Lykourgos XIII: The Dream Held, Dauntless
The Twenty-Eighth day of the Eleventh moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
Thrice they had been harried by enemy parties on their way to the palace, and thrice had they beaten back their woefully outnumbered and outmatched opponents. Of his sister's forces there was almost nothing left; her knights were scattered or slain, what few armsmen were left had seen the writing on the walls and thrown down their weapons, and the levies... well, they'd broken and fled back to the walls of the palace, only to find the gates closed to them.
They'd surrendered quite quickly after that.
The only missing link was the Band of the Wren; he'd heard reports that a huge portion of the entire sellsword company had been wiped out in the fighting that had engulfed the eastern district, with what was left withdrawing to the docks in the west. He wouldn't be surprised if there was an increase in piracy along the Teleytaian coastline soon enough, after all, to homeless sellswords with nowhere left to turn the prospect of 'commandeering' a few of the merchant vessels still in the docks and turning their skills towards raiding likely didn't sound too bad.
Either way, it was likely that the Company of the Wren was finished. Symon would be pleased at that; they'd been one of the main business rivals of the Starlings for quite some time, and with them gone he was left as the commander of the only major outfit in Teleytaios. As for Lykourgos, he was admittedly quite disappointed. He had hoped to strike a deal similar to that he had made with the Starlings with the Wrens, bolstering his forces after the war, but it seemed that it was not to be.
No matter. It was inconsequential, all told. His sister had a scant one or two-hundred guards left in the palace, and that was it. Dreamwulf and Lieutenant Marren were in the south of the city, preventing a sack of the noble manses, and Lieutenant Isen was leading men into the western district to mop up what was left and take stock of the damages wrought by his sister's overly-zealous piety.
Though it seemed she had not even the loyalty of her guards. There had been no glorious final act to this war. No great storming of the breach, no battering down the gates, none of that. The guards had known which way the winds were blowing, and in return for not being killed by the host that vastly outnumbered them had elected instead to herd up the remaining nobility in the palace into the throneroom, confine his sister to her chambers, and then simply open the gates. It had been Lieutenant Daniil who opened the gates to him after ensuring the safety of his men, not wanting them to take on the shame of such an act. Lykourgos had raised an eyebrow at that. He had not seen Daniil in at least two years, but protecting the honour of his men didn't exactly fit what he remembered. He stayed on his guard as he passed through the gatehouse leading to the palace complex, loyal knights and armsmen flanking him on either side, but there was no trap designed to ensnare or kill him. He looked back at the Lieutenant in his red livery, and motioned him to his side.
"Your Grace."
"Do not think I don't realise you have served every party in this war now, Lieutenant. I have good reason to order your execution."
Contrary to his expectations, the man just nodded.
"You do, your Grace. Will the men be looked after?"
"They will."
Daniil nodded and took a deep breath, steeling himself for a moment. He exhaled, and knelt before the prince.
"I am ready, your Grace. I trust you to keep your word."
The men to either side of Lykourgos shuffled uncomfortably as Lykourgos stepped forwards. It was not a sword he laid on the Lieutenant's head, but an armoured hand.
"I pardon you."
The Lieutenant looked up in shock.
"Your Grace, I-"
"You were willing to die for your men. You were willing to dishonour yourself and die in shame if it meant they were to survive. That marks you as being better than I remember, at least. Probably half of your thousand are still alive and amongst my own ranks. You will lead them again, taking these guards to bolster them. Needless to say, I expect total loyalty for my leniency here, no matter how much you may have earned it."
The man looked up at him, tears of relief just pricking at the corners of his eyes, and nodded.
"Whatever you ask of me, of my thousand, it will be done, your Grace."
He nodded stiffly at the man, attempting to appear impassive rather than pleased.
"Good. You can start by ensuring the Royal Barracks are prepared to receive some new guests for a night or two. Dismissed."
With that the relieved but admittedly bewildered man rose and walked off to see to his new task. Lykourgos had to stop himself from chuckling at the confused expression on the man's face. The Lieutenant had clearly expected to die just moments ago, and yet by what must have seemed a mere whim on the behalf of the prince had seen him spared and granted a pardon.
