A Callow Child’s Wooden Sword

 

A snap of wind, heavy with the promise of rain, whipped across Veressa’s back. She pinched Toran’s withers to calm her gelding, then glanced over her shoulder. A dark line of storm clouds churned fiercely at their backs, casting the road ahead in an ominous gloom.

Jonath gestured at the split in the King’s Road. To the left, the road led to Derry’s Bridge, a small town along the river south of Lake Donogal. They would take the road to the right and west from here. “Good thing we’re only an hour out of Charmwell,” her father commented at her side. “A few hours ago, I wasn’t sure we’d arrive before those clouds broke loose.”

Veressa squinted up, but Hemera was lost in the dark grayness. “I don’t know how you can tell what time it is.”

“You forget, daughter,” Jonath smiled. Wiggling his fingers before his face, he whispered ominously, “I am a grandmaster Mystic!”

Veressa could not hold back a lighthearted chuckle, which helped her relax for the first time since they’d left the small city of Piper’s Glen that morning. “I am sorry, father. I know I have not been good company these past three days of travel. It seems I cannot get far enough away from my burdens.”

Jonath started to comment, then glanced at the large force of Elvenstein royal guardsmen encircling them before thinking better of it. The force had been dispatched by King Friedrick of Elvenstein as Harmonic protocol dictated to protect royalty from another realm. The Elvensteinian escort had met them at the border the previous morning, informing them that Veressa’s personal protection of Queen’s Defenders was not allowed in Elvenstein. It was all highly unusual. If not for Jonath’s quick decision to agree to King Friedrick’s terms, there surely would have been an incident between the two unyielding ordermen commanders. Her father leaned closer. “I know a great deal about the burdens of leadership, daughter. No apologies are necessary.”

Veressa gave a quick tick of her head in silent agreement. “Commander,” Veressa said to the officer riding nearby.

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Before we arrive at Charmwell, my father and I have several personal matters to attend to. I hope you are not offended ...” She drew out the words and waited.

The commander’s eyes narrowed with a hint of suspicion. Finally, with a terse hand signal, he led those near the queen farther up the road at a brisk cantor.

“There. That is better,” Veressa said with a sigh.

“But let us be sure.” Jonath pulled up his sleeves and gestured with his hands. Veressa felt the strong pull of Air elemental and knew her father called upon Fire as well. “Aethra energi plattosfaira,” he invoked, and a sphere of air enveloped the two and their mounts. “That will keep us safe from any prying ears. Now! I know you are not truly interested in marrying Prince Camion. But do not fret. I will play my part in acting the role of a concerned and doting father.” Jonath winked. “Your mother relied on me to help when ruling over our people, you know.” He chuckled lightly, as if being told the punchline to a joke. “Once King Friedrick realized the only way to strike a deal with Iza was through me, he and I kindled a close working relationship. I think I know how to work that grizzly old coot.”

“That is all good to know, but not the topic I had in mind.”

“Then what did you wish to discuss?”

“First, I wanted you to know how happy I am that you came with me. And I say that not because of the protection and experienced guidance you offer. Over the last several days, I have sensed a great weight being lifted from your heart. And the farther we get from Graystone, the lighter your heart becomes.” She pointed at the spotted owl flying circles in the dark skies above. “I can see Beggar is also grateful.”

“She is,” Jonath said. “And yes, this trip has helped me immensely. Maybe I needed to focus my mind on helping solve something vital to the realms’ survival.”

“It pleases me that you see that you are dearly needed, father. And I don’t mean just to me.”

The two rode in silence for several minutes.

“You said there were several personal matters,” Jonath prodded. The shield he had created would not last forever.

“It is, in fact, because of your improved spirit that I now feel compelled to bring up the other matter, something that has been eating at me for some days now—ever since my Champion left on his mission.”

“I see. This sounds serious.” Still, he could not keep a smile from his face.

“I would most sincerely appreciate it if you would stay out of my affairs when they deal with the heart.”

