Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1)

by Carlsson, Martine

  “I do not approve killing in general, but these are exceptionally hard times. Think of how many innocents would have died should you have let the scum live,” Selen answered.

  Louis stayed silent. Those were exactly his thoughts.

  “How will I do without Lilo? His counsel was wise. I need counselors I can trust. I can’t have the power alone. It would make me a tyrant.”

  “You have me. You have Pembroke. You can do as Lissandro suggested and organize discussions with the guild masters. I have spoken a few times with Mauger, your keeper of seals. He seems to be an honest man. I am sure those discussions would please you,” Selen said. His friend lay his face on his head. “Just don’t give up,” Selen breathed.

  “You know I won’t.” Louis raised his head and smiled.

  The Northmen had gathered on the esplanade, ready to depart. The morning sun was rising in the east over the mountains. The breeze was already warm. Lissandro’s belongings had been packed and tied on a horse.

  Lissandro and Selen hugged. In his hand, Selen held a small pouch Lissandro had given him. Selen’s eyes were red with emotion. “You have a heart of gold and are the best friend a man can have,” Lissandro said. “It would break my heart to know something happened to you. And please, watch over him,” Lissandro said, pointing at Louis. “Temper his passions.”

  “I can hear you.” Louis smiled.

  “I hope you do,” Lissandro said, walking towards him. “And I hope you will follow my last advice. I did not represent much at your court, but I was supportive. You can’t manage if you’re two or three. It will always look like tyranny. Strengthen your bonds with the people, find good counselors. Learn to trust.”

  “I will. The next time you come back, it will be a different city. A better one.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Lissandro said, but his eyes were filled with sorrow. “Don’t forget, follow your heart. But, please, don’t die. I thank God for bringing me here to your side. To have me fight beside you. You are the bravest man I have ever met. I will miss you.”

  “You make it sound like a funeral oration,” Louis told Lissandro.

  “I only want you to know it.” He threw himself into Louis’s arms. “Give this world an age of glory,” Lissandro whispered.

  “Ride safely home, and come back to us, my friend,” he whispered back and kissed Lissandro’s cheek.

  Lissandro mounted his horse. “You will always be welcome in the north.”

  “Au revoir, Lissandro,” Louis said, smiling.

  “Goodbye, Louis Antoine.” His friend winked.

  “Oh, sod off!”

  Lissandro laughed out loud and kicked his horse. “Goodbye, Selen! Yee-haw!” he shouted and waved as his mount galloped towards the gate.

  CHAPTER 69

  The gallery in the south aisle was empty and silent at that time of the night. Folc hurried through the dark. He knew the way by heart.

  The guards had received melons for their supper. The king encouraged the soldiers to eat fruits and greens instead of the traditional pâtés and salted pork. Folc liked fruits, maybe a bit too much. His bowels had been painful, and he had stayed longer than usual in the garderobe. Now, he was late for his watch. If his comrade had left his post without waiting for him, the door to the king’s apartments would be left unguarded. It could not happen, especially under his watch.

  Folc turned around the corner of the staircase leading to the main gallery. He stopped. There was a light, and he heard someone talking. Usually, no one was to be seen past midnight. Had something happened? Though he had every reason to be here, Folc did not dare to go down the steps. There was something he did not like in this voice. He tiptoed closer.

  “I will go there now. I want to hear what this man has to say,” a croaky voice whispered. Folc bent his head and saw the profile of a man. He knew him to be one of Louis’s ministers. Evrardin, the man’s name was. The man twitched. Folc pulled his head back into the shadows.

  “It may be a trap. I will come a little later. Besides, it’s best we don’t arrive together,” another voice said. This one sounded clear, fruity.

