by JManess
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✥ Susan Trombley ✥
“We’ll meet in my morning room,” Sarai said, and since her room sat only one flight above them, they all agreed and she silenced the objections of their entourage by adding, “Naturally we are all well chaperoned. After all, isn’t that what our ladies-in-waiting are for?” The girls managed to pull a cognizant thought together long enough to discern that they owed their continued presence in the castle to their job chaperoning the princesses as well as providing suitable companionship. The thought that someone might perceive that they failed in their duties silenced them, and they meekly followed their charges to Sarai’s chambers.
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Y 7
CHAPTER 4
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Another meeting took place that day in the king’s council chamber. Th
e councilors all applauded the wonderful news about the change in the kingdom’s fortunes. Everyone spoke at once, the atmosphere in the council chamber far less formal than the throne room.
Th
e king generally allowed and encouraged all opinions and advice as well as the heated debates that often broke out among competing councilors. Even now the never-ending battle of expansion versus infrastructure that broke out between the councilor of Land Acquisition and Distribution and the councilor of City Development and Planning nearly dissolved into blows, both elderly men trembling with rage.
Only one person besides the king himself and the timid foreman remained silent and thoughtful. Unlike the others who perceived only the wealth the new mine brought to the kingdom, Derek foresaw problems the naïve and sheltered councilors could not begin to imagine. Even the king appeared innocently oblivious to anything beyond his dreams of unlimited budgets and a wealthy citizenry where peasants lived better than the nobles in other lands.
The king noted his reticence and turned to him, noticing the frown on the Derek’s face. He waved the councilors to silence. “What of you, Warlord, what opinion or advice do you have to share with us?” Derek looked around at the gathered men, most of them far past their prime, and realized that not one among them beside himself had ever been to war or fought for their life. None had ever faced death from the moment they awoke on a blood-soaked battlefield to the moment they collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss on that same battlefield. Perhaps his experiences 25
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made him a distrustful cynic, but he understood the southern lands better than even the king. That cluster of kingdoms forever warred amongst each other over valuable land and resources, sometimes ostensibly over religion, but almost entirely over gold and power. So he related his misgivings, assailed by a dreadful certainty.
“Your Highness, honorable gentlemen, and Mr. Foreman, I do suffer some concerns over this find. For centuries other kingdoms have left us in peace, not because of our military might or the strength of our allies, for we must be honest and admit that we possess neither of those things. No, they left us alone because we also possessed nothing of value that they desired. For generations our only export of any worth has been obsidia, and I believe we can all say that our market share of that product did not make us a wealthy nation. Forgive me, Your Highness.”
The king simply motioned for Derek to continue, the surrounding councilors wearing various looks of concentration, concern, and confusion.
“These circumstances allowed us to reside in peace for so long that we found no need for a strong army, nor any reason to negotiate powerful alliances.
I personally preferred it that way for I have seen too much of the ravages of constant war and I hope never to see it come here to Ariva, my home and sanctuary of peace. However, I fear that now that we have uncovered a resource of exceptional value, there will be those that desire it and may not hesitate to declare war in order to take it.”
The councilors gasped and broke into clusters of muttered denials and murmurs of disbelief. The king sat quietly absorbing Derek’s words for a moment.
“Very well, Derek, your speech holds merit; however, we want more information. You are our Warlord, Councilor of War and Protector of the Kingdom. You have posed a concern, but at the moment there is no evidence that other kingdoms will move against us. We imagine that there are some present that believe your assessment is highly cynical, but we believe in your experience and first-hand knowledge of the southern kingdoms. What is your proposal for the future, knowing that we cannot delay the exploitation of this resource?”
“Nor would I ask such a thing, Your Highness. Delay serves no purpose; the find itself is what will generate unwanted interest. The news will reach the southern kingdoms within two ten-cycles, so I agree that we accomplish
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nothing by delaying the mining of the ginacite. I maintain communication with many old acquaintances residing in both Bladen and Halidor, and they keep me informed on the political climate in the south. I don’t anticipate any problems from Bladen, though they may not support us against any threat.
However, Halidor prefers war to peace and I believe if we have a problem it will originate from that southeastern kingdom. We are protected on all sides excepting the southern pass by the Ring.” Derek gestured to the map on the wall that depicted the ring of mountain ranges surrounding their valley kingdom, broken only by a southern pass where both Halidor and Bladen bordered the Valley of Ariva. The top edge of the map showed only the highest peak, Thunder Mountain. No one knew nor cared to speculate about what lay past that forbidden zone.
“Nevertheless,” Derek continued, “Ulrick pass spans well over a mile, and the number of soldiers in our volunteer army cannot defend the entire pass even if they stood fingertip to fingertip. Besides, even if we could hold the pass with greater numbers, our army consists of farmers who soldier part time, not warriors like Halidor’s or even Bladen’s troops. We must note that Halidor has in the past used battle wizards and clerics in their wars. There isn’t a single magic-user in this kingdom, save the old hermit that lives in the Woods.” Derek turned to the king, allowing his words to sink in before continuing with his proposal, an idea he expected those present to object to strenuously.
