“For one who is not used to such luxuries, I am sure it is a fine treat.” Lady Ethelbright said after a moment, she eyed Sir Rikard with disdain. “We will discuss this later; the Queen must show herself to the members of the court without delay.”
She clapped her hands and a few maids surrounded him, ushering him out of the room.
The maids then retrieved a new shift for Emira. They allowed her a moment of privacy while she removed her soaking wet one. As she pulled on the fresh shift, a faint waft of lavender filled the air. Silver flowers had been embroidered on the neckline and they shimmered when the firelight hit them.
Next was a dress that was half white and half black. The neckline scooped down just enough to reveal the shift underneath, allowing the glittering flowers to show. The sleeves draped down at her wrists and brushed the floor. Her skirt flared out a bit from her waist and small silver griffins had been embroidered on her skirt’s hemline. The maids wrapped a belt around her waist, decorated with more silver griffins.
Why nobility loved griffins so much was lost to her. She smoothed her skirt, trying to calm her nerves, the callouses on her hands caused the silky fabric to bunch up.
A maid rushed over and dolloped a cream on her palms. Emira rubbed her hands together, wincing as they ached.
“Now you look like a Queen,” Lady Ethelbright said and placed a circlet of pearls onto her head.
“I feel like a fool in a fancy dress,” Emira said and stared down at her hands. The cream had smoothed some rough callouses though plenty of scars remained.
“In time you will get used to it,” Lady Ethelbright said and ushered her to the door.
They headed through dark corridors, lit only by torchlight, till they arrived at the main courtyard. It was a large square with the four guiding stars painted in the center. Lady Ethelbright paused and looked at them for a moment. Before Emira could ask if she was lost, she headed to the door the eastern star pointed to.
They passed into yet another hallway, though this one had small arched windows that looked out to the outer courtyards.
“You do not have to speak; just try to keep your wits about you. Do not sit on the throne, as you are not yet anointed. And for the love of all that is holy do not curtsey for anyone. Remember you are no longer a mere fisherwoman. You are the Queen of Sodervia,” Lady Ethelbright said. They paused at a pair of large wooden doors. Two large griffins fighting off bears had been carved into the wood.
Again with the bloody griffins.
The doors opened without a sound to reveal a long hall with stone columns that had tiny griffins carved into it. The columns led up to an arched ceiling made of frosted glass, softening the harsh light of the sun. The arched windows on either side of the large hall were made of clear glass. The left windows looked out to a courtyard while the ones on the right looked out at the high walls that encircled the castle itself. In between each window was an enormous banner of mourning with an upside-down crown.
At the very end of the hall was a raised platform with a few steps leading up to a throne carved from stone with two griffins flanking either side. On top of the throne was a golden crown held up by delicate stone arches. Behind the throne itself was a giant rune for the Spirit of the Realm. Two large intertwined circles made of stone hovered over the ground, held up by invisible strings of magic. Silver and gold runes moved across the surface like boats on water.
“The crown is said to be the crown of King Geruld the first king of Sodervia,” Lady Ethelbright whispered, “and the giant circles are a visual reminder of the Spirit of the Realm’s power.”
In between the columns, a large crowd of nobles milled about laughing as they drank from goblets formed from silver and glittering with small jewels. A few servants darted about with jugs, refilling empty goblets.
Emira winced when a trumpet sounded next to her. They let out three short blasts then a herald shouted her and Lady Ethelbrights names. The nobles froze before they parted and created a path for Emira to walk toward the throne. It was then she noticed two wooden chairs had been set up in front of the steps leading to the throne. A woman, in a black dress and black veil that covered her face, sat in one chair.
“Go on, Your Majesty. I will be right behind you,” Lady Ethelbright said. Emira’s hands began to shake and her courage began to falter.
