The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) (8 page)

His father had told him many times of the duties and responsibilities of the Emperor, labouring over the function of each official in the Imperial court, but never hinting at this. It was all so clear now. The man had been preparing him, covertly training him in what he knew would one day come. All the lessons from his mother, dreadful at the time, now made sense. Obviously they planned all along for Leopold to one day return and inherit the throne.

What a marvellous revelation! Leopold danced with joy; not because he was elated to have the power or wealth that such a title would bring—those thoughts existed but were quickly pushed aside. What excited him was something even better. If he was Emperor, then everyone in the Empire was subservient to him, and even Lord Samuel had to follow his word without question.

‘But—but—but,’ he stammered, relishing the thought. ‘But that means you must do what I say! You must listen to me. You must call me Your Majesty and I can call you whatever I want.’ He was excited. At last! To have sway over the man.

The magician smiled—a self-satisfied and knowing smile—and as soon as Leopold saw it, he knew that somehow his victory had been lost. His jubilation fell as Samuel explained.

‘I will call you Leopold and you will call me Lord Samuel,’ the black-cloaked man reminded him. ‘That is what we agreed, until such time as our bond has ended. I will command and you will obey. We made this covenant only earlier this same day, and I would not dare break my word to you, or let you break yours to me, Leopold.’ He stressed the final word, making it plain that an Emperor or Your Majesty would never precede it.

‘What … but … wait!’ Leopold floundered. ‘You knew this would happen!’ he spat out angrily. ‘You—you tricked me!’

‘Then let it be another lesson for you, Leopold. Never agree to anything if you don’t know what you are agreeing to.’ With that, he had done smiling, and the pleasure vanished from his face quickly, a candle flame snuffed upon the wick. His cloak swirling, he departed from the room.

‘If you please, Your Majesty,’ someone said at Leopold’s side. ‘We will show you to your room.’

It was one of the captain’s men, but Leopold was too furious and too frustrated to hear the words. When he finally calmed enough to follow the beckoning soldier, he was sure old Salu was grinning, eyes squeezed tight in silent mirth.

****

Leopold was granted his own room on the top floor. Surprisingly, guards had been set outside his doorway.

‘Can we help you, Your Majesty?’ one of them asked upon him opening the door to peek outside.

Leopold shook his head and retreated into his room. Evidently, the Emperor was a captive.

He received an evening meal, and a large tub in the corner was filled with buckets of steaming water brought in by dozens of sweating maids and houseboys. Soaking in the scented water soothed the soreness in his bones, but could not douse the sorrow in his heart. His father was dead: the world had changed in the space of day.

The old maids wanted to stay and tend to him, talking excitedly about his presence, but he chased them away to have some peace. He picked at the various clothes they had left for him, but decided to slip back into the same familiar, faded shirt and weatherworn trousers he arrived in. He hoped someone might bring him the bag his mother packed for him, for it contained a set of clean clothes from home, but there was no sign of it.

The quiet of the room became uncomfortable, reinforcing Leopold’s unhappiness at all that had occurred. The revelation of being Emperor could not console him for the loss of his father, or being taken from his mother.

He decided a change of location might help his mood. He was not about to be caged. Slipping on the simple shoes his mother had made for him, he sought a way to venture outside.

Sliding out the window and along the ledge was easy, making him question the effectiveness of his supposed security. Anyone intending to harm him could just as easily sneak inside—assuming they were as adventurous and nimble as he.

He stretched his leg across the short gap to the neighbouring building and clambered down the latticework towards the hallway passage he had spied from his room. From there he stole inside, free to wander unhindered. No one had noticed his entry, and when he passed people in the hall—servants and finely garbed women and children—they gave him no mind. The occasional guard passed him by. Judging from this, they did not fear newcomers wandering their halls.

He followed the brightly lit passageways, peering into various rooms. The place was cluttered. Store rooms overflowed and objects were piled one atop another. Furniture and equipment were strewn across floors; paintings and sculptures stacked haphazardly. Everything was hoarded away as if awaiting a time to be put back into use, but for now, it only gathered dust.

