Today marked the first day that the king’s council was called together without the presence of the king himself. Queen Lenora sat at the head of the Broken Table, her long royal robe of dark blue and golden trim caught on a jagged end and ripped slightly, the sound of the stitching tearing. Those seated around her pretended not to hear it.
Swords and shields hung around the walls of the council room. Swords and shields of heroes past who had fought for the sigil of the Silver Tree. That sigil had come to pass with the rule of House Aetos. As some had noticed of late, the new sigil of the Red Crow had not resulted in any luck for Dalrin. A red rug was underfoot the Broken Table as the final invited guests took to their seats.
Beside Queen Lenora was her daughter, Illena. Aurela had not been invited and neither had Pret and Lun—not a surprise given their age although King Aydar had made a point of inviting them in the past in hopes of giving some exposure to kingly duties. Alon the Cup Bearer still sat to the other side of the queen, diligently sipping each of her cups before she had a taste—ensuring that her drinks were not poisoned. Waryon Orvan, the king’s royal intendent, was beside Alon with his fingers twiddling and a troubled scowl upon his aged face. Lord Mared Swordrin had not left Crow Castle since his arrived. His endured presence had been requested by Waryon and the queen had obliged, noting his competence and knowledge of the realm.
There were fifteen guests at the king’s council. Ser Sledda was a notable appearance, having been neglected and charged with duties in the dungeon since his failure to stop Zdeno the assassin from escaping with a sample from the Silver Tree. The mattere was kept private between the king, the queen, and Ser Sledda—not wanting to raise alarm throughout Dalrin. But the king and queen knew of the disaster that could fall upon the realm if King Tuuka of Venistar were to either destroy the Silver Tree or use its sap for blood rituals. Whether or not the king and queen belived in the magic of the tree, they knew its symbolism and importance to many of the kingdom’s more religious population. Outside of the capital and Crow Castle, many countrymen and lordships held the Silver Tree in a deep reverence.
Ser Sledda sat in the middle of the table with a new silver-plated helm that covered the lower half of his face up to his nose. A half-helm sat on his head with cloth coming down on either side over his ears, down to his shoulders. The small bit of face that was not veiled held a purple glow to it. The skin looked marred and shriveled. His eyes were stained a blood-red and the corners of his eyes had deep crows-feet wrinkles. Most avoided eye contact with him. Others denied to even ask of what had happened, fearing their impulses would lead to wretching right before him. It was an ugly sight, and Queen Lenora had even told Illena that she was grateful for his covering of his face, for no one at the council would remain at the table if his face were unveiled.
It had been the venom from Zdeno’s snake, of course, that had travelled through his body and mutilated his skin. He had not been the same man since then. The shame of his failure to stop Zdeno combined with his marred appearance had brought a nasty temperament to Sledda. After having been imprisoned in the dungeon for some time after his episodes of anger, Ser Sledda was offered one redemptive chance to continue serving at Crow Castle. He was to take charge of the dungeon after Ser Jaqon had joined Rohinar at Baronview to take over as City Watch. Ser Sledda agreed, and he was rarely seen outside of the dungeon upon accepting his role as overlord of the dungeon.
The queen had called the council upon the arrival of a messenger from lands as far as Wexocar. Dalrin had scouts and messengers posted in every land, fief, and kingdom as far as the realm’s land would allow. The messenger who had arrived had not been seen in nearly four years, but troubling news had brought him stumbling in unannounced at the castle’s gates late in the night. May Otto, who was sitting in on the king’s council even now, had tended to the messenger’s ruffled state. His beard was stained with blood and his eyes were bloodshot. A giant scrape marred his ribs from a fall along the Crag whilst he sped his horse toward his destination. But his scroll had been accepted and read by the queen as soon as Barl the Burly had brought it to her. Barl now attended the meeting as well.
“The messenger, Olefin, will now read the message that he had delivered to the throne just last night,” began Lenora. “The announcement bares news that affects us all, from Dalrin to Cobbleton, and Wexocar to Venistar.”
The nervous messenger was short and stubby. He had shorts legs and dressed like a squire. He stood from his chair, clearing his throat before beginning.
