Lykourgos XIV: Destiny's Bitter Sound
The First Day of the First Moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
"So, your Grace, what now?"
Lykourgos turned to face his old friend, a genuine smile on both their faces.
"Now? Well, we've had a month to clean house in the bureaucracy and knightly orders of the realm, as well as to make a start on seeing to the rebuilding of areas ravaged by war, but all things considered that should not take long."
"How many died overall in the final counts? Eight-thousand, maybe ten-thousand people?"
Lykourgos nodded, lips pursing.
"It is a cruel thing for me to say but... it could have been far worse. It was worth it. Eight-thousand men to see my sister kept from the throne... to see me on the throne..."
There was silence for a moment as Elikoidi moved to place a gloved hand on Lykourgos' shoulder.
"It was worth it. Her reign would have brought about so much more strife than anything this war has caused. For ten-thousand to have died we are lucky; I was expecting far, far more bloodshed."
Lykourgos smiled wanly.
"We have my brother to thank for that, do we not Eli?"
Elikoidi smiled back. His smile was less tired and more relieved.
"Indeed. He played us all expertly. Even my rats had no indication of his plans before you arrived at the walls of the city, and although my suspicions were aroused by the Seer and the death of the Inner Council I was still surprised to find that he had truly been on your side from day one."
"I told you, Eli. He's my little brother. I once fought a war to get him back. I guess he felt the need to repay that debt, not that he ever needed too."
Elikoidi shook his head.
"I can guarantee that there were no thoughts of repaying you in his mind when he set out to dismantle his own forces, and your sister's, from within. I have had to reappraise my assessment of Prince Rhema this past month, especially in this last week, and the words of your cupbearer rings true. He looks up to you, almost idolises you. As his older brother you feel the need to protect him, especially since you were not able for most of your childhood since you were fostered over a hundred miles away, but what you do not count on is that he feels much the same."
"You believe so?"
His friend pulled a thoughtful face.
"Hmm. Perhaps not exactly the same, but close enough. Where you feel protective of him, he feels complete loyalty towards you. You're his older brother, the one person in the world who, for his whole life, treated him like a normal person no matter how bad his condition became. He admires you a great deal, Lyk. He may not exactly be a model prince or ruler, but the thoughts I had of him previously have been proven thoroughly incorrect. No matter how loyal myself or Romanos are, I do not believe that you will find a single person more singularly loyal to you. Not to the crown, or the realm, or even the law. Only you."
Lykourgos smiled sadly.
"I... I am glad of that. I only wish my sister could have felt the same."
Elikoidi shrugged.
"Your sister grew up with everything she'd ever wanted being handed to her by either her zealot of a mother or, when she passed away, your father, who saw in her the same spark her mother had. I do not believe your sister was capable of accepting that things would not go her way. Not in a self-centred, vain way, but simply because it was all she'd ever known."
Lykourgos nodded.
"She... I will not miss her. But I will miss who she could have been."
"She is gone now, Lyk. It is for the best. If she'd been allowed to live-"
"Then retribution would have been swift and deadly. I am aware."
Elikoidi nodded, seeming to understand how tired this conversation was making the prince.
"I do not wish to dredge up old wounds. I apologise. But she is gone, and you're still here. That's what matters to me."
Lykourgos sighed before smiling again.
"Aye, I'm still here. So are you, so is my brother, and so are the rest of my friends. We've got Seventh back, most of the Cult of the Choir within Teleytaios has been smoked out like rats from a burning building, and the civil war is over. Things should start really looking up for us now."
Elikoidi smiled and nudged his shoulder in a teasing manner.
"Careful your Grace," his friend said, "you're starting to sound like you aren't a pessimist."
"I mean it though! Things seem to be looking up for us now. We're on the rise, Eli! It's time for Teleytaios to spread its wings once more, and look outwards at the world."
His friend smiled at him.
"Be careful once more, your Grace. My networks are far patchier outside of Teleytaios, especially in Owkrestos and Triarios, so you'll be going in blind for the most part."
He nodded.
