The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two (25 page)

Brother Felix chuckled. “Your father did not seek the Oracle out often, but even he acknowledged her wisdom when the situation warranted it. She came to him with a prophecy not long before his death, with words that unfortunately seem much clearer in hindsight. Perhaps she will speak more plainly to you.”

Kiara finished the food and wine, although she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she tasted nothing. When she was finished, Brother Felix met her gaze.

“It’s time.” He helped Kiara to her feet, and then reached for the small basket on the table and handed it to her. “Everything you need for the ritual is in the basket. You know what you need to do to make it through the working. We’ll be here, keeping the vigil, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Brother Felix and Antoin accompanied Kiara from the vigil room, and the others murmured their blessings and charms for protection as she left. At the entrance to the mausoleum, Antoin stood to the side, on guard. Felix took the iron ring from his belt and found a heavy iron key. The door’s lock was as ornamental as its carvings, forged of black iron covered with the raised images of complicated knots. The key turned in the lock, making a soft thud as the mechanism opened. It took effort for Felix to open the heavy door. Brother Felix did not enter the mausoleum; instead, he used magic to light the torches around the perimeter of a large circular room.

He turned to Kiara. “I can go no farther. The spirits are ready for you; I can feel it in the magic. Walk carefully, Kiara, and may the Goddess go with you.”

Brother Felix stepped back, allowing Kiara to approach the entrance. She took a deep breath, reaching out to the nascent regent magic, and entered the room. As she passed by the carved door frame, she noticed the four-headed dragon seal of the Isencroft royal family, as well as the heraldic icons of the eight clan lords. Kiara shivered as she crossed the threshold, feeling as if she had walked through a curtain of power.

The room was more ornate than many of the other crypts, and the walls and entrance were covered with carved runes and elaborate mosaics of glass, colored stone, and precious gems. Kiara realized that the images in the mosaics echoed the carvings in the doorposts. One panel was a huge depiction of the four-headed royal dragon. The mosaic glittered as the light caught the red gems and crimson glass, held together with gold.

Eight other panels covered all but one portion of the walls, one panel for each of the clan lords’ patron images. One mosaic showed a huge bear standing on its hind feet, paws raised to attack, the symbol of Clan Kirylu. In the next panel, a large silver wolf with violet eyes stood beneath a full moon, patron of Clan Dunlurghan. Clan Finlios’s patron was a huge eagle, depicted with its wings spread wide. A stawar with luminous citrine eyes represented Clan Skaecogy. Clan Dromlea’s icon was the gyregon, shown plunging as if into battle, its talons bared. For Clan Tratearmon, a stag with huge antlers. The patron of Clan Veaslieve, a massive black warhorse, looked down from the wall with ruby eyes. Clan Rathtuaim, the last of
the old clans, was represented with a huge falcon, its beak open in a war cry. Kiara recognized each of the patron images from the stories she and every Isencroft native had heard from birth. Though the clan lords were long dead, every Crofter claimed to be a descendant from at least one of the clans, and Kiara knew that all of the lords were reputed to be ancestors of the royal line.

The only part of the circular wall not covered with mosaic panels held row upon row of sealed square openings, recesses that held the bones of the dead kings and queens of Isencroft. On the floor at the base of the mosaics, at least a dozen large marble biers ringed the mausoleum room. Atop each bier was the elaborately carved form of the monarch whose death the bier memorialized, and carved into the marble on all four sides of the pedestal were runes and sigils.

The floor of the mausoleum was as ornate as its walls. Colored tiles traced a large circular labyrinth that took most of the floor. A ring of white candles burned all around the edge of the labyrinth circle, lit by Felix’s magic. The twisting tile pathway led to four colored candles, and Kiara knew that as she walked the labyrinth, she would come face to face with her spirit guides.

Kiara drew a deep breath as the door closed behind her. Her preparations had been hurried, but complete. She paused, mentally reviewing what she must do. The shadows seemed to move slowly out of the way of the light, as if they did not want to withdraw. In her left hand she carried the basket with the ritual elements. She knelt in the circle of light cast by the torch and opened the basket.

