Cill Darae

by Donald D. Allan

  The guard waited, unsure about what to do.

  “See that he leaves quietly. Don’t interfere unless he tries to do something stupid.”

  The guard nodded and saluted Brent and left, closing the door behind him.

  Brent rose and moved over to look out the window. He remained there for some time until a knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter,” he called out.

  He turned to see Robert Ghent open the door and look in.

  “Come in Robert, have a seat.”

  “I shan’t be long, sir. I wanted to discuss the Windthrop Estate.”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  Robert looked a little annoyed and strode over to Brent's desk and started going through the files stacked high on one corner. After a moment he pulled one free and shook it once. “This report, sir. I provided it two weeks ago and told you it was of some urgency. It discusses the Windthrop Estate. The Judicial Council debated the estate, and we provided a recommendation. We are hoping you will agree, and we can finalise the details.”

  Brent frowned, but could not remember any conversation about the estate. “Remind me, again?”

  Robert made a strange noise, pinched his nose, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, sir. As you know, the demise of Andrew Windthrop left a vacancy in Turgany County. Now that matters have settled, and with you as the Regent, it is important to name a successor to the barony.”

  Brent scratched at the stubble on his neck and stepped back behind his desk. He took the file from Robert and opened it and read it for a moment. “Castellan Colonel William Crenshaw is there now. Appointed by Edward. What needs settling?”

  Robert coughed into a hand. “Sir, Edward has not been crowned. He has no authority to elevate Crenshaw to the position of castellan or even to promote him to colonel, for that matter. Only the Regent has that authority. And that is you. And, as the file indicates, there are several families who have stepped forward claiming legitimacy to the barony. Third cousins and whatnot from the Windthrop line.”

  Brent grunted and dropped the file to the desk. Robert tracked it with a sour look on his face. “Windthrop left no heirs. They have no claim.”

  Robert looked bewildered for a moment. “Sir, as the file states, the law of Belkin is quite clear on the transference of title. The revolution did nothing to change the Royal Laws that go back centuries. In this case, the claims to the Windthrop line are legitimate. Elevating Colonel Crenshaw was nothing more than a temporary accommodation at best. As Regent, you have a responsibility to follow the laws of the land and appoint someone from the Windthrop lineage.”

  “He was a traitor to the Realm.”

  “Some would say you are too, sir.”

  Brent shot Robert a look, but the man looked calmly back at him. “I return the land to the rightful rule of a King. There is nothing traitorous about that.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  Brent stared at Robert, but the man remained unabashed and calmly stared back at him. “Prepare a list of supplicants. I’ll review them.”

  Robert made a grunt sound and turned to the pile of files. He flipped through them and pulled free six thick files. He dropped them onto the middle of the desk with a thump. “There you go, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  Brent glared at Robert and then shook his head.

  “Good afternoon, Regent.” Robert quietly left the office and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

  Martin stepped through the doors to the Munsten Mausoleum and shivered at the sudden change of temperature. It had been some months since he had last been here, but nothing had changed. No one ventured into this little-known part of the history of Munsten. Buried here were the remains of centuries of kings and queens. Princes, princesses and some nobles and heroes of the Realm shared the cold stone chambers. It was here that Katherine, James, Heather and Dog had started their journey to place a crown on the head of Edward Hitchens, bastard son of the late King Hietower.

  They had found nothing where Hietower should have lain to rest. The draoi had stolen off into the night with his remains. How much simpler things would be had we simply found the remains and confirmed Edward as the rightful heir. Instead we have turmoil, Eylene grasping for power, and a military man in charge of the Realm who has no idea how to run a country.

  Martin knew he had failed. He had thought he could persuade Brent to listen to reason. And if he should be listening to anyone, it should be me. Instead, he listens to the words of the viper, Eylene Kissane from Shape. She soothes his fears and has him believe all is well. But it’s not. The Realm is in worse jeopardy than at any other time in our long history.

