“In the morning, we will return to Deca’Point.” King Stewart slurred in his usual way.
“Once you see what has happened there, you will immediately want to leave,” Londenia replied with the images in her head of those twisted charred remains, stretching their hands out to her in the burnt fields.
“I do not plan to linger there, but we must try to find answers.”
“Answers to what?”
Stewart looked taken aback. “Do you not wonder who did these things? Do you not wonder if the threat still remains? If it does, then information will perhaps help us to prevent it from happening to the other kingdoms.” Spit seemed to be flying out of his mouth at every t and p.
Londenia paused for a moment. It hadn’t crossed her mind that it was their responsibility to find out who had caused this tragedy. Last Kingdom was so far away from most barbaric acts. This sort of thing always seemed like news from a faraway land. However, the use of bladed weapons within a populated area of the kingdoms was extreme beyond anything she ever heard of, let alone the fact that she had witnessed the aftermath. “Forgive me. I am not accustomed to these sorts of happenings.”
“And you think I am?” King Stewart dug further.
“Stewart,” Queen Tanya jumped in. Her dark eyes glared and seemed to have control over his mind. “We are all on the same side here.”
Stewart huffed. “Forgive me again, Londi. I have become a bitter old man.” His words were addressed to Londenia but he stared at his queen throughout.
Queen Tanya smiled. “Here, enough of the old! You are only two years my elder.”
King Stewart gave a slight chuckle.
The Queen of the Wetlands was brilliant at getting her point across, then somehow defusing the quick-to-anger King Stewart.
“So we are decided then. In the morning, we return to Deca’Point.” King Stewart stated the fact and in no way asked the opinion of the two queens. All Londenia could do was nod and bid the royals Night Blessings.
Queen Tanya gave her an encouraging nod. She’s trying to tell me everything will be alright. Although not having yet seen forty years, Tanya had the bearing and airs of an older woman. She seemed wise beyond her years, and witty too.
As Scarred Nahar rose higher in the night sky, Londenia lay under her covers in the royal tent, wondering where Romarus was. The boy king had a habit of wandering but no harm ever came to him. She was well aware he was capable of looking after himself, but she still felt a worry in her belly whenever his whereabouts were unknown. “Grey’Gon!” she shouted.
The guard appeared at the tent flap moments later. “Yes, m’lady?”
“Where is His Grace?”
“King Romarus asked for solitude while he went for a walk along the coast,” Grey’Gon replied in the monotonous tones of a guard.
I somehow doubt Romarus stretched himself to use the word solitude. “His Grace should not be unguarded in such times. And, are you not his chief guard? You should be with him. Find him at once.”
The guard’s brown eyes widened and his mouth hung open. He sharply bowed his head, clashed his fists in salute and hurried out of the tent.
Her nerves grew as more time passed, and so did her anger. How can he be so selfish, wandering with no word to anybody, knowing what transpired in Deca’Point? A king does not need permission for anything, of course, but common courteously to a friend would have been appreciated.
As always, the worst situations played through her mind. Perhaps Romarus had gotten too close to the sea and drowned, or the bladed attackers had returned and killed him, or—
The tent flap opened and there was the welcome sight of Romarus ducking in, smiling. “Hello,” he said coyly, with a cheeky grin.
She couldn’t help but grin back as her anger flowed away as if on a warm-season breeze. “Hello,” Londenia replied in an equally mischievous voice. Why am I playing along with this? He had the look on his face that was typical after he had just lain with somebody. “Did you enjoy your walk?”
“I did.” He smiled, pressed his lips to her forehead with Ten Blessings and lay next to her. For a while, as they lay in silence for sleep, her nerves calmed, but as her mind went to work in its usual way, the worries crept back. He’s hiding something, she suspected, as her thoughts began to list every single possible thing the boy king could be hiding from her.
