The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne

by C. L. Schneider

  Combing back his wet hair, I tied it at the nape of my neck. I took out a twisted golden, ruby adorned circlet and placed it on my head. Then I went back to the mirror.

  I’d thought vision travel was disconcerting. Wearing the skin of my nemesis was unnerving in more ways than I’d even imagined. And I was just getting started.

  I’d left my own clothes on one of the couches. Removing the speech Janus had written from my pocket, I stopped to listen to the sounds filtering in from outside. The balcony doors were ajar. The wind carried the sounds of a massive crowd gathering in the courtyard.

  Their excitement was plain. They were waiting to hear their High King speak.

  They were waiting for me.

  THIRTY FOUR

  The fire pits had been removed to make more room. The sun was beating down, but it made no difference. Not with the wind, howling and thrashing furiously across the mountain, stealing every other breath I took. Still, despite the harsh conditions, the courtyard was filling fast. Outside its wall, bodies were packed tightly, crushing together to cross the bridge over the outer moat and fit through the gate. And more were coming. The entire plateau was filled.

  Despite my willingness to make peace with them, their numbers were disconcerting. Clearly, more Langorians were living in the mountains than any of us knew.

  Most of the faces were too far away to be anything but a blur, but there were soldiers and women, elderly of both sexes, children sitting on their parents’ shoulders. The youngest ones had rags wrapped around their little hands against the frigid air, their wide eyes fixed upward to the steps outside the keep where I stood.

  Where he stood, I thought.

  Same thing.

  Evenly spaced wooden platforms protruded high above the horde. Each contained a crier, bundled in furs, ready to repeat my words and carry them to those too far out to hear my voice. Down front, a visibly drunk, extremely round man was singing. The tune was lively, but the bulk of the words were lost to the hum of so many people existing in one place.

  Bottles were being tossed back and forth amid peals of rowdy laughter. A merchant was pushing through the crowd selling banners. They were nothing but swatches of fabric in Langor’s colors tied around a stick, but the people were gobbling them up and waving them in the air like they were spun gold. Draken’s personal guards stood in a solemn line at the foot of the stairs in front of me. They were the only thing quiet and still amid an air of wild celebration. I wondered how long it had been since Draken had given any real attention to his subjects.

  Janus moved up beside me. Huddled inside a white fur cloak, his beard freshly braided, the lanky counselor gave me a once over. “If they suspect you are not him for even a moment, they will eat you alive.”

  “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

  His discerning eyes ran over me again. “You certainly look the part. Good choice on the wardrobe. Though, Draken is known for his cleanly appearance. We should have sent someone in to shave him before you took his form.”

  “Sick men aren’t concerned with shaving, Counselor. It’s more genuine this way.”

  “Yes, of course.” Janus pulled his thick fur cloak more tightly about his shoulders. “I suppose my nerves are getting the best of me.”

  I understood perfectly. “Having second thoughts?”

  “No. King Malaq presented his plan well. He is, as you know, a most persuasive man. I believe his course of action is the best for keeping Darkhorne in Langorian hands. But my mind was not swayed because of him.” Janus glanced at me again. “Despite you being a most disturbing looking young man, even by Langorian standards…”

  Did he just make a joke? I thought, smiling to myself.

  “It was you who impressed me, Troy. You were my deciding factor.”

  His approval stunned me. “How so?”

  “It takes great strength for a man to put aside his hatred and embrace his greatest enemy.” Janus’ voice became a whisper. “You, Shinree, are not what I expected.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “But, seeing the outpouring, the love,” his eyes scanned the crowd. Worry lines formed across his brow. “I am less concerned about my associates discovering our deceit than I am our people.”

  “If Malaq defeats my father, no one will care about a little bait and switch.”

  “Let us hope you are correct. Though, the initial melding of our forces does concern me.”

  “You don’t think the King’s order will be enough for your men to accept ours?”

  “I cannot say. But if Malaq’s forces arrive and are cut to ribbons, we will have an even larger problem than we do now.”

  “I won’t stand by and let that happen, Counselor—to either side.”

