Chapter 60: Movements

King Drace III sat in his chair, his white cotton shirt opened at the neck to reveal a broad, firm chest. Scrolls and pieces of vellum were scattered on the table before him, all of them at least partially unrolled, unfolded or otherwise open. His attention moved from one of them to another, even as he absently scratched his calf through his thick, blue cotton pants. Every few moments, he would hunch over the table and use the quill in his hand to scratch upon a half-filled vellum set close to him.

Though only thirty-one years old, Colyn Sha-Wehran, Crown King Drace III of Wenland, had a copious amount of gray scattered through his close-cropped brown head of hair. It was an inherited trait – his father and grandfather both began to gray in their late twenties. If his inheritance ruled out, he’d have the muddled mix of gray and brown for the rest of his life since neither his father nor grandfather ever went completely gray even though both men lived well into their eighties.

As he perused the trade agreements scattered before him, some in effect and others expired, he reflected on his life. He’d been a strapping lad at 14, when he’d first met Lamyra. He’d accompanied his father, the Gaelryn ambassador to Wenland, when he’d first started his apprenticeship. His father was a landed statesman while his grandfather was a rich, successful trader. He was to follow in his father’s footsteps while his two sisters and three brothers were to follow in his grandfather’s. But he’d taken one look at Lamyra and fallen head over heels in love.

What was even more surprising, she’d fallen head over heels for him.

He was less strapping now. His work didn’t allow him the luxury of physical labor. He was thinner, probably not as strong, but he’d taken to running the halls early in the morning to fight the paunch that occasionally threatened his mid-section.

Thankfully, besides being King, he was good at his job. His experience in watching his grandfather’s trade deals and his father’s ambassadorial skills had coalesced in him. Many monarchs suffered from pushing their mates into roles that didn’t suit them. Lamyra wasn’t like that. When Lamyra had discussed his place in her court, they’d quickly agreed one of his duties would be to administer foreign relations, which was a job he was particularly suited for. It dealt with foreign ambassadors and foreign trade delegations, which neatly coincided with his experience.

He’d expected no less. Lamyra was particularly good at judging and understanding people.

As Colyn worked on the upcoming negotiations with the elven trade delegation, Lamyra Wehran, Queen Synel IX of Wenland, paced behind him, her gray peasant dress flowing around her. Wearing the dress was like her because she had a keen sense of appropriate dress and behavior. In the throne room or even out, amongst her subjects, she stuck exclusively to the robes of state. In private, she dressed – with some relief – in simple clothes.

Her face was set in growing agitation even as her mouth formed words she didn’t utter. As she paced, her hands opened and closed of their own accord. Occasionally, she’d pause and look through the window at the falling sun before turning and pacing once more.

“You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you continue,” Colyn said askance. His attention never moved from the papers in front of him.

“It’s my chaos-ridden carpet, I’ll wear a hole in it if I want to,” Lamyra bit back.

The king paused, lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, then shrugged and returned to his writing. “Worrying about it is not going to help matters.”

“He summoned us to a meeting, Colyn,” Queen Synel spat out in exasperation. “HE summoned US to a meeting.”

“And here we are,” King Drace replied. “I wanted to ignore him – maybe set a Knight or two on him and lock him in the dungeon. You vetoed that idea.”

“He’s with the clergy,” Queen Synel explained. “That just isn’t done.”

“YOU are the queen, Lamyra,” King Drace pointed out with a faint hint of humor in his voice. “I am the king. I’m fairly certain that means we can do whatever in chaos we want.”

Queen Synel opened her mouth to respond but closed it as the door to their chamber opened. Newly elevated Bishop Renud, dressed in his formal golden robe with a rich jade velour tabard over it, walked slowly into the room. His face was a simpering study in aggravation, his eyes wide in what Lamyra felt was feigned surprise. To her, Renud was a horrible actor who always overplayed his role.

Behind him, Lamyra was surprised to see an old friend, Serin Anada, the Grand Duchess of Alwyn. Serin’s face was stony, her curly brown hair emphasizing the starkness of her expression. Her brown eyes were cold and focused over the slight hill of her nose. Her thin lips were tight. Queen Synel looked into the face of her friend and worried anew at the expression on her face.

“Good news, majesties,” Renud said, though his face looked anything but happy. “I have contact from clergy who have seen Ataya recently. She lives.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” the Queen demanded. “Why summon us to this ... this ... this meeting?”

“Is she alright?” King Drace asked, rising from his chair in consternation. “Is she hurt?”

