The Never King

by James Abbott

  She hoped by now that the groundwork laid by Lord Kollus among the guests tonight would have taken effect. For months he had been persuading, on the king’s behalf, for these people to be at least open-minded in the new world that lay ahead . . .

  ‘My lady,’ one of her serving boys reported. He was standing breathless, in a black tunic like the others, but with a dark red sash. Behind him someone knocked over an exotic plant whilst carrying a statue, and the duchess sighed. ‘Still . . . no sign of General Havinir.’

  Duchess Pryus rolled her eyes. ‘For goodness sake, Celix. He must have received my last message by now.’

  ‘That may well be so, my lady.’

  ‘Is he ignoring me?’

  ‘It’s hard to say, my lady. I think not. He was very drunk that last time, and would likely have forgotten what he had done.’

  ‘He was always chancing himself, the dirty old sod . . . Very well. We’ll put him down as an absentee. Off you go, Celix.’ He was dismissed with a languid flutter of her hand, and he scampered back through the criss-crossing passage of servants.

  The duchess turned away to the rest of the room and caught a glimpse of herself in a golden-framed mirror. She was nearly fifty summers old, yet the woman staring back looked no more than twenty-five. All thanks to the wisdom and the skincraft of the Voldiriks. Those people knew the fine arts of life and longevity, a magic that was truly enduring and not as transient as that of the sisterhood. She was lucky that she did not have to commit to being crafted in their likeness, though, as the duchess rather liked how she looked.

  Her own witch, Marilla, did not trust their ways and had no interest in taking them up on their offer to be skincrafted. As such, she looked like the duchess’s mother, despite the fact that they were the same age. Where is that woman, anyway?

  The great hall was finally taking shape. The grand room was eighty paces by ninety-five. Red and purple drapes hung from the ceiling, which itself was covered in geometric frescoes that had recently been commissioned. The statues around her were also representations of the Voldirik god. Of course, very few people had seen it, and therefore all the artwork was rather abstract. All-seeing knowledge. Wisdom. Power. Strength. These were represented as shapes and colours, by shield and book motifs, and by the complex script that covered many of their items. That same script extended from floor to ceiling, filling in any nooks or crannies that the artwork had left exposed. It was all a bit heady and gaudy for her traditional tastes, but she was happy to do what was required. And that the Voldiriks had donated their own artists for this was a blessing, and she knew it. She was in favour. In fashion, some might say. And she had to make the most of it. No matter what the cost.

  *

  Duchess Pryus was soon garbed in a beautiful white and bronze-coloured dress, with a low neckline so she could show most of the enhanced skin created for her by the Voldiriks, and soft white slippers. Her long blonde hair curled thickly down her back. A dab of perfumed oils on her wrists and she was finally ready to welcome her guests.

  In the entryway into the great hall she met up with Lord Kollus. He, too, had chosen to benefit from the Voldirik techniques and looked not a day over thirty – despite being twice that. Tall and well-muscled, he strode across to greet her and kissed her hand. He wore a leather jerkin and red tunic, with bronze and gold detailing, with a sword at his side. His oiled black hair and tanned skin gave the merest suggestion of his Chambrekian lineage, even though his family’s estate had been in the north for a hundred years or more. His eyes were narrow, his nose elegant and long, his jawline strong. Whenever she saw him it seemed to validate why they had been lovers for many years. Their attraction was inevitable. There was something beyond their altered forms, something deeper.

  Hands clasped together, the two of them stood for a while in the short corridor to the hall. Through stone arches she could see the sun setting across the distant hazy hills, and consequently the landscape around Golax Hold was hidden in shadow. Down below her were fifty more of her private guards, the red- and grey-garbed men shifting into their various positions to ensure the safety of her guests. Many of those arriving tonight had written in advance to suggest that they would be bringing their own protection as well, so she guessed there would be as many as two hundred warriors of some description here tonight. No doubt her head of security, Captain Deblan, would see to it that everyone played nicely. Pryus and Kollus advanced into the great hall. Everything was ready. Guests began to arrive, filling the cushions laid out among the statues. She took a sip of wine – just one cup for now, as she had work to do. The others would get drunk. They would be persuaded, subtly, to abandon the conservative, miserable ways of Stravir culture. She spoke at length of Voldirik art, whilst men ogled her and their wives looked on in disgust. Some people found her later in the night – and she knew that others would find her in the morning – to ask how they could understand more about the Voldiriks.

