“Part of it is due to your father for that. It’s the new suit he made for me. I was always strong with siphoning, but this new design is incredible. He tried to explain it – something about covellite crystal matrices within the fabric or something technical like that. I never could understand half of what your father was talking about.”
Matoh laughed at that. “You should meet my brother, he’s just the same.”
The High King smiled slightly at that, but then a sadness came over his eyes as the High King seemed lost in a memory. “You said it was a convergence.” He looked Echinni.
“It was Halom’s Will,” Echinni said in answer. “It was strong, and when I felt it here again. This was meant to happen.” Then she looked down to Adel. “Are you all right?”
“I am, Princess. Thank you,” Adel said respectfully.
Echinni smiled. “It would seem that it is I who should be calling you by an honorific if all of what Lady Buika says is true. I suppose it would be ‘Queen Adel.’”
Adel shook her head wearing a similar smile. “I don’t suppose you were ever asked if all of this …” Adel circled her eyes around the room to encompass their surroundings, “… was what you wanted?”
Echinni laughed quietly, “No. I was not.”
Adel got to her feet, and they both stood looking at each other.
“I know nothing about how to rule,” Adel said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I know nothing about being this Arbiter I am meant to be, I know nothing about being a figurehead for the Faith. My father taught me how to fight because deep down, I believe he thought that is what I needed to know for what is coming. I don’t want your throne, High King.” Adel shook her head and looked at Lady Buika. “I don’t want any of it.”
She was somewhat surprised to see Fellow Callahan nodding slightly as if this was what he had expected all along. He looked pleased, which was a stark contrast to the severe disappointment Lady Buika wore.
“Adel,” Lady Buika began, she had still not lowered the double-glaive from attack position. “I understand that this is a lot, but you do not understand the sacrifices which have been made to get you here.”
“You’re right,” Adel said. “I don’t understand, and I don’t want to. All I want to understand is what in Halom’s name is happening to me. I want to not worry about burning myself to a crisp every moment of every day. Can you not understand that? How could I do any of these others thing if I can’t even control my own body?”
“I understand,” Echinni said, and as Adel looked at the princess, she knew the she really did.
Adel turned to the High King and said, “I’m not a queen, or an Arbiter, or any of it. I barely even feel like a person at the moment. I simply said those things earlier tonight because I thought it might deescalate the situation we were facing, and it worked. All I want is to learn how to control this strange power I seem to have and to serve and protect Salucia as I originally did when I left home to come here. That is if you’ll still have me, my High King.”
Ronaston Mihane looked pensive. He looked at Adel for a moment before turning to Lady Buika, “As for you, my Lady, there will still be-”
“Don’t–” Fellow Callahan shouted as he saw what Lady Buika intended. The old man’s hands flashed up, and energy began to dance around his fingers, but he was too late.
Lady Buika opened her mouth, and a deafening shriek split the air.
Fellow Callahan was knocked off his feet, the energy in his hands dissipated as he fell backwards.
Everyone else went to their knees, clutching their ears against the lancing pain searing between them. Adel saw Lady Buika flee along with a few of her Hafaza and Syklans who had anticipated the attack.
When the whining in her ears finally stopped, Adel could hear the High King yelling for those loyal to him to give chase, but somehow Adel already knew they would not find the lady and her followers. This coup would have been planned for years, and they would have had an exit already mapped out.
“Get the rest of these insurgents in chains.” The High King pointed to the soldiers who had been left behind as Lady Buika fled. “Sir Garrick, get yourself to a medic.”
Sir Garrick’s pained face bobbed in a salute before he turned and marched out the room cradling his injured hand.
As the Syklans and Royal Guard rounded up the shocked looking group of would-be overthrowers, the High King turned to look at Fellow Callahan and Adel. “And now, what am I meant to do with you two?”
Echinni seemed about to say something, but the High King held up his hand.
“No, Echinni. Now is not the time,” his deep voice growled. He levelled his gaze at Adel. “If you truly wish to serve, you will surrender that sword and be escorted by the Royal Guard to a guest room here in the Red Tower. Fellow Callahan, that applies to you as well.”
Adel couldn’t believe the words, she had tried to do the right thing. She had renounced all of the plots and her supposed position. What more could he want from her?
“Your Majesty,” Matoh started, “I must protest. Adel has fully cooperated and …”
“Has a claim to my throne,” the High King finished with a deadly edge to his words. He stared Matoh into silence before continuing. “Now, surrender that sword. It will be kept safe, and Fellow Callahan will be close at hand to ensure your particular siphoning problem can be managed. You may have whatever resources you require brought to the Red Tower. However, I cannot allow you to keep a weapon of that power. I’ve seen their like only a few times before. Hunsa is like that blade. The Navutians were obsessed with trying to recreate these types of mythical weapons.”
“High King, I ...” Fellow Callahan began.
“Will remain silent, old man!” The High King’s temper had finally been breached. “You are lucky I don’t smash your skull where you stand! You knew! You knew this whole time and said nothing!”
