Finally, Richard turned his attention back to his visitors. “When I summon, you will send your troops to Bastiin. There, they will assemble for the attack.” A concerned look crossed Robden’s face. Bastiin was within his holdings. It meant he would carry much of the financial weight of supplying the army while assembling, as it had been for hundreds of years. Richard knew tradition demanded the assembling army be supported by the province it assembled in, knew this would place a huge burden on Robden.
Locken wondered why Bastiin. It did not seem the most logical assembly for the army. Why not Gomald itself? The capital was surely a better place for Richard to ensure the assembly went according to plan than a distant city in one of the distant provinces.
“I will expect a swift response,” Richard continued. His attention focused on Locken as he spoke the last.
The throne room went silent, and Locken knew the meeting with the High King was over. He was unsure what choice he had. He suspected Richard would be watching him much more closely than before, and it left him little room to maneuver. He knew he must move carefully now.
“You may go.” The deep words sent them on their way, and each man turned quickly and quietly toward the door. Locken paused a moment after the third man had gone, his gaze searching behind the throne. A movement, slight though it was, caught his attention. He hesitated, but saw nothing more.
Finally, he walked quickly toward the door. A long journey for the summons of the High King for such a short meeting.
Passing through the door, the tickling sensation came to his mind again, leaving again just as quickly. He didn’t stop to think on it; rather he stepped hurriedly through the palace halls. He needed to think on the summons, but worse, decisions needed to be made.
Richard turned his head to scan behind his throne after Locken left. That man would need watching, he knew. He also knew he was the best war general he had, having spent nearly two years training with the Denraen long ago, so he dared not alienate him now. The loss of the battlefield skill of King Locken was not a distraction he needed, nor one to be taken lightly.
Movement in the shadows behind the heavy wooden throne caught his attention, pulling him from his worries. He opened his mouth to speak, but his advisor Raime emerged from the darkness before sound escaped his lips.
As he approached, a familiar smell came to Richard’s nostrils, one that was almost cloyingly sweet with an undertone that disappeared the longer he was around Raime. Almost a fog, it seemed to fill the room, pressing into his skull with unseen fingers, watering his eyes and tugging at his essence. It seemed to follow the man wherever he went. There was something to it that pushed and pulled at his mind, making it difficult for him to think straight.
Cocking his head, Richard could almost hear voices calling to him. He strained to hear, to understand, but could not. The sounds tickled his ears, his mind, and he shook his head. They stayed just beyond his hearing.
Sometimes, he thought he could understand the words, as if they instructed him. He had learned to listen. The voices had been right many times. He wondered if the gods spoke to him. He imagined one of the powerful gods, staring out across the plains toward him from high within the Tower, whispering him instructions.
He shook his head again. It was no clearer.
Raime neared, and Richard made out wrinkles in the dark cloak covering the man, long black sleeves obscuring hand and wrist alike, and the bottom hem dragging slightly along the floor. Faint stitching lined the throat of the cloak, the threading as black as the cloak it adorned, in patterns and symbols unfamiliar to him. He wondered at their significance, though he dared not ask the man. Briefly, he toyed with the thought that they must signify something, perhaps from the distant past, but the thought breezed through his head and was gone.
The hood of the dark cloak was pulled well forward over the man’s head as usual, only the red in his eyes from reflected light of the candles allowed Richard to see a face at all. The red almost seemed to dance, as if a flame were truly alive in those eyes.
The man made him uncomfortable, but strangely relaxed as well.
He sighed and inhaled the heavy fumes that hung in the still air of the throne room as he prepared to speak, tight muscles loosening. “Raime. Good to see you again. I trust you found the meeting entertaining?”
Richard did not ask directly why Raime had come to the meeting. Something about his advisor always made him cautious. He knew it was wise to be careful with words around him; he had seen many criminals falter, sealing their own fate, as they spoke more than they had intended. It was something he worried he’d falter with as well. Something in his head seemed to swirl, and he could almost make out the voices he thought there. He strained, listening, but there was nothing more.
“I felt it prudent to see if all could be trusted.” The voice was thick with an accent Richard had so far been unable to place. “A second opinion is always useful on matters of trust, don’t you think?”
Richard found himself nodding. The pressure on his head seemed to be building. He shook it quickly to try and clear it. The smell really was intoxicating. But something about it was also… It slipped his mind before he knew what he was thinking. Much did while Raime was around. He didn’t understand why.
“That last man will be dangerous, I think,” he heard Raime say, his accented words thoughtful.
“Locken?” he asked lightly and Raime nodded. “Although he may have his doubts and prefer to do things his own way, he has always been a faithful servant to the throne.” He paused and left unspoken his own concerns if Locken’s battle strength turned against him.
The hood shook slightly, almost as though from a breeze. The red of Raime’s eyes seemed not to move. “Yes. The throne is what he is faithful to. I worry his loyalty does not extend to the man who currently sits atop it.”
