Simon Blackfyre and the Corridor of Shadows: Book 2 of the Simon Blackfyre sword and sorcery epic fantasy series

by A J Allen

  Lord Lionsbury, dressed in full ceremonial attire with an emerald bishop’s mantle of velvet, rose to his feet at the front King’s Council table. His solemn expression was reflected in the faces of the several men and women on either side, including Lady Bellemar, Mr. Byrch, and old man Rabek.

  His Lordship surveyed the breadth of the hall as though about to address a regiment before battle. “We of the King’s Council are honored and humbled by your presence. This is only the second time in the history of our great Kingdom that the Rites of Succession have been proclaimed and very shortly you shall undertake your first challenge.”

  The gathered novices prodded each other and exchanged anxious whispers.

  Lord Lionsbury made a calming gesture with his hand. “I know that you have many questions about what is expected of you, and you have my word as a senior member of the Council and Commander of the Keep that all shall be answered in due course. But for now, we merely wish that you enjoy yourselves and eat from the bounty of our land.”

  He raised a wine glass and the other members did the same. “To our honored protectors and our next King who sits in fellowship among us this night.” The members of the King’s Council toasted the assembled novices. “Now, everyone: eat!”

  Once his Lordship sat down, almost instantly everyone reached for the closest plate in front of them. “But mind your manners,” he ordered above the ruckus of hungry novices, “There is enough for all. Nobody is likely to expire from starvation this night.”

  Simon stuck his fork into the big sausage as though spearing an eel.

  He didn’t know whether to cut it with his knife or eat it like it was on a skewer. He watched his friends politely spooning portions from each platter and passing the dish to the person at their side. Only the other slaves grabbed food and stuffed their mouths as though it was the last meal they would ever have. I know all too well that terrible, desperate craving. None here can blame us for it when many present are the very cause of it.

  Simon picked up his knife and sliced the sausage in his trencher.

  “Lord Lionsbury has treated me and those of my station with more kindness and respect than I ever thought possible.”

  Marcus passed the peas to Simon. “Ethan and the Braiding family also want an end to slavery but there’s little a single nobleman can do. There is a small group of like-minded nobles on the Council led by Lord Delcarden, but far more who do not agree. Only a Royal Decree from our next King can change that.”

  “Is that why Callor was so disrespectful of Lord Lionsbury?”

  Jack tapped his fork on his pewter plate and looked down at his food. “If Lord Lionsbury’s wife had lived to bear their son, both he and his sister would be sitting here this evening with us enjoying this fine meal.”

  Simon swallowed quickly and coughed. “The Braidings are the fifth patriarchal family?”

  Rachel filled his water cup. “Why didn’t any of you tell him that before?”

  “I apologize.” Marcus cut a hulking slice of old cheddar, its edges beginning to assume a tinge of the finest green shimmer. But all would agree it tasted better that way, and so he indulged his hunger to the maximum.

  “It’s rather easy to forget,” Marcus began, “That what we all take for granted is not common knowledge among all.” He chewed a small piece, his mouth barely moving, then swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “Many on the Council believe that when Ethan lost his family, he also lost his family’s claim to their privileged status. And to make matters worse, his Lordship is well known—along with Lord Delcarden—for opposing Callor’s father on the Council.”

  Niall belched. “And Lord Coranthium doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t agree with him. Just you ask our father.”

  Simon glanced over at Robert, who for some unspoken reason had chosen to sit at another table. He seemed glum and didn’t laugh along with the other unruly novices. “Does Robert’s family feel the same about slavery?”

  Jack wiped his fingers with a cloth.

  “I do wish we could count the Strathwalds on our side. Unfortunately, it’s the very thing that helped them amass their trading fortunes.”

  Marcus waved at Robert who returned a watery smile and then looked away. “Yet, in their defense, I will say their people are treated and fed well. I’ve never seen or heard of Robert or any member of his family raising their voice or hand.”

