by Kyle Belote
Resolved, he set out to end this madness.
***
Chapter 29 : Meristal
The final interview from the review board concerning her tour at Mecas River City came to an abrupt yet pointed end. Their consultation hastily turned into an interrogation concerning the renegade warlock, a brand thanks to the Consul, and his propaganda machine. Her rising ire never broke through her calm demeanor, hidden well beneath the poised elegance. Meristal disavowed any knowledge of his whereabouts, and when the committee realized they would get no useful intelligence from her, they expeditiously slapped her with another tour, this time even further away from home. With a pristine smile, she gathered her belongings, politely rejected their offer, informed them of her immediate retirement, and left them slack-jawed. Turning on her heel, she left them fumbling for words.
The chamber was devoid other than the interviewers, the exit sloping up between the dark, wood benches. The white walls were startling bright without so many people in the chambers. Though empty, Kayis Dathyr’s shadow loomed like a dark phantom over the proceedings. Undoubtedly, he didn’t want any more witnesses to his abuse of power than necessary. In truth, he probably did not care about Judas’ current location, but it was one more way for the Consul to exert his influence over those under him. As an exile, Judas remained a matter of the Republic, not a personal matter for the agents of the city and justice system.
Meristal walked out of the chambers, and for the first time in her life, had no place to be. She stopped and inhaled, feeling a burden lifting. Two guards in full ceremonial dress stood holding the door ajar, waiting for her to set off. Their magnificent, gleaming black plate armor captured the light and reflected it. Narrow, refined silver outlined their breastplates, pauldrons, and greaves. Long, black polearms with silver blades gripped in their right, vise-like hands. White ceremonial under-robes shown in the separation of plates and silver cloaks hung from their shoulders. This part of the castle was off limits to the public, and sentinels quickly apprehended those without an escort. Without a further word, she started off, her two shadows moving in concert.
Feels like a prisoner retinue to a cozy cell than a chaperon, Meristal surmised.
The small off-white tiles covered the floor in the Hall of Justice, a new segment of arranged courtrooms in a side by side fashion. Courtrooms closest to the entrance of the wing were for matters of the capital, the mid-courts for affairs of the realm–the surrounding land outside the city such as small villages and towns, their presence omitted on maps. The Domain courts came next; those meant to govern all cities and lands extending beyond Ralloc and its immediate realm. Their jurisdiction went as far south as the Corridor of Cruelty to the Golden City in the east. This court did not govern the elyves living to the north-east, deep inside the Vikal Mountains. The last door—the one she exited—belonged to the largest courtroom, the government’s Kothlere Court which trumped all other courts and the highest anyone could climb in legal proceedings. Only a pardon by the Consul or the Kothlere Council overturned this court’s decision. Meristal had spent a lot of years in there defending her clients and Judas. His multiple appeals been arraigned and denied there.
There is a lot of history here, history I am giving up.
It didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would, walking away for the last time. History may be in the past, but it was once the destination. It would always be a part of her.
Commissioned after the courts had outgrown the old wing, the Hall of Justice was built in the last three Ages; the rock was different than the older parts of the palace. The architects tried to match the color as best as they could, the stone, a slight variant of a darker grade than the castle proper, but indiscernible during overcast days. The original exterior, built long before they perfected their craft, was cobbled together from rocks. As the years progressed and expansions made, the stones changed to brick, like this newest wing.
The interior was molded with exquisite care using serpentine stone, giving way between a black-to-green throughout the segments, a dramatic contrast to the bordering off-white tiles, which helped relieve the dark gloom and doubled as a reoccurring color scheme. Numerous torches helped combat the gloom. Darkness encroached this particular passageway; no windows graced this segment, but Meristal didn’t know if this was due to an oversight while designing or intentional. Did windows signify freedom and solid walls foreshadow guilt and imprisonment?
