Rhoden stood at the window of one of his private chambers, holding a letter in his hand. The mid-morning sky was cloudy, but he had an unimpeded view of the city of Torran, splayed out below him. Roofs and smoking chimneys spread for many miles down the sides of the hill on which the city was built, and beyond the city wall, the first signs of green were beginning to grow in the fields. He looked past them, to the forest that carpeted much of the valley, and out to the horizon, where the dark peaks of the mountains hemmed the kingdom in their bounds.
This was one of those times, he contemplated, where what he saw outside the window reflected his own mood. Fair weather, yet cloudy above. Open fields and wide forests, yet dark ominous mountains in the distance. The juxtaposition was fitting.
The letter in his hand was from his uncle, written in a firm hand and delivered to Rhoden just an hour before. He had opened and read it hungrily, desperate for news. It was two days since his father’s funeral—three since Horst had left to search after the dreaded Seranach. But if Rhoden had hoped for good news, he was disappointed.
The letter was written on two pages, the first of which was addressed to Prince Rhoden and the Alerian Council of Lords—
In it, Horst detailed what had happened over the last couple of days. He and Derrick Soraldson followed the trail of the Seranach as it had left the city. Sadly, it seemed the the work of death had not ended in the Citadel. They had come across a horrible sight in the village of Denrost, about a half day’s journey from Torran—almost the entire population of the little village had been slaughtered and left to rot in the street. The wounds were consistent with those found on the victims of the Citadel, and Horst concluded that they must be from the beast.
After alerting the local guard, they continued. From Denrost, the trail turned north, and they would follow it, with the sole purpose of stopping more violence before it happened. Horst’s tone was grim, but in the end, he expressed his confidence that the beast would be found, and soon. They felt they were drawing ever closer as each day progressed.
The second page was written to Rhoden alone.
Nephew, it read. Do not let your heart be troubled by these bitter tidings. There is a time to grieve the dead, and a time to celebrate the living. The task to hunt this beast falls to me, and I will carry it out as my sacred duty, whatever perils may lie in my path. Gather those around you whom you trust. Rapidian can help to judge their sincerity. Be strong, Nephew. I will return soon.
Rhoden held the papers loosely in his hand and stared out the window. He was grateful for the news, and for his uncle’s encouragement, but a gloom settled around him like thick fog. So many people, dead. They had received word at the palace, almost simultaneous to the arrival of the letter, of the slaughter of Denrost and it had seemed mysterious at first. To know that it was a direct attack of the Seranach upon innocent lives brought a deep sorrow into Rhoden’s heart. They did not deserve to die, much as his father had not, nor Cael to sustain such grievous injuries.
He had finally gone to visit his brother, late the night before, when he had awoken and could no longer sleep. Through the darkened passageways of the palace, Rhoden moved like a phantom, barely visible but for the whites of his eyes. Cael’s rooms had been dark and nearly empty, and it had been a simple task to pass by the sleeping physicians unnoticed.
Cael lay in his bed, a silent, prone figure, bereft of the life and joy that so defined him. His golden hair was covered by winding bandages around his head. In the dim light of glowing coals in the hearth, his skin was as pale as the linen sheets beneath him and his cheeks were sunken.
Rhoden had been surprised but did not wonder to find Mira with him. She sat slumped over in a chair next to Cael’s side, her head and arms resting on the bed. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. One of her hands rested lightly on Cael’s arm.
Rhoden had remained in the shadows, watching quietly from the corner. As he had imagined, his courage seemed to fail him. To see Cael so helpless, so still, brought him to the very throes of despair. How could he possibly continue, when his brother was so altered?
Because I must, a part of him said, and his stooping shoulders straightened. Cael would not give in to grief and anguish. Neither will I.
Before he left, he had taken a moment to contemplate Mira’s sleeping form. He wondered within himself whether he had been right to question her so harshly that day. It was not that he doubted her loyalty to Cael—that, he thought, had been obvious for anyone with eyes to see the love they had for one another. He believed her when she said that she had stayed for her sister, as well, but there had been a part of him that had known there was a deeper reason, and for some twisted reason, he had wanted to hear it from her own lips.
He did not blame Mira for fearing or scorning him. It was hardly different from how Lord Hestran had acted towards him, though lacking the vitriol. He could not feel shame for himself— he had wanted to know Mira’s mind; and, now that he did and no more mystery remained, it did not make his task any easier.
Rhoden mentally pulled himself from Cael’s sick room and once again stared out of the window. Though the sun fell shining through the clouds above, he could not truly enjoy the beauty of the new day. There were too many problems facing him to contemplate. He let them run through his mind without dwelling on the details: his father’s death, and the Dryr assassin behind it; Mira staying in Aleria; the prison of the Dryr and the Arnyr who guarded them; Cael’s illness; his uncle leaving; himself to be crowned in less than a month’s time. The thoughts passed along like long- neglected paintings on a wall, dark and mysterious.
