by Donovan, Rob
It was still dark when a hysterical Kiana shook him awake, speaking too quickly and in a high-pitched shrill for him to understand. The fire had burnt down to the embers, but other than that the camp remained the same.
“Calm down, what is it, woman?” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His head felt groggy and Kiana’s shaking did not help.
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she said. “Where is Janna? She’s gone.”
In an instant he brushed aside his wife and was on his feet. He looked over to where his daughter had been lying sobbing only hours before. There was no sign of her or her blanket. However, in the dust there was a crudely scribbled message. He ran over to get a better look, falling to his knees in front of it. A feeling of dread filled the pit of his stomach as he read the note left for him by Janna.
“GONE TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT.”
Chapter 23
Lilyon had never seemed busier. The streets were alive again, bursting with energy. Conversation filled the air whilst the clanging of hammer on metal and other sounds of construction threatened to drown it out. Those that could trade had already opened up their stalls for the morning, shouting their wares to anyone that would listen.
Those whose livelihood had been destroyed by the Gloom and fires were frantically rebuilding their shops whilst their wives or children sold their products from makeshift tables. In the centre of it all, a panicked horse caused a commotion, parting the crowds as it ran through the streets pursued by its desperate owner.
It was chaotic, but Jacquard had never been prouder of the people within the city walls. Just over a week had passed since the Ritual and already the people of Lilyon were getting on with their lives. They refused to give in to the fear and went about earning their living.
As he rode through the streets on his horse, he observed the quiet determination that appeared to have engulfed the city. These people would not be broken by the Gloom, nor by the news of the imminent danger they faced from Vashna’s invasion.
He passed a man dressed in a tattered brown shirt and dirty trousers, advertising a pallet of strawberries. Behind the seller was his shop, nothing more than burnt timber and charred wood. Still, he stood as tall as his small frame would allow and bellowed out his offers. Jacquard thought that the man was not so bothered about selling strawberries but more concerned with letting the world know, whatever disaster occurred, he would still be selling fruit.
He angled his horse down a side street and was confronted with a message scrawled across a wall in chalk.
“No matter what is thrown at us we can take it.”
Two women were scrubbing at the letters with soap and water. Defacing any property warranted a severe penalty by law. It had been that way since Gregorian passed the decree when building his beautiful city. Culprits caught under his reign were sentenced to a year in the top level of the Pit. If they survived the punishment, they rarely came out sane. Jacquard had always thought the punishment severe, but as it served as such an effective deterrent, he saw little need to change the law.
Upon seeing Jacquard, one of the women squealed and began to scrub more frantically. Her colleague startled at the noise, turned and stared at him in disbelief. She then proceeded to drop her cloth and run down the street, knocking over her pail as she did so. In an instant she was lost in the crowd.
“What is your name, young lady?” he asked.
“Esmerell,” she replied, turning to face him. She looked at him directly and curtsied. Her body trembled, betraying her confidence. In her hands, the cloth dripped with soapy suds.
“Well, Esmerell, I appreciate your effort, but leave the message on the wall for all to see.”
“My lord?”
“I kind of like what it says, don’t you?” he said. Esmerell nodded.
With that, he handed a gold coin to Esmerell and thanked her again. The woman’s eyes lit up at the generosity. She eagerly took the coin and was gone before the king could change his mind. It was far too much for him to have given the woman, but he only had gold coins on him and wanted to reward her efforts. Jacquard watched her go and then turned his attention back to the message.
The sounds of hooves clattering on the cobblestones caused him to look up. The unmistakable figure of the Laughing Knight came bouncing towards him complete with a broad smile. Jacquard had handpicked Ryio as one of his knights after witnessing his exploits in a roadside skirmish five years ago.
He had been on the way to visit the warlord of Rivervale to discuss implementing a new tax law when a commotion on the road up ahead caused his party to stop. Four burly men were attacking a skinny man, armed with nothing but a short sword. The skinny man was of course Ryio, his crooked nose and long blond locks instantly drawing attention.
He could not get over how easily Ryio had fended off the four men who were far bigger than him and laughed at them in the process. The four men had run away when Jacquard and his knights had approached, leaving Ryio leaning on his short sword so he was practically bent in half.
“Four against one is hardly a fair contest,” Jacquard had said.
“No, there should have been at least six of them,” Ryio replied. Jacquard had been immediately won over by his jovial demeanour and offered him the chance to ride with him and see how he fared.
Now, as the Laughing Knight approached, his infectious smile still had the same effect.
“It is not good news, my king,” Ryio said.
“Yet still you smile.”
Ryio shrugged, “We’re still alive, the worst hasn’t happened yet.”
“The burnt man hasn’t been found?”
“Not yet,” said Ryio shaking his head. He dismounted his horse and stretched. “From what Althalos and Cody said, the chances are he’s dead.”
“I agree, unfortunately, we cannot take any chances. Keep looking, check the houses one by one, someone must know something,” Jacquard said. Ryio saluted and led his horse away.
Jacquard had spent the morning with five of his knights looking for the man Althalos and Cody had described as saving the little girl. The others were keen to proceed with the search for Jaegal, the ghost assassin and the three other stone bearers that had failed to show at the Ritual, believing they were wasting time searching for a man who was most likely dead.
