The Alabaster Throne (The Fall of Atlantis Book 1)

by Wilson Harp

  The horn sounded again, and the spell which froze the people in place was broken. They moved and hurried and shouted.

  “Go back to the tent,” Tal told Siande. “It’s not Bator. That’s the High King’s horn.”

  Tal headed for the road and saw Yelsit on the way. “Go get the banner and meet me,” he said.

  Tal reached the road and saw a single horseman ride past the troops who watched the gate. He carried a blue banner on a long pole and rode at a steady pace.

  “Who is it?” Daelcor said as he joined Tal.

  “A messenger from the High King,” said Tal.

  Jubaas, Lortum, and Yelsit joined Tal on the road with the wolf banner. The rider quickened his pace when he saw the young prince waited for him.

  “Greetings from High King Corest,” he said. “I am to inform Prince Taldirun Kinslayer of the will of the High King.”

  “I’m Prince Taldirun of Mestor. What is the High King’s will?”

  “Two wagons will approach your camp and a tent will be set up on the edge of the field where you battled three days ago. When the tent is in place, fifty of the High King’s spearmen will attend and guard it. No man under arm is to come within the line they shall establish. When the tent is secured, the High King will arrive and you will be summoned. He wishes to speak to you of your ambitions and desires.”

  Tal frowned. “Return and let the High King know I will attend him when I am summoned. My men will be aware of the strictures of the encampment.”

  The messenger did not respond, he just turned his horse and rode back to Mestor.

  “What will he order?” Jubaas asked.

  “He can’t order me to withdraw my claim,” Tal said. “That’s my right by bloodline. He can offer me wealth and position, though. That’s what he’ll do. My mother won’t be pleased. She’ll not want a threat to the throne no matter how placated.”

  Tal sent his officers back to the camp to calm the men and inform them of the High King’s arrival, and he sent Daelcor to spread the word to the rest of the camp.

  Tal went to his own tent to rest and prepare himself. He entered and found Siande and Janu at play.

  “What is it?” Siande asked as Tal sat beside her.

  “The High King will be here today. He’s summoned me to him.”

  “It’ll be fine. If there was danger, he wouldn’t come here, he would call you to him.”

  Tal nodded. “I thought of that. I’m just curious as to what he could offer me, and if my mother was involved in the decision.”

  “She wants Bator to sit on the throne. Then she’ll control Mestor and have more power in the south of Atlantis than she does now in the north. Her hands would stretch the length of the land, and she would be the most powerful woman to ever live.”

  “I have no doubt you’re right. Ever she prodded and pushed my father to wage war and take lands she claimed were due Mestor through some legend, tale, or casual word. Her ambition would not be sated if the whole of the world were in her grasp. She would look to the stars and plot how to take them in hand.”

  “Do you think she will come?”

  Tal bit rubbed his face. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since the murders, and I haven’t spoken to her since the day before we left for the shrine. I don’t know what I would say to her.”

  Siande hugged Tal. “She and my father have crushed us. Not only us, but all of Mestor. You have a right to feel angry and heartbroken, Tal. You have a right to say what is on your mind.”

  “If she were simply my mother, you’d be right. But she’s the High Queen now, and I owe her the respect and deference of her station.”

  Tal went through his mind all of the things the High King could offer him. He imagined how he would approach, what he would say, how he would defend himself from accusations. He hoped his mother wouldn’t attend the meeting as it would stir up his anger, fear, and sorrow. But he imagined what she would say and how he would respond.

  When he had imagined all the ways the conversation could go, he replayed them again in his mind. He adjusted what he would say and how he would act. Over and over he worked through it.

  “Prince Taldirun,” Lortum said. “They are almost finished with the royal tent. His guard has left the city and should be here soon.”

  “Thank you. When the horns announce the High King has left the city, I’ll be ready to go.”

  When Lortum left, Tal turned to Siande. “Take Janu and prepare him and yourself to be presented before the High King.”

