ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

Zephyr sat in the midst of what he thought to be the king’s council, if the contents of the medieval movies and books he had watched and read were of any truth, but his mind was not with this council. It had wandered off somewhere, someplace far, and only the echoes of the supposed members of this council, muffled by the wandering of his mind, kept him glued to the grim walls of this chamber that would have been clouded in complete darkness if not for the sun’s ambience that poured in from the opened shutters of the window behind him, the only one in the room.

What could possibly take hold of his mind so much that he put not his ears to his first council meeting as king of a new world? The surge of joy he felt when he took the throne? No. Long forgotten that one. It was nothing else but the fact that right now he was to be questioning the guards that had manned his bedchamber, only the grand savant had not let that come to fruition.

The enthronement ended, the lords had sworn their fealties one after the other, a lot of lords they were, he could not remember most of their names, to be truthful he most likely remembered none, and as he was about to head for his chambers as soon as all was done, the monocled old man approached him with word of a council meeting, his first as king. He wanted to cater to the more important needs, but the look the old man gave him told him that it was best he put other things aside first and attended the meeting. He could have still done what he had wanted, yes, but the old man was the one that had crowned him, recited the chants he repeated, and gave him whatever wine he drank, and Zephyr knew better than to take the words of someone that could ask a king to kneel lightly.

He was here now, and all they did was bicker.

…Poisoned! Zephyr’s eyes twitched as the contents of the mysterious paper he had found clutched in his palm suddenly flashed through his mind, forcing his skin to crawl with an even greater frustration than he was already experiencing. He had to leave here now, and they had been speaking of things he did not understand. What exactly were they talking about?

Suddenly, he sent his palms down with a thundering crash onto the round wooden table he sat before, the loud thud that came forth as a result, swallowing the clamour whole and leaving nothing but stares and silence behind. He had seemingly been lost in their babel, but their eyes found him now.

“Enough,” Zephyr trailed off, giving out a deep exhale in hopes of calming himself before he continued, “Could this not have been done some other time?” He wished it could, at this point he was not even sure those guards remained at his door any longer. The king’s guards were changed every time in a medieval world, maybe those ones had taken their leave now. This whole council meeting was a waste of time.

The grand savant was the first to talk to him, his voice all crooked with the callings of old age. “That would have been most impossible, Your Grace.” And It was the first he had spoken since the council meeting had begun. The grand savant of the name Aelred, and Zephyr’s royal advisor, the auburn-haired man who had made himself known as Flynn of House Claymore, had both chosen to keep silent and lay back on their chairs despite the intense ruckus filling the chambers from the other council members.

There were six of them in all, both Flynn Claymore and Grand Savant Aelred included. They sat in rows of three facing one another. Grand Savant Aelred, his hands cuddled within his bell sleeves, was seated to the west of Zephyr, and along on his row were the men who had introduced themselves to the king at the start of the meeting as: Lord Darian Crakehall, lord of Ravenhold and commander of the kingdom’s guards, and Lord Alaric Ironsides, seneschal of the royal artillery. And to Zephyr’s east sat Flynn Claymore, on his own row another two who had made themselves known as: Lord Theon Silverfist, the keeper of coins, and Lord Varyn Bolton. Just Lord Varyn Bolton. A mere lord. He kept nothing, he watched nothing and he was not a lord of anything. Zephyr had wondered why he was deemed of any worth to be in this court if he was nowhere near in status to the other five in the room, but he dared not ask, it might have been something his body’s preceding soul may have known. It was too much of a risk. For now.

“Yes, my king.” It was that Lord Varyn Bolton, the mere one, that spoke loudly from the end of the eastern end of the table where he was seated. He no doubt possessed a lot of vigour, but none that Zephyr asked for. The loudness of his talk had not been necessary. “The tourney comes like a raven at eventide. We have not a second to spare.”

Zephyr placed his eyes on the blocky face of the mere Lord Varyn for less than a second, and he then chose to ignore him as he turned over to Flynn. No one gave him better replies than this one. “What do you make of this, Flynn?” Lord Varyn, seemingly distraught at being ignored, swallowed any other word he had planned on spewing out from between his lips. A good thing, Zephyr thought it was, he knew it was, he wanted no more loud shouts, they made his head ache.

