Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (33 page)

Osric and Skeet exchanged a quiet grin. The
reactions in the room ranged from amusement to shock. Some of the men had pages
in front of them and began drawing.

Osric spoke up. “If a tunnel entry were attempted,
there would most certainly be senior officers in the party. We could have the
decoy tunnel enter the city and open into a large hall that has no exits except
in the roof – a prison. False doors and racks of equipment could be installed
to allay suspicion. When they have gathered a good force in the hall and begin
hacking at the false doors, granite slabs could be dropped in place, sealing
the tunnel as effectively as the wall. We would have a fine catch of useful
prisoners.”

The idea caught fire and a dozen discussions broke
out. The prince smiled and turned to the boys. “What else?”

Peashot indicated a spot outside the north wall. “This
is where I would build catapults if I were attacking. It’s the most level and it
would be out of range of the hill fortress. It would make a good camp too. Why
don’t we use it as a dump site for the next few years?”

The prince threw his head back and laughed.

The rest of the meeting progressed with the same
informal tone and Burkhart continued to speak to the boys more as a brother
than as royalty.

But something had begun to gnaw at Aedan’s ease.
Would he and his friends really be allowed to leave the castle, carrying
secrets of such weight after being warned with no more than a wagging finger? He
had read of tunnels that had been kept secret by holding the diggers on site
until the work was done and then thanking and murdering them. But as he watched
Burkhart exchanging a joke with Skeet, he did not think this prince would be
capable of even blackening someone’s eye. He was all laughter and good will,
though he did not appear to be all concentration. The man flounced about the
room, exchanging a joke here and a story there. He would get distracted by
something outside the window, then suddenly remember himself and rush back to
the map with a furrowed brow, urging everyone to focus themselves.

The fresh perspectives had unlocked a whole
cascade of ideas, and old warlords brimmed with new plans. The urgency of the
situation rendered many of the traditional, time-consuming methods
inappropriate. So tradition was relinquishing ground to innovation.

The meeting was not quite done when everyone’s attention
was drawn away from the maps and plans. Something very unusual was happening in
the sky. Men clustered at the windows as clouds began to weave themselves into
peculiar arrangements. It almost looked as though they were alive. The room
grew very quiet.

“I wish to see this from the turret,” said
Burkhart. “Anyone who desires to join me is welcome.” He rushed to the back of
the room and sprang up a circular stairway. Osric and Skeet followed, but the
rest stayed at the windows. Aedan looked unenthusiastically at the remaining
company and headed for the stairs, followed by the other apprentices.

The turret had an outer walkway large enough to
accommodate them easily. The only trouble was that the battlement was high,
even the lowered crenels. Aedan was on his toes and Peashot had to climb up and
rest on his belly and elbows.

Out to the west, the plains were still awash in the
last rays of a sinking sun, but as the clouds started to gather over the
Pellamine Mountains, the impossible happened.

The solid thunderheads peeled away, their tops
seemingly torn off by some mighty wind. And where there should have been the
pale blue of afternoon, stars appeared with astonishing brightness and gleamed
through the deep dark sapphire of night.

The wind died down and silence took hold of the earth
and sky.

Aedan was gripping the stone wall so hard his fingers
had lost their colour. Lorrimer whined softly. In the street below, citizens
crouched against the walls. Dogs scampered this way and that, not knowing where
to run until they shrank and cowered in alleys. Flocks of birds descended on
roofs, huddling and making themselves small.

All watched.

All waited.

The stillness burst apart with a roar. It was a
sound like thunder, only deeper, bigger and fuller, like a voice, yet unlike
any earthly voice. It was as if the sky itself had spoken. The rumblings shook
the stones of the palace as if it were no more than a mound of bark and leaves.
Everyone clutched the walls and Lorrimer shrank down into a corner. Peashot
fell from his perch and stayed on the ground.

Everything fell silent again, but it was a silence
that waited. To speak would have been wrong for a reason none could have explained
but all understood.

The cloud lit up and a bolt of lightning fell onto
the Pellamines. But just as Aedan had once seen it do over Nymliss, the shaft
of light did not flicker and vanish; it latched and began to glow, seeming to
pour fiery gold into the depths of the granite mountain.

