by S E Turner
The October afternoon brought a hazy sun and a low chill—this time of year was full of swollen grey clouds and threads of silver mist. Thin trees stripped bare after the summer stood like rickety old men: gnarled, twisted and spindly. Meadows were even more sparse. The eagles swiped and the buzzards soared, stocking up for the winter days ahead.
They descended the ridge quietly, the horses’ hooves scattering out debris every so often.
'So, tell us what you know about this new Emperor?' said Lace, pensively. 'You haven't had much time to brief us.'
'Well, I haven't got a lot to go on, actually, as the rat sent a couple of his guards to do his dirty work.'
'But he has come out of exile now?'
'Yes, it would seem so. He must have got wind of his father's death and has come back to claim his inheritance; but why he needs Namir to sign a peace treaty is beyond me.'
'Don't you believe it then?' she continued. 'Only because Namir isn't back now suggests that the Emperor has an ulterior motive.'
'And there is the suspicious death of Alun, gods rest his soul. That had to be at the hands of the soldiers.'
'I agree,' said Dainn between thin lips. 'That was calculated circumstances to be sure and can only mean one thing.'
'You are right,' agreed Lyall. 'I am convinced this sculduggery was planned months ago, so my sincerest gratitude extends to all of you. I know that revisiting this place doesn't bode well.'
The group were somber until a voice piped up.
'We owe it to Skyrah and to Namir. We have to protect them as they have protected us,' championed Silva in their honour.
Everyone agreed.
They kept close to the path that they had taken coming back from Ataxata only a year ago, through passes, on the mountains, under grottos, and over dales. Lyall saw a stag on the high ground—his head was up, surveying his domain. His huge rack of antlers almost held the entire mountain in its structure. It reminded him of their stag hunt and how empowering it made him feel. How alert and alive he had been that day, full of hope and optimism for the future. But that very same evening, the General had descended on them and stripped them bare of all their childhood innocence and freedom. Yet here was the stag again, the Emperor of the forest, the image of power and freedom, of nobility and pride. And here he was, treading the path to meet its human antithesis.
They reached the eaves of the forest and rode into it without the slightest pause. Even the breathless atmosphere didn't deter them—they had all faced greater monsters in the past. The echoes and disturbance of the forest tried to hamper their spirits. But these were warriors of the highest calibre. A strangled wind and choking tree branch was of little consequence to these brave souls.
They made camp in a shallow bowl tucked well inside the overhanging bank of a rooted oak. Dainn nudged the life out of a smoky fire of damp wood. Torré took food out of his pack and handed out strips of smoked beef jerky. Lace shared her provisions of cured ham and cooked duck eggs. Hali offered a flagon of ale.
'I was sorry to hear of Laith's passing,' said Siri. 'He was a great man and deeply respected.'
Lyall nodded and dipped a smile in gratitude. 'And I heard about your loss as well ... the Giant's Claw has also lost a great leader.'
Siri nodded, 'He never recovered from the battle... a sad day for all concerned.'
'I am sorry to hear that,' said Dainn, 'I never knew Thorne, but I heard what a great man he was.'
'He truly was, Dainn. One of the greatest.'
'Makes it all the more paramount that we install peace across the subject kingdoms. We must learn from these great men and follow in their stead.'
'Hear, hear,' came the collective response.
'It started in Ataxata and it finishes in Ataxata.'
'Well said Dainn,' applauded Torré. 'And now my thoughts are with Namir. Poor man, just married, his wife is with child and we cannot be certain of his whereabouts.'
'We will find him,' said Lyall with conviction. 'We have to.'
They didn't pass Namir, even though they looked out for him at every turn. Skyrah had told them how ill he was and didn't know what state he would be in by now. Had the Emperor been kind and compassionate, or had he been neglected and treated like an animal? No one knew for sure.
