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Thread: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter XI.1

  1. #41

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter V

    Thank you both!

    @Caillagh: As I continue writing, this particular war is proving an interesting matter to tackle since Radalar wasn't there. I think I've found a way to give the reader a notion of how it was fought and then show how it all affected Radalar's life. You'll see in the next couple of chapters. Thank you for the words of encouragement.

    @Alwyn: I can say that Asabil and the young nun certainly have a future in the story.

  2. #42

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter V

    Book I
    Helerion's Choice

    Interlude I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    “Temerior, stop it!” she pleaded. “Please! Don’t do it!”

    BANG

    He gasped back into reality.

    Even though he didn’t know where he was, Temerior was relieved by the mattress below him and ceiling above him. When he realised that he was lying on his bed in the monastery, the terrible memories of the black alley turned into bored resignation.

    “Here we go again.”

    He opened the window’s straw blinds. While the light made his eyes squint, he noticed that the blizzard had stopped. Pale sunlight brightened the snowy landscape and some monks took advantage of the respite to get some fresh air.

    After washing his face, Temerior caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Staring himself in the eyes, he had a vague recollection of the time when he could tolerate his own reflection.

    Now the sight disgusted him.

    Brother Cassidas barged unannounced into the room while he was still chewing a piece of goat cheese. They exchanged condescending good mornings.

    “His excellency has sent me to accompany you to the slosabas.”

    Temerior nodded. After closing the belt of his leather pants, he put the ermine coat over a leather jacket and followed the old man. The doublet, the hose, and the codpiece were long forgotten in his baggage. The cold was biting harder every passing day, and there was nobody left to impress.

    As he felt his shield of arrogance give in, he figured the accompanying attire would only make him look pathetic (if it had ever achieved anything else)…

    Cassidas took him through the narrow stairway that led to the refectory. From the kitchen’s open door, the usual fragrance of onion soup invaded the room. Amidst it, he could still feel the smell of the morning’s baked bread.

    Passing through a doorway, they reached the cloister. Groups of monks walked through the archways, talking with serene whispers and calm gestures.

    Close to the frozen fountain that adorned the patio, a handful of younger brothers built a snowman. Temerior smiled at their distraction from serving the lord, aware that it would be short lived. Around the cloister, disproving looks already threatened to become prohibiting words.

    When Cassidas pushed open the door of the slosabas, the unmistakable smell of dust and parchment sent Temerior straight back to his university’s library.

    Surrounded by cramped shelves, twelve copyist monks toiled away in small desks, their silence broken only by the scratching of their quills. After sparing an indifferent look at the newcomers, they resumed their meticulous work.

    “Try not to make a mess.” murmured Cassidas. “If you take a book from the shelves and don’t remember where it was, just leave it. Someone who knows what they’re doing will take care of it.”

    Temerior nodded with an obviously ironic smile.

    “And don’t disturb anyone.”

    A “shhh!” arose from one of the desks.

    “It seems you are the one disturbing them.” said Temerior.

    Cassidas left, moaning the usual complaints to himself.

    “Alright, let’s see what we can find.”

    Radalar had asked him for a couple of days to rest and read some journals and letters.

    “You should go to the slosabas and see what they have on the War of ’97. I wasn’t there, of course, but we should have a chapter about it. If my memory doesn’t fail me, there are at least five chronicles that mention the war. They surely have at least one of them.”

    Temerior wasn’t completely ignorant about the Second Imerrian War, as they called it now, but he had to admit that he could use some reading on it.

    He found the chronicles in a bookcase close to a small window. As the winter light shone on the dust specks, he started opening the tomes.

    They had some of the classics from the First Palatian Empire, one or two volumes from the Great Interregnum[1] and a lot on the Second Empire. The Aspian Interregnum was in the bottom shelf.

    He slid his fingers through the spines, choosing one of newer bindings. History of the Glorious Reign of His Highness, King Enrior II of Aspia and I of Imerria. It was Emilar’s father. He was close.

    Between that volume and the first tome of the Filiorid Chronicle, he found Triumphs, Deeds and Anecdotes of the life of the gracious first Emilar to be king of Imerria and third of that name to rule Aspia. Written by kor Perior Delanas.

    “Ah!” Temerior smiled. “Good old Delanas!”

    He had read some of his work when he studied History in Liontas. Despite being an Imerrian knight with barely any education, the man was close to Emilar. As the only first-hand account of most of his reign, his dubiously written descriptions are the best source for those years.

    Pushed against the back of the bookcase, there was a thin volume. Out of curiosity, Temerior reached for it.

    A Description of the Most Joyous Journey of His Highness, King Emilar I to Imerria on the occasion of the swearing of his son, His Highness, Prince Filior, as Heir of that Kingdom. Written by Rudericor Beranas.

    “Hmm… That’s interesting.” He picked it up.

    Temerior sat on a small bench that faced an empty table, looking around to see if he wasn’t taking somebody’s place. To his right, he could see a square shape of brighter darker on the floor. It was where the desk he was using in Radalar’s room used to be.

    He opened Delanas’ book and went straight to the war. He reviewed the campaigns and the battles, taking notes on old cheap parchment.

    The empress-mother of Efa had brought the best armies of her son to bear. Tens of thousands of pikemen and halberdiers, hordes of skirmishers on foot and horse, formidable cavalry, newly-formed harquebusier companies, hundreds of cannons… Even elephants! On the sea, they were supported by enormous galley fleets.

    Emilar could barely muster twenty thousand men between his two kingdoms. In the sea, the difference was even greater.

    It was speed that saved him.

    The empress-mother never thought the king would be able to gather his armies and get them to Eastern Imerria so quickly. Forced to react while her forces were still assembling in Palas, she sent less than one fourth of her men against Emilar.

    Temerior did his best to sketch a rough map of Imerria and the surrounding lands. Cartography wasn’t his specialty, but the drawing would help him keep track of the movements.

    “The infidels still outnumbered us.” Delanas wrote. “His highness, however, wasn’t impressed by their numbers. He made our disadvantage even worse by ordering kor Nadlas Altirada and the Holy White Habit to separate themselves from the main force and raze Efarid-held lands. The great-imikor led his men east, freeing and recruiting aidemist slaves and peasants across the countryside. Those who had pledged their souls to the perfidiousness of Efa were given fire, death and the shackles of slavery.”

    Meanwhile, Emilar met the enemy on the field.

    “When the moment was right, his highness commanded all of his household knights to charge. I followed the king myself, as we cut through the infidel lines. As they fell to our righteous lances and swords, the sky itself greeted our triumph. The dark clouds parted and the field of glory was covered in golden sunlight.”

    It was a victory, but Emilar needed the hundreds that he lost on that day more than the empress-mother needed the thousands that she had wasted on her first move. Her reply was a naval blockade of Firre, cutting the supply lines that came from Aspia.

    Emilar replied by effectively occupying all of the Efarid territories in Imerria, letting his army live of the local’s tribute. Soon enough, however, he had a worthy reply for the empress-mother’s ships: his brother-in-law: queen Elianis’ brother, prince Serafal of Hassatriar and admiral of Lassaralia.

    King Clas VI of Lassaralia didn’t allow him to muster the realm’s entire navy, but Serafal set sail with his principality’s impressive fleet, mustering privateers while he sailed around Aspia towards Imerria.

    The Hassatriarians were experienced seafarers and, together with the Aspian fleets, they managed to break the blockade of Firre. Temerior took note that the count of Mamerron, Radalar’s old lord and Serafal’s vassal, died in the battle.

    Delanas wrote:

    “His highness was relieved with the victory but, ever prudent, he reminded his lords that the infidel fleet that fought near Firre was inexperienced. The eastern reaches of the Efarid Empire, home of villainous corsairs, could still unleash their horrors on nearer shores.”

    And there was still the problem of the seventy thousand troops amassing in Palas. Soon, they’d march into Imerria.

    That’s when Emilar gathered some five hundred captured Efarid soldiers and presented them to Serafal.

    “Send these to your king.” Delanas quoted Emilar directly. “Tell him that the infidel empress-mother will soon annihilate my armies. When my kingdoms are ablaze, he’ll need all the leverage he can get to avoid the same fate. I send him this gift so that he can negotiate with the evil he refuses to help fight: a token of my regard for a fellow aidemist.”

    The Aspian and Lassaralian diplomats began their ball. King Clas didn’t want to give in easily.

    The Efarids, on the other hand, didn’t wait for their agreement to make a move. They left Palas.

    As soon as Emilar heard that the enemy was on the march, he emptied every granary and retreated to his side of Imerria. Shortly after, the empress-mother crossed the border and met him in the field.

    It was a disaster. If it wasn’t for a storm that delayed the pursuit after the battle, she could have ended the war with one blow.

    Delanas, of course, blamed it all on Lassaralian cowardice. He gave a vivid description of Clas’shame upon receiving the news. Temerior doubted it enough to chuckle. Feeling the disproving stares of the copyist monks, he carried on with his reading.

    After betrothing his daughter Mardari with Filior and securing lower tariffs for Lassaralian traders, Clas marched south with some twenty five thousand men.

    The allied kings were still highly outnumbered but they held out, picking their fights and using the enormous size of the enemy’s army to their advantage. Their slow rhythm made them good targets for traps. Their thirst left them vulnerable to poisoned wells. Their hunger thickened aidemist ranks with every ransacked town.

    After two years of skirmishes, ambushes and broken sieges, Emilar and Clas couldn’t avoid a clash on the open field. The empress-mother caught up to them near the village of Bederises.

    Eager to break the enemy, the Efarid lines charged against walls of pikes and hails of crossbow bolts. Their cannons and harquebuses opened the way with thundering barrages, receiving only the modest salvoes of Emilar’s guns as reply.

    As the infantry slaughter bloodied the centre of the field, the cavalry forces traded blows in the flanks. Better-fed and bigger, the steeds of the aidemist nobility gave their riders an advantage. Fighting together, the kings’ guards, the nobles’ retinues and the knights of the Holy White Habit scattered the enemy horsemen. In a frenzied charge, they trampled the exposed flanks of the pike formations.

    Delanas gave his grandiose metaphors free reign when describing those moments. Emilar, of course, was a lion. He fought in the front with his men, clawing relentlessly at the infidel lines. Kor Nadlas was a bull, charging furiously through the field. Serafal of Hassatriar was a stork, proving himself as gallant and fierce in land as he was in the water. Clas was a fox, useful enough, but lingering far from the action.