Meristal and her troupe moved towards the intersection leading to other parts of the castle. Royal Guards stationed at the sides of each double door for the courts snapped to attention as she passed and reset as they passed. The color of their armor marked the biggest difference between the two. Her chaperon, clad in black, signified ceremonial dress. Royal Guards wore phthalo blue in its’ place. The ceremonial sentries guarded the Kothlere Council, the Consul’s private office, and the Kothlere Court. All other posts and positions were regulated to the Royal Guards.
Amethyst eyes slid to a door as she walked. Blooded Ebony adorned the doors, a dense, hard wood, black to the core with stripes of dark red through the heartwood. Small chiseled squares gilded in gold gave the door texture. The door knobs themselves made of magically-enhanced gold, strengthening the soft metal.
Only the best for the Kothlere Order, Meristal noted.
She could almost hear Judas’ biting comments on the matter. He’d roll his eyes in disgust and bitch about the waste of resources for the sake of vanity.
Still, not as bad as the Council’s chambers, she amended.
Her strides lengthened, the pace brisk, wanting to put distance between her and the decision she made. Behind her, heavy footfalls echoed in the corridor, sharp clinks of metal striking metal accented each foreboding step.
Retirement felt good. The reality hit her; she was no longer a Grand Wizard of Law. True, no one could take the knowledge away from her, and she was still sharp when it came to matters of legislation, but she no longer worked for the Realm of Ralloc. For the first time in a long time, she walked the halls of the Kothlus Castle unemployed with nowhere to be. Not entirely true, but a likable fiction. Judas needed her and she would be there to help.
The troupe came to an intersection of corridors, the floor shifting from serpentine stone to large white tiles checkered with a dark burnt-orange. She took a left, making her way towards the central passages. Without further need, the chaperon halted their escort.
In truth, she put retirement off for years; it was the thrill of seeking balance, justice. She had made a lot of money, too, nearly five times her counterparts. There were two types of lawyers in Ralloc, government political and government directive. Both sounded identical but they crossed blurred lines, the political side was geared towards being judges, mayors, and politicians, while directive was more for mastery of the law and was hired to be defendants of the people. The lawyers who prosecuted Judas at his citizenship trail aligned with the political party while she freelanced for a very specific clientele.
She was almost out of the front doors when someone shouted her name. Meristal turned to see a messenger bearing down on her. Once he came to a stop a few feet away, heaving, she held her hand out to cut him off.
“I’m retired. Find someone else.” A sense of vitality washed over her upon uttering the words.
“I can’t,” he said through gasps of breath. “This person sent me to you and said he was part of your very specific clientele. He wouldn’t give his name, and he said to tell you, ‘I met a horse once who was smarter than his master.’ Do you recognize these words?”
Meristal nodded. She had heard those words before, a long time ago, and only a few people were privy to them. The saying was made up during the Wizard’s War, which narrowed down the list of possible people who knew the phrase. Most were deceased, and Judas was not in Ralloc as far as she knew. Still, intrigue captivated her. “Take me to him.”
The messenger led the way back into the castle, weaving through crowded corridors
, past guarded doors, and up broad staircases. His pace lacked haste as he caught his breath. After a few flights of stairs and twist and turns, the messenger brought her to a door and stopped.
“He’s in there.”
Meristal reached out and opened the door, leaving the messenger to return to his duties. Amethyst eyes narrowed in the dim light as she shut the door behind her. Her gaze wandered for a moment before falling upon the sole occupant of the room. He sat on a table on the far side in the room, shrouded in shadow.
“I met a horse once who was smarter than his master…” he said.
“…but unicorns were never meant to be ridden,” she finished the saying.
Out of the shadows, he came, a jovial smile illuminating his face. “Hello, beautiful!”
Meristal rushed across the room, crushing him in an embrace, smiling. “Daniel! It’s been too long! I haven’t seen you since the end of the war. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave your post?”
“Eh, I’m not but who gives two shits what some lawyer says!”
“Hey! Language! And I’m a lawyer, remember?” she said chided playfully.
“You always acted like a prune, but I see through the ruse! Lawyer? I heard you retired?”