They had made good time on this second leg of the journey—they all knew the urgency of their operation. They kept each other going, reliving stories of the famous battle, and when Dainn stole Torré's crown in the boxing ring. The day that Hali came third after another clan woman had pushed Lace into second place in the archery. Lace evoked feelings of awe as she detailed how she had first used a bow and arrow defending her younger brother from a charging wild boar. 'I just loaded, aimed, and fired. Straight in its eye, it went. But the beast didn't go down until I sent another one down its gullet.'
Lyall remembered a similar outcome when he and Namir were still novices hunting a boar, but they did it together. Lace did it on her own.
'That's when I knew I had to marry her,' said Torré, triumphantly.
The two of them shared an affectionate glance.
'Every step nearer to Ataxata makes me anxious about what we are going to find.' Lyall's sigh was heavy.
'I know exactly what you mean, and I don't like it either,' echoed Silva.
They were now on the high road to Ataxata, passing field after field of hoed soil and tufted meadows with herds of Aurochs grazing. A pony and trap jaunted by. The rider tipped his cap to the group. They all looked at each other and then back at the pony and trap .
'Should we stop him and look in his cart?' asked Dainn suspiciously.
'I think we should,' agreed Torré.
But they found nothing, and so they carried on. Lyall led his party on through the previously-bustling market streets and down the once-colourful avenue of pink and gold houses with an assortment of different shaped roofs. But there was no life here anymore—the city of Ataxata was a wasteland. The rubble of broken buildings and fragmented statues lay scattered all around them. Sand and dust had blown down empty streets and through the pillared walls and porticos, covering everything in a thick layer of dull grey powder.
The party was silent as they continued through the broken city, their horses' hooves eerily loud in the wake. Not even the corvids flew over here.
Turning into the palace grounds, three guards came running up, hands ready to unleash unforgiving swords, words ready to deliver.
'In the name of Emperor Cornelius of Ataxata, state your name and your business.'
'My name is Lyall, I come in peace with my seven comrades. I seek an audience with your Emperor to discuss the whereabouts of my brother, Namir.'
'Is the Emperor expecting you?' continued the guard, flanked by another two with swords drawn.
'Maybe he is. My brother has been detained by him for nearly three weeks now. He was due to return after a couple of days. His wife and I fear for his safety, and we need the assistance of the Emperor in finding him.'
'Dismount here, remove your cloaks, and surrender your weapons. I will inform the Emperor of your arrival.'
A youth ran out and took the reins. Another relieved them of their swords and bows. Another carried the cloaks and doublets. The dirks remained in their boots.
'I will feed and water your animals,' said Macus, obligingly, and led them into the stable block.
'Your possessions will be returned when you leave,' said the other youth, and with the coat bearer behind him, followed on the heels of Macus.
The eight of them waited facing the dormitory. They all felt sick to the stomach. Torré grabbed hold of Lace's hand. She knitted it in his, and for the first time in a long time, she showed an anxious smile.
Up in the tower, Namir had heard the thunder of hoofbeats, and had his head pressed against the wafer-thin opening. He recognised them at once and started shouting. He was banging on the wall, frantic and hopeful. But they didn't look his way. So, he looked for things to throw out. But there was n
othing. The Emperor had made sure of that. He saw the stool, but he didn't have the energy to break it up. Besides, the legs wouldn't fit through the holes. Namir could see them looking in his direction. He was screaming at them now in desperation. His knuckles were ripped raw and bled with the pummelling. He was pleading with his brother and begging him to look his way. But Lyall and his troop looked everywhere except upwards .
The Emperor soon appeared and invited them in—a tall regal man, not much older than themselves, but looked senior by definition. Namir had lost his window of opportunity and slid down the wall of his prison and collapsed in a tearful heap.
'Welcome to my home,' said Cornelius in a grand tone. 'I understand you want news of your brother.' He directed the second part to Lyall and then addressed the ensemble. 'Please follow me.'
