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The King's Challenge #296 - #298
TKC 296 and 297 and 298
The troubles afflicting Massin becomes secondary to the present. The conflict ever existent between Ilfin and Glonu is now less than what we face.
This is life and death for a father we love. This is also about the convoluted realities surrounding relationships, and thus our entire world is narrowed into one tiny space. Surrounded by the insulating material an engine room requires not only to regulate temperature, but also to dampen sound, we face each other.
Given everything that has happened to this point, we are the final players in a game of survival. We will determine whether the way of life we have known until now will continue, or whether a new order will arise from the ashes of the old.
Somewhere nearby, my father hopes for a cure, while others seek to murder him. In this claustrophobically padded chamber in the bowels of a mighty ship, we must choose a path.
Commander Athol Gennerin is the soldier we will rely on to stand forth on behalf of our armed forces. His nemesis in this is Brigadier Fenn Moravin. That is one relationship, and the two men are a match. I assume Gennerin gives thought to the confrontation ahead and the determined set of his mouth tells me I am correct in my assumption.
This is a quagmire of relationships, for there is Mirlin and Kay, the two surviving westerners that have assumed importance despite ages of divide between the sea and plateau dwellers of Massin. Somewhere in their past they were in positions of responsibility. Thus far both have proven trustworthy, although I still cannot say I like Mirlin much.
Then there is Kay and Siri Mur, as there is Damin and me. I have known Damin a long time, but Kay and Siri are new to each other and to love. With the Marsh Devil watching their every action, it cannot be easy. Speaking of love, there is Enris and Leffandir, and theirs is an ancient connection, one filled with obsession and accusation. I wonder how it will influence this present; my impression of what lies between them is one of an explosive nature. One or the other may create chaos and it may become the kind of chaos difficult to lay to rest again. They now watch each other more than Damin keeps an eye on his sister.
First point of decision is to determine how much time we have available to us and, to that end, I swivel to stand directly in front of my brother. He does not see me, for his focus is with Leffandir. I sense her gaze boring into the back of my skull, however; she is more aware than Enris is.
I jab Enris. “Look at me.”
He blinks and his gaze settles on me. “Why is she here?”
“We can discuss that later. Right now I need to know about our father. Enris, focus! You saw him, you say. How is he? How much time does he have?”
He swallows and passes a shaking hand over his hair. “Bloody hell, this gets way too complicated. Yes, fine! We caught a glimpse of him when Mirlin shifted through a locked door.” Enris points to the left. “That way, a few corridors removed from this space. We needed to retreat when we saw how many soldiers Moravin has around him.”
“By the stars, Enris, tell me about father,” I blurt out.
“He can still walk, but is bent as if enduring much agony,” Enris whispers. “He seems somehow removed from what happens around him.”
“How long?”
“Not long.” Enris closes his eyes. “He will fall into a coma soon.”
“Or Moravin will kill him,” Mirlin states grimly. “And then he will use your father’s body as a trophy to claim power. Whatever the upstart Makar believes back home, he will not be king. Moravin aims to take all power unto himself.”
“You got all that from one glimpse?” I frown in Mirlin’s direction.
He shrugs at me. “I read people. Think what you will, but I am not wrong.”
“Moravin has ever been ambitious,” Gennerin inserts, his tone flat. “With power this close to hand, he will not now relinquish it.”
“What of our uncle?” I ask of Enris.
“We did not see him.”
“He is close,” Damin puts in. “I read a red sun, which is fear and reflects your father’s state of mind, and I also see a silver sword, which can only be Moravin’s ambition. Beyond a host of flitting images, which I assume are the guards, there is also a smoking urn.” Damin draws in a breath and moves to a position beside Enris, from where he looks directly at me. “Iniri, I have seen the black urn wreathed in vapours only on Makaran and only when I was at the healers’.”
Damin has remembered his past self. I swallow and cannot find the words to continue the conversation.
He offers a lopsided smile. “Some of what was returns, but what matters now is the symbol of the urn. That signifies great talent. The presence of sorcery.”
“Uncle Lorn Makar,” Enris states.
