The Ambassador's Death: The Chronicles of Tralia, #3

By Anita K. Mills

 

"Magic is an age-old force; as powerful as the wind, as quick as lightning and as deadly as any crossbow, and all should respect it at all times. It is neither good nor evil, only the user is either. They should use it for good to help all of man, elf, dwarven and any other kind, yet as we all know, more use it for the good of the dark one and themselves.

Forty years almost to the date after the death of the Hakorns, Kathryn finds her eldest child dead, in a locked room and a vial of poison sitting on the chest near his body, but his parents, his wife and his King, swears it was not suicide! Then how come he is dead?

Kathryn and Macaith have to become detectives to find out why. Was Tralia threatened again? Was the family? What had their son gotten himself into that cost him his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita K. Mills
• Release date: Apr 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201591649

Anita K. Mills

Anita started writing back in the early 1990s when she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and her first novels have taken over twenty years to write. She loves writing and hopes it continues long into the future with plenty more adventures for her characters. She says, Fibromyalgia does not hold me back; if I can, I will. Anita lives in Nottingham, Great Britain, and enjoys visiting new places, meeting new people and visiting family. Follow her at: https://www.facebook.com/anita.mills.33 Website: https://blakemanbooks.weebly.com https://YouTube.be/F4KtPER25oQ

Book preview

Chapter One

Mysteries to solve

Tralia 571

Kathryn’s, Macaith's, and Richard’s grief

Kathryn sat in her garden all day at Castle Centra and watched the sun rise and fall over the western tower, without moving. Today had been a particularly good day, for she had not cried once for the loss of her eldest child, Michael, but then; she had cried all last night in the arms of Macaith.

No parent should suffer the loss of a child. It's far too heartbreaking, she thought. No matter how old they are!

Slowly and painfully, she recalled that fateful morning.

Kathryn had felt his death waken her in the early hours of the morning when his inherited magic returned to her and the shock had almost knocked her out cold. She had called both Macaith and Richard mentally as she got out of bed and told them that Michael was in his room and was in trouble as she grabbed for a chair to help steady herself, and then did her best to get up the stairs. She finally used her magic and appeared in the corridor right outside the door as Macaith and Richard raced there from different ends of the castle. While she waited, trying to catch her breath and for the pain she experienced with using her magic, to lessen, before they entered the room. Macaith had been running through Centra copse and had just returned. Luckily for Richard, he had been downstairs on the next level. Something had kept him from his bed, so he did not have far to go and he was the first to go in as Macaith stopped to help her. The King’s pitiful cry echoed around the castle and seemed to go on forever, alerting everyone to the tragedy.

Collwyn, her brother, had broken the scene by his entrance, along with Katie, Edrith and Martin. He looked, he saw, he dashed out calling for a lock down of the castle, but whoever had done this, she knew, was already long gone.

Macaith was too numb to speak and Richard, her nephew, the king, now sobbed openly. Though after a few moments, the noise vanished as shock took over and she dropped to the floor, unconscious.

There were so many questions, yet very little answers.

‘Neatly arranged,’ was the thought of Macaith, when the thought came back to her and she had agreed. She informed her father-in-law and the guild master telepathically.

In Woodelm, the Elvish king began the keen as soon as he heard. They sent the sound high into the air, with all elves adding their voices. All of Tralia heard as they were telling the Goddess of Light that one of her warriors was on his way and trumpets would sound as he entered her realm. The trumpets would begin a day later. That was the elvish custom.

Through Kathryn’s magic of amplification, the whole of Tralia heard and knew an elf warrior had left to join the Goddess, it wasn’t till the next few days that anger took the place of the elvish keen, when all of Tralia knew who had died!

The news of Michael’s death flashed around Tralia like a lightning spell, yet not who had done this dreadful deed. Tralia, the King and all his subjects, demanded a head. But she could not deal with the consequences until today.

Michael's rooms had to be unlocked by the king's master key, as they found no other. How had the door become locked? Michael’s body, again she almost choked, but rushed the thought on, had been found on the floor. Strange, he had not made himself comfortable on the bed and suicidal people don’t put stoppers back in the bottles. In Michael's case, there would not have been time. Cyanide acts quickly.

The vial was such a small thing to cause such a large heartache. And where was his coat, sword and rings, and why remove his shoes? Then there was Michael himself. He had no cause to commit suicide; he had gone to bed happy, though he was alone. Which begs another question. As Talaya and Michael were inseparable for the past forty years, why didn’t Michael go with his wife, when she left him ten days before his death, to go to Hakorn to take care of her brother, when they had done everything together? What made him stay in the Western Isles, then come home alone? No, things did not add up! Kathryn’s head shook at the impossibility as her hand raised and swiped the lone tear.