“Attention, king and queen. Lords and ladies. News has arrived from Bulkjor of a major happenstance that has brought all of the eastern fiefdoms and lordships to their knees with worry and distain. In the fiefdom of Bulkjor, ruled by Lord Torkild Tchoreg, there has been an unexpected siege. At the darkest hour of the Bolg Moon, when all the workers of the fields and laborers of the crop had gone to rest their heads, the mighty men of Venistar crossed the border into Dalrin and initiated an attack on the countrymen. Commoners and peasants of Bulkjor were massacred in their sleep. Following that, the army of five hundred men continued their plundering inland, where they landed at Lord Torkild Tchoreg’s stronghold in Bulkjor and breached the walls. The stronghold was burned down, Lord Torkild’s family was killed, his servants, ladies, and guards were hung in the courtyard, and all of the stable animals were slaughtered. Lord Torkild Tchoreg, alone, managed to escape along with his squire. His whereabouts are still unknown, and the land of Bulkjor is still commandeered by one of King Tuuka’s warlords, Aryzant.
“It is believed that Venistar is setting up a warcamp here in Bulkjor inside the burnt ruins of Lord Tchoreg’s former home. That is all for now. The kingdom of Dalrin will respond in alignment with the position of the crown, at the command and leisure of King Aydar and Queen Lenora of Crow Castle.
Regards,
Olefin the Messenger on Behalf of Bulkjor.”
The sound of disgruntled listeners filled the room with groans and sighs. Queen Lenora stood from her seat, motioning for Olefin to take a seat.
“With the king preoccupied with far less important things, it is who must take a stand to present you with these troubling happenings in the eastern rim of Dalrin. Word has already been sent by Dalrin’s crows to all of the lords and ladies in these lands. The banners of Dalrin had been called upon to remain at the ready in case their banners should be called for war. It seems that the Valnarak’s are aiming to invade, breaking the ten-year peace we have held with their land.”
“What is their purpose for invading, my queen, if you don’t mind me asking?” The question came from lord Mared Swordrin, who had half-risen from his seat. Waryon muttered his agreement at the question.
“The reason is yet unknown, although there is speculation.”
“What is the speculation?” asked Waryon. Barl the Burly grunted, nodding his head.
One of the attending nobles butted in as well. “What of the whisperings of King Tuuka’s assassin during the betrothal? Didn’t he take something of ours? Word has spread like wildfire in the streets of Baronview!”
“Calm, calm…all will be reviewed in this council,” said Lenora. She could sense that she was losing the room.
“And where is the prince and the princess? If they are not at the Broken Table in times of war, then they are not fit for ruling!” another noble with a scraggly gray beard and beady black eyes had chimed in.
“There will be quiet, now!” shouted the queen. “Take your seats and shut your mouths.” The room grew awkward and quiet. The disgruntled nobles reluctantly took their seats, but their faces appeared as though they had tasted something bitter.
The queen continued. “To return to lord Mared’s question, the reason for invading is speculated and will be shared here. Illena, if you would.” The queen motioned for attention to be direct to Illena. Illena’s face grew confident and proud. The noblemen (there were seven at the table) grew stiff and sour at the queen’s inclusion of her daughter. They thought it wrong for such a role to be given to the girl. The prince and princess ought to be present and sharing.
Illena cleared her throat. “The incident at the Silver Tree was reviewed in a meeting with Ser Sledda, who is present here today. His voice often fails him due to his condition, but he was able to share the extent of the incident with Zdeno, the Venistar assassin and thief. As you all know, the Silver Tree contains a sap with special properties. Properties that, whether believed in or not, carry a sacredness that demand abstinence and avoidance. In the old tales, it is said that to drink of the tree’s sap is to change the make-up of our blood. To drink the sap of the tree is to extend your life to an eternal state in this realm, and to have the silver blood running through your veins.” Illena paused, looking around the room to note the expressions on the faces of the king’s council. Lord Mared appeared deep in thoughts. Waryon wore a thoughtful look. Sledda’s face was covered but his eyes appeared blank. Lost.
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“Ser Sledda revealed Zdeno sampling of the tree’s sap and his subsequent escape back to Venistar. The Oracle joined the Valnarak party on their return voyage, as we all know, and thus his prophecy is no longer available. But what we do know, and what we believe, is that King Tuuka is growing old and wrinkly as an old wineskin.” Illena gained a chuckle and a grunt from a couple younger noblemen. “He seeks to create a Valnara dynasty, but his years are dwindling, and his only child is Elswitta, the princess of Baronview. The Oracle will have likely seduced Tuuka into coming here, to Dalrin, to partake of the Silver Tree’s sap and grow a religious caliphate—or so it is speculated.”
