Tall buildings of the same white stone reached into the air in the form of towers and keeps of sweeping arches and silver capped domes. There were dozens of them, all different, all so clearly intricate and ornate, discernible even from as far away as they now stood. Rising above all of this stood a massive castle. Nothing before had ever made Highkeep seem so dismal. Where the keep was square and squat, this castle was round and comprised of multiple, slender towers that rose into the sky at varying levels. Where the former was dull and grey and covered with lichen, the latter was brilliant and pure, and free of blemish.
Perhaps more amazing than the rest, beyond all of it was the sparkling sea – massive and unending, stretching on and on until it met the horizon. It was the deepest of blues, except where the white of frothy waves could be seen beating against the shore and it dwarfed even the tall structures before him.
It was with a bit of fear, a sense of trepidation, that Nikolis led his horse after the party as they began to head down the road, toward this unimaginable city of splendor. Timmer Garth and his daughter were left behind with some servants and outriders, as well as some of the carts and supplies. The distasteful look the man had on his face as he viewed the city was enough to tell Nikolis that the arrangement was perfectly fine with him. Unlike most children, Tyna herself looked skeptical when she surveyed the land below. Their task was to serve as an outpost, and they seemed none too displeased with the notion.
As the party grew closer to the city, the towers and keeps grew larger and larger. Never before had Nikolis seen so many enormous buildings so tightly clustered together. When finally they approached the level of the city, he could only stare upward at the towers and keeps that seemed never ending, as they reached toward the clouds, dwarfing him dozens of times over. If ever before he had felt himself tall, those days were surely at an end.
The massive entrance cut into the city wall was comprised of an open gate of light ashwood, at which two dozen guardsmen stood abreast, barring entry. They wore the blue and white tabard of House Casserly, the sinuous serpent sewn upon their chests, under which was a thick hauberk of fine chainmail. A conical steel helm sat atop their heads, and in their hands were fine steel spears.
When the entourage approached, King Alginor sitting tall at the fore astride his magnificent mount, the guardsmen raised their spears off of the ground and then brought them down in a uniform salute. A large man, most likely the highest-ranking officer amongst them, stepped forward and bowed. After that he moved off to the side, at which point the amassed men parted down the center, each moving left or right, one after the other. When the path was clear ahead the party then proceeded through the gate.
All manner of citizenry populated the city. There were men and women in fine robes of blue and scarlet, children in white linen, running about the streets in light sandals, and pleasnt merchants offering their wares. There was a sea of people crowding the streets, although unlike Highkeep, they seemed pleasant, cordial. They didn’t push or shove at one another, forcing their way by, instead seeming to find their way in a natural rhythm of compromise.
The buildings were decorated with myriad ornamentation. Carvings and statuary adorned every wall, every corner. Fountains could be seen here and there, bubbling forth crystal clear water, and decorated with an assortment of aquatic life. They passed shops and stores, encountered hawkers selling sweet cakes, saw not just a smith or two at the bellows, but dozens, and as many tanners at their tasks.
Everywhere there were guards in blue and white, just as with those at the gate, and though they were kept at a distance, more and more men and women, young and old, went this way or that. Most were well dressed, and washed and well fed, by appearances. They looked pleasant, as they walked about the streets, which were all paved with those same white stones, not a dirt road to be seen in the city.
Amongst all of this splendor the one odd thing Nikolis did notice is that here and there it was clear much ornamentation had been moved, although at what point it was hard to tell. At first, he thought it vandalism, but then noticed the uniformity of it all. Most of the fountains were clearly missing whatever figure or statuary had once crowned their magnificent peaks. Certain carvings had been pried loose from ornate doors or high wall borders, while others looked as though they had been simply scratched at until rendered indiscernible.
