Cinders on the Wind

by Louis Emery

  After hearing her speak, Clyne buried his head in his hands and sobbed. “I’ve shamed myself. And I’m done for, here.”

  Sho stepped towards him and he flung out his arm, stopping her.

  “No, don’t,” he said. “Don’t touch me. Just look at me—I’m not myself. You tell them. Tell them to come find me, erase these spells echoing in my skull. Then I will leave the Academy.”

  Tears filled Sho’s eyes. “Clyne… I’m… I’m so sorry.”

  “Just leave,” he said. “Please… tell them. After I’m gone, I will write you.”

  “At least let me comfort you,” Sho said.

  “No!” he yelled. “Go… I don’t want you to see me like this. Weak… crazy… rambling. Go!” and then softly before Sho closed the door, “I’ll write.”

  Sho informed the Board of Professors, and they aided in preserving Clyne’s sanity. He’d left the next day without saying goodbye. But Clyne did write. Sho had only received two letters, both of them short, each restating the fact that he had failed and disgraced himself, and that he thought it best they didn’t see each other anymore.

  Sho was a gifted practitioner, and she’d learned to deal with the black texts in time—but she made sure she was well-trained before she did so, unlike Clyne. This case proved to be a challenge, and Sho hoped she could navigate dark arts to its conclusion.

  22

  They had no trouble getting through the gates, Malcolm and Artemis being recognizable Kingsguard. The gate guards wore a look of shock as the two of them strode in with their captive. Malcolm and Artemis exchanged questioning glances when greeted in such an unusual way.

  The king’s hall towered before them as they entered. Magnificent archways situated at the sides. In the center was a large open area where the stone ceiling perched over thirty feet high. Finely carved oak tables sat in row after row. Various lords and their confidants sat in conversation dining on their lunch provided by the royal kitchens. The chatter comprised of low refrains and soft whispers as to avoid the acoustics of the hall. Speech of normal volume would echo throughout its walls, the place a chamber of ricocheting sounds.

  As Malcolm and company walked in, he noticed a fellow Kingsguard approach, amazement spreading over his face. Malcolm beamed at his friend, Ser Lambert.

  “What on earth?” Ser Lambert said, trying to keep his volume low. The sound still drew turning heads from tables. “Where in the blazes have you two been?” He looked to both Malcolm and Artemis before embracing them. “We thought you dead but didn’t rule anything out. No word was received from Beric, and when the king wrote him all he said was that you two were last seen fleeing the Ballardians into the Southwoods. Recent news must be late reaching us. We surmised they’d either executed or captured the both of you.”

  “Well,” Malcolm replied, “the Southwoods indeed took us in and didn’t spit us out for quite some time.” He smiled.

  Ser Lambert’s jaw still dropped. “I can’t believe it. You’ve no idea the look on the king’s face when he sees you.” He shook his head and noticed Leora. “Who’s she?”

  Malcolm leaned in next to his friend’s ear. “This is Lady Leora, captured in battle.”

  Lambert’s face grew serious. “Upon my word, you have been busy. The king will definitely want to hear this. He’s in a meeting, but I’ll send for Advisor Tunstall to alert him.” The Kingsguard snapped his fingers over to another one of his guards. It was Bailey, Malcolm recognized.

  “Ser Malcolm, you’re back,” Bailey said, astonished.

  “Yes, yes,” Lambert replied. “He and Artemis are alive and well, and there’ll be time to catch up later, but right now there’s urgent news for the king.” Bailey stood straighter. “Fetch Advisor Tunstall, and tell him I must see him immediately.”

  “Right away, Sir,” Bailey nodded to Lambert and Malcolm and turned heel.

  Within minutes, Advisor Tunstall strode briskly down the side of the hall toward them. “This better be important for me leaving the council meeting, Ser Lam—” Before he could finish, he noticed Malcolm and his companions. “By the Dragonmother, it’s you.”

  Lambert walked over to the advisor and leaned in. “Aye, it’s the tall man himself,” he winked at Malcolm, and whispering “with the princess of Ballardia.”

  Behind him, Leora finally spoke. “All right, let’s get on with it.”

  Malcolm shushed her with a look.

