Rhema I: His Brother's Due
The Eighth Day of the Second Moon, 873 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
Saints, how in all the hells had Lykourgos planned to manage this mess?
Rhema let out a frustrated groan as he let his head fall to the table, his face resting atop a pile of parchments and paperwork. Their sister had left... well, he wasn't sure exactly what it was that she'd done to the lands that had been bequeathed to her, but they were left in somewhat of a poor state. Actually he had a solid bet as to what she'd done with the lands, and that was nothing at all. No wonder taxes and tithes had been down the last few years, there was hardly anyone being sent out to collect them. In some places the bureaucracy acted almost as the old nobles did, as though the rebellion had never happened.
He'd made sure to cure the realm of that ailment as one of his first actions as acting regent, and his cure, if blunt, had been very effective.
Heads. Tar. Spikes. Crude, but it worked.
In more ways than one he was fucking pissed. A goodly portion of her lands were originally supposed to be his, before she stuck her claws into father and had him sent to one of the most outlying regions of the kingdom, and he was fairly certain that even he would have done a better job of administering to the lands than she had. At the very least he would have left the running of his demesne to someone competent rather than leaving it to rot and concentrating on all the fancies and fineries of the capital.
But no. Here he was, in a small antechamber in the palace, looking through nearly five years worth of records and trying to separate what was true and what had been siphoned away. He closed his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. He really didn't want to be doing this. In many ways this fell under the purview of the new Master of Copper, an exile from Sothettar who had arrived in the kingdom not long ago. The man seemed good and loyal, and that was what counted at the moment. If Lyk didn't agree with the man's appointment when he awoke then he was more than welcome to dismiss him and install someone of his own choosing, but he had the feeling that that would not be necessary. After all, his brother valued nothing quite as much as competence, save perhaps justice.
Justice. What a stupid concept. What an outdated concept. Any justice in the world had been lost for a long, long time. The death of Harald II? The ascension of the manic king? Or perhaps even further back. He supposed that, to some, justice may have been lost since the Klironomeans ousted the Skraeling kings of house Doregern. Anyhow, justice, no matter when, was gone. But his brother was supposed to bear justice now. King Lykourgos, second to bear that name, should have been a symbol of unity and honesty that all could rally behind and rebuild under. Instead his brother was still a prince, and had been mortally wounded on the day of his coronation. Rhema had some theories about who had been responsible, but Elikoidi seemed certain that it had been Lieutenant Isen. As much as Rhema would have liked to pin such events on the choir, seeing as they'd been responsible for the wounding of his best friend, he had to admit that Lieutenant Isen made for a much more convincing candidate than the cult of the choir anyway. Besides, the old cult was all but dead once more; it's adherents were scattered and leaderless, with their leader and his right hand having fled on a ship in the chaos of that night.
Even still, the list of people who would have wished they'd killed themselves when they'd had the chance as soon as he got his hands on them had grown. Turnkey, Ser Aenethar, and now Lieutenant Isen. Well, that was assuming he could get his hands on Isen before anyone else did.
Rhema happened to know that there was a long, long line of people who wanted to 'speak' with the soldier before he was granted the mercy of the noose. Elikoidi for a start, after all he'd been friends with Lyk for years before the rebellion, and their bond hadn't frayed in the years since then. After him it would probably be Dreamwulf. The blind man was as skilled as his brother had claimed, and had a most calm aura about him most of the time. He was a wealth of salt-of-the-earth wisdom, who always seemed to think a great deal before he acted. But then Rhema had also seen the other side of the blind warrior, the bloodhound that could strike down half a dozen men almost effortlessly, the man who would wade through blood and death if it meant his friends would live another day. He was fiercely loyal to his brother, and Rhema had to admit that he'd become quite fond of the man as the days had gone past as well. It was a very rare sight to have anyone else standing guard by his brother's bedside. He'd had to be damn near forced to take his rest the first few weeks, and the look on his face when he'd seen the state of their king-to-be... well, it rivalled the fury and anguish of Rhema himself. That was a dangerous man, and one he would be most delighted to fight alongside. It seemed odd that a monk of all people was so skilled a soldier, but then he supposed that the young man must have lived an interesting life beforehand. He made a mental note to ask the man about his past at some point. In any other circumstances he'd spend most days sparring with him, but alas, the two of them were far too busy at the moment.