Her father puffed out his lips at her. “I don’t know what on Gaia you are talking about.”

“Don’t play coy with me. I know of the arrangement between you and Conner. You made him swear not to get close to me.”

Jonath looked incensed at her accusation. “I made the boy do nothing.”

Veressa leaned closer and shook her finger his way. “I know how you work, Father,” she whispered. “You have a way of bending people to your will and then making them believe you had nothing to do with their action.”

“Honestly, I merely told the lad he needed to be careful around you. He was the one who swore on the Champion’s amulet never to divulge his feelings.”

“Feelings? For me?” Veressa nearly yelled with surprise.

“Oh, now look what you’ve gone and made me do! I’m not saying another word, Veressa. Every time we have a conversation, I end up saying more than I intended. As your mother’s Champion, I was trained to undergo the most extreme torture at the hands of the most ruthless Anarchists you could imagine. I do declare you are so like your mother.”

Veressa sat numb with shock, not really listening to her father as he chattered on about how Mystics could withstand all kinds of physical pain. She had been right. She could sense Conner’s feelings for her. Even though he had conceded they shared a bond, she’d found it hard to believe what she sensed from him was real. But now she had no doubts. Conner ... loved her!

 

By the time the tan walls of Charmwell came into view, the black clouds flickering with lightning were nearly overhead. Thunder rumbled across the prairie, each clap louder than the previous. Antilles grew anxious, his eyes constantly searching the open terrain for cover to wait out the storm, forcing Veressa to send her bond continued sensations of safety to soothe his nerves.

Ahead, the castle rose a hundred paces above the top of the only hill on the Elvensteinian plains. Eight tall cylindrical towers, connected by a thick outer curtain wall, encircled the crown of the hill. Within, the main keep extended skyward nearly another hundred paces. Charmwell Castle was a feat of true mastery by the greatest stonemasons of the early days of the guilds. A dozen armies had attempted to breach the walls during the Anarchic War. All of them had failed. In twelve hundred years, the castle had never fallen into enemy hands.

North of the castle, Veressa, Jonath, and the royal guard reined their mounts southward and took the meandering dirt road leading to the castle’s only gate. As they rode through the gate opening, Veressa glanced up where the black iron portcullis hung suspended from within the transom. She had only read about such systems of gears, pulleys, and chains that raised and lowered the gate heavier than a dozen warhorses. Graystone had no need for gates or doors, never had. Griffinrock’s royal castle was always open. Its citizens freely entered and departed via two wide bridges connecting the great castle to the city that grew along both sides of the River Tresdan. But that was because Graystone was safe in the heart of the realm. The outland wilderness was just a day’s easy ride south from Charmwell.

The royal guard escort led the way across the bailey, a spacious and well-groomed gravel yard with scattered patches of grass, and up to the main keep, where King Friedrick, a stocky man with a round face and a knobby nose, stood grandly at the front of a small gathering of noblemen. The little hair that remained on his head had long since turned gray, as had his chest-length beard graced with an occasional streak of flaming red. As a young man, the king had been called Friedrick the Red; a recent jest he be called Friedrick the Gray had not been well received. The king’s Champion, a male grandmaster Sorcerer of some renown named Xenor Walbright, waited under the branches of a great oak in the ward, where he could observe everything.

“Jonath, it is good to lay eyes on you again.” The king rounded on Veressa, smiling broadly as he whipped his hand around in little circles. “And Queen Veressa, I cannot express how happy I am that you accepted my invitation to visit.”

Veressa bristled. Invitation to visit? When he had met with her the day after her coronation, he’d made it quite clear that a discussion of marriage was a compulsory precondition for Elvenstein’s support in the realms’ war preparations. She was so looking forward to watching his eyes bulge and veins pop when she conveyed the demands she expected to be met before she would even consider an arranged marriage. “Thank you, King Friedrick. I am sure that I will thoroughly enjoy my stay.”