Jacquard had watched his son depart from Lilyon at first light, leading a column of Jacquard’s army through the streets. Despite being nervous at the prospect of commanding the army, Althalos had accepted the role.
He initially voiced his concerns to Jacquard after the war council, questioning whether or not he was ready for such a task. Jacquard reassured him and pointed out it was easier to get the army to unite behind you in times of a crisis, than it was when they were idle and had time to assess you. His son seemed to accept this.
From what the king had witnessed, the army was already prepared to follow Althalos. Many of the men had observed the prince’s ability in the practice yard. Still, Jacquard was under no illusions that his son faced a formidable task and wished to find the stoneholders quickly so he could join his son in battle against Vashna. The fact they had not even set out from the city yet made the king just as anxious as his knights to be on his way.
The burnt man was not the only reason they were delayed this morning. Iskandar came to Jacquard and pleaded with him not to set off without Mondorlous. The giant had sent a crow instructing Iskandar to await his return. He was supposed to have arrived last night but there was no sign of him yet.
Irritated that his actions be dictated by others, the king directed his horse on through the streets. I can’t even find a scarred dead man in my own city, how am I going to find the other three stoneholders and the leader of the Order? People gracefully parted for him as he rode amongst them. On a whim, he halted his horse.
“People of Lilyon,” he shouted out.
A few startled people ceased what they were doing and turned to look at him. He waited patiently as the silence spread amongst
the crowded street.
“People of Lilyon, you make me a proud king to walk among you. Your determination and resolve epitomises the spirit of the city. As you know, the Ritual did not go as planned, once again you have my apologies,” he paused, expecting a backlash. To say the Ritual did not go as planned was a massive understatement. However, the crowd looked upon him attentively. If he was not mistaken, they seemed to have an edge of sympathy for his position. Encouraged, he continued. “For the Gloom to be contained, it is very important we find the stoneholders. Last week, four men escaped from the gallows, my son amongst them. My son and another have turned themselves in, but they told me how a third heroically saved a little girl from a burning fire.
“When my son left this man, he was completely burnt and faced death. Someone must know this man’s whereabouts. Alive or dead, it is of the utmost importance for the safety of Frindoth that he is located. Do any of you know where he is?”
Silence greeted his request. Everywhere he looked passive faces stared back at him. They look at me as if I’ve asked if they have seen a dragon with five heads. “Four gold coins to anyone that can provide useful information as to the whereabouts of this man.”
“It is not the money, my king. There was a lot of burning people after the Ritual,” a voice came from the crowd. Jacquard could not locate its owner.
“True, but no one saw a man with my son rescue a little girl?” Jacquard tried to keep the impatience from his voice. Again the crowd was silent.
“I saw something,” a man emerged from a wrecked building. He wore green trousers but was not wearing a shirt. His skin was tanned and toned and covered in the unmistakable soot that only a blacksmith seemed to attract.
“Good morning to you, sir, and may I have the pleasure of your name?” Jacquard asked. He felt a slither of hope as the man approached.
“Denholme Childes, my lord,” the man said and smiled to reveal two gold teeth beneath a black moustache.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Childes. Can you tell me what you saw?”
The man took a deep breath, suddenly aware it seemed, of the large crowd behind him.
“I saw the man you speak of with your son. Bravest thing I ever saw, if I do say so myself. The man dived into the fire as if he were diving into a lake with no thought of what the fire would do to him. The only thought running through his head was saving that poor little girl.
“The mother was near hysterical and no one else was willing to risk their lives, except for your son and his friends. I was trying to—”
“Mr Childes,” Jacquard said, cutting him off before he embellished the story any further, “I do not mean to be rude, but time is of the essence. If you could skip the details and tell me where the man is now, please?”
Embarrassed at being chastised in front of the crowd, Denholme went bright red. Jacquard cursed himself. The last thing he wanted was for the man to lose his nerve and clam up.
“Well, forgive me, my lord,” Denholme began again, “that is the strangest thing. After the man rescued the girl and the onlookers had put out the flames that engulfed him, this mother put him on a barrow and wheeled him away all by herself. I know a lot of people in this city given my profession, but I’d be damned if I had ever seen her before in my life.” Several other people in the crowd either nodded their heads or voiced their agreement. “That is all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”
“Does anyone else know who this woman is or where she took the body?” The same people that had nodded a moment ago now shook their heads.
“So I am no better off than when I started,” he said more to himself than to the crowd, although Denholme felt compelled to answer.
“No, my lord.”
The sounds of trumpets rang out indicating that someone had arrived at the palace. Mondorlous, at last. Jacquard thanked the crowd, paid Denholme one gold coin and began making his way back to the palace.
His knights joined him one by one as he ascended each level of the city. By the time he reached the outer walls of the palace, all five of them were riding by his side. None of them had found out any more than he had. It seemed the burnt man had vanished without a trace.
Squires ran towards them as the gates were flung open, each taking a rein of one of the horses. Jacquard’s personal squire was a young lad called Tyron. He was a quiet boy, but diligent. He had been chosen by Longshaw because he could be trusted.
