He couldn’t imagine how the upstart could have come upon knowledge of his order and its motives, but based on Slade and Rafe’s cryptic warnings he had done just that. Perhaps the Galacians had been more vigilant than he and his masters had surmised.
He had a sinking, gnawing intuition that this Marshal could be the end of him. He would have to summon all of his available retainers. If the Marshal proved as much a threat as his fallen comrades feared, he may have to move against the throne sooner than anticipated.
Sarad threw off his bedclothes. There would be no more sleep for him this night.
Chapter 16
Lucerne Palace
The remainder of their journey to Peidra passed without incident. The arid prairies of the deep south gave way to dense forests and snaking brooks before opening up to rolling hills and then the fathomless golden sea of wheat, Galacia’s breadbasket and most coveted resource.
Peidra rose high into the sky, a shimmering white city set afire by the late-summer sun. The limestone capped palace and city walls shined atop a behemoth, gnarled crag of black granite, which set a stark contrast to the landscape, as if it were the remnants of some ancient, mountainous titan that had fallen amidst the plains only to be covered up by eons of growth. Towering Keeps sprouted from the outer walls at strategic locations and served both as housing for the city guard, the Blackshields, as well as a means of lookout in all directions across the plain, Bryn explained as they rode up the single, wide avenue that led to the city gates.
Phinneas, who knew Peidra well, endured her tutelage with an indulgent smile, while the others from Knoll Creek gaped in wonder at the majestic sights, dazzled by architecture of a breadth and scale they had only seen inadequately represented in illustrated books. Pleased by their reaction, Bryn’s sapphire eyes sparkled. “Wait until you see Lucerne Palace,” she said.
Bryn took them on a circuitous route through the city and pointed out sites of note such as Arcalum, the Keep that hosted the Summit Arcana and housed students of the arcane, Market Square, where vendors peddled both domestic and exotic wares, and the Theater District, where thespians stoked the imagination with a variety of productions, many performed street-side. If anyone minded the extra time in the saddle they didn’t speak up.
All the sights they had hitherto seen paled in comparison to Lucerne Palace. Marble blended with limestone to give rise to sweeping towers, parapet walks worked with elegant statuary, and a massive, gilded central dome. None, even Bryn who spent the majority of her life within palace walls, were unmoved in the presence of such majesty.
Lar marveled that even the stables dwarfed his humble homestead. Bryn laughed, a clear, bright sound. “Wait until you see the great hall and throne room, Master Fletcher,” she said.
The party saw to their horses and unburdened their mounts of their possessions. Elias cast an appraising glance at the stableboy who tarried nearby and then turned to his mount. “Don’t worry, Comet, you’re in good hands.”
“That’s a strange name for a horse,” the ruddy-faced adolescent observed.
Elias shrugged. “The night he was foaled a comet passed overhead. It seemed like the thing to do.”
The boy nodded sagaciously, as if learned in the ways of signs and portents. Elias found that he liked the thoughtful youth. “Well, sir, I will see to it he is rubbed down by myself and fed a green apple,” the boy said.
“A green apple?”
“Yes. A horse with a special name like that deserves a special treat, don’t you think?”
Elias found himself chuckling despite the anxiety that had his stomach wound in a knot since he woke that morning. “Well said, my young friend. And you needn’t call me sir. My name is Elias.”
“All right, Elias,” the stable hand said with an ear-splitting grin as he stuck out his hand. “I’m Seven. Seven Winters.”
“Seven Winters? Is that your name or how old you are?”
Seven Winters grinned sheepishly. “It is my given name. I am my parents seventh child, and I s’pose they grew tired of coming up with names. My Pa is well known as a famous joker in these parts.”
Elias laughed again and clapped Seven on the shoulder. The boy’s saucer-shaped, brown eyes fell onto Elias’s sword. His lips pursed in thought. “That is a strange sword. Are you a knight or something?”
“Something like that.”
Seven leaned closer and asked in a half-whisper, “Is it magical? It looks like the fancy kind of thing that would be, you know.”
