The Key of Creation: Book 01 - Rise of the Destroyer

by M. D. Bushnell

  Warren leaned in and added, “He’s not that important, really.”

  “Do you mind?” Gilmoure retorted, and then turned back to Aldrick with a speculative look. “We should bump into each other again sometime. You can tell me about whatever records you uncover concerning the Melee, and about growing up with Brodan. How does that sound?”

  Aldrick suspected that as a viable contender to his friend Brodan, this man might prove to be more important than he claimed, nevertheless he found Gilmoure to be good natured and friendly, with a natural confidence that put one at ease. It would be a good idea to learn more about him, and how he might affect Brodan in the Tournament. After quick consideration, he agreed to meet with him again.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning Aldrick awoke to find the storm had arrived in full force. Gusting winds lashed driving rain against the windows of the bedroom. Occasional flashes of lightning lit the storm-darkened room, chased closely by crashing booms of thunder that shook the very foundations of the palace.

  Aldrick lounged in bed next to his wife with his eyes closed, listening to the even sound of her breathing as she slept. The steady rain pelting the windows was hypnotic, and he dozed fitfully for a while. The fire in the arched stone fireplace had died sometime during the night, and cold northern air crept through cracks and seams in the stone walls of the palace.

  Aldrick chose to ignore the little voice in his head telling him to rise and start the day, and instead pulled the down quilt up further and snuggled against his wife, enjoying the warmth of her body next to his.

  A short time after he fell into a lazy peaceful slumber, the bedroom door crashed open, its banging echo reverberating throughout the room. Startled into sudden wakefulness, Aldrick and Jelénna sat up and peered groggily towards the door, their minds still thick with sleep. In the dim light permitted by the raging storm, Aldrick saw a dark form leap onto the bed, but before his sleep-dulled mind could react, Adrias landed on him in full force, knocking the wind out of him.

  “Good morning father! Good morning mother! Rise and shine!”

  Jelénna fell back and pulled the quilt over her head. Muffled by the protection of her blanket shield, she groaned, “Come back later Adrias!”

  Aldrick chuckled and play-wrestled with his son until they were driven out of bed by the vehemence of her protestations. Aldrick snatched a change of clothes from his pack and went out to the main room, taking Adrias with him. He pulled on a clean pair of trousers, while Adrias, who was wide-awake, ran about the room wildly. Envious of his energy, Aldrick yawned and tried to shake off the final remnants of sleep, which clung to his brain like a parasite. He took out a clean shirt, but a quiet knock on the door interrupted him before he could put it on. Adrias rushed to the door with a yell and wrenched it open.

  A servant girl pushed in the breakfast cart Brodan had arranged for them to receive daily. Aldrick had protested, claiming his family could go to the kitchen for themselves and not burden the staff. Brodan would hear nothing of it however, and insisted a servant deliver their breakfast every morning. The regent had been adamant that the nobility could not be seen rummaging around in the kitchen begging for scraps like common mongrels. While Aldrick had all but given up his noble birthright by moving to Ubarra and becoming an investigator, he was still the son of a noble, and a royal guest besides.

  Aldrick had eventually agreed, taking the advice of his long departed mother who had often quoted, “a wise ruler chooses his battles carefully.” Since then they had received the steaming tray of food every morning, and although he would never admit it, Aldrick now found that he rather enjoyed it.

  The breakfast cart was loaded with a variety of fruits, breads and cheeses, along with a massive steaming platter of eggs, sausage and pork, topped with onions, peppers and mushrooms. There was butter, honey and three kinds of preserved jam for the fresh breads. On the side were salt and pepper, and a nice hot pot of tea, complete with cups and saucers, and milk.

  Aldrick had been offended at first by how much food Brodan arranged for them each day, but after making a surreptitious deal with the servant girl to distribute what they had not finished among the kitchen staff, he had felt much better.

  Aldrick noticed the serving girl, after wheeling in the cart, stood staring at him blankly rather than bowing and leaving, as she normally did. The pretty brunette stood speechless until Aldrick broke the spell by inquiring what was wrong. She blushed a deep crimson and mumbled something about him not being properly dressed, and then she promptly fled. Aldrick looked down and realized he still held his shirt in one hand.

  With a sigh, he sent Adrias to fetch his mother for breakfast. Aldrick had begun to put one arm into a sleeve of his shirt, when he was interrupted by another knock on the door. Aldrick sighed exasperatedly and wondered what the serving girl could have forgotten. When he opened the door however, he found not the blushing brunette he had expected, but rather the disagreeable visage of Jarvus instead.

  The thin, cantankerous servant gave him a quick glance up and down with a distasteful expression, and then announced in a haughty manner, “Regent Brodan, undoubtedly the light of the world, wishes you to know that the second part of the physical trials of the Tournament, the Archery Contest, has been postponed due to inclement weather.”

  “Not surprising, it sounds atrocious outside.”

  Jarvus shrugged slightly, before continuing. “His Eminence also wishes to invite you and your family to an impromptu feast to take place at sundown, in lieu of the Archery. Shall I inform him you will attend?”

