Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  A sob passed her lips and her throat constricted. Yet she loved him.

  He looked at her, eyes alight, reminding her of the prince she’d fallen in love with so long ago. “The Old City was built to repel invaders, Jikki, built to last.” He beat his chest. “As is my reign!”

  Her stone heart tumbled over. He was in complete denial. For many days now, whatever she said, he ignored any prog-nostication that veered from his own self-belief.

  She fidgeted with the poniard.

  And she had to admit it had come to this because their son joined the rebel cause. Oh, my Haltese, you make me choose between you and your father. Both of you have broken my heart; it hurts so much!

  ***

  Fourth Sapin of Fornious

  It was all Jikkos could do not to turn up her nose in distaste as Che-man Car was shown in. The odour of death entered with him. His flesh glistened with sweat and spilt blood. “The second Thand man finally cracked, sire.”

  “What of the first?” asked Jikkos.

  The Master Torturer lowered his head. “I regret, your majesty, his heart stopped before I could extract any useful information.”

  “A pity,” she said.

  “No matter,” said Sauri. “What have you learned?”

  “There is a secret access to the Nemond palace. I have its precise location, sire.”

  “Excellent news! Give the details to my captain of the guard.” Sauri turned to Captain Bayuan Aco. “Order the guard to surround the Nemond palace and also send four men into the secret passage!”

  Bayuan Aco saluted. “Aye, sire!”

  “And do not fail your king this time!” Jikkos snapped.

  ***

  Aurelan Crossis leaned with his back against the stone wall, his arms manacled to metal pins that would not budge to his strenuous efforts.

  He watched as Che-man Car returned to the chamber, striding down the stairs, ignoring the remnants of Thand’s men that hung on the wall to his left. He was not too pleased to realise that the Master Torturer made for this cage.

  Che-man unlocked it and entered and then peeled off the bandages on Aurelan’s arm and leg. For a moment or two he studied the wounds. He smiled slowly, not a pleasant sight. “They’re healing well. Tomorrow, I will begin to soften you up for the queen.”

  “Anything to please the queen,” responded Aurelan.

  “Oh, she is already pleased. Now they have access to the Nemond palace.”

  That was not good news. If Saurosen got hold of Nemond Thand, a legitimate heir to the throne was at grave risk. News of this could weaken the resolve of the rebel forces.

  Captain Bayuan Aco slowly descended the steps into the torture chamber. He grinned broadly, brushing sweat from his face with a hand. In his other hand trailed his whip, its length dark with blood and gore.

  “What can I do for you?” Che-man Car asked, replacing the blood-stained bandages on Aurelan’s leg.

  Bayuan gestured at the mortal remains of Thand’s men. “They talked, then?”

  “You know that only one sang for me. You were with the king and queen when I told them. I gave you the details you need. I am good at my job, while clearly you are not. Shouldn’t you be arranging the attack and penetration of the Nemond palace, as the king decreed?”

  “I want to see Aurelan Crossis first.”

  “Come to gloat, have you?”

  “I don’t like your tone, Master Torturer.”

  “What you like is immaterial here.”

  Bayuan Aco wiped his face again. “Look, I’m weary with fighting. I only want to talk to the man!”

  “Very well, though I doubt he will have much to say to you.” He stepped away from Aurelan and unlocked the cell door, let Bayuan Aco enter.

  “You appear to be sweating,” Aurelan observed.

  Bayuan Aco scowled. “So would you be, if you’d been repulsing the troops of General Luascar.”

  “Really? And was the general there?”

  “Yes, of course! His chest thrust out proudly. “I recognised him, leading his host. He was wounded by one of our arrows, before they retreated.”

  “How many men did he bring with him?” Aurelan asked, a harmless enough query.

  Obviously intent on creating a good impression, Bayuan Aco said, “Oh, at least two thousand!” He folded his arms across his chest. “At least!”

  “Nonsense,” replied Aurelan. “General Nhev would not countenance two thousand soldiers entering the three cities!”

