The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1)

by Ireman, M. D.

  The boisterous rumble began to fade as people were made aware of the king’s arrival until nothing could be heard but the soothing sounds of the music. Then the music died down as well, signaling the crier.

  “King Lyell of House Redrivers, ruler of Adeltia and Rivervale!”

  The harpist danced her fingers artfully from column to knee, and the music resumed.

  Patience was not an esteemed trait of Lyell’s, and as such, he wasted no time in addressing his most anticipated guest. “Alther, it’s good to see you returned to your agreeable nature. Cassen tells me you have come to some more profitable arrangements with the Spiceland merchants. As you may have noticed, I have seen fit to ensure all our servants tonight are Spicelanders themselves. A reminder to us more so than to them that it is they who serve us, and that they cannot expect to profit except by our grace. A very…handsome…reminder…”

  The king’s attention had been captured by one such servant as she filled the plates of some of the Rivervalian guests, and in doing so, bending in such a way that her breasts were made visible as they peeked from beneath the single sheet of silk that hung from her shoulders as a necklace. Even Derudin had trouble averting his eyes from the sight.

  All at the table had noticed by now. This would have been the cause of utter embarrassment for previous rulers Derudin had served. But Lyell was not a man who embarrassed easily, especially not over matters that attested to his perpetual virility.

  The king erupted into laughter and slammed his palm atop the table after the girl had finally righted herself.

  “A fine way to start an evening,” cried the king. “I believe I may have felt the Mountain himself shift atop his rocky throne to get a better look. Even Cassen could not tear his eyes from the pair!”

  Most everyone joined him in laughter, some out of politeness but most out of true mirth. Cassen merely put his hand to his mouth and simpered, but the king’s observation had been correct—not that it was probably anything but a lucky guess. Cassen had indeed been peering; Derudin had noticed after trying to find a more suitable task for his own eyes. He had always had his suspicions that Cassen’s lady servants provided more than housekeeping, both to his patrons and to Cassen himself…in ways that did not bear imagining. But the ladies received such ubiquitous praise—and most especially from the wives of the estates—that it had always precluded the assessment.

  “Hear, hear!” It was the voice of Master Larimar, sounding as if he had already drunk his frail frame into stupor. He raised his mug and others joined him.

  Everyone looked to be enjoying themselves with the exception of Alther. He did a fine job of appearing merry, but it seemed a façade to Derudin who had known him since birth. Alther had his mug raised in kind and quickly finished its contents.

  “Father,” he said shortly thereafter. “I offer humble apologies for my misguided actions both concerning recent events at my estate and the management of the once great city of Westport. And knowing that you consider apologies to be worth no more than the hairs upon a woman’s lip, I offer you this as well.” Alther produced a dusty wine bottle from beneath the table and handed it to his father who sat beside him.

  Lyell studied the bottle and frowned. “Rivervale Red, autumn harvest, eight hundred and four?” he said, incredulous. “How did you get such a thing?”

  “More important is how I kept it: stored on its back and frigid. You have told us many times wine should be kept much as you like your women. I had been saving it for the birth of my second son. I say we drink it now and celebrate instead the Rebirth of Westport.”

  Derudin cleared his throat in objection. The king pointedly ignored him. This is a matter of family, Derudin reminded himself, but it was also just as much a matter of state, should the wine be poisoned. There was a protocol that all food and drink served to the king or any in his company must go through, involving tasters and sniffers trained to detect numerous poisons. Everything was vetted a day in advance of the event to ensure that slow acting poisons were caught, then again prior to being served, and then Derudin was the final layer of defense, his duty to remain vigilant and ensure nothing was slipped into the king’s food or drink at the table. It was not a perfect system, but the only perfect defense against poison, Lyell liked to remind him, was to never consume.

  “A glass to each of us then. Fathers of a city reborn.” Lyell had a tongue for older vintages, especially those of Rivervalian Red, the sweet, full-bodied wine of his people. He handed the bottle to a servant who removed the cork and poured them each a glass, surprisingly free of any sediments. Both men raised their glasses and drank a mouthful.

  “Ahhhh, now that is a wine,” said Lyell. “The taste and feel of a virgin’s lips and the color of her imminent uncorking!”

  Servants rotated around the table, offering platters of food to guests individually. Derudin motioned to have a pair of the pig ribs added to his plate and studied the other trenchers en route. Quail, roasted in mustard, honey, thyme, and parsley was the next. The little birds still had their heads intact as some liked to crunch through their fragile skulls and chew the meat off their necks. Derudin opted to pass. Then came a fish of some sort, delicate white meat that looked as if it were poached to perfection in butter, dill, and peppercorns. Derudin had a taste for the bounties of the sea. Having spent so much time on the coast of the Badlands with nothing else to eat, a man might otherwise perish. He motioned for the fish to be added to his plate. Countless other platters passed by with sides such as smashed and buttered turnips, young carrots in molasses, roasted baby cabbage, steamed green flowers, and pease in cream sauce.

  “So tell me of these grand plans for Westport. How did you manage to break the will of these Spicelanders?” asked the king.

