Nialls pursed his lips. How was Godwyn Keep any different? To the people of the south, their gods were as real as the All Father. And yet Godwyn Keep had brought the power of the sword down upon the pagans and ended the faith’s future. The doctrine of the Codex said to put no faith before that of the All Father, and for centuries those of Godwyn Keep had used that to quell other faiths into submission and eventual conversion. With Nialls’s own faith fracturing from the events of his life, he no longer knew what he believed.
He would never openly oppress a people, but what would Pontiff Erol Tal do if he could? The Pontiff had made his beliefs known to the High King and his First Warden, and Nialls knew Erol’s aversion to the pagan lifestyle was for personal reasons rather than doctrine. The High King had to give Cael a grudging respect for bringing his ideas into this meeting, hoping Nialls was the type of High King who listened.
Cael continued. “The people of La Zandia willingly support Laver Herid. They crave a return to a time when they could be themselves and no longer hide their ancestry and culture from the Kingdom. They desire the power to set their crops right, to grow their families and be happy. Godwyn Keep and the faith of the Kingdom have squandered their rights to practice the faith of their ancestors for centuries. And you would deny them that right as well? Do you not listen to your own people?”
“I would deny them nothing,” Nialls cut Cael’s words like a knife. “Assurances aside, I also must keep safe those of the Godwyn faith within La Zandia who cannot keep themselves safe from your persecution. What of them?”
Cael sighed and took a seat at one of the circular tables in the room. A cloud passed over the sun, drowning the light to shadow for a few moments. Nialls sat across from him.
“I am not here to start a war, a conflict that would invariably bring the deaths of many thousands on both sides. I have come here, not at your request, as your letters desired, but because Laver Herid wishes to make you an offer.”
“He wishes to make me an offer?” Nialls questioned, angry at the inference. “I have offered increased trade to the province as incentive for building La Zandia’s economy and the wealth of its people. I have offered peace at every turn, and yet the Marcher Lord continues to build his armies. How can he make me an offer?”
“But you have not offered what we truly desire—religious freedom,” Cael said, placing his hands on the table and interlocking their fingers. “We but wish to live peacefully alongside our Godwyn friends and practice our culture and religion as we deem fit. La Zandia can remain a province of the Kingdom, but Godwyn Keep must be willing to let go its oppressive rule there and acknowledge Laver Herid’s pagan culture to be as viable as that of the All Father. In return, you have the pagan people’s assurances they will not transcend the border into your Kingdom or gain control of the province. It is culture we embrace and not political motivations.”
Nialls squinted at Cael. What the Marcher Lord desired had failed in the past and caused more suffering. Isere the Witch helped lead one such insurrection. Another had risen a few centuries ago, and the Kingdom had learned the hard way what it meant to allow the pagan faith room to grow. In both cases, an extremist, similar to the Marcher Lord in all ways, had risen to power and pushed for domination. Both times the Kingdom had been forced to intervene and the loss of life had been large. Now, after centuries of peace, a new threat rose. Nialls shook his head. If a man did not learn from the history that gave him life, he was doomed to practice that history again in the present.
“As I have said, this was tried before. How do I know after you’ve built considerable power from the cessation of hostilities that Laver Herid won’t fix his eye on the Kingdom again and attempt to conquer more territory? What assurances have you brought with you?”
“None,” Cael said. “Only my word and the word of my lord. Time will prove our truth.”
“Then this discussion is at an impasse, it would seem,” the High King shrugged.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this,” Cael pleaded. “Rather than start a war, wouldn’t you look to strengthening your Kingdom and improving life? Wouldn’t you rather be at your son’s side when he awakens?”
“How dare you?” Nialls angrily said. Nialls was taken aback. Discussing politics was one thing; discussing his personal life was something else entirely.
“Pagans could heal your son, you know,” Cael Barr said with calm. “Given time.”
