Chapter 69: Kings and Queens

“I was just as surprised as you,” Bishop Renud intoned, his voice sounding perplexed. Even sitting, the man towered over the little red-headed princess. His black hair was pulled back into a small, severe ponytail. He was dressed as he usually dressed, with a green, richly dyed linen shirt, a single button open at the neck, and a jade tabard, cinched at his waist with a dark, silk belt. His trousers were a deeper, forest green made from the same linen as his shirt. “I am also just as upset about it. I am a priest. I am a man in service only to the one true god. I prayed long and hard upon this matter. Late that night, I had a dream. There were multitudes of people, trudging along a road. They came upon a crossroad, but there was no sign to point the way – just me. I stood there, unsure what to do. To the left was peace and solace. To the right, darkness and eternal suffering.”

“What did you do?” Ataya questioned, in spite of herself. She was dressed in a long, cotton dress of deep blue and her long, red hair was piled on top of her head. Her ears were adorned with small gold disks which held a bright, shiny diamond within a tiny hole in their center. The diamonds hung by small chains so that they struck against the disk musically.

“I woke up,” Renud admitted. “It was then I realized what I needed to do. I need to point the people towards peace and solace and away from the darkness and eternal suffering of the false gods and goddesses. I need to lead them – and the only way to do that was to accept marriage to you.”

“Convenient,” Ataya said bitterly, her fascination with the story clearly ended. She turned away, a little embarrassed she had gotten so caught up in his story. It wasn’t like her, but his voice was so warm and mellifluous it somehow managed to draw her in.

“What isn’t convenient is this distance,” Yren spoke up in a overly distraught voice. He stood for a moment tutting dubiously, his hands on his hips. He stood just behind the couch upon which Ataya and Renud were seated. Shaking his head at the pair, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders and pushed them apart.

The richly upholstered couch Renud and Ataya were sitting upon was about six feet back from a set of dark cherry, windowed doors which led out onto a white, stone balcony. Surrounding the balcony was a fancifully carved stone balustrade made of the same hardened white quartzite as the rest of the castle. The balustrade seemed to have an ethereal gleam of its own in the bright sunlight.

Around the three was a well-appointed drawing room, with the soft looking, tan couch, an ornate, silver gilded mantle over a large fireplace, and several clusters of chairs surrounding small reading tables. The floor was composed of delicate brown stones and the walls were mudded and painted an inviting yellow. Frilly, lace curtains hung at the windows. Each of the soft, brown drapes were drawn back and held in place with an ornately twisted, metal holdback to let in the bright sunlight.

“How dare you lay hands upon me!” Renud bit out, his face a picture of thundering anger. The priest could not believe even a back-water buffoon such as the Dray-Tulat blacksmith could be so callous. It was very near blasphemous for the young man to put his sullied hands on the purity of the bishop.

Yren just smiled lightly. “No, your eminence. How dare you get so close during the familiarization ritual. Don’t the words of Tyln say, ‘The ritual of familiarization is not about familiarity. The bonds of matrimony are anchored on the foundation of mutual trust and respect. Familiarity, in all of its forms, undermines such a foundation, for familiarity breeds disregard and, ultimately, contempt. No successful marriage can possibly begin with such casualness between the betrothed, for it is on the sanctity of nobility through eternity that each marriage must be founded. Therefore, it is deemed necessary that throughout the hallowed ritual of familiarity should the supplicants remain no less than a foot apart. To be closer breeds familiarity of their two beings’?”

“Don’t you quote scripture to me, you insolent, chaos-riddled coor,” Renud rumbled dangerously, though slightly taken aback. He had not expected Tyln’s words from the young man’s lips. “I am a Bishop of Tyln!”

“Excellent!” Yren exclaimed brightly with a wide smile. “Then you already know you should be separated by a foot. I guess, in your zeal to share your thoughts with Ataya, it just slipped your notice!”

Yren lifted a hand as the bishop opened his mouth to make a retort. “No need to thank me! I’m just happy I could be of service.”

The Bishop turned apoplectic. “Get away from me with your sigils of Kyr and Deia. I will not allow you to sully my presence with those false goddesses.”

Yren bowed, the smile broadening on his face. “Of course, your eminence. I did not mean to offend. As long as I don’t have to correct that one foot gap, it is my pleasure to suffer the sweeter air some distance from you.”

