Lykourgos I: Sea Spray and Stony Shores
The Sixth Day of the Second Moon, 874 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
It had been a little over two moons since his coronation now, and somehow things felt different. Not in a grandiose or extravagant way, for the state of affairs was almost exactly the same as it had been before his coronation, but different in a way that suggested things back home were beginning to return to normal.
Peasant families were preparing to sow crops in the spring, fishermen were intensifying the maintenance work on their ships in preparation for the voyages they would make when the seas were more hospitable, and soldiers of all stripes looked to clearing skies with stony determination. All of them knew that the peace was not going to last, but Lykourgos was determined to ensure that only the last group was forced to fight. He had already won one war without calling up a levied force of untrained lowborns, and if he could he'd rather repeat his method of rapid advances with a column of highly-trained and motivated soldiers so as to avoid the worst of the economic burdens of war.
Dead peasants could not till the fields, and dead fishermen could not ply the waters of the Bay of Saints. It was better to let them stay home and work at their trades, lest his kingdom plunge into financial ruin despite all his military victories.
There was no such risk of his coffers running dry at the moment, of course, but whilst administrators were still being found or trained to oversee the running of his newly acquired Owkrestan and Triarian territories it was clear that he wouldn't be earning quite as much from his lands as first thought. A pity, to be sure, but one that would be resolved in time. The wheels were already in motion, and now he was just waiting.
Even so, the royal coffers were more full than they had been in quite some time; the seizing of wealth from the nobility of Teleytaios had more than paid for his campaigns in Owkrestos with enough left over to begin renovations on Anaria, and the whilst he had not seized quite as much wealth from the nobles of Owkrestos after his conquest there was certainly a decent hoard to be made out of the gold and silver that had been found for him there. The crown's finances were, at the moment, fine.
But wars were expensive things. Very expensive. Even if he were to sack and pillage his way across those parts of Klironomea to which he did not yet lay claim, which he had no intention of doing, it would still not cover the financial burdens of war. Nor was he willing to wish risking more Teleytaian lives in war, not when they'd been subjected to two civil wars and an invasion during the last five or so years. He wanted to let his people take stock of their losses and rebuild, to allow prosperity to take root once more. The army could fight, and the people would be left to their own lives. That was the way he wanted to do this.
If there was one thing that he didn't want to do, then it was become sedentary. Sloth. Lazy. He'd never understood how kings and queens could be content to rest on their laurels and do nothing with their reigns, how they could sit their and languish in a self-made prison of banquets and feasts and dances. He'd never understood how they could allow so many capable advisors to go unheeded, whilst useless sycophants and lickspittles were able to run free with royal ascent.
Ever since he'd been called 'King' after his coronation, he was pretty sure he understood why now. There was something about the status that came with kingship, of the prestige imbued within such a position, that called out to him. It told him that he needed not struggle anymore, for he was the king, and the king always had others to struggle for him. It told him he was above the machinations and schemes of those around him, that they would never dare to involve him in something without his knowledge and consent.
It told him to rest. To rest for decades, and to do nothing from now until he died. It told him he didn't need to do anything else. It was only that other part of his mind, the part that told him duty reigned eternal and that he wasn't allowed to rest until his duty was done, that stopped him from falling into such a slothful state at times.
Funny. He never thought he'd be thankful for that fucking sense of duty that had all but crushed him as a youth.
Still, the wars could not continue until the campaigning season began in the spring. Foolish indeed was the man who attempted to march through winter's biting winds, who tried to force his men to ignore the bitter cold seeping through their armour and nipping at exposed skin. Winter was no place for an army, save only one that was comfortable encamped with good shelter and plenty of food to go around. Men got hungrier far quicker when working through the winter, this he knew.
He would not blunder away his army by marching too soon.
It didn't matter though, at the moment. He would be calling together his professional forces to muster within the next few weeks, though it would be at least a few more weeks before he could be joined by the forces of the Grand Duke along the road. It was a far greater distance for the man and his thousands to travel than Lykourgos' own forces, after all.
He shook the thoughts from his mind and moved to leave the palace. He'd received some news that something interesting might be going on at the docks soon, and he didn't want to miss it. Nothing of great import, not really, but something interesting all the same.
He briefly passed by his friend and spymaster, Elikoidi, in the hall as he was on his way. He thought for a moment, and then called the man over.
"Your Grace. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
He smiled at the only slightly snarky tone of the man.
"Come on Eli, I told you to call me by my name. I was just heading down to the docks and wondered if you might like to join me?"