Elias eyed the peculiar Seven and wondered how he should answer. He was loathe to lie to the boy, but, as his father often said, there was difference between lying and full disclosure. “It belonged to my father, who served the queen. Because it reminds me of him and bears his mark, one could say it has a kind of magic.”
Seven nodded as if this was a good answer. “Your father must have been a great man. One day I will be a knight too, and do great things.”
Elias met the boy’s eyes. “I believe you will. I must go now, Seven, my friends are waiting on me.”
“Bye, Elias.”
Elias adjusted his baldric to rest comfortably on his left hip and walked toward his companions. After a few steps he turned on a whim and said, “I’ll come visit Comet soon, Seven. Perhaps we can go exercise him together.”
“I’d like that, Elias!” Seven said, with ready enthusiasm.
As Elias walked away he could hear the boy whistling to himself as he set about rubbing Comet down.
Danica arched an eyebrow when Elias caught up to them at the edge of the stables. “Making new friends?”
“One could always do with more,” Elias replied.
Danica cast a pointed glance at Bryn. “He never could help befriending the strangest of people, particularly strays. There was this dullard named Onrick who had a fascination with fire. No one could stand the half-wit, but Elias insisted poor Onrick was a redeemable lad, and always invited him to parties even though we all cursed him for it.”
“Seven is not strange,” Elias said. “He happens to be a very sharp young man.”
“Seven?” Danica replied. “His name is Seven?”
Elias sighed and waited for the outburst of laughter to abate.
They followed a granite walkway toward the palace, passing by the outer courtyard and a number of courtiers and palace staff going about their business.
Elias allowed his eyes to wander over the grounds and released a low whistle. He had always dreamt of walking such gallant environs but had long ago dismissed the notion that he would ever see more of the world than the few counties beyond Knoll Creek. The dream of his youth had come to pass, but not in the least way like he had imagined it in his childhood fantasies. The sting of his loss still burrowed its way inside him, though the pain grew less acute with each passing day. He could now conjure up the faces of Asa and his father in his mind’s-eye without his breath catching in his throat and the cold cement of fury and despair dragging on his heart like a millstone.
The wild neighing of a horse and a string of vehement curses drew Elias from his thoughts. He looked to the commotion and saw a man tumble from the back of the largest horse he had ever seen. Elias, acting out of instinct, sprang to the man’s aid. He grabbed the man under his arms and dragged him out of the path of the rearing stallion.
Meanwhile Bryn spoke to the others from the side of her mouth. “He’ll earn no thanks from that one. That’s Lord Geoffrey Oberon, and the only thing he disdains more than advice or an offer of help are those beneath his station—which is practically everyone.” She pointed to an over-fed, pock-marked youth cowering on the far side of the horse. “That one over there is his attendant—some distant cousin—I believe his name is Ronald.”
Elias helped the slight man to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. Oberon stiffened under the familiar gesture and his pale eyes narrowed to slits. “Easy there, fella,” Elias said. “Are you injured?”
“I am fine, thank-you very much
,” Oberon said tightly.
“No doubt the only thing injured is his pride,” Bryn said mildly.
“Lady Bryn of House Denar,” said Oberon, speaking her title as if it tasted bitter in his mouth.
Oberon’s attendant rushed to his Lord’s side and offered him a handkerchief. “You would do well to unhand Lord Oberon at once, sir.”
Elias pulled his hand from Oberon’s shoulder and raised his eyebrows at the youth whose attempts to appear refined, despite his flushed face and the beads of sweat pouring down his face, were laughable. “A thousand pardons, young master,” Elias said sketching a mock bow. “I shall be cognizant in the future not to interfere in the affairs of equestrians and persons of stature, whose station is above mine own humble origins.”
Elias’s wry comment took Bryn—and Oberon’s lackey—aback and she found herself failing to suppressing a grin. The distiller may be a man of few words, but his father had educated him well.
Due to Elias’s practiced deadpan, Oberon’s attendant found himself unsure how to take the distiller’s comment. He settled for saying, “Very well then.”
