Alith worked hard in the kitchens and, when time allowed, learnt as much as he could about the Phoenix King’s palace. When not preparing boar or venison or rabbit or wildfowl for the cooks, his attention was divided between exploring the layout of the palace and socialising with the other staff, particularly Milandith. In this last case, Alith learnt a great deal of gossip over goblets of wine and in whispered, dreamy conversations lying in bed late at night. Milandith was naturally inquisitive and outgoing, and seemed to know much about the routines and rituals of palace life, as well as a good number of the hundreds of servants and guards that populated the citadel. Alith felt a little guilt about exploiting their relationship in such an underhand way, but Milandith seemed always ready to teach her new lover about Tor Anroc and its ways, and was honest about her own desire for companionship and intimacy without deep commitments required from either of them.
What Alith had learnt did not fill him with confidence. Bel Shanaar was only rarely alone, his days filled with audiences and meetings with persons of importance. His family—his son Elodhir principal amongst them—were also a constant presence during less formal occasions. When matters of state or family did not require his attention, the Phoenix King was shadowed by his chamberlain, Palthrain. Much as Gerithon managed many of the affairs of Elanardris for Eoloran, Palthrain was Bel Shanaar’s chief advisor and agent. He oversaw the running of the palace, and every member of the staff from the maids to the captains of the guard ultimately owed responsibility to him. His dealings were not confined purely to the domestic, and he was pivotal in many negotiations between Tiranoc and the other kingdoms.
One other figure attracted Alith’s attention, mentioned in passing by Milandith one evening. His name was Carathril, a slightly melancholy elf who served as the Phoenix King’s chief herald. He was from Lothern and as Alith inquired more he learnt that Carathril had once been a captain in the Lothern Guard and had acted as Bel Shanaar’s emissary when Malekith had first tried to retake Anlec and been thwarted at Ealith. That Carathril knew a little about Nagarythe and the prince intrigued Alith and he decided that he would attempt to make the acquaintance of the herald at the earliest opportunity.
Alith had been in the palace for nearly twenty days before such a circumstance arrived. Most of his labours in the kitchen, which he found surprisingly pleasant to perform for they were not taxing and gave him time to cogitate on other matters, were usually finished by mid-afternoon. This gave him until the evening to conduct his shadowy investigations before the expectations of social interaction required him to spend time with his fellow servants after dark. On this particular day, Alith was presented with the chance to enter the Phoenix King’s great hall.
It was an open audience, as Alith had heard about, and such members of society as were able to beg bribe or sneak their way into the hall were allowed to observe the proceedings. Dressed in his nondescript white robes, Alith was easily able to join a group of elves as they made their way into the central chamber, and then split from them to take a seat on the benches at the top of the tiers of seats surrounding the auditorium.
As he made his way up the steps, Alith spied a lonely-looking figure sat somewhat apart from the others, far from the crowds who jostled for places on the lowest benches nearest Bel Shanaar. From his appearance, livery and disposition Alith guessed this to be Carathril, and he walked around the top tier of the seats and sat down beside the elf.
“Are you Carathril?” he asked, deciding it was better to speak plainly than try to elicit what he needed by subterfuge.
The elf turned in surprise, and then nodded.
“I am the Phoenix King’s herald,” he said, extending his hand towards Alith.
“You can call me Atenithor,” said Alith, kissing Carathril’s hand. The herald took it away a little too quickly and Alith judged that he was as uncomfortable with this Tiranoc convention as Alith. “I find it strange also.”
“What’s that?” said Carathril, who had turned his attention back to the procession of elves making their way through the open doors.
“The hand-kissing,” said Alith. “I’m not from Tiranoc either, and I find it most peculiar.”
Carathril did not reply and instead raised a finger to his lips for quiet and nodded towards the doorway. Alith looked down and saw Palthrain enter, dressed in a coat of deep purple with a wide blue belt studded with sapphires. He stood to one side and bowed.