“If I give into your demands?” Nialls said. Cael nodded. The pain of the prince’s status swirled out of the High King’s center and threatened to take control over his emotions. Nialls’s father had always said a good leader was not moved by the emotions of the self. Nialls fought against it but had come to his decision.
“Funny, I heard the same thing from one truly evil days ago.” Nialls shook his head, realizing this was all a game for Cael Barr. “Nothing in the current state of affairs in the pagan faith, the events taking place in La Zandia, or the lessons learned from history point to this being a good idea. I decline to accept the invitation. Please pass this message along to your Marcher Lord.”
“Even if that means war?” Cael asked, incredulous. “And the death of your son?”
Nialls nodded, although he had wished more than anything to not be High King at that moment and only be a father. “There was nothing more to say.
“Good day, Nialls,” said Cael as he rose, emphasizing the lack of formal title.
Angered, Nialls let the man go. Keeping him would do no one any good and only martyr him and his cause. It seemed the inevitable had finally caught up with him. Inaction was no longer an option, but he would not go blindly into the war. Erol and Rowen had prepared during the last week. It was time now to bring pressure upon the Marcher Lord and his province; it was time now to bring his force to bear on La Zandia.
Nialls had been thinking on how events were unfolding when a knock came at the door and broke him from the doldrums of his thoughts.
Luc Chiret, the Chancellor of Aris Shae, entered and bowed. “Thomas has returned, Your Majesty.”
The news giving him pause, the High King rose slowly from his seat. “Only Thomas?”
“Yes, he is waiting for you in your private audience chamber.”
Hope and despair struggling for dominance within the pit of his stomach, Nialls rose to find his former First Warden.
* * * * *
“What has happened, Thomas?”
Both men stood in the chamber they had met in weeks earlier. Thomas, his hair as wild as ever and his wrinkled face splotchy with fading yellow and green bruising, stared at the High King, his blue eyes hard. A small cut at his jaw was a dark purple scar of new, hard flesh. Whatever path the old man had found, it had been a difficult one.
“I am here to warn you, but I will assuage your fears and say the quest goes on. Even now, Arianna has freed Sorin from the dungeons of Keslich ’Ur where we were imprisoned, and if all has gone well, they have gone in search of the Hammer. If I know Sorin, he will not give up easily, and he still has the Giant and your Shadow to guide him. But the Kingdom has more to worry about than you know, and it is for that reason I am here.”
The old man was gruff and direct, distaste at having to speak with the High King alone written all over Thomas’s face. Nialls knew they would never become friends again. But Thomas had done the right thing in coming to the High King about his fears, and Nialls could not turn him away.
Thomas spent the next few moments detailing the events of the journey and foray into the Reach. Nialls listened intently, not interrupting Thomas until the battle at the Morliun Tower and the power displayed by the Giant. Nialls had sent out correspondence to Lockwood, and he heard nothing yet in return. The Giant race would make powerful allies and help maintain the peace of the Kingdom. Thomas also related the imprisonment in dark Keslich ’Ur, the loss of the Hammer once again, and the involvement of Arianna with saving Thomas, Tem, and Relnyn.
“How did you manage to get away even aft
er she freed you?”
“The way was difficult, but Tem and I waited for the Morliun Tower gate to be reopened to the Kingdom below. Together we rode Sorin’s horse, Creek, through. While the winter is still held at bay here in the Lowlands, the Reach has been conducting scout parties into the wilds of the Kingdom near Birn and Sokern. Nathan and Tem ran across them before we entered the Reach. Those scout parties are laying plans to attack the Kingdom. When one of them left, we simply followed them out of the Reach.”
“Is the Woman King an imminent threat?” Nialls asked, worried anew at war.
Thomas shook his head. “It does not appear so. Thousands of men had been gathered around the castle walls of Keslich ’Ur, but they were in no position to break and march. Autumn has almost given way to winter in Blackrhein Reach, and soon snow and ice will be our only protection. The Kingdom is safe for now, but that safety ends as soon as spring returns.”
