, tell me why you have come.”

  Careful not to make eye contact, Badol bowed. “My spies warn me that an attempt will be made on your life, sire.”

  “He’s the king,” Queen Jikkos said with a haughty laugh. “It’s an occupational hazard – that’s why we have guards and food-tasters!”

  Saurosen narrowed his eyes at her.

  She looked away, studying her long manicured hands.

  He leaned forward and boomed, “Tell me! Assassinated by whom?”

  “I – I do not know. Someone, sire, who can get close to you with a weapon. A… a trusted guard, perhaps?”

  Sergeant Bayuan? No, he’d killed that shomshur. Lord Tanellor, then? No, he too could have let the shomshur spider do its work, but chose to kill it. “Badol, you’re useless! I need firm facts to act upon, man! Not scaremongering! Get out!”

  Bowing and fawning as he went, Badol Melomar scuttled to the door and left.

  “Dear Sauri.” Queen Jikkos rose from her throne, crossed the
dais and produced a slim sheet of parchment from the folds of her gown. “This is a roumer message I’ve received from one of my spies in Goldalese. Aurelan Crossis is there. With a strong force of men.”

  He stood. His chest heaved and his blood felt about to boil. “What is Aurelan doing there?”

  “You didn’t send him, then?”

  “Jikki, why would I do that? As my captain of the palace guard he should be leaning on Tanellor at Oxor, as I instructed, and not shirking off elsewhere, especially with trouble brewing in the three cities. Right now, I need him here, in my city, where I can watch him.”

  “Oh, Sauri, he’s probably in Lord Tanellor’s pocket…”

  “Tanellor? He won’t openly fight me; he has no wish to rule. And what has Goldalese got to do with anything!”

  “Aurelan is there. He must be in league with Tanellor.” She scowled, her long delicate finger jabbing at the parchment, the last few lines of coded message. “My spies are confident that Tanellor will obtain aid from within this city – your city… That’s why he has returned; not to report on the Oxor mines!”

  Saurosen’s mind reeled. Jikki hadn’t mentioned the saptor message about Tanellor recruiting rebels, yet she now openly linked that lord with Aurelan Crossis in a conspiracy! There was something about Aurelan; the odd glance, the unchecked glare, that made Saurosen’s skin itch. The captain of the royal guard was in an ideal position to assassinate the king, was he not? Yet, without proof, I cannot act against the man. Saurosen seethed and then, abruptly, felt a warm glow in his chest. Only now was he aware that Jikki had spies in Lornwater as well as Goldalese. And all obviously to protect him. What a woman!

  ***

  Underground

  Rujon Sos and Dasse were hailed as good hunters and seemed to enjoy increased respect. Even so, they were still given menial tasks to perform – “Nobody is exempt,” U-Gath explained. They were both happy to be considered members of the tribe. By now they were competent at collecting shagun from the floor of the many tunnels and placing it on sled-pallets, though at first, Dasse had been reluctant to touch the solid schwarm excreta. “We’re miners or even hunters, not shit-shovellers!” he complained.

  Sos laughed. “Don’t let the Daughters of Arquitor hear you!”

  “Let them do their own dirty work, damn them!”

  “You know better than that, Dasse. They control shagun. Our cities would be without heating in winter if they lost that control – and you know it!”

  As he lifted a particularly large chunk, Dasse asked, “Have you ever seen one?”

  “What, a schwarm?”

  “Aye!”

  “No, they’re too shy. Not many miners have seen them – though plenty have heard them burrowing, making their tunnels…”

  “And shitting as they go!” He threw another piece onto the sled.

  “There is more to them than that, Dasse,” Sos said levelly.

  But Dasse didn’t answer, too intent on grumbling to himself. Sos wondered how the Daughters first discovered the oily secretion the schwarm exuded while tunnelling; apparently, it aided their penetration through rock. He was glad they were not being tasked with processing the oil into shagunblend – until it was formed into a firm compound, the shagunblend stank; yet, paradoxically, when burned in torches and lanterns it merely emitted a faint not unpleasant musty odour.

  “Can you smell the stink of overlanders, eh?”

  Sos pivoted round.

  Four Ratava men had entered this section of the tunnel. Their eyes glinted in the faint blue light emanating from the rocky surface and glared menacingly.

  “They’ve found their level, anyway!” barked another.

  Aware that not all Ratava had any great love of miners, Sos held up a hand. “We are here to help while we can–”

  “Until we leave,” interjected Dasse.

  “That can’t be soon enough for us!” snarled one of the others, brandishing a solid-looking wooden club.

  Wood was prized here, Sos knew; as a weapon rather than as fuel. Shagun served them well enough on cooking fires.

  “I believe you had better leave now,” the one with the club thundered. “Before we bash your brains to pulp!”

  Sos backed away. “We are your guests. Your laws do not permit any violence against guests.”

  “Accidents happen,” said the first one. “No law against accidents…” He raised his club and charged at them.

  Sos threw a chunk of shagun in the man’s face and he squawked in disgust, his step faltering.

  “Quick, down here!” Sos snapped at Dasse, grabbing a torch and dashing into a side tunnel.