“A smoking urn,” Leffandir murmurs. “How enlightening. The night our daughter was murdered a wispy vessel hovered in her chamber.”
Immediately my brother shifts around me. “Are you accusing me of sorcery?”
She braces, her gaze unblinking. “You killed her. Yes, I accuse you of sorcery!” She throws an arm wide. “Are you not perhaps in league with your uncle, Enris? Maybe you are tired of waiting for your throne!”
The troubles afflicting Massin becomes secondary to the present. The conflict ever existent between Ilfin and Glonu is now less than what we face.
This is life and death for a father we love. This is also about the convoluted realities surrounding relationships, and thus our entire world is narrowed into one tiny space. Surrounded by the insulating material an engine room requires not only to regulate temperature, but also to dampen sound, we face each other.
Given everything that has happened to this point, we are the final players in a game of survival. We will determine whether the way of life we have known until now will continue, or whether a new order will arise from the ashes of the old.
Somewhere nearby, my father hopes for a cure, while others seek to murder him. In this claustrophobically padded chamber in the bowels of a mighty ship, we must choose a path.
Commander Athol Gennerin is the soldier we will rely on to stand forth on behalf of our armed forces. His nemesis in this is Brigadier Fenn Moravin. That is one relationship, and the two men are a match. I assume Gennerin gives thought to the confrontation ahead and the determined set of his mouth tells me I am correct in my assumption.
This is a quagmire of relationships, for there is Mirlin and Kay, the two surviving westerners that have assumed importance despite ages of divide between the sea and plateau dwellers of Massin. Somewhere in their past they were in positions of responsibility. Thus far both have proven trustworthy, although I still cannot say I like Mirlin much.
Then there is Kay and Siri Mur, as there is Damin and me. I have known Damin a long time, but Kay and Siri are new to each other and to love. With the Marsh Devil watching their every action, it cannot be easy. Speaking of love, there is Enris and Leffandir, and theirs is an ancient connection, one filled with obsession and accusation. I wonder how it will influence this present; my impression of what lies between them is one of an explosive nature. One or the other may create chaos and it may become the kind of chaos difficult to lay to rest again. They now watch each other more than Damin keeps an eye on his sister.
First point of decision is to determine how much time we have available to us and, to that end, I swivel to stand directly in front of my brother. He does not see me, for his focus is with Leffandir. I sense her gaze boring into the back of my skull, however; she is more aware than Enris is.
I jab Enris. “Look at me.”
He blinks and his gaze settles on me. “Why is she here?”
“We can discuss that later. Right now I need to know about our father. Enris, focus! You saw him, you say. How is he? How much time does he have?”
He swallows and passes a shaking hand over his hair. “Bloody hell, this gets way too complicated. Yes, fine! We caught a glimpse of him when Mirlin shifted through a locked door.” Enris points to the left. “That way, a few corridors removed from this space. We needed to retreat when we saw how many soldiers Moravin has around him.”
“By the stars, Enris, tell me about father,” I blurt out.
“He can still walk, but is bent as if enduring much agony,” Enris whispers. “He seems somehow removed from what happens around him.”
“How long?”
“Not long.” Enris closes his eyes. “He will fall into a coma soon.”
“Or Moravin will kill him,” Mirlin states grimly. “And then he will use your father’s body as a trophy to claim power. Whatever the upstart Makar believes back home, he will not be king. Moravin aims to take all power unto himself.”
“You got all that from one glimpse?” I frown in Mirlin’s direction.
He shrugs at me. “I read people. Think what you will, but I am not wrong.”
“Moravin has ever been ambitious,” Gennerin inserts, his tone flat. “With power this close to hand, he will not now relinquish it.”
“What of our uncle?” I ask of Enris.
“We did not see him.”
“He is close,” Damin puts in. “I read a red sun, which is fear and reflects your father’s state of mind, and I also see a silver sword, which can only be Moravin’s ambition. Beyond a host of flitting images, which I assume are the guards, there is also a smoking urn.” Damin draws in a breath and moves to a position beside Enris, from where he looks directly at me. “Iniri, I have seen the black urn wreathed in vapours only on Makaran and only when I was at the healers’.”
