Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  “Let the battle begin!”

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  No sooner had the Master Falconer left than Queen Jikkos moved to the door, gestured for the palace guard to open it. “On that point of loyalty, dearest, I wish to question Aurelan Crossis.”

  “My dear, the torture chamber is no fit place for a queen.”

  “You see to your matters of state, Sauri. I will attend to the traitorous assassins we harbour in our midst.”

  “Have a care, Jikki.”

  “I shall.” She strode through the door and dismissed the sentry who fell into step behind her: “I wish to be alone!”

  She knew the way.

  Little did Sauri know that she often sneaked into the chamber to watch Che-man Car extract confessions from his victims with great inventiveness. The sight always sent a pleasurable frisson through her frame.

  A tremor of anticipation now ran through her body as she strode down the stone stairs, uncaring about the screams from several cells. She rang a bell suspended at the gate at the foot of the steps.

  The torturer stepped into the glowing light of a brazier. “Your highness, you honour us with your presence, as usual.” He opened the gate, ushered her through with a slight bow. As she glided past him she caught a waft of body odour and the scent of blood, tantalising her senses. “Thank you, Torturer. I have come to question Aurelan Crossis. Is he fit to talk?”

  Che-man Car stopped in front of Aurelan and inspected his wounds. “He’ll do, your highness.” He chortled, releasing a curved blade from his belt. “Softening up will now begin.”

  She moved forward, hand outstretched. “Let me!”

  The torturer hesitated, frowned.

  “I command it.”

  Bowing, Che-man Car handed her the knife, butt first.

  She grasped it and her face flushed warmly as she pressed it against Aurelan’s face.

  His eyes glinted in the flickering light, but annoyingly he showed no fear or even concern.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “I will be lenient with you, if you tell me who ordered you to kill my husband!”

  He stared at her, an insolent cast to his features.

  “How dare you stare at me!” Without warning, she sliced at his face, cutting away flesh from his cheek, resembling the shape of a spider.

  Blood stained the front of her dress and dribbled onto his bare chest.

  She clenched her teeth. The man hadn’t flinched!

  Powerful hands grabbed her arms, pulled her back. “Unhand me, torturer!”

  “Your highness, the king wants him alive.” He let go of her, raised his hands. “My apologies, but I must extract a confession from him for your husband. See, it will take much to break him. The wounds you inflicted would have had a lesser man cowering, pleading for his life!”

  “Yes, yes, I see that.”

  She glared at Aurelan and held up the bloody knife. “I would dearly love to cut out your liver and eat it, traitor – but I shall leave you to the mercy of Che-man for now!”

  “Nobody ordered me to kill the king,” Aurelan said with maddening calm.

  “What’s that?” she shrieked. “You expect me to believe you?”

  “I simply seek revenge against him for despoiling my sister, Sno…”

  In a few brief words he revealed how Sno had been raped by Saurosen. He gave a nod at his waist-belt. “Inside, there’s a secret pocket.”

  She handed the torturer the bloody knife and unfastened Aurelan’s belt. She found the pocket with alacrity, fingers fumbling as she opened the sliver of parchment.

  Her heart overturned on reading it.

  She read the ending more than once: Pray for me, dearest brother.

  No! Trembling, she glared at Aurelan. “No, we have been together so long, even when he was a prince.” She turned away, the hand holding the parchment balling into a fist. “He would not be unfaithful, no!”

  She raised her fist, and repeatedly slammed it against Aurelan’s chest. “You lie!”

  “Your highness,” pleaded the torturer, “I implore you, desist!”

  She stopped and moved back a pace. “I will bring the king.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  DUTY

  “All flees if courage goes!”

  - Tangakol Tract

  As Queen Jikkos approached the royal apartments, she noticed that the doors were open. She glided in and was surprised to find that Sauri wasn’t there.

  She bit her lip, clutching the ball of parchment. If Sauri had ravished that girl, was it because of her actions? She’d done it for the best; well, she’d been jealous of the royal concubines.

