Chapter 9
Time To Come Home
He returned once more to his room. Someone had been there before him, as a clean cover had been laid across his bed, the fire lit, and a fresh torch flickered in the sconce. None of his possessions had been moved. Wait. There was a new addition to his few belongings – a silver comb. He picked it up and noted the fine detail of the decoration that covered it. Elvish silversmithing for sure. It had been a long while since he had owned an everyday object as fine as this. Apart from the few pieces of formal clothing he wore when necessary, and of course, the beautifully crafted weapons he would never be without, the rest of his belongings were basic and purely functional. He never 'owned' any of these for long, either. If he came across a Fey in need, he would give them what he had. He could replace it in time.
Laying the comb down, he set about tidying himself up a bit. He had to become Prince Nuada again, with all the formality that entailed.
He made sure his clothing and footwear were as presentable as possible under the circumstances. He took his black boots and trousers out of his pack and undressed again, swapping them for the brown boots and trousers he still wore. With black shirt back on, he sought the long black over-jacket and armour from his pack, putting on the chest, shoulder and wrist guards, complete with back-mounted sheath for sword and spear.
Happy with this, he picked up the new comb and ran it through his long, slightly damp hair. This done, there was only one thing left to complete the effect. Wrapping his red silk sash around his waist, he secured the gold disk bearing the Seal of Bethmoora. Returning his shortened spear to its sheath on his back, he headed for the door.
Prince Nuada was back once more.
On entering the room next door, he found a scene only slightly changed from the day before. The human was still unconscious but was now attended by another of the Elves, Sciana having gone to another room to rest. It had been decided that each of the party would take turns to rest, while the others either tended the woman or the Princess, assisted the Mage, or went about the daily chores necessary to make their stay bearable.
The Mage was sitting at the other side of the room, talking quietly with Oacma. As soon as Nuada stepped through the door, everyone stood in unison and bowed to him. He nodded his acknowledgement and with a small movement of his hand, indicated for them to return to whatever they were doing. The Mage and Oacma approached. 'Sire,' they both said together.
Nuada regarded the human, lying still and silent. She was exceedingly pale, but her breathing was a little deeper and more regular. 'What is your opinion of her condition?' he asked the Mage. 'She is weak, Sire, but her strength is returning slowly. She should wake soon, though probably not for long. I expect her to be in and out of consciousness for a few hours yet.'
Nuada nodded. He would have to be patient.
'Sire, I expect you have much to discuss under these circumstances, but I think perhaps you should eat first,' the Mage advised. 'It would not do for our new leader to become ill through lack of food within the first few hours of rule.' Indeed, he had to admit this was very true. He allowed the Mage and Oacma to lead him to another room in which a kitchen had been set up. The smell of bread and some kind of broth greeted them.
He seated himself at a table and a bowl of the broth was brought to him, with a spoon and bread on a platter. He thanked the Elf who served him and indicated for the Mage and Oacma to join him. They too took seats at the table, but as they had already eaten, they bade him finish his food before beginning their discussion. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until then, but did not rush. There wasn't really that much, the rations were, as Ecris had said, rather meagre, but it was enough and he was grateful for it.
As his empty bowl was taken away, three cups filled with a warming drink appeared on the table. He gestured for his companions to drink too. They were standing on formality and were waiting for the Prince to start his first. The due respect shown to him since his…return…had been noted, and Nuada felt a little more at ease than he had thought possible after the tumultuous shock his people had endured – at his hands. Having their King's life taken by his own son in front of their eyes was, to put it very mildly, disturbing.
And yet, here were loyal members of Balor's court, taking the Prince back into their lives, after his long exile – and they were actually pleased to see him. At the time of his return, he had expected – demanded – the people to follow him, but now that the weight of all that rage and unmitigated hatred had been at least partially lifted, he realized that they could have simply rejected him. But that, of course, depended on how they had truly felt about their current state, on whether, deep down, underneath the loyalty they undoubtedly felt for their King, they were disenchanted, disheartened and ready for someone to lead them out of their desperate plight, or at least attempt to.
Nuada sipped his drink, staring at the tabletop as he thought about this. The others waited patiently for him to speak. When they had last seen him he was full of passion, a man who knew exactly what he wanted and unwavering in his determination to complete his task. He knew he had to be that decisive again now. It was time to truly lead his people.
He finished the last of his drink, put the cup down and began the next chapter of the story of his people – hoping it would not be the last.
'Ecris, Oacma, I thank you for your patience, but it is time we began the task of saving our people.' They looked at him with expectant gazes, the seed of new hope planted in their hearts. 'Come,' said Nuada rising to his feet. 'Let us walk. I wish to look upon these halls again in more detail. There is much to do, but we need somewhere suitable to become our new home, and most likely the last bastion we shall have. It served us well in the past – let us make certain it shall serve as well for our future.'
With that, the three of them left the room with the eyes of the Elves still there following them out.
Bethmoora was a truly magnificent palace at the height of its occupancy. A deep chasm of a cave, it started life as a natural formation, but thanks to the skill and craftsmanship of the Cave Trolls, it was enhanced and extended, lovingly carved and polished, until eventually transformed into a place of rugged strength and almost ethereal beauty and majesty.