The man stared at him for a moment, slightly confused, but the expression was quickly replaced by one of neutrality.
"The docks? Well I don't see why not. It'll be good to have someone following you as well, so that the rest of us know you aren't preparing to be stabbed again. Sure, I'll come along with you. You will be taking guards this time, I assume?"
Lykourgos smiled and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, don't worry about that. Eros is training at the moment and Dreamwulf is... you know, I'm not actually sure what he's doing. I think it was something to do with renewing his vows at the church, something about his past when he was still an Oblate at that small monastery, but I'm not really sure.
"Anyway, the point is that my usual guards won't be with me, so there'll be a couple of palace guards shadowing us. A little further back than we are, so we can still enjoy the outing, but still close enough that they'll be able to assist us if anything does happen to one or both of us. Does that allay your fears?"
His friend scoffed good-naturedly.
"I don't think there's anything that's ever happened since I've met you that has come close to stopping me from worrying about how you're next going to try and get yourself killed, but I suppose it will suffice for now. Well, lead the way, my King."
Elikoidi emphasised the last words with the amused tone of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, and Lykourgos couldn't help but give a mildly embarrassed smile in response. He quite liked being called 'King', he'd found out over these last two months. The word had a sort of elegance about it, a sort of gravitas, that he hadn't really appreciated before his coronation. But now he was the king, truly, and he was called it by almost everyone he happened to walk past. He had even more work to do now, if such a thing were even possible, but being called 'king' made it all worthwhile.
He set off out of the palace through the postern gate leading towards the west, Elikoidi at his side and a few guards following them in a manner that was at once both noticeable and discreet. It was clear that they were always there, but they were just far enough away so as to not make him appear paranoid when walking through the streets of his own capital city.
'The Queen of Cities'. Heh. What a nickname. You've seen better days, but by the time I'm done with you there'll be none in the world who can deny your beauty, your splendour. You'll earn your name again, live up to your storied history. I'm going to heal you.
He smiled a little as he walked, hands clasped behind his back. It was no easy task, uprooting and rebuilding an entire city, but it was easier when you did it by district. He would have done it by block if he had to, tearing down wood and thatch to make room for stone and mortar. He would do away with dirt and gravel, replacing it with cobbles and paved roadways. It was a lot of work, yes, but then it was always a busy day when you were the king. Busy life or not he still felt as though it were at least a little important to find the time to take a trip down to the western district of the city and see the construction projects going on for himself.
The renovations that were being made to the city were, in his mind, not only needed to start reverting the slump that it had fallen into recently, but also to show his people he was more than just a conqueror. He was an administrator as well, who knew how to improve the lives of those within his kingdom as well as how to push their borders ever further.
If there's one thing that can be said about the construction projects, he thought to himself as he walked down the steep, winding path that led from the palatial complex to the docks, then it is surely that they are really rather noisy. The docks and the wider western district as a whole sat lower than the rest of the city, for they were all but on the same level as the sea whereas the rest of the city sat beyond the cliff face behind it. The cliff itself was almost stepped, with naturally occurring and yet semi-regular 'levels' allowing for small buildings to be set along the pathways that snaked their way underneath the looming palace above.
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Most of the docks were on the base level, however, and it was there that most of the work had been done. The fact that they were a good hundred metres below the rest of the city had been a problem for traders back in the days of the old kingdom, for the main path that led from the southern district into the docks was too steep for wagons and carts to be pulled along, but one of the first things that house Sperakos, Lykourgos' own ancestors, had done when they had seized control of the city after the Year of Desolation was carve out an actual road with a far more gentle slope down to the docks. The palatial path was still rocky and steep, for it was not intended to be used regularly at all, but the main road from the western district into the wider city had been one of the first things that house Sperakos had given the people to show them that they had the capabilities to rule well, not just strictly.
He liked to think that he was upholding their legacy, in some way; by tearing down the old wooden and thatch buildings that for so long had been a mainstay of the docks, by rebuilding them from stone and mortar, by carving small buildings such as homes and barracks into the multi-levelled cliff face, by expanding the piers and wharfs and building new quays and berths the port at Anaria would soon be the greatest in the world once again. And, of course, the clergy of the Agiathos Kymatavathi had been invited back into the district, to much jubilation from the locals and sailors alike. The Cult of Hydran had always been pervasive down here, and their absence since his sister's apparent madness had been sorely felt by all who called the harbourside their home.
Such renovations were expensive, but he would not budge on these renovations. The Queen of Cities deserved no less.
