DERUDIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alone in the king’s study, Derudin and Lyell performed their nightly ritual. After a servant had brought the king his evening meal, he and Derudin would speak in earnest of the happenings of the kingdom and how best to manage the intricacies therein. Tonight it was one of the king’s favorites: crisply roasted pheasant, first marinated in beer, served with a hot chutney of butter-fried gooseberries, sausage, and sage.

“You are a fool, Derudin,” said the king. Derudin tried to think back on all the kings and leaders he had advised in the past hundred years. Had it truly been only a hundred years since crossing the Devil’s Mouth? It seemed more like a thousand. He believed, in any case, that the man seated before him, sucking his fingers of the fatty juices from a meal that smelled of heaven, was among the better of those kings.

“There are men who forgo the pleasures of sex,” continued Lyell. “Fool men of foolish religions, I say, but I can, in a perverse sort of way, understand their restraint. Coitus makes a man weak, truth be told. Makes his head not work in the way it ought. Like a hungry hunter. Nevertheless, you are a man. I have seen you take to bread and water as we all do. And every night I have brought for you a meal that is, well, befitting a king. And every night you abstain. I think perhaps you have a lunacy exceeding that of those of celibacy. Ha!” The king had been amused by his unintended poetry and rewarded himself with another mouthful of food.

“A mage’s conductance comes from focus and is amplified by continence, my king.” Derudin was always content to recite an Ancient Law and took pride in being recognized for the supreme restraint he exhibited—the meal did look and smell delicious.

The king licked his fingers, pushed his plate piled with bones aside, and took a long swig of wine from his wooden goblet. Then he leaned forward and dragged Derudin’s plate close, digging his fingers in and once again covering them with bits of food and grease. Nor do I think you would wish to be denied your second plate.

“So tell me.” Lyell paused and swallowed the food that fought his speaking. It would have amused Derudin, watching this man, with a beard of pure white so meticulously groomed, do everything in his power to cover his face instead with chutney. But the reports Derudin must share left no room in his mind for humor. “What news of the kingdom tonight?”

“Some troubling things, my king.”

“There always are. I’ll hear them just the same.”

“It would appear our friend Duke Veront has taken to calling himself a lord.”

This troubled the king enough that he hesitated a moment before stuffing another finger full into his mouth. “Never trust a man who eats with knife and fork,” he once told Derudin, “for such a man must think that having clean hands at supper will somehow keep them cleaner after having betrayed your trust.” Derudin thought it a wise observation.

“That rapacious fool.” The king gesticulated with a pheasant bone. “Had I a better alternative for Rivervalian rule, I would have chosen as such. He is too thin and hungry. But even so, a king’s throne makes a duke feel lordly and a lord feel kingly. It will not be long before we are at each other’s throats.”

“We should be able to easily defend against any threat he poses, should he turn against us, given our twenty thousand men to his ten and the richness of these lands.” Derudin was stating a fact that they both knew, but even to himself his voice lacked reassurance. He had advised the king to remain at the Adeltian Throne after the victory, a decision he had been second guessing for some time now.

“Aye, but I hope it does not come to that. Half of his men are those that took Adeltia. Good men—I’d remember their faces if I saw them today. They would not march against their true king and leader.” Lyell took another sip of wine, and his face soured. “The man is a fool if he tries to overreach his power…” The king’s grip on his cup tightened as his expression darkened further. “I should crush him now and be done with it. Damn him!”

“I would advise against it, my king. We can remain passive, collecting the income he still sends to us as commanded. If the payment stops, we will know his intention, and we can move to have him eliminated. We have many allies in Rivervale who will see it done.” Derudin had already thought the matter through. Assassination was not a tool he advised lightly, but it was a fitting punishment for what would be such blatant and treasonous betrayal, should Veront rebel.

“You speak as if Rivervale is not my kingdom. They are my subjects, not my allies. But yes, that is the wisest course of action. A dirty business though, killing a man in the bed he sleeps. Mind you it is my bed that he sleeps in. What else?”

“I have it on good authority, my king, that some among the Adeltian nobility seek to conspire against the throne.” As have they ever, though I fear these plots to be more dangerous than before.

“I have beaten the fools into submission while keeping them well fed, rich, and seemingly in good spirits. On what authority do you make this claim?” The king had finally reached the limits of his stomach and pushed Derudin’s half-eaten plate of pheasant away.

“Firsthand authority, my king.” And I know Cassen to be involved as well, but I must not implicate the king’s favored Duke, the magician of coin, without tangible evidence, lest I draw suspicions of pettiness.

“Very well. You have never led me astray with your gazings. See to it that all potential conspirators have as many ears close to them as possible. I would like to pull this weed at the root this time.” The king finished off his second goblet and slammed it back down on the table as if to drive home the thought. He enjoyed his wine but was not given to overconsumption as his father had been, another quality Derudin respected. “Any good news?” the king asked in jest.

Derudin paused to contemplate what he was to report, fearing it would not be taken seriously. But I feel it is more serious than one might presume.

“There are accounts, my king, of ships to the south. From enough sources that I feel it worthy of mentioning.”

“My good man, you are not a sailor. When two ships at sea spot each other, one will naturally be more southerly than the other and may report it as such. What of it?”

Derudin did his best not to take offense at what his king had said. Derudin’s trip across the Devil’s Mouth may have taken place before Lyell could form memories, but he well knew the tale. The sudden thought that the king may doubt the veracity of the story gave Derudin a rare anger toward his leader, and he fought to keep it from his voice.

“These are not reported to be ships of our own, nor ships of the Spicelanders. They report goliath ships of four masts and square sails, always too far for more detail to be seen. I fear them to be warships from an unknown people.” Derudin chose his words wisely—a forgotten people would have been a more accurate description but would have also invited ridicule.

“Ships with square sails are of little concern to me. I know a thing or two about sea travel, and any people yet to perfect the sail and be able to tack into the wind are sure to be primitives and no threat to our kingdom. But I would like to see these new people, should they exist.”

“As would I, however, I do not think these ships should be overlooked. Even primitive ships can carry an army in favorable winds.” Derudin knew enough about ships to know the king was wrong in his assertion about sail shape. He also knew enough about kings not to contradict him.

Lyell looked toward Derudin with sincerity. “Derudin, I respect your judgment, but a king must weigh his decisions so that we do not spread resources so thin attending to every potential threat that we have none left for those of true merit. Though I often cede to your knowledge, if I always did as such it would be you who ruled the kingdom and not I. Keep me abreast of any developments in the southern seas, but I do not wish to build a southern fleet merely to fend off ghost ships.”

“As you wish, my king.” To rule the kingdom myself? How curious that the idea never crossed my mind. Derudin’s inward smile beamed. He had a very good reason as to why he would never seek to rule. The Ancient Laws can be a cruel mistress.