Chapter 33: 33. Two birds, with one stone

 

 

 

The biggest building of the famous city of Rida, was standing atop the flat hilltop the locals called Bellaem, a name they inherited from the old people. The Folk. It overlooked the city itself, oriented towards the great river Aye-Riden or Yeriden, as those living in Rida pronounced it, at the center of the fertile bazin named after it. Yeriden ended into the Shallow Sea and its banks were over a kilometer apart at that point. Merchant ships visiting Rida sailed upriver and moored at its large river-port. A journey lasting almost two days.

While resembling a large castle, with its walls on all four sides and its stone parapets, at its center lay a strange red pyramid that was missing its pointy top. The Grand Duke of Raoz, either the second or fourth, depending which history you read, some fifty or seventy years after the Duchy was created, had wisely built a palace at that free real estate space.

His successors kept adding walls and rooms, trying to one up each other. Eight bedrooms, three kitchens, a royal armory for some reason unknown to this subject, four floors each with its own ballroom, two throne rooms; the summer one located in what was commonly known as the ‘Duke’s Veranda’, by the zealous populace, or the ‘Observatory’ according to the palace servants.

There was a balcony there that much was true. Looking to the East, it dominated the throne chamber. A great opening of six meters wide and two in height and just as the rest of the opulent room, it was made out of white marble. The palace built on top of the ancient red-stone pyramid was the first thing a visitor would gaze upon, after disembarking in the port or upon entering the city. On the other hand, anyone standing on the balcony could appreciate most of Rida, the parts that were worth seeing anyway.

What this trusted advisor couldn’t see, much as he tried, was what had the palace guard shocked into disobedience. So he called for an answer again…

 

 

 

 

Aelrindel

Two birds, with one stone

 

 

The Lorians possessed a strong jaw.

Historically.

It was one characteristic they shared, with the barbarians of the North.

Sturdy face structure.

Primitive.

She remembered that stubbornness. It was irrelevant in the past. Pride and honor was something that came later. All they needed was a bit more intelligence, she thought. But that was harder to come by. The man, eyes gawking over that strong jaw, had gone silent.

Frozen, like an armoured statue.

Reaching out, as the moment dragged, she tasted him on her tongue. The memory so strong and potent, thick saliva flooded her mouth. Her eyes watered savoring the rich mixture, before gulping it down. Sweat, seed, blood and flesh. The man shuddered, his essence overwhelmed almost delirious and she had to pull back again, sensual lips split in a naughty smile, he barely registered in his dizziness.

Her hunger immense, but under control.

“You may… enter, milady,” The guard finally said, when he partially recovered from the spell, banging his shiny shield twice and triggering the opening of the double doors behind him. Her handmaiden, a wiry Cofol girl named Wulan, rushed inside to talk with the Herald. Ralnor, her loyal disciple of sorts, since time immemorial hadn’t her gift of tongues, or eye for protocol, his many talents laying elsewhere; so she’d left him guarding their carriages at the bottom of the pyramid. After a brief pause, she nodded slightly at the sweating guard for the gift of intimacy and followed the young handmaiden inside the throne room.

“Hear. Hear,” The Herald announced reading from the scroll Wulan had handed him, squinting his eyes and half pausing expertly on the more shocking parts, to avoid a potentially devastating… slip of the tongue. “Her illustrious Grace Lenar, First Priestess of… Nesande. First Consort of his Majesty, Prince Sahand Radpour, Heir presumptive of the Eternal Khanate. Commonly celebrated, as the Blessed Moon of Dan.”

Lenar had added that last part herself.

 

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Silence followed the announcement. This subject followed her entry, thin silk dress flowing, heels barely audible. Striking large azure eyes. Her long hair, silver of color and as rich in substance, were caught loosely low at her back, dancing curls framing her cherubic face. Known she was, that much is true. Through the stories returning merchants brought from the Khanate and the tall tales told in the port’s taverns from Cofol mercenaries and adventurers.

In the summer of 182 young Prince Sahand, determined to prove his manhood to his many brothers, campaigned deep into the frozen steppe at the far North of his continent. Leading a daring thrust intent on destroying the free warlords of the steppe, he won battle after battle until disaster struck. Caught in a trap, with poisoned supplies, sick animals and more injured men than fit fighters, he was forced into a last stand with winter season closing in.

There the fierce engagement was won miraculously, with the timely intervention of the people of Dan. A small, remote kingdom, lost deep into the frozen wasteland. The Prince wishing to reward them and bring them into the Khanate, accepted a marriage proposal from the leader of the foreign warriors. A female of exotic looks, whatever that may mean these days.

The story would have ended here, but it didn’t. After traveling for days to reach this remote piece of land for the marriage ceremony, the Prince met his wife-to-be famed mother. As it went, the ruler of that small country, of which I have no further knowledge, hosted him in the hall of her estate.

