The Spirit of the Realm

by Rachel L Brown

  “As you command, Majesty,” the physician said and the maids began to dress her. He hurried out of the room.

  “Your Majesty, the Royal Council is in the drawing room. Shall I fetch them?” Lady Janel asked quietly, her normally cheerful mood diminished. She placed a small coronet of silver leaves onto her head.

  “No, I will go to them,” Emira said, and Lady Janel nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “Hush now, Lady Janel. I am fine.”

  “We were so scared for Your Majesty,” she said and the maids around her nodded in agreement.

  Emira wanted to believe they had her best interests in mind. But now she was worried someone wanted her dead, why else would the Vestrals have turned their backs? She put on a brave smile and patted Lady Janel on her shoulder.

  “No need to worry about past storms,” she said, heading toward the door. Lady Janel started to follow, but Emira shook her head. “Go rest. I don’t want you to fall asleep during the tournament.”

  She stepped into the drawing room. Most of the Royal Council was there save for the High Vestral and Lord Dovesbane. Lady Ethelbright and Lord Greensdale were locked in a heated conversation near the hearth. The Dowager Queen was deep in conversation with a man whose back was turned to her; from the silver and gold crown on his head, Emira guessed it was King Olric.

  “Your Majesty, the physician told us what happened,” Lady Ethelbright said as she rose from her curtsey.

  “Ah! Your Majesty I am so sorry for causing you such fright!” Olric whirled around at Lady Ethelbright’s words. He marched over and took one of Emira’s hands in his. “I hope you forgive me.”

  Emira forced a smile despite being confused. She had expected him to barge into the castle and raise hell for the actions of Prince Felix. But here he was, asking for her forgiveness for something he didn’t do.

  “I’m afraid I was the unlucky recipient of the forest griffin’s tail barbs,” she assured him.

  “Still, you were able to net yourself a griffin,” Olric said enviously. “I went to visit the griffin caves while you were asleep. I have never seen so many griffins before. In the Western Marshes, we have a couple plains griffins, and we used to have some sea griffins on the coast, but the damn Vestlig Isles folk kept taking them.”

  “King Olric, while I’m sure Her Majesty would be glad to delve more into the topic of griffins, we should not tire her,” the Dowager Queen said as she moved beside him, her veil of mourning was now half black, half white.

  “Ah, you are right. Then I shall see you tomorrow at the tournament,” Olric said and before Emira could react, he turned on his heel and left the room. The Dowager Queen and Lord Dovesbane followed suit.

  Emira sat down on a chair next to the hearth as Lady Ethelbright poured herself a goblet of wine.

  “Did you see how the Vestrals turned away the moment I was in trouble? And how not a single griffin keeper came to my aid?” Emira asked while she stared at the fire.

  “I did,” Lady Ethelbright said.

  “And for the love of all the Gods, why did no one prepare me properly for the Rite of Choosing?”

  Lady Ethelbright sighed and her goblet clinked as she placed it onto a table.

  “I am sorry. I got swept up in the manner of choosing your ladies-in-waiting ...”

  “No, you got caught up in some ancient feud that you have with the Dowager Queen,” Emira snapped and glared at her. Lady Ethelbright bowed her head. “I do not care what has gone on between you two, but my life could have been snuffed out in that arena.”

  “I realize that, Your Majesty, and I fear there are those who are trying to use my history to keep me distracted from the genuine threats,” she said and she clasped her hands together. “There is something sinister in this castle. I do not know who or what it is, but we must be ever watchful.”

  “And how do I know I can trust you?”

  Lady Ethelbright’s mouth formed into a tight smile. “Because I have already paid a hefty price for things I believe should not have been a price at all.”

  “What price?” Emira asked as images of blood oaths gone wrong flashed in her mind.

  Lady Ethelbright hesitated, then she pulled out a small rune from inside her long sleeve. The rune glowed brightly for a moment and Emira felt a soft flutter of magic fill the room for a couple heartbeats. Lady Ethelbright quickly shoved the rune back into its hiding place. A few maids entered from the hall carrying new bedding into Emira’s bedchambers.

