The Never King

by James Abbott

  ‘Axes, sure, but this is a fine weapon.’

  Xavir used two hands to give Jedral the axe, the weight of which seemed to surprise even him.

  ‘It ain’t light,’ Jedral muttered.

  ‘No, it is not,’ Xavir said. ‘So get used to it.’

  Jedral stepped backwards, clutching the weapon. He did not say his thanks but the look in his eyes was enough for Xavir to know that this favour would not be forgotten.

  Xavir glanced at his daughter, who had a strange look on her face. Whether or not she believed the tales of her father, he did not know, but here was evidence of his former life. What did she think of it all?

  He had been impressed by her actions on the way into the manse. She had not complained, had taken her orders and actioned them without delay. Her aim had been incredible. Her skills were one reason they were all in here so quickly. Xavir would have liked, somehow, to be able to tell her this.

  Facing the others, he said, ‘Help yourselves to whatever weapons and armour you see fit from the rest. Some of these items are decorative trinkets, but there are many useful things here. The rest we might want to take with us somehow, to trade or use for building our army.’

  ‘Xavir,’ Lupara said, ‘we are near the border of Stravimon. We should use this manse as a headquarters for whatever army we can build.’

  He gave it but a moment’s thought. ‘Agreed.’ Xavir stepped towards the two witches. ‘This is just the one room and the others need investigating. We have more work to do before we can rest.’

  ‘We are not merely lockpicks or dogs to sniff out whatever it is you seek,’ Birgitta said with some asperity. ‘We are people too and we are tired.’

  There was a brightness in his daughter’s gaze that said she was keen to continue. ‘I know,’ Xavir said with unusual gentleness. ‘A few moments more and we can rest.’

  *

  The darkened corridors of the manse contained only dusty paintings, red carpets gnawed by mice, and empty wooden trunks. Floorboards creaked under every step. The old witch brought out a selection of witchstones from her bag and weighed up which of them to use. She chose a blue one and held it up between her finger and thumb. She mumbled an incantation and then both she and Elysia began to scrutinize the walls and doors with more focus, rolling their palms over wooden panels and frames with delicacy. They were perceiving things that he could not.

  After a short while Birgitta declared that she had sensed an underground chamber. She marched forwards, got down on her knees and pulled back the rug with a flourish.

  A trapdoor.

  ‘There is something strange around this place, though.’ Birgitta appeared to sniff the air. ‘I have thought that since we arrived. Perhaps it lies beneath our feet.’

  Xavir crouched down to find the handle. It had been inset into the wood, hidden discreetly. He levered up the door and lowered it flat the other side, to reveal a large black hole and a ladder that led down into the darkness.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Xavir said. ‘I could do with some light.’

  ‘You could try saying please, then.’ Birgitta snapped, pulling out one of her white stones. Carefully, she dropped it down below. It clattered quickly, indicating a short drop. A light began to emit from it, and Xavir could see a stone floor beneath him.

  He lowered himself down into the darkness cautiously, prepared for an attack from beneath. There was definitely something here, something strange. An unusual smell. Using the witchstone for guidance, he began to walk around the chamber, which was so dark that even the witchstone had difficulty piercing its shadows. Birgitta and Elysia followed him down, and the witches soon enough produced more light through other stones.

  ‘By the source!’ Birgitta hissed, her eyes narrowing. ‘Something feels rotten down here.’

  ‘I know what it is,’ Xavir replied grimly.

  They were standing before an enormous four-foot-wide container made of thick glass, which was positioned on top of a short wooden frame like a stage. Xavir pressed the witchstone against the container and they saw that within it there was a woman, naked and dead, floating within a translucent fluid.

  ‘Oh, by the source . . .’ Birgitta pressed another stone against the glass to illuminate the form even more. ‘What devilry is this?’

  Xavir perceived another, similar container adjacent to this one. He stepped next to it and again there was another figure, this one male – again, naked and dead, floating in the glass box.

  ‘There must be more light around here somewhere,’ Xavir said.

  ‘Ah, a cresset over there,’ Birgitta said. For an old woman there was nothing wrong with her vision.