As he thought, he fingered a cool silver chain in his pocket. He had not forgotten the key his father had given him as his last mortal act. Carlton had placed it on a cushion beside his bed the night after the attack, along with the knife Rhoden had left in the Citadel. The silver crowns of the royal family had all been cleaned and returned to the treasury.
Rhoden withdrew the chain from his pocket, and, setting the letter aside, inspected the key in the bright morning light. He had already done so a half dozen times, and was no closer to an answer as to what it unlocked than he had been three nights ago. It was dark and intricate, no bigger than the tip of his pointer finger. He guessed it was to some private chest or lockbox of his father, and had set Carlton to the task, but as proud as his valet was of his ability, he had not found what it unlocked.
The key glinted as it swung on the chain, an almost taunting sight. Rhoden knew that it was important, or rather, that whatever it unlocked was important. The look in his dying father’s eyes had told him as much. When his mind was not caught in his own gloom, Rhoden wondered what it could be. Perhaps it was treasure to aid the kingdom. Perhaps secret correspondence between the king and some other dignitary that it was vital Rhoden know.
There was a part of him that wished it would be something else. Letters, perhaps even journals, that would reveal Garazor’s mind. Rhoden had set the palace steward over ordering the documents and possessions of his father, and so far very little personal writings had been found. Garazor had been a private man, and it was possible he had never kept an account of days. Rhoden was quickly becoming aware of just how busy life as a king was. Although the people were still in deep mourning, the business of the kingdom must continue. Even now, the Council was being summoned, to discuss the matter of Denrost and of Horst’s update. Rhoden expected a great deal more would be examined as well.
He thrust the key back into his pocket, frustrated. It held the promise of information, of learning a secret, and he was annoyed that the answer was not forthcoming. This surprised him a little; all his life, he had been dedicated to study, to finding out an answer through searching and exploring. Now, all of a sudden, his emotions rose within him until they rose to anger. He did not want to wait for an answer. He wanted it now.
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His anger betrayed a deeper fear: that the promises made to him would not be fulfilled. He felt surrounded by them, drowning in them. Promises his father and brother had made and had not kept. Though that was not through a fault of their own, Rhoden could not help but assign the same despair he felt to the other promises made him: that Rapidian would come with help, that his uncle would return. The anger and despair roiled through him like fire, and though he tried to quell it, it was a task not easily done.
When Carlton came a few minutes later and informed Rhoden that the Council was now waiting for his arrival, it was his anger that spoke.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped. “I’ll come when I’m ready.”
Then, seeing his valet’s shocked face, his anger died and shame rose to take its place.
“I apologize, Carlton,” he said, his face hot with embarrassment. “I…am not myself today. Lead on.”
But Carlton, before he accepted the apology with a curt nod, gave Rhoden a look of deep dislike, which remained in his mind, even as the other man turned and left the room.
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The Council accepted Horst’s letter without much surprise. Now that the news of Denrost was spreading through the capital, people once again were walking cautiously in the streets, unwilling to leave their homes but for the utmost need. The threat of the Seranach was very real and very near, and Rhoden could see in the eyes of his lords that they, too, believed the danger was not past.
A general agreement went along the table that it was in the best interest of everyone in Aleria—and Mesia, tangentially—to find the beast as quickly as possible. To Rhoden’s dismay, several of the lords, including Lord Hestran and Lord Astrall, once again voiced their doubts as to his uncle’s ability to finish the task, and the role Aras Rapidian played in it all. He was frustrated. Even after the witness of their own eyes, and Rapidian’s report to them, they were still unwilling to believe him.
Rhoden did his best to allay their fears, vouching personally for the character of both men, but he knew that those who spoke their doubts were not satisfied. There was further tension when the conversation switched to the Heartstone, and the returning of it to the Ennist priests. Lord Hestran, as Rhoden came to expect of him, was the loudest in his objections.
“And how, pray tell, did the Heartstone come to be in your possession, Prince Rhoden?” he asked, and many of the lords around him nodded. “The Brother Rapdann, or whatever his name is, claimed that the beast took the Heartstone to its master. If that is true, how did you come by it?”
Rhoden tried to explain how Rapidian had found it in the streets of the city, but this brought merely scoffs and suspicious looks from most everyone around the table. He thought he knew their minds, and where this line of thinking was taking them. For if they believed Rapidian’s words, even if they doubted his character, that the beast was to take the Heartstone to its master, then the obvious connection was that Rhoden had controlled the beast. He clenched his fists beneath the table and forced his anger down. No. He would not be who they thought him to be.