  That was the point of victory. A step into the future. A way for the Voldiriks into this world to transform it without violence.

  She could see Lord Kollus pressing heady herbs into guests’ hands – substances supplied by the foreign race to give them a merry time. People drank and talked. The room, tense and awkward to start with, opened up. This was good. These people would be her people. They would open up their lands and resources to the Voldiriks and she would be rewarded.

  Everything was going to plan. It was bliss . . .

  When, strangely, she began to hear screaming and shouting in the distance.

  *

  Xavir drew both of the Keening Blades and carved through the approaching guards. Under a darkening sky, and in the confines of a high-walled courtyard, he launched into the three – and they fell to the ground in a clatter of armour.

  The courtyard was clear. He called for his daughter to follow inside.

  She leaped in behind him, bow in one hand and an arrow in another. ‘Could you not have tied them up or something?’ Birgitta hissed to Xavir. ‘Such a waste of lives.’

  ‘We don’t have the time,’ he replied, and nodded to his daughter. ‘Show no mercy.’

  Birgitta scowled and bustled inside the alleyway after them. Striding between dark walls that towered either side of cobblestone lanes, Xavir gestured above, and Birgitta cast up her staff and scrutinized the tall buildings with its light. She shook her head. There was no one looking down, no soldiers on patrol.

  The three pressed on.

  As the spiralling lane began to widen, a rush of guards came down towards them. Elysia unleashed arrows in quick succession. One after another, three men collapsed pathetically. Only four made it through to Xavir – casually he struck aside their blows with one blade and skewered them with the other. He willed his weapons to be quieter, and as if sentient beings, they heeded his thoughts.

  Birgitta moaned in disgust.

  Bodies lying on the cobbles around them, Xavir smiled at Elysia. ‘Good work.’ His head at an angle, he closed his eyes and listened hard for any sounds. Some distance up a network of stairways was the great hall, and he estimated, even if he was walking without interference, it would take a while to get there. Xavir signalled to follow a route to the left, which Landril had described to him earlier. The sisters followed him through the passageways, their footfall as light as songbirds. At the exit, he paused when Birgitta tapped him on the shoulder with her staff.

  ‘There is magic here,’ she told him quietly.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Next courtyard,’ Birgitta said. ‘Inner part of the complex. A sister lives here.’

  Marilla was her name, so Landril had informed them earlier, and she was the witch attached to Duchess Pryus. Xavir peered around the corner and could see her standing in the centre of the next courtyard: a woman in a dark cloak, her hands calmly extended out either side as if she was in some kind of trance. Xavir figured it was likely that she already knew of the witches’ presence.

  Soldiers filed into small units of
three at the far end, under an iron-framed beacon that glimmered on the wet cobbles. The different uniforms and armour indicated the various regions and estates that these men had come from. They were private militia, not the king’s soldiers.

  ‘You can fight the witch?’ Xavir asked Birgitta.

  Birgitta frowned at the other woman. ‘Oh yes. You continue.’

  Xavir gestured to his daughter.

  She nodded her understanding and the three of them strode out into the courtyard. The witch, Marilla, turned to face the aggressors. Elysia fired an arrow at her but Marilla had a witchstone in her right hand and with a wave of her left hand she sent the arrow clattering into the wall behind her. Birgitta advanced, as Marilla sent a pulse of light towards her. Birgitta blocked it by holding her staff before her. The pulse of light skimmed around her and struck a building behind, sending debris crumbling across the courtyard.