  All this smelled fishy. The light of the men’s candle went down the staircase and disappeared. He heard footsteps take the main gallery. Folc was tempted to learn more. Yet, he had his watch. He went down the steps and looked into the main gallery. The door leading to the king’s apartments was still guarded, but the man hopped from left to right with impatience. This meant that the guard was waiting for him to leave his post. Good. Unfortunately, he would have to wait the rest of the night. Folc went down the steps where the light had disappeared. He had abandoned his post, but he hoped Louis would forgive him.

  One floor lower, a door opened on one of the alleys, giving way to the esplanade. The candle had been blown out, but Folc saw the black silhouette head towards the gate. It passed through it without alerting the guards. Folc removed his armour swiftly, hid it under a rose bush, and followed the man into the night.

  The chase through the city was long. Fortunately, the man was not on a horse. Folc was glad to have followed him. The man’s behavior was suspicious. He sneaked into alleys, weaving his way through drunkards and shady characters strolling in the dimly lit streets. Here and there, he turned around, searching the darkness with suspicion. His footsteps led him to the slums. The man checked his back once more and disappeared into a decrepit house.

  In the moonlight, Folc observed the building. It was pitch black. The shutters on the ground floor were closed, nailed with planks. But the windows on the first floor were gaping black holes.

  He went around the building. Behind lay a junkyard with rotten boards, trunks, and all kind of rubbish. It smelled foul, but Folc could not put a name to the stench. Careful with the rusted nails, he crept up on the boards. Folc climbed to the first floor, hoisting himself up to a window. He slipped inside and halted against the windowsill. Murmurs rose from the floor below. As he could not find an aperture in the floor, he made for the door on all fours. A faint light came from the staircase. The old wood squeaked. Folc stopped and progressed again. Under his fingers, he felt small seeds. He looked down. Dried corn and rat droppings. Light came from downstairs. Since no one could be seen, he stepped slowly down the stairs. The door leading to the room on the ground floor stood ajar. Folc sneaked inside and lurked from between casks.

  In the light of a lantern, seven people were gathered around a low table. Their shadows swirled on the wall. They wore black cloaks and hoods. Folc could not see their faces, but he recognized one of the voices to be Evrardin’s. Another voice was also familiar. He listened carefully.

  CHAPTER 70

  Their hate was stronger than their fear. Although none knew him, the nobles had answered to Segar’s invitation. There were six of them. One was missing. Segar had let the rage grow in their hearts, and now it was time to harvest the ripe fruits. The gathering place was an abandoned house on the docks that Jamys had inspected a few days ago. Behind the cheapest whorehouses, the area was murky and disreputable. The people roaming about minded their own business. Segar had been there early, but he had let the men gather in the room downstairs until half of them had arrived. Now, he stood in the middle of the circle, facing his guests. Even with their hoods on, Segar could tell who they were. He had observed their hands and gestures during the court sessions. He pushed back his hood with confidence.

  “My dear lords, I am pleased to see that you were eager to meet me,” Segar told the men in front of him. “Some of you may recognize me. Let me just say that I was in the Rebellion. I have observed the man for a long time. Your fortunes are not the only ones he has threatened. Maybe some of you want to share views on the matter?”

  “If I am to say something, I want to see the face of my interlocutors,” one man said.

  “This is a pertinent request. Does anyone object to it?” Segar asked. No one raised his hand. “Well, then I suppose you can drop your hoods.”

  Slowly, the men pul
led back their hoods and looked at each other. No one was surprised to meet familiar faces.

  “You have managed to gather the upper crust of Nysa Serin.” Evrardin smirked.

  “Not all of it,” a baby-faced man said. “Many have already lost their head in the gutter.”

  The men grumbled in approval.

  “I lost my cousin last week,” Honfroi exclaimed, his double chins wriggling. “How can a man be executed for having some good times with his maids?”

  “Did he pay the tribute?” Evrardin inquired.

  “He was going to, but the charges against him were only about rape. The judges said that there were no servants anymore. That everyone was free. As if such things could be.”

  “Unfortunately, there are. We, in the justice courts, have received new laws. I have heard that the king has taken advice from the commoners,” a voice said.

