The Winds of Strife (The War of the Veil Book 1)

by John Donlan

  She decided that she would find somewhere safe, for now. Somewhere she could gather her thoughts and make plans. A place far away from here, and the stench of blood and gore that still assailed her nostrils. Where the flies were not buzzing around the wretched carcasses and where the swamp could be forgotten.

  Needra slogged through the mire in the direction of the road. She could at least find a clean pool of water to wash the muck from her body. Perhaps then, she might feel like herself once more.

  Somehow, she doubted it.

  Five

  Jaran Olmsfard, Captain of the Royal Arrenissian Guard swept through the throne room without pause. It was empty, as it had been for the past two weeks. Even if someone had been present, it would not have stopped him. It was doubtful that anyone would have tried to halt him anyway; one look at the steely determination on his face would have been enough for even the most stalwart of people to step aside and let him through.

  The huge room echoed to his footsteps, bounced off the frescoes and the statues that lined the walls, rang through the rafters high overhead and around the large bronze throne that sat at the head of the chamber. He glanced at the throne briefly, and the empty seat only strengthened his determination and resolve further. It had been empty for long enough.

  For the sixth time in a row, Captain Jaran had stood outside the gates of the Royal Palace and told the gathered people that the queen was indisposed and that she would not be hearing any partitions that day. The people had muttered, some had even cursed, but they had accepted his word as final. The guards stationed at the gates and just inside the palace grounds may have had something to do with that. But it would not last for ever. The people were already restless, beginning to see their queen as unsatisfactory to the task at hand. If her absence in court continued, then the first mutterings of rebellion would begin. Jaran had no intention of allowing it to go that far.

  But who could blame them? The old king, Lysena's father, had held court every other day for the entirety of his rule, save during times of war or emergency, and his judgements had always been fair. The people had admired him for that and had seen him as a strong ruler with only their best interests at heart. When he had died and Lysena had assumed the throne, they had expected the same treatment. She had been, prior to the last few weeks, as much loved and respected as her father during his reign. But the minds and hearts of men were fickle and quick to change. It did not take much to turn them to darker thoughts. Rulers had been cast down and overthrown for lesser reasons before.

  Jaran knew they were a long way from that, but he could see it as a possibility on some distant horizon. Disquiet led to unrest, unrest led to revolt. And a revolt could see the end of the royal line, even the end of the kingdom. If their enemies saw a weakness, they would act on it, and the consequences be damned.

  Arrenissia was a tiny kingdom, sandwiched between the two great powers of the continent. To the south and the east was the Tho'reen Empire, who had looked upon Arrenissia with hungry eyes for many, many years. To the west and part of the north was the Kingdom of Losarn. Only a small portion of the Arrenissian coast to the north was free of an unfriendly neighbour.

  Although King Tomar did not covet the lands on his border the same way the Tho'reen did, Jaran knew that he would still take Arrenissia if he could. It was a strategic location, situated as it was in the gap between two arms of the great mountain range that ran the width of the continent. If either side held the territory, they would command a great advantage over the other. The only reason neither one had attacked was because it would invoke an immediate response from the other side. The Losarn and the Tho’reen shared their own border, but it was small, narrow, and there was just one pass linking them, a difficult prospect for an invading army. That made Arrenissia a very tempting target.

  As a result of the hesitance of the two great nations, and partly because of its defensive location in the mountains, Arrenissia had survived where so many other nations had fallen. Jaran was determined that it would continue to survive under the strong rule of his queen, even if he had to drag her out of her chambers himself.

  He passed through the door behind the throne and into the hall that led to the queen's apartments. Few people were allowed here. Even Jaran, strictly speaking, was not supposed to enter unless summoned or in times of war. Neither of those situations applied now, but Jaran did not much care.

  Two weeks ago, the queen had undertaken a pilgrimage into the northern territory of the kingdom, to a place often frequented by her father. Jaran had accompanied the old king many, many times over the years. Always at the same time, and he had always been left behind while the king had ascended into the woods. Lysena had continued the tradition, and like her father, she had kept the purpose of her visit a secret.

  But this trip had been different in one very disturbing manner. Lysena had returned from her journey raving, eyes wide and panicked, and filled with a kind of fear that Jaran had never seen before. She had been half-frozen to death, having descended the mountain slope during the night, without care or concern for her own well being.

  Jaran had thought she might die. She had come close to it. But she had recovered relatively quickly. By the time they had returned to the capital and the royal palace, she had been almost back to normal. At least physically. Her mind, however, had withdrawn from the world, pulled back into itself, terrified of something she had witnessed in the mountains. Jaran had tried to ask her about it, but she had refused to speak on the matter. She had barely spoken at all during the journey back. And once home again, she had retreated to her chambers and had rarely come out since.

  Jaran had grown more worried by the day. Not simply because he feared for the country, but because he feared for the sanity and well-being of his queen. He had watched her grow from a feisty young girl into a beautiful and strong woman, the kind of woman who could rule the kingdom the way it needed to be ruled. He had seen in her many of the traits he had admired in the old king. As a result, he had grown to care for her, and he wanted desperately to see her succeed. He had determined to aid her as much as he was able, to advise and counsel, much as he had done for the old king. And she had been responsive. Until now.