  Xavir and Elysia turned their attention towards the soldiers, who though momentarily stunned by the magical combat, refocused and moved forwards. As planned, Xavir stood in front of his daughter to shield her from attack so that she would be able to deal quickly with any reinforcements. The Keening Blades wailed in the dusk. Three soldiers collapsed at his feet.

  Another group advanced more cautiously – and met death just as easily on his blades.

  Elysia launched a magical arrow into a large formation who were equipping themselves at the far end of the courtyard. The arrow’s crystal tip shattered, and a green cloud began to fizz and roll outwards. Clutching their throats, the soldiers staggered wide-eyed away from the cloud, but it would do them no good. The poison quickly disappeared upwards, leaving eight men twitching on the ground.

  Flashes of magic continued behind them as Birgitta and Marilla traded strange and improbable blows. Xavir steered his daughter through a network of passageways. Guards strode across the exits to block their path, but Elysia fired around Xavir’s running form, arrows skimming the brickwork and smashing into the soldiers’ faces. Xavir dealt with whoever remained standing and, with swift bladework, sent their bloodied forms reeling back.

  At each exit Xavir cautioned her to press against the walls so that they could remain unseen. He didn’t want to kill anyone unnecessarily, not when they might join the Black Clan, depending on if he could reach their masters and have them see sanity.

  Three more soldiers in different garb walked by insouciantly, between the dark brickwork, oblivious to the carnage that lay a few corridors away. That there were different private units here tonight was an advantage – they had little in the way of effective communication, and no common leader. Elysia fired three quick arrows, each one striking perfectly between armour gaps – sending gouts of blood from severed arteries. The men crumbled forwards. No one else remained.

  Xavir and Elysia advanced up the stairwells.

  *

  The sound of chatter. A lyre playing a soft tune. Heady scents of exotic food and perfume. As Xavir and Elysia ran through the hallways, small arched windows flashed by, revealing the purpling sky and a bright crescent moon beyond. Xavir had commanded that none of the guests – not even those who tried to attack – was to be killed. Wound, if challenged, but do not kill. The soldiers had been kept outside the event – inside were all civilians, servants and wealthy landowners from afar. As a gesture, Xavir sheathed his blades, and Elysia carried her bow across her shoulder.

  They entered the great hall to the startled screams of other guests. Xavir scanned the faces through the fug of incense and recognized a few of them. No doubt many here would know him too. His vision locked on Lord Kollus, who hadn’t aged a day since he last saw him, and he strode towards the man. A couple of servants attempted to get in his way, but Xavir thumped them aside with the heel of his hand and they tripped over guests seated on cushions impotently. People began to peel away from his advance, scurrying to the sides of the room in a flurry of panicked chatter.

  Xavir stopped, staring towards his dark-haired victim. Everyone fell silent. ‘I am Xavir Argentum, former leader of King Cedius’s Solar Cohort,’ he declared.

  Lord Kollus, in the far corner of the room, closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged.

  ‘I have evidence,’ Xavir continued, his voice booming into all corners of the room, ‘that this man was jointly responsible for the slaughter of innocent villagers, the execution of my brothers of the Solar Cohort and my imprisonment in a place known as Hell’s Keep. Lord Kollus, General Havinir and Duchess Pryus supported Mardonius’s claim to the throne and were responsible for the deception of King Cedius and the betrayal of our country in allowing a foreign army to displace and kill our people. I have come to execute Kollus and Pryus tonight, and claim justice in the name of Cedius the Wise.’

  Someone fainted to one side. Another gave a cry of anguish. Nearby, Duchess Pryus ran towards Kollus and the two embraced.

  ‘What you’re saying is wrong,’ Kollus announced, everyone still staring.

  Xavir unsheathed the Keening Blades and could see Kollus swallowing hard. ‘Explain.’

  ‘Well. Uh . . . what evidence do you have?’ Kollus asked. Pryus buried her head in his shoulder. He shrugged her off momentarily, his mind ticking over for a way out of here. Xavir suspected he’d leave the duchess behind, given half a chance.