Still, the renovations were endlessly noisy. The fact that the docks were a good hundred metres below the ground floor of the palace, and that he could hear the construction from his own chambers another thirty-odd metres up, meant that there was one hell of a din coming from down here.
Still, he was at least providing a hell of a lot of work to the stonecutters and masons of the city. Well, and the labourers as well, he supposed. Anaria had been subject to a plague of vagabonds, of men without work, since the old workshops had been closed to make way for the noble manses in the southern district, so it was good to get some temporary work for the otherwise workless. He'd tear down those empty manses soon enough to make room for the workshops once more, but for now he'd settle for renovating the western and eastern districts.
He stepped down the path, making sure to keep his footing so that he didn't stumble down the rocky and steep route from the postern gate at the rear of the keep. Another group of workers stopped moving as they looked at him, a little wide-eyed, and he gave them a small smile and nod before continuing on. He barely caught their hurried attempts at respectful bows as he continued on, a slight smirk on his face as he left them behind him. It wasn't a malicious smirk, more just a sign that he found it mildly amusing to know that the people down here really weren't expecting so see their king in person.
"You know, at some point someone's going to start spreading rumours that you're frequenting this district."
He laughed a little, and turned his head slightly to talk to Elikoidi.
"I hardly think once every two or three sennights to be 'frequent'."
The spymaster shrugged, a dismissive expression on his face.
"I mean, compared to your siblings and your father its certainly frequent. You used to come down here occasionally as a child, so I recall from the stories you tell and from my own experiences, but that was quite a long time ago. Besides, I didn't mean anything bad by it; it may do you some good to be seen wandering around your capital, given that you didn't exactly spend time here after the Twilight Rebellion and couldn't sit still after you woke up from your coma. These little trips of yours are likely to be some of the only times these people have ever seen you in the flesh."
He smiled at his friend as they made their way lower down, now about halfway down the cliff path and approaching the more built-up lower areas of the docks. Already he could that a few of the cranes were now housed in stout stone drum towers, and that those cranes that were looked markedly more stable than the older ones without such housing. Off in the distance he could see the low stone figure of what would soon be a lighthouse, but for now appeared to be only one or two floors tall and only had a few men with lanterns stationed around.
Elikoidi caught his gaze and smiled a little, his scars stretching into what looked a little like a rictus but that Lykourgos knew was an actual and genuine smile.
"Hardly anywhere near as bright as the old bonfires that used to burn there, are they?"
Lykourgos couldn't help but laugh.
"You know as well as I that it's still being worked on. It'll be brighter than the old bonfires were, and safer too. You know how many times the docks have burned down this century because of ash and soot causing tar and wood to catch?"
Elikoidi snorted.
"Yes, I do recall you mentioning this to me. Several times, in fact. Still, I'm uncertain as to why exactly you wanted to come down here. I know you don't have anyone to meet, so why exactly are we here?"
"Why my friend, I just want to see my own capital! I want to see the improvements that are being made by the council, of which we are both a part!"
Elikoidi furrowed his brows, then sighed a little.
"There's a Brythonian Leviathan-Ship coming in to port, isn't there?"
Lykourgos tried to keep his voice monotone for comedic effect, but with his excitement showing through it wasn't very successful.
"I'm genuinely surprised you didn't notice until now. They're hardly small, hence the name."
"Well, I can't see my self even attempting to deny you the opportunity to see something you've found interesting your whole life. Much like your obsession with those sigils scribbled into the forts you visited and-"
"Shh," he hushed with a slight expression of measured urgency, "we don't need to talk about it out here. Most people still think that the Angels amongst us are but rumours. Given how the Angels wish not to have thousands of people battering down the doors to see them, I would prefer us to keep it that way."
Elikoidi scoffed, but did not object.
"Very well, your Grace. So, a Leviathan-Ship. You wish to watch them at work?"
Lykourgos shrugged in response, still smiling.
"Something like that, yes. I think, given that the new wharf built specifically to cater to the truly gigantic Leviathan-Ships is soon to start construction, this will be one of the last Leviathan-Ships to dock at the natural harbour of Anaria. I'd like to be here to see it dock, and unload its cargo.
"Did you know that their ships catch only one or two items of quarry every voyage? They're so large that their meat can feed entire tribes on their home islands for weeks, and their fat can make enough oil to burn a signal-fire for years! Angels, they're truly huge creatures! Some aren't even umbra, they just grow that big naturally. Magnificent, aren't they?"