  Aldrick nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  Jarvus bowed low, but paused and added in a sententious tone, “I sincerely hope you will be more appropriately dressed this evening. Might I suggest you begin with a shirt?”

  “Right...” Aldrick began, but Jarvus wheeled about and strode away. Considering a rare curse, Aldrick turned to find Adrias eating from the food cart, with no sign of Jelénna. “Where is your mother?”

  Mumbling through a mouth full of eggs, Adrias said something that sounded like, “She didn’t want to get up.”

  “Go tell her to get in here before the food gets cold!”

  Adrias replied with a whining “Awwww” and stomped off to the bedroom. Aldrick stuffed his arm back into the sleeve of his shirt before being interrupted by yet another loud knock on the door.

  “By the All Father’s beard, what is it now?” Aldrick bellowed, and wrenched the door open with more enthusiasm than he had intended.

  Tiberius stood in the doorway with a startled look on his face. “Don’t take the door off the hinges, son.”

  Aldrick scowled and roughly pulled on his shirt, after ushering his father inside.

  Helping himself to a piece of toast, Tiberius mumbled, “Have you heard about the delay of the Archery Contest and the feast Brodan has planned?”

  At his nod, Tiberius continued. “I stopped by to ensure you were planning to attend. I have not had a chance to ask Gormond about the artifact, but he is invited to the feast. I can think of no circumstance short of death in which Gormond would pass up a meal at the palace, so we can ask him about the artifact tonight.”

  Just before sundown, Aldrick and Tiberius strolled through the palace towards the dining hall and the impromptu feast. Jelénna had decided to remain in the room, claiming a headache. Considering how rowdy nobles could get when drinking large quantities of wine and ale, she had chosen to keep Adrias with her.

  After a quick stop in the kitchens to have food sent up for them, Aldrick and his father arrived at the dining hall. Aldrick did not like ale very much, but he spotted a decanter of pomegranate wine, and helped himself to a glass while Tiberius introduced him around the room.

  Aldrick was not one for small talk, but he was familiar with how these events functioned. Behind the inane chatter so prevalent at these social events were volumes of political intrigue and maneuvering, nearly impossible to detect by the untrained ear. Aldrick detested
politics, which was one of the reasons he had given up his nobility for the life of a workingman.

  There were exceptions, of course. A noble like Gormond who stood in one corner of the room gobbling down appetizers as if they were the main course, did not have the mental fortitude to understand political scheming. He was here for one thing, and one thing only: the food.

  Tiberius motioned for Aldrick to join him, and they approached Gormond, intent on questioning him about the artifact. They were interrupted when the doors to the hall banged open and Jarvus strode in, regally announcing the arrival of both the preeminent regent of the land, as well as dinner. Brodan followed the announcement, swaggering through the arched doors into the room and heading towards his customary place at the end of the long dining table, without a word to anyone. He was followed closely by an entourage of gruff and foul-tempered guards, who were in turn trailed by a line of servants carrying heaping trays of food.

  The servers arranged steaming platters of food, baskets of bread and fruits, and assorted spices and condiments before filing out, leaving two attractive serving girls to refill wine and ale. The nobles interrupted their plotting and political machinations long enough to find seats and listen to a pompous and utterly pointless speech by Brodan. Everyone listened quietly except Gormond, who had discovered a new plate of appetizers. When he was finished, the regent officially began the feast with a long swig from a handy tankard of ale.

  Aldrick found himself sandwiched in between his father and Gormond. The corpulent noble sat to his left, gorging before Brodan had even finished his speech. Aldrick decided to wait until the obese man, entrenched in his meal as he was, at least slowed down before bothering to ask him about the artifact. It was apparent it might be a long wait, so he passed the time by helping himself to a nice looking piece of roast.

  Gormond reached for a warm piece of bread, but misjudged the girth of his sleeve and tipped over his wine glass, which in turn knocked over the glass Aldrick had set down. The glass landed hard and cracked, splashing crimson wine over the table, their plates, and both of them. Startled, Aldrick quickly stood and brushed the spill from his clothes with a napkin, while Gormond apologized profusely.

  Brodan had a mixture of irritation and amusement on his face, and he debated whether to yell at Gormond, or laugh at him. In the end, he chose to mock him.

  “Gormond, what is the matter with you? You must be the clumsiest man in the entire kingdom!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry Regent Brodan! It’s all my fault!”

  “Of course it’s your fault,” Brodan smirked. “But I’m not the one you spilled on. Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Aldrick!”

  “Oh, sorry. I meant to apologize to Aldrick. Sorry Aldrick.”

  Aldrick held up a hand to stop him. “Apology accepted.”

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry Master Aldrick! I truly didn’t mean to do that.”

  The regent called for more wine, but Gormond had taken the last of it. Brodan sighed and glanced at one of the heavily armed guards standing behind him. “Run to the kitchen and fetch Aldrick a new glass of wine. And be quick about it!”

