Pale Kings (Emaneska Series)

by Ben Galley

  Even Svarta showed it, in the dullness of her scales and the dark patches beneath her eyes. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. She stood still and as straight as a ramrod, staring into the distance without blinking. Her copper dress shimmered in perfect synchrony with her dragon’s scales.

  Farfallen continued slowly, so that all could hear. ‘I have summoned you here today to discuss the fate of Nelska; to decide what path to take, and how we are to deal with this vile menace once and for all.’ The word menace was a bitter growl in the dragon’s throat. ‘Mark my words dragons, riders, citizens, and guests, this is not a decision to be taken lightly whatsoever. We have one chance and one chance only to dispose of this evil, or it shall be the end of us. I do not exaggerate, nor am I being theatrical. We all saw what Vice is capable of that day at Carn Breagh. We lost many a dragon in that battle, and in the light of that tragedy I will not rush in so blindly again. This snake is a slippery one, more slippery than we could possibly imagine, and as we all know he is not just a dictator hungry for power and carnage, like his cohort King Bane.’ Here Farfallen wagged a claw and shook his head. ‘No. Vice is something different altogether. I think Farden may able to elaborate on this for us. Farden, will you come forward please?’ The Old Dragon pointed his claw at the mage, who suddenly felt as though all eyes were upon him. They were.

  ‘Um,’ he began. ‘I think either Durnus or Tyrfing would be more knowledgeable on the subject, Old Dragon. To tell the truth I’m still coming to terms with it myself,’ confessed the mage. He looked to his uncle, who glared at him and pursed his lips. His eye twitched with nervousness. Farden was sure he would have cursed had the circumstances been less formal.

  The dragon nodded. ‘Very well. Tyrfing, step forward, stranger, and be known to this court.’

  Tyrfing walked forward like a baby taking his very first steps. He looked like a blind man whose first sight was the vividly pink interior of a sabre-cat’s mouth. For a recluse such as he, the grand hall was a nightmare on the best of days, never mind it being full of Sirens and dragons. The war may have ended sixteen years ago, but it was still fresh in all their minds. Whispers and murmuring filled the hall, and many pairs of eyes scowled at him from the nests above and behind. The mage stood in front of the Old Dragon and bowed as low as his legs could manage. Farfallen dipped his head in response, while Svarta did nothing but stare at his scarred hands, picked out by torchlight.

  ‘Your majesty,’ Tyrfing began, realising how quiet his voice sounded compared to the Old Dragon’s. The next words he shouted. ‘I suppose you might have heard rumours of me, of what happened and who I am. First of all I would like to explain that those things happened many years ago, and the man I am now is a different man, and hopefully wiser. Any wrongs I might have done,’ here Tyrfing turned to look at Farden and Eyrum, ‘I have put behind me, and ask forgiveness for.’

  Farfallen bowed his head again, and that was it, the mage’s words had been accepted. The Old Dragon’s word was law. By his side, Svarta folded her hands behind her back and grumbled quietly to herself. Tyrfing continued, growing slightly more confident. ‘Long ago I had the displeasure of working for Vice, and that made me privy to his some of his darkest secrets and designs. Let me tell you that what the Old Dragon has said is true. Vice will not be satisfied by anything but complete control and dominion over Emaneska. His viciousness and hatred have no bounds, and he will stop at nothing to destroy those who get in the way. Nothing.

  ‘Now what I’m about to say may seem strange, but please understand that it is the truth. You need to know what we’re dealing with.’ Tyrfing took a breath. ‘Vice is one of the nefalim, a pale king, an immortal halfbreed whose father was the great daemon Orion.’

  Gasps of surprise and guffaws of laughter echoed around the hall, as though Tyrfing had delivered his revelatory news naked. Farden clenched his jaw and walked forward to stand by his uncle. ‘It’s true!’ he shouted over the racket. ‘Listen to us!’

  Farfallen thumped his heavy tail on the floor for silence, and slowly it fell. ‘What these mages have to say will be listened to. We cannot dismiss anything until we have heard all the facts,’ the Old Dragon wisely ordered. The others seemed to take heed, and listened as Tyrfing began to once again recite something they had heard many times before, a song that was usually recited on cold evenings by melancholy skalds, a song that, coming from the mage’s mouth, sounded ancient and brooding, a song that perhaps should have been heeded long before it was too late, and not dismissed as simple verse. Only one person stood with his head down, glowering at the floor, and that was Farden.

