Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  The room’s occupants were once more silent for a moment as a roar of wind swept past the windows, howling away into the city.

  Hairem cleared his throat for their attention, appreciative of Valdor’s boldness.

  “And I as well,” Heshellon finally broke in with a smile, as though refocusing from his own thoughts to join the conversation at hand. “After all, I feel accountable for their condition. And I do not believe the crown should be solely responsible for such a financial burden when it was the crown that attempted to dissuade the council from making this choice to begin with. My people greatly value proof of service and character, and if their steadfast fidelity does not entitle Jikun’s soldiers to everything you have said and more, then what does? The Eph’vi will support this motion.”

  Nilanis gave a slight, grimacing nod before he took control of the situation in his ever-commanding tone. “I will ensure that the council acquires all of the funds necessary to make such—”

  There was a sudden roar of wind as the doors to the council room flew open and slammed against the walls behind them with a crack like thunder. Rain pelted in fiercely, showering the chamber in ice-cold droplets as a male stumbled in behind their flurry. He caught his balance swiftly on the railing beside him and kicked one of the pursuing guards squarely in the chest to send him tumbling from the room. A gasp swept through the council and Hairem stepped back, eyes wide as he gaped at the intruder. But shock had frozen all other males in the room.

  ‘Another assassin?!’

  The elf’s clothing clung to his tall, lean frame and his finely chiseled face was knotted in a mix of fatigue and concern. His emerald eyes were vividly bright against the darkness. Hairem had never met the male before, and yet there was something strikingly familiar about him.

  Nilanis stood abruptly, his eyes wide as though with fear. “Your Majesty! This male is called Ralaris. He is a known dealer of Ulasum’s—!”

  The male’s cape whipped out past him, tangling around his legs as he pushed away from the railing. “Your Majesty,” he spoke out of breath, failing to acknowledge the speaker’s rebuke. “Ilsevel has been taken by Saebellus!”

  The room erupted with shock and questions. Hairem felt his heart quicken and his complexion pale. His chest tightened, causing the still-healing wound to twinge sharply. Gods, no! “How do you know this?!” he demanded loudly over the others. “I have heard nothing of it!”

  The room quieted in desperation to hear the response. The guards had appeared back at the doorway, rain pouring off their armor to puddle at their feet, but Hairem held his hand up sharply. Their weapons were drawn at the male’s back—that was enough, even as the intruder gave them no regard.

  Nilanis’ mouth was hanging open in speechless horror and his lips desperately attempted to form some response.

  “You are hearing of it now, Your Majesty,” the intruder breathed before Nilanis could speak again. “And if you should wait too long, you shall hear it from Saebellus as well.”

  Hairem bit his lip. The male’s accent was foreign. No doubt he was a Sel’ven, but his speech placed him from somewhere on Ryekarayn. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the male’s elegant cotton clothes, sodden and mud-stained from the rain, and his heavily adorned blade. Yet, Nilanis had called him a drug dealer. “Who are you?” he demanded in attempted skepticism. There was something unsettlingly commanding about the male. “How do you know this?”

  The male’s eyes remained focused on Hairem as doubt erupted around him. “I pay well to be informed of anything of interest while I make my stay here, Your Majesty.”

  Hairem walked stiffly around his desk, making his way toward the elf. “Your vague—”

  “DO you want to continue asking me questions of no importance or do you want to save your future queen?” the male demanded sharply, cutting Hairem off.

  Hairem was taken aback, drawing to an abrupt halt. Who would dare speak as he did to the king… and openly before the council?!

  But Ilsevel’s safety forced him to push aside his questions. “How long ago was she taken?”

  “Two days. I just received word of the capture and came immediately. Saebellus will no doubt ransom her and use the profit to fund his war against the kingdom. His demands will arrive within a week. Do not allow it. If you send a rescue mission, Saebellus will be caught by surprise. Horiembrig has countless underground tunnels leading into the city. You can rescue Ilsevel and avoid bending to the warlord’s demands,” the male said, pushing his short hair from his face.