    The chronicle then said that, while the empress-mother committed her reserves, the clouds parted and divine light poured through, just like in the first of Emilar’s victories. Encouraged by the sight of Emilar’s sword shining in the sun as it was brought down on the enemy, his men pushed forward and broke the empress-mother’s army.

    The description ended with “his highness won Imerria on that day.”

    As the Efarids retreated in disarray, Emilar occupied the Imerrian lands that his father had left unconquered. After signing a ten year truce, he crowned himself lord of the whole kingdom.

    “All of his subjects and brothers in faith rejoiced and gave thanks to god. There was nothing but relief and joy among aidemist souls.” Knowing the Aspian envy towards Emilar’s attention to Imerria and the Lassalarian claims to the region, Temerior doubted it a lot.

    ***

    He read some more pages of Delanas’ book, taking notes on Emilar’s stay in Imerria after the war. Temerior figured that Radalar would have his own ideas on how that stay was viewed back in Aspia.

    Speaking of the old man’s own ideas, Temerior turned to Berana’s telling of the voyage in which Filior was sworn as the heir to Imerria.

    He skimmed through it, stopping when he read the title: “Chapter VIII: His highness halts at Lilanor to attend the wedding of the count’s son.”

    Now he’d see if the old badger was speaking the truth.

    He hated to admit to himself that he was starting to doubt Radalar’s word less and less…

    Did he really hate to admit that? Did he ever really doubt the old man? Well, he did seem like a senile poser at times… But having all that imagination at that age…

    What would require a better memory? Remembering a long made-up story without contradictions? Or remembering all those details from several decades ago?

    The answer wasn’t here. There was no mention of Filior’s incident in the river. Neither did Beranas account for the appointment of a new companion to the prince.

    To be fair… Why would he do it? The whole thing wasn’t a very flattering anecdote…

    However, where else would he be able to find Radalar?

    The swearing ceremony, of course! Beranas would surely mention the boys carrying Filior’s mantle.

    Turning the pages quickly, Temerior saw names of Imerrian villages, castles and cities passing before his eyes. After reading so many of them when learning about the war, he couldn’t help but shudder. Many were devastated by the empress mother a few years after Emilar’s visit.

    “Chapter LIV: Prince Filior of Astalis is sworn as the heir to the kingdom of Imerria.”

    After accounting for the illustrious audience and the tapestries that were hung on the walls, Beranas went on to describe the prince’s attire:

    “His highness had his black hair uncovered and was clad in a steel chest piece engraved with the two castles of Imerria. Over it, his highness wore a black and gold velvet mantle that was carried by three boys of his age.”

    There were no names or physical descriptions. “Damn!”

    He closed the book. Maybe Delanas made mention of it.

    Temerior grabbed his chronicle again and looked for the swearing ceremony. He didn’t even mention the mantle and its carriers.

    He had now decided that the old man was definitely lying. It all sounded like tavern talk anyways. Saving a prince, threatening another and getting away with it… Soon, it seemed, having a pretty nun forget her vows! The man had a big imagination and a bigger bottle.

    Then again, it was undeniable that he had been chancellor. Temerior had seen his name in a few texts and everyone did call him “excellency.” Was it all really the exaggeration of a boring career?

    It all came down to whether bedarikor Lomasas was wasting his time or not. It bugged him. Could his old master be mocking him?

    Mocking was a mercy, really. Lomasas could very well be getting rid of him for good. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Temerior would get rid of himself for good if he had the courage.

    Perhaps he should find that courage.

    Distracted, he started turning back the pages. He was looking for Delanas’ account of the marriage in Lilanor, if it existed.

    Almost unconsciously he was giving Radalar (and himself) one last chance.

    There was the wedding.

    “During the festivities, his highness picked a boy from the Lassaralian entourage and made him prince Filior’s companion. His name was Radalar Voladas.”

    Temerior closed the book and sat still, staring at the dusty shelves.


    [1] A period of chaotic political fragmentation between the First and Second Palatian Empires.

    --
    And now for something a little bit different.

  3. #43
    Caillagh de Bodemloze's Avatar to rede I me delyte
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Interlude I

    This is the 'how it was fought' section (or at least part of it), I assume? That's a nice solution!






  4. #44

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Interlude I

    Book I
    Helerion's Choice

    Chapter VI
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    “Good lord, excellency!” Cassidas rubbed his hands frantically. “It’s freezing in here!”

    Radalar didn’t raise his eyes from the old letters he was reading. The monk rushed to the fireplace, struggling to grab the tongs while shivering.

    When Cassidas managed to stoke the fire, Radalar felt a warm wave of relief. He had just tried to do it himself, with the usual result. One day, he’d have to admit to the decrepit monk that he couldn’t even get on his feet anymore.

    He went back to his ancient correspondence and found a letter that his grandfather had sent him in the days of the war of ’97. With a chuckle, he grabbed his reading glasses and opened it.

    “Beloved grandson,

    I hope that you are content and well treated. I have been doing well myself, despite the weight of my years and the sadness that has overtaken lady Mamerron. Since her father died in the battle near Firre, her longing for home has been greater than ever. She keeps telling me that she should be with her mother and brother, not only to comfort them, but to convince the new count to not take his father’s place in prince Serafal’s ranks. I long for home myself, but her duties to her husband force her to stay in Lilanor, and so do my own obligations to her.

    Your brother has written to me with the help of a passing monk. He managed to avoid being called to the war by marrying a young girl. It’s still too early to know if she’s already with child, but, soon enough, you may become an uncle! He tells me they’re doing well and that the war hasn’t reached them so far. Well, they do notice the emptier streets and quieter market days…

    You shouldn’t worry about the war, Radalar. God is in king Emilar’s side and, before you know it, he’ll send him back victorious.

    To help you keep your thoughts away from the fighting, I’ve sent a gift with this letter. Be sure to use it without disturbing anyone.

    Remember to study and eat well. And, most of all, behave! For my sake and for your poor mother’s soul, I want nothing like that frog nonsense to ever happen again!

    With love,

    Hanrad Voladas”

    The gift… When was the last time Radalar had held it? When he arrived at the monastery? Years before that?

    “Brother!”

    “Yes, your excellency?”

    Radalar pointed at one of the bigger chests. “Could you bring that one closer?”

    The old monk sighed as he measured the task at hand. When he tried to lift it with a groan, it refused to move. He was forced to push another container against the book shelves and then shove the one Radalar requested in the free space next to his chair.

    Cassidas’ back wasn’t happy to be straightened after the effort, as announced by an unavoidable moan.

    “Thank you brother.” Radalar smiled in satisfaction.

    “Do you need anything else, excellency?” the monk asked, trying to catch his breath.

    “Yes, two things: your absence and young Temerior’s presence.”

    Radalar kept his grin as the monk left with a hand over his spine.

    He wondered if Temerior had really used the last couple of days to study the war. Well, he’d soon find out.

    When he unlocked the chest and opened the lid, causing the usual metallic screech, he found himself looking idly at the expected assortment of scribbled volumes inside. After that pause, he parted the scribbled sea, revealing a pear-shaped object wrapped in brown cloth.

    He removed the thin cords that bound the wrapping.

    The vision of the old lute sent him back in time. Despite being darkened by age and moisture, it was still a beauty to behold.

    Radalar placed it on his lap and, after gathering some courage, he strode his thumb through the strings.

    How many times had he replaced them? He was surprised – they weren’t in that bad of a shape. Well, some courses were rather badly treated, but the rest were fine. Above all, he was relieved that the wooden body itself had survived with just a few dents.

    Instinctively, he found himself trying to play an old tune. As he let his fingers’ memory find the melody for him, he remembered the days when he used to play on every chance he got.

    The lute seemed to miss them as much as Radalar did. With each stroke, it missed the company of flutes and drums. It missed how people danced, sung and laughed to its notes. It missed the summer nights when only cicadas could be heard around its melodies.

    As he played, ever more confidently, he looked at the conch that his grandfather had given him when they first journeyed to Aspia. He allowed himself a wide smile, his heart warming up as an old favourite found its way from the deep reaches of his memory to the old strings.

    One of them busted, curling upwards noisily and causing Radalar to flinch.

    He sighed and closed his eyes. The joy was gone. Now, he only had the cold winter and the excruciating pain on his hips and knees. Sleeping on the chair wasn’t helping, but the old journals stuffed inside the chest that occupied his bed were far more important than his bones now.

    When he opened his eyes, it seemed that the ivory monkey head on his cane was poiting its eyes at his own. It mocked him, standing against the chair’s arm as the standard of his old age, sturdily victorious after his youth busted with a twong.

    Radalar smacked the cane and it fell loudly.

    Someone knocked. Radalar hid the lute behind the chair as fast as he could.

    “Come in.”

    “Good morning, excellency.” it was Temerior.

    There was something strange about him. He seemed nervous.

    “Sorry for the delay.”

    The boy went ahead and picked up the cane without a word, returning it to its “rightful” place against the chair.

    As he shoved himself into his cramped seat, Radalar tried to figure him out.

    Getting the cane for him… Something was definitely going on.

    “Shall we continue?” asked Temerior.

    ***

    “Emilar was away in Imerria for six years. The war lasted until the last days of 400 and, for the better part of the next three years, he was kept there by the practicalities (and adulations) of ruling a kingdom that had just doubled in size.

    While he was gone, I believe that I lived some of the happiest years of my life. Not just me, but those of my “generation” that lived at court.

    This wasn’t exactly due to the king being away. Not for me at least – Filior would probably disagree. Sansior certainly would! But I’d say Emilar’s return just happened to coincide with the arrival of darker times…

    The regent in the king’s absence was his aunt Beotrid. She had been married to a Lassaralian prince, but was widowed very young. A stranger in a court she never really got used to, she returned childless to Aspia shortly after her husband’s demise.

    Beotrid had enjoyed Enrior’s trust and Emilar was taught to have as much confidence in her as his father. Respected by the nobility and admired by the commoners, she had an aura of tranquil wisdom that made her the most popular Astalis in Aspia. It certainly helped that she never went to Imerria with Emilar. In fact, it was she who attended to the Aspians’ complaints when her nephew was away in his other kingdom.

    I still remember how Beotrid replied to qualms from merchants who had their ships commandeered for the war fleets. She sat on the throne, her white hair hidden by out-of-fashion headgear and her ageing body still proudly regal below a very Aspian modest dress.