By sunset the next day, they had built their camp on the outskirts of Deca’Point. Queen Tanya had convinced King Stewart to heed Londenia’s instructions of setting up camp further away from the capital than he had first suggested. He has not experienced the stench of death and burning yet. If he insisted on setting up the camp closer, he would be alone.
Londenia dared not go with the scouting parties to Deca’Point. King Stewart sent in guards to inspect the area and report back to him with their findings. On the first day of their investigations, one of the hairy-faced guards from the Wetlands came back to camp, white as a joining wrap, unable to speak. He and one other had been tasked with breaking into the main keep. “They were all flayed like cottontails on a bazaar meat stall,” said the shaken guard, who was known as H’Gon. “They even hung them upside down.”
Her days in camp were busy but not as busy as they would have been back in the keep of Deca’Herem. She and Queen Tanya busied themselves writing messages to be sent to Hal’Tal, where they would be divided up and delivered to towns and villages across Last Kingdom, the Watch Kingdom (what was left of it) and the Wetlands. It spoke of what had happened and gave warning to prepare for what might befall them. I do not know if we are doing the right thing by spreading fear throughout the people, she worried, as her hand ached from the twentieth piece of parchment she had filled with ink that morning.
Londenia looked forward to her time lying next to Romarus in the royal tent before sleep. It was a chance to have simple conversation without the worry of these big issues. However, the first night at camp outside Deca’Point, was another of unrest, as once again, Romarus had not returned as expected. Another happy late coming followed.
There was a repeat of this the following night and she also felt Romarus’s presence wasn’t sufficient during the day either.
Late on the third day at camp outside Deca’Point, as the sun was getting low in the sky, Londenia decided to visit King Stewart in his headquarters, as he called the place. It was simply a tent set up with a writing desk in it. When Londenia entered, King Stewart was busy noting down accounts from a scruffy looking man standing before his desk. He had received many visits from surrounding farmers and some blue-eyed lords from further afield in the Watch Kingdom. It was his attempt at trying to give instruction and bring stability to what remained of the late King Servin’s land—which happened to be a very large proportion. The capital, along with its royal family, was destroyed, but like any animal, it was going to be in desperate need, having just lost its head.
The raggedly-dressed peasant spoke in his common dialect, telling tales of what had transpired, telling King Stewart, “Your Grace, we barely escaped with our lives.”
Londenia stood eavesdropping at the threshold of the tent, holding her silence, not wanting to interrupt Stewart’s note taking.
“We saw them enter Deca’Point in the dead of night. They carried knives like you have never seen. Knives the size of my arm, Your Grace. I tell you no lie.”
“Swords. They are called swords,” King Stewart told the man, then continued to scribble with ink and quill.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The peasant paused. “Pointed teeth!” he then exclaimed. “They had pointed teeth, Your Grace. I never saw them with my own eyes, but others that ran from the capital told us they had pointed teeth.”
King Stewart’s hand frantically worked its way across the page, his face hardly acknowledging the old man’s account. “Did you happen to take note of how strong the group of attackers were?” he asked, pausing his quill.
The peasant cleared his throat. “Hundreds, Your Grace. The capital wa
s overrun with them. There were cries of…” he paused.
“Continue,” King Stewart encouraged with a flick of a quill.
“They cried out: ‘For the Ten’.”
They claimed to be followers of the Ten? These were dark tidings. Londenia shuffled uncomfortably. The old man heard her movements and turned sharply.
“My lady,” he bowed deeply, not rising.
“Rise,” she said, lifting the man’s chin gently.
He quickly snapped his gaze away, lowering his head. His hands fumbled.
“Thank you for your assistance. You are dismissed, but are required to report to my lead guard, who will fully brief you on our plans,” King Stewart, told him, still writing notes.
“It was my honor, Your Grace.” He gave Ten Blessings to King Stewart. “My lady.” The old peasant bowed to her, backing out of the tent.
She stood before the desk as King Stewart intently read pieces of parchment and made scribbles on others. They were scribbles indeed! It looked as if a small child learning his letters had scrawled all over the yellowed paper. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back later.”
