The Awakening

by Joe Jackson

  The friends received wary glances at the gate to the city, a combination of caution over Max’s appearance and the unusual nature of Yiilu’s companion. A brief introduction of Max as both prince of the luranar and an ambassador to the kingdom settled their nerves for the most part. More intriguing was Vo’rii’s behavior: she was clearly a wild wolf, but when necessary, she knew how to act domesticated. She sat on command and offered a paw-shake to the guards, who laughed heartily at the display and waved the group through without further comment. Leighandra watched Vo’rii trot along beside her master; it would hardly surprise her if, one day, the wolf assumed human form – or, more likely, elven form.

  “So, where to first?” Delkantar asked. Though his home was the woodlands, he surveyed the city as though it was a stone jungle, and the light of adventurous curiosity was plain in his eyes. How often did the woodsman see cities such as this? At the very least, he didn’t seem opposed to them or to look upon them with disdain as was common among some of the more rugged outdoorsmen.

  Galadon gestured to the north-most hilltop. “Let’s go straight to the palace. It won’t take long for them to recognize me, and once they do, all of our needs will likely be taken care of while we make our inquiries.”

  “I will take Vo’rii outside the city for a run. There is little sense causing a disturbance at the palace over whether she will be admitted,” Yiilu offered.

  “It’s my palace, and she’s more than welcome.”

  The druid bowed her head, and Vo’rii moved over to rub her flank against the knight’s thigh. Galadon reached down and scratched behind one of the wolf’s ears, and then realized he was supposed to be the one leading. He gestured for everyone to follow and then strode up the tiered steps to the highest level, where a modest palace with marbled columns stood in vigil over the city below. Leighandra stared at the structure and wondered at the dual nature of its position: above the people, yes, but so that Galadon could watch over them, not lord over them.

  The guards at the entryway beheld Max curiously, but when they saw Galadon, his appearance stole and held their attention. They said nothing and made no attempt to halt the visitors, so Galadon led his friends into the grand foyer. Vo’rii stayed close by Yiilu’s side, once again demonstrating that clever mind and ability to act the part of a more common canine when necessary.

  The foyer wasn’t crowded, but there were a number of people standing about chatting or going over various papers. They were the administrators of the city, taking care of the smaller day-to-day tasks to spare the regent’s attention for bigger matters. The majority of them were human, though there was the occasional rir; Leighandra suspected the rir, though, might be from out of the city, visiting to do business or pass along diplomatic tidings from neighboring cities and municipalities.

  In the center of the floor was the mark of the kingdom: A flaming greatsword in front of the rising sun. Leighandra noted that no one stood on it while they conversed; in fact, many of them specifically walked around it while traversing the floor.

  A well-dressed human greeted the new arrivals with a courteous bow. “Welcome to the palace! How may I… oh. Oh, by the gods, can it really be…? How…?”

  His outburst and putting a hand over his mouth drew the attention of the many others in the foyer, who all turned and looked at the group. Every eye fell upon Galadon, and soon every other person in the foyer approached. An armored man came forward, the insignia on his pauldron marking him as a captain of the guard. He strode through the gathering throng with authority, intent on seeing what the disruption was, but he stopped short when he saw Galadon.

  “Gods above! Can… can it be? Your Majesty!” he blurted, dropping to a knee.

  The rest of those gathered hesitated for only a moment before they, too, bowed down. Galadon’s cheeks flushed, so Max came forward and addressed the gathering, “Please, give your monarch time to explain. If one of you could see to getting us an audience with the regent, that would be most appreciated.”

  Pages were dispatched, and many of those gathered in the palace’s foyer returned to their places, speaking in hushed whispers while they awaited whatever announcement was sure to come. The guard captain summoned two of his men and sent them to gather the heads of the city’s major trade guilds along with its generals. Once he was finished sending messengers, he bowed to Galadon and gestured toward the stairs to the audience hall.

