by Jane Merkley
The War Queen
Jane Merkley
Copyright 2014 by Jane Merkley
Smashwords Edition
Cover by Idella Cutler
A Pail of
White Paint
Thundering hooves clattered suddenly against the cobblestone from down the road. The small servant girl looked up to see the gray mare splashed with black patches roaring up the road like an approaching storm. Her Lady was hunched across the animal’s neck as if in great haste, her dark cloak swirling behind her like a trailing tempest.
The girl picked up her skirts and ran across the wide green lawn. “Kelen!” she shouted. When the boy’s mess of blond hair did not surface out of the stable, she shouted with more earnest.
“What?” A boy three years older than her emerged from the stable doors. Straw was sticking to his hair and irritated pockmarks on his right cheek betrayed his sleeping.
“The Lady is coming and it doesn’t look good.”
The boy gulped and ran with the girl back to the front of the manor house. The girl grabbed her broom she had been sweeping the porch with and stepped inside the house to put it out of sight.
“The Lady is back!” she shouted down the hallway. “I sense her outing did not go well!”
Rampant scuffling issued from the nearby hallways and rooms as servants relocated and guardsmen hoped they could be passed without notice.
The rider yanked back on the reins, causing the horse to skid to an abrupt halt. The horse snorted, her sides billowing anxiously as she sucked in more air. The Lady dismounted, throwing Kelen the reins who quickly led the horse away. The servant girl opened the door and curtsied, her eyes down. “Lady Altarn.”
The woman swooshed by her without a glance or word, her woolen cloak catching the girl at the ankles like an uncoiling snake.
The wooden floor creaked with every stomp of her boot, becoming the only sound in the house, unusual because mornings were the busiest times. But she didn’t dwell on the oddity too long. She was grateful for the moment that she was void of company.
The armorer was already waiting at the counter, a pair of wing shaped blades at his elbow and a dull look in his eye as if to create a wall against the bad mood that had followed the Lady in.
“Would you like a player?” he started to ask, but she whisked the shorns off the counter and continued down the hallway without a word.
She threw the door into the training yard open, depositing her cloak on the ground. She made her way to the target constructed out of wooden logs to resemble a person – resemble a man. Next to the target was a small pail of white paint and a brush. She stared at it a moment. Do they know me that well? She didn’t know if she should be disturbed or grateful by the thought. In either case, she dipped the brush in the paint and threw it across the chest of the target to spell the name Jessom.
Gathering a shorn into each hand, she took a step toward the target and proceeded to slice into it with an angry wildness she would disapprove of in her troops. Every strike became harsher, her angry grunts louder. She targeted the chest over and over so the still wet name there became daggered smears of white paint.
“A shame our enemies don’t actually die that way.” The voice was spoken behind her, across the yard, so it was a wonder that she heard it at all in her numbness.
She stopped abruptly, dropping the winged blades at her feet which clanged in angry metallic protest.
“Jasper, does my whole house know of my business?” she asked without turning around.
The guard leaning against the back wall of the training court came forward and stood next to the molested target. He must have been doing target practice of his own because he was wearing a leather vest and matching pants. His brown hair was splattered against his sweat glistened forehead and his goatee was filling with dust. He indicated the target. “Can we get away from it?” He paused when she didn’t bother to defend herself. “What has this man done to you?” he asked, pointing at the white name.
“Man is the correct answer.” She snorted, turning her shoulder on him. “Something I should have realized three men ago.”
The guard wanted to say more, but Altarn moved briskly out of the sunny training yard and back into the manor house.
Altarn made it to her rooms without passing another soul. Inside, her court dress was laid out on the bed and a bath was already warming in the next room. She looked about for Kyree who was so astute at having such things ready for her. Especially now because Altarn had forgotten her court wanted to meet with her this morning.
Sure enough, Kyree emerged out of the bathing room, her red hair wrapped up in a bun.
On paper, Kyree was hired in the house as a servant. From there, it was easy for Altarn to hoodwink her into the position as her personal servant. In reality, Altarn had known Kyree for years since they had both tinkered in law college. Kyree was married at the time, and dropped out when she became pregnant. After Altarn secured the position as Lady of the State, Kyree voiced her financial concerns to her and wondered what a mother with a new baby could do to earn extra money for her house. On paper she was just a servant. In reality, she was Altarn’s anchor when the stormy seas of politics threw her unmercifully about.
Kyree’s expression asked more than her actual question did. “How did your morning go?”
Altarn put her hands on her hips as she looked at the dress on the bed. “I forgot I had court today.”
“Good thing you came back when you did, then.” Kyree went to the fire and pulled a ceramic bowl filled with several short cylinders out of the embers with thick hot pads.
“No, good thing I have you to remind me.” Altarn went into the bathing room and undressed. She tied her hair up to keep it out of the water and sunk into the tub a little too heavy so rose scented water splashed over the side.
Kyree came in and started to put towels in the cupboards. “I don’t know why I bother with men anymore, Kyree,” Altarn began. “I’m certain you nabbed the last good one.”