  Alther cleared his throat. “In truth it was much Cassen’s doing. I had fallen to new lows recently…” Alther seemed to struggle with his delivery. “But pity does not become a man of noble blood, as I am sure you would agree. I decided to swallow what little was left of my pride and beg Cassen’s guidance.”

  “I hope that is all you swallowed. Cassen never does a favor without asking something in return!” The king could not contain his laughter at his own joke.

  Cassen seemed to enjoy the slight more than Alther, for he had the decency to blush and look amused whereas Alther simply looked annoyed. “I will be happy to repay Cassen for the favor he has done for me, but as he has reminded me himself, it would do him no good to see Westport fall to chaos and rebellion which would no doubt sweep the land ‘like a disease,’ I believe were his words.”

  Derudin was none too happy to see Alther appear to be within the clutches of Cassen. When the favor is called upon to be repaid, will you have the capital to spare? In the arena of combat, Alther could dice Cassen into a hundred pieces, but in politics he was no match.

  “Bah! There is no need for such talk, my boy. Let us focus on the glory that will be, not the gloomy scenarios of utter pessimism.”

  Derudin’s attention was once again embezzled by the bosom of a servant. “Mead or Ale, my master?” She held the tray at head level but the real treasure was beneath. Where they had managed to find so many matching beauties was beyond even Derudin’s conceiving. One would have to kill a Spiceland king and steal his harem, Derudin thought to himself. His gaze shifted to the jovial king as if to ask him. No, he would not have.

  It had been so long since Derudin had enjoyed a drink that he could not remember which he preferred—or at least that was his excuse for continuing conversation with the enchantress that stood before him. “Which would my ladyship suggest?” I envy the Dawnstar himself to have been lucky enough to kiss such perfect skin.

  “Who, my master?” Her voice was thick with both her Spiceland accent and worry that she may be offending someone of extreme rank.

  “Nevermind, young thing. I will take the mead.” He decided to simply choose the safer option and let her be on her way, and based on the number of steins left on the tray, mead
was the favored choice. As he was already looking toward his right, having spoken to the servant, Derudin observed those seated beside him on that less important, but no less interesting, side of the table. Master Warin was already on his seventh pig rib, his beard covered in the sticky glaze, and had no doubt decided it was not worth the trouble of trying to clean until presented with a proper washbasin. Beside him, Master Larimar looked as if he could have been on his seventh stein of mead, as he gazed off into the distance, apparently singing to himself. The room was too loud to tell if he actually sang intelligibly and in time with the music or merely recited paragraphs from his book of records. Probably the latter, and hopefully nothing best kept secret.

  Master Warin noticed Derudin looking his direction, and his eyes went wide as if he had been caught during a mischief. What has you so skittish? Derudin wondered. Warin drew the half-eaten rib away from his mouth, raising it in the air with a smile. “Good, are they not?”

  Derudin only then realized he had yet to touch his food. So many years of abstaining had him perhaps more excited by the prospect of it all than the pleasure of the act itself. He found himself content to merely have the food upon his plate. “I am sure it is,” he said and raised his stein in Warin’s direction. Warin was quick to lift his own in return, having his other hand already upon it, and swilled several gulps. Derudin took a sip of his and nearly spat it out. How did this pass the poison testers? It tasted how piss smelled, turned and sour. Perhaps I am not missing so much as I had feared…or as much as I had hoped. He looked down at his plate of ribs and fish and pondered if it would even be worth it.

  The king burst into raucous laughter. The queen’s empty chair between them was no barrier to his booming voice. “Yes,” he shouted. “And Edwin had a look upon his face of horror while you smiled, blood pouring from your nose, just happy to have scored your first point!” The king appeared to let the memory wash over him, then poured himself another glass from the vintage bottle. “Your mother near had my skin for that, the Mountain guard her soul.”

  The king was rare to mention Keldona, his beloved wife and mother of his three children. She died shortly after giving birth to Aileana, younger than Alther by ten years. Derudin had known Keldona well and believed her to have been a good woman. He also believed Lyell’s apparent aversion to recollect her memories was out of guilt. He had wanted another child, which she consented to give him, but several months later she fell ill with shakes and fever. Derudin feared she had returned to her cherished ponds too soon after her pregnancy where she loved to observe the polliwogs and butterflies. The air was thick and foul there and believed by many to be the cause of such an ailment.

  “Yes, though she would prefer you mention only the Dawnstar,” reminded Alther.

  “Hah. The religion of women,” cried the king. “They do not understand the true nature of men, for if they did, they would know that of the Mighty Three, the Dawnstar is like to be the weakest. You cannot conquer a kingdom without an army so large it flows like the River, and you cannot protect one without walls of the Mountain’s stone. And if you retreated once a day, as does the Dawnstar, you’d be labeled a coward.”

  Keldona had been among those who believed only in the divinity of the Dawnstar, and Edwin and Aileana had come to share the same faith. It was no accident that Edwin now ruled Strahl, his younger sister living there as well, as it was a known safe-haven for the Illumined. Their faith was tolerated in Rivervale, but not without ridicule.

  “Wise words, my king,” said Cassen slimily. Has the man ever spoken a word untainted by the filth of deception?

