The Other Side (Thomas Skinner Book 1)

by S. I. Anderson

  The carriage rolled through the open gate and came to a halt beneath an archway. Tom climbed out and took a step up the stairs and was almost instantly flanked on either side by Silver Cloaks. He wondered if they were being overzealous. Surely there was no danger of wolves attacking him on the steps to the House of Lords?

  He said nothing though as they climbed up and walked into the large foyer. The floor was made of white marble and straight ahead was another set of steps. To the left and right of the foyer, beneath golden chandeliers, sat wizards and witches on dark wooden chairs. A hushed silence fell as all eyes turned to him, some even stood to stare and then they began to whisper and he heard some of the words. They were talking about him, of course. It didn't bother him much. He was used to it.

  They climbed the stairs: Tom, Cindy and the Silver Cloaks. The wizard behind the desk on the second floor stood up as they approached. His eyes quickly scanned the arrivals and then he turned to face the men wearing the velvet cloaks with golden borders that guarded the door. Tom didn’t notice an exchange of conversation between them, but the men suddenly parted and the door behind them opened. The Silver Cloaks carried on and Tom followed them into a long corridor, with pillars and archways on both sides and a red carpet on the floor.

  The door at the end of the corridor opened at his approach, much like those in the House of Zarlock. Beyond was another hall and another set of men in velvet cloaks with golden borders stood by a door. Their backs were straight and their eyes stared ahead into nothing. They held their staffs before them with both hands.

  Valentin approached the man that had been pacing up and down before the wizards standing at attention. Cindy stepped beside him.

  “The lords will be waiting for you beyond those doors, my lord.”

  It momentarily annoyed him that she had reverted to calling him "lord" again. He had met a few of the lords since word had spread of who he was, Lord Malik being one. A large burly man with a long beard, he struck Tom as being a serious person, one who did not smile much, or talk much. Basically, the complete opposite of Saafir.

  The conversation between Valentin and the pacing man had finished and the wizards standing at attention parted for him. The door behind them opened.

  “You’ll have to go this bit alone.” Cindy had a kind smile on her face. “Saafir and Kayvan…” her voice faltered as she said his name, “They should already be there.”

  Tom stepped forward and walked past the guards. He continued down the short corridor. The door at the end did not open for him like the others had. He grabbed the doorknob and pushed.

  * * *

  It was a large hall, lavishly furnished. Thick red carpet, with intricate embroidery, covered the floor, red drapes of silk hung from the walls, golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling and large settees and tables laden with food and drink filled the room, as did a great number of wizards and witches. Tom stood by the door, staring at the large and noisy crowd, uncertain of what to do. It was a moment before they began to realise he was there. One by one, the faces became silent as they stared at him.

  "Tom!" a voice to his left shouted.

  He spotted Saafir waving at him. Stepping into the room, Tom hurried towards his friend, keeping his head down. He felt self-conscious, knowing every eye was still on him, watching and analysing to discuss later.

  Saafir wasn’t alone. A girl of a similar age sat beside him. She had long straight black hair and pale green eyes that did not shift away from him as he sat down next to Saafir.

  “Hi…” Tom said awkwardly as she continued to stare. The girl didn’t reply. Her eyes bored into him and then she stood up and walked away. “Okay…” Tom turned to Saafir, a little confused. The girl reminded him of Gemma. She used to stare at him a lot without saying much. Actually, she still did. It just wasn’t as hostile anymore, or maybe it still was but he'd just gotten used to it. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing.” Saafir waved his hand dismissively. “She’s actually quite fun once you get to know her. One of the best broom riders out there,” he paused thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

  Tom waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, he asked “Hmm what?”

  “I told her about the time we flew to the House of Zarlock. She didn’t care much that we had to face a terrifying flying beast with body markings, hundreds of long sharp teeth, poisonous claws –”

  “You’re talking about Shera, right?” Tom asked.

