The Right To Rule

Chapter 22 a

The King’s Justice sat on his leisure chambers at the High Palace with his white shirt rolled to elbows, opened to the chest to let in some air. His eyes blinked occasionally, focused on the drawing that took most part of his wide table. His lips moved to utter silence words that can only be heard by him. He was trying to make sense of what he was seeing, trying to get a clear picture, and every time he thought he was on a breakthrough, he found the information he had missed before. The drawing was a wild puzzle, a fascinating one, yes; but flames, it was mind wrecking.

Aamon sighted and lean back on his chair putting his hands on the back of his head. He closed his eyes breathing slowly. He was clearing his mind, to fall into a void. His mind became oblivious, dark like Endless Night, barren with a brightness of stars.

Florence Weib had finally given Aamon her most prized mural which had been seen three weeks ago when he was at Weib Manor. After three days of resting barely a wink, he was no closer to understanding it. Aamon believed that the mural held the answers to the current Sky Kingdoms, Spiral Pulser, and the Origin. Only if he can understand one aspect of it.

Aamon now understood Kepnes’ quest to heal tearing. His discovery won’t only save him but all Vulcans. Aamon was quick to judge him, he was sure of it now. On the other hand, what Kepnes was searching for was almost a myth; no Vulcan in the history of both sides of Origin has done that including Ithamar. Tearing cannot be healed.

You should have armored Atons as you have promised, your flame is on its last breath, Aamon thought to himself. He was finding it hard to submerge in the void of his mind.

Aamon opened his eyes, look at the drawing again. He went to the old man with the ball of fire. He looked more like he was talking to the flames, there was an air of authority about him.

Illuminator is that you?

His hands scoped the flames like it was water, his eyes bored into them. What was he seeing in those flames? What was he telling them? Who was he?

Right under the old man were people; men, women, and children. Aamon cannot detail them. He was certain they were worshiping the elderly man.

I should start calling him the Illuminator, Aamon thought with pride.

However, the people looked away from the Illuminator but towards a tall building, bare and dull, even on drawing. He didn’t know the building. All Aamon knew was the fact that the tallest buildings in Sky Kingdoms were found at Iron City; he has not been there, but he was certain Iron City cared more about starlings than anything. The building has to mean something, he didn’t as yet.

Aamon stood up and poured himself a chilled wine and walked to the balcony. He had only Gnary with him. Tom and Zacrian went north to track down the Guardians, it will only take them two weeks and Aamon hope Tom will finally to the end of their mindless games. Reydal was meeting his spies. Reydal was like a shadow to Aamon, which made Aamon not ask about the matter, he knew it was important because only important matters of the highest rank can make Reydal trust Aamon’s safety to other Vulcans. Aamon had also sensed there was no Vulcan within forty yards radius. For the first time in a long while, Aamon has found himself alone.

He looked at Amalthea's skyline. It has been a dream once to be in the City of Spires. A forever ago. Aamon remembered sitting on the floor with Edrick while their father narrates to them about the beauty of Amalthea; to them, Amalthea was a dream way, a dream which both Aamon and Edrick installed it to Miranda, their little sister. Both his siblings never set foot at Amalthea, their dream die because he and Edrick were born Radiators; a choice it was never theirs.

The High Palace was the biggest and tallest building in Amalthea which was five-story high. Aamon’s balcony was on the top floor, his eyes could see everything on the east and outside the city walls. The city was illuminated by white lights, a few orange-glowing lamps dotting here and there; the change was a hard thing. Aamon understood the importance of artifacts, white-lights were still the most used artifacts, and citizens still stay from fire as far as they can manage.

This world was designed not to accommodate Vulcans and anything to do with us, Aamon thought as he drink his wine.

He looked at the Old Keep, five-century-year-old castle, where Watchers have made it their home for the last three hundred years. It was roughly a mile from the High Place. The Old Keep was now a military building. Aamon has to admit, the main castle did look more like the one he saw in the drawing. But the main castle was too short, only a memory of the power which once resided there.

Aamon turned back sharply as he heard footsteps and clicks of armor coming right where he was. It appeared he had guests. He looked down at himself and grunted. His shirt was wrinkled, his boots untied and he was certain his hair was messy as he ran a hand on it. But appearances are for courts, Aamon smiled as he walked back to the room where Gnary was already up and had to abandon the book he was reading.