    “I assure you, honoured citizens, that my nephew will keep his word and give you the agreed compensation for your vessels. While the war lasts, be assured that they do more for the survival of your businesses carrying grain and weaponry to Imerria than they would do if they were sailing salt and wine to colder waters.”

    Emilar did well in choosing her for regent.

    Sometimes, good news came. I remember the fireworks when Emilar beat the first Efarid army, or when Serafal of Hassatriar punched through the blockade of Firre. The biggest came when Clas VI finally marched south and, of course, when we received news of the final victory.

    Some other times, there were grimmer reports. When the armies were almost crushed by the empress-mother, when a castle was besieged or some town burned. Then, each time the Lassaralians hesitated to help the king, I got resentful looks from some courtiers who knew where I’d been born… Queen Elianis wasn’t above it, even with her brother fighting at Emilar’s side almost from the beginning.

    But, through all this, between the galloping messengers that brought word from the East, the war seemed distant, almost unreal.

    Most of my days would begin saddling Oladar and then riding through almost erased dirt paths with kor Talbatar. Instead of training me in the castle’s courtyards, he’d usually take me out and teach me about the lands around Astalis. Sometimes, we were gone for a week.

    He showed me the fiefs of the crown and of the Holy White Habit. Among the vast plains covered in tall dry grass that danced in the wind, there were great expenses filled with vine rows and cork trees. Since they all worked their lord’s land and had little of their own, the peasants huddled together in dispersed villages.

    Even though they didn’t have much to offer, they always received us with a full table. Kor Talbatar had preached throughout those lands in his youth and was well-liked. The king was popular too. When the knight said I was the prince’s companion, the food and drink in the table would duplicate between smiles and cheers.

    There would be toasts to victory and to the safe return of those gone to Imerria. Prayers too, after the plates and bottles were empty.

    I drank my first wine in one such occasion.

    “Have at it, boy!” a tall man shouted, his skin tanned by toiling in the fields and drowning in the jug.

    He gave me a big wooden cup filled to the top. Around him, others laughed and encouraged me. A few women tried to shut them up, looking at me with worried grins.

    I turned to kor Talbatar, who shrugged his shoulders and gave me a nod. The howling around me grew louder.

    I did it. The acidic sweetness filled me with heat. Even though I couldn’t bear the taste, I finished the cup amid maddening cheers.

    Kor Talbatar took the sword I was supposed to train with after lunch, leaving me half-asleep in the shade of an olive tree. Close by, Oladar grazed in the bare fields.

    I remember feeling sick but overjoyed. It wasn’t just the alcohol. I felt like an adult.

    When we returned, I’d usually find Filior in a small courtyard making use of the afternoons to continue practicing his swordsmanship. Sometimes, he’d be near the stables, riding with a lance and shield. The weapons got heavier each year.

    Ionad was usually with him, honing his martial skills in preparation for the pale habit he craved so much. When he swung his blade, he saw the infidels taking his blows. Filior saw kor Fabiar.

    “I’ll get him, Radalar.” he used to tell me. “Every time I see his face, I swear it another ten times.”

    One day, when I got there, I was surprised to find prince Sansior, sword in hand, sparring with his brother as Ionad watched and gave council. Next to him, the young prince’s companion’s watched in silence.

    Sansior was struggling to keep up, but he did seem to be trying his best. When he saw me, the embarrassment and fear almost made him lose his balance and fall.

    We’d never really talked since the incident in the woods.

    “Sansior,” Filior said. “I believe you have met Radalar, my good friend.”

    He nodded, blushing.

    I bowed, my face red as well.

    “Your highness, I’m truly sorry…”

    “Oh, Radalar, please!” Filior pulled me upwards, cackling. “Treat him like you’d treat me. He has a name.”

    I cleared my throat.

    “I’m sorry, Sansior.”

    He shrugged his shoulders.

    “It’s all-”

    “No, it’s not alright.” his brother interrupted him, smiling. “This man almost killed a prince of Aspia. He should be punished!”

    Filior looked at me and laughed.

    “As Emilar III of Aspia’s eldest son and heir, I order you to strike this would-be assassin’s face.”

    Sansior trembled and his companions whispered worriedly between themselves.

    “Come on, Filior…” Ionad twisted his mouth in disapproval.

    The prince would have these moments where he’d act like Ionad or Madual: a monk or a jester. That afternoon, he was feeling like having a laugh.

    “Go on!” Filior demanded.

    Sansior struggled to lift his arm. When he did, his blow was almost a caress.

    It wasn’t that he didn’t have enough strength. What I felt when that soft palm hit my cheek was a hesitation to use violence forbidden among nobility.

    The silence weighed more than the castle’s stone walls.

    Filior sighed and was going to shout something at his brother. Then, he stopped. I saw the moment when he realised that he was about to turn into his father.

    “That’s alright, Sansior.” he said calmly, patting his back. “Come on, let’s carry on. Grab a sword Radalar, you can help my brother as well.”

    “Let’s see what you and the future “great-imikor” can do.” Filior nodded to Ionad. “We need to give Sansior some lessons. His sword master is even worse than Fabiar!”

    Despite having been trained by kor Nadlas, I was the worst of the three and even lost against Sansior’s companions sometimes. The only one I managed to beat consistently was the poor young prince himself.

    But he was getting better…

    One day, he managed to parry me so well that he had the chance to punch me in the face, knocking me back. The leather clothing we used while training was heavy and I found myself on the floor.

    As Filior and Ionad laughed, Sansior’s companions acclaimed him with shouting and applause.

    He reached for me and picked me up from the floor.

    “Sorry about that.”

    He wasn’t the poor young prince anymore. Not for us, at least.

    Some days, I wouldn’t partake in the fighting and just sat in the archways that surrounded the courtyard above it. My grandfather had gifted me a lute, and I would take the chance to practice it.

    Sansior liked its sound a lot and, especially after defeating me, he’d come up and try to learn it sometimes.



    “And when did you learn to play the lute between all that?” Temerior asked.

    Radalar was intrigued by the question. It could be the usual cynic doubting, but it seemed to have some underlying honesty and genuine curiosity.

    “I was going to get to it.” he said. “As you may have noticed, I have made no mention of Madual during these afternoons devoted to the sword.”



    “That’s because he wasn’t there.

    You see, the princes’ pages took advantage of the fact that their masters spent their afternoons together to take turns sneaking out to the city. Madual’s begging to go with them was so annoying that they ended up giving in.

    To be fair, they took advantage of him. Madual’s cheerful antics made him popular in the most dubious streets of Astalis. They got discounts in taverns and brothels, as the drunkards and whores enjoyed the young jester’s foolishness.

    I would join him sometimes. Many times, in fact…

    From sailors that climbed the Redo from Saldaras[1], we learned blasphemies that tasted of salt and brandy. They also brought rumours and fantasies about the war in Imerria. Every week, the king’s armies had contradictory fates, as impressive feats and triumphs traded places with tales of disgrace and defeat. I would keep my ears open for news on kor Nadlas. When they were good, I wanted to believe them but didn’t. When they weren’t, it was the other way around.

    From the tavern-keepers, we got free drinks. As the regulars, cackling like mad roosters, used our frowning faces to forget their grim lives and alcohol-burned insides, we drank our share.

    From the harlots, we got confused childish arousals. As they scrubbed our hairs and played around with the buttons of our jackets, pinching our cheeks, our insipient lust grew. It was impatient, but too ashamed and lost to make any sense.

    Dulled by wine and pubescent confusion, I learned how to strike the lute’s strings from those who did it in those slums. Their tunes were far from courtly, and I have to admit that enjoyed them a lot more than what was played in the castle above.

    When the sun set, we snuck back into the castle, sometimes bringing wine for Filior. Ionad didn’t partake, of course.

    Even though the prince liked it, I only remember him getting drunk once. It was when Emilar sent a letter informing him that he was betrothed to Mardari of Narlac, as part of his treaty with Clas VI.

    Filior was terrified that she would be hideous. He was relieved when a small portrait of his future bride arrived. As he carefully inspected the delicately painted light-brown locks, pale skin and green eyes, the worries about his princely duty dissipated.

    His portrait was painted as well, and then sent to Narlac. I think the princess used to live in one of the palaces that now house the university. Perhaps, if you go there, you can find it hanging somewhere. If you do come across it, get someone to engrave it and print it on the memoir.



    Temerior duly took note of the request without any of the usual sighs or eye-rolls.

    Radalar scratched his beard.



    “In the evenings, Ionad helped me with History, ancient languages and Geometry. As you can guess, my rides with Talbatar and afternoons divided between sword training and adventuring with Madual weren’t very productive towards more theoretical pursuits.

    But I did learn what I needed.

    When the candles were put out and we all lied in our beds, I craved my weekly visits to Asabil. Despite my fear of the hag and her plank, I wanted to look into the young nun’s almond eyes. I wanted to talk to her and be with her.

    Somehow, the strange feelings that assailed me down in the wine-stained slums had something to do with it."


    [1] A port city in Southwestern Aspia. It occupies both banks of the river Redo’s mouth.

    --
    Here's the sixth. Hope you like it!

    @Caillagh: That's right, glad it worked!

  5. #45
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    The maps - and the army of the empress-mother of Efa - are impressive in part V! In Chapter VI, I enjoyed the depiction of the effects of a distant war, for example in 'emptier streets and quieter market days' and people (perhaps with an undertone of anxiety) reassuring each other that all will be well. The line about the taste of blasphemies is nicely done and I enjoyed Filior's reaction to the letter from Emilar!

  6. #46

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    Hello everyone!

    I have some news. Unfortunately, my rl workload is getting heavier and I won't be able to continue Words of the Forgotten until the end of May or beggining of June. I wanted to give you Chapter VII before the break, but this week was pretty chaotic and the quality of what I wrote didn't satisfy me.

    I'll still be roaming around and voting in the comps, but don't expect any writing until this "storm" is dealt with. Meanwhile, I encourage my readers to indulge in what the WS has to offer.

    Thank you all for reading and I wish you all the best during these months!

    @Alwyn: Thank you! I'll have to get working on better maps when I'm back, as we'll be diving deeper into Aspian politics. I'm glad that you enjoyed the feeling of a distant war.