  “You dare to question me?” He raised his whip, ready to strike.

  “I ask the questions here, Aurelan Crossis!” Che-man Car snapped. Bayuan Aco’s whip was stayed by the torturer. “If anyone is to harm this man, it is me. You are in my domain now, Captain Bayuan Aco!”

  “But…”

  “I suggest you do your king’s bidding and arrange for the seige of the Nemond palace!”

  ***

  First Sabin of Darous

  Nemond palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Outside the Nemond palace walls, Captain Bayuan Aco mustered the palace guards and a handful of watchmen to lay siege. “Nobody is to go in or come out. Understand?”

  “Aye,” acknowledged a sergeant.

  “And no food or water is to cross that threshhold!”

  “Aye, sir,” the sergeant said again.

  “Very good.” Bayuan Aco gestured to four soldiers he had selected earlier. “You, come with me!”

  He led them round the wall, towards an overhanging tree. The branches did not reach the top of the wall, however. Bayuan brushed his hands over the bole of the tree.

  After a moment he found a wooden switch that protruded only slightly. It clicked as he depressed it and a small opening appeared.

  He pointed. “You four are to go inside. It leads into the palace. Kill as many as you need to, and then see to it that you open the front doors to end this absurd siege!”

  “Aye, sir,” said one, hesitating.

  “What’s the matter, man?” Bayuan demanded.

  “Our shields won’t fit, sir.”

  “Leave them. You have the element of surprise and only need your swords. Each one of you will gain honour and riches on your return from this mission.”

  “Yes, sir!” all four shouted as one, resting their shields against the bole of the tree.

  Bayuan Aco watched them enter the small opening and then shut the secret hatch behind them. He bit his lip, wanting so much to return to the torture chamber and inflict pain on Aurelan Crossis. But his duty was here. He must ensure that the siege was a success.

  ***

  Thand woke from a troubled sleep and asked, “Have the Underpeople gone yet?”

  Tantian nodded, as if she could not manage to speak. She stood up from the bedside chair. She laid a warm hand on his temple, and he realised his brow was cold and damp; she gently stroked him. “Stay here while I get you fresh medication.”

  Docilely, he croaked, “Yes, my love.”

  Her eyes instantly glistened and she turned away, fled to the door, robes cracking, leaving him alone.

  Dim memories of the Underpeople attacking him returned with surprising force and clarity.

  He swung his legs off the bed and stood.

  Shakily, he walked over to the sideboard, found his sword. He picked it up, surprised at its weight. He gripped it and sensed a new purpose flow through him, as though contact with this weapon lent him strength.

  With his free hand he wiped sweat from his brow. He approached the door that Tantian had passed through. It opened easily and he stepped into a dark shadowy corridor, wood panelling up to the wainscoting. Shadows hid Underpeople, he knew this.

  Senses on alert, he walked on, past suits of armour that stood like sentinels. He was not disturbed by them, though. He knew they were empty carcases.

  He turned a corner and stopped, confusion spinning his mind.

  Four intruders – they had to be intruders, for they had just killed a man wearing Thand liver
y. His eyes widened as he realised the intruders had gained access through a secret tunnel, an opening in the wood panelling. Vaguely, he recalled using it long ago, when he’d been a boy and not plagued by illness.

  Two of the intruders spotted him and rushed forward.

  Thand feared they were really Underpeople in disguise. He could not let them into his palace. They would hurt Tantian and the rest of his family. He must fight them to save his wife. Instinctively, he swung his sword and deflected their blows, metal on metal resounding.

  In his troubled frenzy he sliced and parried, stabbed and defended, his skill and sheer audacity wrong-footing his opponents.

  Swiftly, he killed two.

  A third intruder attempted using his own sword and one of his fallen comrade’s, but he had no luck either, while the fourth fled back into the tunnel.

  As Thand’s sword pierced the heart of the third intruder, Tantian and two soldiers rounded the corner.

  He recognised them.

  Standing amidst the four dead, he lowered his bloody sword.