In one room hung a great portrait, a grand leader in a jacket and tight fitting pants, with a tall, decorated hat. The artist had captured the man perfectly, for he seemed entirely lifelike, ready to leap from the frame. He looked menacing, a savage glint in his eye. Despite that, the fellow retained a regal air; a king or lord of some description. Judging from the size of the painting and the fact it had been selected over the others to be displayed, he was someone of importance. Leopold did not recognise him, but his attention was repeatedly drawn to those eyes. They reminded him of someone—of his father, he realised—but there the similarity ended.

He browsed through more of the paintings that leant against the wall; all featured the same man. In some he was alone, in others different women stood by his side—dressed regally with crowns and magnificent jewellery. As Leopold flicked through the portraits, one caught his eye. He stopped, jamming his hand in to prevent the picture from flipping past. What he saw overwhelmed him, and his mind struggled to explain.

In this particular depiction the woman standing beside the royal gentleman was his mother. She stood close to the man, white-gloved hands clasped in front. She looked much younger, but her features were unmistakable.

Leopold gazed over the painting, wondering how she had come to be there with the strange man. She looked so young and the fellow so old. Was it her father perhaps or some other relative? If Leopold’s father was indeed the Emperor, then it made sense that his mother was once an empress. But a substantial problem remained: why were there no pictures of his father?

The only one who might know the answer was Samuel. Leopold grimaced as he realised he would have to ask the magician.

He moved on, re-entering the passage and following it around the girth of the building. It ended at a large sitting room, elegantly decorated with large cushioned chairs and splendid rugs. Peeping through the doorway, he found it inhabited by half a dozen aristocratic looking women, passing their time in conversation and handcraft while their children played at their feet.

‘Can I help you, young sir?’

The voice startled him.

A young woman was standing behind Leopold in the hall, dressed in a striking blue gown, tight fitting at her waist and puffy about her bust and shoulders, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her long brown hair was impressively braided and coiled upon her head. She was a few years older and Leopold felt immediately nervous to answer, caught in the act of sneaking about as he was.

‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I must have wandered the wrong way.’

‘Oh?’ she said, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I have never seen you in Seakeep before.’

‘I just arrived,’ he said.

The woman looked down the passage and Leopold thought she may be about to call the guards. Instead, she turned back to him. ‘Evidently. Your clothes smell like a fish market, and I know of no fish markets remaining—in these parts at least. What is your name?’

Leopold took offence at her comment, but looking at himself, dressed in his worn old clothes encrusted with salt, he probably did stink as she said, despite his recent bath. ‘I am Leopold,’ he told her. ‘Leopold Green.’

‘Leopold?’ she said, musing on his name. ‘Well, don’t linger outside our door, young Mister Green. Come in and chat with me. It’s not often we receive visitors.’

He did not know what to do as she swept past him, trailing the hem of her skirts upon the rug-covered floor. Hesitantly, he followed the radiant woman into the room. She sat on a padded chair away from the others, placing her feet flat on the floor and neatening her dress upon her lap.

‘Come. Sit,’ she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her, and Leopold did as he was told. ‘I am Lady Chatrise,’ she told him. ‘Daughter of Empress Carolyn.’ She took note of Leopold’s lack of recognition, and went on. ‘Goodness. You seem to have found your way into the Royal quarters and evidently you have no idea who we are. Are you supposed to be here?’

‘Of course,’ he replied nervously.

‘Then I assume you are to join the battle for Cintar?’ she asked and he nodded quickly. ‘I think it is very brave of you. There is very little common decency left in the world, so it is noble of you to sally into battle. You don’t look like you could hold a sword,’ she added, scrutinising his lean form.

Leopold was speechless, but thankfully something caught Lady Chatrise’s interest and her consternation changed into an assuming smile.

‘Did you happen to arrive today, in the company of that blasted scourge Lord Samuel?’ she asked.

To this, Leopold nodded. He was not a child by any measure, and yet he felt overwhelmed by this well-spoken and beautiful woman.

