“Only survivor? Then Eradad is lost?” said the King.
Chapter 2 — The King's Champion. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord Saga
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The castle gates swung wide as Ned and his platoon approached. Many of the soldiers saluted as they passed by, while castle servants and attendees ogled the sight with rapt interest. Eyes stared at the massive Ivel, the crowd drawing back at each of his lumbering movements. Ned dismounted from Juniper, giving the reins to one of the many stablehands that were hovering about. He dismissed some of the men to rest, leaving only himself, Rodney, Darnell, and six others with their lone prisoner.
I hope it's enough, he thought. One look at Ivel’s hollow expression told him it probably would be.
“Come along then, to the King,” Ned ordered, his men falling in pace behind him. The bustling city center gradually gave way to a beautifully maintained courtyard that gleamed under the midday sun. Divided into sections, each quadrant flourished with meticulously pruned hedges, vibrant flower beds, and neatly arranged cobblestone paths. The soothing sound of trickling water filled the air, guiding him and his men toward the heart of the courtyard, where an immense statue of Goddess Inari stood proudly.
Positioned within the heart of a grand fountain, her graceful form exuded an aura of tranquility and power. At the base of the fountain was intricately adorned with eight distinct runes, each representing one of the magical affinities. His mind was cast back to the horrifying ritual he had found in Eradad, and shuddered at the thought of it.
These runes, enshrined around the fountain, emanated an ethereal glow under the sunlight, casting reflections onto the water's serene surface. The juxtaposition of nature's beauty and the reverence for ancient magic imbued this courtyard with a sense of harmony and sacredness that was palpable to anyone who set foot within its bounds.They marched through the courtyard heading past a beautiful arbor leading toward the king’s throne, but much to Ned’s surprise, they needed to go no further–the King was sitting outside in the springtime breeze, under the shade of his palanquin, a glass of wine in his hand.
As Ned approached, the King raised his free hand. King Richard was a tall man, offset by a slightly heavier belly. His crown concealed his receding hairline, but his magnificent mane of dark beard was kept well-trimmed and neat. Piercing blue eyes peeked out from heavy, dark brows. His clothes were neat and of clear quality, fashionable; as far as Ned knew, but surprisingly down-to-earth compared to some of the Court, who looked like peacocks on parade. Ned halted the progression of his troops, awaiting the King’s signal to approach. King Richard leaned to one of his many supervisors–the head mage, Dornton. After what appeared to be a small argument, the King waved them on.
Ned came up and stopped a respectful distance apart, enough so that they could speak plainly but far enough in case Ivel chose to make any sudden moves. Ned bowed low before rising again, meeting the King’s bored expression.
“Your Highness,” said Ned. “I bring before you Ivel Drawde, the only survivor from Eradad.”
A torrent of whispers broke out among the members of the counselors and confidants behind him, which was quickly quelled by a wave of King Richard’s hand.
“Only survivor? Then Eradad is lost?” said the King.
“Completely destroyed,” said Ned. “And worse…” he hesitated. “It was done in order to complete a dark magic ritual.”
The court was no longer whispering, terrified gasps and a hush swept through the Courtyard. Even King Richard leaned forward, setting down his wine glass.
“Dark ritual?” asked the King. “What do you mean by ‘dark’ ritual?”
“Yes, Champion,” chimed in Dornton. “Please, describe it as best you can. Spare no details.”
Ned launched into vivid descriptions of the position of the bodies he’d found, the marks on their foreheads, how a strange light emanated from the center of the circle, and how a Rageling had passed through. At this point, the King stopped him.
“A Rageling?” snorted the King. “You can’t expect me to believe that. What do you take me for, a child?”
Ned shook his head vigorously, “It’s true. I swear it. I know their descriptions better than most, and that’s exactly what it was.”
“And did you bring evidence of these beasts in Quilendell?” asked the King. Redness creeped up Ned’s neck as the king chuckled loudly for everyone to hear. Some of the court were even giggling.