“How does one such as you know Tyln’s words?” Renud bit out, outraged at the barely hidden slight.

Yren smiled beatifically. “I was an orphan at Tyln’s orphanage at Ayeldar from the time I was five until I was seven, when a blacksmith and his wife took me in. The priests, priestesses, brothers and sisters of the church... encouraged ... us to listen while they read from the book. They were quite... persuasive ... in ensuring we both understood and could recite the words back to them. I have a really good memory and I promised myself I would return the kindness to the priesthood of Tyln whenever I could. If you ever doubt my fidelity to this goal, you should speak with Holy Brother Dal who was at Ayeldar while I was there and who was later stationed at the Tyln Abbey at Illster.”

---- ∞ ----

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Ataya remarked later that afternoon as they were walking back to her room.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. The hallway walls were normal stone blocks, though there were glass windows under high stone archways on the right side. Each window was fitted with a beautiful, thick red curtain held open by a simple cloth tie back of the same color. The floor was paved with colorful tiles, each of a different reddish hue.

Ataya had spent an uncomfortable few hours in the presence of the bishop, listening to his wide-ranging yet seemingly vain ramblings on the ministry of Tyln and his important place in it, so she felt relief more than anything else. There were other discussions between them, too, but it seemed that each was led by the bishop with the princess rarely getting a word in edgewise. They touched on subjects such as the wedding and her place in a marriage to a Bishop of Tyln. Strangely, Renud had a very prominent place in each of those discussions with very little emphasis on the princess. She was almost completely relegated to housekeeping chores, when she came up at all.

“He’s a pompous ass,” Yren replied dismissively. His face no longer wore the smile which had anchored his visage the entire day. He reached up and rubbed his cheeks. Holding the forced smile for the past few hours had cramped his facial muscles until they were sore.

By unspoken agreement, he had largely discarded his idiot act while interacting with the princess. He had to admit it had probably run its course anyway. Even Teran and Bena had grown tired of it. Of course, all that was left were the things about which he really was confused. Women, for example, still completely confounded him.

“Well, yes,” Ataya admitted. “He’s gathered quite a bit of power around him, though. My mother told me he controls the Grand Dukes and Duchesses outright. That’s the purpose behind this whole betrothal. They were going to revolt and only stopped at the last minute because Renud convinced them it would be better to put him on the throne.”

Yren stopped and turned to the younger girl, his eyes wide. He found it hard to believe anyone, even a bishop, could dictate such terms to a grand duke or ducess, much less reigning monarchs. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” Ataya replied mournfully. “He has my mother and father completely cornered. They’re trying to push against him wherever they can, but he has not given them much room to maneuver.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Yren asked as they resumed walking to the princess’ rooms.

“Not yet,” Ataya smiled, putting her hand on Yren’s armored forearm. “If an opportunity should arise, though, I’ll tell you. For now, I just need you to protect me.”

“I am your champion, your highness,” Yren said seriously. “I will defend you from everything I can.”

“I know Yren,” Ataya smiled wanly. “It’s just the things you can’t protect me from – like this marriage – that have me worried.”

“I hope you know I’ll do my best to protect you even from that,” he replied solemnly.

“Like how you protected me from having to touch him?” Ataya asked with a grin.

“Something like that,” Yren smiled.

“It was brilliant,” Ataya laughed. “He was so mad, I thought he was going to choke on his own tongue. Then there was the way you spent the day injecting yourself into our conversation.”

“‘I’m drawn to Tyln’s righteousness’,” Ataya started in a passing imitation of the bishop. “‘I have been since I was a small child suckling on my mother’s teat.’”

“‘That must have been amazing’,” Ataya’s voice changed to a slightly exaggerated imitation of Yren. “‘Drinking of your mother’s milk and preaching to her about Tyln at the same time. Most of us can’t even talk at so young an age. Or were you one of those unfortunate lads who was still suckling when he was ten?’”

Yren just smiled at her impressions.

“And you did it all with that wide smile on your face,” Ataya chortled. “Even when he was trying so hard to cut you down, you just smiled at him the whole time. By chaos, by mid-day you had him mumbling to himself.”

