by P D Ceanneir
‘So how bad is the sultan?’ Havoc asked Lord Ness as all three of them and the palace guards walked through a high doorway along a white marble floor and then up a long flight of stairs to the next street level. At each side of the floor a row of gold pillars held up an arched ceiling, which represented the entrance to the Palace Major. Beyond these were tall glassless windows with a view towards the west of the palace and part of the harbour wharfs.
‘He is not as bad as people make out,’ smiled Lord Ness, answering the prince’s question. ‘They mix him up with his father, who was a harsher man at the best of times. The Sultan and I became close friends many years ago; we both share a love of history and ancient antiquities.’
‘So, the wife-torturing thing...?’
‘Ah. They did commit adultery. The laws here are much stricter that we are used to back home.’
‘What about the bleached bones?’
‘His Father did that, but they were bandits from the mountains.’
They entered one of those roofless courtyards; this one had a small garden of roses and large-leafed vines that twisted up wooden tresses on the far wall. On the opposite wall was a set of double doors. The Scarab Guards formed into two rows and remained standing still while the captain opened the doors and indicated for them to enter.
‘Lady Leufite will see you now,’ he said.
‘Lady Leufite?’ Havoc asked Ness Ri as they entered.
‘The High Sultan's great-granddaughter,’ answered the Ri. ‘She is the Sultana Valide, mother to the future sultan who is too young to rule, also interim ruler for the current one, who is very ill.’
It took some time for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light indoors, but the prince caught the smell of perfumed water. In the centre of the room was a large pool surrounded by seven young female servants in yellow silk dresses and white veils. The dress material was so thin that it left little to the imagination.
The water in the pool rippled and suddenly Havoc notice a naked woman swimming towards the low steps at the other end. She broke the surface and slowly climbed out. Two of the servants rushed to throw a thick cotton robe around her shoulders and a small towel for her hair. She was tall and slim with rich dark haired that flowed down her back. Havoc placed her at about forty years of age, if she was this old then how old was the Sultan.
The Sultana Valide approached them with a graceful elegance that spoke of her breeding. Her eyes scanned all three of them, hesitating slightly on the prince, and then fixed on the Ri.
‘Lord Ness, a pleasure to see you as always. It’s so good of you to come.’ Her voice was soft and husky.
Lord Ness bowed towards her, ‘don’t mention it, my lady.’ He turned and pointed towards the Prince. ‘My I introduce Prince Havoc De Proteus Cromme.’
Lady Leufite smiled warmly at Havoc, who bowed. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I trust we are not imposing on your leisure time?’
‘No, of course not, I like to swim in cold water to cool down from the midday sun. I must say I thought that you would be taller…and wider. Yet, the stories do not lie when they say you are handsome,’ she said, as she looked the prince up and down.
Havoc had the good sense to look embarrassed. Around them the serving girls giggled and Lady Leufite hissed, clapped her hands and the girls quickly darted off towards a small side door. Havoc deftly used the distraction to change the subject by introducing Tia. The Sultana’s eyed flicked towards the purple-cloaked Havant with a slight mix of disappointment and surprise as if she had only just noticed the priestess was standing there.
‘I do not stand on ceremony here, child,’ said the Sultana sternly, ‘rules about covered female flesh are more a guide point in this area, my area, of the palace. You may take off your cloak.’
Tia hesitated for a few seconds then disrobed. Underneath, she wore her knee-high soft leather boots, a tan coloured short skirt that showed off her muscled thighs and a tight sleeveless white blouse that hugged her torso and revealed plenty of cleavage. Even though she had worn the heavy woollen cloak she showed no signs of perspiration while Havoc still felt the trickle of sweat going down his back.
‘You are very beautiful, child,’ said the Sultana in a soft, almost motherly, voice.
Tia bowed, ‘the Valide honours me.’
Lady Leufite seemed happy with the answer and nodded.
‘My Lady,’ asked Lord Ness, ‘tell me of the Sultan’s health?’
