Post by CaptainNips on Feb 20, 2014 6:20:53 GMT -5
One of my side projects that I have been doing is a short fantasy novel, which I co-author with a friend of mine in school. After about two years of mapping out all the world and it's history, we have finally finished the first book! It's not horror or anything remotely related to post-apoc, but maybe some of you may be interested in reading it...? I will post the first chapter here, and if any like it I will put up some more, maybe even share the google doc with any who are REALLY interested. We need some proof readers anyway. This is our first big story and we are both amateur writers, so please bear with us as you read.
One: New Power
The unit of red knights flew across the field. The dark evening concealed their movement. The moon shone down and glinted on their armour, casting a small, dull white light on the grass before them.
The leading knight charged ahead and the rest behind him moved into a wedge formation, perfect for attacking infantry. The horsemen readied as they grew near their prey. Then, with a final dash, they crashed into a unit of blue swordsmen. They pushed their lances into the space, hoping to knock over or crush the enemy.
Breaking through, they then wheeled round, and drawing swords, crashed in once again. Soon, only the horsemen remained. The blue swordsmen all lay on the meadow grass in the night, prisoners of the red knights or of the devil.
The blue king looked through the blackness into the trees to his right. There were three flames flickering amidst the branches. His archers were still holding out. That was a relief. He was fighting a losing battle, and if those archers fell and lost their position, then it would be the end of him.
The red general also looked across the moonlit field in the direction of the clump of trees. He had at his command the best soldiers he could get. From squire to knight, his men had trained nearly all their lives. Now he had to use them.
Calling his heralds forward, he told them his plan.
The blue archers looked out from their position amongst the trees. They could hear the tromp, tromp of armoured feet. But peering into the gloom they could see nothing.
One archer stepped out from his cover amongst the trees and fired a flaming arrow. It zipped through the air, creating a slight whistling sound. Sure enough, it came to rest close to some shiny metal boots - heavy spearmen. The light was soon extinguished by a metal-shod foot, but the roundabout direction of the target was clear.
All the archers stepped out from from the trees and drew back their bows. Letting loose a flaming volley, they drew again.
Suddenly, from the land to their right came a hail of arrows. They struck with surprising accuracy, taking out nearly half of the force of blue soldiers. The archers, their morale broken, fled back into the trees.
They had no choice but to stay. To retreat was to lose the hill and the trees, this would mean to lose the battle. To dash out of the trees would be suicide as the arrows kept on coming in from the right. The blue archers’ torches were giving them away.
But they had forgotten something. The spearmen arrived, and a massacre ensued.
Not one archer survived.
The blue king watched the fires on the hill. The men around them fell down, arrows protruding from different parts of their body. Then heavily-armoured troops poured in, lunging their spears at all who appeared in the light. Soon more red soldiers arrived, and the lights were extinguished.
The king, without hesitation, sent more men-at-arms towards the hill. Soon only his bodyguard and some swordsmen remained.
The swordsmen and knights, both blue, approached the trees. Arrows rained down on them as they made their slow ascent, but they persevered.
As they reached the top they saw only red archers, standing in amongst the clump of trees, and firing. The knights accelerated into full charge.
But as they did so, hordes of red spears stepped out from behind the trees. They blocked the passage to the archers. The blue knights could not stop themselves and plunged straight into the spearmen. A short scuffle ensued, in which the blue knights fell quickly.
The archers fired one last time, and then again from the trees, red knights surged forward. Crashing into the swordsmen, they forged their way through and came out the other side.
Then the spearmen, who had just protected their archers, charged into the mass of blue swords. The swords, sandwiched between the knights and the spears, fled quickly into the night.
The king looked around him. The mysterious hill emitted much sound of clashing swords, screaming horses and shouting men.
Just then, a crash sounded from behind him. A unit of light cavalry had charged him from the rear. One of the horsemen steered his horse directly at the king. The horseman’s red banner was the last the king saw as the spear plunged deep into his chest.
