An Empire Of Traitors (Of Hate And Laughter Book 1)

by Enache, Serban Valentin Constantin

  “His imperial majesty Hagyai Rovines Mero invites you to the capital, my lord Mandon. The emperor is preparing a banquet to honor the betrothal of his son and heir, the young prince Yoffis. Castle Spire is awaiting many a high lord.”

  “Who’s the fortunate girl?”

  “Only the emperor knows the answer to that, my lord. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  Birus nodded, and took the parchment from the courier’s hands. It bore the seal of the Imperial Crown in red wax. A secret girl for the Empire’s heir, Birus mused. What are you thinking, Rovines? “My good sir... for your trouble.” Birus tossed the man a silver. “You are welcome at Rivermark for food, respite, and a change of horse.”

  The messenger smiled, but shook his head. “Thank you, lord. But I shall find respite in the Northlands, in Weiyenor. ’Tis the last place I am to visit. For the last parchment I carry is meant for the ram of Sodomis.” With those words said, the courier went off to his business. There was still much daylight to be used. Summer was always the season of work and harvest, of warmth and green life. For the warden of the Streamlands, however, the hours were not so precious. But the time for laxity was at an end.

  “Well, well... it seems you’ll be visiting the south, my liege,” said the master at arms with a crooked grin. “I hear the ladies of the southern courts are very pretty, presenting themselves in thin garments because of all the heat... And they are known to be very skilled in the arts of pleasure; are they not?”

  Birus returned the smile, his eyes unperturbed from the parchment’s content. “That’s an old saying, friend Norbert. An old saying, and most true.”

  Chapter III: Kalafar

  A bright sun was adorning the cold northern sky. People will interpret it as a sign of good fortune, no doubt. Every castle servant was working on preparing the wedding feast. Cooks were baking pies and bread, preparing stews, heating the grills, gutting the fish and quarry – while large pots were boiling water under the fires. Servants were making room in the stables and gathering feed for the animals. While the guards saw to their regular duty.

  The ram’s brother, Arfaij Sodomis, was marrying the eldest daughter of a wealthy lowborn. Though highly irregular, it was a necessary thing. The northern houses lacked the wealth that the southern noble families enjoyed and the influence that came with that wealth. His younger brother – younger only by mere moments – though not glad to fulfill the task, he knew his duty. Weiyenor didn’t require only swords, but money as well.

  The bride’s father, Quintus More, was a retired spice trader. And swore on his life that his daughter was a maiden still, even at the age of eight and ten. Regardless of what Arfaij or his vassals thought of it, the benefits of this marriage were undeniable. For the civil war had made the family coffers light. And it’s time to add new weight, thought Kalafar. Of course, when the warden’s own brother was marrying into the lower classes... that sparked rumors and whispers. And the voices of dissent weren’t all that discrete or few. Some regarded the rams of the north as foreigners still, unworthy of their titles and holdings inside the Empire.

  The death of his lord father, Jorghel, who had been imperial chancellor, made their position all the more vulnerable in the eyes of the northern lords who, while not being renowned for their intrigues, were no strangers to ambition. House Sodomis had faced rebellions before. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Kalafar had brought the most talented musicians the realm had to offer. Despite his zjialaan heritage, he loved the music of the northmen, their songs, their stories, and their dances. The music of the bagpipes accompanied by the drum beats would always delight his ears. Kalafar especially enjoyed the whirling dances, in which the people held hands and formed into spinning circles; everyone moving to the whim of their hearts.

  The household servants were busy arranging the table sheets and setting up plates with food and drink. Him and Arfaij had brought back from the hunt three boars, a stag, twenty hares, and several black geese. His brother had also managed to kill a fox, which would make a fitting pelt for his lady wife to be. The hunt had been quite fruitful. The woods of lake Tisa had always provided the lords of Weiyenor with good game. Kalafar had also bought sweet southern wine, most of it from the established vineyards of Heart’s Gift. Sweet Sun was a red of pure noble quality and tradition.

  During the last few days, Weiyenor’s servants had toiled much to prepare everything for the wedding’s many guests. Apart from it all, lord Kalafar Sodomis had something else on his mind, a more pleasant musing – the thought of a lovely friend. Last he had seen her, they were only children. But he had a great fondness for the girl.