  He sipped his wine. “Has he not treated you fairly since we’ve met?”

  “I found no fault with him... until now.” Simon looked toward a young man who could be crowned their next King. “Had you not told me this, I would have thought your two families very similar.”

  “Then, perhaps we will yet find an ally in the Strathwalds of Aidondell if destiny favors my claim.” Marcus raised his glass in a toast.

  “What about the Velizars you mentioned? Do they think the same as you?”

  Marcus put down his glass. “I wish it were otherwise. They are closely allied with the Tiberions and do not stray from the views of Callor’s father, Lord Coranthium.”

  Simon leaned closer. “And you, Marcus, would you do away with it and make us freemen if you were crowned?”

  His new friend seemed taken aback, wounded by the question. He lowered his gaze for a moment. “Of course, Simon. When we emerge victorious, it will be my first Royal Decree as your King.”

  Niall poked his big brother in the side. “And what will your name be? King Marcus the Greediest?” Marcus turned to his little brother and frowned but couldn’t answer because his mouth was stuffed full of food.

  Simon looked around at the serving boys and girls, white-skinned, brown, yellow, and black, all standing by the walls. They lined up there, silent and meek, heads bowed; they only ever moved to take away empty platters and refresh the water pitchers.

  These were not the children of freemen, nor would they ever be unless a just and compassionate ruler sat upon the throne. If the Evermere brothers were true to their word, then Simon would do everything within his power to help Marcus become the next King.

  Simon scooped a mouthful of buttered peas and carrots. He had never tasted such delicious food before. “Mister Byrch and I passed statues of the five patriarchs on Lundy’s Hill. I know little of our Kingdom’s past but I do want to learn.”

  Marcus swallowed his food. “The royally sanctioned version of The Chronicles of Miradora say the five patriarchs arrived with their armies from a neighboring kingdom at the request of the original people, to quell the insurrections and roving bands of murderous outlaws pillaging these lands. Sibert Evermere was our patriarch and the first King of Miradora almost one thousand years ago.”

  “And from which kingdom did they come?” asked Simon.

  “The Chronicles do not mention the land nor its people by name, except to say it was destroyed in some cataclysm and no longer exists. It is a strange omission to say the least.”

  Simon knew almost nothing about the kingdoms beyond the borderlands, save for a few names such as Salak, Varza, and the Island of Kardi.

  What surprised him, though, was that the five patriarchs were not originally from this land. “How was your ancestor chosen as King?”

  Jack poured himself a cup of water. “That, apparently, was the very first Rite of Succession, at least that’s what every noble child is told growing up. My ancestor, Sibert Evermere, proved himself the most qualified patriarch by gaining the trust of the soldiers and forging a new kingdom from a loose, quarrelsome assembly of fiefdoms. The first Evermere bloodline ruled for almost two hundred years.”

  “And who was the first Holy Seer overseeing the rites?”

  “Why? Saint Kaja herself of course.” Byrch, whether by stealth or magic, had appeared at the end of their table. “And I don’t want to hear any trumpery about whether she actually lived or not. She did and that’s that.”

  Simon nodded. “As you say, Mister Byrch, but after the first? What of the other families?”

  Rachel w
iped powdered sugar off her lips. “The young lords at this table will correct me if I’m wrong,” she said. “We learned at school that before first Evermere bloodline ended, the King decreed the newly-formed King’s Council to vote to choose the successor from a direct male descendant of one of the four remaining patriarch families.”

  Niall stuffed his pink cheeks with a handful of blueberries, the juice darkening the side of his mouth as he spoke. “Sure, everybody knows that. First, they voted for the house of Vanadour Strathwald, then Zadicus Tiberion, followed by Dragomir Velizar, and then, finally, the house of Murdagh Braiding.”

  “Fate smiled on the Evermere lineage once more and their second rule lasted for over one hundred years,” Rachel said, “Until the passing of our late King Christoforus.” She licked a mushy glob off a spoon. It was a strange food indeed, but she rather liked it.

