Blood Tapestry

Prologue


The powers of the Iron Circuit reverberated within the thunder. Made from the energies and souls of spiritual leaders, once powerful now dead, the Iron Circuit gathered to ensure the continuation of The Prophecy of Tortaral to its fulfilment.

"The time approaches for the next epoch."

"Indeed. Behold below, these young girls who hold each a place in the prophecy."

"They hold not all the places however. There are many others."

"They will see much bloodshed."

"We must hold fast and wait."

"Prepare to give the gifts of power as needed."

"See, how they play, these girls, these innocents."

"It is good they are unaware of their futures."

“Do they know how we are accessed?”

“Surely they know it is through the dwarves, who are healers, who use herbs and potions to heal.”

“But who also who call upon magic, said magic which comes from us, the Iron Circuit”

“And these children would have been taught in the nursery of the Mystiquettes, who transfer this magic to the Healing Dwarves.”

“And who know of the magic and knowledge provided by us.”

“Aye, surely the girls know of all this.”

“Tis as well they do. To be ready.”

"For great sadness is descending."

"And great love."

*****

Floranza shivered as the thunder rolled over the hills and out to sea. There had been no rain, only the ominous rumble. She smiled as the sun streamed through the clouds.

"Do you understand the magic message in the knots, little sister?" She touched Phyllicia on the arm in an attempt to return to their game of giving words and messages to specially tied knots on lengths of thread.

Phyllicia’s brow furrowed as she stared out over the battlements of Castle Cavernot to where their father’s archers practised in the field, showering the far-off targets with arrows. "If I was the ruler, I would have twice as many men ready to protect my country. And the most powerful sorcery possible."

Floranza sighed. "You are so concerned about grown-up matters that sometimes I forget you are only nine years old."

The icy blue eyes slid across to focus on Floranza’s face before narrowing. "And sometimes I forget you are almost twelve, because you are not concerned as you should be. You are Princess Royal but you don’t pay attention to anything. You’d rather be sewing and riding. I study hard. I should be Princess Royal and not the Princess Younger."

Floranza blinked to control her ever-ready tears. Phyllicia’s words cut her deeply with their harsh tone, made even sharper by their closeness to the truth.

"Mother and Nurse Morna believe we should have our childhood," Floranza persisted, "and that we should spend countless happy days without worries. They say that adult life will come soon enough."

Phyllicia’s mouth tightened. "Do you not care about the future of our country?"

"Stop," cried Floranza. "This is an old argument and I have no wish to argue today. The sun is shining at last. The birds are singing. And we were having fun sending secret messages in the knots."

"You were having fun." Phyllicia held up her length of tied pink embroidery thread. "I have no interest in such silly games. Tying threads and remembering stupid words! Child’s play at its dullest."

Hurt and anger swept through Floranza. Her face and neck burned with it. "Mother, Signe and Morna all agreed to participate."

Phyllicia’s smile was cool and pitying. "I hate how they humour you. Well, I will not. Not any longer. There is much to learn, much to watch." After a moment of tense silence, she tossed the pink thread into the rose bushes. "Keep yourself company, silly princess. And be careful you do not spend so long living in your own game that you fall face first into the dirt." She spun on her heel and marched toward their private entrance to the castle.

"We could take some of cook’s mountain berry pie and juice down to the sea," Floranza called out. "And we could take a bucket and gather crabs."

"No."

"Then why don’t we tend to your roses? Some pruning perhaps. You like doing that."

Phyllicia’s back became less rigid. "No, thank you."

"Perhaps you are correct," said Floranza, softening towards her sibling, "I should pay more attention to matters of state so I can prove to you, to everyone, that I am most suited to being Queen."

With a doubtful smile, Phyllicia pushed through the brass-studded door.

Floranza trembled with mixed emotions as she plucked the thread from the thorns. There would be no more play today. With a weary sigh, she cast a much more critical eye towards the archers and wondered why such defences were needed. Hadn’t her father been responsible for bringing all the lands to the peace and happiness they enjoyed now?

And if so, why did a row of twenty archers now toss down their bows and march angrily through the gate?








Part One
Eleven Years Later


Chapter One


The flash of metal in the moonlight spurred DunKhan to plunge his horse through the prickly bushes and onto the narrow road of the Starry Clouds Pass, prepared to disobey orders and fight to save the men he had been sent to observe from a distance. Xaro, the elderly and revered Nongris confidant and messenger who DunKhan was poised to replace, would not have a weapon. But the king of Libona should be well armed and have good protection from the guards at his flanks. The whole confrontation smacked of the deceit rumoured to be a growing problem in peaceful Charmangea.

Like Xaro, DunKhan did not carry a protective blade. As his horse galloped into the fray of swinging axes and cries of agony, he wrenched a spike from the hands of an attacker and drove it deep into the man’s shoulder, and then into another and another until the air grew silent.