Alith laid eyes upon Bel Shanaar for the first time. The Phoenix King was stood erect and proud, dressed in a flowing robe of white decorated with golden thread in the design of phoenixes rising from flames. Upon his shoulders he wore a cloak made of white and black feathers that trailed behind him. His austere face looked straight ahead, and atop his head he wore a magnificent crown of gold that sparkled in the sunlight that came from the windows surrounding the dome of the hall. Bel Shanaar paced evenly along the chamber and came to his throne. Pulling his lustrous cloak to one side, he sat down and gazed around. Even from this distance Alith could see the Phoenix King’s sharp eyes passing over those in the hall, missing nothing. He resisted the urge to flinch when that steely stare fell upon him.
“Bring forth the first of the petitioners,” Bel Shanaar declared, his voice deep and carrying easily to every part of the hall.
“It’s really not that exciting after twenty years,” Carathril said quietly. “It’s not as if anyone asks anything of import at these events. Usually the petitions are nothing more than an excuse to highlight some new trade opportunity, or announce a marriage or death. It’s just for show, all of the real business happens when the doors are closed.”
“I would dearly like to see that some time,” said Alith, also keeping his voice low. The benches around them were not quite full but there were plenty of other elves close at hand who would have little difficulty hearing the conversation. “I hear that you have been to Nagarythe.”
“I once had the honour of marching with Prince Malekith, it is true,” said Carathril. “That is also old news, though once my exploits were remarked upon by the greatest of princes.”
“I too have fought with Malekith,” said Alith, his voice the barest whisper.
Carathril directed a sharp look at Alith and leaned closer.
“You come clothed as a servant, yet you claim to have fought with the prince of Nagarythe,” said the herald. “One or the other, or perhaps both, are a deceit.”
“Both are true,” Alith replied. “I serve in the palace kitchens, and I have met Prince Malekith. I would like to speak to you, but this is not the place.”
Carathril darted a suspicious glance at Alith but then nodded.
“There is more to you than a simple kitchen serf,” Carathril said quietly, his eyes fixed upon Alith. “You are clearly not exactly what you say you are, even if what you have told me already is true. I do not know what your interest is in me, but you should know that I am but a messenger, I bear no power in the palace.”
“It is simply your attention that I desire,” said Alith. He sat back and breathed a sigh. “I know that you have no reason to trust me, and I can make no argument here that would convince you. If you would agree to meet me soon, name the place and time of your choosing and take whatever precautions you see fit—though we must be able to speak alone.”
“I do not like intrigue,” said Carathril. “It is one of the things that mark me out from everyone else in the palace. I will speak with you, but if I do not like what I hear I will call for guards and you will be turned over to Palthrain. My agreement to see you is no promise.”
“And I ask for none,” said Alith. “When and where shall we meet?”
“There will be an interval soon enough, you can come with me to my chamber,” Carathril said. “I see no point in waiting any longer than that.”
Alith smiled in thanks and turned his attention back to the proceedings below. Carathril had been right, it was a dull affair as petitioner after petitioner came to give praise to the Phoenix K
ing and ask for his blessing for some venture or other. Others came to complain about the taxes levied by Lothern for passing the Sea Gate, while one thought it most important that Bel Shanaar knew of his intention to sail to Lustria to secure timber for his village in Yvresse.
After the tenth such meeting Palthrain announced that this session was ended. Servants came into the hall bearing platters of sliced meats and trays laden with small cups and decanters of fragranced waters and the juices of exotic fruits. These were then passed into the audience so that they might refresh themselves.
“Time to go,” said Carathril, standing.
Alith followed the herald down the steps onto the main floor, where Carathril turned and bowed to Bel Shanaar. The Phoenix King nodded in greeting and darted an inquisitive look at his herald’s companion. Alith bowed also, avoiding Bel Shanaar’s gaze lest he react in some way that aroused suspicion. When Alith straightened he saw that the Phoenix King had turned his attention to his son.
