KGWrites

Samuel

King’s Council Chamber, Falcon’s Nest Palace, Kingdom of Aldiron

King Samuel Ravellen ground his teeth in frustration as he poured over the map laid out across the table. It showed the three kingdoms encircled by the Lavender Mountains to the East and the Dragonspine Mountains to the North. In the southwestern corner, on the corner of the land, encircled by the sea to the West and South, lay Aldiron city, and sprawling out from it to cover most of the southern part of the map, lay his Kingdom.

Splitting the map’s centre was the great Ramm River, flowing from Clearwater Lake at the foot of the Lavender Mountains. At the river’s mouth was marked the independent city state of Blueholdt, the great trade port.

Beyond Blueholdt to the north was the Realm of Fallham, ruled by the Sorcerer Baron Reltan Zaygor, a realm that, while it took most of its trade from Aldiron, fell under borders of its own rather than joining with Aldiron’s.

To the east of that were the bloodlands, a region so scorched by fire and stained with the blood of war that the ground itself was stained crimson.

Past the bloodlands to the east and running along the northern edge of the Ramm and the mountains was the Kingdom of Gruraith, ruled by King Maltrach Raganth from his capital in Bultor. For generations now the two kingdoms had formed an uneasy status quo of holding their independent sides of the Ramm, though not without the occasional border war between them both.

But it was not any potential skirmish with Raganth’s armies that vexed King Samuel today. No, it was the looming blot of Shetani Fortress in the northern mountains at the top of the bloodlands that was the source of his concern.

“We’re sure?” The voice of Grand Marshall Caestus Fridolf pulled Samuel from his thoughts and he straightened, looking at the others gathered around the table. The Grand Marshall himself stood strong in a deep green and black doublet, a fine sword sheathed as ever at his hip. His son Commander Marius Fridolf stood proud at his father’s side, dressed in fine steel armour, his helm placed before him on the table edge. Also stood by the table was Lord Martyn Hills of Hill Hall, his fine outfit of blacks and sky blues catching the flickering light of the fireplace at the room’s far end. Back from the table, but still listening in, were other lords and ladies of the court, all watching intently.

“I can only report upon what my men have told me Grand Marshall Fridolf.” Hills replied, his tone betraying a hint of wounded pride at his word being questioned.

“But if these reports are correct, then the number of forces bearing the Shetani banner is growing within the bloodlands fast, your men report more being seen almost daily.” Marius said, tracing his finger along the marked red fields, from Shetani down towards the Ramm.

“I assure you my men report accurately Commander, but even then, it could be meant for an attack on King Raganth at Bultor, or on Baron Zaygor of Fallham. How can we be sure he will march on us?” Hills said, pointing to the other two kingdoms on the map. It was a good question, both those kingdoms lay to the North of the Ramm River that bisected the map, between Shetani and Aldiron. The was a quiet, yet noticeable murmur of assent from around the chamber. The King could understand, no-one wanted to believe war was coming for them, it had been years since any conflict, longer still since one fought with the forces of Lord Draconeus of Shetani. It was young Commander Marius who leaned forwards over the map, gesturing to the mentioned Kingdoms.

“Raganth and Zaygor did not defeat and humiliate Draconeus fifteen years ago Lord Hills, Aldiron did. He won’t have forgotten that. He’ll march on us, and soon. And it will be your fief at Hill Hall he reaches first, do you want to take the chance of being unprepared there?” King Samuel was impressed, Marius had still been a boy of thirteen when the last war against Draconeus had been fought, a war that had seen Aldiron defeat his accursed forces upon the bloodfields and drive him back into the mountains to Shetani. It had been a hard fought and bloody war, one that saw many sons and daughters had taken over lordships from fathers and mothers, that saw Aldiron cede Blueholdt to the Sea Lords and that cost Samuel more than his heart could bear even now. That war, now known as the War of the Staining, had seen King Lyall Ravellan, Samuel’s father, lead Aldiron’s armies in a bitter campaign against the Lord of Shetani until his army was all but shattered and he had been forced to flee into his mountain fortress in utter ruin. Draconeus wasn’t about to forget that defeat, Samuel was certain of it.

“Marius speaks wisely, and truly.” The King said, without looking up from the table. He picked up a carved wooden figure that depicted the argent silver falcon of Aldiron, representing a legion of his own armies and looked out at the gathered council.

“Lord Hills, if Draconeus begins to march, I need to know when and to where. Have your best scouts sent north. And see to your defences along the Ramm. Caestus, call the legions you have here to arms and sent out to the other lords across the kingdom, I want every legion we have ready to fight. Marius, I want two fresh legions raised here as well, see to it.” Samuel slammed the falcon figurine back down on the table, on the south bank of the river, to the north of Hill Hall.

“We’ll meet Draconeus as he fords the Ramm. That Demon will not set foot in my kingdom without paying for every inch in blood. You can all be sure of that.”

Falcon’s Nest Palace, Kingdom of Aldiron – Twenty Minutes Later

King Samuel Ravellan cursed as he stood at the door. He ruled the largest kingdom on the continent, had won wars against any foe that stood against him and could call upon an army of tens of thousands. Yet nothing scared him even half as much as having to deal with his daughter when she was angry.

