Larencia City, 2 Years Ago
The room was luxurious in every sense. A deep plush crimson carpet imported from the mainland lined its floor. A large tapestry hung upon one wall, depicting the Legion’s stand at the castle of Dirk the Daring during the Undead War. The artist had obviously been one of considerable skill, as the savagery of the battle had been captured in intricate detail. Sunlight filtering through a partially opened large heavy green curtain across the surface of the tapestry, creating the illusion that the figures were moving, forever playing out the final battle. A floor to ceiling bookshelf adorned half the opposite wall, denoting the owner of the room to be a scholarly type. Works on many different subjects sat upon its shelves, although most were historical texts originating from countries around the world. The opening in the curtain also revealed a door leading to a balcony from where the room’s occupant could look out over the city below and on a clear day could even see ships on their approach to the city. Nestled in the corner of the walls containing the tapestry and the curtain was a large fireplace, the warmth of which was sufficient enough to heat the room during even the most severe of Larencian winters.
The centre of the room was occupied by a large desk, upon which was scattered a number of maps and documents, a decanter of wine, two glass goblets and a platter containing an assortment of meats, pastries and cheeses. One man sat at the desk, his chin resting upon steepled fingers, a look of concentration upon his face, while another man paced back and forth behind him.
“The war went hard for us Serath” said Jeran, First Prince of Larencia, glancing over his left shoulder at the seated man on the other side of the desk “We were nearly destroyed. If the Theocracy hadn’t changed sides at the last and attacked the Caldarians all would have been lost.” Jeran stopped his pacing, picked up the decanter from the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He turned and offered Serath a re-fill but was politely declined by his youngest brother. Replacing the decanter on the table, Jeran returned to his seat and took a long draught from the goblet before setting it alongside the decanter. After pausing to gather his thoughts he continued. “It has been a year since the end of the war and we have still not recovered. The provincial armies have been re-enforced back to full strength but the Kings Legions are still under manned.”
“Losses were that bad?” interrupted Serath as he leaned forward and selected a slice of Halflington cheese from the platter in front of him. Clearing his throat Jeran nodded then continued.
“The Legion Cavalry suffered heavy casualties as did the Mammoth Hudah. Losses among the infantry were approximately four in ten. It’s not the numbers that concern us, but the quality of the soldiers. A lot of experienced men were killed and they will be hard to replace. Rex is of the opinion that it will take another one to two years for the Legion to attain its pre-war fighting strength.”
Serath sat back into his richly upholstered chair and digested the news that his brother had given him. With three neighboring countries considered enemies, the Larencian military had its hands full keeping the borders secured at the best of times, let alone when they were under strength. Undoubtedly the settlers on the frontier were doing it hard.
“The last thing we need right now is to have a break down in relations between Larencia and Lors. The treaties must be maintained at all costs,” emphasised the First Prince as he pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “If our enemies suspect for a minute that our alliance with Lors is suspect, they will take advantage of our perceived weakness and strike.” Jeran picked up his goblet, drained the wine that it contained then set it back onto the table. Serath looked into the face of the second most powerful man in Larencia and grew concerned at what he saw. The strain of the past six months had clearly taken its toll. At only thirty-one years of age, Jeran looked a man in his early forties. His light brown hair had turned gray at the temples and deep lines furrowed his brow. Never a powerfully built man, he had lost weight since the wars end and the green and white robes of office that marked him as the First Prince hung limply upon his gaunt frame. Jeran had always been a vain man and it spoke volumes about the pressure that he was under that his appearance had slipped so. With the King having moved his court to Candlelight, the task of rebuilding the shattered Larencian countryside had fallen to the First Prince; a task with which he was obviously finding difficult to cope.
“You know that the child Bess carries is not mine,” said Serath as he shifted nervously in his chair.
Jeran bowed his head, his words barely audible above the crackling fire. “I know”. An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between the two brothers before Jeran spoke again. “Have you determined who the father is?”
“No”, replied Serath evenly. “I’ve had spies working hard to find out but they have so far learned nothing. The Queen is a subtle and cunning woman and was able to keep this affair a secret. If the Earth Mother wills it I will eventually discover who it was and deal with him accordingly. In the meantime what would father have me do?”
The First Prince leaned forward in his chair and looked earnestly into his youngest brother’s eyes before speaking.
