Iron and Shadow, page 19
part #3 of The Iron Kingdom Series
“I would rather have died that day and my son lived!” The monarch shouted, looking away and Aiden saw a glimpse of the father that he had known. His grief was a raw, ragged thing and the prince knew then that the Iron King was going to make someone answer for it. “Together, your brothers could have made a glorious charge up that hill!” His tone said that he could see it in his mind as the king leaned on the table, his gaze straying to the map again, no doubt to the site of the battle, which was inked with crossed swords. “They’d have broken through to the dwarves, which is exactly what Valun did! With Garyth there, they’d have waited and rallied all the dwarves and men together and Valun wouldn’t have charged back down too quickly!”
Aiden’s heart was moved for his father’s hurt, even as he felt his own lurch. Even though he agreed with what his father was saying, he knew that there was no way of knowing if things would have turned out that way. “Father, none of us can know for sure what might have happened, even had Garyth been there.” He tried to keep his voice reasonable. “Even supposing that Lokkmar had listened to them and they all moved up the hill, the orcs and trolls might still have overwhelmed them all.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” King Ragnur said with scorn in his voice. “If Lokkmar had taken what he had in hand at that moment, with both my sons, they could have held the hill against anything!”
Shaking his head slowly, Aiden asked, “So the general deserves to die for that?”
“Yes!” The king growled savagely. “I hope Garyth splits his skull like he did Morgall’s! That is what would be just and right!”
The crown prince could not believe that his father saw things this way. “And what if Garyth loses?” He inquired, trying another tactic. “We all know that he is one of the best swordsman in the kingdom but he is still recovering from his wounds. What if he isn’t up to the task and Lokkmar kills him instead? Then you’ll have two dead sons.”
“Then, I will kill Lokkmar myself!” Said the Iron King, his voice brutal.
Waving his hands, Aiden lost his composure. “For defending himself?!”
“Garyth is my son, my blood!” The king replied. “If Lokkmar kills him, I will challenge him and avenge my house as is my right!”
“You are the king!” Aiden practically screamed in exasperation. “You cannot duel your own subjects! Even if the people would stand for it, where does it all end?!” He stepped closer to his father and put his hands together, pleading, hoping that he could cause him to see reason. “The general’s family will then seek revenge and begin calling out our family for their own honor.”
“I will bury them all!” The king grated in deathly tones. “I’ll butcher his house to a man!”
“This…is…wrong…” The prince said then as he looked into his father’s face. Before that rage and fury, many would quail but not Aiden. “You cannot have it both ways, my king. If you begin such policies, the realm will return to anarchy and we’ll have challenges on all sides to our right to rule and govern the people.”
“Bah!” The king snarled. “You’re too worried about what the people think, Aiden. Too concerned about the nobility and their greed, the common people and all their fears.” He looked at his son then like something he would have scraped off his boot. “To rule is to provide safety and protection as well as correction and reproof when needed.” He chided the prince as though he were a simpleton. “If you cannot see that, perhaps you are unfit to rule!”
Aiden recoiled as if he’d been slapped. He was man enough to ignore the personal insult, though he was injured deeply by it, and said, “If we run roughshod over the will of the people then we are nothing but dictators, father.” There was conviction and shock in equal measures in his voice as he realized that he and his father disagreed so fundamentally on this. “Is that the lesson that you would have me learn here?”
Now it was the king’s turn to look at his son in incredulity. “You aren’t a child, Aiden.” He turned from his son suddenly and stepped away. “I’d thought you would have learned these lessons long ago.” It was clear that the monarch wished to end the conversation but his son wasn’t done yet.
“So, this is how you will rule from now on?” The prince’s manner made it a statement instead of a question. “You will do as you please and to Hell with anyone who disagrees?”
The king whirled back to face his son. “What do you know of ruling, boy?!” He growled like a bear. “Your whole life was handed to you, by me! You never stood with steel in your hand knowing that if you failed it would not be your life only that was forfeit. Knowing that there was an entire kingdom that would suffer should you fail.” Disdain dripped from his voice like ichor. “You have lived a life of ease and privilege and you have forgotten where you come from!”
All the blood drained from his face as Aiden looked at this man who looked something like his father but he was now beginning to believe was someone or something else entirely. “At every turn you insult me.” He added no title, whether familial or noble now, his own fury a cold, cold thing. “You diminish anything that I have ever done out of your own vanity and rage. You call me boy but you rule as a child, demanding that things are done you way and brooking no argument?” He locked eyes with the king. “You are wrong.”
Stepping very close to his eldest child, the king’s voice lowered and he snarled. “I don’t care what you think you know.” His eyes flashed with rage and something else…something dark. “You have no loyalty to your family or your king. I see this now.” He looked his son up and down and it was clear that he found what he saw there was lacking. “Get out of my sight.”
“You are dismissing me because you don’t want to hear my words!” Aiden bellowed, finally forgetting himself, forgetting who he addressed. For a moment, he was appalled at the disrespect that he was showing but couldn’t bring himself to stop. ‘He disrespects everyone around him now. Why should he be given respect himself?’ The prince thought before starting to speak again. “You cannot…”
King Ragnur cut the prince off short with a roar that silenced his son and made his ears ring. “GET OUT!”