Damin has remembered his past self. I swallow and cannot find the words to continue the conversation.
He offers a lopsided smile. “Some of what was returns, but what matters now is the symbol of the urn. That signifies great talent. The presence of sorcery.”
“Uncle Lorn Makar,” Enris states.
“A smoking urn,” Leffandir murmurs. “How enlightening. The night our daughter was murdered a wispy vessel hovered in her chamber.”
Immediately my brother shifts around me. “Are you accusing me of sorcery?”
She braces, her gaze unblinking. “You killed her. Yes, I accuse you of sorcery!” She throws an arm wide. “Are you not perhaps in league with your uncle, Enris? Maybe you are tired of waiting for your throne!”
May 8, 2016
May 7, 2016
The King's Challenge #294 and #295
TKC 294 and 295
Damin clasps his fingers over my hand, shaking his head emphatically. I frown. Why am I not to use the orb? When Gennerin also shakes in negative, I am left wondering what they have understood and I cannot yet comprehend.
Enris, Damin mouths, using his hands to signify shortening of distance.
Enris is near? I form in silence.
He nods and points in a direction diagonal to us.
Enris will have sensed the presence of the orb, indeed. Thus we wait. Together, Enris and I will be better able to create a shield. I nod my understanding.
Siri swallows convulsively and so does Ross. Those two are about to collapse from tension, but there is little anyone can do to change it for them. Truth is, I feel weak all over as well.
Damin jerks his head and sidles to the left, beginning a bizarre weave as he shifts through the maze of pipes. He means for us to follow. We do, and I pray the inadvertent sounds we make do not reveal us.
In a small space entirely overlooked by banks of blinking lights on the one side and a host of thin tubes on the other, Damin halts, motioning us in. Finger to his lips, he points. Shadows move amid the pipes in the direction opposite to the one we employed to reach this point. In the next instant, Enris steps out, sporting a massive grin. Mirlin is behind him, watching every shadow.
Enris enfolds me into his arms. Into my ear, on the edge of hearing, he whispers, “I have seen our father. He is alive.”
I tighten my hold on him in response. Thank all the stars in the universe.
Enris then looks up … and sees Leffandir. His face stiffens into alabaster. He is about to say something, for his mouth opens. He will reveal us and I wave my hands, shaking my head, hoping to silence him. Damin steps in behind my brother and clamps a hand over his mouth, to my everlasting relief. Enris struggles at first, and then realises the danger. He nods his head under Damin’s hold and ceases moving. Damin releases him. Enris instantly reaches out to haul Leffandir in, glaring into her eyes. I do not know if it is hatred or fury or a combination, but Leffandir flinches hard. She does not fight the grip; she merely stares. I notice how her hands tremble. Well. Clearly love was once present between them for this kind of reaction after long ages apart; an intense attraction.
Releasing the Glonu Empress, Enris shifts to me, the question obvious in his gaze. I cannot tell him here and thus sign for him to remain patient. Eventually he inclines his head and puts his back to Leffandir. She rakes him from behind, a hungry gaze, and her fingers twitch as if she desires to run her hands over him. Intense attraction indeed; it remains even now.
I glance at Damin to find him watching me. He begins to sense our past was much like what lies between Enris and his Empress. Heat races over my skin, shortening my breath. Digging my nails into my palms, I force myself to look away.
Enris is on the move and we follow swiftly. He leads us to a small hidden door; a length of twisted metal keeps it open. He enters, and Mirlin motions at us to go in also, closing the door when we are beyond. A light comes on in a confines space.
“No one uses this,” Mirlin states. “It is soundproof also.”
Enris pulls Leffandir to him. “Why are you here?”
Damin clasps his fingers over my hand, shaking his head emphatically. I frown. Why am I not to use the orb? When Gennerin also shakes in negative, I am left wondering what they have understood and I cannot yet comprehend.
Enris, Damin mouths, using his hands to signify shortening of distance.
Enris is near? I form in silence.
He nods and points in a direction diagonal to us.
Enris will have sensed the presence of the orb, indeed. Thus we wait. Together, Enris and I will be better able to create a shield. I nod my understanding.
