Deus Necros - Chapter 579: The Royal Palace of Sand

Chapter 579: The Royal Palace of Sand

“Please wait here, the chamberlain will meet with you and take you to the chancellor.” One of the guards said.

Looking at the captain who was busy rubbing some of the remaining grease off his hands fervently, Ludwig couldn’t help but smile. “Why are you stressing out?” Ludwig asked.

“Ah, you’re not from here, the chancellor is a big deal, can’t be shaking greasy hands with a man who never dirtied his in the first place.” The captain said. He scrubbed at the creases of his palms as though shame had pooled there and would not rinse away, breathing out through his nose in short, worried bursts. He glanced down at his nails, then at the gleaming stone floor that reflected back a wavering shape of himself he did not particularly like, and he redoubled his efforts, as if polish could be earned by friction alone.

“You won’t need to,” the words echoed from behind them. A man wearing a full tux showed up behind them. Three piece, buttoned up and clean from head to toe. With a monocle on one eye, and gloved hands that were placed one atop the other in front of him.

“Looks like a butler from the empire than a chamberlain of the desert.” Ludwig said.

“Nobility and origin have no need to oppose each other, it is the will of his majesty that I wear such. Please follow me, the chancellor is finishing some business. And you should be the next guests.” The man said. His voice carried that practiced calm that belongs to corridors and schedules, a tone that could move furniture and men without ever sounding hurried. The monocle caught a narrow stripe of light and held it like a small, pale moon.

The four followed after him as he guided them through the palace’s hallways and doors. The whole place looked more like a sacred temple than a palace. With marbled interior, walls made of glass and stone, and ceilings with a most intricate design of ancient decorative such. Paintings and sculptures fused to walls gave the place a holier feeling. Columns rose with braided carvings of dunes and crescents and caravan lines, a repeating song cut in stone. Light poured down from high windows and drifted along the floor like shallow water, and the air tasted faintly of myrrh and a desert flower whose name Ludwig did not know. Even the quiet here felt worked and polished, made to lie flat and behave.

The carpets were woven so fine that the pile collapsed and lifted like grain under a slow wind, and each pace sank lightly, as though the floor wished to relieve the guests of their weight. Along the walls, colored glass set in patterned windows sifted daylight into mild golds and cool greens.

The carpets alone were made of refined wool, each step would make one feel like they walked on clouds. While guards stood attentive and ready, their weapons drawn and placed right in front of their noses. The line of blades did not shimmer nor waver. Chin and pommel aligned, breath folded into discipline. The stillness of their posture had the patience of a long drought, and sweat did not dare shine on brows for more than a heartbeat before it vanished into linen.

They probably would be staying like that the whole day. One could only think that the price of doing such the whole day must be worth the effort. Duty clung to their shoulders like a second cloak. Ludwig’s eyes skimmed the angle of their feet and the small creases at the bridge of the nose that came from focus held too long. He counted them the way one counts the teeth of a key while passing through a locked house.

The group followed along the chamberlain, feeling more amazed the deeper they went and higher they got. The captain kept batting at invisible dust on his sleeves and smoothing hair that refused to stay disciplined. The priestess walked with the steadiness of a person who knew how to carry light and not spill it, her gaze traveling over the friezes and inscriptions as if measuring each against a ledger she kept in her heart. Ludwig allowed the corridor to flow around him and listened for creaks that did not belong, air currents disturbed by more than architecture, the small wrongness that reveals itself if you let silence gather and look at its edges.

Maids and servants moved with their heads low, not daring to look up, while the chamberlain moved like he owned the palace. Straight back, and eyes focused forward as if on a grand mission. His footfalls were a study in restraint, soft and identical, never clipping the stone, never dragging. He seemed to leave behind him an invisible wake of order that drew everything a little more upright.

Once he reached one of the large wooden doors with more carvings and colored glass than wood on them he stopped. There were two guards standing next to the door. The door itself was a history book bound in cedar, with vines of lapis and gold leaf curling into the grain. Through the glass, a milder light waited.

“Inform the chancellor that his guests have arrived. The guard captain, the holy priestess of the moon, and two… servants.”

“SALUTATIONS!” the two guards shouted at once, they were loud enough that the captain jumped from his place in fear. The shout leapt to the ceiling and came back thinner, and for a breath the corridor was a bell.