‘Ah, unfortunately my Lord, he has deteriorated these last two months,’ said the Sultana sadly, ‘the Phage has accelerated greatly.’
‘Phage!’ Havoc was suddenly startled.
Ness Ri turned to him. ‘The High Sultan is a Rawn Master,’ he explained, ‘and he is dying.’
Havoc and Tia had shared a worried look as all three of them followed the Sultana from the pool room to her quarters so that she could change her clothing before seeing the Sultan. Rawn Scholars record many of the Rawn Master deaths throughout history. Most die on missions for their king, misadventure or in battle - the Rawn Phage takes the rest.
A Rawn Master has the ability to hold his or her age, but this is not indefinite. If a Rawn does not become a Ri, and so able to blend the four elements together as one, then his chances of death through the Phage is increased. It may take a hundred years or five hundred, but eventually their ability to hold their age will fail and so die slowly as all the years of their past ravages their body. Havoc had no doubt that when he saw the Sultan he would be looking at his possible future if he did not discipline himself to become a Ri. This was why the Rawn Phage was so disconcerting for most with the power of the Arts.
The Sultana took them into a huge stateroom, which was part of her own vast apartments. The first area was an extensive library full of shelving, crammed with musty books and yellowed scrolls. Several writing desks sat in the centre of the room, flanked by display chests with glass lids.
‘I will be with you shortly,’ she said without looking at them as she angled towards a set of double doors. ‘Look around while I get changed. Lord Ness, I think you will find something of interest in that display over there,’ she pointed in the general direction of two cabinets at the far end of the room and then she disappeared through the doors.
While Lord Ness stomped off to have a look inside the display case, Tia came up beside the prince.
‘Short, skinny, but handsome,’ she said with a tone of mirth in her hushed voice, ‘you certainly know how to impress the ladies.’
Havoc chuckled. ‘Very funny. She seems to like you too…child.’
Tia actually smiled and it seemed to light up her face.
Suddenly Lord Ness exclaimed and called them both over to the case he was looking into. ‘Come see, this is very interesting!’
Inside the wooden cabinet was a single piece of torn, slightly aged but brilliantly white parchment, which was dotted with faded symbolic glyphs in a language that Havoc did not recognise.
‘Lady Leufite, like her grandsire before her, is a keen archaeologist. Her main expertise is deciphering ancient text,’ explained the Ri as he pointed at the parchment under the glass. ‘This is obviously made from Torpz, a form of flax which only grows in high hill along the Plysarus Mountains near a place called the Shako Mount. Only the Shako Monks know how to make the Torpz into quality paper like this and they only use it to write their prophecies, so it is very rare.’ Lord Ness was smiling broadly, but the smile vanished when he saw the blank looks on Havoc and Tia’s faces. Both were obviously underwhelmed.
Lord Ness rolled his eyes. ‘This is a piece from the Shako War Mantle Prophecies,’ he said in explanation.
Havoc and Tia looked at one another, neither of them knew what the Ri was talking about.
‘It seems that neither of you paid any attention at Rawn History classes,’ scolded the Ri.
‘To be honest,’ said Tia, ‘I’ve never heard of the Shako Monks.’
‘That’s probably because they went by another name over
two thousand years ago. The Acanthi.’
‘Ah! Now them I have heard of,’ said Havoc, ‘the entire tribe fought alongside the Sept of Red during the Dragor-rix War.’
‘Correct, your majesty. However, the Shako were descended from the Acanthi, who exiled themselves to Plysarus. They are now a peaceful order and devote their time to recording the data they receive from the Oracle of the Mount, this is why the prophecies came about.’
‘Who is this Oracle?’ Tia asked.
Lord Ness shrugged, ‘no one really knows, although there is much speculation about strange magical devices or ancient mages with foresight. Who knows?’