“Your Highness, I ask that we reinstate conscription and begin training new recruits immediately.”
The councilors gasped in outrage. The current king’s grandfather abolished conscription when he realized that a standing army forced to serve the required two-rota term with nothing to do and no one to fight grew unruly and created more trouble than they prevented. Everyone knew that reinstating a mandatory military service for young men meant pulling those same men out of fields, craft workshops, taverns, and homes and that led to angry citizens. Still, the new wealth of ginacite would more than compensate the people, as the king might finally possess the funds to implement some of his dream projects, bettering the quality of life in the kingdom for all citizens.
Conscription might anger the people, but if Derek truly felt it necessary then the King must take the chance. He personally trusted the young man completely and valued his opinions as one who had seen more war and bloodshed than anyone else in the kingdom. If Derek felt the kingdom needed 28
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to amass a standing army, the king considered himself intelligent enough to heed the veteran warrior’s advice. With a decisive nod he called for pen and scroll.
“Very well, Warlord. We have placed you in charge of our protection and as such we must trust you to do your job; therefore, we agree to your advised action and reinstate conscription as of this very day. Naturally, we leave the details and the recruitment to you and our current soldiers. We only ask that you treat the people fairly and with great compassion. Never forget these men are the sons, husbands, and fathers of this kingdom.” The king finished scribing the new decree and the steward raced off to order it copied, sealed, and sent out to every corner of the kingdom.
“Thank you, Your Highness; you
will not regret this decision. I will dispatch a company of soldiers to reestablish the border guard at the pass and the remainder of our active soldiers will begin recruitment and training immediately.” Derek nodded to one of the soldiers who guarded a second exit from the chamber. He saluted and hurried silently from the room to carry out the Warlord’s commands.
“Now,” commanded the king, “we order all of you to reassemble in these chambers this evening with detailed reports on how this new find will impact each of your departments. Mr. Foreman will remain in the Royal Library until then to answer any of your questions and assist you with any mining details.
We wish to speak to the Warlord and the Councilor of Titles, Deeds, and Trusts alone. The rest of you are dismissed.” The councilors filed out. When only Derek, the king, and the Councilor of TDT remained, the king began, “Now, about the Dukedom of Arivale…”
“Well, what do you think about all of this, Sondra? After all, we are talking magic here?” Sarai leaned forward in her chair, her perfectly stitched embroidery project all but forgotten on her lap as the three siblings huddled together in her morning room. Ranged along the walls, the ladies-in-waiting embroidered their own scraps of spidersilk and tried unsuccessfully to appear disinterested in the barely audible conversation taking place in the center of the room.
The princesses perched on daintily carved chairs upholstered in a pale yellow spidersilk. The young prince lounged on a matching upholstered chaise longue that complemented the blazing sunset oranges and pinks pouring
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through the room’s only window to pool on the heavy loomed carpet that warmed the wooden floors.
“It’s not magic obviously. I am not certain what sort of logical phenomena it is. I will need to consult my books, but I believe I read a mention in Pilphragm’s manual about such a stone. He didn’t refer to the energy as aether but rather some sort of chemo kinetic force that occurs naturally…”
“Why can’t you just admit it, Sondra?”
The ladies jumped in surprise as the always refined, elegant, and calm Sarai snapped impatiently at her sister. Even Sergen looked up from where he lounged bonelessly, picking his fingernails and yawning in boredom.
“I wish you would stop insisting that magic exists …”
“And you should stop insisting that it doesn’t, despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary. You saw that stone–how could you possibly deny the power in…”
“Yes, Sarai, I saw the stone, and I admit it possessed considerable power,” Sondra interrupted heatedly, “but why must we assume that any power is magical in origin? Perhaps there is a store of naturally occurring energy in the world that we have all along called magic but in actuality possesses a purely logical explanation.”
“You are hopeless, Sondra; there is no getting through to you, and I am sick and tired of imploring you to listen to reason. Everyone here thinks you are some sort of aberration, and I am tired of defending you when they call you strange and unnatural!”
The sound of shocked gasps trailed by leaden silence shook Sarai out of her frustrated anger. She realized that she towered over her sister, her finger in the other girl’s stricken face, and quickly covered her mouth as if she could push her hasty words back in.
Sondra slowly stood, the shine of tears darkening her eyes as her shoulders straightened with quiet dignity. She ignored the shaking hand Sarai stretched out to halt her retreat and turned her back on her sister.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Sarai, but at least now that I know the truth, you won’t need to defend me anymore. In fact, I don’t want you around me at all unless the occasion dictates it. Good-bye, Sarai. Oh, and do keep an eye on my ladies-in-waiting. I have no more need of them this evening and I’d rather not have to watch my back tonight.” The last words quavered as Sondra strode 30
✥ Susan Trombley ✥
to the door, jerked it open, and stormed out, her skirts barely clearing the doorway just as it swung shut behind her.