How the town's people had gathered for her children, she remembered, outside the Lady's Chapel to wish the couples well on their wedding days, and how they had gathered to give their condolences to Michael's wife and her family for their loss.

One old man told Talaya that had brought tears to even the hardest of men. A man like him should never die, but lifted by the goddess herself. He was truly her representative on Tralia.

Talaya wept openly as she kissed the older man's cheek, thanking him for his kind words as all around her agreed.

Michael worked tirelessly besides both highborn and low. Caring for the sick, who could not afford the medicine of the herberies that he had designed, and he gave it for free along with his time. Though he paid from his own pocket, till Richard had found out and paid a weekly stipend to the Herbery’s coffers to care for the sick, though Michael still added to it.

Once Collwyn had given the permits to build the Herbery, Michael had organised the building of both the herbery and the local magic school in Centra for all children and made sure all that could not work had food. The guilds were slowly recovering from the last war, but needed a base.

One of his best friends, who was now the retired town's blacksmith, Delor, had helped to build both and had helped to carry the coffin, which he made, through the town with the king at his shoulder, along with Macaith, Edrith, Cadraith and Martin. That had been the last time the seven of them had been together, an almost sixty years of a strong bond, not only of family, but of friendship for six of them. For Martin, it had been forty.

All the men unashamedly wept as they placed the coffin on the altar, where it had laid for five days and most of Talia had lined up to say their goodbyes with gifts, before being buried in the Castle’s cemetery

Yet why were they being given, she thought, when at sixty-one years, he was not old? Besides, her son had magic, and part elf, which would have prolonged his life. He was still fit and active; he rode every day, fought with his cousins in mock battles most evenings and ran for three leagues (ten miles) with Martin, young Collwyn, Jon, Kerwyn, younger Jon, along with his father, Macaith and his uncle, Cadraith at the end of every week. The king had relented on many days as the king’s duty kept him busy.

Kathryn knew a lot about his life. He was a social worker of the highest order; Richard had called him. Never had anyone cared so much about the people or the land, they lived on and because of his love of the people, Collwyn had a special ring made for him to denote his appointment as the Ambassador for Tralia and Tralia, mostly Centra, had partied for almost a tenday over that too after the first signing of the treaty with the Western Isles.

The ring, designed by Richard and made by Delor, the then Blacksmith's nephew and given in grand ceremony by Collwyn, the king. It had a raised map engraved on gold and six small crystals placed into the five counties of Tralia and one on the Western Isles. It was one of a kind and Michael, just like his wedding ring, never took it off his finger. Yet it was not on his right middle finger, the day they found him, nor was his wedding ring, but she had clearly seen them the night prior.

She had been too far in grief to start the why of Michael's death and had sealed the door with her magic until capable of doing so. Time later to answer questions, she thought teary-eyed, and did not want to stay in the room any longer than necessary.

Talaya also had not wanted to stay or sleep in the room, so had moved into one further down the hallway. After her recovery, Talaya had spent all her waking time here in the garden with Kathryn until her brother Philip took her back to Hakorn. Though at that moment as now, the garden wasn’t noticed as a new question arose after thinking through that last evening, until Michael had placed his hand on her shoulder to wish her a good night. What had Michael been carrying in his other hand before kissing her to go to bed that was purple and silver? Now she was curious. Slowly and painfully, she got up and headed indoors.

****

Macaith

Macaith, though had not wanted to sit in the garden today and like the day his son had died, he needed to be out doing something. He interviewed everyone who had been on that floor the day and night of his son’s death again and still had found nothing untoward. He left the castle that morning and went into the town and asked questions of anyone he found as he did now, and the answers were the same. ‘No, they had seen no one; and again, they were very sorry for his loss.’ Thanking them, he had walked on. He called around the backs of the inns, knowing that the innkeepers would clean up after last night’s customers and then on to the shops that were getting ready to open. Slowly he made his way around the town again, hoping someone new knew something. He arrived at the Southgate and spoke to the watch. The men were just finishing up for the night.

No, my lord. Said one. As I said before, no one had left these gates all that night. I’ll ask the next watch and send word if they know anything more. Seeing the look of disappointment, the elder gate watch took pity on him. Try the other three gates, my lord. They may be more helpful, and I am truly sorry for your loss. He finished.