  The men grumbled with outrage. Segar stepped forward to take control of the conversation.

  “Hush, hush, my lords. We need to keep our temper to organize ourselves well,” Segar said. They turned towards him. “I propose that we listen to Lord Evrardin, who, as minister, will give us the latest news from the court.” Segar sat, facing Evrardin.

  Evrardin rose. “As you probably noticed, there has been some turmoil in the palace lately. Our king lost one of his counselors two weeks ago in troubling circumstances. Still, it did not stop him from carrying on with the reformation of the royal administration and justice. The king has had several meetings with the guild masters. As I understood it, he plans to write new laws. Considering the events since his enthronization, I fear that those new laws will turn against us. Therefore, we need to act—before it is too late.”

  While the man spoke, Segar felt a burning in his arms and chest again. The pain had not left him and kept stabbing him from time to time. It grew inside him. Parts of his arms had turned black and were covered with hard crust. He had tried to remove it, but he had just cut himself badly. He had never seen such disease before. Whatever happened to him, he could not die. Not before he had taken his revenge. He was within a hairbreadth of dethroning the swaggering bastard. His humiliation would be long and painful. Then, Segar would step forward. The power would be his and to all his kind.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Segar rose. “As you heard, it is a question of time until terror spreads inside our houses.”

  A man raised his hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt. As you know, I am a merchant, and I lost half of my goods when the taxes on exportation were enforced. I don’t have the means to hire mercenaries anymore, but don’t you lords have men at your orders?”

  “We have thought about it, yet we can’t summon commoners against the king. Especially a king they admire. What we would need is mercenaries,” the baby-faced man said.

  “And this is where I offer my help.” Segar grinned.

  “Offer?” Honfroi asked, dubious.

  “Well, consider I have a personal interest in the matter,” Segar said. “As you said, the commoners admire the king. The solution is easy. Make them learn to hate him.”

  “How?” the men asked.

  “With gossips, lies, insults. It doesn’t matter who he really is; it’s the image we give of him that counts. We will make him the most despised king in the history of Trevalden. Once his reputation is destroyed, I have enough men to take over the castle. Now, to give weight to our arguments, I will give you one solid basis.” Segar looked at the gleaming eyes of the men in front of him. They were ready. “My lords, our king is a bugger, and his pretty counselor is nothing more than his mistress.”

  The assembly roared, outraged. The high priest rose and faced the men.

  “This is an infamy in the eyes of the Gods. I can and will have them burned for that!” the priest shouted.

  “I knew that with his plump, soft lips, he was inclined to laziness and voluptuousness,” a man with a strong, aquiline nose grumbled.

  “Hum, physiognomy is charlatanism, Lord Noder,” Evrardin said.

  “My lords!” Segar called them back to him. “To succeed with our plans, we need proof, a witness. For that, we need access to the palace and a mole. You can help us with that, can’t you, Lord Honfroi?”

  The man grinned. “One of my pawns will checkmate the king.”

  They heard screams from behind their backs. Segar turned around. “I got you, little rat!” Hernays shouted.

  The man came to them, holding a wiggling boy under his arm. “Good that I came a bit later. There were spies after all.”

  “Let me go!” the boy shouted.

  Hernays dropped the boy in the middle of the circle. Segar recognized him at once.

  “The little Folc! If it isn’t a nice surprise. It seems we already have one fish in the net,” Segar exclaimed.

  “We must kill him,” Honfroi said. “He is one of the king’s guards. He will betray us.”

  “No. Not the little Folc. He is the puppy of the king’s slut. He is worth more alive than dead,” Segar said. “But preferably locked in a pit somewhere.”

  “I can take care of it,” Hernays said. He knocked Folc out and threw him on his shoulder.

  Segar turned to his guests. “I think the meeting is over. Everyone knows what to do. So be ready, my lords. Tomorrow, a king will fall.”