* * * * * * *
Cereminner leaned back on his chair. He was a young man with short dark brown hair, a light build and strong wood-coloured eyes. The lightly coloured skin on his arms and the lack of callouses on his hands gave away that he was not a man of a trade that worked outdoors, but one who stayed inside.
His opponent, Cassidan, was another young man, with even shorter black hair, and what looked like an attempt at a beard on his chin. The deep black skin, thinner eyes and black pupils hinted Kalyphaxad ancestry, the strong-willed folk of the East. The well developed thick legs and muscular arms proved the hint. A comment escaped from his lips. “You need to be more observant, Cereminner my friend. Do not focus all your attention on one place. You weren't wary enough - you couldn’t see what was coming for you.”
This time Cassidan had beaten his friend, though it would seem with a glance at the two that the mental advantage lay with Cereminner. The board stretched between them showed only red and blue pieces, but to any who knew the game it was a skillful victory. The handcraft wooden pieces could be transformed into a great battle in the imagination.
Cereminner sighed. Yet again his good friend had bested him. He held no grudge against Cassidan - though he was slightly irritated that this was the fifth defeat in a row. Maybe only long hard, steady hours of practice would right that problem.
As the two drank in long looks at the board together with their autumn ale, a servant toned with deep red livery paused lightly at the door’s threshold before entering. “A messenger for you, my lord.” He bowed before Cassidan, the baron of the castle and the servant’s master. Cassidan gave a slight nod, and a man strode into the room. He was donned with the blue and white of the kingdom of Ethrè, and carried a scroll, which he proceeded to roll out. The young herald’s face was plump and round, his cheeks red.
Drawing a faintly shaky breath, the messenger clearly proclaimed, “His Majesty Notreföör, King of Ethrè, Lord of the Aìngard Isles, and Defender of the People, requests the presence of the Nobles Cassidan of Effectus and Cereminner of Alinsten, at noon tomorrow in his palace in Numbïl.”
Cereminner leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Good news?”
“I should hope so. Notreföör, being the drunkard he is, rarely summons us, so I do not know what to expect.” Cassidan dismissed the messenger with a flick of his hand. Draining the last of ale, he stood. The board was left for a servant to tidy.
The two friends mounted and rode out of Effectus Castle. They did not dress grandly, even though they would be entering the royal presence, for every single mind in the country knew of the madness of the king. Notreföör, son of Haroföör, and the 16th monarch of the realm, did not care much for pompous ceremony nor for affairs of the state, but spent his time in pursuing personal pleasure. The fact that the royal attendants had to prepare daily for hunting trips, feasts, tournaments and rescuing his majesty in various states of unconscious from Numbïl’s taverns testified to this.
As the pair passed through the spreading farming lands that marked the difference between castle community and rolling countryside, they verbally appreciated the changing flags and symbols on the milestones at the road’s edge. The many other vassals of the King that populated Ethrè’s council ruled their own separate cities, towns, forts and castles just as Cereminner and Cassidan were in charge of the town of Alinsten and the castle Effectus.
“Do you have any idea about the purpose of our summons?” Cereminner asked.
Cassidan stared away across the fields for a while before answering. “Nocturne was promoted to the position of Royal Chancellor last week.” He emphasized the words ‘Royal Chancellor’ with acerbic contempt in his voice.
Cereminner pretended not to notice the contempt, but was still surprised. “Nocturne? Nocturne? I thought that he looked too old and sullen to please His Regalness.”
“Quite the contrary. In his little head, Notreföör believes that these traits only further qualify his experience on the matter. Sad eyes, boring lips. The typical look of a politician.” Cassidan remarked.
Cereminner nodded, and continued to gaze out upon the slowing moving view which greeted his eyes. Nocturne was not, it could be said, the most attractive man alive. He was tall, yes, but he was old. Wrinkles covered his face, and skin sagged from his cheeks. He was slow and uncomely. He gave the overall impression of a tall but withered plant.
However, his natural authority and stern demeanour were not to be underestimated. Nocturne was a man of strong confidence in his decisions, and he might indeed make a good chancellor. Cereminner was surprised at the sudden flood of wisdom which must have sprung up inside Notreföör’s heart like a forest spring when he made this decision.
