Prologue
Rogmar Wylter
There was an unnatural silence over the forest as it grew darker and darker. He looked ever the proud and shining knight as he rode onward on the darkening path through the forest. Behind him rode his squire, a boy of ten from the great and honorable Kingswood family. Sixteen men came behind them on foot with three fellow knights in full shining plate of steel. Rogmar gripped the hilt of his arming sword with his gloved and armored right hand, not because he feared an ambush, but because of the sword itself. Sadly the blade was regular steel, but the cross-guard was made of steel with a layer of obsidian and the hilt and pommel was forged of Blackened steel. It was a weapon befitting a grand duke in his own opinion, and a truly expensive blade not to mention. He remembered when he had held it for the first time, handed to him by the man who forged it. The weaponsmith of Whitewall Hall itself. Who could brag that they held a sword forged in the furnaces of the Silverstags royal seat?
The smile seemed to be stuck to his lips, as he regained it every time he thought about it. Behind him he heard the man-at-arms that called himself Lil’ Bobbard proclaimed in his nasal voice that if he ever laid his eyes on any of those Iceling swine he would kill them with his bare hands. Why they called him Lil’ Bobbard was beyond Rogmar’s logic since the great oaf was just that, a giant troll of a man.
“Kil ‘em I-I-I would. I wo-would,” he said once more. “I wo-wo-woull.” It was quite a frustration to listen to him butcher his way through a sentence, like some fool unable to talk properly.
One of his fellow knights rode up beside him.
“Listening to these men discussing politics is like listening to a pair of goats ploughing each other.”
Rogmar chuckled, “Truly, Sir Joseph. Truly.” He felt as if the wind on his face was colder then a moment ago. Then he noticed Sir Joseph shiver.
“I felt as if a chill crept up on me.”
“Is it getting a tad colder, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“Anyhow, you reckon the king will do anything about these raids, from Icelings and Sverdmen alike?”
“Hmm,” was Sir Joseph’s first simple response, as if he formulated an answer in his mind. “I think he’d love too, but I’m not sure Her Noble Grace the queen of those royal advisors would be for it. Lots of planning and resources go into invading those sets of islands out west.”
“If you ask me, I think Her Grace should take those two dragons of hers and fly to Wyk and scorch the whole ploughing island. What’s some longships compared to a pair of she-drakes?”
“They call their king the Dragon King, right? Doesn’t that mean he has dragons too?” Sir Joseph followed with a counterpoint.
“Isn’t it just because they carve dragon heads onto the ships?”
“Might be doing that too because he has dragons. Would make sense.”
“That’s true I suppose.” It was pretty logical when he thought about it that way. “Same question then, Sverd Isles.” Now the good Sir Joseph shrugged. “No dragons, no sweat.”
“Would you send a queen into battle, Sir Rogmar?”
He had to admit, he would, “No, that’s true. Those she-drakes might only listen to our beautiful little queen too.”
“That’s how my uncle always explained it when me and my sisters were little. They bond with one person. Long as they’re alive, they only listen to them.”
Rogmar felt a chill come over him. It felt strange somehow, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. A gaze into the forest didn’t make him feel better. The sun would soon be out of sight and darkness fully ascendant. No time to make camp when they were an hour or so away from Stonebuckle. There was a comfortable little there, as well as a barkeep with a lovely little bosom and pretty eyes. His eyes returned to the road when Sir Joseph cleared his throat.
“Have you ever ridden with King Aldrich?”
“Never,” Rogmar answered in truth.
“I did, two months ago.”
He arched his eyebrows, “Truly?” He had only seen the young king twice, and always from afar. That Daemon fellow had journeyed with His Highness’s retinue as well, which made two of his fellow knights in the patrol. Sir Daemon rode at the end of the patrol, with the wagon and the chests and boxes it carried.
“I was part of the knights call to reinforce him at Fort Jhaenera, by Nattergeit Forest, you know. It was, oh some six hundred of us. I rode under the banner of my arl.”
Fort Jhaenera, Nattergeit Forest, he thought, “Orcs swarmed out of the forest to plunder again?”
“Again, goblins and orcs both.” Sir Joseph spat to the side as they rode on. “Had us cut them to pieces, the king did. Made those bastards regret ever leaving Nattergeit.”
Rogmar imagined how it would be to ride into battle under the royal banner. If ignoring the horrific nature of battle it would be magnificent. He returned his right hand to gently touch the hilt of his sheathed blade and smiled.
