XV – Ravens of the East #2

'I shall not do it,' he said. 'You are not the one to unleash evil.'

'What makes you think I am not that beast, thirsty for blood and power?'

'That all the lands you have conquered were never so prosperous. You have overthrown inequality and watch over the welfare of the kingdoms. You must not give up.'

'I have seen my reflection; you do not know the darkness that dwells within me.'

'As in everyone,' Maed maintained, convinced of what he was saying.

'Maltón told us of the day he formed the council, and in that tale I understood his greatness and his humility, even when he insists upon concealing them.

'Only a wise man with power deigns to share it.

That is what distinguisheth a brave man from a tyrant. ' '

'Every decision I have made, including the council, hath brought us to this point. I have failed you.'

'Nay, my king. At times the future is that moment of combustion which cometh when the past illuminateth the present. You are light—I know it. Not only shall I not slay you because I have sworn to defend you with my life, but because I could never harm a friend.'

The blue in the king’s eyes seemed to crystallise, but it was not the light that struck them, but Maed’s words upon his soul. He embraced him and wept like a child upon his shoulder.

'It is my duty simply to lift you up when your strength faileth,' he said, patting him gently upon the back. 'Surrender only in death.'

'And what if it turns out to be I who unleash the darkness?' he murmured in his ear, scarce to be heard.

'Never has there been such benevolent darkness.'

'And what if all this leads us to it?'

It was hard to make him out, between the sobs and the effort it took him to utter each word. Then, weary of disputing against a whim, he rebuked him:

'The question is: what are you truly afraid of, your shadow, or is your ego so great that it will not permit you to err?'

Narg’s legs trembled and lost their strength.

The word ego struck his memory with scenes from his nightmare.

The stabbing pain drew a groan from him.

He would have fallen to his knees had he not been clinging to Maed, who, recognising the symptoms, held him close to his body and accompanied him to the cot.

He violently flung the shards of the mirror from the duvet and laid him down.

The shrill sound of the horn echoed through the castle. One of the watchtowers facing north-west began the call, and Arwel, Cheas and Gregor ran towards the ramparts.

'Someone is approaching, Commander,' announced the soldier peering over the parapet.

'Who is it?' asked Arwel.

'It is a royal troop,' replied another of the guards, who already had his bow ready to receive the order to attack. 'It is led by an armed man alongside the standard-bearer, followed by a carriage and a small cavalry. But I cannot make out the emblem on the black and red banner.'

'Raise the portcullis!' Cheas cried as he leapt upon one of the guards’ horses.

Wondering who it might be and praying he was wrong, he rode out to meet them. It would have been futile for them to try to stop him. Arwel, as troop commander, gave the order, and the horseman at the front of the draught team pulled with steady force, and the portcullis began to rise.

From the highest tower, they beheld Cheas rein in his steed before the van to compel it to halt. They beheld him bow and then lead the way as an escort into the realm.

Two bay steeds, the luxurious carriage of dark wood, and fifteen men in black cloaks, dull leaden armour and red breastplates, crossed the bridge and met the ministerial troop formed for the royal reception.

Arwel, having recognised the banner fluttering in the wind, had given the order to line up on both sides of the road, with weapons sheathed and standing to attention.

The ravens of Tloston, the King of Welst, Lerg Munork and his son, Prince Cloet, had arrived for Narg’s birthday celebrations, albeit two days ere the appointed hour.

'Welcome,' quoth Arwel, and after bowing, he extended his hand to help Lerg out of the carriage. 'It is an honour to serve my king’s cousin. Arwel Kolins, commander of Old Minister, at your service.'

'Where is the good-for-nothing who shares my sacred blood? Why has he not come to greet me?' said Lerg, stretching his neck, and immediately began wiping his boots upon a red tile.

Arwel pursed his lips as he beheld the king through his blond fringe.

There was no person in the entire known realm who was more repugnant than Lerg.

It was not merely his ostentatious appearance, adorned with gold and gem-studded necklaces, or his exuberant paunch, or his greasy skin; it was his manners and his air of a tyrannical monarch.

That tile, which he was smearing with the filth from his boots studded with gold and red rubies, was a reminder of Alfredo’s grandeur, where the Raven King had stopped to confront the evil in the land.

'Prithee forgive me, but our king is not within the realm. He has gone on an important errand,' replied Cheas, imitating Arwel’s bow. 'At your service, my lord, Cheas Trylosson.'