‘No one knows because the Shako Monastery is very difficult to find and the monks themselves will take their secrets to their grave,’ said the voice of the Sultana behind them. She walked into the room wearing a long blue dress that skirted to her sandalled feet and left her ample cleavage exposed. On her head was a jewel encrusted tiara, the Tal Vindere, The Water Giver, the Sultana’s crown. She was so beautiful that Havoc had the urge to bow again.
‘This is remarkable, my Lady,’ said Ness Ri pointing to the parchment, ‘such a rare find. How did you come by it?’
‘It was brought to me via one of my Trade Masters associates. He won it in a game of Karsh from a thief who stole it from a rich lawmaker in Axor…where he got it…?’ She left the rest unsaid to give the effect that the parchment’s long route through time and miles was too long to explain.
‘Have you deciphered it?’
‘I have. It took me the best part of a month. Shako Hieroglyphics are very difficult to understand.’ She went to a writing desk and took a piece of paper from it’s top drawer, she then handed it to the Ri. He scanned the lettering, written in Desert Coptic, and his jaw dropped. ‘Amazing!’
‘What does it say?’ asked the prince.
The Sultana said:
“I have seen the face of Death
He held aloft the Sword that Rules
Cloaked in wings of ravens
Their darkness enshrouded him
And we were left to cower in his wake”
Havoc felt a shiver run down his back and the Blacksword shifted from slumber in his head.
‘There is also a date on the parchment,’ added Lady Leufite, ‘it was written about two thousand years ago.’
‘Hang on!’ said Havoc, ‘I thought the Prophecy of the Blacksword was the only prophecy about the Sword that Rules!’
‘So it was thought,’ answered Lord Ness as he handed back the paper to the Sultana, ‘but the High Sultan and his family have studied other works by various cultures that, they believe, have references to the fabled Sword that Rules.’
Lady Leufite spoke as she indicated for them all to follow her. ‘There are many cultures throughout history, some now long gone, that made prophecies on various subjects. The Shako War Mantles are perhaps the most famous. They foresaw the Jirdean Wars and the later conflicts that broke the Desert Princes in the Summerland Amon Uprisings. The later penned Hinterland Sagas speak of terrible plagues of ravens with a black cloaked figure striding amongst them carrying a black bladed sword. The Ventoli speak of a Sword of Power in their Seven King Prophecies over four hundred years ago. The Mishpal of the Coylaggan Steppe mention the “Nightwrought Warrior” in the Tome of the Doomsayer. It tells of the “Final Battle” he shall have with the Dark Force of the Earth, which they call The Tor’car’anna. It was written about three hundred years ago. There are many more.’
They now entered the corridor and took the stairs at the far end. All the while, the Blacksword was shifting about in Havoc’s mind as they listened to the Sultana.
Interesting, I did not realise I was so famous. He hissed.
Havoc ignored him. ‘This would imply that the Blacksword and the Sword that Rules have been in existence for a long time,’ he said without thinking and hoping that the Blacksword would go back to sleep.
‘Not necessarily, your Majesty,’ said Lady Leufite, ‘some of these writings are possibly future prophecies. However, when they will happen, I do not know.’
They now approached a high arched set of double doors. The Sultana hesitated for a second.
‘I had promised my grandsire that I would bring my sons to see him today. Unfortunately, they are busy with their tutor. My eldest will be High Sultan when he is of age to rule,’ she looked towards Lord Ness, ‘my grandsire will be very happy to see an old friend, Master Ri.’
Lord Ness acknowledged her with a nod. The Sultana knocked twice and then walked straight in.
Chapter 16
The Storm
Gunach paced around the wide tree branch that made up the upper platform of the Cybeleion’s forecastle crows-nest. He was anxious and he did not know why, yet he had learnt to trust his instincts during his long life. Unlike most dwarves, Gunach was not afraid of heights and the view out from the curved bowl of the crow’s-nest was exceptional. He could see the city of Tenk sprawled out below him in a multitude of coloured tents. The bright green of the oasis stretched east and west from the harbour moving lazily in the sea breeze or caught in the distant heat shimmer of the afternoon sun and the crowds of the Great Bazaar shifted and flowed like a churning sea through the multitude of stalls.
