Yoko woke to cathedral bells an hour before their usual morning chiming. She blinked hazily, head aching with the very strong remnants of hangover and stared out her window at the dark gray of pre-sunrise sky. Why were the bells chiming? Had those rascal boys that plagued the priests with their practical jokes gotten into the bell tower to plague the whole of Meta-Rikan? If so she hoped the got the beatings they deserved. She lay listening, searching for the discordant sound of untrained bell-tollers. There was a pattern to it. Not the haphazard play of boys. There was a name and a meaning for this bell pattern but she could not for the life of her recall it.
Out side her doorway she heard the patter of feet running down the hall. Then more and the chatter of frantic voices. Her heart began to pound a frenzied beat in her chest. Woken too soon and too quickly with too much ale consumed the night before her head swam and flashes of vision interspersed with the bright lights. Death. Crying. A people crowding the streets in mourning. A gilded coffin being lowered into the earth. A crown in hand -- in the Prophet's hands -- being lowered to the smooth brow of the Dragon Prince.
She sat up, gasping and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She fumbled for her robe and hastily donned it, even as she pelted for the door, turned the lock and ran out into the hallway into what seemed a sporadic migration out of the dormitory. The courtyard was filled with people in various stages of dress. Most, like herself had risen quickly and wore no more than their nightgowns and robes. She caught at the arm of a passing priest and cried.
"What's happened? What's wrong?"
He turned wild, red rimmed eyes to her. Tears streamed down his face. She stared aghast, afraid to hear what he might say.
"The king --- the king is dead."
He pulled away from her and hurried with the others towards the castle. She stood, her hands clutched before her, shocked -- speechless and numb. The king was dead? The king was dead. "No." She whispered softly, remembering the stern faced, old man who had ruled Meta-Rikan for all her lifetime -- twice her lifetime. Her vision came back to her. The death, the mourning, the crying, the crowning. She buried her face in her hands and cried as so many others in the courtyard were doing.
People crowded the road into Meta-Rikan. Peasants carrying their belongings on their backs, their crying children tugged along by the hands. Farmers in carts, merchants in their wagons, the lower nobility on horseback, all flocking in towards the sprawling city that took up most of the valley. The riders might have stood out against them, had the people had attention for anything but getting into the city proper. They were well outfitted and armored. The armor alone of any one of the knights costing more than any one farmer or ten farmers on this road might earn in his lifetime. The horses were destriers, thick legged and thick furred, tossing their mighty heads in agitation at the closeness of the people. These were horses used to killing men on the battlefield and their riders were hard pressed to keep them in check.
The captain of the company, at the direction of his lord, stopped a young aristocrat on horse back and demanded to know if all this hectic traffic was due to the wedding of the princess. What he was told made his face go white and he returned to his lord grimly with dire news. The company reined their horses to the muddy slope at the side of the road and urged the great animals over terrain that the other travelers avoided, plunging ahead of the sluggishly moving line. At the gates where the crowd was stymied and backed up, the massive war horses bullied their way through past outraged cries. The gate guard, plainly doubled and tripled moved to halt the passage of armed knights into the city.
"Halt! Halt!" Hectic guards cried, waving their arms recklessly before the noses of the destiers. The horses tossed their noses in the air and stomped enormous metal shod hooves in the dust . "You can't enter the city armed without permit."
The caption moved his horse about so that he looked down on the guard blocking their path. "Lord Kall-Su has permit. Do not block his passage."
The guardsman blanched, looked beyond the caption to his lord, who sat cloaked and silent on a white warhorse. The man waved frantically to his fellows, indicating they move out of the way. "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't know. The confusion ---"
Lord Kall-Su inclined his pale head marginally, a token that the slight was forgiven and forgotten. His men moved their horses forward, clearing a path in the crowd for him to pass unmolested. Into the city they rode, down streets that had not been there the last time Kall-Su had been in Meta-Rikan. Almost two years and then the city had been a shell of its former self, so damaged by war was it. Now it was a sprawling monstrosity that seemed to have little design or logic to the way its streets turned. There was a temple who's spires rose above the houses and shops that clustered around it. It was almost impossible to pass that square, it was so crowded with people. They made their way by force of heavy horse body alone along the edges at the back, squeezing past the bodies of people already pressed together.