“I see,” the High King replied. The news Thomas brought with him only solidified in Nialls’s mind the need to find a solution for La Zandia. The sooner Laver Herid was removed from power, the sooner Nialls could put into motion plans to thwart Cwen Errich.
“Will you join your brother in the field then?” Nialls asked with hope.
“No,” answered Thomas, all too quickly.
Nialls crossed his arms. “Where will you go then?”
The old knight just stood there.
Nialls gestured to the door with an open palm. “Follow me for a moment, Thomas?”
The former First Warden looked as though he would bolt but surprised Nialls when he stepped aside to let the High King guide the way.
Nialls said nothing as he left the chamber and made his way through the palace. Thomas was behind him, an unheard presence like the Wards that protected the High King daily. More than a dozen winters had passed since Thomas quit his position, but even now he strode behind the High King as though he had never left. Thomas and Nialls had been close once; now they were as indifferent to one another as night was to day. Sometimes, he thought, life had a way of intervening and destroying the relationships one trusted most.
They took several stairways into the south part of the palace where one of the minor towers rose. The Hedge Tower was wide and stout, built as part of the palace wall and not much taller than it. The High King had made the decision to come to the tower to clear his head before the discussion with Cael Barr—being in the study, closed off from the world, was not doing him any good for what was to come—but he also decided to come here to prove a point to the older man and gain his assistance. While he took each step of the winding staircase, Nialls prayed he had the conviction to overcome the gulf that had split them for so long.
When the men reached the top of the tower, Nialls stepped out onto the walkway that circled the spire’s uppermost chamber. Because the palace sat high up on the hill, the stunted spire oversaw most of the city, Dockside, and the bay. The ocean spread out to the horizon, and Godwyn Keep glittered in the distance like a pearl amongst the waves. A light wind carrying with it the tang of cool autumn swept by Nialls, and he leaned up against the Hedge Tower’s waist-high parapet to absorb as much of the breeze’s freedom as he could. The old knight joined him and the men stared out over the city.
“A darkness has entered our world and grown strong, Thomas,” Nialls began, watching the tiny specks of gulls in Dockside spiral around one another on the currents of air before they dove for scraps of refuse at the wharf. “It is a darkness threatening our very existence. Somehow it has unbalanced the Kingdom and the lands beyond, turning the powers of the world against one another. It is a difficult time to see clearly. What is needed is the perseverance of noble men sacrificing their selfish tendencies for the overwhelming good of the people. It is only in this way we will defeat the evil that has risen.”
Thomas remained silent, the wrinkles at his eyes deep as he squinted into the distance.
“I need you, Thomas, more than ever. The Kingdom needs you,” Nialls continued, as he pointed to the sprawl of the city. “They need you. Those who live within our Kingdom have no knowledge of the real threat. Sure, they whisper about the tidings of war and believe they know what is happening, but they do not. You took the first step in reclaiming an important role in the Kingdom by going with Sorin into the Reach. Will you not help him and others like him by giving your heart to our cause once more?”
“I had hoped your political diplomacy would work while I was away,” Thomas said.
“The Marcher Lord responded to my letters by sending a delegate,” Nialls said, watching how the golden sunset draped the city rooftops in gold. He shook his head. “Cael Barr tried to convince me Laver Herid only wants religious freedom for the Kingdom’s people. After considering it, I realized I could not fail in recognizing history’s proof of what the Marcher Lord suggests.”
“That would have been foolish,” Thomas agreed.
Nialls nodded. “Fools suffer much, but I did the right thing by turning Cael Barr away. But now it—combined with the news you have brought from Blackrhein Reach—has opened up a more difficult path for the Kingdom to take. To walk it I must have the best men available to me, and you are one of them. You have been gone for a long time, but that does not change the man you are or the deep-seated honor you possess. I need you.”
