by Guy Antibes
Emperor Hazett was a youngish man, perhaps a decade younger than his father. His short dark hair held not a speck of gray, and his face was clean-shaven. He didn’t wear armor, although Pol noticed he sat rather stiffly, indicating that he might wear a boiled leather cuirass under his flowing tunic. The man’s eyes were sharp as a hawk to match the thin prominent nose. He wouldn’t call Hazett III handsome, but he did have presence.
An older man dressed in light armor rode just behind on a smaller horse, but then all horses would be smaller compared to the massive beast the Emperor rode. The man jumped off of his horse and grabbed the reins of the Emperor’s horse as he dismounted.
Hazett stood as the two kings approached him. Each lowered their gaze and bowed to one knee.
“King Colvin, how nice of you to host part of my Procession, and King Astor, it is good to see you again. Introduce me to your families.”
And Honna had written him out of this entrance? Pol pressed his lips together in anger, his fists held tightly to his side. The nerves had disappeared.
King Astor beckoned his family towards the Emperor. He introduced his wife and Bythia to the Emperor. He chatted briefly with them, and then dismissed them to their places.
“King Colvin.”
Pol’s father had his family line up in front of the ruler of the Baccusol Empire.
“My wife Molissa.”
“It is nice to see you again, Queen Molissa. Does Colvin’s regent manage Listya properly?”
His mother nodded. “He does, Your Excellency.”
“This must be Landon.” Hazett clapped Landon on the shoulders. His brother flinched at the gesture. “You can be braver than that, my boy. Stand tall, proud, and do honorable things.”
Hazett looked at the Queen with his eyebrows up.
The queen curtseyed. “Honna, Your Excellency.”
“Of course. You probably have broken many hearts, and there will be many more to come.”
Pol noticed the gleam in the Emperor’s eye and realized that his seemingly innocuous comments came with barbs. He pursed his lips to refrain from smiling as he remembered what Hazett said to Landon. The Emperor had a sense of humor. How would he treat him?
“Grostin, right?”
His middle brother affected a languid gaze that looked a bit ridiculous on him. “I am, Your Excellency.”
“I am sure your mind spins and whirls with ideas…to help your father, the king, of course.”
Grostin looked flustered. “It does, Your Excellency.”
“Amonna. I hope you don’t break as many hearts as your sister. You are quite pretty, though don’t do anything to spoil it.”
That comment was not barbed, but Pol could see the meaning behind the banter. The Emperor had been well briefed on his family. Now Hazett III’s gaze turned to Pol.
“Prince Poldon. I am thrilled to meet you. I have heard admirable things through Ranno, your tutor’s father. I understand you and your brother crossed practice swords in rather exciting ways. I trust we will see more of you before I leave.”
Pol noticed the added inflection on the word ‘practice’. It seemed the Emperor had even been told about their sparring matches before he arrived in Borstall. Every introduction meant something. Did Mistress Farthia tell her father everything, or did the Emperor always find information to make the introductions more memorable?
The Emperor dismissed the family and turned around. While they stood at the steps, there were more ceremonies concerning the Procession. Torches were lit as the sky darkened with the evening.
Pol realized that the Emperor had only addressed Pol by his title among his siblings. He hoped his brothers and sisters didn’t notice. How would he tell? They gave him the same dirty looks they always had, with the exception of Amonna, who just looked confused.
Mistress Farthia talked to the older man who still held the reins of the Emperor’s horse. That must be her father, Ranno Wissingbel. Pol saw an intelligent man from his perspective. Perhaps he would get a chance to meet his tutor’s father. He looked like he might have interesting stories to tell, like Kelso did.
Pol tried to pay more attention to the ceremony. He might never see another Processional for decades, when he would be much older, if he lived that long. The thought of dying early made him sigh.
The ceremony lasted much too long for Pol, but finally it came to an end. The two kings stood on either side of the Emperor as he ascended the steps into the castle proper. The queens followed and then the children. Pol brought up the rear.
