Chapter 6

“How should I respond?” Emeria said to herself as she walked through the castle halls. “One dramatic gesture deserves another, but I simply have to reply in a more grand fashion. Dracyr probably thinks I’ll be busy trying to chase my own tail. Won’t she be surprised when she finds out she’s the puppet on a string? For someone so smart though, she’s awfully stupid. She’s quite literally the only person who would actually try to kill me. The old man in the mountain wouldn’t dare move a finger, the merchant is already in my pocket and the woodsman doesn’t have a choice. That only leaves her and the crazy old wizard and I haven’t heard from him in quite some time. Those are the only people who would know enough to target the stone. I’m honestly surprised she fell for this all so easily, her reputation is vastly overrating her intelligence.”

Emeria kept talking aloud as she went from hall to hall until she reached the room she was looking for. She had reached the portion of the castle reserved for the priests of the blood gods. Several men passed by her dressed in crimson robes. They averted their eyes and bowed their heads as they passed. Under normal circumstances, Emeria would have paused for their adoration, but she had more pressing matters at hand. She strode down the hall ignoring the tapestries on the wall. From floor to ceiling the tapestries showed all of the royal family members as far back as Sacrotian history went. Worshippers of the blood gods saw the royal family as divine beings chosen by the gods to bear their gift to all of humankind, the Bloodstone. When Emeria was very little she had questioned the religion as a whole due to her illness, but after her bonding with the Bloodstone, she fancied the thought of being divine.

Emeria reached the end of the hall and opened the door to the innermost cathedral of the blood worshippers. A long red carpet led down the center aisle. White letters etched the carpet in old Sacrotian words Emeria had never cared enough to learn. At the end of the carpet atop a small set of stairs was a white altar of dragon bone and behind that stood the high priest of the religion of blood. Emeria skipped up to him and embraced him with a tight hug. She felt the man’s skin crawl as she began to speak. “Dear Sherid, how are you, my friend?” Emeria loved to make Sherid uncomfortable. Where most Sacrotians cowered in fear of Emeria Sherid had always held a deep disdain for her. He was a tall gaunt man with thin features who looked as if he was only a breath away from the grave. He had been the high priest of the religion of blood dating back to when Emeria’s parents had ruled over Sacrotia. He was a devout believer in the blood gods and the Bloodstone, but Emeria knew he had always looked at her and her possession of the Bloodstone as an aberration, a mistake by divine beings.

As Emeria finally let go Sherid began to speak. “And how may I be of use to my queen?” he said in a weak raspy voice. Emeria could feel his pace speed a little, he knew it was never good when the queen sought him out. Sherid knew that she saw the Bloodstone, the religion of blood, and all of the followers as nothing more than tools to further her goals.

“I need you to gather all the advisors Sherid, we have much to discuss due to this attempt on my life,” Emeria replied. Little to her surprise she felt Sherid’s pulse race at her words.

Though he worked hard to keep his face still Emeria had already gotten the answer she sought. “Ahh, so that’s what all the commotion was. I heard soldiers running about but hadn’t had the chance to ask yet.” A lie of course, but Sherid had to hope Emeria believed him. “I take it you are well though?” he asked. “You do not appear to be hurt.”

“I’m fine of course,” Emeria replied casually. “Do you really think there is any person on Surren that could actually hurt me?” She paused for a moment watching the slightest bead of sweat form and roll down Sherid’s cheek. “The gods would never let that happen, I am chosen after all.” She gave a wicked shark’s grin, “No knight or raider could ever possibly kill me Sherid.” Sherid’s skin crawled again. Every time she spoke of the gods he had to bite his lip to not reply and get himself killed. He began to turn, trying to leave to go find the other advisors and get out of Emeria’s presence. “Actually Sherid, I did have one more request.”

Sherid turned back to Emeria, “But of course my divine queen, what do you need of me?”

“I need you to take another vial of my blood. I want you to prepare the blood plague again. Someone has to be punished for trying to take my life, successful or not.”