  We won a battle only to lose the war.

  Martin felt an upwelling of grief strike him. So much to lose and we seem so willing to let it all go. How could it have gone so bad, so quickly?

  He made his way past the large gate and into the depths of the mausoleum. Tombs lay on either side of him. They looked all the same except for the words on the brass plates placed in front of each one. Some tombs carried a small bust or symbol on top, giving tribute to some significant achievement of the monarch. Martin ignored them all and continued to step quietly the length of the wide hallway. His grief and sorrow were overwhelming him.

  I put my faith in you, Lord. Why have you led us to this end?

  Martin paused his walking when he reached the area where a hallway branched off to his right. Above the hallway were ancient words that read Tomb of the Honoured. Martin turned to the right and walked through the opening and into the hallway. After a moment he stopped in front of a tomb. The words on the small brass plate read Knight General Ran Pawley 890 A.C.

  It was here that the remains of King Hietower had been hidden. Buried under the remains of a general who had been part of John Healy’s crimes. All men who had hungered for power and wealth.

  Martin felt his strength leave him. His legs collapsed under him and he fell to the floor and lay panting in distress. He felt as if a massive weight had been placed on him, and he couldn’t seem to get enough air. Tears welled in his eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut and felt the tears track down his cheeks. He sobbed and held his head in his hands.

  I am done, my Lord. Please. I wish it all to be over. I have no strength left. I see the future. I see what is coming and I have no power to stop it.

  “Nonsense, get up, Martin.”

  On the floor, Martin froze, sure he was losing his sanity.

  “I said get up. I have no time for theatrics. I am your King, now get up. You look foolish, lying there on the ground in self-wallowing pity.”

  Martin rolled over with great difficulty to his side. He pried open his eyes and then wiped at them with the back of a hand to clear his vision. Standing above him was a man dressed in kingly attire. He wore no crown, but the royal robes gave away his position. Martin gasped as he recognised the likeness to Edward.

  “Yes, yes. I’m King Hietower. Edward is my son. Now, get up. I want to speak to you, and I need you to listen and understand. I'm rather annoyed to be the messenger. It's beneath me. And I hate repeating myself.”

  Martin lay on his side a moment longer. The grief and sorrow that had driven him to the ground seemed at bay, like a distant memory. He could see the man before him and even smell him. He reached out a shaking hand to touch the foot nearest him, but the man pulled it back.

  “You don't touch royalty, you cur. By God, this is tiring. I said GET UP!”

  The roar from the King carried all the weight of a man used to having his words followed without question. Martin scrambled to his feet and then stepped back away from Hietower. He raised a shaking finger to point it at him. “You're supposed to be dead!”

  Hietower looked shocked and held his arms out and looked over his body in horror. He continued this for a moment and then dropped his arms and threw back his head and laughed. It was a full belly laugh, and it echoed throughout the mausoleum.

  Martin winced and looked left and
right before looking back at Hietower.

  Hietower wiped his eyes and smiled at Martin. “Vicar Martin, I am most assuredly dead. But I’m not the first dead person you’ve met, am I?”

  Martin hesitated and then shook his head.

  “I have something I need to tell you. You’ll know what to do with this information. I don’t have long; this is hard to be here. This mausoleum is devoid of life.”

  “Are you God?”

  Hietower smirked and pointed at Martin’s chest.

  Martin looked down and saw a light trying to escape between the threads of his robe. He reached into the top of the tunic and pulled out his amulet. It shone bright in the dimness of the mausoleum.

  “What does that tell you?”

  “I-I’m not sure, actually. I believe it to be the power of God.”

  “Then you have your answer, do you not? Enough. There is something you need to know. I went mad, you know this?”

  Martin raised both eyebrows and nodded once.

  “Yes, very unpleasant. I was poisoned over time. I was fed pills by the chirurgeons. They drove me mad. That’s it. I have nothing more to say.”

  Martin blinked. “That’s what you have to tell me? You were poisoned?”

