by Gary Bregar
Arthur was visibly surprised. “But Majesty, Mr. Touro has not been confirmed as—”
“Mr. Steed,” Zander interrupted, “your concern is noted. However, I will trust my own instinct on the matter.”
“Yes, Majesty,” Arthur replied, as he then gestured to one of his own men. “Please accompany Mr. Touro to the council chamber.”
****
The inflock could not have planned the sequence of events any better had it tried. It was almost as if the king knew its mission and purpose as well as itself. For it was a self after all—a being. It only lacked a body, and that would change soon enough. Balki Touro had proved to be an extraordinary vessel for the inflock. The meddling girl had been problematic, yes, but she could be easily avoided now that they had entered the vastness of Obengaard. And the inflock would make its strike soon enough anyway, taking control of Balki Touro as easily as a puppeteer instructs his helpless figures to do his bidding.
Balki, now feeling right as rain, was bursting with satisfaction. He had longed for the fast-track to power, and it had been dangled directly in front of him. There was something else, though. A feeling deep inside that he couldn’t quite touch. His instincts told him that the inflock was becoming more powerful, and a twinge of terror rose in his belly. His arms grew goose flesh and he suddenly felt frightened. It was for only a moment, but it was there; he knew that something extraordinary was coming. And although the horror of it had crept over him briefly, he knew that he would welcome the inflock openly and without question.
****
As Balki walked into the council chamber, he was awestruck by the room. The walls were made of a dark-colored wood, with portraits of past monarchs hanging along all sides of the room, creating three parallel rows. If he had counted, he would have found there to be nearly thirty of the paintings. From the edge of the room, it almost seemed gaudy, but once you had fully entered, it became beautiful at once.
The council table, which was known as the Concord Block, was round and looked to be nearly twenty feet across at its center. Once Balki approached, he realized that the table was actually a single slice of Sovereign wood, cut one foot thick. The bark around the edges had been smoothed, but continued to maintain a rippled exterior. Had he been allowed to take the king’s seat at the table, he would have seen that, from the king’s vantage point, the table appeared transparent at certain angles, revealing a full view of anything that might take place beneath it. The full top of the table was a complete map of Mantle, burned into the wood, with all four kingdoms of Mantle represented, including the kingdom of Skite.
As he took his seat at the table, the king’s advisers became silent at once, and turned their collective gaze directly at him. On some faces he saw contempt, and on others he saw indifference. He wasn’t bothered by the hard looks given off by the men, but wondered if his presence had somehow touched on a fragile balance of power among them. The thought of this pleased him very much, indeed, and he held back a smirk when he thought of how little they actually knew of power. After all, only a short time ago he was nobody; now he was taking his seat at the Concord Block. He seemed to have fallen into a fortunate situation nearly all at once. Add to that his ability to cloak, with an inflock to guide him, and the men seemed almost infantile in the arena of power.
The silence in the room was uncomfortable, but within a moment of Balki taking his seat, the king entered, and Balki silently sighed relief. He was not prepared to speak with the king’s advisers without Zander present, and he had no intention of cloaking himself during this meeting if he could help it. He wanted to hear the council’s discussions unfiltered. After all, he wasn’t yet aware of the subject of the meeting. He knew that something had happened, but the king hadn’t provided him with details. For all he knew, the king might have called his advisers only to discuss his impending nuptials.
The inflock suspected the true meaning of the gathering, though. It had gained power, even more so in recent days, and would be fully strengthened before long. The inflock felt an overwhelming hunger, as best as it can be explained, and it knew its opportunity to return to Skite would be upon it soon.
King Zander’s entrance was swift and as he quickly poured himself a glass of beaded wine he began by saying, “Well, my fair advisers, what news do you have from the Outland Guard? Surely, by now things have progressed.”
There was a pause before an elderly man finally spoke up. The elderly man, whose name was Crook (nobody knew why—and no one dared ask), was in fact the oldest of the advisers, and possibly in all of Obengaard. Certainly, he was the oldest at Bannister Castle. Zander had amusingly thought many times that the man looked old enough to have personally witnessed the last Mantle War.
“Majesty, there are two guards reported dead by the Dark Weed,” the old man said. “The first was unfortunate to stumble upon it, and the second was taken when he tried to assist.”
Balki’s eyes widen slightly and he shuffled in his chair, excited by what he was hearing. Zander lowered his head and shook it slowly back and forth. “You are to postpone informing their families. I want to give them the truth, and until we know what we’re dealing with, I have no intention of starting rumors and creating panic. Tell me, how much of the grass has been seen?”
Once again, Crook spoke, “The Guard is reporting that the Dark Weed had appeared in small patches the size of melons, each separated by nearly a quarter mile. But they hadn’t noticed it until the men had already perished. No one living has ever witnessed it firsthand, so they had missed it.”
It was true that no one in Forris who was still living had ever seen Dark Weed, and Zander now wondered how many times that would be a problem as the crisis unfolded.