“I don’t have it,” said Ned. “They ran off. My only other witness is this man here–Ivel.”
“Oh? Bring him forward then. Let him confess what he saw.”
Ned reluctantly stepped back so that Rodney and Darnell could bring Ivel before the King. The giant man’s hollow expression had not changed, his eyes somewhere faraway from the courtyard.
“Speak,” demanded the King, but Ivel did not answer. “Did you see the Rageling creatures?”
Ivel did not answer.
“He has battle sickness, my King,” said Ned. “I don’t know–”
“I was not speaking with you, Champion.”
Ned’s mouth snapped shut. A dangerous edge was in the King’s voice. The King spoke again, louder to Ivel this time.
“Ivel–Drawde was it? I command you speak, lest you be in contempt of this Court. What did you see, the night your town was destroyed.
“Blood,” Ivel shouted. “Blood everywhere. Blood and flame–”
“Tell me about the monsters,” said the King.
“I killed them,” said Ivel, groaning, falling to his knees. “Dead. Everyone dead. Gone. Gooooone…”
He rocked back and forth. King Richard leaned back in disgust.
“It appears he can’t corroborate your story, Champion,” said King Richard with a sneer. “And as it stands, it sounds more like a confession to me. Is it not rumored that the Heretic–Brahm is about? And is a giant of a man? Either this is Brahm himself, or an apostle. I wouldn’t be surprised if this fool here played with Dark Magic and was surprised to get burned.”
“Put the man in prison,” said King Richard, clapping his hands. “Ready him for execution.”
“Execution?” exclaimed Ned. “Based on what? As far as we know, he’s done nothing! We have no proof that he was more than a witness!”
“I believe saying ‘I killed them’ over and over is enough,” said the King smoothly, holding his glass of wine once more. His voice rose. “And as this court knows, I do not tolerate the misuse of magic of any kind–especially those that tamper with darkness. Bring him down to the prison, let him stay, until the Otter Festival. Then I will show this people that I will not tolerate such wickedness—not in my kingdom!”
The Court behind him clapped profusely. Dornton’s head shook, but he said nothing against his King. Ned stood, stammering–nothing could have prepared him for such an outcome of events.
“I would suggest, Champion,” said the King. “You follow my orders as given. Unless you want to join your giant companion in prison, that is.”
The time for talk was over. Ned looked helplessly at Ivel, then to his men. A mixture of rage and helplessness coursed through his bones. He gritted his teeth, and turned away.
“You may want to watch your expressions, kronp, if King Richard saw that face he’d put you under the axe too.”
Ned stopped walking, whirling around to Darnell, who now was the only one left with him. Rodney and the others had taken Ivel down to the dungeon, as ordered, leaving the two friends alone.
“This man might be our only connection to find out what happened to Caius. These Scav incidents are connected. I know it. Hell, even the damn wizard seemed to agree. You saw his face, right?”
Darnell shook his head. “Who knows what goes on in the mind of a mage? Look, I hate to say it, but maybe it's time we drop this.”
Ned could only gawk at Darnell in disbelief. Darnell continued, “It’s been three months, we have no leads. First off, we didn’t find any cavs, and while I believe you, I didn’t see any Ragelings either.
“But I think they are connected, the brutes had the same violet eyes that the Scavs had at Munher Ridge.”
“Secondly,” Darnell continued, talking over his sputtering superior. “We don't have the dagger. We already checked the battlefield for it, and it wasn’t there.”
“So the killer could still have it.”
“If the killer was an idiot. Look, whoever had the dagger probably disposed of it at their first opportunity. And honestly, I’m not convinced there is a killer.”
Neds eyes boggled.
“He was stabbed in the back, Darnell.”
“Yes, and you want to know what I think?” said Darnell. “I think it was an accident. You were there at the battle–that’s one of the most chaotic fights I’ve been in for a long, long time. My guess is one of the soldiers swung too damn far and accidentally killed him–they might not have even realized what they did at the time. And if they did realize it later, I bet they got scared and tossed the dagger as soon as they got back to town. I mean, who would want to be the one who accidentally killed the King’s Champion?”