With this greatly coveted rank, Nocturne would deal with all important matters that the King was too ‘busy’ to do; complaints of bad harvests from farmers, high taxes from the poor, and minor threats from neighbouring kingdoms. Unfortunately, this also often meant cleaning up after the King’s mistakes.
“You still haven’t answered my initial question, though.” Cereminner said.
Cassidan curtly replied, “If Nocturne was given a position of power, then why shouldn’t we? After all, compared with the other vassals, we are some of the more sensible, reasonable and knowledgeable.”
They both laughed. Although their peers were not in such a bad state as the present king, aside from Nocturne none could be said to be good rulers. It was in fact the king himself that set the example. Since he did not take a firm hand in disciplining his vassals, the vassals themselves strayed far without restriction. The streets in most towns were unclean, the poor of the local workforces caused trouble, and the visionaries amongst the more elderly of the population saw only dark times ahead.
However, in Alinsten, Cereminner knew that it was not so. He was certainly a modest young man, not boasting, but with an honest voice he could say that he did his best in his job of ruling the town. His father, Eremirrer, had been a good and hard working man as well. He had started many well-planned expansions and new systems in Alinsten, and had left his son with quite a task in front of him. However, he had also left him with a well-fortified education, and it was this, Cereminner knew, that the other vassals of the kingdom lacked.
Effectus also did not lack much in its baron. Cassidan and Cereminner were friends because they saw themselves as being the only two respectable people stranded in a sea of barbarian nobles. Cassidan was, like Cereminner, a hard thinking man, but unlike his friend, he gave much of his time to the field and to work. He assisted his subjects with the sowing and reaping of their crops, with the building of new halls and barns, and he also helped train his few household warriors. Cassidan himself was a formidable fighter, and Cereminner wondered if that was what made him so notorious when it came to the game board.
The large capital city of Ethrè, Numbïl, drew itself out before them as the pair urged their tired horses over the last hill. The mass of the city stood out among the seemingly everlasting green hills. The sigil of Ethrè hung proudly on a banner from the main gate’s two towers. As they trotted down the last slope, Cereminner let his eyes wander over the tall buildings and grand statues that adorned the stone streets. Numbïl certainly was a city to be awed, but it had been built in peace, and had not known war for many years. The low walls and meagre defences raised a pang of fear in Cereminner’s heart as he contemplated what war could do to the city, but he let it pass, for battle had not been carried on its torn, grey wings to this part of Tarmulin for almost 800 years.
Cereminner continued his staring as he entered through one of the gates and rode through the streets of the city. Bustling civilians went about their work; some scurrying across the street, some stopping and admiring the entrance of the two lords. Cereminner had not been to Numbïl for many a year. In fact, the last time he had come was when he was a child and his father had brought him. He noticed the smart houses and well-paved roads, but the building that caught his eye most was Notreföör’s palace itself.
The palace was walled with red brick, and had expensive carved marble pillars to hold up its roof. Two stone wolves sat in peace along its steps. At the top of the steps rose a depiction of Duredor, a famed minstrel and adventurer. Numbïl was certainly not lacking in riches or splendour, but it was easily noticeable that the king’s property received the most attention.
His Majesty was waiting inside. Two guards stood aloof by the palace’s great wooden doorway. One yawned before he noticed the two lords approaching. He quickly stood at attention, whacking his partner with butt of spear, reminding him to do the same. The other’s eyes snapped open and both muttered apologies to their superiors. They then pushed open the doors, revealing a large, brick-walled and well-lit hall. The king himself could be seen pacing near his great throne. The two guards then stood straight by the doors and announced, “The lords Cassidan of Effectus and Cereminner of Alinsten!”
The two vassals went down the hall and bent on one knee, for even a king like Notreföör was still a king, but he hurriedly gestured them to rise. He sat down on his throne. A table with a few sheets of paper on it had been drawn in front of the throne. The young king wore a long, fur lined robe and a golden crown upon his head. He had grown a short, rough brown beard in his attempt to appear older and more kingly.