Lykourgos settled on just smiling to himself as he walked into the palace proper. The war was over. He had won; there was no need for unnecessary bloodshed. Some people would have to die, but men like Daniil could be quite useful, if properly guided. No matter how much he may limit it however, some death remained in the immediate future no matter which way he looked at it; he had taken his home, now all that was left was to burn out the rot.
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He walked briskly through the winding corridors of the Old Keep in the palace that made up the long route he had taken to make his way to the throneroom. The palace had been the site of royal families and the centre of whatever kingdom held it since time immemorial, and it certainly showed in how large and sprawling it had become. The age of the palace could also be seen in its architecture, which was almost a patchwork of styles. Ancient Skraeling stonework gave way to Tildan brickwork and Dathanian marble, which in turn was supplanted by carved stone and granite tiles. The whole thing was only made more confusing by the centuries of renovations, rejuvenation and rebuilding that had occurred under various rulers depending on their favoured styles, and indeed what was seen as most prestigious whenever they let their pet architects run wild.
All in all it was a maze, but despite having been raised in Aenirhen and refusing to set foot within the city for two years after the rebellion, he found he could still navigate the winding passageways as though he had never left.
He was shaken from his thoughts when he heard a voice calling to him.
"Your Grace! Your Grace!"
A small figure barrelled down the corridor towards him, message in hand and panic on his face.
"It's from Haestinghen, your Grace! The Seer, he's been taken! Two armsmen were slain outside and Ser Aethel was found dead in the corridor leading to the room they were being kept in."
Lykourgos felt panic rise within, but he quelled it at once. He could not afford himself the luxury of impulse here.
"Understood. The man we uncovered at the Horndaal?"
Ilias swallowed.
"Untouched. The remaining guards, whilst safe with their charge in the keep at Haestinghen, know they can't stay there much longer. They report people in the town beginning to fearmonger about the unconscious man, and the Gentleman of the town is unable to control what seems to be his own mob any longer."
He nodded.
"Order them to make for the capital at once. It is safe here now, and we can keep a better eye on him if he remains close anyhow. Do we know the culprit behind this act?"
Ilias looked away slightly, mumbling.
"Would you mind speaking up?"
The boy nodded.
"We don't know, but I have an idea. I don't like it though."
"What is it?"
His cupbearer sucked in a hurried breath before blurting out his answer.
"Ser Aenethar went missing that same day, and his body hasn't been found. I think he abducted the Seer for the Cult of the Choir."
Lykourgos rushed forwards and crouched down to Ilias' height, shushing him.
"Shh, most people here still think they're a faetale. Tell me, quietly, why you think they're involved, and why you think Aenethar is one of theirs?"
Ilias swallowed again.
"Well, Master Elikoidi said the Choir probably wanted to get their hands on you thanks to your fascinations with the esoteric, and Aenethar was in the room when Seventh roused the unconscious man from his slumber. He must have known then that Seventh was some form of mystic or magic user."
Lykourgos nodded. It made sense so far.
"And how do you reach the conclusion that Aenethar is a member of, or otherwise affiliated with, this cult? After all, your theory rests on that single fact."
Ilias nodded.
"That night outside Ousdaal, when you nearly... when people tried to kill you, did you get a weird feeling when you saw their eyes? Some felt like they were only half-conscious the whole time, and the others..."
Lykourgos nodded.
"I did, yes. Symon commented on their eyes too, so I recall."
Ilias looked into Lykourgos' own eyes, with a determined glint.
"And did you not get that same feeling from Ser Aenethar?"
Lykourgos was silent a few seconds before standing abruptly.
"ROMANOS! CROWE! GET HERE, NOW!"
Ilias flinched at the volume of his voice, and soon enough the two armoured figures were racing down the hall in full armour.
"Your Grace! What's happened, are you alright?"
Crowe had her hand on the pommel of her longsword, scanning the hallway as Romanos reached the two of them.