  7. #47
    Axis Sunsoar's Avatar Domesticus
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    Sorry to hear about real life work taking a toll, which is something I certainly know about, especially just as I finally caught up myself. I look forward to the eventual continuation of the tale, I really enjoyed what you were building in both the current and past narratives. The My father should have died... line is very intriguing and I am interested to see how that develops. In addition, Temerior's revelation about Radalar is exciting and it's interesting how Radalar can percieve that his demeanor has changed, even if he doesn't know the reason.

    Your workaround for the story of the war was very clever and I enjoyed it! Looking forward to you getting back to writing!

  8. #48
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    Like Axis, I'm sorry to hear about your RL workload, I hope that your RL work will go well. Whenever you're able to post Chapter VII, I know that it will be worth the wait!

  9. #49

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    Thank you both! I look forward to getting back to writing!

    @Axis Sunsoar: It's a shame that I have to stop just when you caught up with the story. I'm glad that the latest chapters have been to your liking. It's also good to see that the "seeds" for future events have been noticed.

  10. #50

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VI

    Book I
    Helerion's Choice

    Chapter VII
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    "I treasured the rare instants that I shared with the young nun.

    It wasn’t every week, but I usually got a glimpse of her in Asabil’s quarters. When I was lucky, our eyes would meet. We even dared to trade a smile from time to time.

    Eventually, we got a chance to do more than that.

    Beotrid Astalis didn’t rule her nephew’s kingdom alone. There was a council of notables who Emilar trusted – or was forced to pretend he trusted – that advised and, if informally, vetted the regent’s decisions.

    First, of course, there was queen Elianis. Even though she might have seemed quite a powerless figure at court, always crushed under Emilar’s boot and easily manipulated by Asabil, the truth was different.
    Far from her husband and chaplain’s creature, she was a lioness when it came to defending her interests. The importance to the war effort of her brother, Serafal of Hassatriar, gave her a strong leverage during those times, too.

    Then, there was Liostar Reromedes, the king’s chancellor, who was also the cousin of one of Emilar’s biggest creditors. Quite convenient (sometimes for the king, other times for the banker).

    Kor Zaladiar Himenas, one of the Emilar’s childhood companions, also sat in the council. After the duke of Himenas’ sons all died in an epidemic, he adopted him as his son and heir. That made Zaladiar the successor to one of the kingdom’s richest fiefs, adding to his status as a respected knight. He only hung back from the war because of the loss of one arm during a jousting accident.

    Then, of course, there was the king’s “trusted” sister, Asabil. Her inclusion was clearly one of the more diplomatic decisions. It wasn’t surely born out of the scarce fraternal love and reliance they shared.

    In any case, this meant that the good sister had increased responsibilities demanding her attention…

    One day, there was a knock on Asabil’s chambers’ door during one of our pleasant lessons. Asabil stopped preaching about the lives of kaiars and nodded one of the sisters to open.

    While the nuns turned to face a messenger who wore the queen’s colours, I felt something being shoved into my hand. It was a small piece of old paper. When I looked around, I saw only a blue habit scurrying away as silently as it could.

    The note said something like: “Come tomorrow in the afternoon. There is a tree next to the window.”

    My heart jumped inside my chest. I buried the note in a pocket and pretended to be as interested in what was being said at the door as everyone else.

    Beotrid had received news that the empress-mother had left Palas with a horde at her back and there was need for an extraordinary meeting of the regency council.

    I was dismissed.

    As I left the sister’s quarters, I couldn’t believe what had just happened, and had to feel my pocket to see if there was really something in there. When I felt the soft paper, I grinned and looked back; half expecting to see the young nun smiling back at me. All I saw was the heavy door being closed by Asabil’s guard.

    ***

    The next morning, kor Talbatar wouldn’t stop complaining.

    “The feet, Radalar, the feet!” he dropped his hands against his hips. “What is going on with you today? Focus!”

    I couldn’t. The sword trembled in my hands and my stomach seemed to have a life of its own.

    As nervous as I was overjoyed, I was left by the knight at the costumary place in the castle. Nearby, Filior was training with Ionad and Sansior, as usual.

    Even though I trusted the young nun, getting caught climbing a tree next to Asabil’s quarters was the last thing I wanted. I needed to know what would be keeping her busy.

    Luckily, I got the perfect chance to clear it up.

    When I was about to enter the courtyard and salute my friends, I saw queen Elianis and lady Beotrid watching them fight from the archways above. I hung back.

    While Elianis watched her sons trading blows, even though she tried to keep the usual cold Lassaralian demeanour, I could see her flinch as her heart jumped with every sword swing. Beotrid could see that too, placing her hand on the queen’s shoulder to reassure her.

    After a surprisingly hard fight, Filior beat Sansior. When he put his blunt blade against his brother’s neck, Elianis squirmed. She did hide her gasp, but I saw it. The queen proceeded to applause, together with Beotrid. Her children didn’t seem to notice how she suffered.

    As the clapping subsided and Ionad picked up his sword to challenge Filior, Asabil joined the ladies in the archway. After the bows and formalities, the three left together, followed by most of Asabil’s company of nuns.

    Perfect.

    I entered the courtyard and grabbed Sansior’s shoulder.

    “Afternoon.” I said. “That was well done.”

    “Could have been much better.” he told me, still blushing from the effort.

    “Well, you’ve made your brother sweat, that’s for sure.”

    He dismissed my compliment and reached for a leather bottle filled with water.

    “Your mother seemed proud too.” I added. “It’s a shame she didn’t wait for your chance to retaliate.”

    Sansior snorted while he dried his mouth with the shirt’s sleeve.

    “She’d be standing in that archway forever.”

    I chuckled.

    “Where did she go, anyway?” I asked.

    He frowned and grinned in confusion. Behind him, Ionad was giving Filior a hard time.

    “Why do you care, Radalar?”

    I shrugged my shoulders, doing my best to trivialize one of the many questions that were taking hold of me on that day.

    “Just curious.”

    “Well,” he answered “my mother is compiling a new prayer book. My aunt Beotrid was quite taken by the project. And aunt Asabil is helping them with it. They’ve been spending most afternoons together, supervising its writing.”

    I nodded, faking interest, event tough I already knew what I needed to know.

    “My mother has invited several of the best copyist monks in Aspia to work on it. I’ve seen some sketches for the enluminures. They’re going to fill it with scenes from the life of Kaiarid Deonid.[1] It’s going to be quite beautiful.”

    “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

    He hummed in doubtful agreement.

    Ionad ended up beating Filior. Exhausted, the prince waved at me.

    “Afternoon 'kor' Radalar!” he shouted. “Care to join us? ‘Brother’ Ionad seems to be undefeatable today!”

    “Alas, I can’t, ‘your highness’! I have business with ‘kor’ Madual!”

    That would do as an excuse.

    “I see.” Filior yelled. “Go with the lord then!”

    I’m afraid the lord wouldn’t be too pleased with what I was about to do…

    I navigated corridors and pathways until I found a cramped patio. There was nothing on it but a large nut tree. Behind it, a thick tower left little room for some of the branches to grow. One of them had climbed up towards a tall stained glass window.

    The tower was Asabil’s quarters. There was no mistaking it. To my right, beyond the trees’ canopy and over the walls that surrounded the patio, I could see the dome of old queen Leonadis’ chapel. To my left, I recognized the small archway that led to the room’s door. Fortunately, its last marbled opening was too far from the entrance to allow the guard to see me.

    Taking a deep breath, I started climbing. Every time my feet pressed against a higher branch, I questioned my resolve. It was all very, very wrong.

    But I kept going.

    Pushing away the thick leaves, I treaded carefully through the last branch, which was more of a remarkably sturdy twig. The windows parapet was inclined but had a small edge just below it. It was enough to hold my feet. At least for a while…

    They were threatening to slip.

    I reached towards the glass with my hand, trying to knock on it. Just when I was about to do it, the window opened.

    I almost fell when I saw the young nun staring at me from the inside. While my heart pounded like a drum, she raised a finger to her lips for a silent shhh.

    Before I could grab the parapet, she pulled me inside and closed the window as silently as possible.

    Not letting go of my hand, the young nun took me through a small room covered in cloth and weaving tools. Stopping near a narrow archway that was covered by a curtain, she signalled me to peek beyond it.

    Sitting on a big chair, one of the sisters slept deeply. Old and heavy, she snored like a distant thunderstorm.

    After shushing me again with her finger, she lead me back to the window, telling me to sit next to her on a bench.

    My stare hid from her almond eyes.

    “Your name is Radalar, isn’t it?” she asked.

    I had never heard her voice. Even whispered, it sounded delicate and sweet, just like her small upturned nose and gentle lips. I cursed the habit’s hood for keeping her hair an unbearable mystery.

    “Yes. That’s my name.” I answered, barely able to articulate syllables.

    “I heard the sisters say you saved prince Filior’s life.”

    I didn’t know whether to fill my chest and proudly confirm the rumour or to dismiss it with a shrug, as if it was nothing too important. The battle in my mind was won by a mere:

    “I did.”

    “They also said that you almost killed prince Sansior.”

    I stuttered.

    “And that you placed a frog in sister Asabil’s bed…”

    “Well, those were misunderstandings, sister… erm… sister?”

    “Teresis is my name.”

    “Those were misunderstandings, sister Teresis.”

    She smiled.

    “I don’t know about what happened with prince Sansior, but I did wake up in the middle of the night with sister Asabil screaming like a harpy. And I did see the disgusting frog crawling over her sheets and leaping all over the place.”

    “Erm… well, I…” my cheeks were ablaze as I struggled to explain myself.

    “It was so funny!”

    My face must’ve been a sight to behold.

    “Sorry?”

    “She deserved it.”

    “I… I didn’t expect to hear that from you, sister Teresis.”

    “For someone who blathers on about witchcraft all day, she’s the closest I’ve ever seen to a witch. That woman may be many things, but she isn’t godly, that I can tell you.”

    I was amazed by the confidence she had in me. Those were dangerous words for anyone, but especially for her. Maybe witnessing my weekly beatings assured Teresis that I wouldn’t be too keen on telling her thoughts to Asabil.

    “Does she beat you a lot?” I asked.

    “As much as she beats you, I guess.” she sighed. “I do spend more time here, so…”

    “Can you never leave this place?”

    Teresis shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

    “Only with sister Asabil.”

    I twisted my mouth as a cold silence settled between us.

    “Do you leave the castle a lot?” she ended up asking.

    I smiled. “I do.”

    “Tell me about it!”