His brother's healer seemed to be the other holy-type that he'd picked up on his ventures and expeditions into the occult. Nasos was definitely a more traditional priest than Dreamwulf was, that much was certain, and was bloody good with a needle and thread. That last bit was probably the only reason Lyk could still draw breath, to be honest. He wasn't sure exactly how the procedure of sealing stab wounds went, but the young man was bloody good at it.
"Tired, your Highness?"
Seventh's voice came from the door of the antechamber, and Rhema raised his head from the table to look at them. He frowned slightly. He didn't like that his friend still wore a blindfold, but he supposed he understood the need to prevent anyone being driven mad.
"Always. I don't know how my brother did it in his old domain, north of the Einar. I'm also unsure quite how badly my sister's lands were left to rot. I don't know if it's neglect, corruption, or some combination of the two, but the numbers don't paint a pretty picture."
His friend huffed out a small laugh as they walked over to the prince, resting a hand on their shoulder.
"Well, at least you're making a start. I still remember seeing the shock on the faces of those bureaucrats you ordered beheaded for stealing from the crown. Doubly so when you told them you meant to swing the blade yourself."
Rhema chuckled.
"Have you had a chance to look upon the eastern gates from the outside of the city? If not then I suggest you do; a few of them still have those expressions to this day."
"I'll make sure to check them out. Really though, how are you doing at the moment?"
Rhema gave the seer a wry smile.
"Would it be wrong of me to say 'no fucking idea'?"
Seventh shrugged at him.
"Sounds about right to me."
"Yeah, I assumed you'd say that no matter what I ended up saying. Now, tell me something. Who is that man you've been talking with these last few weeks. I've never seen him before, but the rest of my brother's retinue seemed rather astounded to see him, not that any of them really knew anything when I asked them."
Seventh tilted their head to one side in thought, as though they were contemplating the best way to approach his question.
"He is the man your brother found unconscious at the Horndaal on one of his expeditions. I was able to awaken him when I reached your brother's camp, but he went back to sleep not long after. Still, with the proverbial spell broken, it was simply a normal sleep he had returned too, as opposed to a supernatural one."
Rhema blinked a few times, taking it all in.
"A supernatural sleep? Then how long was he there for?"
Seventh shrugged.
"He's not rightly sure, but not long after the burial of Harald II. Either way, he was entombed in stone for centuries before your brother uncovered him."
"Why was he there?"
His friend's face had a look of confusion, as though he were wondering the same thing.
"Why was he at the Horndaal or why was he entombed? I asked him on both accounts, but received only vague explanations or passing comments to brush off any further questioning. For why he was at the Horndaal, I at least received half an answer. He said that the fort is old, far older than mankind thinks, and has stood far longer than any man could possibly remember. He got a sort of... wistful look... when he reached the end of that statement. Still, it's better than his answer for why he was entombed. He just looked at me and cryptically said it was 'for his own safety'. I admire him greatly for reasons I cannot share, not until he tells you himself, but he can be damn annoying when he's cryptic."
Rhema let out a snort at that, and giggled a little when Seventh turned to them.
"Now you know how I feel when I'm speaking with you."
That earned him a light-hearted clip about the ear, but he could hear the smile in the words of his friend.
"You're terrible to me."
"Aye, I am. But you love me for it!"
His friend let out a long-suffering laugh as they nodded at his retort.
"Dear lord help me."
The two of them looked at each other with as serious an expression as the humorous exchange would allow, before the both of them broke out into a fit of giggles.
"You know, I should probably feel more... I don't know, surprised? Awed? That a man centuries old is stalking the halls of the palace."
Seventh chuckled lightly.
"Oh, trust me, he's more than a few centuries old. More than a few millennia, actually. But I get your point. It does seem passing odd that there isn't more of a reaction, but then I suppose only a few people really have even the most basic idea of how long he's lived for. Apparently there's something about him that just... makes people accept it as the truth? I wish I had a better answer for you, but this isn't like my dream-magics. This is something far, far older. Your brother woke something truly ancient when he uncovered that man, but I don't think anyone really appreciates the magnitude of it just yet, especially since he seems to be lying low."
"Why's that?"
His friend visibly suppressed a shudder.
"I told him what had happened to me and he was none too keen to, and I quote, 'deal with those fucking nutjobs again'. Take from that what you will."
Rhema blinked as the implications of that ran through his mind.
"Wait, so he's-"
"Like me? Pretty much. Well, except for he's a lot older. And stronger. And more experienced. He's basically what I would likely be working towards being, had there been anyone around to teach me."