“Yes and no. Damn! News travels fast! I no longer work for the government, but I will take cases if I feel up to it, and I’m not near the prune as some of the citizens!”
He laughed. “And what does the legislation say about me being here in Ralloc?”
“You specifically? As what? The Heir of the Krey or as Daniel the citizen? To be honest, nothing really, why?”
“I’m just trying to make sure I’m not breaking any serious laws by being here without a summon.”
“You came without being summoned? That could change things,” she intoned thoughtfully. “We would have to look it up in the texts which could take hours. What is the Heir doing in Ralloc if he isn’t summoned?”
“Well… I decided to plan and play war games with the erroneously overpaid jyneruls of the War Council, what-if scenarios and whatever else we can think of,” the Heir confessed.
“Well, if I made their kind of money, I’d never retire, too!”
“I thought you made a lot of money being an Advocate of Law?”
“Oh, I did, but the jyneruls make double what I did. Three ingots a month is ludicrous compared to my salary.”
“At least, you get paid. And when you won, the payout was substantial!” the Heir smiled. “Enough about that, I need your help.”
“Gladly, anything for an old friend.”
“Anything huh?”
“I didn’t offer sex.”
“But you said anything…”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, a kiss of blush coming to her face. “Other than me having sex with you, sure,” she grinned. Daniel had always been this way: perverted, crass, funny, but clueless about women in general. It was part of his charm; enduring and funny, his humor attracted her, and his lifestyle without rules had appealing traits. He didn’t allow himself to be tied down and riddled with propriety or the dance between the two sexes.
“Don’t tell me you’re still pining for the warlock. Come live with me in the mountains and I will make you happier than you have been in a long time. We’re getting too old to live life with wasted moments.”
Her eyes watered. “Are you done?” she spoke with a mild bite.
“Yeah, I’m done. I would do anything to make you happy. I hope you know that.” He sighed, resigned.
“What exactly do you need help with?”
“I need to know if it’s against the law for me to be here in Ralloc without being summoned or for my Krey to build defenses for a town.”
“I take it you already mobilized them.”
He nodded. “If it is illegal, I need to know loopholes.”
“I’m sure I can find some. The one thing about the Council, they always write loopholes in for themselves and never think someone else would actually use them.”
***
Chapter 30 : Raven
The fire crackled noisily, its flames dancing to an inaudible tune. Dinner, boiling in twelve small kettles, simmered, and the aromas made stomachs yearn. Thick, brown liquid bubbled. Thin coils of steam rose lazily into the night. Each Krey and A’uri carried their personal kettles and were responsible for cooking their food for the journey. It was far easier to manage a small pot for each person than an enormous one for all twelve. The logistics of carrying such encumbering equipment made improbable, trading squad mentality for uniqueness, distance, and speed.
The Krey, bred for war, honed and defined by their skills, had never force-marched over great distances. This attempt tested future possibilities. While the Krey’s athletic physique was perfected from hours spent farming or enhancing their talents, an unfamiliar soreness burrowed deep in their muscles from the leagues covered every day.
Raven, the Do-don of Void-Walker squad, looked over his members with a critical eye. Two members claimed veteran status from the Wizard’s War, Patch and Two-tons, both of which were older than him by at least an Age. His replacement, should he fall, Xenomene; and the rest of his virgin squad–those bloodless in battle–Drumstick, Keg, Bitcher, Mauler, Tiny, Wrath. Three A’uri accompanied them: the Hand, Heart, and Mind. He didn’t know their ‘names’, but the acquainted title of Hand, Heart, and Mind, defined their job descriptions, and every squad boasted their own A’uri.
Raven stepped closer to the fire, extending his hands out for warmth while the Krey lounged about leisurely. He couldn’t blame them for unburdening themselves, being as tired as he felt. His eyes roamed over those under his command, questions in their eyes.
“Oi! Are you going to tell us what we are doing now?” Two-tons called.