It is said the moment Prince Sahand had laid eyes on her, he completely lost his senses. When he came about, the young and fit daughter was forgotten, his plans of absorbing the smaller kingdom altered spectacularly and the Eternal Khanate, who never had an ally since its inception, now was in a formal alliance, with a country no one knew anything about.

It wasn’t easy, the story goes.

Thrice she had turned him down.

An act punishable by death in the Khanate.

But the young man insisted.

He was bewitched.

Now people say, her words are law.

Surely an exaggeration.

Still a fascinating story.

Seeing her walking towards the throne, this subject can say the following, with absolute certainty. Whatever her origins or motives, Lady Lenar was the most stunning creature ever created, in this realm or any other. It was like goddess Naossis herself, had just appeared in the flesh.

 

 

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The old Duke, wearing a soft green tunic with gold details on the sleeves and lapel, was sitting on his comfortable throne right at the center of the large hall, its walls decorated with shields sporting a black stallion. Gideon Winfield’s hair had thinned long before they greyed out, but he still had enough to oil and comb back off his austere well shaven face.

At fifty nine, he wasn’t the imposing vain man of his youth, but people respected him enough not to question his rule. Married early to Arabelle De Weer, her status as distant kin to the rulers of Kaltha making her a much sought after maiden at that time, had solidified his position and reign. The Duchy of Raoz, remained the only part of the vast Eplas continent faithful to the three Kingdoms, not to mention the sole foothold, after the borders had ‘solidified’ almost two centuries back.

On his right shoulder, perhaps three meters away, stood a well-groomed man in his forties, dictating to a scribe sitting behind a small desk. His clever eyes followed her every step, as if he was expecting her to trip and fall. She almost smiled at that.

And thankfully didn’t fall.

Be serious Rin, she scolded herself, in the voice of her long dead sister and came to a stop before them.

“Your Grace,’ the bland man said, after a glance towards the brooding Duke told him, he had to address the issue that was her appearance. ‘We are much elated and… ehm, surprised by your visit. It is a great honor of course. May I present to you, the Duke of Raoz.”

‘Lenar’ let her eyes roam past the busy scribe, the frowning Duke and the awkwardly smiling chamberlain, as she examined the hall in silence. It was a tease for sure, but also she genuinely wanted to remember the place.

Much as it was possible.

The chamberlain, Reeves… Wulan breathed in her ear in the voiceless tongue, cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak again. Probably offer her another diatribe on tedious etiquette.

‘Lenar’ wanted none of that.

She finally acknowledged the silently seething Duke, with just a hint of a smile. Gideon nodded back relaxing a bit.

“The stone… reminds me of home,” ‘Lenar’ sang, her unruly mind influencing her tongue.

“Ahm… it is white marble actually, your Grace,” An enthralled Reeves, attempted a misguided correction. “It was imported from Kaltha, at least that is what the histories say.”

“They are that many?”

Such long, and boring details.

But she needed the time, to have them fall in line.

“Well, too many to count; but only two really worth the bother. Your Grace.”

He was referring to the ‘Roads of Soteras’ by… Soteras, and ‘the old Realms’ by that brave soul, Gallio Veturius. Both works she was familiar with. Volume upon volume of High fantasy, was what most foolish people believed of them. Though some historians did use some of their less controversial parts still.

Deluded sycophants more like. Not historians.

History is what nightmares are made of.

“What about, the rest of the structure?”

Reeves paused unsure.

Or perhaps, he’s just an idiot.

“Your Grace, I’m not definite… oh, you meant the pyramid?” ‘Lenar’ nodded courtly. “Well, there’s not much I can offer, apart from tales unfortunately.”

“Nothing in the histories?” She teased.

“I’m afraid not… Your Grace.”

“While this is all wonderful and enlightening dear Reeves, perhaps Lady Lenar is too tired from her journey? Let her rest a bit first and later we can discuss more of antiquity,” The Duke cut in, still in a guarded mood. Unaffected. He was standing too far. Her instinct told her it wasn’t that. “In the meantime, there are refreshments on the way my Lady,” He added as an afterthought.

“I haven’t visited… this place, in a very long time,” ‘Lenar’ said looking at him intently, doggedly trying to push through.

The Duke drew a deep breath at the unexpected revelation.

“I’m certain, I would remember it… but I don’t,” He finally stated.

“It was during your father’s reign.”

The Duke smacked his lips trying to figure out, if she was pulling his leg. Lady Lenar didn’t look a day over thirty. Forty was pushing it hard.

“Duke Winfield’s reign…” Reeves started then stopped, not having a solution to the problem.

“I wouldn’t lie,” She said sounding hurt. Broken even. Opting for a different method of persuasion.