“Shut-up Ronald, and go fetch my crossbow,” Oberon said as he smoothed back his oiled hair and adjusted his ornate, royal-blue riding jacket. “My Lady, have you brought some distant kin to enjoy the hospitality of the queen’s banquet?”
“Not hardly. Lord Oberon, meet Marshal Duana.” Elias cringed inwardly at Bryn’s brazen introduction, but also enjoyed no small measure of satisfaction at the astonished expression that stole over Oberon’s features.
“Marshal? Whatever are you talking about, my Lady? The Marshal order is a relic from before the Quarter Century War. Their traditions, enchanted baubles, and incantations are outdated—myths meant to strike fear into enemies and promote obedience in the masses. We have entered an age of reason where such tactics are no longer necessary.”
Bryn made a show of examining and buffing her nails. She looked at Oberon lazily from beneath her long eyelashes. “Are you done?”
“Quite,” said Oberon, whose ears had reddened.
“Very well,” said Bryn who then proceeded to introduce the rest of the party. Phinneas inclined his head nobly, and Lar followed suit. Danica, however, winked.
Elias looked to the horse. The prodigious beast had not bolted, but stood nearby and watched them with indifference. At first he had thought the horse’s coat black, but upon closer inspection saw that it was a rich clay-red, so deep in tone that only direct exposure to the sun dispelled the illusion.
Elias turned back to Oberon. “Why did you send your man to fetch your crossbow?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“So that I may put this beast out of his misery. Some creatures, no matter how hard you try to civilize them, cannot be broken. This one is a lost cause. He will have to be put down.”
Elias drew himself up. “I can break this steed,” he said.
“I think not,” Oberon replied with a derisive snort. “My family is descended from a long line of masters of animal husbandry. This beast was bred from the finest stock designed to produce a stallion of uncommon size and strength. An unfortunate byproduct was an equally sized temper. If I can’t break this beast none can.”
Ronald returned with Oberon’s crossbow, which he passed to his master. Elias stepped between Oberon and the horse. “I can break this stallion.”
“Step aside Duana. This is none of your concern. I own this horse and I will deal with him as I wish.”
“Then I will purchase this mount.”
Oberon cocked his head and regarded Elias with a bemused expression. “Very well.” He named an absurd figure several times the horse’s worth. “What is it, Duana? Marshaling doesn’t pay as well as it used to?”
Elias fixed his black eyes on the smirking nobleman. His purse could ill afford such an expenditure, but he couldn’t allow the self-important Oberon to murder an innocent animal. Still, he had little recourse.
“I will pay this price,” Bryn said.
Both men turned to her as one. “Oh?” Oberon managed, while Elias broke into an irrepressible grin.
“You will have your coin tonight,” she said.
Oberon opened his mouth, at a loss for words. He hadn’t expected Duana to actually pay the named price, but he didn’t figure on the capricious Bryn. “So be it,” he said at last. “However, don’t expect me to help you get the foul tempered beast into the stables. I’ve suffered enough at its whim.”
Elias approached the horse with careful, measured steps. He opened his hands and held them up. Padraic Duana had taught him that most people saw animals as stupid, feelingless beasts, and that was a grave mistake in handling them. All creatures could sense intent to some degree and wished to be treated with respect. The stallion snorted and reared its head, but didn’t make to bolt.
“Whoa,” Elias said gently and reached not for the reins but the horse’s nose. At first the steed pulled away and fixed him with a baleful eye. Elias persisted in exaggeratedly slow movements and held his hand out for the horse to sniff. He began to hum low in his throat, as he had seen his father do time and again. The horse’s ears twitched and lowered against his head. “Orush en bach inwaria,” he sang under his breath.
The horse nickered gently and suffered Elias to stroke his muzzle and then his thick, sinewy neck. Elias continued to half-sing, half-chant, and lay his head against his new steed’s neck. He breathed in the musky scent of horseflesh, and the horse breathed in his, becoming familiar with his new companion.