As quickly as it had appeared, the golden bolt was
gone. A deep boom rolled over the city, causing the land to shudder once more. Before
the rumblings had died away, the wind picked up again and that deep silence was
ended. Clouds broke into fragments, scattering, as the rift in the sky closed
and stars were covered over by the pale hues of late afternoon.

It was some time before the prince recovered
himself enough to unlatch his hands from the battlements and walk silently back
down the stairs. The others followed, but Aedan hung back. His face was pale
and his voice was full of jumps and jolts as he called Hadley, “Did you hear
something in that first peal of thunder?”

“What do you mean?”

Aedan began to reply, but then changed his mind.
“Never mind,” he said. “We’d better get down there.” He led the way, but soon
wished he hadn’t because he was trembling so violently he had to match feet on
every step like a small child or an old man. Eventually they reached the
council room.

“Well,” the prince was saying, “I must confess
that I had doubted the rangers’ reports, but there’s no doubting what we’ve
just witnessed. Is there anyone who can venture an explanation?”

Blank looks faced him, many still tinged with
fear.

“There is one man who might be able to offer an
explanation,” said Balfore.

“Ah, him. Yes. And I suppose I will have to listen
to the answer in ‘the original Gellerac’. I am well aware of the theories
Culver put forward, and I will not pretend to be impressed by them. Today’s
event will certainly send him right back to his archives. But for now we need
to appease the masses quickly and simply. I know there is little love in this
room for diviners, but perhaps they are worth hearing on the matter.”

“They’ll have explanations, no doubt,” grumbled Osric.
“But how can you actually endorse them? Do you really think the answer to what
we just saw is going to be found while poking through the entrails of a goat? As
if the beast ate the explanation to the mystery? What just happened was something,
something …”

“Real?” Skeet offered.

“Exactly!” Osric slapped the varnished wood before
him with his open hand. The table shuddered to its gums as if struck by a logger’s
axe. “These diviners thrive on mystery because as long as there’s no evidence they
can’t be challenged. When asked how they come by their insights, they act as if
we are just blind to the secrets they can see in the sticky goo between kidneys
and intestine. Utter swill! Our people deserve something better in answer to
what we just saw.”

The Prince smiled. “Your straight talk would make
you an awful politician, Osric. And no, I do not mean that as a compliment.”
There were a few polite chuckles. “The thing you need to see is that the truth
can actually be a harmful draught. People who seek answers are often not
looking for truth. Diviners accept this and give them agreeable answers, at a
price. Everyone is happy.”

In spite of Prince Burkhart’s easy manner, the
members of the war council were apparently wary of entering into argument with
him. Osric was clearly not, and continued to speak his mind freely.

“Surely happy is the wrong word when speaking of
delusion.”

“I think happy
is
the right word,” said the
prince. “Consider the man seeking counsel on how to woo a mermaid. He does not
want to be told to snap out of his idiocy and select a fellow human; he wants
to be told to cover himself in fish oil, make a garment of mackerel fins and
spend a whole night, from moonrise till moonset wallowing in the seaweed of a
tidal pool while singing of his love. That would give him the hope for which he
would gladly pay a sheep or two.”

“But it’s a false hope, an empty promise. How can
we at the same time offer walls of real stone and guidance of false ideas?”

“You are fixed on the idea of truth, but is that
what everyone wants? Think about it. How much religion is about a sense of
security rather than truth? How many of our people grovel before a stick or
lump of metal that’s been shaped a bit, or some invented deity? In every sense,
these are created gods, even down to their supposed instructions and blessings.
If you were able to point people to a real god, I suspect a lot of them would
prefer their own creations – easier to control, less likely to make demands. No,
Osric. Truth is seldom the best thing for keeping masses content. There are
deeper, more important considerations than truthfulness when making governance
decisions of this kind.”

“In that, I must differ from you,” Osric replied,
“And so would your father.” This resulted in several pairs of round eyes.

The humour had now completely left Burkhart’s
features. The expression that remained was full of shadows. He did not look at
Osric and instead turned to the group. “I shall have to make some announcement
to allay concerns, else we’ll have a week of panic, looting and slothfulness. Let
us resume tomorrow.”

Pages were collected and maps rolled up as the men
gathered their things and began to head for the door. Aedan saw Osric leave and
was about to follow him when the prince stepped in his way.

“I’d like you and your friends to wait behind,”
Burkhart said.

Aedan paled. His fears rushed back. In the books
he had read, it always started with being asked to remain behind.