Carathril led Alith towards the northern towers of the palace and up several winding flights of stairs. This area had been out of bounds for Alith, for only those servants that possessed the seal of the Phoenix King could enter, something far above a lowly kitchen worker. Carathril passed between the guards at the doorway of the fourth storey without incident, Alith following meekly behind. A few steps along the corridor, Carathril shot a warning glance at Alith: a reminder that the Phoenix King’s soldiers were close at hand should Carathril need them.
They walked down a long carpeted corridor—the passageways of the servants’ quarters were bare stone—and Carathril turned to the right into another passage. He opened a broad door on the left of the corridor and waved Alith inside.
The herald’s quarters consisted of two rooms. The first was a square reception area with low couches and tables and a small fireplace. Through an open archway beyond, Alith saw the bedchamber, which was sparsely furnished.
“I spend very little time here,” Carathril explained, noticing the direction of Alith’s gaze. “I have found it best not to make my chambers here too home-like, otherwise I would be doubly homesick.”
“Doubly?”
“I already miss Lothern greatly, though my service to the Phoenix King is an honour and a duty I would not relinquish on a whim,” said Carathril, closing the door and motioning for Alith to sit himself down. “I return there often enough to remind me of what I love about the city, but not frequently enough to satisfy my desire to be there.”
“Yes, it is a hard thing to leave behind our homes,” Alith said with true sympathy. He had been away from Elanardris for only a short time but had frequently found himself wishing to return swiftly. Leaving aside the painful memories of Ashniel, he still found he loved the mountains as much as anything else in the world.
“Yes, and there is a curious thing,” said Carathril, sitting down opposite Alith. “I have travelled across all of Ulthuan, and I have learnt many things that other, less cosmopolitan observers might miss. You call yourself Atenithor, which I believe is Chracian in origin, yet your voice betrays that you are not from there. If I am not mistaken I would say you were Ellyrion, perhaps.”
Alith smiled and shook his head.
“Close, but not correct,” he said, leaning against the back of the couch with one arm. “I am Naggarothi. You would not recognise my accent as such though, as I come from the east, close to the mountains.”
“I have never been there,” said Carathril.
“That is a shame, for not only have you missed the breathtaking beauty of Elanardris, but also the counsel and friendship of House Anar,” said Alith.
“I am bid to go where the Phoenix King pleases, not to choose my destinations,” replied Carathril with a sigh. “If my duties have not taken me there, it is because Bel Shanaar has no cause for me to visit.”
“That may well change,” said Alith. “I think that the Phoenix King’s interest in Nagarythe is going to increase greatly in the near future.”
“How so?” asked Carathril, frowning as he leaned forwards.
“I shall speak the open truth now, for I trust you, though I do not know why, and I wish you to trust me,” said Alith.
“Bel Shanaar says that I have an honest face,” Carathril said, and a smile played on his lips, the first sign of humour Alith had seen from the herald. “I am his most trusted subject after his family and chamberlain. Anything you tell me will be taken in full confidence provided that it does not threaten the Phoenix King. My position here is entirely founded on my reputation for absolute discretion.”
“Yes, I have heard the same from others,” said Alith. He stood up to address Carathril. “I am Alith, son of Eothlir, grandson of Eoloran Anar. I am a prince of Nagarythe, come to Tor Anroc in secret to seek the aid of the Phoenix King.”
Carathril said nothing. He sat and looked at Alith for a long while, the smile gone from his face. Then it returned, broader than before.
“You have a tendency for the dramatic, Alith,” he said. “You have my attention.”
Alith crossed the room and sat beside Carathril.
“I must speak with the Phoenix King in private,” said Alith. “Can you help me?”
Carathril leaned away from Alith’s earnest plea and again sat in silence for some time, scrutinising his guest. Eventually he stood and moved to a cabinet against the wall. From this he drew out two crystal goblets and a bottle of silvery wine. He poured two measures, precise in his actions, and placed the bottle back in the cabinet. He offered one of the glasses to Alith as he sat down again. Alith took the drink but did not sample it. Instead he studied Carathril’s face for some sign of his intent.
