Chapter 6
Oril Ahern- Regent of the king and keeper of the Emerald throne of Tasmorea was a solitary figure standing in the middle of the road like a boulder. He would not move- that much he was certain. In the last fifteen years he had quelled rebellion and turned back hobgoblin raids. Signed piece treaties and opened up trade agreements with distant nations but none of it seemed to matter. It all came down to this moment. Oril Ahern knew what he had to do.
The Winter-acre river echoed through the ravine. The late afternoon sun had long ago retreated, leaving the air cool and damp, with little light. Oril shivered as he began to see the first contingent of Radah guard come out of the trees. Two were on horses holding the banner of the Ahern family- a soaring hawk on a royal blue background. The same one Oril had etched into his leather vest. They marched four abreast and seven deep. Growing tighter ranks they crossed the old stone bridge and formed an impenetrable wall of blue as they reached the other side. The first trailer came to a stop far back from the bridge, the driver pulling back on the rains of the horses and just sat there. Its cloak wrapped tight around him and his hood pulled over his head. More soldiers came out the forest to surround it. Oril quickly counted sixty men at arms from what he could see. Although these men had been marching for two nights and two days without stopping- they showed no sign of stress. Oril was surprised at himself for feeling a sense of pride at seeing the parade. If things were different, he would be riding at the head of the Radah guard. He was glad he was not, the personal army of the Ahern family were known to do so horrendous things in their service of the king. Helmets, shaped to copy a head of a hawk, obscured their faces. He stood in the middle of the road feeling very lonely and very small.
“I would like to speak to Prince Coel Ahern, heir to the Emerald throne of Tasmorea,” Oril had to yell to be heard over the rush of the river.
Oril had not seen his nephew for nine years now, the time went by so quickly. He had no idea of what kind of man his nephew had become. He had to admit, there was concern. Even back when Coel was a child there was a darkness that could be seen in him. Oril thought of the puppies that were hurt when Coel was ten. The whole litter had their legs broken. Even though he was found with them, Coel pleaded innocent. It was then Oril saw the stone creature. A great lumbering beast. It was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Oril could not image what possessed the thing. The roar of the river became an all obtrusive sound at that moment.
A door on the trailer opened and Othion stepped out, his hair pulled back and his long beard flying in the wind. He caught Oril's stare. Coel followed him out and as he adjusted his fur lined cloak began to walk towards his uncle. He was a handsome boy, long brown hair, cut to shape his face. Tall and thin, very much like Oril when he was that age. He looked like an Ahern and very much like the prince he was. A large medallion hung around his neck, swaying as he walked.
Coel made his way across the bridge and the soldiers parted to allow him through. The creature followed close behind. Othion continued to meet Oril's stare.
“Hello Coel,” Oril said earnestly greeting his nephew.
“Uncle, do you come to me as regent or as my uncle?” Coel asked.
“As your uncle of course,” Oril said.
“Good, then come Uncle, lets get out of the cold. We can talk as we travel. I assume we're both going the same direction.” Coel said with a broad grim.
“I would like to talk to you alone Coel,” Oril said nodding to Othion.
“Of course Uncle, what ever you wish,” Coel nodded to Othion, who bowed and hurried back to his own trailer.
Coel commanded the creature to stay outside the mobile before he entered and Oril noticed the pendant begin to emit a silvery light. Once inside Coel removed his leather boots, revealing bare feet.
“Come in Uncle, be welcomed,” he said ushering Oril to remove his boots and smirked. “Grander than any palace isn't it!” he indicated his temporary home.
“Yes, it is,” Oril had to agree. It was a large room, with plenty of space to stand straight. The wooden walls were all carved in delicate carvings, bordered with gold and silver. Finely crafted bowls and serving sets, were put neatly on shelves. Carpet, with delicate embroidery though out and beautiful furnishings. Everything was polished cleaned. In the middle of the trailer, colourful tapestries hung down, dividing the room in half. There was a peculiar musty smell, which made him a little sick. Coel sat him on a couch low to the ground and Oril sank into a very uncomfortable position.
“It was made specifically for this trip to my coronation.” Coel said as he sat across the room at a finely crafted chair. Two wolves growling, were carved into the arms.
“I wasn't expecting to meet you out here Uncle.” Coel continued. “What's so important the Regent had to leave the preparations for the arrival of his king? Eh?” There was a jerk as the trailer began to move again.
“I came to warn you, Nephew,” Oril tried to sit up but struggled. “Othion Tacur isn't what he seems.”
Coel leaned forward in his chair, “What ever do you mean, Uncle?” he said insincerely.
Oril stumbled at the tone in Coel's voice. “He's a Rakshasa.”
“A Rakshasa?” Coel said not being able to contain his smile. “What's that?”
Oril sat back on the uncomfortable couch and stared at his nephew. Coel burst out laughing.
