That would be a dark day for Saree. He would need his fellow gods and the mortals of this world, and neither faction was ready. The people of Saree would have to be forged in the flames of strife and conflict, and he would have to find a way to bend the will of his brothers and sisters to make them follow him once more.
It would take time; maybe more than he had. It could take generations before the mortals would be ready to face the enemies of the Reaper, and the gods might never bow to his power again. The wind howled through the battlements and the Lord of Death looked up into the dark sky. He would find a way.
The Kingdom of Trimenia was an exacting country. Hard winters where the heavy snows lasted late into spring were common and when the cold weather broke, the rains would begin to fall. Clouded skies and heavy fogs dominated the majority of spring and a good deal of the summer.
Late summer and fall was the best time of year for the people of Trimenia. The leaves of their dark forests changed to the brilliantly striking colors of red, yellow and numerous shades of brown, and the clouds of summer parted to reveal the pristine majesty of the Blue Dagger Mountains in all their glory. The farmers happily toiled harvesting their crops and enjoying the benefit of the year’s rigorous work. Farming was a demanding job in the thin soil of Trimenia. Crops of rye, buckwheat, and oats were the normal bounty of the kingdom’s crofters. It was too much of a struggle for even the stoutest of farmers to grow much of anything else in Trimenia’s stingy soil. It was also during this time the herdsmen would slaughter some of their cattle, goats, and hogs to be salted and stored for the long winter ahead.
Fall’s beauty brought the bands of Tinkers that traveled the countryside into the cities. They would stop their wagons and hold small festivals and fairs in many of Trimenia’s towns and villages, giving the peasants a brief respite from their hard lives. When the leaves changed, Trimenia rejoiced and gave thanks to God.
Trimenians were known for being sour and unfriendly to outsiders. In general, it was true, but they were a robust and hearty people and very passionate about what they loved, and they loved their homeland more than their own lives. Many visitors left the bleak kingdom often wondering why the Trimenians were so proud of such a cruel and inhospitable country. When asked why they prized their dark land so much, the Trimenians would answer with an old Tinker saying: “Children will always love the mother that bore them.”
It had been a long time since King Petru had heard any of his subjects utter that endearing phrase, or any other word praising his kingdom. And why should they? Civil war had ravaged their motherland and the inquisition had taken root in the clergy, who burned those found guilty of heresy and sedition with an all too vigorous zeal. The past few years had been steeped in nothing but heartache and tragedy for his people.
Fall had come once again and the crofters harvested their crops only to hand over nearly all their gains to greedy nobles who never felt they had enough. Taxes were levied without mercy, and those who could not pay lost what little they had left. Petru was disgusted with himself. Over the last few years, he had grown complacent to the tyranny and oppression in Trimenia to the point that he had stopped trying to do anything about it, but that was going to change. In two days, he would move to avert a war looming in his future. The ball would at least keep his country from being plunged into a conflict it could not bear.
King Petru Lasota rubbed his eyes, feeling the headache that was coming on. The middle-aged monarch was slight of build and of average height. Though spindly, Petru was a handsome man. Dark hair and soft brown eyes set his face well and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee hid his slightly pointed chin. His skin was smooth and he had always kept in the habit of bathing daily. The king had dressed simply for the day in the colors of Trimenia—a burgundy shirt and a black doublet embroidered with gold thread. He was breaking in a pair of new riding boots of dark leather, a gift from his wife, and they were pinching his feet terribly as he paced the courtyard waiting for his daughter.