  Somehow, without a flame, she managed to light the cresset – and shortly after, another. The stone chamber was illuminated to reveal six large containers, in two rows of three, either side of the room. Each one had been positioned within a wooden frame that acted as support. Warm light shimmered on the glass. Each container was about eight feet high.

  Within the glass vats Xavir counted two women and two men; one container stood empty, but the last appeared to contain a human form – albeit one that looked flensed, as if it had no skin at all. He clambered up on a wooden shelf at one side to view the top of one container. It was exposed to the air and the fluids were even more rank close up. An eyeball floated on the surface.

  Birgitta spread her palms against the glass and called up to him, ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s open. It reeks.’

  Xavir jumped back down and began to scour the surrounding shelves. Cupboards contained tin cups and plates, along with barbed tools of a worrying-looking purpose.

  ‘I’ve found a note!’ Elysia said.

  Xavir and Birgitta rushed over to her. The piece of parchment was nailed with a knife onto one of the cupboard doors.

  ‘This is the same script as upon the armour,’ Birgitta said.

  ‘Can you read it?’ Xavir asked, leaning over his daughter’s shoulder.

  ‘I can understand parts of it . . .’ Birgitta replied.

  ‘Do any of the words say the following?’ Xavir asked. ‘Whoever has the wisdom has the authority.’

  Birgitta’s gaze flickered down the page as she scrutinized the language. With a fingernail she tapped on the bottom words. ‘These two here, I think, say authority. And this word here just before could mean wisdom or blessing or knowledge. That was what Havinir said, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You did hear, then,’ Xavir remarked.

  ‘In between his screams.’ Birgitta’s tone was full of judgement.

  Xavir shrugged. ‘I did what needed to be done. It was a strange phrase. He said it as if it was some religious mantra. Words of faith. And if they’re here on this note, it makes it even more curious.’

  ‘Indeed. Most peculiar,’ Birgitta said. ‘What do you think of it all, little sister?’

  ‘Clearly this place is for experimentation on humans,’ Elysia began after a pause. ‘I wonder if that has anything to do with the wisdom mentioned. Wisdom from seeking knowledge. But what was the general doing here and what was his connection to the people who wrote this script?’

  Birgitta’s eyes glimmered. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

  Xavir turned towards the glass containers. The human forms drifted there, almost motionless in the fluid. ‘Havinir was mad.’

  ‘A madman’s world still appears sane to him. This is not an easy thing to arrange.’ Birgitta gestured with her staff to the floating bodies. ‘This was logical. Calculated. What was he looking for in these poor souls, we must ask.’

  ‘And what dealings has he had with them? I worry that there are things happening in the country that are bigger than we think.’

  ‘In what manner?’ Birgitta said.

  Xavir was unnerved by the situation. Havinir had hardly seemed to care about his own death, and now this . . .

  ‘When the refugees were attacked,’ Xavir began, ‘I suggested that it was likely that Mardonius had a connection
with this new enemy. That they were somehow employed on the king’s behalf. Now Mardonius’s old general has this room, these things, these bodies.’ Xavir gestured to the glass containers. ‘I may have disliked the man but it was clear even to me that Havinir was not himself, not the man I recalled. Something had terrified him so much that he’d rather die than betray it.’

  ’Who were the victims?’ Elysia asked, pressing her hands against the glass of one containing a woman and taking a closer look. ‘They might be mothers and fathers, sons or daughters. Only the source could know what that skinless one over there would have been.’

  ‘That act in itself is not exactly an easy task, little sister.’ Birgitta shuddered. ‘Someone with exceptional skill has to have done that.’

  ‘It must have been this new foe,’ Xavir declared, walking back to the ladder. ‘We should bring that note. Landril will want to spend some time with you deciphering it, no doubt.’

  Xavir climbed up the ladder and eased himself back upstairs into the main manse.

  ‘Are we finally done, then?’ Birgitta asked. ‘Can we rest?’

  ‘You can rest now,’ Xavir said, as he clambered up the ladder. ‘It is mid-morning and I am hungry.’

  ‘How can you be hungry after seeing this!’ she shouted back up at him.