  “I’d hoped you would say that. Shall we begin?”

  I nodded my consent and took a step back. Janus moved in front of me. He raised his wrinkled hands and in less than a minute, there was silence. He let it hang for another full minute, making sure he had their interest. When he finally spoke, his worn voice was hearty with enthusiasm. “People of Langor!” Janus dropped his hands swiftly and called out, “Kneel before the glory of your King!”

  I’d always felt there was something profound about the sound of so many knees hitting the ground. It was different this time, though. Being out in front of it, being the subject of such adoration was stirring in a way that was unfamiliar to me. Draken would have fed off it.

  “Rise!” Janus instructed them. “Stand and behold your great sovereign, Draken, King of Langor, High King and Protectorate of Mirra’kelan.” As the people rose to their feet, Janus stepped aside. His dark eyes brimmed with encouragement as he backed away, disappearing into the crowd of counselors and staff behind me.

  I stood alone. The silence swelled. It was hard to believe quiet was possible from such numbers. The soldiers maintained a common stance of anticipation, staring as rapt as the children with mouths agape, awaiting my first words. Wariness gripped some of the elder citizens, but most beamed as if they were in the presence of a god.

  With a pang of dread in my stomach, and a death grip on the speech in my hands, I began. “You are the soul of Langor!” The crowd erupted with cheers and a rousing round of ‘all hail Draken!’ Banners waved, swords were thrust skyward. “I am her sire. Her blood. The fire in her belly. I have only ever sought one thing…to make my realm great!” I stopped for their applause, reminding myself to speak slowly, to give the criers time to do their jobs. “But there is one who seeks to destroy all that I have built. One I kindly took under my wing. One who has taken all that I have so generously shared—” I added a ragged growl to my voice. “—and pissed on it with treachery and war!”

  A song of hisses and disapproving jeers swelled back through the sea of upturned faces.

  I let the frenzy build while I reached down inside the pieces of Draken still in me. I let them come out to play. Then I went on. “Reth sends to my doorstep, not hearty trained soldiers, but shells of men. Men influenced and fortified by magic. He sends puppets incapable of fear and blind to pain. Whipped lapdogs made not to back down. Fallen Langorian souls ripped from their graves and forced to turn on their own King!”

  Another ripple of dissension ran its course. I took a breath of icy air and glanced up from the pages in my hands. The faces were an endless swarthy sea, exuding disbelief and irritation—and complete immersion.

  I looked back at Malaq. He gave me a faint, encouraging nod, and I yielded more to Draken. I felt his whims and nuances become mine, his twisted version of lust and pride. It turned my thoughts dark, my voice manic, and I announced, “Reth has broken our alliance. By sending his filthy magic-fed army to steal my throne, he has perverted the act of war. He has betrayed me. And I will not allow it. Do you hear me, Langor?” Spittle flew from my mouth as I cried out, “I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! WE WILL NOT ALLOW IT! We will fight with our last
breath. We will cut the limbs from their bodies. Tear the flesh from their bones. There will be no exception. All of Langor must take up arms; men, women—children.” I slowed down; letting them digest and bracing myself for the stir I was about to cause. “If you’re too young to hold an axe, you will hold a club. If you’re too sick to hold a club you will stand before the gate and barricade it with your body. You will guard Darkhorne with your life, or by the gods, I will take it from you!”

  A hush had fallen over the crowd. Excitement dimmed in the wake of uncertainty.

  Malaq stepped up beside me. With visible disgrace, he countered loudly, “A King who would sacrifice the children of his subjects has no honor.”

  I replied with equal volume. “A subject who won’t sacrifice a child for his King has no worth.”

  “These people have traveled far to hear you today, Draken. They have come to support you. They’ve come to fight for a King, not a tyrant.”

  “You would dare defy me, brother, after I so mercifully let you back into my home? Question my authority after I allowed you to stand beside me today? You have not even been given leave to speak.”

