The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 20 - Ignite

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Mahir sat at the head of the Hall of Thrones, visibly trembling. Anger reverberated throughout every inch of his frame, cording sinews and whitening knuckles until the carven arms beneath his grasp creaked. Not a single person in the hall spoke. Despite their curiosity, the ever-grasping nobles knew better than to interrupt their king at a moment like this. What they did not know was what the letter crumpled in Mahir's hand said, but they surmised it could not be good. Nobody had ever seen the king react with such barely contained rage to anything before. Even Hithon's Tree stood frozen, its red leaves barely quivering in the glow from the stained glass skylight above.

Grinding his molars together until his jaw ached did little to ease the thundering drumbeat in Mahir's ears. He could feel every eye in the Hall of Thrones upon him, waiting and watching. They seemed like vultures to the king, eyeing a suddenly stricken leopard to assess for potential weakness. It was all Mahir could do not to bolt to his feet and roar in defiance.

Instead, with perilously crisp posture, Mahir rose from his throne. Without even bothering to formally dismiss the court, he left the dais in a handful of stiff-legged strides. Bewildered murmurs rippled throughout the room in his wake. Let them imagine what they would; it could not be as damning as the contents of the letter he had just read.

The minute Mahir was out of ear-shot of the Hall of Thrones he freed the dangerously hot eruption of fury building inside his chest. Seizing the nearest ornament he could get his hands on, which conveniently enough was a gold-enameled conch shell from the Bay of Torbos, Mahir hurled it at the cabinet room wall so hard it left a dent in the plaster.

"WHY?!" he screamed. "By the blood of Amenthis, WHY!?"

Rage, disbelief, betrayal, humiliation and worst of all, doubt clawed at Mahir from the inside out. The floor tilted abruptly, and he had to stagger over to a nearby side table. The smooth wood was cool beneath his burning palms, and the urge to overturn the thing nearly drove him to further violence. His head throbbed too-tight for his skull, filled as it was with red hot emotion and bound by the crown of Goran. His shoulders tensed, his chest heaved and his throat closed. If Mahir could have the BlackPearl in front of him right now, he swore he would strangle that sun-baked churl within an inch of her life with his bare hands.

"Your Grace?"

Only a handful of people would have had the sheer gal to follow the king in such a towering wrath. The Captain of the Knights of Amenthis was bound to guard the heirs of Amenthis at all times though, even from themselves if need be. Only with immense effort did Mahir manage to compose himself enough to speak to Sabin.

"Do not address me with gentleness right now Sabin, I beg you," Mahir ground out. "A gentle touch is the very last thing Goran apparently needs."

"You have had news then?"

To say it aloud rankled Mahir to no end. He felt he might sooner have chewed thorns. He had been avoiding the Factionist problem enough though; it was time to look the dragon in the mouth.

"The Factionists have seized Utunma. Read for yourself." Without looking at Sabin, Mahir thrust the crumpled letter toward him.

"Seized?" Sabin was already reading the instant he got the parchment untangled. His narrow mouth twitched instinctively toward his mustache. "How can that be possible? The Factionist presence there has been fairly underground, with limited numbers and resources."