Fellow Callahan bowed his head, “If I could but explain, there are great forces at work within the world–”
“Say one more word, and it will be your last, Callahan,” the High King hissed, and a great arc of electric energy shot from the head of the war hammer in his hand. The santsi glowed white hot in his armour, and the hairs on Adel’s arms lifted with the power the High King had pulled into himself.
“It’s fine!” Adel interjected before Fellow Callahan could speak. “Here–” Adel held the sword out to Yuna, but the big warrior flinched back from touching the sword.
“I’ll take it,” Echinni said and took the scabbard and sword almost reverently from Adel. “I’ll make sure it is safe.” Echinni turned to her father with steel in her eyes. “And if Adel needs the sword to manage another attack, she will be granted its use to dispel said attack.”
The High King and his daughter stood facing each other, their wills battling before the High King finally growled and the glow of the santsi in his armour finally faded. “So be it, but any use of the sword will be done under heavy guard and supervision.”
Echinni waited for Adel to nod before the princess finally allowed the matter to be settled.
“Adel.” Matoh held out a hand.
“It’s fine, Matoh. It’s for the best. Tell Naira what’s happened for me, please.”
“I will,” Matoh said, and Adel saw a tear in the corner of his eye.
And with that, Adel was led away with an escort of no less than four fully armoured Syklan knights, two in front and two behind, to her new room within the Red Tower. A room, where she would no doubt receive the best treatment for her condition money could buy, but might also be the last room she would ever see. Yet, the overthrow of the throne had failed, and no one had died for a coup she had never wanted.
That had to be something.
At that moment, as the doors to the great hall closed behind her, she wanted to see her father more than anything else in the world. She wanted to scream at him, to pound on his chest, throw her fists at him and fight until she had nothing left, and when they could
not fight any longer, he would give her that tiny nod of approval which made the pain all worth it. He would take her into his arms, and she would cry herself to sleep as he stroked her hair and told her fairy tales of Anastasia Quinn and how she guided her people back to Halom in a world of darkness.
But her father was not here, and Adel was not in a fairy tale.
She was alone and a prisoner within a fancy cell.
27 - Games of Chance
Chaos and Nature.
They are both my greatest enemies and my greatest allies. They give me hope and dread in equal measures.
Trying to fix what we have done to the world would make you think nature is my ally, yet I can only predict what she will do, and I am fallible. She will rip apart and recombine anything I send out into the mess I’ve made, and sometimes with wondrously horrifying results.
Chaos governs it all and must be used to grow the fledgeling seeds I sow, yet its greatness is so vast it is almost incomprehensible.
Sometimes I wonder if I erroneously pre-empted these two Gods when I reset civilisation. Would they have intervened? Or was I their instrument all along?
- Journal of Robert Mannford Day 226 Year 022
John Stonebridge
Xinnish District, New Toeron, Bauffin
John had his pen out and was scribbling away in his notebook. The familiar scratching sound of the fine metal tip delicately scraping across the thick pages of the notebook was a comfort to him. His nerves were on edge, however, as he was gambling against his instincts this time.
Yet, he had the note, the one with the official Nothavran royal crest pushed into red wax. ‘I am the one you are chasing. Yet, you also know of the witch that dogs my shadows, the one who can control minds. I, too, am a pawn in the greater game at play. Meet me at Ningjing House, I will surrender and give you evidence of who truly conspires against the throne. Your suspect, Thannis Beau’Chant.’
The precocious bastard. Was it a taunt? What trap was this Thannis setting for him now? Or was it possible it could be genuine?
The damn note sat in his pocket and John longed to pull it out and pore over its contents once more, but he had memorised it already, and if he was honest with himself, the whole thing unnerved him.
John had figured out who the killer was the night of the attack in the temple. The resources available to this killer, and the things their suspect could do, the precision of the knife strikes, the meticulous planning, all of it spoke of years of training, study, discipline, years of education and access to higher society. It all fit, but this revelation also meant that big forces and big players were at work.
And then there was the witch. The one who could control minds.
Somehow that ability of hers scared John right down to the core. The man he had interrogated back in the Narrows had been turned into a raving madman. A puppet who had played out a scene for the constabulary while the killer and the witch escaped from right under their noses.
Could the witch be here already? Was she watching him right now, clouding his mind so he could not see her? How would he ever know?
John rechecked his notes. Going over for what must have been the tenth time today what he had written down. He reread his notes and hated the acid he saw in his writing. Halom, cleanse me. I’m such a racist. John had written down exactly what he would have done if he was trying to start a war with the Xinnish. What he wrote disgusted him and he knew it was because some of it wasn’t just hypothetical. He had done a lot of the things on this list. It had been war then, but his soul knew the excuse for the lie it was. He would have to go to choir once this was all over. Try to scrape back some semblance of good to balance the books against his old evils.
John had searched the Xinnish district for the spot he would choose, and he had found it in this pub, Ningjing House. It had everything: lots of traffic right off the main road from the south, it glorified old Xinnish culture and heritage and was still boldly Unionist, the Salucian flag hung from a total of four places on the walls. This place had strong community ties, and everybody walking past would see the bodies on display if a murder did occur here. This is where it would hurt the most, where it would make a statement, where it would enrage and drive people into a frenzy. If he had to choose a pub where he could start a war, this was it.