  Kalafar remembered Juni’s laugh. Not too high, not too low, pleasant on the ear. Her laugh always made me smile. Her brown eyes were always true, even when she would tell a lie. She’d make that dear and funny face, whenever we’d try to look into the naked sun, to see who could last the longest.

  Most of all, he remembered the first time she had kissed him, and the first time he had kissed her. When their lips had touched and moved upon each other... the warm heart it gave him; a joy unequal to all others he had known as a child. In truth, a joy unequalled still. He also remembered that short hair of hers. The longer-left strand of it would always dangle over her eye and cheek. That black hair, her black hair… it always smelled good, even after a day of playing and running in the sun’s heat. Her dusty head, moist with sweat, always smelled good. On this occasion, Kalafar would see that girl, Juni, his Juni… again, after so long a time.

  Later that day, the guests had arrived. Rows and rows of horses, mules, and wheel carts were embraced by the castle walls. The stony eyes of gargoyles, which stood upon Weiyenor’s ramparts, glared at the strange souls who past beneath them. Kalafar and his brother awaited in the courtyard alongside their lord uncle and steward, Alghernon Sodomis. As always, the man was silent and stern. Behind them, the household servants were ready to handle the guests; to tend to their every need.

  “You look very handsome in your crimson doublet, brother.” Kalafar said to Arfaij in a low voice. “I’m sure sweet Catherine will find you irresistible.”

  Arfaij snorted in derision. “I don’t care how she finds me. I’m simply doing this for the interest of our house. If, by chance, love will come, then so be it. Either way, I’m going to put a son in her, then I’ll be off gathering a small regiment of greenhorns, teaching them how to fight. We’re short on men. We’ve always been so after the civil war.” His brother’s tone grew ever more solemn. “With father’s death, our vassals smelled weakness. We’ve little young blood to rely upon. And it’s better to teach them discipline and tactics in times of peace, rather than in times of an actual war.”

  “Cast aside such thoughts, brother; at least for now. You are getting married, after all. And by the way, how is our lovely mother? I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “You know how she is,” Arfaij said with slight annoyance. “Ever trying to render herself more presentable, beautiful… in the hopes that some available lord might come courting her. You’d think she still ought to be in mourning.” Though Arfaij was their mother’s favorite, it was strange to see him holding such a grudge against the woman.

  “You demand too much of her,” Kalafar spoke with surety. “Our father never truly loved the woman, and she never truly loved him. You know that as well as I. It was just a political marriage. I’m sure father took a mistress or two while he served as chancellor in the south. Besides, it’s been a year since his death; and our mother has every freedom to look for a suitor. And believe me, she’s not looking to have more children.”

  Arfaij shook his head, but said nothing. Despite being twins, they were very cold with each other – reserved, but respectful. They had been fostered at different places, by different men, for different purposes. And even when they were small children, they seldom played and laughed together. Truth be told, Kalafar wouldn’t miss his brother’s presence at court. I will enjoy the silence of halls and
courtyard, he said to himself.

  The lords and ladies finally dismounted. A gathering of austere faces and garments, draped in furs and caps, unraveled before their eyes – with their own servants crowding all about them. Both Kalafar and his brother spotted lord Holton Brax, his wife Mathilda, looking slightly bored, and their two sons, Luther and Benjin. The boys were tall and well-built, just like their father. But their shaggy cheeks and chins made them appear ungraceful, to say the least. Haven’t they heard of a shave? House Brax ruled the western part of the north from their seat at Herron’s Keep.

  Next to them, lord Alexander Krakov was helping his wife, Mina, dismount. Their son, Anton, had recently married the daughter of the grand burgher of Shellforge. The Krakovs ruled from their seat at Frosthelm. Lord Alain Dagincourt arrived with his three children, Philip, Jon, and Ulbert. His lady wife had died two years ago of pneumonia. The lord of Icerock, however, had not remarried. Joaken Oakhard of Greyford and his wife, Celia, stepped out of their wheel house. Both of them wore their clothes somewhat improper. They were both young, still in their forties; one could only raise an eyebrow as to what they were doing inside the wheel house.

