Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  “The fact is,” said Epal Danorr, “Morwensar is dead. Life must go on, so I now claim Lorar and her inheritance since I am her legal guardian and her closest agnate.”

  Ranell stopped pacing and stared. Damn Epal, but he was within his rights. It was important for every man to leave a male heir, to save his family from extinction, and Mowensar had not done so. A long time ago it was decreed that a man without male issue was presented with two remedies: he could adopt a son or resort to a device whereby his daughter married her nearest agnate. Mowensar had not sought to adopt a son because from an early age both Lorar and Ranell had been connected; almost betrothed. The male offspring of a marriage with the agnate, being descended on both sides from the dead man, was an acceptable heir. A girl without legitimate brothers was an “heiress”. It was the nearest agnate’s duty to marry her and, having done so, to sleep with her at least three times a month. She enjoyed the usufruct of her father’s fortune until her son became of age, and then the fortune became his. Naturally, the agnate had claim on the money once he married her, but not before. Ranell’s chest constricted. He knew Epal Danorr not only desired Lorar but also needed her family’s riches to feed his gambling lust.

  Watchman Welde studied Epal Danorr.

  “What? Why are you all looking at me like that?” Epal said, his tone rising.

  “This is precipitate, Epal,” said Damureling, “and in poor taste.”

  “I simply intend to estabish my right as agnate.”

  Seemingly unaware of the conversation, Lorar lay heartbroken, draped over her father’s corpse, her body shaking with racking sobs.

  Osa left them to go and comfort her, glancing briefly at Ranell.

  Welde Dep reckoned that Osa kept her eyes on Ranell too long. Then she got up, moved to Ranell’s side, and touched his arm. “She should be left alone with her grief,” Osa said. “Everything else can wait.”

  Wordless, appearing numb, Ranell agreed.

  Leaning slightly on Osa’s arm, Ranell went over to the sacks of coins, kicked them viciously. He raised his head and his face appeared bloodless, the eyes sunken as severely as Damureling’s. “Watchman, see if you can arrange payment of the soldiers…”

  “Aye, Ranell, I will do that.” He picked up the two sacks, groaning at their weight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TEARS

  “You brought me bitter news to hear

  and bitter tears to shed.”

  - Romantic ballad: Fiel of Erejhur

  New City, Lornwater

  Welde Dep despatched a number of trusted watchmen to distribute token wages to the soldiery, and as he did so he consulted with his spies who confirmed his worst fears. This was indeed a time for people to get even with anyone who slighted you. They could always blame it on rioters!

  Watchman Snaglip reported broken windows and brazen attacks in the street.

  The watchmen were kept busy, all right.

  ***

  Second Sapin of Fornious

  Hansear house, New City, Lornwater

  With a heavy heart, Ranell realised that for now he must set aside all thought of Lorar. He won’t speak to her, he decided.

  “Sir, you deal too harshly with yourself,” said Aeleg, packing the clothes they had brought from the Red Tellar. “Speak to the lady. Her heart is broken already. Do not make it worse for the poor soul.”

  “No, my faithful Aeleg, I cannot. I haven’t got time for matters of the heart. I must attend to the needs of the Red Tellar and the city in this uprising. A lot of people depend on us.”

  “I am sorry to speak out of turn, sir, but I fear you will lament this decision.”

  “So be it. Now, friend, let’s go the the Red Tellar. We have a rebellion to organise!”

  ***

  Osa fed her baby, warmed by the little life that depended upon her. She watched Lorar as the woman paced the floor, her chest racked with sobs. Not so long ago, Ranell had left with his aide, going without even a farewell. That boded ill for their relationship, Osa mused with a quickening pulse. And without Lorar on his arm, Ranell was easy prey for seduction.

  The corpse of Mowensar had been taken away; when they would find an opportune time for a suitable funeral was anyone’s guess. Plenty of dead littered the streets, apparently. Mowensar was just one more.