“Movement in the woods!” Sir Daemon called from the rear.
The patrol halted and Rogmar turned his gaze into the dark forest. He listened and heard leafs rustling in the wind, polearms of the men-at-arms readied, Lil’ Bobbard freeing that two-handed axe with a double head from his back. There was the neighing of their horses and someone mumbling about Iceling raiders. Too far inland for those though. They’d never go this deep into the Bucklestone Hills. Probably too close to Culhaven too. Even the finishing villages in the Silverstags direct lands halls wooden walls in addition to the watchtowers with ballista that was more along the norm of the Kingdom’s villages. Mayhaps it could be bandits hoping to ambush them and take the wagon’s content. Hoping it carried valuables.
“Bandits?” Sir Joseph called at Sir Daemon.
“Maybe,” came the answer. “Didn’t see more the movement.”
“Probably a doe,” one of the men-at-arms voiced, his thin voice strained and anxious.
“N-no-no,” Lil’ Bobbard declared with clear certainty.
Rogmar unsheathed his steel. He would be happy to let her taste bandit blood.
“Does anybody see anything?” He asked.
The answer was a round of, “Nays.” It could have been a simple animal that scurried by. He was about to call for Sir Daemon to get the wagon moving when he saw something. A rider in black robes mounted on a horse as black as a demon’s heart. He came out of the trees swift as the wind, no, several. He couldn’t count them in time and spurred his horse forward. The rider he faced held a long blade of his own, a longsword he wielded with one hand with the same ease most men wielded an arming sword. He hadn’t managed to travel more than perhaps five meters when the man slashed. His own blow missed and to his agony and shock, the dark rider’s blade tore through the side of the plate, clean through as if cutting cheese. He fell from his horse and cried out on impact with the ground. Yet somehow he managed to keep his sword in his grip.
He heard one of the men-at-arms cry out, “Riders!” Panic obvious in his voice.
Rogmar forced himself upon his feet. What was that steel he cut with made of? Had it been Blackened steel, frighteningly stronger than plain steel, but he had never seen it used in person. One of the dark riders came toward in the chaos of screams and clashing of steel. For a moment he tried to lock eyes with him, but he couldn’t see the slightest facial detail under that black hood, all he saw was like a black void. He raised his blade to cut, however on impact with the rider’s blade his newest pride and joy was cut in two. Just one cut had left him with half a blade. He rapidly gazed around for his shield but only saw a cracked one and one that poor Sir Joseph laid upon, a hole straight through the less protected throat area. Gods, the man was still alive. Slowly bleeding out and gurgling in a dying state of utter panic and horror.
“Sword Mother protects us,” he mumbled. Then there was immense pain and he fell to the ground. From the ground, he noticed the bloodied and unmoving body of his squire, young little Bill Kingswood. It had all grown quite silent, just like that. Was it all over? He felt a figure, one of the black riders, stand above him. Then there was a moment of great pain in his back, then there was only pain and darkness that engulfed his mind.
Chapter 1
3430 of the Age of Gods and Men
Mordurel, Easterland Region
Silverhall Castle
Raenys Silverstag
There was a joint “Oh” of amazement from the peasants when the two knights clashed. Both lances splintered on impact with their shields. Like any tourney lance they were made to splinter, a bit of theater for the crowd. The jousters halted at the end of the wooden barrier between them and prepared for a second charge. Raenys watched eagerly as the men’s squires gave them new lances and thus began a new charge.
One of the jousters was a landed knight sworn to her house and the other was a simple wandering knight without a lord or proper home. A homeless knight that wandered about the kingdom’s provinces to do good deeds. Though her elder brother Rhaemon had always told her that wandering knights were far less honorable that the fairytale knights she dreamt of as a girl. He was likely there to find a lord or lady to serve and if he performed well enough she might want him in her service as a sworn knight.
The wandering knight’s lance splintered against the knight’s round shield as the knight’s lance struck his armor and almost sent him off his horse. He regained his seat as his squire handed him a new lance. Thus they charged again and the knight bounced the lance off his shield and struck hard against his opponent's helm and sent him to the dirt. The crowd cheered and Raenys clapped her hands excitedly. The nobles were calmer in their response.
“That was amazing,” she stated joyfully to herself.