  ‘ “But salvation comes most high a toll, three stars were left, three Daemon foals, shifting shape and with it sands, sowing seeds and most immoral plans. For man will wait until the ice, for brings Pale Kings, and with them Vice.” ’ Tyrfing paused, whether for effect or for breath, Farden didn’t know, but what he did know, Dust Song aside, was that the man standing next to him was not the man he had met in the desert. This man was not full of fear or guilt; this man stood straight and proud, with a fierce confidence Farden had only ever rarely glimpsed in himself. Tyrfing continued. ‘I know most of you have probably heard those words before, because I know the Sirens still tell the old tales and sing the old songs, and don’t just dismiss them as fable and folklore, like the Arka now do. That verse of the Dust Song speaks the truth, I can tell you that. Vice is one of the nefalim, and he is far older, wiser, and stronger than any of you have yet to imagine. If we don’t stop him he will destroy everything we’ve fought to build, everything Emaneska has become since the Scattered Kingdoms and before!’ Tyrfing finally took a breath. His words left a vacuous space in the hall. There was a dark silence filled only by the rustling of scales and the crackling of the fires. Even Svarta was without a reply.

  Farfallen looked to Farden. ‘Do you believe what your uncle says about Vice, mage?’ the dragon asked.

  Farden tried not to hesitate. ‘I do, Farfallen. Implicitly.’ Just not the rest of it, he added, icily, inside his head.

  Next the dragon turned to the crowd behind them. ‘And you, Durnus?’

  ‘I do, your majesty,’ whispered the vampyre, eyes on the floor. Beside him, Lerel was nodding furiously.

  ‘How can you possibly know for sure that what you say is the truth? It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong, Farden, and not the first time you’ve made a mistake’ asked Svarta, venom tinting her words. Farden glared daggers at her and let his uncle answer.

  ‘My gryphon, Ilios, has the ability to see the truth behind anything, the second sight, like some of you dragons have. He can dream the past, the present, and the future, and he has shown me everything. You know this as well as I do, Old Dragon,’ said Tyrfing, looking to Farfallen for help. ‘Gryphons and dragons share the same ancestors.’

  A shout rang out from one of the higher nests. ‘If you’re right, then where are the other pale kings? That song mentions three!’

  ‘Bane, the Skölgard king, is the other, and is in fact Vice’s own brother. The third, well, he died a long time ago,’ Tyrfing shook his head, and shuffled his feet.

  ‘Died? How?’ came a shout from the crowd to the left of them.

  The mage shrugged. ‘Nobody knows except the oldest of tearbooks, which I understand were all destroyed, or, er, lost.’ There was a sad silence. Farfallen glowered at the floor.

  ‘Stolen,’ muttered Svarta.

  Tyrfing continued. ‘But the important thing is that we know who we’re up against. The pale kings, the nefalim, are thousands of years old, and whatever they’re planning they’ve been planning it for a long time.’

  Svarta sniffed imperiously. ‘And what has your gryphon shown you about Vice’s plans?’ she asked.

  Tyrfing sighed. ‘War. Nothing else. The rest is hazy and uncertain.’

  ‘How convenient,’ Svarta muttered under her breath.

  Farfallen shot her a look that would have frozen a minotaur. The dragon d
id not look happy. ‘Will he know more once his injuries are healed?’ Tyrfing didn’t know.

  ‘It’s possible,’ replied the mage, and that seemed enough for the Old Dragon. Farfallen tilted his head to the side like a bird, as if trying to shake a long-forgotten memory loose. ‘Very well. I would like to see Ilios again once he is well enough. We must know as much as we can,’ said the dragon. ‘We will move on. Eyrum, Durnus? Tell us of Krauslung.’