Friedrick lifted his arm and swung it back toward the tall and silent man standing near the keep’s entrance. “Of course, you remember my oldest, Crown Prince Tanner.”

Tanner tilted his head forward slightly, making it seem like even that was exhausting. He said nothing, which suited Veressa perfectly. She remembered his visit to Graystone five years before. At fifteen, he had already been a crafty and conniving schemer of unsavory activities. The smartest of the brood of boys, he had learned at a young age that steering outside the boundaries of Friedrick’s sense of morality would ensure he earned the king’s explosive fury. The crown prince’s personal guardian, a master Ranger named Godwin Gellastandt, stood at his side. Annabelle had told plenty of unpleasant stories about Godwin.

“And Prince Oakes,” the king proceeded with a wave and furrowed brow. Heavier built than Tanner, Oakes leaned against one of the keep’s portico columns, his right heel hooked over the column’s base, scraping dirt from his fingernails with a hunting knife. Veressa had never met Oakes, and given what she’d heard of the man’s behavior, she was glad of it. Oakes was infamous for rabble-rousing. And whether as a means to draw his father’s eye or because he lacked any mental capacities between his large ears, he remained in perpetual trouble with the king.

Friedrick placed his thick hand on the shoulder of the red-headed lad standing beside him and shoved him forward. “And last, Prince Camion. Don’t just stand there. Say something, boy!”

“It is good to see you again, Majesty,” Camion mumbled.

Well, not the best introduction, but a far cry better than his brothers in comparison. “It has been a few years.” The only thing Veressa recalled about Camion during their visit to Graystone was that he was a shy thirteen-year-old. Apparently, he had not yet grown out of his awkwardness.

“I am glad you remember.” Camion’s green eyes darted between her and the ground at his feet.

Friedrick rolled his eyes. “Well, I am sure you two are exhausted from your long journey. Besides, the sky will be dumping buckets on us soon enough. Let us get you inside.

Veressa could not help but note that there were no women in the courtyard—family of the king, royal guard, or protector. So like Elvensteinians.

“Oakes!” Friedrick shouted. “Don’t stand there holding up the keep. We paid good coin for pillars to do that. Summon a few manservants to take care of their horses.”

Oakes made no effort to do as instructed, so one of the royal guardsmen came forward and collected Jonath’s and Veressa’s rides.

The king did not seem to notice, and he led the way into the keep. Camion faltered for a moment as if unsure where etiquette dictated he should be, then trailed on Veressa’s heels.

Friedrick stopped in the keep’s entrance. “I have assigned you both a handmaiden who will show you to your quarters and help you freshen up. I see no need to rush into discussing the terms of our ... arrangement. We have time for that tomorrow. Maybe we can also take the time to fit in some negotiations regarding the upcoming war. But no more talk about such topics now!” He waved at several young women in brightly colored dresses. “Tonight, Queen Veressa, my wife has arranged the most magnificent banquet in honor of your arrival. I hope you and your father are not too exhausted.”

Veressa hooked her arm around her father’s sleeve. “I am sure it will be enchanting. We look forward to the affair.” At least then I can meet some of the ladies of the home.

 

Veressa drummed her fingers on the hard table with one hand while lightly stroking Antilles’s forehead with the other. The food on her pewter plate—three kinds of meat and a serving of boiled potatoes—had long since grown cold. She glanced up and down the long table. Not a green or fruit in sight. Hardly four hours at Charmwell, and already she was ready to head home. Even riding through a rainstorm and confronting the War Council were more to her liking than dealing with a room full of boring Elvensteinian noblemen. A bright flash of lightning drew her attention from the unappetizing meal. Bored, she looked around the large dining hall for the fourth time.