She swiped a strand of her icy blonde hair out of her face and tucked it in behind her ear. Her appointed herald declared the victorious knight and announced the next participants. The son of a baron against another baron son. The lordlings soon entered the jousting ground and trotted up to her and bowed their heads. She mentioned the customary formalities and wished them luck and they trotted off to different ends of the jousting ground. To Raenys’s misfortune, one of the lordlings was unhorsed in the first tilt.
Around the stall, she sat in stood guards with capes in Silverstag colors. A silver stag on a field of yellow. Around the tourney, ground was over a hundred banners with colorful house heraldries that flew high around the tourney grounds. A good number were arls, the lowest ranking nobles in the Kingdom, but most banners were from barons, dukes and some even of grand duke houses that lorded over the Kingdom’s provinces. There was no lack of noblemen and noblewomen at court on this day there were hundreds more, not to mentioned retinues of knights and servants. On that day a strong line of wandering and landed knights both, barons, lordlings. Even the son of the grand duke of the Ostland province. Sadly for Raenys a good chunk of them made poor jousters and a dull watch from the royal stall. Though it was amusing to see Sir Tiber Troutelyn of the prestigious Crownsguard unhorse one of them, barely a nudge with his tourney lance and the lordling fell from his steed, a beige colt.
At the foot of her stall, her dragon puppies hissed as they rested comfortably. It was getting hard to see them as pups since they were an impressive two meters, but that was puppy size for a dragon though. Icefyre raised her head for a moment and then lowered it to the ground beside her hatchling sister Moonfyre. Moonfyre was a beautiful ebony black and crimson pattern on her scales and Icefyre’s scales were black as the night and crystal blue. The she-drakes paid little mind to the jousting that had gone on in the last several hours. While they remained as uninterested for the next tilt Raenys’s interest increased. Sir Ormond of house Oakenshield, son of the grand duke of Ostland and Sir Anton Mayflower, son of a baron, prepared for their joust. Sir Ormond was a proved excellent jouster, among the best if she could say. However, Sir Anton was probably the greatest jouster alive. Both clad themselves in full steel plate armor atop strong destriers in barding that displayed the blazons of their respective houses, the brown leafless tree on the green of Oakenshield and house Mayflower’s green, red and blue flower on a field of pale yellow. Ormond displayed his blazonry on his surcoat as well but otherwise, his shiny plate was a common plain set. In opposite Anton’s plate was gilded and shined brightly in his sunlight and the commonfolk cheered his name and occasionally Ormond’s.
To her delight, her good friend chose to approach her stall.
“Let her pass,” she told the three Crownsguards that guarded her.
Dawana Oakenshield made her way to stand beside her comfortable throne. The wind gently blew through her long raven hair and touched the lowest edge of her long emerald green and white gown. It had a pattern of vines and flowers that covered much of it. Raenys responded to a gurgling baby nose from her left side by leaning over and reaching into the cradle and tickling the little princess, her beautiful Alys.
“They look tired, or bored,” she first commented about the she-drakes.
“They’re just tired. They always are after dinner. They had a roasted sheep,” Raenys answered and smiled at her little pups.
“That how much a baby dragon eats in one sitting?” Dawana inquired with curiosity.
“Yes. One sheep each I mean,” she clarified. She looked at her friend. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think your dear brother can win this one.”
Dawana crossed her arms under her chest.
“He’s as skilled as Anton. He might even be better, actually. He may not joust as much as him but that doesn’t make him worse at it.”
“Nobody jousts as much as him.” The men charged at each other and both lances splintered against the other’s shield.
“I bet one gold coin Ormond’s going to win,” Dawana said with determination.
Raenys eyed her as the two men were given new tourney lances by their respective squires for the next charge.
“That’s absurdly little. Where’s your faith in him? Let’s say ten gold coins.”
Dawana smirked and snorted after throwing a glance at her brother, “No way.”
The young queen grinned victoriously, “Knew it! Knew it.”
As she and her friend had expected the victory went to Sir Anton, but to Ormond’s defense, he didn’t get unhorsed until their seventh tilt. It was quite a good and entertaining joust though. She thought it had been the most interesting in the past two days. Sir Anton helped Ormond up from the dirt after he dismounted, then he had one remaining tilt with Sir Tiber. In their second tilt, the Crownsguard was unhorsed. After that, the handsome Anton Mayflower was declared the winner of the jousting competition and she rewarded him the promised price of fifty gold coins. In his short appreciation, the noble youth asked the Holy Father to bless Princess Alys.
“I swear your dragons have grown since yesterday, Your Grace,” Sir Anton had also remarked.