Siri swallows convulsively and so does Ross. Those two are about to collapse from tension, but there is little anyone can do to change it for them. Truth is, I feel weak all over as well.
Damin jerks his head and sidles to the left, beginning a bizarre weave as he shifts through the maze of pipes. He means for us to follow. We do, and I pray the inadvertent sounds we make do not reveal us.
In a small space entirely overlooked by banks of blinking lights on the one side and a host of thin tubes on the other, Damin halts, motioning us in. Finger to his lips, he points. Shadows move amid the pipes in the direction opposite to the one we employed to reach this point. In the next instant, Enris steps out, sporting a massive grin. Mirlin is behind him, watching every shadow.
Enris enfolds me into his arms. Into my ear, on the edge of hearing, he whispers, “I have seen our father. He is alive.”
I tighten my hold on him in response. Thank all the stars in the universe.
Enris then looks up … and sees Leffandir. His face stiffens into alabaster. He is about to say something, for his mouth opens. He will reveal us and I wave my hands, shaking my head, hoping to silence him. Damin steps in behind my brother and clamps a hand over his mouth, to my everlasting relief. Enris struggles at first, and then realises the danger. He nods his head under Damin’s hold and ceases moving. Damin releases him. Enris instantly reaches out to haul Leffandir in, glaring into her eyes. I do not know if it is hatred or fury or a combination, but Leffandir flinches hard. She does not fight the grip; she merely stares. I notice how her hands tremble. Well. Clearly love was once present between them for this kind of reaction after long ages apart; an intense attraction.
Releasing the Glonu Empress, Enris shifts to me, the question obvious in his gaze. I cannot tell him here and thus sign for him to remain patient. Eventually he inclines his head and puts his back to Leffandir. She rakes him from behind, a hungry gaze, and her fingers twitch as if she desires to run her hands over him. Intense attraction indeed; it remains even now.
I glance at Damin to find him watching me. He begins to sense our past was much like what lies between Enris and his Empress. Heat races over my skin, shortening my breath. Digging my nails into my palms, I force myself to look away.
Enris is on the move and we follow swiftly. He leads us to a small hidden door; a length of twisted metal keeps it open. He enters, and Mirlin motions at us to go in also, closing the door when we are beyond. A light comes on in a confines space.
“No one uses this,” Mirlin states. “It is soundproof also.”
Enris pulls Leffandir to him. “Why are you here?”
The King's Challenge #292 and #293
TKC 292 and 293
After Damin nearly comes to blows with Kay for allowing Siri to accompany him, we move with all stealth into the lower regions of the ship. Gennerin leads.
I have never seen Siri as angry. Ross, the young soldier, murmurs under his breath that she is able to blow the ship to vacuum with that kind of fury. Ross led Siri and Kay to us. I find his comment amusing and snort my laughter, which earns me a skew look from Damin.
Leffandir has promised to behave, no doubt because any attempt at escape will probably see her losing her head from a host of Ilfin aboard, and thus she walks freely. Damin remains close, but no longer seeks to hold her.
Many levels down, we enter a space where gigantic pipes and strange contraptions form a maze. We are in the bowels, although Gennerin reveals there are more levels below us, most of those as shielding from both the vacuum and destructive enemy fire. It feels like the bowels, however, a netherworld of industry and technology. A resonance permeates the metallic labyrinth. The multitudes of parts that are required to run a ship of this nature speak to each other in a low hum. It is more otherworldly to me than being on an unknown planet is.
Kay halts. “I hear …” He shakes his head and adds, “Never mind. It sounds crazy.”
“You hear the connections,” Damin says. “Technological.”
The westerner frowns. “How do you know? How do I know what I am hearing?”
“It is your talent,” I say. “Move; we cannot be caught here.”
We go on after Kay and Damin trade stares.
Ross, bringing in the rear, hisses warning and we melt into a conglomerate of ridged pipes, hunkering low to remain as unobtrusive as is possible.
“Triple the guard,” someone commands in a low tone. “Gennerin is rumoured to be on board.”
“He knows nothing,” another responds.
“Apparently Iniri Makar is with him. She knows. Triple the guard.”
