by Philip Blood
Laughing, Berelle clapped Jatar on the back with his big meaty hand. The blow caused his friend to stagger forward a half step. “I don’t think it worked, at least not the first time, but it wasn’t the only time your grandfather put us over his knee before he died. It’s too bad he isn’t around physically to do the same for my boys; I could use the help. If your Grandfather hadn't passed away I would have sent for him to straighten out young Calt. You know, it’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to speak with your Grandfather... would you mind?”
“Of course not Berelle, he always enjoys speaking with you, but…” Jatar glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was near enough to listen, “…I don’t have the family ring right now.”
Berelle looked puzzled. “I thought you always wore it?”
“G’Taklar, a young cousin, is on his first embassy to Zinterdalin to negotiate some trade agreements for Lindankar. Those negotiations are very important, so I wanted to give him my personal attention, after all, G’Taklar has to deal with Lord Ufer Hervet.”
“Do you think it was wise to send your inexperienced cousin to deal with Lord Hervet? He will be lucky to come away with his shirt!” Berelle scoffed.
“I know, but with Michael’s official recognition as heir coming up, I couldn’t be away. I made the decision to send the family cathexis ring with G’Taklar. I’ve worn it long enough to imprint, so when he needs advice he can consult with my personality within the cathexis ring. I know it was a big risk sending the ring, but in a way I’m still with it, guiding G’Taklar from within. My cousin is an honest and intelligent youth who only needs some seasoning to make a fine man. He’s spent too much time studying in the palace and not enough time experiencing real life. The negotiations are important enough to be worth the slight risk to the ring, yet not so difficult that G’Taklar can’t handle them with an occasional input from my imprint within the cathexis. Besides you can well bet that I sent some worthy protection with G’Taklar. No one knows of this, except me, Elizabeth and now you, so I would consider it a great favor if you would keep it behind your beard.”
“Of course, Jatar, am I not your bond brother, sworn with blood?”
Jatar smiled and looked at the faint scar on the palm of his right hand. “Yes, you are; which is why you are one of only five people that know the Ardellen signet ring is made out of cathexis. I also remember the day we cut ourselves with that rusty old scullery knife and clasped hands. You know, it’s a lucky thing we didn’t die of the rot from that filthy thing.”
“I know, but I still honor that pledge and always will, brother,” Berelle held out his hand and Jatar clasped it in a tight grip.
The two men turned away, each ignoring the wet eyes of the other.
At that moment, Lady Elizabeth Ardellen arrived looking resplendent.
Her gown was designed in the Kirnath School colors of maroon and gray with the bodice cut low and laced tightly at her small waist. Her brown hair with bronze highlights was done up tight with small ringlets hanging down on the left side of her neck. Lying on her skin, just above the bodice of her gown was a silver chain holding a tiny Aurora Stone that glowed white from her aura power. Gone, for the moment, was the playful girl that had been with Jatar earlier, in her place was the Sorceress Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen. The aurora stone displayed her full power for all to see, and her regal Hevarnan lineage showed in every graceful move.
The two conversing Lords paused to gape; stunned at the captivating vision of the sorceress.
Smiling warmly at Jatar’s long-time friend and foster brother, Lady Ardellen approached and said, “How are you, Berelle? I trust Pricilla and the children are well.”
Her radiant smile flustered the northern Lord even more; he wasn’t used to the spectacular dress of Lindankar’s court, or the extraordinary beauty and regal bearing of Lady Elizabeth. “Ah, fi-fine thank you,” stammered Berelle. He was having some trouble deciding who was in control of his eyes.
“And?” she asked, giving him an even broader smile.
“And what, milady?” he asked, having missed her second question completely.
“Priscilla and the children?” she prompted.
“Oh! They are fine, fine. You’re looking very, ah, very…”
“Very what?” she asked, totally amused.
“…very fine this evening,” he finally managed.
“Thank you, Berelle; it’s so nice of you to notice. I’ll miss seeing Priscilla again, but I understand she has your next child well on the way?” Elizabeth prompted.
