“First and foremost, the Crown would like to extend its gratitude for your continued service. We understand that conferences are not normally those of joyous news,” the Grand Chamberlain declares, his hands folded neatly against his bloated belly.
Taeg, seated at the head of the drawing room’s table, is wearing a glossy leather jerkin, belted at the waist. His green eyes peer blankly into the dark chamber, candlelight from the wall sconces flickering off his dark hair. He could swear that his chair was still warm from the council meeting this morning.
The Chamberlain continues, tugging at his woolen robes.
“Having discussed this matter with the Queen’s council this morning, we hope to inform the castle’s Guard of any incoming concerns or events before said occurrences take place. Granted, this issue is speculation at this point; however, we have reason to believe that the scout apprehended in the previous day is telling the truth.”
He clears his throat and scans the room, locking eyes with each of the five Guardsmen. Though not branded with the castle’s thaumaturgy mark, Drair and Lark are invited to sit in on conferences. They each sit to the right and left of Nathis, who has taken the chair opposite Taeg.
The army general is adorned in the Crown’s armor, his usual chainmail covered in polished steel and gems. He sports his army garb, an azure velvet capelet over his left shoulder. His head is freshly shaven and his usual shadow of a beard cleanly absent. Tygoh, near the head of the table, wears his crimson capelet and sigil breastplate. The other Guardsmen, Anarah, Drair, and Lark, sport the classic leather vests and olive trousers of the Guard. Anarah’s wine-colored scribe cloth sets her apart from the others.
Taeg entwines his fingers together and sits forward. “Despite our Drair’s attempt at dislocating his throat,” he peers in Drair’s direction, “the scout we apprehended seems to know why Silon is sending spies our way. We have heard multiple rumors from the lords of Inonin that various lookouts have made their way out of the mountains. Unfortunately, this is the first time we’ve been able to obtain one.”
“Don’t the lords have their own vassals?” Lark scoffs, her arms crossed. “Inonin could have apprehended one long before we did.” Her blonde braid rests over her shoulder like a well-groomed snake.
Taeg hesitates. “Yes. They do. Vassals are typically only called upon during wartime.”
The Master Chamberlain pulls his substantial body upright, his mustache twitching. “It is our lords’ responsibility to provide militia when an official declaration of war has been executed, my lady. Surely you have been attending lessons with our scribes?”
“Of course,” Lark shakes her head, shrugging. A look of scorn peaks in her bright eyes. “I understand that the lords are required to provide fief to the vassals so long as they provide service in return. So far as I’m concerned, service includes the capture of potentially dangerous peoples entering our country. Not to mention the Grand Constable’s duties are generally considered ones of national security.”
Tygoh interrupts. “The lords are apt to do as they please, yes. As far as matters of security, it is generally the Grand Constable’s duty to investigate a lord’s concerns. The lords provide surveillance, we provide interrogation. Our country prides itself on prompt action, and it is preferred that the people look upon the castle with trust.”
Lark scoffs, glaring at the general.
“What about those who are both lord and castle?” she says, blue eyes boring into Tygoh’s hazel ones. “What are their responsibilities?” Nathis shakes his head at her side, a small upturn in his lips.
The Grand Chamberlain clears his throat again.
“Let’s remain on topic please. Do not make me remove you, Ms. Viet. My Prince, please continue.”
Taeg snorts under his breath, shooting Lark a mischievous grin. He adjusts in his seat and continues.
“According to the scout, our friend in the east has come into some information regarding an old magic user, and hopes to seize its power. The council has agreed that this can only be assumed as the Lynac.”
A heavy cloud presses upon the group. Anarah dips her head. The others remain gawking into the darkness. Chain mail clinks as Nathis shifts in his chair.
“According to what little records we have and a…” the Chamberlain hesitates, his lined mouth pursing, “... disturbing recollection from Grand Master Argos, we know that the Lynac is a magic-based element carried within the blood of Xelinites. Unlike our own mark, it is hereditary, with most families having at least one child with the ability. The Xelinites were thought to have been eradicated during the war, and there have been no sightings of them reported to the Crown or the Church since Roen Kerrich’s reign.