"Well, that's a risk we'll have to take. Anyways, I have other duties to attend at the moment."
"Oh? And what would they entail?"
"There are a great many brave men and women who fought and bled to see me on the throne, and I have yet to speak with many of them. The living need to be rewarded, and the dead honoured. After that we can begin to think of my coronation."
Elikoidi nodded at him, smiling kindly.
"Well, there's no time like the present I suppose. It might take a few days to get through all those still alive who deserve rewarding."
"Undoubtedly, but it is a duty that should be performed nonetheless. I'd like to meet with the Lieutenants and Marshals who ensured my victory first, after all, they're the highest ranking military officials in the realm."
"Certainly. Who would you like to speak with first?"
"Marshal Crowe. I still need to thank her for keeping my brother safe during the war."
Elikoidi nodded.
"Makes sense. After that I'm presuming it'll be Marren and Isen?"
"Yep. Not sure what order, not that it really matters, but yeah. Marshal Crowe and then the two of them."
"All together or, I'm presuming, one at a time?"
Lykourgos nodded.
"One at a time. It'll be good to speak with them candidly in private, see what they make of recent events and future plans. They all did so much to win the battle here; Marren took half a dozen arrows holding the Inner Gate, and apparently Lieutenant Isen single-handedly slew a score of Roses when they counter attacked his men on Last Stander's Street. Heroics like that need to be recognised."
Elikoidi sniffed dismissively.
"I see. Could I-"
"No, you may not have rats watch my confidential conversations with loyal subjects."
Elikoidi rolled his eyes.
"Fine, but only if you agree to tell me any blackmail you learn from them!"
He laughed at his friend's mock-pout.
"Fine, fine, I will. Anyways, I'd better get started. There's much to do, after all."
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"Marshal Crowe!"
"Your Grace."
The muscular woman bowed formally, with a small smile on her face.
"Come, walk with me."
"Certainly, your Grace."
They walked through the hallways of the royal barracks and out into the palace gardens, a comfortable silence between them. Lykourgos leant against a low stone wall, elbows propping him up as he enjoyed the sunshine on his face.
"I meant to thank you, Marshal."
Her face scrunched up in confusion.
"Thank me?"
He nodded.
"For keeping my brother safe. For keeping him out of her reach. In his own words, were it not for you he would almost certainly be dead or broken by now. You kept him... you made sure he did not falter and fall into ill health and greater hardships."
There was silence for a moment, and Lykourgos noticed the violet he had planted some months ago, blooming out of season. He smiled.
"I only did my duty, your Grace. I was sworn to your brother. Whilst I remain sworn to him I will not abide any harm to his person. He has suffered enough as is."
Lykourgos looked back to her, doing his best to convey his gratitude to the woman whether she believed she'd earned it or not.
"Agreed. Be that as it may, I wish to thank you nonetheless. Your services to my family will not be forgotten, this I swear."
She nodded stiffly.
"My thanks, your Grace. If I may ask... word of the Seer's condition has been kept secret from most, or at least remains unknown. May I ask their condition at the moment?"
Ah, it seems she worries for them as well. Unsurprising, given how close Rhema seems to them.
"They are recovering rapidly. Almost too rapidly, all told. No physician, healer, or man of faith has been able to determine how they survived what was done to them. Still less are those who can even begin to explain how the wings sprouted upon their back."
She looked back at him in confusion.
"Wings?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"You do not know?"
"I know not of what you speak, your Grace."
He nodded.
"A conversation for another time. If you'd like I can allow you admission to see them yourself so you can gauge their recovery and look at their new wings, it'd probably be easier than me trying to explain it to you."
She nodded again, but still wore an expression of confusion on her face.
"I have visited them once already, but I remember seeing no such thing."
Lykourgos shrugged.
"Well, according to my brother you were tired, run ragged, and focused on him. Maybe you just didn't look, as vexing as it may sound?"
She smiled at him and shook her head, the notion that she had somehow missed such a thing seeming to amuse her.