  Shera was the Zarlocks’ pet tiger. They had initially mistaken him for the beast they thought had killed the Zarlocks. Shera was quite the loveable pet, to the right people at least. Tom still had vivid memories of the tiger and the wolf locked into battle, tufts of fur flying about as they ripped into each other.

  “The description is accurate,” Saafir said nonchalantly.

  “Poisonous claws?”

  “They might be,” he shrugged before continuing. “But that’s what normal people would focus on in a story. The beasts, the haunted house, the dead Zarlocks. Tara focused on the bit where you couldn’t fly a broom the right way up.”

  Tom didn’t know how to respond to that. So he said nothing and instead sat back in his chair. Noise had begun to fill the room again as most eyes moved away from him and returned to the company before them.

  “Nervous?” Saafir asked.

  Tom nodded.

  “Want something to drink?”

  Tom stared at him suspiciously. The last time Saafir had offered him a drink, his bones had temporarily disappeared. He didn’t get a chance to reply. A curvy woman wearing a silky blue cloak was standing in front of him, beaming down at him.

  She extended her hand and Tom hesitantly held it, unsure of what to do next.

  “You’re supposed to kiss it,” Saafir hissed at him.

  Tom could feel his face begin to redden as he leaned forward to kiss the hand. As his lips touched her skin, she chortled and leaned down.

  “Oh, what lovely lips you have, Lord Zarlock,” she whispered in his ear.

  Tom gulped, lost for words and unsure of what exactly was happening. The woman’s cheek brushed against his as she rose. She winked at him before she turned slowly, her curly blonde locks bouncing against her shoulder.

  “That’s Lady Guinevere,” Saafir said. “Her husband died last year.”

  * * *

  Tom sat slumped against the chair, exhausted from doing not much else than sitting up straight every so often. The hour had passed with various lords and ladies approaching him, introducing themselves and then waiting awkwardly as they realised he didn’t have much to say. What was he supposed to say? He had never done this before and he didn’t know any of them.

  Saafir had ditched him at some point, he couldn’t remember exactly when. He could see them now: Saafir, sitting with that other girl, the one with the pale green eyes. Tara, was it? She was laughing at something. Their eyes met and she stopped laughing. Tom looked away. He could feel her watching him and then they both stood up and walked towards him.

  “There wasn’t much I could do to save you from that lot,” Saafir sounded apologetic. "Best to get it done and over with."

  Tom simply nodded, too exhausted to formulate words. It seemed like the first time in forever that he was exhausted again. There was something about talking to lords and ladies; maybe it was the repetition that made it so draining. They all sounded the same, even the names, it wasn’t a simple, “Hello, I’m Phillip.” No, it was “Lord Askarin, from the Valley of Light, writers of the First Books,” or “Lady Sumaira, House of Niverin, keepers of the Water of Birth.”

  He wasn’t sure if those were actual people or titles. He genuinely had forgotten half the names of those he had just met, but some of them were over-the-top pompous.

  “I don’t think you two have been formally introduced,” Saafir slumped down beside him. “Tara, meet Thomas, son of William from House Zarlock, Lord of Camelot, first of –”

  Tom glared at him and Saafir burst out laughing. He turned to l
ook up at Tara. She wasn’t laughing.

  “Do you fly, Lord Zarlock?”

  Tom remembered Saafir mentioning something about Tara being an incredible… broom rider, was it?

  “Umm, I fly a little.”

  “We should fly sometime,” Tara said, her body stiff, her face still. “I can teach you,” she added and then she turned and walked off.

  “Told you she was okay once you get to know her,” Saafir said.

  Tom watched her go. As odd as she had been, it was the best conversation he had had so far. An offer to fly easily beat all the other offers the lords and ladies had made. Lady Guinevere had come back another three times, making him promise he would visit her castle.

  The room was still abuzz with chatter as the lords and ladies moved about, making conversation with one another. It seemed mostly pleasant and not at all like what he had expected. The Le Fays and the Zarlocks were supposed to hate each other, yet they seemed to laugh and drink together as if good friends.