His friend gave him something of an amused look as his rambling continued. It was nice to be able to indulge himself a little, even if he knew that he was only distracting himself from his duties at the moment. He had left behind the documents in his chambers for a few hours, needing a break from reading about the re-introduction of water powered mills to western Klironomea at large in favour of some fresh sea air and a little bit of excitement, even if it was in the form of little more than one of his childhood interests.
Right now, just for a little while, he felt carefree. The scents of the sea and the docks, all salt and fish and smoke, filled his nostrils. The air seemed... cleaner, down here. Cleaner. That was a good word for it. The stench of mankind still hovered over this place, for it was still a part of Anaria, but it was at least dampened and masked under a hundred other scents before it reached the nose.
He looked around a little, taking in the scenery as the Brythonians continued with their work, and waved in acknowledgement at the occasional passer-by who recognised him and bowed in respect. For the first time since becoming king, he noticed a complete absence of frost on the roads and paths of the docks, the lack of visible chill on the Brythonian sailors, working shirtless for although it was still somewhat cold out they were used to far colder than this.
The cold was leaving them, and war came with its absence.
Winter is ending, he thought to himself as he watched the gigantic slabs of meat and blubber and bone were hoisted out of the ship. Winter is ending, and spring will soon be upon us. The campaigning season will soon be upon us. I have spent enough time as the administrator, have spent enough time at rest, for now. It is time to prepare for the next war. It is time to call up the men in preparation for the Nordican campaign.
He'd tried putting it off a little, had held himself back for two whole weeks from sending the missive to Grand Duke Sigiros and the commanders of the royal armies. He had tried, but he couldn't wait any longer. Duty's siren-song was calling him towards the rocks of work and war once more, and he was powerless to stop himself falling for her demands.
"Eli?"
Elikoidi turned away from the sight of a group of shirtless sailors hoisting barrels and crates to-and-from the Leviathan-Ship, his 'appreciation' for aesthetics still remaining as shameless as ever.
"Yes, Lyk?"
"How fast can you get a message to Lord Sigiros?"
His friend's expression fell minutely, doubtless already knowing exactly what Lykourgos was asking for, but he nodded nonetheless.
"By messenger bird? Three weeks, perhaps two. Likely only two weeks, if the message is sent by horse and the new waystations are finished along the Woodsroad and Soldier's March. Are they finished?"
He shook his head, to which Elikoidi sighed dramatically.
"Oh well, I suppose that was to be expected. It must take time to get all the horses, the stables, the farriers and grooms and such, all together in one place. Or, well, a series of places I suppose. What is it you'd like the message to say, and should it be signed by your hand?"
He nodded.
"I'll sign it, yes. And I know that you know what it's going to say. Tell him to gather his armsmen and his knights, or what few Triarios may have if there are any at all, and march to Haestinghen. We'll camp outside the city with our own forces soon enough, and when he joins we'll march north-east. We'll march to Nordicos, to their capital city of Corthraxiopolis, and we'll seize it for our own. One more crown subjugated beneath Anaria's rule. Do you think you can convey a message in my hand and under my name that gets that across to him, whilst being a little more diplomatic than I am capable of myself?
Elikoidi just grinned at him.
"Who do you take me for, old friend? Of course I can manage that! I'll have a draft sent to you for reading in a few hours, and it'll be sent by raven as soon as you give the go-ahead. Just do one thing for me, won't you?"
"Of course. Name it, Eli."
The grin grew wider.
"If you are planning on marching as far east as Klironomea goes, please don't make me sit through a siege in a tent. I can hardly imagine anything worse than waiting in those bloody fields for months on end with no entertainment to be found in anything around me, still less the fact that I'd have to sleep in a tent and be around the sick and starving all day."
Lykourgos just rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure we'll be able to find better accommodation for you, spoiled though you might be."
Elikoidi punched him lightly in the shoulder for that one, but the light smiles they both wore as they watched the Brythonians at work, with their wild manes of red hair and their pale, blue-marked skin, told him that the two of them were having perhaps one of the first moments of genuine carelessness they'd had in quite a while.
War would be upon them again soon, but he resolved to enjoy this day for just a few moments more. His mind, even now, was in conflict with itself. He knew that he needed moments like this, but the knowledge that he was putting off his work only made him feel a strange sense of guilt instead of relaxation.
He stayed and stared at the work of the Brythonians a little longer, their long red hair blowing in the wind and the patterns of blue on their skin almost mesmerising him, then nodded at Elikoidi before turning and walking away.
He had far too much to do to waste time on flights of fancy like this.