'If at your service, then what are you waiting for, to feed me?'

'Manners, father, this is not your kingdom,' Cloet corrected him from behind as he dismounted with Gregor’s help.

Arwel and Cheas bowed before the future king of Welst and looked him up and down.

Cloet, who had once been betrothed to Celtión, was yet unmarried, despite his enviable bearing, manners and beauty.

Like his father, he had long hair—reaching halfway down his back—loose at the back, with two braids falling down the sides of his face.

His long, slender nose, square jaw and prominent brows gave him a rugged, resolute aspect, yet the length of his black lashes, his blue eyes and the contrast with his fair complexion conveyed confidence and even a hint of humility.

Arwel nudged Cheas in the ribs with his elbow to get him to come closer.

'Celtión certainly did not know him. After all, she would have accepted his hand.'

'Superficial,' quoth Cheas, turning away, offended by the cheeky remark.

'Ay, if Maed had uttered it, ye would all be laughing already,' Arwel complained aloud that he might hear.

'None of us three should stir from this place,' whispered Gregor. 'First, we must devise a pretext for Narg’s absence, and second, we must keep the wretch entertained. If Lerg catch wind of what is transpiring, he will be rubbing his hands together in anticipation of seizing the kingdom.'

He was right. Lerg had ever been lying in wait, biding his time for a moment of weakness from Narg. There was even a rumour that he had helped Halfdan and Jorlaft lay siege to Old Minister.

The heirs of the raven hated one another.

Lerg envied Narg’s charisma, the way his people followed him, his wisdom in treaties and his luck in battle.

Hugnork, for his part, had a visceral loathing for his cousin’s despotic and treacherous nature, and could not understand how an heir of Alfredo could treat his people so badly.

'By the sharp edge of Tyr’s sword!' said Arwel through gritted teeth. 'Why have you brought so many soldiers?'

'The roads from Tloston to Móntria are still not safe. There is a treaty we have been working on to share the burden of surveillance,' explained Cheas, who had worked on that idea alongside his king.

'Let them repose in the stables, the tavern and the inn. The castle shall harbour only the lords and be guarded by our men,' Arwel decreed.

Shortly thereafter, the three elite soldiers escorted the guests during luncheon and observed them choke upon their victuals.

With his tunic still besmirched with Tros’s blood and a sharp cramp in his stomach that made his legs tremble, Cheas apologised to his comrades and was making for his chamber when Lerg raised a hand to bid them draw near.

'Please excuse the disorganisation. We were not expecting you until tomorrow,' said Gregor.

'We brought the journey forward when the storm hit Welst and assumed it would be difficult to reach you in such hostile weather,' said Cloet.

'Remind me to hang the sorcerer who predicted endless storms all week when we get back,' he said to his son.

He raised his head and, whilst gnawing on a leg of lamb, continued:

'What did you say your name was, skinny?'

'Cheas Trylosson. At your service,' he repeated, stepping closer to him.

'Ah, yes, Trylosson. I remember your father, Malt something.

Poor man, such a pity. It was I who advised Narg.

I had to tell him what no one else would dare, that he must kill him.

I do not understand how, with so much sentimentality in this land, they have become an empire.

I cannot imagine how weak the other kingdoms must be. '

Cheas’s reaction was that of a hot-tempered man. He placed his hand upon the hilt, but ere he might draw his sword, Gregor compelled him to step aside by seizing his arm.

'My cousin is such a peculiar sort; I have always said so, entrusting his life to just…' he paused, 'how many of you are there in the Elite Troop?'

'There are eight of us who unleash our War Roar,' said Arwel as he brushed his fringe back and looked at his comrades.

Although the commander was the most impulsive of the troop, he would never have intended to carry out what that play on words implied.

It was Lerg who, with his peculiar ways, managed to undermine his rationality, but the pleading in Gregor and Cheas’s eyes, and their discreet head-shakes, made him reconsider.

'And my grandfather’s cousin—where is my favourite great-aunt?'

Lerg tilted his head from side to side as he shook his long mane with the two fine braids that ran down the sides of his face.

'She is the only one you have, Father.'

'Correct me again in the presence of the servants and thou shalt spend the festivities upon thy knees, confined within the temple,' he rebuked him, standing before Arwel with his chin held high, awaiting an answer in Windar’s presence.