by JF Smith
“There is a reason their families are of nobility,” began Roald, like he was schooling his brother. “Their ancestors paid the price to raise them up in a superior place in our kingdom.”
“Aye, but the nobility we have today are not their ancestors,” countered Gully. “What we have today are twelve families sitting on the backs of the rest of us, for no other reason than they were born on our backs, and complaining that they deserve more because they are of noble blood. All while having done so little to earn their vaunted position. The notion of me joining to protect and support the nobles and royals of the Iisendom is pure foolishness.”
Roald was quiet and Gully suspected that Roald heard his words as an attack on him.
Gully said, “But I grant you the truth of what you really want, my brother... to see me turn to be an honest member of the kingdom. You have only my interest at heart, and I do appreciate that you wish as such for me. And I certainly find no fault with your career in the Guard. You are there to improve society for your fellow man, and I respect you mightily for it. But it is not my lot in life to be able to do the same and I will remain naught but a thorn inside the boot of the Iisendom.”
Next to him, Roald was quiet in thought before he shifted slightly and said, “Do you think I’m any good, Gully?”
“You’re one of the best guards out of the lot of them! You’ll be promoted again soon, mark my words!” said Gully. “Not soon enough, in my opinion!”
Roald said with hesitation, “No. I don’t mean like that. I mean because of... how I am.”
Gully took a deep breath and tried to decide how to answer best. “I chose to become a thief, Roald, and I make that same choice each day I venture out. And you sit here and ask what I think of you because of some part of you that you never chose and never would choose if you could? The idea is preposterous. Through no fault of your own, you are what you are. But every choice you have made in your life, you have made well, and are to be proud of each. And any man of Iisen that would ignore that to mock you or hold you in contempt because of your attractions is a mule-hearted fool!”
Roald remained quiet, holding his mug in his hands and staring into it.
“You are a fine person, with a fine character — just and good and loyal. I daresay that you deserve a place in the sky of greater prominence than most of what the members of the Iisendom’s nobility claim for themselves.”
“Gully!” exclaimed Roald in shock.
“You asked my opinion, and I give it to you honestly.” Gully asked, “Do you think one day you’ll deny your natural urges and take a wife? Have children?”
Roald sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “’Tis something that weighs on me more and more. It would seem a dishonor to take a wife and never be able to give her the sincere affection she would be entitled to. The false pretenses of that life would hurt me as much as her. A child would be a wonderful blessing, though, one that would make my heart sing. It seems that no matter what path I take, I find myself stuck with ignominy of some kind,” he said dolefully.
“Stop that, Roald. You are perfectly incapable of dishonor, I assure you of that. Take this from someone who knows dishonor from the inside and the out! And if any dishonor does befall you, it will only be because you have not given me the boot from your apartment and your life for good.”
Gully felt Roald’s muscular bulk press closer to him in the darkness as he said, “You hide your association with me very well, and I have no fear on that count.”
“We make quite a pair, don’t we?” asked Gully.
“Aye,” said Roald with a chuckle, pouring the last of the mead into his brother’s mug.
“Nay, Roald, you take the last of it,” insisted Gully, pouring from his mug into Roald’s. “You hold your liquor better than I. Any more for me, and I’ll be so helpless that you’ll have to carry me downstairs to put me into your bed.”
There was a pregnant pause between them before they both started laughing at the same time.
Roald took a long draught from his mug and Gully felt Roald’s heavy arm around his shoulder, pulling him towards the large swordsman in a brotherly embrace. Roald said, “Thank you for keeping me in your life, Bayle. For not looking at me with fear or offense in your eyes. It would be hard to lose the only family I have left here below that way.”
“One day before long, and probably on the tip of one of your fellow guard’s broadswords, I’ll meet my end and that will be it. No going up to the sky to take my place with ancestors I don’t have, and who undoubtedly wouldn’t want anything to do with me if I did. You, though, have been brave and true and kind every day of your life, and you’ll join your parents in the night sky, right up there...” said Gully, pointing up to the Delescer family stars. “And they will be the honored ones to have you among them!”
Roald snickered again, the mead now making both of them a little silly. “My brother Bayle, always full of piss and vinegar!”
“Almost all piss tonight, Roald. Almost entirely piss tonight!” laughed Gully, waving his empty mug at his brother.
Chapter 5 — What Sort Of Man
That same evening, but four day-lengths away from Lohrdanwuld, the elaborate palace of the ruling king of Maqara was teeming with activity for the final night of festivities to celebrate the engagement of Princess Quannah to Thaybrill, crown prince of Iisen. The night would culminate several days of sporting and leisure activities, and the apex of it all was the banquet feast to formally announce the impending marriage. All in attendance were anticipating the evening eagerly. Except for perhaps the young Prince Thaybrill of Iisen, who paced nervously in his guest chamber.
“Highness,” said the Domo Regent gently while not allowing himself to be ignored, either, “you will tire yourself with all this marching before the evening’s festivities even begin. Exhaustion will not reflect well on you or the kingdom. Please... conserve yourself.”