“Londi, if you were not such a beauty I would throw my quill at you and tell you to leave. Come, sit. I have time to spare for you, of course.” He smiled.
She sat on the opposite side of the desk to his rolling chair. “I hear you plan to delay our departure for another day, perhaps two?” Londenia’s purpose of being there was to ask King Stewart to take an active role in guiding Romarus, and even get him involved in the investigation and the defense of what remained, but she felt she needed to make conversation first.
“Indeed, I feel we would be best to wait for your father’s arrival. A skip came to tell me words, or should I say ‘sell me words’, that your father’s party from Long Kingdom draws near. I see no need to hurry our departure for him to trail behind us by a day. There is power in numbers, don’t you agree?”
Her heart sang when she heard the news of her father, King Kalon, drawing near. “Indeed, I am pleased.” There was silence for a time as Stewart began adding notes. “And of course we have some time before we meet King Hardol at the Dilly, so you are—”
King Stewart interrupted without lifting his head, saying, “Londi, why have you come to see me? If it is about involving that boy king of yours, you can stop.”
Am I that obvious? “I just feel it would do him good to learn from you in these matters.”
Stewart laughed, setting off a cough. “I’m sure it would do him good but right now I require a clear mind and speed. We do not have long before we must continue on our journey. Before we leave, I wish to make sure the Watch Kingdom is in a more stable state than when I found it.”
“It is just that he draws restless and—”
“—Oh, the boy king is bored is he? Tired of his horde he took with him?” King Stewart’s angry rambles were almost comical in some ways. “Listen Londi, he’s a boy. A boy who is a king, yes, but just let him be a boy for now. Let him explore, and make mistakes, and fuck, and whatever else it is that young people do with legs that work these days.” He tapped his useless legs with his quill. “And let me worry about trying to get this kingdom back into some kind of working order in the little time I have left.”
And then when we return, if we return, to Last Kingdom—I am left with a king that is still a boy and only wants to explore, fuck and whatever else, while I must rule alone! She knew she wouldn’t win an argument with Stewart—not without Queen Tanya to back her up. The stress from travel and trying to stabilize the Watch Kingdom made Stewart’s sense of humor rot somewhat. “Very well. Queen Tanya and I have prepared letters for every village and town we felt necessary to inform of what has happened here. We included warnings and such, but wait on your final approval.”
“Thank you. We may need to add in further findings but I think we can finalize these by midday tomorrow.”
You can bloody add in these extras your-bloody-self then, she scorned, grabbing her aching hand and thinking how her new friend, Tanya, would likely make him pay if they had to add to their workload needlessly.
That night, Romarus was once again not to be found next to her as she was falling asleep. For the first time since Romarus had become king, Londenia did not wait for his return. She fell into a frustrated, restless slumber. There was a brief memory of stirring, the smell of Romarus’s musk and the pressing of his lips on her forehead. “Night Blessings,” she heard him whisper and everything seemed right as she drifted off to sleep.
Only a fool thinks there are rules to fighting. Fighting is life, and life has no rules.
Ancient Lixus Proverb
Baskie
Strength of the Mother
The yellow-haired boy jumped in the air and landed a downward punch on his tall, brown-haired opponent as he tried to stagger to his feet. The crowd of robed boys surrounding the sand fighting-ring cheered as the loser fell onto his side into the dirt again.
Instead of just walking back from his opponent, ‘Yellow Boy’ flipped backwards. Mid-flip, he was entirely upside down in the air, looking up at the ground. Yellow-haired Frazer landed in a fighting stance, facing his opponent lying in the white powdery sand. Both boys’ chests and arms were covered with sand, which sparkled in the afternoon sun. Yellow Boy’s right shoulder had been grazed by the area of the fighting ring where less sand covered the hard surface. For a boy who looked quite unthreatening when fully clothed, Baskie saw that Frazer was well trained. When he eventually lifted his fists in victory to the cheering crowd, his arms were that of a grown man, but with a boy’s smiling face in between them.