Sherid’s eyes widened and he pulled back slightly. The blood plague was his greatest regret in life. Some years ago Emeria had asked him to take a sample of her divine blood to see what would happen if it was given to a living person. Sherid had done so, fearing for his life, but he wished he’d disobeyed. He injected the blood into a living host and watched with terrible guilt as it drained the life out of its host before passing to another and another until the blood plague had begun to spread. By the time Sherid had determined how to stop the aggressive infection, Emeria had already sent several infected into Draeton and caused the death of several thousand people. Emeria had clearly tricked Sherid, but he didn’t have the ability to stop the plague on his own. Sherid tricked Emeria into thinking that the people of Draeton had found a cure for the plague, but he knew better than that. The more Emeria’s blood spread the weaker it got. If she had simply spread more she could have wiped out the entire continent. What was worse, Sherid had discovered that Emeria could influence how aggressive the spread was. “I’m sorry my queen, with the medications that the medics of Draeton devised the blood plague would do nothing. If anything we might endanger our own people instead. I could try and create the same mixture, but it could cost us dearly,” He said, lying as best as he could. Sherid worried what would happen if Emeria ever knew that there was no mixture, that it was just her blood that caused the plague.

With a heavy sigh Emeria replied, “Oh fine, that’s awful disappointing though. I was so hoping that could be my reply.” Though Emeria knew Sherid was lying, now was not the time for her to play her hand in full. Emeria turned and walked out of the cathedral, leaving Sherid to call for the other Sacrotian advisors.

Sherid walked to the back of the cathedral and entered a small private room that was his own. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He wasn’t sure how long he could continue to fool Emeria, but he knew that this failed attempt on her life was a significant setback. He closed the door to his chamber and locked it with a small silver key. With a simple flick of his wrist, a red glowing charm appeared on the door. Sherid had placed charms like this all around his chamber to prevent prying eyes from seeing what he was up to. He turned to the large wooden desk in the corner and opened a drawer, digging through until he reached what appeared to be a very simple-looking quill. He took the quill and ran its point across his palm. He clenched his fist and let a few drops of blood fall on the desk before placing the quill along them. A red glow began to light the dim room and Sherid began to write quickly in the magical ink. He spoke out the words as he wrote and the small drips of blood began to form his words. “The attack has failed. I do not believe the queen suspects me, but I cannot be certain. She has yet to tell me whom she expects that attempt came from, though I assume she will figure that out quickly. Our agreement still holds, but I do not know how long I can avoid her gaze. She will want retribution for this. I will send word once I know her next actions.” After his last words, he again pressed the sharp edge of the quill to his palm, clenching his fist to let a last few drops hit the desk. A bright red flicker occurred and the words disappeared.

Sherid took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He placed the quill back inside his desk and sat for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. He opened his palm up and looked at the small bit of blood lining the pricks from the quill. He stared at the tapestry on his wall with slate gray letters reading “Blood if the beginning and the end of all that lives.” He ran his right hand along the palm of his left and with a dull glow the pricks in his palm sealed shut. He looked at the small mirror sitting on his desk and waved a hand in front of it as he said “Council.” The mirror flashed blue for a moment and three familiar faces appeared on it. “The queen wants to see us all,” Sherid began. “Someone just tried to kill her and she wants to figure out what to do next. Head to the throne room now.”

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A low sad voice responded, “You mean she wants to tell us how she’s going to get revenge and then wants all of us to agree with her.” The voice belonged to Moren, the general of the Sacrotian armies. Moren was someone Sherid had always found peculiar. He had become general some five years ago, but he was no native Sacrotian. He was in fact the former leader of all of the forests of Morenseo. Sherid had always found his defection peculiar, though he had never been able to discern why it had happened. Sherid nodded simply before waving his hand across the mirror again, closing the communications. Sherid stood up and began to head out of the cathedral toward the throne room. His mind raced with worries and horrid possibilities. If Emeria had already asked about the blood plague she must have horrible designs on her mind. Whatever her reply would be, it would certainly be brutal and filled with bloodshed. Sherid hoped he could minimize the lives lost at least. With his resolve steeled he opened the door to the throne room where Emeria waited.

