“His Highness will now receive you.” He concluded, bowing lowly.
While in Metao, Kevin and he had blissfully avoided court, and now he could see why Kevin was so keen to avoid it. Every merchant in the hall had some sort of minor problem that could easily have been solved if they had simply acted like adults and asked their neighbor to stop doing what irritated them.
“..and if you please My Lord, he allowed his daughter to serve the produce moments after milking the cow!”
Tristan smiled to himself, he could sense his brothers rising irritation with these trite concerns. On the heels of their long journey with no chance to bathe before being ushered into court, even Tristan’s patience was wearing thin. Clearly Kevin relied heavily on Alison to be the voice of warm reason as she spoke up.
“Master Merchant, would it not be better to simply inform him that his unhygienic ways were bothering you?” She asked warmly.
Perhaps five merchants later and the trite business had been completed. Kevin readjusted in his seat as three high ranking soldiers stepped forward to address him.
“My Lord, I’m sure by now you’re aware,” The eldest soldier began, “That our lands are being overrun with bandits and brigands.”
“We were content, to stem the flow until your return.” The next one added.
“But now, My Lord, things have gotten out of control. If we don’t do something soon…” The last soldier let the sentence drop.
Kevin cleared his throat.
“I observed your concerns first hand, Captains.” He paused to organize his thoughts for a moment before continuing.
“It regrets me to say that Patrician Samuel has committed treason, most likely the side-effect of which is the increased number of hostile forces in our country. I’ve sent word to my father to intercede on the east’s behalf, but it is up to us to clear out the bandits in the west.”
He paused as murmuring erupted around the hall, the color in Alison’s face draining as she assumed her husband would take personal command and be away from her again. Guilt rose up in Tristan as he saw tears gather in her eyes, how could he have been so selfish?
Kevin allowed the noise level to rise before motioning for the Master of Ceremonies to bring them back to order with a bang of his staff.
“That being said, I’m putting the 7th Infantry into the field…”
A great noise of approval began to echo through the hall as the centermost military Captain’s chest swelled with pride.
“…under the command of Prince Tristan.”
The absolute silence was deafening.
Tristan loathed being the center of attention for this very reason; he could feel the murderous glare of the Captains assembled before the throne. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on him, his pride wouldn’t let him shrink into the shadows, but he was sorely tested to do so.
“Excuse me My Lord, did I hear you correctly?” Kevin’s eyes narrowed slightly as the centermost Captain spoke up.
“Yes Captain Robertson, I believe you did.” He replied evenly.
“General, all due respect, he’s a boy!” Robertson complained.
Kevin motioned to the Master of Ceremonies who pounded his staff three times on the floor again and announced that court was over for the day. The older Prince motioned for his senior staff to come closer to the throne as the merchants and servants made their way out of the chamber.
“I want you all assembled for a council over evening meal tonight. Understood?” He asked.
The group of them mumbled agreement and stalked off, but not before giving Tristan sideways dark looks as Kevin rose to his feet.
“Now little brother, time to get cleaned up and some rest! Simon there will escort you the room you’ll be using while you’re here.” He came closer and whispered. “Far enough away from my room to grant you privacy mind you.”
Kevin chuckled and allowed his wife to escort him to their rooms, while the servant named Simon waited at Tristan’s elbow for him to follow. The young Prince nodded once to the tall slim servant who directed him to the hallway just behind the throne.
A few hours later, Tristan dozed on a comfortable feather stuffed mattress. The servant had attempted to undress him, much to his distress. He had ordered him from the room and pulled off his leather breastplate on his own. His tunic underneath was stained with sweat from three days on the road. He unbuckled the sides of his boots, pulling them off to reveal an ungodly stench. Next he untied his greaves and laid them on dresser at the foot of his bed. Standing in nothing except his trousers, a knock came at his door.
“Enter.” He called.
A young female servant walked into the room, completely un-phased by his state of dress to inquire whether he needed help bathing.
“No thank you, is there something clean that I can change into for supper tonight thought?” He asked, motioning to the pile of filthy clothes gathered at the foot of his bed.
She walked over to the wardrobe against the far wall and pulled out a simple red shirt with a square hole for his head and short sleeves, a pair of black leather trousers and matching simple leather bracers. She placed them all on the bed and turned to him.
“Would you like me to clean your clothes and armor My Lord?” She asked in barely a whisper.
He agreed and walked through the opening next to the wardrobe into a smaller room as she gathered up his things and left the room. His bathroom had a large wooden counter running along to opposite wall with an empty metal basin and a pitcher next to it. Coming out of the counter were two water pumps, both of their ends hanging over the large wooden tub that dominated the room. The tub was already filled with hot water; steam came off in waves fogging up a nearby window.
Tristan enjoyed a long leisurely soak in the tub, using liberal amounts of soap to remove almost a week’s worth of dust and grime. He got out of the tub, dried himself off as best he could and headed over to the wardrobe to see what he could find for boots as the girl had left with his riding pair. At the base of the wardrobe he found a pair of comfortable looking sandals, a sturdy pair of ankle high boots and his favorite calf high style all in black leather. He pulled out the calf high boots, a pair of under breeches and brought them over to the bed where he proceeded to get dressed. He placed his belt, with both his sword and dagger, on a brass metal hook next to the fireplace. After tying his hair out of his face, he lay down on the bed, dozing in the afternoon warmth.
