~ Sedition ~

by

A. J. Mcguire

There was a marred, black hill dead center of the clearing. For a hundred yards in every direction, nothing would grow there, as though nature itself held vigil over the tragic events that had happened. Nelek crouched near the hill, his mind rebuilding what once stood there, hunting for some clue he had missed. Thick walls, square towers, battlements, and crenellations, the Temple of the Ebony Blade had been created with battle in mind, almost as formidable as Fortress Kiavana. Where he was positioned, the gatehouse would have been a mere eight steps away.

If, of course, the Temple still existed.

Expelling a harsh breath through his teeth, Nelek straightened to his feet. Night was coming fast, reminding him in more ways than one that he was running out of time. He tried to focus on his training, on the years he had spent playing and roaming through the Temple. But in his mind’s eye, there was only the crescent shape of King Goddard’s army bearing down on the Temple, restless and angry and ready for battle. His teacher, Sir Bedvar, had been outside the gates attempting to parlay with the mass of soldiers.

Nelek’s eyes cast to the ground three feet away. Bedvar had fallen there.

He closed his eyes, mortal combat ringing harsh through his memory, flashes of men falling, fires starting, the sharp rattle of blades... and then he caught it. That moment when everything had slowed down to a surreal, panicked pace and he had seen clearly even at his youthful age. During the dizzying rush through the Temple corridors, he had seen one thing, one oddity that pushed past the shock of having just seen his mentor fall: the small stone statue of Loran, god of war. In the chaos of battle, Nelek and his younger brother, Brenson, had been smuggled out of the Temple, but that one vision was crisp. He knew the army had broken through the Temple gatehouse because they’d been beating at the inner sanctuary doors just before the secret passage was revealed to them. He knew there had been fire because he could still smell it leaking through the cracks in the masonry. And he knew the army had not found the Ebony Blade.

He knew that because the Temple was gone. Almost as soon as they had stepped foot outside of the fortress, it had disappeared, taking Templar and soldiers with it. More importantly, taking the cursed sword with it. King Goddard responded by setting fire to every hint of the Templar, piling uniforms and bodies into the center of this clearing until all traces of the seditious uprising were gone. Only it wasn’t all gone. Whatever magic had taken the Temple created this blackened sepulcher, reminding the people of the queen and her men.

His eye twitched at the thought of his mother. She’d disappeared just before the attack on the Temple. Some rumors said the Eldur people rescued her; others said she simply left. He didn’t much believe any of those. For one, his mother would not have left her children behind. As far as he could remember, she was kind and affectionate to him. And, given what he understood of the race his mother had come from, if the Eldur people had come to her rescue, they would have laid waste to Kiavana.

The rumor that Nelek did believe was possibly the most unpopular. Because his mother was not human but Eldur, her marriage to King Goddard had magic in it as well. The oaths that bound them as husband and wife bound them in fate, making it so that if one of them died, then so would the other. It only made sense that his father would take her, hide her away someplace secure where she wouldn’t be harmed.

Which was why Nelek stood there, gazing at the hillock of death, trying to find the Ebony Blade. It was the only sword that could cut his father down and spare his mother’s life, and it was somewhere nearby. He could feel it like a deep vibration in his bones, calling out to him.

“It grows dark, Sire,” Sir Lucias called from behind him.

“I am aware of the time, sir.”

The knight moved to stand beside him. “Any progress this time?”

Nelek grunted his response, and Lucias responded in kind. They stood in silence then as Nelek considered the space before them. He could remember that he and Brenson had been sparring that day. He’d beaten his brother, as per usual. Brenson was not as inclined to swordplay as Nelek. Sir Bedvar had interrupted their sparring with the customary drills of the Templar, going through the virtues of a swordsman. Respect first of all because without it one could not understand Honor. Honor, Valor, and Temperance next, but all of it hinged on Respect.

Nelek squinted into the dying light of day, frowning to himself. Respect. The word tumbled through his mind, restlessly enough that he knew it was important.

“You asked me some time ago.” Sir Lucias finally spoke. Nelek turned as the knight began leading them away from the clearing. “You asked me for the name of the one I would have succeed me as your bodyguard.”

“That I did.” The prince held none of the surprise from his voice. He’d asked that question eight years ago, when the man first came into his employ. “It has been the tradition that each bodyguard name their successor. A last request, if you will. Though I admit I do not like the idea of you giving me a name now. I had begun to consider you eternal.”

Lucias flashed one of his rare smiles. “Indeed, My Prince. We have seen a great deal together and have managed to walk away from each experience without much by way of wounds.”

“We haven’t seen battle in a while, sir,” Nelek pointed out. “Not even an assassination attempt has been plotted in over a year. What is bringing this about?”

“It is the quiet before the storm, Highness,” Lucias murmured, his eyes squinting out into the darkness. “I can feel it.” The knight looked back at him with a rueful smile. “So can you.”

Nelek exhaled through his teeth and gave an imperceptible nod. For the past while, there had been a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, an ever-present itch at the back of his neck that he just could not define. Something was growing, subtle and quiet and dark, lying in wait. It was why he was searching the Temple grounds again. Every trip he took outside the fortress held the purpose of finding the Blade or the Temple. And he had excuse enough to leave the castle with the prattling of the nobles Goddard chose to occupy his court. Every week there seemed to be another set of nobles unhappy with each other, which his father always left him to deal with.

Though it might have been a means to keep Nelek away from court, it served his purpose just fine. After all, Goddard could not have every village, rock, and stream watched. Nelek could conduct his search without ruffling the old man’s feathers.

Lucias had fallen into silence again, his blue gaze searching the horizon where the last subdued color of light fought its way through the tumultuous clouds above.

“Who do you have in mind?” he finally asked the knight.

“Trenna Croften,” Lucias answered.

“A woman?” Nelek’s feet half-paused.

“A most unique woman.”

“I assume she has a handle of a blade?”

“Probably better than me,” Lucias admitted with another smile. “And she’s clever. Sharp tongue, easy to get along with. I think you’ll like her.”

Nelek let out a dubious snort. “Women are flighty, irresponsible creatures who look at me and dream of a crown.”

“I can assure you, Highness,” he responded. “This one will not.”

“There is no other then?”

“No other,” Lucias said, stopping them both. “She is my choice.”

Nelek sighed and shook his head. “Then I must honor your choice,” he said. “But I prefer the idea of your immortality.”