    I told her about my trips with kor Talbatar and my escapades with Madual. I explained how the peasants used donkeys in their flour mills and described how wine tasted. She listened with a smile until it was time to leave.

    “The sisters will be back soon.” Teresis announced when the fifth bell tolled in the White Habits’monastery.

    I nodded and got on my feet. When I was climbing the parapet to leave, she called my name and I turned back.

    Teresis grabbed one of my cheeks and tenderly kissed the other. I had a hard time finding my balance on the way down.

    I started visiting her on the afternoons. We whispered and laughed to the sound of the old sister’s snores.

    Teresis told me about her parents. They lived in lands that belonged to an abbey and she had been left on the nun’s care when they were killed by consumption. After making her take her vows, the sisters sent her to Astalis, where she could learn from Asabil.

    I told her about my mother and my grandfather and I recounted how I had ended up saving Filior and becoming his companion.

    When we were both nearing our fifteenth birthdays, Teresis told me that soon she would be expected to start distributing alms to the poor in Astalis. It was her chance to leave – and our chance to be alone! I was quick to devise a plan with Madual and our friends in the city.

    The idea entertained Filior more than it worried him. He used to shake his head and joke about my fixation with the nun.

    “Why have so much trouble?”

    It was simple for him. As the prince, he was like a fox in a hen house at court. By that time, he had already had a couple of adventures with maids and servant girls.

    But I didn’t want any of them. I wanted to ride away with Teresis. I wanted to take her to the rocks that overlooked the Redo in the royal woods. I wanted to play the lute to her among the endless vine rows. I wanted to embrace her in the shadow of an olive tree and give free reign to our shy, budding yearnings.

    “You’re dooming yourself with those thoughts, Radalar.” Ionad would warn me. “If you want any chance of redemption, stop before they become actions.”

    I dismissed him. I was young and stricken by a beautiful girl. Not even the fear of eternal condemnation would have me bend my path to the will of god.

    When Asabil ordered Teresis to ready herself to start her new duties, we could barely contain our joy.

    On that afternoon, our lips touched for the first time. There was no turning back then."


    [1] A Kaiarid that is very popular among mothers and women in general. She was the mother of Kaiar Ialia, the first of a line of kings and emperors that would rule the holy city of Palas. During the Great Interregnum and the early Second Palatian Empire, her worship among aidemists was fueled my many hagiographies that associated her with the victories of his son and his successors, citing several miracles that had resulted from appeals to her.

    --

    And, after a long while, I found some time to finish the 7th chapter! I can't promise regular updates yet, but I do invite you all to take a look at The Age of Filior, a companion anthology to this story.

  11. #51

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VII

    This latest chapter is a surprising new development .

    Despite that fact that i am not a keen reader of fantasy or other stories with difficult to read names ,i still like this one and have followed it for months .

    Good job boy .
    100% mobile poster so pls forgive grammer

  12. #52
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VII

    Good chapter! You got me interested in the character of Elianis. I like the way that you describe the contrast between the appearance of her status at court (and her relationship to Asabil) and the truth, as well as her reaction to the swordplay between Filior and Sansior.

  13. #53

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VII

    Thank you both!

    @mad orc: I'm glad that my difficult names aren't that bothersome. I hope you'll keep enjoying the story!

    @Alwyn: It's good seeing you interested in Elianis. She'll have an important part to play quite soon and I wanted to get some attention drawn to her.

    The cast of characters and amount of concepts are getting very big and I think it may be time to start working on a glossary. Having said that, I still want to do a big text explaining the lore, like I mentioned a few months ago - I've actually started it, it's in the second post, titled The World of Words of the Forgotten.

    Also, since my upload schedule has been very irregular, I think I'll start writing a Tale of the Week-sized (or even smaller) "previously on Words of the Forgotten" section. Would that be useful?

  14. #54

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VII

    Got to sit down and read for the first time in a while and the story continues to intrigue me. Driving away a little from the personal relationships is the war in the back drop. It hovers around as a reminder that there are larger concerns of the times but kind of reminds me that at the same time they are youths. The was is conceptual to them to a degree. Its not tangible to them yet and I think you did a great job illustrations that when older Radalar is speaking with Tem in his reflection of when his instructor left.

  15. #55

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VII

    Book I
    Helerion's Choice

    Chapter VIII
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    “As exciting as the prospect of adventuring outside the court with Teresis was, there were definitely other matters to keep me busy at the time.

    When I was thirteen, and Filior barely fourteen, Beotrid started to involve us in the ruling of Aspia. It wasn’t just a matter of teaching the heir and those who’d be his counsellors how to govern the land. With the king’s prolonged stay in Imerria, especially after signing the peace with Efa, the Astalis dynasty desperately needed to be seen minimally bothered by Aspian affairs.

    I still remember the first time we attended a meeting of the regency council. It was held near Beotrid’s quarters, inside a wide hall where she usually organized her own balls and feasts. There was a big limestone table with wooden chairs on both sides. In one of the ends, a seat stood on a bed of the same rock as the table and was crowned with the regent’s arms: the golden hawk of Astalis over black in one half and, in the other, the white seashells and blue eight-pointed stars of her long-deceased Narlac husband. The short and fruitless wedding, if more successful, would have made Beotrid, who was already Emilar’s aunt, the aunt of king Clas VI of Lassaralia, and she liked to keep its memory alive.

    Beotrid let Filior be the first to be seated in a chair opposite to her. Then, the notables all took their place. Queen Elianis, with her red dress and usual unimpressed look sat herself to the regent’s right. Then, sister Asabil sat next to the queen while Liostar Reromedes and kor Zaladiar Himenas took the chairs facing them. Ionad, Madual and I were the last to sit down, placing ourselves around Filior.

    The war had ended a few months before, and there were many anxieties with the king’s delay in returning. And no one imagined that had he’d take three years to come back...

    Before the regent could get to the day’s matters, sister Asabil asked to speak.

    “We must make arrangements for a pilgrimage. Her highness the queen, lady Beotrid, and myself, as well as many others at court prayed to Kaiarid Deonid[1] for the protection of our men in the war against the infidels. We made a promise that, if the war was won, we’d go to her abbey near Bessinas.”

    Everyone agreed.

    “And the prince should go, in my opinion.” she added.

    “Out of the question.” kor Zaladiar groaned. “His highness needs to stay in Astalis during his father’s absence. The court and the people need to see him here.”

    “That’s true.” agreed Liostar. “If his highness is to go anywhere it should be to Saldaras, Brodara, or one of the other cities to show himself to the commoners. Not to some nunnery in the middle of nowhere. He must be seen.”

    Asabil gasped at the blasphemy. Beotrid and Elianis remained silent.

    “What we should is arrange a grand tournament.” said kor Zaladiar. “We’ve had bullfights, great masses and fireworks, but it’s time for the people to see a celebration of the warring qualities of our men. If the king doesn’t return with the real heroes, we’ll find new ones among those who stayed.”

    “The loot that his highness is sending from Imerria should be more than enough to cover the expenses.” added Liostar. “It would be a great occasion for the next generation to shine. Perhaps the prince and his companions could…”

    My heart jumped. I wasn’t ready for anything like that!

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” the queen said, calmly. In her eyes I spied an urge to strangle the chancellor over that very table. “My son is too young to joust.”

    “At fourteen it’s perfectly…” Liostar tried to retort before being cut off by Beotrid.

    “That’s enough, excellency.” she grinned.

    “I can handle myself well-enough, mother!” said Filior. “And people say I’m strong for my age.”

    I looked at Ionad and we didn’t need to say anything to agree that Filior needed to be convinced to give up the idea.

    “We’ll discuss it at another time.” said kor Zaladiar.

    “Well said.” Beotrid sighed. “There are graver matters at hand.”

    She grabbed a letter and placed it on the table. It had a broken seal with Emilar’s hawk.

    “This arrived yesterday.” she announced. “The king has decided that it is time to enter the race to Eastern Seas.”

    A nervous but excited silence filled the room. I remembered the play I watched when I arrived in Astalis. Emilar was ready to use the silver spear that Wisdom had gifted him.

    “As some of you know, my nephew has been keeping an eye on the matter, even during the war.” she said. “Recently, he found out that an expedition financed by bankers and traders from Aaren and Laspis[2] has indeed found a route to the Orient. The ships crossed a cape that led them northwards in its eastern side. After that, they made landfall in a busy port. The natives there know what Darsa and Kirdania[3] are, and say they can be reached by sea. They also recognize the word Efa and emblems of the Efarid Empire.”

    “They were in the Ilentar Sea[4]!” Ionad couldn’t avoid saying what everyone was thinking.

    “Precisely.” confirmed Beotrid. “The king has decided that this is enough. We need to step in now and take this new opportunity for ourselves.”

    “And how does his highness intend to do that?” asked kor Zaladiar. “We have no ships ready to make such a journey and no men with the knowledge to do so.”

    “No, we don’t.” said Liostar. “But we have the help of the man that told him about this successful voyage in the first place. The king has secretly been keeping an Alian[5] goldsmith living in Saldaras with my cousin like a prince. He only drinks the most expensive wine, lays with the most demanded courtesans and eats like a hog… But he’s Fridlam Meremel, brother of Belerias Meremel.”

    “And Belerias Meremel is the admiral that led the expedition.” concluded Beotrid.

    Kor Zaladiar cackled with victorious joy and slapped the table with his one hand.

    “How much do they want to turn to our side?” asked the knight.

    “A fortune.” said Liostar. “Fridlam wishes to stay in Saldaras on a pension and Belerias wants us to pay more than the cities do. He also demands to be made a duke.”

    “Well, with the merchants’ contributions we should have more than enough.” said kor Zaladiar. “Finally, they will shut their mouths about racing the foreigners to the East…”

    “The merchants will have nothing to do with it.” announced Beotrid.

    “The crown will pay for the expeditions fully, claiming complete ownership of the cargo that gets hauled back to Aspia.” explained Liostar. “If the merchants want to – and they will – they can resell it. After buying from the king, of course.”

    Everyone seemed satisfied with the plan. Kor Zaladiar did appear bothered that his old friend, the king, had shared his plans with the chancellor and the regent, but not with him. Asabil was upset as well, but she knew what to expect from her beloved brother.

    Filior, Madual and Ionad were excited. I was overjoyed as well. That was my first taste politics, and I fell in love with it immediately. There was more to come.

    When everyone left, kor Zaladiar noticed that Filior was speaking with his mother and called the three of us. We followed him to a barely-used spiral stairway. He sat on one of the steps and addressed us.

