The Warden

Chapter 39

"A truly fated union then." Charlan pulled to a stop as they came to the throne room's gargantuan doors.

"Yes." The general's smile faded, shifting into a more serious state. "Remain here for a moment and I'll announce you."

Charlan nodded as he pushed the portals wide enough apart to slip in and then closed them so no more than a sliver remained. To her keen ears that miniscule crack let her hear what passed in the room as though she stood inside.

"General Biligrim, have our guests arrived?" the queen's voice asked.

"Yes," responded the general. "They await your command."

"Waiting for her command?" asked Lord Markham, stepping up behind Charlan. "That must be an interesting sensation. Awaiting another's command, I mean."

"I would have thought your experience on the matter would have qualified you more for such an observation." Charlan's eyes stayed trained perfectly forward, but her ears informed her of Markham's shifting feet and clenching hands as a few knuckles popped.

"How are your endeavors at recruiting the ever-stalwart General Biligrim proceeding?" asked Markham, voice tight but still cutting. "I would have thought his family ties would have dissuaded you from attempting to replace Ansleth with him."

"Family ties can be broken," stated Charlan simply, still not turning, but berating herself for letting her intentions be discerned so easily.

"Yes, I'd almost forgotten how easily you've moved on from the sudden and unfortunate death of your son." He paused. "But I think you might find others will not be nearly as resilient as you."

She clenched her jaw, then meticulously released the tension. "We can only hope, Lord Markham, that intelligence and survival instinct will win out in the end."

"We can only hope. But it has been my experience, when it concerns a person's family, an individual loses much, if not all, of their intelligence. And more often than not, they override their primal instinct to survive. It never ceases to both surprise me and justify my expectations. Quite a paradox, wouldn't you agree?"

I'm going to skewer this upstart prig! Charlan smoldered, turning ever so slowly to face Lord Markham.

The throne room's doors began to open, interrupting her movement.

Her eyes darted into the space then back to Lord Markham whose own eyes were possessed by a small, polite smile, their corners harboring the sharpness that moments before had gilded his tongue. Hesitating between her antagonist and the open doorway, two scents drew the corners of her own mouth upward, causing Lord Markham's own to falter and droop. Giving her back to the floundering he-wight, Charlan strode into the room.

************

Masis smelled them.

The giant doors stirred the atmosphere into a storm of scents. Floral perfumes masking unbathed bodies. Exotic mushrooms explaining the bleary-eyed state of some. The mingled sweat betraying the faithfulness of several to their spouses.

Rust cut through it all.

From his position, standing next to the king—Kyla stood next to the queen—he could make out easily the three figures skulking just before the room's entrance. Even with his improved vision, Masis could not quite discern their individual features, though two were obviously she-wights and the third a tall he-wight. Formed into a chevron formation, they made their way into the chamber, one of the she-wights leading the way, her steps hidden by her skirt's folds but never flagging.

To the wights' right and left not a single seated person flinched at their going. No eyes twitched. Hearts kept a steady beat. Skin condensed no dank sweat. Fear's sour perfume did not billow out and overpower the space. Not even a single lifelight wavered or soiled itself with cowardly brown excretions.