When they came to the city center, they halted. It was impossible for Nikolis to see what was going on, for like many, he had dismounted when the streets had grown narrow. Though he heard a sudden stirring, and whispers ran through the crowd like wildfire, it was a mystery as to what was happening. He stood waiting, trying to peer over the heads of the men in front of him with little success. He was pondering whether or not to mount his horse and try to get a better view, when he heard a voice cry out, “Nikolis Ledervane!” It was that of Darus Lewin, and it shook him to the core.
Without thinking, he handed his reins to a stranger by his side, and started to make his way through the crowd, which parted for him as he went. He fought down the ice-cold feeling that was trying to worm its way through his body. When he got to the center of the gathering, he saw Darus Lewin, Jerald Camber, and Rowen Dunn standing in the town square, King Alginor Ryland between them.
Alginor appeared stern as always, and Jerald and Lewin glared at him. Rowen still looked concerned, and perhaps a little afraid, a feeling that Nikolis could easily relate to. As he approached the men, he noticed that they stood in a plaza with a monument of sorts. There was a tall beam, carved from dark grey stone, out from which jutted another. From this hung an actual rope, tied into the form of a noose. There was only a simple iron plaque set into the ground, but the words told Nikolis all that he needed to know. It read, “Matthis Casserly.” This was the place were Lord Robert Casserly’s brother was hung for treason to the crown, the monument was a representation of a gallows, while the rope, old, worn and withered, could only be the very one from which the traitor had swung.
Nikolis gulped and took a step forward. As much as he’d asked himself this question far too many times, in this case more than ever before, he could not imagine what he had done wrong. Though finally, he was resigned to his fate. In that moment he decided that he had acted as best as he could, had done what he had thought was right. There was no more that he could do. He would have to take what was coming to him.
The king put out a hand, and then Darus produced something from behind his back, and placed it into the monarch’s waiting palm. It was cloth in appearance, grey in color.
The king unfurled the garment and held it aloft before Nikolis. It was his coat – it had to be. There was only one difference, one alteration, from its original form. Where the solitary triangular shield has formerly been sewn, now there was an addition. Over it, crossing diagonally downward, was stitched the likeness of a sword. The symbolism of what that meant rocked Nikolis on his heels. He didn’t know what to do, what to say.
“To take this position,” Alginor belted out, for all assembled to hear, “is to become the King’s Arm, the King’s Defender. It is not a position to be accepted lightly, for the one who takes on this role owes his life to his liege and no longer to any other, including himself.” The king held out the coat, raised it into the air.
Nikolis hesitated only a moment, before stepping forward and unsheathing his sword. Lewin and Camber jumped back at first, going for the hilts of their own blades, but they stopped as they watched Nikolis drop his blade to the ground, where it clattered against the stones. One arm after the other, Nikolis let the king put the coat on him, and then he bent down and retrieved his weapon. Blade down, he knelt. “It is not something to be entered into rashly,” the king whispered,” as he touched Nikolis’ head.
Nikolis thought about what was being offered to him. Sacrifice yes, and a position that could mean death and dishonor, both in failure and success. Yet, a chance to redeem his father’s name, a chance to prove the man worthy of Karlene. This was the position that his fath
er had held before leaving Highkeep. He had been the last to have the sword sewn across the shield at his breast. Now Nikolis was being offered to take it up again.
When the king’s hand was gone, Nikolis stood without hesitation. King Alginor brushed off the coat and straightened it out. “It is not perhaps the finest needlework,” he muttered. “But a suitable embroiderer could not be found. We had to make do with what we had.” It was then that he saw Nob over the king’s shoulder, smiling. “The thread was likewise difficult to come by on the road,” he went on, “but sacrifices were made.” Nikolis looked to Rowen Dunn and saw that there was now a bare spot in the stitched border at the bottom of his coat.
“Let us hope,” the king went on, “that all of these efforts have been worth the while.”
Nikolis gulped again and nodded.
