After the initial courses came the main courses, pushed along on large carts as they were delivered to the table. There was pork, wild fowl, succulent southern sea bass, and even, to Relam’s immense delight, a roast to choose from. Most of the guests refused to choose and merely sampled them all, exclaiming at the impressive spread.
Throughout the meal Relam was quiet for the most part, as were his friends. The predominant sound amongst them was that of dedicated eating. Further down the table, the Assembly and the Council insisted on ruining the banquet with talk of politics and the future of the kingdom. Another reason that Relam had deliberately surrounded himself with the younger crowd.
But as the plates were cleared away the lordlings began to talk more as well, wondering what was to come. Wondering how they would complete their training with D’Arnlo gone, wondering how the rest of his accomplices would be ferreted out. Cevet participated little in this talk, toying with his fork instead and gazing off into space.
Relam leaned forward, intending to reassure his friend that nothing had changed between them, that the actions of his father did not reflect at all on Cevet himself. But as he did, the doors of the banquet hall flew open, banging against the wall to either side with immense force.
Immediately, Relam, the lordlings, and the three sword masters were on their feet, weapons drawn, the others moving to form a protective ring around Relam. Then, they realized who had entered the hall and everyone froze, uncertain how to proceed. Then, Oreius broke the tableau by sheathing his sword.
Relam shook his head slowly in disbelief as Lord Clemon stepped quickly into the hall. The chatelain was wrapped in a brown traveling cloak and sturdy pants with a leather breastplate over top. His hair was tangled and matted and he had a weathered, beaten look to him, far from the stuffy noble that King Orram had dispatched weeks earlier.
“Your highness,” Clemon gasped, bowing, as he approached Relam. “I apologize for the intrusion and for my state of appearance, but I have urgent news for your father. I was told the king was here,” he added, looking around the hall quickly. “Has he stepped out for a moment?”
“No,” Relam said quietly, grief welling up in his chest.
“Then where is he? This is urgent, my boy!”
“He’s gone, Marc,” Relam replied.
“Gone? You mean . . .” Clemon sucked in a quick breath and looked up at the crown on Relam’s head. “Oh! Your majesty,” he breathed, tears filling his narrow eyes. “I had no idea. Word had not reached Ardia when I left and . . . please accept my humble condolences, my king. Your father was a good man. A good king. I-”
“You had news for the king, Clemon?” Oreius interrupted pointedly.
“Oh, yes,” Clemon said, raking a hand through his tangled hair. His eyebrows drew together worriedly and he bit his lip. “Your majesty . . . I bring grave news from the south.”
A dead weight seemed to settle in Relam’s stomach. He took Clemon by the arm and led him away from the celebration a little ways. “Tell me everything,” he murmured in an undertone when they were out of earshot.
Epilogue
King Orram was buried the following day. The ceremony was simple, very similar to the queen’s, but no less powerful or moving. Most of Etares had made their way to the palace gardens to witness the event and watch their fallen king as he made his final journey to join his ancestors.
Relam walked behind the casket alone this time. Alone, save for Narin and the guards bearing his father’s body. In the vast underground chamber he had said his final goodbyes, promising to strive to live up to his parents’ legacy. Then, it was finished and Relam had to move on and refocus, for his kingdom was on the brink of war.
The following morning, Relam was standing on a balcony outside of his new quarters when he heard a soft footstep behind him. Familiar, and easily recognizable.
“I sense an old gray warrior behind me,” he said without turning around.
A soft snort came from behind him. “Maybe you are getting better,” Oreius grunted, stepping up beside Relam as he spoke. “It will serve you well when you go south.”
Relam nodded dejectedly. “Marching to war within days of being crowned,” he murmured. “I always wanted adventure.”
“But not of this sort,” Oreius agreed, leaning against the rail. “Nor do I want this for myself.”
“You have not changed your mind?”
“No, Relam. I am old. I had my war, and I can do more good here now, helping Narin to keep the rest of the kingdom in order.”
Relam nodded slowly. “It’s a big task. That’s why Narin is staying and Eckle is going with me to serve as guard commander for a little longer.”
“I heard. You really want that preening idiot commanding your guard during a war?”
Relam shrugged. “Not really. But, he can fight and Narin is needed here. So I will take him and hope he learns something in the process.”
Oreius chuckled to himself. “I hadn’t thought of that. It could be a great experience for that pampered Citadel warrior. I almost want to come along just to witness the spectacle.”
They lapsed into silence then, each with their own thoughts. Below, the palace gardens rustled in a stiff breeze. The city beyond was alive with voices and activity, a constant reminder of the imminent march.
“Surely you didn’t come all the way up here just to commiserate with me,” Relam said finally. “What is on your mind, my friend?”
Oreius turned and looked at Relam. “I wanted to tell you how proud I am before you leave. Proud of what you have learned, yes, but also of the king you have become. I would like to think that I played a part in your development, but much of what you needed you already had.”
“And now,” Relam said grinning, “Your training will help keep me alive long enough be a good king.”
“With any luck, yes,” Oreius agreed. “I do not know what waits for you in the south, but I don’t doubt that you will overcome it. It may not be easy. You may be tested. But if you succeed, then both you and this kingdom will be the stronger for it.”
“And if we fail?”
Oreius shook his head. “You will not.”
Relam cocked his head curiously. “Why do you say that?”
Oreius smiled. “Because you protect your own. I know you, Relam. You fight for your family. For your friends. For your people. As long as you have life, you will defend this kingdom, no matter the cost.”
“Rule their people well,” Relam murmured thoughtfully.
“Aye, and protect them,” Oreius added. “You will be a great king, Relam. When you return, I will still be here to help if you wish. But this war is your journey, your time.”
“Thank you, master,” Relam murmured. Deep within, the grief and fear that had consumed him since Clemon’s return seemed to ease a little. In their place, something else had begun to form: a determined resolve.
Abruptly, Relam turned to head back inside. “Where are you going?” Oreius asked.
“To war,” the young king replied immediately, his eyes hard and sharp as flint. “It is time to aid the south.”
End of Book 1
About the Author
Paul Lauritsen has long been an avid reader and writer of fantasy literature. He began writing his first stories in junior high, developing and building his own worlds of adventure and heroism. The Prince is the first volume of his four-book “Heirs of Legacy” series. Paul currently lives in Wisconsin, where he continues to write and develop new stories.
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The Prince (Heirs of Legacy Book 1) Page 57