Despite arriving a half-hour early, the square was already crowded, teeming with eager citizens. Milan stood on his toes, seeking an open pocket within the audience. He searched the area and noticed a guard who was directing traffic.
Remembering the paper he had been given, Milan reached inside his vest and slid the paper from his inside pocket. He approached the guard and tapped the woman on the shoulder to get her attention.
“Excuse me,” Milan said. “Is there any order to the crowd? Am I to go to some section in the back?” he asked as he held the letter before her.
The woman squinted at the paper. “Let me see that,” she said as she yanked the note from Milan’s hand.
Milan watched the woman’s green eyes as they swept across the paper. He thought about his dead wife. Emily had green eyes, much like this guard. However, Emily had a petite build and was almost a head shorter than this woman. Milan often picked Emily up and carried her, despite her insistence that she didn’t like it. He did it because he could and because he knew that she secretly loved it. His heart ached to see her again.
The woman folded the paper and handed it to Milan. “Follow me,” she said as she waved him along.
Weaving through the crowd, the woman headed toward the western edge of the square. As Milan expected, he and Oliver were relegated to stand among the furthest away from the proceedings. He just hoped he’d be able to hear what was said. A new ruler meant changes, and Milan wanted to know how those changes might affect him.
The guard continued beyond the crowd and led them to a guard who stood beside a doorway with pike in hand. The female guard nodded toward the guard at the door and continued inside.
Milan paused outside the door, confused. When she realized he had stopped following, she waved him on.
“Come along. We haven’t much time,” she said.
Milan glanced at Oliver, who shrugged. Feeling unsure, he resumed following the woman. She led him down a long hallway, turned and took him up a flight of stairs that led to another long hallway. Within minutes, Milan found himself lost within the maze of corridors.
She led them down another set of stairs and opened a door at the bottom. Milan stepped through the doorway and into a large open space that was occupied by thirty-some people. Fancy-dressed officials stood in clusters, deep in discussion. A smattering of soldiers, wearing different armor than the city guards, were included in those clusters. Guards stood beside each of the doors as their gaze scanned the room.
Milan glanced toward a door that stood open to the outside. Through it, he saw the crowd standing in the mid-day sun, and he was able to determine that he was inside the entrance to the Main Hall.
The guard who led him began to cross the room.
“Wait,” Milan said in a loud whisper as he grabbed her shoulder. “Why am I here? There must be some sort of mistake.”
She shook her head. “There’s no mistake. We were told to watch for you.’ She glanced to the side. “Stay here and I’ll be right back.”
The guard turned and crossed the room, Milan watching her in confusion. The fluttering in his stomach had evolved into a mess of flips and queasy shakes. She approached a group of men across the room, bowing her head in deference as she addressed one of the men.
The man was about six feet tall, in his thirties, and sported a shaved head countered by a brown goatee. Polished metal plates that adorned the man’s white leather armor reflected light when he shifted, drawing Milan’s attention to his muscular body. The tan skin of the man’s thick bicep stretched tightly when he lifted his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow. His eyes shifted, looking at Milan with an intense glare as he listened to the female guard. He gave her a nod, patted the woman on the shoulder and headed across the room toward Milan.
With the confident and balanced gait of a trained warrior, this impressive man approached Milan. The queasiness within Milan’s stomach roiled, and he fought to keep it under control, to keep his breakfast from coming back up. This impressive man must be Kantaria’s new king.
As the man drew near, Milan swallowed hard and smoothed his vest. I should have taken the time to shave today, he thought to himself.
“You must be Milan Tannerson,” the man said as he approached. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Gunther Budakis. I’m an acquaintance of your son’s.”
Milan shook the man’s hand, gritting his teeth at the crushing grip. “Brock? You know Brock?”
Trumpets blared in the square outside, causing everyone to stop their chatter and look toward the doorway.
Budakis turned back to Milan. “My apologies, but this will have to wait. I must head out and address the crowd. We can catch up later.”
“Um…yes,” Milan stammered. “Yes, of course.”
The impressive man gave Milan a nod, and he turned to head toward the door. A line was forming at the door as people shifted into position. Milan watched in awe as Budakis walked past everyone else and took the lead spot. Once in position, he gave a nod and the two guards standing beside the large double-doors began to push them open. The crowd outside roared in anticipation, and Budakis led the others outside.
“Father!”
Milan turned to find Brock and a pretty girl with brown curls and striking blue eyes approaching. Brock ran toward him and gave Milan a tight hug. Milan coughed, trying to breathe under the weight of Brock’s grip.
Brock released him and stood back. Milan’s eyes met Brock’s, reminding him again of Emily. However, something had changed within Brock. He had grown, aged. Milan’s gaze drifted to the runes that now marked Brock’s previously bare forehead.
Milan gasped. “Brock!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What are those runes doing on your forehead? If they catch you, you’ll be executed!”
Milan heard Oliver gasp behind him, but he ignored the boy.
“Sorry, but I can’t explain right now,” Brock replied. “I’ve got to go out there.” He gestured toward the doorway.