“We should get someone to come here and clean, don’t you think so Gnary?” Aamon said noticing the mess.

“I think that would be a great idea, sir,” Gnary nodded with approval.

Aamon looked around as he took his seat. Everything was in order, Gnary had made sure he put everything it belong whilst Aamon, well, he put it anywhere he thought fit. But the air needed to be refreshed, some dust to be aired, and they should take a walk after this.

Like always in the right moment, Grany opened the order and Manuel Weib and his golden armored men were ushered in. Aamon had not seen the man since he went to visit him in his manor.

“Please seat, Elite Weib,” Aamon stood up and weaved him the chair. If Reydal was here, he was going to be proud.

“I hope you came bearing good news,” Aamon said, “as you can see playing elite doesn’t suit me that much.”

Weib nodded as he accept the glass from Gnary.

“I have both good and bad news, Vulcan Aamon,” Weib replied. “Skylady Ingrid said she has no idea where Skylady Agatha might be nor did Skylady Agatha make sure people knew where she was. Skylady Ingrid has added, in her own words, ‘higher ranking Justice might know where the Spider is but its very wise not to ask that question to them.”

Aamon exhaled deeply, took the last sips of his wine down to his throat. Flames! How can a Watcher simply disappear without no one knowing where she was?

“The good news I talked about,” Weib cleared his throat. “Skylady Ingrid also writes she had talked to length about you and Atons with Skylady Agatha and she believed within few months she will come to Hamal.”

“Why the Order of Light was here?”

“Watchers believed you are going to take the throne from old Javen,” Weib said, barely a whisper. “Skylady Ingrid wanted to see with her own eyes if you were really a tyrant.”

At least that’s not something I have not heard before.

Aamon looked at Weib, his eyes held amber of fear, a spark of revenge, the lust of power.

“Just between two of us, Weib; I will be a horrible king, so do you.”

Weib’s face remained frozen yet his eyes betrayed him. They widen when Aamon mentioned he might not be a monarch Hamal wanted.

“You have been partially pardoned for your crimes against the crown, Elite Weib.”

Aamon weaved him away. For now, he will wait for the Spider to come to him.

***

Tom walked in the middle of the group. Not by choice, by being important. Aamon had made him commander of this little group. Not his choice again. Not that he was complaining, fresh air was welcomed. He had three or two years left on him, he didn’t want to spend all of it playing a court soldier. Vulcans were not created for that. Hunting down Guardians was what he wanted, to feel Radiation burning his inside-out, the feeling like he might burst into flames and join the stars above. If Tom has his own way, he would love to die in battle, running wild hunting the Spider and all her Justice.

For now, he was tied to Aamon, his will, and his Radiation, until his flame betray him, he will give all that to Aamon.

He had twenty Atons including himself and Zac. His men have spread throughout the thickly wooded forest, Tom was left in the heart of only nine Atons. Zac was somewhere ahead, the lad was joyous to learn about tracking. Fresh air looked good on him, Tom had to admit.

It will take another week to reach the Guardians’ camp, but from the past two days ago, Tom and his Atons have entered the area which was reported to be patrol by Guardians. It was making Tom wonder how many Vulcans the Guardians were made off; regardless, they won’t leave camp in their large numbers.

“Lads, I have to congratulate you. You have been flaming impressive,” Tom said with a grin on his face.

One thing about a Vulcan while you were hunting another  Vulcan was making sure the other Vulcan didn’t sense you coming, Tom had told the lads two days ago. Only Zac and Alfred were holding enough Radiation to be sensed, and the rest of the group were holding enough not to get mad. Besides that, there was Pulser madness. Illuminator, the hunt is starting to be all kinds of fun.

Tom weaved his torch to the side illuminating the faces of Aton's closer to him. Poor lads, they were used to the freedom of holding enough Radiation to burn down a building to ash. They were barely saying a word, only a murmur here and there. None was showing a sign of a frail mind. Their will was still going strong.

“I for one, I was resting with one eye open just in case one of you lads burn the forest down,” Tom continued. “Look at you so strong, Aamon will be so proud.”

Their faces were impressive, frozen, and focused. There was nothing Tom was worried about. He felt sorry for the Guardians.

“Uh, Vulcan Tom, you were still telling us about Lord Vulcan Dexter,” the voice came from behind.