~
In his dreams Tristan was haunted by flashes of light and the clang of metal on metal followed by a blinding flash and then complete darkness, he tried to force his eyes open only to see the strangest black painted toenails in red, cross gartered sandals.
~
“My Lord?” A soft female voice inquired to no answer. “Sir?!” She demanded more urgently, shaking his shoulder.
Tristans’ eyes shot open to the pretty face of the young female servant.
“It’s time for supper my Lord.” She said timidly.
He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. Standing up he stretched his arms over his head and yawned again. He motioned for the girl to guide him to the dining hall as he retrieved his belt from the hook on the wall. As he put the belt around his waist and buckled it he noticed that all the torches along the wall were lit. The stone the keep had been built must have had some minerals in it. The odd glitter every few inches was shown to good effect as the walls seemed alive in places.
The serving girl guided him back towards the main audience chamber. Though, as they approached the main hall she turned down a hallway that ran horizontally along the back wall of the main chamber, which he hadn’t noticed before. She stopped at a door midway down the hall and opened it, bowing him through as she did so. Tristan entered a large dining room that made him feel very comfortable. A long wooden table dominated the space running the width of the room. A merry little fire crackled in the fireplace along the western wall. Chairs were arrayed around the table, made f
rom a richly stained mahogany and padded red material nailed to the seats and backs of them with ornate nail heads exposed. The table was similarly stained and looked well used, yet cared for. As always, everything had a highly functional purpose with little thought invested in opulence.
All along the walls were various tabards and war banners which looked hundreds of years old. Above the fireplace he recognized his own family crest on a banner of deep blue. Behind the head chair was a trophy case full of ancient weapons. Tristan crossed the room, slowly drinking in the warm, relaxing atmosphere. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and began reading the little plaques beneath each weapon.
Members of the council began to filter into the room as Tristan continued to look at the weapons with interest. He made out a few sideways malevolent glances in the reflection of the glass covering the trophy case. He was long used to treatment such as this and he was far more interested in a wicked looking bow which appeared as though a small army would be needed to draw it.
The door opened and a familiar voice cleared his throat as the talking in the room stopped. Tristan turned around to see his smiling brother motion towards the seat to the right of the head chair. Yet more murmuring broke out and several surprised looks followed Tristan as he walked over and sat down opposite his sister-in-law. She smiled warmly at him, clearly feeling sorry for him. He assumed husband and wife had caught up while he was napping and smiled back at her. He motioned to the wine pitcher, offering to fill her glass, which she accepted as Kevin’s voice cut through the talk in the room.
“Gentlemen! Please sit.” Kevin commanded. “Timon, if you would please have the food brought in?”
The head servant nodded once to Kevin and left the room for the kitchen. Everyone at the table helped themselves to a glass of wine as Kevin leaned over to his wife and whispered something to her that she nodded to. Straightening up, he addressed his council.
“We have something of a problem here my friends.” He noted. “A few of you have taken exception to my brother leading our force along the Western Road to take care of a few bandits.”
Kevin allowed a long pause while his leaders looked uncomfortably at one another.
“Why?” He asked finally, locking eyes with Captain Robertson.
Many of them shifted in their chairs as Tristan looked around the room. Most of the Captains avoided eye contact with him. Their Lieutenants seemed much less put off by the young. Robertson was the first to break the silence.
“We don’t doubt his ability my Lord.” He began. “We simply question his…experience.”
Tristan was irritated by his observation. Who was he to know what Tristan’s experience was? How in the hell was he qualified to pass judgment on him without even seeing what he could do? As always, his temper was always so close to the surface and it manifested itself again.
“What you’re saying is that I’m too young to swing a sword.” Tristan blurted.
Robertson’s eyes narrowed as he turned and address the young Prince. Tristan refused to break eye contact, he was livid and he wasn’t about to hide the fact.
“Swing? No. Control?” He grinned. “Absolutely.” He replied.
Tristan rose; his hand going to his hip as the Captain’s eyes widened, a calculating look passing over his features. Kevin put his hand on Tristans’ shoulder, forcing his younger brother to sit once again, shaking his head at him.
“Enough.” Kevin urged, turning to his senior-most Captain he said; “He will lead you and you will follow, that’s not a question. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite, my Lord.” Came his reply through clenched teeth.
They were spared anymore conversation by the arrival of the servants with numerous platters of food. Tristan found his appetite was gone; however he grabbed a few things to nibble on as he sipped his wine. Using his spare time to good advantage, Tristan observed the members of Kevin’s council. Robertson sat next to the Princess, followed by a young Lieutenant he took to be Robertson’s second in command. Farther along the table he noticed that the vast majority of the Captains here had rather young Lieutenants. While the Captains all shared a look of distain towards the young Prince most of their Lieutenants seemed to like him as more often than not he received nods or smiles as he looked around the table.
