A few minutes later, at Gant’s tent, the pair rejoined the anxious group. They linked hands in a circle and Abadis started his verse. As the last words died away, they flashed through space to appear in the same second floor bedroom at Sylvia’s that they’d entered before. A young woman jumped at their appearance, dropping the armload of sheets she carried.
“Sorry to disturb you,” said Abadis and led the group down the stairs to the parlor.
Several women lounged on the chairs and couch in the parlor, which was empty of clients.
“Where's Sylvia?” Abadis asked a delectable blond girl at his elbow.
Just then Sylvia burst into the room from the kitchen. “What’s all the noise? Oh!” She eyed Abadis suspiciously. Then smiled a sly, knowing smile and winked at the wizard. “Did you come in through our bedroom again?”
“Well, yes,” said Abadis sheepishly.
“You old goat.” She ran up and threw her arms around him. “Sometimes I wonder if keeping that space open for you to pop in whenever you feel like it is a good idea.”
“I can’t just appear on the street outside. What would people say?”
Sylvia cocked her head and examined the wizard. “Okay, it’s worked fine to this point so we’ll leave things just the way they are. So, did you come to stay a while this time?”
“Yes, for a few days. Then I think you should come to my house.”
“What?” gasped Sylvia. “Who’ll run the house? Er, there’s so much to do here, I. . .”
“Don’t give me that,” smiled Abadis, “you’ve got lots of good help and a vacation would do you good.”
A couple of the girls still in the room chided her for trying to avoid a man.
“Okay, okay. But just you and me.”
“My idea exactly. Of course you’ll have to meet my granddaughter but she won’t be staying long.”
“I guess I can manage that,” and something in her eyes said she was looking forward to it.
They disentangled and turned to the others.
“I think you remember the emperor and his attendants, and Gant,” said Abadis, indicating each as he went, “but I don’t think you’ve met Dalphnia. Dalphnia, this is Sylvia.”
Pleasantries were exchanged and then Abadis went on. “Pris, that is His Majesty, has returned to regain control of the throne. And, I will be the new Imperial Wizard so I’ll be visiting Malathon regularly.” He winked at Sylvia.
Sylvia’s smile extinguished. “Regaining the throne may be harder than you think. The High Minister has declared you dead and anyone posing as the emperor is to be killed as an imposter.”
“Chantel,” spat Pris. “Who has he appointed as the new emperor?”
“No one,” said Sylvia, “but most believe he’d like to assume the title himself.”
“We’re going to change that right now. Please accept my apology for refusing your continued hospitality but this has gone on long enough. I shall return when possible to thank you officially for your assistance.” Pris turned toward the door.
Before Pris could leave, Abadis asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No,” answered Dalphnia before the emperor could respond.
“You stay here. Gant and I will go with him. I don’t think this will take long.”
“Let's go,” said Pris, and was out the door.
Gant and Dalphnia bowed to Sylvia and dashed to follow. Kalmine, Captain Hesh, Patt and Faltern were right behind them. Before they’d gone far, Pris motioned Kalmine to take the lead and the emperor fell in behind his advisor.
As they approached the outer palace wall they met two guards, one on each side of a heavy bronze door. Gant noted that they approached the palace from the Royal side, opposite from the entrance he’d used to obtain an audience with Pris. As the group approached, the two guards stiffened and pulled their short swords.
“Oh, put those away,” said Pris, advancing to within a few yards of the pair. “You can plainly see I am the emperor. Now stand aside and let me pass.”
The two guards wavered, glancing at each other. The one on the right let his sword point dip.
The other said, “We are to kill anyone claiming to be the emperor. On sight! The High Minister has proclaimed the emperor dead.”
Both men pointed their swords at Pris but without conviction.
“Did you see the emperor's body? Was there a funeral?” demanded Pris.
“No,” said the nearest guard.
“And you must recognize Captain Hesh, and Kalmine, my personal advisor. Or have they been declared dead, too?”
“No, but. . .”
“Then let us pass.”
“W-we can’t do that,” stammered the second guard. “Chantel will have us tortured.”
“Then you can die here,” snapped the emperor, yanking Thantalmos from her scabbard.
Immediately the sword began to hum. A low wailing echoed off the high walls. Gant thanked the Lady in White that Thantalmos was as sharp as ever.