"Very well. If I may see them, your Grace, it would assuage a great many of my troubled thoughts. I hear your brother has yet to leave their side?"
He nodded.
"Correct. Rhema cares very deeply for his Seer, it would seem. Not that I expected anything else from him, with how protective he can get, but still. In less grave circumstances I would be teasing him as revenge for all the comments he made about me and Alekos growing up, but there's a time and a place for such levity."
Crowe snorted and looked away.
"Aye, on that much you're right, your Grace. Was their anything else?"
He nodded.
"If you would consent to such a thing, I would be honoured to have you on my council as my Master of Iron. Well, I suppose 'Mistress of Iron' would be the correct term."
She gawped at him, then knelt formally.
"Your Grace, I would be most honoured, but this would break with centuries of unwritten rules about women in combat!"
He cocked an eyebrow again.
Stolen novel; please report.
"Are you seriously telling me that you of all people care for such conventions?"
She chuckled from where she knelt.
"No, I suppose not. I would be honoured to stand at your side, your Grace."
He nodded while smiling.
"Rise, Mistress Crowe. I cannot promise you that you keep this rank forever, since these titles tend to be bickered over by the influential and no matter how much I may despise courtly politicking I may need to engage in it and trade away council positions for loyalty, but I do promise that you will never be anything less than the first Marshal of the kingdom."
She rose, smiling at him.
"I am glad you are truthful with me, and shall endeavor to do the best job I can to prove I have earned this place."
Lykourgos beamed at her.
"I'm certain you will."
"What of Grandmaster Romanos? I think most were under the impression that he would become the Master of Iron."
Lykourgos kicked himself for forgetting to bring this up earlier.
"Ah, I forgot to mention that. I spoke with Romanos some days ago about a position on the council my sister created. I must say that for all the mistakes my sister made, increasing the size of the Inner Council was not one of them. Romanos will be named the Master of Steel, responsible for overseeing the Knights of the Realm, with knightly forces answering to him. This means that your position will not hold jurisdiction over knights, allowing you to better focus on the armsmen and levies of the realm."
She nodded.
"Clever. I take it more decentralisation within the council is to take place?"
He nodded.
"Eventually, yes. There is nothing immediate at the moment that needs to be done, but moving forwards old positions will be split and new created to better administrate the realm."
She nodded again.
"That will be all, Mistress Crowe. Thank you for looking after my brother. It means more to me than you know."
She smiled at him.
"I've got a good idea of how much it means to you, your Grace. I will meet with you in the council meeting tomorrow, I take it?"
He nodded.
"Very well. I shall see you then."
The newly raised Mistress then turned on her heel, and swiftly marched back towards the barracks.
Right, thought the prince, who do I need to speak with next?
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"I must thank you again for your service, Lieutenant. You will go far, that much I promise you."
The man flashed him a smirk.
"Well thank you, your Grace. I hope it doesn't come across as too arrogant if I say I already knew that?"
Lykourgos laughed heartily. At least Isen didn't bow and scrape at his compliments. It was refreshing, given how some people had acted.
"Very droll, Lieutenant."
"Can you blame me, your Grace?"
"Not in the slightest, Isen."
The two fell into a comfortable silence as they looked out over the walls of the Old Keep, high above the bustling city below. It was a nice reprieve from his duties, if a short one, and Lykourgos was content to let it last just a few moments longer.
"There are some who claim you must be unbreakable, your Grace. Given the assassins and then the Storming of Ousdaal there are even those who claim you must be invincible."
He snorted.
"And what do you make of those rumours, Lieutenant?"
When Isen spoke there was... something, though Lykourgos was not sure what, in his voice that marked him as being unhappy.
No, no quite unhappy. Annoyed.
"I think what they call 'invincibility' I would call luck."
Lykourgos looked back at him, slightly thrown off by Isen's tone but smiled at the words nonetheless.
"Fate does seem to protect me, that much is certain."
He paused a moment, then laughed.
"I wouldn't be surprised if I'd used up all of my luck by now."
"Is that so, your Grace?"
Lykourgos nodded, then shook his head whilst smiling.