As supper began to wind down Tristan noticed that Captain Robertson was beginning to slur his words and his eyes seemed unwilling to focus. Talk around the table turned to the mundane as a Lieutenant sitting next to him inquired about their journey from Metao. Tristan began to account minor details of their journey as Captain Robertson began to talk louder and louder.
“Thirty-seven years of service and I’m being put under a pup barely from the teat!” He complained loudly to another Captain, who attempted to silence the old war veteran to no avail.
By now the servants had cleared the plates and refilled the wine pitchers. Council members were scattered around the room, talking in low voices. Tristan could see Captain Robertson standing along the back wall talking with three other Captains, not bothering to keep his voice down.
“…and if you please, the boy walks around with the same blade his grandfather used. The arrogance that he could compare himself…”
“That will do Lance.” Kevin said as he approached the group, in hushed tones he berated his Captain in privacy.
Tristan returned his attention to his conversation with the young Lieutenant, periodically voices would rise along the back wall and he did his best to ignore the anger growing inside of him. As the night progressed most of the young Lieutenants introduced themselves to him. The Captains, however, kept a cold distance. Tristan found himself standing in front of the fireplace alone with what was left of his first glass of wine.
“I’ll not have it!” Robertson yelled.
“You will and you’ll damn well do your job!” Bellowed Tristans’ brother.
Feeling very uncomfortable and angry, Tristan put his glass on the fireplace mantel and made his way to the door. As his hand closed around the smooth metal of the handle he could hear Robertson yelling at the other end of the room.
“I tell you I won’t put my men at risk! Look at him, he runs from talking! What will he do in the field!?” Insisted the Captain.
Tristan paused, his hand clenching the door handle so hard that his knuckles were white; his temper, still inflamed from earlier, finally got the better of him. The young Prince turned on the spot, crossed the hall in even strides, wound up and punched the old war veteran squarely in the mouth. Numerous glasses dropped around the room as Captain Robertson shook his head. Everyone who was pretending not to hear the argument was now transfixed. Robertson looked the young Prince up and down, grinning a bloody smile as he slowly drew his sword.
“Stand down Captain!” Kevin shouted.
“You know the law my Lord. If the boy wants a duel, by the Gods I’ll let him have one.” The Captain replied as his sword cleared his scabbard.
“Well lad, let’s see what you’re made of…” His eyes narrowed dangerously, “Draw your sword.” He said and barely a whisper.
Before Tristans’ sword had even cleared his scabbard Robertson was launching a powerful overhead strike. Tristan narrowly escaped it by turning his blade, clearing himself a path to the left. The wily old Captain had anticipated this as he let his blade swing down then back up in an arc as he slashed at Tristan with the other sharp edge of his long sword. Tristan had his blade up in time to take the blow as the younger man stepped in and delivered a knee to the Captains stomach giving him the respite he needed to ready himself.
By the time Captain Robertson had recovered he found his younger opponent ready. The pounding of his heartbeat was like a drum in his ears. The two men circled each other. Tristan forced himself to calmness as the Captain tried to shake off the effects of too much wine. Tristan feigned a sword trust, Robertson reacted more out of habit than ability as he looped his sword around to knock Tristan’s blade aside. The young Prince changed hi
s movement though as he twitched his wrist, sending his blade off at an angle and catching the Captain in his left bicep.
Robertson reached up, feeling the cut through his uniform. Pulling his hand away, he looked down at the blood on his hand as his eyes flashed with anger. He slashed his sword at Tristan’s neck causing the young Prince to parry and block numerous fast and powerful attacks as the Captain let his rage out on his younger opponent. The Prince caught Robertson’s blade on his hilt, twisted and brought his dagger out of its sheath to defend himself from the dagger Robertson pulled.
The Captain yelled in rage as he brought his dagger up over their locked blades, seeking to drive it into the Princes chest. Tristan reversed his grip on his dagger and brought it up and caught the Captains on his own, pushing both blades away.
Tristan expected Robertson to back off for a moment; instead the wily veteran stepped forward and drove his foot into the young Prince’s stomach. Winded, Tristan fought for breath as the Captain came in with another slashing blow. The young Prince deflected the blow, but didn’t see the dagger as Captain Robertson swung it low and delivered a shallow slice through Tristan’s shirt and into his abdomen.
The Prince stepped forward with his right leg, pushing the Captain backwards. Robertson did as Tristan predicted and moved his own right leg forward to compensate for being pushed back. Tristan twisted his leg behind his older opponents and kept the forward pressure on. Both of their blades began lower as each sought to get the best footing to push the other away. Tristan pulled his blades away, dangerously exposing himself to both of Robertson’s weapons.
The older Captain was in no position to strike though as the young Prince stepped forward with his left leg and drove his head into Robertson’s face. Tristan’s leg caught Robertson’s as he reeled back from the blow and he clumsily lost his dagger as it clattered onto the floor. Instinctively the Captain brought his blade up which Tristan batted out of his hand and leveled his sword point on Robertson’s jugular. Breathing heavily and still very angry Tristan kept his blade trained there, his eyes burning as if on fire as the Captain could only stare up at him in shock and defiance. A firm retraining hand fell on his shoulder.
Draconis' Bane Page 10