By the time Sherid entered, the other three advisors were already waiting to begin. First, there was Moren, his deep green eyes carried a sadness to them. He was a broad man with gruff features. He was a legend of battle who had never seen defeat. All up his arms were magical runes tattooed in old ink from his home forests. A verdant stone hung in a simple leather necklace around his neck, though it was mostly covered by his beard. Moren looked more the part of a barbarian than a general, but that only belied how cunning he was. He stood in stark contrast to the generally over-dressed and attire-obsessed Sacrotians who made up the remainder of the council.

Next to Moren stood Ursania, Emeria’s economic advisor. She came from one of the oldest of the noble houses of Sacrotia, the Majeri family. The Majeri family had long-reaching influence over the commerce of Sacrotia. She was tall and thin with a jawline that could be used to cut diamonds. Her clothing was always of the highest Sacrotian fashion and she never wore the same outfit twice. Her eyes were deep and dark, lifeless Sherid had always thought. She rarely said much though, which Sherid always saw as a plus. Finally next to her stood the most frequent problem Sherid dealt with, Rosher the political advisor. He wore a well-tailored suit and stood at perfect attention. He was as straight-laced and proper as they came, every hair on his head and his face was perfectly groomed. Sherid found him to be the most detestable of the council members because he always told the queen what she wanted to hear. Sherid knew that on more than one occasion Rosher had manipulated Emeria with his praise, but there was little that he could do to prevent this.

“My respected council members, as you no doubt know, someone has tried to kill me,” Emeria began saying. “I am almost certain as to who arranged this, but I do want to be sure before I move forward. After all, I wouldn’t want to wipe a kingdom off of our map without reason.” Sherid’s mouth curled into a very tight frown as Emeria continued. “I have called you here so that you can help me plan how to best reply. Whoever did this didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eye. They sent a lone assassin in an attempt to end my life quickly and quietly.”

Rosher frowned and began to speak in his overly exaggerated tone, “My queen, that is terrible, why, oh why would anyone want to kill you? You are so magnificent and come from the divine blood, don’t they understand!” Sherid sneered at Rosher’s pathetic attempts to ingratiate himself again. As much as Emeria couldn’t be trusted, she was at least a very straightforward monster in Sherid’s mind. Rosher on the other hand knew how to play a part well in order to get what he wanted. He was a snake of a person, but unfortunately for Sherid, it had been repeatedly proven that Rosher was the only council member who had the queen’s ear.

Moren sighed, not even bothering to try and sway the queen from whatever chaotic course of action she had already decided upon. “Well,” Emeria began again, “I think it’s only fair that if someone tries to kill me I reply in kind, isn’t it?”

Moren spoke up, giving a futile attempt at reason, “Maybe, but if it was just a lone assassin how can you be sure who sent them? It could have been anyone. You wouldn’t want to strike blindly.” It was sound logic of course, but Sherid knew that Emeria would not listen to it. This was the sort of logic that Sherid expected from Moren. Despite his strength in battle the greatest quality he had as a leader was his ability to minimize losses and bring his men home alive. Moren would never willingly consent to a pointless war.

“I don’t need to strike blindly and you would best watch your tongue general,” Emeria replied. She stared him down for a moment, Sherid had always found it an odd sight to watch such a strong man forced to knuckle under to someone who appeared to be a child. Emeria pulled the shifting axe from her belt and held it up, showing the blade. “This blade is far better craftsmanship than anything our smiths could make and that means it could only have come from one of two places. It must be either from Draeton or Chirock.” Sherid knew this was sound logic, but there was potential to derail Emeria’s thought process.

“But my queen, anyone could acquire such a weapon, it could be a ruse after all. Perhaps someone is trying to incite a war so that they might benefit outside,” Sherid reasoned.

