Part X
In a small clearing in the middle of a large wood, a small dot of light, like a luminescent pinprick, appeared four feet in the air. It grew steadily in brilliance as a paper thin line extended parallel to the ground from it, spanning four feet in both directions. When the line was complete, it began to spin around the original point, slowly at first, but gradually increasing speed as it sliced through the air. After a few seconds, it whirred so fast that any onlooker would have seen an impressive eight-foot solid circle of light in the middle of the dark woods. It wouldn’t have been missed, if there was of course anyone around to see it.
Two men wearing grey robes and hoods fringed with blue stepped out from within the circle of light, and surveyed the woods around them. Four more men appeared behind them; these were wearing loose fitting grey clothes, also with hoods, that concealed the leather breastplates underneath. Their blue capes fluttered slightly in the breeze while they did their best to appear bored, occasionally risking an uneasy glance at the robed men.
One robed man turned to the other. “So now I have to close the portal slowly, to avoid creating a vacuum?”
The other sighed. “For the last time, you fool, no! The portal is two-dimensional only. It doesn’t have volume. You won’t be leaving any airless space behind by winking it out.”
The circle of light did blink out of existence then, and the men left standing in the clearing removed their hoods as the older wizard continued to address his apprentice. “Now remember, Zevan, you’re a wizard of the Winter Asp now. Remember to act like one.”
The four soldiers fidgeted nervously at the mention of the name of the organization, and they in varying degrees moved a hand to the blue-grey snake tattoos on their necks. It was a subconscious reaction members of the Wizard’s Guard carried with them for months after they were recruited. Most people who had dared to talk about it have come to the conclusion that it is some side effect of the magical brainwashing new members are put through to ensure loyalty. The higher ranking officers of the Guard and the wizards themselves diplomatically call this process Conditioning to downplay the nastiness involved, but the naked truth was that many people subjected to it suffered severe brain damage, and some didn’t survive at all. It was rumored that even the commander of the Guard, High Chancellor Alderez himself still had the occasional involuntary twitch from time to time.
“Yes Master Grahm,” Zevan replied curtly, and followed as the elder wizard started off into the woods. They walked for close to an hour without another word spoken amongst them, before emerging from the forest on a high ridge overlooking a quaint little village.
“Here it is,” commented Grahm. “Dewpointe.”
***
“A spy, quite obviously,” High Chancellor Alderez stated with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Blueshaven has made plenty of enemies over the last two-hundred or so years. Any of one them could have had reason to see a member of the royal family killed.”
What Alderez very carefully did not say in his present company was something those gathered at the large conference table all had on their minds anyway. It was the youngest prince of the city that was targeted, instead of an older member of the family, perhaps even one that sat on the ruling council. The council was composed of seven members, traditionally consisting of the King, Queen, the eldest Prince and Princess, the Commander of the Royal Guard, which protected the royal family and kept order in the city, the High Chancellor of the Wizard’s Guard, and the highest ranking member in the Wizards of the Winter Asp. All seven of them were now seated around the large conference table on the top floor of the Tower of Blueshaven, having been hastily assembled after Ilfon was found dead.
The King, being the official ruler of the region, also exercises absolute control over the city. Beyond the knowledge of the public, however, is the increasing political influence of the wizards. They have over time grown from being merely advisors to having a representative on the council, and have even managed recently to gain a second seat, filled by the High Chancellor of their guard. Though he could easily have his own agenda, the wizards know it would be rare that a High Chancellor would openly oppose any wizard of rank. Such foolish men didn’t keep their lives, much less their positions for very long. The influence of the wizards now nearly equaled that of the royal family itself, and thus the family and the wizards have both begun to develop their own agendas, and now often act as opposing political parties within the city.
