by S. C. Stokes
The King’s guard drew their blades but the nimble murderess was already past them. Tristan turned to see the dagger driving toward him.
Tristan reacted on instinct, stepping between Linea and the murderess, the dagger he’d taken earlier his only defence. Tristan raised the deadly blade and caught Hitomi in the chest. Her own dagger missing its mark as blood poured from the wound. The heir to the Mizumuran legacy collapsed, clutching at her stomach in vain as her strength drained from her body.
Stepping around Tristan, the Queen raised her sword again and this time none dared to stand in her way. The blade descended—and Hitomi of the Mizumura was no more.
Linea let the sword topple to the floor. All eyes were fixed on her, and even Tristan struggled for words as he looked at his young wife.
Linea saved him the effort. “Kalifae told me what transpired in the Riverhold. That wretch would have murdered our precious boy, and for what? So she could sit her spoiled rear on a fancy chair? She was too dangerous to leave alive and you know it. Now we are safe.” Tristan nodded, he knew in his heart that his wife's words were true.
Turning to the surviving King’s Guard, Tristan barked instructions. “Scour the Palace, and ensure none remain. See that our men are given proper burials and ensure that their families are cared for.” As Tristan surveyed the hall the magnitude of the lives lost sank deep into his heart. The faithful King’s Guard, valiant in carrying out their duty . . . so many of them had lost their lives. They had sacrificed them so that he and his family might live. The magnitude of their offering moved Tristan and he struggled to suppress his emotions.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He thought of Dariyen, the man who had first taken him in when all about Tristan his world was falling apart. Dariyen had provided a home and brotherhood—friendship had followed. Later he had been a trusted advisor when Tristan had ascended the throne. Dariyen Gardeau, First Captain and Defender of King’s Court, had been a hero of the people, but moreso he'd been a hero to Tristan, one on whom Tristan had relied for much support in the turbulent years that had passed.
When the soldiers dispersed to attend to their duties, they left only a token guard to defend the King and his family. As the hall cleared Tristan saw Syrion for the first time, lying still in the center of the hall, blood drenching his robes. Elaina and Kalifae knelt hunched over him, tending to him. Tristan ran to his brother’s side. “What happened?” he asked. “Is he alive?”
“He is,” Elaina answered, “but his wounds are grave. It seems he attempted to heal himself, but other forces are at play.” Elaina held up the crossbow bolt. “The bolt reeks of poison. I am not sure what the blade was drenched in, but it was no ordinary bolt—of that much I am sure.
Marcus picked up the bolt and examined it, sniffing at it. “The Night Stalkers are known for their use of poisons,” he said. “It could be a number of them, but given he is still breathing my best guess would be venom from the Doku viper. It renders its victim unconscious for hours but is not in and of itself fatal. Perhaps they knew that if Syrion detected the poison he would be more thorough in his healing ministrations. The Doku venom would have taken him by surprise and rendered him unconscious before he had a chance to act. We must monitor him closely. If it is the Doku then he will soon recover. If it is another poison we will need to wait for more symptoms to manifest.”
“Can't you simply heal him?” Tristan implored.
“It isn't that simple,” Kalifae replied. “If we do not know what ails him we may do more harm than good. It is crucial that we do not put his life in any further jeopardy by fumbling about blindly. I will stay with him until he regains his strength.”
“Very well,” Tristan replied. “There is a bed in the nursery—let us put him there until he recovers his strength. Kalifae, you are most welcome to stay with us also—your presence here today saved many lives, not the least of which was that of my son. That is an act for which we are eternally grateful, and I am willing to overlook the circumstances of our first meeting in gratitude for the services you have rendered today.” Turning to the others he continued: “The Palace is not yet safe—we must ensure we have flushed the assassins out of every nook and cranny. We will rest here in the eastern wing until we receive word from the King’s Guard that the Palace is clear. These past few days have been difficult indeed. Let us rest, and tonight we celebrate.”