On entering through the formidable giant's entrance, you were guided through a tunnel which led out into the main cavernous space. There were walkways at different levels all the way from the cave floor far below, to the dizzying heights above. These were connected via more walkways to halls and corridors. And the chamber in which the Golden Army was housed.
Nuada decided to start here. Where better to embark on a new beginning than the place in which your past life ended?
They entered the chamber, their footsteps echoing off the carved stone of the walls, floor and ceiling. It had become a tomb, but Nuada wanted it to become a focus for life. They stood on the dais in front of the grand entrance which would have been used by the King and court when first built. There were less grand entrances, including ones through which the Golden Army would have marched on their way to do the King's bidding.
The dagger that Nuala had dropped at the fateful moment of her – their – death, still lay here. Nuada slowly reached down to pick it up. Just a hair's breadth away, he stopped, pulling his fingers back, almost afraid to touch it, then, forcing himself, he took it in his hand. He stood straight, staring at the metal blade as if it were the one thing in the world he had never wanted to see again. As the image of Nuala's face haunted his vision once more, he thought about the blade he held at that same moment. Looking over to where he had fallen, he could see his own dagger nearby. He left the platform, and walked over to where the blade lay.
He picked up this second dagger. In his hands lay the twin blades that had destroyed his chances of wreaking a bloody revenge on the world of the humans. He wanted to destroy them, too – but instead, he pushed them under his sash, one either side. A reminder to himself never to take the loyalty of those around him for granted. He knew he had to prove himself to his people. He would try his best to find out what it was they wanted of him, not him demand loyalty of them.
This was vastly different to how he had felt before, but things had changed, his options were few, and he had to work within the confines allowed by them. He was joined by the Mage and Oacma, the latter noticing something else on the black stone floor – what appeared to be a cooled puddle of once molten gold. It didn't take much for Nuada to figure it out. The Golden Army stood lifeless in the chamber. If the demon had wanted to command them he would have taken the crown, but he knew the red one had not intended this.
'They have destroyed the crown,' he told the two. 'The army can never be used again.' 'In time I will have to speak with the goblin,' he said after a moments thought. 'There are things I need to know. Perhaps they could be moved again, or made use of in another way.'
At that moment, one of the Elves tending the Princess entered the chamber and crossed to where they were standing. He bowed to the Prince, then proceeded to give the message he carried. 'Sire, Ecris, the Princess has awoken. She is disorientated, but seems well.'
Nuada's heart seemed to miss a beat. She was awake. But he still could not feel her. There was a tightness in the pit of his stomach. What did this mean?
'Oacma, would you go to the Princess and see if she needs me to attend her? I trust the judgement of our friend here. If she is well enough to wait for a short while, I shall attend her shortly.' said Ecris. Oacma turned to Nuada 'If it pleases you, Sire? I shall go to her at once.' And after a small nod from the Prince, bowing respectfully, he left.
Now they were alone, Nuada could speak to his old tutor more openly. He still felt the need to be cautious with others. 'Ecris, I have been considering the apparent survival of my uncle. How can it be that he has remained hidden for so long? Surely he must have been sighted by someone of the Fey at some time?' 'Indeed, Sire…' 'Nuada, please my friend,' Nuada instructed with a small smile. 'I have thought this too. But we have never received any information that could have alerted us to this fact.'
'This is what concerns me,' said Nuada. 'I have come to the only logical conclusion – he has been recognized, and to stop word from ever reaching the King's ears, the party concerned must have been silenced. Killed. And there is no telling how many times this has happened.' Ecris nodded thoughtfully. 'I fear you are correct in this.'
Nuada's expression darkened. 'There is also another possibility in this matter. He has managed to gather support for his claim within this realm.' Ecris looked to Nuada, obviously horrified at the prospect, but not surprised. 'I, myself have overheard the murmur of discontented voices, even within the Court, though love for the King and loyalty to his wishes was undisputed.'
"Love for the King". These words echoed in Nuada's mind. He had loved his father, though this was probably not overly clear to those who overheard their many disagreements when he still resided at the Court, some of which had been so heated it would seem that they may even spill over into violence. He had himself seen no other way to help his people than to overthrow his father's rule, though he had desperately hoped it could happen in a less brutal way than it had.
But that was the way of it. He truly felt he had no other choice. The King's weakness had caused the destruction of his people to go on unimpeded. And if even the court had become discontented by his father's inaction, then in all likelihood Bres will have set his sights on the throne once more. 'By now, Bres must have heard what happened between us,' Nuada said, a decision made. 'You must get word back to the court. They must all return to Bethmoora immediately. If Bres truly means to make an attempt on the throne, then he is most likely to begin by wiping out the powerbase that is still loyal to the Bethmooran bloodline. They are all in the greatest of danger.'
'You are right, Nuada,' said Ecris. Fear for his friends was growing rapidly within him. 'I shall send a message at once!' He bowed to the Prince, and was about to turn to leave, but Nuada caught his arm. Ecris.' He looked concernedly at his old friend. 'You, too are in grave danger. You were my father's advisor, and you are now to be mine. You are also my friend. Do not go above ground alone.'
The Mage laid his hand on Nuada's shoulder and smiled, grateful to be confirmed as friend and for the genuine concern that he held for him. He nodded and hurried off to request the message be taken at all speed, before another catastrophe befell them.
