I'm back to working on Book Four (Lifebearer), and I thought I'd share a part from an early chapter that doesn't involve the main characters; rather, it's about setting the scene for later complications. There are always complications throughout the series; for example, in Earthfire, everyone with a plan finds it going wrong.
Incidentally, the setting for the early part of Lifebearer is a homage of sorts to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's historical novels Sir Nigel and The White Company, and the style of speech therein.
***
“I worry greatly for you,” Lady Melangell said quietly. “Your father… his temper grows ever more foul by the day. All around him are fearful of his moods, and dare not raise their voices to him or offer counsel unbidden, lest he take their words amiss and order them thrown in the dungeons or dragged to the block.”
Princess Losira, heir to the throne of Kaldor, only living child of King Eddard, sat with her handmaiden and closest friend in the solar of the Royal Palace in Camlann. A half-finished tapestry sat on a frame between them.
Losira looked carefully at the tapestry, shifting her gaze from different angles to assess the work, as memories crowded in.
The King’s bouts of temper when she sought to understand what she would one day need to do as Queen of Kaldor; his equally angry responses when she tried to suggest clemency for what seemed to her to be minor crimes; and the way he would ignore her at table, whether feasting or simply sitting with him in the evenings…
He had increased taxes at whim, given attention to all manner of charlatans and mountebanks, and inflicted savage punishments for lesser crimes by noble and commoner alike.
Yet the raids by Sevlosha on the borderlands had been disregarded, and pleas to help resist the marauders were ignored at first, and then resulted in prison or floggings, even execution, for daring to raise the matter at all; punishments were ordered without regard for rank or age.
“I will not gainsay you. Because I cannot. He is no longer the father I knew. Since my mother passed… the light has gone from his heart. More and more many of those I would see daily, I see no longer, and none will tell me of their fate. I see the fear in their eyes if I ask. And how they bid me by gestures to stay silent and ask no more.”
Melangell lowered her eyes. Losira heard the sound of a muffled sob.
“Please, your highness… save us. He will listen to no-one else.”
Losira took Melangell’s hand and whispered what words of solace came to mind, but her heart shrank as she thought of how her father would react…
When they left the solar, it was late in the day.
Losira nodded to the two warriors of the Citadel Guard waiting at the door. They left their post at the door and fell into step behind them.
Losira knew them well; hulking figures in plate mail with helmets that hid all but their eyes, with great shields on the arms and swords at their sides, wearing red cloaks that billowed behind them as they walked. She had seen them every day since childhood; the guardians who stood and watched and never spoke.
She had often spoken to them, acknowledging their presence and giving thanks for their service, but they had never replied, though sometimes there was the slightest nod or shake of the head, and occasionally a gesture that seemed to be apologetic.
They walked the short distance to the Lesser Hall, where dinner would be served, to find two Guards at the doors. Losira could not help but frown; normally there would be servants by the doors to admit them.
Inside, King Eddard was seated at the head of the dining table, with scrolls and parchments spread out before him, peering at one page and scowling. A scribe sat nearby, holding a quill in trembling fingers, and a Citadel Guard stood in each corner of the room.
The King did not look up when they entered. It seemed an age before he put the parchment aside and turned to look at them.
“You are late. You, leave us.”
Melangell curtsied and left the room without a word.
Losira said, “My father, I hope all is well.”
“It will be. Sit. There are matters to discuss.”
She took the seat at her father’s right.
“Speak then, father.”
“It is time to discuss your wedding. You are eighteen, and a suitable husband has requested your hand. I see no cause to deny him.”
She had known that the day to come, but not like this; announced with no feeling whatsoever in his voice.
“Who has requested my hand?”
“Prince Airik of Sevlosha.”
“And… you see no cause to deny him, father.” The words came out slowly as she struggled to comprehend his words.
“None at all.”
“He is unworthy of even the dirtiest peasant trull!” Now the words came out in a rush. “An enemy of Kaldor and its people. Detested even by the court of Sevlosha. A brute, a savage renegade, a…”
“Be silent!” her father roared. “You will not speak of him in such a dishonourable manner! I find him worthy, and that is enough! All that remains is to raise the dowry and…”
“A dowry?” Why would he speak of raising the dowry?
“Yes, a dowry!” King Eddard jabbed a finger into the parchment before him. “A suitable dowry. Four hundred thousand gold marks.”
Losira could feel the blood drain from her face. Such an incredible sum could not come from the royal coffers. Surely…
“That mandates a special impost. To that end I have instructed Chancellor Clergis to prepare the proclamation for my signature and seal. All that remains…”
“NO!” Losira thrust back her chair and rose. “What has happened to you? How could you do this to me? To the people? To Kaldor itself? I do not consent!”
King Eddard stared at her, and his face was like stone.