The nobles bowed their heads while she passed by. Some men wore the same cone hat Sir Rikard had been wearing, the large tassels danced around their bowed heads. The ladies wore equally ridiculous hats, some were cone shaped with a long ribbon on the end and others looked like the wing of a bird. The comical sight put Emira at ease, despite the unfriendly stares from the nobles who dared make eye contact.
When she approached the woman seated on the chair, the High Vestral moved out from the crowd. She was now wearing a cloak that had only the two interlocking orbs of the Spirit of the Realm on the hemline. The woman on the throne rose and walked over to them.
“Queen Emira, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Dowager Queen Isobel, wife to the late King,” the High Vestral said.
Emira started to curtsey, but she felt a sharp pinch on her arm from Lady Ethelbright, who dipped into a shallow curtsey.
“It is an honor to meet the Spirit’s chosen,” the Dowager Queen said with a tone that was neither hostile nor welcoming as she lifted her veil. The Dowager Queen looked to be no older than Emira’s mother. Her stark white hair stood out against the dark clothes she wore.
She looked at Emira like she was assessing a trinket in the market.
“And I am sorry for your loss,” Emira said, the Dowager Queen gave Lady Ethelbright a glare so cold that if she was a Vestral the air might have frozen.
“I see you have spent no time coaching her on any court matters.”
“Two weeks on the road is not enough time to brief one on all the intricacies of court decorum, as you know the Queen had an attempt on her life. It was my duty to bring her to safety,” Lady Ethelbright said, her voice had no trace of emotion in it. The two women glowered at each other before the Dowager Queen waved a hand at the High Vestral.
“As you were,” she said and her veil fell back over her face. She then turned on her heel and went back to her chair.
Lady Ethelbright moved to the side when the High Vestral indicated for Emira to turn and face the crowd of nobles. She was holding a rune that had two circles glowing a bright purple.
“The one who was chosen by the Spirit of the Realm stands before you! In three months time, she will swear the sacred oaths and become your anointed Queen!” the High Vestral said. Her voice must have been amplified by magic since Emira felt a tingling on her skin.
Not a sound was heard in the hall save for a man coughing, Lady Ethelbright clapped and soon others followed suit. They clapped like their hands were made of lead.
It was then Emira noticed their gazes, icy as a winter sea.
She gritted her teeth, white-hot anger flooded through her. It was not her fault the Spirit had chosen someone not from the noble classes. She was not going to be judged because she’d been born in a fishing village and not a castle.
“Enough!” she shouted. Lady Ethelbrights eyes widened with shock, even the High Vestral’s composure faltered as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Murmurs swept through the crowd while the nobles whispered to each other.
“Your Majesty?” the High Vestral asked, a warning tone wove through her words.
“Where I come from, respect is earned and not given freely. I know you are not happy a commoner is now your queen; I will not try to change your mind on it. However, I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure this kingdom does not fall into ruin.”
A slow clap from behind Emira caused her to jump, she turned to see the Dowager Queen rise from her chair. She lifted her veil of mourning as she glared out at the crowd, the nobles glanced at each other with unease, but they began to clap with more enthusiasm.
“Well done,” the Dowager
Queen said and ushered Emira to the chair beside hers. “You might be peasant born, but you have a way with words and that might keep you alive.”
Emira could only nod as the nobles formed a line that swept around the columns, preparing themselves for their introduction. Emira silently prayed to the Gods she had done the right thing.
5
The Marshmires
THE SMALL TOWN IN FRONT of him shouldn’t have existed; the marshlands around it were an endless bog. No man alive today would even dare trying to build in such conditions. Yet, some ancient fool built not only a town, but a large stone keep as well.
Gods who would ever want to live in such a place? Felix glanced down at the never-ending mud and sighed with relief when it turned into regular dirt.
The low hum of magic swirled in the air as Alvar, the War Vestral, wove runes into the dirt around the camp. Alvar’s runes danced around him while he pulled magic from the shimmering carvings into the mud. The runes on his cape also glowed a deep crimson, casting a bloody glow to the surrounding dirt.
