The Alabaster Throne (The Fall of Atlantis Book 1)

by Wilson Harp

  “I’m hungry,” Tal told Meleus as they walked by the square. “See if you can find something to eat and take it to my room. I will meet you there in a bit. I will attend my father until he gives me leave.”

  Meleus went off to find food and Tal continued into the throne room. King Fa'amuil sat on his throne and talked quietly with Praset. When the family was settled in place, the king dismissed most of the servants, including the general. He called the children to him, starting with the youngest. Olatic gave Tal a tight, pained smile. Galius and Olatic were as close as brothers could be. They were constant companions, always at each other’s side.

  “Tal,” Vistral said.

  Tal looked to where he was being motioned forward by his father’s chief servant.

  He walked up to the throne and bowed.

  “I attend thee, Father,” he said. It was the formal answer before the throne, and one even great tragedy could not remove from his mind.

  “I see you, son,” his father replied. “Do you mourn your brother greatly?”

  “I do, indeed. His passing pains me in my heart and I fear his cold visage will haunt me for eternity.”

  “I am the same, my child. I see the sorrow on your face, but you’ve not expressed the disbelief the way your younger brother and sister have. Have you grown so much these last years that I didn’t recognize you were becoming a man?”

  Tal hesitated. For his father to talk of him becoming a man was something which would indicate a chance to work in the yard with the soldiers. It was what he desired more than anything. But the man in the dream had told him he should follow the truth more than follow his own desires.

  “No, father. I’m not in disbelief, but it’s not because I have grown beyond it.”

  “Why then? When I was crying out in shock and despair, I happened to look upon your face. You accepted Galius’ death even before I put the crown on his head. Did you understand so quickly?”

  “No, father. My mind’s not as quick and nimble as Bator’s. Yesterday I would have cried out with you.”

  The king waved away several of the servants and leaned forward.

  “Come closer and tell me what’s happened.”

  Tal stepped toward the throne and lowered his voice.

  “I had a dream.”

  “And you dreamed your brother died in battle?”

  Tal shook his head. “No, I had a talk with a man. And the man asked me what would happen today. I told him Galius would die. He told me I knew it in my heart because it was true. He said the truth was written in my heart, and I needed to simply follow the truth.”

  “Your majesty,” High Priest Faldrir said.

  The king leaned back as the holy man whispered in his ear. Tal realized the High Priest must have stood directly behind the throne. It was the only way that Tal wouldn’t have seen him as he approached.

  King Fa'amuil and the high priest whispered back and forth several times before the king leaned forward again.

  “Have you ever had a dream like this before, Taldirun?”

  Tal shuddered as he heard his name. His father usually only said his name when he was in trouble. But his father looked concerned, not angry.

  “No, father.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I would have remembered a dream like this.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “He was old. But not really. He had a beard and hair to his shoulders. He was well built, but not overly tall or bulky.”

  “Where were you in the dream?”

  “A forest of some kind. Almost like an orchard. The trees were well tended, but there were trees of every kind.”

  The king nodded. “If you have another dream like this, you must let me know immediately. This is my command.”

  “I will, father.”

  “It’s time your tutelage under Tumat comes to an end. Tomorrow, Olatic will bring you to the practice yard and put you under Kelrig’s instruction. He’ll teach you the basics of battle and we’ll see how well you adapt to the spear.”

  “Thank you, father.”

  “It’s time, Taldirun. You’ll be a man soon, and you need to learn battle. You may go now, and retire for the night. Remember we’ll be in mourning until the next new moon.”

  Tal backed away from the throne and left the room. He forced himself to walk to the door, but once he was outside, he dashed down the steps toward his room. He hoped Meleus had brought plenty of food, for though he was sorry for the death of Galius and was in mourning, he felt like celebrating this news.

  Chapter 4

  The sweat dripped into Tal’s eyes, but he fought the urge to blink. The dulled point of the spear which flashed before him may not cleanly rip through the rough leather armor he wore, but accidents happened in training. He kicked the soft dirt with his left boot and slid to his right as Yelsit bore down on him again. The swirl of dust caused a moment of confusion in the young man’s stab, and Tal used the error to strike hard.

  Yelsit fell as his spear clattered to the ground.

  “Don’t try to anticipate,” Tal told the young soldier. “You have eyes to see, use them and trust them.”

  The soldier gasped for air and rolled onto his back.

  “You will run on the wall until you regain your strength. Then Kelrig will pair you with another to practice with.”

  The soldier rose from the ground and bowed to the prince. He staggered off to the closest stairs to the city wall. He would run along the wall, a common training method, for an hour or so, then return to spar with the blunted spears.

  Tal picked up the fallen spear and took it, along with the one he wielded, over to the rack of practice spears.

  “I don’t think Yelsit would have hit you even if you hadn’t kicked dust in his face,” said Meleus.

  “Don’t be so sure. He came close a few times. He’s getting better.”

  “Will you take him tomorrow?”

  Tal shook his head. “No. He isn’t ready yet. Maybe a few more months, and then only in the reserves. His father is an important merchant, and I would hate to have to pay for his death.”

  Tal looked over at the stables. “Which horses have you picked for me?”