The two took chairs on the other side of the table. “May I inquire as to the reasons of your gracious invitation?” Cassidan asked. The sweetness dripping from his voice was like golden-looking honey that tasted sour.
Notreföör did not worry for formal matters, nor did he listen closely to the tone of Cassidan’s voice. Instead he produced two sheets of paper from amongst those on the table. He spoke, in a voice that sounded, Cereminner always thought, like the squeak of a dying mouse.
“I have been studying the history of the royal line of Ethrè, and looking at the royal advisors to my predecessors.” The two vassals highly doubted that he had been doing anything of the sort. “I have, in conclusion, decided that I should employ three men to help me with various duties.”
Notreföör cleared his throat and fastened the collar on his robe. He then continued, “Chancellor Nocturne shall be my personal advisor and shall attend to affairs of the state. However, I have chosen you, Cassidan of Effectus, to be marshal of the armed forces. I hope I will never desperately need your assistance.” He smiled weakly at Cassidan. Cassidan smiled back sarcastically and viciously, like a wolf that was looking its prey in the eyes. “I have also chosen you, Cereminner of Alinsten, to be mayor and lord of this, the capital, Numbïl. You will be governor and in charge of everything from its defences to its taxes.”
The two sheets of paper were handed over, one to each person. They contained a formal documentation of the new office unto which both would be entering, and then a line for signature at the bottom. Cereminner noticed, however, that the handwriting was all Nocturne’s. The delicate letters were spidery and well phrased in language. The words stunk of political bravado.
Cassidan again slid the flattering words out of his mouth. “We are both filled with gratitude, Your Majesty. I’m sure that both of us will do our best with this new power.”
Notreföör smiled weakly, then gestured for both of them to sign the papers. Cassidan went ahead, but Cereminner took one last look over before picking up his pen. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty, but what will happen to Alinsten?”
“Alinsten?” Notreföör gave a puzzled look, as if he was sure that he was supposed to know something, but he knew that he didn’t. “I’m sorry. Alinsten? Please remind me.”
While Cassidan hid a laugh carefully behind his straight face, Cereminner explained. “At the moment I am the ruler of Alinsten. I live there, with my wife and children. It may take me time to move to Numbïl.”
The two vassals watched as the information slowly registered itself in Notreföör’s head. He looked at both of them blankly, obviously not knowing what to do. Although in his mid-twenties, the King’s face began to retain it’s round and immature expression.
“I see no problem with this. I’m sure your... erm, family will much prefer the luxurious life in Numbïl to this... erm-Erlinsten. You are free to bring your servants and what other attendants you may have as well.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Cereminner spoke delicately; his cheeks slightly flushed, not wanting to correct the King on Alinsten, “What about my people? Who shall guide them when I am gone?”
Notreföör’s eyes widened, his face again showed confusion. His mouth opened and closed several times, trying to form the first words to speak, “No need to worry about them, Lord Cereminner. Noct- I mean I ... will find a suitable candidate to take your place. Until then, I think it will be a good idea to retain control of the castle... sorry, town. Town? It was a town, wasn’t it?”
The King offered another weak smile and gestured to the document before Cereminner. Torn with indecision he finally brought himself to sign the sheet. Cassidan’s fine, cunning print was already marked upon the neighboring document. Cereminner was disappointed at his lord’s weakness, but he was still happy that he could keep Alinsten for himself. His forebears had laboured in improving the town, and he did not want it to fall to some half-witted barbarian. Although Notreföör had promised to hand it on to another vassal, Cereminner knew that Notreföör might take quite some time in his decision. Maybe even a few years. He might, hopefully, forget about it altogether.
“Very good,” Notreföör said. He made an attempt at speaking in a regal and demanding voice, “Now, I am putting much responsibility on you two. And I expect you to respect these new positions and fully carry out your duties to serve the kingdom of Ethrè. Do I make myself clear?”
The two lords nodded and solemnly swore oaths to remain loyal. Notreföör truly smiled this time and took the two papers, proceeding to place them under the table.