“He is right, my king,” Flynn replied. “The tourney comes on your name-day, roughly a fortnight away. We might not have much a time to work with, especially since we also have to consider the queen’s choosing seven days from now.”

Queen’s choosing…? For me…? Zephyr flung himself in ponder, and his narrow brows did not seem to miss the weary eyes of the old man seated close to him.

“It is custom that you have your queen selected before the tourney. It is how all the previous kings have done it,” Grand Savant Aelred put in.

“Little doubt of that,” Zephyr muttered as if he had known of that, removing himself from his ponder as he turned from the grand savant to face the council members in whole. “But I believe the choosing is not of the greatest concern in this meeting, so then, what exactly is our challenge?” He questioned, gently tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.

“Funding, Your Grace,” Gaunt-faced Lord Darian Crakehall answered, his voice thick and hard as that of the commander he was. He had not enough flesh to spare, and for a lord Zephyr thought he should at least have that much, well, unless he was a grand savant by the name of Aelred all wrinkled and old, but he was not, and the spindly look he had was queer to Zephyr. They were talking of the tourney’s funding now and he had better focus on that than the malnourishment of the commander of the kingdom’s guards. His kingdom’s guards.

“And what is the problem with this funding for the tourney?” Zephyr asked. He was genuinely curious. He wondered how a kingdom could have problems with funding a tourney.

“As I mentioned at the start of the meeting to my good lords, we need coins, Your Grace. People will come from all over the kingdom to crowd this city. Traders, freeriders, singers, and craftsmen all shall make their way into the city. Lords shall come, and with each, at least a dozen horses, their families, knights, bannermen, and guardsmen; and with the knights comes squires and whores. There will undoubtedly be fights, deaths, robberies, and other deeds that I no doubt deem distasteful. We do not have the coins to hire guards enough to prevent all the monstrosity that will occur. Not might, will. And then, even though it is in truth no concern of mine, a great feast would also need to be prepared at the end of the tourney to celebrate with the lords and noblemen of the court. Oh, and lest I forget, the main highlight of the tourney, the battle for the Kingsknight.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“The battle for the Kingsknight?” Zephyr’s interest piqued, and before he knew it, he had let a question slip without even thinking of the sort he had asked.

“The king’s personal knights…” Lord Darian replied with a heavy drop of his eyebrow in query.

“Go on,” Zephyr quickly told the commander of the guards before any thoughts of his festered any more.

Lord Darian continued then, “We have to pay the one who wins, as well his forerunner.” The man sighed. “Coins we need to cover all these, Your Grace.”

Lord Darian had said knights previously, and now he said “the one who wins.” Zephyr wondered if he would have only one of this Kingsknight or if there were others, but he had seen none of such, and if only one was to emerge from the tourney then where were the rest? The funding problem had flung to the back of Zephyr’s mind with the introduction of this Kingsknight of a thing. If it was what he thought it was, then having a Kingsknight around would prove to be a good thing. He could not have incompetent guards following him about. But how many was he to have? He itched to know, but he wondered how well to word it to get an answer without it proving dodgy. Maybe…?

Zephyr turned to Flynn. “And where are the rest of the knights?” He whispered. A gamble no doubt, but if he was to feed his curiosity then it was one he had to take.

Flynn Claymore answered, reciprocating the king’s whisper. “Ser Calix Westerling and his son, Ser Aaron, were both sent to drive back the pesters of the mountain folks at Free Pass by your father before his death, my king. They are yet to return.”

Zephyr’s chest tightened. The late king and his son had both died as soon as these Kingsknights had been sent off somewhere. It was beyond queer. Maybe the king’s death had been a murder too? He did not want to think about it. He needed those Kingsknights back now. They were needed by his side.

“Whoever wins the tourney shall replace Ser Gale,” Flynn put in of his own accord, and it sent a grimace to Zephyr’s face as he began to wonder who the heck Ser Gale was. Maybe a Kingsknight that had died? Flynn noticed his king’s frown. “Everyone wonders why he had retired, my king, but since he left of his own choice we choose to not dwell so much on it.” He misunderstood what was going on in Zephyr’s mind. Good.