Aiden looked into his king’s eyes for a long moment and finally turned away. It wasn’t that he was afraid nor was it the fact that further noise would certainly bring the guards in, as he could hear them already knocking at the door and inquiring if everything was alright. What had caused the prince to give up and walk out of the chamber was the strange light in his father’s eyes, the expression on his face that made him realize he couldn’t get through to him. The prince had always been able to reason with his father, had been raised to do so, to speak his mind and his heart. However, the tyrant that had talked down to him and then dismissed him summarily was not that same man who had taught him those things. The gleam in the king’s eyes was one that Aiden had never seen before…something akin to madness.
As the prince swept out of the door, ignoring the stares of the guards, he did not look back. If he had, he would have seen the king had already returned to his intent study of the map once again.
CHAPTER NINE
Walking slowly away from the grand council chamber, Calder scowled as he heard the echoes of the argument that he knew to be taking place within. He was glad to see that most had vacated the broad hall leading to the chamber and those few that lingered were hustled along by the forbidding stares of the royal guard. The druid thought, and not for the first time, that the royal guard were well chosen. Not just for their abilities in combat or their loyalty but also for their discretion. The seneschal, Barull, had always chosen well and had a keen eye for all three qualities. He wondered if the king and his family knew how lucky they were to have such a loyal and capable seneschal. He reflected sadly that there had been a time when he’d have been sure that the king recognized this fact but now he seemed blind to anything or anyone but his cause.
A slight figure standing near one of the pillars within the hallway gave the druid pause. His brow furrowed as he looked closer and saw that it was the young priest from the council meeting. Glancing around, Calder saw that no one else was near, though in the distance, he could see small groups walking away, discussing the meeting. Walking slowly toward the priest, the old druid studied him. Upon closer inspection, the man was quite young and almost painfully thin. He did not look sickly, just skinny, as if he ate the bare minimum to survive. The priest’s hair was bright red and his skin fair and pale. His eyes were such a light blue that they almost seemed opaque and his face bore a frown. Calder saw a fading bruise on the left side of his face from his temple to his left check. His nose and mouth were also bruised and split where he’d been struck forcefully. The druid frowned thoughtfully then. Priests weren’t known for fighting, though in ancient times, they had shouldered weapons alongside all the other warriors. Now, however, most of them were fat and slow, far more given to long speeches than action. Looking at this slim, intense young man, the druid knew instantly that he was different.
The young man looked startled as the druid got closer. He looked around in surprise, perhaps wondering if there was someone close by that the older man was heading toward. When Calder stopped in front of him, the priest mumbled. “Hello.” Though his voice was so soft the old man had to strain to hear it.
“Well met, young priest!” Calder said in a friendly voice. “I saw you at the council meeting.” When the priest only nodded and looked away, the druid added. “Strange that one so young would be invited to the king’s council.” Still unwilling to look directly at the druid, the priest muttered something under his breath. “You’ll have to speak up, lad, I can’t hear you.”
“I said I was invited.” The young man said almost sullenly.
Ignoring the youth’s unfriendly manner, Calder continued speaking as if they were old friends discussing the weather or fishing. “Well it was quite memorable, as much as such affairs can be.” He noted the young man’s gaze continually strayed toward the door to the chamber. Though muffled by the thick walls, the raised voices of the prince and the king could be heard as distant echoes. “The king invited you?” The old man asked and when the youth’s face turned back to him, the druid could see his startled expression. Knowing that he’d guessed correctly, he wondered aloud. “How do you know King Ragnur?”
The young priest hesitated then. The druid was well known as an old friend to the king and his use of the king’s name so casually reinforced that point as the old man had intended. “I…we met at the temple.”
“I see.” Calder mused. “And he then invited you to this most important of meetings.” The druid wasn’t one for playing games or mincing words. “It is peculiar that he would invite such a young priest, when other, higher ranking priests were left out.”
With a rueful grimace, the younger man nodded. “My superiors are not well pleased.”
“Yet a royal command is not refused, even by the priesthood.” Calder added. “So, a young priest who I’ve never heard of and whose elders have not sanctioned such things receives a royal summons to a council of war.” Seeing the young man’s gaze stray back toward the council chamber door, the druid asked bluntly. “Who are you?”
“I am Sverrir.” The young priest said simply, looking back at the druid. “I am no one.” He said, shrugging.
Calder shook his head. “Oh, I doubt that very much, young cleric.” He gestured back down the hall toward the grand council chamber. “That meeting was not the territory of nobodies, as you well know.” The druid snorted derisively as he thought of the assemblage of important people that had been there. Then he thought how much he hated politics and all its trappings. “Some of the most important people in all the realm were in that meeting, which makes me wonder, why were you there?”
The priest sighed. “I am not sure.” He gauged the druid’s countenance then. Calder was legendary in the kingdom. The powerful and mysterious druid was notorious for his crankiness as well as his wisdom. It was also well known that he was one of the king’s closest confidantes. Sverrir couldn’t have known about the recent troubles between the druid and the king and so decided it would be alright to be completely honest with the old druid. “I think it’s because of the dreams.”