Alvar had protested using his magic for this, but the small patch of dirt the small scouting party was using for their camp was not enough for the bulk of Felix’s army. Morale would sink like their tents if they had to camp in the marsh.
“It’s always a sight to watch them work,” Lord Rover said as he joined Felix. His cloak had been dyed black out of respect for Felix’s father. Felix himself had changed into a tunic that had one half in white and the other black.
“It is a rather relaxing sight.”
“Then this might be a bad time to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Your presence has been requested at Her Majesty’s court.”
“Again? The answer has not changed. I will not go.”
He’d been sent three letters alone in the past week. Each time he sent the same answer.
“Your Highness-”
“What good could I do there? I cannot leave the border in this state!” Felix shouted and Lord Rover took a step back.
“Your Highness it would be good to curry favor-”
“Curry favor?” Felix’s eyes narrowed as he stepped toward Lord Rover. He drew himself up to his full height and pointed at the town. “You want me to curry favor while our borders are being harassed by these bastards?”
To his credit, Lord Rover didn’t flinch. Instead, he met Felix’s gaze with one of steady calm.
“Your Highness, I only worry for your future.”
“My future was set the moment my father died. Let me have my freedom on the battlefield,” he said. Alvar walked over to them, his dark clothes and bald head were covered in mud.
“Your Highness, it is done. We are fortunate this bog is very cooperative. I assume it is rather used to being manipulated with magic. I will have one of my Lesser Vestrals keep an eye on the dirt and ensure we do not sink into the marshes.”
“Excellent as always, War Vestral,” Felix smiled and Alvar merely nodded. His face was stuck in an eternal scowl. He walked away without another word and disappeared into his tent.
“I thought he’d be bursting with joy from this whole mess,” Lord Rover said after Alvar left.
“He’s the Vestral to the God of War, he’s only happy on a true battlefield. Not these small skirmishes we’ve had,” Felix stared at the town in front of him. A light fog was rolling in, making the walls seem bigger than they were. Probably the work of the enemy Vestrals.
“Those bastards think a bit of fog is going to scare us off?” Lord Rover scoffed.
“Never mind their weak scare tactics. How much longer till the rest of the men get here?” Felix looked back at the bonfire in the center of the campsite. He only had fifty men with him, not enough men to deter an ambush in the night.
“A few more hours? The damn donkeys must be acting up again. If we could use griffins this whole process would be so much easier,” Lord Rover said, he stared at the incoming fog with an uneasy expression.
“Griffins are no good as pack animals,” Felix frowned at the fog that was now heading over the bog towards the camp. Something wasn’t right, it was moving far too fast for it to be natural. Magic flared to life within him, he felt it strain to create a shield around his body.
“Alvar!” he shouted and ran for his tent.
Alvar emerged with a large cup of ale looking a bit miffed while he used a rag to wipe the mud from the back of his head.
“The fog, put up a barrier now!” Felix pointed toward the gray mists.
Alvar’s eyes widened at the sight of the fog, he handed his goblet to a nearby soldier who stared at it with a furrowed brow.
“Oh, it has been ages since I saw this trick,” Alvar said. He cracked his knuckles and walked toward the fog that had just reached the edges of the solid ground. A tent caught on fire and a man ran out screaming, he took a few steps before his body burst into flame.
“Alvar! Do something!” Felix shouted. The surrounding men exchanged worried glances as he rushed after the War Vestral.
“Oh hush, we aren’t going to die this very second.”
Alvar took out a single shield rune and in a flash the fog was pushed back. It swirled around the edges of the camp like a deadly ocean. Sweat dripped off the War Vestral’s brow and the rune he was holding grew brighter, his Lesser Vestrals ran over from their tents.
“What are you staring at! Help me fuel this barrier or we will all be eating in the God of Death’s halls tonight!” he shouted at them. The light of the sun dimmed as the fog around the camp thickened.