Two boys with drums beat a victory rhythm for Yellow Boy, who clearly loved every moment. Frazer, Frazer, Frazer, the crowd of blue robes cheered. Frazer walked to the side where the Mister stood, directly opposite Baskie’s position on the outside of the ring. The old man outstretched a blue robe and wrapped it around the winner’s shoulders. The boy bowed and stood next to the Mister.
“A fabulous display of strength to the Mother,” the Mister said, clasping his hands together as he walked into the ring. “And commiserations to our Brother Rojames. You fought well and the Mother will heal you for your efforts.” The loser he spoke of was getting helped up by Saul and another island-boy whose name Baskie couldn’t remember.
Ro turned and managed a painful looking bow to the Mister. “For the Mother,” he said, enduring the pain of tender ribs.
“Now! Who feels the power of the Mother flow through them and wishes to show their strength next?” the Mister shouted, addressing all the boys around the circle.
“Yes, Mister!” shouted one of the older boys, already removing his robe, throwing it behind him, slapping his bare chest. This boy lived in the same pod as Saul. Baskie was sure he heard him being called Mior. The muscles in his thighs were clear, even through the blue cottons he wore. His chest and stomach had muscles but his arms were not as large as those of Yellow Boy. That might have been because this boy was taller. He had the sort of face all of the girls back home swooned over, except for his slightly squint nose. It looked as if he had injured it in a fight and never had it fixed properly.
“And who shall challenge Brother Mior? Who here, feels the strength of the Mother?” the Mister boomed out, with a smile and flapping arms.
I don’t feel, or need, the Mother’s strength but what the fuck… “I do, Mister!” Baskie felt great that day as he always did when the winds blew from the sea. When the wind came from across the grass of the rolling fields on the island, his head would feel twice its size, his nose would pour and his eyes would water. Today was a perfect day, with the clean salty air blowing from the sea, filling his lungs.
The crowd turned and looked at him in silence. Saul cocked an eyebrow and his mouth slanted. Owin looked shocked. More and more silent blue eyes locked onto him. Frazer was looking around to see what everybody else was doing.
The Mister raised his arms and said, “My dear Brother
Baskie.” He paused, observing the scene with skeptical eyes.
I’m not a brother, Baskie silently corrected the old man.
“Perhaps one day you will take on the likes of Mior but not today, I fear.”
“But I want to fight.” Baskie stepped forward, removing his blue robe. All of a sudden he felt skinny and puny. None of the boys laughed but he could feel their mocking eyes. Those who only look with their eyes, don’t truly see you.
“You will do as I say, young brother,” the Mister said forcefully. “The Mother has not yet given you the strength to fight somebody older than yourself.”
Baskie went to interrupt the old man but a small shake of Saul’s head warned him not to.
“Robe yourself, step back and we will find you a closer match,” the Mister went on.
I’ve already counted five ways to break his wrists and two to knock him out and we haven’t even started, he raged inside his head. Baskie was determined to show how much this situation pissed him off so he stared at the Mister with as much hatred as he could muster. I probably look like a spoilt child but I don’t give ten fucks!
Docháran, he heard muttered by random boys in the crowd around the ring. The chant spread. “Yes! Docháran!” one shouted. “Come on, Docháran,” another said, pushing one of the robed boys forward into the ring.
The boy they called Docháran didn’t speak. He stepped into the ring, letting his robe drop to the ground, revealing the ubiquitous blue trousers. A dark blue vest hugged his chest, which was thicker set than Mior’s. His right arm had ten inked lines starting from his shoulder, running to his elbow, contouring over clearly visible muscles. The ink lines were faded as if stretched over time, or else somebody had tried to wash them off. He must be from the Ten Kingdoms, Baskie thought as he looked at the traditional ink markings given to princes as infants in the Peak Kingdom. He had seen Docháran in the main hall during mealtimes but had never before seen his uncovered arms.
A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes) Page 13