  “Timieus and Vana,” Meleus said. “Timieus is stubborn, but he likes the clash of battle. He’ll run straight, true, and fast.”

  “Good. And the chariot?”

  “It’s ready, I inspected it three times myself. And I’m sure you will inspect it before we leave tomorrow.”

  Tal smiled. “It’s my duty to protect my driver from his own incompetence. Now go and get rest. Maybe visit the temple and spend time with a serene.”

  Meleus shook his head. “Doesn’t Presat warn against sex before battle?”

  “Yes, it drains the energy when you need it most. But that’s for those who wield the spear, Meleus. Not drivers. Go and have fun.”

  “I’ll go and get ready for tomorrow. You stay away from the temple tonight, as well.”

  Tal smiled as his oldest friend headed back to the stable to gather his equipment. Meleus had begged to learn how to drive the chariot years before when Tal was sent to be trained by Kelrig. Tal had reluctantly agreed, although it meant Meleus would no longer be his servant. They remained friends, though, and even when they were not training, they would eat or walk in the gardens.

  Queen Jala disapproved. She was not happy a son of hers would treat a servant as a friend. She tried to cultivate other young men of the same age from noble houses who were acceptable to her. But Tal didn’t pay attention to his mother’s protestations. He wasn’t Bator’cam who hung to the hem of her dress.

  Tal had run through a series of servants after Meleus. Either they were slow witted, or lazy, or too rigid in their behavior, but he never really cared for any he had found. Most of them reported to his mother, of course, telling her about all of his plans, his adventures, and his movements.

  Even some of the serenes at the temple were conduits of information
back to his mother. He only went there on occasion since he discovered she paid most of the women to report on who visited them.

  Besides, he was sure Siande would jut out her bottom lip if she knew he went to the temple to worship Rosta. She had a particular look which spoke of her disapproval without saying a word. Olatic had said it was a skill the gods gave women since they weren’t allowed to speak their disapproval out loud.

  Siande was another topic his mother disapproved of. She didn’t understand why a prince of Atlantis would not only allow a cursed girl like Siande to stay in his presence, but would seek her out at social events to speak with her.

  Tal smiled when he thought how angry it made his mother. He didn’t try to find ways to make her mad, the way Hela did, but she had been the one to tell him over and over he needed to put himself first if he ever was to achieve greatness.

  Tal liked Siande, and Meleus indeed, for the simple reason he always felt happier when they were around. Everyone else, outside of his own family of course, treated him as the Prince, the son of the King, a divine being in their presence. But Meleus treated him like a friend, albeit a friend who was to be deferred to, and Siande just did what she wanted, no matter how close Tal came to giving her an actual command.

  Tal removed the heavy hide armor he trained in and let it fall to the ground. He took a deep breath and stretched his arms as high as they would go. He looked up and saw the wispy clouds which floated in the blue dome of the sky. Olitac always said the ship on the sea would look like clouds on the blue ocean if we were to be standing upside down on the sky. Tal always smiled when he thought of that.

  Some servants came and gathered his armor and brought him a bowl of water and fresh towels to wipe the dust and dirt from his face. Tal cleaned himself as he ran over his plan of battle for the next day. He knew the men he would take and had invigorated them with tales of their victory and what awards awaited them. One of the lessons he had learned well was men’s arms strengthened if they knew they would win the fight, and their feet stepped faster when there was a reward at the end of the march.

  He had spared no expense on the feast and celebration which would appear in their camp after the victory. It was his first battle as commander and every man who fought there would take pride in the telling until they were old and toothless.

  “Prince Taldirun?”

  “Ah, Vistral. Is it time?”

  “Yes, my prince. The king wishes you to attend him. You will dine with him this evening and he will give you guidance and instruction.”

  “I will present myself within the hour.”

  “Very well, my prince.” Vistral bowed and walked away.

  Tal wrapped himself in a fresh cloth and walked out of the training yard and into the city itself. Two soldiers joined him as he left the grounds and followed him all the way to the royal apartments. Tal had never felt unsafe in Mestor itself, but all members of the royal family could be targeted for assassination or kidnapping. As a third son, however, there would be no power gained by killing Tal, nor much money to be sought after. Only vengeance and an excuse for war with the fourth most powerful king of Atlantis. So Tal never gave it much thought.

  The sun had started down the western sky by the time Tal reached the royal apartments. The shadows dropped behind him as he walked through the garden toward his own rooms. There he saw Siande laying on the grass with several of the serving girls. They pointed at clouds and whispered to each other. Tal wanted to ignore them and get dressed for the dinner with his father, but he found himself along the trail which would bring him closest to the girls.

  One of the girls pointed to a cloud and whispered something to Siande, who burst into laughter. The girls saw Tal at the same moment and sat upright. Siande’s cheeks grew bright red and she looked away, her laughter cut short as she pressed her lips together.

  Tal smiled and nodded at the girls and went on his way. He walked faster, sure he didn’t want to know what they had laughed about.