  “You... can use magic?” Emira whispered, “I thought only Vestrals or those unrefined people could use it?”

  “No, there are many people who are not Vestrals who can use it,” Lady Ethelbright said. “The Vestrals are attuned to the Gods and can use their divine magic, the unrefined are those who are chosen by a God but haven’t yet been properly attuned.”

  Emira sat back in her chair, “I know that, but aren’t the unrefined insane? Why aren’t you blabbering nonsense?”

  “Because I don’t use divine magic, I use the common magic the Gods placed into this world. It’s not as strong as divine magic, but considering the price the Vestrals pay to wield it, I don’t consider that a bad thing.”

  “Did you use magic on the Dowager Queen?”

  “No, but I believe she blames me for her husband’s descent into madness. I was born in Roltia, where nobles are allowed to learn common magic. I was able to get the King to let me train a couple nobles. At first it went well, and even the King himself learned a few things from me, but soon the High Vestral found out, and I...” Lady Ethelbright paused when her voice cracked.

  “The High Vestral called for my head and many others’, but the King stood firm and banished me and my husband from court. It wasn’t enough for the High Vestral. She had my daughters taken from me. By the time the King found out, they were already in the attunement process, and we could not remove them at that stage.”

  Lady Ethelbrights hands shook, “I had trained all three of them in magic, and at first I wasn’t worried, but I started to when I received word they had to restart the process three times. Then one day the High Vestral came to our home with three urns. It turns out that once one has become attuned to either divine or common magic, they cannot use the other. If someone tries to become attuned to a different magic their bodies will reject it and they will slowly burn from the inside out.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lady Ethelbright,” Emira whispered.

  Lady Ethelbright wiped away tears.

  “You don’t need to apologize for someone else’s wrongdoing,” she said as she straightened. “My girls still live on in my heart, and I know that someday I will see them again. In the meantime, I will do everything I can to take down that heartless bitch.”

  Emira rested a hand over her heart, where she felt the indent of the ring.

  “You have also lost someone?”

  “Thomas; he was my betrothed,” Emira said. “He died in a storm two weeks before our wedding day. I wonder what he would have thought about all this.”

  Emira shuddered as she remembered watching the remains of his ship slam into the rocky coastline. Only his ring and a boot had been found. It had been almost six months to the day, but the images still haunted her dreams. She doubted she would ever love again.

  “Use your grief to strengthen you. It is the only way you are going to survive in this court,” Lady Ethelbright said “I swear to you I will figure out who ordered everyone to stand down at the ceremony. You will need to gather your strength. You have some long days ahead.”

  Emira nodded and turned her attention to the fire. Her eyes drooped while she watched the flames lap at the logs, and soon she was fast asleep.

  11

  The Tournament

  DESPITE THE GLOOMY atmosphere created by the banners of mourning, the spirits of the tavern patrons were high as they sang along to a bard’s songs. The city was filled with people who had watched the Queen’s Rite of Choosing, and hundreds more were expected to arrive for the tournam
ent. They had set up a temporary encampment outside the northern part of the city. It was also serving as the base for the soldiers that had come with the King of the Western Marshes.

  Felix and Lord Rover were sitting in a large tent that was serving as a makeshift tavern.

  “This song is new. Many of you have heard the forest griffin’s poisonous barbs stung the Queen and how she heroically yanked the barbs out of her back, using them to fight off the ferocious beast!” the bard proclaimed, jumping onto a table. “Here is a song I have written in honor of our fierce Queen!”

  “Gods above, did they even watch the ceremony?” Lord Rover grumbled. Felix could hardly hear him over the bards song. “These damn bards get everything wrong.”

  Felix rolled his eyes and took a swig of his ale. “They have to make her seem larger than life. She was nothing but a fisherwoman before. You remember they used to say my grandfather had the blood of a God in his veins.”

  “Yes, but to completely change the story...” Lord Rover trailed off. A man tried to dance on a table, which ended up collapsing, sending the ale into the laps of others.