When the room had emptied, the prince spoke with a voice that
held none of its earlier cheerfulness. “Before you leave,” he said, “Ganavant, the
first councillor, my right hand man, would like to speak with you.” As he
turned to go, his soft cheeks attempted a parting smile, but his eyes avoided
theirs.

Ganavant lumbered forward. He was not the tallest
of men, yet he carried an impression of bewildering largeness – thick limbs,
belly like a wheat sack, flabby neck, and swollen head with huge, bulging eyes.
His stare was heavy and direct, and he wore no smile. Aedan remembered him now
– the rude and strangely disturbing man from the meeting at the academy. This
councillor had made his presence felt during the recent meeting too. Those
unsettling eyes had slid from one person to the next, never vacant, always
calculating.

He addressed them now in a voice that had a dark,
flabby resonance.

“As you may have guessed,” he began, “walking out
of here after what you have seen on the table today is not a right you can
claim. I have made some arrangements. Jorla awaits us.”

Peashot mouthed the word “Who?” to which four
pairs of shoulders were raised. Aedan was worried now. The prince, he thought,
might not be capable of brutal measures, but this gurgling bullfrog of a
councillor was something else.

They made their way down one level, then took a
corridor that led them past a series of small galleries and halls. In one of
them, Aedan thought he glimpsed the girls from their field surgery class, the
young Queen’s Envoys, seated at a long table bedecked with silver cutlery, fine
crystal, and strange foods that were not immediately recognisable.

“Was that a bath of seaweed on the counter?”
Peashot whispered.

“Silence!” Ganavant bawled in his deep chesty
voice.

They reached a stairway and descended several
flights until a service door discharged them into a large courtyard. The two
guards saluted the councillor who made no response. Ganavant led the way across
polished flagstones to a plain, squat building where sentries scurried to unlock
a heavy gate. Inside, the room was bare except for a dark flight of stairs
descending into the ground.

Aedan held his breath and Peashot lifted his shirt
over his nose. The smell of putrefaction and filth was thick enough to make
them cough, and it grew worse as they began to descend. At the third landing Ganavant
lifted a torch from an iron ring and walked ahead of them down a low corridor
that became more putrid with each step. Defiant squeaks and the patter of
unseen paws filled the air while little bodies brushed and tails slithered
across the boys’ ankles. Lorrimer seemed to be going wild as he frantically
dodged and kicked out into the darting, nipping shadows. For once, Aedan was
relieved to be wearing shoes.

He noticed that low doors were passing by and started
hearing faint moans in response to the group’s footfall.

The dungeons – they were in the royal dungeons!

Every horror story of wrongful imprisonment and
slow death came back to him as they walked further into the darkness. With
every step his dread increased, and he tried to ready his mind for a desperate
escape. Ganavant was not going to trick him into a cell while standing at the
entrance.

They stopped before a wooden door stained by
centuries of dank air and slow rot. Ganavant pushed it open and led them inside
where he held his torch against a larger one mounted on the wall. The light was
not generous, nor clean. The flames shed an unwholesome red glare as they
bobbed and danced with demented ecstasy.

Aedan hovered at the entrance before following the
others in. As the room lit up, he felt his legs weaken. He turned to the door
just in time to see it slam.

“Planning on leaving so soon?” said Ganavant. “You
have yet to meet your host. Boys meet Jorla.”

What was left of Jorla filled several buckets,
covered some of the floor, and sagged from a number of hooks and spikes. When Aedan
looked back at Ganavant, it was with horror.

“Jorla,” the councillor continued without emotion,
“was entrusted with secrets that had the potential to endanger our entire city.
He betrayed us. For the safety of all, it was necessary that he reveal the
extent of his betrayal. The only way to ensure he was holding nothing back was
through torture. His remains will not be buried but fed to pigs. Such is the
punishment for high treason.” He turned his bulging eyes on them. “Do I need to
harbour any concern that you might leak what you have been shown?”

The assurances of silence could not have been more
earnest.

“You are never to speak of these plans to anyone
but the members of the war council. You do not even speak amongst yourselves,
for you can be overheard. And remember that anyone you tell will be subject to
the same fate. Do you apprehend your position?”

Five trembling voices answered that they did indeed.

Ganavant led them back through the passage, up the
stairs and out into daylight.

A large unit of soldiers waited outside. Ganavant
nodded to the captain and left without another word.