"Ah, it doesn't matter. I'm here to congratulate you and thank you for your service, not mope and wax about luck or fate."
He turned to look back out over the walls of Anaria before continuing.
"At the very least we're not at war anymore. There will be more conflict to come, of course. Even now there are doubtless small groups of rebels, and of course there will most likely be a spike in bandit activity with the demobilisation of the levies. But even when these are dealt with, the conflict will have to continue. Klironomea must be unified under a single king once more."
Isen was silent to his left, so he carried on.
"We can change so much, if only we reach out and grasp the opportunity as it comes to us."
His gaze remained on the horizon, overlooking the Anarian Marches. He used to hate this city and all the lands attached to it, but now?
Things might actually be looking up for this place.
The prince turned to face his companion, before a sharp pain flared in his chest.
His world blanked with a flare of pain, and cold steel scraped against his ribs.
A strangled gasp left his chest as he fell forwards into Lieutenant Isen, who held him upright with his free hand and stared down at the prince's hunched form with more malice in his eyes than Lykourgos had ever thought possible for one man to possess.
"Wha-"
"I hate you. I've hated you for so long. Saints, I've waited a long, long time to say that. You've always been so lucky in your life. It was enough to drive me mad. You might not remember me. In fact, the day we met again and you looked at me I was sure you'd kill me on the spot. But you didn't. You didn't even recognise me, I don't think. If you did then you certainly put far too much trust in a man who's family you'd seen scattered and dispossessed."
"I don't-"
The knife twisted, and his chest felt as though it had been set on fire.
"I had to watch as you fumbled again and again, throwing away lives with your indecisiveness and obsessions. Not peasant lives either. Good lives, noble lives, and I could do nothing other than blindly follow you, keeping my thoughts to myself. I couldn't even speak my distaste for you out loud in case one of your pet cripples caught wind, nor could I indulge in drink in case I divulged my hatred for you while deep in my cups. You took everything from my family. We had a castle, lands, power, wealth. You took that from us. All of us. The rightful nobility of your father's kingdom, tossed aside like unwanted dregs."
Lykourgos reached to his belt with a shaking hand, looking for his dagger, but of course, it wasn't there. His blades were with his regular garb in his room.
I fucking hate courtly clothes.
If he could just reach down to his boots-
His legs shook with the exertion of just trying to hold himself up, let alone when he tried to reach his arms down.
Okay, that's not happening.
"Years I waited to inherit those lands, but with one letter your father thought to strip it all away. And you, you, who were so eager to bring about destruction, gleefully set about enacting his misbegotten will. Saints, I hate you."
The prince raised his hands in a weak attempt to throttle his assailant, but found he could barely raise his arms with the pain in his chest. A hissed breath rattled out between his teeth, every inhale sending profuse pain through his body, white-hot and clouding his mind. He could barely register the words coming out of Isen's mouth, his every focus on the knife in his chest and on trying to fend off the darkness in the corners of his vision.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm trapped in a nightmare, someone wake me up, please, I can't be-
A pained groan forced it's way out of his throat, derailing his thoughts.
"You know, there's something about you that you, yourself, haven't realised yet. Every time you get knocked down, every time you're unable to reach your goal, you have an epiphany and get back up. You keep fighting for reasons I can't hope to understand. Not given your peasant blood, anyway. Still, the matter of your birth aside, I at least can say I genuinely always did admire your tenacity."
The man squeezed the prince's shoulder in a death grip, so thoroughly that Lykourgos' arm went limp at his side.
"You get back up every time, knowing for certain that this time, surely, surely you'll succeed. Then you fail again. But I think there's something you've failed to realise. Actually, I think you know deep down what it is, but you don't want to admit it to yourself. Your dreams were never unachievable, and the problem was never with your attitude or effort or even your skills."
There was a brief pause, and for two seconds there was a deafening silence on the palace battlements.
"The only thing that ever stopped you from reaching your dreams, was that the person having them was you."
Isen was silent again for a few moments, the only sound on the battlements that of Lykourgos' hyperventilating, shallow breaths.