Yet the despicable note from the killer had turned him upside down. What was the other angle he wasn’t seeing? Why the sudden shift? The riots were working, the whole city was on the brink, what ploy was the killer trying to pull with this meeting?
But he had come to the conclusion of where to break the city on his own before the note had suddenly appeared on his desk. He had circled it in his journal, Ningjing House. This is where the last murder will occur, the one that will plunge the city into all-out chaos.
It had only been a day since the terrible scene at the temple. If it were him trying to start this war, he would strike again before the fire and anger had had a chance to cool.
Then there had been the coup attempt by a disgruntled sect of the Hafaza that night. A coup which had apparently been snuffed out as easily as blowing out a candle. That Corbin girl had gotten mixed up in it. John still didn’t have all the details, but the High King had assured him it was something separate from the riots. “A matter which was handled in house. Nothing the constabulary needs to concern itself with,” the High King had said when John pressed for more info.
John wasn’t so sure. It all felt connected like they were all flies flitting from one strand to another within some grand web. As soon as something seemed to make sense, they got stuck on the next thread.
It was all there, he just had to see it.
“He won’t come,” John grumbled to himself and then somewhat angrily replaced the lid of his pen and tried to tuck his notebook away into the inner pocket of his coat before he remembered he was wearing a disguise tonight. His hand paused, feeling the lining in the place where his pocket should be, then he sighed and finally found a pocket in the merchant coat he wore. It took him a moment before he was finally settled. He looked across the table at the two other constabulary officers playing cards. Bill and Trealine where good officers, and more importantly, they were extremely capable in a physical confrontation. They looked as if they had the same mix of boredom and nervousness as he did.
Why risk it? John thought. He’s got to know we are close. The constabulary’s presence in the city had doubled over the past few weeks. Brown coats could be seen in every street now. Why come to us? Why not just cut the city’s throat with another attack and be done with it?
It was just too risky for someone as careful as their killer. This place was too obvious, too out in the open, too exposed.
John glanced up from his musings to see Miranda leaning over the bar to order another tea. She seemed calm, but John knew she must be buzzing inside. She thinks we are about to catch him. It just seemed too perfect for him to show up here, to walk right into their trap.
‘I too am a pawn’. John recalled the words on the note like a mantra. Could they be true? Not likely, but perhaps they hinted at a sliver of truth. Was it an embellishment maybe? Their killer was a control freak, and he had shown that control when he had murdered Princess Syun in the Narrows, then at the temple the other day, followed by the parade. Those had all been meticulously planned down to the smallest detail, whereas the warehouse and several of the Xinnish murders before the temple had been more opportunistic rather than targeted.
John sighed audibly, and Bill rose a sympathetic eyebrow at him as he tossed another card onto the table.
“Patience is a virtue,” Miranda chided him softly. Smiling as she watched John pat his chest as he yet again forgot he was wearing a different coat.
John growled, “Says the child tapping her foot. How many cups of tea is that?”
“Seven?” Miranda shrugged at him. “Which reminds me. Time to visit my new favourite water closet.” She stood, scraping her stool against the wooden floor. “Now don’t
go saving the city without me. Play another game of cards, looks like we have the time.” She looked at John and tapped the sharp point of the tribal bone spike protruding from her eyebrow, winking at him.
“I’ve told you, don’t do that.” John clenched his jaw and watched her leave. Bloody Xinnish.
“I know.” Miranda winked at him. “And I told you it doesn’t mean that any more. Get used to it. Bill, deal the cards. The old man is getting grumpy.”
“Nothing new there.” Bill smiled across from him.
“Shut up and deal, you big oaf,” John snarled.
Bill chuckled as his thick fingers flicked the cards into their positions around the table. “Big oaf, ha. My old man used to call me that. Well, that and other things.”
“Like, bad-at-cards?” Trealine smiled as she lay down a card and swept another trick to her side of the table.
Bill shook his head and smiled. “Yep. He always beat me at cards, but I still liked to play. It was the only time we ever spent any time together.”
John dropped his cards, forgotten, as the realisation hit him like a thunderbolt.
The father.
Remus Beau’Chant.
Gods damn it.
It all made sense now. The son was chafing under the father’s control, the witch was the father’s instrument. Which meant ...
“Gods damn it!” John cursed, he should have seen it.
John had to warn the king, right now. The coup attempt was part of it. Just another thrust in the multiple-pronged attack to undermine the throne. John saw it all laid out before him.
He pushed his seat back to stand up, but then the front door swung open, and he watched as the devil himself walked in.
Thannis Beau’Chant.
The Nothavran prince registered John’s look and gave the slightest of nods.
John sat back down to see Lady Buika, the rumoured instigator of the attempted coup, walk in behind Thannis with two fearsome looking Hafaza and a scar-faced Syklan knight who looked like she was ready to kill everyone who so much as looked at her.
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