  “I tire of this drivel,” Felix said. “Let’s go see if they are allowing sign-ups” He tossed a few coins on the table and they both hurried out of the tavern into the dusty paths of the encampment. For a moment, Felix felt like he was back with the army, a feeling that quickly left when he was blasted in the face with a cloud of dust.

  “Ah, damn dust storms! You know, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we have a Goddess of the Rain or something?” Lord Rover asked, stepping to the side for a few men carrying large logs.

  “Careful. If the Vestrals hear you, you’ll be beheaded for blasphemy,” Felix said. They passed by a group of street performers balancing knives on their palms.

  “Ha! I’d love to see them try.”

  They made their way to a large tent on the edge of the tournament field. The tent itself portrayed embroidered scenes of a griffin tournament. It would have been much more impressive if the scene were not in various shades of gray and black.

  A man, wearing a hat that flopped over part of his face, yawned when Felix entered. He was sitting at a table with many papers that had wax seals depicting the noble houses in the realm. Felix reached into a pouch on his belt and held out a small piece of metal that had been painted black.

  The man merely blinked as Felix placed the metal on the table. He then glanced over at a small rune on his desk that glowed a dark purple. The rune was for detecting if Felix was of noble blood. Thankfully, it did not say which house, or Felix would be off to the castle in chains.

  “Right, what name shall we call you?” the man held up the blank metal piece.

  “Lord Ravlen,” Felix said. Lord Ravlen was a character from a children’s ballad, a mysterious knight who ran around at night keeping the people safe. It was a name used by many a lord in past tournaments who wished to keep their identity unknown.

  “Of course. Do you have a griffin?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then be at the stables at dawn,” the man said and waved over a young nobleman who bumped into Felix as he left. Felix gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to call him out for his rudeness. He could not risk being recognized.

  “Well?” Lord Rover asked.

  Felix tugged his hood over his face. A trio of giggling noble ladies passed by them.

  “It’s done; let us go see about that armor.”

  Lord Rover nodded and pulled up his own hood when the wind kicked up again.

  “GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON why I shouldn’t report you to the Queen.”

  Felix was face to face with Archibald, the Head Griffin Keeper. The old man hadn’t aged a bit since Felix had last saw him, though he seemed more cross. They were standing in the temporary stables that had been built for the griffins. The large wooden box had a small set of stairs built into the side, which enabled the rider to mount the beasts. Felix thought it rather small as the griffin keeper glared at him. The old man still made him feel like he was a young boy, who used to get in trouble for taking his griffin out on midnight rides.

  “If I am found out now, the tournament will be called off and you might have to give up the gold granted to you for the care of the griffins. I swear upon my father’s grave that I will submit myself to the Queen’s judgment once the winner is determined.”

  Archibald stared at him then pointed at Berserker.

  “How do you plan on ensuring no one knows it is you?”

  Felix held up a shield that had been painted black. No markings or heraldry adorned it. He’d painted his tournament armor and the griffin’s harness black. Berserker was an average looking mountain griffin with his dark brown feathers and slightly bushy lion’s tail. No one would recognize him from far away.

  “I have entered as Lord Ravlen.”

  Archibald rolled his eyes and Felix grinned.

  “Gods above, that will only make people more curious about you!”

  Felix nudged him and nodded at the crowd of commoners. “Think of all the gold you’ll make when the betting starts.”

  “I see that not even a battlefield could take away your mischievous side,” Archibald grumbled. He glowered at Felix for a moment then glanced at the commoner’s section when they cheered for the latest rider to be unseated. “Fine, but if they ask, I did not know you were entering.”

  “Of course.”

  Archibald left the stable, muttering to himself as he went. Lord Rover yawned and rose from his chair while Felix checked the saddle. He tightened the back cinch more; Berserker growled and stomped his back paws. Dirt flew around him as Berserker’s tail smacked the ground. Felix needed to get into the air soon or his griffin would fly without him.

  “Last chance to come to your senses and drink ale while we watch those pompous bastards smash into the ground.”

  “I’d rather be the one smashing them into the ground.”

  Lord Rover laughed and started to leave as Felix pulled himself onto the saddle.