“Who?” he asked, his mind not caught up to her words yet.
“Your next child,” she said as she reached up to take his large left ear in her hand so she could use it for a handle to shake his head.
“Oh, yes, of course! I’m leaving soon to get back for the birth!” he said, massaging his ear while grinning at Elizabeth ruefully.
With a last amused glance at Jatar's foster brother, Elizabeth gestured in the direction of the dining hall. “If you’re both ready I suggest we make our entrance. I’m sure the snarling weff pack is waiting to tear into us,” she noted, but smiled to show that she looked forward to the challenge.
Jatar glanced at the still stricken Lord Berelle. “Ahmmm, yes, shall we?” He said while clearing his throat and using his hand to hide a smile. He offered his arm to his beautiful wife, and they walked down the hall to the ornate double doors of the banquet hall.
A servant opened the doors as they entered. Lord Berelle Trask followed along a few steps behind.
A low murmur of conversation hummed around the banquet hall. Most of the sound emanated from clusters of people who stood about like islands in a sea; occasionally a lone ship would chart the unfamiliar waters to test the climate of a different port.
The room was dominated by a long dining table adorned with white and gold tablecloths with polished silver and shining goblets. Giant crystal chandeliers situated above the table at three places reflected rainbows of light in a myriad of glittering sparkles.
Four unobtrusive yet vigilant guards stood on duty in the corners of the room. They were attired in white leather and highly polished light mail chest armor. Their uniforms were accented in Lord Ardellen’s colors of white and gold.
With his head held high, Lord Jatar entered the hall with his Lady’s hand placed lightly on his left forearm. He stopped and surveyed the room while nodding to some of his supporters and gazing sternly at his few known adversaries. Conversations faltered and then slowly picked up again when the Lord and his Lady moved to join one of the nearest groups of people.
Elizabeth and Jatar stopped to speak with the ruler of Olsk and his wife and Lord Trask joined the group.
“Good evening, Brik, and how are you, Lady Margret?” Jatar said, greeting Lord Rinholt and his wife. “We’re so glad you could make it to our celebration.”
“Glad to come, Jatar,” he answered, and then nodded to Elizabeth. “We hear you put on quite a banquet. And good evening to you, Lord Trask,” Brik added, noting the arrival of the large ruler of Bralter.
Two other men moved over to join Jatar and Elizabeth’s group. Like light and shadow, they arrived together. The blond hair color of Lord Verdew contrasted starkly with Lord Pellev's long dark brown hair.
“Lord Pellev and Lord Verdew; speak of the Darknulls and here they are!” Jatar said jokingly. “Berelle and I were just talking about our fostering years, and here the four of us are, together again.”
Berelle stepped forward with a big grin for their foster brothers. “Yes, Jatar and I were just remarking that Pellev was an excellent mud and manure collector when he was younger.”
Lord Pellev Welter looked puzzled as he said, “Excuse me?”
“You remember Pellev, don’t you, riding the snergs!” Lord Verdew prompted.
“Of course, riding the snergs, I’d almost forgotten.” He turned to face Lord and Lady Rinholt, and then explained with a smile. “Jatar, Berelle, Verdew and I wer
e fostered together; we each spent a year at the other’s homes. We got into all kinds of boyhood shenanigans.” His sparkling gaze flicked to Jatar as he added, “Now your son will be getting into trouble soon, won’t he, Jatar?”
“The sooner the better, I can’t wait to see the man he will grow into,” Jatar replied with pride.
“Is fostering always done in your countries?” Lady Rinholt inquired politely.
“It is an old custom that our fathers revived,” Jatar explained, “they decided to send their sons to other kingdoms so that they would understand their neighbors and form personal friendships that might help them avoid wars in the future. Spending a year growing up somewhere gives you a whole new outlook on that place.”