The words hung between them for a moment. Finally, Calder asked, “The king’s dreams?”
Reluctantly, Sverrir replied. “His…and mine.”
The old man’s eyebrows rose higher than ever. “His dreams of the goddess?” The priest turned even paler and nodded. “Perhaps you should tell me everything.”
Perhaps if the druid had been someone else, someone less important and well-known, Sverrir would have balked. However, the druid was a famous figure in the Iron Kingdom, known as an advisor to the king and his family and he clearly knew of the king’s dreams. The priest could only reason that the king would have no problem with him telling one of his oldest friends and counsellors all that had transpired. He assumed that, with how busy the king had been, he hadn’t had time to tell the druid of such a trivial thing as his dealings with a priest and a lowly one at that. So he told the druid of his meeting the Iron King when he’d come to the temple to ask the priests of his dreams and the priesthood’s negative reactions. He spoke of his own dreams and of then following the king, waiting for a chance to talk with him. He told him of their first conversation within the frozen chamber that had contained Winter’s Heart. Calder’s expression was like stone as the young man recounted their interaction then and later, after the war, in the same place.
“I begged him not to take up the artifact.” Sverrir said mournfully, his eyes flicking back toward the chamber door down the hall. “But he would not hear me.”
Calder nodded gravely. “And he gave you those wounds for your trouble.”
The priest shrugged. “The king was grief-stricken and half-mad with rage and sorrow.” His voice showed no rage or anger. “I cannot blame him for his reaction.”
“Yet for all that he struck you down, the king clearly favors you above your superiors and has included you at his council meetings.” The druid noted.
“Yes.” Sverrir allowed glancing at the druid again. “As I said, the elder priests were not pleased and have called me an upstart.” He smiled thinly. “I will never advance far within the ranks of the priesthood, I am sure.”
Calder saw the smile and the disdainful tone of his voice. “Yet, you do not care for such things, do you?” When the Sverrir shook his head, the druid found himself liking the young man that much more. He too, had nothing but contempt for the priesthood which was, for the most part, full of lazy, proud braggarts. Something occurred to Calder then that made him ask another question. “You are a priest of Vis, yes?” The younger man nodded. “You said that you believed that Vis and Baurr are in disagreement over the matter of Winter’s Heart and yet you side with Baurr?”
“What would a druid know of such matters?” Sverrir asked, somewhat acidly. For all that he was clearly not a normal priest, his training had made him jealous over matters of faith and the gods. “I was taught to believe that you druids manipulated elemental magic and bent the life-force of the land to your will. I was taught that you did not believe in the gods.”
Shaking his head, Calder surprised the young man by laughing. “Of course I believe in the gods, young priest!” His voice grew serious then. “I simply do not believe that they are as interested in our every movement and thought as the priesthood would have us believe. I think that the priests use such partial truths to control the masses and fill their own coffers.” He waited to see Sverrir’s reaction, expecting rage and venom but was instead surprised when the young man slowly nodded.
“In this…” Sverrir said deliberately. “We agree.”
For all his years and experience, the druid found himself astounded. He’d never expected to find a priest who would agree with such a dire assessment of his own order. “Then, your priests do not know of your own dreams?”
Sverrir snorted. “I would be branded a heretic!” His eyes flashed angrily. “They would swear that the gods would speak the elders before one such as me or anyone else for that matter. It is what they said when the king had told them of his dreams.”
“Yet you’re sure that these weren’t ordinary dreams?” The druid pressed.
“No.” The priest answered. “I was transported to the realm of the gods.” His eyes were far away and his expression turned to wonder and awe. “I saw them…I heard their voices…”
Calder inquired gently, “And Vis and Baurr were in disagreement.” He repeated his earlier question. “Yet, you side with Baurr and not your own patron deity. Why?”
Sverrir’s countenance grew pained. “I…I do not side with Baurr.” Seeing the druid’s flat stare, he added, “Not exactly.” Calder did not interrupt but patiently waited while the priest collected his thoughts. “I serve Vis.” Sverrir began carefully. “She who gives life, the Hearth Mother. I serve the goddess first, yet we are trained to honor all the gods.” His eyes seemed to glaze over. “Yet when I was in their realm, however briefly or insubstantially, I felt a great dread come over me when I knew that she desired the king to take up the artifact. I do not know why but Baurr did not want it to be so and it seems strange, does it not?” The druid nodded his head a fraction, not wanting to interrupt. “Baurr is the patron god of war and valor, yet he did not want the Iron King to wield the ancient axe. Vis, the protector of the home, wished it to be. What can it all mean?” The young priest’s voice was frustrated and fearful.
“I am not sure.” Calder said in measured tones. “As you pointed out, we druids are not so versed in the ways of the priesthood, though we learn of the gods, as we do all things in and of this world.” He thought on it for several moments. “Baurr is said to be bloodthirsty and warlike in all his thoughts and deeds. He is the god of war and yet he didn’t want the king to take up Winter’s Heart.” He was musing aloud, thinking on all that the priest had told him. “This does seem strange but we must assume then that the king taking the axe leads to a future that is displeasing to the god.”