Trying to exude an aura of confidence and ease, Elias put a foot into the stirrup. He waited a moment to gauge the horse’s reaction. The stallion turned its head and fixed an eye on him, its head tilted quizzically, as if to say, well on with it then! Elias needed no more encouragement and mounted the horse. It looked like he’d be seeing Seven sooner than expected. He leaned in and whispered in the stallion’s ear. “I will call you Brand, for you are like a smoldering brand of redwood. Now, let’s show them what you can do.” He prodded Brand with his knees and cried, “HA!”
With a tremendous adrenal burst, Brand erupted into a dead gallop as if possessed of the strength and vitality of ten steeds. Elias felt his stomach plummet and the sudden upstart of wind almost unseated him. He clenched his thighs along the saddle and lowered his head and shoulders. “HA!” he cried again and the world blurred about him.
Bryn glowed as she watched Elias and the wine-colored mount vanish into the horizon. Lar and Danica hooted, while Phinneas shook his head to himself, a wide grin splitting his face.
Bryn eyed Oberon cooly. “What was that you said about Marshal incantations?”
†
Elias waited with his companions, save Bryn, in his appointed rooms. He had not expected such generous accommodations, furnished with both a bedchamber and a sitting room. Thick carpets woven with intricate designs, worked wooden tables, ottomans, and linen drapes adorned the lavish chambers. He was perplexed to discover that the bed, in addition to being of an adequate size to sleep three men, also had curtains that drew around its breadth.
Servants had brought plates teeming with cold pheasant, honeyed breads, cheese flecked with tomato and basil, roasted potatoes, and grapes. Elias had embarrassed himself by offering the incredulous server some silver coin. His companions of course enjoyed a vigorous chuckle at his expense. Despite their grim beginnings, he found it heartening that he traveled with such a mirthful party. With the savory victuals, the server had brought a flagon of wine and water. While the others sampled the vibrant vintage judiciously, Elias abstained.
“So,” said Danica as she chewed on a grape, “what was that business with the horse?”
“What do you mean?” Elias asked.
“You said that you didn’t want to learn magic, but it sure looked like you beguiled that stallion,” she replied.
Elias waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “That was nothing. It’s an old song Dad taught me to calm down animals
. It’s a superstition really. The sound and rhythm calms them. That’s all.”
Danica rolled her eyes, but her reply was curtailed by a knock on the door. She opened it to reveal a guard clad in a polished breastplate, studded greaves, and a crimson cloak who proclaimed that they were to follow him to their audience with the queen.
Far from the grim escort Elias had expected, the guardsman turned out to be quite a chatty fellow. He inquired about their trip and pointed out portraits, statuary, and decor of note.
Elias wondered how anyone could make his way unnoticed in this place—their steps clapped and echoed off the marble of the vaulted ceilings and wide corridors like thunder. The palace had a formal, cold design, the compare of which he had only seen in a mausoleum. The guardsman noticed his roving eyes and favored him with a wry grin. “When I first received my appointment to the Palace, I felt the same way my friend,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll grow used to it soon enough.”
After what seemed an interminable labyrinthine course they arrived at a set of alabaster marble doors embossed with the Denar crest in shimmering gold, a stag standing before a tree with seven stars caught in its boughs. A pair of guards, similarly garbed as their escort, but with gilded breastplates, half-plate greaves, full helms, and white, shield-shaped pauldrons on their right shoulders, stood before the doors, one hand each on the door ring and the other on a thick-hafted halberd.
“I will await you outside,” their escort said as his compatriots hauled open the ponderous doors.
Elias took a breath and stepped across the threshold. The vast chamber glowed as slants of light illuminated the alabaster marble that walled and floored the room. He glanced up and saw a massive dome situated in the center of the ceiling, which featured a skylight and frieze adorned with sculptures of cherubs and other mythic figures in low relief.
Eithne Denar offered him a warm smile and beckoned him to come closer. “You may step all the way inside, Master Duana,” she said. “I promise I won’t bite.”
Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 19