by Jon Monson
“You can’t say something like that and not follow it up with an explanation,” Byanca said.
“Come inside, and I’ll share with you what I know,” Mateo said, leading the group inside as servants rushed their mounts – Askari included, although with a certain amount of trepidation – to the stables.
Byanca followed the Count into the entrance hall, checking to make sure the others were following. She felt uneasy. Perhaps it was from the way Mateo seemed so mysterious with his knowledge.
As she let her gaze rest on the familiar entryway, more memories flooded into her mind. She used to run into this hall at full speed, her shoes clapping on the polished hardwood. There were so many things that seemed unchanged from those days.
The ceiling stretched two stories – the height of the manor – creating an open sensation. Byanca remembered how high the ceiling had seemed as child. It felt very strange, as if the entire building had shrunk.
Count Visconti led them through the entrance hall and into a study filled with upholstered sofas and leather-bound books. A fire roared in the hearth, warming the room against the cool air pressing in from the outside. The orange flames danced merrily in the stone fireplace, the wood emitting the occasional pop and sizzle.
“Please, take a seat my dear,” Mateo said, gesturing towards one of the couches as he himself took a seat on a chair facing Byanca. “Tea is already on its way.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Byanca said, setting herself down on the sofa, enjoying the softness compared to the past days spent in a saddle. Aydiin and the others remained on their feet, apparently unsure of where to go.
“Do you always allow your servants to remain with you like this?” the Count asked, his eyebrow raised slightly.
“Of course,” Byanca replied, realizing how odd it must appear to have these strange men travelling with her – of course he would assume they were servants or body guards. “The men you see here are my most trusted servants and bodyguards – I never leave for long journeys without them.”
Count Visconti gave her a quizzical look, but seemed content to not push any further. She found herself wishing they’d colluded with each other to create a cover story. This might end up being a difficult few hours.
“Please Count, tell me what has happened,” Byanca asked, hoping to not only gain the information but remove her host’s mind from Aydiin and the others.
“Rebellion in the south,” he replied.
“I hardly think a rebellion in the south would endanger Palmas,” Byanca laughed, relieved to hear that the Count had been overly dramatic. “I thought you meant there was real trouble.”
“I’m afraid this is no royalist rabble trying to bring back the monarchy,” the Count replied in a serious tone. “The rebellion is led by Field Marshall Armando Diaz himself, and he has the loyalty of the entire First Army.”
“But Field Marshall Diaz is one of the oldest, most trusted commanders in the Republic,” Byanca gasped.
“That’s why everyone is so scared,” Mateo nodded. “His army has already taken Daples and is marching on Palmas at a tremendous pace.”
“How long until he reaches the city?” Byanca asked, worried to hear the answer.
“From what I’ve heard, the Field Marshall is less than a week away,” Mateo shook his head.
“That won’t be enough time for Father to mobilize the militias,” Byanca said, rising to her feet. “I think we should get going – my father will need help with this.”
“Perun’s Thunder, you are an impatient one,” Mateo laughed. “You only just arrived.”
“I’m so sorry, Count, but this really does seem urgent,” Byanca said. “If we could just get some coin and food, we can be on our way. It’s only a few days – we really shouldn’t need much.”
“Miss Byanca, I really must insist you stay the night,” the aging gentleman waved for her to sit. “Look outside - the sun is already setting, and you look like you haven’t slept in a week. A good night’s rest will help you more than anything.”
“Oh, I assure you I’m quite well rested,” Byanca said, motioning for Aydiin and the others to follow her.
“But the roads aren’t safe,” Mateo continued. “This area has always been a low priority for the army’s patrols and several groups of bandits have taken it upon themselves to relieve night travelers of their belongings and their lives on the road between here and Palmas.”
“I believe my escorts will be more than sufficient,” Byanca laughed, heading towards door.
“Byanca, I could never face your father again if I let you leave and you didn’t make it back to Palmas,” Mateo said gravely. Something in his voice made her stop.
“Oh, alright,” Byanca sighed, turning back around to face the man who had been such a large part of her childhood. “But we’ll be leaving at first light. We have two days of hard riding ahead of us to reach the city, and I intend to get there before that army does.”
“Of course – I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll have Pia show you to your rooms,” Mateo smiled as he strode out the door to fetch his servants.
“And my men will also have their own rooms,” Byanca called out after him. “I don’t want them sleeping in the stables.”
“I don’t know if he heard you,” Seb grunted.
“The stables don’t sound too bad,” Aydiin said. “Especially after all the nights we’ve spent out in the open.”
“Anything’s better than the sewers,” Joon piped up. “The stables would be just fine.”
“Nonsense,” a feminine voice sounded from the hallway. “Guests of General Visconti don’t sleep in the stables – please don’t assume such impropriety of my master.”
A tall, willowy woman entered the room, her grey dress simple yet pristine. Middle aged, she wore her dark brown hair in a tight bun. A smile spread across her face, revealing a straight set of teeth. Her eyes, dark brown just like most of her countrymen, seemed to display a stern sweetness.