  “And on the subject of women, Alther, my boy, we must speak of Ethel.” As the king spoke the words it seemed all in the immediate vicinity stopped their eating, ensuring the sound of their own chewing would not interfere with their overhearing what would come next. Derudin was as eager as any, save perhaps Alther. Lyell made a pacifying gesture with a downward palm to Alther. “Understand, I respect that she is your daught—”

  The king stopped mid-sentence without any apparent reason. Derudin studied him and saw that he stared into the distance, transfixed on some point. Following his gaze did Derudin no good, as it appeared to lead to a burning sconce on the far wall.

  “Father?” asked Alther. His concern for the king’s wellbeing was no farce. Alther looked consumed with worry.

  Lyell stood up and turned forward, facing the hundreds of guests in attendance below. His face now showed of discontent as he appeared to take in all he could with his eyes, not looking at all happy with what he saw. The roar of the crowd diminished as some took notice of the glaring king. Then, without warning, the king bent forward, violently spraying a fountain of deep red from his mouth. It covered the table and turned the previously white fur on his cape to a drenched, clumpy mess. The heaving continued for a moment and was followed by convulsions as the king fell onto the table. It was then that Derudin realized the red that came from his mouth was as much blood as it was wine.

  Out of instinct, Derudin gathered shadows and backed away, thoroughly effective in his effort given everyone’s attention had been fixed on the king. There was nothing he could do to defend the king against an unknown attacker, and his priority was to determine if and how he could stop whoever it was that was harming him.

  There was not a single person in attendance, however, that did not have the same look of shock upon their face. Master Warin was on his feet, mouth gaping. Cassen looked deceptive as always, but Derudin had to admit, he must have also been somewhat honestly horrified by the sight, given his demeanor. Even Master Larimar seemed to have been sobered by the unexpected scene as he stared at the blood upon the table. But Alther looked worse by far, as would be expected of the king’s son. His anxiety was palpable, and in his eyes grew a depth of sadness.

  The king’s spasm ceased. Alther went to him first, turning his father, still on the table, onto his back and attempting to check for breathing or heartbeat. Gasps could be heard as guests saw the blood-soaked front of the king. The beard he was always so careful to keep flawlessly groomed had the type of beaded drool upon it that made men appear as infirm babies, except that Lyell’s was red. Alther’s face blanched as he lifted his head from his father’s chest.

  “Sir Warin,” said Cassen who must have forgotten his proper title in the commotion. “Arrest Alther and Derudin at once. Alther’s gift must not have been without toxin, and Derudin did nothing to prevent the king’s consumption.”

  Had Derudin not been withdrawn and enshrouded, he would have been the one to feel the clamp of the strong man’s hand that grasped the wrist of Alther. Alther had a banquet knife in the other hand, however, and he lashed out at Cassen and screamed.

  “You said he would only sicken! He is dead!”

  Warin’s grip on him prevented his lunge at Cassen from landing, and Cassen backed away with a flamboyant show of fear and frailty. Alther seemed to collapse in hopelessness at both the futility of his failed attempt and the loss of his father. Derudin considered it was also possible he too now felt the effects of the poison that had no doubt been present in the wine. Lyell had near finished the bottle, and a look at Alther’s glass showed he had only taken the initial gulp during the toast. A kingdom reborn, and to a grotesque man disguised as a mother, covered in silks tainted with blood and treachery. If Alther’s words were true, whatever was present in the wine meant to “sicken” the king might now kill Alther as well.

  “Where is that damn wizard? He was just here,” said Master Warin.

  Derudin was already on his way out before it was too late. His shroud would not fool eyes that searched with purpose.

  “The charlatan has fled.” Despite the distance Derudin had placed between him and the room, Cassen’s words carried. “Let there be no question as to who was the mastermind behind this murder, then. When you find him, bring him to me…dead or alive.”

  TITON

  “No wonder those river thieves were so eager to trade at the m
ention of our direction. The city was mere miles away.”

  “Aye,” replied Keethro. “And look at that.” He nodded in the direction of the enormous barge on their port side laden with mounds of white crystallized blocks.

  “You mean you got cheated by that old bastard?” Titon was amused to see Keethro, who fancied himself an expert negotiator, taken down a notch.

  Keethro bared clenched teeth. “Perhaps.” He then cupped his hands around his nose and mouth to shout. “Hey there. How much for a pound of salt?”

  A few of the men on the barge paused as if they heard but continued on, not caring. Keethro did not give up.

  “I have five marks for the first man to throw me a pound. Half a fist will do.”

  The three grungy men aboard the barge certainly appeared the type to have done some quick business, especially with their employer’s goods.

  “Eight marks,” shouted Keethro with a mix of anger and desperation.

  “I’ll give ya a full fist for free if you keep yappin’ at me like some auction wench,” cried one of the men as he finally turned to them. His demeanor changed after seeing the two who did the asking. Titon and Keethro were close enough to board the barge in short order if desired. “It’s the king’s salt and it’s not for sale,” explained the man. “Not that I’d care to sell it so low if it were my own. If we so much as lick it we’re out a job, so be on your way and don’t cause us any trouble.”