    “So, you are the prince’s companions?”

    We nodded.

    “I was just like you once.” he said. “I never left the king’s side my entire life… Until…”

    Kor Zaladiar looked at his missing arm and sighed.

    “Well, his highness did well enough without me, it seems. The king has been tempered by many years of rule. It will happen to you… One day you will wake up and find out that your old friend doesn’t need you anymore. Or that your advice isn’t as worthy as that of others. But we are very far from that day. For now, the prince needs your help.”

    “You want us to make him forget about the tournament?” asked Madual. He was thinking the same as Ionad and I were.

    “That’s right.”

    “Don’t worry, kor.” I said. “I know just how to do it.”

    ***

    That night, Filior wouldn’t shut up about the tournament. He had trained entire days for years. He was complimented by everyone at court on his prowess and might. This was his chance to prove himself before all of his future subjects.

    “How have you been faring against kor Fabiar during training?” I asked.

    “Well enough.” he said. “I swore it many times and I will swear again. I’ll defeat him one day.”

    “But are you ready to do it now?” asked Madual.

    “I… well, I…”

    “You aren’t.” said Ionad.

    “And how do you know that?” the prince raised his voice.

    “I can’t beat Fabiar yet.” said Ionad. “You know I don’t want to sound pretentious, but we’ve had pretty much the same training…”

    “Don’t fool yourself, Filior.” I said. “Ionad is the best fighter out of the four of us and he can’t beat him.”

    Filior couldn’t deny that.

    “Do you really want to be defeated by Fabiar in front of everyone?” Madual struck the final blow.

    The prince shook his head.

    “You need to be ready.” I said. “Keep training. When you feel you’re about to be able to beat him, pretend you aren’t. Then, when the time is right, humiliate him in public.”

    Ionad and Madual nodded.

    “I hate him as much as you do.” I concluded, grabbing his shoulder. “But you need to be smart about it.”

    Filior looked up at me.

    “I’ll wait then.”

    That was our test. And we passed it. Kor Zaladiar congratulated us as effusively as he could. I think that, like Liostar, he wanted the prince to partake in the tournament, but he knew that the queen would never let it happen. It was all a way to avoid a confrontation inside the council. A smart move.

    The tourney did take place in the usual site – a field in the outskirts of Astalis. We watched from wooden galleries as the knights clashed in the jousts and melees. To our dismay, kor Fabiar Tolesis claimed victory both on horseback and on foot. He wasn’t the best in the kingdom of course, but most of the good fighters were still in Imerria.

    As Fabiar was acclaimed by the crowd, queen Elianis crowned him with the traditional wheat ears. Filior himself had to present him with the winner’s purse. When we saw his face during the ceremony, we all agreed that, besides learning how to beat his master, he’d also need to learn how to better fake satisfaction.

    In any case, we had done what was asked of us. What we needed to do.

    I recalled kor Nadlas’ words about what Filior’s wishes not being the best option every time, and that I was needed to guide his choices. Not really knowing what had become of him in Imerria yet, I did feel some joy in knowing that he’d be satisfied with that fulfilling of my duties.”


    [1] See last chapter’s notes.

    [2] City states ruled by merchant republics near Lassaralia and Aspia, respectively.

    [3] Regions in the Far-East.

    [4] The only Eastern Sea the Aspians know exists.

    [5] From Alia, a region to the North of Lassaralia.

    --
    Here's Chapter VIII, a bit smaller than usual.

    @Zeus Almigthy: It's good to see you! I'm glad that you're enjoying the portrayal of the war. Thanks for the feedback!

  16. #56
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VIII

    A smart move indeed, to prevent a confrontation before it happened! It sounds like what Madual said in the discussion with Filior about the tournament was decisive. It seems that a high price will be paid for an expedition to the Orient, I wonder if it will be a success. Perhaps the regency council will want to develop a navy of their own, if they can, rather than relying on (what sound like) expensive naval mercenaries?

  17. #57

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter VIII

    Book I
    Helerion's Choice

    Chapter IX
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    “Shortly after the tournament, when I was returning from a visit to Teresis, still grinning and sore from climbing the tree after my sword practice, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

    It was a servant bearing a blue fox over a yellow field – the colours of Himenas.

    After following him through halls and passages I had never crossed before, I ended up in kor Zaladiar’s chambers. Ionad and Madual were already there, getting dressed in light travelling gear.

    “Good evening, Radalar.” the knight appeared behind me. “We are going for a ride through the countryside. Get ready.”

    He gave me a light jacket, a warm brown hose and a pair of very good boots. The ones my grandfather had gifted me back in the day didn’t fit anymore, so I was quite happy to have them.

    “Is Filior coming?” Madual asked.

    “The prince is preparing to leave on a pilgrimage with the queen, his brother and his aunts.” said Liostar Reromedes, who entered the room with his hands behind his back.

    “I thought you were against that idea, excellency.” said Ionad, noting the chancellor’s satisfaction.

    “We came to a compromise with sister Asabil.” he explained. “Bessinas is too far away, so they are going to Kaiar Gofradas, just a few days away from here. It will allow you three to leave unnoticed by his highness.”

    “Where are we going, exactly?” I asked.

    “To a place where the prince would do more harm than good.” said kor Zaladiar.

    “You are going to Saldaras.” announced Liostar. “Belerias Meremel has snuck into the city and joined his brother at my cousin’s house. Kor Zaladiar is going to bargain the admiral’s… realignment of affinities. You three will pretend to be his pages while watching and learning.”

    “And helping with anything I ask.” kor Zaladiar added.

    “But why would Filior be harmful in all this?” Madual insisted.

    “His highness would bring unwanted attention, I assume.” I said.

    “Young Radalar is right.” said Liostar. “Saldaras is bursting with Laspian and Aarenish spies. Not to speak of the merchants, who won’t be too happy with our plans. We need all this to look like kor Zaladiar is paying a casual visit to my cousin. People must think that he’s going to ask for a loan or liquidate part of the crown’s debt with the gold coming from Imerria. The prince’s presence would immediately suggest a graver matter.”

    I nodded in self-satisfied agreement. The answer was enough for Madual, but Ionad wasn’t too happy.

    “We’re supposed to never leave the prince’s side.” he said. “Much less lie to him.”

    “Nobody is asking you to lie.” said kor Zaladiar. “Quite the contrary: when we come back, you must tell him what you saw and learned. But if you told him now, he’d insist on coming.”

    “He must go on his pilgrimage with no suspicion of what’s happening.” explained the chancellor. “And you three must go to Saldaras and learn the two most important trades of a courtier: bargaining and deception.”

    “I think one of us should go with him…” Ionad wasn’t convinced. “He will find our absence strange.”

    “The queen will come up with some excuse.” Liostar assured him. “Prince Sansior’s companions are staying behind as well, to avoid suspicion.”

    That wasn’t Ionad’s problem, and I could see it. He found the task at hand unholy and low, hardly suitable for a future knight of the Holy White Habit.

    “Ionad,” I said. “Kor Nadlas once told me that Filior’s best interest is our priority. There will come a day that his duties to the lord and our service to him will require… less than saintly deeds. If you can’t even watch someone else commit them, how will be to do it yourself?”

    “The priests always say that the path to the light is plagued with shadow.” recalled kor Zaladiar. There can’t be one without the other.”

    “There are no holy wars without coin, boy.” Liostar grinned.

    Ionad shrugged his shoulders and nodded. The bland truths spouted by people he considered unclean sinners were meagre justification. To this day, I still think it was my mention of kor Nadlas that convinced him. In any case, that wasn’t the last time that a dilemma of that nature surfaced.

    That same night, as the royal family prepared their luggage for the pilgrimage, we saddled our horses and left quietly. Oladar was still tired from that morning’s trip with kor Talbatar and startled by the unusual ride in the dark. Still, he kept his pace.

    As we trotted through the narrow path that followed the Redo to the southwest, serenaded by the frogs in the river and the cicadas in the fields, I trembled in adventurous excitement. Since we had returned from Imerria, I had never left the lands around Astalis. As I followed kor Zaladiar and his men to the horizon, with the fresh wind of a summer night in my face and the mellow light of the pages’ torches surrounding me, the only thing missing was Teresis’ company.

    As I pictured her seating behind me with her arms around my stomach and her mouth breathing on my neck, I cursed everything that kept her locked in that tower.

    ***

    A ride from Astalis to Saldaras takes little more than four days if you have a decent horse and choose the road along the river. Going through the water itself is arguably a better option, and the Redo is always bustling with boats and barges south of the capital. Along the banks, small villages live of feeding and sheltering the travellers.

    Among the low houses with white walls and red roofs, you can find sprawling taverns and inns with two floors. Here and there, the landscape is dotted by the pale towers owned by toll-collectors, most of them sporting marbled windows and other displays of wealth. The war had paid for it all, with the perils of sailing in the southern shores sending many through the long arduous roads from Eastern Aspia to Saldaras.

    The war had also filled the pockets of the Saldaran slavers. Even in those tiny villages, many who had once served in the empress mother’s armies and fleets or simply dwelt in Efarid Imerria ran around in shackles serving the locals.

    I still remember the slave that took care of Oladar in one of the villages’ stables. He had one ear cut off and a black serpent marked on his neck. Kor Zaladiar told me those were the brands of Malramim’s men. He had been a mighty corsair who perished in the battle near Firre. If I remember correctly, Serafal of Hassatriar took his head to Clas VI together with the captured sailors.

    We had no trouble finding rooms in the crowded lodgings. As the king’s companion and adoptive son to the duke of Himenas, kor Zaladiar was a known and venerable face. As for me and the other two, nobody recognized us beyond Astalis’ outskirts. Considering the matter at hand, it was better that way.

    At night, kor Zaladiar’s men indulged in wine and women. Madual and I were used to such scenes from our adventures in Astalis and laughed as we drank wine and smiled at the wenches.

    “Poor Filior has no idea what he’s missing.” Madual would tell me as he raised his eyebrows at the serving girls’ revealing clothes.

    Ionad had never witnessed those sins first-hand. He forced himself to stare blandly at the floor, the walls or the ceiling, taking advantage of the first excuse he could find to escape to his bed.

    The king’s companion partook in the debauchery, and one evening Ionad couldn’t help but ask him a condescending question, like a priest to a well-known indulger:

    “Are you married, kor?”

    “Ionad!” I reprehended his audacity. It was not like him.