The blade twisted again, and for a brief moment the prince's world went white.
Isen's other hand maintained its death grip on his shoulder, at this point the only thing keeping the prince on his feet.
"I don't know who they'll name king after this. I don't think it'll matter either. Between you and me, I do have a little secret I might have forgotten to bring up to anyone."
Lykourgos forced himself to keep breathing, his struggles forgotten as he gripped at the traitor's shirt to keep himself somewhat upright. One last time the knife twisted, and another strangled gasp left his throat.
Isen leant in close, his voice a stage-whisper.
"I might have made a few friends in Owkrestos. The regency council of King Aleksandar might not have cared much for my plans, but when Lord Aertax Blackoak caught wind of them, he was much more receptive. The most powerful man in Owkrestos, forced away from the king's regency council by jealous nobles, denied his right, just as I was denied my inheritance. So we made a deal."
The knife was ripped from his chest, and the prince collapsed into the Lieutenant.
"There will be chaos here, now that you're all but dead. Everyone will think your brother ordered you killed in your hour of victory. Few will support him now. That means the remaining nobility will squabble and fight amongst themselves. When this land is at its weakest Lord Blackoak will strike with all the armies under his command, and conquer this kingdom for his own. With his newfound power he can turn on his erstwhile liege, and dethrone his king. Two bastard kings dethroned in one fell swoop."
The knife found its way further down, this time plunging into his torso, and the prince jolted in the traitor's arms.
"Of course, he'll need someone native to Teleytaios to oversee the vast expanses of his new lands, won't he? Someone willing to do what needs to be done in his name? Someone who knows Teleytaios, how she acts, how she feels. He'll need me in the years to come."
The man's voice was halfway between fury and satisfaction as he spoke, clearly torn between killing the prince as fast as he could and taking his time, relishing the moment.
For better or worse, it seemed that the latter argument was winning out in his mind.
"You know I always did hate you for the same reasons I admired you; too tenacious, too bloody-minded, too... lucky. Yes, that's the word: lucky. It all just fell into your lap, didn't it? Never mind that you were born to someone not of royal blood, never mind that you upended every noble tradition and expectation you were supposed to uphold, never mind-"
The man stopped himself for a moment, took a deep breath, and then seemed to compose himself. In but a moment that smug, self-satisfied grin was back on his face and the knife was twisted once more.
"Never mind any of that. Never mind it. It's all in the past now, after all. With your death this nightmare will finally be over, and legitimate rule can pass on to those better suited to the task at hand. Those who rely on skill and pedigree rather than luck and the blunders of others.
"You will not be missed, Prince Lykourgos Sperakos. Perhaps by your brother, perhaps by those few who call you friend, but few else will remain to mourn you. Those who do will get the chance to join you soon enough."
That almost sent Lykourgos into a panic, the knowledge that his friends and last remaining family member might be in danger making him desperately try to move just a little to escape his fate.
"Now now, none of that. They aren't in any immediate danger, not at the moment anyway. Their deaths will not be by the hands of me and mine as yours is to be, that much I can assure you. I care not for the deaths of commoners and lowborns, nor for any who fall under the twin categories of insanity: madness and chivalry.
"No, their deaths will not be at the hands of my men. Not unless it happens to be on the battlefield of course, but even one as stupid as you can surely understand that."
He attempted to clutch at the wound, but his arms strained to do so much as tremble in response to his commands.
"I don't- I don't understand."
The Lieutenant smiled sardonically at him.
"Of course you don't. You're a bastard. A half-formed, mongrel bred, falsely-royal bastard. You can't understand the mind of a nobleman. You struggle to understand royalty, so what hope could you have of understanding me? Of understanding what you've put me through.
"But you were lucky, Lykourgos. Even if you never thought so, you were very lucky indeed. The battles of Haestinghen, of the Einarbrycge, the Anarian Marches, of Anaria itself, you always clawed your way to a victory despite all the odds being against you.
