Shiver the Moon

by Phillip M Locey

  Chapter 25

  Decisions of the Heart

  R ogan was thankful for the Aasimars’ return, not only to catch up with his friend, Palomar, but because doing so afforded him an excuse to put distance between himself and Dhania. He knew Saffron noticed her sister snuggling up beside him the last couple nights on the road. For warmth, Dhania had said, but the nights were not overly cold.

  As per Sir Golddrake’s strategy for support, the Order did not head straight to the capital city, but created a visitation circuit including a number of smaller towns and outposts in the province of Dawn’s Edge. Rogan paid only marginal attention while meeting minor nobility of the region. He had no reason to believe such relationships would be lasting, as this was not his home.

  The Order split to cover more ground, and as part of Sir Golddrake’s unit, Rogan at least got to sleep in the houses of wealthy men. He also got to watch Saffron min Furasi ply her significant charms, only to later skillfully deflect the dozen or so would-be suitors vying for her attention. He wondered if tempting such men was Sir Golddrake’s intention for keeping her close.

  Whatever his plan, it seemed to Rogan to be working. Rogan witnessed Sir Golddrake secure impressive contributions of funding, supplies, and recruits eager to make a name for themselves. Had his life not been altered by the Blood Tear Brotherhood years ago, Rogan no doubt would have engaged in similar pandering, for one reason or another.

  Three days after the Aasimar had rejoined them, Rogan was watching Sir Golddrake give a riding demonstration to a potential patron, when a courier arrived at the estate. The letter was not for the estate’s owner, but rather the Master of the Order of the Rising Moon. When Rogan approached out of curiosity, Sir Golddrake showed him the invitation to dine with Prince Falcionus in two days.

  “Just what we have been waiting for!” Sir Golddrake grinned as he patted Rogan on the chest and finished his demonstration.

  Rogan handed the letter to Saffron. “Were you not on your way to play for the Prince when your caravan was attacked? I suppose you have come full-circle.”

  “That is one perspective.” Saffron scanned the page, but Rogan was unsure she would be able to read much of it. “The circumstances are much different now, of course.”

  Rogan caught the sadness in her remark and felt shame dragging down the inside of his chest. After what she had been through this year, how could he resent the attention other men were giving her? She had done nothing wrong. He dared to put his arm around her shoulder and kiss the hair on the side of her head. “What say we corral Sir Golddrake and prepare ourselves for the palace?”

  Saffron nudged him and shimmied from under his arm, but the smile had returned to her voice. “I think Amurel is enjoying himself far too much.”

  Looking into the yard, Rogan saw the Master of the Order executing a jump over a fallen log. “Yes,” he echoed. “I think these past few days have been all he could ask for.”

  It took another day for all the Order’s soldiers and Aasimar to be rounded up, but at last Rogan was on the final approach to the Shining City of Selamus. He had heard occasional tales of its immensity back in his homeland, but figured them the exaggerated stories of those with a need to impress.

  Within sight of the capital, however, he marveled at the truth of those boasts. The city ascended from the crests of several broad hills of varying heights, the outer slopes of which were cultivated for green vineyards and clinging orchards. Walls and towers of white stone gave the impression of a spiral, working its way toward the centermost, zenithal hilltop where the palace stood. The protected inner slopes of the Eight Hills bore wide terraces filled with grand houses, which he imagined trickled into the valleys.

  When they reached earshot of the front gate, Rogan heard murmurs like waves descending from the onlookers assembled atop the fortified walls. His curiosity got the better of him as occasional gasps and shrieks punctuated the droning hum; surely a small retinue of soldiers on horseback would not elicit such gawking.

  He peered over his shoulder to see what was garnering so much attention – of course, the Aasimar. His awe diminished with familiarity, almost forgetting they looked spectacularly unlike normal men. He decided he should probably get used to the reaction.

