Rulership granted many subtle benefits. For example, subjects provided him with a really nice chair. Not a throne, but the chair that resided in his private chambers. It was crafted of fine wood, its back was curved in a way that supported human spine in a most comfortable way. It was not too tall and not too small, just high enough to take the strain off legs. It was quite sturdy, its parts were connected masterfully, so that junctures were not obvious at the first glance. It never made a sound when put under weight. With a soft pelt of some forest predator thrown atop, it became the vehicle of supreme cosy passtime.

Azytenisar, lord of Abeneewy, knez of Khladnetz, have already woke up, bathed, eaten, and got clad in royal robes. He still had plenty of time before the first entry of his royal schedule. For now he decided to spend rare free moments with a book. In his beloved chair he sat absorbed by the foliant which laid at his lap.

The massive tome in a leathery cover, with parchment pages, was “Chronicles of Eranshar” by a scholar called Dagan, which he brought from Isary. It told of the rise and reign of Arsaci empire, ending some eighty years before it was finally shattered by the Cursed One. His reading was not pointless entertainment. No nation in Sea Betwixt sported more skilled chroniclers than Arsaci. Every conquered town, no matter how small; every decree of a king, not matter how meaningless; everything was recorded in this book, at least with a paragraph.

There was the attempted conquest of Polovci, a nation so prideful that instead bowing their heads and accepting the life under the rule of the heavenly king, they left their beloved steppe and fled into the ancient forest that was but a scary tale for their children before.

There was the advance into the same forest fifty years later, which finished miserably with troops getting scourged by unknown diseases, getting lost in the woods en masse, even deserting with the excuse of meeting something terrifying deeper in the groves.

Not much words were spent by the author to describe these events. The former was not a big victory and ultimately got but a footnote in the chronicle, while the later was more of a failure, and Dagan, did not want to show the ruling dynasty being capable of such petty mistakes.

Azytenisar saw that the chronicler’s heart desired to deliver truth. Perhaps he did not spend great amount of words telling of these events, or did not explain them in most direct manner. Yet a man of a keen mind could see the message that Dagan left between the lines. Not only there were core facts, but also more obscure notions, which could help Azytenisar to rule over descendants of Polovci, who were calling themselves Drevlyani now.

Doors leading in the chamber were massive and heavy, almost two palms thick. A woman or a child would have struggled to swing both open. When a knocking came on them, the wood almost completely dampened the sound. Knez read until the end of the line and only then answered.

“Come.”

One of the doors moved but a quarter of its full path. A serf slipped into the room, visibly sorry to disturb his lord.

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“Master, distinguished Sumiaton the Venator arrived. He wishes to speak to you,” said the man, while bowing respectfully.

“He came in person,” that was more of a statement than a question from Azytenisar. His face displayed almost unremarkable shadow of a surprise.

The serf nodded.

“Send him in at once,” commanded houselord, putting his book aside.

The serf again nodded and hastily left the chamber. Some time passed, then Sumiaton himself arrived. Serfs closed the doors behind him and two men faced each other.

“My lord. My knez,” the venator bowed his head slightly.

“Greetings, Sumiaton,” Azytenisar did not raise from his chair, “It is an unexpected visit. I thought you were too busy recently.”

“I did not have the opportunity to congratulate you on the war won.”

“I am obliged to admit your part in this victory now. And I am not denying it, we both know how the siege would have ended without your efforts. Still, you insult me by playing these games. Go and pose for the crowd, they will be more than willing to cheer for you. Do not try to trick me into singing you praises. You don’t need this, your conceit is solid enough.”

Azytenisar did not raise his voice. His words were like a stroke of an executioner: without fury, without passion, yet chilling and terrifying. Sumiaton was not visibly taken aback, he made a peaceful gesture with a weak smile.

“Nevermind,” said he, “But mine effort was at most the half of the victory. You managed to surprise even me with you tactical decisions, ”he pointed at the foliant which now was residing at a low desk, “Now I see where it did come from. You played a trick upon land dwellers which probably but two of us in the whole city could understand.”

“Meaning?”.

“That charge is a tactic of Arsaci kings. The empire building move, crushing your enemies with a tide of armoured cavalry. That is how many of their former lands were won over. That is probably what have driven drevlyani into this forest, away from their steppes. And recently you crushed them again with the same method. Not a single one of them remembers anymore.”

“You are giving too much of a poetic meaning to it,” Azytenisar rose, “I do not think that you came here to give compliments. Or to get them. Tell me, what is it you want.”

“I found something quite interesting. And I want to show you it. Personally,” Sumiaton’s face was unreadable.

“I don’t have time for that dramatic narrating of yours,” there was a faintest suggestion of annoyance in Azytenisar’s voice. His expression did not support it.

“I am not trying to sound ominous, I swear,” the venator was friendliness incarnate, “It is just that my finding can not be properly explained by words. You should see for yourself. Let’s say, that I found a threat to your rule hidden right in the city.”

“Proceed.”

“Some of drevlyani still cling to old ways. They want their guardian to return. I located tangible proofs of this. A place of meeting for them. I want to show you, yet it is most delicate matter, as I see it. So I want you to come with me to its location.”

“These are not news for me. There are followers of the old faith, those who believe in the mighty creature that the guardian was. If you heard Ymdaton’s report, you know, that it is worthy of worship,” Azytenisar combed his beard, “I value your opinion though. If you think it is gaining dangerous momentum, well. I am on tight schedule. Even for such a dire occasion. Come to the gates of my residence two hours before dusk. Bring the minimal entourage. It is a delicate matter, as you said, so we better not attract too much attention. I will go with you and look for myself.”

“As wise as ever,” bowed the venator, “Until the evening then, my lord.”

Azytenisar said nothing. He waited until Sumiaton has left the room and then, when he was alone, let out a single sigh.