The announcement from Illena sparked a dozen side conversations and shouts of protest. It took several moments for Queen Lenora to quiet all seated at the Broken Table. Illena peered around the table, noting how queer it was to have a council without her father and her brother. A king’s council without a king. A king’s council without the prince and princess of Dalrin’s capital. Where was Rohinar? The question overtook her thoughts, causing her to purse her lips. No one had thought to genuinely ask.
“And why is it that we have not replaced The Oracle?” asked the nobleman with black beady eyes. “Who will communicate to us on behalf of the Silver Tree? Some of us still hold to the old religion, unlike yourselves.”
“I agree,” stated lord Mared. The crops will not yield produce. The weather turns nasty and dark. The effects of the Bolg Moon have far exceeded the usual disdainful weather of a Bolg Moon. The Silver Tree has grown disgruntled.”
Queen Lenora thought for a moment. The Broken Table was quiet. The council waited for her response. “Perhaps, we ought to vote on a new oracle. In times of trouble, we do need one to connect to the tree. After all, its roots nourish our lands. Its wisdom guides us through the biggest tempest.”
“But how? How will we elect a new oracle? You cannot just pick any person. The tree is powerful, and it will not mesh with the mind of anyone. I have seen it drive a man mad, should the wrong man be chosen to bond with it.” Waryon looked around the table, hoping for agreement. The nobles murmured their agreement.
“You know,” started a grumpy nobleman, “It would help to have the king here. Has he ever thought of that? Now is not the time to hide. Now is the time to prepare for war!”
“Calm yourself, Adag. We must remain civil. We are discussing a new oracle for the tree, not the absent king,” said lord Mared. Queen Lenora bowed in thanks. Lord Mared’s words were powerful, for all men respected his wisdom.
“What do you recommend, lord Mared? How might we find a new Oracle?” asked the queen.
“Well…for those of us who follow prophecy, we know that when the last oracle abandons its post, that means the ushering of a savior will follow. There is one who will have the blood of the tree. The silver-blood, they will be known as. I reckon the silver-blood is here among us. But let us test it. Each citizen of Dalrin will be tested in their own fief. A cut of the arm with a dagger will reveal the color of their blood. Have each lord do so in their own land.”
“But what of Bulkjor? What of Lord Maykeep’s land? He has gone rogue at the moment,” said the beady-eyed noble.
“What of him?” asked Lenora. “Do you wish to change topic, Brilliam?”
The beady eyed noble called Brilliam threw up his hands in protest. “It is not a change of topic. Lord Maykeep just slaughtered Cobbleton’s commoners for what? For a trade dispute? I wouldn’t trust him to hand over the silver-blood even if he found them!”
“He will be ordered to do so anyways. His non-compliance will result in further punishment. He will dealt with in a separate council. Let myself worry about that, Brilliam.” Lenora turned her gaze back toward lord Mared. “Lord Mared’s idea seems plausible.”
“It certainly is,” continued Mared Swordrin. “And besides, some say that it is most likely that the savior of the Silver Tree will come emerge from a place where its roots are strongest, which would mean this person is nearby. I hope that would ease our concerns about Bulkjor and Maykeep.”
“It is up for a vote,” said Lenora. “All in favor, raise your hand and say ‘I’.”
The vote was nearly unanimous, besides the nobleman Brilliam who crossed his arms and sat with a sulky look. Barl the Burly rammed his elbow into his ribs, discreetly. Brilliam grunted, coughing and whining. But his arm eventually went up. “I,” he whispered after another cough.
“We shall have the citizens of Dalrin tested for their color of their blood. The testing is to be completed within the next fortnight. Time is of the essence. Waryon, Jal. Have a dozen crows sent to all the lords of Dalrin besides Lord Tchoreg. Have ten riders sent to the local regions to ensure the message arrives timely. If this savior exists, they will be found. With King Tuuka invading, we need all the help we can get.”
Queen Lenora peered around the Broken Table. She felt proud. She was filling in the role of her husband. The king. He was a great ruler. Poorly tempered, but he knew how to rule a kingdom. But now he was gone, lost to madness and drowning in scrolls, religion, prophecy. Her eyes nearly began to water. There was pressure as well. The Valnaraks officially invaded. It felt surreal. Lord Tchoreg’s family killed. His lands plundered and his stronghold in ruins. It was Aryzant though, who had led the attack. What of King Tuuka and his killer—lord Cythos? Cythos was his weapon, his killing machine. But it made sense. Aryzant was the intelligence of King Tuuka. The war general. The warlord who orchestrated the killing.
