The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Twenty-Three

A

rch Chancellor Velgar watched the High Lords leave the Great Hall one by one in a hushed, awkward silence. He rested his palms against the large Elder Eastern text of Rha Thu'Ma and let out a heavy sigh. The meeting had been all that he had feared it to be, a unbridled mess of squabbling and political power plays by men who twisted the ‘good’ of the Kingdoms into their own devious wants and desires. The King had left with a sour expression on his grey face, and Velgar knew that the stress the man was now under would be more than most men were able to take. He felt uneasy at his core, as if history were retreating to older ground where only dark, hideous memories now dwelt. The Old King’s shadow lay over the Castle whether the Chancellor acknowledged it or not and the brutal truth of Brodon’s recent turns had troubled the Arch Chancellor deeply. His discussions with Hersan had proved useful, though he had been unable to find the texts of which the Prince spoke. The room had remained locked, and Velgar had had to use a great level of cunning and deception in order to retrieve the keys from the key master. He was, in a perverse way, quite proud of himself on that particular evening.
 
Nevertheless, the troubling events at the council had left Velgar now feeling that the tensions within the Kingdoms was beginning to bubble over. Lord Louton’s appearance with the Sister girl, as well as Tharandal with the elder Sister, had left Velgar feeling vulnerable. The Welling’s position on the Yellow Sisters was well documented across the lands, and if rumours were to spread of the King openly accepting two of them into the place, with licence to wonder and browse amongst the place as they wished, then that would add a whole other level of unnecessary strife to the Castle. In truth, Velgar had been well aware of the ongoing issues in the South. The Welling had backed the King’s proposals without contest, but now rafts of reported thievery and small riots had become to flood into the gates of the God’s Castle. And the truth of the situation had been kept far from the ears of the King. Crop failures had been reported in large swaths across the South-East, mainly along the coasts of Fildron and Arisen, and disease amongst the cattle herds in Terrock Bay had been reported in unusually high numbers. One farmer had come to The Welling after several days travel having lost over a hundred of his cattle in under seven days. He was not alone.
 
Velgar had seen little change in the weather in the preceding autumn and winter months, and the previous year’s grains were stored well enough for rich and poor alike. There had been a few days of harsh rain in the late Winter, but it was nothing that would cause anything more than slight flooding along the marshes. Not a single report had come to the Maester’s to report fields or croplands being sodden by the rainfall and the earth was good and strong. But now the crops were failing, and those that had grown were in smaller quantities than had ever been documented by The Welling. On three separate occasions it was reported that market stalls in Lower Epping, south of Arisen, had been ransacked when they came with bread and grains.
 
The rioting, though minimal, was still of large concern. The Lower Lords had requested that they be given extra reinforcements from the Kingsmen Guard during the Sunday markets. It had been debated in The Welling, and after several days and a final report of discontent in the Korgen fish markets, a decision was made. A small troop of men from Arisen were sent out into the villages, watching over the people. Velgar pondered on that decision and wondered how a starving man might view a small guard of Arisen soldiers as they paraded themselves around the compacted streets of some poor neighbourhood, in shining armour and with strong full frames. The thought shivered down his spine, and he looked across the large oak table to the small basket of staling buns and sighed again.
 
As Arch Chancellor, Velgar was sent to Ceraborn to aid the King with both political and religious issues. He was the stopgap between the Lords of the King, whether High or Low, and the religious men who proclaimed the throne as Holy and the power that Brodon held as divine. And in times such as this he had presumed the King would confide him, but this was not so. The King had remained quiet, enclosed within the boundaries of his own mind, waving off invitations of discussion with Velgar and focusing more so on the daily operations of the Castle. He found Brodon to be more focussed on his guests now than the issues to which he had invited them here. And though the Chancellor was inclined to agree with Brodon’s overall policy, he found it excruciating that the man seemed so worried and yet so closed off from those who served him.
 
In the Great Hall the man sat alone, quiet and deep in his own thoughts. For a moment he thought he heard something, the scrapping a metal against stone. Flicking his eyes upwards the man saw that both doors to the place were closed, and no movement within the place itself. All was quiet, even the band had been dismissed. Nothing but the gentle sound of the breeze against the windows, a steady tapping, could be heard beneath the man’s breath. Strange, and as he stood away from the table, he heard the sound again. A vicious, purposeful scrapping of steel against stone only this time closer than before, and almost certainly coming from the doorway that stood before him. There were no workmen in the Castle, nothing scheduled for renovation. The sound seemed to climax above the man as it spun around the room, like a tornado swirling through and leaving not an inch of the place undisturbed. The man’s hands shook, and his eyes widened as his gaze fell upon the shadows behind the throne.
 