    Kor Zaladiar, who had one of the tavern’s girls sitting on his lap, laughed and dismissed it with a wave.

    “I’m not, my good Ionad.” he said. “Well, Liostar tells me that Barbadar Celtior wants me to marry one of his daughters, but the war has gotten on the way, so…”

    He laughed and kissed her neck.

    Ionad shook his head and opened his trusty copy of the Lord’s Word, choosing a random page to try and read to the sound of hoarse laughs, drunken songs and screeching flutes.

    It didn’t take long for three other girls to come to our table. One of them started fiddling with Madual’s red locks while another grabbed Ionad’s shoulders and the third covered my eyes with her hands, giggling.

    Ionad got on his feet furiously, pushing the poor girl backwards. While he quickly marched upstairs, she spat on the floor and cursed him under her breath.

    After apologizing, I waved away the girl that had approached me as gracefully as I could, staring at my cup of wine and aching for Teresis.

    Madual, who was too ashamed to do the same in front of the knight and his pages but didn’t know what to do with the barely covered chest before his eyes, decided to take it out on me. With his face painted red by wine and embarrassment, he joked:

    “One is a monk and the other is married to a nun, what is this court coming to?”

    “What?” kor Zaladiar cackled and looked at him.

    “Madual…” I warned him.

    “«Kor» Radalar here has been happily frolicking with one of sister Asa…”

    “That’s enough!” I got on my feet and showed him my closed fists.

    The girl was startled and hurried away. Relieved, Madual figured he’d continue the spectacle.

    “See what you’ve done?” he asked. “It’s one thing if you don’t want to enjoy yourself, but at least let the others have their fun!”

    “Behave yourselves!” kor Zaladiar was not amused. He dismissed the girl he’d been holding and sighed.

    “It’s getting late and we have a long ride tomorrow.” he said. “We should all get some sleep.”

    It was easier said than done. A deep rage didn’t let me keep my eyes closed. I don’t know if it was directed at Madual for ratting me out or at Teresis’ damned blue habit for keeping her incarcerated…

    This was before the talk of her alms-distribution duties, of course.

    Tired of contemplating the vile wood ceiling, I figured I’d go and stretch my legs.

    I ended up leaning against a narrow window, letting my thoughts roam the landscape with a sigh. Dawn was already threatening to break, and I could clearly make out the shapes of the houses around the tavern.

    “You should try to rest.” it was kor Zaladiar, only wearing his linen shirt and felt pants.

    “I can’t.” I said.

    “Well, neither can I.” he joined me at the window.

    “Those are some interesting companions you have there.” he said.

    “They can be idiots, sometimes.”

    “That’s their job when you’re being an even bigger idiot.”

    I knew what he was going to say. I also knew that he was right. That’s why I didn’t want the truth revealed in the first place, but Madual had seen to it.

    “Listen, kor, I…”

    “There’s no need to make up lies or excuses.” he said.

    “I wasn’t going to.” I told him. “I was going to say that I know what I am doing and what the risks are.”

    “I’m aware that you know all that.” he said. “You’re smart. And that’s why I’m worried.”

    “Worried? Why?”

    “Well, Ionad is a great student and an even better fighter, I’m told. But he lets his piety take hold of him. As for Madual, well… Madual means well, I’m sure.”

    He grabbed my shoulder and crouched, facing me eye-to-eye.

    “It seems to me that Filior will find you the most useful out of the three when it comes to hard decisions.”

    I was about to humbly deny his flattery when he cut me off.

    “That’s why we can’t lose you to some scandal with sister Asabil. I know how it is to be your age, but you should put an end to it. It’s your duty.”

    As we left the village with the rising soon peeking through olive branches, I entertained the knight’s advice in my head. All the sway it may have held that morning was lost once I got back to Astalis and saw Teresis again.

    ***

    When we reached Saldaras’ outskirts, night had already fallen. The war had been over for a good while, and the gates were opened until late. Still, to avoid raising suspicions of trying to sneak into the city under the cover of darkness, kor Zaladiar decided that we’d spend the night outside the walls and let ourselves be seen in the streets the next day.

    As I looked at the towers and domes that arose beyond the battlements, I could hardly wait to admire the city’s marvels and meet the man that had found the passage to the Orient."

    --
    Here's the 9th.

    @Alwyn: Your assumptions are correct. I tried to show that a functioning council is a priority while Emilar is absent, so conflicts must be dealt with before they are born. It's an important lesson for the boys, too. Madual's bluntness can be a useful quality, that's for sure. As for the expedition, you will be getting more details soon. What I can say is that it's too late for Aspia to enter the race with its own men and ships. If Emilar and Co. want to take this opportunity for themselves, they need a trump card.

  18. #58
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter IX

    Ionad's piety and awkwardness (I'm thinking of his reaction to the person who grabs his shoulders and her response) seems like a useful source of conflict for your story. It sounds like Radalar will ignore the knight's advice, I wonder if this will get him into trouble. I look forward to seeing more of Saldaras. Good update!

  19. #59

    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter IX

    Previously...
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Temerior Ianas, a struggling young writer, is tasked with helping the old exile Radalar Voladas compose his memoirs. Cramped in a small monastery room and divided by decades, they struggle to connect while Radalar dictates his past deeds.

    He starts from his childhood when, after his mother’s death, he was taken to the kingdom of Aspia by his grandfather. There, he saves the life of the heir to the throne, Prince Filior Astalis, son of king Emilar III. For his feat, Radalar is made companion to the young prince, joining the pious Ionad and mischievous Madual.

    Trained by the great kor Nadlas Altirada and disciplined by the insufferable sister Asabil, Radalar learns how to survive. When king Emilar leaves to defend Imerria from an invasion by the Empire of Efa, Radalar, Filior, and their companions are left behind. During the distant war, the four boys grow in the sunlit court of Astalis. While Radalar continues to learn, he falls in love with the young sister Teresis. Filior trains to defeat his arrogant swordplay master, kor Fabiar Tolesis, Ionad prepares to join the knights of the Holy White Habit and Madual takes every opportunity to surrender to idleness and deviance. Even Filior’s shy younger brother, prince Sansior, seems to thrive.

    Aspia’s rule is assured by a regency council – the queen, Elianis of Narlac, the king’s aunt, Beotrid Astalis, the king’s sister, sister Asabil, the king’s chancellor, Liostar Reromedes, and the knight kor Zaladiar Himenas. After the war is won, Emilar stays in Imerria and the council decides to initiate Filior and his companions on the art of government. Soon, Radalar finds himself on a sensitive mission.

    Without the prince’s knowledge, he leaves with kor Zaladiar, Ionad and Madual to the city of Saldaras. There, Belerias Meremel, a captain that found a new sea route to the distant Orient, wants to leave his old masters and serve Emilar. For a price, of course.

    Meanwhile, after a discovery in the monastery’s library, Temerior has to face the fact that his early arrogance and distrust of Radalar were unfounded…

    Book I

    Helerion's Choice

    Chapter X
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    “Saldaras was unlike the rest of Aspia.

    It’s not that the people were different. The nobility and clergy were, like everywhere else, suspicious and arrogant, always at each other’s throats. As for the poor, instead of the peasants that strived to survive in the rest of the kingdom, there were thousands upon thousands of vagrants, beggars and slaves, dwelling in crowded slums as miserably as their counterparts in the inhospitable countryside.

    What set Saldaras apart was its size and its wealth, both sustained by the busiest trading harbour in Aspia. It was a city of powerful rich merchants, a rare sight in the rest of the kingdom.

    When we got to the city’s gates, it was like we were entering a different world. The seagulls sung of a nearby sea and, over the gate, a giant carrying a cog warned travellers that they were being welcomed by a people with endurance and seamanship. It was the city’s ancestral coat of arms: the Saldarans knew very well where their power came from, and they were proud of it.

    If it wasn’t for the stinking filth of nearly two hundred thousand people, I think I could have smelled the waves’ saltiness from outside the gates.

    Below the giant, the gatehouse was home to the first outpost of the true power in Saldaras: the Council of Citizens. Dressed in the city’s blue, brown and white, a zealous detachment of toll collectors exacted the council’s due from the traveller’s purses. Several officers sporting the same colours inspected every donkey, cart and carriage while keen-eyed guards measured the newcomers.

    As soon as they saw the Himenas blue fox and kor Zaladiar, one of them hurried away on horseback.

    “It seems that I’m not a welcome sight.” he muttered.

    He wasn’t. The king and his men were always an unwanted presence in the cities. Saldaras, being the largest and mightiest in Aspia, was no exception.

    “Have you come with the king’s business?” one of the officers barked at him. There were no greetings or courtesies for Emilar’s men there.

    “Whose business is my business is… well, my business.” answered kor Zaladiar. “And you will call me kor. You lot have a lot of privileges inside these walls, but I think you’re not excused from acknowledging your betters.”

    The officer wasn’t impressed.

    “You’re also not immune to a royal arrest warrant if the offended party is of noble stature.” kor Zaladiar added.

    That time, the Saldaran’s face lost some of its colour.

    “But no one here is offended, right friend?”

    The Saldaran nodded.

    “It’s easy to mistake ignorance for arrogance, but one must forgive and forget.” kor Zaladiar continued. He was enjoying himself. “After all, how could you have known who I was?”

    With his hand, he pointed at his standard bearers. Behind them, the whole retinue bore the blue fox.

    He grabbed a pouch bursting with coin.

    “Here, your city’s compensation for requiring my presence.”

    Madual smiled like an idiot at the knight’s confidence. Ionad rolled his eyes. I tried to learn all I could. In a few years, it could be me crossing that very gate on the business of a disliked king.

    The Saldarans let us pass, but kor Zaladiar couldn’t help himself. Turning back, he made a request to the officers.

    “Tell your masters to keep their spies at a distance. I don’t need to see them for them to see me.”

    The city’s gate led into a wide marketplace. The dozens of stands that burst with the produce of nearby farmlands were surrounded on two sides by an enormous monastery. It was Kaiar Lurremas of Saldaras, a towering testament to the Blue Habit’s power. The order was a force to be reckoned in the city, and had been working closely with the Council of Citizens for decades. The monastery was adjacent to a hospital where the monks quickly isolated sick vagabonds and travellers, and their preaching and charity helped control the mob. Still, the greatest reason for cooperation between the council and the great-imikor was that they had a rival in common. And his own might could also be spotted as soon as one set foot in the city.