  ‘I have written communications, intercepted by a former spymaster of Mardonius’s court.’

  ‘Where are our fucking guards?’ Kollus shouted, glancing left and right.

  ‘Dead, for the most part.’ In the distance Xavir could hear the grumble of magical clashes.

  ‘Oh,’ Kollus sighed. ‘Shit.’

  ‘You have,’ Xavir continued, ‘a few moments to tell me if it was all worth it. If your filthy quest to allow a foreign nation to walk right in and claim Stravimon for themselves is all worth it. Tell me, fool. Is it?’

  Kollus sighed and peered around again. Vainly, he seemed more embarrassed than anything else. ‘Not in front of this lot.’ He tilted his head towards the end of the room.

  ‘A trap?’ Xavir asked.

  ‘As if I have planned for this eventuality.’

  Xavir nodded. ‘It is wise not to flee.’ With his daughter having an arrow nocked at the ready and aimed at Kollus, they followed the two victims through the chamber to a small door at the back. People still stared, some curious, some still in fear. One or two were casually sipping wine and obviously enjoying the spectacle.

  One of the older men muttered, ‘Welcome home, son,’ to Xavir as he passed.

  They entered a discreet antechamber illuminated by a few cressets. Kollus waved out the serving staff, who had been using the room as a preparation area. The place reeked of wine, as a few casks had been opened. There were sacks of herbs here that brought about hallucination or relaxation. The walls were panelled in wood, and there was that same old script of the Voldiriks carved across each of them.

  ‘Don’t kill us,’ the duchess spluttered, her palms low either side. ‘I beg of you, please.’

  Xavir signalled to his daughter to keep her bow raised.

  Kollus whispered something in the duchess’s ear and she closed her eyes in anguish. ‘At least it will be together,’ he added.

  ‘Tell me,’ Xavir demanded, ‘why you wished for me to be incarcerated. And why you wanted my comrades killed.’

  ‘We didn’t,’ Kollus began. ‘That was not our aim. We wanted the cohort out of action. We weren’t to know what would happen. Havinir was in charge of the operation. We didn’t expect it to work as well as it did.’

  Xavir couldn’t decide whether or not Kollus was lying. ‘You, Pryus, Havinir and Mardonius – you were all together in this plot.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kollus sighed. ‘And it was just us four. There was no one else.’

  ‘A noble statement, but if there are any others involved I will find them and kill them too.’

  ‘Trust me. If I could blame others right now, I probably would.’

  ‘Why did you want the Solar Coh
ort out of action?’

  Pryus clasped Kollus’s shoulder. She looked to her lover and back at Xavir.

  ‘You and Cedius, you were all too backward looking. You were all so very old fashioned. You had no vision and prevented so many wonderful things from happening in this world.’

  ‘Indeed, it looks like Mardonius is making such a good job of things,’ Xavir replied sarcastically.

  ‘He is! And he will,’ Pryus added. ‘At least he’s not reliant on a bunch of savages. Cedius honoured the Solar Cohort too much. You were as his sons, weren’t you? He never made major decisions until he had discussed them with you. You in particular,’ sneered the duchess.

  It had never felt that way to Xavir. That was just the relationship they had with the king. ‘The cohort had not wronged you personally.’

  ‘At every stage you rejected our plans,’ Pryus replied. ‘Every single one.’

  ‘I can hardly remember your plans,’ Xavir replied. ‘We potentially turned down a lot of schemes if the king consulted us on them and we felt they weren’t in the interests of the people. And you wanted to remove the king because of this?’ Xavir continued. ‘Did you plot to kill him?’

  ‘No,’ Kollus said. ‘Persuade him. The old dog was frail. We knew he wouldn’t be around for too much longer. His health was in very poor condition. Why bother? We just needed to line things up for when he finally keeled over, which didn’t take long, as it happened. Not after you were disbanded.’

  ‘Explain,’ Xavir said. ‘Why? Why the trap? Why the need?’