“Yes, I nearly forget. Where was I?” Tom said, loud enough to be heard by all pairs of ears. “While Lord Ithamar marched to Barren Lands which was called Evergreen Forests before the Origin, Lord Dexter took the fight to Europa, conquering all Watchers strongholds from Hamal winding through Regor. It was believed Lord Dexter started his march with a good three hundred Vulcans, lads of fourteen years and old men of thirty-three years.

“The time he crossed Regor’s border, he was left with only a hundred and fewer Vulcans. History sang he won all the battles he fought, and pay attention lads, it used to take at least four Watchers to take down a single Vulcan back in old times. If Lord Dexter lost two hundred Vulcans, Watchers have lost thousands and countless men and women who fought for them.”

Tom paused after he arrived at the top of the hill. Orion was right above them. It's lightly chocked by Night, it was as if it was not there, to begin with.

He took long gulps of air. His body was not used to using as little Radiation as possible. Flames, his keens arched and his arm stiff from holding the torch. The Radiation he was holding was not enough to maintain a fire orb.

Tom gave the lad who was standing close to him his torch, he took off his hat and fan his face with it. He surveyed the land ahead of him as he took his water flask and wet his lips. He can see four torches ahead of him, half a mile away. There were three torches on the left and right. They were covering the ground according to plan though another group was supposed to be behind them. Nonetheless, Tom was not complaining, they must have cut the ground on the bottom of the hill since it was the shorter way.

Far ahead there was light, a burning forest. Roughly three or two miles away.

Zac might be a bad tracker, but he should have sensed that even if it's three miles away, Tom thought as he touch Radiation. A stream of life washed over him. He felt his body tense, his pain memory, and his eyes focused. It was indeed a burning forest. Nothing burned without a Radiator involved.

“Peel your eyes and tell me what you see ahead of us,” Tom commanded. Full with Radiation, his voice has a weight about it.

“It’s a burning forest, sir!”

“Flaming right it is,” Tom replied. “Since those trackers and sensors are doing a better job than we are, let’s go and see what’s happening there.”

“Yes, sir!”

Calling me sir makes me flaming important, Tom thought as he led the way. He was slowly jogging, touching more Radiation. He was not wrong when he said it was going to be fun.

The only thing in his mind was a burning forest. He had forgotten about hunting down the Guardians, to finish his story about Lord Vulcan Dexter de’Leras.

***

Aamon ended up not walking further than the Throne Room at High Palace. He had taken a bath and wore fresh clothes. He was wearing a dark coat with red markings on the sleeves and buttoned from neck to waist. His hair was combed, styled to lean on his left. He had his Moonstone on the waist whilst he walked with his hands tucked in his coat. He walked to the Throne Room with Gnary by his side.

The adjoined room of the Throne had a shiny long table for seven people, white and dark tapestries hung on the walls, a chandelier made like a crown illuminate the room. Soldiers in their armors and tall spears stood motionless beside the wall.

King Javan smiled at Aamon as he entered the room. The king was sitting on the head of the table his hands playing with paper. Aamon bowed and took his seat next to General Fawcett Tjaden, the sixty-year-old seasoned soldier and the second-in-command of Hamal army.

Aamon looked around the table to see who had been called like him. There was Weib, he grunted and move one. There was also the heir to the throne, Prince Stanislaus Weissman, another military man, and lastly, there was Elite Joseph Himmelstoss, the Crown’s Coin.

He had not to know why he was called, however, he knew it was an important to call. Everyone at Hamal who had higher ranks was in this room.

Aamon looked again at the king who was rereading the paper in his hands as if he wanted to make more sense to it. The air in the room was tense, thick enough he could cut it into pieces with his Moonstone.

“Your Highness, anything interesting on that paper?” Aamon asked. He was never good with suspense.

“But why? Yes,” the king replied. “It says Gairiyah Drake, who is the Kingmaker, by the way, is requesting an audience with me right here at Amalthea or your presence Aamon at even ground at Uzza, four months from now.

“It talks to length about what it was about to discuss and that one request can be denied but not both. Let me see, there are no real threats said but I can assure you she probably had the command of both Altair and Nekkar armies.”