There seemed to be a man at the steps of the Temple who spoke to the crowd. Kall-Su lifted one hand to bring his men to halt, while he stared at the temple steps and strained to hear the words of the priest upon them. The crowd certainly seemed to be hanging on his speech. The words barely drifted to the back of the square.
"---A time of mourning. But fear not for the High God has planned even this, as he plans all things. Darkness has not come upon us -- but a new beginning. If your faith is strong and your devotion to the High God unshakable you too shall find glory in the place where our beloved King has journeyed. Only those who revel in the darkness of forbidden worship and forbidden magics shall suffer the fate that awaits in hell."
It went on. The call to the faithful and the subtle warnings to those that dared practice other beliefs. The warnings to those that had the gift of magic not church condoned. If only that priest on the steps knew what sat at the back of his congregation. The lord Kall-Su had heard such sermons before. A hundred times or more, before he had gained the title and the prestige he held this day. Been condemned as a witchchild and a demon's get before he had truly known what magic was and most certainly before he had learned to use it. Those rustic priests and their pious followers would never have dared to denounce a sorcerer to his face. Behind his back perhaps.
Clear blue eyes scanned the crowd, passed over the rooftops and traveled to the cliffs upon which Meta-Rikan castle perched. He blinked slowly, a fall of long brown lashes over high, pale cheeks. The man on the steps of the temple annoyed him and he wanted out of this crowd of fervent followers of the High God. He signaled his captain and the horses began moving again.
Doorjambs were draped with black ribbons to signify the mourning of a city. The castle itself was surrounded by grievers. The Dragon Guard at the main drawbridge saw them coming and cleared as best a path as possible, their commander saluting smartly as they passed and ushering them into the outer bialy where confusion somewhat less claustrophobic than that outside ruled. They reigned in their horses, hooves clattering on cobblestones while the captain called loudly and imperiously for someone to take the horses. A frantic stableboy ran from the direction of the castle stables, catching the bridal of Kall-Su's mount. He dismounted with fluid grace, swinging his cloak over one shoulder, surveying the courtyard as he pulled off his gloves. He wiped a hand through pale blonde hair, freeing it of road dust. The steps leading to the main hall of the palace were crowded with people coming and going, loitering in groups, conducting business. A trio of servants overburdened with flowers brushed past him on their way up the stairs. Petals fell at his boots. His captain, Kiro, complained at the discourtesy, complained at the lack of formal welcome. Kall-Su ignored it, stepped over the petals and onto the stairs. In the aftermath of the death of the king of Meta-Rikan and the Regent of the Southern alliance he was not offended or surprised at the lack of proper greeting. Captain Kiro was accosting passing servants with requests to find someone of authority to see to his lord.
The guard towers at either side of the main gates had been rebuilt, Kall noted. The last time he had seen them they had been in ruins. Everything had been rebuilt in so short a time. The industriousness of the faithful, he supposed.
"Kall!" A female voice called his name without benefit of title or honorific. "Kall-Su!" His caption beetled his brows in disapproval looking for the perpetrator. A slim, red haired figure slipped down the stairs and past Kiro and attached herself to Kall-Su. He took a step back at the accostment. "You're late. You were supposed to be here two days ago." She accused, taking a step back with her hands still on him.
Kiro, who had been frowning, grinned. "It was not his fault, Lady Yoko." The captain assured her. "One of our young men -- became enamored of a village girl and when her father discovered them -- well, there were restitution's to be made."
Yoko craned her neck to smile up at the captain, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks. "Oh. Well -- then, there were extenuating circumstances."
"As there were here." Kall-Su observed and she turned back to him with a crestfallen look. "Oh, Kall, he died in his sleep two nights ago. He'll never get to see his daughter get married. She won't have her papa to give her away." A tear welled up in her eye and she wiped at it reflexively.