“I’m Pia, the head of the Count’s household,” the woman said, nodding to Byanca and ignoring the men in the room. “Miss Byanca, please follow me to your quarters. Someone will be along shortly to take your escorts to their rooms.”
Byanca followed the woman through the hallways of the manor, every step bringing back memories. It was strange to realize how much of her childhood had been spent outside of Palmas. It was even stranger to think that it had been so long since she had been back.
They passed the library, which she managed to glimpse through the open door. She’d spent countless days as of her youth in that very room, searching for the next great work to devour. The smell of the books wafted into the hallway and Byanca found herself breathing in deeply.
“How long have you been with the Visconti family?” Byanca asked Pia as they walked in silence.
“My whole life,” Pia said. “But I’ve only been here the past five years. I spent my youth on the Visconti’s southern plantation.”
“That explains why I don’t remember you,” Byanca said. “It is so nice to be back after all these years.”
“Yes, the Count seemed most pleased when he heard of your coming,” Pia said, her voice failing to put any emotion into the words.
Byanca didn’t quite know what else to say to the woman. Pia didn’t seem the type to be overly chatty. So Byanca focused her attention on a particularly ornate Salatian tapestry that hung on the wall.
“You’ve been given the finest guest suite in the entire manor,” Pia said as they approached a doorway. “You’ll find a warm bath ready for you and please give a ring if you need anything at all.”
Byanca nodded her thanks and Pia took her leave without another word.
That woman is a little too focused on her work, Byanca thought as she opened the door. As Pia had said, a bath was ready for her. Byanca’s entire body ached at the thought.
The room was as luxurious as the remainder of the manor. A large four-poster bed with what looked to be silk sheet
s stood eloquently on the polished hardwood. A vanity, complete with large mirror, stood against the wall next to the bed along with a few couches.
All of it spoke of a luxury Byanca hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity. She looked forward to sleeping in that bed and brushing her hair at the vanity. However, none of it compared to what sat in the corner.
A large copper tub, complete with bath salts, soap, and a brush dominated a tiled corner of the room. Steam rose up lazily from the water, a feat that must have meant a significant amount of work for the servants in a home without running water. She felt guilty for a moment at all the work required for her bath, but then she breathed in the salts and that feeling faded. She quickly disrobed and slipped into the warmth of the tub.
It had been days since she’d had the luxury of a bath. Those days had been filled with hard riding across an increasingly cool and sometimes rainy countryside. They had also been filled with Aydiin.
Breathing in deeply, she let the sweet aroma of the water and perfume fill her as her thoughts drifted towards her new husband. Husband. The thought was still strange to her although they she had known about the betrothal for weeks.
Aydiin was both the strangest and most wonderful man she had ever met. Their conversation had flowed as she rode her horse next to her kerton-mounted prince with topics ranging from the economy of Naerdon to the latest automobiles on the streets of Palmas. Days had moved quickly – almost too quickly.
And now there was the mess to deal with when she returned to Palmas. Her father no doubt was handling the situation, which she still couldn’t believe. One of the Republic’s own armies marching on the capital – it seemed ludicrous.
She began washing herself, choosing to focus on the more manageable task of removing the dirt that had accumulated over the past week of travels. A stiff brush left for her on the small table near the tub did its job perfectly, helped by the perfumed soaps.
Rising from the much cooled water, she realized the sun was quickly setting. As the orange light streamed in through her window, Byanca slipped into a fluffy robe that had been left for her on the bed. After wearing the same stiff clothing for days on end, the cotton felt almost overly-luxurious on her skin.
After brushing her hair and exchanging the robe for an equally soft nightgown, Byanca settled into the massive bed. She let her legs slip out of the nightgown, allowing the silk sheets to rub on her skin. It felt tremendous.
With all of this, she missed Aydiin. The room was lonely and too quiet after the days spent with companions. Flipping onto her side, she sought the embrace of sleep, but the silence seemed to grow deafening. Something gnawed at her.
The sun had disappeared completely behind the horizon, bathing the room in darkness. The exhaustion that had racked her body all day suddenly fled, leaving her with too many thoughts running through her mind.
Maybe a good book will help, she thought, with memories of the library just down the hall. Rising to her feet, she looked around the room. An oil lamp sat on her vanity, and she struck a match by the light of the recently risen moon. Armed with the lamp and clothed only in her nightgown, Byanca ventured into the hallway.
Moonlight streamed in through high windows, mixing with the yellow lamp light to illuminate the hallway. It seemed odd how such a place could feel so inviting and warm in the daylight and yet so eerie at night. She almost felt like a child again, sneaking into the kitchens to pinch sweets.
The thick carpet running down the middle of the hallway felt comforting on her feet, much better than the hardwood in her room. Small groans and squeaks emanated from the floor as she passed, a sign of the manor’s age. She remembered the same sounds from her childhood.
The library doors stood open, the empty room coated in moonlight. Bookshelves lined the walls with a few couches and armchairs arranged in the middle of the room and around the hearth. The hours she’d spent in here as a child came back to her mind.
