Something this large has to have more than one entrance. I just have to find it.
Determination gave her the strength to rise and advance into the depths. She drifted along, burdened by fear and grief, a lost traveler in a sea of azure runes.
Chapter 10: Valdemar
The audience chamber was large and spacious, atop the highest tower of the castle and open to a view of the surrounding countryside by a wide pavilion that could be shuttered open or shut. Valdemar Basilis came there often so he could gaze upon his kingdom. The wind carried the autumn chill inside, but he was the Lord of Bruallia. The cold could not touch him.
He tilted his head back, letting the breeze stir his long, wavy black hair as he inhaled the scents of his city. Smoke from chimneys and smithies choked the air. The fires constantly ran now as the blacksmiths churned out a steady stream of weapons and armor while repairing gear damaged in battle.
Another scent hung in the air as well. It was impossible to ignore the stench of the bodies that burned outside the walls, but Valdemar did not mind. It was only fitting to linger in the scent of your slain enemies. It was like perfume in a way.
He turned from the terrace and strode into the audience hall. He had the room decorated personally: marble stands topped with polished globes of crystal, a marble bath where a pair of kingfishers bobbed, and a fountain gently bubbled. The breeze stirred the rose-colored silk curtains and swept pink and white flower petals strewn along the gold embossed marble tiles, past the silver-gilded Sword of Deis that centered the chamber.
A slender man in an elegantly embroidered burgundy coat and black trousers played an elaborately engraved harp in the corner of the room. A sash of crimson silk covered his eyes, yet his fingers plucked the melodic notes from memory. The melody was grand, theme music for a momentous occasion. A large panther laid a few paces away, chained to Valdemar's high-backed, dragon-engraved chair. Its eyes were sleepily half-closed as though it enjoyed the music, but it lifted its head and snarled at Marcellus as five armed guards escorted him in.
Valdemar eyed Marcellus critically. Though undeniably in pain, the knight stood with his shoulders straight, and his head held high. The man was not broken. Bruises decorated his face, but defiance still shone in his steel-gray eyes.
Excellent.
A semicircle of men knelt in front of the dais. Komuran nobles, garbed in finely spun woolen shades of tan and auburn. Valdemar washed his hands in a silver basin, staining the waters crimson as his lip curled in contempt. "Rise and return your apartments. Perhaps next time you kneel before me you will have learned to show respect."
Every one of the nobles had blood streaming down their faces when they rose. In their pride they appeared not to notice, save for a few whose eyes betrayed their pain. They filed out silently past Marcellus, whose mouth tightened at the sight.
Valdemar smiled. "Men do not know they are defeated sometimes." He dried his hands on a towel handed to him by his manservant. "So they must be taught. Those pagan fools of Komura refused to remove their cursed turbans in my presence. So I had the idiotic wrappings tacked to their heads with hammer and nail." He laughed softly. "The nails are not long enough to kill them unless the wound infects. They are not to remove them until they learn respect. I am their master now. They will have to learn that soon, or a finely oiled stake will await them also."
He paused. "My apologies, I meant not to arouse painful memories." He flicked his eyes to the guards. "Unshackle the prisoner and leave us."
"My Lord." The Captain sounded insulted. "He killed two men and injured a half dozen more just yesterday. Do you think it is wise—?"
"Do you question my judgment, soldier? Perhaps you think to suggest that I fear an unarmed prisoner?" Valdemar turned to stare at the man.
"No, my lord." The Captain's voice trembled as he bowed low. "Forgive me."
"Then obey."
The guards instantly removed the shackles and filed out, followed by Valdemar's servants. The Captain gave Marcellus a meaningful glare as he shut the door. The harpist in the corner continued to play, his fingers blurring across the strings.
Marcellus rubbed his wrists and shifted his feet, gazing at Valdemar questioningly.
For a moment Valdemar said nothing. The sun partially set behind the mountains, casting a red tint across the cloud-streaked sky. Two rapiers lay on a table in front of him. Both had elaborately designed hilts and long, thin single-edged blades made for stabbing. He picked one up and watched the light glint across the edge of the dueling sword.
"My mother worshiped the old gods." He glanced at Marcellus with a thin smile. "It was whispered that she was a madwoman. She heard voices in the night murmuring in unnatural tongues, and would see people who were not there. The Shadow Children, she called them, coming and going from one shadow to the next, never giving her a moment's peace. No one would believe her but I, though I witnessed nothing. I still believe." He turned to look at Marcellus. "We all have daemons that whisper to us in the night, do we not?"
He flung the rapier at Marcellus. The sword whirred as it sailed across the distance until it impaled the floor with abrupt decisiveness directly in front of the knight. Marcellus' gaze flicked to the sword, then back at Valdemar.
Valdemar hefted the other rapier and stepped from the dais. "First blood to the victor. What do you say, Sir Admorran?" He circled Marcellus, who shifted to keep him in view.
"I'd say that I might not stop at just the drawing of blood, Lord Basilis. It would be too tempting to kill you," Marcellus said.
Valdemar smiled. The knight was wary of a trap. He did not know the mettle of the enemy that he faced. Valdemar stepped closer. "Eventually my mother threw herself out a tower window to her death, and I lost the only person who may have stayed my path. My father blamed the gods and converted to Divinity, cleansing the kingdom of pagan worship. Purity is achieved through fire, was how he put it. Fire separates the dross from the gold, and he wanted a golden nation. When I think now, I realize my destiny began on that day. Perhaps that is why my mother had to die. They never lie, Marcellus. The voices never lie."
Valdemar lashed out with his sword. As expected, Marcellus snatched the other rapier up to defend himself. The chamber rang with the metallic clacks of the blades as Valdemar tested his enemy's form. Though stiff and suffering from a battered body, Marcellus was still quick and obviously skilled, one of those men whose sword was an extension of their arm, as though they were born with a blade in hand. A bad limp hampered him, however. Valdemar's men had not been gentle.
Valdemar cut off his attack and stepped back, moving in time with Marcellus, who warily kept his blade ready. It was too bad the knight was not at full strength. It might have been a contest. Marcellus' breathing was harsh, though his face hardened in concentration. "It's no surprise that you would hear voices," he said. "Do they whisper to you of your own madness?"
Valdemar stopped in mid-stride and tapped his forefinger to his chin. "No, but that does not mean they will not someday. It is said that no genius can exist without a touch of madness." He winked at Marcellus. "Madness certainly is no stranger to your king, is it not?"