Thaybrill stopped and looked at the elderly man seated in the richly cushioned chair, whose ash-white hair and thin, angular build were at odds with the keen strength peering out through the pale gray eyes that were locked onto the prince. He bit at his lip for but a moment and then resumed his pacing around the large room. He couldn’t tire himself because he already was tired. For three days now, he had been on display without pause and the constant burden of eyes watching him, judging him even, was becoming like vinegar on an open wound. There was no aspect of the situation that brought him any pleasure and he wanted all of it to be over. He wanted to be home, at the Folly or roaming his beloved orchards.
“Thaybrill,” came the Domo’s voice again, with a touch more force this time, “be seated.”
The tone in the Domo Regent’s voice irritated the prince. It was not the tone one should take with the man who would, in little more than a fortnight, be crowned king. Thaybrill reminded himself that his frustration was with his hosts in Maqara and not the Domo Regent himself. The Domo had been a good and faithful steward, acting in place of the crown for Thaybrill’s entire life, preparing Thaybrill to take the throne and assume the monarchy when reaching twenty years of age.
Thaybrill stopped his pacing, closed his eyes, and forced a few deep and tired breaths. He pulled his cobalt blue mantle to one side and seated himself on another one of the cushioned chairs.
Thaybrill said, “These tests and the constant scrutiny have worn thin for me, Krayell. I’m ready to be home again.”
“Soon, young prince. We all look forward to setting for home tomorrow,” said the Domo through a smile. “You have done well, and indeed the Maqarans are particular in their ways. But you can hardly fault Azi for wanting to make sure his only daughter is married off to someone worthy. You have impressed at every turn, though... swordsmanship, archery, riding... you make all of Iisen proud!”
“Is tonight truly to be only a feast, or is it to be yet another peculiar test of my character?” asked Thaybrill. His eyes scanned around the chamber in case there was someone in one of the many
dark corners or galleries in the periphery of his room. The ornate and complex woodwork that marked Maqaran architecture provided many places for prying ears and eyes to hide away, but the only motion that caught his eyes was that of his valet standing quietly off to the side.
“It is still possible, so be on your guard. If you are caught unsure, look to me and I will help you as I can.”
Thaybrill thrummed his fingers nervously on his knee. If he had felt bilious at needing Krayell’s instruction while in Iisen, it had increased a hundred-fold here in Maqara, where he found he was seeking the Domo’s guiding hand in almost every little detail. Surely other kings did not feel this helpless and needy.
There was a light knock at the door and the valet went to open it, returning with a brief bow and the message that their hosts were prepared for the prince’s arrival at dinner.
~~~~~
Prince Thaybrill smoothed out the pleats of his doublet to ensure they looked their best and then pushed the embroidered wool mantle back over his shoulders again. His valet came forward to assist, but Thaybrill waved him off.
Two Maqaran guards pulled at the massive wooden doors leading to the banquet hall and opened them for the Iisen party. Thaybrill stepped forward first, followed by the Domo Regent, and then the remaining Iisenors.
Prince Thaybrill was suddenly unsure of what to do. The dining hall seemed to be a mass of people socializing. The room was cavernous, with a steeply vaulted ceiling supported by intricately crafted wooden beams, each hung with banners of the provinces of Maqara. In the middle was a terrifically long table, large enough to seat forty people at the least, set for dinner, but no one was seated yet. As he stepped forward and a few of the Maqarans nodded politely to him, King Azi at the far end of the room clapped his hands and people began to move towards the table.
No Maqaran servant came forward to lead Thaybrill and the Iisenors to their place at the table, leaving Thaybrill feeling confused and neglected. Krayell had pointed out multiple times how Maqarans were exacting planners and record-keepers. And he had seen it himself over the last few days — every result of every game or contest, every attendee of every party — it seemed every agonizing detail of every tedious event had been recorded by someone in charge of paying attention to such trivialities. So, he wondered how it would be that this moment was one without a coordinated plan. It perplexed him, until he realized wearily that it was another odd way to test what kind of person he was. His initial reaction was to look to the Domo Regent for some sign of how to best handle the slight, but his peevishness over his dependence on Krayell from earlier was lingering and he ignored the Domo.
King Azi moved to the single chair at the far end of the table, and Thaybrill decided to claim the opposite end for himself, consequences be cursed. He strode forward with utter confidence, too tired to worry that he might be insulting his hosts somehow and not particularly upset at the idea that the entire wedding might be called off if he made a grave cultural mistake.
As he approached the chair at the end of the table near himself, a Maqaran who was of some importance by his dress, but whom he did not remember meeting in the course of the past three days, also approached the same chair and laid his hand on it first.
The Maqaran was solidly built, and had a voluminous mustache, but Thaybrill refused to be intimidated. He said, “Sir, I believe this seat is intended for me.”
The Maqaran, sized like a bull of the field but a good finger-length shorter than Thaybrill, growled and huffed, “I approached first!”
Thaybrill smiled genially and said, “My apologies! I wasn’t aware that this dinner was in your honor and that you were betrothed to the Princess Quannah! I had a fanciful idea that I was the person with both of those distinctions.” Out of the corner of his vision, the prince could see that every eye in the hall was fixed on him, including King Azi at the far end. He half hoped he was making a fatal mistake with respect to the Maqaran Minister of This or That in front of him and that he’d have to go through with no more of this.