“It will be done.”
The voices move into further depths away from us. Gennerin mouths Moravin in my direction, and my hands clench into fists.
About to follow those retreating voices, we freeze as one being. Another sound reaches us and this is behind us. Damin holds one hand aloft, chopping down. We are to wait. He swivels carefully on his heels in his crouched position, and lowers to crawl under the piping. The last I see of him is the soles of his boots as he slithers away. My heart pounds; I wish to scream at him to come back to me.
Long minutes pass, each moment filled with excruciating tension. Siri is no longer angry; her anxiety is written for all to see upon an ashen face. She grips Kay’s forearm fiercely, digging into his flesh through the uniform’s tough material. He does not react; he is as tense.
Without warning – he is that silent – Damin’s fair head appears beneath the pipes. Almost I hiss my terrible relief. Assuming a new crouch, he holds a hand up, five fingers splayed. Closing it into a fist, he again shows us five fingers. I assume it means ten guards, but whether these are the additional bodies called for or the guards already in place? I have no answer. Damin shrugs; he does not know either.
Ross is now as pale as Siri.
Leffandir taps my arm. When I look at her, she points at me hand. I desire to hit her, but she is right. Our only defence lies in the deployment of the orb.
After Damin nearly comes to blows with Kay for allowing Siri to accompany him, we move with all stealth into the lower regions of the ship. Gennerin leads.
I have never seen Siri as angry. Ross, the young soldier, murmurs under his breath that she is able to blow the ship to vacuum with that kind of fury. Ross led Siri and Kay to us. I find his comment amusing and snort my laughter, which earns me a skew look from Damin.
Leffandir has promised to behave, no doubt because any attempt at escape will probably see her losing her head from a host of Ilfin aboard, and thus she walks freely. Damin remains close, but no longer seeks to hold her.
Many levels down, we enter a space where gigantic pipes and strange contraptions form a maze. We are in the bowels, although Gennerin reveals there are more levels below us, most of those as shielding from both the vacuum and destructive enemy fire. It feels like the bowels, however, a netherworld of industry and technology. A resonance permeates the metallic labyrinth. The multitudes of parts that are required to run a ship of this nature speak to each other in a low hum. It is more otherworldly to me than being on an unknown planet is.
Kay halts. “I hear …” He shakes his head and adds, “Never mind. It sounds crazy.”
“You hear the connections,” Damin says. “Technological.”
The westerner frowns. “How do you know? How do I know what I am hearing?”
“It is your talent,” I say. “Move; we cannot be caught here.”
We go on after Kay and Damin trade stares.
Ross, bringing in the rear, hisses warning and we melt into a conglomerate of ridged pipes, hunkering low to remain as unobtrusive as is possible.
“Triple the guard,” someone commands in a low tone. “Gennerin is rumoured to be on board.”
“He knows nothing,” another responds.
“Apparently Iniri Makar is with him. She knows. Triple the guard.”
“It will be done.”
The voices move into further depths away from us. Gennerin mouths Moravin in my direction, and my hands clench into fists.
About to follow those retreating voices, we freeze as one being. Another sound reaches us and this is behind us. Damin holds one hand aloft, chopping down. We are to wait. He swivels carefully on his heels in his crouched position, and lowers to crawl under the piping. The last I see of him is the soles of his boots as he slithers away. My heart pounds; I wish to scream at him to come back to me.
Long minutes pass, each moment filled with excruciating tension. Siri is no longer angry; her anxiety is written for all to see upon an ashen face. She grips Kay’s forearm fiercely, digging into his flesh through the uniform’s tough material. He does not react; he is as tense.
Without warning – he is that silent – Damin’s fair head appears beneath the pipes. Almost I hiss my terrible relief. Assuming a new crouch, he holds a hand up, five fingers splayed. Closing it into a fist, he again shows us five fingers. I assume it means ten guards, but whether these are the additional bodies called for or the guards already in place? I have no answer. Damin shrugs; he does not know either.
Ross is now as pale as Siri.
Leffandir taps my arm. When I look at her, she points at me hand. I desire to hit her, but she is right. Our only defence lies in the deployment of the orb.