  The door to the queen's chambers lay ahead. Jaran came to a stop outside the heavy oak door and paused. He knew what he had to do, but now that the time had come, he was hesitant. Simply being here was tantamount to treason. If the queen so desired, she could see him executed for it. And he had sworn a solemn oath to uphold the laws of the kingdom no matter what. The part of him that believed in duty and responsibility screamed at him to leave. But he could not. Even if it meant his head, he would see this through. He owed it to the queen and the kingdom. If his death was the sacrifice to see things restored, then so be it.

  He knocked on the door. “My queen. It is Captain Jaran. I... I need to speak to you on a matter of some urgency.”

  There was no response. He had not expected one. He took a deep breath, head bowed and eyes closed. So be it then. There was but one choice left to him.

  He lifted his fingers to the handle of the door, but before he could turn it and break every vow he had made when he came into the service of the throne, the voice of the queen drifted to him through the thick wood. “You may enter, captain.”

  He let out a shaky, surprised breath and went inside.

  The queen was dressed and sitting next to the window, looking out over the enclosed courtyard and gardens beyond. Simply seeing her up and clothed was enough to bring a little relief to Jaran. He had expected her to be in her bed, or at least in her nightgown. This seemed a step in the right direction.

  But her face was pale, morose. Her eyes were bloodshot, which told him she had not been sleeping. Her hair was dishevelled, and the clothing she wore was wrinkled. Had she been wearing the same outfit for days? He wasn't sure, but he thought so. She looked more timid and frightened and fragile than she ever had before.

  Seeing her this way made his heart ache. He
wanted to know what she had experienced and what she was feeling so that he could find a way to help her. But only she could share that with him. There was not much he could do to force it out of her.

  “My queen,” he said, softening his voice. “I am sorry for the intrusion, but, there was no other way. Your kingdom needs you. Your people need you. I have done what I could to appease the petitioners and to keep shut the mouths of those who would gossip, but it will not be enough soon.”

  She turned to face him and nodded listlessly. “Please sit, captain. Do you want some wine? My maid brought it to me this morning. It has been sitting in the sun ever since, but I believe it will still be good enough to drink. A little warm perhaps, but that is not always a bad thing.”

  “No... no, thank you, your highness. My only need is for answers.”

  She stared at him in silence for a moment before pouring a goblet of wine for herself. She waved a hand towards the seat next to her. Jaran took it without comment, then sat quietly as he waited for her to speak.

  He studied her face as she drank her wine. She had always been a beautiful woman, pale face, large, big round eyes, strong jaw, and golden locks that he thought looked like honey pouring from a pitcher. But over the past few days her appearance had changed dramatically. Her hair had lost its sheen and hung limply about her shoulders. Her eyes were hooded, and he could see heavy bags beneath them. Her face had turned from being simply pale to almost bloodless, and there were fresh lines etched into the flesh around her mouth and eyes that had not been there before. Up close, it was a startling transformation. She seemed to have aged years, too, but that could have been his imagination.

  He wondered again what could have happened to her to bring her to this.

  “I am not sure I can give you the answers you seek,” she said at last. “Or would believe. The things I saw would make even the least skeptical of men laugh in derision.”

  “Try me, my queen.”

  She smiled softly. “I will tell you what I can. You make think me insane, or perhaps dashing headlong towards the same illness that took my father. I no longer care. I cannot keep what I saw to myself, and since you are here, you will bear witness.”

  Jaran steadied himself, eyes focused on her firmly. The tone of her words worried him even more than her appearance had.

  “It is strange,” the queen said. “Before I rose to the throne, my greatest fear and terror was whether I was suited to rule or not. I had nightmares, you know? Terrible nightmares that I would lead my people to ruin and despair and that Arrenissia would fall to our warlike, conquering neighbours. It weighed on my soul like an anvil, pulling me down. My only consolation was that my father was strong and that he would live for a very long time. I would be able to learn from him, benefit from his insights, and when the time eventually came, I would be ready to take his place. But the illness that claimed him came on quickly. He was gone too soon and I was left to face my fears alone. The day he died, all those old fears rushed back to the surface, and for the first time in my life, I wished that I had been born in another place and time, away from duty and responsibility.”

  “You are strong enough to face them head on, my queen,” Jaran told her softly. His words were not simply to console and to comfort. He believed in them. He believed in her. Until recently, his faith in her ability to sit the throne and rule the country had never wavered. Even now, he still believed in the queen's strength, if she could but find it again.

  “Perhaps. But I have not been strong of late. All of those fears that so plagued me are gone, replaced by something far, far worse.” She paused, and her sunken eyes turned on him, regarding him intently. “Do you believe in magic, Jaran?”

  He was surprised by the sudden change of topic, caught off guard. He blinked and frowned. “I have heard the tales that many do as children, but I have lived a long time, your highness, but I have never seen or bore witness to anything that could convince me that magic exists, or that it ever did.”