“Great. I’m sure you two will be fine in your new seats of office. You are now dismissed,” Notreföör said hurriedly and waved them off. Cereminner turned at the door for one last look at the inside of the palace, but instead caught a glimpse of His Majesty in a moment of indecision between standing to see them off or remaining seated.
As the footsteps receded in the direction of the stables, Notreföör leaned back into his throne and sighed.
One: New Power
The unit of red knights flew across the field. The dark evening concealed their movement. The moon shone down and glinted on their armour, casting a small, dull white light on the grass before them.
The leading knight charged ahead and the rest behind him moved into a wedge formation, perfect for attacking infantry. The horsemen readied as they grew near their prey. Then, with a final dash, they crashed into a unit of blue swordsmen. They pushed their lances into the space, hoping to knock over or crush the enemy.
Breaking through, they then wheeled round, and drawing swords, crashed in once again. Soon, only the horsemen remained. The blue swordsmen all lay on the meadow grass in the night, prisoners of the red knights or of the devil.
The blue king looked through the blackness into the trees to his right. There were three flames flickering amidst the branches. His archers were still holding out. That was a relief. He was fighting a losing battle, and if those archers fell and lost their position, then it would be the end of him.
The red general also looked across the moonlit field in the direction of the clump of trees. He had at his command the best soldiers he could get. From squire to knight, his men had trained nearly all their lives. Now he had to use them.
Calling his heralds forward, he told them his plan.
The blue archers looked out from their position amongst the trees. They could hear the tromp, tromp of armoured feet. But peering into the gloom they could see nothing.
One archer stepped out from his cover amongst the trees and fired a flaming arrow. It zipped through the air, creating a slight whistling sound. Sure enough, it came to rest close to some shiny metal boots - heavy spearmen. The light was soon extinguished by a metal-shod foot, but the roundabout direction of the target was clear.
All the archers stepped out from from the trees and drew back their bows. Letting loose a flaming volley, they drew again.
Suddenly, from the land to their right came a hail of arrows. They struck with surprising accuracy, taking out nearly half of the force of blue soldiers. The archers, their morale broken, fled back into the trees.
They had no choice but to stay. To retreat was to lose the hill and the trees, this would mean to lose the battle. To dash out of the trees would be suicide as the arrows kept on coming in from the right. The blue archers’ torches were giving them away.
But they had forgotten something. The spearmen arrived, and a massacre ensued.
Not one archer survived.
The blue king watched the fires on the hill. The men around them fell down, arrows protruding from different parts of their body. Then heavily-armoured troops poured in, lunging their spears at all who appeared in the light. Soon more red soldiers arrived, and the lights were extinguished.
The king, without hesitation, sent more men-at-arms towards the hill. Soon only his bodyguard and some swordsmen remained.
The swordsmen and knights, both blue, approached the trees. Arrows rained down on them as they made their slow ascent, but they persevered.
As they reached the top they saw only red archers, standing in amongst the clump of trees, and firing. The knights accelerated into full charge.
But as they did so, hordes of red spears stepped out from behind the trees. They blocked the passage to the archers. The blue knights could not stop themselves and plunged straight into the spearmen. A short scuffle ensued, in which the blue knights fell quickly.
The archers fired one last time, and then again from the trees, red knights surged forward. Crashing into the swordsmen, they forged their way through and came out the other side.
Then the spearmen, who had just protected their archers, charged into the mass of blue swords. The swords, sandwiched between the knights and the spears, fled quickly into the night.
The king looked around him. The mysterious hill emitted much sound of clashing swords, screaming horses and shouting men.
Just then, a crash sounded from behind him. A unit of light cavalry had charged him from the rear. One of the horsemen steered his horse directly at the king. The horseman’s red banner was the last the king saw as the spear plunged deep into his chest.
* * * * * * *
Cereminner leaned back on his chair. He was a young man with short dark brown hair, a light build and strong wood-coloured eyes. The lightly coloured skin on his arms and the lack of callouses on his hands gave away that he was not a man of a trade that worked outdoors, but one who stayed inside.
