Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (61 page)

Kesh tore his eyes away from the monster lurking behind his master and focused every fiber of his being on the weave of fiction and reality he would spin together to create one truth. “My contact, Jagger, disobeyed my orders to kill the princesses,” he began. His telling proceeded to cover each event as he remembered, with slight modification to shift the blame from himself to Kinsey, Erik, and the rogue, Jagger. He spun his tale, accusing Kinsey and Erik of being in league with Jagger from the beginning. The trio stood to gain much from a ransom for the princesses.

He changed the raging beast attack at the ruins to a Wildman offensive that crippled Jagger’s forces beyond repair. Not only did he find it impossible to describe the events in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous, Kesh’s voice had broken every time he had tried to describe the scene when he was rehearsing his tale to himself earlier. He explained that the Wildmen had given him the distraction he needed to slip past Jagger’s guards to kill Princess Sacha himself. “She is dead, My Lord. I swear it on my very soul. She is dead.”

Kesh omitted Kinsey’s death, believing that Banlor would scoff at the idea that Kesh had bested the burly warrior. Instead, he said only that the half-dwarf went missing after the skirmish along with the fool’s adopted elven father.

He continued to relate the events of the past week in the jungles of the Tanglevine. Only in this telling, he had been alone and on the run from the very brigand who had escorted him to Waterfall Citadel. He told of the way Jagger and his company had caught up with him on the very cusp of the Citadel’s bowl. Jagger had forced Kesh to gain them access to the city so he could attempt to extort more money for the knowledge of the plans to kill the royals.

Kesh relayed the encounter with Micount as it had actually happened, dropping a large hint about the moneys owed for the man’s services, but Banlor’s expression remained stoic, so Kesh hurried on. To sum up his fabrication, he surmised that Jagger was still at large and presumably hunting him, while Kinsey and Erik roamed the wilds or had met their demise at the hands of the Wildmen.

Kesh shivered as Banlor continued to stare at him, lost in thought. So lost, in fact, that he did not react to the touch of the Walina creature as it stepped closer and lay one ridged hand upon his rounded shoulder. He stared so long that Kesh began to wonder if the old man had died on the very spot. Shifting painfully on the shards of glass, he opened his mouth to speak. “Master?”

Banlor blinked, and finding the blackened nails of his minion softly caressing his back and neck, cursed and stood. He stepped away from Walina and glared down at Kesh. “You’re lying.” The old man laughed despite his apparent anger. “A good lie, I’ll give you that, but a lie all the same.”

Kesh attempted to get to his knees as he spoke, “I swear to you—”

“
Silence!
” Banlor interrupted, smashing his cane into the chancellor’s face.

Pain burned like fire across Kesh’s cheek. He fell back to the ground in a heap, numb to the shards of glass that bit into his body.

“I’ve heard enough out of you!” Banlor panted in his fury. “The only reason you still draw breath is that I find amusement in your groveling. Do not insult my intelligence further, or by Eos, I’ll let this demon skin you alive!” His hand waved toward Walina, who in turn crouched and hissed savagely at Kesh.

Kesh’s mind finally rebelled entirely, retreating from the persistent horror. All he found himself able to do was curl in a protective ball and whimper, “Forgive.”

Banlor straightened his emerald-colored vest and sniffed. “That’s better.”

Kesh stayed huddled on the floor, peeking through his sheltering arms.

The aged minister ran his hand through his grey hair while walking to the stairs. Ascending the first step, Banlor stopped and stared at the door above. “I am curious about your accusations regarding the man who laid hands on me and the supposed actions of his surrogate father. One can never tell what truly lies within another man’s soul, but I do not believe those two capable of such acts of treason, and neither will others. You will have to be more convincing.”

Kesh’s mind crept back from the edge, sniffing the possibility of a future. He couldn’t be more convincing if he were dead. He dared not move for fear of extinguishing the spark of light that promised survival.

“As for Jagger, well...” Banlor paused but did not turn. “I suppose you wouldn’t know it, but I was instrumental in Jagger’s escape from a most certain death. His false plummet from the Cliffs of Judgment was my design.” A satisfied smile made its way onto his mentor’s face. “You see, I am more familiar with your ‘contact’ than you ever could be. Admittedly, the man is fully capable of the things you described, but he is certainly not foolish enough to cross me... unless sorely tempted.”

Kesh’s eyes bulged at hearing the words. Had Jagger already spoken with his master? Would the rogue still be hunting for him? Had Jagger really been tempted by Kesh’s offer?

Banlor turned to look at him, his face again a mask of calm. “As it happens, things have changed and it is no longer necessary for the two Pelosian whores to die.” He started climbing the steps to the exit above, each board creaking under his richly adorned feet. Without taking eyes from his objective, Banlor continued, “While your failure is a worthy cause to end your pathetic existence, I find I do have some use for you after all. Upon your return to Waterfall Citadel—formally, that is—you will spin your little tale to the courts, the prince, and his new barbarian bride. Be convincing, my pupil. Your life depends on it.”

Kesh attempted to give thanks, but it came out as a pained sob.

Banlor finally reached the top of the stairs and placed his hand on the doorknob. He hesitated before leaving. “Of course, you must be punished before forgiveness can be granted.” The older man chuckled as he opened the door. “I do not envy you, my pupil.”

Walina crawled closer to Kesh’s naked form. She hissed again, her head jerking with short, quick movements.

The door closed behind the old minister of trade just as Kesh began to scream.