The she-dragons had been gifts to her from the fledgling dragon king of the Ice Islands. Part of a treaty of peace they signed a mere year ago, to bring peace between his island raiders and the Kingdom of Westerend for two decades. Dragons often bonded with someone present at their birth. It required inward strength and fearlessness and somehow she managed it, though she honestly surprised herself when they hatched. She’d been as encaptivated by them.
With the joust finished the commonfolk returned to Culhaven or villages around Silverhall and the nobles would make their way to the great and glorious feast in the dining hall. For the commonfolk it was over and done with already. It was the third feast in the same number of days and she’d commanded this one even greater than those that preceded it. After all, a feast was the only proper way to end a day's long event like this, especially since they celebrated sweet and adorable Alys. Raenys picked up her babe and carried her in her arms. The little princess was a mere two months old now as spring was in the air.
“Would you please tell Ormond it was a valiant attempt?” She asked Dawana. She was pleased that only one of her brothers was present. The other remained far away, and she preferred it that way.
“Certainly.”
Moonfyre raised her head and shrieked towards the skies.
“Hush girl, hush,” she told Moonfyre. The dragon lowered her head and rested it on the ground while keeping eye on her surroundings. “Alright girls, behave.”
Several large tables of thick oak were set up in Silverhall’s large dining hall to fit her vast array of guests. The noble families would dine their and their household guards, knights and important companions of lesser standing would dine in the garden where other tables had been placed with vast amounts of food and drink. There was a good number of wines brought out for this event, the famous wines from the Middenland province, from two different eleven kingdoms and even wine from the faraway continent where the Kyroshi Empire laid. There was a dwarfen brewage as well, though she found it far too strong in taste. For food, there were six types of mushrooms covered in butter sauce and garlic, Two hundred plates of roasted duck in butter, onion, and exotic spices. Dozens of swans drowned in sauce and a mass of freshly baked bread with butter as well as crab, mussels, plates of different cheeses and fish ranging from herring to salmon, beef, sausage and more. There was enough to feed an army.
Alys apparently decided she didn’t like the gathering and began to cry. Raenys handed Alys to one of the old nursemaids and said, “Would you put her to bed in the keep?” She could sleep with her siblings. Alys was the youngest of her four children. She considered herself lucky to have birthed four perfect babes into the world, two sweet girls and two equally sweet boys. The eldest was Dagon with only four winters behind him.
“Of course Your Highness,” the old wrinkly woman answered in a raspy voice. “Come here little Highness.” She chuckled as she walked away with two younger maids assigned to the babe princess. “You know I cared for your royal mother. She was a naughty little one as a child you know.”
Raenys combined a frown with a smirk, then shook her head at the hopeless old woman. A bard started to play the flute and a lute was played by another. She told the epic saga of the Ten Knights, the epic tale of Sir Rhobar the Wanderer. Although she had heard it a hundred times it was as great and epic each time. The bard told of the beginning of the quest given to the knights by the gods and how the journey began. She did notice how she embellished Sir Joran’s death at the hands of the Direwolves. The little Ebenese bard exaggerated the number significantly, but she didn’t expect anything different from a bard. Embellishing was a part of what they did. Raenys had seen to place two dozen guests at her table. Naturally, her brother and sister were both there, as was Dawana, her brother and their lord father the grand duke of Ostland. Her and Dawana’s fellow friend Rohanna was with them. Rohanna had been the only Godsgrace that was present. Raenys didn’t exactly miss the rest though. The baron was no doubt furious about her decision to revoke his grand duke lordship over Vorostmark and granting it to a rival house in that province. At her table on the dais, she had always gathered the grand dukes that had deigned themselves to come. Only four of the provinces grand duke family had not come. She understood and didn’t mind that the grand duchess of the West Mark hadn’t come either, but the same could not be said for the grand dukes of Marshland, the Reach or the grand duchess of Nülinholm. Those of Marshland and the Reach had both declines and offered their worthless apologies, so the grand duchess of Nülinholm was the only one she expected. The young grand duchess of the West Mark had offered her sincerest apologies and instead sent grand gifts. It may be easier for all if the grand duchess of Nülinholm did not come. Tensions would surely rise considering the latest events that took place there.
It was soon quite clear that Rohanna could not hold her liquor and she rested her head and arms against the table with Dawana stroking her back. Did she even make it passed her third goblet? The bard finished the epic saga and sang a lovely ballad.