  “What happens now?” Tom asked.

  Saafir shrugged.

  “This goes on for a while.” He pointed at the large golden double doors. “We’ll go through those doors eventually. That’s where the Law Lords sit and decide on petitions and pass judgement on cases. Wilfred Notaries’ trial is also today.”

  Tom was accustomed to having names thrown at him with no idea who they belonged to, so he asked disinterestedly, “What did he do?”

  “He was in charge of stopping the wolves from crossing the Line of Control at the Southern Borders,” Saafir said. “A difficult job that one, Kayvan says. Not nearly enough men to patrol the border and turn back wolf packs. Unfortunate for Wilfred. He was doing a good job. Had the wolf king not wanted you, he wouldn’t be on trial today.”

  Tom’s jaw tightened. The lords were aware of the wolves and the threat they posed, but all they planned to do was punish a man for not being able to stop them from crossing a porous mountain range.

  For a second, he began to wonder if the wolves really did pose a threat to the wizards. They had stayed on the other side of the Southern Borders for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. When they had finally crossed it, they hadn’t done so to attack the wizards as a whole, they had done it to come for him. His spine tingled as a frightening thought occurred. The wolves were on the move and the wizards remained unconcerned. Apparently, regaining his lost lands was a more pressing issue. Maybe they didn’t see it as such a pressing issue because the wolves were after him and only him.

  Tom’s head turned sharply to his left, following the sounds of roaring laughter. He felt dazed as he glanced around the room at the wizards, viewing the previous merriness now with a sudden sinister edge.

  Saafir eyed him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  The door opened just then and in walked Fredrick Dragunov, dressed in black trousers, a golden shirt and a shimmering black cloak. His white hair was brushed back and his black eyes sparkled as they met Tom’s. Behind him, a large man walked in with an even larger belly. Dressed much like Fredrick in black and gold, the hair on his head was mostly missing and his beard was thin, but he was an imposing man nonetheless. He stood by the door, his head raised and his eyes scanning the room. A great many heads rose to acknowledge him.

  Those eyes eventually landed on Tom and, after seeming to consider a moment, the bulky man made a beeline towards him. Tom stared up at the large puffy pink face as the man towered above him.

  “I am Lord Dragunov,” his voice boomed, making Tom sit up. “And you are Thomas, I presume?”

  Tom supposed he had presumed right, but Saafir shot up and moved a step closer to Lord Dragunov, still far away from his face, but close to his belly.

  “It’s Lord Zarlock,” he corrected.

  Lord Dragunov’s eyes flitted towards Saafir and his lips curled unpleasantly. Saafir did the same and took another step towards him, his chest almost brushing against Lord Dragunov’s belly. Tom became aware of how silent the room had suddenly become. A moment later, Lord Malik, himself a large, stout man, appeared by his son’s side.

  “Lord Dragunov,” he said with a curt nod.

  “Lord Malik,” Lord Dragunov responded stiffly, before his eyes moved back to Tom. “May you have better luck than your father,” he said coldly before moving away, Fredrick by his side.

  Lord Malik turned to Tom smiling.

  “Do not worry about him,” he said before he too moved along to continue his mingling with the crowd.

  Tom wasn’t worried about Lord Dragunov. Although his physical appearance was intimidating, bordering on repulsive and although the man had tried to have him killed at least twice, he found his feelings towards the lord were indifferent. He wondered if something was wrong with him. Where was that passion everyone else seemed to feel?

  The two large golden doors at the end of the hall opened suddenly and swiftly. The mingling crowds moved towards them in unison, as if being pulled by something magical.

  “It’s time,” Saafir said. “There will be a vote, you will have your lands back and after that, we’ll get the wolves and your father’s murderer.”

  As always, Saafir was confident and matter-of-fact about everything. Tom supposed growing up as the son of a powerful lord and having everything you ever wanted made you like that. Tom had had a very different upbringing. In his experience, things didn’t always go according to plan and life wasn’t fair.

