The Never King

by James Abbott

‘The Voldiriks, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Part of him felt ashamed for being so blind to the subterfuge on behalf of this foreign race. ‘It has always been about the Voldiriks.’

  ‘They will change our world, Xavir,’ Kollus said in earnest, eyes wide. ‘You – we could offer you so much. A chance of such power and greatness, the likes of which you have never known. Man of your stature could appreciate that, surely? Hang onto that good physique. Get those years back you spent in gaol.’

  ‘I have known much power and greatness,’ Xavir said. ‘Such privilege does not necessarily satisfy one’s thirsts in life.’

  ‘A miserable Stravir outlook, that,’ Kollus replied. ‘Anyway, I’m not talking about the simple opportunities of this world. I am talking about transcending life and death altogether. The Voldiriks could remake you in a way that you could never imagine. Look at me.’ He thumped his chest. ‘Look at how young I am. I have never felt better. They have fleshcrafters who can change everything about a person.’

  ‘At what cost?’ Xavir snapped. ‘Experimenting on our own people? Driving civilians from towns and villages across the nation? You would make yourself look pretty and ruin everything Stravimon ever was in the process?’

  ‘A price worth paying,’ the duchess replied.

  Xavir moved his blades so they were both in his left hand. ‘How many of our own people have you killed?’ He pointed at her. ‘How many people, from your own lands, have you offered as sacrifice?’

  ‘We do not count such things,’ Kollus said softly. ‘When you are in our position in life, one must think of the greater good, not the herds of cattle who roam mindlessly in submission to primitive gods.’

  Xavir shifted a blade back across to his free hand.

  ‘Look, let’s not get carried away here,’ Lord Kollus pleaded. ‘I can offer you such greatness in exchange for sparing our lives. At least consider it.’

  With a simultaneous flick of both blades Xavir severed the heads of Lord Kollus and Duchess Pryus clean from their bodies. Blood sprayed across two walls. Pryus’s head rolled into the corner of the room, whilst Kollus’s flipped straight into a wine cask. Their corpses slumped to the floor together.

  ‘For those whose lives you snuffed out to make your own better,’ Xavir said, staring at the two lovers in disgust. He wiped his sword on the duchess’s dress then turned to Elysia. ‘You are likely offended by my actions.’

  ‘No,’ Elysia replied. ‘I didn’t like him. He seemed a cruel, self-serving man and she was just as bad. I wonder how many people they’ve killed because of their pact with the Voldiriks.’

  ‘Countless,’ Xavir replied. ‘The problem is, as long as their lives were comfortable, they cared not what effect it had on anyone else. At what cost did they gain those new faces? So the Voldirik race can walk into our realm and expand their own empire. So they can take what is ours – our lands, our lives. There has never been, and there will never be, a well-intentioned incursion by other nations or races. Countries will take what belongs to others, or exploit them, to better their own cause. It is the way of the world.’

  Xavir sheathed his blades, marched over to retrieve the heads one by one. He shook Kollus’s free of wine. With both of them gripped by their hair, he turned to walk into the great hall, Elysia holding the door open for him.

  People were still there, clearly in a drug- and alcoholinduced haze. A few had taken the opportunity to leave, but many had waited. Some sat up upon his return and looked in horror at what he was carrying. He placed the heads carefully on the base of a statue and then walked into the centre of the room.

  ‘In case you did not hear me before, my name is Xavir Argentum. I once led the Solar Cohort. I was in command of military strategy for King Cedius. I have –’ he gestured to the heads – ‘executed these traitors.’ He paused to let the deed sink in, and watched the curious gazes of those around him. It always surprised him how people were morbidly curious rather than disgusted. ‘Tonight they wanted your lands and the people on them in order to give them to the race of people known as the Voldirik. You may have heard of them and some concocted story of immortal youth. Tonight these two were going to persuade you to join in their madness. They were going to ask you to surrender our great nation of Stravimon to another race. And many of you were likely tempted.’

  The room was silent. Faces peered back at him.

  ‘It isn’t a great nation any more,’ someone shouted.