However, this view was not what worried him. He was looking south, out to sea, at the rolling dark clouds that completely covered the horizon in a monstrous wall of grey haze. From a distance, the churning storm mass looked like a high tidal wave and if it wasn’t for the Master Smiths short-sightedness he would think it was a tsunami at first sight. Dwarves may be short-sighted but they could see far better than humans ever could in other respects. He could see that the storm sucked moisture out of the surrounding sky and condensed it into brooding cumulus. He could see that daylight dimmed as the wall of cloud rushed towards the coast at phenomenal speed, most of all, the energy feeding the storm disturbed him the most.
He quickly climbed down out of the crows-nest, grabbed a tension cable, and slid down it to the deck, thanking himself for the foresight in wearing his thick leather forge gauntlets. On the deck he looked for the captain as the crew swarmed around loading supplies into the hold or carrying out general duties. Gunach realised that work aboard such a large vessel was never finished and he felt right at home amongst the urgent bustle; he hated inactivity. Captain Danyil, topless and bathed in sweat like most of the crew, was carrying a sack of fresh vegetables when Gunach approached. He handed the sack down the main hatch to one of the cooks and ordered him to put it into the cool hold. He stood when Gunach appeared at his side. The dwarf merely pointed to the oncoming storm. The captain looked. His face paled with each passing second and then he snapped at one of the cabin boys to go and fetch his telescope.
At the stern, they found Furran watching the southern horizon. Gunach noticed his face was a mask of concern. Danyil said nothing, as he looked though his long brass telescope.
‘That is not a natural storm,’ informed the stocky Raider.
‘I agree with you,’ said Gunach nodding.
‘Damn it’s coming in quick!’ said Danyil, as he closed the telescope and turned to shout out orders. A strong gust flapped past them, the sail ruffled in the breeze.
At the end of the large room was a wide four-poster bed draped with garish silks and with satin sheets. To Havoc it seemed as if the room had a feminine touch and he figured out that this area of the palace was still part of Leufite’s personal apartments. Two servants, grey haired women in long white gowns, stood as they entered the room and then dropped to their knees with their foreheads touching the floor. The Sultana spoke softly to them and they quickly stood and left the room.
The sultan was a thin frail old man of four hundred years, sick and dying, not quite the despot everyone thought. The Rawn Phage had certainly ravaged his body. Thin, almost skeletal, his pale skin was dappled in dark veins and unsightly liver spots. He was wide-awake and leaning up against six large pillows of various colours. H
e grinned when his great-granddaughter moved to his side, showing a toothless mouth. She spoke in his ear and the Sultan raised a thin wrinkled hand to bid the newcomers to come closer. Leufite took a wet cloth and dabbed the old man’s forehead as the Ri gently sat at the edge of the bed, Havoc hung back with Tia and listened. The silk drapes, flanking the tall balcony window to his right, flapped suddenly as a cooling breeze pushed its way into the room. The smell of the sea came along with it and Havoc frowned as the daylight dimmed slightly.
The voice of the Sultan took his attention away from the window. ‘Is that you, Ness, my friend? It has been a long time.’ Havoc had to strain himself to hear the sultan’s weak voice.
‘Yes it’s me, old friend, I have come to ask you for information again,’ said Ness Ri.
The old man mumbled something and Havoc saw his master place the palm of his hand affectionately on a pale papery cheek. The Sultan’s glazed, sunken eyes came alive in his thin wrinkled face. The Sultana gave him a cup of water with a thin reed in it to suck through. Once he had enough, he pushed it away and coughed.
‘What is the information you need?’ he croaked.
‘I seek the ruined citadel where you and your father found the marker stone.’
The old man coughed again. ‘You are after the Gredligg. Oh Ness, Ness, nothing but death awaits you there.’
‘Nevertheless, my friend, I wish to try. I have come prepared.’