  CHAPTER 71

  “I’m sorry, but I see nothing,” Brother Benedict said. The monk’s cold hand held Selen’s arm up as he looked at his armpit. “Let me see your neck again.”

  Selen bent his head and pushed his hair to the side. Brother Benedict pressed on his neck and shoulders with his thumbs.

  “But I assure you that it hurts,” Selen said.

  “Where?” Brother Benedict asked, pushing Selen’s torso backwards again.

  “In my arms and chest. It feels like a stab, and it spreads from my hands to my heart.” Selen did not dare to say that his arms gleamed as well. The man would accuse his eyes.

  “You are far too young to have a stroke. And it’s the most common disease to spread that way. Does the king suffer the same thing?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Selen looked at the monk with suspicion.

  “I am a monk. I see things.” Brother Benedict winked. “You share the same food, right? All I can recommend you is to eat more, especially meat. Poultry and fish should suffice. I know our lords usually eat too much rich food and fat, but to live on fruits and nuts won’t keep you healthy, especially with your musculature. Do you still train?”

  “I swim and train in the inner yard with the guards.”

  “All the more to follow a good diet,” Brother Benedict said.

  Selen put his tunic on again. He was not convinced with Brother Benedict’s diagnosis. There must be more to it than food.

  “I have heard the king was unwell. I have some tincture you can give him.” Brother Benedict handed him a small flask. “Tell him he needs to see the sun more often. Take him to your training. You both are pale like corpses.”

  “I thank you for your time,” Selen said, heading for the door. “By the way, have you seen Folc?”

  The monk shrugged. “I’m sorry, no.”

  Selen left the workshop and walked through the inner garden. Folc had not presented himself to his post during the night. It was not like him to abandon his duties. Besides, the boy could not be found anywhere in the castle. Selen grew worried by the hour. He entered the solar.

  Louis sat at his desk, drowning in mountains of papers as usual. Those sessions with the guild masters had proven effective on Louis’s spirits. The commoners had come with interesting ideas for new laws. It was not the constitution his friend wanted, but it was already something.

  Selen walked towards him. He picked up Louis’s goblet and sipped some wine. “Brother Benedict says that you should eat a bit more than cherries.”

  “Why were you at Brother Benedict’s place? Are you ill?” Louis asked without raising his head from his papers. Yet, he sounded concerned.

  “Nothin
g to worry about.” Or, nothing you should worry about, Selen thought. “What we should worry about is Folc’s disappearance,” Selen sighed.

  Louis looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “The boy was not at his post last night, and he has mysteriously vanished.”

  “I can’t believe that Folc would have voluntarily abandoned his duties,” Louis said, laying the quill on the board. “Something must have gone amiss, and he went to fix it.” Louis took Selen’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry, the boy is clever and survived a war. He will be back.”

  “And if he won’t?”

  “Then, I will send every guard to search for him,” Louis said sternly. “But let’s wait until tomorrow.”

  Louis resumed his writing. Selen ran his fingers through Louis’s hair, pushing it to the side. He placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and massaged them gently. His thumbs pressed on the small knots of muscles at the back of the skull and on the spine. Louis uttered a short, high-pitched moan that made Selen’s groin stir. The quill stopped its dance on the sheet.

  Selen released his grip and took the paper his friend was writing on. “May I read?”

  “Of course,” Louis answered and lay back on the chair.

  “When a population set free from tyranny has written wise laws, its revolution is done; if these laws are adapted to the land, the revolution will hold,” Selen read aloud. “There can only be a few laws, and only those who rule the land must be scared, never the people. Those who conspire or embezzle, those who oppress or corrupt will be condemned. Besides, each year, everyone will have to justify the use and the origin of his wealth. The right to property and revenues can’t be made to the detriment of others. In nature, men love each other. In social life, they take care of each other.” Selen put the paper back on the desk and sat astride Louis. “It seems that these discussions with the commoners inspire you,” he whispered, looking into Louis’s blue eyes.