"Ilias has shared with me some dire news, Sers. Crowe, Ser Aenethar has gone rogue and kidnapped Seventh. Romanos, this false knight is working for the Choir."
In less than a heartbeat both Romanos and Crowe were a flurry of action.
"I will inform his Highness of this immediately! He needs to know this!"
Lykourgos nodded as she left and Romanos spoke.
"I'll alert the men. Do we know where they're headed?"
The prince shook his head, but then Ilias spoke.
"According to the Gentleman of the town a large figure in armour was seen with a second person leaving the town by the Woodsroad west."
Romanos rubbed his chin with an armoured hand.
"There's a few small towns and large villages along that road, but the only place of any real import that it runs would be here, to the capital. But then news like this takes time to travel. If we've only just received this message now..."
Lykourgos found the beginnings of a smile begin to cross his face as a realisation dawned on him.
"Then they're likely already in the city. Perfect! Grandmaster, this task needs to be undertaken with great speed, care, and stealth. Pick out some of your most trusted and loyal knights who will follow you no matter what. Take great care with this, as you will not be able to explain what the mission is lest any of them are tied to this cult as Ser Aenethar was. I will attempt to find where in the city, if they are indeed in the city, the Seer is being held. Good luck, Ser."
Romanos dipped into a bow.
"Your will be done, your Grace."
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He met with his brother outside the doors that lead to the throneroom. Rhema's face was contorted into a furious glare, and yet Lykourgos could tell that a considerable part of him was deeply concerned for his missing friend.
"They were well protected, of that I assure you. Circumstances conspired against the guards, I think."
Rhema looked up at him.
"So what, it was luck that they were taken? Come on, I expected you to be better than to use that excuse with me."
Lykourgos shrugged.
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"It's the truth. We left them with twenty men as a guard, and Ser Aenethar stayed with them. He waited until the situation was favourable for himself before he struck."
His brother cursed under his breath before speaking.
"So then it wasn't luck. It was Aenethar, that seven-times-damned treasonous fucking turncoat, who I left my best friend with. It was my fault."
Rhema punched a vase on a pedestal so hard it shattered into a dozen pieces. Lykourgos watched a brief moment, feeling sympathy for his brother's plight, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I know you want to leave right away to find them, and soon enough you will, but I need you here with me a moment longer. Please Rhema. Beyond those doors lie the throne, along with the majority of the men and women who would once have seen this land reduced to ruin for their own ambitions. If anyone knows where your friend is, it's bound to be one of them. They'll talk if we let them, but I need you by my side."
He stepped away from his brother and moved towards the doors, hesitating a moment. Turning back to Rhema he extended his hand.
"I need you, brother. Are you with me?"
The gentle sincerity in his voice seemed to have shaken Rhema somewhat, and he moved to clasp the proffered hand.
"Always, brother. Always."
They nodded at each other once, then moved into the throneroom.
Before them was a congregation of all Lykourgos hated in rulership. Nobles. Nobles. Self-aggrandising, pampered and disconnected from the world outside their own walls.
Angels, he hated nobles.
There were around four-score of the highborns in the throneroom before him, anxiety exuding from each of them like a miasma thanks to the grim-faced Men-at-Arms lining the sides of the vast chamber.
Before Lykourgos could even speak his brother belted out his titles in a rather aggressive and... well, he supposed it could be called a 'unique' manner.
"Kneel before Lykourgos, the rightful King of Teleytaios! Kneel to the man who shattered your armies four years ago, and once again these last few months. Kneel to the man responsible for you losing your lands and castles."
His brother sucked in a breath, his voice going to a more normal volume, but it was heard by no fewer people in the room for it.
"Kneel to my brother. Kneel to the King. Or I'll take your heads myself."
There was a dangerous edge to his tone, especially for those last few words. It was a voice that promised murder to those who stepped out of line, to those who had run out of luck and cards to play.
It was a tone that addressed those who had turned an excitable young boy into an unstable, half-mad princeling.