  Simon winced. He had tried a mouthful of the same stuff once, but the combination of seaweed and warm milk had not agreed with either his stomach or, regrettably, his bowels.

  Marcus clapped. “Bravo. I truly wish every young lord and lady cared to know even that much about our history.”

  Simon’s friends turned to talking among themselves. He was feeling more at ease now in this puzzling new world, yet for every question that was answered, two more took its place.

  At the front table, Mr. Byrch hoisted a tankard of ale and seemed uncommonly sullen in the cheerful company of Lord Lionsbury and Lady Bellemar.

  Two other men sat on the other side of Lord Lionsbury. A short, muscular noble scratched his pockmarked, swarthy skin as he conversed privately with a taller man dressed in blue-black robes. If this stranger was also a noble, then his attire and appearance were very different from his Lordship’s. His straight, long red-blond hair and almond-shaped dark eyes made Simon’s throat turn dry. He immediately distrusted this man yet had no good reason for it. He grabbed his water cup and gulped.

  “Are you all right, Simon?” Jack licked redcurrant jam off his fingertips.

  “Why does his Lordship not introduce the two other men at the front table?”

  Rachel spread more jelly onto a piece of rye crisp. “Lady Bellemar said they would introduce themselves when it was proper to do so. You must learn to be patient, Simon.”

  “Forgive me, but that is one of the first things you learn in my situation... or you do not live long to learn another,” he answered.

  Rachel looked away, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  Jack chewed a handful of raisins and studied the front table. “Hmm, the shorter one is Lord Randar Borrell of Fromund and the taller, Lord Aubert Hanmer of Dowrick. Both widowers without children as seemingly befalls more and more noble families these many years.”

  “Yours is full enough by my count.”

  “Without a doubt yet for many their homes are barren. Our mother says that it is a strange malady that plagues both womb and child. If the baby is born it is sickly and cannot survive and the mother often succumbs soon after. Lady Bellemar is rumored to have lost her child to the same condition as did Lord Rabek, both his child and wife, many years ago.”

  “I’ve helped my father prepare remedies,” Rachel added. “A few women benefited but most did not and no physician or scholar is closer to knowing why this afflicts the nobles more than others.”

  Niall’s fingers traced nervously back and forth across the table top. “I once overheard Missus Butterwort talking in the garden with Spratboar, you know. I told Father and he said it was all peasant superstition.”

  “Why? What did they say?” Rachel asked.

  Niall looked away, seemingly disinterested, and turned to his brothers.

  Marcus, too, waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Enough of this foolishness. We all need to be rested and I don’t want Niall keeping up all night again.”

  Jack filled his cup. “Marcus is right. We have more important things to concern us now, the principle one being the crown.”

  “You and your brothers know many secrets, Jack,” Simon said, looking up from the table where he had finally placed his fork, having eaten his fill. “How did you come to know such things?”

  A surprised look darted from Jack’s eyes. “That’s what we do, my friend. We learn everything we can about our peers. Nobles don’t like to be left wanting when it comes to the intimate details of their fellow lords and ladies at court. For instance, my parents say that Lord Fromund has been acting strange of late and is usually in a foul temper.”

  “He should speak with my father or another apothecary,” Rachel said. “He could mix a comforting salve for his skin. Look at him. He looks burned by a giant hogweed. I’m sure that’s the reason.”

  Simon had seen the agony inflicted on those in the camps unfamiliar with the dangerous plant. “And Lord Dowrick?” he asked.

  Jack answered. “I’m happy to say he is not on friendly terms with our family but I know Callor is overjoyed to see him at Farrhaven—and his father even more so, I would wager.”

  Simon spotted Callor and his two brutish friends at the far table, all huddled in conversation as the servants removed the last empty platters and half-eaten trenchers.

  Lord Lionsbury rose once more to address the assembly. A few novices were still talking and eating until a single stern glance from his Lordship stunned them into silence.

