Curse of Kings. Alex Barclay
do that?” said Oland.
“Twenty years ago,” said Jerome, “Villius Ren visited the Scryer of Gort to have his fortune told, and she told him that his downfall would be at the hands of Chancey the Gold.”
Oland was dubious about the gifts of the scryer. All he knew was that she was imprisoned in a cave in Gort, and warriors and merchants from the surrounding lands would come to her to hear their future failings or fortune in battle or business. She asked each visitor to bring her water and, using a flame above the bowl, she saw visions reflected on its surface.
“Within a year of the scryer’s prophecy,” said Jerome, “Chancey the Gold put his name down for the Mican Games and Villius saw it as the beginning of the prophecy coming to fruition. Villius knew, because of Chancey the Gold’s reputation, that he would be a formidable opponent, and he became fixated on defeating him. It was an unsettling obsession that yielded nothing; when it came to The Games, Chancey made it through the first eight events with little effort. It came to the second-to-last round, Aquatics, and, of course, Chancey won, breaking every record that was ever set. Villius came a distant second, but it still meant that they came face to face in the final round: Acuity. And, of course, in Acuity, Chancey the Gold beat Villius, as any man would.
“Villius was incensed. He believed that an athlete like Chancey the Gold, three years his junior, was no match for the warrior he considered himself to be. I’m guessing that what you did at The Games today reminded him of that defeat. It is more likely that Malachy Graham was meant to die in that arena, but that Villius Ren himself was to slay the beasts, then on to solo glory he would go. Villius Ren does nothing to help anyone else, Oland. Nothing. By doing what you did, I imagine you delivered quite the blow to his plans.”
“What happened to Chancey the Gold?” said Oland.
“He left Decresian in the months before King Micah was overthrown,” said Jerome. “Because of his skill in Aquatics, he was offered a job by the ruler of Dallen.”
“But Decresian and Dallen are bitter enemies,” said Oland.
Jerome nodded. “That is true. But Dallen’s ruler made an exception for Chancey the Gold, because he is the only person who can guide travellers through Dallen Falls – travellers from Decresian who are of benefit to Dallen, or travellers from other parts who would have traditionally reached their destination by sea. They would pay to take a shorter route through Dallen Falls. It was a job that never before existed. As you know, the waterfall is thundering and The Straits below it are wild. The currents move at a terrifying pace. But Chancey the Gold can navigate them. And in Dallen he was safe from Villius Ren.”
“Has Chancey the Gold ever come back to Decresian?” said Oland.
Jerome shook his head. “No,” he said. “There would have to be a very special reason for him to return. The Craven Lodge would surely kill him because of the scryer’s prophecy.”
“Was Chancey the Gold an ally of King Micah?” said Oland.
“We all were,” said Jerome. “And, like Chancey the Gold, I was once champion of The Games – ten years before him. I was given a ten-acre farm by King Micah – for my service, and for my success in The Games. When Villius Ren came to power, he took my land away. He gave all my family jobs, except for me. He knew I would do nothing to harm my family’s prospects; he knew that they could not afford to refuse his offer of employment. And he knew that if I had no job, and lived in a cottage he owned, in a village he terrorised, he had at least some control over me.”
“Why did he want to have control over you?” said Oland.
“He saw me as a threat,” said Jerome. “And you know Villius Ren; he could find a threat in the eyes of an infant.”
Oland smiled.
“So…” said Jerome. “If your aim is the downfall of Villius Ren… and it has always been said that Chancey the Gold was the man to bring it about, well… your next stop should be Dallen Falls.”
Oland suddenly could not imagine being anywhere other than Derrington.
Jerome smiled. He took Oland’s hands in his. “You were chosen, Oland. Do this. Do this for all of us. You have nothing to lose. Chancey the Gold is a good man, and to arrive to him an enemy of Villius Ren is to arrive to him a friend. As you are here.”
Oland stared again into the cold hearth.
Jerome took a breath. “Oland, never forget the reign you have been asked to end: that of Villius Ren, a man among nine hundred and ninety-nine screaming souls, yet with no soul of his own.”
They sat in silence for some time, Oland running King Micah’s words over and over in his head.
But fear not – Decresian shall be restored. And it falls to you, Oland Born, to do so. On such young shoulders, it will prove astonishing how light this burden will be.
To Oland, the burden felt anything but light.
Suddenly, they heard a soft tapping at the parlour window. Jerome went to the back door.
“It’s Villius Ren,” someone hissed. “Alone! Not one of The Lodge is with him.”
Oland stood up.
The Tailor Rynish burst through his workshop door.
“What’s going on?” he growled.
“Villius Ren is in Derrington,” said Jerome.
Oland felt a rough hand grab on to his arm. He turned to see the Tailor Rynish talking over his head to his brother. “I’ll take him,” he was saying.
“What?” said Oland, struggling against him. “Take me where?”
“Shut your mouth!” snarled the tailor. “Shut your mouth; they’ll hear you.” He looked at Jerome. “I’m going to collect The Craven Lodge’s new cloth. Villius knows this so he won’t stand in my way.”
Jerome nodded.
“No,” Oland managed to say. “No.”
“It’s your only hope,” said Jerome.
“I’m not going anywhere!” said Oland. He turned to the tailor. “You work for Villius Ren; I don’t know where you’re going. This could all be a trick—”
“Go, Oland,” said Jerome. “Just go. Unless you want to be in my parlour when Villius Ren bursts in.”
Before Oland had a chance to say another word, the Tailor Rynish was dragging him down the hallway out into the cold night. He pushed him to the back of the cart. As he forced Oland in, a small figure jumped in from the opposite side. Oland could scarcely believe it. It was the monkey, Malben. It gave Oland strange comfort as they were both thrown under a length of tarred canvas.
Oland could hear Jerome’s voice as he leaned down and spoke to him through a gap in the cover: “My brother has a keen eye,” he said. “But do not fear, Oland. For he knows how to turn a blind one.”
Oland could barely breathe. He was wedged between two thick bolts of wool, with another at his feet, and the layer of heavy canvas pressed down on him. He slid the cover from his face at intervals. It offered some relief, but was soon replaced by the chill