  “Do you think he will call for me?”

  “If my mother is there, I may call for Janu. If I do, I want you to bring him in,” Tal said.

  “I get to meet the High King?” Janu asked. His eyes sparkled as he grinned at Tal.

  “We’ll see,” Tal said. “He is very busy and important, but you might.”

  Siande kissed Tal and led Janu from the tent. Servants came with hot water soon after and Tal prepared himself for his summons. He always resented his tutelage under Tumat and the times his father insisted he attend court, for Olatic would be King and as a fourth son, Tal would deal with merchants and barbarians more than the nobles of Atlantis. Now he was grateful. Just as his hours in the practice yard prepared him for battle on a chariot, the hours being bored by ceremony and negotiations had prepared him for this meeting.

  Trumpets sounded from the city as the servants assured him he looked presentable. Without access to his own apartments, he had to attire himself in what little clothing had been sent to him as gifts from the merchants in Mestor.

  Lortum entered the tent and bowed. “My prince, the King leaves the city.”

  Tal dismissed the servants and stepped outside with Lortum. “You will accompany me in. Where is Yelsit?”

  “I think he’s hidden himself away.”

  Tal nodded. “His father is a powerful merchant and is still in the city. I’m sure he doesn’t want to bring attention to his family. Very well, I need to find another escort, one who doesn’t look out of place in court.”

  “Jubaas,” Lortum said. “He has the look of a common man, but he has the pride and willfulness most nobles strive to imitate.”

  “Go find him and see he washes his face and hands and puts on a clean tunic.”

  “He waits near the High King’s tent. We discussed it when Yelsit made it clear he would rather not be involved at this level.”

  “Good, I’m glad I have some men who can make decisions. I’ll need that in the coming months.”

  “Do you think they will oppose you now?”

  “Depends on how much my mother whispers in his ear. But my father always said High King Corest controlled others and never let others control him.”

  There was a small knot of bowmen on the edge of camp. They talked and laughed with themselves, but their eyes never strayed for more than a few moments from the large blue and green pavilion which had been erected on the field. Fifty spearmen in shining bronze armor stood like statues in a complete circle around the large tent, each of them taller by a head than Tal, and broader through the shoulders.”

  “They are big,” Lortum muttered as Tal and he joined the bowmen.

  “They are,” said Jubaas. “And they are aware. Their eyes never stop moving and they glare at everything, even the tufts of high grass, as if it were about to attack.”

  Trumpets sounded again, this time much closer, and one of the bowmen ran up to get a good look at the road.

  “Just a few more minutes,” Jubaas said. “Have you ever met him before?”

  “No,” said Tal. “My father had, of course, and my mother too. He crowned my father as king of Mestor.”

  “He’s that old?” Lortum asked.

  “Yes, he is close to seventy summers now, and even though he wouldn’t be able to lead a charge anymore, his mind is as sharp as ever.”

  The other bowmen gave blessings to Tal and the others before they slipped back further into the camp. They stayed close enough so they could wat
ch, but they didn’t want to be part of the group which openly waited for the arrival of the High King.

  The trumpets blared again and from the high road Tal could see the procession descend onto the field. A large group of servants and courtiers headed for the back of the tent, but six guardsmen with bright bronze breastplates, helmets and shields all carved and embossed with silver, led the king. He was seated on a throne which was carried by eight large slaves.

  His robes were blue and green and he wore the crown of Atlas upon his head. His hair was thick and as white as snow, as was the short beard he wore. He was a tall and imposing figure and Tal reconsidered whether the High King could lead a charge or not. He seemed in full health and his sharp eyes seemed to dart in all directions. Tal knew the High King absorbed every detail wherever his glance fell, and Tal felt his stomach twist.

  The throne was taken into the tent and soon all was quiet.

  “How long will you have to wait?” Siande asked.