Kyree sighed gently. “No man is perfect. Neither are women.” Basically, she was saying that maybe it was Altarn’s misgivings that she couldn’t secure a good man, rather than the man’s. “Jessom washed out, then?” Or even maybe, YOU washed Jessom out?
Altarn pursed her lips, and had to force herself to hear what Kyree was actually saying, not what Altarn thought she was saying behind the words. It had already gotten her into trouble, looking for reasons to feed her contempt.
“He had the audacity to tell me he wanted things to get more serious, or he would find someone more willing than I to go that far.”
“He said it in exactly in that manner?”
Altarn had to be grateful for Kyree, even if she was direct in all types of Altarn’s bad moods. Altarn realized she could get carried away if there was no one around to rein her back in.
“He said, ‘We’ve known each other for quite a while now, and I’m eager to take it to the next level.’ And I reminded him again that I would wait till marriage. And then the bastard had the audacity to tell me, ‘you have to ride the horse before you buy it. Because if you buy it first, you may find out later that it limps.’”
“Good graces!” Kyree exclaimed. “Where do you find these men?”
Altarn sighed and pinched the top of her nose, as if a headache were generating there. “State parties. Just as bad as finding a man in a bar, I suppose. They show up hoping magic will happen, despite the fact that they have done it before and will do it again and know nothing has changed or will change. I think that is the definition of madness, actually.”
Kyree nickered at the comment. “So state parties are the definition of madness?” Kyree’s pleasant laugh put Altarn in a slightly better mood… at least for a moment.
Altarn dried and stood gloomily as Kyree assisted her into the cumbersome court gown. Altarn didn’t know why her tailor had recommended that she wear this atrocious mountain, but Altarn was reassured that it would make her look the part and so it was necessary. But that still did not stop Altarn from complaining about the hips being too bulbous and the excessive layers of lace representing fragility not suited for a woman who was also in charge of Blindvar’s army.
And the colors were a mix of white and cream. Altarn felt like she was the bride entering a church every time she opened the doors into her court. A corpse bride, because of the way her black hair hovered over pale skin.
She had to find a new tailor after she made that comment. Altarn couldn’t say she regretted it. But even so, since the dress was already made, she didn’t want to waste the money and fabric in favor of something new, so she wore it and grumbled as little as possible.
She sat at the vanity and Kyree placed thick oven mitts over her hands to pull the still hot cylinders out of the ceramic bowl. She then went to work curling Altarn’s black hair around them.
Altarn was doing well keeping her cool about the court meeting she had been summoned to, but her gut was clenching enough to make her want to vomit. There was no doubt that it was going to be the same as the last meeting; her court officials were vehemently against Altarn’s call for war against the State of Ruidenthall.
Too soon, Kyree finished curling and pinning Altarn’s black hair about her head. Altarn stood and, receiving guidance and caution from her friend, began the downhill journey to the courtroom.
She entered and found all seven members already seated, one member for each of the major cities in Blindvar. There were actually six major cities, but there could not be an even number in the courtroom. The seventh was a random member who qualified to be a court official.
She composed herself and walked to the head of the table, sitting in her large chair which felt awkwardly like a throne, reminding her of the last king the Blindvarn citizens had dethroned over three hundred years ago. She couldn’t tell if the dress was too poofy or the chair was too small. Either way, she subtly tried to gather the extra folds of lace and silk into her lap so she could sit down instead of looking like she was hovering above the chair.
Her seven members were all very quiet as they waited for her to speak. Perseth pushed his glasses higher up his sweaty nose. Leodin coughed into his sleeve. She had one female in the assembly and her eyes were cast on the table as if she had been already swayed by the other member’s opinions.
Females were not discouraged from positions of politics, but it was something fairly new. It had been a traditional male position to hold both the state’s title and to member the court, but Altarn had been in just the right mood eleven years ago to break it. She had been the state’s first female head, and had occupied one year already out of the three year session. She was a little miffed at the fact that she had won the election by default. There had been two males competing with her. The background check on the one revealed that he had been arrested once. Twice. Five – seven times? The second male was leading the election by a large margin, until it was discovered that he wasn’t even a Blindvarn. He was born in Luthsinia and tried to hide it with a certificate of live birth created in Blindvar. It was discovered when officials dove into his name and realized that it wasn’t even a Blindvarn name. Altarn never heard or saw the man again. Blindvarn’s don’t tolerate liars.
“The court will reflect the presence of all seven representatives from their respective cities,” Altarn began. “On seven Midar, year 324 After the Rein of Kings.” She paused to let the court scribe catch up. “So being, I am unaware as to the nature of the request for court so I will let another member proceed from here.”
Perseth stood from his chair and straightened his buttoned vest over his round belly. “Baron Perseth of the City of Fellsbarren requested this session in concerns with the present dealings with the State of Ruidenthall.” His voice was nasally. It always made Altarn want to hand him a tissue.
She drummed her fingers on the dark wood tabletop. She had suspected as much.
“May I speak freely, Lady?”