The boys walked between the soldiers in a kind of
stupor as they were led around the side of the palace. They had to traverse the
gardens to reach the gate. On the way, they were spotted by a group of women
dressed with all the magnificence of royal taste. A strikingly tall and
graceful woman stepped away from the group. As she approached, there was more
than one gasp.

“It’s her,” Vayle whispered. “It’s Princess Allisian!”

Five young hearts almost leapt from their moorings
as she smiled and beckoned them to approach. Unlike her elder brother, she was
not afraid to wear the garments of royalty – she stood wrapped in deep blue
fabrics, layered and delicate as the wings of a giant butterfly, and crowning
her dark locks was a circlet of gold.

When they reached her, she knelt down to speak to
them. They bowed, this time without any confusion.

“I am Allisian,” she said “and you must be the
exceptional young apprentices I have heard so much about?”

“We are apprentices,” Hadley said, when it
appeared she was waiting for an answer, “but I’m not sure we are exceptional.
We were just asked here to …” He froze. Aedan looked at him with horror as
Ganavant’s words and the images from the dungeon hung before them again.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, Your Highness. We are just apprentices –
that’s all.”

Her brows knitted, as if she were slightly hurt,
and she studied Hadley with thoughtful blue eyes that Aedan suddenly realised
could be spellbinding. He fixed his gaze on the floor.

“I know you were at the war council,” she said.
“You are not required to keep secrets from me. Surely you know that? Won’t you
tell me one of your ideas – ideas so interesting that they have caused
apprentices to be brought to the palace?”

Heads dropped, toes squirmed within shoes,
Lorrimer tugged at his ear.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Hadley said at last.
“We promised that we would not talk about those things to anyone but the war
council.”

“You can’t possibly think that I was excluded from
that circle. Come now. What I ask is not unreasonable. Would you offend me?”

The boys writhed. Aedan wondered how annoyed
Hadley was that he had been left to do the talking.

“We don’t want to offend you, Highness, but we
would be sent to the dungeon if we were to mention those things, even to each
other. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me, all of you,” she said, and now her
voice held a note that transformed the butterfly into something more like a
dragonfly. “Is that your final answer?”

Each of the boys nodded and apologised.

She pouted, and then smiled. “I see you are boys
of rigid principles. Very well, I’ll not be offended. In fact, I think I like
you the better for it. Let us be friends.”

Aedan wasn’t really sure if it was a question or
an instruction. Apparently the others were equally uncertain. Not knowing what
to do with it, they said nothing and looked embarrassed.

“What is your name?” she asked, rising to her full
height and addressing the only boy now on her level.

“Lo – Lorrimer, Ma’am – Miss – Your Highness,
sorry.”

She smiled and Lorrimer blushed, fidgeted again
with his ear and managed to show a few teeth through a misshapen, quivering
grin.

“Highness is unfortunately a good description of
me,” she said. “I am unhappily taller than most of the men in this city, but
I’m glad to see that you will probably overtake me. Lorrimer, you shall have to
learn to dance!”

With a wink, she turned and left, a butterfly
again, gliding back over the lawn to the other ladies, while Peashot and Hadley
whispered a few envious taunts at the full-blushing Lorrimer.

Aedan thought he saw her making a sign to the
captain of the guard. Most of the soldiers turned and left. Only two remained
to escort them back to the academy. He understood with a horrible chill that
they had just been tested, and that the large group of soldiers had been
waiting to carry them into detainment. All was not as it seemed at this palace.
He was only too eager to leave.

He began to wonder about Prince Burkhart – whether
his first impression had been entirely accurate. The prince had shown them
nothing but warmth and laughter, but it must have been by his instruction that
Ganavant had threatened them and Allisian had tested them. Apparently, the
prince was a man who preferred to be seen as a cheery leader spilling sunlight
while having other hands do his darker work. His argument with Osric came back
to Aedan’s mind. He remembered the prince’s lack of respect for truth, and it began
to seem a far more worrying thing than it had at the time.

He decided to keep the thoughts to himself. Revealing
them would prove dangerous. And there was something else on his mind.

As he lay awake, long into the night, he still
shook beneath the remembered power of the storm.

The others had heard only thunder, but Aedan had
heard more – a voice, and it had spoken. Deep as the shuddering growl of a
waterfall, yet clearer than the ring of crystal – the voice had spoken his
name.