Taking a deep breath, the King reached out and pushed the door open. Iona’s bedroom was empty, but it was clear she was here. A piece of parchment had been scrawled with the words I must not run away repeatedly, signed with Iona’s signature, and then pinned a post of her bed with a sewing needle. King Samuel chuckled; he’d never seen the point of writing lines as a punishment and could recall the days of his own youth where he had been frustrated with his tutor as well. He looked around the room but could not see his daughter anywhere.

“Iona?” He called out. The response was quick.

“I’m out on the balcony father.” Her voice filtered in through the window. The King turned and made for the door to the balcony, he could see the orange light of the sunset illuminating Iona’s silhouette as he approached. She was still wearing her dark breeches and tunic and her flaming hair blew gently in the breeze, seeming to blend perfectly with the light of the setting sun. As her father approached, she turned to face him, leaning against the marble railing of the balcony with her arms folded, her emerald eyes fixing him with her famous glare, a gaze that even the great King Samuel struggled to hold for long. It struck him, not for the first time, how amazingly like her mother she seemed when she was angry.

“Really father, sending out Haster and all the city guard?” She asked simply. The King sighed in exasperation, she had never been one to avoid an argument with him, it just prolonged things.

“Iona. You ran away from your guards and disappeared. You’re lucky Violet confessed enough to convince us you had not been abducted, or it’d have been a legion turning the city over.” He told her, his voice stern and serious. Scolding her had never come easily to him, but this latest offense warranted punishment.

“Perhaps if I were allowed a little more freedom to explore the city without a steel-clad gargoyle scaring everyone away from me, I wouldn’t have to run away.” Iona countered. Samuel sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. He understood, better than even she knew. But necessity, security and duty always came before personal desires, the curse of wearing the crown. He sat down on the marbled bench at the end of the balcony and patted the space next to him. After a moment’s hesitation, Iona came over and sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He placed his arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. He felt the tension through her body relax as he held her and spoke gently.

“I understand how you feel, truly. I know the weight of the expectations put upon you.” Iona looked up at him, and he knew she understood. That he had once been the heir as she was, that he knew well what she was truly running into those streets away from. He wasn’t speaking as her King now, but as her father. A man who truly loved and cared about her.

“I just… feel like I’m trapped here father. All courts and schedules and bowing and guards. And for just a little while, I want to have something else. To choose to see what’s out there. Before it gets chosen for me.” She replied just as gently. King Samuel sighed and smiled sadly at her, nodding.

“I’m afraid it was chosen for you the moment you were born a Ravellan love. I was the same, always sneaking out into the taverns at the dockside after sundown. But we’re trapped, you and me. And we make the best of that within our cage bars, as nice as they are.” Iona chuckled against him and shook her head gently. He knew she both was and wasn’t disagreeing with him. He thought for a moment before smiling and lifting her gaze to meet his.

“Promise me Iona, that this is the last time you leave into the city without any guards. I need you to promise me that. And maybe we’ll see about getting you into the city a little more often.” He told her and she looked up at him in confusion. But then she nodded, a smile beginning to creep across her freckled cheeks.

“Alright. I promise father.” She said quickly, before her gaze turned distant.

“Don’t punish Violet for this please, she was only helping me. I don’t want her getting in trouble for it.”

Samuel clicked his tongue and tilted his head.

“Violet Hills is a grown woman who is capable of making her own choices, and she chose to help the princess escape her guards. There must be some punishment for that. But… I’ll see if we can’t lessen that. In exchange for you remaining within the palace grounds for the next month.” Iona looked at him and scowled and he held her gaze.

“Two weeks.” She said suddenly, folding her arms across her chest. Samuel laughed.

“A month, Iona. Not negotiating here.”

“Three weeks, and I’ll attend every lesson throughout.” She offered again and Samuel took a deep breath. Getting Iona to remain within the grounds would be a victory in itself, but getting her to listen to all her lessons, even the histories…

“Fine, three weeks, every lesson. And Violet won’t be punished.” Samuel suddenly felt her arms loop around his neck and hold him tight, her face pressed against his shoulder. She didn’t need to speak, that spoke measures, Iona rarely showed him much open familial affection. Samuel didn’t say anything either, he simply sat, holding his daughter in his arms until she eventually pulled away, returning to resting her head on his shoulder.

They sat for a while, father and daughter watching the sun setting over the horizon until Samuel gave Iona’s shoulders a squeeze.

“So, tell me about your misadventure today. And that mark on your lip.” He watched her eyes light up and she poked at the cut with her tongue. Her maids had evidently tried to cover it with makeup, which hadn’t worked.

She told him the whole story. Fleeing through the park and into the Spring District, meeting and talking with a kindly baker in the Spring District whom she’d bought a fresh loaf of bread from to eat come midday, getting lost in the Autumn District and her encounter with the thieves on the Tide Road.

“I was saved from the danger before it could get worse though father. A woman from the Winter District, fought them off then pulled me to safety away from them. From her look, you’d have thought her just another beggar or rogue from the Winter District, but she was… different. She… I don’t know… I can’t really describe it.” Judging by the way Iona’s cheeks flushed and the way she smiled talking about it, the King thought he could probably take a good guess at how to describe it.