They passed through a world of opulence and grandeur, and for the first time they saw through the eyes of Skyrah when she was taken into the palace. Every wall was adorned with precious polychrome marbles, and the frescoed ceilings were enriched with gold, glass paste and lapis lazuli. There were water features that gleamed bright orange with well-fed carp. There were fountains, whirlpools, and wells made entirely from mother of pearl mosaics. Every wall and ceiling and pillar was inlaid with gold, ivory and tourmaline. There were sunken gardens inside vast rooms complete with exotic ornaments adorned with playful golden cherubs. Two more rooms full of art depicted magnificent epic scenes, and the most celebrated artists of the day were commissioned to display their fine works for the Emperor. They saw the enormous dining room that had a revolving domed ceiling that constantly moved day and night like the heavens, and they glided past the grand carved staircase that disappeared from its curve into the first-floor apartments.
Following their guide, they were taken into a room of mirrors with a magnificent crystal chandelier as its focus point. Two guards stood to attention as the Emperor entered.
Leaving the eight guests to stand, Cornelius sat on the raised dais, and his jewel encrusted golden shoes glistened under the lights. Flaxen hair covered his ears and a rich golden jacket sat atop a pure white silk shirt with a ridiculously-large medallion of office on show. He wore black breeches and black slippers, well-groomed hands were clasped on his lap, and deep blue eyes shone out of a handsome face.
'Now, please, how can I help you?' he addressed them with a smile and a helpful tone.
'Well,' began Lyall, undeterred by the spectacle. 'I understand that you summoned my brother to take part in a peace treaty?'
'Yes, that is correct.'
'And you assured his wife that you would only detain him for a couple of days.'
'Yes, that is correct also.'
'But I have to inform you that he has not yet returned home; and myself, his friends here, and most importantly his pregnant wife, are deeply concerned about his safety.'
'Hmmm,' Cornelius tried to show concern.
'I also have to inform you that Namir is not well,' Lyall continued. 'He is still recovering from an injury sustained in the battle,' He paused to compose himself from the raw emotion. 'and he needs regular doses of a particular herb, so I hope you can appreciate why we are so anxious.'
'I see,' Cornelius stroked his chin with a manicured hand and then summoned a guard over. A lot of nodding and looking over to the guests went on followed by some raised eyebrows, a range of facial expressions, and tilted heads. Then the guard went out of the door and the Emperor spoke again. 'I am sorry, but it seems that you have had a wasted journey.'
'Really?' Lyall frowned.
'Yes, I did indeed have an audience with your brother, and when we had duly signed the treaty the next day, he was free to go.'
'So how long ago did he leave?' asked Lyall with a tone of malaise.
'I am not sure. Let me think,' Cornelius paused as he looked to the ceiling for some random figures. When he was satisfied with his story, he rolled off the deception on the tip of his tongue. 'It was only a few days, to be honest with you. He rested overnight in one of my stately rooms after he had dined with me. Then the following morning, we signed the treaty, and by the afternoon, he was on his way again.'
'Are you quite sure about that?' Lyall's voice was hollow.
'Oh, yes, quite sure, I distinctly remember thinking what a nice man he was, and what a shame we couldn't spend more time together. I could honestly see us as friends.'
Lyall disregarded the sickly smile instantly. 'I am sorry, but the journey would only take him a couple of days at the most.'
'He did say that he wasn't very well,' lied the Emperor. 'So maybe he had to stop off somewhere.'
'But where?' Lyall was agitated. 'He only knows one route and we have followed that path, so even if he had succumbed to illness, we would have seen him. I am sorry but there is something not quite right here.'
Cornelius glowered. 'I do not like your tone and I do not like your accusations, Master Lyall. I have invited you into my home to help you as much as I can, and all you do is stand there and dismiss every answer that I give you.'
'I apologise, my lord, if I have come across ungrateful,' said Lyall between clenched teeth. 'But with respect, I hope you can understand my concern.'
The Emperor offered another solution when the guard returned, but only after a subtle nod had passed between them.