"Is the wedding still be as planned?"
"It will be pushed back a couple of days, but yes. It's politically prudent to get it over with as soon as possible, I'm told. They'll crown Larz king the day in two days."
"And does the regency of the south pass to him as well?"
"They haven't decided yet. Everybody who has a say is here -- so they've been clustered together for the last two days talking about it. The Prophet is pushing for Larz to get it. A lot of them listen to his words."
"The Prophet?"
"Goddess, Kall, you have been hibernating in the deep north, haven't you? You have heard of the religion of the High God up there in the cold, wintry north, haven't you?"
He lifted a pale brow at her. "We've received a rumor or two, yes. You mean the Emissary of the High God? That Prophet?"
"That's the one."
She took his arm in hers and led him up the stairs. "Captain Kiro, you've got a room inside Kall's suites, the rest of your men have billets in the Dragon Barracks. Arshes Nei's men are there, but Gara's Ninja's prefer to camp out side the city."
"I'm surprised Gara's not with them." Kall observed.
"Tell me." Yoko rolled her eyes.
Into the grand main hall of the palace, where people in black moved like worker ants busily about their business. Yoko wore a black tunic over her trousers and a black ribbon in her hair. She showed him to his rooms, chattering all the while about the confusion that had taken over the city. He looked over the very fine exterior, feeling uncomfortable in the midst of that very same confusion. The cold north was a much more hospitable place than the lair of vipers that lived in a royal court.
He was still acquainting himself with the layout of his rooms when a familiar face appeared in the still open doorway. Gara laughed and strode into the room with purpose in his stride, ignoring the hand Kall-Su extended in greeting in favor of wrapping his arms about the smaller man and hauling him off his feet. Yoko smothered a laugh of delight. Kall smothered a curse of indignity before he was sat back on his feet. He glared up into Gara's beaming face.
"Still ugly as ever." He drawled, straightening his cloak and armor. Gara laughed.
"Still have the face of a girl. Where the hell were you the last two springs?"
Kall brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeve. "Busy. Is there a problem?"
"What is it with you two?" Gara sniffed disgustedly. "Sulky and brooding. Gods, I hope it's not catching."
"Well," Yoko saw fit to interrupt. "I'll have some lunch sent up to you. There's a formal dinner at the evening chime. Shall I tell them to expect you?" she looked at them both hopefully, then added. "Arshes promised to be there."
"I'll be there." Gara said.
Kall-su sighed. "I suppose I should, having gone to the trouble to make the trip."
Yoko's smile lit her face, making it worth the agreement to a doubtfully dismal supper. She leaned forward and confided. "I'll make certain to seat you at the interesting table."
"Oh, lovely."
Gara laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Damnit, Kall, I've missed you. So, tell me what you've been up to ----"
The dinner was a state affair. Solemn and full of formal comportment. There were perhaps ten tables crisply laid out in white, with gold and silver utensils beside the finest of porcelain plates. The hall was filled with some of the most influential and powerful people in all the kingdoms. Yoko had made certain the Lords of Havoc were seated at the same table and that that table was a good ways from the royal one where Larz, Sheela and Prince Haden sat amidst the company of other kings and royalty. Having been responsible for the death of Prince Haden's immediate family, it was wise not to have them mixing. Not that the whole thing had not benefited the prince. Not that the lords of Havoc cared one whit what he thought anyway. Yoko sat next to Kall-Su, with Arshes Nei on his other side and Gara beside her. None of them seemed inclined for dinner talk. Although Kall did incline his head towards her once and inquire about Angelo.
"Who's the man between Larz and Sheela?"
"Angelo. The Prophet. He's become Larz's closest advisor. Larz has asked him to perform the coronation ceremony."
And that was that as far as Kall's conversation went for the evening. But they all listened. Everyone of them had their ears open to the speculation that ran rampart about the hall. The minor nobles were frantic to know what the ruling kings of the south had decided about the Regent. Would it stay in Meta-Rikan? Was Larz, only three years back in human form after a long stint in the body of a dragon pup, ready for that rule?