Not all his Atons were ready for a march, that was the first thought that came to Aamon. The second was that the king won’t call him and others if he was not going to respect one request. Burn those Watchers. If the Kingmaker was coming to Amalthea, she was sure to call all Watchers at Uzza, Elara, and surely at Eurydice. That can be a good five hundred Watchers. It was sure to get bloody and fire soon.

“Which request are you going to answer, Your Highness?” Weib asked.

“Aamon will march to Uzza,” the king replied. “But I called you all in to know if we have the men and the starlings for a march. Himmelstoss, out with it lad.”

Aamon looked at Himmelstoss and sighted with disapproval. He saw from the corner of his eye, he saw Tjaden rolled his eyes. Himmelstoss was as flash as stars above with rings on both of his fingers, clothes which were always silk-gold.

“I will first bring to your attention, Your Highness and Elites,” Himmelstoss’s voice was smooth and picked the words carefully. “For the past three years, the crown has been running low on starlings most of it been taken upon by repairs of artifacts.

“To answer, His Highness question, the crown can afford to finance a march to Uzza, but it will be the only march it will afford unless our fortunes change.”

“I assume our request for a loan at Iron City has been denied?” Aamon asked.

“Yes, Vulcan Aamon. We are found to be with an unstable economy if I might use the correct term.”

Aamon rubbed his temple, deep in thought. This was one of the problems it should have been dealt with a year ago. For everything involving artifacts, they either fixed for themselves and if they failed, they source Watchers at Fomalhaut to fix for them at a cost. That’s why Aamon didn’t want to play court. There was always a problem. Commonfolks conflicts to be intervened.

Aamon nodded and allowed Himmelstoss to continue.

“Right now, the crown has an amount of twenty-five thousand and three hundred starlings, and depending on how many men and women will march to Uzza, I won’t able to estimate how much starlings the march might cost the crown.”

Weib whistled softly at the numbers. Aamon watched Stanislaus whisper to his father a few words. Aamon remained unmoved.

General Tjaden looked at Aamon and nodded.

“A thousand strong host will be sufficient,” Aamon replied.

“It costs a Crown ten starlings for a soldier to cross a border,” Tjaden said in a monotone. “We are looking at ten thousand starlings for payment and close to five thousand for supplies, my apologies Elite Himmelstoss; the numbers were easy for me to figure out.”

“The vaults are dusty, Your Highness and Elites,” Himmelstoss bowed and fingered his rings.

“Cursed sun! We can’t have starlings' headaches whilst you are sharing a table with me, Manuel. Out with man, tell us how much you are willing to give this damned Crown,” the king said pounding the table with his fist.

“Your Highness, I too, need to preserve my interests. The future doesn’t very bright for either of us,” Weib replied.

“Give us a loan then. How much we much do we need, Coin?” the king asked.

“For suitability, fifty thousand starlings, Your Highness.”

Aamon leaned back on his chair and sighed. Weib won’t part with so much starling unless there was a crown on his head. He had no idea politics were tedious. Amalthea was never a rich city, Aamon was certain Greystone Bay had more starlings than Amalthea and Riverlain combined. Still, this matter was supposed to be dealt with a long time ago. At least a discussion. Aamon didn’t attend court, but he had a fair idea if the matter was discussed for the first time. This one was.

Aamon sat upright on his chair. He looked at Himmelstoss, Weib and back to Himmelstoss. He looked at King Javan and his presence was enough to warrant him to hold his peace.

“We still have two months before I march,” Aamon said. “I am certain our collective minds will do right by the Crown.”

Aamon pushed his chair back and stood up. He bowed to the king and walked to collect Gnary who was standing with Thomas. Aamon nodded at Thomas and didn’t pause for a heartbeat.

“By your spark of Radiation, I was afraid something was going to happen,” Gnary said as they leave the Throne Room.

“I need Reydal,” Aamon spoke as if he didn’t hear Gnary. “I need education about all Hamal elites and their wealth. I am going to visit our Celestialblessed, I have a job for her.”

***

Tom stood beside Zac as Atons tried to extinguish the flames by taking the Radiation out of the flames and taking it to their bodies and direct to their Well. It was all about Radiation control and the will of the mind.

He raised his right hand high above his head with the palm stretch. Warm air brushed his face, sweat dripped from his brow. The air smelled of burning leaves; there was no smell of burning flesh. But this was Sky Kingdoms, fires were forbidden and scared. Only Vulcans were bold enough.

