Simon Blackfyre and the Enemy Within Read online

  His Eminence returned to his sacred throne and took his place overseeing all once more. “Lift up your spirits, my friend, and sleep well.” The High Priest glanced at Tess now halfway up the staircase leading to his bedchamber. “And worry not about spells and the nature of higher powers; rather, let us attend in the morning to what is clear and familiar before our own eyes.”

  Chapter 2

  Blood Before Duty

  Callor ground his fingers against his palms and paced the vacated Tiberion men’s quarters. His father, Lord Ronas Tiberion of Coranthium, was arriving at Farrhaven today to deliver his family’s prized heirloom, Amar-Sin; this was the original sword forged for their heroic ancestor, Zadicus Tiberion, one of the original five patriarchs of Miradora.

  Callor and his father were granted a private meeting by the King's Council for this special family ceremony, as was each of the eldest sons of the four noble families competing in the Rites of Succession.

  By the end of the day, Goran Velizar, Robert Strathwald, and the most undeserving of all, Marcus Evermere, would also possess a great and sacred blade whose power each young lord was only now beginning to understand.

  The four eldest male contenders of the original patriarch families and their chosen protectors, twenty in all, had been confined to Farrhaven for almost a month; inside another month, the first snows would be falling.

  The bizarre and terrifying events of the last few weeks had unnerved even the most battle-hardened warriors. The Choldath, the ancient demonic race, were no longer safely trapped in the pages of childhood stories and the old religious books of the Holy Seer and her silent-tongued monks. Although Callor hadn’t witnessed their attack, he’d seen the bloody destruction wreaked by only one of these creatures.

  If he’d doubted their existence before, then that changed the very moment he viewed the remains of the dead guards all ripped to pieces by a gigantic worm Lord Lionsbury referred to as a Necrolos. Callor had asked Lord Dowrick many questions about what had happened in the King’s Council chamber but had received only terse and murky replies.

  Only that disrespectful slave, Simon Blackfyre, and his friends knew for certain what had happened to Fromund, and they were forbidden to speak a word by order of the Holy Seer. The secretive nature of the old witch’s meetings with the Evermere protectors only gave rise to more suspicions and mistrust among the others.

  Callor and Goran suspected the reason had something to do with why Felicity Craverston was bound to a bed in a guarded private chamber and said to be babbling like a mad woman, while Robert Strathwald was confined to another, rumored to be suffering from an undisclosed malady.

  Callor cracked open a walnut and tossed the broken shells against the wall, his frustration bubbling up inside; he loathed mysteries as something he could neither influence nor control. He was sure his father would change that, for he could always find an answer—whether bought or beaten from those who possessed the one he required. Callor paused for a moment and admired his physique in the full-length dressing mirror.

  Although he missed his own finely-tailored clothes, the King’s Council-issued, long-sleeved jacket fitted him well when half-buttoned at its center. The deep, rectangular neckline revealed part of the ornate black tunic and the breadth of his chest below it. His simple dark brown pants were comfortable, allowing for all manner of vigorous running, jumping, and kicking with his hard leather boots.

  He flexed and his forearm muscles tensed beneath the sleeve. The initiation ceremony had bestowed increased fighting skills in differing manners and proportions to all protectors and he was pleased to have benefited from the elevated strength and endurance coursing through his iron-like heart and muscles.

  He chuckled to himself, remembering the awed expressions on the faces of Reutiger and Skobb when he tackled that wild boar in the forest, cracking its jaw open with his bare hands. For that gift, he was grateful to the blood of all the fallen warriors.

  Two sharp knocks sounded at the door. It opened and a guard loyal to the Tiberion claim, Grimoric Kovoth, escorted Callor’s father into the room.

  Kovoth stood to attention. “Lord Ronas Tiberion of Coranthium, you are granted one hour in private with your son to conduct your affairs as you see fit in accordance with the laws pertaining to these rites. There will be two guards stationed at the end of the hall and none shall pass without your permission.”