Richard sat quietly while Raime spoke, unable to hold a thought.
Raime’s tone suddenly changed. “But if you believe him faithful, we only have to wait until he proves otherwise to measure the extent of his loyalty.” Richard was unsure how to reply. “But waiting can sometimes be dangerous.” The words resonated in the air, his voice pausing a moment. “Your son. What have you heard of him?”
The sudden change of subject was a relief.
You must know where Allay has gone!
The words were quiet in his mind but seemed screamed. He had never heard the words so clearly.
The gods? he wondered. What he planned would honor the gods.
“Nothing has been heard about Allay. There are stories in the city that say he slipped out in the night with one of the Magi, but I think that unlikely. The Magi do not steal children, especially noble-born children.”
No, they do worse! the voice told him.
He froze, listening, then silently asked What do you mean?
There was no answer.
He hadn’t worried over Allay’s disappearance until Raime had mentioned it only a week before. He was not close with his son, and Allay rarely told him where he went, but he was second in line to the throne.
But If something should happen to Theodror during the attack on Thealon, Allay would need to take his place, he was reminded.
He nodded. The royal line needed to be preserved.
Even Raime seemed more concerned about the boy than he was. He supposed that made him a bad father. He preferred to think of himself as being preoccupied by the pressures of ruling.
Raime shook his head slowly. “No, I suppose the Magi do not steal children.” Richard thought the man sneered as he spoke. “It still leaves the issue of his location. We need continuity within the kingdom. If something should happen…”
Richard wondered why Raime worried about an heir, but it slipped again from his mental grasp. He worried for the kingdom.
It is his job, the voice reminded. You must focus!
He knew he needed to focus.
“Yes. We do need continuity, but I’m sure Allay will return soon. I�
��ve been told he often disappears like this.” He paused, trying to judge Raime’s response. He couldn’t. “Perhaps he enjoys traveling around the kingdom. He is certainly entitled to do such.”
The hooded man nodded again. Richard wished Raime would just once lower the hood. Ever since the man had arrived to serve him, Raime had never shown his face.
Perhaps he is scarred, he thought.
It matters little, the voice answered.
True, Richard admitted to himself. His advice had been invaluable.
“Certainly…” came Raime’s response, though it was slow in coming.
“We must send word to our Regrars to begin the preparations in Bastiin. We must also soothe Robden and help with burdens he worries he alone will shoulder. All the men must be focused on the task that lies ahead of us.” Including me, he reminded himself.
Raime nodded. Richard wondered briefly how this foreigner had so quickly risen to such great influence over him. Sometimes, he didn’t remember ever meeting the man before he suddenly had become his advisor. Other times he couldn’t remember ever not having him as an advisor.
The thought left him as Raime spoke. “The Regrars will receive their mission. It will be one that they will carry out well, you can be assured.”
Richard nodded. He had expected no less.
“And I will personally see to it that Robden is focused.” The words seemed somehow tainted by the man’s tone.
“We must begin preparations for our initial strike. It must come as a surprise to those bastards in Thealon. We will have the city and we will have the Tower.” Richard was almost surprised by his own vehemence. Almost. “The gods will look upon us once again. They will smile at the strength that defends them.” He thought he faintly heard a dark laugh from Raime but dismissed it. He knew the man was strange. He had a sense of humor to match.
The Tower, we must have it, the voice reminded.
“Ah, the attack. Yes.” A pale, slender finger tapped hidden lips thoughtfully. Richard was briefly tempted to throw back the hood to see how scarred the man was, but the urge passed. “It must be timed just right.”
Yes, just right.
“That is what I said. I will meet with the Regrars myself to gather suggestions on the initial attack. Then I will decide on the first strike.”
The hood shook from side to side as Richard spoke. “You will meet with your Regrars, but you will wait to strike at Thealon until news from the north distracts them. Only then will the first attack take place.” The words hung in the air, the command heavy.
Richard would not let his advisor tell him when his army could move, even though he’d already decided the attack would occur when Thealon was distracted. “I think you get ahead of yourself, Raime. I will attack when I choose.” He spat the words out in his rising anger.
The room seemed to flicker and darken, all the candles about the room swaying in some hidden wind. Richard knew it must be his imagination. Raime straightened his back, fingers gripping the hood of his cloak, and Richard saw the room sway. He grabbed the arm of the throne, seeking balance that was suddenly lost. His fingers dug into the hard arm of the chair as he forced his mind to still the motion his eyes saw. His ears were suddenly filled with the sound of Raime’s voice, a deeper tone than before.
“You will wait to attack when Thealon is distracted by movement in the north. And you will not question me again.” The words carried a hint of a threat.
His head ached at the sound.
Trust Raime! the voice screamed.
He looked to his advisor, a new light in his eyes.
Richard still swooned with the dizzying motion before him, but he nodded as Raime spoke. Something in the words frightened him in a way that he had not been frightened before. He wondered again who the man in front of him was.