Berelle nodded in agreement and said, “I know and trust my foster brothers Pellev, Verdew and Jatar because I shared a piece of life with them. It is people like him,” Berelle gestured toward where Lord Tysol and Major Von Dracek, the Tchulian merc, were conversing, “that I worry about because I don’t know how they think.”
Pellev turned slightly and looked over his shoulder to where Berelle had gestured. His eyes squinted with intensity and he said, “You're right, I don’t trust Lord Tysol; that man bears watching.”
Separate from any other groups, the young Tchulian Major, Harland Von Dracek, spoke conspiratorially with Lord Tysol of Datoria. Von Dracek wore the brown military uniform of his country’s famous mercenary corps. He stood to Lord Tysol’s right to allow the Lord of Datoria to look directly across the room at Lord Jatar and his foster brothers.
Tysol was of medium height and build. His eyes were too small and close together for his face, giving him a slightly cross-eyed appearance. He wore a gaudy gown of turquoise silk and had gold chains with embedded multicolored gems around his neck.
The Major gestured slightly with his head toward Jatar and Elizabeth as he said, “Do you see, milord, how she never lets him out of her reach?” Von Dracek’s voice was almost a purr and his intense dark eyes never left Lord Tysol’s as he worked on the man's mind.
“Yes I see, that sorceress bitch has him completely enthralled,” agreed Lord Tysol with a fanatic’s conviction, “It’s just as you have told me, Jatar isn’t master of his bed, let alone his kingdom.”
“You are very shrewd, milord,” the Tchulian merc agreed, though he thought, As shrewd as a farmer’s snerg, but your amazing stupidity is what makes you perfect for my purpose.
Tysol glared intently at Jatar’s handsome face and said, “But he was once a real man, before this monster, this `woman’ sorceress, destroyed him?” Tysol asked and nodded his head as if this was an original thought he had just conceived.
“Yes, Lord, a man’s man, a warrior Lord, like his father,” Von Dracek agreed. “But the Kirnath sorceress has robbed him of his honor.”
“Is he as good with his sword as they say?” Tysol asked for the hundredth time since Von Dracek had begun teaching him to fence.
“Good yes, but not up to your artistic skills. With the Tchulian fencing style that I have taught you over the past few months there are few men who could match blades with you now,” the merc assured him as he thought, Come on you sniveling coward, don’t try to talk yourself out of this again! It took me six months of hard work to turn you into a decent swordsman; you might actually make him sweat, but kill Jatar, ah; if we wanted that I would have dueled with him myself.
Tysol smiled in grim anticipation. “Yes, it’s been good of you to come and instruct me in the finer arts of the blade. I would have come to the Tchulian academy myself when I was younger if my father had not needed my help so much.”
To which Von Dracek thought. The more probable truth is that his father was too cheap and you were too afraid, but he said, “Of course, I’m sure you would have been an excellent Tchulian battle commander; perhaps we can work on that next.”
“I would like that, they’d call me `General Tysol, commander of conquering armies,’ it has an appealing ring to it. A battle commander like in the old days, before any of these Kirnath conspirators and meddlesome women, infiltrated the nobility to sap the strength from the warriors.”
You couldn’t command the latrine scrubbers successfully you pompous dolt, the merc thought in amusement, but said, “You are correct; battle is the only way to test a man’s true mettle. These treaties and coalitions must be halted. Each country should govern itself, and control that which it is powerful enough to hold. You don’t want these Kirnath or anyone else taking control of Datoria away from you, milord, correct?”
“Of course not, nor would I permit them in the first place! Kirnath are turned away at our borders, and hung if found within illegally! No, I must make a stand against their tyranny! Lord Jatar must be released from the control of this foul sorceress. He lives as a shell of what he was because of that woman’s control, but he will be set free to die as a man. I will give him salvation, a warrior’s honorable death in battle, and as he coughs out his last breath on my sword he will thank me for setting him free at last.” Lord Tysol spoke in oratory fashion with a fanatic’s bright gleam in the depths of his eyes as he gazed off to nowhere. After a moment, he raised his glass to toast with the mercenary.