But what was not good was the fact that this Ser Gale had not gone to the Free Pass along with the other two, if he had done so he would have been there with them and unretired, which meant that he had been here when the king had died. A Kingsknight being here when the king died sent a shiver galloping across Zephyr’s spine. If maybe, as he had begun to think, the late king had been murdered the same as his son, then what sort of person could bypass a Kingsknight and have a go at the king. The king.

Zephyr immediately peeled his mind from the shuddering thoughts that were slowly storming his head, and switched back to the major issue of the council meeting. “The funding for the tourney, are you in charge of it?” He directed his question at Lord Darian.

“That shall be me, Your Grace,” Lord Theon Silverfist, a man of a face unsmiling and as hard as stone, answered.

Zephyr turned his gaze to this hard-faced man who was seated beside Flynn. The keeper of coins, of course it was him, not the commander of guards… “What delays you? Get on with it then.”

“I would have if I could, Your Grace. But there is not enough in the royal treasury for the tourney. We have not the coins.”

Zephyr sighed. “I’m sure there are ways you can squeeze out the amount we need. Maybe appoint taxes or something of the sort. You are the one in charge of this funding,” Zephyr clutched his palms together, “do something about it or I’ll have to find someone who will. Is that what you want?” This meeting had gone on for far too long, it was high time it ended.

Silence roamed the chamber for nothing more than a few seconds before Lord Theon replied, his hard face still as hard as ever, and unsmiling still. “No, Your Grace. I shall see to it.”

“Good,” Zephyr said, placing his palms on the table and pushing himself up to his feet. “I sincerely hope I will not be bothered on such trivial matters any longer.” He then abandoned his seat and began to stride gracefully towards the chamber’s door, graceful only to those who saw, but to him it was one painful step after another. He came to an abrupt halt before the door though, his pain easing up as he suddenly recalled an important memory he wished not to forget. Glancing back at Flynn, he called to him, “Come, Flynn. I am in need of your service.”

Flynn pushed back his seat and rose to his feet without delay, then hurried his steps after Zephyr, both of them making their way out of the council chambers as the fully armoured men who manned the door bowed in response to their exit.

“May I ask what you seek of me, my king?” Flynn questioned as they advanced through the veranda of the small courtyard.

“The guards who manned my bedchamber’s door, do they man it still?” Zephyr asked.

“I think not, my king,” Flynn answered. “Guards man it still, but I do not believe they would be the ones we met before.”

Zephyr’s heart thumped in his chest. He had donned the face of a king, if he even knew what that was, trying his best to act calm and collected, but that calmness almost vanished because of what Flynn had said. He caught it though, he refused his calmness from vanishing, he should not act tensed. “And where would they be now?” He asked again.

“The tower of steel, if I am to guess.”

What the hell is a tower of steel? Zephyr’s eyebrows twitched unnoticeably.

Flynn continued,“And if not, they would be in no other place than a tavern or a whore house.”

Zephyr gave a sigh, stopping his steps as they arrived at the entranceway to the corridor they had exited from when the day had begun in this world for him, and now he was returning to where it had all started, the king’s quarters. “Summon them,” he said.

“May I ask why, my king?”

“I need to speak to them. Have them brought to me.”

“Then I shall have them found with haste,” Flynn lowered his head as he replied.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Zephyr said, timely halting Flynn’s withdrawal as to proceed with the task he was given.

“What more, my king,” Flynn inquired.

“You need not be so formal with me. We are friends, after all.” Zephyr gave a light smile to his advisor.

“Definitely, my king.” Flynn chuckled. “But, formality is naturally given to those who sit on a high pedestal, someone such as yourself. You are the king and my formality is required. I have not the power to discard that… but I’ll try my best to be more lenient.”

“That’s good enough.”

“Then I shall take my leave.” Flynn gave a quick bow and hurried away.

Zephyr turned and walked into the corridor, immediately diving back into his never ending barrage of thoughts as he did…

I should not trust him… I should not trust anyone.