“I do not know, majesty,” Renud said, preferring to address King Drace’s question. “I know only what the priestess could tell me before the connection was broken.”

“Broken?” the Queen asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Speaking across vast distances is difficult,” Renud explained. “It requires a great deal of concentration and a great expenditure of divine power. I spoke with a common priestess who is new to the ability. She couldn’t maintain the connection for long. I ... I tried to re-connect, to get more information and greater confirmation – but I could not.”

“She’s alive.” King Drace sat into his chair with a great thud. “That’s something, at least.”

“Majesties, that is not the only news I bring,” Renud simpered. “I ... I ... I must admit, I find myself distraught. I find myself caught in the eye of a great storm. I ... I admit that I am not wise enough to understand it’s significance. I ... the truth is, I’m not able to navigate this storm. I’m glad I could lessen your burden with news of the princess, but now ... this other news ... it is too overwhelming to discuss. I ... I cannot. Instead, I will leave you with Grand Duchess Anada while I retire to my cell and pray for guidance from my god.”

Renud bowed humbly, overdoing his humility as usual and then swept quickly from the room. As Renud was leaving, King Drace pushed back his chair and stood. The over-acting from the new Bishop concerned him and he rose to be able to meet what was coming. He glanced over at the Grand Duchess, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes though, were piercing as he took her in.

Serin silently watched Renud leave and as the door closed behind him, she turned to the Queen and King. She drew a deep breath and sighed. “I really dislike that man,” she said with a shake of her head.

The Grand Duchess of Alwyn’s face broke into a faint smile as her eyes met her friend’s, but the smile was short-lived. Her long, rounded face settled into an expression of concern and her attractive brown eyes grew particularly intent.

She was dressed as she always dressed, with a flowing, delicately brocaded blue dress that managed to show off her impressive cleavage while covering her arms and legs. As always, her rich, luxuriant brown hair flowed around her face in easy, teasing rivulets stopping so that the tips just rested on the top of her breasts. She was slightly taller than Lamyra but only by just less than an inch and, as always, she wore flats when meeting her friend so the differences in their height was less noticeable.

She walked up to Queen Synel and embraced her. “Lamyra, you never change,” she smiled at her friend. “Except you seem to grow more beautiful every time I see you.”

Lamyra gave a sigh of relief. “When you walked through that door, with your face set in stone, I was worried.”

Serin stepped back, her hands never leaving her friend’s shoulders. “The face was feigned to keep Renud from growing suspicious,” she admitted. “Don’t let that lower your concern, however. These are dark days and I bring only dark tidings.”

“What is it?” Lamyra asked intently.

“Do you mind if we sit?” Serin asked. “I think Colyn needs to hear this as well.”

Colyn looked up at Serin with a smile. “I was already eaves-dropping, duchess.”

Serin smiled back briefly before her face settled back into its concerned expression. “I was pretty sure you would be but as this concerns you, as well, I think we’d best be blunt.”

The duchess looked at the door. “And quick. I’m not certain how long before Renud might return.”

Colyn gathered up his papers as the ladies sat, pushing the lone piece of vellum he was writing on to the side to allow the ink to dry. He didn’t truly care the order all of the papers were in, he’d need to spread them out later anyway, but he shuffled them into a semblance of order just the same. It was one of the reasons he was such a good administrator for the queen. He was diligent about details.

“What is it, Serin?” Lamyra asked intently.

“I’ve just had a meeting with the other province administrators,” Serin started. The kingdom of Wenland was broken into six Grand Duchies defined as provinces – Alwyn, Cava, Dunber, Finley, Glouster and Stanning. The provinces were named after their capital cities – or perhaps the cities were named after the provinces. The truth was the cities and provinces were named so long ago, it was impossible to know which was first.

In Wenland, all land was held by the crown. In real terms, the Crown Queen and Crown King owned all of Wenland. They leased the provinces to the Grand Dukes and Grand Duchesses in return for an annual sum which was negotiated at court every year. The leases legally bound the Grand Duchesses and Dukes as the administrators of the province. The Grand Dukes and Duchesses, then, sub-leased land to Dukes and Duchesses who sub-leased land to Marquis and so on down the line, with Barons – the lowest ranking royal administrators - leasing land to farmers and tradespeople.

It was a surprisingly efficient governmental style, though rife with the possibility of abuse. As such, it was up to the Crown Queen or Crown King – or his or her designates – to ensure that their province administrators catered to the needs of their people. This, like the annual sum – colloquially called a tax – charged for leasing the grand duchies, almost always ended up being delegated down through the ranks. This delegation could, of course, lead to problems if oversight was lax.