  Unexpectedly, Lorar altered her anguished direction and walked up to Osa. “I feel so helpless,” she wailed, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m angry with everybody!”

  “Not with me, surely, my lady?”

  Lorar looked at the suckling babe, held a clenched hand to her heaving chest and sobbed. “No, not you, Osa. But shouldn’t you have gone with Ranell and Aeleg?”

  “I will go when it is right to do so, my lady. I could not leave you in this state.”

  “Thank you, Osa. You are a true friend.” Lorar frowned. “Why is Ranell abandoning me to Epal Danorr?”

  “He must have his reasons.”

  “I feel sure Ranell’s father would not bow to this pernicious tradition that Epal has invoked!”

  “Ulran is a wise man, my lady. But, alas, he is not here.”

  Lorar raised her hands to her face and wept into them, while Osa secretly smiled.

  A short while later, Epal Danorr grabbed Lorar’s arm. “Time to repair to my home. Now, let us be away!”

  “But…”

  “Do not counter your agnate, Lorar.” His tone was dark, threatening. “It won’t bode well for you if you persist!”

  Lorar cast a pleading look to Osa.

  But Osa simply shook her head. What could she do, in truth, against Lorar’s lawful agnate? Inwardly, Osa gloated as Epal Danorr dragged the hapless girl into the street.

  Osa watched from an upstairs window.

  On the other side of the street, fighting erupted between a number of merchants and followers of Saurosen. A watchman attempted to break it up, but was wounded.

  Osa wondered if Epal and Lorar would even make it to his villa. The watchmen cannot hope to keep the peace; there were too few of them.

  “Bring the wall sentries into the fray!” the wounded watchman shouted.

  It was getting too dangerous, Osa felt. She slammed the shutters closed.

  ***

  Daen hunting pavilion

  Prince Haltese sat at his desk, its surface covered with documents and maps. To one side stood the bald-headed eunuch Masteef, who travelled everywhere with him, save into the bedchamber, and served as general factotum and pledger. On his other side stood Baroness Laan, ostensibly present as an emissary from her husband.

  “I swear allegiance, my prince.” Standing in front of Prince Haltese, General Luascar Quelin of the eleventh toumen clasped his fist to his chest.

  Haltese noted that the general beside him, Jaray Ulan Sihn, refrained from saluting or voicing his allegiance. “Do you have a problem with my strategy, General Jaray?”

  “No, Prince Haltese.”

  “Then why do you not salute and affdord me your vow?”

  “I gave your father my vow that I would serve you, sir. That I have done.”

  “Most diligently, I am sure,” replied Haltese. “But now I require more.”

  “You seek to depose your father, sir.”

  “If that is what is required to get peace again in Lornwater, then that is what I seek.”

  “If your toumen formed against the populace, the rioting would end quickly, sir.”

  “You are a good soldier, General Jaray. But you are not a politician. You take after my father in that regard.”

  “Sir?” Jaray queried.

  “The people are rioting because my father mistreats them. A king should be loved by his people, not cursed and hated!”

  “But your father is king!”

  “For now.” Haltese turned to Baroness Laan. “When is your husband due, again?”

  “In a day, my prince.”

  “Very good.” He returned his attention to General Jaray. “I require your all
egiance now, or I will appoint Baron Laan in your stead.”

  Jaray’s eyes darted; clearly, he had not anticipated losing his command. He was only being loyal to the king, this man’s father. General Luascar nudged his arm. Another command would be impossible to attain, and all knew this. “Prince Haltese, forgive my reticence.” He bowed his head, briefly, then levelled him with a firm gaze. “Of course, you have my allegiance.” He saluted.

  “Good. A wise decision.” Haltese stood. “My generals, we will settle on the dispositions I advised.”

  “Is five hundred men sufficient, sir?” queried Luascar.

  “One thousand men from each toumen will travel with us. To take more would slow us down and we have no time to lose.”

  “We will be up against the fourth, sir,” countered Jaray.