They went though soup and salad and appetizers while people whispered opinions and forecasts among themselves. The main course arrived via a caravan of uniformed servants. Roast boar. Marinated fowl. Fish in butter sauce. Clams bubbling in wine and their own juices. Steamed vegetables and souffled creations. It was a fine fare. And when all that had been taken away a plethora of desserts were displayed for the guest's choice. Then the after dinner wine while folk sat back to digest. A harper traveled about the tables strumming melodically on his instrument. Yoko was happily stuffed. She was content to sit back and listen to the music and enjoy the silent company of old comrades.
The Prophet interrupted it. He stood and every eye in the hall immediately riveted to him. He lifted his arms and smiled at the gathered lords. "My friends. My faithful followers. It is a sad time for us all. To loose a king and a father and a friend is a blow that we shall mourn for many weeks and months to come. His loss to the south as great a blow, for he was the man whom we all entrusted our safety to after a time of such darkness and devastation. It was no small feat to get the entirety of a land to agree on one man to act as Regent over all. And now we find ourselves faced with the decision to chose another man. All the powerful and wise men who rule the lands of the south have come to another agreement, one that I am proud to announce first to you, noble guests and mourners. The Regency of the South shall remain in Meta-Rikan under the guidance of our crown prince, Larz, who has proven himself to be a worthy protector against -- the darkness that threatens all men's souls." His eyes flickered to the table where the lords of havoc sat, a subtle reminder of just what darkness he spoke of and who had served it. Yoko took a breath and glanced askew at Kall to see his reaction. He had none He simply sat sipping his wine, a bland look of vague interest on his face. Further down the table Gara was frowning and Arshes showed no more interest in the speech than she had in anything since she had arrived.
There was more to the speech, but it was mostly rhetoric praising the High God and predictions of greatness for Larz rule. The silence could not be maintained for long and Angelo graciously sat down and let the room burst into applause and cheering.
"Very interesting speech." Gara said afterwards, when they had all slipped out and walked through the moonlit gardens.
"Yes. I saw him on the steps of the temple in the city." Kall remarked. "He seems vigorously opposed to -- the darkness -- as he puts it."
"He's very dedicated." Yoko explained. "I think he feels the souls of all his followers are his responsibility."
"Humm." Kall said and Gara snorted.
"I'm for seeking some real company with the Dragon Guard, who's with me?"
"Not me." Yoko said. "I had such a hangover the last time."
Arshes shook her head negatively. Gara looked at Kall, then sniffed. "And I can assume you'll pass mingling with the common, working men, Kall-Su."
Kall lifted a brow but refrained from response. Gara shrugged and waved to them as he trotted off.
"I shall retire." Arshes said. She wore long, embroidered formal robes, the design exotic, hinting at elvin origin. She began moving away from Yoko and Kall-Su.
"Arshes," Kall called after her softly. "Are you well?"
She hesitated, her back to them. Her profile as she half turned her head, was shadowed. "Why shouldn't I be? Are you?"
He did not answer, which might have been her plan, so she retreated in silence. Kall-Su lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose, as if massaging away a head ache. In the moonlight his pale hair fairly glowed.
"She is not all right." Yoko said quietly. "She's so wounded and --- and I think she tears at the wound so constantly that it can't heal."
"Your second sight?" he asked. "This is what you see with it?"
Yoko swallowed and nodded.
"You could always read people better than they could read themselves."
"It's why I never believed you and Gara and Arshes were evil --- and Him -- when the rest of the world insisted you were."
"You're a strong girl -- woman -- Tia Note Yoko. Never let your heart be so ravaged-- by anyone -- that you become like she is now."
She laughed. "I don't know if that's the most cynical or the most beneficial advice I've ever gotten, Kall. Sometimes I think I should have mourned more, but -- I just had to stop after a while. I couldn't live like that."
Kall took her hand, raised it to his lips, breath warming her skin. "You are wise beyond your years, lady. Rest well."
