Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "I've been before a king before," Jack sighed.

  "But this time you will not be in chains," the young woman pointed out.

  "Ouch," Jack cringed. "Kinda set myself up for that one. Didn't I?"

  "Go take another bath if you must," Gweneveare smiled. "But do it swiftly please."

  "Yes, Lady Gweneveare," Jack said with a crooked grin.

  "Go!"

  Jack shaved quickly while the tub was filling, improving on the hasty job he'd done the night before, then climbed into the steaming hot water and scrubbed vigorously until he actually began to feel he was approaching a reasonable semblance to cleanliness. After drying, he put on a soft robe and returned to the bedroom where he found Gweneveare waiting impatiently. While he'd been bathing the young woman had spread a sheet upon the floor and brought in a chair from the sitting room. She stood behind it now with scissors and comb in hand, tapping her foot as if she'd been waiting for him all morning.

  Jack sat down without a word.

  Gweneveare immediately began to clip and comb, all the while instructing him on the proper way to address King Theros while he sat on the throne, with or without the Highsword Dragonslayer laying across his knees. She coached him on the subtle differences of execution separating the bows of nobility and those of commoners, judging the he would likely be required to do both before his audience was finished. She covered everything from sneezing in the presence of royalty to the acceptable length of time it was permitted for a male subject's lips to touch the queen's hand should she offer it, to the proper way to challenge a member of the court to a duel to the death. When she stopped some time later, Jack's lap was full of hair and his head was so crammed full of information he was sure when the time came, he wouldn't be able to recall a single word of what she had told him.

  "All done," she announced and passed him a small silver hand mirror.

  It was shorter than he'd grown accustomed to lately, but he had to admit it made him look years younger. He also looked like more the professional soldier he'd once been instead of a fugitive pirate or a paranoid recluse haunted by dreams. "I like it," Jack said, admiring his reflection.

  "Of course, you do," Gweneveare nodded casually, taking the mirror from him. Braedan did not miss the note of satisfaction in her voice. "Your clothes are on the bed. I think you will find them suitable. A carriage will be waiting for us out front shorty. I trust I shall not be forced to come back up here and fetch you?"

  "No ma'am," Jack promised, "I'll be right down. Did you say us?"

  "I did indeed," the young woman replied. "I have not yet completed your instructions. I will finish your tutelage on the way to the palace." With a mischievous smile at his groan of distress, Gweneveare left him to dress.

  The clothes she'd brought for him were indeed suitable. Instead of the foppish courtier's outfit he'd been expecting, he found a uniform of silver and black like those worn by the guardsmen he'd encountered last night. It was identical in every way save for being devoid of any rank or unit insignia. It even came complete with a polished leather belt and knee-high riding boots. The uniform fit perfectly, though the boots were about a half size too big. But that was certainly better than having to meet with the King of Brydium in a pair of boots a half size too small. The only thing missing from his ensemble was a chain-mail shirt and a broadsword to hang at his side. Jack already missed the familiar weight of the Talon of the Hawk at his hip, much the same way he still mourned the absence of his Rolex watch on his left wrist. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to grow accustomed to a sword's absence as well.

  Jack went to the bathroom and inspected himself in the full-length mirror. Gweneveare certainly had done well. For a fleeting instant he wished Annawyn could see him as he was this morning, properly groomed and not dressed in prison clothes. After taking one last glance to make sure everything was in its proper place, Jack hurried from the suite, barely pausing long enough to close the door behind him.

  In the estate courtyard, he found a gilded carriage already waiting driven by Nicolas and drawn by four magnificent stallions. Seeing the horses, he smiled broadly and was about to ask how Eaudreuil was doing. Until Gweneveare pulled back a curtain and gave him a look like she'd been waiting for an hour. The Val'anna would just have to take care of himself for the time being. Braedan opened the carriage door climbed in to sit opposite the young woman.

  "Very handsome," Gweneveare remarked, eyeing him appreciatively. "Few will believe you are the wild-man who wandered into dinner last night. If it were not for your green eyes you could easily pass for an officer of the Dragon Guard."

  "Thank you," Jack replied. "I would be remiss if I did not say you also look breathtaking this morning m'Lady."