She had been seated near the center of the head table, which, at least, gave her a decent vantage point to observe Elvenstein dining at its finest. To her left sat her father, next to King Friedrick. The two were locked in an animated discussion on an unknown matter for which Veressa was sure she did not care a trifle. To her right, Prince Camion. Beyond that, the table was filled with a litany of the king’s male brothers and cousins. Two rows of tables ran longways down either side of the hall, where noblemen dressed in silks made rude noises and gestures as they jostled, jeered, and laughed with one another. The air was thick with the smell of meat, spices, and hops all mingled with smoke, testosterone, and sweat. The women, wives and companions of the men in attendance, sat at a separate table at the far end of the hall. None made any attempt to look like they were enjoying the evening. Beyond that, near the doors, a small ensemble of musicians worked to be heard over the roar of masculine laughter and the occasional rumble of thunder. A colorfully dressed young man with a mandolin bobbed his head to keep the ensemble’s tempo even, making the troupe look like a comical act of jesters. Not that anyone noticed.

“It would seem your arrival was impeccably timed,” Prince Camion shouted into her ear, making Veressa jump. He had been using the rising clamor in the hall as an excuse to get ever closer. When she looked at him, he pointed at a window as if she might have missed the rain falling in torrents outside. The prince’s comment would have been obvious to the most oblivious dullard. She glanced away without a response, making it clear that his third attempt to strike up a conversation had failed as miserably as his previous two.

“I guess I have you to thank for the evening’s entertainment,” Camion tried again, this time with a smile.

Veressa glanced up to find his green eyes upon her. At least he scored a point for perseverance. “Why is that?” she asked. Let’s see if you can hold my interest for three minutes.

“If not for you, I would be the one sitting near the end of the table.” Camion gestured toward the far edge, where his two older brothers sat with brewing scowls. They were clearly used to being the center of attention. They glanced his way, so Camion raised his stein, then drank deep of the bitter warm mead. His brothers’ expressions darkened.

So, the queen of Griffinrock is nothing more than a wooden sword for a callow child to brandish about, she thought as she smirked. “I don’t think you are engendering any amity.”

“My brothers and I learned some years ago not to waste amity on each other. But no worries.” The prince’s eyebrows bounced up and down with delight before he tilted his head back and emptied his stein. “They will most certainly exact some form of punishment upon me tomorrow morning on our hunt. But they can do nothing tonight.”

Veressa bolted upright. Finally, a topic worthy of discussion! “You are going on a hunt? What are you hunting?”

Antilles’s head popped up over the table beside her.

“Boars,” Camion responded with bravado, then released a rumbling belch.

Growing weary of the man’s discourtesy, Veressa waved her hand at the tables of men about her. “I would have thought there were enough of those already in this hall.”

Camion squinted in confusion for a moment, then burst into thunderous laughter as if trying to compete with all the other obnoxious noblemen in the room. “Oh, boors! I see you have not lost your wit since our last encounter.”

Veressa hummed. Wit? Is that what you call it? Then you haven’t been paying attention. Still, she refused to let him dampen her spirit for the opportunity to escape this tedium. “May I come?”

Camion’s eyes widened, his face stretching long. “You? On a hunt?”

Veressa’s eyes narrowed slightly, daring him to doubt her.

Camion scratched at his chin. “Well, it is highly unusual. Elvensteinian women—”

“I am not Elvensteinian, now, am I?”

“No.” Camion’s eyes, sparkling like two emeralds in the dim candlelight, flicked to his brothers. “Yes. I think you should come. Let’s make a fun adventure of it.”

“Very well, then.” Veressa laid her fork and knife across the rim of her plate, signifying she was done. She stood. “I will take my leave.”

“You are retiring already? The evening is still young.” Camion pushed out his lower lip.

“I am exhausted from the road and would like to be rested by morning. I am sure you understand.”

Camion rose, his eyes darting to his brothers, who had their mouths covered to hide their snickers. “I—I personally checked your chambers before I came to supper. I wanted to be sure they were ready when you were ready to retire.”

“And who said chivalry was dead?” she snipped.

“I am always at your service.” Camion bowed.

“Then I will see you at first light.” Veressa swept from the room, not bothering to disturb her father, who was busy arguing with King Friedrick.