The palace grounds were huge with a stable, large barracks, and several outbuildings all residing within the confines of the walls. His concern however was with the large square of ground just outside the palace’s main entrance. He sighed and shook his head at the royal garden. His wife had worked diligently to beautify the courtyard, but had fared poorly. The flowers she had planted had not taken root. Only the pansies and wild roses looked healthy, everything else seemed on the verge of death. It was not just his beloved Zaria’s lack of a green thumb; Trimenia’s climate and soil were not the best for growing anything and it was fall, after all. Understanding the queen’s heightened sensibilities, he had added more bushes and statuary to the royal courtyard in the attempt to reduce his wife’s irritation with the palace’s exterior appearance. Seldom did they ever host events for other monarchs, and this was going to be a very special occasion. It was his daughter Danika’s birthday and he would be announcing her betrothal the same night, during all the formalities and festivities. He might also be saving his kingdom from a bloody war.
Danika would turn eighteen in two days. Most of the serfs and peasantry felt a woman should be married by the age of fifteen, but of course, their hard lives were much shorter than those of the wealthy and the nobly born. Not wanting to see his daughter become a woman just yet, he had waited to see her married off, but the time had come for her to become another man’s wife and avert a disastrous conflict between Trimenia and Warmark.
Danika had taken the news of her upcoming marriage to Prince Henry, the heir to the throne of Warmark, well. With any luck, the marriage would calm the rumblings of war and ease King Mayson’s mind as to Trimenia’s intentions toward his country. The kingdoms had always been rivals and lately, there had been friction over the border. His neighbor to the southeast had already threatened war, and King Mayson’s temper was well known. The warning had not been a bluff. Petru needed to ease the tension between the two countries, and what better way than marrying Danika to Mayson’s son? There was no better gift he could offer the King of Warmark than the princess. Trimenia had already seen enough conflict over the last few years with the bothersome rebellion. Losing Danika was a small price to pay to finally bring peace to Trimenia, if that was possible.
Though the majority of the rebel army had been destroyed by Baron Serban’s mercenaries and the Trimenian army in the early spring, he still felt like the country was immersed in a civil war. Serban’s victory had settled nothing. His people remained hostile, although few dared to protest openly, and the leaders of the rebellion had evaded capture once again. Baron Serban could scoff all he wanted; Petru believed the winds of another uprising still floated in the air, and the threat of more bloodshed was a distinct possibility.
How could he blame his countrymen? There were few that had not lost their lands or loved ones to the Trimenian nobility. Serban was at the heart of the tyranny. Even as king, there was nothing Petru could do to stop the despicable baron.
Alexis Serban had been a quiet nobleman, inheriting his title and lands from his father and overseeing them with a reserved stateliness. Petru had barely spoken to the man and then only on occasions of courtly proceedings.
It was a little over a decade ago that Serban had begun to slowly build his power and amass a fortune on the backs of the serfs that worked his lands. He hired mercenaries and roguish men at arms to bolster the ranks of the soldiers the crown had allotted him. He ceased to attend court in person, sending large amounts of tax monies to the crown with his agents instead. In the beginning, Petru had thought the baron wise and adept at ruling his barony, even though his behavior was somewhat eccentric. The noble’s methods were harsh and unfair, but Petru had turned a blind eye to the baron’s misdeeds in his distraction over the amount of gold the noble was tithing to the throne.
By the time Petru saw the man for what he was, it was too late. The baron had slowly seized control of the kingdom, destroying any noble or military officer who might have stood in his way. While Petr
u turned his greedy head, Alexis Serban had become the most powerful man in Trimenia.
Several years ago, he had tried to oppose the fiend and quickly found out most of Trimenia’s remaining nobles supported the baron. They had made bargains or accords with the mad man behind the king’s back. His lords had turned their own lands into mirrors of Serban’s barony. The peasantry was taxed to near starvation, and if any protest was made, their land was taken and the offender was put to death.
Petru had even called the baron before him to chastise the man, but instead, the nobleman had threatened those Petru loved the most: his family. Serban told him that Zaria and his children would be made to suffer if he failed to cooperate with any of the baron’s wishes.
It was the crazed nobleman who ruled the country now. Petru was nothing but a figurehead and he knew it. Alexis Serban had raped the Trimenian people of their wealth and plunged them into civil war. Now he provoked the crown of Warmark with incursions across the border. It was whispered among the peasantry that the baron was in league with dark forces and used sorcery to see his will done. Petru was beginning to believe the stories.