  "Do you think so?" she asked, to smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in her lap.

  "The gown compliments the color of your eyes perfectly." Jack assured her.

  “Thank you,” Gwen smiled, her ivory cheeks flushing. “The princess bought this gown for me to wear at her…”

  "Will that work?" Jack interrupted, a sly grin forming on his lips.

  "Will what…work?" Gweneveare inquired, confused by the question.

  "The dress complimenting your eyes? Will such a compliment pass at court?" he asked innocently. "The ladies won't see through such transparent flattery?"

  "Why you incorrigible..."

  "I'm teasing, m’lady!" Jack laughed.

  "You should begin using MY Lady.," the young woman replied coolly. "m’Lady is how commoners speak.”

  “Very well my Lady,” he corrected. "My Lady Gweneveare?"

  "What?" she asked with an exasperated sigh.

  "You really do look lovely," Braedan smiled. "Stunning if fact."

  "Please do not interrupt again," she scolded, but Jack could see her struggling to suppress the pleased smile threatening the corners of her lips. "Now in the matter of..." the young woman continued.

  Though it was almost midday now and the fog had long since lifted, much to Jack's dis-appointment, he saw nothing of the city during the ride to the palace. Gweneveare kept the shades of the carriage drawn tight, wanting to keep her pupil's attention fully on his lessons. She even went so far as to slap his hand like an errant school boy the one time he ventured to move aside a curtain to try and sneak a look. When the young woman showed no signs she was nearing the end of her lessons after nearly a half an hour, Jack had finally had all he could stand.

  "Enough!" he cried. "If the queen's great-great grandmother needs an escort to the ladies room, someone else will just have to handle it!"

  "But I haven't yet begun to..."

  "Please!" he begged. "No more. What I lack in manners...I will make up for with my charm and good looks.”

  "Well..." Gweneveare sighed, "now that I think about it, the queen's great-great-grand-mother did pass away nearly fourteen years ago."

  "See!" Jack grinned. "I'll be fine. Especially with you there to coach me."

  "I shall not accompany you into the audience chamber!" the young woman gasped, as if the very thought terrified her.

  "Oh, but you will!" Jack insisted, "It would be a shame to waste such a pretty dress on a simple carriage ride."

  "But..."

  "Now how did that go again?" he asked, scratching his head with a look of confused anguish. "Was it three steps back and bow after being dismissed or was it tweak the king's nose and ask him if he'd care to join me for a swim in the royal goldfish pond?"

  Gweneveare blanched in horror. "You would not dare!"

  "Are you willing to make a bet?" Jack replied.

  "I yield," the young woman sighed. "I will accompany you. But only to the entrance hall. I am not a lady of the court."

  "We shall see," Jack grinned. "May I look now, Lady Gwen?"

  "Yes," she relented with a smile. "You may look."

  As soon as she granted permission of course, they arrived at their destination. Nicolas announced them to the guardsman manning the gate to Brythond's fifth circle, Th
e Circle of the King, and the carriage was escorted onto the palace grounds. When the valet had reigned them to a smooth stop Braedan opened the carriage door and leapt nimbly to the ground.

  He was greeted by a sight which at first seemed almost identical to his last and only other visit to a king's palace. There was a long, circular drive lined with several regal carriages much like the one he had just exited. But the similarities between the two seats of power ended there. Beyond those carriages stood a palace far grander and more breathtaking than he had ever imagined. It was much larger than King Ellgenn's palace in Dorshev, and infinitely more intimidating. Whereas that castle was built of individual granite stones, though smoothly carved and carefully placed, it could by no means compare to the House of Th'nar. The palace of the Dragonslayer appeared to be fashioned from some lustrous material as silky as pearl, without any visible crack or joint. A thousand pinions of black and silver flew from its battlements and guarding the rampart leading up to doors of gleaming Ithlemere, waited twin dragons of black granite, three stories tall, their wings outstretched as if about to take flight, the tip of each wing touching to form an archway.