  Tal hadn’t heard her approach. She was dressed in fine garments, her hair combed, cleaned and piled up on her head. Young Janu stared openly at the tent and the soldiers who stood guard. He held Siande’s hand tightly.

  “I don’t know,” said Tal. “I wouldn’t expect a long wait. When he calls me in, stay here. I will call for you if I need you.”

  The sun was just past noon when a man stepped out of the tent and looked at Tal and the others who waited.

  “The High King Corest, Lord of Atlas, Master of Atlantis, calls Prince Taldirun Kinslayer of Mestor to his presence.”

  Tal took a deep breath, pulled himself to his full height, and walked forward at a slow pace. Jubaas and Lortum followed. The sentries did not move even to turn their heads as Tal walked through their line. He knew he was at the complete will of the High King within the tent, and the thought did not calm his nerves.

  His eyes adapted to the dim light inside the massive cloth structure. A few oil lamps burned to chase the shadows away from the corners, but the dim day from the heavy clouds made the tent darker still.

  “Who approaches the seat of Atlas?” one of the High King’s household asked.

  Tal lowered himself to his knees and leaned forward until his forehead touched the rug which led to the throne. When he looked back up, he answered.

  “I am Prince Taldirun of Mestor, and I come as summoned.”

  “Rise, Taldirun Kinslayer. Come and stand before me,” High King Corest said.

  Tal stood and walked forward two steps. Lortum and Jubaas took two steps back as they had not been recognized.

  “You are the one who has caused so much trouble,” Corest said as he tilted his head back and forth. “You’re older than I believed. Rougher. But maybe you are young, and the weight of all this has found your shoulders.”

  Corest touched his cheek and nodded at Tal. “Did you receive that wound in the battle?”

  “No, my king.”

  “I didn’t think so. None of the soldiers of Mestor got close enough to you to cut you in that manner. It was a brilliant battle, we watched it from the walls. Guard Captain Praset was furious.”

  Tal’s eyes widened at the new title for Praset.

  “Oh, yes, he’s the Guard Captain for the High Queen, now. I already have a general in Atlas, though Praset would be a worthy successor. Does it cheer your heart to know once this problem is resolved he will be far from here?”

  “It would not displease me in the least.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t. The battle was his own fault, of course. He taught you that maneuver, and he had an apt student.”

  Tal shook his head. “No, your majesty, I’d never been taught that.”

  “I’m more impressed, then. It’s an obscure style which certain barbarian tribes on the land north of the inner sea have used against us. Ineffective against a commander who knows how to counter it, but a surprise the first time an army has it used against them. But we can talk strategy at another time. For now, let’s talk about the problem I face. It appears the gods have favored you even after the brutal way you killed your family.”

  Tal clenched his jaw as the High King spoke.

  “To slay the High Queen, to drip in the royal blood of your own father, to slay your brother and his new bride on the day of their betrothal. to take the field against you own city, to kidnap a young woman twice in a few weeks’ time. I don’t see why the gods don’t strike you down now. You’ve betrayed all of your vows and all of your oaths, broken the laws set down by Atlas himself, and stirred up rebellion in the countryside. How do you answer for these charges?”

  “I am not guilty of any of those things. I am lucky to have survived that day. I was to attend court that very morning, but I was running late. I heard the sounds of battle and hurried to the palace. I found my family slaughtered and ran when I was attacked.”

  The High King smiled. “And who attacked you?”

  “General Praset.”

  “Did he? Now this is a bit unexpected. I didn’t know what defense or excuse you would use, but to declare betrayal by your own father’s general is shocking. He claims he found you with a bloody knife standing over your father. He also claimed you had been missing in the days which led up to the attack and he suspected you were plotting to overthrow your father during that time. Is that what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Were you missing?”

  “Yes, I was gone for five days from the city and had returned the afternoon before the attack.”

  “And where were you?”

  “The Shrine of Llystam. I sought the Prophet there.”

  The High King leaned forward. “Step closer, Tal. And speak true. Did you consult the Prophet.”