On sight of the screaming sword, both guards lowered their weapons, their mouths open.
“It is the lost Sword of Emperors,” said one.
“He must be the emperor. No one else can hold that sword,” said the second. “Forgive us, Majesty.” They both knelt. “We were only following orders.”
“Orders from a fool,” added Kalmine.
Pris sheathed Thantalmos. “You stay here,” he said, pointing to the guard on the left. To the other he said, “You escort us to the Council Chambers. I don’t want to have to repeat this needless confrontation with every guard I meet.”
Both guards bowed low. The one ordered to lead pulled open the bronze door and hurried through. The others followed. The last one closed the door. The group went through a high vaulted tunnel through a thick stone wall and came to a second bronze door. The guard swung it open and held it for Pris who marched through. Two royal guardsmen on the other side casually turned toward the door as it opened. One sat beside a beautiful marble fountain drinking from a half empty wineskin. The other leaned casually against the inner wall, his razor-edged halberd propped beside him.
“Don’t move,” ordered Pris, glaring at them. “So this is the way you guard my palace. Captain Hesh, take their names. Have them reassigned to a frontier outpost. Someplace where they’ll either remain alert or end up dead.”
Pris brushed past the two surprised sentries. His quick strides took him swiftly past the fountains that adorned the broad expanse of the Royal Palace Gardens. The rest of the party hustled to keep up. Captain Hesh dropped behind to deal with the two lax soldiers.
On the far side of the gardens, they came to a small door made of expensive, polished wood bound in shiny brass. A lone guard stood in the shadow of the overhang, half dozing in the coolness. Pris was upon him before he could move. The emperor shoved him aside with a sweep of his right arm, catching the startled sentry off balance and sending him sprawling.
“Patt, take his post. No one except Captain Hesh comes through until I personally give you the order.”
Patt dropped out of the procession and took up the post at the door, a menacing glare in his eye for the displaced guard.
Now they were inside the palace and Pris was running. The others hastened to keep up. Down one corridor after another, dashing past surprised servants and men carrying out routine duties. They went up a flight of stone steps, around a bend and down a long narrow corridor blocked at the end by a heavy, red velvet tapestry. Pris motioned to Faltern to take up a position in front of the tapestry. “No one comes through,” he whispered.
The soldier nodded.
Pris shoved aside the thick cloth and the party entered the vast complex where Gant had first met the emperor. There was a guard inside the tapestry dressed in a strange uniform. He reached for his sword. Gant was quicker. Valorius leaped into his hand, and with a practiced chop using the flat of the blade, he knocked the guard’s sword from his hand. It clattered noisily to the floor. The conver
sation in the room died like a snuffed candle flame.
For a long moment, everything stopped. Those in the chamber turned to see who dared make such a noisy interruption. Gant scanned the room. It was circular, as he remembered it, with numerous entrances, all guarded from the inside by serious-looking armored soldiers, in uniforms that Gant did not recognize.
“Mercenaries,” whispered Kalmine through clenched teeth.
An exquisitely dressed merchant had been pleading his case and now turned to stare at the newcomers, his mouth frozen in mid-sentence. On the dais several old men dressed in pompous robes stood around the throne. On it sat an older man dressed in white, a venomous glare aimed at Pris.
“Chantel,” shouted Pris, an accusatory tone in his voice. “Get off my throne.”
For a moment the room remained silent, even the air seemed reluctant to move.
“An imposter,” yelled Chantel, leaping from the throne. “Kill him!”
The guards at the doors nearest Pris jerked out their swords and turned to attack. Other guards drew their weapons and surrounded the party. The first mercenary to reach them swung his sword at Pris. Gant stepped between them, Valorius held aside. The two-handed stroke crashed squarely on Gant’s breastplate. Instead of cutting through, the blade shattered off at the hilt, leaving the soldier staring at the pieces as they clattered to the floor.
Two more guards attacked. Gant slammed the flat of Valorius against the wrist of the one to the right. The soldier’s sword spun across the room.
Dalphnia brought her hypnotic stare squarely on the second man’s eyes. “Stop,” she commanded and the man froze in mid-stride.
“Chantel, I am the emperor,” shouted Pris. “Return my throne to me.”
“The emperor’s dead,” shot back the High Minister, pointing an accusing finger at the boy. “I am the new emperor.”
