Story #84 - Fey'ted Thrones VI

Fey'ted Thrones - VI

Alhandro sat back heavily in his chair. War? Had he heard the Mystral correctly? His mother had told him that they Fey could be implacable adversaries, but the last time they had taken arms against anything but their own kind was eons ago.

“War, Mystral?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. He had been prepared to rule both Silver and Gold as long as was required, but war had never been discussed as a likely event during the time of his occupancy. The treaty kept the borders of both his realms safe and so long as obligations to the Fey were honored and promises kept, stability should have been the result. “Are things really so dire? Could my brother truly be so threatening?”

Lomir's small eyes darkened and he leaned forward, face drawn. “They could not be more serious, Your Majesty.”

There was a tap at the door and Lomir looked up, then called for the visitor to enter. A winged Fey slipped into the room, head down, and stepped quickly around the desk to present Lomir with a crisp parchment. After a nod of thanks, Lomir motioned for his servant to leave.

“As I thought, Your Majesty,” he said, holding out the parchment for Alhandro's inspection, “your brother has already begun the attack. Slithus heard the first volleys when he came for you in Dirlat.”

He didn't take the paper; Lomir had no reason to lie, not after breaking the agreement to bring him here in defiance of the other Fey, and if the words on the paper were no more than fabrications, he would never know it. Best to take the air Fey at his word and move on.

“I find that concerning, Mystral, but it still seems to plant the matter firmly in my lap. Alhendra was attacking in our realm when we left. Return me to Tir'dal and I will raise an army to deal with my wayward brother.” He said it with more confidence than he felt; his brother and Pyulon must have been in planning for years to execute such a coup and he would likely find a great deal of opposition in Tir'dal from both the Guard and the army.

“I cannot do that, Your Majesty,” the Mystral said, and Alhandro felt his cheeks color. No one spoke that way to a king! “Were I to let you go, you would surely be killed within hours of reaching your city, and you will be needed in the battle to come. Again, I invoke the clause.”

He shook his head. “I see no reason for such haste. You claim an attack on your realm has come at the urgings of my brother's minion, but I see no evidence of that here. I trust you insofar as I must be protected for you to retain your position, but belief without proof is a luxury no king can afford.”

Lomir was silent for a moment, studying him over clasped hands, and finally the older being smiled. “Your mother has taught you well, young King, and while I would wish that you could simply take my truth as such, you are right to question. Come with me and I will show you.”

He rose and motioned for Alhandro to do the same, then clapped his hands sharply. The door to the chamber opened and two winged guards bustled in, one taking up a station behind Alhandro and the first remaining at the opening.

“If you would, please,” Lomir said, motioning forward, and the Fey fell in behind the first guard, leaving space for Alhandro to do the same behind him, and the little group moved out into the hallway.

The Mystral's home was quite large; in ten minutes Alhandro was taken aback by sweeping terraces, vaulted ceilings and the view of a garden made up of flying, interconnected bridges. His palace in Tir'dal had been well-appointed, but this was an entirely new level of luxury.

Finally, they arrived at a round room paneled in dark wood, smaller than many of the others they had passed. It held no windows and the only light came from a softly glowing green orb in its center which rested on a dark metal pedestal.

“Leave us,” Lomir said shortly, and the guards bowed deeply and retreated, closing the door behind them.

“Do you know what this is, Your Majesty?”

Alhandro shook his head; it was a scrying stone of some kind, but much larger than any he had ever seen. There were many types, each with their own purpose, and he would rather have this one's function explained than try to guess.

“It is a window, and opening into your world, one that lets us ensure that what is being done above does not impact what goes on below. Observe.” Lomir moved forward, placing both hands on the sides of the stone and taking a deep breath. On the side of the room opposite their entry, the wall shimmered and disappeared, to be replaced with a section of highway that Alhandro was all too familiar with.

The road into Dirlat.

On each side of the roadway were machines of war – great, hulking things with massive arrows and heavy rocks used to break down city walls. He had never commanded troops, but his mother had insisted he at least learn the basics of military strategy.

As he watched, he saw one of the machines draw back, ropes straining as its tension was brought to bear, and then release a massive boulder, which arced up and then crashed hard into the dirt below. A slight vibration ran through the floor of the room – an artifact of the magic, perhaps?

“I don't understand,” he began, “why are they attacking a lone stretch of road? Practice? Are they unsure of how to use their equipment?”

Another boulder flew and there was a second impact, this time rumbling the entire room. Though the large rock had done little to the ground aside from gouge out at small hole, Alhandro noticed it was glowing softly, as if responding to something nearby.

“By the Thrones!” He cursed. “That it, isn't it? You truly are below!”

Lomir let his hands fall from the stone and the scene faded, and he turned to face Alhandro. “Yes, Your Majesty, and if we do not do something soon, your brother will rule here as well.”

- D