  “Come, Your Majesty,” he said. “You need not wait to be summoned to audience in your own palace. Regent Matthews will be with you shortly, but you need not wait upon her here.”

  “Thank you, Captain Rawlings,” Galadon said, and the guard smiled before leading him up the steps to the audience hall. The rest of the friends went in their wake. The ascent to the audience chamber was brief, and the wide hall provided ample space for the king or other ruler to host a considerable portion of the population during court. At present, there was no one in the audience chamber, giving the companions time to admire its simple yet elegant décor.

  The most telling piece to Leighandra’s eye was the padded, high-backed wooden chair that sat before the throne. That the regent sat in that chair rather than on the throne was probably the ultimate token of respect and a nod to the fact that she was only a temporary ruler. Whoever Lauren Matthews was, it was apparent even in this brief glimpse that she was making an effort to not try to usurp the throne in any way. There was no mistaking it: Galadon had chosen his advisors and court staff well, that they would go so long without fighting to steal his royal seat even in his four-plus-year absence.

  The chair held her interest for only a few moments, though, before her gaze was drawn up with most of the others’ to the banners hanging from the domed ceiling. The former king’s standards still hung proudly, depicting the flaming greatsword in front of the rising sun, just as in the great seal in the foyer. It was a breathtaking sigil, and Leighandra was glad to see that the people hadn’t forgotten their king in the years since his disappearance. All the evidence was there that they were waiting for him to come back. That, of course, led her to wonder if he would be leaving their party, no matter how important he deemed the events they were investigating. Surely as a king, his efforts might be better spent directing his citizens to aid in the greater task that sat before them all.

  Galadon gasped suddenly and staggered in place. Max caught him by the elbow and guided him to a nearby bench, where the human sat and hung his head in his hands. Yiilu moved to see to him, and Vo’rii went and licked the knight’s face, eliciting a chuckle from him, though he didn’t look up just yet.

  “Your memories are beginning to return, aren’t they?” the chronicler asked him.

  He looked up suddenly, and there was wonder in his green eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. He stood and strode over to the throne, and after only the briefest hesitation, he sat upon it. His eyes lit up even further, and a breath caught in his throat. “By the Shepherd, Max, I can see your father standing before me as if it was only yesterday.”

  The luranar paladin started to speak but then stopped himself, taking in a deep breath. He approached to stand before Galadon and, after a contemplative moment, he asked, “What is the reason behind this memory coming back, my friend? Is there some importance to it?”

  Galadon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just this room, this throne… I don’t recall much of what transpired after this meeting, but I remember the meeting very clearly now. I… I had never met a luranar before. I had no idea what to expect when he requested an audience, and my advisors were hesitant to let him in to see me. But I remember being impressed that he didn’t travel with a large entourage; he traveled with a pair of guards and an elder luranar who I believe was also a paladin.”

  “Uncle Sasha…,” Max whispered.

  The knight leaned back in the throne. “I remember the armor… the helm was fashioned to look like a snarling wolf, but there was a golden cross on the breastplate. Whether that was supposed to signify the Ghost, or Bek C
oramin, or even the Christian God, I wasn’t sure, but any of the three gave me good cause to trust him. And I remember… I can still see the standard his guards wore: a white wolf on a black background. The Winter Wolf; I think that was what they called him. And that sword…”

  Galadon laughed and stood back up. “He scared the wits out of most of my guards when he approached the throne for the first time. He didn’t bow before me; instead, he drew his sword, and nearly sent my guards and retainers into a panic. But he held the blade up in salute, and this bright blue flame burst forth from its edges – which was strange, since the sword looked as though it was carved out of ice.”

  Max closed his eyes and looked down, taking another deep breath. “And he asked for your help with Arku?” he asked when he looked back up.