  The Order rode in first; he and Dhania brought up the rear of the column. The Aasimar followed on foot, their broad strides covering significant ground with each step. The Dawn Way continued northward, with the capital set just off to the west. A wide branch of the road carried them into and through the city, winding around the smaller hills until it climbed straight to the doors of the palace.

  Selamus was throbbing. Every avenue and open space seemed filled with activity, whether women cleaning rugs, men carving stone or crafting ironwork, or even children harvesting the bounty of the vineyards. Instead of an opulent wasteland of excess, it appeared a diligent landscape of production, and the people seemed to be enjoying it, which struck Rogan. He wondered if the greatness of the city had been built on the backs of such workers, or if they only inherited the fruits of slavery, like Lucnere.

  Throughout Chelpa, at least since Ebon Khorel came to power, not many seemed to relish the work of the day. Rogan innately understood this was a place worth protecting. Even to an outsider, watching it burn would be a shame.

  The architecture was magnificent, too. From common houses to merchants’ shops to grand mansions on the road to the palace, the city held a continuity of style. Arches, spirals, and curves abounded, as if the buildings mimicked the slopes of the hills they were built upon.

  Their pace slowed and the horses struggled as they finally began climbing the centermost promontory. Rogan assumed they were heading for the palace, but a sudden detour took them down an abutting path. The beasts were clearly relieved for the change to level ground, and he did not have to wait long to find the cause of the turn.

  Calls of greeting carried back from the front of the column, and word spread quickly among the men until it reached Rogan in the rear – Lieutenant Orestes had come to greet them. As discussion commenced at the fore of the formation, Rogan took the opportunity to rise up in the saddle and stretch his legs.

  He looked back over the edge of the slope, marveling at the view. He had not realized how far they ascended. From this vantage, the layout of the city carried an artistic sort of order only a genius could plan. Buildings fell into rows of alternating grey and brown, with swaths of green swirled in a display at once chaotic, yet not without its own rhythm. The blue sky reigned over all, and Rogan was just picking out birds against billows of white when Sir Kilborn disturbed his reverie.

  “The Master has requested you accompany him to the palace.”

  “Of course.” Rogan’s response comingled with a wistful sigh as he turned away from his indulgent view.

  Sir Kilborn nodded and led his horse back to the front. Rogan followed, cutting around the paths of companions as the majority followed the Lieutenant to a less prominent destination. Once they cleared some distance, he saw those who comprised the chosen contingent were the same he expected: Sirs Golddrake, Kilborn, and Luminere, Saffron, himself, and two of the Aasimar – Palomar and Illicurus.

  Because of its position on the hill, the palace stayed hidden for most of their climb, until the final bend of the road. Rogan was no stranger to royal seats, having visited the palaces in Lucnere and Crioc, but this one stood alone. It wasn’t clearly more opulent than those other residences of power – just strikingly unique.

  Unlike the King-priest’s abode, the palace at Selamus was no fortress, and held no air of intimidation. Instead, it seemed designed as an invitation to appreciate and experience the greatness of what could be accomplished by human hands. Pedestals flanking the steps to the entrance displayed a gold sun and silver moon, as if decreeing the site an equal to those celestial bodies.

  Rose-colored glass was prominently inlaid among the white, stone façade, creating a warm dance of reflected sunlight. This aura made Rogan feel as
though he was about to step into the halls of a dream. The outer walls were not completely vertical, but slanted inward for several stories until they met with expertly carved, polished wood, which flared outward again.

  Like the curved horns of a ram or the winding tendrils of a grapevine, these spirals added to the impression that this was more than a building, perhaps a living entity all its own. Three towers of gradual ascendancy jutted toward the sky. They each bore a tall steeple, upon which flags seized the wind, displaying different emblems unfamiliar to Rogan. As much as he admired the view, he realized the rest of his companions had already started up the steps of the palace, so he hurriedly dismounted and rushed to join them.

  Attendants took their horses and guards flanked the ornate doors, though those opened from the inside upon their approach. Rogan noted Sir Golddrake utilized a gold-headed cane he had never seen before. Perhaps Orestes passed it along earlier when they met, he thought. A seneschal appeared clasping a sleek, wooden rod that bore what Rogan assumed was the royal standard, and greeted the Master of the Order with a slight bow.