To make matters worse, the pope had issued an edict a year ago that Holy Mother Church was beginning an investigation through all the civilized lands and those who did not cooperate with the inquisition would be deemed enemies of the Church. The pope’s decree stated anyone found to have black blood was an enemy of God and a minion of the Beast, and any with this evil affliction and any who gave them aid would be burned at the stake. Soon after, Brother Xavier had arrived in Trimenia. The monk was a member of the Order of the Blessed. He had spoken with Archbishop Lech and the two had been on a crusade throughout Trimenia doing God’s work ever since. The inquisition was ghastly and cruel. The burnings went on daily with the two holy men presiding over the horrible work with righteous zeal. The people said little about the executions, but the city of Brova, as well as the surrounding countryside, lived in fear of a knock on their door.
The Trimenian people were a pious lot and were as stiff-necked about their religion as they were about their patriotism. The archbishop and the monk might not see it, but Petru could. Though they would not speak out against God, the foulness and insanity of the inquisition had begun to turn the people away from the Church and into the arms of the rebels.
There was nothing he could do about the Church or Serban. The roots of their evil ran to deep. The best he could hope for was to keep the peace with Warmark and pretend to be king. Staving off any other of Trimenia’s ills was hopeless.
King Petru decided he’d partaken in enough disheartening reflection. Today he would think of his daughter, a bright spot in a world of darkness. Petru loved Danika beyond all things. Of course he tried not to show his partialness to the girl, but it was difficult where Danika was concerned. His wife had scolded him for the act many times, although Zaria was little better. She also favored their splendid middle child.
“Father, I have something to show you. Mother insisted.”
The king turned to find his lovely daughter crossing the wide courtyard, holding up the hem of the heavy gown she wore to keep it off the ground. The dress was made of golden-colored fabric, belted around her narrow waist with a strand of silver beads and a matching set hung from the gown’s collar spreading out across her chest. The sleeves dropped to her elbows and were slit to reveal the princess’s soft shoulders. Danika’s hair had been brushed and put up formally on top of her head. He had never understood how he and his wife had made such stunning creature. Danika was a sight to behold, standing before him like one of the goddesses of old. His daughter was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom; no one could argue that truth. The princess’s hair was much lighter than most of the women of the country. Her mother said she had gotten the trait from the queen’s grandmother, who had been born a Celonian. It was such a light shade of brown that sometimes, if there was enough sun in the summer, it turned golden. Her skin was also paler than most Trimenians, and showed no signs of the weathering, a trait that was exhibited by many women of the kingdom. On top of her looks, Danika was intelligent, elegant, and charming. His daughter had truly been blessed by God.
She gracefully spun around in the expensive gown, an angelic smile stretching across her face. “Well, what do you think? I plan to wear it to my party, isn’t it beautiful?”
“Not so much as the young woman in it.”
He watched as the color rose in her cheeks. “Oh, Father, you always say that no manner what I am wearing.”
“That’s because it is always true, my dear. No man ever had a more beautiful child. Your mother and I could not be more pleased. We are blessed to have you.”
“Do you think Henry will like it?” she said coyly.
“I sure he will be in awe of your beauty. I take it that you’re still at peace with the engagement then?”
“It is my duty, to you and Trimenia. It would be very selfish of me to shirk my responsibility as the princess of our house.”
The king took a deep breath and put his hands on her shoulders. “Even though this marriage is very important to the kingdom, I would not want to see you unhappy.”
She touched his cheek and her lips pressed together in a caring smile. “I am content, Father.”
“I could not be more proud of you, Danika. You have grown into a fine woman and you will make Prince Henry a wonderful queen.”
Danika gave him a mock curtsy. “I just hope the Prince of Warmark is as handsome as my father.”
