Dragon's Era- No Man's Land

by Jacon Winfree

  "A little," said Berenthy, with a gentle smile. "A little from your father. But Teyrn Cousland has more, and he's a grown man. The others being put forward are grown men, too, from the high noble houses of the kingdom. The Landsmeet may not like the idea of a child becoming king. It's never happened before, not in all our history."

  "So I'm the first," said Lorcan, liking the idea, not noticing how sad Nana looked.

  Berenthy stroked his hair. "Even if you were not chosen king, my child, you would still be a great man in Ferelden, since your claim to be Teyrn of Gwaren has no possible challenger."

  Lorcan frowned. He did not know where Gwaren was, but he had heard it was cold there, and full of forests and forests and forests. He hoped he would not be sent away from home and have to live in the woods. Since they were answering his questions, he essayed another.

  "Nana…what's a bastard?"

  * * *

  They devised a doublet for him of white and gold velvet trimmed with pearls for the Landsmeet, and found a little gold coronet that pressed down uncomfortably on his ears. Grandfather made Lorcan learn a speech by heart, reciting it over and over again, every day.

  Nana had cried and pleaded, but Grandfather was firm that Lorcan must speak at the Landsmeet, and speak well. He stripped the leaves from a thin branch of willow, and told Lorcan that if he did not know his speech by heart in three days time, he would be whipped until he did know it. Lorcan did not know what a whipping was, but he learned.

  For the first time he faltered, Grandfather scowled like a thundercloud, and sent all the women out of the room.

  "Drop your breeches, lad, and lean over that stool there."

  When Lorcan hesitated, Grandfather was up and pouncing on him like a grizzled old bear. The breeches were yanked down and Lorcan flung face-first onto a needlepoint footrest. Heraldic creatures in blue and red stared up at him incuriously. The cane whistled like a flute as it slashed across his bare bottom. Lorcan shrieked, and shrieked with each of the following four blows, each hot as fire.

  Grandfather turned from him in disgust.

  "Wipe your snotty nose, and take it like a man. If you think I'm hard on you, wait until the Landsmeet has a go at you. If they think you're weak, they'll flay the skin from your bones! You'd better know that speech tomorrow, if you know what's good for you."

  The old man stamped away, and Lorcan was left shocked and sobbing, blood welling up in long delicate lines from the welts on his bottom. Nana rushed in and took him in her arms. Lorcan had never seen her cry before.

  * * *

  The Landsmeet was huge and echoing. Lorcan tried to remember his training, and kept his back straight, thinking about his speech, over and over, until his stomach hurt.

  The people at the Landsmeet were not all old men like Grandfather. There were women there, too; some of them young and pretty; some of them old and wise-looking. Men were bearded and clean-shaven and some were young, too. Some wore elaborate armor, rather than velvet garments. Many greeted Lorcan with hard, hungry stares, but not all of them. Some looked at him with amusement, and some with kindness.

  "His Highness, Prince Lorcan of Ferelden!"

  Grandfather growled. He wanted the heralds to announce Lorcan as King, but they hadn't. Lorcan hoped Grandfather would not lose his temper. Terrible things would happen, and most of them to Lorcan himself.

  Trumpets sounded, and then the people started talking. A man called a seneschal talked about Lorcan's mother dying, and then called Teyrn Cousland to speak, which made Grandfather terribly angry. Teyrn Cousland had a good loud voice, and sounded friendly. He said they should make their decision by reason and tradition, and not be swayed by Orlesian gold. He wore shiny armor that Lorcan liked. A nice-looking lady stood by him. She was dressed richly and her stomach stuck out, and with her was a little girl with curly hair.

  Lorcan tugged at Nana's hand.

  "I thought there wouldn't be other children here."

  Grandfather answered in a low growl. "Wants to show he can breed, the sneaking Northern whoreson. Wants to show he's got heirs, with his brat and his woman about to pop out another."

  "Ssssh, brother!" Nana murmured anxiously.

  Then an old man with a grey beard stood up: Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe. He smiled at Lorcan, too, but in a way that made Lorcan shiver. And when he started talking, Lorcan knew the man was no friend.