All Ned could think about was the letter that still sat in Caius’ pouch at his waist. The spiraling handwriting that had coaxed them out to the Ridge on that fateful day.
“Breathe, Ned. You’re as red as a tomato.”
Ned exhaled.
“Look. I’ll keep your little theory in mind. But I don’t think you're right. And I’m not going to drop it. Even if it was an accident, it was still murder. Don’t you think Caius deserves justice?”
“I do,” said Darnell, folding his arms. “But I think–I just don’t want to think one of our boys did it on purpose. I can’t believe that.” When Ned said nothing, Darnell gave him a tired look. “I’m going to the barracks. Then I’m going to sleep. If I can, after seeing all that…”
With a shudder, Darnell turned and headed to the barracks. Caius' last words resounded in his head as Ned watched Darnell depart. Trust no one…
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the guilt. Darnell was one of his oldest friends. And Darnell had been friends with Caius even longer. To suspect Darnell would be crazy.
Wouldn't it?
He dismissed the thought. He still had one more royal to approach today. Ned hoped the Princess would take the news better than her father had…
Before Caius’ death, the halls around Princess Podostroma’s chambers were filled with flocks of gossiping higher class women, while ladies in waiting frittered about doing tasks. Now, the halls were deserted, save Gamaliel, who had reluctantly returned to his post after the Champion’s death. He stood there now, sitting in a chair by the room entrance, face stoic. Upon seeing Ned, he rose, outstretching his arms.
“Ned!” he said. “How goes it? How was Eradad?”
Upon seeing Ned’s grim expression, his face dropped.
“No luck then, in figuring out what happened?” he asked.
Ned shook his head.
Gamaliel clapped his hand against Ned’s shoulder, gripping him.
“I truly am sorry for the loss. Caius…Caius was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die as he did. If you need help with anything, anything, you let me know.”
“Thank you,” said Ned. “I will.”
Ned knew he wouldn’t, but the small lie made Gamaliel smile. The smile quickly faded and he dropped his voice.
“The Princess hasn’t been in the best spirits today. She might not take the news well, but I think she’ll appreciate a visit from one of Caius’s friends. Best be gentle. Lucky for you, Lady Adeline is visiting, so she’s in an… acceptable mood.”
Gamaliel rapped his hand against the door.
“Come in,” came the muffled reply.
Gamaliel opened up the door. Ned entered into the Princess’s chambers. Upon entering, one was immediately greeted by the soft glow of sunlight fluttering through tall, arched windows draped with the finest silks in shades of royal red and gold. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the kingdom's rich history and the valiant deeds of its heroes. The room spanned the width of a small peasant’s cottage filled to the brim with lounging furniture. Beautiful, intricate dresses and clothes hung from the wall, and multiple wooden trunks were overflowing with clothes. A plush canopy bed covered in an array of luxurious cushions was on the far side of the room, away from the windows. The Lady Adeline sat on the edge of the Princess’s bed, while the Princess sat in front of the vanity. She was still in her nightgown, long blonde hair unkempt, brush in hand.
Adeline rose quickly, giving a small bow.
“Welcome, Champion,” said Adeline, her umber lips curved into a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“Er–you too,” said Ned.
Adeline placed a hand on Podostroma’s shoulder, whispering something in the Princess’ ear that Ned couldn’t quite make out, before stepping away.
“I best be going,” said Adeline, brushing near Ned as she headed to the door. The scent of her jasmine hair hit his nose as she passed by. “It might be poor optics for an Inkholme ambassador to spend too much time in the presence of Quillendell’s Champion. Podostroma, dearest, call for me if you need me.”
“Of course I will,” said Podostroma.
Adeline left, the door closing behind them. Ned wasn’t sure what to make of the ambassador–he’d never had much of a chance to speak with her, though he’d been in her presence often enough. He did, however, understand her sentiments. King Richard was often looking for excuses to dismiss her, but so far he had found none. As far as Ned knew, she was the Inkholme ambassador that had been there the longest, and had been the most successful in bridging the gap between Elyora and its seceded sister state, Inkholme.