“You put me in a very difficult position,” said the herald. “I cannot take your claims at face value, not yet. However, if what you say is true and your coming here is a secret, then I am severely limited in what inquiries I can make without revealing your presence.”
“I have a letter of assurance from my grandfather, in my room,” offered Alith, but Carathril waved away the suggestion.
“I am in no position to judge the veracity of such a document,” he said.
Again the herald pondered his decision, staring at Alith with the tenacity and vigilance of a hawk trying to guess the next movement of its prey. Alith remained silent, knowing that there was nothing he could say that would sway Carathril’s choice.
Eventually Carathril nodded to himself, having reached a decision.
“Bring me this letter and I will deliver it—unopened!—to Bel Shanaar,” he said. “If the Phoenix King assents to see you, then I have performed my duty. If not, then I fear that things may go ill for you. Though from outside you might think that we are complacent of the cults and other wrongdoers, in truth our watch has not faltered nor have our suspicions waned.”
Alith put down his goblet on the floor and grasped Carathril’s hand.
“I cannot thank you enough for this kindness,” said Alith. “I will bring you the letter at once, and hope that the Phoenix King judges it to be true.”
“I will wait for you outside the south-east dining hall,” Carathril said, standing up. He opened the door to indicate the conversation had ended.
Alith strode to the door, eager. Remembering his manners he stopped before leaving and turned to bow to Carathril. The herald returned the bow with a nod and waved Alith away.
Nearly a whole day of fretting followed Alith’s encounter with Carathril. The heir of the Anars was distracted during his evening revelry with Milandith and the other servants that formed the clique of the kitchens, and he decided to retire early—and alone—to his room. The next morning he set to his work in the kitchens, glad of the distraction yet unable to clear his thoughts of his concerns. Had he been right in trusting Carathril? Would Eoloran’s letter convince the Phoenix King? Even if Bel Shanaar consented to a meeting, how could it be arranged without being observed?
Every time the kitchen doors opened, Alith looked up sharply, not sure whet
her to expect a messenger or soldiers. His diverted state drew scowls from the chief cook, a domineering elf called Iathdir who ran the kitchen as a captain of the guard commands his company.
At mid-afternoon word came down that Bel Shanaar had requested a light meal in his chambers. Much to the concern of Malithrandin, no kitchen servants were free as all were in attendance for a feast being held by Princess Lirian, Eothlir’s wife. Malithrandin commanded Alith to carry the tray of herb-crusted meats and spiced bread the Phoenix King had requested, and led the way towards the heights of the palace where the royal quarters were found.
Here the corridors were wide and stately, lined with mosaics of cut gems and sculptures both classical and modern. Alith had no time to admire the art, not that he had much inclination to do so, as Malithrandin strode purposefully along the passageway casting impatient glances over his shoulder. They also passed guards dressed in light mail and breastplates of gold, with pairs of swords—one short, the other long—hanging at their hips. They ignored Malithrandin but gave Alith disdainful glares as he hurried past. At the end of the long corridor was an unassuming door of white-stained wood. Malithrandin knocked lightly and then opened it, waving in Alith.
The rooms within surprised Alith. Beyond the unadorned door lay the opposite of the flamboyant decoration and dress of court. Here was the simple beauty of the dove compared to the strutting grandeur of a peacock.
The Phoenix King’s personal chambers were minimally but exquisitely furnished, and even Alith’s awkward eye could recognise the elegance of design and craftsmanship in the fluted legs of the high tables, the delicate juxtaposition of geometry and natural shapes in the carvings around the fireplace. All was white, including the carpeted floor. The only colour was the Phoenix King himself, who sat close to the fire in a robe of shimmering scarlet, a weighty book open on his lap. Out of his robes of office and crown, he had a more approachable air, and reminded Alith of his grandfather, though Eoloran’s expression was usually more severe.
[Sundering 02] - Shadow King Page 16