“Now,” Crook continued, “they are seeing it grown more and more each morning when the sun rises. They say that it has spread in patches, as far as can be seen, Majesty. Some patches, they say, have grown to ten times the size of the Concord Block itself!”
“Tell me, Crook, how can they be certain of this? Is it not unseen to all but the Eagles?” Zander asked.
“Yes, but it can be tricked into revealing itself, it seems. The men have devised a way, by catapulting shots of small shrapnel into the Outlands. When it drops to the ground, the grass responds defensively, standing up dark-side revealed. The method only works for mere moments, but it’s a long enough time to see it.
“They can only fire to a certain distance, but it reveals it nevertheless.” Crook paused, but then resumed before the king had an opportunity to form his next question. “They’ve tried burning it, Majesty, but it won’t burn. Instead, when the weed meets flame, it creates a sound so unbearable that the men dare not try again.”
At this last remark, Zander’s eyes widened. He had read the few ancient scrolls that described the Dark Weed—they all had, and this was the first he had heard of a sound emitting from it when burned.
If the grass has evolved its own defenses, then what else has?
Zander sighed and said, “General Brask, do you have an inventory of our defenses yet?”
“Majesty, I am still awaiting some counts of our weaponry, but I can report that at this time we have fifty thousand men who are active, with ten thousand more that can be called up if needed. Remember, though, that we are historically dependent on Bore to provide the bulk of the ground armies in any conflict, just as they are dependent on us to provide support through charms and sorcery.”
Zander hated the word sorcery. He would rather it be referred to as simple magic, but again he held his tongue. This wasn’t the time for trivial complaints.
“Yes, Bore and Tongar…have we heard if they will come to Forris to discuss these matters?”
Arthur Steed now spoke, “Majesty, they have both agreed to be at Obengaard within two weeks’ time, and are looking into matters from their side.”
“Very well,” Zander said.
General Brask continued, “I am prepared to send word to our reserves whenever you wish.”
“Majesty?”
Zander looked up quickly as if pulled from a dream, and said, “Is there any known cause for Dark Weed to appear without a conjuring by the Skites?”
The full council turned to a thin man, also old, with long white hair that hung just over his shoulders. He wore small round spectacles which appeared too small for his face, while his clothes looked to be much too large for his thin frame, making his fashion almost comical. Balki immediately, and correctly, assumed that he was the steward of magic. His name was Hannibal Granger, but at Obengaard he was simply referred to as the Emm by most.
The man sat in deep thought, until the king said, “Granger, the room seems to have turned to you. Do you know of another way?”
Granger looked up and said, “No, Majesty, I know of no other way. The Dark Weed was created by—and is controlled entirely by—the Skites. I see no other explanation.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Just after the end of the Mantle War, when it was believed that the Skites had been eradicated, the Outlands grew green with foliage and flowers as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t until nearly a hundred years ago that it began to slowly die once more. This can only mean that the Skites have returned, in one form or other.”
Balki suddenly felt the medallion become warm against his chest. The inflock was stirring, celebrating maybe.
King Zander turned his gaze to General Brask. “Do not call up the reserves yet. I will leave at first light to consult with the Sovereign Trees. I’m sure that they will have much to say on the matter as I am confident that they already know of the weed.”
To this, Crook said, “Majesty, they may not know of the Dark Weed. We only recently learned of it ourselves.”
Granger chuckled from the other side of the table, and King Zander smiled and said, “My dear Crook, the Trees are not kept from much. They likely knew of your midmorning squat before you made it.”
At this, the table erupted in laughter. Crook didn’t laugh, though. He was old, and his sense of humor even older, but he didn’t object or become cross. He was too far along in years to get excited about such things.
Balki was laughing in appearance only. His thoughts were directed squarely on Zander’s meeting with the trees. He knew that he couldn’t accompany the king to see the trees, but if he could only get the king alone before he left for the forest, he could easily plant questions in the king that might render his trip fruitless. He would simply cloak and the king would hear all and ask all. He wasn’t sure what questions he needed to force, or even why he needed to do it, but the inflock was beginning to run things now. It hadn’t taken him completely, but its influence was palpable. It knew that there were things that were better left unknown.
When the laughter subsided, Zander said, “Then it’s settled; we will meet again on the matter of the weed once I return from my conference with the trees. But before we move any further, I would like to introduce Balki Touro of Maske. I have brought him here today to shed new thoughts on our situation, and I expect you all to welcome him honorably.”
The only other man dressed in uniform, other than General Brask, stared across the table at Balki and said, with a hint of malice, “So this is the boy who caused Tate Touro to deny an ambassadorship to the Sovereign Trees.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement that was clearly meant to inform the others of the link, in case they had forgotten or missed it entirely.
Balki calmly turned his eyes to the man, and said, “I will not be responsible for my father’s decisions, but as sure as I am sitting here, I will certainly welcome that particular choice.”