 ‘Who are you?’ Velgar stuttered, his chair falling back and smashing against the floor with more force than it ought to have. The grim figure stood, outlined against the black and rippling like the waves of the sea.
 ‘Come now, answer me! Terrible thing, intrusion into the palace is punishable by death!’ The Arch Chancellor’s words fumbled from his fat mouth.
 The being stood still, staring into the light with piercing eyes that showed nothing but hatred and malice. They appeared almost reptilian, snake like as the pupils dilated. A terrible gurgling came from the creature’s mouth, though Velgar could not see anything that resembled it.
 ‘By the power of the Gods I command you to leave this place at once! Foul creature!’ Velgar’s fingers clutched at the heavy tome that he hugged to his chest and underneath him his feet tangled as if he were a new-born. He backed towards the entrance doors, thick hulking doors that appeared so tall and brutish now that he feared he would not have the strength to open them. His eyes remained fixed upon the creature at the throne, and to him it appeared that all the shadows of the place had converged to conceal the thing from the light. A nearby candle was touched with the darkness and instantly extinguished its bright flame. A low rumble of fierce, harsh growls came from the thing and it stepped forward.
 ‘Death will come to this place.’ It said, its voice a whispering mass of vicious tones. And as it came forward the face of a man was momentarily flashed between the light and dark. Velgar’s body shook in uncontrollable fear, and sweat beaded along his cherry brow, and he began to weep.
 
All was quiet. Arch Chancellor Velgar stood beside the doorway to the Great Hall of Ceraborn and wept uncontrollably as Lord Louton of Arisen arrived back at the room, followed closely by Lord Elmorc of Blackridge.
 ‘Good Gods!’ Louton said as he ran to the man, thinking him in pain. ‘What is it Chancellor?’
And he pulled at the Chancellor’s robes and held him steadily as the man continued to weep. Elmorc looked around the place, searching every corner and crevice with his worried gaze.
 ‘Shall I call for the guards?’ He asked quickly, turning back towards the doorway.
 ‘No! Do not go!’ Velgar said, grabbing the man’s collar as he passed. Elmorc pulled himself away from the weeping man’s sweaty grip.
 ‘What happened?’ Louton asked again, sitting the man down and placing the book the man clutched a top the table.
 ‘A terrible thing my Lords, a terrible thing has appeared to me!’ Velgar said, his words barely escaping his quivering lips.
 ‘Thing? You mean some sort of illusion?’ Elmorc replied curiously.
 ‘No, my Lord, not an illusion. Though what it was I cannot say.’
 ‘A man perhaps? An intruder?’ Louton offered, thinking perhaps that the weeping man had been attacked by some lunatic who had found his way into the Castle whilst the Lords had arrived, taking advantage of the meeting and the chaos it had brought to the courtyard of the place.
 ‘Nay, not a man. Though it looked like one, no man stands in shadow… is made of shadow!’ Velgar returned. Louton sat beside the man and patted his back, not quite knowing how to comfort the man.
 ‘I had best alert the guards all the same, he could be under the influence of some poison.’ Elmorc responded as he quickly caried himself away from the room, not waiting for a response from either man.
 
A few moments later and the Lord returned with a small troop of men. Each checked over the Great Hall, all levels were scouted. Amidst the chaos, Velgar had returned to some sense, though he still shivered in some sort of nervous twitch at the mention of the man. It was framed by Elmorc as there having been an intruder who had taken the Chancellor had given him some sort of poison that had seen his mind wander into such strange and bizarre hallucinations.
 ‘Do you know of such poisons?’ Lord Louton asked.
 ‘There are some roots and weeds that, when combined, could cause some sort of psychosis.’ Lord Elmorc returned curtly. Louton’s gaze fell from the Lord and back to Velgar.
 ‘Has the guard notified the King?’ He asked.
 Elmorc shook his head, he had come upon the troop at the entrance to the Castle and had pulled them to his aid immediately.
 ‘Death…’ Said Velgar after a moment, turning slowly to face the Lord’s. ‘Death will come to this place. That is what it said!’
The Lord’s calmed the King before walking to the entrance, out of sight and sound of the trembling Velgar.
 ‘Have you ever seen something like this before?’ Louton asked, his voice hush.
 ‘Not for many years, some soldiers have been reported with such conditions, but I must say that I have never known a Maester…sorry, a Chancellor, to exhibit them.’ Elmorc replied, running his fingers through his greying black hair.
 ‘Drink?’ Louton ventured.
 ‘No, the man would have to consume an entire nation’s worth of drink to get like that!’ Elmorc replied with a curious smile.
 Louton bit his lip and furrowed his brows in deep thought. He looked back into the room and saw the Chancellor, an armed man by his side asking questions.
 ‘I worry when I’m in this place.’ He offered.
 ‘How so?’ Elmorc replied.
 ‘Because whenever I’m here it usually means something bad has happened. I’ll do well to never see this bloody place again.’ The Lord responded. ‘Still, you’re lucky, you’ve the excuse of when Winter comes you cannot travel anywhere beyond the borders of Mormo!’ A short half, worried laugh followed.
 ‘Believe me my friend, Blackridge requires more attention than you could possibly imagine. I could well do without this place as well.’ Elmorc returned.
 ‘Of course, but then again we hear little from your folk. Since the Winter it appears that the famines in the South have affected them very little.’
 ‘My folk are hardy, well stocked and ready for any eventuality. We’re almost on our own up there.’ Elmorc said, licking his lips and his gazing off into the darkness of the corridor beyond Lord Louton’s shoulders.
 ‘Please, do excuse me. I must attend to something.’ He said with a smile. And without waiting for so much as a nod from his peer, he was gone.