“Now, their power works against the body’s bones. Though we are unable to identify how this works or what exactly it does, we do know that the victim of an attack such is rendered invalid due to an immense amount of pain in the bones and weakness of the limbs. Victims are almost certain to die. It is unknown as to what extent this magic’s radius is. The Grand Master’s memory was a bit distorted, but it seems that the Lynac user perished themselves after having executed their abilities.”
Lark’s eyes widen, her pupils flashing in the candlelight.
“It’s imperceptible to the eye?” She sits forward. “You’re telling me that if we are on the battlefield with one of these Lynac users, we can’t tell when they use it? We just cripple up and die?”
The Chamberlain inhales deeply, shirks a glance at Taeg, and continues.
“Yes. We believe so.”
Tygoh sits up straighter, clasping his hands at the top of the table. “Anarah, are we sure there are no other documents on the Lynac within the country? We need to be educated on this.”
Anarah locks eyes with her fiancé. Her eyes are sullen.
“The scribes have checked every institution across the country,” she says. “Of course, there may be others located within Denand that we don’t have access to. Perhaps others are still lost in the ruins of Xelinac?”
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She shakes her head, looking questioningly at Taeg.
“I trust your account, Anarah,” he says gently. “Please let us know if you or the Church come across any new information. It might mean our success versus our failure.”
“We must remember this is speculation,” the Chamberlain interrupts, a finger in the air. “While we are exercising the greatest caution when it comes to this information, we must avoid panic among the citizens.”
Taeg watches as Nathis, seated at the end of the table, runs his weathered hands over his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.
“Is our army prepared to withstand a power of this capacity? Is there no protection from an invisible force in which we have little information to run off of? What triggers an attack such as this?”
The Grand Chamberlain rubs his palms together, heaving a sigh through his heavy shoulders. His pale eyes darken.
“We do have one characteristic that may help. During the Grand Master’s story, he mentioned that a Lynac user has a mark, just as the Guard does. However, it is supposedly located above the eye, along the brow bone. He did not elaborate as to its design, but he said that it may be difficult to recognize due to its similarity to the Xelinite skin tone.”
Taeg scans the table, watching each of his Guard members. Drair is leaning back in her chair, her fingers entwined. She looks down at her hands when Taeg meets her eye. Anarah, his most steady, well-informed Guardsman, has her shoulders pulled up to her ears, eyes piercing those of her fiance.
A cold breeze whips into the chamber from the open windows, and the candles flicker violently, casting each of their shadows in a frantic dance along the walls.
Swiping his hair from his face, Taeg speaks slowly, making eye contact with each member of the team that was responsible for his safety. “While the nature of their ability is yet unknown, we can recognize that Silon is in this for power. Her father and mine never saw eye to eye, to say the least. I was a young boy then, but I understood when my father did not trust a man, and his daughter follows in his footsteps. Silon has never expressed interest in forming an alliance with Larynth. If not for the Pfeists, my father believed Denand would have taken us long before. Rolan held the largest army for two decades before my grandfather introduced incentives, and I believe he took great offense.”
The Chamberlain pipes up. “Rolan was one of the first to suggest we raid Xelinac with news of the Lynac. He wanted them as slaves, as undercover defense. The Xelinites were not warriors, but smiths and mercenaries. Even taking all of this into account, we never discovered where his drive to form his army originated from. Of course, there were always theories surrounding Tauris’s origins and whether there might be peoples we were not aware of. Surely there was something he knew that we did not. The Crown nor its military has ever stepped foot in Tauris. Of course, I’m sure a few explorative men found their way across the sea to the desert country.”
“There were many rumors surrounding Tauris in my young age,” Nathis says, “and exhibitions were taken by the brave, but we never received any true discoveries. Regardless, Silon is a threat and I believe the scout’s words should be taken seriously. He had nothing to lose. We should also consider Roen’s thoughts on the matter. He was a somber man, but not unintelligent.” He smiles at Taeg.
“Is the scout still in the lower cells?” the Chamberlain asks, nodding toward the army general.
“Yes. And I think he’s just happy to be getting food, no matter its quality.” Nathis shakes his head.
Anarah sits up. “How does the Queen fare?”