“Without us?” Lamyra asked in surprise. Even Colyn’s eyebrows raised at the news.

“Lamyra, I thought you’d be there!” Serin explained with some vehemence. “When the summons came under the signature of Bishop Renud, I thought you were just delegating him to administrate the meeting. I brought Sylana, for chaos’ sake!”

Sylana Bober was Serin’s latest wife. At fourteen the girl was less than half the age of the grand duchess, but she and her husbands had fallen in love. Beyond the requirement marriage could only be entered into after their time of majority, there were no written laws concerning the age of family heads.

It was left unsaid that if Serin had brought Sylana she didn’t think there would be any danger.

“What happened?” Colyn asked a bit more gently, trying to calm Serin down just a bit.

“Renud lead the meeting,” Serin replied after a brief pause. “I have to say, he’s an incredible orator.”

“Renud?” Lamyra scoffed. “He overacts. He can’t help himself. The man hasn’t met a mirror yet he didn’t love.”

Serin shook her head. “If that is what you see, then that is what he wants you to see. I tell you, he had the other adminstrators eating from the palm of his hand. He wove a dark tale of you being led astray. He whispered the crown was perilously close to ... to failing altogether. He cast dark aspersions about evil elves living in the castle, casting chaotic magic to take over your minds. He spoke humbly of his valiant efforts to save your sanity, but that you rebuffed him and the help of the church. He said the elves were drawing you from the grace of Tyln and that the kingdom would fall unless we didn’t do something drastic.”

Colyn’s face grew dark and mottled with anger. “I’ll kill him.”

“And make him a martyr?” Lamyra chastised. Her face, too, was marked with her rage. “First, we have to make sure he is defrocked and alone. Then we kill him.”

“It may be too late for either,” Serin suggested, her face showing her own unease. “I kneel to Tyln but I’m not a fanatic about it. I believe there is room for the entire pantheon – but recently the church has been pushing Tyln as the only true god. I ... I listen and share the platitudes, but I just ignore the rhetoric. I assumed it was some squabble amongst the gods themselves and they’d eventually work it out.”

“Now, though...,” Serin offered before her voice trailed off. “Chaos, by the time Renud had finished, I half believed him.”

She shook her head, her long brown hair flickering back and forth violently. “Which, honestly, is a good thing. It allowed Renud to believe that he had won me over.”

She reached across the table and took Lamyra’s hands, glancing over at Colyn. She noted how her friend’s hands were cold and clammy. “Like he’d already won over all of the others. By the time he was done, they were willing to march on the castle and strike down the elves. Some of them had drawn their swords, for chaos’ sake.”

“I managed to calm things down, but it was not easy,” Serin continued. “After I managed some damage control, Renud went on. His words were inspired. As he spoke, it was as if I couldn’t turn away. It was almost like everything he said was directed only to me – whispered only in my ear. I swear, it confounded me into silence so that all I could do was listen. I’ve never met someone who could speak so well.”

“His words spoke of courage,” she went on. “He spoke of country and duty. He spoke of love and necessity – the love we have for our people and the necessity of caring for them – for their physical needs and their spiritual needs. His words spoke of how we owed it to the people in our care to rebuke you. That your family had lead our lands wisely for centuries but the elves dark arts were too chaotic to be countered by us – or even the gentleness of Tyln’s hands.”

“He played upon our hearts, saying it was our right and duty to ease your burden,” she continued. “To help you retire before you lost even your immortal soul.”

“What?!?” Lamyra thundered as she rose from her seat. She turned to Colyn, who had also rose in anger. “Now, we kill him.”

Serina rose and held up her hand. “It won’t work. He’s turned the others against you. I played along but only so I could be the one to warn you. Alwyn is the richest province. I knew if I pretended to have fallen in line with the others, I would be designated to come to you. I’ve honestly thought about what could be done but...”

“The others have been raising armies,” she said softly. She immediately continued on when she saw both the Queen’s and King’s brow rise. “I’ve done it, too, even before I knew what they were doing. Not to rise against you but to help secure the Jacovian – sorry, Tylnanari – border. I wanted to help, and I realized all I could offer were soldiers.”

She closed her eyes and her head drooped. “Then I heard what was going on in the neighboring provinces of Glouster and Finley. I heard they were amassing huge fighting forces and I worried that they might be coming for Alwyn. It’s no secret that Yegel and Stantara have coveted the kern mines and been jealous of the other riches of my province. I thought they were coming for me, so I re-doubled my efforts.”