Petru shrugged. “I can’t attest to Henry’s looks. I haven’t ever met King Mayson’s oldest son, but word has it he favors his mother, Queen Breeda. I met her many years ago when my father still ruled Trimenia and I can attest to her beauty. She was quite striking in her youth.”
“Well now, Father, how beautiful was she?” Danika giggled.
Petru shook his head. “I have never even spoken to the woman. I saw her once when I accompanied my father to Warmark’s capital Thessa. Now, you should go and find your mother. Tell her I approve.”
Danika kissed his cheek and hastened back inside the palace. He would say a prayer tonight that all went well at the ball. Trimenia could not afford any blunders or misunderstandings with the Warmark monarchs. They would just have to put their faith in Danika and hope her charms could win over her future husband and temperamental father in-law.
He had started for the palace doors when he saw the girl sitting on a stone bench at the far side of the courtyard, swinging her legs back and forth. Uncombed black hair hung in a bramble of loose curls on her shoulders and an impish smile played on her full lips. The young girl’s dark eyes regarded him with deep affection and delight. He rolled his eyes at her attire; she was dressed in a white shirt, tied up and exposing her midriff despite the cool air, leather pants that were too small, and a pair of worn-out riding boots. If he had not known better, he would have thought her a member of a traveling band of Tinkers. His youngest daughter was nothing like her sister. Dark-haired and dusky-skinned, she looked as wild as a Trimenian wolf. The princess had inherited the unrefined looks of the peasantry. His father had carried the same swarthy features. He guessed she would be pleasing to the eyes of a commoner, though she didn’t have Danika’s height or feminine curves, and grace was not a word he had ever heard associated with his youngest child. Shameful was more commonly used by her mother. They had believed as she grew older, their younger daughter might grow to be more like her sister, but she was sixteen now and their hopes had faded.
“Pepca, what are you doing out there? Shouldn’t you be inside helping your mother?”
Hopping off the bench, the princess ran over and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him as tightly as she could. “Mother sent me outside. She said I was driving her mad.”
The king looked down and stroked his daughter’s head, a grin spreading across his face. “I don’t doubt she did. Why don’t you go, brush your hair and find something more appropriate to wear? The bal
l is in two days. I bet you could find something useful to do to aid that cause.”
She released her grip and stepped back. “Okay, I guess I could go see if they need me in the stables or kitchen?”
“Perhaps, but I was thinking more along the lines of seeing the royal seamstress and finding something proper to wear to the party.”
Pepca frowned. “I have dresses in my room. I will wear one of those.”
“You should get something special; you know we will have guests from Warmark and your sister’s betrothal will be announced. Your mother will want you to be dressed appropriately when you meet your future brother in-law.”
Pepca’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it’s not because the baron will be there? I have heard he plans to make a rare appearance at the ball.”
The king knew of which baron his daughter spoke. “Yes, Baron Serban is going to attend, but that is not why this is important. It’s your sister’s birthday and this engagement is very important, not only to her but to Trimenia, and you will be on your best behavior. If you cause any mischief or embarrass your mother, she will skin you alive.”
She looked up at him with her dark eyes serious and pained. “I would not think of spoiling Danika’s day. It’s the baron. He is hurting Trimenia, Father. He has stolen the lands of the farmers and herdsmen and makes them work for slave wages, then taxes them for what little they have earned. He promotes Archbishop Lech and the inquisition, and terrorizes the people with those savage mercenaries of his. Now he is using your army to do his dirty work, chasing the last of the rebels out of his lands. I don’t understand why you allow it. The people hate you…us, and it’s all his doing.”
King Petru looked at his daughter angrily. The girl didn’t understand. “The rebellion has been all but destroyed. My men only seek to secure the kingdom. Only a few rogue bands still roam the countryside and they will soon be dealt with. The politics of this kingdom are my responsibility, young lady, not yours. Now go to you chambers and wait for the seamstress. I will send her to you.”
The Star Of Saree Page 2