“He ain’t ever going to tell us, Double-T, not the way politics work. You bust your ass for him, and he gives you a promising smile, but says nothing,” Bitcher responded.
“For once,” Tiny, the largest of all Krey men, spoke up, “try not to live up to your name, Bitcher.”
“Do they call you Tiny because you got a small dick or a small brain?” Bitcher sneered.
“We bring any ale?” Keg requested. “I haven’t had a drink since we left!”
“You don’t need any ale you fucking drunk!” Wrath interjected harshly.
“Hey Drumstick, are you hoarding all the food over there with Double-T?” Mauler taunted. Raven glanced in her direction. One rumor that garnered support implied that Mauler was a descendant of the Toshii, a nomadic tribe from the other side of the Golden Sea. Circulating stories claimed they ate their enemies alive. Her near-obsidian skin gave credence to the gossip, but Raven had never been brave enough to inquire himself. Many Krey hailed from around the world, bringing their cultures and customs with them, but he was pretty sure she was several generations removed from the cannibal tribe. Either way, he didn’t lose sleep over it. Citizens of the Hive became a caldron of cultural diversity, wiping away mores of one civilization and instilling their way of life with each man or woman entering their community. Raven was pretty sure that Mauler hadn’t eaten anyone in her life, she was extremely young when the bloodlust manifested in her, but the thought was unnerving regardless.
“I can’t help it if I love my food, and you’re not fast enough to get it from me,” Drumstick countered, continuing the banter.
“Enough!” Raven barked. Laughs and further comments stifled and he continued. “There isn’t any ale until we get to where we are going. Drumstick, you’re on rations just like everyone else. We will try to resupply when we can. Bitcher, for once in your life, don’t live up to your fucking name as Tiny said. As far as Tiny’s pecker, from what I’ve heard, it rivals a garden spade, and I sympathize for Xenomene if she finds herself under him.”
The men cackled and hooted at the jest. Xenomene, hearing her name, looked in their direction with a blank expression, disinclined to comment. She sat off by herself as s
he usually did, gracing the edges of firelight, a good half dozen paces away. Her aversion to intermingling with her comrades was a well-known trait she employed during their trip. Raven hoped to change this during their journey. Returning her attention to her hands, she continued sharpening her dagger, dragging it slowly across the grating whetstone.
“Would you care to join us, Miss Brooder?”
“Not really,” she countered, her voice soft.
“What’s her problem?” Two-tons complained.
“Her tit-strap is cinched too tight!” Bitcher chortled.
“Do it, anyways.” Raven ordered Xenomene, ignoring the other two.
With a dramatic and sarcastic sigh, she took two steps forward and dumped herself unceremoniously on the ground. Instead of pressing the matter, Raven let it drop and brought his attention back to everyone. Even the A’uri hovered at the edges of the fire, listening.
“To answer your question earlier, Two-tons, yes, I am going to tell you what we are doing, where we are going, and why. I was under orders not to tell you where we are going until well away from the Hive. If word got out of what we planned, it would be bad for everyone.”
“Bad? Bad as in we have to march all the way back or bad as in you’ve got diarrhea while marching back?” Bitcher queried. A few sniggers rose around the fire. The Do-don rolled his eyes.
“As in a declaration of war,” Raven said, scowling. “We are to proceed to Cape Gythmel with all haste, traveling by foot across the countryside and avoiding towns, people, or establishments at all costs unless it is to resupply. Contingent upon resupply, two of the A’uri are to go into town and replenish our supplies. Questions thus far?”
“Oi! I got one. Why in the hell are we going to cesspit like Cape Gythmel? I mean, there ain’t nothing there besides pig shit, horse shit, whore’s shit, and farmer’s shit. It’s a lot of shit!”
“Thank you for articulating the various reasons why that locale is not anyone’s preferred haven, Bitcher. If asked, we are there to assess the town and its lack of defenses, gather supplies needed, and commence to affecting fortifications to the best of our abilities, probably a trial and error method.”