Rhema shook his head and smiled.
"Well, you've done well enough for yourself regardless. Anyways, I was going to-"
An armoured fist knocked on the door three times, and Rhema paused.
"Yes?"
"Your Highness! The Black Swan is coming into port at the docks! King Alekos was aboard and is currently awaiting permission to enter the palace!"
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Rhema smiled lightly and turned back to Seventh.
"Ah, he'll be here to check on my brother. Seems the news must have travelled far already."
He turned back to the door and raised his voice.
"Grant him admittance!"
"At once, your Highness!"
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Rhema stood beside the throne, one hand resting on the head of the axe resting in a loop at his belt and as stern an expression as he could muster on his face. He'd deliberately picked out some of the guards with the sternest aspects to line the halls, just for added intimidation. Now, Rhema liked Alekos, but that only went so far. He also wanted to scare the shit out of the relatively timid royal. Why?
Because his brother had been very fond of him, and it had crushed him when he left.
Maybe they'd made up. Maybe they hadn't. Either way, Alekos was here to see Rhema's beloved brother who rested in a comatose state after being away for quite some time. Hell, the last time the two of them had actually seen each other was, if Rhema remembered correctly, over two years ago. It took a certain amount of gall, in his mind, to come into Lyk's family home and ask to see him now.
"His Grace, King Alekos the Third of Polaeros, Chosen of the Seekers and Flame of Polaris!"
Rhema's lip curled somewhat as the herald read out the lofty titles. The last time Rhema had met Alekos he had still been a prince. A small knot of men entered the room, perhaps half a dozen, with the royal at their head. He nodded slightly to the side and Mistress Crowe stepped forwards, before the large woman recited Rhema's own titles in turn.
"His Highness, Prince Rhema Sperakos, Regent of Teleytaios and Defender of the Southern Approaches, Lord of Foxglove and Hemlock."
He suppressed a smile at that last one. Lord of Foxglove and Hemlock. He'd never heard that one used before, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't like it. A little on the nose, but then he reasoned that so was he.
"Alekos Virgilos. King of Polaeros. What brings you to my brother's kingdom?"
He knew exactly why Alekos was here, but there were certain formalities to observe. Alekos himself couldn't have been king for long; he was only a year or so older than Rhema himself, and had spent most of the last four and a half years travelling the world, so there couldn't have been much time for a coronation. The raven-haired monarch stepped forwards, some measure of steel in his spine, and made to speak. Rhema deliberately cut him off.
"Could it be that you wish to discuss matters of trade? Or perhaps you mean to attempt to broker an alliance through marriage? If you are here for the latter then I am afraid to tell you that such a match will never be possible, for my sister now lies under the Westcoast Church alongside my father. I take it you will pay your respects there soon after this meeting?"
Alekos looked at him with an expression somewhere between cowed and annoyed. As boys the Polaeran had always found Rhema somewhat intimidating, and it seemed not much had changed as they aged. Nonetheless there was a glint in his green eyes as he took another deliberate step forwards, hands held out open-palmed in a gesture of peace.
"I am here to see a close friend of mine who has taken a severe injury, according to rumour, and to ascertain the truth of what has happened. May I speak to his Grace?"
"No."
Rhema's voice was stern, and Alekos looked somewhat taken aback.
"May I ask why not?"
Rhema felt his fist clench on the head of the axe in his belt, but he willed it to go slack once more. He was a prince. He was Lykourgos' brother. He needed to act like it.
"Because he has been asleep for more than a month."
Alekos' eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open and then shut a few times. Had the circumstances been more humorous Rhema might have compared him to a fish out of water, but with things as they were at the moment he kept his thoughts to himself.
There was a time and a place for such levity.
"I see."
There was a slight choke in Alekos' voice as he spoke the words, but the royal turned to the side and cleared his throat before continuing in a far more level tone.
"I would still like to see him if at all possible, your Highness."
Rhema allowed the silence to sit in the room for a while, doing his best to keep his face passive as a few of Alekos' retainers looked about nervously at the grim-faced Armsmen lining the walls of the room, armoured and armed in battledress with both billhooks and eyes of steel.
"Granted. Your retainers will be housed in a chamber under guard, and you will be permitted a chamber befitting your status in the palace. I will be seeing no further petitioners today."