  "Woe to the kingdom whose ruler is a child!"

  The words rang in Lorcan's head like an awful threat. Everyone went silent and liArvided to Arl Eamon, as he talked and talked about what a terrible thing it would be if Lorcan were king. He described people slaughtered and the land laid waste; everyone miserable and unhappy and hurting. Lorcan felt himself turn red with shame, furious with Arl Eamon for thinking that Lorcan would do things like that. Arl Eamon had never even met him!

  And he talked about how Queen Freya, Lorcan's mother, had not had a drop of royal blood, and how her grandparents had been peasants. He had nothing against a honest family of minor nobility like the Stronars—

  Lorcan heard Grandfather's breath hiss between his yellow teeth.

  —but he, Eamon Guerrin, did not see that they had any right to the throne.

  Then he talked about the Blood of Calenhad, and Maric the Savior, who was an old-time king that Lorcan had heard of.

  "—And I present the rightful King, Alistair Theirin, son of Maric!"

  Some scattered applause and lots of chattering. A blond man in golden armor stood up by Arl Eamon and waved and smiled. Then he started talking, but it was short, and it sounded something like the speech that Grandfather had made Lorcan learn.

  "My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet. I have never before addressed you, but I take great pride to stand before you to defend my rights as the last of true Theirin blood…"

  Lots of other men spoke, and Grandfather interrupted, furious that he was being passed over. The seneschal talked back about "precedence," and that Grandfather would get his turn. Everybody got very tense. Lorcan was bored, frightened, and very, very tired. He hoped they would all go home, and he would not have to try to remember his speech in front of all these people and in front of his terrible Grandfather, who was so angry that he was grinding his teeth.

  At last it was Grandfather's turn, and he went up to the speaker's platform, gripping Lorcan's hand so hard it hurt. There was a rail in front of them, and it was just at Lorcan's eye level, so he had to either duck down or stand on his toes to see. Grandfather wasn't having that, so Lorcan had to stand there, straight as straight, unable to see people's faces. Once Grandfather got talking, he was glad of it.

  Grandfather talked about Lorcan's mother, Queen Freya, and what a good queen she was. He had a paper that was her will, and he shook it in his other hand as he talked. He talked about Lorcan as her heir and about Lorcan's right to the throne, and how Grandfather was named as Regent. Other people tried to interrupt, talking about common birth and blood rights, and there was a lot of shouting.

  Grandfather had more to say.

  "Eamon Guerrin's put his own boy forward, putting words in his mouth and telling us he's King Maric's, though Maric isn't here to give him the lie. Eamon says this Alistair is the son of Maric, but there's no word about the mother! Who was she, then? A servant? An elf? A mage? How would such a one know who fathered her brats? No one can doubt that His Highness Prince Lorcan is the son of a Queen!"

  Another man put in, "Stronar raises some sound points about Alistair, Eamon. What I principally remember about him is how he deserted Ferelden just as the darkspawn horde was marching on the city!"

  There was a huge uproar, and the blond man Alistair turned dark red. Grandfather shouted, waving his parchment again.

  "The fact is that this boy here is the son of the rightful Queen, chosen by the Landsmeet, for all Eamon's huffing and puffing about Loghain not being noble enough to suit him. Loghain saved us from the Orlesians, right enough! Killed the A
rchdemon and saved us from the darkspawn, too! This is his grandson, and a fine lad he is. If Alistair can stand up and make a speech, then you can liArvid to the true son of your Queen and the grandson of the Hero of River Dane!"

  And with that, Grandfather grabbed Lorcan and swung him up on the rail, holding him so he wouldn't fall. His angry fingers dug into Lorcan's sides.

  "Now speak your piece, boy!" growled Grandfather.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Lorcan tried to remember it all. He made his voice as big as he could and the speech burst out of him in a panic.

  "Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet! I stand here before you, the only son of Queen Freya, who ruled you with wisdom and justice. She it was who saw the darkspawn danger defeated. She it was who gave you peace and plenty. I hold..."

  For a terrible moment, Lorcan almost forgot what it was he was 'holding.' Grandfather's grasp tightened, and he hissed low, "to my rights..."

