Into The Maze

Euan McAllen

Description

The Maze divides up the land, isolating communities and loved ones, and hated ones. On the Outside, the League of Monasteries rules supreme. On the Inside, the Kingdom rules in ignorance of its own isolation, free of all Gods. At its centre, the Village struggles to survive. This is a story of confusion, conflict, deception and double-crossing between members of a dysfunctional Royal Family. It is also the story of a despotic Chief Monk, and the story of an orphaned village girl wishing for a better life. By the end the emotional complexity, hurt and betrayals overwhelms all.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 16 août 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785387456
• Langue: English

Extrait

Into The Maze
Book One of The Maze Trilogy
Euan McAllen




First published in 2017 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2017 Euan McAllen
The right of Euan McAllen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Part One: Inward Bound
It was a maze, pure and simple. But it was complicated. No one knew why it was there, or how big it was, or how it had been built, or when. It had no beginning. It had no end. It could not be mapped by those alive but it had been by those now dead. It kept you in or it kept you out. It protected you or protected others from you. It led you astray. It led you around in circles. It defined the landscape. It divided the land. It divided those who lived on the land. It antagonised. It astounded. It was a monster of a maze, and it could turn you into a monster.
The Castle was a web of intrigue: never pure, never simple. Its kings and queens fought both in the open and behind closed doors. Its princes were lifted up or put down. Its lords suffered and its ladies swooned. Its nobles and knights took note and took sides. Its servants pushed to persuade their masters, else performed for their masters, else pretended; and sometimes perished. Meanwhile the peasants beyond the Castle walls just kept their heads down and carried on digging and planting and harvesting. It was what peasants did, and they did it well.
***
Unsavoury smells penetrated the rooms of the castle. They emanated from the dining hall: the smell of burnt fat from roast beef, pork, chicken duck, potatoes, onions and parsnips; the smell of beer, bad breath, unwashed clothes, unwashed feet, greasy feet; even leather sandals pickled in sweat. A banquet was in full flow and the sound was deafening. Servants hovered, awaiting orders, grabbing an illicit bite out of sight. Lords worked hard to think of something funny, witty or just loud to say to their ladies. They drank and stank - the ladies as much as the men. Diets were an alien concept, as was ‘five fruit and veg a day’. Amongst them sat Prince Mozak, trying to hold his own with the fat buffoons on either side. He knew that they only pretended to respect him. He didn’t pretend to respect them.
Prince Mozak was stuffed full of roast beef, stuffing and beer. He didn’t like vegetables. He couldn’t face desert. He wanted to slip away early. He wanted a girl. He wanted one particular girl. He looked around. Where was Rufus, that good for nothing? He clicked his fingers and issued an instruction that Rufus be sent for. A junior wine dispenser parked his bottle of wine somewhere safe and ran off to do his prince’s bidding. He found Rufus in the kitchens, stuffing his face with roast beef and stuffing.
‘The prince wants you.’
‘Fuck.’ Rufus licked his fingers, waited for as long as he could, then slowly climbed the stairs to face the heat.
Mozak was smarting at the delay. ‘Where are you when I want you?’
‘Somewhere else,’ replied Rufus, digging, as Prince Mozak pulled him in close and whispered in his ear.
Rufus was to go find a particular, newly promoted, lady-in-waiting and tell her to wait for her prince by the clock tower. Rufus had a pretty good idea what for. As he backed away he watched his master fix his eyes on his mother the Dowager Queen, and then his uncle the King; then back to his mother, then his uncle again; and so on, ad infinitum; watching them avoiding each other like they were toxic. As on previous occasions Rufus tried to feel sorry for him but as always, failed.
Rufus found the prince’s target for lust in her mother’s chambers. She became excited when Rufus announced he had a message from the Prince. He hated himself for it - not much, just enough to make him feel morally superior to his master. She giggled when he said that Prince Mozak wanted to meet her, in secret. Job done, Rufus left quickly. Her innocence was too much to take and his thoughts wanted to switch back to food.