His opponent, Cassidan, was another young man, with even shorter black hair, and what looked like an attempt at a beard on his chin. The deep black skin, thinner eyes and black pupils hinted Kalyphaxad ancestry, the strong-willed folk of the East. The well developed thick legs and muscular arms proved the hint. A comment escaped from his lips. “You need to be more observant, Cereminner my friend. Do not focus all your attention on one place. You weren't wary enough - you couldn’t see what was coming for you.”
This time Cassidan had beaten his friend, though it would seem with a glance at the two that the mental advantage lay with Cereminner. The board stretched between them showed only red and blue pieces, but to any who knew the game it was a skillful victory. The handcraft wooden pieces could be transformed into a great battle in the imagination.
Cereminner sighed. Yet again his good friend had bested him. He held no grudge against Cassidan - though he was slightly irritated that this was the fifth defeat in a row. Maybe only long hard, steady hours of practice would right that problem.
As the two drank in long looks at the board together with their autumn ale, a servant toned with deep red livery paused lightly at the door’s threshold before entering. “A messenger for you, my lord.” He bowed before Cassidan, the baron of the castle and the servant’s master. Cassidan gave a slight nod, and a man strode into the room. He was donned with the blue and white of the kingdom of Ethrè, and carried a scroll, which he proceeded to roll out. The young herald’s face was plump and round, his cheeks red.
Drawing a faintly shaky breath, the messenger clearly proclaimed, “His Majesty Notreföör, King of Ethrè, Lord of the Aìngard Isles, and Defender of the People, requests the presence of the Nobles Cassidan of Effectus and Cereminner of Alinsten, at noon tomorrow in his palace in Numbïl.”
Cereminner leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Good news?”
“I should hope so. Notreföör, being the drunkard he is, rarely summons us, so I do not know what to expect.” Cassidan dismissed the messenger with a flick of his hand. Draining the last of ale, he stood. The board was left for a servant to tidy.
The two friends mounted and rode out of Effectus Castle. They did not dress grandly, even though they would be entering the royal presence, for every single mind in the country knew of the madness of the king. Notreföör, son of Haroföör, and the 16th monarch of the realm, did not care much for pompous ceremony nor for affairs of the state, but spent his time in pursuing personal pleasure. The fact that the royal attendants had to prepare daily for hunting trips, feasts, tournaments and rescuing his majesty in various states of unconscious from Numbïl’s taverns testified to this.
As the pair passed through the spreading farming lands that marked the difference between castle community and rolling countryside, they verbally appreciated the changing flags and symbols on the milestones at the road’s edge. The many other vassals of the King that populated Ethrè’s council ruled their own separate cities, towns, forts and castles just as Cereminner and Cassidan were in charge of the town of Alinsten and the castle Effectus.
“Do you have any idea about the purpose of our summons?” Cereminner asked.
Cassidan stared away across the fields for a while before answering. “Nocturne was promoted to the position of Royal Chancellor last week.” He emphasized the words ‘Royal Chancellor’ with acerbic contempt in his voice.
Cereminner pretended not to notice the contempt, but was still surprised. “Nocturne? Nocturne? I thought that he looked too old and sullen to please His Regalness.”
“Quite the contrary. In his little head, Notreföör believes that these traits only further qualify his experience on the matter. Sad eyes, boring lips. The typical look of a politician.” Cassidan remarked.
Cereminner nodded, and continued to gaze out upon the slowing moving view which greeted his eyes. Nocturne was not, it could be said, the most attractive man alive. He was tall, yes, but he was old. Wrinkles covered his face, and skin sagged from his cheeks. He was slow and uncomely. He gave the overall impression of a tall but withered plant.
However, his natural authority and stern demeanour were not to be underestimated. Nocturne was a man of strong confidence in his decisions, and he might indeed make a good chancellor. Cereminner was surprised at the sudden flood of wisdom which must have sprung up inside Notreföör’s heart like a forest spring when he made this decision.
With this greatly coveted rank, Nocturne would deal with all important matters that the King was too ‘busy’ to do; complaints of bad harvests from farmers, high taxes from the poor, and minor threats from neighbouring kingdoms. Unfortunately, this also often meant cleaning up after the King’s mistakes.