  Rising from the center of the citadel, at the heart of the Circle of the King, soared Illroc Adar, the Dragon's Fang; a tremendous tower three hundred feet tall from base to pinnacle, atop which floated the Dragon banner of the King of Brydium, waving majestically in the gentle spring breeze. If the Iron Tower of Gorthiel was the embodiment of evil and cruelty in the world, then surely the palace of the Dragonslayer stood as its nemesis, a symbol of all which was pure and just.

  "Sir Jack?"

  "Sorry Gweneveare," Jack whispered, tearing his gaze away from the tower long enough to help the lady from the carriage. “That is…impressive.”

  "It is said the palace of the High-King is grander," the young woman smiled with under-standing, "Though I have never been to Immer, I cannot imagine it being so."

  "Neither can I," Jack admitted truthfully.

  "Now do you understand why I took such care with your instructions?" Gweneveare asked. "At Count Arthol's home, Theros may pretend he is simply the father-in-law of a beautiful young woman and proud sire of a fine son, but here...here he is the King of Brydium, the most powerful man in all of Aralon and guardian of the Whesguard. Until the return of the High-King." She spoke the last almost as it if were an afterthought, and in much the same tone Jack would have recognized someone else saying, 'Until hell freezes over.'

  "Yet do not be overly intimidated," the young woman continued reassuringly. "He also owes you a great debt."

  "I'll try and remember that," Jack nodded, offering his arm. "Shall we my Lady?"

  With a wave to her father seated above on the carriage, Gweneveare accepted his arm and the two began to climb the great steps leading up to the palace of the King of Brydium.

  Standing on either side of the Ithlemere doors were guardsmen dressed in the same uniform of silver and black Jack was wearing, save these two men wore broadswords sheathed at their hips and carried wide-bladed ash wood spears, banded with polished silver. On their heads were helms of Ithlemere with lowered cheek guards and sweeping dragon's wings inlaid with gold, and upon their metal breast plates was the livery of the House of Th'nar, the serpentine body of a black dragon, entwined around a flaming sword, surrounded by five white stars. They snapped to attention as the two approached, faced inward and opened the doors without a word, admitting them into a great hallway. It was long and empty except for a stern-faced man with silver tinged hair and eyes as blue and cold as a glacier. He stepped forward as they entered, pulling a well-worn sheet of parchment from the folds of his cloak.

  "And who are you two?" he asked with an exasperated tone. "All the invited guests have arrived. I am sure I have not overlooked anyone. I hope not! Not this morning."

  "Chief Steward," Gweneveare said respectfully. "If you will look again, I think there is likely one more name remaining on your list. Jack Braedan."

  "How did...Is this? Well of course!" the man cried, a huge grin nearly splitting his face in half. "Whom else could it be? And right on time you are as well I might add! Welcome sir! I am Valarius Th'lann, Chief Steward of the House of Th'nar."

  "Jack Braedan," Jack replied with a half bow. "Pleased to meet you."

  "And who is this vision?" Valarius asked. "I thought I knew all the ladies of the court. If not by name, by looks at least. And you my Lady, outshine them all. Your name is indeed the last on my list Ser Braedan, but if this young woman is your guest she is certainly more than welcome."

  "This is Lady Gweneveare..." Jack began, then stopped suddenly. Leaning closely to the young woman, he whispered sheepishly. "I don't even know your last name."

  "de'Aabran," Gweneveare finished for him, curtsying.

  "Lady de'Aabran is my guest and escort," Braedan informed the steward, taking her arm before she could protest.

  "Welcome Lady de’Aabran," Valarius said, taking her hand and briefly pressing it to his lips. "Ser Braedan. I have been instructed by his majesty to show you without delay to the audience chamber. If you will be so kind as to follow me please."

  "All the Nobles of Brythond are here this morning!" Valarius continued as he led them down the long hallway. "As well as Prince Kirstaen An’kaera of Annoth! He arrived unexpectedly with their trade delegation this morning and insisted on attending! Word of the service you have rendered the House of Th'nar has reached even those far shores."

  The trio soon halted before a set of tall doors of brilliant mahogany, polished until they were like glass and inlaid with Ithlemere. "If you will wait here," Valarius said. "How shall I announce you Ser? Former pirate is a bit…well…"

  "Just Jack Braedan will be fine," he replied, then thought, 'What the hell? Might as well make it good.' "Sergeant Major, John Braedan. United States Army. Retired."