He ended his reply with a cleverly put together smile, and the room erupted in laughter once again. The man who had made the remark did not laugh, though. Balki knew that after this first meeting, he would have full trust from some and waves of suspicion from others. There was no logical reason for anyone to suspect him for anything at that point, but the council was old. Most continued on from King Alexo’s reign, and were not open to change…especially instigated by an outer village boy who the king happened to pick up along the way. Balki understood this way of thinking, though. He saw this behavior similar to that of the village council in Maske; hardheaded old men who were tough to bend.
When they calmed once more, Zander said, “As I’m sure you all know by now—for anything spoken once at Obengaard is spoken a thousand times—I am to be married.”
Those at the table clapped briefly before one gentleman asked, “Majesty, have you set a date for the affair?”
“We will hold the ceremony and celebration on the day of the Third Moon, some three weeks from now, and it would be appropriate for the kings of Bore and Tongar to witness the marriage as well. I have a feeling that their minds will rest easier knowing that I have plans to produce an heir. I imagine them to be quite unsettled at the thought of turbulence in Forris over the line of succession. If something should happen to me, one of my spoiled cousins would surely claim the right and throw the other kingdoms into discord. I plan to live a long life anyway, so never mind about that!”
At this, the gentleman responded by lifting his cup and exclaiming, “Long live Zander—in good health and good fortune!”
Then, the whole of the room raised their cups in unison, “Long live Zander—in good health and good fortune!”
****
The main house of Obengaard, known as Bannister Castle, sat in the center of the city at its highest elevation and was the oldest of the structures, by many centuries. It was named such, for the Royal House of Bannister—of which, Zander belonged, as did his father and his father before. The outside of the castle was plain in comparison to the rest of Obengaard, but its ordinary appearance on the outside was deceiving.
When Bella and Lizabet had first entered the castle, they came into a vast and open foyer. The foyer was round with a domed ceiling high above. The flooring seemed to be made of polished white stone with hints of thin gold lines that came together in the center to form the shape of a single rose.
Along the edges of the room hung iron candle displays, each two feet in height. The candles which rested in them were covered by protective glass, and the candles themselves were made of regenerating beeswax. They didn’t know at the time, but the candles in the foyer had been burning constantly, with the candles never losing height, for perhaps centuries.
On both the left and right sides of the room sat tall, narrow double doors leading to the various wings of the castle. The doors were set within large pointed arches. Directly in front of them was a wide but short corridor that led to another set of double doors.
Arthur Steed had instructed one of the king’s inner butlers to escort Bella and Lizabet to their quarters, while he was needed in the council chamber. Although neither Bella nor Lizabet spoke it aloud, they both felt relief at this, since neither was comfortable in the presence of Mr. Steed. The inner butler, whose name was Mr. Oliver, was odd-looking, thin as a strand of wheat, and towered over both of them. But he was very attentive, answering any questions they might have, and extending manners in a way that Bella and Lizabet were not accustomed to. If he would speak, he would bow to them after each statement as if punctuating it. It became quite comical to both of them, and they pained to keep from laughing.
While standing in the foyer, Mr. Oliver explained that the left doorway led to the part of the castle where most business was conducted—where Bella’s fiancé was at that very moment, in fact. The doorway to their right led to the ballrooms, sitting rooms, parlor, and libraries. The king’s quarters, and other private rooms, were situated on the upper levels of the castle, and overlooked the square that they had entered upon their arrival.
The door at the end of the corridor in front of them, Mr. Oliver
explained, opened into the Throne Room. In this room, the king would formally greet dignitaries and subjects who had requested an audience with the king. When Mr. Oliver led them down the corridor, and opened these doors, Bella and Lizabet saw something they hadn’t expected. The room was simple, quite different from the rest. There was only a large wooden throne with a back that stretched upward nearly six feet. But there was nothing elaborate about it. The wood was worn and darkened where a person would sit, and where one’s arms might rest, but there was no decoration on it. It sat elevated on a stone pedestal toward the far side of the room. The rest of the room was empty except for the candles that hung along the walls, cradled in their iron cribs. The floor seemed to be carved from a single slice of wood, but Bella thought that impossible for the size of the space. It might have been a charm illusion, but whatever it was, it struck her as magnificent. Although the Throne Room was ordinary by the standards set by the foyer, it proved to be one of the more interesting. Mr. Oliver went on to explain, when asked, that the Throne Room was meant to project humility, not to flaunt the riches of the king.
****
Once they arrived at Bella’s apartment, Mr. Oliver explained that she would be staying in the same rooms as that of King Zander’s grandmother. She had moved into the apartment once her husband had died, and her son, Alexo, had taken the throne. The room was large, much larger than Bella thought necessary. In addition to a bedroom, it contained a parlor and sitting room, with a private bathing area attached. Bella was overwhelmed.
Lizabet’s apartment was quite smaller, but with a similar design. Hers was connected to Bella’s by an entrance which could be locked from either side. It was apparent that whoever had designed the rooms had wanted the occupants of them to have the luxury of being close, but not too close.