Linea placed her hand on Tristan's arm. “Celebrate, my love? Is that appropriate, in light of those who have passed this day?”
“Ordinarily I would say not,” Tristan answered, “but the men who have died this day have wrought a good work. They shall be remembered forever for their deeds here. The fall of the Night Stalkers shall be their enduring legacy. Such a glorious victory must be celebrated, else what are we living for?”
The question hung in the air unanswered and Tristan continued. “We shall feast, and the city shall feast with us. We will celebrate the lives of the brothers whom we have lost, and those we have found. Moreover, my family is now whole, for the first time in twenty years. I would dispel the shadows of sadness that have clouded us these years and celebrate our blessed reunion.
“My father Marcus, back from the dead. My son Marius, clutched from the brink of death. Three generations of the Listar family reunited under this roof today. That must be celebrated. Inform the staff at once. Send word to the kitchen and a herald throughout the city. Today King’s Court will rejoice and tomorrow we will make plans for a monument, we will erect it to honor those who have fallen, that their names might be held in remembrance forever.
A faint cry could be heard from the King's bed chambers. “That'll be my little Prince.” Tristan said with a smile. We must see to him. We will have the staff serve dinner here in the east wing. Mother, once Syrion is safe, if you could aid me with this”—Tristan gestured at the bolt still lodged in his shoulder—”I would greatly appreciate it.
“I’ll be in presently, son.” Elaina answered with pride.
“We will see you all shortly.” Tristan replied as he took Linea by the hand and sought out his son, eager to hold him once more.
Chapter 32
As the sun set slowly over the western horizon, King’s Court came alive. In the weeks since the attack on the Palace, King’s Court had been a city on edge, with the royal family in tatters and a King in desperate anguish. Now the pall of shadow and sadness that had settled over the city was gone, and a brilliant sunset welcomed the revelers and rabble rousers who now celebrated the Prince’s safe return.
The city had felt for their King in the wake of the devastating attack and now rejoiced with him in his victory. News that the Night Stalkers had been destroyed was also met with great jubilation. With the setting sun, the Crown-sponsored festivities had begun in earnest and the citizenry of King’s Court were making the most of it.
In spite of the celebration in the city, the Palace itself was a little more subdued. Its residents knew all too well the price paid for the hard-won victory. The loss of Dariyen and so many faithful King’s Guard would be felt for years to come.
In the east wing the Listar family gathered to celebrate the safe return of the Crown Prince. The carnage that had taken place there had been cleared. The rich rugs and furnishings that had adorned much of the hall but were damaged beyond repair were carried away, and in their place was a simple table. Around it the Listar family gathered alongside their trusted friends.
Tristan sat at the head of the table, Prince Marius bounced happily on his knee. Linea sat to his right, beaming and in her usual good spirits. Marcus and Elaina sat beside them reveling in the presence of their first grandchild. Of the King's Council, only Halmir was absent, having not yet returned from the Riverhold.
Eleazer and Dariyen were also missing and would not return—true friends who had guided Tristan during the most difficult years of his life. Their loss still broke Tristan’s heart. In time their seats would need to be filled. Tristan had wondered who he might appoint to fil
l the post of First Captain. Dariyen had served long, and with distinction. Tristan had considered granting the appointment to his father Marcus. Few men had his experience and expertise on the field of battle and Tristan could not think of a man to whom he would more freely trust his safety, and the governance of the Palace, in his absence.
The Master of Coin was a more difficult post—it required an understanding of economics and skills with which Tristan was not familiar. The post could not remain vacant as the day-to-day affairs of the Palace hinged on the efficient administration of the Kingdom’s economic policies. At Marcus's suggestion, Tristan was considering Shiona, previous advisor to Velas of the Mizumura. The man's willingness had helped them breach the Night Stalkers' lair, and while Tristan didn't yet trust the man, Marcus's estimation of Shiona's ability was a powerful recommendation.