  Pitros, his current servant, had laid out a fine garment of wool and had heated water in the bath on the roof. Tal stripped and settled into the warm water. He had positioned the tub so he could look to the western horizon over the ocean. Just a week journey or so, and he would see the land of Del’rak where Mestor had several trading colonies. His father intended to build a city there, with a high wall and secure harbor. Olatic had been over twice to look for a suitable location.

  Tal was drowsy when Pitros came to rouse him from his bath. He dried himself and went back into his apartment where he was dressed by his servants. The sky was painted with reds and oranges from the dying sun as he entered the palace. The torches of the city streets would soon be lit by the priests of Balket by the time Tal would leave.

  Tal passed the main dining hall and went through the throne room. He bowed before the throne of Mestor and marveled, as always, at its beauty. It was carved from a single piece of stone from the far off land of Sais. A gift from Atlas himself to his brother Mestor when he had been crowned king over these lands. The name of the stone was alabaster, and this particular stone was pure white, with thin ribbons of the lightest blue color. Tal had never touched the throne, nor had any one he had ever seen save the king. It was a holy relic, touched by Atlas, blessed by Balet, and even Olatic would only touch it when he ascended the steps to take his rightful seat.

  The smell of the king’s dinner pulled Tal from his thoughts and he hurried from the throne room through a small door near the back wall. This was the king’s private rooms where he had a private dining area.

  King Fa'amuil sat at the table sipping a cup of wine when Tal entered. He lounged back on several large pillows and had his shoes off.

  “My son, come and sit. We will dine alone tonight, so there is no ceremony.”

  “Yes, father,” Tal said.

  He smiled and removed his sandals. He sat and moved some pillows around to support himself. The table was full of food. Bowls of figs, oranges, and nuts and plates of bread around the edge. Roasted lamb and several whole fish took up the bulk of the center.

  Tal took a cup and poured some fragrant wine for himself.

  “Be careful of what you drink tonight,” cautioned the king. “You’re to relax, but be aware too much wine can abuse your judgement.”

  Tal had heard the instruction before, but he was glad for his father’s caution. Leadership was something the gods allowed certain men, but they tested those men constantly. Tal determined he would have only watered wine for the rest of the meal.

  “General Praset tells me you’re taking an extra fifty bowmen. What if the enemy were to break through the spears?”

  “I’ll have the bowmen fire early,” Tal said. “The arrows will slow their chariots before we reach them and we’ll drive them back. Then the spears will have a clear path.”

  The king nodded. “An aggressive plan.”

  “Praset agrees, but the strategy is sound and it’ll work.”

  “It will work. I’ve seen it before, but it takes a firm hand and the men must trust you.”

  Tal smiled as his father spoke. He was glad to have the encouragement, as he tried his best to please his father.

  “Do you worry about the battle, son?”

  “Cautious, as I want everything to go as planned. But my men are well disciplined, I have been trained by the best general, and the gods have blessed me.”

  “They have blessed all of Mestor. I’m skilled in battle, but Olatic and you outshine me on the field. Now don’t disagree, I can see the truth.”

  The word rang like a trumpet in Tal’s mind. How often he had tried to ignore the word in his daily life.

  “If Galius had lived, he would’ve been the greatest of all, I believe.”

  Tal caught what his father said and nodded. “I hope to make you proud, father, and then maybe Galius’ loss won’t seem as great.”

  King Fa'amuil smiled and waved his hand. “No, my son. That was many years ago. You make me proud and I mere
ly dream of what might have been. When I am gone, Olatic will have the best commander of any king in you. I will leave him in good hands.”

  “Why do you speak so? You have many years on the throne yet.”

  “I wish it were so, my son. But the gods know the future and they have shown me mine.”

  “What do you mean? Did an oracle speak to you?”

  “At the council of kings last year, I fell into a trance and saw the gods walking around me. They were angry and muttered. I was afraid and shrank back from them, but Ochtur stopped and bade me to ask a single question. I asked to see the next council of kings. He showed me. There were nine kings there, only. Not ten. Some kings were the same, but three were new. I was not one of the nine.”

  “Nine? Where was the tenth? Was Olatic there?”

  “No. Mestor was not represented. I fear I was gone and Olatic had not replaced me yet. That means I know the time of my death. It will have to happen within weeks of the next council, otherwise Olatic would be king by then.”

  Tal took a drink and looked at his father. “Do you not fear it? Does it not upset you?”

  “It’s the truth, son. And as much as I can fight against it or deny it, the truth will always prevail. I will not be at the next council. That’s something I must face.”

  Tal hesitated before spoke. “Surely the gods can be appeased. Sacrifices could be made.”

  King Fa'amuil smiled and leaned back. “No, son. I will not live my last years in fear of dying. Isn’t death coming for us all at any time? Just as you have prepared for your victory tomorrow, so I have prepared for my eventual defeat. It’s a great burden to carry when you try to avoid fate.”

  Tal looked at his father. The man who he remembered as a child, and whose image still came to mind when Tal thought of him, was no longer there. Silver hair, and much less of it, took the place of the golden blonde which had crowned the king. His skin hung loose when he moved and drooped his features. His father had grown old even as he failed to notice. Day by day the curse of man, known as time, had nibbled away at the youth and vitality of his father, leaving him an old man resigned to his fate.