  The king’s advisor, wide-eyed, said, “I’ll alert the king post haste.”

  As they made their way to the king’s council chambers, where a small preliminary meeting was taking place, Lambert updated Malcolm on topics outside of realm politics. Under his breath, he’d told Malcolm that The Drake’s Tail Tavern overflowed with a surplus of ale. To which the publican Horace Stoutpour was sure to let Lambert know was due to Malcolm’s absence the last couple of months. Just the thought of some Backland brew made Malcolm’s mouth water. He could use a few pints after the long journey but knew that could wait. More important matters lay before him.

  After Tunstall alerted the king and the small council within, the doors were opened to Malcolm and his two companions. At the council tables, rising from their seats to get a better look at the newcomers, Malcolm recognized King Lionel of Nasantium and Lord Bartleby of Axetrent. King Greenvale stood at the center, his son Prince Barnabas at his side. Assorted knights, councilmen, titled and no-title advisors flanked their leaders, brought in to listen and perhaps offer insight when requested.

  All eyes looked to them.

  “My king,” Advisor Tunstall said, raising his hand in their direction. “Sers Malcolm and Artemis have returned.”

  King Greenvale smiled broadly, relieved. The room grew quiet and the king, dressed in the royal fashion of forest green and silver lace, made the long walk around the group of tables and approached.

  He stepped over to Malcolm. The king wasn’t able to tame the mirth he felt. Before Malcolm could speak, the king embraced him. “You’re late,” King Greenvale said.

  “Apologies, your majesty.”

  “None are required.” He walked over to Artemis, and the two shook hands. “Did you watch this man’s back?”

  “Of course, your grace.” Artemis bowed. “It’s my duty to protect.”

  The king guffawed. “That it is, Ser. That it is.” He looked at both of them, exhaling a deep breath. “Good to have you here, lads.”

  Prince Barnabas strode up to Malcolm and shook his hand. “I echo my father’s sentiments. It’s good to have you back, Kingsguard.”

  “Thank you, my prince,” Malcolm replied.

  “Now,” the king stated for all the room to hear, “let us all sit.” He gestured for Malcolm and Artemis to have a seat at the council tables. “I’ve word that you’ve brought us something of great value.”

  “We have, my king,” Malcolm said taking his seat after the king and other royals took theirs. “Artemis and I present the daughter of King Kieran of Ballardia, the princess, Lady Leora.”

  Ser Lambert and Bailey ushered forward their captive. Mumblings echoed throughout the small council. Leora stood straight-backed, but Malcolm sensed she grew tired by the minute, weariness manifesting under her eyes.

  “Lady Leora,” King Greenvale spoke in a commanding tone, “I didn’t expect you’d end up within the Gray Keep during this time of war.”

  “Neither did I, your grace.”

  Surprise flashed over Malcolm’s face. He didn’t think she’d use such respect with his king, but then perhaps the peering eyes of enemy kings and lords coerced her manners. Leora fidgeted with the rope binding her hands, trying to gain circulation.

  “Would you mind, your grace,” she said, showing him her wrists, “if these could be loosened? I’m afraid it’s been a long journey, and the rope does burn. Feels as if my hands are to fall off.”

  “Though you are a prisoner, I shall make allowance,” the king replied. “Ser Lambert, cut her bonds.”

  The Kingsgua
rd stepped forward, cutting her bonds with his knife.

  “Ah, thank you.” Leora massaged the ring marks around her bruised wrists.

  King Greenvale leveled his gaze at her. “Now that I’ve done you a favor, perchance you can tell me what it is you know about the intentions of your cousin, Varick?”

  “He is simply following his duties to the king.”

  The king chuckled. “I doubt that, milady. Do you not know your cousin has control over West Ballardia and has allied with the Crowleys?”

  “Yes, I know that was his intent. I had misgivings, but it seems as though he’s ignored my opinion and followed through with his plan.”

  “Ignored your opinion?” the king was stunned. “Milady, do you not know the coup your own cousin perpetrated against you?”

  Leora’s face wrinkled in dismay. “That’s a lie. Has Ser Malcolm tried to get you in on it?”