  “Leave or not, I will no longer sit idly by and watch you destroy this realm. While your eyes were fixed like a bitch in heat, building ships to conquer lands beyond the Northern Sea, you became blind to the enemy right in our midst.” Malaq swept a hand out over the crowd, keenly listening to our heated exchange. Seeing their interest, the criers had begun to repeat Malaq’s rebuttal for those too far back to hear it with their own ears.

  It was working.

  “The rest of us are not as blind as you, brother,” Malaq said. “We’ve seen the force you speak of, gathering in the mountains. Waiting. Watching. Preparing. They have made camp only miles beyond the plateau. An attack is imminent. And yet you address our people only today, on the verge of what could be Darkhorne’s fall, begging them to protect you.”

  Draken’s voice bellowed out of me. “I beg no one.”

  “You’re right,” Malaq conceded. “You bully and threaten and terrorize. Just like our father. And the only reason you’ve allowed me to stand with you today is because I came bearing gifts. I came with an army of my own willing to defend this land.” He waited for the whispers of surprise to abate. “An army willing to fight and to die—not because they’re frightened of me. Not because they fear my wrath. Because they want peace. They want a united land where all realms prosper. They want Mirra’kelan to be great.” Malaq’s tone sobered as he stared at me. “Shouldn’t that be what you want, my King? Shouldn’t you be worried about Langor’s future instead of your own?”

  I stared Malaq down with Draken’s sly glare. His rage coiled in my gut, squeezing me, forcing the words out. “I am Langor’s future! Without me this realm is nothing. You’re nothing. They are ALL nothing.” Growling at the sounds of discord erupting at my words, I shouted out the crowd. “You deny what I’ve done for you? What I’ve sacrificed?”

  Composed and calm, Malaq chuckled. “Draken of Langor doesn’t sacrifice. It’s the people that starve and suffer. Not that you would know, seeing as the only time you’ve appeared before them in recent years was to renounce me—to whip me, your own brother. But the rest of Mirra’kelan knows. They know how great Langor could be with the right person on the throne. A man who cares about the land he governs. A leader with vision. Someone to teach us a better way. A king,” he shouted, “who can make us strong again!”

  Ignoring the gathering chatter, I snarled in his face. “You claim us weak?”

  “Under your reign, Draken, we have become worse than weak. We are pathetic mirror images of your wretched self. You condemn Jem Reth for his ways. But it’s YOU who has reduced us, a proud people, to nothing but brutal, mindless swine. YOU who have ignored your people for want of your own goals. There has to be a better way.”

  I pushed out a disparaging grunt. “And I suppose that way is yours?” Cries of agreement rang out and I turned on them, letting Draken’s madness shine through like he never had before. “Is that what you want? You filthy ungrateful peasants! You want him?” I drew the sword at my waist. “You want a half-Rellan bastard who conspires with witches and enemies of the realm? You want someone to coddle you with promises of a better life?” Dark and sinister, I laughed. “Go ahead. I’ll gladly step aside. My brother is all yours. Meet your new High King—and follow him to Death’s door!” I lunged.

  Janus called out as my blade dived for Malaq’s chest. It was less than an inch from hitting its mark when a trio of castle guards pulled me back. It took their combined strength to unarm me and drag me away from Malaq.

  Aghast at the scene, Janus took command. “His majesty is clearly not as well as we believed. Take him inside and lock him in his chamber. The council will decide his fate. An attempted public assassination of a visiting royal will not be tolerated, even from a king.”

  “Wait!” Malaq put a hand out to the unruly crowd to quiet them as he said to Janus, “Leave him. Severe penalties as you would mete out are the old way. Today, we start anew.” His gaze shifted to the lead guard. “Keep him quiet. But be careful with him. He is still my brother.”

  Malaq turned away to face the masses. Draken’s instinct had me in mid-lunge, nearly breaking free with nothing but Malaq’s death on my mind, when I frantically reclaimed control. My knees turned to water. The guards pulled me dutifully back up, not understanding how badly I wanted to go down. Absorbing Draken’s essence, letting his madness and fury dominate me, then abruptly pushing it away—enduring the transition in a heartbeat—felt like splitting in two.