  Tantian ran to him, stepping over the corpses, and hugged him.

  Haltingly, he said, “One of the Underpeople got away.” He pointed at the secret opening.

  “Don’t concern yourself. You despatched three of them.” Gently, she took the sword from him.

  “They do not appear to have changed back from their disguise,” he said in a puzzled tone.

  She gestured at Sergeant Hallen. “Since it has been discovered, the secret passage now serves no purpose, save to undermine us. Get men to block that access!”

  “Yes, lady, it will be done!” replied Hallen.

  As she led Thand towards the corner in the corridor, he said, “I remember using that passage when I was a lad…”

  Tears glinted in her eyes as Tantian replied, “Those were good days, my darling, I’m sure.”

  He hugged her tightly.

  He noticed that she clasped a sword to her as she said, “It seems we are doomed to stay and await the outcome of the civil war.”

  “I do not like war, or fighting,” he told her. “I much prefer it when I am living in my childhood.”

  Tantian sobbed, though he did not know why; perhaps she was happy for him.

  She led him towards his bedchamber. He felt he’d had a strenuous time of it lately but didn’t know precisely what he’d done. Mayhap when he had rested and slept, he would remember.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  COBRORA

  “At every jolt, the blood gargles from froth-corrupted lungs!”

  - The Lay of Lorgen

  Screwing-up her dewdrop eyes, Nemond Adama scowled at her mother, Dori. “She’s still in there with him,” she said, her voice a croaking whisper.

  “I know,” her mother wheezed. “We have both failed your son. We’ve let her get too much influence.”

  “What can we do?” She raised a hand to her thick lips.

  Her mother’s face contorted into a smile, the leathery lines creasing. “Don’t you have any more compliant assassins like Matred?”

  Adama started, faint gold eyes transmuting to a lead tint. “You know about that?”

  “We are close, so close, my dear.” She hugged her daughter and then chuckled, more like a cackle. “Besides, I have spoken to Sister Illasa…”

  “That witch should know better!”

  “Now, now, Adama, she only has our concerns at heart – our family, not Tantian’s.”

  “But Tantian is Thand’s–”

  “He is even now besotted with her, I know. But that must change.”

  “We cannot do much while our house is under siege.”

  “Yes, I heard about that intrusion.” She stroked her daughter’s face. “But this might be the ideal time, don’t you think. Unfortunate things can happen during this kind of outbreak, no?”

  “What kind of ‘unfortunate things’, mother?”

  A shrug. “A little accident that Sister Illasa could fashion, perhaps?”

  Adama sensed a titilating warm glow settle in her stomach. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?”

  Her mother exhaled noisily. “We must be strong for him at his time of loss.”

  “Oh, mother, he should be king! He’ll be so much better than Saurosen! To think, I’ll be the mother of a king of Lornwater!”

  “In time, my dear. Let us be patient. I too want him to be king, but not with her as queen.”

  ***

  First Dekin of Darous

  Underground

  Torch held ahead of him, Dasse Wenn trudged through calf-high mud. He was slightly giddy, his temple wound dribbling a little blood – probably reopened when he hit his head on that outcrop a while back.

  They came at him out of the shadows, one of the Nhyrachons slicing a sword blade across his chest. The pain was intense, but he was able to stumble and dodge the second one’s sword.

  He shuddered. They were ugly creatures!

  Neither spoke, but stared, mouths gaping with sharp teeth.

  All he had was a club and a torch against two swords. Well, if he was going to die, he would make a fight of it! Splashing forward, he yelled at them, swinging club and torch.

  Strangely disconcerted by his behaviour, they stood immobile. Too late, one of them raised his sword, but in the same instant Dasse clubbed him.

  As the Nhyrachon fell, Dasse dropped his club with a splash and grabbed the discarded sword. Not a moment too soon, for the other Nhyrachon recovered his senses and swung his weapon; it sliced into Dasse’s chest, but Dasse kept moving forward, slamming the blade into the Nhyrachon’s neck, severing the head, which flew off to the left, splattering bloodily.