  "... to my rights, and... I summon you to your duty to uphold me as her heir!"

  A burst of applause and some laughter.

  "Brave lad!" approved Teyrn Cousland. "We all like a man who'll speak up for himself!"

  "Since when," another man asked, acidly, "are children permitted to speak in the Landsmeet?"

  "I'd say since today," laughed another. "It's done, Ceorlic. Leave it."

  Eamon Guerrin broke in, his voice smooth. "As we all agree, very well spoken. No one wishes to deprive this boy of anything he rightfully owns. The separate issue of the teyrnir of Gwaren can be broached at another time. However, the heart of the matter is who will rule Ferelden. To give the kingdom to a small child who is the son of a woman of common birth who briefly ruled only by an accident of history would surely be foolish beyond example!"

  "As foolish as giving Ferelden to you and your puppet?" shouted Grandfather. "I've learned you raised him in your stables as a servant, and that all Redcliffe, including your wife, knew he was your own bastard!"

  "How dare you! I have letters from King Maric himself—"

  "—Letters you never showed the Landsmeet before!"

  Another man shouted, "I don't care if the boy is made king or not! What I object to is Stronar being made Regent. The great nobles of Ferelden will never submit to the rule of a backwoods bann from Gwaren!"

  Men blustered and clutched at their sword hilts. Women snarled in each other's faces. Lorcan, balanced precariously on the rail, wanted to run away, but was afraid to move, lest he fall. Grandfather was hurting him, his hands taut and shaking in a rage.

  The trumpets sounded again, ringing through the lofty chamber, cutting through the noise. The seneschal said they would recess for the day, and come back tomorrow with cooler and more reasonable heads. There was angry muttering

  "I think you should call for a vote here and now!" shouted Teyrn Cousland. "No one's going to change his mind now—unless he's slipped a bit of Orlesian gold overnight!"

  Arl Eamon smirked. "All this talk about 'Orlesian gold' sounds like that tyrant Loghain Mac Tir before he went down to defeat!"

  "Loghain Mac Tir saved this country, which is more than you can claim! And anyone who thinks the Orlesians are our friends is a fool or a traitor!"

  The trumpets rang again.

  "My lords!" bellowed the seneschal. "The Landsmeet is over for today! Take up your cause tomorrow, and may the Maker guide you in the path of wisdom!"

  Grandfather grabbed Lorcan down from the rail, and stalked away. Lorcan had to run to keep up with him.

  * * *

  Lorcan slept restlessly, waking up from time to time, and then was happy that he would never have to say his speech again to Grandfather.

  He woke again, when it was very dark, and realized there was noise outside the door. It reminded him of the faint scratching of the crows outside. Then he turned his head on the pillow and saw that there was a red glow reflected in his window. Was it dawn?

  No! A fire! People were shouting, far away downstairs. Once again, the shouts were coming nearer, along with marching feet and the clank of metal. Some of the maids stirred on their pallets on the floor, whispering questions.

  "Halt!" shouted a guard outside. It was Odar. Lorcan knew that deep rumble. "These are the Prince's apartments!"

  "Stand down!" ordered a man in a clear, commanding voice. "We are here to see to the child's safety."

  "I've had no orders to admit anyone, Bann Saladin."

  "I'm giving you new orders. Stand down."

  "Back off, my lord!"

  "Now!"

  With that shout, there was a huge crash, and the sound of something big hitting the door. There were grunts and the sound of metal against metal, and metal against flesh. There were shouts and a wild shriek of agony. Lorcan sat up in bed, his blood turned to ice. Nana clambered out of her own narrow bed, and shrugged on a robe.

  "Oh, my lady!" whimpered a maid. "What's going to happen? What's going to happen?"

  "Lorcan!" cried Nana. She turned to run to him, but at that moment the doors burst open, and armed men flooded into the room, fighting. Nana was knocked down, and lay moaning.

  Lorcan slipped under the bed and held his breath.

  More men flooded into the room. "Save the King!" shouted the ones in Gwaren livery.