“Proceed.”
He paused briefly, either to allow the scribe to catch up or to fortify what he was about to say, Altarn could not decide. “We all think it is impulsive of you to threaten Ruidenthall with war.” Perseth cast eyes that were too round and too close to his nose around to the other members of the room, who all nodded. “They have been our friends and allies since the war to dethrone our kings. If Luthsinia didn’t cut straight between our two states, we might even be one. A lot of us have family that have either come from Ruidenthall or who are living there now.”
“Is it so easily forgotten that the Lord of Ruidenthall was trying to steal Blindvar from us?”
To this, the members at the table made small moaning noises.
“Please reflect on my use of the word ‘impulsive’.” Perseth was being very bold and Altarn knew it, but she kept her calm and listened carefully. “Court scribe, will you please read us the letter from the Lord of Ruidenthall concerning the matter our Lady has just mentioned?”
The scribe pulled a book off the shelf at his desk and thumbed through it.
“Seventeenth of Kaidar,” the scribe read. “Year 324 After the Reign of Kings. Addressed to Lady Altarn from Lord Byrone. It reads: Greetings Lady of Blindvar. It is so fortunate that our two states are such great friends. It has come to my recent attention that a number of Ruidenthall citizens have taken a fancy to your small town of Heathe. So much so, that there are more Ruids than Blindvarns exclamation mark I’ll have to come visit to see what all the attraction is. After all, who would sacrifice great Ruid food to live in a small Blindvar town where the closest city is thirty miles out?
Of course having this offset of Blindvarns to Ruids must make it a tad more difficult for the yearly census for you. So I propose, just as a speculative thought, that Heathe be merged into the State of Ruidenthall. Of course, it is just an idea and something like this has never been done before between our two states. Just thought I’d mention it. Please reply with your thoughts. If it is disagreeable, I’ll digress. Signed, Lord Byrone of Ruidenthall.”
The members at the table watched Altarn like ghosts waiting for the moment they could pounce on the living and suck out their soul. They had all heard the letter before. Altarn was required to submit every missive sent and received to and from a government official to the court’s scribe. She was just procrastinating submitting the last several letters from Lord Byrone that were written in a scathingly personal matter to which she didn’t feel should be shared with the court at this time.
“To which our Lady replied that Lord Byrone was eliciting war between the two states, calling him a…” Perseth looked at the scribe. “Would you open Lady Altarn’s reply to that letter?”
The scribe did so, and Perseth relocated to his desk, bending over the book, his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. “… Calling him a ‘land thief in the most honest of ways’.”
“Baron Perseth, you’ll do better not to sound as if you are convicting me of crimes.”
“My apologies, Lady.” Perseth found his seat again, situating his glasses again properly. “But those are direct quotes from both letters.”
“My question to you gentlemen… and lady.” Altarn threw a glance at the female present to which she shrugged. Suppose there was no easy way to integrate females into political positions and still make them feel equal. “Is… why was Byrone watching Blindvarn census to know that Ruids over populated Heathe?”
“It is a small town,” spoke the female in the back. “Big enough to have a small church, at least. But they all have to grow their own food since the next town is too far away to trade or barter. In towns like that, everyone knows everyone and it would be easy to tell who was Blindvarn and Ruid. It’s as simple as writing or visiting Ruidenthall and letting them know that.
”
“Heathe is in the middle of Blindvar.” Altarn would hold her ground. She had thought long about this, had even known about the odd number of Ruids in Heathe. It had been like that for several years, even before she came into office. Why then, was this proposition to merge Heathe into Ruidenthall brought to the first female to ever hold the State’s Head? She had been in office only for a year; long enough to know Ruidenthall on a friendly level, enough so the Lord there would feel comfortable for asking for such a thing. Lord Byrone wasn’t new to his office as she was to hers. He’d been Lord for seven years already. Why didn’t he ask the Lord before her for Heathe? Because females were still viewed as weak and flippant so it would be easier to take Heathe and then over time take more land.
“And that matters how?” someone asked, Altarn didn’t know who, didn’t care. They were different limbs on the same monster.
Altarn took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had left the terrible incident from this morning at the door before she came into the courtroom, but the more unpleasant this session was becoming, the harder it was keeping the thought of Jessom there. “Heathe is in the middle of Blindvar. It is a tactically located town and at times it was thought to relocate the State House there for equal control on the land about. To give that to another state would give them an advantage if they were seeking to eventually take all of Blindvar. It would be so easy to gradually push the borders on Heathe and filter more Ruids in so soon there would be a huge hole in the center of our formation. We would be too spread to do anything about it, too easy to cut us off. Had it been a similarly small town on the border, not in the middle of Blindvar, I would have spent longer considering it.”
“Lord Byrone is not taking Blindvar from us!” This comment earned the speaker some gentle chuckles. “We’ve been friends and allies with them for three hundred twenty four years!”
“Just enough time to get hungry for more space and resources,” Altarn said quietly, but it was heard by those at the front of the table. “And why are there so many Ruids in Heathe?”