He left her in the garden, a swirl of indigo cloak that melted into the darkness. Yoko scuffed her feet a bit on the cobblestone, thinking that he was still sad as well, but perhaps not for all the same reasons as Arshes Nei. What she also saw with her second sight, was a shy young man forced into the controversial position of sorcerer and lord, who had never, despite all his power forgiven himself for being what the pious priests of his childhood accused him of.
He hated the company of so many noble lords. He hated walking among them as if scant years ago he had not been on the verge of conquering their lands. He hated imagining what they whispered behind his back, though he would never, ever loose composure enough to let them know it. He wished Gara had not opted to join the men-at-arms in their drinking games, for despite their differences, he had missed the Ninja Master and would have enjoyed a private talk. He wished Arshes were not so self absorbed in her own pain. But none of that seemed destined to happen this night, so Kall-Su sat before the grand marble fire place in his suite and sipped at the fine wine the servants had provided him.
The Dragon Prince would now become the Dragon King as well as the Regent of the South, the cradle of civilization. He supposed Larz would be as good a Regent as any, considering the choices left after the years of war. Larz had the power to hold the throne -- the title -- better than most. He had the adoration of the people, being the legend who had defeated Dark Schneider the first time around, twenty years past, though anyone who knew better was well aware that he had not done it alone. He had also helped in the defeat of Ansasla, as had they all, so he was doubly popular.
Kall drained the glass and poured another, wishing the oblivion of a wine induced sleep. He dreamed less that way. He could never quite shake the nightmares of the God of Destruction, of its sinewy fingers crawling though his mind, of it's presence inside him. It was gone forever and still it plagued him, made him ashamed and morose when he sat alone with time to think on his hands. He finished the last of the wine and sat back, listening to the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of Kiro slipping back into the suite after a night of carousing with the guard.
He lay his head back against the chair and shut his eyes, dozed in the warmth of the fire. The dreams of Ansasla did not come. But something else did. Something that had seemed to wait for his slip into unconsciousness before it sprang upon him, took him in its jaws and rent him violently. Visions sprang to mind and images that were foreign and incomprehensible, bringing with them almost a physical sensation of pain and -- violation. Things he loved were hurt. He was hurt, terribly. How long he slept under the grip of it he knew not, but he came back to himself with a start, to find himself sprawled on the rug before the fire, with sweat dampening his hair and tears streaming down his cheeks. He rolled to his side, shaking, trying to banish and understand the fleeting images at once. They ran from him, fickle and taunting in their humors, slipping through his fingers when he tried to hold onto them and understand what had happened. What the nightmare was that had racked him so. He could not stop the shaking. He drew his knees up, squeezing his eyes shut in efforts to block away the last tendrils of the night horror. Never had any of his dreams of Ansasla effected him so and they were the worst he'd ever had. The only thing remaining of it was the flashing image of a face. A smiling face with eyes so intense they shook him to the core. He had seen that face -- he knew he had, but the flickering residue of dream icon would not stay put long enough for him to put a name or a memory to it.
He felt sick and claustrophobic in the warmth of the room, so scrambled to his feet ungracefully and made to the balcony doors. He flung them open to the paling sky of pre-dawn, murmuring a flight spell even as he stepped out onto the cold stone of the balcony with bare feet. He felt gravity release its will upon him and wished himself up, quickly, into the thin cold air of morning where he could breath and the sweat and tears could dry from his skin. The castle was a miniature collection of towers and building blocks below him, as was the sprawling city that lay surrounding it. All was dark, no lights shining in windows. All save the new temple that sat within the boundaries of the city. Its towers shone with the light of burning lights and its windows were alive with illumination. He hovered, hundreds of feet above the rooftops, the thin silk of his tunic plastered against his back in the wind and stared down at the one bright spot in a field of dark shadows. He remembered the man on the steps preaching to his gathered flock. The Prophet who had sat in a place of honor next to the new King and Regent. It was the same face that had punctuated his nightmare.