45. Dimitri
45
DIMITRI
K eeping busy was the only way Dimitrius had managed not to dwell upon what had happened with Harper. If he did, he would crumble, and he could not afford such a calamity. And so, he polished his masks and made sure not a chink presented itself in his defences as he surveyed the throne room of Tournai.
King Toroth’s throne stood empty for the first time in centuries as the high council congregated in the hall without him, all silent and expectant. Not even a whisper rustled through them, their attention fixed upon Raedon, standing one step down from Toroth’s throne, and Dimitri, standing one step farther down from him. Their rank in this could not have been stated more clearly. Commander and advisor.
There had been surprise and fear at the beginning, rippling through the court in a hail of rumours. Why were they being summoned? Was it one of Toroth’s latest fits? More than a few faces were absent, for fear of their own fates in the king’s volatile hands. They would find out what had passed soon enough and no doubt come flooding back. For now, however, there was only confusion. Raedon and Dimitri had ever been on opposite sides of a bitter personal vendetta. Now they stood together before the empty throne. Dimitri suppressed a smile at the riddle with which he and Raedon faced them. Dimitri nodded to Raedon, who cleared his throat and straightened.
“We have summoned the full council today for a matter most urgent. It has been coming for a while, as I am sure you are all aware, though none of us would have dreamt to utter it. The king is no longer fit to sit the throne.”
A muttering rose amongst them, whispers chasing around the room.
“Until such time as His Majesty, or one of his heirs, is once more fit to rule, we must act to preserve Pelenor. As general of the Winged Kingsguard, I will step in to keep the peace across the realm, in the king’s name?—”
He was cut off by a bark of derisive laughter. “You presumptuous, greedy upstart!” the king’s aged treasurer cursed Raedon, before he bent at the waist, taken over by a coughing fit. He, too, had been struck by Saradon’s Curse, which slowly wasted him away.
Raedon fixed him in a steely glare. “I do not seek to sit the throne, Treasurer.”
Dimitri stirred. “Nor I,” he added. All eyes turned to him, glaring and full of disdain. “The queen will soon be dead.” Gasps rang out through the hall, echoing into the vaulted heights. “The king follows her, unless he miraculously recovers. Their children and many members of this court, as well.” He glanced around the hall, which was far emptier than it ought to be. Cold shadows crept close.
“Saradon’s Curse lives once more, feeding from the greed, corruption, and sin in this ghastly pit. Notice how the good general is untroubled by this affliction?” Dimitri gestured to Raedon. “He stands above such pettiness with his virtues, and so the curse does not feed on him. You ought to take a leaf from his book.” He fixed the treasurer with his own scorn. Before he could retort, Dimitri continued.
“All the passes east through our borders and Valtivar are closed. Pelenor wastes from within and without. No supplies come, and none leave across the mountains. The scourge of goblins, under their pascha ’s leadership and with the aid of Saradon of House Ravakian, seeks to crush the realm of dwarves. Already, Afnirheim has fallen to them. It is sundered and barren, and I fear all other dwarven halls in Valtivar will soon follow suit, unless we help the dwarves.”
“Why should we help them? Never have they risen for us,” a callous voice called.
“That is not true. Though we have not needed their aid for a millennia, we have been allies for as long as our two nations go back, into the depths of time. We should not forsake them now. Would you have them fall, alone, because the enemy does not come for you?” Dimitri challenged them all. “If first he comes for the dwarves, and you do not stand beside them, where next do you think he might look? If then he turns to us, who will stand beside us? Not the dwarves. They will be ash and dust. Not the tribes of the Indis, who we have already shown our enmity to for centuries. Not the free dragons, for we have enslaved their kin for generations. They would sooner burn us. Not the elves of Tir-na-Alathea, who care for none. They will flee to their halls, and we will hear no more of them. No. We will stand utterly alone, and we will fall. Unless we stand with our neighbours.”
Whispers chased the hall as his words ignited fear within those before him. Dimitri pressed on. “To ensure our own survival, we must seize control of Pelenor’s own fate. Saradon is coming. Tournai is but one small part of Pelenor. One small part of the web of disarray and strife that now spreads. Long has the court, the king, ignored the common peoples. If we allow it, Saradon will take them as his own and they will rise against us all. Toroth’s answer will be to burn us all in dragonfire, for he is insane. It cannot be so.”
“You speak treasons,” the treasurer called, getting a murmur of agreement.
Dimitri laughed. “I will speak and commit them, if it is to save Pelenor,” he said simply, fixing him in a steely gaze. “At least I will have earned my death. Will you have the courage to do what is right? Have you so quickly forgotten the burnings?”
The treasurer winced.
“I thought not. What of the last ones? All of them false traitors. You all suspected, yet I can confirm it. Not one supported Saradon, and their crimes were borne of the king’s madness and greed. Toroth framed every last one of them to secure their assets for his failing funds, and his good favour on the centenary of Saradon’s defeat.”
Now, open consternation ripped through the ranks before him. Dimitri smiled, tight-lipped, satisfied. He had waited what felt like a long time to play that card.
Raedon fingered the handle of his sword. “Enough.” His voice was quiet, commanding. “The Winged Kingsguard is taking command of Pelenor, in the name of the king. The guilds stand with us, and they command a vast amount of the people. If you disagree with this, I will deal with you. As for the rest of you, we will present a united, strong front to the people. We will go to the aid of the dwarves as soon as we are able. And we will rule Pelenor, keep her strong as she always has been, until such time as the king or his kin can take up their duties again. Whether Saradon’s rise be truth or rumour, he will not succeed now, just as he did not succeed before. Leave now and attend your duties.”
The court descended into irretrievable disorder. Raedon, his gaze sharp and determined, caught Dimitri’s eyes. He nodded once to Dimitri, who replied in kind. It was done. Toroth would rule no more, guarded in his sickbed night and day by one of Raedon’s finest. All of his kin, be they sick or well, would also be kept secure in their rooms. Raedon would assume command, as was the military right of his rank, with Dimitri by his side as the king’s eyes and ears, to ensure nothing in the kingdom or beyond its borders escaped their notice.
If only they knew what a spy they had in enemy courts , Dimitri mused. Even Raedon had no idea just how closely they were both tied to Saradon. Dimitri was pleased as he left the hall, which was filled to the rafters with worry. Toroth was deposed at last. Yet his satisfaction soon soured in his stomach. It was not Raedon who ruled in Toroth’s stead. Not truly. They were all puppets of a greater power.
Sooner than Dimitri liked, Saradon would stake his claim to the kingdom that balanced upon a knife’s edge, ready to fall in confusion and disarray. No matter that Dimitri had been the one to raise him, Saradon would take all, with none to stand against him. And what had once filled Dimitrius with exhilaration and anticipation, now filled him with deep seated dread. What had he unleashed?