“An option I have considered Sherid,” Emeria replied. “But I do not think this is the case. The plan does not fit it. There was a small group of mercenaries causing a ruckus outside to divert our attention. They were hired simply as a diversion. The only person with real attachments to a kingdom was the one who got inside. One singular soldier with a great amount of training, enough to actually land a blow on me, that speaks to the cleverness of the plan. Certainly, our other allies would have tried a foolish direct assault. What’s more, is that this particular assassin wore a full suit of crafted armor and he rode a wyvern. No simple rebel or mercenary is going to have all three of those. This means he was well trained, well supplied, well mounted, and clever.” Sherid’s mind began to race, trying to come up with another feasible reason for the attack, but he came up with nothing. “The assassin was sent from Draeton, it is the only logical answer. Old man Graclose has the craftsman to make the armor and the blade, but he wouldn’t dare endanger all of Chirock. They are far too close to us. Only Dracyr would have done this.” Sherid felt his heartbeat slow, he had tried his best to mask the link to Draeton and Dracyr. No one was supposed to be able to tell who had killed Emeria, he’d never bothered to think of what would happen if the attempt on her life had failed.

“Dracyr is close to us, Draeton is close to us. She’s always feared me, rightfully so. I’d have to surmise that she sent her best knight hoping to kill me quickly and quietly and either take over Sacrotia or put a puppet on the throne,” Emeria said with a hungry look on her face. “She’s pompous and self-righteous enough to think that she was doing it for the greater good too. Sickening what some people can convince themselves of isn’t it?” Sherid was beginning to feel sick because he knew what was to come next. “So, how exactly do we put Dracyr in her place? Sherid already told me the blood plague isn’t an option so I suppose I have to be open to new ideas.”

“Well my queen,” Rosher began,” We certainly can’t take such an insult standing still. If they would dare to hurt our queen we must reply in kind.” Rosher was clearly saying what the queen wanted to hear as both Sherid and Moren tensed at the thought of the coming bloodshed.

“A full military movement wouldn’t be wise my queen,” Moren pleaded. “We do have a larger force than the Draeton army, but they have very well-fortified defensive positions. It would take us considerable losses to break through them. We cannot do that to our people…”

Rosher stepped angrily towards Moren interrupting him, “They attacked our queen! Have you no pride as a warrior, as our queen’s protector?” Rosher pushed Moren and smirked, knowing that Moren wouldn’t dare lay a hand on him. “Surely our soldiers will understand. We cannot take this lightly, we must be aggressive. The benefits of taking Draeton and their land will greatly outweigh the risk to our people.”

Finally, Ursania spoke, “Mmmmm… riches. I hadn’t thought of that,” her voice carried like this hiss of a snake. “It would be nice to add to our coffers. I’m sure Draeton must have such nice things.” At this point, Sherid knew it was pointless to argue. The queen wouldn’t be swayed unless the whole of her advisors pushed against her and even then she rarely listened. With such a strong backing it was hopeless.

“You needn’t worry about the losses Moren. It isn’t your blood being shed, it is mine after all. All of Sacrotia is my blood, my gift, the gift from the blood gods that give us all life.” Sherid clenched his fists at this affront, though he dared not say a thing. “We won’t assault Draeton yet, there is something I must acquire first. It will make our taking of Dracyr and her kingdom much simpler. I will tell each of you your role soon enough. Just prepare the troops and await further instructions. Now, all of you need to leave. It’s about time that I have a conversation with my dear royal cousin. It’ll be so much more fun if she knows I’m coming for her,” Emeria said as she waved the others out of the room.

Once she was alone Emeria stood from her throne and walked excitedly to the exact center of the throne room. She raised her arms high above her head and with a great hungry smile slapped them together. A ripple of red magic flowed around her body and the room filled with an electric hum. As the energy built Emeria dropped her hands and she began to float off the floor. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. They were glowing blood red, gazing far away from where she stood. As she hung in the air Emeria began to speak at last.