Lykourgos' mind darkened at that reminder. This was why he was fighting. One of the reasons, anyhow. So that these people couldn't shatter the kingdom as they had once tried to, so they couldn't hurt his brother anymore, and so they couldn't hurt those beneath them as they once had. He cleared his throat.
"I have reason to believe that one or more of you has been involved in a conspiracy to abduct the young Seer you have no doubt all come to know in your years at court. If any of you know their whereabouts at this time, I strongly advise you step forwards and make yourselves known."
There was a deafening silence in the hall for ten seconds, but no-one stepped forwards. He nodded at one of the Men-at-Arms standing guard.
"Take them to the Royal Barracks. There they will remain under armed guard until I decide what to do with them. Don't worry yourself about their comfort."
He turned his gaze back to the crowd. Some looked scared. Some defiant. Most were just anxious. He continued.
"I don't think they'll be there long enough to worry about such things."
The Man-at-Arms nodded back, and the others moved forwards. Lykourgos waved some more of his loyal men into the room, and directed them to assist with the arrest of the remaining nobility of Teleytaios.
One man, who looked to have enjoyed a great many more meals than the average man, turned his head as best he could and shouted to the prince.
"I know! Your Grace, I know!"
Lykourgos held up a hand, and the men dragging the large nobleman unceremoniously dumped him at the feet of the two princes. Rhema ground his teeth next to him, practically vibrating with a need to find his friend, glaring daggers at the man. The nobleman's jowls wobbled as he trembled, making him look less like a dignified nobleman and more like an overly-fed cockerel.
Lykourgos added his own glare to his brother's, and the man looked down at the floor.
"You know? Know what, exactly."
"I know! I know where the pagan is!"
The man practically threw himself on the floor before the brothers, looking moments from pissing himself as Lykourgos stared down at him.
"Then tell us. Now."
The man swallowed, his chins wobbling as he did so.
"I would need assurances of my own safety. I don't want to die here, your Grace. Pardon me of my crimes, set me free, I beg of you, and I will tell you."
Lykourgos turned to his brother, who looked torn between beating the man to death for his involvement in Seventh's kidnapping and pardoning him on the spot to save his close friend. Lykourgos turned back to the man, steel in his voice and a glare in his eyes.
"So you admit to your crimes? You even refer to them as such."
He ground his teeth a moment before he spoke again.
"Over the next few days a great many of your peers will find themselves shortened by a head, or else hanged as common criminals. I have yet to decide which of the two it shall be. If you do not wish to join them, I highly suggest you tell us where they are being kept. At the very least, I will promise you your life should you cooperate."
Rhema stepped forwards, closing the gap between himself and the terrified nobleman.
"Even if you will not tell my brother, you will tell me, one way or another. I do not care what I have to do to you to get a location out of you, so I highly suggest you listen to my brother when he says he will spare you. Because if you don't, I can promise that I will not be so merciful."
There was silence for a moment, and both brothers wrinkled their noses. Rhema turned and spoke.
"Angels above man, have some dignity. Someone wash down the floor!"
The prince watched, mildly amused, as his brother turned back to the man one last time before continuing.
"And bring me my axe! He doesn't seem to be talking fast enough for my liking!"
The man panicked, almost shouting the words to save his skin.
"Seaview Hill Manse! Seaview Hill Manse! The under-basement!"
Lykourgos raised an eyebrow. An under-basement wasn't exactly uncommon, but he had no knowledge of such a floor existing under any of the manses. He made to speak, re-entering the conversation.
"And how will we be able to find this under-basement?"
The man gabbled a moment before Lykourgos very pointedly settled his hand on the hilt of his blade. That made him remember quite quickly.
"There's a wall of wine casks! Th- no, four from the left, bottom layer! It should read as a cask of Khipridonian 826! That's all I know, I swear!"
Lykourgos turned to Rhema and nodded once, before returning his impassive stare to the quivering nobleman beneath him.
"Very well then. Thank you for your cooperation. In recognition of your willingness to uphold your end of the bargain, I will now uphold mine."