  But any slower in shutting Draken down, and Malaq would be dead.

  I thrust the notion away. Trembling, struggling not to retch, as I listened to my ragged breath, I realized a heavy silence had fallen over the courtyard.

  Janus was right. My words were perfect.

  “Good people of Langor!” the old man called out. “You know our ways, our traditions. You have heard with your own ears. Draken has abdicated his throne.”

  As planned, I loosened my control of Draken again and struggled in my captors’ grip. “Janus—you fool! I did no such thing! Call off these guards or I will rip your heart out with my bare hands and shove it down their throats!”

  “I am sorry, Your Grace.” Janus said without sympathy. “But you, above all others, know our laws.”

  “Fuck the laws!” I screeched. “I am the law!”

  “The proclamation was made,” Janus said. “We all bore witness. You stepped down and endorsed Malaq to take your place. Your reign is over.”

  “No!” I thrashed harder. The pain of Draken’s wound burrowed through me with each move as I struck out at the men holding me back. “You will not have my throne!”

  Malaq set his calm gaze on me. “It is my throne now, brother…as by your own words. And I will take far better care of it than you.”

  Draken’s vile laugh bubbled out me. “When these guards release me, I will come for you, Malaq. I will gouge out your other eye with my blade and piss in the hole it leaves behind.”

  “Threaten as you like,” Malaq said. “But while you lie in a cell imagining my death, I will lead our realm into the future. A future where our people can once more be proud to be Langorian. Where borders be damned and all races will live together, to be envied across the seas as proud citizens of Mirra’kelan.” He lifted his solemn stare to the men fighting to restrain me. “Silence him.”

  A hand came from behind to clamp over my mouth as Janus—slow as his aged bones would allow—went down on one knee before Malaq. With reverence, he swore, “I pledge my service and my life to you, my King.”

  Malaq placed a hand on Janus’ shoulder. “I accept. You may rise.”

  Janus stood. He turned once more to the crowd. “Good people of Langor, I present to you, for the first time…Malaq Roarke, Protectorate of Langor and High
King of Mirra’kelan!”

  The voices of the criers died. Complete silence fell. It lasted for several moments. I was afraid we’d miscalculated the Langorian’s people’s reception, or their want of change.

  Then the chanting began. It was low at first, but rising rapidly. The sound of countless voices speaking Malaq’s name lifted a chill on my skin. I jumped as they started shouting, startled by the abundance of Draken’s jealousy smoldering in my gut. Malaq was several lines into his speech before the bile faded and my breathing returned to normal. I tried then to focus on his words as he skillfully appropriated Draken’s reign.

  “We will never again war with Rella,” Malaq vowed. “We will no longer choke the life from Kael. We will not drive the wedge farther into Arulla. Nor will we continue to hold the chains of the Shinree in our grip.” He paused to let the murmurers and hissed curses die down. “I see the shock on you, the anger. I feel it too. Our ancestors crawled from the rubble of the Shinree oppression. We became strong. Hard. Proud. We became unbeatable and fierce—because there was no other way to survive.” Drawing it out from deep in his belly, he yelled over top of them. “There is another way now! We must sign an accord that is more than blurred lines on a map! We must forge an alliance on something other than coercion and blood! We must attain peace!”

  Pausing again, Malaq yielded to the uproar. When it calmed, he went on. “There is an old saying from the days of my father. Pain brings clarity. I know this to be true. It has laid bare my mistakes. It has stripped me of pride and ambition. All that remains is humility, the courage to speak to you today, and the hope that you will listen and heed my words. We can be stagnant no longer. We must nourish our land, not bleed it. We must understand the paths of others need not be erased or crushed, but entwined with ours. I ask you for faith and tolerance. I ask you to trust me when I say we must use every resource available against our approaching foes. This includes the Rellans and the Kaelish, the Arullans and yes…the Shinree. These new allies will stand with us. They will fight with us. They will bleed with us. Only together, will we strike down our shared enemy. Only together, will we prevail. Darkhorne cannot fall. Darkhorne must not fall! DARKHORNE WILL NOT FALL!”