However, the Maqaran minister bowed politely and backed away. Everyone else took their seats at the table without incident. The Domo Regent was seated to Thaybrill’s immediate left, and the seat to his immediate right mysteriously remained empty, as if by some unspoken rule.
Thaybrill leaned over to the Domo Regent and whispered, “It seems we will never be done with the odd customs of this land, Krayell!”
The Domo Regent only nodded curtly in reply, a thin and sour frown blemishing his face.
As soon as everyone was seated, the room grew quiet and the large doors at the far end opened again, framing the princess in the doorway. She was dressed in a white gown the style of which Thaybrill had never seen before, but which complemented the delicate pale-blond curls falling to her shoulders quite well. He had to admit that she was quite a lovely girl. Despite the purpose of the trip to Maqara, he had been afforded little time with the princess herself over the last few days. But then, as he reminded himself a little sadly, whether or not he got along with the princess was entirely beside the point of the marriage, anyway.
Princess Quannah entered, but none of the Maqarans rose as a courtesy. Prince Thaybrill, though, rose from his seat as she approached the empty chair next to him and he pulled it out for her. She smiled demurely at him as she took the seat with his assistance.
As soon as Thaybrill resumed his own place, King Azi at the far end stood and leaned forward, placing his fists upon the table. He said in a booming voice and a leer, “This night celebrates the engagement of my beloved daughter, Quannah, the beautiful swan of Maqara, to Thaybrill veLohrdan of Iisen. This union will bring our two realms closer together — in service to one another, in people, and in trade. I welcome our neighbors to the west and look forward to making them our own!”
The king took his silver goblet and banged it on the table loudly a few times, which was joined by all the Maqarans at the table doing the same.
Thaybrill glanced over at the princess to find that she was already staring at him. He blushed as he suddenly felt like a Belder horse being examined for purchase at a stableyard.
As the servants began serving the feast, Thaybrill leaned over to the princess and said, “The extensive woodworking in your architecture is quite fascinating. Your craftsmen are exceptional!”
Princess Quannah sniffed lightly and looked down at her plate, giving only an insignificant nod as her reply to the prince’s comment.
Thaybrill tried again and said, “I saw you with your father while I awaited my turn at the archery competition yesterday. Are you an archer yourself?”
It seemed as if she didn’t hear the question at first, but then she answered, “No.”
Now that Thaybrill was trying to engage her, she seemed incapable of looking at him while earlier he had caught her staring. “Ahh, perhaps you prefer more domestic pursuits? Reading? Singing? Embroidery, perhaps?” asked the prince.
She replied, “No, none of those,” and refused to offer any activity that she did enjoy.
Thaybrill gave up, instead focusing on his supper and silently willing the evening to pass as quickly as possible.
He resolved to find a moment alone later where he could step outside and gaze at the stars. He would find his father’s star, the star of Colnor the Fifth in the Trine Range constellation, and he would pray for wisdom and support. His entire life had been planned out for him, and yet he felt as lost and helpless as a fly in a windstorm. Perhaps now, close to taking his place on the throne, perhaps his father would see fit to guide him and reassure him. If he could get outside alone, he would seek solace from the father that he had never known.
~~~~~
Thaybrill was in no mood to review the events of the feast with the Domo. “Nay, Krayell, it must needs wait ’til the morning. I’m in no mind or body for a critique of the evening,” insisted Thaybrill wearily.
“Your Highness, it should not wait. We are not through with our visit of state until we cross t
hrough the Maqaran Pass back into Iisen!” insisted the Domo Regent as he followed down the long hallway a step behind Thaybrill.
“I said no!” barked Thaybrill, exhausted from too much food, too much drink, too little conversation with his future wife, and too many eyes upon his every movement, eager for any misstep.
The Domo stopped in the hallway, letting Thaybrill continue on, and called after him, “It seems Your Majesty is ready to dismiss my services even before the coronation! Remember, Prince Thaybrill, how important this marriage is and this alliance with Maqara is before you allow it to flounder and dissolve, and for nothing more than a moment’s dishumor!”
But the prince was unable to endure any more that evening, and definitely felt no desire to argue the merits of this alliance with Maqara yet again. He waved off Krayell without stopping or even turning his head back to him.
When he reached the door of his chamber, he realized his valet was still trailing discreetly behind him.
Thaybrill said, far less crossly, “Thank you, Pluck, but I can undress myself tonight. You can come in the morning to wake me and to pack for the trip home.”
“Sire?” asked the valet, unsure.
Prince Thaybrill placed his hand gently on the younger boy’s shoulder and smiled, despite the drumming in his head from the wine and ale at dinner. “I’m fine. And honestly, I wish to be alone. Go and rest yourself for the start of our trip home tomorrow.”
With a gentle push from the prince, Pluck bowed slightly, then turned and walked down the corridor towards where the servants were quartered. Thaybrill entered his chamber, relieved immensely to finally have quiet and no eyes upon him. He removed the mantle from his shoulders, laying it over one of the cushioned chairs near the fireplace.