  Hairem found it difficult to swallow. Was it true? Ilsevel had been taken? If that was true, this male was right—Saebellus would ransom her and use the money to fund the war. He could not allow it—he could not allow more of his soldiers to die for Saebellus’ cause!

  He ran a hand down his face, noticing how cold his skin felt. This was fear. He inhaled unsteadily. “I will go for her,” he breathed.

  “What?” Valdor demanded, stepping around his desk as well. “You cannot, Your Majesty. Such a decision is irrational. There are soldiers who—”

  “Ilsevel is my bride. I will not send—”

  “Your Majesty,” the stranger interrupted sharply, raising a hand adorned in thin, gold rings. “Let me. Your council member is correct. You cannot go into Saebellus’ hands and risk your death or capture. The kingdom cannot take the strain of a second bloodline lost in a mere three hundred years. I will go in your stead, if you allow it.”

  “I do not even know who you are,” Hairem threw his hands up angrily. “Shut the damn doors already—I can hardly hear myself think!” The guards before the council hall immediately pulled the doors shut and the howling wind was left to beat against them outside.

  The room grew quiet.

  “I am Sellemar, Your Majesty. This may suffice to answer your inquiries.” He reached into the front of his shirt, gingerly pulling out a piece of wet parchment and carefully unfolding it. “A letter written on my behalf by King Sairel, attesting to my credibility.” He held out the parchment as Hairem made his way forward, hushed voices following him. “Time is crucial. Every minute you delay, the window of opportunity shrinks. I will rescue Lady Ilsevel. Not for you. Not for her. For the kingdom. There is nothing I want. I brought you the information in hopes that you will not make the mistake of sending some average soldier to do an elite’s work—when the ransom demands finally come. If I lie, then it is only myself I put in danger and no ransom shall come. But if you believe me, then when Saebellus’ threats come, you shall make no moves to acquire the funds. I will already be at her side. You may select a male to accompany me if you wish. I will provide a second of my own.”

  Hairem reached out and took the parchment slowly, the male’s words causing his mind to slow in disbelief. King Sairel? What association did this male have with the True Bloods? He scanned the page briefly, noting first the unmistakable seal of the royal family. “…hereby attest to the skill and virtue of Sellemar. His word is my word. His life is my own…” he trailed off inaudibly. He found his mind overwhelmed with shock. He had never heard of anyone bearing such immense approval from a royal member before… let alone a king. ‘His life is my own…’ It was not just a sentence—it was a threat. King Sairel not only vouched for the male, but threatened those who meant him harm with his own retribution. Sairel’s father may have disowned Sevrigel entirely, but for this male, Sairel was willing to do anything. Who was he? He looked up, studying the stranger in a new light.

  “You lose nothing by sending me. You have nothing but my word to go on and nothing to lose but the person who brought you the information to begin with,” Sellemar continued with confidence.

  Hairem inhaled sharply, turning and pacing slowly. The male was right. Ilsevel could be captured. If the male was wrong, Hairem would lose nothing. If he was right, saving her would prevent Saebellus from either harming her or using her against him.

  And here… here was the testament from King Sairel himself!

  “Alrigh
t, Sellemar. I will entrust you with this and pray to the gods there is not some way I can be punished for it,” Hairem finally spoke, pressing his hand softly to the wound on his chest.

  The male gave a short nod. “And someone to accompany me?”

  A roll of thunder rumbled outside the hall, vibrating the glass with great temper. It was as though even the gods themselves roared in fury at Saebellus’ gall.

  ‘Someone…’ Hairem considered for a moment. There was only one male he trusted entirely with Ilsevel’s safety, though he had failed to stop the male before them. Still… “My personal guard, Erallus,” he spoke finally. “I would have you take him.”

  Sellemar nodded once. “Then I shall. He is to arrive at room two at The Whistling Glade in three hours’ time.” He turned and pulled the doors open, looking back once over his shoulder. Hairem caught the confidence in his gaze before the doors snapped shut behind him.