The lovely, little lady-in-waiting met her prince at the prescribed place. She had even washed her hands and face in anticipation of physical contact. He looked pleased to see her. She had lots to talk about since their previous encounter. He didn’t. He offered her a drink from the bottle of wine he had grabbed on his way out of the banquet and she accepted it, to prove she could keep up. He held up two chicken legs. He gave her one and together they nibbled and sipped away to their heart’s content.
This little lady had lovely hair, and he told her so. That’s what he had learnt to do. He had lovely eyes and she told him so, because she meant it. As two drunken knights came stumbling down the alleyway, engaged in mental combat with themselves as well as each other, Mozak broke into the store room opposite and pulled her in behind him. He was greeted by a pile of sacks - big sacks of grain. It was as good as any double bed. He was suddenly in heaven, even though he wasn’t king yet. And she just kept on giggling, like she was stupid, which she probably was.
He played with her. She played with him. He stroked her hair. She hugged him and allowed him to hug her. They finished off the wine and then he finished her off. They did it, in under ten minutes, surrounded on all sides by the grain harvest. Refusal was not an option and afterwards she hurried off in tears, but only because her prince hadn’t declared his love for her.
‘Fuck you then,’ he thought, and slipped away to go get more drunk.
Meanwhile his uncle, true to form, was openly flirting with one of his mistresses while the other looked on, bored, and the Dowager Queen looked on disgusted, mainly at the pig. She had heard about this pig: the king had been seen leading the thing around the castle. Sometimes he had been heard talking to it - talking to a pig! And now for the first it was sitting by his side at the dinner table, honking with gratitude whenever the king threw food its way. To think, she had once fancied this man. Now she held him at arm’s length. (Not realizing he did the same.)
***
The next morning - late morning - Prince Mozak was forced out of bed when he received a summons to see the Dowager Queen. He walked slowly towards her chambers, on his way stopping to watch two guards having an argument - careful not to be seen. It turned physical, but they backed away after a few punches and agreed a draw. (They were cousins.) For Mozak this was unacceptable: he stepped in and offered them both a silver piece to continue the fight until one was on the floor, and an extra piece for the winner. They could not refuse (for he was the prince) and soon one ended up floored, blood on his face. Mozak walked on satisfied. When he reached his mother’s private quarters he stopped for ages, steeling himself for possible abuse.
His mother did not look well. Mozak spotted that straight away when he was brought before her by one of her simpering toadies. And from the way she looked at him from the safety of her armchair, it was quite evident that she thought the same. He edged forward, still steeling himself for the battering which was about to be released. He could tell it was coming. He could see the signs. She hated him having a good time - or so he had convinced himself. The Dowager Queen did not mince her words.
‘You smell disgusting. And you look awful.’
Thank you mother, thought Mozak. He decided not to rise to the bait. He was nearly eighteen. Soon she would not be able to touch him. (Or so he thought.) Which left just the king.
‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself?’
Mozak shrugged. ‘It was a banquet. You eat and drink to excess. That’s the point.’
If really pushed, he had lots to say, though he guessed that now was not a good time to say it. Instead he decided to take the initiative.
‘How did it go with Uncle Bizi last night?’
His mother immediately looked away as if stung, as if an invisible hand had snapped her neck sideways.
‘None of your business. Now listen.’
Mozak, feeling cocky, felt like saying that it would soon be his business: he was nearly eighteen and next in line to the throne, and she was just a widowed queen living on a pension - a pension he could cancel when he was king. ‘When he was king.’ He loved that expression. Instead he did as he was told and listened as his mother proceeded to reprimand him for his previous night’s exploits with the young, but not that young, Lady Jane. She did not come across as shocked by her son’s behaviour, nor disappointed in him, more just put out. Apparently Lady Jane had gone crying to her mother who in turn had gone - possibly crying - to her to file a complaint. Mozak guessed he wouldn’t be seeing much of Lady Jane for a while. Would he have to marry her? God no, please. Don’t force me to marry her.
Business done, the Dowager Queen moved the conversation on to something more important while her son struggled to stand to attention.
‘You must be married when you are eighteen. You will be married when you are eighteen.’
She had decided and the king had decided and the parents ha