  Hietower looked annoyed. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me nothing more? What about the realm? Eylene is grabbing power. The realm is in turmoil! Surely you can help?”

  Hietower frowned. “Help? Why would I do that? This realm threw me in a tower to rot. Took my power and God-given right to be King away from me.”

  “The people need God in their lives! We need your guidance.”

  Hietower looked even more annoyed. “Solve your own problems. Don’t you think that perhaps there are much more important things going on in the world? In the universe? What makes you think this small country on a wide planet in a vast universe would warrant any special attention? How incredibly vain.”

  Martin sputtered.

  Hietower turned and started to walk away into the darkness.

  Martin watched him for a moment and then a thought occurred to him. “Wait! What did the pills look like? I will need to know more.”

  Hietower didn’t stop or turn. He spoke over his shoulder. “They were round and blue-grey. Tasted of liquorice and rose honey. Nasty things.”

  The king slowly faded into the darkness and the sound of his steps faded away. Martin’s amulet dimmed and then faded.

  * * *

  Martin knocked loudly on the door to the royal chambers Edward Hitchens used. The rooms were overly large and ornate, and Edward hated them. Located high up in Munsten Castle, they were the royal suites and Brent had insisted Edward use them. Martin shared Edward’s view—they were too much. Martin knocked again and waited. He looked up and down the corridor, but none of the Church Guard were about. Seeing the absence of guards gave Martin a sudden strong desire to flee Munsten and head to Jergen. He looked, but his amulet remained dark. The desire to flee itched at him and he imagined a small house beside a cliff in Jergen. It looked so real to him he felt a need to see this place.

  Martin shook his head to clear his thoughts. He felt a tightness in his chest and struggled to find air. The house can wait, he thought. First, he had to tell Edward about seeing Hietower and what he had told him. The dead king had been right. Martin had known exactly what to do with the information. He knocked again and waited. He massaged his left arm and then lifted his hand to knock again, but before his fist struck, the door was jerked open. On the other side of the door was Edward, looking very sleepy, annoyed and dressed in a simple robe.

  “Martin? What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is? It's well after midnight, I'll have you know. You’ve woken me up and I’d only just fallen asleep. What could be so important it couldn’t wait until morning?”

  Martin pushed past Edward and into his suite. “Quick, close the door. We have to speak.” Martin looked about the apartment and spied the small settee area and sat in the closest chair putting his back to the door. He waited a moment and turned in the chair to look back at Edward still standing with his hand to the open door. “Hurry! I must be off before morning light.”

  Edward shook his head and closed the door and came over and sat near Martin. “Martin, my friend. I worry for you. You need to see my specialists. You need treatment.”

  Martin looked confused for a moment. “What are you talking about? Oh? That again? I’m fine. Nothing wrong with my head. You have to listen.”

  Edward looked pleadingly into Martin’s eyes. “You are not well. You look terrible. You’ve lost far too much weight. You have been seen chasing after all the vicars spouting tales about Eylene. People are worried about you, Martin. I am worried.”

  Martin waved his hands. “None of that is important right now. I met King Hietower, tonight. Down in the mausoleum.”

  Edward jerked back in his seat and a strange look between worry and sorrow crossed his features. “You met the dead king? In the mausoleum?”

  “Yes, I see the doubt on your face. He told me something and said I would know what to do with the information.”

  “And that was to seek me out in the early morning hours?”

  “Yes. I knew at once it had to be you. Hietower told me he was fed strange pills by the chirurgeons. He said they led to his madness. He said he was poisoned.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He described them as blue-grey in colour. They tasted of liquorice and rose honey.”

  Edward looked a little surprised and sat forward. “Liquorice and rose honey?”

  Martin nodded.

  “Where did you hear that from?”

  Martin scowled. “I just told you. From Hietower.”

  “My long-dead father.”

  “Yes. You recognise the pill; I can see that in your eyes and tone.”