“I gather Mondorlous has arrived, Tyron?” he asked, pulling his gloves off and dismounting.
“Yes, my lord. He is freshening up in one of the guest rooms in the west tower.”
“Excellent. Where is Iskandar?”
The boy shrugged.
“I don’t know, my lord. He said he was going to meditate on Capitalon Hill this morning. No one has seen him since.”
“Meditate?” Jacquard shot Longshaw a look. “Send someone to summon him immediately. How dare he sit on his arse when we are out trying to stop the Gloom.”
“I can assure you I was not just ‘sitting on my arse’ as you so delicately put it, my lord.”
Everyone whirled around as Iskandar came striding up the hill behind them. How does he do that? Jacquard wondered. He always seemed to pop up unannounced.
“Have you spoken to Mondorlous?” Jacquard asked. Iskandar shook his head.
“I saw him arrive from my vantage point on Capitalon Hill and descended immediately.”
“Then I suggest we not delay any further. Tell Mondorlous he is to report to us for lunch within the hour,” Jacquard said and turned on his heels without waiting for a response.
By the time Mondorlous and Iskandar arrived in the palace hall, Jacquard and the knights had finished their lunch and were growing impatient again. They were eager to begin their search for the remaining stoneholders and begrudged having to delay any further.
Iskandar entered the room looking troubled, he glanced around nervously and walked quicker than normal. Mondorlous, on the other hand, was his usual emotionless self. The two members of the Order acknowledged their king and took their places at the table. Without saying a word, they both commenced eating.
The knights endured the nonchalant behaviour for a few minutes before Mansuri spoke up, to the relief of everyone.
“Are you planning on telling us what it going on or shall we wait for the stoneholders to flee even further into their burrows?” the knight of a thousand ways asked as he slammed his fist on the table. Next to the Cadaver Knight, Mansuri was perhaps the one revered the most. His moniker was earned because it was said he knew a thousand ways to kill a man. Jacquard was pleased it was him that asked the question.
Iskandar paused as he raised a spoon to his mouth surprised at the question. He slurped from the spoon and placed it back down in the bowl.
“There is no longer any need to find the stoneholders,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Jacquard said, no longer able to contain himself. “If you know something then you must tell me immediately. I am tired of your secrecy, Iskandar, you forget who rules here.”
Iskandar took another mouthful before replying.
“I do not forget, how could I when you keep reminding me?” Jacquard sat up a little straighter at the comment but stayed quiet. “You must forgive me, my king. I have only just found out the news myself and I have been deciding how best to deal with the situation.”
“What news? This is intolerable,” Jacquard said. One or two of the other knights rapped the table in agreement. How dare he keep me in the darkness like this after what happened at the Ritual.
“I found Marybeth,” Mondorlous said to audible gasps. “Contrary to what we thought, she is not dead. She actually has in her possession two of the stones and will shortly have the third.”
“What in the three moons does she want with the stones?” Mansuri said.
“What in the three moons, indeed. She believes she has found a way to defeat the Gloom,” Mondorlous said in a monotone. There was
nothing to indicate the magnitude of the information he had just imparted. For a moment there was a stunned silence in the room.
“Can it be done?” It was Longshaw that spoke.
Jacquard looked at Iskandar for an answer. The leader of the Order shifted uncomfortably in his seat before looking at him. For the first time he looked nervous. Don’t you dare say it can, you condescending bastard. I will have you flayed by the Gloom himself.
“There is a possibility, yes,” Iskandar said at last.
Pandemonium broke out. Jacquard flew across the table reaching for Iskandar’s throat. In a flash, Mondorlous intercepted him, shoving him to one side. The other knights drew their swords and advanced on the members of the Order. Before they could reach them, though, a deafening crack reverberated around the room. The table they were feasting on shattered into a myriad of splinters. Soup and wine spilled to the floor.
The next thing Jacquard knew was Mondorlous’s huge frame being pulled off of him by Longshaw. However, the giant of a man easily wrestled him to the ground. Seeing his friend in trouble, Jacquard propelled himself into Mondorlous so the three of them tangled to the ground in an awkward heap.
None of them could gain the upper hand. Every time Jacquard managed to free his arm to strike out, he found that he was knocked off balance. He was vaguely aware of Ryio and Kristan restraining Declan and Mansuri standing over Iskandar.
“Enough! Gentlemen, we are wasting time.” It was Ryio that spoke.
Reluctantly, Jacquard let his grip on one of Mondorlous’s legs go. He felt the giant’s massive arm release its grip from around his neck. He got to his feet slowly, feeling ashamed, like a schoolboy that had been reprimanded by his tutor. He was surprised to see Mansuri holding a sword across Iskandar’s throat. The blade pressed against the leader of the Order’s skin.
“Stand down, Mansuri,” Jacquard said.
The knight made no move at the command. He stared at Iskandar, choosing not to hear his king. Iskandar seemed unmoved by the threat he faced. He no doubt viewed the danger he was in as a minor inconvenience. Mansuri, on the other hand, seemed determined to prove that it was not. Jacquard glanced at Longshaw who shrugged.