As she worked to prepare the offering, Kiara felt as if she was being watched from the shadows. She had felt the
nearness of spirits in the necropolis corridors; now, the revenants crowded in on her. As she set out the elements of the offering, the room grew colder, so that her breath misted.

Kiara made her way carefully through the narrow opening in the candles that traced the outer edge of the labyrinth floor tiles. The path had a single entrance and exit. Followed correctly, the path she took would take her through the intricate, circular twists and turns of the labyrinth and bring her back to the beginning. Kiara took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her energy and struggling to calm her thoughts. Clearing her mind, she began to follow the tiled path, toward the first candle.

After a few moments, Kiara stood before the candle. It was red, for Chenne, the Warrior Goddess, patron of Isencroft. She looked around the labyrinth at the other candles. White for the Mother and Childe. Pink for the Lover and Whore faces of the Goddess. Black for protection and the favor of Istra, the Dark Lady. Only the two darkest faces, Sinha the Crone and the Formless One, were not invoked.

Turning her attention back to the red candle, Kiara took the piece of charcoal Felix had placed inside the basket and marked a rune.
Katen
, the rune of succession, lay between the white and red candles. She made her way slowly to the white candle, where she marked another rune.

Telhon
, the rune of family, lay between the white and pink candles. At the pink candle, she marked
Eshan
, the rune of power, between the pink and black candles. Finally, Kiara reached the black candle and marked
Rahn
, the rune of fate, between the black and red candles. Kiara made the sign of the Lady over the candles and then made
her way to the center of the labyrinth. She removed a scroll from the basket with the words of the ritual. As with all of the monarchs before her, the ritual had been altered subtly for her and the circumstances under which she found herself coming to the throne. Kiara took a deep breath and began.

“Honored fathers. Esteemed mothers. I come before you to claim my birthright, the throne of Isencroft. I am Kiara Sharsequin, daughter of Donelan and Viata, heir to the crown. Honor me with your presence, grandfathers and grandmothers. I ask you to share your wisdom.”

A breeze fluttered through the windowless chamber. It buffeted the candle flames but did not extinguish them. The torch flames swayed from the moving air, sending shadows dancing across the floor. Yet within the darker shadows near the opposite wall, Kiara sensed the presence of movement.

Slowly, four shadows separated themselves from the darkness. The first to step into the light was a gaunt man, dressed in the manner of the Isencroft kings several centuries before Kiara’s birth. He had sharp features and hollow cheeks, with deep-set eyes that looked at Kiara as if he would see her soul. He took his place between the black and red candles. Next to emerge from the shadows was a tall woman, strongly built, with the stance and manner of a warrior. She wore the ghostly image of ancient armor, and her hair was caught back in a battle queue. This ghost stopped between the pink and black candles, above the rune of power.

The third spirit was a portly man who looked to be in his middle years. Broad shouldered with a large belly and a full beard, the man had a pleasant look about him as he
came to stand between the white and pink candles, next to the rune of family. Finally, the ghost of a thin woman in a long cloak emerged from the darkness. Her pale face was surprisingly young, appearing no more than thirty summers old, but the gown she wore was at least several generations out of fashion. This final spirit glided to a stop just beyond the rune of fate. Kiara swallowed hard, forcing back a wave of disappointment that Donelan’s spirit was not among her spirit counselors.

Kiara gave a low bow. “Honored ancestors. Thank you for heeding my call. I have received the crown according to the ritual, and now I come to seek your wisdom.”

“We cannot speak of the future, only of the past,” said the tall, gaunt-faced spirit. “It’s not given to us to know what will be. But the four of us have been called by the runes and ritual, because something we know may be of value to you. Ask your questions, Kiara Sharsequin, daughter of Donelan. We will answer as best we can. It will be for you to interpret how our stories may yet affect the days to come.”

“How is it that my father is not among you?”