A masterful deception.

“Surely… well anyway, it is no need to bother yourself,” Duke Gideon said with a grimace and then in an attempt to salvage the misunderstanding, for the sake of diplomacy and courtly manners, he added. “Anything you’d like, we will offer you my Lady.”

“On your word Sir?” She asked, with a flattering of lashes.

Wulan standing behind her and having realized her ploy, barely managed to conceal a chuckle.

Duke Gideon found it anything but amusing. “As a Winfield milady,” He almost spat offended. Brains was always iffy in the species, she thought.

A fact well established.

Ah, the Sinya Nore. So lusciously predictable. Dreadfully tough to kill.

Like cockroaches.

Though exceptions did exist.

‘Lenar’ pointed towards the open large balcony, as if she’d forgotten the whole exchange. “I always liked the view. Can I?”

“Of course,” Gideon replied, after a long moment. “Reeves, show Lady Lenar the view if you may.”

But she had already moved outside. A light breeze met her face cooling it off, the dress dancing around her fit legs, showing enough skin to give poor Reeves a heart attack, as ‘Lenar’ slowly walked to the railing and looked down. The city of Rida sprawled below her aptly, a sea of yellow-bricked buildings with white rooftops, most of them housing red and yellow flower gardens.

Everything hugged the west bank of Yeriden, which simply meant the river, in the first tongue. The port buildings were placed directly across the palace hill, with the main street connecting them at a straight line. She counted nine large ships moored in the port, one of them a military transport.

But it was the view that made it interesting.

The smells, the wind’s song…

Oh, our motherland’s sun,

How awfully we missed thee

…answering hers.

A month back, ‘Lenar’ had cursed it foolishly, still clinging to the North’s illusion of shelter. Being here, as close to home as she’d ever been in forever, her icy façade of indifference was cracking. She was holding herself back, fighting to keep it together, while everything around her was reaching out.

Awakening.

The walls were gone.

The palace. The Duke’s throne. All that white marble.

Gone.

The Red Den’s terrace laid bare, as it once was.

Coming alive.

She closed her eyes and felt the ground shake under her.

Tremors climbing up her legs.

The flapping of wings.

Her breath turned rugged, long fingers dug in the stone railings to the knuckle, the spell she so carefully held now horribly disturbed. Cracked.

You are reading story Touch O’ Luck (The Old Realms) at novel35.com

 

Vile Aerlinder…

The Wyvern hissed, chilling the blood in her veins.

Where are my children?

 

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“Your Grace?”

‘Lenar’ pulled away from the edge with a gasp. She turned slowly, her chest rising and falling as she frantically tried to get her body under control, to face the shorter man. Reeves for his part, made a superhuman effort to keep his eyes on her face.

She could taste his need on her tongue.

“It is overwhelming,” She finally said.

“Well… yes it is,” Reeves replied, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

‘Lenar’ sighed. “The view.”

“Of course,” He replied monotonously still under her spell.

“I will follow your lead, Sir Reeves. Now.”

The man blinked once, then nodded vigorously and turned on his heel. It was a small walk and once inside the darker throne room, she’d regained her faculties somewhat.

“I gather, it went well?” The Duke asked, now sporting a silver goblet in his right hand.

“Excellent,” She replied with a curtesy. “It’s all the same really, but for the double doors. The opening… it is much larger now.”

Duke Gideon watched thoughtfully, as she accepted a goblet from her servant. She brought it towards her face and smelled it first, before tasting it.

“My father…” The Duke said, getting up from his throne. “…told me the story.”

“Did he?” ‘Lenar’ asked playfully, faking innocence.

For she didn’t like his tone.

Too distant.

“A couple of times. Before he died.”

“He was a calculating man.”

Bitter, like his flesh.

“Not what I’d call him, in your stead. Still curious, your candor,” The Duke said deliberately and emptied his goblet. ‘Lenar’ thought the wine was excellent. She let that image paint her face. Forced herself to, as a deflection. Sweet yellow grapes are not easy to pick, she mused inside, breathing slowly. Even had another careful sip from her own goblet. If it’s poisoned, it’ll be worth it, she thought nervously. “Anyway, he told me how they broke the walls down, when he was a teen. Brought more sunlight in, healthier for him or something,” Gideon continued before pausing, his eyes never leaving her face. “Which makes your earlier comment, difficult to swallow. I’m sixty years old Lady Lenar. I can tell this isn’t a sightseeing visit.”

Somehow the old man was resisting still, she thought with a hint of worry at the unexpected turn of events.

But she could see no artifact protecting him.

Nothing, but the earlier disturbance.

But that wasn’t real. Just a belated reaction.

Her mind playing tricks on her.

Everything else…

Nothing, but a figment of her imagination.

“Ladies of Dan have their secrets, dear Gideon,” She finally said.