Sloane sat beside Alexander and Queen Rhian, shaking her head in total disbelief. What she was hearing could not be true.

Today was one of her first days to join her new husband in formal court. The nobility of Basinia came here to see, be seen, and to beg the king’s—or in these past months—Alexander’s favor. She understood that most of the requests were handled in the intricate Basinian system of courts led by Banlor Graves. It was only when their formal complaints had not found resolution that they were allowed to petition the king. Other unique situations were also occasionally brought to this hall. Unique was one word she might choose to describe what she had just heard.

Early this morning, a ragged man had appeared at the northern bridge, claiming to have information about Sacha and the events that had lead to her continued absence. The abduction that had been so gracelessly revealed by her brother during the wedding was no longer a secret to be coveted. A formal court had been hastily assembled to hear the tale, rather than allow rumor to grow.

That selfsame man had just finished his story and though the voice was undoubtedly the same, she had trouble believing it could actually be Chancellor Kesh Tomelen.

Many changes in his appearance had occurred since Sloane had seen him last. His clothes, once noble and grand, were torn and muddied almost beyond belief, and bloodstains decorated the ruined cloth in large, irregular patches. His face and body were covered in cuts and bruises. The discolored spots on his flesh varied widely, hinting at prolonged exposure to the elements or perhaps dangerous encounters along the road. The man truly looked wretched.

Despite the obvious and tortuous path the chancellor had traveled, Sloane simply could not believe what she was hearing about Erik and Kinsey. “This cannot be the truth of it, sir. I believe I know these men. They would not—could not—do this thing.”

“I would be the first to agree with you, My Princess, had I not seen the events unfold before my own eyes,” Kesh croaked.

Sloane looked over at Rouke, who stood off to the side with several other men-at-arms. He was glaring so intently at the kneeling man, she thought he might be trying to burn holes in the chancellor with his eyes.

“Bring this man some water,” Prince Alexander announced. “Stand, chancellor, you are not on trial here.”

Kesh shambled to his feet with the assistance of a nearby guardsman. He swayed slightly but was able to compose himself. A page scurried forward with a goblet of water, and the chancellor took it with the most profound look of gratitude Sloane had ever thought to see on his proud face.

“You say Princess Sacha is held captive by Erik and Kinsey Aveon. You are
certain
she still lives?” Queen Rhian sat forward on her throne as she spoke. The elegantly carved chair was made entirely of winewood, and the wood glowed with a bright shine. Precious metals had been worked into the throne’s back, which towered nine feet above the lushly padded seat. Images of elves and men had been etched into the gold and silver plates along the mighty chair’s surface. The queen looked to have the proportions of a child in the massive seat of power.

Kesh nodded and replied with a hint of sadness, “Yes, My Queen, I am certain.”

The queen shook her head and settled back once more, thoughtful. “Well, at least there is some good news. The circumstances of your story, though,
are
hard to believe.” She turned to Lord Graves, who sat a step lower on her left side. “Minister, you have some experience with these two... men. What is your opinion?”

The older man had been inspecting the chancellor’s haggard form, apparently deep in thought. He blinked suddenly and addressed the queen. “It is no secret that the pair in question and I have no love for each other. My opinion may be perceived as having bias, My Queen.”

The queen tsked. “I would hear your thoughts regardless.”

The minister cleared his throat. “Master Kinsey has always been a volatile man. I’ve always attributed this unpleasant trait to the dwarven part of his heritage. His tendency to act out, however, has become more prevalent this past year, as I can personally attest to. After hearing the chancellor’s statements, I begin to wonder why. Perhaps it was caused by the apprehension he felt, knowing of the coming tasks he was expected to perform in the abduction.” He raised his hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully as he spoke, then spread his fingers before his face in a rapid motion as if casting away the thought. “Or perhaps the two events are just coincidental. It is hard to say without speaking to the man himself.”

The queen nodded. “And the other man? Erik?”

Minister Graves sighed. “Erik Aveon has been a trusted scout and has given loyal service to Basinia for more years than any in this room, or our fathers and grandfathers, for that matter. His betrayal, if true, is most puzzling.”

Many in the room nodded in agreement with the minister’s words.

“But he is an elf,” Banlor continued before conversations could begin. His thick brows knitted above his deep-set eyes in thought. “Their tactics are far different from our own. Their lifespans would allow for such long-term plans to come to fruition. Erik’s continued existence amongst those who are so unlike himself has always been a mystery. Perhaps the elves as a whole are more involved with this incident than we might want to believe or even suspect.”

“I find that hard to believe, Minister,” Alexander replied. His usually smooth features wore a mask of seriousness. “We have been on relatively good terms with the elves for many years, and the possibility of even better terms are just on the horizon. Let us not cast aspersions upon an entire people for the unverified actions of one man.”

The old minister bowed his head. “As you say, My Prince. My thoughts are only speculations, an attempt to explain the actions as we’ve heard them described, and at the request of your most gracious mother.”

“Well spoken, Minister,” said the queen. “Your insight may prove most valuable in the near future.” She looked at her son to garner his attention. “Our dealings with the elves are truly a sensitive affair, but,” she said, lifting a graceful finger, “no stone must be left unturned.”

“My Queen.” Minister Graves bowed his greying head a second time and leaned back into his chair, returning to his study of the chancellor. Alexander nodded slightly, accepting the queen’s wisdom, but the muscles of his jaw worked in silent protest.