  Haltese smiled crookedly. “Only if we fight them. I intend to return to my father’s side with a small contingent, say, five hundred men; expressly not a toumen. We do not want to raise any alarm. I am sure that General Nhev will permit me to pass through the gate unmolested. He will not know my true purpose, after all.”

  “Such a deceitful entrance will not bode well for your future, sir,” Jaray said grumpily.

  “Always one eye on history, eh, Jaray?” Luascar said, and guffawed.

  Jaray glared.

  Haltese raised a hand. “If I pass through the gate as planned, my future will be assured, General Jaray. Be certain that you too have a future,” he ended ominously.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Make ready your men. We ride on the morrow for Lornwater!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ETIQUETTE

  “The finger points and it is the finger of a corpse…”

  - Anonymous

  Third Sabin of Fornious

  Endawn

  Trumpets blared from the multi-hued battlements of the city. Pennons of both Endawn and Lornwater flew on poles at the van of Lord-General Launette’s caravan as they approached. The huge city gates slowly swung open and a small contingent of the fourteenth toumen rode out to meet them.

  Launette laughed briefly and reached across the neck of his horse, clasped the gauntletted hand offered. “Bilorn, it is good to see you. It has been too long!”

  “Likewise, cousin.” Yordine Bilorn was fifty-three but could pass for a man ten years younger. His deep brown complexion was testament to his outdoor pursuits. His grey-green eyes danced with amusement; he found much in life to divert him and had defined dimples in his cheeks on either side of his thick mouth. He had the Yordine nose, of course – prominent and curved. His black hair was streaked with white and hung long to his broad shoulders.

  Launette peered at the four-storey royal residence that towered over the battlements; only the fourteenth toumen flag flew alongside that of Endawn and Lornwater. “Is your brother not joining us?”

  “You tease, cousin. Edural would rather bathe in a nest of vipers! As it happens, he’s sitting tight with the sixth toumen at their Rubala headquarters.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Cuts down on the acrimony.”

  “True enough. That’s a relief. I did not relish months of acrimony!” Launette knew only too well that the Yordine brothers had feuded for years. While Bilorn was a close friend of Launette’s, Edural was jealous of this friendship and loyal to Saurosen. His spies even hinted that Edural had his eyes on the Lord-Generalship.

  “You’re making fun of me!”

  “No, Bilorn. But this wedding will become very important to our two cities, be assured, and its preparation is fraught with potential problems. A filial feud could be awkward.”

  “As for awkward, I regret that the king is indisposed.”

  “I hope it is nothing too serious. He isn’t a political animal, so I trust he hasn’t been cursed or drugged?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. A minor ailment. His physicians say he will be out of bed tomorrow – sadly, after your welcoming banquet.”

  “I will go and visit him.”

  “Do. He wants to see you anyway; your visit will cheer him.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t know how to broach the subject, but it’s about–”

  “About Lornwater?”

  “You know?” Bilorn snapped his fingers. “You’ve had word by saptor, I take it?”

  “Yes. My spies suggest that the king is in grave peril.”

  “Will you go to his aid?”

  “No. He has more than enough toumens at his beck and call.”

  Bilorn gasped. “But to allow toumens into the three cities… it is unhead of!”

  “Times change, cousin. We must move with the times and make our accommodations as we see fit.”

  “And your accommodation is not with Saurosen, I take it?”

  “I couldn’t possibly comment.”

  ***

  Launette’s caravan entered the vast courtyard. On either side hurrying about their business were male and female archers, full quivers slung over their backs, moving up to the battlements or descending from them. Endawn was famous for its archers. They were dedicated, an elite force, and had decimated many invading armies in the city state’s history.

  Later, when his company was settled, he intended paying a visit to an archer or two; ostensibly to renew old acquaintances.

  Lahaltz rushed forward to greet him. Launette leaned from his horse and gripped his son’s hand. It was strange; it was only a few months since they last saw each other, yet he believed the boy had sprouted in that time. Of course he still possessed the prominent curved nose and short cropped black hair. But his complexion seemed more tanned, and his thin narrow mouth that usually remained unsmiling was now wide and welcoming, while his deep brown eyes danced with pleasure at their reunion. “You seem taller, my son, and your shoulders are broader.”