Raime! He should be exalted.
“How do you know news from the north will distract Thealon?” he managed to ask.
Echoes of laughter pealed off the wall. The stone seemed to shake and the floor seemed to ripple. Richard knew it was the dizziness that made him feel what he did. It had to be.
His heart raced. There was something all too knowing in the laugh that he dared not question.
He shivered slightly, trying to look around the room, but the movement made him sick. Then the feeling passed and the room was normal.
His gaze shifted to Raime, and he looked up at him with a different expression: true fear. Raime had somehow caused the sickness.
Who was the man standing before him?
He thought he heard a faint laugh.
Silence stretched through the room until Raime broke it. “You have five convicted criminals, two murderers and three thieves, who wish to appeal their sentences this morning. Will you see them?”
Richard sat thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Who tried them?” He knew the answer as he spoke the question.
“I did.”
“And their sentences?”
“Death.”
He paused, unsure what to say. Finally, he asked, “From who are the three thieves convicted of stealing?” Again, he knew the answer as he spoke.
The voice laughed within him.
Richard wanted to scream.
“Why, my lord the High King, of course.” Richard thought he felt the laughter again as Raime continued. “Two were caught in the royal pastures, paying too close attention to your majesty’s horses. The other…” He paused, almost bearing down on Richard. “The other was a servant caught stealing food from the kitchens.”
Death? For those three? The servant deserved little more than exile from the palace. And the other two? He doubted the other two were anywhere near his horse stock. “And the murderers?”
“One man was guilty of slaying a traveler outside the city, a young woman who hasn’t been identified. Brutally torn apart, insides strewn from her body so that only the animals and the insects would have at her…”
“Enough!” Richard shouted. He did not need the details. He didn’t think his stomach could handle them. Not now.
There was more laughter.
It had to be the gods laughing, but why would the gods laugh at him?
Raime nodded slightly, “As you wish, my lord.”
Richard tried to harden his gaze. He doubted its success.
“Regardless, they each seek an appeal from your majesty.”
Richard doubted they sought appeal on their own. Raime was testing him. What were the consequences if he failed? The dizziness and nausea faded, but the memory of what he’d felt remained.
“When are the sentences to be carried out?” He tried to keep his voice light, but a slight squeak of his words at the end of the sentence betrayed him.
“This afternoon. Public hangings, all of them. And we will open the bodies of the two murderers following their deaths.”
Hanging for theft was not unheard of, but three in one day? The brutal sentence for the murderers was also uncommon. The bodies would not be allowed their final rest. It almost bothered him, and little ever had.
What would the gods think?
Nothing! the voice answered.
Five hangings would upset the people even more than usual, and he was already little loved by them. If he heard the appeals, he would likely fail Raime’s test.
“No. Their sentences shall serve as an example to the city.” He tried to sound more authoritative.
Yes! Authority! the voice laughed.
A silence filled the room again before Raime responded. Richard thought he could almost feel a smile crossing the man’s lips, and knew it to be a satisfied smile.
“They shall. The people need a firm rule.”
Richard nodded.
“There are other matters that need your opinion,” Raime started.
With a shudder, Richard doubted that. He suspected more tests.
Chapter Eleven
Roelle watched the Magi as Hester guided them in their formation, directing them as they marche
d. They moved more crisply than they had before, almost following his commands as the Denraen soldiers would have. Each day, they improved.
When he realized she watched, Hester came over to her. Beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “They're coming along. They'll understand how to move in formation soon.”
They were more coordinated than they had been just the day before. They were now three days past the Deshmahne attack. Three days into the Magi seeing the danger that even a few Deshmahne would pose. Now, the others understood a little more of the potential threat they faced.
Some of the joviality had waned. When before, they had laughed and joked in the evenings, now there was more intensity. Hearing from Matthew and Selton what they had faced drove home the risks. It still wasn't the same as facing it themselves. Roelle knew that, just as she knew that she wanted to protect them from the need to face it. Better to experience it secondhand. But, if nothing else, it encouraged them to work more efficiently.
There was an interest now to learn tactics that had not been there before. The Magi now shared a willingness to study with Hester and the other Denraen soldiers. Not only learning the sword and the staff, they had an interest in learning how the Denraen moved, to march the way the Denraen did. Roelle hated that it was necessary. They were Magi, not soldiers.
But they gained skill quickly, natural warriors.
She refused to think about what that meant.
At night, wooden practice staves collided with a certain energy. Even Selton trained with more earnestness than he had before. He still hadn't spoken to her about the Deshmahne, or pressed her about what they faced in the north. It was as if facing the Deshmahne had shown him the necessity of what they did.
Hester grabbed her arm. “You should get some rest. I can see how this is straining you.”
“I need to understand these techniques the same as they do.”
Hester chuckled. He released her arm. “I think you've got most of it down. You've already demonstrated how much you know. One might believe you've studied tactics the same as Endric.”
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 47