A gasp escaped from those gathered in the Chamber.
“You reveal your true intentions,” said Pris. “Are there others who doubt my identity?”
A murmur of indecision rippled through the crowd.
“Then behold the Sword of Emperors.” Pris drew Thantalmos. Its voice rose through the assemblage, piercing. “I bring back Thantalmos to the Empire. Are there any who still doubt?” Pris had to yell to make himself heard above the keening of the sword.
No one moved, spellbound by the glittering weapon. Chantel leaped down the steps, screaming, “It’s a trick, an elf trick!” He waved his hands wildly, his eyes glazed over. “Stop the imposter. Stop him.”
Chantel grabbed the tall scepter of the royal office from its holder at the base of the dais. He raised the heavy metal-headed staff and ran across the chamber toward Pris.
“I’ll stop you. If the others are fooled, I certainly am not.”
Gant moved to intercept the minister, but Pris acted first. With a gesture of his free hand and a short string of arcane words, Pris loosed a spell. In midstride, Chantel froze as if turned to rock. A gasp of wonder escaped the onlookers that was audible even above Thantalmos.
Pris returned Thantalmos to her sheath and the room fell silent. The boy emperor walked to the former High Minister. The only sound was Pris’ footsteps echoing hollowly through the room.
He removed the royal scepter from Chantel’s stiff fist. Holding his reclaimed symbol of power, Pris mounted the steps to the dais, Gant, Dalphnia and Kalmine close at his heels. The other ministers still on the dais scattered. Pris turned at the throne and plopped down with little ceremony.
“Someone take Chantel to a holding cell before the spell wears off,” he snapped. “Also, have the High Priest report here at once. I think Chantel may be suffering from some form of insanity. We’ll see if the priest can cure him.”
Now Pris turned and glared at the huddled ministers. “All of you are relieved of your positions. Tomorrow morning, report to Kalmine, my new High Minister, for assignments more befitting your talents.”
Whimpers of fear answered Pris and the deposed ministers bowed low.
“Don’t worry, no one will be hurt or imprisoned. But lesser positions suit you, I think.” Then Pris waved away the cowered group.
“Well, Gant, what do you think?”
“I’d say you did very well, Your Majesty. And you hardly needed us.”
“Not now maybe, but I need to build a core of knights. I’d like you to lead them.”
Gant looked at the emperor, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “No, Dalphnia and I are returning to her woods. I’ve had enough adventure to last a lifetime.”
Pris’ smile drooped, and then brightened again. “But you’ll stay a few days won’t you? I must throw a feast in your honor. It’s the least I can do. And before you go, I’d like to discuss a few things, like how to change this ridiculous system of gaining an audience with the emperor. Everyone should have equal access to present their problems.
“Then, too, I’ve got to set up a force to rotate with the elves and knights at Chamber Pass. Everyone has to share in protecting the mountain border.”
Gant winked at Dalphnia and said, “I think we can stay a few days. We’re going to go back to Netherdorf first anyway so I can visit my father. Did you know he’s going to be the Royal Smith with his forge in the castle? And, we want to be there for the victory feast.”
“Then it’s settled. You’ll stay a week, no less, and return often. We’ll feast every time you return.”
Gant smiled and shook the emperor’s offered hand. At least this part of the world remained safe. He hoped he could hang up his armor and Valorius, and someday pass them on to his son. He thought of Zandinar and silently thanked him for his sacrifice. Dalphnia squeezed him tight. It brought Gant back to the present. Things were hardly ideal but at least for now the evil that roamed west of the Monolith Mountains was contained. Gant hoped it would stay that way for a long time. It wouldn’t.
If you enjoyed reading Fall of the Western Kings you might like to read these other works by J Drew Brumbaugh.
Shepherds
War Party
Foxworth Terminus
Ten More
Girls Gone Great
(A children’s book co-authored with Carolyn B. Berg)
Get news, updates, specials, and private notes by subscribing at his website:
www.jdrewbrumbaugh.com
About the Author
J Drew Brumbaugh lives in northeast Ohio where he spends his time writing sci-fi, fantasy and suspense novels, teaching and training at the karate dojo he and his wife founded, building a Japanese garden in his back yard, and taking walks in the Cleveland Metro Parks. He continues to work on his next book and always has several stories in various stages of completion. He can be reached at [email protected].
Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) Page 34