“It was actually Vestra’s idea,” Yren admitted. “She told me if I really wanted to drive him mad, I shouldn’t allow myself to get angry. I should just smile and agree with him while chastising him at the same time ... and get a few sallies in where I could. I admit I wasn’t completely sure it would work – but it did.”

“How is Vestra?” Ataya asked.

“She’s ... okay,” Yren said, his face falling slightly. “She understands the need to remain ... hidden. She is so curious about the castle, though. She wants to be ... out. Even if it’s outside the castle.”

“Why can’t she move freely about the castle?” Ataya questioned. “She’s in no danger. My mother barely knows she exists.”

“We’re worried she might run into the elves,” Yren explained in a whisper. He looked carefully around the hall to make certain no one could hear them. “It’s said the elves know much about dragons. Besides, Gillen thought it would be safer for her travels to be ... limited.”

“Any word from Gillen?” Ataya asked.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Yren responded. “Syl and Uud are looking for her and have promised me they’ll tell me when they find her. They think she took a room at the ‘Iron Falcon’.”

---- ∞ ----

“You don’t seem to be suffering much,” Syl said as she sat down opposite Gillen. Uud took a chair next to Syl.

The two were out of their armor. Syl was in a non-descript white blouse that looked slightly big on her. She wore rather tight-fitting black, cotton trousers with thick, well-polished black boots which reached midway up her thighs. Her blonde hair was braided and then arranged in low spirals over her head.

Uud was wearing a thick, blue, collared shirt with buttons up the middle, though the two buttons nearest his thick neck were undone. His trousers were a few shades darker but were made of the same thick, hemp material. The man had low cut, cuffed, black boots which were as well-polished as Syl’s. His hands were gloved with thick leather gloves dyed a deep black.

Gillen was seated at a rather small, well-worn table in a corner of the ‘Iron Falcon’s’ tavern. Most of the tables were arranged in even rows but Gillen’s was turned slightly so she could sit with her back to the gouged and chipped corner and her face to the scratched and slightly warped door. The table was at least clean if a bit scorched in areas and chipped in others, and the chairs were not too uncomfortable.

Gillen looked up from the scroll she was studying and smiled at her two friends. She was quick to roll the scroll, but Syl could swear it was a map of the country north of Callisto. “What is there to suffer about?”

“You’re not a knight,” Syl replied, looking deep into Gillen’s eyes.

“I knew that was coming,” Gillen replied with a shrug. Even as she did, though, she felt a momentary pang in her heart. She’d wanted to be a knight her entire life. To leave the service in such public scandal cut her to the bone. “I had prepared for it.”

“Why would you think that was coming?” Uud demanded. “You did everything you could to save us all.”

Gillen spread her hands, her left hand clutching the scroll she’d been reading. “It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I’ll admit it hurts. I’ll even admit I cried quite a bit last night. It is what it is, though.”

“What are you going to do now?” Syl asked.

“I’ve a few plans,” Gillen replied secretively. “I didn’t spend much of my salary over the past few years, so I’m well heeled. I’ll likely stay here for the next few weeks, just to see what I can find. Vylmer has given me a good rate on a room and nearly free meals while I decide what comes next.”

“Any word on my replacement?” Gillen asked, shifting the subject slightly.

“Rumors only,” Syl replied discontentedly. “Kirendell is all I’ve heard.”

“Kirendell?” Gillen questioned disbelievingly.

“Same reaction we had,” Uud agreed. “He’s got no experience, and no one really likes him but he’s loyal to Tyln and is evidently quite good at taking orders from the bishop. That seems to be the primary criteria for knights anymore. The knighthood isn’t what it once was.”

“Uud and I were thinking of retiring,” Syl admitted.

“What?” Gillen gasped. “You can’t!”

“I’ve not seen Evine and Sindra in nearly six months,” Uud explained quietly. “I miss them. I miss Dalin, Runi and Cala even more. They’ve been without their papa for a long time now and I can’t keep asking Evine and Sindra to trek all the way up from our horse ranch to Callisto just to see me.”

“Besides,” Uud continued. “I bend my knee to Yan and there’s no more room for his followers than any other not named Tyln.”

“I’ll be twenty-five in a few short months,” Syl added. “There was a handsome lad in my hometown who fancied me at one time. Then I left to become a knight and I’ve not heard from him since. I’m turning into an old maid and I’m not certain the tradeoff is worth it anymore.”