This is all made perhaps more interesting by the current state of health of King Brymon Grimere, who was now seated at the head of the table. Brymon had fallen ill several months ago, and was really in no condition to be ruling a large kingdom. This created a unique power struggle among the remaining members of the council, who tried hard to discredit each other and plant their own opinions in his increasingly feeble mind. The only council member this did not apply to was Queen Kerase, who stayed impartial to all of it, so as not to provoke any rash behavior bred from favoritism, such as the assassination of her beloved husband.
In any event, Alderez kept his comment to himself. In his razor sharp mind, it was obvious why someone would have had Ilfon killed instead of his older brother Mendt, or the King himself. Ilfon Grimere was well known as being a charismatic man, a born leader, and often spoke in favor of lobbying the military sects of Blueshaven together once again. It was a strategy few opposing kingdoms would be able to rival the might of, if the aggressive kid could have somehow found the support for it. If Alderez were an enemy of the royal family (which wasn’t altogether untrue, he chuckled to himself), he also would have rather killed Ilfon than put him on the council by killing one of the others. In truth, he wasn’t that sorry at all to see Ilfon dead.
A gauntleted hand pounding onto the far end of the table caused Alderez to peer curiously up from the imaginary spot on his cloak he was pretending to study. He grinned a grin that never touched his lips as his eyes traced that hand to its owner, a tall, dark and handsome type by the name of Donovan Poule. He really was a physically impressive sight, Alderez always thought, adorned as he was in the well polished suit of arms that identified its wearer as the Commander of Blueshaven’s Royal Guard. Though aging, he was still regarded as the finest fighter in the city, and Alderez might even have liked the man, if he didn’t have a tendency to let his emotions run out of control.
Poule’s chair screeched across the floor as he stood and tossed back his long dark hair, which was done up in a multitude of fine braids. He began to circle the table slowly, with arms clasped behind his back as he began to form words. ‘This would be another of his Glory of Blueshaven lectures,’ Alderez thought bitterly as he barely suppressed a sigh.
Poule fixed Alderez with a rough glare as if he knew what the older man was thinking, and the latter returned it smugly with the barest curve of his lips. “Blueshaven was founded almost two-hundred years ago by honest, hard-working people. This city was built with hands, not with magic. Its kingdom stretches over every horizon. Its imperialism, diplomacy, and integrity have never been questioned or abused. We are respected, even revered, by every official organization in the world. Blueshaven has no enemies but itself.” He stopped, having paced halfway around the table at this point, positioning himself behind Alderez and the man to his left, the Arch-Wizard Andarius, head of the Wizards of the Winter Asp. “One of you,” he began again, motioning to the two men. “One of you is behind this.” His attention snapped to the head of the table. “My King, these two must be removed from the council and imprisoned for the murder of Prince Ilfon!”
It was Kerase who spoke in her husband’s place. “I will not tolerate any unfounded accusations, Commander. What proof do you have of this?”
“I have none as of yet, my Queen. But I will prove it,” intoned Poule.
Alderez’s scowl deepened during the exchange, and by that last comment, he wore it rather openly. Half-turning so he could look over his left shoulder at the man, he spat his retort. “Are you mad, you muscle-bound half-wit? None of my men, and certainly no wizard is ever allowed to set foot above the ground floor of the tower. You’ve got us all buried in sublevels like petty criminals!”
Both Poule and Alderez opened their mouths to say something further, but the wizard Andarius silenced them both with outstretched hands. Even if it weren’t for the rumors that the Arch-Wizard commanded unfathomable power, his appearance was unsettling enough to cause an awe inspired hush to wash over any room. He was obviously a very old man, as evident by his leathery, wrinkled skin. His hair and beard were both long and unkempt, and they contained intertwining strands of both the darkest black and purest white, as if his hair itself couldn’t make up its mind on whether it should be going gray or not. His eyes had this translucent amber glaze to them, and although the pupils and whites of them could still be seen, it was as though you were gazing at them through a piece of colored glass. There were many tales told about what caused the coloring of those eyes, but it was believed that the answer was truly only known to Andarius himself.