  “In on what?” the king was becoming impatient. He looked at Malcolm. “What’s she on about?”

  “She thinks I was deceiving her. When I spoke of her own men betraying her.”

  “Lady Leora,” this time King Lionel of Nasantium spoke, “your cousin has betrayed you. It’s the talk of East Ballardia. Ser Gregan, my liege knight here,” he motioned to the man at his side, “was just at Reed Keep a few weeks ago, speaking with your father’s advisors.”

  “My king is right, milady,” The Nasant knight said. “It was rumored you were slain by Varick’s faction. The Ballardian Army split up, those loyal to your father flocking back to Reed Keep and the capitol. I’m afraid your family has been betrayed. Your cousin’s faction has infiltrated the capitol. Your father is in a coma from poisoning, and your brother has been smuggled out of Washfold and is now Varick’s prisoner.”

  Malcolm saw Leora’s legs wobble. A second later, she fell to the flagstones on her hands and knees.

  “Somebody help her,” Ser Gregan said.

  Malcolm stood, wanting to help, but Ser Lambert and Bailey approached her first. She waved them away with an outstretched arm.

  Sobbing, she looked at Ser Gregan, “When did you hear this?”

  “A fortnight ago.”

  Leora groaned, sitting on the floor with her hands covering her face.

  “Milady,” King Greenvale said, “we are regretful to break such news to you in this manner, but we did not expect to find you alive—let alone unaware of your cousin’s treachery. If it pleases you, I will have hall mistress Joanna and guards escort you to private chambers where you may wash and let these events sink in.”

  Leora shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “Is East Ballardia under my cousin’s control?”

  “Not yet,” King Greenvale replied. “Lord Varick hasn’t launched any assault on Washfold. When your father was poisoned, his cabinet called on their liege lords to defend the capitol. Along with their forces and the remains of a loyal East Ballardian army, Varick has substantial opposition. It looks as though, for the time being, Varick focuses on overrunning new, vulnerable territories.” The king glanced at Lord Yorkhearst and King Lionel. “One of the reasons this council has been called is to devise a plan to counter Varick and the Crowleys’ aggression, including your cousin’s dealings with the wizards—”

  “Wizards?”

  Malcolm could see her puzzled expression matched his own.

  “I would think you’d know his dealings with wizards. You have carried a trinket of theirs if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I … I did,” she replied, “But the wizard who gifted me this trinket died years ago. I’ve not had dealings with them since.”

  The king sighed, placing his hand to his temple. “Lady Leora, your cousin has been in touch with the Remnants faction of wizards in the Nor Mountains. Our spies and a special connection have warned us that Warlock Grundburr and his dragonriders have been persuaded into joining your cousin and his allies.”

  “But … but there hasn’t been wizards in wars in over hundreds of years.”

  “There are now, princess,” King Greenvale replied glibly.

  Leora looked downward, shaking her head in disbelief. Malcolm felt a pang of empathy for her, having been betrayed by family, her father poisoned, and her brother—the heir to the kingdom—in the hands of her betrayer.

  Malcolm saw Leora brace herself and muster the strength to regain her footing. She pulled herself up and took a breath. “Your grace,” she began, “I see the folly of my father’s and my own plans to invade Alorens—when our true enemy lay in plain sight. Please accept my formal apology, and know that if you permit me to return to Reed Keep in Washfold, I will call upon our liege lords and take up arms to exact justice upon my cousin and return my brother to his rightful seat. I will aid the Backlands in kicking out the Crowleys and West Ballardians, and the dragonriders. When all is said and done, Alorens will be returned.”

  King Greenvale looked around the small council tables and then to Leora, contemplating. He looked her up and down. “It may take more than you think to combat your cousin’s army. You know the might of the Westers—the West Ballardians—first hand. They will be vicious against you, for now, your regional differences have stooped to a new level. You also know the might of the Crowley army and their numbers with their sellswords division.”

  “Yes,” King Lionel chimed in, “even if Nasantium offered you aid, which it may, you would still need to count on gathering your liege lords to the east and south. As Varick advances, his numbers and allegiances grow. I wonder, King Greenvale, Lord Yorkhearst,” he looked to his companions at the table, his brow creased, “if I may send my man, Ser Gregan Slough and his men, to accompany Lady Leora back to Reed Keep. Perhaps along the way, the princess may seek a few of her allies.”