“Our Father and The Queen Mother of Lors arranged this marriage to bind our two countries closer together. Instead, I fear they are drifting further apart. Family honor has been tainted, but what is our honor worth if our people lie dead in their fields? You must acknowledge the child as your own”. Jeran rubbed his eyes with his ink stained hands. Once again Serath was struck by how exhausted he looked. “The alliance must be maintained at all costs.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Serath replied, the anger evident in his voice as he picked up the decanter and poured himself a drink. “Lors itself cannot afford a war at this time either. Why this woman would allow such a thing to happen I do not know!” In a rare lack of self-control, Serath hurled the decanter across the room, where it smashed into a hundred pieces against the bookcase, soaking a number of volumes with wine. Jeran’s head came up sharply and he bit back a rebuke. The door to the Princes inner chamber flew open as the two Legion Guardsmen stationed outside rushed into the room with swords drawn, their eyes assessing the room for danger. Jeran waved them away then turned back to his brother, noticing that the look of outrage that had been there an instant before had been replaced by the blank unemotional mask that was Seraths trademark.
The First Prince climbed to his feet and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket before moving toward the bookcase. He commenced to mop up the wine that was already staining the pages of the books that it covered.
“I see that she has upset you brother,” he said sympathetically without turning from the task at hand.
Serath once again sat back into his chair before speaking, his voice tinged with embarrassment “I apologise for my outburst Jeran, it was…unnecessary”.
Having done his best to clean up the mess, Jeran removed the five books that had been damaged and carried them to the door, balancing the books in his right arm; he turned the doorknob with his left and opened the door. Outside, both guards came rigidly to attention, their eyes remaining locked upon the wall in front of them.
“Roland”, said Jeran as he addressed the soldier on the left-hand side of the door.
“My Prince”, replied Roland, his right arm coming up smartly in salute, the fist thumping into his chest just above his heart.
“Take these books down to Brother Anthony the Librarian and ask him to repair them as best he can”, said the First Prince as he handed Roland the books.
“Yes my Prince” answered Roland transferring the books to his left arm then saluting again. Without waiting to see Roland carry out his command, Jeran turned and re-entered the room, closing the door behind him.
The First Prince walked across the room and sat back down in his chair, all the while rubbing his wine soaked hands upon his purple cloak. “Serry” started Jeran, using the name that the family called Serath as a child. “I do not envy you your life as it is right now. The insult is grave indeed, but for the good of the realm you must accept the child as your own”.
Abruptly Serath rose from his chair, turned his back on his eldest brother and made his way over to the curtain that partially obscured the door leading to the balcony. Pulling the heavy curtain to one side he opened the door and looked out onto the city below, immediately feeling the chill of the cold sea breeze as it invaded the warm sanctuary that was Jeran's study. He heard his brother gasp at the sudden influx of cold air and could feel Jeran's eyes upon his broad back. Outside, the city was going about its business as it had done for the last three hundred years. Merchants were selling their wares, their cries attempting to entice customers to purchase their goods. Covered wagons rolled down the paved roads and on to their destinations, while people scurried alongside them intent on their own business.
Seraths eyes scanned the city below passing over familiar landmarks; the Legion barracks by the main gate, the market place near the residential sector and the Fountain of Good Fortune, just to name a few.
Eventually his questing eyes found what they were searching for as they came upon Gaia’s Grove, the Shrine of the Earth Mother. Uncharacteristically, a smile appeared on his face as the memory came back to him of the time he had pushed his twin brother Alexander into the Glade of Contemplation. Angry the Druid had been brutal in his punishment for the lack of respect he had shown the Earth Mother, and he had spanked Serath without mercy. The young Prince had been proud even as a child, and had not cried out during the beating. He had considered the cold dunking and the look of outrage on his brother’s face well worth the punishment he had received for his crime. How he longed to once again walk bare foot on grass as he had as a child, the cares of the realm unimportant to a ten-year-old. The smile faded from his face. ‘Time to set the cat amongst the pigeons’ he thought to himself as he turned to his brother and spoke.
“I intended to accept the child as my own whether Father approved or not.”
Mixed emotions appeared on Jeran's face. Relief that Serath intended to do the King’s bidding and concern that Serath had intended to go against their father’s wishes if the King had chosen a different course of action. The years he had spent with Angry the Druid and as Consort to the Queen had obviously changed him. Indeed, he was his own man with his own agendas.
“I’m glad my brother” said Jeran, a smile breaking out on his exhausted face “Now, tell me of your daughter, how is little Bess?”
Authors Note: Just to explain something here, Bess is the hereditary name of the Queen of Lors. Serath is the consort to Bess the XV and father to Bess the XVI. Just to confuse things more I was thinking of naming his horse Bess but decided against it at the last minute.