  Dasse needed no further urging and was soon limping at his heels, carrying another torch.

  U-Gath and K-Kwan were of no help now, Sos realised. “We’re on our own, Dasse!”

  “But where are we headed?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this sector before.”

  “We need a madurava!”

  “It’s pointless bemoaning what we haven’t got!” Sos snapped in a harsh whisper. “We must tread with care and pray we find our way out.”

  “But it’s an absolute maze!”

  “Well, I suppose we could always go back and face the four of them, even though we have no weapons.”

  “You have a knife,” Dasse countered.

  “Oh, yes, why didn’t I think of that, eh? One knife against four of them! I don’t like those odds, Dasse.”

  Dasse let out a heavy breath. “I want fresh air. I’ve craved for it since we fell down here,” then added sombrely, “That was a foolish fight we had...”

  “So it was, Dasse.”

  Sos paused in his headlong rush and turned, clasped Dasse’s shoulder. “Hush, I hear voices!”

  “Do you think they can track us using their minds?”

  “Yes, but only if they’re really close…”

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  “Baron Laan, I am puzzled that you do not bring our son,” said Saurosen. “We summoned him days ago.”

  Laan bowed. “Prince Haltese sends his apologies, your highness. He is smitten with the ague and does not want to transmit it to the royal court.”

  “Most considerate of him,” said the king.

  Queen Jikkos backed away a pace. “Are you somehow immune, Baron?”

  “I was fortunate enough to acquire the symptoms as a youngster; the illness only visits a person once.”

  “Fortunate indeed,” said Saurosen. “Why are you here, then, instead of remaining to tutor our son?”

  “I have come into the possession of information of deep concern to you, my liege.”

  “My trusted baron, tell me.”

  He looked sideways at the queen, and then returned his gaze to the king. “It is with great regret that I must inform you that my spies tell me that your cousin is plotting to overthrow you before the month is out.”

  “Thand wouldn’t dare!” Jikkos exclaimed.

  “He probably couldn’t stay stable enough for that to happen!” scoffed the king. “He isn’t capable of ruling!”

  “He is aided by his mother’s witch, sire,” Laan countered. “They intend to use the civil unrest to supplant you.”

  “Have you proof?” Jikkos demanded, holding out her hand.

  “I have, your highness.” Laan delved into his doublet and retrieved three parchment scrolls. “These are confidential, each written by a different spy – and all arrive at the same conclusion: your first cousin’s perfidy.”

  Laan passed them over to her, glad the ink on them was dry. These forgeries had cost him dear, but they were convincing; they almost convinced him, after all.

  The queen scanned the sheets hastily and gave them to the king. “This is not good, dearest.”

  “I agree. Let us have Thand arrested at once!”

  ***

  First Sapin of Fornious

  Lornwater

  The last day of the Kcarran c
arnival resounded with clashing steel, a deadly symphony while swords whirled, flashed and slashed through the lamplight, seeking out their human targets. Shifting uncomfortably on her throne, Queen Jikkos swallowed; her pulse raced and her heart hammered as she watched the contest. To skilled men the sword becomes an extension of the arm, she thought, and these two duelling here were indeed extensions of the sword, for they were masters of that weapon. At fleeting moments, she feared for Sauri as he practised with his swordmaster, Cla-Damen Estan. Today, especially, neither spoke or appeared to give quarter.

  On one side of the royal dais hovered the swordmaster’s aide, biting his lip. She had never seen the man appear so anxious. Was something wrong?

  Sauri seemed inspired today. His reddish-brown complexion was dark, flushed, his burnt-almond eyes glinting. His shoulder-length brown hair was lank with sweat and flicked from side to side as he slashed and parried. His pale blue silk shirt shimmered and, dangling on his chest, Quotamantir’s amulet glinted, gold in the light.

  Cla-Demen’s ice-blue eyes were wild, his face glistening with the sheen of extreme effort; his crimson doublet and hose were patchy with sweat stains.

  The pair moved over the tiled floor, Cla-Demen backing into a small round table, toppling it. He blocked Sauri’s downward thrust with the Black Sword; metal clanged, resonating, almost musical in tone. The swordmaster counter-attacked, almost skewering Sauri and Jikkos involuntarily gasped in alarm. Raising a hand to her heaving chest, she regained her breath as Sauri neatly side-stepped, parried and stabbed, and slid out of harm’s way.

  She stared at the throne room’s double doors. They stayed shut. The guards were ordered not to enter while the king enjoyed his session with the swordmaster. Now, as Cla-Demen’s sword pierced the arm of Sauri’s silk shirt, drawing blood, she wondered if that was a prudent command.

  She stood, a hand to her throat; her stomach squirmed in knots.

  The aide peered at the doors but made no move. Was the man concerned for his master’s safety – or the king’s?

  Sinking to one knee, Sauri parried a vicious down-cut. She fancied she felt the vibration of the blow. Cla-Demen sometimes let Sauri win, but not always; and on each occasion it was an obvious tactic. Now, though, it seemed neither intended to quit. The drawing of royal blood should signal the fight’s end, but not today. She’d never seen the swordmaster so determined, so vicious.