The hafts of two-dozen billhooks hitting the floor at once rang throughout the room as the various petitioners were led out. Rhema beckoned Alekos to his side and walked him down a corridor out the back of the throneroom, towards his brother's room.
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"Was that really necessary?"
"Yes."
Alekos huffed a bit, but said nothing else on the subject.
"How is his condition."
"Stable."
"Okay... do you know why he is asleep?"
"Failed assassination attempt."
His brother's friend was taken aback somewhat by this.
"We... I heard rumours on the road and in ports, but I had hoped they were just that. Rumours, I mean."
"They weren't."
Alekos turned his head to look at Rhema while they were walking, starting somewhat. Rhema stopped.
"Why the hell are you being so antagonistic towards me? What have I done?"
Rhema stared at him impassively a moment.
"When's the last time you saw my brother?"
Alekos tilted his head in thought for a moment.
"Two and a half years ago, I think. Just before I left for the Kikhepis river valley, in the south of Sothena."
Rhema nodded.
"Two and a half years. How long after the rebellion did you leave him?"
Alekos turned his head away. Rhema couldn't get a good read on him, but he seemed mildly shamefaced.
"A week or so. We were riding back to Aenirhen, and I followed the Riverroad east. I had to go home."
"Aenirhen was your home."
Alekos turned to him, a bitter expression on his face.
"Do you think I wanted to leave? That I didn't want to stay with the truest friend I had known? No. I had to go home to Polaeros, because I was to be king one day. I needed to know the people I would rule, I needed to know how I could make things better. My reasoning for going home was no different than Lyk's reasoning for staying in Teleytaios, and I am sorry but I have made my peace with our splitting."
Rhema stood there in silence, him and Alekos staring at each other for a long while, neither speaking. After a goodly amount of time had passed he just grunted, nodded, and carried on walking towards his brother's room.
"Your mouth gives me one reason, but your endless voyaging and travelling tell me another. But what do I know? I'm sure you've got reasons for that as well."
He did not hold Alekos accountable for any of those things, not really. But Rhema was angry and sad, and before him was someone who had once made his beloved brother sad. He was somewhat ashamed to admit that antagonising the Polaeran king gave him a feeling of control that he had lacked this last month, even as he acted as regent of the kingdom.
"Here we are. Hang on, there's a man wound as tight as a crossbow string standing guard in there. DREAMWULF! YOU THERE?"
The gruff voice of the blind man came from the other side of the door, slightly muffled by the hard oak between the two of them.
"Aye your Highness. I'm 'ere. Nasos 's well."
Rhema nodded to himself, and opened the door, holding it open for Alekos with an almost mocking grin. Alekos looked at him, almost as if trying to work out exactly what the half-mad prince thought of him, before steeling himself once more and walking into the room.
"I've brought a guest with me, Dreamwulf, just in case you're confused about the extra pair of footsteps."
The bigger man nodded, but said nothing. Instead he just remained by Lyk's bedside and grunted his affirmation, crossing his arms and slumping a little in his chair.
"Hey, Lyk. Sorry it's been so long."
Alekos gave a small wave to Rhema's unconscious brother, and in that moment Rhema suddenly felt as though he was intruding on a private moment. Not that he particularly cared. Childhood friend or not, there was no chance he was letting anyone alone in his brother's quarters save his guard and healer.
"I know you probably can't hear me, but in case you can then it'll be good to see you again when you wake up. I'll not be staying long, but I know you'll pull through. You always do."
There was a sort of wistfulness to Alekos' voice, and it was clear to Rhema that the rest of them in that room may as well not exist in the foreign king's eyes, not in a dismissive way, but simply because seeing Lyk so frail and gaunt seemed to have put a spell over the young monarch. After a moment of silence he seemed to shake himself out of it and turned to face Nasos.
"You are the healer responsible for him?"
The young priest nodded deferentially.
"I am, your Grace."
"Tell me of what injuries you were able to save him from."
Nasos reddened slightly at the implication that he had been responsible for saving the prince, which Rhema thought seemed odd given that it was true.
"There were a trio of stab wounds, your Grace. Two of which on the upper chest, one of which was near the heart and another slightly more central. Luckily upon receiving neither wound did the blade pierce or damage any organs within the body. The third stab wound was more severe, piercing the stomach. I spent a goodly number of hours with a good needle and strong thread manually stitching the soft tissues of the stomach back together, aided by a number of poultices and remedies. Even so, there was a good helping of luck involved in his survival."
