Post by Emma on Mar 5, 2011 1:08:38 GMT -5
As the blistering chill of the night wore on, the moon rose from the mountains and sailed through the sky, giving the previous inky darkness a pale gloom. But even when bathed in the eerie light, the only two visible colours were white and black. The palace was a shadowy monolith against the ebony sky and the ivory snow, and the city rendered invisible from the swirling snowfall. It was one of many reasons that Kala favoured Alagaësia’s snowy winters so much, and why she lamented the approaching warmth of spring. She found the simplicity of the contrast pleasing, even comforting. It was quiet and serene, a stunning reverse of the carnage and blood that had occurred earlier that night. For a few blissful moments, the view nearly made Kala forget all her fears.
Nearly.
Music no longer played in the banquet hall far below. In its absence, Castle Carvala was almost silent, save for the cautious whispers of conversation from passing guards and the howling wind outside. Kala, a slim brunette from the Hellenes bought as a domestic slave for Broddring’s royal family, delicately stepped through Azuan Angrenost’s bedchamber, bare feet softly padding on the carpet as she swept up the fragments of a smashed vase. The king himself was outside on the balcony, pacing and snarling like a wild animal. Kala would do well to avoid him on a good day. Tonight, after losing his Prophet and his military in one night to the Riders no less, he was livid. The girl winced at the thought of his rage, lightly touching the mottled black and blue bruises on her neck.
Being a domestic slave, Kala had been on her feet all night, tending to the guests at the Gala in her heavy red-and-gold livery. As such, she’d witnessed first-hand the disastrous events that had claimed so many lives on what was revered as a holy night. The earthquake. The poisoning. The Riders’ arrival. The capture of Generals Edan Valaician and Myaja Kolbjorn, and, of course, of the wicked Malandra Ramakrishna. The Riders had left just as quickly as they had come, leaving the Gala in a state of disarray and panic. Azuan had flung himself into one of his famous fits of outrage as the guests fled Castle Carvala, leaving the palace almost entirely empty save for the slaves and the soldiers. Kala shook her head, unable to even imagine the repercussions of all that had happened.
“Face me, brat.”
The voice was so close by and unexpected; Kala gasped sharply and dropped her broom as she twisted to face the speaker. It hit the floor, the sound dulled by the rug, but the gasp alone was enough to gain Azuan’s attention. His pacing slowed to a halt, and the thunderstruck Kala heard his rapid footsteps as he made his way back indoors. However, she was now much more concerned about the cruelly beautiful woman that had seemingly magically appeared on the day-bed. Drying raven-black hair neatly piled upon her glamorous head, and wrapped in a translucent sky-blue robe, Malandra Ramakrishna appeared to just have gotten out of the bath. She raised her eyes to meet Azuan’s as he entered the bedroom and stormed towards her, upper lip curled into a snarl.
There was an icy silence. Then the king said, “Forgive me, Your Holiness, but aren’t you supposed to be clapped in irons?”
Malandra smiled dangerously before speaking in seductive tones. “And you are oddly sprightly for a bedridden old man. I can explain everything, dearest Azuan. But first…” she turned her uncannily pale blue eyes on Kala. “I want that little nothing out of here. This is a private discussion.”
The king stared her down. “Go. I have no further need of you.”
Kala was confused and frightened, but she had no intentions of challenging the king and the Prophet. Bowing low to the both of them, she scooped up her broom and sped away, skirts rustling. She knew better than to get involved in such shaky political matters, but her mind spun with questions. Malandra had committed murder- even treason. How could the Riders, who stood for peace and liberty, have let her go free and unpunished? The complete wrongness of it shook Kala, and the faces of the people who had died of the bone-melting poison at the Gala filled her mind. As she slipped into one of the many slave passages snaking throughout the palace, she came to an unsteady halt. In her mind, her sense of ethics battled against her survival instinct.
In the end, her ethics won, and Kala turned on her heel and headed back.
She opted for a smaller passage that led straight into a tall wardrobe where the king’s finest clothing was kept- and also served as an escape route for the royal family were their lives ever placed in any danger. Ten years ago, Palancar Angrenost had used it to great success. Sliding open the wooden door and stepping almost soundlessly into the piles of clothes, Kala squirmed her way through the vast collections of cloaks and robes while trying to remain as quiet as possible. Eventually, she was able to reach the front of the closet, and peer through the crack of the door with one eye. Malandra was still reclining serenely on the day-bed, and now had a wine glass in one hand. Azuan’s tall frame mostly blocked Kala’s view of her, but she could see he was still angry.
“Do the Riders know?”
“Naturally,” sighed Malandra into her glass. Kala noticed that her Gaulish accent, though still prominent, was not nearly as obvious as the one she had used at the Gala. “Nothing gets past Anurin Sarethi. It took quite a bit of explaining.”
“Then explain away my military, you cow!” he screamed in a release of pent-up rage.
Malandra’s eyes flashed. “Be silent, Azuan. Be still. I have a solution for your lack of military. But I require compensation.”
