It was within the first month of my employment in the palace that I found the secret passageway behind the tapestry. As Lord Eoros Elumir’s retainer, I was to tend to his Lordship’s chamber. My duties entailed nothing too difficult, mainly to change the linen and air the ermine robes, but a near debilitating anxiety held me in its icy grip as I shuffled around the lavishly decorated room. The honour of getting engaged in the staff of the royal family of Irea is one most can only dream of, but to serve the Royal Seer is as prestigious a post a lowly scholar’s son can wish for. I was well aware of the responsibilities that came with this post, and equally aware of the little credit one had as a junior chasseur in case he failed to adequately meet those responsibilities. So it was that my hand trembled as I picked up the china his Lordship had enjoyed his afternoon tea from, intending to gather them onto the tray I held in my other hand. It happened in a split second. The tray slipped from my hand and instinctively, I reached for it with the other, letting go of the tea cup in the process. I wished to catch both of them and overreached, losing my balance and toppled over. My outstretched hands grabbed hold of what was within reach and thus, I tore a gold embroidered tapestry from its frame. When I had scrambled out from underneath the colossal carpet, my first thoughts were with his Lordship’s wrath that surely awaited me. My second thoughts involved the ancient, secret door that had been hidden behind the tapestry. In the centre of the door sat a hand print of dried blood.

Looking back, I still cannot say which drove me more: an intense desire to escape the punishing hands of Lord Elumir, or a perverse curiosity. After having hastily shoved the shards of china underneath the four-poster bed and provisionally reattached the tapestry, I took a closer look at the door. It was ajar. How it had been opened I did not know, for there was no handle, just the handprint in the centre at chest height. A handprint made of blood. Not fresh blood, although that would have made it less alarming. This print was made of old blood, layer upon layer of old blood. The wood beneath it was saturated with it where the hand had pushed against the door time and time again. A wave of nausea overcomes me every time I think of it. But even my souring stomach could not assuage my twisted curiosity as to what lay behind this gruesome door. And so I gently placed my outstretched fingers against the wood, careful not to touch the stain, and gave it a push.

It swung open onto a narrow, dark corridor.

Feeling my way along the stone walls, I came unto a crude stairs, running down further and longer than any stairs had a right to. Peering into the darkness, I shuffled onward and ever downward. I was starting to believe that this was the stairway to the Core of the World when I finally saw a light flickering at the end of the steps. A torch was alight in its sconce on the wall. This came as both a relief and a feeling of dread: someone must have lit that torch. I admit that the thought of his Lordship crossed my mind, but my faith in him and his purity dismissed the possibility for Lord Elumir to have a connection with the hand of blood. Surely there was an explanation for all this which had nothing to do with His Lordship. Determined to find the culprit behind the besmirching of Lord Elumir’s door and reputation, if only in my own mind, I continued with a knight’s resolve as he rides to defend his master’s name. I passed three more blazing torches before I happened upon a crypt, a wide open space with vaulted ceiling. Ancient bones lay in the recesses along the walls. I knew that the royal family’s palace has its own catacombs, where generations of kings and queens took their final rest, but I had never seen them. These bodies must belong to King Keldhavar’s ancestors, and Lord Elumir must tend to their remains as a part of his holy duties to the family. I already started to feel at ease, my heart swelling with a sense of pride for my Lord’s dedication and a deep gratitude for having had the honour to lay eyes upon Irea’s kings of old, when the sound of voices made my breath catch. Pressing as flat against the shadow-clad wall as possible, I listened. What I heard then, would shorten the remainder of my life considerably.

The bones and skulls in the recesses did not belong to Irea’s royal family. They belonged to people of various descents and origins who had but one thing in common: the forces that be had wanted them erased. From my vantage point in the shadows I looked upon the group that gathered in the crypt. Three grey-cloaked figures stood on the left, each of them bearing a candle to see by. The five figures on the right were dressed in black, showing nothing but their eyes through slits in their cowls woven of pure darkness. They sat with one knee bent, heads bowed and one hand to their heart. They struck me as ancient warriors, pledging their undying loyalty to their masters and I was not far off, so it became clear.

“You called for us, Your Excellency,” spoke the first of the kneeling knights.

“My Faithful. I have need of your services once more.”

I had to clasp my hands before my mouth to smother a cry. The voice of the man who had spoken last, belonged to the Royal Seer, Lord Eoros Elumir.

“The Faithful are ever at your service, Your Excellency.”

“Very well. Listen closely.” Lord Elumir cleared his throat. “As you are undoubtedly aware, the heads of the four nations have attempted to establish a global governing body. A foolish attempt, I say.” An assenting murmur came from the two men flanking the Royal Seer.

“The notion of a global government is an insult to Irea’s divine right to the highest power,” the Lord continued. “The formation of this Convocation as they call themselves, is nothing but a contrivance to have Irea relinquish its divine rights and restrict our blessed King in his eminence. His Majesty’s exclusive right to reign was bestowed upon him by the Axioms themselves, through my humble services as a medium. None shall stand above His Royal Highness King Keldhavar!” The acquiescent knights voiced their agreement as one.

Royal Seer Eoros Elumir nodded his approval.

“You Faithful,” he addressed the five. “This Convocation is to hold its first gathering in the old Caeldic city of Ceian, offshore of mainland Valènor. This seat was chosen for its neutrality and strategic location. Its president, Sir Talmar Clearbrook, the representative for the Keiron race, was elected for his race’s impartiality and diplomatic background. This is a lie. Talmar Clearbrook is misusing his race’s reputation of being of a neutral and pacifistic disposition to gain his peers’ trust. Left unattended, he and his Convocation will not only restrict our blessed King in his rightful reign, but the whole of Irea. This must be prevented. It is your divine duty to see this gathering called off.” Lord Elumir gripped the rim of his hood and pulled it back. The light of his candle threw a nervous shimmer across his stern visage. “Sir Talmar Clearbrook must be eliminated.”

After having witnessed this meeting, I could never look at Lord Elumir the same. My respect for him had turned into mortal fear overnight, and so when the Lord Seer called for me a few days later, I felt my bowels curl tight when I was ushered inside his chamber. I knew it was over for me the moment he held out his hand, showing the shards of the tea cup I had shoved under the bed. Not a word was spoken. Lord Elumir ran a ritual dagger across the palm of his hand and placed it on the secret door. Its magical seal unlocked and swung open onto oblivion. Thus I was whisked away to a desolate cell deep inside the chasms of the palace where I remain to this day.

I write this petit memoir by the murky light of the torch in the sconce. Not for my sake. I have lost my innocence, a cruelty I would much rather escape by my own hand sooner than later, but even so I write this. Not to ease my own troubled mind. I write this so that the spirits of those who share my fate may find peace.

If this writing is ever found, I have but one favour to ask. I ask that the bodily remains scattered in these dungeons be returned to the surface and given a proper burial, for they have not died by the Hand of Fate, but by the bloodstained hands of a false prophet.