“Prince Poldon, right?”
Pol looked into the man’s eyes. “Ranno Wissingbel, am I correct?”
Ranno’s eyes crinkled into well-worn creases around his eyes. “You are. I suppose you’ve been taking good care of my Far these past few years.”
Pol blinked. Far? Then it dawned on him. “Yes, uh, Far. I usually call her Mistress Farthia.”
“You would, and that’s the right way. I noticed you listened intently to My Emperor’s comments. Did you enjoy them?”
Pol could feel his face blush. “I did, mostly. I’m afraid mine will be noted by my siblings.”
Ranno nodded knowingly. Mistress Farthia had told him everything. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“I always worry about that, Sir Ranno.”
“Just Ranno will do, if I can call you Pol. That’s what your friend Paki calls you, right?”
Pol stopped on the top step as the others disappeared into the castle. “How did you know that?”
The older man just chuckled. “It’s my business to know the important things.”
“My nickname is hardly important,” Pol said.
“I’m sure it isn’t to some,” Ranno smiled. “You’ve got to hurry along. I’ll just walk with my daughter and her best friend.”
Pol looked behind him to see Malden and Farthia, ‘Far’, just walking up the steps. He hurried inside. Up ahead, the Emperor chatted with the two kings as the families disbursed, probably to get ready for the state dinner to be held in an hour.
~~~
Chapter Sixteen
~
POL STOOD AT THE DOOR while his father’s chamberlain announced his arrival at the Emperor’s Reception. This was to be a state dinner, but Hazett III turned it into a reception that allowed a hasty expansion of the attendee list.
Only a few courtiers bothered to look his way as others filed in to be announced behind him. He headed for Ranno, Malden, and Mistress Farthia, standing by a drinks table. Before he reached it, someone bumped Pol’s shoulder.
“Don’t you think we didn’t notice,” Honna said. Pol thought he could see venom dripping from her mouth. “You are a non-person, always have been and always will be until something untoward happens.” Her threat was quietly given, but he could see that his two friends and Ranno had noticed the nasty expression on his sister’s face.
“Am I another heart to be broken?” Pol said with little emotion, rather proud of his comeback.
She reddened and stalked off.
“She doesn’t like you, lad,” Ranno said. He certainly didn’t care about honorifics.
“Never has,” Pol said. “Lately, that is all she talks to me about, how much she doesn’t like me.”
The crowd hushed. King Astor and his wife were announced, followed by Pol’s parents. “Emperor Hazett III,” the chamberlain said, and then rolled off a number of additional honorifics that Pol had never heard before.
“How long do I have to stay?” Pol asked Mistress Farthia.
“A bit longer. You can’t leave until the Emperor recognizes your presence,” she said.
Pol had expected a reception line and wanted to line up closer to the front, but the Emperor walked through the crowds, kings in tow, meeting and greeting the attendees. Pol noticed that he tended to avoid the better-dressed nobles and made a point of speaking to the less-impressive attendees.
“Does he always do that?” Pol said to Ranno.
“What?”
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“Speak with the more common people.”
Ranno nodded and smiled. “Good that you noticed. His Processions are for him to get in touch with his subjects. The nobles can come to Yastan, to see him if they have to, but the merchants and others…” He shook his head. “You really are a smart lad.”
“Observant,” Pol said.
“Smart and observant,” Malden said. “He is a boy with hidden talents.”
Pol could see Ranno accept Malden’s words, and that worried him. The Emperor had already made Pol seem a bit more special, and Honna certainly noticed it.
The Emperor made his way to the four of them.
“Ranno, I see you haven’t wasted any time in locating the fair Farthia.” The Emperor seemed to be a natural at this kind of banter. “Malden,” the Emperor said and gave the magician a sharp little bow of the head. Malden returned it with a deep bow.
“I am honored that you would remember my name.”
“Posh,” Hazett waved away Malden’s comment. “You do the Empire a service working for King Colvin.”