  History was littered with those who had inveigled their way into the hearts of their kings and usurped the rightful queen. On the eve of their ascendancy to the throne, she had insisted that Sauri banish all royal concubines from the palace. By doing so, had she driven him to slake his passion with women of the royal entourage?

  Surely not, she’d have known, no?

  He had no reason to, she never denied him – well, save for that time of month…

  Fio, her lady-in-waiting rushed out of her private rooms.

  Her cheeks felt cold as blood drained from her face. By Arqitor, had he dallied with Fio?

  Fio stopped, her face showing alarm. “Your highness, your dress!”

  Jikkos glanced down and her mouth twisted in revulsion. “That traitor’s blood, Bridansor damn him!” She flung away the parchment ball. “Hurry, I must change before the king sees me like this!” Then she frowned. “Where is the king, anyway?”

  “On the battlements, your higheness. Spies have reported that Nemond Thand’s first toumen has closed with the fourth!”

  Her heart sank. Now was a time of great peril, she realised.

  The terrible revelations of Aurelan Crossis will have to wait, she decided.

  ***

  Fourth Dloin of Fornious

  Oquar II forest

  Accantey signed to the horsemen in the front rank and as one they dismounted; the second rank led the horses behind them and rode up, settled at the backs of the men on foot. Not a moment too soon, Accantey realised. The men on foot and those ahorse raised their shields as arrows rained towards them out of the brushwood from both sides of the road.

  The majority of arrows were implanted in the shields.

  In the same instant, from each side there arose a mighty thunderous roar.

  Hundreds of hoofs thudded on the earth and warriors shrieked their war cries, wielding spears and swords. My strategy worked, Accantey thought.

  Slicing and cutting, his men slaughtered the black-clad archers in the undergrowth before they knew what was happening.

  Mounting Vultor again, Accantey drew no pleasure from this first victory.

  Now, bitter fighting would ensue, within the forest where Nhev had the advantage, since this was his territory.

  Already, though, Accantey had despatched by stealth a goodly number of his men to assail the varteron and ranmeron gates; probably a forlorn hope, but he must try.

  ***

  New City, Lornwater

  Welde Dep grieved to see the state of the city; the streets and avenues were strewn with broken furniture, discarded weapons, and food and belongings were spread far and wide, amidst spilt wine and beer. Bodies littered the pavements, some unconscious, others wounded or with limbs broken, and far too many lay dead. Dogs howled, while cats fought and snarled viciously over scraps. Women made keening sounds over their slain men and children.

  Within the many streets, people fought as factions were formed and ground was gained. Mob violence swept through the different sectors, tearing down stalls, raiding shops and homes, abusing the weak as they went. Pressure by sheer weight of numbers pushed on towards the gates of the Second City. Pockets of royalists resisted, but they were too few to be effective or successful, and eventually fell or fled.

  Inevitably, much of the violence was se
nseless. By Daqsekor, children should not be harmed! Well-trained in fighting techniques, he and his watchmen saved many innocents, and sustained wounds and bruises, but persisted fighting off all comers. He’d seen brother against brother, son against father, and even wife against children. This was civil war; an ugliness that stripped away the veneer of decency.

  ***

  Nemond palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Tantian stroked her husband’s cheek as she eased him into a sitting position in the bed. “Your brow seems less troubled, my sweet.”

  He nodded, turning weak watery eyes to her. “I am well again. That was not so bad a turn.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “My toumen…”

  “Yes?”

  “I recall, it has been summoned. Is it near?”

  “Rumours do not reach our walls, Thand. I am as anxious as you.” It was frustrating, to be so isolated that she had no way of obtaining any immediate news. Did the summons even reach General Accantey?

  “We must be sure. We cannot defeat Saurosen without the first toumen.”

  “We could send men through the secret passage. Sergeant-at-arms Hallen can be trusted to lead them.”

  His lips quivered. “To what end, though?”

  “They could arrange for the gate to be opened. Opened for the toumen to enter.”