“Your secret is safe with me. I’m the Duke of Raoz,” Came his reply, all indignant.

This time, Wulan couldn’t hold her giggle in much as she tried, but thankfully kept it short and civil.

“I prefer to keep my age to myself, just as well.”

“Why mention it then?”

“My Duke… if I may…” Reeves intervened, but Gideon waved him off.

“You may not.”

Reeves face dropped at the reprimand.

“We haven’t got a high visitor from the Khanate in a decade,” The Duke continued. “Which makes, all this… a little uncomfortable, diplomatically. So, what is it you want milady?”

‘Lenar’ sighed. It wasn’t working. Something had changed, the moment she stepped through the doors.

“I want all this,” She replied sweetly, giving it another try. “Just as you promised me earlier. I want what was mine.”

The Duke stepped back, his eyes squinting.

Reeves made another valiant attempt to avert the coming disaster.

“Lady Ledar, if you could… ahm, be a little clearer—” This time it was ‘Lenar’ that cut him off rudely.

“He knows,” She said matter-of-factly, feeling the Duke’s old eyes examining her. The soft lines of her face, the curve of her long feminine neck, traveling upwards her bejeweled lobes to count the silver rings on her long atypical ears, sprouting out her now mostly cobalt-blue mane.

She could see herself in his eyes.

Cracked, Lenar thought, teeth biting the inside of her mouth drawing blood.

She prayed to Nesande for strength. But the Goddess was muted here.

Impotent.

Scared.

Even Gods cowered, in the lands of Eodrass.

 

Where are my children?

The flying beast wailed.

Nearer now.

 

War it is then, ‘Lenar’ decided.

 

 

“You…” Duke Gideon gasped, shock mixed with revulsion. “…what are you?”

“My Lord?” This subject asked troubled. Her own servant’s smile had frozen on her face.

“On your honor, as a Winfield,” The woman pressed on unafraid, as the expression on Gideon’s face turned to anger. “I want, what you offered.”

“You’re insane,” The Duke replied, at a great surprise for everyone in the room. Understanding it perhaps, he turned towards the scribe watching them silently. “Stop writing. Leave us, now!” The scared clerk bobbed his head and run to one of the smaller doors of the chamber, opened it and disappeared inside. “An abomination, will not dictate terms,” The Duke added turning to her.

“My Lord! Surely—”

“Ask her what she means you fool!” Gideon snapped. “Speak up demon.”

“Sir!” The loyal chamberlain sounded terrified, not really grasping what was going on.

“You’ll regret, every moment of this conversation,” Lenar said calmly, as if privy to a secret; no one but her and the Duke possessed.

“I don’t think so. Speak, you fiend!”

‘Lenar’ smiled showing her bleached teeth. The spell broken, Duke Gideon almost flinched. She had the mouth of a carnivore.

“I want Raoz,” She stated.

You could hear a pin drop in the room.

Until the Duke started laughing.

“You will deny me,” ‘Lenar’ said, sounding angry and exceptionally insulted.

“Bet your crazy arse, I will.”

“Foolish worm dares—”

“Enough!” Gideon barked. “Close your fucking mouth. I will do you one better,” He signed at the Herald still standing dumbfounded by the entrance. “I’ll have my guards escort you down Lady ‘Lenar’.”

“You won’t see another summer,” She hissed, losing all that well-polished previous luster. “I will feast, on your eyes.”

The Duke replied in kind.

“We’ll see about that. I give you until the sun sets, to get out of Rida. Fail to do so and my men will cut you down, like a wild beast. My dogs, will take care of what’s left.”

 

 

It was like a death shroud had covered the throne room, after she exited fuming with her servant in tow. The Duke finally spoke after a good ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, he asked the herald for a loyal man to carry an urgent message to the High King. The Herald volunteered himself, but he was well past his fighting days, for such a perilous assignment. So this trusted subject countered, suggesting his own brother’s bastard son. A great warrior and knight, with ambitions far greater than his fortunes, also greatly despised by Sir Henry Winfield, the Duke’s firstborn and a dear friend of his.

The word was, a woman had caused this trouble as well.

An abhorrent rumor.

Killing two birds with one stone, was looked upon favorably in this subject’s circles.

In the end, it was an easy decision.

 

 

Presumably observed by loyal Advisor,

Chamberlain Victor Reeves,

an unofficial account,

Embellished by Lord Sirio Veturius,

the 3^rd month of winter, 206 NC

in his infamous,

‘A Fall of Heroes’

 

Blessed be the Five…

(Events happen, in the first summer month,

The Year of the New Calendar 188,

Tenth into the reign of Antoon the second,

Thirty-ninth into the reign of Grand Duke Gideon of Raoz)

 

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END OF BOOK I

(Prologue)

 

 

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