  “No. Arku hadn’t invaded yet at that point. Though I’m not sure how he found out about it, your father went from kingdom to kingdom, warning all of his neighbors that something was coming. I’m glad I trusted him. Had we hesitated or ignored him, Arku may have established a foothold here and the results of that battle could have been much different… much worse.”

  The doors to the east were opened, and a dark-haired, mocha-skinned woman paused just inside before approaching. She was dressed in robes more befitting a judge than a monarch, and Leighandra wondered if that might be how she saw herself in her role as regent. The woman had an entire retinue of guards and advisers behind her, but she recognized Galadon on sight. She seemed to pale a bit, but nevertheless came over and bowed deeply before him.

  “Your Majesty, you’ve returned!” she gasped. “How is this possible?”

  “Lauren, by the gods, it’s been years,” Galadon returned. He turned to face her and offered a handshake. Regent Matthews was bemused by that, but took his hand. “Thank you for the welcome. These are my friends: Yiilu, Starlenia Wineseller, Leighandra Evenstar, Delkantar Clintarrin, and Prince Auremax Talvorus.”

  Regent Matthews turned to Max briefly. “King Kalamaris’ son?”

  Max nodded. “Indeed. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  She turned back to Galadon. “How is this possible? You… you were dead.”

  “No,” he returned with a shake of his head. “Not dead, merely taken to Norfolk where I recovered from my injuries over the last few years.”

  Lauren’s face betrayed her doubts, but she turned to one of her guards. “Go and fetch the sword,” she said. He dashed off to do as ordered. “Your Majesty… Galadon… you were dead. You were killed in battle with Arku.”

  “I tell you, I survived and…”

  “My lord,” she interrupted, her tone treading the line between anguish and wonder. “We buried your body at sea…”

  Galadon stood dumbfounded, his brow furrowed. “How is that possible?”

  The guard returned with a wooden case, and when he opened it, the remains of a silver greatsword lay within. It had been shattered into three pieces, but just seeing it triggered something in Galadon’s memories. His eyes went wide again, and Leighandra watched him reach toward the sword hesitantly. He took hold of the hilt and held it up, but his features fell as though he was expecting to experience another memory and didn’t. After examining the damaged end of the blade, he put it back in the case.

  “On second thought, nevermind,” he said suddenly. “There are far more important things that need to be seen to. I can worry about whether or not I actually died if I manage to survive what’s coming.”

  Lauren bowed her head to him. “Your Majesty, do you plan to retake the throne? We have not selected a new royal line since… since your death. We were beginning to transition to a different form of government, but you are the rightful ruler of this kingdom, and the throne is yours to take at will.”

  “I can only tell you: Not at this time. As I said, with the undead threat and everything else now coming to light, I want to be at the forefront investigating. You’ve apparently done a marvelous job of running my kingdom, Lauren, so I will leave you to continue that. What we need is for my generals to come and explain what’s going on with the gnolls to the north right now. We think it may be connected to the greater troubles of the land.”

  “Of course, Your–”

  He cut her off with an upraised hand, the flush returning to his cheeks, though he didn’t give her the same impatient look he’d scathed Delkantar with earlier. “Please, just call me Galadon for the time being. Let the people believe me still dead or, at the least, no longer their monarch until a decision is reached. If you’ve been transitioning to another form of government, continue on with that. We can worry about where I stand if I return when this is all done.”

  “As you wish. And you brought one of Kalamaris’ sons with you?”

  “Yes, though Max is no more inclined to be treated like royalty than I am. However, could you please see to our needs while we’re here? We’ll likely take to the road again first thing tomorrow.”

  “Of course, my lord. Let my people see you to quarters to get settled, and then we will confer with the generals and set you on your path as well-informed as possible. Did you learn anything at the meeting in Solaris, assuming you all were in attendance?”