  Tal stepped forward until he was within a foot of the throne. The guards near the High King shifted, uneasy at someone being so close to their charge.

  “I did.”

  “Tell me how they prepared you to enter?”

  “They bathed me in the holy spring, placed new clothes on me, and led me to a door. They burned incense in the chamber of the gods until the Prophet came for me.”

  The High King sat back and Tal stepped backwards.

  “I have been to him. Do you wish to bathe in the holy spring again?”

  Tal wrinkled his nose. “No, not even if I could.”

  “I believe you have been there,” Corest said. “But what do you mean ‘even if you could’?”

  “The shrine is destroyed, the holy spring drained.”

  “When?”

  “The morning after I met with the Prophet.”

  “The day the pillar of smoke appeared,” the High King muttered. “And what of the Prophet? What did he say about these events?”

  “The Prophet is dead. He burned himself alive in the cavern of the holy spring.”

  Gasps came from the dark recesses of the tent.

  “Who sent you to him?” the High King asked.

  “My father.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted me to learn if there had been an attempt on my life in my battle in the Valley of Kerosh.”

  “And what did the prophet say?”

  “He confirmed what myself, my father, and Olatic suspected. General Praset killed my brother Galius in battle eight years ago and attempted to take my life last month.”

  “Lies! He is full of lies!”

  High Queen Jala stepped out from behind a curtain near the throne. Her eyes blazed in fury as she stalked over to Tal and slapped him across the face.

  “Hello, mother,” Tal said. “I thought I might see you today.”

  Chapter 20

  “Jala, remember your place,” Corest said. “You are High Queen now and will act thus.”

  Jala grimaced and walked to the side of her husband’s throne.

  Corest looked at her until she dropped her eyes. “That’s better.”

  Tal pulled his eyes away from his mother and focused on the High King.

  “You tell an interesting story
, but the problem is the one person who can confirm this is dead. So there must be another resolution. Neither you nor Prince Bator’cam wish to deplete the armies of Mestor nor empty the land of men who will die in a war of succession. Both of you have made appeals to the nobles to get involved, but they have wisely not committed so far.”

  Corest smiled. “They made the deal with you. The one in the chariot, he is sending you men and arms, isn’t he?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Hmmmm. You are naïve. If he made promises, he would keep them, but I’m guessing he gave you vague wishes and hopes to hold to. You may get no hope, Tal, and I’ve already told you Praset knows how to defeat your tactic with the bowmen. I’m sure he could explain it to Bator’cam’s general in simple terms.

  “But there’s another way this can be resolved. Give up your claim to the throne, let your older brother take it for himself as is his right by blood and birth. You’ve shown yourself more than capable and I reward those who have the talents you possess. Let me send you to the inner sea. I can find a place for you among our cities there and you will live in luxury. You will have command of ships and men, of thousands of slaves and tens of thousands of barbarians which live in our lands. You’ll be as wealthy as a king and free from the intrigues which will plague you should you win the throne.

  “And you will answer to no one but me. What more power could a man want?”

  “Your offer is generous, but the blood of my father calls for justice. I will serve his memory and the people of Mestor in his place. It is my right by blood and I will not forsake it.”

  The High King sat back in his throne and stroked his beard. “I was led to understand I would meet a callow youth, but instead there is a man before me, resolute and full of anger. I cannot allow Mestor to be torn apart by a long and useless war. Will you swear your blood your story is true?”

  Tal hesitated. To swear on his blood meant death if it were ever proven false. He knew he was truthful, but if there was false evidence, his life could be forfeit. He heard the voice of the man in the dreams “the truth will always lead you to a better place.”

  “I swear my own blood,” Tal said.

  “Bator’cam has also sworn his own blood. And his mother has sworn her blood. The laws are clear that even though she does not have the blood of Mestor in her like you and Bator’cam, as the mother of Bator’cam, her blood carries some weight in my judgement.”