“You still haven’t answered my initial question, though.” Cereminner said.
Cassidan curtly replied, “If Nocturne was given a position of power, then why shouldn’t we? After all, compared with the other vassals, we are some of the more sensible, reasonable and knowledgeable.”
They both laughed. Although their peers were not in such a bad state as the present king, aside from Nocturne none could be said to be good rulers. It was in fact the king himself that set the example. Since he did not take a firm hand in disciplining his vassals, the vassals themselves strayed far without restriction. The streets in most towns were unclean, the poor of the local workforces caused trouble, and the visionaries amongst the more elderly of the population saw only dark times ahead.
However, in Alinsten, Cereminner knew that it was not so. He was certainly a modest young man, not boasting, but with an honest voice he could say that he did his best in his job of ruling the town. His father, Eremirrer, had been a good and hard working man as well. He had started many well-planned expansions and new systems in Alinsten, and had left his son with quite a task in front of him. However, he had also left him with a well-fortified education, and it was this, Cereminner knew, that the other vassals of the kingdom lacked.
Effectus also did not lack much in its baron. Cassidan and Cereminner were friends because they saw themselves as being the only two respectable people stranded in a sea of barbarian nobles. Cassidan was, like Cereminner, a hard thinking man, but unlike his friend, he gave much of his time to the field and to work. He assisted his subjects with the sowing and reaping of their crops, with the building of new halls and barns, and he also helped train his few household warriors. Cassidan himself was a formidable fighter, and Cereminner wondered if that was what made him so notorious when it came to the game board.
The large capital city of Ethrè, Numbïl, drew itself out before them as the pair urged their tired horses over the last hill. The mass of the city stood out among the seemingly everlasting green hills. The sigil of Ethrè hung proudly on a banner from the main gate’s two towers. As they trotted down the last slope, Cereminner let his eyes wander over the tall buildings and grand statues that adorned the stone streets. Numbïl certainly was a city to be awed, but it had been built in peace, and had not known war for many years. The low walls and meagre defences raised a pang of fear in Cereminner’s heart as he contemplated what war could do to the city, but he let it pass, for battle had not been carried on its torn, grey wings to this part of Tarmulin for almost 800 years.
Cereminner continued his staring as he entered through one of the gates and rode through the streets of the city. Bustling civilians went about their work; some scurrying across the street, some stopping and admiring the entrance of the two lords. Cereminner had not been to Numbïl for many a year. In fact, the last time he had come was when he was a child and his father had brought him. He noticed the smart houses and well-paved roads, but the building that caught his eye most was Notreföör’s palace itself.
The palace was walled with red brick, and had expensive carved marble pillars to hold up its roof. Two stone wolves sat in peace along its steps. At the top of the steps rose a depiction of Duredor, a famed minstrel and adventurer. Numbïl was certainly not lacking in riches or splendour, but it was easily noticeable that the king’s property received the most attention.
His Majesty was waiting inside. Two guards stood aloof by the palace’s great wooden doorway. One yawned before he noticed the two lords approaching. He quickly stood at attention, whacking his partner with butt of spear, reminding him to do the same. The other’s eyes snapped open and both muttered apologies to their superiors. They then pushed open the doors, revealing a large, brick-walled and well-lit hall. The king himself could be seen pacing near his great throne. The two guards then stood straight by the doors and announced, “The lords Cassidan of Effectus and Cereminner of Alinsten!”
The two vassals went down the hall and bent on one knee, for even a king like Notreföör was still a king, but he hurriedly gestured them to rise. He sat down on his throne. A table with a few sheets of paper on it had been drawn in front of the throne. The young king wore a long, fur lined robe and a golden crown upon his head. He had grown a short, rough brown beard in his attempt to appear older and more kingly.
The two took chairs on the other side of the table. “May I inquire as to the reasons of your gracious invitation?” Cassidan asked. The sweetness dripping from his voice was like golden-looking honey that tasted sour.
Notreföör did not worry for formal matters, nor did he listen closely to the tone of Cassidan’s voice. Instead he produced two sheets of paper from amongst those on the table. He spoke, in a voice that sounded, Cereminner always thought, like the squeak of a dying mouse.