  “I shared that view once,” she said. “But my father did not. He believed in the existence of the old magic. I know, because he would tell me stories when I was still a young girl. Even then, I could tell from his voice and his eyes that he considered all of them to be the truth. He told me of the shadow-folk who lived in the forests and vales and had the ability to weave the darkness into whatever shape they desired, and could move through the solid matter as easily as a shark through water. He told me about the Torgothen, the beast people who walked the world before the coming of man, and who could raise the dead and who consorted with spirits. But most of all he told me about the gift of the Gods, the Old Magic, given to men in the long dark before civilisation rose. You know the stories, captain. Stories of people who could read the fates and had the boon of foresight, and who could summon lightning with a thought or split stone with a wave of a hand. Some, it was said, could unravel the threads of destiny the same way a seamstress could pick apart a knot in her work, or the way a blacksmith could hammer out a warp in a blade. Powerful magic.”

  “Dark magic,” Jaran muttered. He had heard those stories, of course, almost all had. They passed down from generation to generation, from father to son, or from the mouths of maids to the ears of young children. But he had never put any stock in them. They were just stories, legends, myths. Tales meant to entertain or invoke awe. They were not real.

  “No, not dark magic. My father did not believe that magic was dark or light. It simply was. It was men who turned it to evil or to good. Their intent was what corrupted the magic, not the other way around. But that is neither here nor there. What is important is that he believed in magic, and that was why he undertook the same journey each year, into the mountains. He went there to speak with a witch.”

  Jaran had never heard of anyone living in those mountains. He had not thought it possible. Wolves hunted in the mountains, and creatures worse than wolves, if the stories were to be believed. And the cold in the winter was enough to freeze a man's blood. But he supposed with enough determination, anything could be accomplished. What he found harder to credit was the news that his liege would stoop to consorting with a charlatan.

  The queen could see the doubt in his eyes, for she smiled knowingly at him. “I can see the doubt in your heart, captain. I told you that what I had to say would be difficult to believe. But I am not done yet.

  “When my father first told me of those trips, and their purpose, I could not fathom it. I knew my father's faith and belief in the old magic was strong, but this? It was insanity, madness. But then he told me of the things the witch had imparted to him. Things she could not possibly know. Things that had saved the kingdom again and again and again. And I started to believe myself. When he was close to the end, my father made me promise that I would not neglect that journey, for fear that it would spell doom for all of out people. What could I do but give him what he wanted? He was dying, and the things he had told me...”

  She paused and her gaze seemed far away, as though she was looking back at that time and replaying it in her mind.

  “I still had my doubts, but I had to see for myself. And what if my father had actually been right? Was I risking the end of our world, our people, by not fulfilling my promise? And so I went. I met the witch for myself.”

  “And what did she tell you, my queen?”

  “She told me that war is coming, Jaran. That was no surprise to me. I knew that the fragile peace between our neighbours could not last, and that sooner or later, they would turn their predatory gaze upon Arrenissia. What I did not count on, what I could not have expected, was what she told me next. That the war was the least of our concerns. That something darker and more terrible was rising. You scoff, as I might once have scoffed. But I did not. I could not, Jaran. The terror in her eyes was real, and with good cause. Something rose from the bubbling brew she had concocted. It devoured her as I watched. Reduced her to ashes and splinters of bones. I knew that it would come for me if I stayed, and so, to my shame, I
ran. And I have been hiding here ever since, Jaran. That thing... that abomination... it saw me. It knew me. And I think... no, I am certain, that it was a part of what she was trying to warn me about. When I close my eyes to sleep, it is there, burning in my mind like the madness that consumed my father.”

  Jaran leaned back in his seat, thoughtfully. Her words had struck him hard, not because he believed in what she was saying, but because it was obvious from her actions these past days that she truly believed them herself. He could not doubt that she had witnessed something terrible in the mountains, but an entity such as the one she described was stretching credulity to breaking point. Even so, he could not easily dismiss his queen's words. The question, then, was what to do with this new information.

  “My queen,” he said hesitantly. “I do not know what to make of this. I cannot begin to try and understand what you have told me; it is beyond my experience to advise or to explain. What I do know, however, is that you believe war is coming. On that we can agree. I have sensed it for a long time. Tho'reen is restless and Losarn is worried. This is a bad combination. If they go to war, we would be the first casualty of the conflict. The only question is which of them will attack us first. We must prepare, and quickly. Even then, we would be hard pressed to withstand a concerted invasion for long.”

  Lysena was looking out of the window again, but as he finished speaking, he saw her shoulders square off, her back straighten. She turned to him, and for the first time since he had entered, he saw a spark of the queen he had known. It filled his heart with joy and renewed hope.

  “You are right, of course. We must be ready. I want to you to send messages to our generals and to any lord with the ability to muster fighting men. Have them come here, within the week.”

  “A week? That will be difficult, your highness, but not impossible. It shall be done. What should I tell them?”