Of Kings and Shadows

Rowan

“But my dear Rourke, have you seen her? There’s poison in those beady eyes. Hair so coarse I’m not even sure it’s human. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a rat in disguise.”

“Prince Rowan, she’s your fiancée. Surely there’s something you like about her,” Rourke said, shifting his legs to keep the fins on his calves from rubbing on his horse's flanks.

“I’ve seen guys prettier than her,” Rowan grumbled. “Are we almost there?”

“Pinesdale will be visible when we crest the hill, my prince.”

“Good. I need a good bath, and so does Dancer. Don’t you, my stinky boy?” Rowan rubbed his horse's neck. Dancer shook his head and huffed.

The city sprawled beneath them, ending where the forest began. Rowan squinted down the column of his retinue as they crowded travelers to the side of the road to allow a clear path for him.

“Is there enough room for all of us here? It looks smaller than Seaside.”

“No need to worry about that, my prince. Many of the knights will take up camp just outside the city.”

Rowan nodded as they trotted closer to Pinesdale and purple tents popped up in batches off the road. It wouldn't do to intrude on his people’s livelihoods, no matter how honored they should feel to host them.

Pinesdale hosted more trees throughout town than any other town Rowan had been to. They lined the streets, their needles never browning. If he could bag one up and take it home, he would; run his fingers over the soft hand length needles.

Townspeople gathered along the street, looking over each other's shoulders to glimpse Rowan. Knights held them back, their arms outstretched. He smiled as graciously as he knew how and waved as they trotted down the middle of the street.

A child ran across his path, stopping in front of Dancer. Rowan pulled on the reins. The little girl stared up at him with brown eyes hidden behind a mop of dark hair. Fishing into his money pouch, Rowan grabbed a coin and tossed it to her.

The girl dug her fingers into the dirt at her feet and scooped up the coin. A pass of her thumb rubbed it clean, and a grin snaked its way across her face as she raced off into the crowd, ducking beneath the knight's arms.

Rowan smiled to himself. The tours around the Royal Road were the highlight of his year. Talking to his people, seeing shows, getting away from all the politics of the Golden Order.

“Anything interesting happening tonight?” Rowan asked, directing Dancer to stand behind Rourke and his horse at the news board. It stood in the middle of town next to a well with market stalls surrounding the square. Vendors shouted their wares at the crowd, many of whom pointed at Rowan and several at Rourke, staring at his light blue skin.

“There’s a retelling of the Legend of Ghosts.”

“I never heard the legend.”

“Your grandfather forbade it. I think it scared him..”

Rowan shrugged and smiled. “All the more reason to see it.”

“If you wish, my prince. The tavern we reserved is this way.”

Rowan followed Rourke around the news board and down a side street. He held a hand out for his people to touch as he rode by.

“Thank you all for the greetings. I feel most welcome.” He swept a bow atop his horse, holding out the white and purple cape hanging over one shoulder. He took Rourke’s proffered hand and swung from Dancer in one swift movement.

The tavern was not their normal one, but a recent addition named The Purple Dragon. A soft white cloth covered every table, and a candle burned in the middle of each. The priests in his parade had already made themselves at home, drinking ale at a far table.

“This is my kind of tavern,” Rowan said, his eyes lingering on a tapestry depicting a large purple dragon in flight.

“I thought you might. Your room is the first up the stairs on your right. Relax and order some food. I must check on Kael before the days out.” Rourke bowed, then squeezed Rowan’s shoulder.

“Go see your son, my friend. It’s been a long day.”

As hungry as he was, Rowan wanted some time alone first. A day on the road was always hard work, and getting away from everything for a moment helped him recenter. He strode up the stairs and slipped into the room Rourke had pointed out.

The bed was overstuffed and filled with pillows. Blankets piled high on the foot and not a single flea, tick, or bedbug was present. Rowan flopped in the middle, sinking into the mattress. It was almost as good as the one back home.

After a nice long bath, roasted boar for dinner, and a change of clothes, Rourke was knocking on his door.

“You still want to see the play?” he asked when Rowan opened it.

“Absolutely.”

Rourke led him back towards the town square where a stage had been erected. People stood around, whispering to each other and munching on sweets from the surrounding market. Rowan bought a piece of sweetbread filled with fruit and nuts, and drizzled in a glaze.

“You should really try some, Rourke. It’s delicious. I don’t know if Emery back home has ever baked something this good.”