  “Hairem, I do not…” Nilanis began. “Ralaris… Or Sellemar—I was clearly mistaken about his business… But I have never heard of him. He’s clearly foreign. I—”

  “And what do you propose I do, Nilanis? Wait until Saebellus sends a ransom demand and expects some action to rescue her? If we fail after his demands I do not expect that we will be treated kindly. Or she. If Sellemar is telling the truth, then this is the best course of action. Jikun took his best soldiers to the swamp and now they are half-dead. I have no other elf of skill except my own personal guard, most of which I have sent to Darival. What would you have me do? King Sairel testifies to his abilities. Have you ever heard such strong language between a king and… anyone? ‘His life is my own’ is hardly a light phrase. I cannot testify to any of my elves with such language. Not even Erallus.”

  The council members exchanged looks. Nilanis clenched his fists. “I ask that you not risk her life! So Saebellus asks for a ransom! Coin is merely coin! This is my daughter!”

  “And my bride. There is no one who is more concerned about her safety than I am, Nilanis. But I can’t send the rebel money to fund his war and sieges against the kingdom. I cannot. We have just incurred a tremendous cost from that damn war with the centaurs! Too many have died already and I will not be responsible for more deaths.”

  Valdor slid the rain from the side of his face and wiped his hand across his chest. “The king is right. There are some obvious pieces of information we can gather from this male. He is from Ryekarayn. He is wealthy. He has a close relationship with King Sairel. He knows Horiembrig. And he has clearly done things like this before. We’re probably dealing with some cleric of a righteous god; as he is a Sel’ven, perhaps even of Sel’ari herself. Or, less likely, he could be a mercenary. But regardless, I’d wager more money on that male’s success than one of Jikun’s plagued soldiers.”

  Hairem raised a hand. “I, for one, do not have further time to discuss this. The decision has been made. I must inform Erallus immediately of his mission.” He had to get out of the room. His heart was torn in conflict. But he knew he could not pay Saebellus a ransom. Not… Not even for Ilsevel. He pushed the door open and stepped out into the rain. Gods. Why?! He had been trying to do as Sel’ari would want of him. He was battling the council. He was taking a good wife. What benefit did it grant them to punish him like this?

  “I am sorry, My Lord. He fought his way in. We were outmatched,” Erallus’ words interrupted his thoughts. There was a flick of green as his eyes shifted away and his broad shoulders slumped over his lean frame. His voice lowered, “Gods… first the assassin and now this male. I have failed shamefully twice… I don’t deserve to—”

  Hairem paused, a hand going to the side of his chest subconsciously. His mind briefly churned at the implication of those words. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I told you to forget about the assassin. I lived. You saved my life. Let it go. I need you to go with him, Erallus. You heard what he said about Ilsevel?”

  Erallus nodded gravely. Hairem could see the shame on his face at his failure, but the king had no heart for encouragement. Erallus quickly followed Hairem down the steps to the square.

  “His name is Sellemar. He’s in room two at The Whistling Glade. You are to meet him in three hours’ time.”

  Erallus paused, hanging his head. “I apologize, My Lord.”

  “Erallus, it’s done. Next time, you will not let someone into the Hall. I am certain of this. But that is not what matters right now. I need you to do this for me. I need you to bring Ilsevel back.”

  Erallus looked up, his thin lips pursed, his expression now strong and bolstering with confidence, as though to shake the concern from Hairem. “Yes, My Lord. I will bring her back.”

  “Then go. Now. I do not need you to walk me back.” He gestured to his second personal guard who lagged behind them, no doubt as ashamed as Erallus at having been jointly bested in a fight by a single elf—a male who had refused to even use a weapon.

  Erallus gave a sweeping bow and hurried away down the dark, rainy streets. Hairem watched him for a moment. ‘Bring her back…’ He started as a flash of lightening silhouetted the statues of the six ancient heroes beside him. He turned to them, clasping his hands at his lips. “Please,” he whispered aloud. “Please, help… them… bring her back!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sellemar took a seat by the window of his room, watching the rain drizzle onto the cobbled stones below. Judging by the light in the east, it would let up entirely by the time Erallus arrived. He leaned an elbow onto the windowsill, his breath creating a faint fog across the glass.