  “Be careful out there, and I swear if you lose...”

  “I won’t lose,” Felix said and slammed his helm down. He tugged on the rope above him, causing the trapdoor on the roof to open. Berserker’s head snapped up and Felix felt his body tense. He reached down and grabbed the reins as the griffin flew into the sky. In his haste to be free of the stables, Felix forgot to make sure Berserkers talons wouldn’t hit the building.

  A sharp crack reverberated through the air, a piece of thin wood from the roof collided with his armor. The wind whistled past him as he struggled to maintain his balance. Berserker sensed this and spread his wings up higher, shielding Felix from the winds long enough for him to regain his balance.

  A horn blew in the air; as the sound traveled, Felix felt a slight tug of magic targeted toward Berserker. The magic urged the griffin to land near where the other riders awaited their turn. They landed on a large square, marked with small saplings. Next to the square was an armor stand and a long wooden bench with five lances on top. These lances were nothing like the ones Felix had used during his exile. They were made of wood that had a higher chance to shatter. The ends were not sharp but had three prongs that would, in theory, break the wood if it were caught on a shield or piece of armor. This made it safer, but the risk of being impaled was still high.

  Felix glanced down at his armor; he was regretting not enchanting any protection. The nobles around him considered it “weak” to have any enchantment during a tournament. None of those men had experience any actual combat, where even the smallest bit of enchantment could keep you alive. He knew because he’d once been one of those nobles, a naïve prince who knew nothing of the world.

  “Lord Ravlen are you ready?” a Vestral walked over holding a glowing rune. They pressed it against Berserker’s harness, and a ripple of blue magic swept over the leather. The magic would prevent the griffins from crashing into each other. Unlike horse jousting, they had no barrier to prevent collisions.
>
  “Yes, I am,” Felix said as a page ran over and handed him a lance. The page started to hand him a wooden shield, but Felix shook his head. Most jousters liked to have them, but Felix had always ended up dropping the shield during past jousts and thus always went without.

  “I will fly without a shield.”

  “Then to your perch you go!” the Vestral shouted.

  Felix squeezed his legs and Berserker flew up to the large square platform. It was almost as tall as one of the castle towers. He could hear the cheers of the people below, muffled by the wind. He looked over at the other end of the field. The other griffin rider was still flying to the perch. His griffin kept spinning around in the wind.

  Berserker let out a growl that evolved into a low screech. One of his talons scraped across the platform, sending sparks into the air.

  “Steady now,” Felix murmured and patted the spot on Berserker’s neck where the feathers were soft like fur.

  His opponent finally landed onto their perch; the roar of the crowd below rose. The noise was so loud the platform trembled. A trumpet blew, and in an instant both griffins flew off the platform and dove towards the ground.

  Felix nearly lost hold of his lance as the wind screamed around him. He could hardly breathe as the ground drew closer with every heartbeat. He tapped with his right heel, and Berserker banked upwards and tilted so Felix could see his opponent. He was not yet within lance range, but he was close enough that Felix could see the black and white heraldry on his shield.

  It was a simple one, a candlestick on top of a helm. That meant the rider was from the Lighthelm family, a minor house who held a small sliver of land along the coastline. A family not known for their skill in combat.

  Felix steadied his lance, aiming it for a spot right above Lighthelm’s shield. He hoped to scare Lighthelm into thinking he wanted to smash the point right into his visor. Berserker shifted as a gust of wind nudged the beast to the left. Now Felix’s lance was pointing at the other griffin’s left wing. He struggled to adjust and noticed Lighthelm was struggling to keep his lance from pointing downward. They were getting closer with each flap of Berserker’s wings. Gritting his teeth, Felix swung his lance back towards Lighthelm’s shield. A burst of magic from each griffin’s harness flared out; they had gotten too close. Felix leaned into the magic, letting it flow around him like water, while Lighthelm flailed around and his lance flew out of his hands. Felix took the chance and re-aimed his lance at the center of Lighthelm’s shield. Now he just needed to focus on unseating him before Lighthelm could signal the Tournament Master below to reset the field.