“The Guard Knight and The Holy Priestess Request an audience!” they both said at the same time.

“Enter…” the reply was low, but audible to all. It carried the tired weight of a man who has said yes and no too many times in a day and would yet say them again.

The two guards pressed a hand each on the door and it opened for them.

The chamberlain moved to the side allowing them to enter and see the interior of the bureau.

It was a large office like room, with a library as walls, and several high windows for light. The shelves climbed in steady ranks, their spines stitched with gold titles and faded dyes, the leather soft from years of palms. Dust did not dare show itself in that room; it had been trained to remain a rumor. The light fell in rectangles that warmed the tops of the books and cooled the reading table, and in that balance the air smelled faintly of paper, oil, and a medicinal sweetness that belonged to herbs boiled often.

A large desk table with both the chancellor, an old man with a weary gaze, exhaustion seemed to have shaven years off his life and what looked like a man with too many potions on his body than one needs to carry. He smelled of herbs and incense. Either an alchemist or a physician. His belts bore vials and pouches that chimed glass against glass when he shifted, a traveling kit for a man who never left the room, and his fingers had the slight yellow stains of one who grinds roots himself rather than trust apprentices.

“Glad to see you back, Guard Knight.” the chancellor said. He did not stand. His nod was a lean that made the papers on his desk slide a finger-width out of their stacks.

“I wouldn’t have came back if it wasn’t for this young man,” the captain immediately said.

The two of them took a glance at Ludwig, the alchemist began to rub his beard, “A foreigner. What compelled you to help our knight?”

“A sense of duty to those in need,” Ludwig said.

“Ah, a young aspiring knight, say, are you a servant of the empire?” the alchemist spoke.

“No, I serve a higher being,” Ludwig replied without any pretenses. He let the words rest in the room and did not move, as though any unnecessary shift of foot or shoulder would be an extra claim.

“Hmm, strong heart rate, it didn’t beat off, his whole face seemed to remain steady, no change in structure or breathing… he didn’t lie, he isn’t a spy…” the physician said. His eyes watched the muscles beside Ludwig’s jaw and the quiet of his eyelids, and something like satisfaction softened the set of his mouth.

“That was a test?” Ludwig tilted his head.

“Many come claiming that they aren’t part of the empire to try and stab us in the back, you’ll have to excuse our… caution.”

“No offense taken, I’m impressed that you can sense that much from far away.”

“It is my job as the royal physician.”

“I see,” Ludwig said and remained quiet after. There was no need to explain the other palate he listened with, the inner sense that noticed when rooms bent around a lie.

“So what’s the purpose of this visit?” the chancellor asked. The fingers of his left hand tapped once on a page and then flattened it as if to prevent it from rising in a draft that did not exist.

“I heard that the King is sick, and I came with the Holy Priestess to see if we can do anything…”

“It isn’t something that medicine or magic can solve,” the physician said as he raised his hand. The bracelets of vials winked a pale green along the curve of his wrist.

“I should at least try, Uhsn’ak can guide me to what ails the king.”

“I told you, it isn’t a problem of the body nor the heart, it is something… different.”

“If it can’t be solved with magic, nor miracle work, it’s an issue of the mind,” Ludwig said.

The councilor and the physician both looked at each other then back at Ludwig, “We have come to that conclusion, but the mind is a tricky place. Not many know its secrets.”

Ludwig nodded, “The mind is too complex for mere medicine to solve. So, what ails him? Nightmares? Hallucinations? A different person in his body? or…” He kept his tone almost idle, as if he named weather. Inside, he watched the way the physician’s shoulders rose and fell on each word and saw where the breath caught.

Immediately the physician stood up, “Seems like you know a lot about one’s mental health.”

“I won’t say I know a lot, but at least… I can recognize some ailments.” He did not look at the priestess, but he felt her attention lean closer. The guard captain held himself very still, as if bracing for a verdict he could not help deliver.

“Tarik… he isn’t a person of this kingdom. We don’t know his affiliation yet.” The chancellor said. He said the name as though placing a small weight upon the table to see if the surface dipped.

“I need his eyes, I won’t allow him to touch the king, I just need his insight… so, how about we let him meet the king?”