Taeg’s heart sinks. His gaze wanders to the house flag on the wall at the far end of the room. The Kerrich family has resided in Larynth since before the surfacing of Tauris and before the power of Denand. Like their sigil, they were crows, scavengers with an instinctual ability to build a home from scraps. Five generations ago, his ancestor had picked up the ruins at Erah, elevated to power by his people, and built the castle they now held conference in. His mother talked often of their history. His attention shifts, and he stares idly at the crest painted into the chests of his officers’ breastplates.
The Chamberlain picks up the slack.
“The Queen is showing no signs of improvement, Ms. Prideaux. We understand that the Church is doing what it can to help her, but the physicians have told us numerous times that she will not improve and are warning us toward institution.” He glances down at his hands, his brown eyes troubled. Gideon had served the Kerrich family for decades.
“What are her symptoms, my lord?” Anarah glances at Taeg, the question falling from her lips.
The Chamberlain hesitates.
“She does not understand where she is. She becomes angry at simple questions and believes that the physicians are poisoning her. Her screaming is… hard to endure at times. But there are good days as well. She asks for the prince on those mornings, having breakfast in bed. She likes to read on the veranda. But they never last. Most recently, she has forgotten who I am. We see glimpses of her sometimes, but it is final to say that the Queen is unfit for rule.”
Taeg sinks lower in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest and covering his mouth with his hand. He looks pleadingly at Anarah. She catches his eyes before shifting back to the Chamberlain.
“We must pursue the prince’s coronation,” she says.
Taeg drops his head.
“I agree,” Nathis says from the end of the table. “We need a strong ruler now, and I have faith in young Taeg.”
The others are silent, Lark nodding approval. He can feel their eyes upon him.
The Chamberlain sits back, fiddling with his mustache. “This matter will be brought to the council before a fortnight passes. It is essential that we establish a steady ruling leader in a time such as this. Are there any questions or concerns we may address now?”
Drair shifts in her seat. She speaks, her voice raspy. “There are concerns that I discovered from a citizen at The Anvil.”
She stops, looking to Nathis for approval. The older man nods.
“A woman at the bar recalled Constable Gerric’s recollection of seeing what she described as a “dead one”. A boy. Young. Wearing a cloak. Said he was coming from the Pfeists. She also said that he had a hole in his face where his nose should be.”
Taeg jerks his head up.
“A dead boy?” Anarah says, gaping.
“No,” Drair continues, sliding forward to place her forearms on the table. Her chair squeaks softly from underneath her. “A dead boy in appearance, but very much alive. The Constable spoke to him.”
Tygoh shakes his head, calculating. Nathis is leaning back in his chair, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. Lark adjusts her braid uncomfortably.
The Chamberlain is the first to speak again.
“From the Feists, you say? Can we assume this is a weapon of Silon’s?”
“I wasn’t sure, my lord.”
“Excuse me, but are we saying there are dead people walking around the city now as well?” Lark leans on an elbow, her hair falling over her shoulder again. The scar over her left eye crinkles.
Gideon studies the young girl for a moment, before turning to Taeg.
“We cannot assume…” He shakes his head.
Taeg is staring intently at the coffee-skinned woman, his bright eyes piercing her left eye. The woman returns the look. “Drair, do you remember who this woman at the bar was, what she looked like?”
“She is the madam. In her forties. Her name was Sicily,” she says quickly, following Taeg’s curiosity.
“Chamberlain, please arrange a council with this woman. I must speak with her.” He rises from his chair as he speaks, wrist bangles chiming.
The Grand Chamberlain’s mouth unhinges, stuttering over his own tongue. He begins to rise, heavy form bumping into the chair’s armrests.
“My prince…to what is this-? What about the Lynac?”
“Drair,” Taeg directs his eyes back to the assassin, ignoring the Chamberlain. “Find this woman and bring her to me.”
Nathis and Tygoh rise.
“What information does this woman have that you are so interested in, my prince?” Nathis tilts his head at the young man.
As Taeg speaks, he walks toward the door. “My mother claims to have seen the same boy shortly before she began losing her sense. I believe he may be the reason why she suffers so.”
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