“Our shared past will not permit it,” Thomas gruffly whispered.
“I have apologized countless times. For a High King to do so is an admission of the highest order of guilt. I regret the pain I inadvertently caused you. You and I both have lost much, and I don’t want those in the Kingdom to feel as we have and do. War comes, and you can help prevent the pain of others if you can remotely forgive me.”
“Rowen will not have me,” said Thomas. His argument was growing weaker.
“He will if I command it. I would not have you serve beneath him at any rate. I want you as an advisor and nothing more.”
“The Woman King won’t stop,” Thomas said. “Even after you quell La Zandia, she will be there waiting in the spring.”
Nialls shook his head, a frown etched into his face. “I know. Will you stand by the Kingdom and help prevent more bloodshed than is needed?”
Nialls could see Thomas was thinking long and hard on it.
“Perhaps death brought us back together,” Thomas eventually mused.
Perhaps the old knight was right, Nialls considered. “You have a purpose, Thomas. I don’t know what it is yet, but you do. Life and death, pain and suffering. I believe these things steer us to our more courageous days. They have come all too soon, I am afraid.”
“Why did you send your Shadow after us, Nialls?” Thomas asked, distrust mirrored in his eyes.
It did not matter if Thomas knew or not, Nialls suspected. “I won’t lie to you. She was an assurance. What is worse in the world—having one evil messiah or two?”
Thomas did not move. “I thought as much.”
Just then the echo of quickened footfalls reached Nialls, and he turned to face the room. One of the palace’s young pages burst into the room and found the High King. The boy stood before his liege, breathing hard from running up the stairs.
“The royal healer requests your presence in the Prince’s room, Your Majesty.”
“What is it?” Nialls asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the prince…” was all the panting boy could utter.
Nialls took one look at Thomas before rushing from the tower.
* * * * *
When Nialls came to the doorway leading to Rayhir’s bedroom in the High King’s chambers, the door was open and empty. Fear emanated from it; the knowledge of the unknown and the sick certainty of what had happened struggled to suffocate him.
He moved through it without a thought and stood within the room, and the only sound was the thundering of the heart in his chest. Sari knelt at the foot of the bed. Noticing Nialls, she looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and eyes as soft as any mother’s cou
ld be. At the side of the bed, the healer Riock sat in a chair, his hands cupped before him as though useless. The room was silent. The musty smell of cloistered decay clung to the room.
In the bed lay Rayhir, his face pale and eyes closed. Dark circles surrounded the pallid skin of his eyes; eyes that no longer fluttered in coma sleep. The covers of the bed had been thrown back. The boy’s long, gaunt frame spread out in repose. His arms were at his side. A waxy sheen covered his forehead and cheeks. Rayhir’s leg was exposed and the snakebite stared at him with two lifeless, magenta eyes in a sea of inflammation.
Nialls clenched his teeth; his son’s chest no longer rose and fell.
The High King rushed to the side of the bed and stared down at his son as his vision began to swim with tears. Sari sobbed harder but did not utter a word.
“There was nothing we could do,” Riock said, the bags under his eyes lending weight to his grief. “The bite wound…it opened up anew as if the snake bit him again. I just don’t understand.”
Nialls sat on the bed, lifted his son’s lifeless body, and cradled him as though he were a baby. Memories flooded him, moving through him like sand through a glass. The room darkened until nothing remained. His life stopped, and a part of him died. Nialls knew he would never gain it back. He hugged his son’s body tighter, and fought the anger he felt at this injustice.
“I am truly sorry, Your Majesty,” Thomas whispered from behind him.
Nialls heard the old knight’s words as though he were out of his body. Pain twisted inside of him, a red-hot poker existing everywhere at once. Cael Barr’s offer whispered within his heart and his loathing of what his life had become rose to a fevered state.
He touched the cool skin of his son’s forehead that had once been feverish.
A scream he did not understand as his own ached to tear free.
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