  He bowed and left the room closing the door behind him.

  Callor eyed the ruby-encrusted hilt gleaming in its ornate, black leather scabbard hanging at his father’s side. “I am so pleased to see you again, Father. I do so miss being at home. How fair my mother and sister?”

  Lord Coranthium towered over his son, appraising him from head to toe. Callor knew that disapproving look in the man’s cold, gray eyes and noticed again the faint sliver of a smile curling the thin lips on his father’s colorless, pointed face.

  “I thought for a moment that Mister Kovoth had brought me to the wrong room,” Lord Coranthium said. “You look like some lowborn cockscomb hoping to bed one of those servant girls I saw in the yard, instead of the next King fighting to rule his people. What on earth would your mother say if she saw you like this?”

  Callor flushed with shame. “If the witch had not given heed to her foolish dreams, you would bow before me now as your King, would you not, Father?

  Lord Coranthium bristled and took a step back. “The Council vote would have been certainly in our favor. None of the other families holds the wealth and influence they once did. None of the others comes even close, of that I am sure.”

  “Then, although I cannot rule for the moment, it shall not be so for much longer. Soon, I will sit upon the throne and the ermine mantle will rest upon my shoulders.”

  “Yes, you seemed to have finally filled out like a man since we last met. Two years ago, wasn’t it? But perhaps your head has also grown too swollen to bear the crown? Have you considered that, my boy?”

  Callor’s childhood bitterness stirred inside him. Even now, his father saw it as his vile duty to insult and chastise and to remind him who was the head of the Tiberion family, something Callor would not forget when he was crowned the next King as promised.

  “I know that you’re a busy man, Father, and I don’t wish to keep you longer than necessary. You have my profound gratitude for personally delivering our revered family treasure to me.” He held out his hand to receive the hilt.

  His father strode to the back of the room near an open window overlooking the inner ward and looked outside. He gestured for Callor to join him.

  “What is it, Father?”

  The man whispered in Callor’s ear. “Speak softly as this and only as before when I do. Kovoth has been paid and we will not be disturbed. Understand?”

  Callor nodded.

  “Listen carefully. Plans are in place to purge any Council members in Avidene not allied to our cause. Those unwilling to break ties to the past must, by the demands of destiny, die out with the old ways if need be. High Priest Worlaw and all those loyal to him will make certain of it.”

  “But what good is this if I’m still subject to the Rites of Succession and the orders of those like Lionsbury—and his boot-licker, Delcarden, if he has survived?”

  His father ran his long finger along the sill. “You have not heard?”

  “Only what Kovoth told me. The rest is rumor. Little news of the world outside these walls is allowed to pass during the rites.”

  “By all surviving accounts, a freakish storm near the outer islands arose unexpectedly, causing great destruction and many shipwrecks; among them, was the vessel carrying Lord Delcarden on his return voyage from Kardi.” His father placed his hand on Callor’s shoulder. “Fortune has smiled on our family once more, my son.”

  Callor’s pulse quickened. “Then it’s true. Lord Delcarden is dead. I had heard as much, Father, but dared not believe it. When will it be proclaimed?”

  “In a few days, I dare say, for he lies dy
ing as we speak and may have passed already, as you surmise. He lies feverish and babbling like a madman on his deathbed attended by his manservant, Trumak. The Council physicians were surprised he was still breathing when the island fishermen returned his wasted body to Avidene.”

  “Do Lionsbury and the others know?”

  “They are only receiving the news now. There is nothing he or the Holy Seer can do to change Delcarden’s fate.”

  “But why take the chance if he still draws breath?”

  His father smiled, his eyes focused now intently on his son. “Being the richest of the five original families means we do not always have to resort to the spilling of blood to take what is rightfully ours.” He rubbed the windowsill dust between his fingers. “Lord Delcarden will soon die, and before delivering his report before Council, though the rumors of what actually occurred on Kardi have raised much fear in the city.