Through the darkness he could just make out the figures of Xaro, the king and one other of the Libona court sprawled on the ground. DunKhan threw himself from his horse, and from his saddlebags, grabbed his Kit of Wellbeing. But as soon as he reached Xaro, he knew it was too late. Xaro was already dead. DunKhan turned his attention to the king and his escort and after a brief examination ascertained that both could ride the distance to Cavernot.

DunKhan scanned the eerily quiet road. Yes, they could all make it to the east coast. Providing there was not another ambush. His heart grew heavy with sadness and dread. His commander’s worst fears had been realized. The great era of peace had ended.

*****

Floranza cried out as the cutting blade sliced the flesh of her index finger and a small red bloodstain seeped into the tapestry canvas. She had been about to embroider a silken pink rose petal in that very spot. She pulled her hand away and pushed the wooden frame from her lap. Sucking on the tip of her finger, she hastened to the small basin of water her elderly servant, Morna, had only moments before set on the table. Floranza snatched the cloth hanging from Morna’s arm, dipped a corner into the water and rushed to pick up the tapestry.

"No, do not, my lady," said Morna as Floranza made to dab at the offending stain. "Have ye not heard the old saying? When blood is shed betwixt new thread, a brave man’s heart protects yer head. Wash blood away betwixt new stitches, live in fear of plots and switches."

Although Floranza gave a little laugh, her hand hesitated. "Have you not heard the practical advice of cold water being effective against stains if applied immediately? Come now, allow me to clean my handiwork before it is ruined."

“It is what my maid in Sanachar would do,” came the quiet lisp of the child, the Noble-student, Siffitte. Floranza recognized the loneliness in her words. The child was so far from home and so lonely. When Morna’s angry glance swung in Siffitte’s direction, the little girl shrank back to her place at the fire.

To Floranza’s amazement, Morna ripped the tapestry from her grasp and held it behind her back. "I cannot, my lady. Forgive me as being one who has looked out for ye since yer birth some twenty-three years nigh. Or dismiss me as doddering and useless." Morna hesitated and brought her eyes to meet those of her mistress. "But if ye do so, and if you continue with yon action, I shall leave Castle Cavernot, never to speak to ye again."

Floranza knew the frown was cutting deep across her forehead. The tone of Morna’s voice reminded her of childhood indiscretions after which she, regardless of her noble status, would have been taken severely to task by this round, pink-faced woman with her sharp eye and sharper tongue. In the twilight, with the fire roaring and sparking in the grate, Morna’s features brooked no argument. Floranza remembered the look from her growing years.

But now she was a woman, daughter of Ferrisan, King of Cavernot, and Evalina of Belladiz, a wealthy province far to the south. She, Floranza of Cavernot, should the ancient prophesies come true, stood to inherit all of Charmangea. She was no longer in the nursery and decided to make it plain once and for all that she would not be ordered around by her servants, beloved nursemaid or not. The annoyance smouldered in her cheeks. Did no one respect her?

Morna took advantage of the silence. "Ye are indeed the product of yer lineage. Ye have yer father’s blue eyes, and yer mother’s chestnut hair. And ye have the fiery Belladiz temperament, yet ye have yer Libonan grandmother’s kindliness. Be sure ye know when to use which of the gifts ye have been given."

A cutting remark, designed to convey an unconditional message of superiority, had barely reached Floranza’s lips when from outside rose the sounds of horses’ hooves on the stones and voices raised in anguish.

Floranza and Morna rushed to the window slit and pulled back the leather coverings. Cold wind swirled around them as they strained to see through the dying evening. Chaos reigned in the courtyard below. Three horses, shining with sweat, jostled and snorted plumes of weariness into the frost-threatened air. Guards and male servants swarmed to catch the first two riders as they tumbled from their mounts. One of the men in distress bore the white bull rampant on his cloak.

Floranza’s breath caught in her chest. "Father!"

Gathering her skirts, she ran from the room, Morna at her heels. Down the circular turret stairs they hurried, and into the main hall. She brushed past Phyllicia emerging from her room. Their mother, Evalina of Belladiz, was already there, her face white, her hands clenching in fear the panels of her dark green shift.

"Where are the soldiers?" she asked. "What happened to all our brave soldiers?"

Floranza paused to glance at the deep worry etched in the once-beautiful face, before throwing herself out the huge oak doors. Garra, the lord’s man, wrapped a thick robe over his master’s bent back.

She pried herself between another servant and her father’s side while slipping his heavy arm across her shoulders. "Can you speak enough to tell what has transpired? What dreadful mischief befell you? Were you not on a peaceful mission to Hargranger? And where is Xaro?"

Her father raised one hand to silence her. "Alas, dear flower, he is dead." It obviously pained him greatly to talk. She strained to hear his words. "Tis good that Eachan is alive. See to DunKhan. Worse than I. Brave man." He faltered at the steps and she was replaced by the servant.

Xaro, dead! It was not believable that Ferrisan’s constant companion would not appear momentarily as he had all her life. She felt the loss, and knew her father would also.

But who was the other man her father talked about? Floranza moved quickly towards the stranger called DunKhan. He was in the process of dismounting as she approached, one arm pressed against his side. He staggered and she caught him.