  Elysia just looked at the containers and felt a slow fire begin to build in her stomach. Someone had tortured these poor people, for who knew what reasons. They should be made to pay for it.

  Headquarters

  Lupara’s small force found Havinir’s manse completely unoccupied. There were no servants or administrative staff. No soldiers, apart from those they had killed. Grend had raided the well-stocked pantry and the former woodsman was on the way to creating a feast for all. He had put together a concoction of cured meats, cheese and foraged leaves, with bread that was still reasonably fresh.

  To Landril it was a slightly surreal scene: a group of warriors and witches covered in the dust of the road, eating in an opulent if scruffy dining hall.

  Lupara and her wolves were surveying the grounds of the estate once more, although Landril suspected that the queen had spent so much of her life alone that she appreciated the solitude. Valderon and Xavir were not present. The two men were inspecting Havinir’s quarters to see if there was any information about the strange experiments in the basement.

  It had, so far, been an uneventful start to the day. An hour ago, in the calm of the morning, Tylos had caught Davlor handing a flower he had found in the garden to Elysia. She had accepted it politely, but it was obvious that she did not quite know what to do with the gesture. A few moments later, Landril watched the black man caution Davlor, and he overheard him say, ‘Even the fool must choose his path with wisdom.’

  ‘What would I want with a witch, eh?’ Davlor laughed awkwardly.

  ‘Your affections will go unrewarded at best, punished at worst.’

  ‘What? She’s old enough to fend for herself without the boss wanting much to do with her. Besides he doesn’t ’xactly show fatherly ways.’

  ‘I did not say it was he who would punish you – she is more than capable of that,’ Tylos whispered in his ear, and then turned away, tipping his head politely to Landril as he passed him in the corridor.

  Davlor caught the spymaster looking, and simply shrugged. Landril later found the same flower wilting on a sideboard, ready to gather dust with the rest of the house.

  Everything about the place felt neglected. Milky morning light flooded in through the tall windows, illuminating thick shafts of dust motes. Outside there was a garden full of weeds, with thick clumps of oak and ash. The wind stirred, brushing a few golden leaves across the scene. Beyond the faded and crumbling statues of long-forgotten warriors, the garden led down to a cliff face. The yellow-green land beyond, where the more remote places of Stravimon spread east until they reached the sea, was covered in mist.

  Inside, red and green tapestries depicting battle scenes through the ages decorated the walls, along with old swords and shields fixed above a large, empty fireplace. It was a fine affair, no doubt, and the men made much of the fact. But Landril knew it to be a faded grandeur and couldn’t fathom why Havinir had let the place fall into disrepair. He certainly had the money to maintain it, but the general had chosen not to.

  ‘I was born into a life like this,’ Tylos said. ‘Believe it or not.’

  ‘Were you buggery,’ Jedral muttered.

  ‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘It’s true. Albeit my father’s estate was a little larger, warmer and . . . well, we had better taste in Chambrek. This military regalia – it’s too crude. Weapons should be for war, not for decorating walls.’

  ‘You’ve got a fine weapon yourself now,’ Davlor muttered. ‘Both of you. Wish the boss had given me one.’

  ‘Like you could have used it.’ Jedral laughed. ‘You don’t even know what to do with your arms and legs, let alone a pretty blade.’

  ‘Not the point, is it? I’ve been good to the boss all the while I’ve known him.’

  ‘You have indeed,’ Tylos smiled. To Landril the black man had a broad, beautiful face. ‘But I’m sure Xavir gave them to those he felt could use them. These are tools to kill people.’

  ‘Fancy tools, admittedly,’ Harrand interrupted. ‘Even managed to silence Jedral there.’

  ‘Must admit, boys, I’m not used to gifts like this.’ Jedral had placed the axe before him on the table, and he caressed it now and again whilst chewing his food.

  ‘Bet he can’t wait to kill with it,’ Harrand muttered. ‘Take out his rage for being cooped up all these years.’

  ‘And you don’t feel that same rage?’ Tylos asked.

  ‘Never said I didn’t,’ Harrand replied. ‘Even you, black man, you can’t be this mellow all the time. Bet you harbour some desire for payback after being in gaol for so long.’