  ‘Our citizens are being murdered by Mardonius’s military,’ Xavir replied. ‘It is a great dishonour that has led to the collapse of trading routes. It means Stravimon is on its knees. It is no wonder that Kollus and Pryus would persuade you that something greater lies around the corner. I can assure you it does not. What lies around the corner is the eradication of our people.’

  An old man who carried a stick, and who appeared not to be drunk in any way, came walking over to Xavir. With a white beard masking a rounded face, he stood a foot shorter than Xavir and wore resplendent purple robes and a blue cloak.

  ‘I know you, son,’ he began. ‘Name’s Councillor Trevik, and I’m in charge of three settlements in the northern borders. You came to my town twice and were very courteous to me.’

  Xavir scanned the old man’s face and could see the depths of his troubled eyes. ‘I remember it, councillor.’

  ‘Thank the Goddess you have returned,’ the old man rasped. ‘I had heard about your incident at Baradium Falls. It’s not far from one of my towns. I never believed what they told me.’

  ‘It was true, sadly.’ Xavir sighed. ‘But it was a trap, so I have learned, orchestrated by General Havinir, Duchess Pryus, Lord Kollus and Mardonius so the Solar Cohort would be disgraced and disbanded and Cedius discredited for having created us.’

  ‘Kill the false king, then!’ Trevik replied. ‘Kill the butcher that stands by his side and does his bidding. The world has fallen apart in ways you cannot imagine.’

  ‘I intend to kill him,’ Xavir replied. Then, addressing the rest of the hall, ‘But I cannot bring an end to the madness across Stravimon without your help.’

  A murmur rippled across the gathered throng.

  ‘Some of you will be cautious,’ Xavir continued. ‘I have no doubt Mardonius has spies in this room, watching to see how some of you behave. I have no doubt he was waiting to see who would be quick to join him in his warped crusade with the Voldiriks, and who would put up resistance. What for many years has been a gentle incursion by this strange race has now become something far more serious. They are a cancer upon us.’

  ‘There’s no way we can stop it,’ said a woman’s voice to the right. He couldn’t see her face.

  ‘The lady is correct,’ said a tall, well-spoken man, who moved a few steps forwards with a gentle gait. ‘The legions have been used as bargaining tools by the king’s administrators. A clan leader might turn down invitations to events like this, and then finds his lands aren’t as well protected by the legions – or what’s left of them, anyway. And so we must fend for ourselves. A barbarian tribe suddenly drifts south, or from the distant east, and . . . well. Life isn’t easy. He may appear to be a mad king, but he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘And none of us can gain access to Stravir City. The capital has been locked down for months. Mardonius has driven away many civilians. People seem to vanish.’

  ‘What exactly is it you plan to do?’ someone shouted.

  Xavir turned to face the man to his left and was surprised that he held so many people’s attention. Many ought to have fled by now, but perhaps there was a will to be rid of Mardonius at all levels of society.

  Stepping alongside his daughter, who regarded him expectantly, Xavir contemplated his next move. ‘I was in Hell’s Keep with a man called Valderon, of the Clan Gerentius. He was a commander in the First Legion. A good man, a good warrior. No one better to lead. The two of us have joined forces with the once-exiled queen of Dacianara.’

  ‘The wolf queen . . .�
� someone gasped.

  ‘The very same. Valderon and the wolf queen are building an army to march on Stravir City. I am a part of this, though I have no wish to lead the force. My aim is simple: to kill Mardonius. Their aim is simple: to wrestle the crown from his dying grasp.’

  During the commotion at his final statement, someone slunk out of the back of the room, no doubt some spy seeking to deliver the threat.

  Fine, Xavir thought. Let that threat reach the king’s ears.

  ‘We have,’ he continued, ‘occupied the manse of General Havinir near the southern border as our headquarters. As we speak, our force is seeking contact with rebel groups. We need the presence of many thousands of fighters before we can access Stravir City and take on whatever Voldirik and legion-based force stands in our way.’

  ‘The place will be blockaded!’

  ‘If we have to lay siege to it, so be it. I know of weaknesses in the city’s structure that Mardonius could not even guess at. We do not plan to kill civilians, but we will kill those in the legion who do not lay down their arms. Anyone who fights against us is a target.’