“Turn now,” said the king. “Face the crowd, as Nikolis Ledervane, the King’s Sword.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lord Robert Casserly was every bit as intimidating as Nikolis remembered. Though he seemed a bit older, and not as tall as when Nikolis looked up at him from a boy’s height, he was just as imposing. His beard and long dark hair were neatly trimmed, with only small hints of grey here and there, and his skin was fair and free of blemish. His jaw was set perpetually stern and little overt emotion crossed his features. Throughout the proceedings his fine tunic of blue, the white serpent sewn at the breast, remained straight and orderly, free of crease or wrinkle. When he did reach for a goblet of wine to quench his thirst, he took the cup carefully, purposefully, brought it to his mouth, took a small, artful sip, and then returned it to the table. The action was mechanical, without grandeur or flourish – purposeful, careful, precise.
In contrast, King Alginor Ryland looked almost slovenly, if one didn’t take his age into consideration. When he reached for his wine he did so with shaky hands. Getting the goblet to his mouth was an effort, and after he had gulped down its contents his beard was left with a red stain slowly dripping down his whiskers. Once a servant dared to try and help steady his grasp, but the king pushed him away angrily, spilling the contents of the cup all over the sleeve of his fine, red robe. Despite this, the next time the aged king was having trouble with his drink, Nikolis could not help but lean forward and lend assistance. The king stared at him for a moment when he did this, seemingly unsure. But then he glanced toward what was sewn on Nikolis’ breast, and he accepted the aid.
The meetings between the King of the Realm and the Regent of the South were long and uneventful and went on for days. Matters of governance were discussed. The shipment and payment of goods were negotiated, both on behalf of Highkeep, the city of Seaport, the personal interests of Houses Ryland and Casserly, and those of lesser nobility and the merchant class. All manner of goods apparently came into the docks that lay right outside the castle walls, making Seaport just that, a thriving port city. From northern Lordsport to lands and places Nikolis had never heard of, ships came and went.
Standing in one relative position for so long – his legs and back straight, his hands clasped behind him – grew more cumbersome and tiring than he would have thought, after hours on end came and went. Drinking in the conversation was all that he had to occupy his mind, while all the while scanning the room, looking at those in attendance, noting weapons, placement of hands, and following any movement, or sudden action.
Dishes came and went, bearing all manner of food he had never seen before; roasted fish of all shapes and sizes, spiny creatures bright in color, were cracked, and pale meat extracted, a green mashed concoction explained as comprised of seaweed came, and although the southerners devoured it, few from Highkeep touched it. They were all brought and taken away, dish after dish, sometimes having hardly been touched. When the day grew late, and Nikolis’ stomach was rumbling, it was all that he could do to stop from salivating. The only reprieve from hunger, and the hot chamber, was the cool sea air that filtered in from the open windows. The sea beyond was so startlingly blue and the generously cut windows gave him a grand view. They also provided enough light that the stone walled room was bright and comfortable.
King Alginor sat at the head of the table, his party arrayed down to his left. Nikolis recognized few of these men, and even those he did know he could only recall the surnames of, perhaps, or a bit about their interests and holdings. The usual royal party was not in attendance. Master Filson had stayed at Highkeep, an odd choice, and there was no Arthur Drennen or Trin Remton. Though some would no doubt would be of little use here, it was still strange not to see any of the usual, trusted men by the king’s side. The king’s distant cousin, Corwin Camber, was there, but Nikolis had never liked him.
Beside Nikolis the other King’s Shield guards took their turn standing on the other arm of the king. First Rowen Dunn, then Darus Lewin, and Jerald Camber. Whoever was not inside the room guarded the entrance from without. Only Nikolis was perpetually by Alginor’s side. A change that, though not commented on, he could only imagine bothered Lewin and Camber, at the least.