“Bullshit! You’re psychotic and delusional- ‘I want this, I want that,’- who are you to go flouncing about giving me orders? You’re nothing but a bewitching whore. I’ll have you strung up like a rabbit, I’ll cart your body back to Gaul-”
He stopped his rant, his mouth hanging open, likely about to scream some more. Malandra had stood, the robe revealing her every curve, and come close to him, so close that her face was hardly an inch away from his. Her piercing eyes were hot and cool at the same time. Kala thought that she was going to kiss the king. Azuan seemed to think so too, because he tried to lean away, only to get a wine glass smashed against his face. Kala gasped as he doubled back with a howl, blood pouring down his cheek.
“And you are cowardly, inclined toward murderous tantrums, and a lazy creature,” she snarled. “Do not forget who made you king of Broddring, and do not seek to begin judging me for actions you would take in my place, Azuan.” She stopped, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, clearly struggling to control her rage. “But I expected this. The wounded animal that bites its master.” She opened them again, and smirked a psychotic smirk. “Come. I have prepared a demonstration.”
Apparently having forgotten about the injury she had just dealt him, Malandra bent down to take Azuan’s arm, and gently pulled him to his feet and across the room to a full-sized mirror set beside the bed. The Prophet spoke in the ancient language, which Kala didn’t and would probably never know. The slave girl’s blue eyes then went wide with wonder as the mirror shimmered, turning completely blank. Then a new image appeared on it- of the exterior of a great building that seemed to have been formed entirely of trees. Beautiful figures walked along its walls, and Kala realized that this mirror had to be looking into somewhere in the great forest of Du Weldenvarden. She looked harder. Three male elves, giggling drunken guards, were sitting around a fire.
“Taxes,” snorted one. “You know they’re expecting us to pay in gold now?” He waved some printed paper in his fellow’s face, and promptly began slapping him with it. “You know the economy’s gone to hell in a hand-basket when the people who print the cash don’t want it. Can’t even buy me a drink!”
“Burn ‘em, then!” snorted another into his mug.
“Yeah? Then what would I slap you with?”
“If you don’t want it, you could always give them to me,” said the final elf, who calmly sipped at his drink.
“Thanks, Sathis, but I’m saving up for-”
The elf broke off quickly as a figure appeared in the doorway before him. All three stood up in unison and bowed deeply. From the convenient vantage point of the looking glass, Kala could clearly see who they were showing such reverence to. A very young woman dressed entirely in white stood by the doorway, watching her soldiers with an unreadable expression. Her green eyes, partially hidden by her silver hair, were cold and glassy. After several moments of silence, during which she merely stared the men down, she turned and moved away. Kala had never seen elves before, and watched wide-eyed as the woman seemed to float rather than walk. The soldiers’ expressions were grim as they watched her leave, and once they sat back down, their mirth had entirely disappeared.
“The Queen’s always been… dour, but now she’s downright depressed,” the first one muttered.
“That’d be from General Kolbjorn’s arrest,” sighed the one called Sathis, poking at the flames. “And we all know Evandar’s condition isn’t improving.”
“She’s not going to go insane, is she? I was hoping things would be quieter…”
Explosions rang from within the mirror. Kala, however, saw no flames, and none of the elves were injured. She couldn’t see what happened next, either, as the now very interested Malandra and Azuan leaned in closer, blocking her view. She could quite clearly hear all three men shrieking about the queen’s safety, however, as well as more explosions. The scenery was shifting, becoming darker, and Kala figured that the mirror now showed the interior of the tree-palace. She could vaguely see the outline of the woman in white on the floor, her clothes dyed red with blood as she screamed in agony. Still the scene continued to change, with the trees adding their own moans to the cacophony. Brown and green obscured the mirror, and then utter blackness.
Malandra chanted another spell, one that banished the terrifying images and returned the looking glass to its original form. Azuan stepped away, now clearly impressed with the Prophet rather than infuriated with her. Kala had clamped her hand to her mouth, partly out of horror and partly to hide the whimpers escaping her lips. She was not sure of what had just occurred and very glad that she hadn’t seen more. Explosions that produced no flames and a dying queen, all engineered by the Prophet. Enough was enough. She deeply regretted spying on the two most powerful people in Broddring, and desperately needed to tell someone of what she’d just seen. As Kala began to fight her way through the clothes and back toward the passage, she heard Azuan speak to his accomplice.
“I’m convinced, Malandra. Tell me what you want.”
“Nothing special… a simple artefact off the coast of Aroughs. Get some of your goons to do it for you. However…” Kala’s blood turned to ice at that one simple word, and she struggled harder. “This is a matter of utmost secrecy, is it not? None may know. Which is why I’m afraid the little spy in your wardrobe will have to disappear.”
Kala did not have time to move, or speak, or scream. When she turned to look, all she saw were Malandra’s uncannily blue eyes glittering just as harshly as the silver dagger plunging towards the slave girl’s throat.
