The Withered Sky- Chapter 2

Author's message-

Hey there everyone, I'm back with Chapter two. It's another introductory scene, building up the world and what-not, and a little shorter than the last. One of our plots emerges quite clearly here, and I'm almost ready to really get into the story. One more introductory chapter first though, I think. 

Anyway, enjoy, and show no mercy!

A pale bar of light struck the room through the window, which was open, dark curtains of a rich purple fluttering outside. The room was small, perhaps used for storage at some point, or as a servants sleeping quarters.

Now, the shelves and furniture had been cleared out, and a dark wood box sat on a pedestal in the middle, directly exposed to the light, and the size of a man.

Within, was the pale corpse of a man in his later years, with withered features and a thin layer of silver hair on his head. His eyes had been closed, and his arms were folded. He had been made to look as peaceful as possible.

But a shadow of pain held.

He was wrapped in white, carefully covered just so as to hide the wounds.

Calder looked down at the man’s face, paying respect. Somewhere, far off in the Ebony Church, a bell tolled.

He looked out at the city through the window. Close to the palace, roofs glittered in a thousand vibrant colours, shining like a sea of fish scales. There, the paths were wide, and paved with smooth, grand tiles. Statues and towers rose up from the mass.

Then, far off, beyond the houses of Nobles, a murky ring of dark roofs. From here, it was a far off blur of grey and brown.

Calder sighed.

A knock came from the door.

“My lord? If you could come with me? Lord Fal’mer and Lord Garen wish to discuss the events of last night”.

Calder did not turn, as that was the only way to hide his thoughts.

“Very well”.

He set down the corridor with the man who served directly under him, his assistant, Merrick.

They walked through the white corridors, lined with tapestries showing scenes of war, of Gods, and kings, and myths. The large windows, large enough for three men to stand comfortably within, were shut to quell the wintry winds from outside. Great shining spires of pristine white rose up from the palace outside, flags of gold and purple atop them, whipping wildly in the wind.

After many turns, through great doors carved lovingly with beasts, through great halls filled with men, all murmuring quietly in groups. A feeling of evil had settled in the air. Looks of suspicion were thrown through the room, bouncing between the great columns of the hall. Rivalries within the groups seemed to become twice as apparent. Dark rumours, told in whispers, disquieted groups of men and women throughout the chamber. And many unseen eyes were turned to him, Calder.

Calder kept his eyes forward. Normally, he would be stopped several times by this point. But today, they were content.

At last, they reached a small lounging area, a small room with a great arched window of each wall, bar the one occupied by the door. A small table, legs carved to give the appearance of twisted tree roots, filled much of the room. Around it were seats, atop which sat richly woven cushions of purple. Two men sat on these chairs, leaving two unoccupied.

One was Lord Fal’mer, a man around the same age as Calder himself, thirty and wearing red robes to mark him as a consul. He was seated, watching the city outside from the window. His eyes were dark pools, and his hair was shaven. He was richly clad in silver and gold, from a chain around his neck, to gilding on his boots. His face wore a troubled frown, his brow knitted as if in deep thought.

The second man, Lord Garen, was much different. He too was a consul, clad in red, but he wore no gilding. He was forty, if Calder remembered, although few would guess that from his well-aged face. His hair was a light brown, and his eyes hazel. He had a sharp nose that gave him a dark look, despite his otherwise kindly features.

Garen looked towards him.

“Thank-you for coming, Lord Calder.”

He addressed Merrick.

“You may leave”. The statement itself said that it was an option, but his tone was firm, and it was clear that it was nothing short of an order.

Merrick let himself out, with a resentful glance as he closed the door behind him.

Calder seated himself, looking between them, although Fal’mer was still deep in thought, indifferent.

Garen gave him a measuring look, as if choosing his words carefully.

“Thank-you for joining us, Lord Calder. I would not call you in your time of mourning. But I’m afraid the situation is dire. Before I proceed, I must ask you to swear that you will not tell a soul the contents of this conversation. Not even to your… assistant.” A shadow of disapproval crossed Garen’s face.

A hundred years of slavery being abolished, and still his family hold doubts, Calder thought.

Still, he came back to attention. He had never seen Garen so grim, although he rarely saw the man outside of business matters. He made a quick decision.

Whatever he is going to tell me about, it won’t hurt to know. Or at least, it may not hurt.

He placed his hand to his forehead, and muttered a fairly strong oath.

Garen faltered for a moment, as if on the verge of asking for something stronger, then stopped himself.

Either he trusts me, or he has no choice, Calder mused.

“Very well, that will do. Lord Fal’mer and I,” He emphasised his companions name, and the man gave Calder a glance as if noticing him for the first time. “We have come to a conclusion regarding the murder of Master Hi’ram. It seems most of the consuls have been ignoring this possibility, so I have kept this group small. Our last member should arrive soon.”

Calder frowned. Conclusion? He can’t mean…

Garen observed him for a moment, and, as if reading his mind, said “I’m afraid so”.

A moment of silence, as a crow swooped by the window.

“He was murdered by someone within the council.”
The room seemed to sway, as Calder thought of who could have done it, why they would have.

Lord after Lord, motive after motive passed through his mind, each one cast aside. There were nine consuls, in all. No, eight now, until a replacement was found for Hi’ram. Assuming he could trust these two, that left five possible-

He realised he was staring blankly at Garen, and promptly snapped his mouth closed, which had been hanging open. He tried at conversation.

“H…why do you think Lord Hi’ram was murdered?”

It was Fal’mer who answered him, who had emerged from the depths of thought.

“I’ve come up with a few for each of the other consuls, none of which warrant murder alone, but I did find one motive that may-“

Garen laid a hand of Lord Fal’mer’s shoulder.

“Not now”.

Before Calder could question what Garen meant, the door opened.

So, this must be the fourth member of our group.

He turned to see the newcomer, and felt himself stiffen.

The woman was tall, exceeding the height of most men. She had long raven black hair, and eyes that glinted like two sharp emeralds. Her face was pale, although it was hard to tell whether it was naturally or through use of cosmetics. She had a healthy, if thin face, and an aura of command. She was wearing a dress which came down in several curving strips of varying shades of green, embroided with silver lilies.

Queen Derelain.

Garen stepped from his chair calmly, as if he had expected her to appear. He bent down on one knee, with a practiced flourish of his cloak.

“My Queen, my warmest welcome to you. I thank you for joining us.”

Amidst Calder’s shock, a surprising moment of clarity came to him.

So then. This is our fourth member.