'You can search the place if you like. My guards will take you round. Maybe he has fallen foul of his injuries on the grounds. I will be horrified and saddened if the poor man has been laid out somewhere needing assistance all this time. So, as it's imperative that we delay no further, you are welcome to see inside the dungeons, inside the dormitories, the stables, the outhouses. Everywhere in fact. Be my guests.'
Lyall looked at him suspiciously but erred on the side of caution. Oh, yes, he looked dashing with lashings of charm and charisma, and every inch a regal lord. But underneath those fancy clothes and that sickly fake smile lurked a sinister character that was possibly even worse than the previous dictator. Cornelius broke the icy stare and gesticulated an outstretched hand.
'Please, follow my guards.'
Lyall went to go, but there was something else that hadn't been discussed. He paused and turned around. 'There is one more thing, though.'
'Yes,' Cornelius looked bored now.
'Namir had a travelling companion.'
'Yes.'
'He was found downstream, washed up on a bank on the clan's territory, a few weeks after your soldiers had escorted Namir and Alun out of the camp. His head was smashed in and he had strangulation marks around his neck.'
Cornelius grimaced. 'I don't know anything about that.'
'So, you didn't know that your soldiers had agreed to let a companion travel with Namir?'
'Yes, of course I knew about that. I am told everything. But I don't know how your man died. According to my soldiers, he was fearful of the fog and turned back. He must have fallen off his horse, stumbled, and drowned.'
'Yes, of course, because a horse would naturally ride close to water in a fog, wouldn't it?' Lyall posed the ridiculous allegory. 'And that doesn't explain the severe traumas to his body.'
The two of them held an unsavoury glare. Lyall could see right through him.
Cornelius broke the standoff. 'I am tired now,' he said with jittered nerves. 'I have helped you all I can and offered you a favourable solution. There is no more I have to say, and so I bid good day to you.'
'Pity Namir wasn't allowed the same courtesy,' Lyall seethed with quiet anger.
'Excuse me, I could not hear you,' said the Emperor craning his misinformed ear.
'I said, of course, that we have taken up too much of your valuable time. Your Excellency has been most helpful.' Lyall bowed from the waist without taking his eyes off the man and took his leave with his entourage.
The guards dutifully took them down into the dungeons of the palace, to where Laith had been imprisoned. They were taken to the dormitories where they had been locked up. The stables were full of hor
ses and tack. The storerooms were bulging with furniture and rusty ploughs. The outbuildings were thick with dust and decay. Namir was nowhere. Lyall stood in the courtyard and looked around. 'Where are you brother? Where are you?' He spotted the ancient tower in the distance. 'What's that over there?'
A guard stepped forward. 'It hasn't been used for years. It is unstable and on the verge of collapse Even the rats won't go in there.'
Lyall looked for a long time and dismissed the guard's rantings droning on at his side. But he remembered the tower by his castle—how derelict and unsafe it was.
The sound of hooves made him turn away.
'Your horses and apparel, sir,' said Macus, diligently .
Lyall recognised him at once and held a gaze, trying to will the information out of his eyes, but Macus was clearly afraid and dropped his focus to the ground. Lyall looked around once more as he donned his doublet and cloak. He put one foot in the stirrup and looked up at the tower again. It was lifeless, devoid, empty. Surely Namir would have made some kind of communication by now if he was trapped in there.
But maybe he couldn't. Maybe he was shackled and chained, sick, or even dying. Lyall took his foot out of the stirrup and gave the reins back to Macus. His friends went to dismount as well, but he held up his hand to stop them.
'It's all right. I won't be long.'
The guard's face was ashen. 'I've told you it is not safe in there. The steps are worn, and the doors are dangerous.'
'I will be the judge of that. Either you take me there or I shall go by myself.'
He started the long walk over to the tower, followed in hot pursuit by the jittery guard who was looking anxiously at the others on horseback, poised with their weapons drawn.
'Open this door!'
The guard threw it open for him, and he was faced with the same stone steps that Namir had to climb. He wrinkled his nose at the rank, dusky smell that came from within.