Felix felt a pang of bitterness while he watched the Vestrals use their magic to battle the fog. It was a battle he could not join. If he revealed his magic to them, he would be hauled off and executed. Only those who were attuned to the Gods could use magic in the open.
His men formed a circle around the Vestrals in various states of dress. They clutched their swords like they would protect them from the white death around them. A squire handed Felix a shirt of chain mail, which he hastily pulled over his tunic.
“Your Highness, I suggest you prepare yourself,” Alvar said. The screaming wind died down and the fog lapped at the edges of the camp like a calm lake.
Felix drew his sword and peered into the mists. For a moment he thought he saw a figure, but it soon vanished into a thousand swirls. He took a breath and poured the smallest amount of magic into his sword, the runes he had etched into the metal glowed for half a heartbeat and then vanished. His muscles tingled when the magic flowed into them, giving Felix more strength.
“On the left!” a soldier screamed.
“No, the right!”
“Oh Gods, we’re surrounded!” Felix’s men pressed tighter together.
“Steady! It’s a trick of the fog!” Felix shouted and waved his sword hand around, it was a signal to spread out. If they were rushed while they were standing this close together, the men in the center risked dying from suffocation.
As quickly as the fog had appeared it was gone. In its place stood at least a hundred men, a fuzzy blue glow surrounded them. Felix felt his heart drop to his knees. All those men were in plate armor... enchanted plate armor.
“You have one chance to turn back!”
A soldier in gold armor stepped out from the circle of men. The runes on his armor glinted in the sunlight. “You are outnumbered!”
“Ha! Soon we will have over two hundred men ready to trample on your corpses!” Lord Rover shouted and moved in front of a trembling soldier who was only wearing his sleep tunic.
“Your Highness, I still have enough magic reserves to cast a fire spell,” Alvar whispered while Lord Rover and the man in gold armor continued to yell at each other. “It should buy us enough time before the bulk of our forces arrive.”
“Do it.”
“We might lose a tent or two,” Alvar said. “Tell the men they need to drop on my signal.”
Felix nodded and whispered to the surrounding men. He prayed to the Gods th
at all the men would get the message.
“For the last time, you have one chance to turn back!” the Marshlander in the gold armor shouted. His gaze swept over the whispering men, his brow furrowed and Felix’s mouth went dry. He would have to keep the enemy distracted until Alvar was ready.
“Only if your Lord promises to stop sending bandits over to my kingdom,” Felix shouted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the battle rune the Vestral was holding glow a soft red.
“Bah! That is none of my Lords concern!”
“Now!” Alvar shouted. His rune floated in front of him, glowing almost as bright as a star.
Felix dropped to the ground and grunted when his knee hit an exposed root. The air above him became hotter than a hearth fire and the sound was like that of an angry griffin. It was loud enough to block out the screams of the dying.
When the air cooled, he jumped to his feet to see what remained of the enemy forces running back to town. Burning remnants of armor were scattered around the edges of the camp. He frowned when he noticed all the tents had been burnt to the ground. The only things that survived were enchanted bits of armor.
“I thought you said two tents,” Felix grumbled while Alvar flicked ashes off his cloak.
“Turns out I had more magic than I thought.”
A blood curdling scream swept over the camp. Felix turned, drawing out his sword. He saw a soldier standing next to a pair of charred boots covered in ashes.
“He was too slow.” Alvar shrugged while Felix sheathed his sword.
“Your Highness!” Lord Rover shouted pointing to the south, “the rest of the men are here!”
Felix felt relief sweep over him when he saw his banner drifting over the rest of his men as they trudged towards them through the mud.
Now the true work could begin.
SIX DAYS LATER, FELIX sat in the doorway of his tent, watching some soldiers play a game of Griffin’s Lark. The wooden pieces clacked onto the board while men placed bets on the game in front of them. His men had encircled the town, keeping just enough distance so the enemy archers couldn’t hit them. While the Vestrals were recharging their magic, his men had spent the past three days packing down dirt and preparing the camp.
The Spirit of the Realm Page 5