  “We’ve learned far more since. We’ll discuss it at the meeting.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  A few of the palace staff had been assigned to help the companions get washed up and ready for the meeting, with the men heading to one wing and the women to another. Leighandra washed her hands and face absently, considering everything she had seen and heard since the fateful day these men and women walked into the keep in Solaris. What had seemed an unassuming group at first was becoming more and more intriguing; it began with Prince Auremax’s presence, and now they knew Galadon was a king. What other secrets did her friends hide? Might one or more of the others also secretly be of royal blood?

  She glanced at Starlenia and Yiilu, the two women also doing their best to get the dust of the road off in a short span. It was quite possible that Yiilu was of royal blood; the bloodlines of the elven monarchy were deep and widespread. If such was the case, however, it was likely she was so far removed from the throne that only a complete disaster would gain it for her. That made the chronicler raise her eyebrows; the potential for a widespread disaster with all they faced was extraordinarily large right now.

  Starlenia was anyone’s guess. Leighandra knew next to nothing of the hill people, aside from that they referred to themselves as the Okonashai people or nation. The woman insisted she was little more than a vintner who knew a great deal of skills and trades to get by, but there was more to her than that. It started with the fact that she said her people were just humans of a shorter stature, grew more complex with the fact that Leighandra had no idea how old the woman was, and became truly puzzling when one considered her combat skills with the short blades. True, she said she was a hunter, butcher, and skinner when the times demanded it, but those roles didn’t utilize the sort of weapons mastery she’d displayed. She knew how to kill people, and though Leighandra was becoming less and less concerned by that, it was still something that piqued her curiosity in a way that wouldn’t be satisfied until she found the truth.

  That left only Delkantar. Even apart from the women, it wasn’t hard for Leighandra to imagine his dark skin, the wonderful array of dreadlocks, or the intensity in that wise gaze of his. Was there more to him than the woodsman he made himself out to be? The northlands were far less… organized, for lack of a better term, and they were a place many fled to when trouble followed them in the south. It was easier for men to disappear among the frontiers, or even far into the tundra realms of the fures-rir, who typically cared little for the politics and rules of the south. Delkantar could be the son of outlaws, or just the child of rugged frontiersman or rangers who enjoyed the solitude and quiet of the wooded northlands. If that was the case, Leighandra certainly couldn’t blame them.

  Soon enough, the time for contemplations was over, and the women were brought back to the au
dience chamber again. A large table had been placed before the regent’s wooden chair, and the men were already gathered around it. In addition to Leighandra’s companions and the regent, there were three other well-dressed human men speaking quietly. Under most other circumstances, Leighandra might have been a bit suspicious of the purely human complement of rulers, generals, and servants here in Dira Ch’Tori, but she tried not to read into it too much. Humans made do virtually anywhere and were far more accustomed to traveling by sea than the rir people, which could account for much of it.

  “Welcome back,” Max greeted the women with a smile. His fur was still damp from his own washing, matted down in some places while it puffed up amusingly in others.

  “Thank you. Have you gentlemen come to any consensus yet?” the chronicler asked.

  “My… or rather, the generals were just giving us some of the basics regarding the gnolls while we waited for you,” Galadon said. He indicated the map on the table, expansive though it only depicted the kingdom and not the continent as a whole. There were little carved wooden figurines depicting gnolls in numerous places, and other positions that appeared to be held by the kingdom’s forces. “This situation, as it turns out, is far worse than we were led to believe. But we weren’t going to begin laying plans without the three of you. General Neimann?”

  Starlenia dragged over a chair and stood atop it to get a better vantage point, but not one person dared even snicker at her. Glancing at the knives on the woman’s person, Leighandra was hardly surprised.

  The eldest-looking of the three men gestured around the map briefly. “The gnolls have always lived among our lands, usually in out-of-the-way places, trying to carve a bit of a life for themselves without risking open conflict with our military. They’re savage and fairly stupid,” he said, drawing a brief grimace from Max, “but can be clever at times. They truly seem to enjoy fighting each other as much as anyone outside their tribes, and over just about anything – land, hunting, mates, trinkets, whatever.”