“If you both leave, who is going to protect Ataya?” Gillen asked quietly.

“Yren can do it,” Syl replied with a smile. “He’s her champion so it’s his duty. Now, if it weren’t Yren, I might fall for that argument. But you’ve seen him. You know him. He can probably take Uud and I without much fuss.”

“He still needs to learn,” Gillen pointed out. “He still needs someone to train him.”

“Train him in what?” Uud asked. “What can we teach him? The man is a better sword at sixteen than I’ll ever be. With his armor and those chaos-infused swords, I’d give him good odds against the hordes of Tylnanari and anything else standing in his way.”

“The other skills of being a knight,” Gillen said plaintively. “Being a knight is about more than sword play. It’s about more than wearing armor. It’s about gallantry and honor.”

“You know as well as we that he has those things in abundance,” Syl argued.

“Maybe,” Gillen rejoined. “But his honor has never been tested. His gallantry has never been tried. He needs someone there to keep him on the correct path when he is challenged.”

Uud sighed and looked at Syl, who turned and looked back at him. Uud shrugged slightly while Syl made a questioning face. Gillen watched the two of them and couldn’t help but compare them to old married couples.

“We’ll give him some time,” Syl said finally. “Not too long, though. Just enough to make sure he’s going to stay true.”

---- ∞ ----

She leaned cautiously against a rough stone wall. She had chosen her hiding place carefully and was half hidden by the late day shadows. Her eyes were sharp and focused, and her lips were pursed speculatively as she watched the game across from her. She recognized the familiar toss of bones and knuckles. The game had been played for millennia, probably as long as humans had been alive. She’d learned the rules long ago but they’d no doubt changed since then. The rules always changed from time to time and place to place.

The tall man throwing the bones was not having a run of good luck. She had watched nearly motionless for nearly an hour now, and the man was deeply in debt. At this point, he was trying to chip away at the hole he’d dug, hoping to break even. She had seen enough to know he would not. The table owner had very long, nimble fingers and was cheating the tall man willfully.

The tall man was also deep in his cups which hardly helped the matter. She was not sure he’d notice the cheating even if he were sober, however. The table owner was just that good.

Finally, the tall man pushed back. “I’m off,” he slurred drunkenly, struggling to stand. His face was haggard and bristly. It was obvious no razor had touched the face in a day or two.

“A week, Oloid,” the table owner said, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You have a week to cash in your marker.”

“Y’know I’m goo fo it,” Oloid replied as he stumbled away.

“I’m not sure why you let him play, Breck,” one of the men said to the table owner. “You hafta know his knighthood’s been revoked. It was announced by the herald this morning. He ain’t got no income what to pay you wit.”

“All the better at the end of the week, when he becomes my indentured servant,” Breck replied with a smirk. The man licked his curved lips slowly. “The mighty Torus Oloid, my personal creature. Won’t nobody mess wif me then.”

She’d seen enough. She just realized she’d been waiting for the former knight to leave, though that wasn’t her purpose. With a corrupt little smile, she pushed herself off the wall, her eyes following the former knight. Her hand rested on her flat stomach as she walked across the narrow road. She sniffed disdainfully at the smell, but it couldn’t be avoided.

“How much does he owe you?” Darrowyn Caniferd asked the table owner in a tough, serious voice. The smile hadn’t left her face, though her eyes slowly dragged themselves from the table owner to the others at his table.

“What business is it of yours?” Breck responded, looking the woman over with a sneer. He wondered if the bit of fluff wouldn’t mind working a bit on his nether regions. He had a sudden hankering for some female action, and she looked like she’d fit the bill tidily.

“I’m making it my business,” Caniferd responded, her voice even with just a hint of menace coloring the edges. “How much does he owe? Don’t make me ask again.”

“You may want to step away, the lot of you,” Breck said with a dark look. His nether regions wouldn’t really notice if the woman was whole or hurting. They wouldn’t notice if she was willing or not, either. Chaos, they’d never cared much if the woman was alive or dead before. “I think there’s going to be an accident.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Caniferd warned. She wasn’t fond of dealing with most magi, but she absolutely loathed dealing with non-magi. They postured and preened when they had no cause for it. They were simple sacks of meat and easily vanquished.