In a corner sat an ancient harpsichord. While meticulously maintained, it looked to be as old as the house. As she stared at the instrument, another memory returned, one that she had blocked out.
As a child, she’d been expressly told to not touch the harpsichord. In fact, she couldn’t recall anyone playing the ancient instrument. Except in the dead of night as the house was perfectly still and quiet, she remembered a song being played. Her child’s mind imagined a ghost, and her father had always laughed heartily at her suggestion.
Setting the lantern on a nearby shelf, Byanca sat on the harpsichord’s bench, the haunting tune stuck in her mind. The words were equally as eerie, the kind of nursery rhyme that parents sang to naughty children to scare them. Hearing it in the night had always been troubling for more reasons than just being afraid of ghosts.
She suddenly felt rather upset that she had never been allowed to touch the instrument as a child. She considered herself quite proficient at the piano, and the harpsichord really wasn’t much different. She placed her hands on the keys rather gingerly and began to play, singing the words quietly to herself.
Under the bridge
And over the mountains
Lives the Demon King.
The naughty children call to him
But He will make them scream.
Watch yourselves, young girls and boys
Take care, you husbands and you wives.
The Undergods will eat your souls
And then they’ll take your lives.
As her fingers ran over the last note, the sound of metal chains from the wall behind made Byanca jump and turn in her seat. A book case swiveled - the contents of its shelves swaying with the motions – opening up to reveal a staircase. Stone steps descended deep into the darkness.
Gulping, Byanca grabbed the lamp from its perch and moved closer to the open passageway. Lifting the burning flame above her head, it cast its orange light into the stairway, which spiraled down, stopping her from seeing beyond a few spans. The nocturnal melody from her childhood suddenly made more sense.
Well, there’s only one way to find out what’s down there, Byanca thought to herself. Wishing she’d worn slippers, she placed her bare foot onto the cold stone. Lifting the lantern higher, she took another step. And then another.
The feeling of the staircase reminded her of the sewers of Palmas. The cold stone somehow felt moist the further she descended into the subterranean chamber. The smell, however, was significantly improved even if a certain mustiness hung in the air.
The staircase ended in a large chamber. The middle of the room was occupied by a raised, perfectly circular altar. Lifting the lantern to cast its light on the stone, she could see the hand-carved image of three large birds encircling the sun. Paint was splattered over the stone in various places.
She walked along the edge of the altar to a set of shelves on the far side of the room. The air seemed to grow cooler somehow, and Byanca shivered under her thin nightgown.
The shelves contained only a few items. On one level sat a single leather-bound book. She picked it up, looking for a title, but it was blank.
The shelf below held a single knife dark as obsidian. It glimmered in the lantern light, and she shivered again at the sight. It might be her imagination, but the knife seemed to be almost sinister.
Ignoring the small blade, she picked up the book again. This time, she flipped open the cover to expose hand-written text. On the front page, she finally did see the title.
Prophecies of the Return
She had never heard of it, although her heartbeat quickened as she read the words. Turning to again look at the altar, the splashes of paint seemed to scream out to her. Moving closer, she realized it wasn’t paint. It was blood.
Aydiin!
Chapter 27
Barrick’s heart pounded in his ears as he followed a robed servant girl through one of the palace’s courtyards. He’d never thought much about the green of the gardens until the heat of this abnormal summer. The rest of the city was a dry, dusty brown, yet
sections such as this garden remained oases.
The girl stopped at a rather non-descript door and bowed with a smile. Barrick returned the look with a grin of his own, along with a little wink. Now that he got a better look, she wasn’t such a girl. She was rather pretty and a few years into her womanhood.
Pulling his mind back to his task, Barrick pushed the door open and entered a rather small dining room. Despite his years of friendship with Aydiin, he’d never eaten a proper meal here. Yes, he’d taken dinners with Aydiin in his rooms as they’d poured over maps and books, seeking the next adventure. Yet, this was his first time in one of the dining rooms.
The room was simply decorated – blue, handcrafted tiles adorned the walls along with a few tapestries. The middle of the room was dominated by a low round table surrounded by pillows. Chairs were becoming increasingly common in Salatian dining rooms, but they were still considered improper in conservative homes. And if Barrick knew one thing about Sultan Oosman, it was that he disliked new ideas.
“Barrick, it’s good to see you, my good man,” Bayram called out as he approached.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Barrick croaked as he grasped the Crown-Prince’s hand. He cleared his throat, trying to pretend he wasn’t nervous.
“Are you alright?” Bayram asked, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve got to be careful with all the dust that’s been blowing around. It’s quite terrible for the respiratory system.”
“The what?” Barrick asked. Bayram was generally too smart for his own good.
“Your lungs, and everything you need to breathe,” Bayram smiled. “I just thought that with your raspy throat, you might be coming down with something.”
“I think he’s perfectly alright,” Gamila said as she approached the two. The girl had her eyebrow raised, as if she knew something. Barrick stopped himself from gulping.
She can’t possibly know what I’m about, Barrick told himself. Still, the look she gave him seemed to pierce his very soul. He was starting to wonder if he’d gotten himself in over his head.