  For the first time, Lord Yorkhearst spoke, “You have my agreement, though I fear my fief cannot spare any troops to link with Ser Gregan’s.”

  “Understood,” King Lionel said, nodding. “King Greenvale, what are your thoughts?”

  “Long has Nasantium been neutral in the wars of Retha. Yet, here you stand in council, offering military and diplomatic aid in a desperate time of need. The Backlands will see it done.”

  “I thank you for such an offer,” Leora genuflected, her eyes still wet.

  “And what of this sword and necklace you possess?” King Greenvale asked. “Oft has your special weapon been the thorn in my side.”

  “Your Kingsguard has it,” she replied, meeting Malcolm’s eyes.

  “She’s right, your grace,” Malcolm said, patting the sword at his side. “I’ve the sword and the vial. I’ve seen the weapon first hand in action.” He gave Leora a serious look. “And I’ve worn the necklace myself—to see if the magic holds true for others.”

  There were whispers in the room, and Leora turned to Malcolm with a look of annoyance. “I knew you wouldn’t take my word for it.”

  “Of course not.” Malcolm then turned to his king. “I had to see for myself whether the sword would glow and feel light as a feather in my hand, but alas, it did not. The blood vial’s magic works only in the hands for whom it was meant.”

  “Your graces,” Leora said to the three royals, “Let me have my weapon and necklace back. Please, let me use it against the cousin who betrayed me and his king.”

  King Lionel replied before King Greenvale could speak. “I think it best we keep the weapon in safe hands for the meantime—until we see that you’ve proven what you’ve set out to do.” Here the council members nodded in concurrence. “Muster your allies, fight against Varick’s Westers, prove you’re against our enemies—then we shall give you what you want.” Here he turned to his knight. “Ser Gregan, I charge you with the safekeeping of her sword and necklace—and you are not to return it until she lives up to her word.”

  “Yes, my king,” the knight replied.

  “Very well,” Leora said in defeat.

  “Excuse me, my lords,” Prince Barnabas interrupted, leaning forward next to his father. Malcolm knew the prince
to be an opinionated man who often butted heads with his father, but his blood gave him right to sequester here. “Why even consider giving her weapon back? I can understand your approach, but should we allow magic like that to be utilized? This, belonging to a woman who took up arms against us, to begin with. Perhaps, as punishment, we destroy this vial of hers and melt down her sword—that way we need not fear its future use against us.”

  “My son has a point,” King Greenvale said. “These weapons of sorcery have long been the bane of the Backlands, where we’ve always relied on the razor edge of steel and the thickness of our ramparts. It would be nice to teach the Ballardian princess a lesson but,” the king turned his head slightly toward his son, “he fails to see its potential use against our enemies—and I’m not just referring to the battlefield. You fail to see its potential use against the Coterie.”

  “Aye,” Lord Yorkhearst agreed, “Lord Kendall of House Leybourne’s grief is still too near. I can’t believe he even came to council. The Coterie took his brother who ruled before him, and he wasn’t the first. Whether it’s Varick’s work with the wizards or another outside mage’s designs, the princess—or any one of us—could be next. It may be wise to let her keep the weapon for her own protection, once we know for sure she and her kingdom can be trusted again.”

  “My lord,” Leora said, “please, forgive me, but what is this Coterie? What does it have to do with Varick?”

  “It’s a scourge against kings, is what it is,” Lord Yorkhearst replied in his old man’s rasp.

  “He’s right,” King Greenvale said. “Someone, or something—if it indeed is magic—is executing the lords and kings of Retha. These past few months, three kings and one lord, being Lord Kendall’s brother, have been assassinated. We don’t know what part your cousin plays in it, but we suspect it has something to do with his truce with Warlock Grundburr. From eyewitness accounts, we’ve concluded the assassins are an elite group of knights who wear a magical vial, similar to yours. These assassins skulk in the night and cut through a king’s best guards to get to him. They kill quickly and leave without a trace. All we hear are the rumors.”