  The steward raised an eyebrow, but seemed to accept his reply. Leaving them to wait outside, he entered the hall and presently they heard a murmur erupt within, quickly silenced when he proclaimed in a loud voice. "Your Majesties! Lords and Ladies of Brydium! Honored guests! Retired Major John Braedan the Hawkfinder, of the…Army of the United State and his escort! His escort, the Lady Gweneveare de'Aabran.”

  "Do not embarrass Thessa," Gweneveare whispered in final warning, as Valarius returned and they were ushered into the audience chamber of King Theros.

  The throne room of King Theros was a wide, circular chamber two hundred feet across, lighted by tall windows situated between tremendous, white marble pillars that supported the roof fifty or more feet above them. Upon each pillar hung a portrait, framed in gold, of a former king of Brydium. There were fifty-one in all beginning with Bryden the First, descending uninterrupted down through the long span of years to its current ruler. An old legend, purportedly spoken by the first bearer of the Highsword Dragonslayer, Tha’laen Th'nar himself, prophesied Brydium would stand until the last pillar was hung with a portrait of a king. There was only one such pillar remaining, waiting for the oil painted likeness of Theros' son Thonicil.

  At the far end of the chamber upon a raised dais was the Dragon Throne, so called because it was fashioned from the skeleton of Shaynan the Black, King of the Dragons, slain during the Great War of the Stones by Tha’laen Th’nar, the first bearer of Dragonslayer. Upon it now sat one of his grandsons, several generations removed. Seated to his immediate right upon a smaller throne built in imitation of the ivory bones of the great serpent was Elaynor his radiant queen. To his left was Thonicil and the Princess Thessa.

  Crowded into the chamber and seated upon padded benches forming an aisle way to the Dragon Throne were the nobility of Brythond, at least three hundred people in all. As Valarius guided the pair through this throng, a lone pair of hands began to clap hesitantly. They were soon joined by another, then an-other. By the time the two stopped the prescribed three paced from the dais, the applause was deafening. King Theros waited several seconds as the reception for Braedan continued, th
en stood and slowly raised his hands for quiet.

  "Welcome John Braedan," he said when the applause had finally quieted. "Welcome…Lady de'Aabran." he continued with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

  "He insisted your majesty," Gweneveare said in a small voice, then quickly released her death grip on Jack's arm and curtsied deeply.

  "Lady Gweneveare is my guest sire, and court advisor," Jack replied, then executed a flaw-less bow of the commoner, bending at the waist precisely forty-five degrees while touching heart, lips and forehead with the tips of his fingers.

  "And a fine one apparently," the king smiled. "Valarius, find the Lady Gweneveare a seat up front will you."

  "As you command my king," the Steward of Brydium bowed, offering her his arm and escorting her to the nearest bench where several eager, young noblemen immediately stood and offered their seats.

  "Kneel," Theros instructed Jack when everyone was seated. Braedan dropped to one knee as Gweneveare had instructed him and immediately bowed his head. Theros walked down from the dais and stood before him.

  "Let it be known," the King of Brydium began without preamble, "in recognition of service rendered to the Dragon Throne, I hereby grant Jack Braedan full pardon. This day he is absolved of all crimes he may have committed while a member of the Free Brothers of the Sea, Guild of Pirates. He shall be free from persecution of the law within the borders of the kingdom of Brydium, from this day until his last day. A proclamation of this pardon has been delivered to the embassies of every kingdom of the Whesguard Alliance in Brythond. A copy has been dispatched by courier this morning to every crown in Aralon with an appeal they also abide by my decree.”

  Theros turned to his son and Prince Thonicil stood, drawing the Talon of the Hawk. He walked down to join his father, handing the sword to the king hilt first. Theros faced the gathered nobles once more, briefly holding aloft Bin’et Ardendel for their viewing. “This is the Talon of the Hawk,” he announced. “It has been returned to its rightful place among the people of Brydium. Retuned by the man kneeling before you. In days of old, before it was lost, my forefathers used it to raise men of valor and worth to a place among the protectors of the realm. So it shall again. And the first it shall raise is Jack Braedan.”