Dreamwulf scoffed off to the side.
"Don't listen to 'ow he downplays 'imself. He'd the only bloody reason his Grace survived."
Nasos went redder at this and wrung his hands together, and Rhema rolled his eyes. The preacher needed to learn to take a compliment on his work at some point.
"A most difficult procedure. I have seen many a skilled hand lose a patient to similar wounds in the Royal Hospital in Polaeriopolis. My compliments on your work. As for the reason he is not awake?"
"I... I was able to identify what I believe to have been a head wound of some sort. Blunt force trauma is a tricky thing to get a measure on. I once treated a pair of knights not long after Seastream who had taken blows to the head. One fell into a coma for several weeks before waking and barking out orders, as though he believed himself still to be on the field of battle. The other seemed to shrug off his wound and then dropped dead in the middle of a conversation we were having, bleeding from the nose. With that in mind, perhaps it is better that his Grace sleeps?"
Rhema forced himself to remain impassive as the implication that his brother being in a coma was a good thing washed over him. He closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head. Nasos did not intend it as an insult. He has a far greater knowledge of medicine and the body than I do. He means it not as an insult.
"How have you been caring for him?"
Alekos' question broke him from his thoughts, and Rhema absent-mindedly sat down in a chair off to the side and listened to the rest of the conversation.
"I give him water and thin soups or broths to keep him nourished. I need to be careful to ensure that he is held upright so as to not choke. Stroking the throat of the patient a few times makes the body swallow as if on instinct, conscious or not."
The Polaeran king nodded. It felt somewhat odd, to Rhema at least, to have a foreign king here and be speaking of medical procedures rather than hosting a feast or ball of some sort, but then he supposed that times were strange at the moment, and Alekos had once been closer to Lyk than Rhema himself had been.
"And hygiene?"
"His grace is washed by hand-cloth daily, so as to ensure the wounds do not fester and corruption cannot take root. His night-clothes are likewise changed daily."
Alekos nodded.
"Good. You have done most well. My compliments on your skills, and your diligence."
Rhema felt the need to speak up all of a sudden. There were words he wished to have with Alekos, words in private. Some would be harsh, some remorseful, but he needed to say them.
"Alekos, a word, if you please."
The king turned to him in mild confusion, but it was clear that the words were not a question. They were a demand.
"Certainly, your Highness."
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When the two of them were outside Rhema bid the foreign monarch walk alongside him a little while.
"I really would rather stay-"
"I know. But Lyk's not going anywhere. I spoke harshly to you earlier. I will speak harshly to you again. But I need you to know I do not speak harshly to scorn or to mock. Only because... only because I am not well-equipped to speak otherwise. As I'm sure you'll remember, I never was truly able to hold my tongue."
Alekos smiled a little as they walked a little further in the open air, and then up a set of stairs.
"I do recall several instances where your tongue almost got the three of us into quite a bit of trouble."
Rhema snorted as he reached the top of the stairs, walking out onto the walls.
"Almost? I can think of more than one where it did."
Alekos sighed a little, reminiscing, as the two of them looked out over the city and the Anarian Marches beyond. The two of them were silent a little while before Rhema spoke again.
"We found him up here. Less than a dozen paces to your left. I'll never forget the look on the faces of my brother's retainers. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Grim determination. They're all quite fond of him. As am I."
"I am as well. Do not forget that."
Rhema remained still for a moment, still looking out over the city. When eventually he did turn his gaze to his old friend, to his brother's closest friend, his face and voice were both filled with... with... it was not anger, nor sadness, not truly. It was more like a melancholic tiredness.
"I think it broke a part him when you left."
"I know. But I will not apologise. We have made our peace with our parting already. Whatever part of him 'broke' as you put it, he has put back together himself."
Rhema smiled wryly.
"If you say so. How long will you stay?"
"No more than three days. Today and two more. Overmorrow I shall leave for home."
"Makes sense. You never did like this city much, did you?"
Alekos smiled a little and shook his head.
"No. Lyk had plans to make the city better though. To make it closer to how it once was."
Rhema nodded.
"He has informed me as such. I will... I will send word when he wakes."
Alekos turned to face him.
"That would be most kind of you. When he wakes."
Rhema turned to look at the spot where his brother had been found, bleeding and cold, before walking away, leaving Alekos to do whatever it was he wanted to do in the capital.
"Aye. When he wakes."