“I know he's a Rakshasa. Rakshasa come from the jungles down south- very powerful in magic,” Coel stopped joking now and looked his uncle in the eye. “I have always known who and what he is, Uncle.”
“But keep it a secret, OK,” Coel said reaching for a gold and silver embossed tea pot and poured some into two matching cups. He passed one to his uncle. Oril hesitated until Coel drank first, then he drank as well. “No one knows he's a Rakshasa and he wants to keep it that way. Only us and now you- thanks to that little mirror trip you took last night. Oh and that cute little half-elf you were with. I have someone out looking for her right now. I suspect she'll be with us shortly.”
“But Coel- listen to me,” Oril said pleading his case. “He killed your mother and father, your grandfather.”
“I know that too, Uncle.” Coel said sitting back in his chair.
“Othion has been a father to me, he's taught me incredible things. Yes, he does have many different motives but most coincide with mine. The rest are his business.” Coel stared at his uncle. “He did it so I could be king because I am meant to be king. And my rule will be greater than any of our grandfather's were.”
“Yes, you are meant to be king, Coel.” Oril pleaded. “But as a king is meant to rule- with justice and fear of the people, the way Daloseos ruled.” Oril started to become sluggish as he began to slur is words. He looked down at his hands, they felt like heavy balloons. He tried to stand but his knees gave out and he fell back onto the couch.
“Good tea, Eh?” Coel said taking another drink. “Once you build up an immunity, you can get pretty high off the stuff.”
Coel smirked at that. “Let me show you what it means to be king, Uncle.”
Coel took four steps and pulled back the dividing tapestries. Oril lifted his head to look around. The room was rather stark compared to the front half, plain panelled walls, a large bed in the right corner and something in the back where the light did not penetrate. Coel lit another candle and the whole horrific scene played out in Oril's mind. A young woman sat naked in a large plain high back chair. Her eyes were wide open, reflecting her last moments within them. The chair was sitting on a plush carpet that was soaked in cold blood. It was plain to see that she bled out through the back of her legs. Cuts ran down her body in symmetrical designs that were clean and partially healed.
“This is what it means to be king, Uncle.” Coel walked over and stood beside the girl, his feet splashing in the blood. “It means to have control of life and death over your subjects. For my pleasure and my ambition. Their whole existence is mine, to do with as I will. This girl served no other pu
rpose in life.” He took her by the shoulder and laid her down on the carpet. He began to roll her up. “And there is no higher calling than me.”
Walking over to the table, Coel grabbed a short sceptre and loudly rapped on the ceiling. Oril looked up as he heard movement coming from the roof, then down the side. The door opened and a young man came in. He was not as tall as Coel but older and he was well dressed in plain woven material. Keeping his head down the whole time, he only looked up for an instant to meet Oril's eyes. They were green and full of pain, yet intelligence was plain to be seen in them. Oril began to feel sympathy for the young man.
“Uncle, you remember Mack. I had him at my Heir Apparent celebration.” Coal pushed him toward the rolled up carpet. “You can remove that.”
Mack stood there a moment, then looked back at his master. “No,” he pleaded as clearly as he could without a tongue.
Coel hit Mack across the head with his fist. “Remove it now,” he screamed. “Then go tell Othion we're ready,” Coel commanded.
Picking himself up and holding his head, Mack went to the back of the trailer. Opening a door that was well hidden in the interior woodwork- he grabbed the carpet carefully. Struggling with it he managed to gently pull it outside with the fast moving trailer. The door quickly closed behind him. Empathy immediately rose inside Oril.
“Now, Mack knows his purpose in life,” Coel said to his uncle. “He knows, I decide over his life and death. Just as you now know that I decide over your life ... and death.” He smirked, “And I have already decided over your life and death, Uncle.”
There was a knock at the door and Coel commanded them to enter. Othion roughly pushed a woman in ahead of him. Oril's eyes grew wide in fear for his friend. “Valira,” he said trying to gain consciousness but oblivion was taking him quickly.
“Oril, they’re Hobgoblins everywhere,” she said through the dark bruise that was forming on the right side of face. Othion drove his fist into the back of her head.
“Your name is Valira,” Othion said. “Valira Sherin, I knew I remembered you. You served in medicine back when Lendic was king.” Othion picked her up and placed her in the chair that the other woman was in. “You were one of a handful that escaped. You've hidden yourself well, haven't you.”
“Uncle Oril, I believe you already know Othion Tacur, Chief Adviser to the King of Tasmorea.”
“Regent, its good to see again.” Othion said, "But where are our manners you've had a hard day, so sleep now. We'll need you fresh tomorrow when we meet the army.”
Oril finally succumbed to the narcotic. The last thing he saw before he past out was Valira struggling against Coel, her screams muffled through a gag. Othion bowed to Coel and left.
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