  “It is a grave risk.”

  She swallowed, fighting back tears. “You must be bold, if you are to be king.”

  ***

  Fourth Sufin of Fornious

  Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater

  “We cannot delay any longer,” Haltese said huskily, thumping his fist on the map of the three cities. The plates of food to his left jumped and a half-chewed leg of chicken tumbled onto the table; the eunuch Masteef busied himself clearing them away, chewing on the leg. “The piecemeal skirmishes are useless.” He quaffed his wine. “We must attack all four gates at the same time!” He scanned the room, his eyes alighting on Lorar standing next to Epal.

  The royal prince was playing up to Lorar, Epal decided. Histrionics for the damsel. Epal watched, amused.

  Lorar barely returned the royal gaze, her attention lingering on Ranell who stood beside Haltese. The general was on the prince’s other side.

  Briefly, Ranell narrowed his eyes and stared at Lorar and then concentrated on the map.

  Epal let out a breath. He doubted if Ranell would have made a scene. But that was unlikely anyway since Lorar wore a modest dress that concealed the bruises on her arms.

  “My men will storm the Old Drawbridge,” said General Luascar. “It will be heavily guarded, since it hasn’t been raised in years.”

  “As agreed, General, I will lead the assault along the Long Causeway,” Ranell said. “We’ll attack the varteron gate.”

  Lorar’s mouth opened and her eyes grew moist.

  Epal ground his teeth. Despite what she said about forgetting Ranell, her body betrayed her: she still had strong feelings for the innman’s son.

  “And I will go with you, sir,” added the aide Aeleg.

  Lorar’s tenseness seemed to melt as the aide spoke up.

  “Very well, Ranell,” said Haltese. “I will lead the attack on the ranmeron gate.”

  Baron Laan raised his goblet. “I will press the manderon portal.”

  Haltese clapped his hands together. “That is settled then, at dawn tomorrow, we break into the Second City!”

  “Even if we are successful, we still have to breach the walls of the Old City,” Baron Laan observed.

  “I know, Baron.” Haltese’s eyes were alight with the moment. “We will demolish the dunsaron gate, straight into the Old City!”

  “It will be heavily defended.”

  “Baron, trust me – it will fall because we have right on our side!”

  “And then what do we do?”

  “Baron, you tire me with all these questions, you really do! Your men may pillage, by all means.” He held up a hand. “If – no, when – we storm the royal palace, please tell all of your men that no harm must befall the queen. I bear no ill will for my mother.” Murmurs of agreement washed over him. “Thank you. Sleep well tonight, and be prepared for a grisly task on the morrow.”

  Those were words of dismissal.

  Epal watched as Ranell huddled beside Aeleg discussing plans.

  Lorar stood next to him, but she kept her distance, standing aloof. She needed further chastisement, Epal mused: when she was with her agnate, she should be seen to be with him, not merely hovering nearby.

  Haltese walked to her and bowed his head in greeting.

  “Lady, I would ask for your favour in the coming conflict.” The prince stood, waiting.

  Yet Lorar appeared flustered, unsure how to respond.

  Epal stepped forward and nudged her arm. “The bracelet,” he whispered, “give him your father’s bauble.”

  Solemnly nodding, Lorar unfastened the catch on the bracelet and handed it to Haltese. “You do me great honour, Prince Haltese,” she said.

  Haltese deliberately took his time fastening the bracelet on the chest of his tunic. “I will keep it next to my heart, my lady Lorar.”

  She flushed and glanced away.

  Epal followed her gaze.

  Ranell had witnessed the exchange and his face had darkened. The lad’s discomfiture seemed inappropriate but it pleased Epal immensely.

  ***

  Baron Laan had also noted the interchange between Lorar and Haltese. His heart skipped a little as he thought of his wife. Reluctantly, Jaora had agreed to bed the prince in the hope of encouraging him to rebel against his father. And the ploy had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

  It was perverse of him, he knew, yet it rankled that the prince should already be intent on seducing another woman. I should be glad, he thought. Jaora was mine again. Or was she? The prince might invoke old rights and claim both Lorar and Jaora for his seraglio. His appetite was big enough.