  “I am still growing, Begetter. I am sixteen, you know.”

  And his voice cracked a little then. He held himself well, back straight, smartly attired in leather jerkin, leather pants and calf-high leather boots.

  “I know. How is your mother?” Launette asked.

  “She is well and would have met you, but she is visiting with the Senstars.”

  “And how are Oquar and Qomn?”

  “Interesting, as ever, Begetter.” He nervously beckoned with a hand and a young man of similar age to him stepped forward. His hair was fair, a mop of curls, and he wore silks rather than leather. “Cousin Loring and I are learning court etiquette together.”

  Launette could think of nothing more tedious and pointless. “That must be fun!” he said.

  “You jest. It’s abominable!”

  Launette laughed aloud.

  “Lahaltz!” Loring exclaimed in a shocked tone. “If our instructress heard you…”

  “I’m sure she will treat him kindly, Loring,” said Launette, chuckling. “Pleased to meet you again.” He leaned forward and shook the lad’s hand. “Have your sisters come with you?”

  “Only Curama, sir.”

  “She must be about eight years old now?” Loring nodded. “And Fara?”

  “She is averse to ceremonials of any kind, sir, and in particular weddings… She prefers to stay in our toran.”

  ***

  Lornwater

  Etiquette was far from the minds of the denizens of the three cities. Watchman Zen-il came to the conclusion that the situation was dire. In the normal course of things, the dead of the city were collected each night and temporarily placed in one of the fanes of Bridansor, High Lord of Dark, in readiness for their final journey; then they were moved along the so-called “dead road” to “the Pyres” for cremation. The Pyres were sited in the varteron section of Oquar II forest. The vast majority of the populace believed that a man’s spirit consisted of two souls, the first being released at cremation, rising on the waves of heat; the second soul would stay anchored to the surviving bones; these bones were then transported to Linek Terme, a town in the High Rossaps, the destination of t
he corpse caravans, the ‘bone crushing centre’. A boat would convey the crushed bones downteen to connect with the Drop, where they would be scattered over the edge from one of the many temple platforms: thus loosened, this second soul was finally free to ascend to join the first soul.

  But now convention dictated otherwise, for too many of the dead littered the streets and, indeed, were beginning to smell; flies proliferated. Watchman Zen-il had consulted with Doomsman Dar-redil and was immediately authorised to arrange for a cessation of fighting at night. Not surprisingly, all of the factions were amenable, since the reason for the truce was to enable volunteers, bereaved families, and off-duty miners to remove the corpses to Svernree Park in sector twenty-seven.

  When hostilities were finally over, from here, at an opportune time, the corpse caravans would set out for Linek Terme.

  May-son was one of several miners helping. His muscles strained as he pulled his cart load. The stench of death filled the air long before he reached the park area. As he got nearer, however, he noticed a congregation of people gawking. None of them seemed to be working, just staring. He lowered the cart and walked over to them. “What’s going on here, then?” he enquired.

  “Dunno. Something’s not right,” said a thin man with hollow eyes.

  May-son edged through the throng and stopped short.

  Where once had been grass and a cluster of bushes and a small sinkhole lake, now there was a black hole, covering an area about the size of a block of buildings. He tentatively stepped to the edge and peered over. A long way down, he glimpsed a small glint of light on water.

  He’d seen sinkholes before in the three cities, usually caused by disused mines caving in. This, in size and depth, was unlike any he’d seen, however. He cricked his neck round, eyed the Doltra Complex, home of the wealthy, perched upon huge stone-block pylons, offensively bright and clean, in contrast to the sullied earth beneath. And a shiver assailed his frame. His time underground brought back unpleasant memories.

  ***

  Underground

  “We lost many of our group, that day…” U-Gath concluded.