Macaith told him he already had, and he was grateful for his kind words. Michael's father went out of the southern gate, saying he’d take a walk. The old man at the gate looked on sadly as the elf headed into Centran Copse.

It was no way a wood and nothing like Woodelm forest, but it would have to do for now, thought Macaith. He needed time alone. He didn’t want to ‘race the wind,’ just needed time to reflect. For nearly two tendays after his son's death, he had been asking questions, yet he had gotten nowhere in those first six days before he left for home for four days and nothing in the last five days since being back from Woodelm. He could not believe there was nothing to tell him why his son was dead, but now there was nothing else he could do. It was time to remember him, just like Kathryn.

It was cool within the trees as he followed the path that many feet had frequently trodden, including his and his son’s. The way to the lake was this way, where they would fish.

Macaith missed his first born, his son, his friend and his confidant. He missed him at breakfast, lunch, and evening meals. He missed his laughter, his gaiety, and his jokes. He missed his exuberance about his work, watching him study, his head bent over his books. His gold and silver hair tied neatly by a black band in the elfin fashion, while he was reading or writing his ‘History of Tralia,’ but mostly, he missed him, as he had not been fishing for a very long time. He liked the peace and quiet that fishing afforded him at the lake and he was away from the castle noise, but he couldn’t go without Michael. Cadraith was a fine cousin, as close to him as a brother, but he also worked for both thrones and could not always get away to go fishing.

The coolness hit him as he continued his walk. Suddenly, he asked the Goddess, Why? Why was my son gone?

He expected no answer and of course he got none, but the questioned remained, why? Michael was part-elf born as well as a sorcerer; he had no reason to take his own life, so why was Michael dead!?

He turned at the sound and found Cadraith walking towards him. A walk? he asked.

Macaith nodded, and the cousins walked further into the trees. They had been together in the human world for sixty years, going home though at least twice a year. Their wives, too, were friends, and the four of them had dined together every night for as long as the two could remember. They were more than cousins and they knew what each other required in their lives. So, for this time, they walked on in silence, until they arrived back in the castle, when a servant stopped him.

****

Richard

Richard raged for an entire day after finding Michael; and nothing could calm him. Only his wife and eldest son, Collwyn, braved his anger, never leaving his side.

Now he found his way up through the building until he stood on the Castle’s ramparts and stood looking out over Centra and the valley beyond. Finally, he let out the heartfelt yell that he had held in for days. His wrath had gone now, replaced by an overwhelming defeat that he could not shift, nor did he want to. Why shouldn’t he grieve? His cousin, his best friend, his confidante, that he had to share with Tralia, had gone, taken from him. Tralia did not know him, not like he had. Even as king, he was grateful to him and had more to thank him for than all the world put together and now he could not. Now Richard, the man, wanted a moment on his own to remember his truest friend.

Though he did not come for the view, as he was too heartbroken at the loss of his cousin to see across the horizon, but he saw Tralia in his mind’s eye.

He had shared Michael with more than Tralia. He had shared him with his wife and how hard he had laughed on Michael's wedding day about that with Talaya as they had sat at the dining table. Michael, he remembered, had been amused by the whole thing. She had ordered pen and paper and divided Michael's time between them, making them laugh all the more. Talaya also told him she'd have his head if he invaded that time.

Can't do that, he told her. Shaking his finger at her. I'm to be king.

But you are not king yet, and won’t be if you cross these lines, she told him, wagging her finger back, with a laugh that matched his as she tapped the parchment with her other hand.

His father, Collwyn watching from across the table, had laughed too.

Richard smiled now in remembrance. Michael had told him how pleased he was that his future king and his wife had got on well together and they had throughout their marriages. They were also lucky in his choice of bride too, a year later when he married the Prandain Princess, Carissa.

He had gone to Pranda to see how his friend Sandras had been after his abduction, when he was taken with his cousins a few years before. He had known Carissa for a long time and had loved her for an even longer time. They often talked when he went to Pranda, especially during her brother’s abduction, along with the other five. All had worked together to escape the clutches of Tilda, the evil sorcerer's daughter, who used them to get to his aunt, Kathryn, because she had destroyed Tilda's father, Medrith.

Carissa seemed to have consoled him, more than the other way round, but that was the sort of woman he realised he had later married.