“No thank you, my prince.” He smiled. “I’ve had my fill for the day.”

“More for me, then.” Rowan said, taking another bite.

The crowd parted for them, and Rowan stood front and center of the stage. One of his knights brought over a chair, and he sat gratefully.

“Thank you, good sir,” he said, crossing his legs and watching the stage.

A slew of people were setting up props. A backdrop of a dark temple with huge pillars and stone monsters hung behind them, and fake trees littered the stage. One by one, the helpers left the stage and a deep voice said, “Three hundred passes ago, one priest changed the world forever.”

A young man dressed in old priest's robes entered the stage, walking with his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

“Havalar!”

The young man jumped, looking left and right. Another man entered, much more richly dressed, his hair perfectly styled. He opened his arms to Havalar.

“My boy, you’ve been chosen to lead the next ritual!”

Havalar stepped back, gesturing at himself like he couldn't quite believe it. Rowan grinned.

“Take this book, the Immortal Nexus.”

Havalar took the book, and Rowan’s grin faded when he saw it. A shriveled hand burst from the cover. He knew it was fake, but it didn’t make it any less disturbing.

Someone with a torch passed behind the backdrop, simulating the fall of the sun as Havalar read the book until dawn. He slammed it shut, jumped to his feet, and ran off stage.

A group of children wandered on next, playing hand games on the ground together. Havalar burst in and grabbed one by the arm, pulling the child from his friends.

“No! No, please don’t take me!” he cried, struggling in Havalar’s grip.

Rowan frowned, tapping a finger against the armrest of his chair.

“You must! Our gods have need of you.” Havalar pulled the kid towards the back of the stage and pushed through a slit in the backdrop as if going into the temple. Several stage hands hurried across the stage, adding a podium and taking away the fake trees.

A group of priests walked on stage, their faces covered in white paint. Havalar appeared, towing the boy behind him. A priest took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a circle on the stage, and Havalar deposited the kid in the middle.

“Let the ritual begin!” Havalar cried, brandishing his arms. The priests chanted nonsense, dancing around the child and tightening so the audience couldn’t see him.

Rowan leaned forward, trying to see what was happening.

Havalar rose from the group with a wooden dagger in his hand and plunged it into the heart of the circle. The kid cried out, and the priests pulled away. He lay with his hand draped dramatically over his forehead and fake blood stained his shirt.

The crowd quieted. The viewers whispered to each other, wondering what would happen next.

The boy fluttered his eyes, took a huge breath, and jumped to his feet. White paint now covered his skin, making him appear ghostly.

“It worked!” A priest yelled, and cheers followed. From behind the stage, someone dropped a pot, creating a cracking sound, and stage hands grabbed the edges of the stage and shook it.

“What’s happening?” Havalar cried, and they all made a show of pushing each other across the stage to the temple door. Stage hands ran across to take the podium and replaced the trees.

The priests crowded on the edge of the stage, pointing and gasping at the crowd gathered below.

“A chasm!”

“I wonder what’s in it?”

Someone backstage screeched.

“Monsters!” Havalar yelled. The actors scattered, running across the stage as another entered the fray, flapping wings made of bed sheets, and pushing down all the priests. By the end, everyone except the kid was dead, and he followed the monster into the chasm.

The crowd clapped, kids jumping up and down in excitement. Rowan clapped politely, but the frown still creased his face.

“Is that really what happened?” he asked, standing from his chair and waving for it to be taken away.

Rourke shrugged. “Maybe. The Ghosts themselves might be the only ones who know for sure.”

“So, they’re real then, these Ghosts?” Rowan fell into step beside Rourke as they walked back to the tavern. The sun had set and stars were popping out all over the night sky.

“Of course. There aren’t many out there, but they’re there.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “I always thought they were just stories.”

“I’m sure most are, but there’s always one or two that are true.”

They fell silent, and Rowan listened to the crowd. The play had brought up the same questions he had with the rest of the townsfolk.

“Why this play, though? Ghost stories are scary.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

“Of course, haven’t you heard the rumors?”

Rowan’s attention peaked, and he slowed his walk.

“Yes, and I think you're paranoid if you believe them.”

“No, they’re true! Didn’t you see Braham’s body? Had one of those little throwing knives sticking right out of his neck. I tell you, there’s one hanging around here and if he saw that play, I bet someone is gonna get it.”

“My prince?”