  Farden and Tyrfing bowed and stepped backwards, and let the Siren and the vampyre take the floor. Svarta scowled at the thin gaunt man that stood before her, standing in her hall. She didn’t know what was worse, vampyres or mages, and now she had a trio of them to deal with. Sometimes she couldn’t help but question Farfallen’s decisions. Durnus ignored her glares and stood with his back straight and his arms folded neatly behind his back. He gazed at the dragon and his rider with a placid ice-blue stare, and after bowing deeply, he let Eyrum deliver their report.

  The big Siren cleared his throat and tried to summon the confidence to raise his voice above its usual low murmur. Like Tyrfing, public speaking was not his area, but he did well. ‘It seems, your highnesses, that Vice is building a fleet of giant ships to carry his war north. There are at least nine of them in the docks, close to finished, and three more in the shipyards. We guess that they could carry maybe five hundred men at a time, maybe more, and still have room for a deck full of archers and weapons such as ballistas and catapults. We think he intends to sail his armies around the tip of Halôrn, and north here to Nelska.’

  ‘That is a bold move,’ murmured Farfallen.

  Eyrum nodded. His voice was cold and clear. ‘It is, Old Dragon, but these ships are meant for one thing and one thing only, and that is to transport an army. Before we left, we estimated that the combined Arka and Skölgard forces number in the hundreds of thousands, even more than we originally thought. And to make matters worse more Skölgard arrive in Krauslung every day. The roads north have been congested for weeks now, choked with carts carrying supplies and refugees trying to escape the city before it’s too late. Unfortunately, they don’t get far before they’re forced back by the patrols. It won’t be long until Vice shuts the gates for good and traps the people there. They’re being forced into poverty by the soldiers and the Written, who are allowed to roam free and do as they please. Trade is slowly dying. Sickness ravages the homeless. Homes are taken or burnt by whim. Children are beaten and abused and put to work in the forges, and their mothers and sisters are often taken away to be raped. It seems impossible to lie awake at night in that city without hearing the smashing of glass and the screams of the unfortunates. I know the Arka are our enemies, but the people are trapped in the middle, and they are suffering for it. If Krauslung is anything to go by, Vice and the Skölgard king will not be happy until all of us are either slaves or dead,’ said Eyrum. His words were like pebbles, sticking in the throats of everyone present, or crushed glass, glinting at the corners of eyes. Only the heartless could have ignored them. Even Svarta looked concerned. ‘Something has to be done then,’ she said, ‘and quickly.’

  Farfallen nodded solemnly, and wearing a grave expression, he stood on all fours and stretched his golden wings to their full. The sound of his scales sliding across each other was as though swords were being drawn and shields scraped.

  ‘Then it is settled,’ began the Old Dragon, his voice a deep rumble. ‘We can either lie here holed up in our mountain, waiting for the ice or the siege to envelop us, or we can strike first, in the harbours of Krauslung where they least expect it. Only then can we hope to sink the ships before they leave the port, and then press on into the city and take the whole army by surprise. We shall use our fire, and burn them from the city like rats.’ There was a hearty cheer of agreement from the majority of the great hall, but there were some who looked undecided. They shook their heads.

  ‘What about my people?’ Farden shouted over the noise.

  ‘We can send more spies to Krauslung, hawks with messages. There must be a resistance, or some band of rebels waiting to strike back. The pressure of oppression always breeds such things. Our spies will tell them to fight alongside us when the time comes, and we can attack from all angles,’ offered Svarta.

  The mage crossed his arms. ‘And you think that will be enough? Nelska and a bunch of tired and impoverished citizens against the combined might of the Arka and Skölgard armies? The Written? And what about the city walls and the Arkathedral? No army has breached them in the entire history of the Arka.’

  Farfallen shook his head. ‘No. It will not be enough. That is why we must call for help from every corner of Emaneska, from every foe or ally, beast or man, and we must unite against these pale kings. That is the only way we can hope to put a stop to their malicious reign!’ he roared, and his dragons roared with him.

  Just then, for a reason known only to herself, Elessi put up a hand and called out to the Old Dragon. ‘Beggin’ your pardon sire, but Durnus always says that if you cut the head off a snake, well the body will die as well. Surely if we kill Lord Vice and this Bane man, their armies will be useless?’ Elessi looked around for somebody to back her up, and despite the icy glares from Durnus, she found that the people around her were all nodding and agreeing with her. She blushed.