He spoke slowly in a deep voice, with a touch of a raspy quality to it. He didn’t speak loudly; He never did, but somehow the six people gathered listening never believed in the slightest they would mishear. The man could somehow speak only to you across a crowded room if he wished it, and you’d never miss a word. “I believe what the Chancellor is trying to say is that our physical separation within the tower is adequate enough for the wizards to go about their business. We haven’t opportunity nor motive to meddle in the affairs of the Royal Family, much less murder one. Nonetheless, we are conducting our own investigation into the matter. Let us be done here, as these petty squabbles only waste valuable time.”
They sat in stunned silence, and later, only the wizard would remember leaving the meeting. After several moments, King Brymon nodded slightly, and the council rose and disbanded unceremoniously. One by one, they descended the stone steps returning to the ground floor of the tower and melted into the sea of patrons who were still enjoying the night’s festivities, blissfully unaware that the Royal Family contained one less member than before.
***
Tamara Grimere skipped lightly down a set of back stairs. She chose her route carefully to avoid being seen, keeping mostly to side corridors used by servants. She stopped abruptly at the bottom, causing her fiery red curls to bounce irritatingly over her shoulder and into her face. Brushing them aside quickly, she risked a peek around the corner into another stone hallway to ensure no one was there. Satisfied for the moment with her sneakiness, Tamara smoothed her dress so it clung to her form exactly the way she wanted it to, and slipped into the next hall.
She passed several plain wooden doors on each side, becoming increasingly unconcerned about getting caught now. The rooms in this wing were used as servant’s quarters several years ago, but have been vacant for a good half decade. People still came here occasionally; the lanterns needed changing from time to time, and the rooms were dusted once a week. None of that was ever done this late, however. She would be alone. Almost.
She gasped as a meaty hand clasped her on the shoulder. She squirmed around a little, trying to get a sideways glance at the man who had appeared behind her, but he was strong, and a single hand was enough to hold her feet firmly in place. She felt every muscle in her body tighten as he leaned his head over her shoulder. She trembled slightly as she felt his hot breath on her ear. And then, she giggled.
The hand gave way, and she turned to face him. Her bright blue eyes stared cheerfully at the soldier she had been speaking with in the ballroom a few hours before. With little additional hesitation, she took his hand and led him into one of the rooms. It wasn’t a glamorous site, being small and plainly adorned, with white walls and a simple wooden bed and chest of drawers. But it was very, very private.
“Exactly how much trouble am I going to be in if your father ever finds out about this?” the man asked as he inspected the lantern hanging on the wall by the door. It wasn’t lit, and he didn’t bother lighting it. The wick was almost completely burned away and it contained little oil.
Tamara smiled a smile wide enough to reach her eyes, making them sparkle despite the fact that little light trickled in from the hall. “If old Brymon ever finds out about this,” she replied, “I’ll be in just as much trouble as you.”
The man stifled a small chuckle. “I doubt that. You’re his daughter. I’m just a soldier. He’d behead the entire Wizard’s Guard if need be to keep you…” He cleared his throat. “Safe.”
Tamara locked her eyes on his as she glided toward him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and pressed her face to his chest, grinning privately to herself, knowing he couldn’t see. “You are no soldier,” she said, lifting her head to peer up at him. “You are Redmond Drake, Lieutenant-Chancellor of the Wizard’s Guard. You’re young, and you’re strong. You’ll be High Chancellor someday soon enough. Then you won’t have to worry about my father, or Mendt, if the old relic dies. There’s only one Grimere you will have to worry about pleasing.”
Drake looked at her rather quizzically for a split-second before the realization dawned on him. His lips curled up in the absolute smuggest of grins. “You?” he toyed.
Tamara peeled herself away from him and took three steps toward the bed before turning to face him again. Nodding slowly, she replied. “Me.”
Drake pushed the door close, drenching the room in darkness. As he moved toward the bed, he fiddled with the clasp on his cape, and grinned a little private grin of his own, knowing she couldn’t see.