Rowan glanced up and noticed Rourke waiting for him. He jogged to catch up.

“Hear anything good?”

“The townsfolk are worried about these Ghosts. They think one’s out to get them. Why do we tolerate having them around if people are so scared of them?”

Rourke sighed, glancing around. Too many people stared at them. He waited until they were safely in the tavern to answer Rowan.

“Ghosts aren’t exactly human,” he said, sitting at a table and leaning close to Rowan. “And they’re nigh impossible to kill.”

Rowan’s brow furrowed. “What are they, if not human?”

“They claim to be vessels of gods. Which gods, I don’t know. Certainly not ours.” He signaled the barkeep, who brought him over an ale.

“I don’t get why everyone’s so scared of them, though.”

Rourke took a deep drink before answering.

“You’ve been lucky, growing up in the castle, away from all the rumors and stories. Parents use the legends of Ghosts to scare their kids into behaving. Think about it this way. Ghosts are hired for all sorts of tasks, but usually the kind no one else wants to do. They are trained in stealth, hence their name. So, it’s said if you see a Ghost, he’s the last thing you’ll ever see.”

Rowan laid his head in his arms on the table, tracing a faint stain in the tablecloth. “No wonder people are afraid.”

“Don’t worry. Ghosts only work for contracts. Besides, I’m here, and no Ghost can get through me. I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything.” Rourke placed his hand on Rowan’s shoulder before standing and heading into his room.

Rowan stayed at the table, thinking. Once he was king, he’d do something about the Ghosts. These were his people, and he had never been on a tour of the Royal Road where the residents were this scared.

As the room emptied and the knights and priests stumbled their way into bed, Rowan took his own leave. Two guards stood on either side of the tavern door, inside and out, but Rowan still locked his own door and threw the latch on the window, anyway. He changed into spider silk pajamas and crawled into his bed, slipping into an uneasy sleep.

***

Thunder rolled across the sky, waking Rowan from a dreamless sleep. He sat up, sweat beading across his face. While rubbing sleep from his eyes, a chill swept over him. The hair on his arms stood on end. A glance at the window confirmed his growing suspicion. He was being watched.

Lightning flashed and a black silhouette showed itself staring into the room. Rowan yelled and jumped backwards, hitting the headboard and tangling the blanket around his legs. The next flash and the figure was gone.

Rowan’s chest heaved as he tripped from the bed. “Rourke? Rourke!”

A thud nearly burst Rowan’s door open and he reeled back and hit the floor. The door handle turned and Rowan’s eyes widened. He couldn’t move. The door creaked as it swung open… and Rourke’s face appeared.

“Rowan! Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Rowan obeyed immediately. Rourke never forewent honorifics. Duty was too important. Heart pounding, he didn’t even change out of his pajamas, only snatched his cloak from a peg and slipped on his boots. Coming out of his room, the reason for the abrupt departure became clear. A man lay just outside Rowan’s door. His garments were all black. A mask covered his face and a hood was pulled low on his head. The smooth handles of knives stuck out at every angle.

Rowan’s eyes widened and he whimpered. “Is he dead?”

“Definitely not.” Rourke said, taking his arm and leading him around the body.

“He’s one of them, isn’t he? A Ghost.”

“Yes.” A shadow passed over Rourke’s face.

“What happened?”

“I heard your yell. Got a bad feeling. I got up to investigate and was lucky enough to bump into him in the middle of using some spell to magic himself in front of your door. He never saw me.” Rourke pulled a sword as they left the tavern. Three knights met them at the door and escorted them to the stables at a half run.

Someone had already saddled the horses. Rowan pulled himself on Dancer and followed Rourke out the back door. The three knights followed close behind.

“What about everyone else?” Rowan asked as they kicked their horses into a canter.

“They’ll follow behind in the morning.”

“Are they meeting us in Esterly?”

Rourke glanced back at him. “No, my prince. We’re going home.”

“Home? But what about the rest of the trip?”

He pulled up and turned back to Rowan until their horses were side by side. His eyes narrowed and lips thinned.

“Rowan, I know you don’t understand the importance of this, but an assassination attempt from a Ghost is not the same as any other threat to your life. When a Ghost is involved, it means somebody is paying them, and that means someone out there wants you dead. The safest place for you right now is Kingston.” Rourke stared at him until Rowan nodded, then turned and galloped down the main road running through Pinesdale.