  The lord of White Ridge appeared next, Eckhart Nitzford, with his wife, Anne, and their two small children, Fritz and Hanna. The twins were chasing each other, circling the clothed mares and stallions. The young Hanna was betrothed to Luther Brax.

  After them came their lord uncle, Clement Treegreen, his wife, Adrienne, and their daughter, Amelia. Treegreen was the uncle from their mother’s side. They held the most northern fasthold, Frostmouth; and the cold air of that region had left their features stern. Fortunately for their lady mother, Olivia Sodomis, her skin resembled nothing like that of her family. And at last, the wealthy retired spice trader, Quintus More, his wife, Christina, and their soon to be Catherine Sodomis, appeared from their wheel house. The girl was still fat, no matter how tight a corset she was made to wear. That was a good thing, a sign of health.

  The lords of the north were few, but the people they had brought with them were not – squires, pages, housecarls, and grooms. At this point, Kalafar hoped he had enough food and drink for all of them; but someone was late.

  The missing party was that of lord Mayflower. Unlike the other guests, the Mayflowers were coming from the southern road. Kalafar was about to mount Blackwind, his steed, and ride to search for them; when they entered the gates. Lord Poltron Mayflower was looking well, in spite of his early white hair. His wife, Julia, still had that warm face about her – the face he remembered as a boy. Their daughters… well, those sisters looked very much different from what he recalled. The youngest, Penelope, had changed very much… For one thing, she had grown big breasts, while her older sister appeared changed also, but not in that particular area of the body.

  He rushed to meet them – to give the lady in the red-orange dress his hand to dismount; but by the time Kalafar squeezed himself through all the crowds, one of Mayflower’s knights had beaten him to it. Before he could murmur a curse, a hand caught his shoulder, and the lord of Weiyenor turned to his left.

  “My liege! You’re looking very well, all handsome and fit.”

  It was the lord of Icerock, a good friend to his late father. Despite his age, the man had a plump face and very few wrinkles.

  “You are looking well also, lord Dagincourt.” His three sons approached to grasp forearms with their liege lord. “Philip. Ulbert. Jon.” Kalafar gave each of them a thin smile. “I see that all of you take after your father’s good looks.” That brought about several pleasant, but boring commentaries about which of them inherited more traits from one parent or the other. Fortunately, Arfaij had made his way towards them. His brother was the man of the event, so Kalafar managed to excuse himself with due haste.

  With several strides, he made his way toward his favorite guests. The sisters were holding each other by the arms. “Juni Mayflower,” Kalafar said with a smile, “and her little sister, Penelope. Welcome to the Northlands, to Weiyenor and its humble walls.”

  Penelope let out a soft giggle, and smiled a long smile. Juni, on the other hand, only managed a faint nod. Her lips didn’t move, and her eyes averted his gaze. That made him feel uneasy, though, he did not show it. Their father came out from behind them, his wife clinging to his arm.

  “Kalafar, my sweet boy,” lady Julia said to him. “My, my, how much the little ram has grown since last we saw him at our modest court in Redgarden.”

  “He’s a man grown,” said lord Poltron. “By the Three, you look so much like your father, Jorghel; may his soul be at rest.” The Mayflowers embraced him warmly. “You northlanders have a dreadful weather out here. But I reckon that’s what makes you all so strong and hard-headed. You must introduce us to your brother. I have a few secrets to share with him about women, before he speaks the wedding vows. Marriage is not easy. Gods know mine still isn’t.”

  The lord laughed, while his wife, the lady Julia, rolled her eyes. “He says that to everyone, Kalafar. Men make marriage hard because they don’t know how to listen, or can’t listen to what a woman says.”

  Kalafar nodded and forced himself into a short chuckle. “I wouldn’t know much about that, ma’am. But I reckon I’ll learn in good time.”

  “Alright, alright, woman,” his husband cut her off. “The good lord Sodomis isn’t interested in such things. He’s not the one getting married this day, after all, is he?”

  In that moment, the Nitzford children rushed between them.

  “Look at those little ones,” Kalafar said smiling, “running with such vigor; one might think those two ate a whole bag of sugar on the way here.”