Rhema turned to him, mildly angry. Lykourgos knew Rhema would rather see the man killed no matter what agreement he had made.
But Lykourgos could not do that. His honour would not abide it. He could do this however...
"You are to be stripped of all wealth, lands and properties, and exiled from the Kingdom of Teleytaios. You will find passage out of the country by the time the sun sets. If you are ever seen in Teleytaios past that date, you will be hanged as a traitor to the crown."
The man blanched, the colour draining from his face.
"But you promised!"
Lykourgos nodded.
"I promised you your life. That was our deal. Believe me, if you hadn't told us of this, you would likely have been executed by the morning. Might I suggest Anatolikoi for your new home? Someone mad enough to form a covenant with the Choir would fit right in at the court of the Mad Count of Mytenaeopolis. Either way, I wish you good fortune in getting to that wretched island and a quick death once you arrive."
He moved to walk past the man, through the throneroom up to the throne that he would sit once coronated. He turned back to the pale-faced man, who was still coming to terms with his exile, staring back at him with as gaunt an expression as his clearly well-fed face would allow. The prince gave him a self-satisfied smile as the man was picked up by the guards and taken out of the room.
"Good day."
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The nobles had been led to the barracks to await their trail, so he had been told, and what was left of his sister's forces had been disarmed or otherwise destroyed. The western district had welcomed his forces with open arms and handed over several more nobles who had tried to bribe their way to safety.
Turns out sailors and dockhands were a lot less likely to make deals with you and help you escape no matter your wealth when you'd spent the last few moons burning their beloved family members and community leaders for their faith. Go figure.
As for the south, he had been assured it was intact. Symon was as good as his word on the matter, ensuring that his men did not give themselves over to the madness of battle and spark a sack, though the prince was certain that a fair few valuable items would be 'missing' upon closer inspection. He shrugged to himself. It wasn't like the men hadn't earned it.
"So, what now?"
Rhema's voice shook him out of his stillness. He looked up at the throne again from the back of the hall. This was all he had ever wanted, all he had earned, and yet looking up at it now...
He was scared. Scared he would lead his people to ruin, scared he would not be able to protect them, scared that he would become a tyrant no different than the one his sister would have been.
He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes to clear his mind. He needed to think clearly if he wanted to-
"Your Grace!"
He opened his eyes in irritation, as-
"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME! I AM THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF THIS LAND! UNHAND ME!"
Rhema shook his head and looked away as the one person he had hoped not to see, they had both hoped not to see, came into view, being none-too-carefully handled by a pair of frustrated armsmen. He raised his voice.
"What is the meaning of this! She was to be confined to her chambers under my orders, under your Lieutenant's orders!"
The two soldiers looked at each other uneasily, and one of them tilted their head at him whilst looking at his comrade in a "You tell him" motion.
"Your Grace, she-"
"Peasant! He is not 'your Grace', I am! He's a bastard, a half-born raised in-"
He shouted down at her, his voice as stern as a sergeant and glacier cold as his choler overtook him.
"SILENCE! DO NOT THINK TO DEMEAN ME, YOU VILE HARPY!"
She flinched, as did Rhema, at his volume and tone. He rubbed his temples with his hand, and motioned for the soldier to continue through his sister's stunned silence.
"We were standing guard, so it please your Grace, when we 'eard the scraping of stone inside. We looked in and she was trying to open some sort of passage or tunnel through a stone door, so we stopped her and brought her to you."
He nodded, then turned his gaze back down at her.
"I wanted to put this off. I knew what I'd have to do to you as soon as the assassins came after me, but I still found myself hesitant when I was looking upon the walls of the palace."
Rhema snapped to look at him at the mention of assassins, shock and fury creeping its way upon his features. Ah, he did not know. Lykourgos continued.
"I did not want to do this. I still don't. But you've committed too many crimes to be set free, far too many, and you're far too dangerous to be allowed to live."
"So then you will kill me."
He shook his head slowly.
"I will not. You have already stuck the name 'Apostate' to our family thanks to your madness on the docks. I will not see kinslayer added to that title. Marshal Crowe will swing the sword."