  ‘I must confess,’ Tylos said, ‘even I feel a little anger at the time wasted, although I like to think I am wiser for the experience of being there. It makes one appreciate what is important in life and what is not. I remember a Chambrek poet, who—’

  ‘Bloody hell, not another poet,’ Davlor interrupted. He stuffed a soft boiled egg in his mouth, and yolk dribbled down his chin.

  ‘You’d do well to consider the arts,’ Tylos said. ‘It might make an enlightened man out of you.’

  Davlor wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘It might be all that saves you from letting your anger get the better of you. It might keep you sane.’

  ‘Don’t get angry, don’t want to be sane,’ Davlor replied, lifting his clean chin up high. ‘I just want one of them magic swords.’

  The others laughed.

  ‘Must admit,’ Davlor said, leaning back in his chair, ‘I could get used to this place. It’s a step up from my old farm. Heard talk that we needed some sort of place to set up our headquarters or something. This would do nicely now that the boss killed the owner.’

  ‘Did you see the mess he made?’ Harrand said. ‘Wouldn’t like to have been the general in his final moments. You talk about rage, black man. Well, Xavir has more than enough. You think we’re likely to lose ourselves to anger? Look elsewhere, friend, and don’t let a pretty blade distract you from the real madman.’

  Tylos glanced to Landril, who raised an eyebrow at the comment and said nothing. While part of him agreed, mad or sane, it didn’t matter to Landril what condition Xavir was in, so long as he could stop those who wanted to destroy the country.

  ‘Landril,’ Davlor said, ‘you know the boss’s plans better than anyone. Will we end up here for a while?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Landril began, then cleared his throat. ‘There are a few others on Xavir’s list that need dealing with, and they’re not too far from here. Two days’ riding, at the most. Only Mardonius will be the most difficult to, uh, visit. So yes, we shall be putting down roots for a while.’

  Everyone fell silent for a moment.

  ‘
Fine with me. I ain’t going nowhere,’ Jedral said. ‘Got nowhere to go to. I was a mercenary in a previous life, and it feels much the same now. Killing for a job. Except now I’ve got that.’ He nodded to his axe and continued chewing on bread.

  ‘I’ll still linger,’ Davlor said. ‘Doubt I’ll be needed on the farm, anyway. If it’s still there. I know you lot all come from fancy backgrounds compared to me, but this is as nice as I’ve had it in life. And you never know, while we’re here his daughter might fall for my charms.’

  ‘Or kill you with an arrow and be rid of you,’ Jedral quipped. ‘Black man, what about you?’

  Tylos smiled sadly. ‘I cannot return to Chambrek. My family will still refuse to speak to me. If unseating a king is our aim, and to help save those who suffer under his rule, then that, at least, is an honourable quest.’

  ‘You may think you have a point,’ Harrand muttered, ‘but I’m too old for any ideas of noble causes. Seen too much of that nonsense in my time.’

  ‘You’ll leave, then?’ Tylos asked.

  ‘I think so. Not right away. A life of going from tavern to tavern and eyeing up the serving girls, that’s what I want. Maybe get my hands all over one as well – it’s been a while. See, I served my time as a soldier and left the army when I still had my limbs intact. Not an easy life for an ex-soldier out here, I can tell you. No one wants to know the stories of the average warrior, just them like Xavir. The great ones. People like us, we’re quickly forgotten about. Before Hell’s Keep the most successful job I had was being a bodyguard to a duke, in a place not unlike this one. He spared me death after I got into that barroom brawl. To be honest, I didn’t exactly hate life in that place. Keep your head down and things were fine. So, I don’t know. What’s the point of it all? What’s the point in fighting, eh? It’s all bollocks.’

  ‘The point . . .’ Valderon marched in and everyone turned to look at him ‘. . . is nothing to do with glory and everything about what kind of man you are.’

  Valderon placed his master-crafted weapon, the Darkness Blade, in front of him at the head of the table, then turned around a chair and straddled it, with the light of the window cast upon his face. For a moment he stared at them each in turn.