  Sir Golddrake hunched his shoulders forward in return, and quiet words were exchanged before they were led into a wide foyer. The sound of falling water tickled Rogan’s ears as they passed a pair of flanking pools, fed by streams pouring forth from the walls above them. Lily pads bearing white flowers floated in the reservoirs, and he heard Saffron gasp as a hand played up to her lips. She looked back and smiled, the wonder in her expression warming him. Then Jaiden spoke, and it quickly chilled.

  “I stared up at the palace on the hill all my life, but never thought I would see it from the inside.”

  Saffron turned to him, “Is it not breathtaking?”

  Rogan noticed Palomar staring up at the ceiling. “How does this compare to your home on Mount Celestia?”

  “It is breathtaking, as the Lady Saffron suggests. I think it compares favorably to some of the temples in my native realm.”

  Illicurus snickered suddenly and his lip curled upward as he gave his fellow Aasimar a look, but he articulated no thoughts to Rogan.

  The seneschal took them through more open rooms with cathedral ceilings, all basked in early-afternoon rose and gold radiance, before stopping in front of a closed door. “Court has not yet come into session, but His Excellence wanted to greet you in person before your official announcement this evening.”

  The seven visitors were admitted into what looked to Rogan like a mixture between a library and sitting room. Three walls held shelving full of books, while the fourth was an array of tall windows providing ample illumination. A pair of sturdy tables and numerous comfortable chairs and lounges filled out the space.

  “His Excellence, Prince Falcionus of Dawn’s Edge greets Sir Amurel Golddrake of Dawn’s Edge,” the seneschal announced with vigor. The prince stood near a door, which was nearly concealed within one of the walls of literature, an open book in hand. He wore a white, floor-length coat, pale vestments underneath, with a gaudy blue gem centered in a thick chain of silver around his neck. Two guards in ceremonial, gold-filigreed armor, holding spears, stood at attention on either side of the door.

  “Yes, Umberto, that will quite do,” said Prince Falcionus as he took a step closer and shut the book.

  “Your Excellence,” Sir Golddrake straightened his posture before bowing, going deeper than he had in his exchange with the seneschal.

  “How are you, Amurel?” Prince Falcionus had a tidy, graying beard that came to a point beneath his chin, but there were few lines on his face, and Rogan guessed him to still be late in his prime, not more than ten years older than himself. As soon as he said the words, the prince’s grey eyes cast themselves upon the two, tall, angelic creatures behind Rogan.

  Ignoring his own question, Prince Falcionus muttered something unintelligible, before speaking clearly. “Gods be with us, I had heard the stories in recent days, but did not believe them until my own eyes have born witness.”

  “Uh,” Sir Golddrake attempted to maneuver along with the prince’s attention, “may I present two of the Aasmiar who have been fighting with us? To your right is Marshall Illicurus, and this is Palomar to your left. He has already sworn allegiance to the Rising Moon.”

  “Has he?” the prince mouthed absently. Palomar dipped his head in deference, though Illicurus made no such gesture.

  “You have much to be proud of, Prince Falcionus,” Illicurus’s voice filled Rogan’s head with its steady, disinterested tone. “This is as fine a human city as I have seen during my brief travels in your lands. But might I ask, why merely a Prince and not a King?”

  Umberto the Seneschal gasped and Sir Golddrake immediately opened his mouth to speak, but the prince raised his hand to halt him.

  “Marshall, was it?” Falcionus began by looking Illicurus in the eye, then paced about the room as he spoke. “To answer your question: the Cradle of the World has a history like a winding road. The Seven Provinces were long united under a single king, but that did not work out well for its people. In the end, it did not work out well for that final king, but since then each province has ruled itself. The Dukes each come from families with deep roots in their region, and their own prosperity is tied to it as a result. Selamus,” he gestured to the walls around them, “as the historic capital of the old kingdom, still holds a prominent place in the collective minds of the Cradle. As a sign of respect and a deference to our very real influence,” he turned back to stare straight at the Aasimar at this last phrase, “the head of my family has been allowed to carry on a royal title, though it is understood there shall be no king.”