Kathryn thought she and Michael had killed the sorceress, but she appeared three years later and killed Talaya's parents. She had thought she had killed Michael's future wife as well, though how she knew about Talaya, Kathryn said, she did not know, especially when Michael himself had no idea. But he had, thought Richard, and he told Carrissa all about the ‘Hakorn Heiress’ when he visited Pranda the following spring. Carissa had liked Talaya straight off and they had become firm friends. Which had pleased him, which meant he and Michael could talk ‘king’s business’ in his private sitting room and his wife wasn’t alone in the salon in the south corridor.

Kathryn killed Medrith, and both Michael and Talaya killed Tilda, forty years ago, and his father, Collwyn, had been spared any injuries, thankfully, when he and the army fought Tilda’s army at Densdale Castle, along with the then King, Athrol of Orthney. However, the enemy ran away, his father and his historian had said as they tutored him growing up, when they found out the enemy's leader was dead. The ‘King’s Knowledge,’ as it was called, was passed down from father to son for many generations and was important. So, he passed it down to both his sons.

Now, Richard grieved to the depths of his soul that there were no answers to his questions concerning Michael’s death and angry that he could not disappear and grieve for Michael alone. But his parents, his wife and his country needed him and all three were demanding answers to why the ‘Ambassador of Tralia’ was dead and so far, he had none to give. It was Carissa who sent him here, as there was no place in the castle he could truly be alone. Kathryn was in the Garden below the north tower and was too grief stricken to attend the herbery, but Carissa was keeping a close eye on his aunt. Macaith, his uncle, he knew, was out questioning everyone in town to answer those questions for him, but so far no one knew anything. He had also told him he had soothed Kathryn's tears again last night by saying, ‘Someone knows something. I just haven't questioned them yet.’ Richard agreed. There was someone who knew something, there had to be!!!

He wanted to seek the answers for himself like Athrol had done forty years ago, when his best friend, Lewis of Hakorn, was murdered. Aye, he was sure Michael’s death was a murder. It was definitely not suicide. The who, how and the why, he would have to wait for.

The anger in the outlands was a tangent living force, or so he had been told. Every man, woman and child felt the loss of the Centran Ambassador, or Grandfather Michael, as he was called. Marc, the retired Captain had felt it as he travelled through nearby villages to gather information and report back, yet all he came back with was, ‘All men and women alike said that if our King Richard called for war, they would all rise to his banner, anything for the Centran Ambassador.’

Richard had shaken his head and asked his wife, Who did they think we were going to fight?  

Carissa had shaken her head too. Grief comes in many forms, my love, she told him sadly. And if they think that a fight will help that grief, then fight they will, besides there has to be an enemy, my love, or Michael would still be here.

Aye, Richard thought, an invisible one and you can’t fight an invisible army!

But as Richard stood looking out over the countryside, it wasn’t an invisible army that he saw, what he saw was his younger self in happier days with his cousin, riding away to explore the world of Tralia and its countryside with no thoughts of war or conflict of any kind. So, for now, he remembered his best friend, his beloved cousin, his half elf, his ambassador as they rode away to explore the country he would once rule. Richard held onto the picture for a long time.

While his wife sat on the sofa in her salon alone, ashened faced, tears running down her cheeks, her children were busy elsewhere in the castle. She alone knew how deep her husband’s grief really was, but she missed her best friends too, but her brother and sister were on their way to her, at least she would have someone to talk too.

****

Kathryn

Kathryn was still thinking about Michael while she climbed the stairs. She had no successor. Not even Katie would be the next sorceress of Tralia, as the magic of her brother passed back to their mother, not into her. No, she would have to wait till her successor was born, before they relieved her of her duty, unless she died in battle. The thought froze her in time and place until she shook her head.

Yes, Michael had been an outstanding student, she thought, and cyanide had taken her successor, her only son away, but who had given it to him and why? She would find them and make them pay. Oh; how she would make them pay!!!

Now she was angry! As well as curious...... And her tears dried as if by magic.

There was no one around as far as Kathryn was aware of, but she was only mindful of where she was going. At the top of the stairs, she waited to catch her breath before she turned into the south corridor and made her way to her son’s apartment.

Kathryn stood in front of the sealed door, again getting her breath back because of hurrying. Strange, she did not feel a reluctance as she would have expected, but an eagerness to know why that thought of the vial had hit her while she had been downstairs.

The door opened to her touch as the magical barrier fell away and she stepped into the gloomy, musty smelling room as no windows were opened and the door firmly shut for nearly two tendays.

After a moment of seeing it, as it was, with her son lying dead, just a few feet away from where she stood. That moment almost made her turn and run, but she squeezed her hands into fists, and her nails digging sharply into the soft flesh of her palms. She determinedly moved forward. Though her