  “Yes, I think I do. We stopped using them a long time ago. Certainly years before Hietower ruled the land. It makes no sense he would have taken them. Martin, I’m afraid you might be imagining things. You need to rest.”

  Martin growled. “I need to leave. I’ve told you what he said. I believe it was God speaking to me again. It was like before.”

  “Ah, yes. The appearance of God in the church at the Crossroads.”

  Martin pulled out the amulet and brandished it before him. “And He gave me this. He led me to Will and Nadine when they needed me. You know this.”

  Edward sighed and rose and went to place a hand on Martin’s shoulder.

  Martin jerked upright and away. “Do not humour me, Edward. My faith is mine, and it has been challenged and opposed. And yet I hold strong to that faith. I am as sane as you are. With everything else that has happened and after all you have seen why would you doubt me now? This realm crumbles around us and no one does anything. I warn you: Eylene will seize power and all will be in ruin. You will inherit nothing. She will stop you.”

  Martin moved to the door before Edward could stop him. He swung the door open and looked back at Edward. “Stay safe, my friend. Look into the pills. They have import.”

  Edward looked at Martin and after a moment he nodded once.

  That seemed to satisfy Martin and in a moment he was gone, closing the door behind him.

  Will Arbor reached across the draoi bond to try again to find Katherine, Heather and Dog, but they were gone. He had not felt them leaving the bond and knew at once this was the same power that Kennit had wielded. What he didn’t know was whether they were willingly off the bond or forced off the bond.

  He opened his eyes and watched Nadine as she tried as well. She opened her eyes and shook her head sadly at Will. Will fought a feeling of annoyance toward Nadine and wondered where it came from.

  “This is not good, Nadine. They have simply disappeared. Lana says she hasn’t heard from them. She says the captain of the Oriole delivered them to Munsten two nights ago. The captain says they were heading for the museum in Munsten. They never showed up there or anywhere else. T
hey simply vanished.”

  “And none of the draoi felt anything. If anyone would have felt something it would have been Lana. She was the closest.”

  Will looked worried.

  “You know, Will, Lana is a close friend of Kennit. They came to us together from the same town in south Turgany.” Nadine looked about the kitchen, as if looking for spies. “I don’t know what to think, Will. Kennit has fractured the draoi. I can sense it. I see it in the eyes of the others. The Gaea Decision—that’s what they call it—it has split us.”

  “And you think Kennit is leading half the draoi away from our principles? Is that it?”

  “I think you are letting him pull half the draoi away. You are the Freamhaigh, Will. You need to step up and take responsibility. Take charge of the draoi. Lead them.”

  “Nadine, I am leading them. I prefer the vote. I need each draoi to have a voice. A voice that needs to be heard.”

  “Oh, Will. You can lead them and still give them a voice.”

  Will was silent for a moment and bowed his head. “That is not my way, Nadine.”

  Will kept his head bowed and missed the brief look of disgust that crossed Nadine's face. “Will, the draoi are fractured. Something is happening right under our noses. Katherine, Heather, Dog and James are missing, and no one seems to care! We have to do something.”

  Will looked up. “We are. Lana is investigating in Munsten.”

  “Lana, the childhood friend of the man who would challenge you as Freamhaigh…"

  Will looked defiantly back at Nadine and then nodded once.

  Six

  Munsten Chamber, July 902 A.C.

  EYLENE KISSANE CRABBED down the stone steps with her head tilted to the side to avoid the low stone ceiling of the staircase. The stairs were abnormally steep, and she felt the temperature of the air drop noticeably with every step she took. She was alone but knew who she would be meeting. This was the third of such meetings in as many weeks. She hoped for positive news and expected such.

  She reached the bottom at last and was met by a rather young wordsmith who she hadn’t seen since she had left Shape. He bowed to her and then pushed open a narrow wooden door and stepped through, holding it open for her. She stepped in and pulled back the hood of her cloak and stretched her back out. Before her stood two other wordsmiths.