"Of course, it was very nearly different at the Siege of Ousdaal. Twice you nearly died, by my understanding. It was only through chance that you ordered me to remain at the camp instead of entering the breach with you, else I would have put an arrow between your eyes myself. But no. Dumb luck won out once again.
"Do you know the amount of favours I had to call in, the amount of blackmail I had to gather, to get the Choir to support your sister? Then I heard your friend mention something about a 'strange patriarch' to you, and I knew that with just one stroke of luck all of that would come to nothing."
The traitor's teeth gritted at the last few words, and he forced the knife deeper into the prince's chest.
"So I acted as fast as I could, and got a few little friends set up to kill you in your sleep. I hated having to improvise like that, always so messy and unpredictable, though I admit that I did get my hopes up when I started seeing their agents embedded around the camp. But then, then-"
The man cut himself off with a breathless laugh.
"By sheer chance, your little whore of a cupbearer stumbled onto the scene and clumsily helped you fend them off."
The knife left him once more, and Lykourgos could do naught but watch on with bleary eyes as it was raised to his own throat.
"But none of that matters now. Because then you asked to speak with me in private for my 'bravery' in storming this city. Because your luck has finally run out. Your tenacity, your will to survive, will come to nothing here and be both know it. All those things that I despised and admired are done with, empty, and hollow. I realised something on the way here; why didn't Master Elikoidi know about the assassins? Then it came to me. Of course! Lieutenant Ingfred let it out in conversation with me, but for some reason it slipped my mind after I had him killed by my archers on the road here.
"Now that was stupidity on your part; you didn't even question the fact he'd led a bunch of longbowmen into the woods then turned up riddled with arrows without a culprit ever being found? But I digress, let us return back to you and your little spymaster friend; that was your deal with him, wasn't it? He gets free reign outside the law, so long as no one watches you.
"So I came here, and I got to do this myself. I would have preferred to keep my hands clean of this, to alleviate any suspicions and watch the chaos unfold up close, but at least I can take solace in the knowledge that I get to watch you die."
Ichor bubbled out from between the prince's teeth, a tiny trickle of blood running down his chin from the corner of his mouth as his assailant smiled down at him.
"This is how I've wanted too see you for so long, Lykourgos. Powerless. Completely at my mercy. I always did admire your tenacity."
Saliva fell freely from Lykourgos' mouth as he panted in exertion, the spittle mixing with the blood and miniscule shavings of bone on the floor between them.
"I hated you for so long. I could slit your throat right now. But I won't. You've taken everything from me. I've dreamed of this moment for years, I think it's only right that I savour it while it lasts."
Lieutenant Isen leaned in close to Lykourgos, his breath hot and heavy, a sadistic smile plastered across his face. They locked eyes, and for the first time Lykourgos truly saw how deep hatred could run.
"Forgive me for speaking in cliches, 'your Grace', but I'm very much going to enjoy watching the light leave your eyes for true this time."
The man wore a humourless smile as he let go of the prince, and without his support Lykourgos fell unceremoniously to the floor.
"I heard that your mother was little more than a whore whom your father bedded on campaign. I have heard that your siblings were mad in different ways. I know that your father possessed an insanity all of its own to try and deny the nobility their rights."
The man knelt down to whisper in Lykourgos' ear as he writhed weakly on the ground, his voice mocking in tone.
"Your peasant blood was the only stain people knew of, Lykourgos. But I know better. I know what you really are, and you do not impress me.
"You're no hero, no conqueror, no bringer of justice. You're just a boy who thought he could change the way the world worked, and nothing more.
Isen stood, and raised a hob-nailed boot. The traitor brought it crashing down upon the prince's head, leaving his mind swimming in a morass of tar as his assailant turned to walk away. Lykourgos lay slack on the floor. He was tired.
"Goodbye, your Grace."
The last thing Lykourgos could make out was the blurred sight of someone in distress, and a commotion somewhere in the area around him, but he couldn't concentrate on that for long.
His head was swimming in blackness, and his chest felt so hot. He was so tired.
The last thing he heard was his own rasping, strangled breaths, before everything went black.
Tired.