The sound of the closing door intruded on the awkward silence as the girls glanced nervously at each other, the frozen princess, and the pale young prince.
The spell broke when Sergen stood, stretched and ran his hand through his shaggy mop of hair, leaving behind a mess of spiky locks. He patted his sister uncertainly on her shoulder, uncomfortable with emotional girls, and eager to escape before one of the many women in the room started crying. “She’ll get over it. You know she will. She just got her feelings hurt, but sometimes people need to hear the truth, you know…”
“Sergen, please, don’t … ” Sarai turned to him, tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and Sergen swallowed, nodded, and beat a hasty retreat, racing from the room as if Morbidon’s own reapers snapped at his heels. He didn’t stop until he reached the sanctuary of his own chambers, raced inside, slammed the door, and leaned gratefully against it, safely away from the tears of both sisters—
tears he didn’t know how to deal with.
Sondra made it as far as the flight of steps leading to her own chambers before she crumpled against the cool wall and, sliding to her knees, shook with powerful and painful sobs that clawed at her throat and tore at her insides. She curled up in an effort to protect the gaping wound her sister’s careless words had carved in her heart.
She always knew people thought her strange but she never really concerned herself since people expected a certain level of eccentricity from royalty, didn’t they? Sarai’s words cut the most, not because of what other people thought of her, but because those she loved the most knew about it, suffered embarrassment for it, and never once told her. The thought that they would ever grow tired of defending her and supporting her in spite of what others might think made her question whether they even returned her love.
Suddenly she understood why her own mother always seemed so disappointed with her, or why her father couldn’t always stifle the embarrassed grimace when she started explaining logical studies to his councilors. Now she knew why her brother often avoided her while visiting with the few noble boys allowed in his company. Still, she never thought her sister Sarai felt burdened by her and her eccentricities. Elona, yes; she couldn’t stand her eldest sister and knew the feeling remained entirely mutual, but she always believed Sarai loved her as much as she loved Sarai. To find out differently left a gaping hole that
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steadily filled with the same feeling of betrayal that she experienced when her sisters sent her on a fool’s errand to catch a magical fairy so many years before.
“I bet they don’t care about me at all,” Sondra muttered, a spark of anger burning her stomach and igniting the well of betrayed feelings finding shelter there. “Fine, let’s see how they fare without me. I’ll run away. I’ll go to Thunder Mountain and prove there is no Dragon, and that they’ve all been duped, and I don’t care at all if they worry, but they probably won’t even look for me.” Sondra ignored the sting of acid tears burning her eyes and climbed the steps to her chambers. She quietly cracked the door open and peeked inside.
Liliana lay sprawled and snoring on a bench at the foot of Sondra’s massive bed, her maid’s bonnet long since fallen to the floor. Sondra smiled, pleased that her maid’s noisy slumber concealed her own furtive movements perfectly.
The glow of the half-moon had gilded the chamber silver by the time Sondra quietly and clumsily managed to untie her own laces and shrug out of the heavy court dress. She let the hated thing fall to the floor.
Throwing open the wardrobe doors in her dressing chamber, she selected the darkest and simplest of her coatdresses, a plain burgundy wool adorned only with hand-carved obsidia buttons. She shrugged into the fitted sleeves, pulled the coatdress around her, and buttoned up before sliding on her black leather riding boots. The pale cream underskirt of her simple showed through from the waist where the row of buttons ended but she didn’t have the time to ch
ange completely, nor did she possess a dark-colored simple. Rather then a jaunty hat or bonnet, she pulled a wool cloak from the back of the wardrobe.
The summer night air hardly called for such a heavy garment, so she wouldn’t wear it for long; she just needed the concealment of the hood to escape the castle unrecognized. The simple dark cloak concealed the fine cut and material of the dress she wore and she prayed that anyone who saw her would mistake her for one of the servants trekking into the city for supplies or returning to their homes for the night. Fortunately, the castle portcullis never closed and people traveled in and out of the gates all evening long on various errands, especially just after sundown when the demands on the servants lessened greatly.
She tiptoed into Liliana’s tiny chamber just off her own dressing room and guiltily searched the sparse quarters, finding what she sought tucked beneath the hard cot. A poorly woven basket covered by a cheap, printed flaxweed material sat tucked neatly under Liliana’s bed. It looked exactly like hundreds of others that the servants used to carry their goods and money to and from 32
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the castle. She stole the basket, promising herself that she would repay Liliana a hundredfold for it when she returned with her proof. She would start by ordering the girl a new bed, one that didn’t resemble a slab of stone.
She stuffed some of her less expensive jewelry into the basket with vague ideas of selling the items for money. She then added a brush, some ribbons, her toothstick and powder, a jar of soapstone powder and a woolen washsquare, and hurried to the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the polished silver before she left the room. She mentally shook her head at her near mistake and snatched the tiara out of her hair, wincing as the pins pulled free along with several long strands. She cast the tiara on the bed, threw her hood over her unbound hair, and snuck from the room, holding the door to keep it from slamming shut behind her.