“Indeed, My Emperor,” Pol’s father said from behind.
Pol just stood there, hoping the Emperor would just acknowledge his presence and move on.
“Farthia.” He nodded to his tutor as he hoped he would to him.
The Emperor’s eyes swiveled and fell upon his. Pol looked down at the floor.
“Up,” Hazett said and lifted Pol’s chin. “Look me in the eye, Prince Poldon. Do you like it here in Borstall?”
“I have lived here all my life, Your Excellency.”
“Indeed, but do you like it here?”
Pol became flustered. He hadn’t expected any kind of an interchange at the reception.
“I am among friends,” he waved his arm towards Malden and Farthia, “and my mother and father treat me well.”
Pol began to get hot, and his face turned red.
“We will talk again, perhaps after the tourney.” The Emperor turned away and began to circulate through the crowd again.
After seeing that his siblings were safely out of hearing distance, Pol sighed. Hazett had called him Prince Poldon again. It disturbed him like nothing else. What must his father think?
“My, you’ve come up in the world, My Prince,” Malden said, smirking.
Farthia tapped the magician playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t embarrass my student.”
“Your student? He is our student. I’m going to ride his coattails all the way to the Baccusol throne.”
“You’ll be gray when that happens,” Farthia said.
“So will you.” Malden made a face at her.
“Are you two finished?” Ranno said. “I’ll have to have another word with Hazett. The man has much too playful a personality than what is good for him.”
“Is he a good leader?” Pol asked.
“Better than his father, young man, and his father was very good. Holding onto an empire is a tricky thing, much more difficult than setting one up. Hazett keeps himself visible and gives plenty of rope to his vassals, not that he isn’t adept at knowing when to jerk them back from doing something too stupid.”
Farthia put her arm through her father’s and grinned at Pol. “See? You get a wonderful lesson in politics, even here.”
She looked happier than he had ever seen her. Perhaps she didn’t have to feel so proper when joined by Malden and her father. Mistress Farthia had never mentioned a mother.
That reminded Pol he should visit his mother somewhere in the crowded hall before he left. He bowed to the three and went off to find Queen Molissa. He spotted her standing next to Bythia’s mother. Pol looked around for Bythia but couldn’t see her. That was a relief, he thought.
“I made it,” Pol said, smiling.
“Why on earth wouldn’t you?” the South Salvan queen said.
“My youngest son was left off the event list. Luckily, I noticed the oversight, and I’m glad I did.” Queen Molissa turned to Pol. “We both noticed that the Emperor sought you out to say hello.”
If they noticed, then his siblings would know, and that didn’t bode well for Pol. Well, Malden and Farthia said he needed to be here, so here he was.
“What did the Emperor have to say?” Bythia’s mother said.
“He asked me if I liked it in Borstall.”
The woman put her hand to her mouth. “What did you say?” She looked a little shocked.
“I said I’m happy to be here when I’m among friends. He had already acknowledged Mistress Farthia and Magician Malden, knowing each by name.”
“And you, too, My Prince,” Queen Molissa said.
“He did call me Prince Poldon again. I thought that a bit odd.”
Both queens looked at each other. “He did?”
Pol nodded. “He even remembered my name. I think he has a talent for that. Ranno said he has a playful personality.”
“Ranno?” Bythia’s mother said.
“Ranno Wissingbel, one of his advisors. He is Mistress Farthia’s father, and she’s my tutor,” Pol said.
“That man is the Emperor’s Instrument. I would watch out for him. He helps keep the Empire in line,” the South Salvan queen said. “And you called him Ranno?”
“He asked me to, and he asked if he could call me Pol. I said he could.”
“Pol?” She looked at Molissa.
“That is Poldon’s nickname.”
Pol heard the Emperor’s voice coming his way. “If you will excuse me,” He bobbed his head at the two ladies and escaped before having to talk to Hazett again.