  Ilsevel captured… Saebellus was certainly keeping busy. The general and his army were fortunate that the warlord had been occupied on other matters—an interception by Saebellus while they were unarmed would have cost them the war. And consequently, the country. That damn, arrogant council! Sairel’s father had been right to refuse to abide their deeds. Would that more elves had possessed the sense to leave with him. But it was too late for that: the virtues of his brethren had been rotting for the last nine thousand years, and many of them had not seen corruption then… and could not now. If such disregard for virtue continued, the Sel’vi would be lost.

  He pursed his lips, wondering at the enemy warlord’s plans since the capture of Horiembrig. Was Ilsevel worth that much attention? Or had Saebellus simply been incapable of the attack on Jikun?

  His brow knit further. And then there was Nilanis, who had recognized him in the council’s hall… How? Was he connected to the man who had been following him? Was it Nilanis who had hired his pursuer?

  There was a loud knock on the embellished door behind him, startling him away from the glass.

  “Who is it?” he demanded, looking back along the glossy marble tiles.

  The knock sounded again.

  Pushing off his knees, Sellemar stood and walked briskly to the door. He threw it open irritably and found himself being pushed aside by a very wet soldier.

  “You are early,” Sellemar commented, surveying the personal guard to the king. He made no apology for overpowering him earlier, for breaking into the council chambers, or for kicking him back down the steps.

  Erallus glanced briefly about at the elaborately painted walls and gold-inlayed ceiling, dropping his oiled sack onto the floor. The beads of water clinging to it immediately slid to the tile and trickled into the cracks between the stone. “There is no time to waste. My Lord’s bride is of the utmost concern to me. I was hoping to leave early, but I see your companion has not yet arrived.”

  Sellemar took a seat on the edge of the large, silk-covered bed, pulling on his boots and lacing them briskly. “‘My Lord’? You have a close relationship with the king, then?”

  Erallus nodded, pushing the door closed. “I would die for him.”

  “Yet I heard you failed to defend him recently from an assassin.”

  Sellemar could see the elf’s eyes harden and his lips purse shamefully. “How do you know about the assassin?”

  Sellemar wa
ved a dismissive hand. “I said that I pay well to be informed about everything, if you recall.”

  “…I failed to defend the king. It will not happen again.”

  “Good,” Sellemar replied solidly. He flowed right into the next question. “And what about Ilsevel?”

  Erallus paused, briefly hesitant in his reply. “I… do not know Lady Ilsevel other than what I have seen of her interactions with the king.”

  “Would you die for her?” Sellemar tested.

  “I would die for her.”

  “For Hairem or for Ilsevel?”

  He could see Erallus’ lips purse and his eyes narrow. “What is the purpose of these questions? What is it that you wish to know? If you can rely on me? Ilsevel is the king’s wife-to-be and there is nothing he cherishes more. I would die for her for My Lord.”

  Sellemar raised a hand. “Touchy, touchy,” he muttered, getting to his feet. It was a response he could expect from a devoted soldier. He grabbed his bag and strapped it over his shoulders. “Let us go.”

  Erallus frowned. “What about—”

  “There is no other man,” Sellemar replied curtly. “Gods know that you will cause me enough issues on this mission without bringing along a second novice.”

  Erallus opened and closed his mouth in shock. Yes, he was offended. ‘Terrible,’ Sellemar thought sarcastically.

  “You said you wanted to leave early. Now grab your sack and let us go,” Sellemar ordered, opening the door and stepping out into the wide, lavishly decorated hallway.

  Gods, this was going to be a long trip.

  *

  Outside the city, across the great expanse of Elvorium’s narrow northern bridge, were the two horses he had left waiting since before he had returned to his room—after his intrusion to the council. Sellemar handed the boy at watch a coin and slung his sack over his horse.