The solar was well appointed. Richly dyed carpets and woven tapestries adorned its cold stone floor and walls. Gilded metal sconces formed in the likeness of vicious magical beasts held unlit candles in the corners of the room. Exquisitely carved wooden tables were laden with bowls of exotic fruit and fine wines in enchanted crystal flasks that sparkled with dots of starlight as if each were a celestial orb constraining a tempestuous purple sky.
Clack, clack.
An eating couch dominated the room’s centre. The dappled fur of a tazcra cat draped across it. A large desk with a high-backed chair was set off to one side before a tapestry featuring a snarling golden lion. A door framed in blue nacre opened out to a balcony through which an overcast sky could be seen. It was as if the gods had spun the clouds into a great shroud that hid the heavens from view. Diffused sunlight ignited the insubstantial canopy with an incandescently white brilliance that contrasted sharply against the pitch-black silhouette of the man standing tall upon that platform.
Clack-clack.
“Set!”
Back straight as if a spear pointed heavenward, he wore a purple robe edged in gold that flared at his legs. Strong hands bearing jewel encrusted rings gripped the balustrade before him. Upon his head of brown hair rested a golden crown etched with scenes of roaring lions. His visage was taciturn, with brows and full red lips that were naturally drawn into a scowl. Dark eyes calmly gazed down upon the courtyard below.
“Rah!”
“Set!”
Clack! Clack-clack!
Two youths bearing shields and wooden batons duelled within a training field. Back and forth they went, trading blows one after another.
Clack!
“Haheugh!”
The batons were weighted to mimic swords yet the youths wielded them fluidly, twisting their weapons about one handed in controlled arcs at the head or legs. It was interspersed with feints and swift, questing stabs seeking to gaps in defences. A burly man, clad in armour oversaw the match. A harsh but fair task master, he sternly called out to the youths that they needed to tighten their movements when one or the other over extended. He also gave encouragements with equal vigour if their actions met his standards.
High King Vertigan ap Vanadin watched it all in silent approval.
It would fall to Vandimer and Cattigan to ensure that his legacy lived on beyond him. When he was their age, he could hardly even dream of having the authority he now held. Living in his father’s court had placed him in the ideal position to see all that was wrong with their land. To others his father Vanadin might have seemed the ruler of a prosperous kingdom, gaining much from his imperial ties, but Vertigan knew better. He recalled days of flustered meetings as his father sought to appease his imperial masters. The man followed the Dracones words like a faithful pet, all but pissing himself in joy at the slightest word of praise.
Vertigan could do naught back then but look on in impotent fury as the imperials took his people’s land, riches and talented youths. His father’s loyalty repaid in subtle snubs and dismissive words. His people called Vanadin a king but Vertigan knew that to the imperials the man was nothing more than a useful tool, hardly an equal. So, he bade his time and learned from his enemies. He swallowed the insults paid as the price for his people’s freedom. He drew together allies, accumulated wealth from trade and bribes, he learnt how the imperials fought and tried his best to add their strength to his own.
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Years of hard work, struggling against his father’s apathy at their situation. He seeded spies among the youths taken in by the imperials. Not their legions or administration, that was too dangerous with their oath-binders and truth-sayers but their servants, handmaids, messengers, dockworkers and whores. He learnt the structure of their society from the bottom up. Theirs was an aging empire, grown ponderous and fat on excess. The Dracones could not count on timely aid from the central regions of the empire if any came at all to their call. Their primary contact was through the few merchants who braved the passage to their land and the occasional convoy of settlers bearing official writs. It had been years since the last such convoy, before his youngest son’s birth even.
He had exulted at the news. The vaunted Dracones were little more than petty tyrants of a distant colony in the eyes of the empire. An empire beset by wars on a thousand different fronts. They ruled because his people knew no better and allowed them to steal their land unopposed.
What right had they to take? What right had they to rule?
Vertigan’s ambition was to wipe away the years of shame and bring his people to greatness never before seen. If the fractious petty kings wouldn’t follow him, he’d drag them along with the might of his armies. After all, he had allies of his own…
“Ah, if only it were that simple.”
His eyes picked out a blond man leaning against a wall. He was looking at the ongoing spar with lips twisted in a hint of mockery. Hengest, the nominal leader of the Thorsica mercenary bands that Vertigan had hired. At the time he’d thought little of the man but now the sight of him was becoming less and less pleasing. The man’s greed made him easy to manipulate but the problems his people brought with them frustrated Vertigan to his core.
He blinked as the door to the room behind him slowly opened. His minutely tensed shoulders relaxed as the scent of a familiar perfume began to fill his nostrils. He could hear the jewelled bangles clinking as her white sandaled feet stepped toward him. In his mind’s eye he recalled the sway of her hips given by the prowling walk she favoured. Even now, years after he met her, Rhonwyr still managed to enflame his loins with lust with every single movement of her body, her scent and her touch.
Long fingers gently rested upon his as a pair of firm breasts pushed against his arm engulfing it through the cloth of her silk dress. He turned to her as her other hand traced the line of his jaw before settling on his shoulder. They stood there in silence for a moment. She gazed at him with her cold blue eyes set in a face no less beautiful given her Thorsican heritage. He brushed a strand of blonde hair away from where the wind had blown it across her pouty lips framed in an insouciant smile.
A pink tongue darted out to lick at his finger causing him to impulsively lean forward to lay claim to her lips. She breathed a happy sigh as they parted, the gusty breath shifting her breasts enticingly beneath her red dress. Resting her head against his shoulder, she looked down upon the training field before saying.
“You have such healthy sons my husband.”
The considering tone of her voice as she said that stoked both his pride as a father and his possessiveness as a man. His second wife, Rhonwyr, was far younger than he and easily matched his enthusiasm in bed. The thought that she might seek out another lover was foolish but it never failed to drive a spike of jealousy into his heart. No other man would touch her supple body while he yet drew breath.
She was his!
Schooling his features even as a hand drifted down to grip her ass with punishing tightness, he answered her. “They have a great legacy to uphold. The kingdom I am forging needs their strength.”
Gasping in his arms, she looked at him with a hooded gaze as she dragged her sharp, painted nails across his chest. He felt them even through the cloth of his tunic, a silent challenge that spurred him on.
“Such talk is for the future my love, they are still boys,” Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “And a strong man like you can yet sire many more.”
There were no more words between them as he dragged her laughing from the balcony and into the depths of the room beyond. Down below, a watcher noted the scene in the balcony above. Their eyes crinkled in mirth.