Boulis had begun to light the signal fire that stood in the center of the platform. Rezkin reached past Farson to Mage Threll. He pulled her from the stairwell onto the platform then pushed her toward the signal fire as he searched for Boulis on the other side. Mage Threll began a spell that caused a fog to form around the signal fire. The fog slowly condensed into rain, and Rezkin was impressed that she had made an actual cloud. His thoughts on the potential uses for a cloud were interrupted by Boulis’s scream.
“You are too late. I will not let you have my birthright. The throne is mine!” Boulis held in his hands a small clay pot marked with arcane runes. He placed the vessel on the ground and pulled the stopper as he began to recite an incantation. Black fumes spewed from the open container, crawling up his legs. “H’g’gak shiewei cruikina—” The incantation was curtailed when a dagger sprouted from Boulis’s throat. A horrid screech emanated from the black fumes as they shriveled into themselves. A burst of power knocked everyone on the platform from their feet when the vessel suddenly exploded.
Rezkin pulled himself from the ground and checked that the others were well before approaching Boulis. The man was dead, of course, but Rezkin was always cautious when approaching dead men. After pulling his knife from the man’s throat, he gathered the pieces of the clay pot for later examination. He grabbed Boulis by the ankle and dragged him across the platform to the stairwell. The royal guards offered to take the body, but Rezkin refused. He dragged the man the entire way down the tower and then through the corridor toward the throne room. Moldovan had remained on his throne, while the courtiers who were not permitted to leave cowered between the drainage grooves that were carrying blood and body fluids toward the drainage gutters along the walls. Stepping over corpses and splashing through puddles, Rezkin made his way back to the dais where he dropped the body that had been battered nearly beyond recognition.
“Boulis is dead. Give me the sword.”
Moldovan said, “This could all have been avoided if you had killed him in the first place.”
Rezkin removed his mask and waved around the room. “This was the voice of your people. The dissenters are dead or cower in fear. Esyojo rule is secured.”
Moldovan grinned. “This is why you will rule an empire.” He stood and picked up his scepter in his gnarled fingers. “You are an emperor, so I will not ask you to kneel.”
“You do not ask me to kneel because you know I will not.”
The king chuckled. He pulled an amulet from beneath his robe. It had a large garnet set in the center with tapered spirals of gold at the top and bottom. He tapped the scepter to the amulet. He said, “Duyana espekel umbalai.” He tapped the scepter to Rezkin’s right shoulder, then his left. Finally, Moldovan pressed it to Rezkin’s forehead and repeated the incantation. “Duyana espekel umbalai.”
The garnet in the amulet began to glow a deep red, as did the scepter. He handed the scepter to Rezkin, then removed the amulet and placed it over Rezkin’s head. He said, “Speak the ancient words.”
Rezkin considered not saying the words, but after all his troubles, he was not going to walk away without the sword. He glanced at Farson and then said, “Duyana espekel umbalai.” The scepter glowed brighter then dimmed as the stone’s light grew intense. Finally, the light in both died. Somehow Moldovan looked older after it was finished. The color had faded from his flesh, and his gaze was more distant.
The man looked at Rezkin and said, “Our family has not ruled Ferélle for so long by chance. Our power sustains us, as it will you. I know you do not intend to stay. You must name a regent, and then take me to my daughter.”
“The sword,” said Rezkin.
“Yes, yes. You shall have the sword. But you already know where it is.”
Rezkin tilted his head and realized that he did know where it was. In fact, he knew much about the castle, its power, and the history of the royal family that he had not previously known.
Moldovan nodded knowingly and said, “Esyojo is a legacy, one carried within the king, transferred via the scepter, amulet, and incantation. Now, none but you can wield the enchantments of this stronghold.”
Rezkin turned to his companions, examining each of them. All were bloody, but most of the blood did not appear to be theirs. Mage Threll looked fatigued. He had seen her watching the impromptu ceremony closely, and he hoped she would be able to explain whatever had just happened. Beyond them, the courtiers clung to each other. While their cries had diminished, their fear persisted as they stood amongst the corpses of their fallen peers.
“Why you four?” Rezkin said, turning his attention back to his companions.
Mage Threll glanced at the others, who did not readily answer. Farson was busy surveying the room, Brandt appeared apathetic, and Coledon naturally deferred to the female. She said, “Coledon speaks Ferélli. You needed a mage, but Journeyman Wesson was not ready, and he is keeping the prisoners in check. After him, my talent is most suited for battle.” She glanced at her uncle. “The strikers agreed that you would prefer Shezar to remain in charge of the ships, and my uncle thinks he needs to follow me everywhere, besides.”
Rezkin glanced at Brandt. He shrugged and said, “I was bored.”
Rezkin descended the dais. He looked at Coledon and said, “Kneel.” Coledon did so, and Rezkin laid the black blade, still steeped in Ferélli blood, on top of the man’s head. He said, “Coledon Anshe, I name you king regent. Stand and claim your scepter.”
Coledon blinked up at him in surprise and then stood on shaky legs. He slowly grasped the scepter and looked back at Rezkin. “Why me?”
Rezkin said, “For one, because you are willing to ask that question. Also, you speak several languages, including Ferélli. As the former trademaster of your sister’s house, you have valuable experience. Mostly, though, because you are here.”
Moldovan barked a laugh and spoke in Ashaiian as the others had. “An Esyojo with so much power that he passes around kingships like they were water.”
Rezkin returned to the dais and faced his grandfather. “It is not because I have power but because people continually insist on inflicting it upon me when I do not desire it.”
Moldovan took Rezkin’s hand in his own, and Rezkin allowed it, since it was unlikely the former king would attack him at that point. Moldovan held both of their hands side-by-side and said, “Look. Yours is strong. Mine is frail. Some would say it is from age, but I know it is because I bled my strength into this kingdom for nearly eight decades. I have governed with an iron fist, yet few have celebrated my rule. Most no longer hide their whispers that I have lived too long. In you, people find strength and courage. People wish to be a part of something great, even when they cannot find it in themselves. You are their greatness.”
Moldovan dropped their hands and reached for the arm of one of the royal guardsmen. He said, “I will retire to my bed until you are ready to leave. Remember your promise. I will see my daughter again.”
Rezkin turned to the disconsolate spectators and said, “Court is dismissed.”
In a unified cry of relief, they ran as one toward the throne room door, some tripping over bodies or slipping in gore. Rezkin then looked at the seneschal and Commander Tinen. “You two will assist your king regent in learning his duties.” He turned to Coledon and said, “Rule as I would rule.”
Coledon shook his head. “I have been in your company only weeks. I cannot say how you would rule.”
“Fairly,” said Rezkin. “Come, I have something to show you.”