Ferebour too, was missing, having returned to the Everpeak and to his people. He had not yet sent word and Tristan wondered how his friend fared. Ezras was present— never one to miss a celebration, the potbellied reveler was in good spirits. Beside him, Maneron the yeoman-turned-Royal-Bowyer sat happily feasting on a cut of boar, one he had hunted himself for this very occasion. Malus was next. The aging magician and court physician had served as Tristan’s teacher, and his good health allowing, he would impart the same knowledge to Marius.
Two vacant seats waited for Syrion and Kalifae, who had not yet joined them. Elaina insisted Syrion needed only bed rest but his brother’s absence continued to worry Tristan. He wouldn't be able to completely relax until he saw his brother on his feet again. Last, sitting on Tristan’s left, was Sven. The wily Spymaster was wholly occupied distracting the Crown Prince from his dinner. Sven would alternate poking faces at the Prince and flicking roast peas across the table where Marius would giggle as they rolled past.
The door to the nursery creaked open and Syrion limped into the east wing, one arm draped around Kalifae’s shoulders, the other clutching something wrapped in a cloak tucked under his right arm.
Tristan sprang to his feet. “Come, Brother, join us—it's good to see you on your feet again. You, too, Kalifae—there is more than enough room for both of you.”
“I may be on my feet, but I feel like I've been run over by a cart and team of oxen,” Syrion remarked as he staggered to the table. “Whatever was on that bolt packs a mighty punch.” Reaching the seat, Syrion remained standing and took the object from under his arm and placed it before him.
“What's that?” Tristan asked as it thudded heavily onto the table.
“A relic. I found it on Empyrea in a place once occupied by the Astral Palace of Apollos. It is all that remains of the grand structure that was once there. I suspect it is this artifact that drew Apollos there in the first place.”
“Why bring it here? What does it do?” Tristan asked.
Elaina’s voice of caution came swiftly. “Son, what have I told you about meddling with magic you don't yet understand? That could be extremely dangerous. This is neither the time or place to tinker with it.”
“This is exactly the place,” Syrion declared. “I, too, am delighted with the Prince’s safe return, but we cannot forget the danger we faced in Sevalorn. This artifact could be the key to helping us understand and defeat the Adal. Apollos is their master and this device was his. If we can understand its purpose, perhaps it will give us an edge.”
“Who are the Adal?” Tristan asked.
“There is a race of powerful beings created to serve Apollos,” Elaina answered. “They were his chosen servants before his fall, faithful and unwavering zealots in his cause. Their presence on Sevalorn is extremely unsettling. We thought that they had perished hundreds of years ago when Mythos and Alphaeus—our Allfather—purged them from the stars. Syrion and I believe their return is connected with the release of Apollos from the Soul Forge.
“If they are loyal to Apollos, surely they will be well disposed toward us for freeing their master?” Tristan asked.
“No, Tristan,” she said. “In the eyes of the Adal there is none but Apollos. Humans are no better than animals to them. They are dangerous and pose a great threat to both Sevalorn and this world. We sent word of their presence to the Allfather. He will not be pleased to learn of their existence or of the return of Apollos. While Valaar may be at peace, our entire world teeters on the edge of war between the most powerful beings to walk the stars.”
“Exactly,” Syrion answered. “That is why I wish to show you this.”
Syrion anxiously unwrapped the cloak, revealing the column of obsidian stone he had found on the plains of Empyrea. He raised his hand and a lance of energy leapt from his palm and struck the stone. The blackened stone reacted immediately, colored hues playing across its surface. Gold, red and blue danced across the stone. Suddenly light burst from the stone, spraying into the air above the table. Thousands of rainbow pinpricks hovered in the air above them.
A chorus of gasps erupted from those around the table.
“What is it?” Marcus asked.
“I'm not sure,” Syrion replied. But when we tried it on Empyrea, we were outside and the glowing lights resembled the pattern of stars in the heavens. We think it might be a map—perhaps it is the means Apollos used to discern the location of other worlds so that he might travel freely to them.”
“Why all the colors, though?” Ezras asked. “They are making my head swim.” The brew master gestured lazily at the sea of gold and red interspersed with patches of blue.