The heavy-set ghost gave Kiara a sad smile. “Donelan’s spirit was not drawn to the runes because he struggled with the same questions that you do, and he had not yet discovered answers. In time, he will be able to come to you for comfort, as does the spirit of your mother. This is not a time for consolation, Kiara. We are a war council, gathered for you by magic and the will of the Lady. Make good use of what we have to offer you.”

Kiara nodded in acknowledgment. “Share with me your wisdom, and help me save our kingdom.” She realized she was clutching the scroll in her hand hard enough
to crumple the parchment. Now that she faced the ghosts, she hoped that the questions she had chosen would make the most of the opportunity to seek guidance.

She turned first to the gaunt, hollow-eyed man who stood near the rune of succession. “Tell me, honored father, how can I protect the crown from the invaders and help the people of Isencroft accept my sons as the rightful heirs to the throne?”

The thin ghost regarded Kiara with a sharp, unforgiving gaze. “You have returned to your homeland and accepted the crown. Complete the ritual, and the full power of the crown cannot be taken from you by force. The regent magic will elude usurpers, weakening their rule until descendents of the true regent line return to take back what is theirs.”

“And my sons?”

“You are not the first to wed an outlander. Your father’s marriage scandalized the Winter Kingdoms. At the time, many swore they would never accept the child of that marriage as the true ruler of Isencroft. Yet time passed, and now it is not you but your sons to an outlander king whose legitimacy to rule is questioned. So it was in my day, when I married a daughter of the Western Raiders to bring peace to our borders. There was great outcry that our son would grow up and deliver our kingdom into the hand of our enemies. He did not. Rule wisely and with strength, Kiara, and make sure that your sons are seen in Isencroft and know our ways. Such tempests are quickly forgotten once there is peace and bread enough for all.”

“Thank you, wise father,” Kiara said with a bow. The gaunt spirit stepped back, his image becoming less solid, though he stayed near the circle of the labyrinth. Next,
Kiara turned toward the warrior queen. The queen wore leather armor emblazoned with the image of a wolf, the symbol of Clan Dunlurghan.

“Honored mother. How can I lead my armies to victory when I dare not risk the child I carry in the heat of the fight?”

The ghost of the tall, warrior queen regarded Kiara silently, as if she were taking Kiara’s measure. “You have trained for battle, and you have drawn blood in battle,” the ghost said, watching Kiara closely.

“Yes, honored mother. I take no joy in either, but I have done what I had to do when the times demanded it.”

The warrior queen nodded. “Exactly so. Then this time, also, you must do what must be done as the times demand it. Tell me: If the babe you carry were already born, would you count it shame to hide him out of reach of the enemy?”

“Of course not.”

Once again, the ghost queen nodded. “Then why do you count it shameful to hide him before his birth, when both you and he would be a tempting spoil of war? There are many ways to fight an enemy. Swords are often the least effective, though we turn to them first more often than not.” The hint of a smile softened her features. “Generals and heroes can lead an army to victory, but none can be a rallying point like the one who wears the crown. Now, more than ever, you
are
Isencroft embodied. You are Donelan’s daughter, the crowned monarch. And you carry within your body the next heir to that throne. You are the nexus of past, present, and future, and that is a powerful focus for your magic.”

“But I’m not even sure what my regent magic is!” Kiara’s voice carried a hint of desperation. “We don’t
have time for me to find out by trial and error. There’s an invading fleet ready to attack.”

The ghostly queen’s face hardened. “Battle proves the warrior, as fire tempers steel. I was the daughter of Leksandr, lord of Clan Dunlurghan, wife to Lord Gavrill of Clan Finlios. I saw many battles and fought alongside my husband. No soldier knows with certainty what sets him apart as a fighter until the battle. Is it his reach? Stealth? Speed and sure-footedness? Cleverness and guile? Brute strength? These are proven in the heat of battle. Since it is not for you to cross swords in this war, then you must use the gifts you have to change the tide.”

Kiara bit back her frustration and bowed her head in deference. “Thank you, honored mother.” Again, the ghost took a step back and faded to a dim outline.