The Windcaster [Fantasy/Adventure | Featured | Complete ]

Chapter 27: The Palace of the Kings

"The honourable Windcaster of Mooncliffe, Master Anu, and his apprentices!"

The announcer was one of the guards next to the curtains, whose eyes had tracked their movements the moment the veil was drawn back. He looked like any of the other guards: self-important, stiff, focused and – Tia fought not to sigh – excruciatingly boring. She stopped at the same time as the Master. Her boots had sunk into a deep crimson and beautifully embroidered carpet that stretched from where she stood to the four corners of the room.

There were more guards than people present – at least two guards for every normal person there. They stood like wooden figures against the walls, their faces impassive, looking like part of the decoration against the colourful tapestries draped down to the ground from the ceiling.

The music came from a lady dressed in a beautiful, one-shouldered gown. She looked as though she belonged on the paintings above their heads. She had beautiful glossy dark hair in an elegant pile on her head, and long-fingered hands that plucked delicately at an instrument Tia often saw in depictions of angels. It was made of a rich-brown wood, leaning on the player's exposed shoulder and strings stretched from one side of the triangular frame to the other. One corner of the frame rested on the soft carpet.

A harp, she remembered the name. She had only ever seen it in books. The gentle music was not unlike when she practised Hearing; the sweet caress of the notes against her ears and surrounding her in its endearing embrace was very familiar. The only difference was the slight friction that came with each contact of finger on string, whereas the Wind flowed like water, smooth and graceful.

The beautiful lady was sat on a stone stool at the base of a set of shallow marble steps. Upon each step there stood a guard, and at the top of the steps were two plush, gilded chairs in deep purple. The gold-painted chair legs splayed widely on the topmost step, almost straining under the weight. Sitting in the two extravagant seats were two figures that she had only seen as stone statues, in the centre of Mooncliffe and in the slaves' square in Hume.

His bejewelled tunic stretched desperately across his bulging belly, barely held in by a belt at the waist. His leggings were too tight for comfort; his feet were forced into formal, narrow boots. Fat fingers, decorated by gorgeous rings and ending in carefully cut and filed, clean nails, clutched at the end of the arms of the seat. Small, beady eyes gazed down at the four newcomers, bloated lips smacking as he popped another grape into his mouth.

To his left, a slim, pretty woman sat with her legs curled up in front of her, picking at the hem of her glittering dress, looking bored. She had large, long-lashed eyes and doll-like features with porcelain skin. Even as she sighed and rolled her eyes, Lady Ishtar was as dazzling as rumoured.

Two smaller, but no less ornate seats were placed on either side of the royal couple, empty. Standing next to those chairs were six men – three on each side – with tightly tied-back hair and clean-shaven jaws and wearing crisp linen. The king's scholars, Tia guessed, fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose in laughter at their peculiar pompous looks.

With a regal hand, the king waved away the entertainer. The pretty woman lowered her harp, curtsied and hurried away. Tia watched her slip behind the curtains and light steps echoing down the marble corridor.

She turned her attention back as Mommu nudged her. She followed the Master's cue, bowing deeply and holding her pose. Her muscles started to complain.

There was a short silence. Then King Ea cleared his throat and said, in a surprisingly high, thin voice for such a heavy man, "You may rise."

"Thank you, your highness," said Master Anu. Tia mumbled out of courtesy also and stood quietly next to the other two young people, staring at the back of the Windcaster's head.

"I am glad you are here Anu," the king said in his peculiar voice, adjusting his very tight belt and then rubbed his bulbous nose. "You realise why I have summoned you?"

He sounds as though he had forgotten why Master Anu is here... Tia fought to keep her face straight.

"For council with the Windcasters, your highness." The Master's deep voice held respect, which Tia could not bring herself to feel. This was the man who let people like Namru the kind farmer and his little girl Agasaya starve on a farm without resources, who let the people of Kiramone drug themselves to death, and who silenced his civilians in order to keep the masses ignorant of Gwent's imminent invasion.

She could not bring herself to sustain a neutral expression and had to settle with staring at the patterns on the carpet.

The man popped another grape in his mouth and chewed noisily, a disinterested expression on his ruddy face. His features contorted without warning as he spat out the fruit. The saliva-soaked berry soared down the steps and land with a splat on the carpet.

"Rotten thing!" he exclaimed, throwing up a hand. "Who was the fool that gave me the bad grape? See to it that the idiot slave is flogged. Fifty times."

"Yes, your highness."

Tia's mouth dropped. Fifty flogs for King Ea accidentally eating a bad grape?

Beside her, Enlil's face reddened.

Another slave hurried from behind the curtains, a golden goblet in his hand. He knelt in front of the king, who swigged from it, washing his mouth of the taste. When he had downed the wine, he threw the cup at the slave; the poor man almost fumbled his catch. He scuttled away like a mouse.

"You shall come to me at midday tomorrow," the obese royal drawled as though nothing had happened. He picked at his teeth, which were yellow. "And the other Windcasters too. We shall have our discussion then."

"Yes, your highness."

The fat man flapped his hand imperiously. With that, Tia realised as she saw the Master bow again, they were dismissed. She bent down at the hip, averting her gaze, and retreated.

She was burning with questions. That was the man who held the whole of Dernexes in his hand? That was the man all Dernexans depend on? This was the man who held absolute power even over the Windcasters? This was the man about whom the bards spoke, for whom the praises sang?

She felt sick.

Perhaps that mousy tradesman was right. War was imminent and as long as the king remained bumbling and useless, each person must fend for themselves. She gripped her staff. Would she step in? If it was up to her to save Dernexans from certain death, would she save them all? Would she misuse the Wind to rescue the helpless people?

Her green eyes flickered onto the sombre faces of the marble statues of past Dernexan rulers. What would they have done?

****

Enlil looked like he was about to pop a vein. He ground his teeth, pale eyes blazing. Tia could almost convince herself that there was steam coming out of the slave's ears. She shared a nervous glance with Mommu. It was true that they could see the same fire ignited within the boy as they had in Hume; and this time, there was no Ki to douse his fire and no logic that could persuade him from acting against such obvious display of disdain and neglect at slaves. And she could sympathise: the king was a useless buffoon.

She, herself, was in turmoil. The king was every bit as useless and unreliable as the rumours and Enlil had claimed. With him still in power, there was almost no chance the Windcasters could escape participation in the war with Gwent. With all the Dernexans shrouded in ignorance, there was no way any of the people could escape, should Gwent begin invading and the Casters were not there to drive them back. Her hands curled into fists. Her people needed her. Her people needed all the magic users, or they will most certainly die, just as all the soldiers are guaranteed a death at this rate.

She felt sick to her stomach. It was almost as though the king were keeping his people in the dark to make them even more vulnerable and in need of the Windcasters.

Surely that couldn't be his intent.

Could it?