“I have been studying the history of the royal line of Ethrè, and looking at the royal advisors to my predecessors.” The two vassals highly doubted that he had been doing anything of the sort. “I have, in conclusion, decided that I should employ three men to help me with various duties.”
Notreföör cleared his throat and fastened the collar on his robe. He then continued, “Chancellor Nocturne shall be my personal advisor and shall attend to affairs of the state. However, I have chosen you, Cassidan of Effectus, to be marshal of the armed forces. I hope I will never desperately need your assistance.” He smiled weakly at Cassidan. Cassidan smiled back sarcastically and viciously, like a wolf that was looking its prey in the eyes. “I have also chosen you, Cereminner of Alinsten, to be mayor and lord of this, the capital, Numbïl. You will be governor and in charge of everything from its defences to its taxes.”
The two sheets of paper were handed over, one to each person. They contained a formal documentation of the new office unto which both would be entering, and then a line for signature at the bottom. Cereminner noticed, however, that the handwriting was all Nocturne’s. The delicate letters were spidery and well phrased in language. The words stunk of political bravado.
Cassidan again slid the flattering words out of his mouth. “We are both filled with gratitude, Your Majesty. I’m sure that both of us will do our best with this new power.”
Notreföör smiled weakly, then gestured for both of them to sign the papers. Cassidan went ahead, but Cereminner took one last look over before picking up his pen. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty, but what will happen to Alinsten?”
“Alinsten?” Notreföör gave a puzzled look, as if he was sure that he was supposed to know something, but he knew that he didn’t. “I’m sorry. Alinsten? Please remind me.”
While Cassidan hid a laugh carefully behind his straight face, Cereminner explained. “At the moment I am the ruler of Alinsten. I live there, with my wife and children. It may take me time to move to Numbïl.”
The two vassals watched as the information slowly registered itself in Notreföör’s head. He looked at both of them blankly, obviously not knowing what to do. Although in his mid-twenties, the King’s face began to retain it’s round and immature expression.
“I see no problem with this. I’m sure your... erm, family will much prefer the luxurious life in Numbïl to this... erm-Erlinsten. You are free to bring your servants and what other attendants you may have as well.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Cereminner spoke delicately; his cheeks slightly flushed, not wanting to correct the King on Alinsten, “What about my people? Who shall guide them when I am gone?”
Notreföör’s eyes widened, his face again showed confusion. His mouth opened and closed several times, trying to form the first words to speak, “No need to worry about them, Lord Cereminner. Noct- I mean I ... will find a suitable candidate to take your place. Until then, I think it will be a good idea to retain control of the castle... sorry, town. Town? It was a town, wasn’t it?”
The King offered another weak smile and gestured to the document before Cereminner. Torn with indecision he finally brought himself to sign the sheet. Cassidan’s fine, cunning print was already marked upon the neighboring document. Cereminner was disappointed at his lord’s weakness, but he was still happy that he could keep Alinsten for himself. His forebears had laboured in improving the town, and he did not want it to fall to some half-witted barbarian. Although Notreföör had promised to hand it on to another vassal, Cereminner knew that Notreföör might take quite some time in his decision. Maybe even a few years. He might, hopefully, forget about it altogether.
“Very good,” Notreföör said. He made an attempt at speaking in a regal and demanding voice, “Now, I am putting much responsibility on you two. And I expect you to respect these new positions and fully carry out your duties to serve the kingdom of Ethrè. Do I make myself clear?”
The two lords nodded and solemnly swore oaths to remain loyal. Notreföör truly smiled this time and took the two papers, proceeding to place them under the table.
“Great. I’m sure you two will be fine in your new seats of office. You are now dismissed,” Notreföör said hurriedly and waved them off. Cereminner turned at the door for one last look at the inside of the palace, but instead caught a glimpse of His Majesty in a moment of indecision between standing to see them off or remaining seated.
As the footsteps receded in the direction of the stables, Notreföör leaned back into his throne and sighed.