At the opposite end of the table, sat Lord Casserly, his own noblemen and officials seated across from the king’s. There was a tall fellow, lanky, with white hair that stood up stiffly on his head and who wore a well-trimmed beard. Linus Sewell was his name, and his crest was a brown ship on a field of yellow. Alan Allard sat next to him, a man of middle years, who had a gull sewn upon his chest, flying over a field of light blue. The last of note was Roye Erris, whose crest was a blue trout on a field of red and was rumored to be a distant relative to House Merlish. This was a tale that it was said he adamantly denied, professing undying loyalty to King Alginor.
As the meetings wore on, agreements were haggled over, and contracts disputed. Who would bear the burden of the costs and safety of shipments, what prices would be paid, and where tariff revenue would be allocated, were all topics of discussion. More than once King Alginor got angry, rose, perhaps too quickly on shaky legs, and banged a fist into the table. A forceful speech would then follow, though breath was soon expended, and the king would all too quickly have to sit down again and reach for his wine.
The display no longer provided as much force as it once had, most likely, and all the while Robert Casserly remained calm and collected. He never lost his temper. Nikolis wondered then, why those cool, dark eyes made him so fearful. The king would always calm down after Lord Casserly made his assurances that the he would have what he demanded, and then the discussions would continue.
When the day’s agenda was over, everyone would retire to their quarters. The King had been provided a magnificent suite overlooking the western shore and the sea beyond. Nikolis would help the King to his rooms, and even to change his robe and boots if necessary. Lewin and Camber always seemed off doing something else at these times, while Rowen Dunn guarded the chamber door. One or another of the King’s Shield would always offer to take his post so that he may take leave of the castle. Thus far he had always refused.
There were often feasts in the evenings, held in a long spacious hall of light stone. Beautiful oak tables, finished with a thick varnish, filled the room. Platter after platter of the finest silver was laid out with all manner of foods. Fish were again common, and more strange sea creatures, brightly colored and arrayed with odd appendages that jutted from here and there about them. Wine was poured and spirits were high. Laughter filled the room, and roaring fires in massive hearths along the walls kept the cold out in the evening.
Hounds ran here and there looking for scraps or the occasional handout, and all manner of nobles and officials laughed and ate and drank. The king sat at the head table, Robert Casserly at his side. The monarch more often seemed confused than anything else, as Nikolis watched him from a short distance away. As he leaned against a wall and took things in, he realized Alginor ate and drank, but methodically, with a glazed-over look in his eyes.
Jonathan Casserly sat by his father’s side, joking and laughing all the while. His father took no interest
in such jests, but Jon found plenty to share in his mirth. Even here he stopped servants to tell them one of his tales and was still free with his hands, when his target was a young lady.
One night, a fellow dressed in black tunic and trousers joined Jonathan. Nikolis might have mistaken him for a servant if the clothing hadn’t been of such a fine cut. The shadow of a dark beard marred his youthful countenance, and while Jonathan laughed and told jests, he only let a slight smile cross his features every now and then.
Nikolis questioned a guard or two, who recognized the emblem on his coat and gave no resistance. A young man straining beneath the weight of chainmail and spear told him that the dark-clad figure was named Martin, and that he was Roye Erris’ bastard. Martin Erris had been legitimized when Lord Erris’ wife had passed through her fertile years unable to bear him a son. “Dark Martin they call him,” said the young guard. “He’s a mouth on him, when the right people aren’t about.”
Nikolis thanked the guard, and went about studying the room, watching for any sign of activity that might pose a threat to the king. For the most part King Alginor sat in peace at his place of honor, seeming little aware of what went on around him. It was not until later in the evening that Lord Casserly seemed to engage him in direct conversation.
As Nikolis watched the two begin to talk, a small group of musicians took up their instruments at the front of the hall and began to play a tune. There was a man on the harp, and another on the pipes. The third took up a lute and started plucking at the strings. Nikolis soon recognized the opening notes to a ballad entitled, Lyam of Redstone.
As the king and Lord Casserly started talking more quickly, anger apparent on both of their faces, the lute player started to sing.
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