  “Many believe his doomed Lordship had plans to conscript and train an additional ten thousand soldiers in defense of Avidene. Though he will never live to see it through, there are many on the Council that agree. I cannot allow this if we are to be successful. Lord Delcarden’s prestige and influence must die along with him, just as surely as his life now drains from his body.”

  “And the High Priest will accept to replace him on the Triumvirate?”

  “Indeed; he must by law, but that still leaves Lord Maydestone. Despite his dislike of Delcarden as unworthy of his daughter’s affections, he is certain to find merit in his proposal given the increased unrest amongst the slaves and the disturbances near the borders.”

  Callor could barely restrain his excitement. All they had planned and set in motion was coming to fruition. He had only to wait for the first snow of winter. “And you are certain of the others, Father? Goran is a formidable adversary, well-liked by many Council knights and guards.”

  His father snorted his disdain. “The once courageous and feared Lord Barabas Velizar of Tel-Sharduk is a loud-mouthed drunk, dying from the whore’s pox. He sells all he owns to pay off his gambling debts and to preserve what is left of his family’s name and honor for his son and daughter. As to Lord Penvro Strathwald of Aidondell, he is almost reduced to a pauper from starving bandits attacking his trade caravans.”

  “Our family’s retainers have proved their worth.”

  “Yes, they have employed only the most desperate foreign cutthroats who would risk anything to feed their families. I have purchased choice lands at a thief’s bargain from both Velizar and Strathwald and given them sufficient sums to help influence their son’s decisions concerning the most prudent future for our great Kingdom’s fortunes… and, indeed, theirs.”

  “And the Evermeres? I’m certain the lords and ladies here, except Dowrick, favor Marcus above all.”

  “Lord Cormac Evermere of Baerston Mor remains a lord in name only. His wise brother and our former King Christoforus had the good sense to cut off that diseased branch of his family tree and let it wither from its own inherent weakness. They have little gold, less land, and no slaves—all of which means they possess no power of any real consequence.

  Marcus curries favor with Lionsbury and his allies but they have never been—and never will be—any kind of a threat to us.”

  Callor glanced nervously back toward the door. The ways of Soru Kentay were powerful and he was only just beginning to experience their heightened effect on his senses. He hushed his voice and spoke into his father’s ear. “There is much talk about one of the protectors, a brazen slave named Simon Blackfyre. None have traveled through the Corridor of Shadows as long as he and yet returned to speak of what they’ve seen. He is always being summoned for a special audience with the Holy Seer.”

  His father tilted his head to one side. “And this was all part of your initiation ceremony?”

  “An unusual plant was used in the ritual. Some say it was poisonous or that the monks gave us a dark potion so we would see and feel many wondrous things, and all as though they were real.”

  Callor balled his fists.

  “They say the Asmadu Vohra, from the Age of Heroes, that their blood memory flows through our veins.”

  “So says the old witch. And you believe her?”

  He grinned but there was no humor in his eyes.

  “Dowrick and the others say the same, but all I know for certain, Father, is that each one of us awoke a changed person. I feel different; I mean, I am different from when I first arrived. We all are.”

  “I see.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand as if he found it all nonsense and somewhat tedious. “Well, as long as you have fulfilled your sacred and mystical obligations in the eyes of the Holy Seer and the Council, then we will have no problem fulfilling those of a more practical and worldly nature behind their backs.”

  “But surely you’ve heard of the return… of the Choldath? I did not believe it possible until I saw how easily they could destroy men. The Holy Seer has ordered that we prepare to battle these creatures even if the King is not chosen.”

  “And have you seen one of these so-called demons?”

  Callor shook his head. “I have witnessed the dead guards and listened to the testimony of others recounting the attack, but that is not all. There are many rumors of dark magic within the walls of Farrhaven and they still have not explained how Lord Fromund died that night in the Holy Seer’s chamber.”