He wandered around. Not being as tall as the rest of the people at the reception became tiring for Pol. He found Malden standing by himself.
“Where is your lady friend?” Pol said.
Malden barked a laugh. “She left the reception with her father. They had some catching up to do since she never had a proper amount of time with him earlier this summer. Why?”
“The Emperor keeps calling me Prince Poldon. Is there any significance to that?”
“Twice, you say?” Malden looked a little surprised. “Did he call either of your other brothers ‘Prince’?”
Pol shook his head.
“This is not good. To do that indicates that he recognizes you as Colvin’s heir.” Malden looked down at his wine cup as he swirled the red liquid. “Ranno said Hazett was playful, but this is too much. I’ll have a talk with Ranno. He may have unwittingly put you into even more danger. This is exactly what we didn’t want happening.”
Pol became alarmed. “What should I do?”
“You look tired. I would go back to your rooms and retire for the evening. Make sure you lock your door. You need to rest up, for tomorrow the tourney starts with fourteen-year-olds trying to beat up on each other.”
That suited Pol just fine. He bowed to Malden and left without making eye contact with another soul.
~~~
Chapter Seventeen
~
POL WISHED HE COULD HAVE SLEPT THROUGH THE TOURNEY, but at sunrise he heard a knock on his door. He had to get up to unlock it.
“Siggon!”
“I’ll be your squire for the tourney, Pol. Get washed up. I’ve got a basket of breakfast that you can eat after you are trussed up in your jerkin and your colors. You need to win quickly, so I can get back to my garden. With all the trespassers in the castle, I’ll be working through the night to put things back in order.
“Colors?”
“Everyone gets a tabard in the tourney. Yours will be scarlet and silver, your father’s colors. Hurry.”
They walked down to the training ground where Pol picked out a good wooden sword and Siggon helped him secure his jerkin and arrange the tabard, so it wouldn’t be in the way when he fought.
Both of them picked food out of the breakfast basket. “Don’t each too much, lad. You need your energy, but you’ll not be wanting stomach cramps interfering with your sword work.”
“Are you going to help Paki, to
o?”
Siggon nodded. “A whole morning watching little boys play with sticks.” He ruffled Pol’s hair. “The matches will be fought at once in the tourney field. Each round will get smaller and smaller, so preserve what precious energy you have. The Emperor will arrive for the final matches of the three age classifications. They will also take place at once. If you make it all the way to the final match, you will have the most time to recover. Make the most of it.”
“I know. It’s part of my strategy.”
It seemed that the festival grounds and the tourney field blossomed with flags and pennants overnight. Pol could feel the excitement from all the people. By the time they reached the tourney field, most of the thirteen to fourteen-year-olds were lining up to draw lots for partners.
Siggon patted Pol on the back and walked to the edge of the field and sat on one of the benches. It looked like being a squire involved making sure your charge got to the field on time.
While he waited in line, Pol stepped aside a bit and began to warm up. Soon the other boys were doing the same. Pol stood at the table.
“Poldon Fairfield.”
The man at the table looked through the list. “No Poldon Fairfield here.”
“Prince Poldon?”
The man looked up, shot to his feet, and bowed. “My Prince, I am sorry.” He sat back down and checked the name of Prince Poldon. Pol would have rather entered as any other boy, but he nodded and graciously, in his mind, took the number the man gave him. Another man pinned the cloth badge on his tabard.
He looked around and began to watch the unfamiliar participants warm up. There were two that looked competitive, so he played at stretching as he watched them. He could easily detect their patterns. It seemed that the better boys had developed more definitive patterns, and that only made it simpler to come up with a match strategy, and that would also make it easier to use his magic to anticipate their moves.
A trumpet sounded, and the participants crowded around the table. The two men who signed them in put a pot on the table and began to draw out cards with names on them and hung them on a board. Pol looked for his number, and it finally came, number seven. He would fight a boy that he recognized as a decent competitor, but he didn’t think he would have any trouble with him.