  ***

  It was a rectangular room. At one end was an elevated platform with three golden chairs. Down below, on the left side of the platform was a single and simple wooden chair surrounded on three sides by a low wooden rail. On the left and right sides of the room was row after row of chairs of dark wood fitted with maroon-coloured cushions.

  Tom somehow ended up sitting in-between Saafir and Tara on the second row. Opposite him, to the left of the room, sat the Cullens and Mobridges; the two houses that, between them, occupied most of Camelot. Fredrick also sat with them, as did many other lords and ladies. His father was nowhere to be seen. Saafir’s face turned sour as he stared at them.

  “Le Fays.”

  There were a lot of them… Tom glanced behind and around him. It was a comfort to know that there were many more sitting beside him than opposite.

  The elevated platform suddenly lit up and onto it walked Lord Dragunov and two other elderly men. As they sat upon the golden chairs, the chattering amongst the lords and ladies died and all heads turned towards the Law Lords.

  “There are two items that need deciding today,” a frail yet loud voice said. “The first matter concerns the wolves and the relative ease by which they are able to pass through the Line of Control.”

  Tom looked around the room, searching for the voice, but found no speaker.

  “The second matter concerns the return of the young lord, Thomas Zarlock and his former seat of Camelot.”

  Still not finding the source of the voice, Tom turned back to the platform and the three sitting Law Lords. Lord Dragunov sat lazily, leaning back in his chair, his head tilted to the left, his lips parted in a half-smile.

  “Lord Dragunov looks pretty smug,” Tom whispered.

  Saafir frowned. “He does, doesn’t he…” he said slowly. “If Cindy is to be believed, he is supposed to be a complete idiot,” he added, though he didn't seem entirely convinced.

  “Wilfred Notaries,” the voice announced.

  A door behind the chair surrounded on three sides by the low wooden rail opened and in walked a tall man with a broad chest, blond e hair that reached up to his shoulders and powerful blue eyes.

  Wilfred stood before the chair and faced up towards the platform and the three law lords. A simple blue cloak draped down from his shoulders, the colour fading around the edges.

  “You may sit,” the voice said.

  He gave a low bow in the direction of the Law Lords and sat down, his large figure making the already small chair look smaller. His head turned to his right and he stared s
traight at Tom . , a A flitter of a smile appeared on his lips.

  “Wilfred Notaries comes before the House to explain the presence of the wolves in the land of the wizards. As commander of the Southern Border Patrols, Wilfred is solely responsible for keeping the wolves away. A task which, the House notes, he boldly claimed to have achieved.”

  A murmur rose amongst the lords and ladies, most of it coming from opposite Tom and most of it unpleasant remarks about Wilfred Notaries. Tom didn’t understand the hatred against the man. From what Saafir had said earlier, it was a difficult job to succeed in.

  “…a dirty commoner unfit to lace the shoes of –”

  The whisper faded away amongst the other babble, but it was enough for Tom to know the reason behind the hate. Wilfred wasn’t one of them, he wasn’t of noble birth, he was a commoner and Atlantis was the sort of place where something like that really stood against you…

  “Wilfred Notaries,” the voice said and the murmurs died as instantly as they had begun. “You have an opportunity to explain yourself. If you are unable to convince the House that fault lies elsewhere, you will be stripped of your current titles and your employment as a Guardian may also be effected.”

  The murmurs began again and this time they were louder. Wilfred Notaries rose seemingly unfazed by the crowd. His eyes settled on Tom for a brief moment before he turned to look up at the Law Lords.

  “My Lords,” his voice was gentle, alluring and Tom inadvertently sat up straight. The murmurs stopped too, as many of the lords and ladies turned to him in surprise. “Two years ago, I claimed to have secured the Southern Borders, to have stopped the wolves from crossing it and, until a month ago, no wolf steered into wizard land.” He paused and his head turned ever so slightly towards Tom. “I cannot explain the sudden change in the wolves’ behaviours, although, if rumour is to be believed, their king has returned and is giving the orders.”