“Oh, poor little dove,” Raenys said, in amusement and empathy over her drunk friend. The poor girl mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
About her dais stood four members of her and her lord husband’s Crownsguard with ten household guards. The Crownsguard’s white and gilded plate armor shined underneath the sun and made them look almost holy with their royal purple capes and gilded scabbards and sword pommels and hilts visible. A young limping man in colorful velvet breeches and doublet came up to one of the Crownsguards, Sir Tiber, and the shiny plated knight came up to her and leaned over from her side, his hatched face unpleasantly close to her, especially with the visor of his helm raised.
“Your Grace, Duke Royce’s party has arrived.”
That’s about time, she thought. “Thank you. I wish to speak to him when he is settled and ready to join the feast.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She dug her teeth into a spiced chicken leg and swallowed it down with wine. Then she turned her head to her sister Alyssana who sat at her right side. Her quiet sister had the blonde hair of the Silverstags and the same silvery eyes as Raenys herself. She was fairly quiet when she wasn’t chatting with Rhaemon beside her. Raenys leaned towards her when Alyssana leaned slightly in her direction. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Are, eh, there aren’t any apple pie, is there?” She asked with caution in her fair voice.
Raenys smiled.
“There can be.” She clapped her hands and gestured for a male servant to approach.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed deeply.
“Fetch apple pie for my sister.”
“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but the desserts are intended for later in the evening,” he answered apologetically.
Raenys frowned in displeasure.
“If I say my sister will be served apple pie, then by the Holy Father you will serve her that pie.” Her tone was harsh, perhaps too harsh, but she got her point across for he scurried away after managing a courteous bow. She shook her head. The audacity of some people, even the lowborn.
“Thank you. I just, just really ache for a piece of pie right now.”
“You know you don’t even need to ask, Alyssana.”
“I know. But, it doesn’t feel right. So impolite, you know?”
Raenys nodded and reached around her to give her half a hug.
“It’s so typically you. Worried about commanding the servants to harshly. I love that you’re so gentle.” She waved over a girl with a jug to give Alyssana a refill. “Toast with me.”
Soon the Royce’s entered the dining hall and marched up to her dais. The duke walked side by side with his wife with their two sons and nephews and nieces counting seven. He was a man of average height, hair that had begun to grow grey and of course his large gut. Five meters from the dais they halted at a raised hand from one of her Crownsguard. Her loud herald spoke next.
“Your Grace, Duke Roy of the house Royce, Count of Cainhurst and Lord of Royce Hall.”
“My lord. I am pleased to see you managed to find your way here. Finally.” As a lord in Easterland he hadn’t had that far to travel, lords that came from over ten times further away had been there for days before the festivities even began and she felt both curious and frustrated about that. For his sake, she hoped for a good explanation to show that he hadn’t intended to insult her baby daughter.
“I do deeply apologize for our late arrival, Your Highness, my lords, my ladies,” the middle-age man responded. “My retinue was caught in the thick of it outside Cainhurst. Goblins and Urks came out of the Nattergeit Forest. Burned villages down to the ground outside the town. You see, Your Grace, the captain of the guard in Cainhurst had marched out to meet then only to have his men smashed between two fronts. It was that filthy Hrogmork Skull-belt.”
Raenys was quiet for a moment as she hadn’t expected that. Being late for claims of battle with the Kingdom’s foes wasn’t something she’d considered. His decision to explain himself, not as much to her but to the assembled nobles irked her.
“Couldn’t let the bastard keep going. I am sure you all understand. They didn’t see me coming. There were many green corpses left in the wake of our clash.”
What would she even say to that, after he turned for support from the guests? He was speaking to the nobles instead of her. It felt like it to her to an extent and if didn’t sit well. Yet she said, “Might it be that you collected the Skull-belt’s own skull for us?”
“Afraid not, Your Majesty. Coward slipped away,” Duke Royce answered.
Still, she raised her ornate goblet and cheerfully said, “A toast for your dutiful act to the Kingdom then, Duke Royce.”
There was a wild response as men and women toasted loudly and Raenys casually gestured for the Royces to join the other guests at the tables. At the same moment, Alyssana’s pie arrived.
“Always the defender of the Kingdom that one,” she heard Grand Duke Oakenshield dryly remark to her brother.
“Not to mention his own reputation. He’s always been a crowd-pleaser,” the Grand Duke of Nordland responded in a low voice. It was pleasing to hear the high nobles seeing through his action as well.
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