“Hello, Mister Talenz,” the pretty girl said, holding out her hand. “I’m Brock’s girlfriend, Ashland.” Her smile was disarming. “Unfortunately, I’m still teaching him to properly introduce me.”
Milan shook her hand as she glanced toward Brock, who returned her smile. Confusion swirled about Milan, making him blink and wonder if he was living within a dream. His eyes shifted back to Ashland and he noticed the Order rune that marked her. How could someone marked with the rune of Issal be with an Unchosen like Brock?
“Sorry. I’ll work on it,” Brock replied, his eyes lingering on the girl. “Now, stop distracting me so I can get out there and do my thing.”
“It’s not my fault that you’re easily distracted,” she chided in reply.
Brock laughed. “Fair enough. Why don’t you take my father through the side doors and stand with him until it’s time.”
“So, now you’re pawning me off to an older man?”
Brock laughed again. “And you call me incorrigible.” He leaned close to Ashland, gave her a kiss, and turned toward the main doors.
Still confused, Milan watched Brock cross the room. When Brock reached the guards, he removed his cloak and handed it to a guard. Beneath it, he wore a black leather vest with a red starburst on the chest and larger one across his back. Combined with the black leather bracers on his forearms and tall black riding boots, he looked quite dashing, not at all like the ragged boy who grew up in the tannery loft.
Brock turned toward Ashland and Milan and waved for them to go outside. Milan looked at the girl, who flashed a smile and took his arm.
“Will you please escort me outside, good sir?” she said coyly.
Milan smile
d in spite of his confusion. It was easy to see why Brock was smitten with this girl. She reminded Milan of why he first fell in love with Emily.
Holding her arm in his, he led her through the side door and onto the large platform atop the stairs outside the main entrance. They found a spot in the shadows along the western edge of the platform and waited as Oliver settled in behind them. Milan looked out at the square, now so crowded that he could see nothing but a sea of heads and shoulders in every direction. It was by far the most people he had ever seen.
The trumpets sounded again, the blast ringing throughout the square. The trumpets stopped, but the ring of their tone hung in the air as the crowd grew quiet.
Budakis confidently strode to the edge of the platform, placing him five feet above the floor of the square. He raised his hands high and greeted the crowd.
CHAPTER 46
Brock lingered in the doorway, waiting. He clenched his fist, watching the rune drawn on it distort as his skin stretched. Breathing deeply to calm his nerves, Brock wished he had food handy to help settle his stomach. Speaking before a crowd seemed almost as frightening as facing a mob of banshees. Almost, but not quite.
The trumpets sounded again, warning him that the moment had arrived. His eyes flicked to the right, landing on Ashland and his father. He was glad that his father could be here for this.
Budakis walked to the fore of the stage and raised his arms as the ring of the trumpets faded. The crowd quieted, and he addressed them.
“My name is Gunther Budakis. As General of the Kantarian army, I am here to greet the people of Kantaria and to promise that I will do everything within my power to ensure that you lead safe and productive lives.”
Some within the crowd cheered at this news while others appeared confused.
“The Empire has been dissolved. In the wake of this change, the provinces have once again become kingdoms. Unlike the kingdoms of the past, these new kingdoms will work together as an alliance. Kantaria is a member of the Allied Kingdoms of Issalia.”
“In addition to the role of General, I have another role, one that is perhaps even more important and is one that I consider a great honor. As the Advisor to the King of Kantaria, I am pleased to introduce a man who has more integrity, honor, and persistence than any I have known. Please welcome King Brock of Kantaria.”
The crowd cheered louder this time, but still not with the energy that Brock knew was possible. He hoped his words would change their attitude.
Brock stepped from the shadows, thinking about the speech he had made after freeing the captive Unchosen from the mining prison. With little time to waste and a great need to garner their help, he had inspired those people with his message. He needed to affect the citizens of Kantaria the same way. He needed them to believe in the future that he wished to offer.
After crossing the platform and sidling beside Budakis, Brock nodded to the larger man, who shot him a grin in return. A page stepped from the side of the stage, carrying a pillow with a golden crown resting atop it. Rubies in the shape of a Chaos rune sparkled in the sunlight at the front of the crown. Budakis lifted the crown from the pillow and held it before the crowd, receiving another cheer as he turned and placed it upon Brock’s head. The fit was perfect, the crown having been crafted specifically for Brock. Budakis bowed to Brock before stepping aside.
Brock turned to face the audience. The square quieted, and Brock began to speak.
“Today, we don’t celebrate the crowning of a king, but we celebrate a victory for you, the people. Kantaria and the other kingdoms of Issalia now enter a new age, an age of knowledge, prosperity, invention, and most importantly, compassion. But, before I share my plans for the future, I must apologize for the sins of the past.”
The crowd stirred as Brock paused, waiting for their full attention.
“Whether you know it or not, you’ve lived your life under the thumb of oppression, backed by a doctrine of lies. What you’ve been told to do, been told to believe, was not the truth, but was instead what some people within the Ministry wished you to believe.”