“I don't know,” Syrion answered. “The colors are in different places from when we last used the stone on Empyrea. When we were there, the gold was on one hand and the red on the other, with a void between them. Now the red is distant and the gold all about us. I've yet to understand to decipher its meaning.”
“I think I know,” Elaina answered. “The gold is Creation—it represents the Allfather’s domain. There is a map of the stars on Altiran, and this looks just like it but without the color.” Elaina stood up and gestured at one star hovering above the table. “This is us—Meldinar. We lie at the fringe of Creation, and when you used the artifact on Empyrea you would have been in the space between the Allfather's domain and the realm of Mythos. After the fight between them they abandoned Empyrea and the surrounding stars. Now that you have activated the stone here on Meldinar, it is showing the stars closest to us. Here we are on the edge of the Allfather's domain, but as you can see, the blue patches are growing. If you look closely, even Meldinar is part blue, part gold. I feel that is due to the presence of the Adal. If they are left unchecked we will find ourselves standing on the front lines in a war between the Allfather—whom our people worship as a god—and the being that brought him into the cosmos. Syrion is right—something must be done about the Adal before it is too late.”
“That may be so, but not tonight,” Tristan declared. “We have come so far, and now for the first time in our life all our family are gathered here. We have peace—those who threatened our family are vanquished, and those enemies that still live are in chains. Those that crawled in darkness have been sent back to Death herself. We have much to celebrate, so the Adal are a problem for tomorrow. Tonight we feast.”
Syrion looked down the table at his brother and his family gathered. Tomorrow was uncertain and fraught with peril, but in this moment, this first quiet moment, they should celebrate.
Syrion smiled. “You are right, Tristan—we have much to celebrate.” Syrion drew out a chair for Kalifae before taking his own seat at the table. “How do I get a slice of that boar?” he demanded.
Marcus laughed heartily. “Like father, like son. Maneron, if you wouldn't mind?”
“Not at all,” the lean yeoman replied as he stood and began to carve another slice from the roasted beast.
“Now that that is settled, where is my nephew?” Syrion demanded, though all could see the baby in his father’s arms. Syrion gestured with both hands and began to open a portal.
Sensing the buildup of power and
guessing his intention, Kalifae swept her hand before her and dispersed the gathering energy. “No magic at the table, Syrion!” the sorceress declared with a chuckle. “If you want to hold him, you'll have to get up and ask like a normal person.”
“Spoilsport,” Syrion declared as he pushed out his chair. He limped a bit around the table and reached out with both his arms. “May I?” he asked.
“Of course,” Tristan replied, handing Marius to his younger brother. Syrion juggled the child into his left arm. As he returned to his seat he swept a hand over Sven's head. The peas that the Spymaster had been entertaining the Prince with slowly rose off the plate and followed Syrion back to his seat, where they circled the young Prince. Marius was enchanted by the spinning spheres of green.
“You steal a man's peas, Syrion, that sort of thing could get you killed in some places,” Sven stated with a gruff laugh.
“Speaking from experience?” Syrion asked. “If Malus is to be believed, only days ago someone tried to kill you with a fork. A pod of pilfered peas was doubtless the motive.”
Sven chuckled with the rest of the table. “Ay, but I got the peas, didn't I? So you’d best be careful . . .”
The quip drew another round of laughs from around the table, and Tristan eased back slowly in his chair, wanting nothing more than for the evening's frivolities to endure forever.
The End
Epilogue
The waters of Mizuumi were still, and a lone rowboat glided across the wide expanse of the lake.
Sanshi rowed slowly. It was difficult to process the emotion running through his mind and heart. The loss of his brethren was not a reality he had ever expected to face. The presence of the other Masters had been a sustaining influence since he had first returned from the Gates of Death. Sanshi did not know how, but he was certain they were gone. In their absence he was adrift, and unsure of his purpose. There were always three Masters—it had ever been so. His mistress would not be pleased.