  Illicurus’s answer was quick. “Unless one forces you all to submit, I imagine?”

  Prince Falcionus’s lips quivered briefly, before he forced them into a smile. “Ah, but that is exactly what our good Amurel is here to prevent, or I’ve misheard?” He turned back to Sir Golddrake, who nodded in response.

  “Your Excellence, that is indeed why I have returned to Selamus.”

  Falcionus raised his hand again, “And we shall address all those matters at Court, have no fear. For now, introduce me to the rest of your retainers.”

  Rogan saw the prince’s eyes trained directly on Saffron, and he extended his hand to her as he drew nearer. Looking unsure, she tentatively took it in a light grasp, and bent at the waist to kiss the back of his royal hand.

  “This is the Lady Saffron min Furasi from Begnasharan,” Sir Golddrake tried to keep up.

  “My, you are far from home, are you not?”

  “Yes, Your Excellence.” She kept her eyes lowered and released his hand.

  “I did not know such flowers bloomed in the western deserts.” The prince’s eyes lingered on Saffron, assessing her bare shoulders and continuing downward.

  Rogan could not remain silent and watch. “Lady Saffron is a talented musician, Your Excellence.”

  “Is she, indeed?” The prince responded without moving his eyes.

  “She is, and was actually on route to play at the invitation of your Court, some months ago.” Rogan was unsure she would want him to share this information, but he would have declared a third arm was growing out of his backside to interrupt the man’s hungry stare.

  Prince Falcionus turned to consider Rogan, raising his eyebrows in question as to who was addressing him. Rogan cleared his throat, spurring Sir Golddrake to make the introduction.

  “Yes, Your Excellence. This is Emmert Rogan, former Baron of Thispany.”

  “Another foreigner?” the prince uttered with slight distaste.

  “Baron Rogan is one of the few men known to have had a direct confrontation with the King-priest of Chelpa, and live to tell.” Sir Golddrake’s justification was unexpected, but Rogan approved.

  “Is he now?” The prince seemed to reconsider his standing. “Impressive.”

  “And here,” Sir Golddrake continued, seizing momentum, “is my Marshall, Sir Geldrick Kilborn. He is the head of a proud family.”

  “
I know it,” replied the prince.

  Sir Kilborn bowed his head, “Your Excellence.”

  “And finally, on the end, is Sir Jaiden Luminere.”

  Rogan rolled his eyes at how proud Sir Golddrake sounded.

  Prince Falcionus clasped his hands together. “Ah, the Miracle at Windhollow Rock! Another story I was unsure whether to believe.”

  “I assure Your Excellence that it is all true.” Sir Golddrake beamed.

  “Well, Willem is crafting an extravagant gift of our appreciation for you, Sir Luminere.”

  Jaiden looked from side to side, seemingly unclear if the prince was indeed talking to him. “Thank you, Your Excellence,” he finally managed to sputter.

  Falcionus puckered his lips and looked over the entirety of the group, before nodding. “You are all welcome to Selamus, and will of course be my guests at the palace while in our fair city. Unfortunately, I have much to do before holding Court, so I must take leave of you now…” he stopped just before reaching the door, spun, and added, “though it would be my pleasure if you would play something for us tonight, Lady Saffron.”

  Not waiting for a response, he turned on his heel again and raised a hand, prompting one of the guards to silently open the door. When the prince disappeared, the seneschal briefly took back control of the room.

  “If you will follow me back to the main hall, there are porters who will show you to your accommodations. Sir Golddrake, we still have some arrangements regarding your petition, and the Shaper of Selamus has requested a brief visit with Sir Luminere and one of the Aasimar before tonight’s festivities.”