  “The selection of protectors for each family will begin shortly. You may have heard strange rumors about how this is done, yet I can tell you on good authority that you are mistaken, regardless of where or from whom you received your false information.

  “All aspects of the Rites of Succession are kept in a single volume under the protection of the King’s Council Scrivener, Lord Rabek, and locked in the King’s vault until providence dictates it should be unlocked and opened once more.”

  His Lordship stepped around to the front of the table. “I and the other lords and ladies of Farrhaven must answer to the King’s Council in Avidene. For your own wellbeing, it bears repeating that you must see these rites through to the final day when our new King is crowned. If you attempt to flee your responsibilities, then upon capture, your punishment will be swift and just in accordance with your station.

  “Any child of a noble family shall be stripped of title, current holdings, and any future inheritance.” His gaze fixed firmly on the Evermeres.

  “If you are the son or daughter of freemen, your family shall lose their status and livelihood.” He glanced in Rachel’s direction. “And finally, if you are bonded in servitude to another you shall be... put to death, in accordance with the laws governing that institution.”

  Simon’s chest tightened and bile rose to his mouth. The sickening image of the hanging tree filled his thoughts once more. He opened his mouth so he could breathe; suddenly, there was not enough air in the hall. Rachel placed her hand over his.

  “Remember what you said. You’re not alone now. None of us is,” she assured Simon.

  Lord Lionsbury cleared his throat. “As your training progresses, you will be introduced to each member of the King’s Council responsible for overseeing these rites. Follow our instructions and you will have nothing to fear.” He raised his hands.

  “And now let the selection of the protectors begin.”

  Chapter 3

  A Sage Encounter

  Lady Bellemar descended gracefully to the dining hall floor. “The Kings of Miradora have always drawn wise counsel from our noble families and they have come, through the experience of unexplained higher powers, to place their faith in the prophetic powers of the Holy Seer.”

  She glided with imperial grandeur down the length of the floor toward the rear door. “As keeper of the mysteries of our religion, the Holy Seer offers us hope in both this world and the next.” She opened the door wide. “All rise now, and be seen by the Holy Seer, Lady Zaphara Murik of Wraithburn.”

  Two imposing, black hooded monks, faces unseen and swords drawn across their chests, stepped into the hall. Rach
el had explained to Simon how these men were warriors sworn to vows of silence and must protect this old woman with their lives. The monks took positions on each side of the threshold. Simon drew a breath and it seemed that time stopped while everyone stood silent, their attentions fixed on the back of the hall.

  Simon’s ankle began to throb as though chained by an invisible shackle. He had spent most his life avoiding any contact with monks and priests, but here he was now, about to be judged by the Holy Seer herself. His only consolation at that moment was that every novice looked as panic-stricken as he must undoubtedly have appeared to them.

  A tapping sound like a stick striking the marble floor echoed from within the darkness beyond the open door.

  A white-haired woman, the oldest and most frail crone Simon had ever seen, emerged into the light, bent and hobbling with the help of her cane. Bone white wisps of angel hair hung over a craggy face and down onto the shoulders of her crimson and gold robes. Around her loose neck hung a leather pouch. The leaves of a strange plant, like small, spiked tentacles, drooped over the top of it.

  The Holy Seer limped her way to the middle of the floor and stopped. She raised her head and placed both hands on the head of her cane.

  Bloodshot gray eyes, set deep within their sockets, searched over the gaping faces of the novices. “I... was but a nursing babe in my mother’s arms when it was ordained I should walk in the gentle footsteps of Saint Kaja of Palamor, our first Holy Seer.”

  Her voice was surprisingly clear and carried throughout the hall.

  “Well, I did not expect to live and see a new sovereign crowned but my dreams have always guided my reason. And this is why we are here together for the first time in a thousand years. Though the challenge ahead is daunting to even the strongest and most able-bodied amongst you, I will summon all that is within my remaining strength to help you choose the only monarch worthy of our land.”