  Tyrfing strode forward. ‘It’s not as easy as all that…’ he began.

  ‘Why not?’ came the shouts.

  ‘Let’s put a sword in their guts and see what happens!’ yelled another from somewhere in the nests.

  ‘And I challenge any one of you to get close enough!’ retorted the mage, pointing in the direction of the voices.

  ‘I could do it, and you could too,’ said Farden, arms still crossed and as defiant as ever.

  Tyrfing turned around to face his nephew and waved his hands dismissively. ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he replied agitatedly.

  ‘You said that in the desert,’ scowled Farden, ‘but I still don’t get it. Surely you and I, the best the Arka ever had, can take Vice and Bane.’

  It sounded logical but Tyrfing resolutely shook his head. ‘No, Farden, no. You can’t just take a sword and a spell to a fight with a nefalim and think you’ll win. They are more powerful than you can possibly understand. They can shapeshift, regenerate, wield spells like you’ve never seen, and believe it or not, they are immune to most weapons. It can’t be done just like that.’ Tyrfing snapped his fingers.

  ‘It seemed to work pretty well when I punched Vice in the face,’ Farden smirked, with no trace of humour.

  ‘I have no doubt,’ replied Tyrfing, with a mirrored expression. ‘But how did that work out at Carn Breagh? Or in Krauslung? He let you win because he wanted you to. In Krauslung you caught them off guard. You need to trust me, Farden, as do you all. Killing a pale king isn’t as simple as driving a sword through his guts.’ The mage stared confidently at his nephew and at the surrounding crowd. Farden scowled, but stayed quiet.

  Svarta stamped her foot. ‘Then what is the point of all this?’ she spat. ‘Say we do get as far as the Arkathedral, where nothing is left standing but Vice and his Skölgard brother, then what? We let them limp away into the night because we can’t kill him? If that is the case then this plan is flawed from the start.’

  ‘I say we try anyway!’ came another foolish shout, this time from the crowd behind them. Farfallen remained silent, and looked to Tyrfing as more complaints and educated opinions ricocheted around the hall. ‘They can be killed, I didn’t say they couldn’t, it is just very, very difficult!’ Tyrfing shouted, getting more agitated by the second. ‘It’s just that…’

  ‘…Only another nefalim can do it,’ said Durnus, in a calm yet authoritative voice. Silence fell. The vampyre stared at the ceiling as though he were in a trance.

  ‘Well, that’s helpful,’ coughed Eyrum.

  Tyrfing rubbed his forehead with his finger, patience fading. ‘I can deal with this problem, Farfallen, I just need time. Let me take care of Vice, and the
others. Leave it to me’ he said, biting his lip.

  ‘Time, unfortunately for us mage, is a luxury we cannot afford,’ sighed the Old Dragon. He rattled his spikes with a shake of his head and took a long deep breath. ‘If the hall agrees then the decision is final, and the details will be worked out on the morrow. It has been a long day for all of us. I leave it to you then, Hjaussfen.’

  Both dragons and Sirens roared in agreement. Their minds were set, their plans laid out. Farden looked to his old friend Durnus, who was still staring into thin air. There was no hint of opinion on his face.

  So, as slowly as they arrived, the crowds began to disperse. The yammer of their animated conversations echoed around the hall. Gusts of air shook the candles and fanned the fires as the dragons above flapped and soared gracefully in tight spirals down to the floor. Farfallen and Svarta walked forward to address the mages. ‘Tomorrow morning, at dawn, we will meet in my chambers to discuss the finer points of this plan of ours. And of course, to cover anything that might have accidentally been left out of your reports,’ said Farfallen, in a low voice. And with that they left, bidding the others a good night and plenty of rest.

  Muted, weary, and full of thoughts, Farden, Tyrfing, Eyrum, Durnus, Elessi and Lerel joined the queues to leave the hall. As they shuffled into the corridors of the palace, Durnus leant in close to Farden and whispered in his ear so that only he could hear. ‘Tomorrow would probably be a good time to bring up your unborn child, wouldn’t it?’ he breathed. Farden nodded and didn’t reply.

  Chapter 10