  Laan pursed his lips but decided to hold his tongue. He swallowed another goblet of wine, but the taste was bitter. Haltese was playing a dangerous game. No more than I, he mused.

  ***

  New City, Lornwater

  As darkness descended, the fighting eased off. Not only was it dangerous, but it was also tiring. Once old scores had been settled and a few skulls had been cracked, what else was there to do?

  Unfortunately, a large number of the populace would not be content until the king was ousted. Some said they wanted a republic; others laughed and said they wanted the queen.

  “No, not in that way!” one remonstrated. “She’d be fair, if her husband had let her.”

  “I disagree. She’s too besotted with him,” said another. “She does as he says.”

  “As should all women, eh?” said a fat balding man, laughing. “Ouch!” he cried, hunching over as a woman slapped the back of his head.

  “You don’t tell me what to do, husband!” She hit him again.

  ***

  Jumar Bem and Murar Hun were shocked when they returned to the New City.

  Many of the streets were strewn with furniture, broken mirrors, papers, parchment, and the odd dead dog and cat. Seemingly everywhere, black flies hovered in clusters, buzzing insistently. A strong stink of faeces, blood and death permeated the air.

  They hadn’t expected such a transformation in the short time they’d been away.

  It had been easy enough to scale down the walls of the Old and Second cities using knotted rope. Indeed, they’d been accompanied by a handful of royal guard soldiers who were intent on deserting – “We’re not waiting here to die for that king!”

  The moat waters hadn’t been too pleasant, but they managed to obtain dry clothes after a bout of judicious looting.

  Bem rubbed his hands together. “You realise that in this chaos we’re going to find a lot of easy pickings?”

  “We need somewhere to stash what we filch, though.”

  “Oh, I know somewhere. Nobody’ll f
ind it. Now, let’s try this place first.” Bem pointed to a two-storey house whose front door was askew, almost off its hinges.

  “May not be too good. Probably already been looted.”

  “We’ve got to try somewhere.”

  ***

  Old City, Lornwater

  The Long Causeway stretched through the Old City from the dunsaron to the varteron gate.

  Led by Nemond Thand’s sergeant-at-arms, Hallen, five men skulked out of Nemond Palace via a secret passage and made directly for the varteron gate.

  Once there, as expected they were accosted. Four armed sentries were on duty; they were alert, more than a match.

  “We want you to open the gate into the Second City,” said Sergeant Hallen. “We’re expecting an important family tonight.” In truth, as her ladyship had briefed him, it was in anticipation of the arrival of the first toumen, but he wasn’t going to tell them that!

  Hallen recognised the tallest sentry who raised a spear, blocking their access: Ban-anter. “Nobody opens this gate save on the direct orders of Captain Bayuan Aco.”

  “And Ban-anter, since when was he made captain?”

  “Since the king sent Aurelan Crossis to the torturer!” Ban-anter waggled his spear. “Now, be off with you! When your so-called important family arrives, we will check their papers. If they have just cause to enter the Old City, we will admit them and provide an escort.” Ban-anter squinted at them. “Where do we bring them to? Who sent you, did you say?”

  “That is considerate of you, sentry,” Hallen said. Aware that the king had sent Bayuan Aco’s men on a failed errand to arrest Nemond Thand, he had no wish to notify these sentries of his allegiance. “I will return at the appropriate hour to meet the family.” He ushered the other five away, along the causeway, back to the palace.

  Thwarted!

  “Hey, wait! Don’t I know you?” That sounded like the voice of Bayuan Aco, the newly appointed Captain, no less.

  Hallen barked, “Run!”

  “They’re from Nemond Palace!” cried Bayuan Aco.

  Three of the sentries joined the captain and gave chase.

  Two sentries caught up and stabbed their spears at the legs of the fleeing men.

  A man next to Sergeant Hallen stumbled and tripped.