Tom channeled his Radiation on top of his palm, he willed it with his mind to tame the flames. In his mind, he pictured the flames which were burning around him and pulled them back to his palm. While the flames were pulled back to him, he weave his Radiation to form a fire orb. He saw golden threads intertwining around his palm hissing softly to his ears. Every time a Vulcan weave with his Radiation, golden threads appeared and form complex patterns so fast it was hard to track them.

Instead of the flames gathering on top of his palm, they gathered two meters above his head. Flames rotated in a circle forming a sphere big as a cart’s wheel. The forest was illuminated in a hundred yards radius.

“Someone had bled heavily here,” Zac said, pointing just ahead of them.

Tom let down his arm, walked to inspect the blood on the ground.

“Come on, tracker, tell us what went down here,” Tom said elbowing Zac.

The ground was even, with patches of dry grass and redwood trees here and there. It was a good mile from a king’s road that led back to the capital. The forest was untamed. It was surrounded by hills, an ideal place for a camp and if they search the whole area, they might find a good water source.

Tom looked down at the dry blood. It has been there for at least two hours, it had certainly dried quicker because of the heat of the flames. It was good deal of blood with tiny drops around the pool.

He bent down, the footprint was clear. His fire orb was proving a good shade of light. Tom was no tracker, but he can tell a struggle by the footprint when he saw one.

“Vulcan Tom,” one of the Atons said. Sule. “There are holes here in the ground. Daggers’ holes.”

“There are two here in the buck of the tree!” Another Aton called from a distance.

Watchers! Burn me, but there was no other being who would dung holes on the ground with daggers.

“Zac, give me a report. I don’t like a single thought that is pouring on my mind right now,” Tom said.

He stood upright and cursed silently. Another Watchers inside the borders of Hamal was not a good thing.

“Steady yourself old man,” Zac replied. “Night! This doesn’t look good. This was a battleground, no doubt, and whoever bled, well, they bled.”

“Atons! Spread out in teams of four. Find me a hole in the ground, in the buck of the tree; I don’t care if it's in deep of the stream, as long as that hole is made of a dagger, I need to hear of it. Make me proud lads,” Tom said, his jaw stretched and his voice firm.

You might anchor yourself and fly, but you have to come back to the ground at one point.

The lads were already moving while Tom was still talking. They spread in all directions, fire orbs came alive in the heart of the Night. Radiation signatures warm Tom from the inside, a raging of the storm of power.

Tom walked to the right with care. In his mind, he can see his fire orb; he willed it to divide into four. He formed a square perimeter, each marked by a fire orb.

There were few signs of struggle on the ground. There was an element of surprise, no doubt. Hamal was starting to get chaotic; Vulcans killing Vulcans, and now Watchers were back, again.

“There were six Vulcans. We can well agree those flames were made by Vulcans,” Zac said finally. “Here there is a footprint that has not moved an inch, I can only find it here, but there were other four footprints from Watchers. Again we can agree only Watchers are bold enough to dull their daggers, Moonstone, by piercing the ground.”

“I am afraid to say this, but my conclusion tells me Vulcans have lost the fight,” Zac continued. “But where are the bodies?”

“And where are their packs, sir?” Tom looked at Haie as he approached. “There was a slight disturbance of their packs there,” Haie said pointing. “Someone must have taken them.”

Tom didn’t sense Zac coming upright to him until he was half an arm’s length.

“You are quiet. You get never quite,” Zac said shaking his head. “What’s wrong old man?”

They were a day and halfway from Daylight. Tom had remembered that notion now. He, of course, was stingy with his Radiation; he still have his Well half full and he could take arms against Watchers until Daylight. He was certain Zac can too. But the lads, no. Atons have such freedom at their training grounds.

Although Tom was worried about Radiation levels on his lads, he was more worried about an ambush.

How does anyone sneak to a Vulcan on patrol duty?

The skill was to listen to anything out of order; any sound that didn’t belong. The skill was to see any slight movement; to touch enough Radiation to be ready for anything. Tom was certain those Vulcans were touching as much Radiation as their liking.

Tom walked to the nearest tree, offload his pack, and sat down against the trunk of the tree. He took off his hat and rest it on the top of his pack. He closed his eyes and waited.