He looked down at his sister, desperately trying to stifle any feelings of pity or remorse as he passed the sentence upon his wayward family member.
"I wish I did not have to do this, but at the very least your death will be dignified. Most of your supporters amongst the nobility will be hanged as common criminals in a day or two, but at the very least you will be granted a death befitting a noble, a royal, of such status. I sentence you to death by beheading, to be carried out immediately. For what little it is worth, I am sorry."
There was silence for a moment, broken by an almost maniacal laugh that sounded more like it should have come from their brother as she finally looked up at the two of them.
"To call you 'Family' implies I ever loved you to begin with. It implies that I cared for your weakness, or your madness. 'Apostate' implies I believe the words of your false heresies. I am no apostate. I follow the true light, the light of the Alithini Agiathos, and as such your pagan and heretical beliefs will find no purchase on my soul. I despise you. Both of you. You, bastard, who have condemned my family to ruin, and you, brother, who were so weak and blinded by false love that you helped him. If you think your honeyed words or the witchcraft of your little pagan toy will addle my mind enough that I will place myself beyond saving, then you're dead wrong. I do not need saving. I never have. You are beyond saving, both of you. When you kill me I know what will be waiting for me; my father and mother, with all the love they bore me in life, will welcome me into the heavens with open arms, and I will await those loyal to me who will serve me for all eternity. When my loyal friends kill you there will be nothing waiting for you but the cold dark. You will wander for an eternity, and you will curl into a ball and wait on the cold ground, wondering why your 'Angels' chose this for you, even though you know now that you chose this yourselves.
Kill me. You will cut my head from my shoulders, burn my body, destroy everything I ever had, but it won't matter. Every time you stand in this room, every time you sit the throne or host a feast from the dais, you will see the stains of my blood on the floor and walls of this grand hall, and no matter how hard you clean it, no matter how thoroughly or how often you order it scrubbed clean, you will always see the stains of my blood. You will never forget how you ordered your own sister cut down here.
You know I'm right, I can see it in your eyes. You're afraid, bastard. That's why you want me dead. You're scared of me too, aren't you little brother? Good. Though I shouldn't take too much pride in that. You're scared of everything. Maybe you won't find yourself seeing me in everything you do, bastard. But I know you will, won't you little brother? One last little piece of straw to shatter what's left of your sanity, to leave you a thoroughly broken, rambling mess."
She paused a brief moment, then smiled at them.
"I hope you never experience joy again. I hope you wish you were dead. I do not pray for your demise; on the contrary I pray for the opposite.
I pray you both live very, very long lives.
And I hope you hate every second of it."
Rhema was silent, and Lykourgos was almost shaking in rage at her words, at what she had the gall to accuse them of. He turned to Rhema.
"Brother, you have a friend to save. Ser Romanos has likely already assembled a force by now, find him, tell him the location and then save your friend."
Rhema turned to look at him as Crowe unsheathed her longsword.
"Are you sure?"
Lykourgos looked at him a short moment, shaking his head as he turned back to their sister.
"I think you had better leave, Rhema. I would be happier if you did not have to watch."
His little brother opened and closed his mouth a few times, questions and responses seemingly dying on his lips. After half a minute he eventually nodded, and spoke in a quiet, almost delicate voice.
"Okay."
And then he took off back through the palace halls.
Lykourgos waited a brief moment, making sure his beloved brother would not be forced to bear witness, then nodded at Crowe. The two armsmen moved her to kneel over a wooden block they had found from somewhere whilst the prince had been occupied, and Crowe gave him one last look, a message written as clearly across her face as it would have been if she'd spoke it out loud. 'Are you sure?', her face seemed to say.
He did not know. In the half-second of thought he allowed himself, he could not shake the feeling that he would never know. But it was too late now.
He nodded once, stiffly, and the blade was raised. Even if he'd changed his mind in this very moment, it would have been too late to stop.
No. It would be better to stick with his decision and accept whatever came from it.
The blade struck true, and in a single moment his brother was all that he had left of his family.