  Brodan returned to his meal, oblivious to the scowl on the face of the guard as he stomped out. Aldrick wiped the spill as best he could and took a fresh plate from a servant. Conversation slowly resumed as the incident was forgotten. A short time later, the guard returned and placed a fresh glass of wine on the table, before returning to his place behind the regent and glaring at Aldrick.

  Aldrick barely noticed the arrival of the fresh glass of wine. He was too busy laughing and reminiscing with his father and Brodan about a time many Summers earlier when he and the regent had put a large frog down the dress of the daughter of one of the nobles. Brodan was always coming up with some new scheme he would try and convince Aldrick to go along with. Although Aldrick usually knew better, the regent had often found a way of persuading him to join in, after which they would invariably wind up in trouble.

  Aldrick, absorbed by the description of the girl jumping about with the frog in her dress, never noticed when Gormond reached over and grabbed his fresh glass of wine by mistake, tipping it up and draining it.

  Gormond began choking and clutched at his throat. His rolls of fat shuddered violently as he went into convulsions, and he fell heavily to the stone floor. The empty wine glass slipped out of his shaking hand and struck the stone floor, shattering into a spray of small pieces. Gormond gasped for air and his eyes bulged, while his limbs twitched violently. Flecks of spittle foamed around his trembling lips.

  “What’s all the ruckus?” Brodan demanded around a gulp of ale.

  Aldrick pushed his chair out of the way and knelt down next to the quivering man, pushing back one of his eyelids. “He appears to have been poisoned. We need a physician!”

  “Poisoned?” someone echoed.

  The nobles were frozen in shock and too startled to move, until Aldrick yelled “Now!” at which point one of the nobles closest to the door ran out of the room. Gormond’s breathing was labored, so Aldrick inspected his mouth for blockage, but could find no obstructions. Not knowing what else to do, he and Tiberius held the thrashing man down in an attempt to keep him from hurting himself.

  After an agonizingly long time, Doctor Quintus was ushered into the hall by the returning noble. Miraculously, Gormond was still breathing and his convulsions had lessened, albeit barely. Doctor Quintus was unable, or unwilling to diagnose Gormond on the spot, but instead requested assistance transporting him back to the hospital for care. Brodan ordered four of his reluctant guards to assist, and they groaned as they lifted the enormous man, carrying the hapless noble from the room. Doctor Quintus trailed along behind the procession, fussing and rubbing his hands together.

  Having lost their appetite, the remaining nobles filed out of the room in silence. With whispered accusations of poison still lingering in the air, Aldrick stared down at the cold stone floor and the sparkling, shattered remains of his wine glass.

  Chapter 14

  Word of the poisoning tore through the palace like wildfire. The nobles who had been present were caught in the grip of a general panic, and the servants followed suit shortly thereafter. The hushed conversations Aldrick and his father overheard as they left the dining hall consisted of little else.

  They walked for a short time in silence, before Aldrick came to an abrupt halt. He could not understand the panic of the nobles; if all of the food had been poisoned, everyone would have shown symptoms by now. He did have an idea of what had actually transpired, but if he were going to find evidence, he would need to do so quickly.

  Tiberius continued ahead a few steps before coming to a belated halt. “What is it?”

  “I’m no physician, but it appeared to me that Gormond was poisoned.”

  Tiberius nodded. “I agree.”

  “He went into convulsions immediately after drinking from my replacement glass of wine. If that’s the case, Gormond may have unintentionally saved my life.”

  “I see your point,” Tiberius mused.

  “We need to find out where that wine came from.”

  “Good idea,” Tiberius agreed. “Why have we stopped?”

  Aldrick grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know the way to the kitchen.”

  They were striding down a modestly decorated hallway towards the kitchen with Tiberius in the lead, when a servant girl came running at them with a wild look in her eyes. Before she ran past, Aldrick grabbed her arm and demanded the reason for her flight. At first she was too frightened to answer and tried to pull away, but Aldrick was insistent. After a moment she blurted, “There is a fight in the kitchen between the head cook and the creepy new helper.”

  “What happened?”

  “I saw him put something into a jug of wine,” the flushed servant licked her lips and swallowed. “So I told the head cook Berach. He went crazy.”

  Aldrick glanced at his father with a glint in his eyes. He thanked the girl and dashed ahead of his fathe
r down the hall. He arrived at the entrance of the kitchen in time to hear a bellowed shout followed by a loud crash of pots and pans. The rough wooden door stood ajar, and Aldrick pulled it open and rushed through to find himself confronted by a scene of chaos.

  Pots and pans, with a vast array of cooking utensils, containers, bottles, and produce were scattered haphazardly about the floor of the large kitchen. A huge bear of a man with sweat pouring down his face was shouting and cursing, as he waved a large cleaver in one massive, meaty fist. He was chasing another man around the room, without apparent success.

  “Come back here you little rodent!” The big man bellowed. “By the All Father, I will teach you to tamper with my kitchen!”

  Aldrick caught a glimpse of the man he was chasing when he darted out from behind a barrel. Though he was partially obscured by a cloud of flour lingering in the air from a split bag, Aldrick recognized the weasel-like features of the man who had held his son hostage on the road.