Major Von Dracek raised his goblet to meet Tysol’s and his thoughts were masked behind a face of stone. The sooner I am done with your supreme stupidity the better. If Jatar doesn’t kill you then I will enjoy the pleasure. He smiled at the Lord of Datoria as they drank, but his slight smile was for a different reason than his companion imagined.
A servant stepped into the room and rang a small chime; the sound was high and clear as it resounded about the Hall.
Lord Jatar stepped clear of the group to which he had been speaking and addressed everyone present.
“I would like to welcome you all to Lindankar's Palace for the recognition ceremony for my son Michael, and I’d like to thank you for coming to the pre-celebration dinner in his honor. If you will all stand by your seat at the table I will propose the traditional toast.”
Lord Jatar escorted Lady Elizabeth to the opposite end of the table and returned to stand behind his seat.
Elizabeth concentrated, and without the guests knowing she began to view their auras. She had decided to use the upcoming declaration of good will to find out which leaders or ambassadors bore ill will toward her husband and Lindankar.
Taking hold of his goblet from the table before him Jatar held it forth and spoke the words this traditional ceremony required. “I welcome you to this repast on the eve of my son Michael’s official designation as heir to the throne of Lindankar. May everyone at this table be treated as equals and let no one fear for their life or soul.”
The majority of those assembled at the table intoned the traditional response: “And may you, in turn, be safe.”
“Let all who are present now speak their feelings on the legitimacy and acceptability of the heir without fear of reprisals,” Jatar continued in his formal tone.
As tradition called for, most of them replied: “We find him legitimate and acceptable.”
“On my behalf and that of my son and his mother, we thank you,” Jatar answered and raised his glass before calling out in a clear strong voice, “to Michael!” Then Lord Jatar drank to his son with all the assembly following suit.
As Elizabeth drank to her son she pondered the aura of Lord Tysol of Datoria. As the rest had made the traditional responses his aura patterns had proclaimed his falsehood, especially during the promise of Jatar’s safety. She decided he would bear closer watching and resolved to speak to Jatar of the danger as soon as possible.
On the other hand, she thought, we knew he opposed us, so it may only be those feelings showing through. It’s unlikely that he’ll attempt anything sinister within our palace. She also wondered about the Tchulian merc, Harland Von Dracek; he had full aura shields up which completely hid his aura reactions from her special sight. It was possible that he had natural shields, a few people did, but he would bear watching a
s well; there was something odd about this Tchulian officer.
With the traditional response complete Jatar spoke in a less formal tone, “Now fair ladies and gentle sirs, we hope you will enjoy the breaking of your fast as our guests, please be seated.”
The large staff of kitchen servants filed out in a line and all were dressed in Ardellen white and gold tunic and pants. They each carried a steaming bowl of aromatic driken soup as the first course of the evening.
A guest seated two chairs to the left of Jatar proclaimed loud enough for the Lord of Amak-Ta-Dol to hear, “It seems that Amak-Ta-Dol gets its soup before Olsk, just as it gets first choice in trade goods. Did they bribe your cooks as well as your merchants, Jatar?”
Jatar did a mental sigh as he resigned himself to an evening of battling and refereeing with these two long-time rivals. Jatar interjected a quick statement before the Lord of Amak-Ta-Dol could get up a good steam for his reply. “We try and give equal choice to both of your nations.”
Then the three of them were off into a discussion of trade. Meanwhile, down the table, another conversation was taking place.
Lady Margret, wife of Lord Brik Rinholt, the ruler of Pruta, was seated three chairs down on Elizabeth’s left and she proclaimed, “This soup has an exquisite flavor!” the middle-aged woman exclaimed after taking her first taste of the soup. “Lady Ardellen, if I remember correctly, driken soup is made from a root found only in your northern mountain heights.”
Elizabeth smiled politely toward Lady Margret and replied, “You are indeed correct; it is considered a delicacy in Lindankar.”