She laughed at his response, and quietened her voice when some of the other women looked over.

‘Oh, Leopold, why didn’t you tell me?’ She leaned forward and whispered to him, ‘I am so happy to meet you, my darling brother!’

‘What’s that?’ Leopold spoke with surprise, much louder than he intended.

‘Leopold Green, my left foot,’ she said. ‘I am your half-sister. Our father was the same man—Edmond Calais.’ She gestured discretely to the others in the room. ‘All these and many more are your half-sisters and their children. We heard you had been found and had arrived with the magician today. We thought it perhaps some cruel jest or rumour, but I see now on meeting you it is true. I can see our father’s look about you! You’re his spitting image!’ She leaned further forward and grasped his hands and squeezed them. ‘Oh, Leopold! How wonderful to know you are alive!’

Leopold was taken aback, and pulled away.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t remember any of us. I was only five years old when you disappeared. We had thought you and Empress Lillith were lost forever, but then you returned and the Paatin horde was miraculously defeated. We thought our prayers had been answered. Then the Darkening came over the world. Everything fell into chaos and you and mother vanished again—before the coming of the witch. No one knew what happened to you. All hope was lost, and now we have cause for celebration!’ The woman stood up and pressed her hands to her chest with joy. ‘Come, you must meet everyone!’

Leopold spoke softly and urgently to calm her down. ‘That is not a good idea,’ he told her. ‘I’ve lived my whole life on a tiny island, with only salt and sand for company. I am not even sure if all this I’ve heard about me is true.’

‘Very well, my brother,’ she said considerately. ‘Take your time. This must be quite a shock for you. Have you truly been in hiding all this time? How exciting!’

A woman’s scream sounding from outside the window interrupted them and Chatrise hurried over to look into the dim courtyard, as did Leopold. The other ladies also rushed to the several windows along the wall, fussing as they struggled to make out what occurred below.

‘What is it? What has happened?’ one of them called below.

Guards rushed to the scene, gathering with torches and lanterns in hand.

‘A body. Stabbed in the back,’ one of them called aloud, a dark shape splayed at his feet. ‘Truthseekers!’ he added with dismay, and it sent a gasp of horror through the room. More guards were running into the courtyard, as others were coming into the room, ushering them away from the windows and closing the giant wooden shutters to keep out the night.

‘Calm yourselves, Ladies,’ one of them said, an aging fellow. Leopold noted that his armour and equipment looked as old as he, meticulously cared for. The leather straps that held his plating in place were dark and soft with age, showing no sign of mistreatment. The steel was crossed with grooves and furrows from the numerous blows it had taken over the years, the sharp edges polished smooth.

Chatrise drew Leopold aside while the ladies pulled their children back to the rugs and the fireplace. ‘You should return to your room,’ she told him in a hushed voice. ‘If Truthseekers are here, your life is in danger.’

‘Who are they?’ Leopold asked. ‘What do they want?’

‘They are killers. No one knows who they are or what they look like. None have ever been caught. Now you are here, they will be after you most of all. Yes, yes, you should not tell anyone who you are, and I will keep your secret safe. Quickly! Go! The guards will shortly guide us into the cellars below this building and we will stay there until they are sure it is safe.’

Leopold hurried away at her command and retraced his way down the halls, until he was beside the window he had used to enter the building. He waited until the passageway was empty of rushing soldiers and servants, and then quickly took his chance, climbing outside and up, agile as a monkey.

Guards were running about madly, shining their lamps into all the dark corners to find their quarry. Leopold shuffled along the wall in the darkness, returning to the point where he could vault across the space between the buildings. He was about to reach his leg across the gap, when he felt someone watching him; he was not alone. Sitting on the rooftop above, swathed in dark cloth and shadow, was a figure; the moonlight revealed a pale, moustached face.

‘What brings you here, young man?’ the fellow asked with amusement.

Leopold froze. He had no excuse. He had been caught. A terrible thought occurred to him at that moment. Have I stumbled upon the Truthseeker?