Monarch

“I see you,” whispered Khorial. Crimson light reached through the lens of his telescope. Scalding fingers squeezed his spine. As the burning light filled his eye, he tore himself away. But he could see it now with his naked eye: a faint red flicker among the stars. It saw him. 

 

A book lay spread on Khorial’s lap. Crimson covers enclosed dead black pages as he slid the book back into its hiding place. He stood, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with the stench of burnt blood. 

 

Down the spiral stairs and through the door, a Guardsman stood watch at the base of the observatory. The man bowed as Khorial emerged from the base of the tower, striding into the open, beginning his journey back along the rampart, which connected the observatory to the looming behemoth of the Blackfort. 

 

Wind caught in the Guardsman’s blue cape, causing it to flap incessantly. He clenched it closer, trying to still himself as Khorial approached. 

“Superior! I trust all is well.” 

“Don’t look down,” said Khorial. “What have you seen tonight?”

“I have nothing at all to report.” The Guardsman stiffened as Khorial stopped before him.

“You’re sure you saw nothing unusual?” 

The guardsman’s eyes flickered up to Khorial’s. Head shaking, the eyes danced down, repelled by Khorial’s owlish stare. 

“Answer again,” Khorial beckoned. “What have you seen?”

“Nothing!”

“I’m glad.” Khorial placed a hand over the man’s plated shoulder. “Your shift is over. Come.” 

“Thank you, Superior,” the Guardsman said. Khorial felt him shivering through the armour. 

 

It is a pity, Khorial thought. The Guardsman wants no part in this. I’m sure he’d cast these memories off if he could. Yet against his own will, his mind now holds some of my last vulnerabilities. 

 

“Stop walking,” Khorial ordered. His Guardsman dutifully obeyed. Hand outstretched, Khorial held the plated shoulder firm, and hung his head. He saw hard dark stone, noticed the wobbling knee his man could not control. Khorial took a heavy breath, and held it. 

I’m weaving a great tapestry, and this man, regretfully, is a loose thread. If this thread gets pulled, it could unravel everything. 

 

Khorial lunged, picking the Guardsman up off his feet. Caught in the vice grip of Khorial’s arms, the armoured body tensed. Fingers tried to pry apart Khorial’s locked hands. In two swift strides, Khorial heaved his man up against the parapet, and hurled him over. He saw a flash of wide white eyes and a gasping mouth moaning fear. Soft fingertips scrabbled on unrelenting stone. A falling wail. Stopped by a thud. 

 

He looked back at the observatory tower. Craning his neck up, trying to find the window he’d left open. In there was a lightless room. Invisible. Surely the window lay open still, releasing into the night air the horrid stenches of his sacrifices. Merciful wind. But it could not dispel his blackest secret, tucked in the tower, in his hiding place. He needed to find a new hiding place soon. 

 

He started toward the parapet, going to check the spot below where his Guardsman had thudded down. But stopped midway. For it was nothing but a compulsion. Pointless. 

 

This was not murder. By the time he’s found, I’ll be incapable of it. So let them discover his smashed dead body. Let them speak the excuses, and know my silent meaning. I fear only one thing.