Heavy Heart
Jarlen ate in silence, refusing to pay even polite courtesy to the woman sitting across from him. The priestess of the dark god had said little since they left the capital, save for issuing order to make camp or cook food.
It was with a heavy heart Jarlen had left Greyson’s stiff body behind at the castle, but no other choice was given. Selmira made it clear she expected to be led out one of the castle’s service entrances, and that there were to be no tricks along the way. Veiled threats about the King’s tenuous health served well enough to keep Jarlen in line, though he had no idea if the priestess could make good on such promises. The poison she had used to incapacitate Greyson was unfamiliar, and it was clear Selmira had no qualms about putting the kingdom and its leader in danger.
Getting out of the palace had proven simple – none of the servants so much as looked up as Jarlen passed them by, even with a beautiful woman on his heels. He was sure not a few glances were cast his way once those behind felt safe he would not see them, but for once wished that the palace staff were a touch bolder, more willing to defy protocol. Outside the kitchen entrance, two horses waited, held by a dead-eyed stableman. Both were loaded down with provisions, but when Jarlen attempted to confront the blond haired handler, he was met with only silence. A sharp word from Selmira had him mounting the taller of the two beasts, and as they rode away the servant disappeared back into the castle.
“He will not remember this,” his captor had said as they rode out into the bustling streets of the capital, “it was not by his choice.” There was a measure of relief in that – at least those in the crown’s employ were not actively seeking to harm their King.
“You are troubled.” Selmira’s voice cut across his memories, shattering them to ash and dust. He didn’t bother to reply, but continued to eat as she fixed him with a wide-eyed gaze. Jarlen had a great appreciation for the female form, something a number of noblewomen in the capital experienced firsthand, but to him the priestess was more repulsive than those who had endured bouts of the recent Merullian plague. She had torn him from his post, leaving his King frozen in agony on the throne room floor. No matter how beautiful her form, she was twisted and foul.
“You will reply,” she said again, “or I will leave you. Without my assistance, your King will be dead by month’s end.”
He growled, low and long, but refused to meet her eyes. She must be fought at every turn. “What do you want me to say?” His voice was hard – steel on steel.
“I have compelled you to an act of treason – are you not even curious as to why? I expected more from the famed Jarlen Kincaide. Reports of your intelligence and wit appear greatly exaggerated.”
“Fine,” he bit off the word. “Why?”
“It was necessary.” Selmira put on a slow smile. Moments passed with no further explanation, and Jarlen felt his frustration rise. At a smile from the priestess, a slow thing that spread across her face in measured stages, his anger could no longer be contained.
“Necessary?” He bellowed. “Is that all you have to say, all the explanation you can find? I would have thought your dark god to be more forthcoming – or are you not intelligent enough to ask when he tells you to betray the King and kingdom that have given you shelter, kept you safe under their banner all this time?”
“Excellent,” she said, smile still in place. “I knew there was a mind in there somewhere. Now, as to your question – of course I asked why, and was given an answer I could not ignore.” Her voice lowered, smile fading.
“What answer?” His tone was scornful. There was no explanation for what she had done – no reason that would satisfy for her to have broken bonds of featly.
“It was…” Selmira hesitated, and Jarlen’s interest rose. It was the first time he had seen anything but brash confidence from her – communion with the dark god must be an unnerving experience, at the least. “inevitable. Or so I was led to believe. My god was very specific, but the way in which he provides information can be ecstatic.” Her lips parted slightly. “Overwhelming.”
“And?” Their eyes locked, and Jarlen found he could not look away. Purple chased by swirls of lavender, they were unlike any he had ever seen. Men across the capital talked about bedding the priestess, but he was quite certain it remained only that – talk.
“My god showed me the shape of things to come, of the doom that will befall the kingdom without a strong King at its head.”
“We had one!” That was not entirely true, but Greyson had been improving, day by day. No matter his weaknesses, the priestess had no right to take matters into her own hands.
“Not strong enough,” she sighed. “I know this is hard, Lord Kincaide, but try to understand. Greyson is a good man, and a good King, I think – or can be – but he does not have the power to survive what is coming.”
“The Alturians?” Jarlen sniffed derisively. “Upstarts. We’ve dealt with them before, and will again.”
“No,” Selmira said firmly. “They are as smoke to the real threat. You have noticed a change in their behavior, yes? An alteration to their tactics?”
He frowned. The assassination of the King and Princes had been out of character, even for Alturians, as well as their attacks on the Kingdom’s borders.
“It is their leader, Illnor,” she went on. “My god has shown me his failing – Illnor has given himself to the Bleakness.”
Jarlen drew in a sharp breath. The Bleakness had not been seen in four centuries, and had nearly destroyed the Kingdom. It had been defeated, but only with the aid of –
“The Recolra!” He spoke the name in a whisper. “You mean to find it – and use the life-force of our King to bring it back from the nether.”
“Yes,” Selmira dropper her eyes. “And you will help me find the cursed weapon.”
- D
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