  ‘What about the Voldiriks?’ A short, well-built woman in a blue robe stepped forwards. ‘We’ve heard about these rangers and wayseers, see, who have carried out much of the king’s bidding. You plan to fight them as well?’

  ‘I have already fought them, lady, and found that, for a race who is intelligent, they are relatively weak in combat. I have killed many of their rangers already. I welcome the opportunity to kill more. We’ll see about the wayseers.’

  It was this statement that seemed to ease the mood of the room. Though these people were clearly not front-line warriors by any stretch of the imagination, it was as if they had lived in fear of the Voldirik people. It was a fear of the unknown.

  ‘I am no tyrant,’ Xavir said. ‘I am a simple warrior. You may leave tonight freely – your private guard may or may not accompany you, and I apologize if this troubles your journeys home, and apologize again if you find your escorts are no longer present. I have met some of you before, in another life, and no doubt you know my ways. But times have changed. A madman rules Stravimon. He wishes to allow another empire to walk in and claim it for their own, in exchange for the promise of immortality. And as you can see –’ he gestured to the severed heads – ‘all roads lead to death eventually. I will give you some hours to consider the matter. You may find me in the plaza before the main gates, should you wish to join me in this venture.’

  And with that, Xavir strode out of the room with his daughter.

  Breaking Magic

  Both witches were lying unconscious in the cobbled courtyard. A dome of light extended around them, a protective field of magic that none of the dozen onlooking soldiers could penetrate. Elysia did not appear too agitated at her mentor’s state, and Xavir took that as a good sign.

  ‘Stand aside,’ Xavir shouted.

  The soldiers turned and some reached for their swords. Xavir stood firm. ‘Duchess Pryus and Lord Kollus are dead. For the rest of you, your masters are still alive. I will not fight any of you until they have reached a decision on their and your future. Some of you may find yourselves fighting alongside me soon enough. Stand aside to let us through.’

  Uncertain and not at ease, the men lowered their weapons and moved out of the way.

  Elysia strode to the edge of the dome ahead of Xavir, who brushed past the soldiers. None of them could meet his gaze. When he caught up with his daughter, he pressed his hand against the light. A crackle of magic shot back against his hand, and he withdrew it immediately, feeling the heat.

  ‘You won’t be able to get in there,’ Elysia said.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Sometimes, when witchstones are used, there’s a reaction where the different . . . forces, in simple terms, bond with each other. They must have attempted to use a similar technique against each other and so the stones bonded. You can see the two stones still clasped in their hands now. It’s very draining to a sister when that happens, but they’ll still both be alive.’

  Xavir rubbed his chin and considered the options.

  ‘With her mistress now dead, I wonder what Marilla will plan on doing,’ Xavir said. ‘We could likely use another sister.’

  ‘We could persuade her, Birgitta and me.’ Elysia said. ‘Once she’s conscious again.’

  He hadn’t slept in hours and only now, since the fighting had ceased and he could relax, did his tiredness make itself known. The tavern bed was calling to him.

  ‘How long will they be like this.’

  ‘Until sunrise, potentially. But they could come round at any moment. I’ll wait with them. I’ll need to speak to them through the magic when they stir, else they won’t realize what’s going on. You could speak to this lot –’ she indicated the soldiers – ‘and see if they want to join the Black Clan in the meantime, even if their masters think otherwise.’

  Xavir raised his eyebrows; presumably Elysia now felt comfortable enough in his presence to give him orders. Inwardly smiling, he turned to the other soldiers and bid them to follow him to the end of the courtyard, where there were some wooden chests and barrels that could be used as seats.

  Once arranged in a circle, Xavir announced who he was. Most of the men knew of his name, and that changed everything in an instant. The fame of the Solar Cohort had carried far, and any bitterness for what he had done to their comrades changed into confusion. One or two did not know how to process the fact that one of their heroes had killed good friends.

  He spoke to them of honour, of defending the country, of challenging the invaders and, before long, he felt they’d fight alongside him and he was at home in their company.