The murmurs in the audience grew to a loud hum. Brock raised his hands to get their attention and held them up until the buzzing faded.
“Guilt in this matter does not belong to the Ministry, but rather, falls on the lap of a secret organization within called The Hand. This group, The Hand, sought to control your lives in order to support their own selfish and misguided objectives. The leaders of The Hand have been removed and imprisoned, including Kantar’s very own Prelate Honichle.”
The crowd fell to stunned silence.
“Furthermore, my first act as king is to declare any member of The Hand a wanted criminal, who will join their former leaders should they be captured.” Brock’s gaze swept over the crowd, watching for reactions. He knew that Budakis and the guards were doing the same, since it was among their objectives. “However, to prove that I am a fair ruler, I will also offer members of The Hand a second chance. Anyone who surrenders to my guard, renounces The Hand, and swears to abandon their cause will receive a full pardon and will be free to pursue their own path as long as it falls within Kantarian law. This offer stands for ten days and anyone associated with The Hand who is caught after that will be sent to prison.”
Heads throughout the crowd nodded. So far, so good, Brock thought.
“I’ll not get into every offense that The Hand has committed, but some of them have had direct effects on the lives of every one of you. The first, and perhaps most heinous, is the Choosing ceremony.”
Murmurs arose again but Brock continued anyway.
“The Choosing ceremony is a farce and was created to enable The Hand to covertly control your lives. Rather than allowing citizens to choose vocations based on personal preference, they sought to force you down a path that best supported the needs of the Empire. If they needed more farmers, they would assign the role to any babe who exhibited some potential to be a farmer rather than allowing each individual to choose his or her own path.”
“That is not the worst of it, though. The Hand also used the ceremony as a way to weed out children who had the potential to use magic. I’m not talking about the healing magic that the Ministry uses to save those who they feel are worthy. I’m talking about real magic. Magic with the power to perform incredible feats. Without this magic, you would now be dead at the hand of monsters. You see, the Empire was invaded by thousands of banshees, a force also known as The Banished Horde.”
At this news, the murmurs came back ten-fold, the noise now too loud for Brock to speak. He gritted his teeth, turned, and leapt. His Power-augmented strength launched him upward to land on a balcony that stood four stories above the platform.
Screams and cries of surprise sounded from the noisy crowd. Brock turned to the crowd, took a deep breath, and bellowed with an augmented shout.
“QUIET!”
Brock stumbled backward, surprised at the volume of his own voice as it reverberated throughout the square.
The audience quieted, Brock nodded in approval, and he leapt again. A collective gasp sounded as he fell more than forty feet to land on the platform. He flexed his legs as he landed, his powerful muscles absorbing the impact to leave him unharmed.
Brock scanned the quiet crowd and found that he was now holding everyone’s attention.
“What I tell you is true. Surely, you’ve heard rumors from sailors who have recently docked at an eastern city.” His gaze swept across the stunned faces. “They are all gone, destroyed. Thousands of people are dead, dead at the hands of an evil army that could only be stopped with the use of powerful magic. As I’ve demonstrated, I’m able to use this magic, and I pledge to use it to protect the people of Kantaria.”
A chee
r arose from the crowd, far louder than any prior. Brock waited, allowing them to have this moment. When the noise dwindled, he resumed.
“Now on to the Ministry. They may no longer play a role in governing the people, but they will continue to spend each Seventh Day as our spiritual leaders, providing guidance toward Issal’s goodwill. However, other changes are coming, changes that will ensure prosperity. Six days a week, all local temples will become schools. Any child of ten summers or older will be encouraged to attend these schools, where Ministry officials will teach them to read, to perform mathematics, and will instruct them on world history. Attending these schools will be free to any citizen who is of age. Furthermore, any child who excels or exhibits abilities to use magic will be encouraged to attend the Academy in Fallbrandt, which has been renamed the Fallbrandt Academy of Magic and Engineering.”
“Then, there is the subject of taxes. Yes, I know that some of you are holding out hope that you will pay less in taxes. Unfortunately, I am told that those taxes will be required to run the kingdom. My hope is that increased prosperity will bring more business for everyone and those taxes will not seem such a bad thing.”
Another wave a murmurs made its way through the crowd. Brock had expected as much, knowing that tax was a sore subject among business owners.
“I have one more thing to announce today.” Brock shouted, reclaiming their attention. “I am pleased to announce that I am getting married.”
Brock looked toward Ashland and waved her over. He waited for her to join him, gently taking her hand in his and holding it high.
“Amazingly, this beautiful girl has agreed to marry me. Ashland Pym will be your new queen and will jointly rule by my side. The ceremony will take place one month from today, right here in this square, and everyone’s invited.”
The crowd cheered voraciously, the roar becoming almost overwhelming. Brock’s attention shifted to Ashland, whose smile was as wide and engaging as he had ever seen.
An Empire in Runes (The Runes of Issalia Book 3) Page 28