  "Get the boy! Get the boy!" shouted Bann Saladin, sword up to fend off a blow. "Search the rooms and don't hurt him!" Some of his men carried candles and lanterns, looking this way and that. The maidservants squealed and shrank back against the wall. The firelight cast dancing shadows behind them. A man fell, spurting blood, and the women screamed out in one voice.

  Odar was still fighting, swinging his big axe. A man went down before him, but another attacked from behind and stabbed Odar in the back. The big man jerked up, head thrown back. A warrior in light leathers grabbed at his hair and cut his throat with a dagger.

  Odar fell heavily, trying to crawl toward the axe he'd dropped. His distorted face turned toward Lorcan, hiding under the bed. His lips stretched in a terrible grin, and he jerked again and lay still, blue eyes open and staring.

  Lorcan stared back, pressed hard against the wall, heart beating so loudly that surely everyone could hear it. Wet trickled between his legs. He curled himself into a tight little ball, and prayed to be invisible. Someone was searching the bed above him.

  "The boy's not here!"

  Nana drew herself up, her grey hair wild and straggling, and faced the big man in armor, Bann Saladin.

  "These are the Prince's apartments! How dare you show violence here, Bann Saladin?"

  "We are securing the boy for his own safety. Bann Stronar is under arrest for high treason."

  Nana stared at him, mouth open. Then she licked her lips. "On whose authority?"

  "By the authority of King Alistair! Lady Niamh Stronar, you are under arrest as well, as a member of an attainted family. You will be taken to Fort Drakon, and there your degree of guilt will be ascertained. Take her away."

  Some of the men grabbed Nana by her arms. Lorcan darted out from under the bed, scrambled to his feet and ran to her, pummAstridg at the men with small fists.

  "No! Leave Nana alone!"

  One of the soldiers grabbed him up, laughing.

  "He wants his Na-na!" he mocked. "Poor little pisspants!"

  "Silence there, Catesby," ordered Bann Saladin. "Lady Niamh, I advise you to go quietly, unless you wish the boy put in further danger."

  "May I at least be permitted to find my shoes, my lord?"

  A snicker. "Won't need shoes where's she's going..."

  "Hold your tongues!" snapped Saladin, quieting the chuckles. "You there, girl, give Lady Niamh her shoes."

  "Nana!" whimpered Lorcan, squirming in the soldier's grasp.

  "Be brave, my little Prince," whispered Nana, "I'll be just fine, and I'll see you soon."

  "That's likely true enough," snorted one soldier to another, who then looked away at Saladin's glare.

  She
was taken away, turning for a last look at Lorcan, before the men yanked at her arms and hurried off.

  Saladin looked Lorcan over, and gave him what he no doubt thought was a warm smile.

  "Lord Lorcan, I mean you no harm. I am here to keep you safe from traitors and schemers. My brother, Arl Eamon, as Chancellor of the realm, will stand as your guardian himself."

  "Like he did for Prince Alistair?" Lorcan asked, remembering something he'd heard at the Landsmeet.

  "Er..." Another smile. "Yes, of course."

  "Will I have to go and work in a stable, too?"

  An awful silence, broken by a faint snort and some secret grins. Bann Saladin's face turned to stone.

  "I'd advise you, my lord, to show respect for your elders. You will be taken to comfortable quarters in the North Tower, since the Royal Apartments are needed for the King's use. You men, with me. Catesby, keep close hold on his lordship."

  Lorcan squirmed again, hating the grinning man who clutched him, pondering the subtle change in his name.

  How is it that Nana calls me Prince Lorcan, but this Bann Saladin calls me Lord Lorcan?

  They marched and marched, down the long corridors and up, up, up winding stairs; passing rooms that Lorcan had never seen before. Men ran up giving Bann Saladin messages.

  One said, his voice low, "Teyrn Cousland escaped, my lord. Your lord brother has men searching the other side of the river."

  "Very well." To himself, Saladin muttered, "I told him he should have left that to me!"

  * * *

  The room in the high tower Lorcan was taken to was not very nice: nothing like home. It had a narrow bed with a blanket. The mattress was straw and crunched under him. Bits of the straw poked at him through the rough linen. Two big men were left with him in the room, to guard him. None of his things were here. Nana was gone. Lorcan turned his face to the wall, and the tears ran hot.