  A little while later, shortly before dawn, Xavir looked across to see his daughter chanting through the dome of light and walked over to her. She had laid her bow and quiver on the ground, and was leaning over, whispering the strange words of the sisterhood. Birgitta began to stir and her head lilted from side to side as if she was in a trance. Elysia shouted and Birgitta bolted upright. The two talked softly through the light, and eventually Birgitta appeared to realize what had happened. The witch released her witchstone and extended a hand to Elysia, who pulled her off the floor. And the light vanished, just like that.

  Hunched double and breathless, Birgitta took a moment to regain her composure. Eventually she rested her hand on Elysia’s shoulder. ‘That was a complex spell you broke.’

  Elysia shrugged. ‘I remembered one thing from the sisterhood at least.’

  Xavir knelt down by the other witch. Marilla was slightly older than Birgitta, and her slender, strong face bore a scar down her right cheek. Her robe was an unusual dark blue material which seemed to shimmer in the light of the new day’s sun.

  Birgitta joined him as Marilla began to stir. Her eyes suddenly shot open. Birgitta’s tone became more soothing and she held up both her hands in a gesture of peace. The other witch pushed herself upright, clearly dazed. Elysia held out her hand and Marilla eyed it suspiciously. Eventually, after much consideration, she accepted the gesture and Elysia pulled her upright.

  ‘Our source energies bonded,’ Birgitta said. ‘We’ve both been out for several hours.’

  Xavir announced, ‘Lord Kollus and Duchess Pryus are dead. You’re no longer bound to them.’

  Marilla appeared indifferent to the words and regarded Xavir with her harsh blue witch eyes. She stood taller than Birgitta, but not as much as Elysia. There was a sense of perfect stillness about her, and nobility, like a bird of prey simply scanning its surroundings.

  ‘We want you to join us,’ Elysia said.

  ‘We do?’ Birgitta frowned, and Xavir nodded for his daughter to continue.

  Marilla remained impassive as Elysia described what had happened and why they had come, and also talked about the lands of Mardonius and what was happening to its people. ‘We’re going to march on Stravir City. A rebel force. We want you to be part of it.’
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br />   ‘And what,’ Marilla finally spoke, ‘does the sisterhood think of this?’

  ‘I can tell you all about the bloody sisterhood,’ Birgitta said, and spoke of the changes, of the slavish subservience to Mardonius.

  ‘So they will likely have sisters,’ Marilla replied. ‘This united force of Mardonius and the Voldiriks.’

  ‘Which is why we need you,’ Elysia said.

  ‘You are a strange sister, one who fights with a bow.’

  ‘She is all the more useful for it,’ Xavir replied.

  ‘We shall see. I knew of the sisterhood’s full allegiance to Mardonius. I could have predicted that years ago. Tonight, this gathering, it has happened many, many times over the years.’ She took a moment to regain her breath. ‘As the wealthy deepen their commitment to the king, so do their sisters. These sisters, in turn, will have easily swayed the matriarch. But tell me: what do you know of the Dark Sisters?’

  Birgitta looked to Elysia, who simply shrugged.

  ‘As I thought.’ Marilla’s nobility was something that could easily be mistaken for arrogance. ‘You see, this is a greater concern to me. I had thought you one of them originally when you came to challenge me, though you did not wear their usual black robes – their choice, to set themselves apart from the sisterhood.’

  ‘I have heard tell,’ Birgitta said, cautious not to give too much away, ‘of their resurgence, but little more.’

  Marilla gave a cruel smile. ‘The Voldiriks,’ she said, ‘have . . . corrupted a few of the sisterhood. Quite a few of them, I believe. We thirst to know more, we sisters – to know how to manipulate the elements. You can imagine what a conversation with a Voldirik wayseer will do to our curiosity. I have not put myself in that position, but some have been seduced. Many have gone back – back with the Voldirik ships.’

  ‘Are they more powerful?’ Birgitta asked.

  ‘I am yet to be convinced. They are corrupted in the mind, certainly. They are more passionate about what they do. And their moral code has been utterly altered. It makes them very dangerous, because there is little to guide their magic. But it also makes them wayward. So it is not the rest of the sisterhood that we should concern ourselves with. It is the Dark Sisters. Those will be Mardonius’s real weapons.’