“My queen, I have yet another question.” It was the nobleman Brilliam who spoke.
“Yes, nobleman?”
“At what point are we to declare war? How many provinces, fiefdoms, and lands shall Aryzant burn through before we say no further?”
“Indeed. We must decide,” agreed another nobleman. Waryon nodded in agreement.
“Lord Mared, what say ye?” asked the queen. Her eyes searched lord Mared’s as he thought. He returned her stare. Her eyes were pleading with him. She did not know the best answer in the heat of the council. It was a big question. It was a question that the kingdom of Dalrin depended on.
“We cannot know yet,” announced lord Mared in a confident tone. “What must wait and see Tuuka’s next move. In the meantime, let us hope we find the one to save us. Let us find the fabled silver-blood who will bond with the tree. Once that happens, I would hope that the Silver Tree will be restored to its glory, and its roots shall once again nourish these lands and feed our people. Trade shall once again thrive. Families shall be fed.” Lord Mared trailed off, pursing his lips and nodding to the queen.
“Then wait we shall. Further advancement toward Crow Castle by Aryzant shall cause for us to call banners. If King Tuuka sends more men than the five hundred he started with, then it will appear as though he is preparing for war. We must wait and ensure that this was not just a dispute between Tchoreg’s Bulkjor and the Venistar land that it borders,” said the queen.
She is a fine politician, thought Waryon.
“It is true—Lord Torkild Tchoreg may have stolen resources off his neighboring Venistar territory,” said lord Mared. “If it is a mere border dispute, then we can hope that Aryzant will lead his men back into Venistar soon.”
The council continued on in discussion. The details of the blood-testing were hashed out. People were to arrive in groups based upon district. They were to have their arms slit by dagger. Barl the Burly would do the testing. Queen Lenora would deem whether the blood was silver or not. But before the conversation could finish up, there was a banging on the door. The rapping of the door continued. It was a berating of the door, as if someone were trying to break in. Barl the Burly and lord Mared Swordrin jumped from their seats, unsheathing their long, metal blades from their scabbards. They inched toward the door. The knocking became incessant. The two guards at the door looked to their queen. Queen Lenora arose from her seat at the head of the Broken Table, approaching the door with her own sword. It had a fine, red ruby at the top of the hilt. She stood between Barl the Bury and lord Mared, blade tip pointed outward.
The two guards yanked the two great oak doors open and a messenger came spilling through. It was a friend of Olefin the messenger. The queen dropped her blade, relieved.
“It your daughter, my queen. And the brown-haired girl, Vaya. They’ve both gone missing.” The messenger was out of breath. Darvos rounded the corner, his face white as a ghost.
“Escaped out of the window. I never heard anything.”
This time it was the Queen’s face that paled white. “Escaped or taken?” she asked.
“I don’t know, my queen. Forgive me,” said Darvos. He had failed in his duties.
The queen was tempted to drop her face into her hands and sob. She refused. She had to be strong. Her husband should be here.
“Sledda. Barl. Take the king’s guard. Take as many sentries as possible and knights that we have. I want my daughter found. I don’t care for that other girl, Vaya. She is probably the reason they’re gone. Go. Now!” Sledda and Barl ran from the room. Sledda was much quicker. Barl had a big belly and broad shoulders. He had to hold his sword belt and he went, nearly tripping over himself as he scurried from the room.
Hours later, when Queen Lenora was in her bedchambers with a glass of red wine in hand, she finally decided to stop sobbing. May Otto and Kiss were scrubbing her feet with a tub of warm water and scraping tools. Another servant girl was combing her wet hair. She had just gotten out of the hot tub.
A knock came from the door. It was lord Mared.
“My queen? You called for me?”
“Must you leave and return to your lands already?” asked Lenora.
“I…I suppose I could stay a little longer. Why, what is it you ask of me?”
Lenora paused a while, staring at the handsome lord standing in the doorway of her bedchambers. “May, Kiss, Alice…leave us. We will be fine just the two of us for now.”
The servant ladies went without a word, smiling at lord Mared as they exited.
“My queen…I don’t know if it is appropriate for us to be alone. You have a husband. I could lose my head.”
“You won’t lose your head. But if you leave, I will lose my wits. So, stay a while. And close that door.”
Lord Mared did as he was bid. After all, he was just following the queen’s orders.