But try as he might, he would not be able to convince everyone.
“This, gentlemen,” said Lord Hestran in a booming voice, “is the man you would crown king.” And he sat back, looking around the table with small, beady eyes, as the men muttered darkly to one another. Rhoden kept his jaw tight and his shoulders straight. He ignored the whispers, as though he could not hear them.
He was grateful when Lord Crasmere took control of the Council, and the meeting turned to other matters.
“We must discuss what is to become of Aleria in the future,” the elderly man said. He bowed to Rhoden and continued. “With King Garazor gone, and a new heir to the throne, there are many things we must determine.”
For the next two hours, the circle of men around the table talked about the many problems now facing the kingdom, and how best to solve them. Foremost among these was that of the poor village of Denrost—what provisions to send, and how to arrange the burial. As the village fell within the confines of Lord Wallrick’s lands, the task was given to him to settle the arrangements. He accepted graciously and wrote his orders slowly with a shaking hand. Brother Lamb pledged several priests to the duty, Rhoden promised a squadron of the King’s Guard, and the orders were sent quickly out to their respective parties via squires.
The Council also determined that a proclamation be sent out, warning all of the threat of the terrible Seranach. Until the beast could be subdued, the lords felt it best to make preparations to guard against future attacks. Rhoden remembered Rapidian’s words and suggested that salt and silver be used in whatever protections were to be made. In this, Brother Lamb agreed.
“Salt and silver were traditionally used to ward off evil,” he said. “They are the two things most close to Ennis and his glory. No doubt their inclusion will be of great worth.”
In the proclamation was also added that Rhoden was to be crowned king in four weeks’ time, and that he had been found worthy and clean before the lords and before Ennis. Lord Hestran objected to this being added, but Lord Crasmere, backed by Wallrick and Croftin Meran and several others, insisted that this information was vital to send out.
Then, the conversation turned to more pressing matters, namely that of Mesia and the treaty. It was now known that every Mesian, aside from a handful of priests who had been injured by the mob in the center of Torran, and the ladies Miriandri and Biani Escallon, had fled back down the Plattanar Valley and out of the mountains into Mesia. The majority of the lords saw this as proof that the treaty was broken and void.
“If the Mesians were innocent in the attack, why did they flee?” Lord Redes asked, his round face dark with suspicion.
“I imagine they feared for their lives, as much as we did for ours,” Rhoden responded quietly.
“They perhaps thought we were behind the attack,” Lord Crasmere said. “They do not know what we do about the Brethren of the Dawn and their mission to hunt the beast. As soon as we have word from them, we must make this clear.”
“How do we know that Sebastt will not respond as he has in the past?” Lord Ignatus asked. “If he believes the attack was directed at him, or his retinue, then perhaps he will think it was an act of war.”
“Lady Mira has promised to help as she can,” Rhoden said. “She has written to her father, and we hope that the messenger will overtake them, ere they reach the capital. Lord Escallon has great influence in the Mesian court. If he believes what she has written, he may be able to convince the king that no violence was intended towards him.”
“Fool girl,” Lord Hestran hissed. “She doesn’t know what she has started, staying behind as she did.”
Rhoden frowned at him. “What do you mean, my lord?”
“Only this: there is already a rumor spreading that she was held back against her will. No matter what she writes to her father, some in Mesia may not believe it. There are those here in the city who already do not.”
“I think it would therefore be prudent,” said Lord Crasmere, “to offer the ladies and the Thalist priests back to Mesia as soon as can be arranged, as proof that we bear them no ill and as a sign of good faith.”
“What about the treaty?” Lord Wallrick asked, raising his slow eyes from the tabletop, which he had been inspecting. “Is there no hope there?”
Lord Crasmere looked swiftly at Rhoden, then away. “The treaty may need to wait before it can again be discussed with Mesia. Inner problems must be resolved before outer problems. Once the beast is captured and we are certain Mesia has no violent intentions towards us, then we may consider it again. Until that time, I am afraid the best we can do is sharpen our swords and pray we do not have to use them.”
The meeting ended on this gloomy note, and Rhoden rose to leave. Lord Crasmere, however, held him back.
“A word, my Lord,” he said, and Rhoden stayed.
“I have a personal request from the Lady Miriandri that requires your approval,” Lord Crasmere said, pulling out a small paper that had been folded artfully. Rhoden looked curiously at it. The High Chamberlain looked almost embarrassed to have it in his hand.
“I would normally take care of such matters on my own, but under the circumstances, I thought it best to bring it to you,” he said, and gave the paper to Rhoden.
As he read Mira’s flowing writing, Rhoden’s heartbeat quickened.