“I believe she’s courting someone in the lower staff, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Podostroma.
“Huh?” said Ned, not realizing he’d been staring. “What, no. Sorry. Not really my type, as they say.”
“And what is your type?”
Buxom, brunette serving wenches, he thought, but tamped the phrase down. He couldn’t make jests like that in front of royalty. Before he could find a proper answer, the Princess spoke again:
“Sorry–old habits,” she said. “Come, sit, or stand. Whatever pleases you. I trust you come with news?”
Ned did come and stand a little closer. The Princess looked tired, more than he had ever seen her. She had not worn make up or dressed up like she used to, back before Caius’ death. Before then, she had been full of life and energy, always throwing lavish parties and gallivanting around without much of a care. Ned had to admit, he’d always thought her a self-centered peacock, and wished that somehow, a dose of reality would bring her down a notch. Now that it had happened, he couldn’t help but feel guilty.
“Well?” she asked, more demanding this time.
“I’m sorry, as far as we know, there’s no connection between the two attacks,” said Ned.
“Oh,” she said. “Nothing at all?”
“No, but it was strange,” he said. He quickly recounted his tale, just as he had done before the King. Podostroma listened intently. When Ned mentioned her father’s sentence for Ivel down in the courtyard, she interrupted.
“That old fool,” she said. “What does he think he’s doing, sentencing a man like that? He had no proof!” She took her hairbrush from off the vanity, pounding it against the desk. “You know what he’s doing? Pretending like everything is fine. Well everything isn’t! Something is clearly happening, and he just doesn’t want to admit it! Well, he can bury his head in the sand all he wants. I won’t.”
Ned was surprised by the outburst.
“Do you think you can get Ivel out of his sentence?” he asked. “Persuade him?”
She stopped the pounding, laying down her brush, as if embarrassed by her sudden outburst.
“I’ll have to see,” she said. “We’re not exactly on the best terms at the moment, since I–”
She looked about as if someone was watching them. She scooted her chair closer to Ned, gesturing for him to come down. Finding no better position, he knelt before her, listening.
“Look, no one really knows this outside of Gamaliel, Adeline, the King and myself,” she said. “But before Caius died–well–” she took a deep breath. “We broke off our courtship.”
“What?” asked Ned incredulously. “Why?”
“I broke it off,” she said. Tears were pooling about the corners of her eyes. “At the time, you knew how different we were. Caius was always so upstanding, and I was just the castle–you know…”
“Flirt?”
She snorted. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve been called, but thank you. I know my reputation, probably better than anyone. I liked him–a lot. But we were just so different and the thought of marriage–I got scared. Broke it off. We decided to keep it a secret, you know, Caius and I. There was so much riding on it. But my father was pressed about setting a date–and I told him about it. He was furious. So, very, very furious.”
“Do you think that your father…then?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “You know my father’s history of dealing with people that oppose his will. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Silence fell between them as Ned mulled over the new information. Sadly, he could see the King ordering an assassination if it came down to it. But if that was the case, what then? What were his next steps? And there was still the subject of the letter–could it be the King’s handwriting on the note? Podostroma sat sniffling, wiping away the tears that were pouring from her eyes.
“Sorry,” she said. “This has been happening a lot lately.” She scrubbed away the last tear. “I’ll see what I can do about freeing that man.”
“Thank you,” said Ned. “If there’s ever anything you need, just—”
There was a heavy knock at Podostroma’s door. It creaked open, Gamaliel standing in the doorway, a deep frown on his face.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Ned, you’re being summoned.”
“By whom?” he asked.
To his surprise, a young girl in mages’ clothes stepped out from behind Gamaliel. Upon entering the room, she bowed low, before standing up right.
“My master, Dornton, wishes to speak with you, Champion,” said the girl. “And he says you need to come at once.”
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