  “Sugar’s for children,” grinned lord Poltron. “I, on the other hand, could sure use a hot drink. Where are the tables, my boy?”

  Kalafar pointed behind, to inside the keep’s main hall. It was for the first time that the Mayflowers visited the castle; so the ram instructed one of his servants to escort them and see to their needs. “May I borrow your lovely daughter, Juni, for a short while, my lord?” He asked elegantly.

  Lord Poltron took him by the arm, walked a few steps to one side and drew him closer. The man’s spirits had changed, and his tanned brow seemed to arch with grief. “I must tell you something, my boy,” he sighed. “Juni’s no longer the girl you knew as a child. A year ago, my servants found her lying on the ground, with her head hit badly. Don’t ask me how she managed that, but after she woke up…” Mayflower paused for a moment and shook his head.

  “She did not remember who we were, or who she was. The physicians call it amnesia. They say this illness manifests differently from person to person. She will regain her memories, some of them, all of them, or none of them. Only time will tell; at least, that’s what the physicians said. Be… patient with her.” Poltron Mayflower gave him a pad on the shoulder in reassurance. “Wife, Penelope, both of you take me by the arm. Let’s go inside. I’m not used to a sunny day’s cold.”

  Kalafar took Juni’s hand and kissed it gently. “I’ve,” he regarded her warily, “I’ve… missed you. I’ve missed you very much.” He felt a shiver run through him; and he let go of her hand before that shiver could reach his arm. He did not want to frighten her. “It’s Kalafar… you used to call me Kal. Do you remember?” Juni’s face was cold, without expression. Her eyes, while still beautiful, were not the ones he recalled as a boy. “Do you not remember me at all?” Kalafar tried again, in hopes of waking her memories. “We used to play when we were children. I was a fosterling of your lord father at Redgarden.”

  Juni frowned and lowered her gaze. “I beg your pardon, my lord; but I don’t remember much of my recent life, let alone my childhood.”

  Her response brought sorrow to his previous sanguine humours. Why!? Why!? Why the hell did this happen!? The ram was screaming inside his mind, and his nails dug deep into his palms. Why did this have to happen to her? Of all people, why her? She did not remember the sand castles they built together. Hide an
d seek. The chasing games. Their time spent in the swing – where they would take turns pushing each other… How could she not remember his shaggy hair, the laughs, the stories they shared, the whispers, their kiss? To her now, Kalafar was a complete and utter stranger.

  “Please,” she said warily, “please excuse me, my lord. I’m feeling quite cold. I wish to go inside to join my family.”

  He wanted to escort her to the keep, but hesitated. He couldn’t bear to look at her, to think that the Juni he knew was no longer… Kalafar only nodded in approval, and she left him. It’s as if she died; as if she died. A headache began to throb at the back of his eyes. I’m going to drink. I’m going to drink, and drink, until I’m passed out; and this cruel day will have reached its end. Seeing all these people about his castle, now, made him sick. They were too many, and soon they would be too loud and too cheerful for his sad spirits. He hoped that his brother, at least, would have a better time than him.

  The bagpipes players appeared about the courtyard. They were allowed to play only outside, for the music they made was quite loud and hard on the ears between walls and roof. The players awaited his command to start.

  To hell with it. “It’s my brothers wedding!” Kalafar shouted to them. “The ram’s getting married! Let us hear some music!”

  And so they obeyed, and started to play Northlander’s Heart. It was a great song for dancing, good will and laughter. Low as he felt, Kalafar couldn’t resist the rhythm’s allure… not completely. His legs moved with the music, so did his hands. Then he found the Nitzford children dancing about him; jumping from one leg to the other, waving their arms and smiling at him, laughing true and innocent laughs of children’s joy.

  Kalafar remembered such moments from years ago. He could see Juni’s smiles as clear as daylight – pink lips stretched long to the cheeks, eyes shut thin in laughter, and those swift cat-like feet of hers. His memories were so vivid… Get a hold of yourself, man. You are a Sodomis. You are the ram of Weiyenor, liege lord of the Winterlands. You must be stern as rock, cold in judgement, and tempered against emotion and whim. You have more important things to think of… like seeing to the good relations with your vassals. The dowry, and the future prospects of your rule.