Finally he said, “Guards, take the princess to her chambers. She is not to leave them without my authority. We will talk again when Prince Airik’s emissaries arrives. Go.”
The last that Losira saw of her father, he had turned back to looking at the parchments as if nothing had happened.
Three days later, Losira heard the clatter of many horsemen entering the palace courtyard. She peered out of the solar as Melangell joined her.
“See there, your highness!” Melangell gasped. “The arms of Sevlosha!”
Losira’s heart sank as she took in the sight of the black bear symbol on the shields and tabards of the fifty horsemen.
“I must prepare to meet them.” She turned away from the window. “But I will not hasten to do so. Let them tarry a while.”
“As your highness wishes.” Melangell opened the garderobe that held Losira’s finest gowns and dresses, then paused as if gathering strength. “I saw them… the Chancellor was greeting those brutes as if they were… honoured guests!”
Losira waited for the third summons to emerge from her rooms with Melangell, to be confronted by a red-faced Chancellor Chemlen, who was clad in his formal robes.
“You have insulted our guests!” he hissed.
“Oh?” Losira raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”
Chemlen seemed to be grinding his teeth before he finally said, “They should be greeted with all due ceremony, not… left kicking their heels waiting!”
Losira could not help but imagine another meaning of the Chancellor’s words, but confined herself to a blatantly false smile. “I must be suitably attired for the guests. Do you not agree, Chancellor?”
Chemlen had no words. He simply gestured to follow, a cursory flick of the hand, and started off down the hallway, looking back angrily as Losira followed at a measured pace, Melangell at her side.
Chemlen led them to the Greater Hall, where there were servants waiting to admit them, but as before two Citadel Guards. And inside, at the table of conference, the King was seated, but not as one end as was usual, but on one side, with a dozen courtiers and knights; on the other side were twelve men with the symbol of Sevlosha on their tabards and jupons. At the sight of those men, Losira could not hold back a shudder of revulsion.
My father is greeting enemies of the kingdom as guests! Two years ago we would have laughed at the very thought!
“I am here as you request, my father.”
King Eddard looked at her with clear anger. “You did not come promptly. But let us move on from that… for the present. Sit and meet our guests.”
Losira moved to the empty chair at the King’s side, and as Melangell duly seated her, she took stock of those her father called “guests”.
The one opposite her father was stout, clad in courtier’s clothing of sober colours and little in the way of ornamentation. He was hard-faced and clean-shaven, looking as if he rarely if ever smiled, with thinning brown hair and harsh brown eyes; only slightly younger than her father, she guessed.
To his right was his opposite in most every way; slim of build, dressed in bright colours, mainly yellow and green, with gold chains and other jewellery on display. He had a prominent beard and moustache that did not hide his confident smile, blue eyes and long fair hair styled in the most fashionable manner. He was younger, perhaps as old as she was.
“Pray greet our most honoured guests, my daughter,” the King said. “Baron Kovar…”
The older one smiled and bowed his head slightly, much less than custom demanded.
“Baron Rupar.”
Rupar smiled even more broadly and raised the goblet before him… a gesture closer to an insult to one of her rank.
Losira responded with a nod, and “Welcome, Baron Kovar, Baron Rupar.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father glare at her two, no three heartbeats, and then turn back to the nobles of Sevlosha.
“You have ridden hence on a matter of high importance, and I trow you would all rather settle the matter ere we feast. So, I would ask, is Prince Airik still of mind for the marriage to proceed, in accordance with the agreements reached between us?”
Baron Rupar smiled, and Losira felt her lips tighten, for that smile was more of a leer…
“Very much so, your majesty,” said Kovar. “He sees no reason for any delay. Unless you are having… difficulties with the dowry?”
King Eddard flushed slightly, but it was not in anger. Losira sensed embarrassment, even as her disbelief was growing.
“Then nothing remains but for Princess Losira to travel to Sevlosha for the wedding…” said Rupar. “It will be…”
Losira’s disbelief could not be contained.
“My father, something has been forgotten.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. “Is it not a fact that my consent must be freely given ere any marriage take place?”
Rupar’s smile had faded suddenly; Kovar’s lip curled.
“You will consent. My honour demands it!” Eddard slammed both hands on the table. “You will consent!”
Losira fought down a growing fear and finally said, “I do not consent, father. I cannot consent to marry a man no better than a leader of brigands and cut-throats…”
Eddard’s rage cut her short. He leapt to his feet.
“You bring shame upon me and upon the kingdom with this insult to our guests!”
Losira kept her eyes on her father, but she could see that Kovar’s face showed cold rage.
“The shame is not mine, father. Not mine.”
“Out!” Eddard roared. “Guards! Take her to her chambers! By the Lord and Lady, by the Holy Lamb, think well upon this insult!”
Losira rose from her chair, made an immaculate curtsy to her father, and left without looking back at those from Sevlosha.
