Chapter Thirty-Three Ruhlin #2
“So, he wasn’t lying,” the king said. “Nehlvyr was indeed wayfinder on the ship that brought you to Nihlvar. In fact, as of the last few moments, he is currently the last wayfinder, or at least the last I could get hold of. A few managed to scuttle off to some hiding place or other, but I’ll find them eventually.
They betrayed me, you see? The entire Wayfinders’ Guild turned against their king.
The king who had bestowed so much upon them.
The king who had raised them high in this land.
Great was their wealth, but so too their avarice.
I should blame myself, I suppose. It’s always been the way.
Spoil them and eventually they turn on you.
” As he spoke, the Vortigurn made a slow progress around the hole, coming to Nehlvyr’s side.
“They begin to imagine themselves more than they are. They assume responsibilities not their own. They secretly hire ships and warriors, both in short supply at present, to send into the Fire Islands and ambush our enemy without first seeking my approval.” He crouched, speaking softly into the wayfinder’s ear.
“And what good did do them or this realm, eh, Nehlvyr?”
“We… we sought only t-to serve, my king. To save… the realm…”
“No. You sought power, you worthless crow.” The king’s face twisted in disgust as he straightened.
“And now you seek to bargain for favours because you happened to take charge of your mistress’s ship after her unfortunate demise.
Yet, upon arriving here, you failed to bring one of the fire-blooded to me.
Instead, you placed him in the hands of Aerling Eldryk.
I find it curious that you should imagine this wins you any regard at all in my eyes. ”
Nehlvyr tried to gabble out another plea but it emerged as spittle-flecked gibberish, earning him another disgusted glance from the king and a cuff from his guards.
“Did this villain mistreat you on the ship, Amundyr?” the Vortigurn asked.
“Were you whipped? Subjected to his vile amusements or passed around the crew for theirs?”
“I was beaten,” Ruhlin said. “And drugged.” The nightmares were worse than the beatings, he added inwardly, unwilling to share more than necessary.
In truth, besides the drug-induced night terrors, his dominating memory of that voyage remained the sight of Mehlga pitching Aerling Angomar over the side into the sulphurous waters of the Fire Islands.
“Then you too have a grievance with this filth,” the Vortigurn said.
“So, as a reward for your fine showing in the wuhltra today, I shall give him into your hands. This man, if he can be called such, is yours to punish as you wish. We’ll leave you alone, if you like.
Though I would dearly love to see what that creature within you does to him. ”
“He is truly mine?” Ruhlin asked. “To do with as I wish?”
“Yes.” The Vortigurn gave a short laugh. “None can say the King of Nihlvar has ever failed to keep a promise.”
Ruhlin watched Nehlvyr attempt to make himself smaller, emitting a piteous mewling that put Ruhlin in mind of a starved kitten. “Then let him go,” he said. “Unharmed. That is my wish.”
For a moment, a small frown of peevish disappointment passed across the Vortigurn’s brow. He’s like a child, Ruhlin decided. Indulging his cruelties with no one to stop him. Is this the reward of unending life?
Yet, he saw calculation as well as frustrated spite before the king turned away.
It served as an important reminder that, in addition to cruelty, this ancient man also possessed a vast wealth of experience.
“Take him away,” he told the guards, flicking a hand at Nehlvyr.
“Strip him naked and cast him from this hall. All his possessions are hereby forfeit to the Crown.”
After the sobbing wayfinder had been dragged to the stairwell, the Vortigurn moved to the half-complete wall where he stood in regard of the city.
“Join me, Amundyr,” he said, beckoning Ruhlin to his side.
As he did so, Silvahk moved to a spot affording a clear view of the stagna.
The king said nothing for a time, apparently content to gaze upon the many lights and smoking chimneys of his capital.
It was only when Nehlvyr’s sobs echoed from below that he spoke again.
“Do you imagine you have saved him?” he asked Ruhlin. “No captain will employ him for fear of my disfavour. He will wander the streets of the Citadel as a beggar until he starves.”
Now that the threat of death had been removed, Ruhlin noted that the wayfinder’s cries had become louder and more desperate. “Please, my king!” came the faint cry from below. “I beseech your forgiveness! Please…”
“Then,” Ruhlin said, “I hope he has time to reflect on what it means to beg, as I’m sure he heard many less fortunate souls beg in his time.”
“Ah, so your mercy is tempered by justice. I see there is some steel in that heart, after all. Perhaps one day you’ll wear a crown of your own, eh?
” The caustic chuckle that accompanied these words made it plain that the Vortigurn did not consider this a serious proposition.
His humour faded swiftly, the next words spoken in a far more sombre tone.
“It’s how it must be with kings. Kindness is a luxury rarely indulged, and cruelty the meat and drink of monarchs.
It is our fate to sacrifice that which we cherish most. I, for instance, killed my own brother to make myself King of Ascarlia.
The guilt wracked me for years, even though it was an act driven by gravest necessity.
My brother would have made a terrible king.
A tyrant bent on conquests he could never achieve, certain to mire our people in ruin and discord for a generation.
But, though the guilt has faded over these many years, and I can barely recall my brother’s face, I still feel it sting from time to time. Isn’t that strange?”
Ruhlin said nothing, his attention drawn to the unfinished wall and the long drop beyond.
He knew Silvahk would fire the stagna the moment he lunged in the Vortigurn’s direction, but if he leaped with sufficient force he might send them both tumbling over.
Mehlga gave me an example of the value of sacrifice, Ruhlin thought, recalling once again that horrible moment she hurled herself at Angomar.
As the notion took hold, he felt the monster stir.
Instead of the usual angry heat, he sensed a new emotion: encouragement.
He dies, and this all ends, Ruhlin knew.
What is my life balanced against so many… ?
“So, how was it done?”
Ruhlin blinked, realising he had been so intent on the possibility of assassination he had failed to register the Vortigurn’s question. “Done?” he asked.
“Yes.” The king frowned in irritation. “The nature of your blood must have been clear from a young age. So, how did you manage to conceal it?”
“I didn’t. My family did. They protected me, kept me away from conflict, or the chance of it. I knew nothing of… my blood until your ships came and wrought slaughter on my island.”
“Remarkable.” The Vortigurn shook his head. “That you should have no inkling of your nature until the moment you find yourself truly tested for the first time. Perhaps you should be thanking me.”
The wall was so close, and the tower so high…