  Dasse gripped the blood-covered sword tightly. There were most likely other Nhyrachons to contend with, though he doubted if he would be up to the task now. These two sword-cuts in his chest were acutely painful. He feared too that one thrust had penetrated his chest. But he would not give up, ever!

  Gasping for breath, he kept on stumbling, limping, wading through the muddy water.

  It could be his imagination, but he believed that the water level had dropped – or he was ascending.

  At a junction he found an opening to another immense cavern, where water tumbled from a distant point in the dark above; a great nimbus of vapour and light reflected from his torch. There was no way out there, so he continued on his way.

  He lifted the flickering torch. He was sick of living only in torchlight. He envied Sos his moment in the sun. Why had he returned? Of course, their blasted mushroom diet.

  Even if the sunlight was the death of him, Dasse wanted to be free.

  Stale air wafted fumes from the torch, clogged his nostrils and he gagged.

  He wanted fresh air in his lungs before he died.

  Emboldened by the fact that the ground beneath his feet tended to rise, he forced himself forward, a slow painful step at a time. This was the direction of the stale breeze, too.

  ***

  Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater

  While moping in his office, Ranell raised his head as Jan-re Osa entered. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed unless there’s a crisis!”

  Without reacting to his harsh demeanour, she bowed and let in an elderly man. “Ranell, this miner has vital information for you, so I have brought him at once.”

  Biting back on a retort, he sighed. “Very well, Jan-re Osa. Now, go!”

  The door slammed shut; he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault he was in a foul mood. Loss of Lorar to the wiles of Epal gnawed at him, gnawing at his insides. Jan-re Osa had tried to commiserate and ease his pain, but he’d given her short shrift. Must apologise to her later, he told himself.

  Trembling slightly at this exchange, the miner shuffled his feet.

  “Out with it, man! What is so vital?”

  “Sir, I have to report that not long before the rebellion started we’d discovered access tunnels under the Doltra Complex.”

  �
�So? There are countless abandoned tunnels under the three cities.”

  “I warrant that these might lead you into the heart of the Old City. It stands to reason, don’t it? All that money and power, they’d want an escape route to the Old City, wouldn’t they?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, sir. It’s too early to know, especially since they seemed to be flooded. If we had town plans, maps…”

  “Flooded? What use are they if they’re flooded?”

  “The water – it might recede…”

  “It might, I suppose.” Ranell ran a hand over his features, hated this acrimonious side of his nature. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  When the miner had left, Ranell decided to approach Prince Haltese and discuss this item of news. It might be useful, if the flood waters could be dealt with. Scouting parties of shadow-men would have to be sent, since the Second City was at present under the control of Saurosen’s men. If the tunnels are located, then the enemy must be kept ignorant of the potential they offered – or they could be waiting for them at the Old City end.

  ***

  Lornwater

  Crowds jostled outside the ramshackle buildings that leaned in over the narrow street. Clen’s medium height and wiry frame was no match for the press of bodies and he found himself going with the flow. On arriving in Lornwater he’d been nonplussed by all the signs of rebellion. His first thought was for the safety of his sister. But right now he was conscious of the pack on his back and placed a hand over its opening. He had no wish to be robbed. This was the kind of confusion slit-purses welcomed.

  He could have employed Sardan energies to repel the people, but he had no wish to waste his talent or reveal himself.

  Soon, as the rush of people swelled at several junctions and dispersed, he found himself abandoned to his fate. And the gods had been kind. He stood not two blocks from his home. His thin mouth curved and his heart pounded at the prospect of meeting her after his latest mission.

  He reached the house, its wooden door unlocked, askew on its hinges. Esoteric senses coursed through him, danced macabrely in his heart. He slowly unsheathed his short-sword, opened the door and slipped inside.The passage was as usual, dark and musty. Silence pervaded the place. Not even the scuffling of a mouse, the skittering of insects or the settling of the building. He was inclined to call her name, but thought better of it. Cautiously, he climbed the stairs to the landing.