  “Yes, that is puzzling. Randar was allied to our cause, and Lord Lionsbury’s explanation is somewhat wanting in its scant details. A sudden infectious pox overtook our poor friend so swiftly his body had to be cremated by morning?” He tilted his head to one side in his customary sign of indifference.

  “That is not beyond the realm of possibility for I have seen many a man succumb to a strange, contagious malady that could not be explained by any physician,” Callor said.

  “And what of the creature that attacked? There were remains taken away by the Holy Seer’s monks.”

  His father glanced away and rubbed his hands together.

  “One loyal to our cause stationed at Arenfjord Garrison is said to have witnessed similar events. As vicious and destructive as the creature was, the guards were still able to eventually overpower and destroy it—though they lost many men in the battle.”

  He arched his brow. “Many unknown and terrifying creatures crawl in the dark underbelly of the earth, Callor, but none more so than those found walking upright beneath the bright sun.”

  “Then you don’t believe they are the same demons described in our sacred texts?”

  His father looked out of the window again, seeming focused on something in the air.

  “The Necrolos, as you called them, perhaps they can be hunted as we do the great beasts of the sea for their fat and oil? Millions of lamps need lighting every night and much gold is to be made by the ones who harvest the treasured fuel.”

  “This was no common creature, Father. Rabek told us they were thought to be only a myth until now.”

  “Yet it perished the same as any other. Our history is rich with fanciful tales to enthrall children and the simple-minded alike. I do not believe in demons, but what the Choldath are in truth is not so important as the opportunity they present to hasten our plans and secure your crown. With the Council’s attention and forces focused on combating this perceived threat, we will be able to maneuver ourselves into a position of superiority under the guise of going to war against a common enemy.”

  Callor eyed the glittering hilt of Amar-Sin, his longing almost compelling his hand to take it from the old man’s covetous possession. “What are we to do then, Father?”

  Lord Coranthium stepped away from the window. He withdrew the freshly-oiled sword from its scabbard and relished the sight of the blade’s fine edge. “I had always dreamed I might be called upon one day to wield the magnificent Amar-Sin in defense of our glorious realm.” He jabbed and cut the air with expert movements. “And I would gladly have fought to the death to establish our dynasty.�
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  He flipped the sword around with a single fluid motion, finally pointing the tip at Callor’s throat. “But now, that duty falls solely and squarely upon you, my only son.” His commanding voice filled the room. “Can you fulfill your destiny or must I make other alliances less worthy of our family’s honor?”

  Unarmed and trapped in the corner, Callor stared down the length of shining steel. He had been distracted by flashy swordplay, allowing the grinning bastard to gain the superior position. He vowed before all that was holy, this would that never happen again. The King would never be so foolish. Callor took a breath, his nostrils flaring.

  “Of course, Father. You have my word as both a Tiberion and your son. I shall prevail no matter the cost, and with your help, the crown shall forevermore rest upon a royal Tiberion brow as it was always meant to be.”

  “And if you fail to sire your heirs, I will do so myself with your Queen, to save you the trouble. And if her womb proves barren, I will have offspring purchased through our trusted retainers from the likes of Plotmir Weezgout.” His father’s eyes narrowed. He lowered the sword and turned the hilt toward his son.

  “Now take what is rightfully yours and bring glory to our name forevermore.”

  Callor gripped the sword. The weight and balance were perfect, perfect enough to sever a man’s head from his neck with a single blow at that moment if he wanted to. “Thank you. I shall honor and treasure this forever.” Callor bowed to relieve his eyes from looking upon his father’s arrogant and repulsive face a moment longer.

  “Oh, you will do much more than that, my son.” His father lowered his voice again. “If that sword is as exceptional as the old witch says, then you shall be sticking Choldath heads on pikes for all to see while I attend to those of our enemies, far away from meddling eyes.”

  “Many protectors have seen Lionsbury wield Irkalla. It was fearsome to behold, but with this… ” He raised Amar-Sin up straight before his eyes. “With this, I would not fear Anthor Koldrin himself.”