    Above the roofs, to the south, an enormous dome surrounded by twenty towers could be seen. It was the cathedral of Kaiar Peridas, the greatest of its kind in Aspia and the seat of the great-laikor of Saldaras. He was not only the head of the Sada in the city, but in the kingdom itself. At the time, the honour was held by Duardas Tolesis, kor Fabiar’s great-uncle. As he was forced to, the king had nominated him for the regency council, but since Duardas was a sick old man and would never give Emilar the satisfaction of replying to a summon, he missed all the meetings during those six years. And, to be fair, the man had his own war against the Council of Citizens to attend to.

    Beyond the monastery of Kaiar Lurremas, the streets were as crowded as they were cramped. In both sides, three and four story wooden buildings blocked the sun and seemed to trap us in the squalid paths.

    The windows, connected by a web of ropes and drying clothes, were the women’s realm. Old hags watched every movement, while busy mothers tried to keep their daughters more concentrated on sewing than on the men that eyed them from the street. Some argued with each other or with someone the crowd below them. And of course, from time to time, one of gave due warning that a bucket full of indignities was about to be emptied. Under the women, their sons and husbands toiled in small stores and workshops. As miserable as they were in those neighbourhoods, they found strength in union, banding with each other in powerful guilds. Rival groups of idle young men leaned against the walls, guarding their shops. They were hired by the artisans to keep competition in check and, of course, to keep threats at bay.

    Speaking of threats, they lurked in every corner: thieves, prostitutes and vagrants who exchanged ravenous looks with one another and with those who passed. They were as organized as their law-abiding neighbours, and you could make out the different gangs and their leaders.

    There was an almost theatrical order to that whole mess, but it looked like everything could descend into chaos in the blink of an eye. Perhaps that was what kept the peace.

    Ionad was horrified. After the inspiring sight of the sunlit monastery and the promise of the distant dome and towers of the cathedral, he was now bathing in evil and depravity. Even Madual and I were a bit anxious. We were used to the Astalis slums, but this was far worse.

    “Don’t be afraid.” kor Zaladiar told us. “These people are more interested in slitting each other’s throats than yours.”

    Those sights haunted me for a while. I wondered if the love I shared with Teresis made us as wicked as that bunch in the eyes of the lord.

    We soon got to the Redo. Inside the city, the freshness that the river lent the landscape upstream turned into a fetid mist of salt, rotting algae and ****. At least we were back in the sunlight.

    Most of the goods the city exchanged with the kingdom were transported by barges through those waters. They were uncountable, sailing as orderly as possible through the deeper part of the stream. In the muddy banks, groups of boys screeched and howled, fighting between themselves and throwing rocks at cats, seagulls and passing boats.

    Kor Zaladiar led us ever closer to the sea. The Redo’s banks started to be filled with wood and stone piers. Next to them, the miserable buildings turned into respectable houses. The crowd was wealthier, quieter and had a quicker stride.

    The streets were as cramped, but they were tidy. The shops and stalls were clean, watched over by well-armed private militias and town guards. In that part of the city, the waste buckets weren’t emptied through the windows – they left through the backdoors, carried by Efarid slaves that washed them in the river.

    Soon, the paths were surrounded not by houses, but by tall walls. They protected and shielded from view mansions that belonged to merchants, bankers and noblemen. In the wider central streets, the houses’ luxurious fronts lost their shyness and went beyond the walls, impressing passers-by with beautiful sculptures and frescos. Around them, the crowd was now of servants running their masters’ errands. Once in a while, they parted ways to let someone of note pass by. The richest and noblest rode their expensive horses, colourful litters and gilded coaches, protected and served by more than thirty men in many cases.

    We stopped next to one of the tall walls. It was painted in white and blue. The cathedral was so close that we could see the towers and the dome, creeping up above it. To our left, the street led straight to the sea. The calm waters were filled with ships, and I remember spotting a Lassaralian galley.

    Kor Zaladiar looked around, pretending he wasn’t sure that he was being watched. Then, he ordered one of his servants to pull a chain that ringed a bell on the other side of the wall.

    A discrete gate opened, and a man in a red livery waved us inside.

    We dismounted and crossed into a marbled patio adorned with a fountain. On top of it stood a stone statue of a child killing a serpent with a sword. Like blood, crystalline water poured from the creature’s mouth and wound.

    Inside the tall mansion, we were greeted by a man in a dark green jacket. He was Odrias Reromedes, the chancellor’s cousin and one of the kingdom’s richest men.

    Kor Zaladiar, it’s a pleasure to see you again!” he said.

    “My dear Odrias, how’s business?”

    “As usual: it could be better.”

    The knight laughed.

    “How are things in Astalis?” asked Odrias. “How’s my cousin? And where are my manners? How’s the duke of Himenas? Doing well, I hope?”

    “Like your business: they could all be better.”

    “That’s to be expected of the court and Liostar, but what’s wrong with your dear father?”

    “It’s the old bones… and the gout.”

    “A tragedy.” Odrias sighed. “I will pray for the good duke.”

    Kor Zaladiar nodded.

    “Well.” the host continued. “You must want to change and get some rest, of course. Our Alian friends will only be joining us for dinner, so you have plenty of time to unwind. I’ll have food brought to you and your men.”

    Kor Zaladiar thanked him and pointed at the three of us.

    “Please, give these boys a room as well.”

    “Your relatives?”

    “No, one orphan and two bastards from Himenas. I took them in as my pages, and they watch and learn. I hope it won’t be a problem tonight.”

    “It’s the Meremels that you need to convince.” Odrias shrugged his shoulders. “Not me.”

    ***

    We were taken to the dining room late in the evening. All the windows were covered in thick red curtains, and there were only a handful of lit candles. There must have been thirty or forty eyes on the house.

    When we entered, everyone rose for kor Zaladiar. That was the first time I saw the Meremel brothers.

    Fridalm was short and fat. He let his curled blond hair fall over his shoulders and had a thick moustache. His face had the bored look of an lazy glutton. Next to him, his older brother looked like the giant from Saldaras’ coat of arms.

    There he was – Belerias Meremel, the men that had sailed to the Orient. He was tall and well built, using his curls much shorter than his brother. He sported a respectable beard on his severe, astute face.

    They were two thirds of what remained of the Meremel dynasty. They’d been a powerful family of Alian bankers who got too greedy for their competitors. There was poison and knives in the dark. Belerias and Fridlam’s father was killed, and so was their brother Algast. Since then, Belerias had been earning a living as a sea captain, while Fridlam worked as a goldsmith, jumping from exile to exile with young Kalrad, son of their older deceased brother.

    “Good evening, kor Zaladiar.” Belerias’ Aspian wasn’t too bad.

    “Captain Meremel, it is a pleasure.”

    They shook hands before letting Fridlam awkwardly introduce himself.

    “Who are they?” Fridlam asked, poiting at Ionad, Madual and myself.

    “My pages. I am-“

    Belerias interrupted kor Zaladiar.

    “This is disappointing, kor.” he shook his head. “We are off to a bad start. I’d ask you to not lie to my brother or me, if you please.”

    Kor Zaladiar faked offence to cover up the embarrassment.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I wouldn’t sneak into this city and agree to meet you without having eyes in Astalis. These three are prince Filior’s companions.”

    Our faces blushed. Odrias shook his head at kor Zaladiar.

    “Don’t worry, kor. They may stay. I hope that, if we come to an agreement tonight, it will last well beyond the end of Emilar’s reign. They may as well witness it.”

    Speaking of the king’s death like that was preposterous. But Belerias Meremel could afford to be offensive. Tolerating him was worth rivers of gold.

    We all sat.

    “Do try the pheasant.” said Odrias. “It is delightful!”

    Fridlam gave him a fierce gaze, like a dog whose dinner is stolen by another. He must have wanted the whole bird for himself.

    Belerias had no patience for food. He didn’t even let us fill our plates before starting.

    “You will forgive me, but at sea we’re not used to losing time. Do you want to give us an offer that we will refuse? Or can tell you what we actually want?

    “Let’s spare ourselves those trifles.” kor Zaladiar agreed.

    “Well, here it is then: as soon as I get back to the Ilentar Sea, I will make arrangements to conquer a certain city. When it falls, I will claim it in the name of king Emilar III of Aspia and Imerria. He may then do with it as he wishes.”

    I didn’t expect talks of conquest so soon. And neither did kor Zaladiar – I could see it.

    “And which city would that be?” he asked.

    “Ah, yes.” Belerias chuckled. “We better get that out of the way right now: there will be no precise information before the deal is signed. I didn’t spend two decades establishing contacts and friends in Arcossa, Darsa and the Incense Isles to tell you everything I know without some guarantees. It’s a city that’s ripe for the taking, let’s leave it at that.”

    “Ripe for the taking, eh? And what will do to you guarantee it won’t remain so after it belongs to my king and you’re enjoying a duchy and a pension?”

    “All in due time.” Belerias cleared his throat. “The thing is – I won’t return at all. At least for a while.”

    Another surprise. What was he getting at?

    “I have been bargaining with people from the lands around the city, and I think I can subdue those parts as well. I would, however, keep them for myself, staying there and ruling as a prince, a title that would be granted by king Emilar.”

    Princely dignity! Outside of Lassaralia, that was unheard of since the fall of the Second Palatian Empire! And we thought he only wanted to be well paid and made a duke.

    “That’s… well” kor Zaladiar didn’t know what to say. “That’s not going to be easy…”

    “I also want trade privileges.” Belerias continued. “The king can have the spices, the gems and any silver or gold we may find in there. But I want exclusive right to every other product of my principality. At least on that side of the capes.”

    Kor Zaladiar sat still, scratching his chin. Belerias let his proposal sink in. All I could hear was Fridlam chewing.

    “Before we continue,” said Zaladiar “tell me: why betray Laspis and Aaren?”

    “That’s an easy answer. Why should I go and conquer the Orient for two cities that can be quite easily subdued themselves? I can rely on Emilar to protect our mutual interests in this side of the world. If I don’t do this at his side, what’s stopping him or Clas from coming for me? The route won’t be a secret for too long…”

    Kor Zaladiar nodded. He seemed convinced.

    “That brings me to my final request – aside from continuing to provide my brother his pension, of course.”

    “Go ahead.”

    “Our nephew Kalrad is, at the moment, a guest of the duke of Laspis. He’s being kept as a guarantee that something like what we’re planning doesn’t happen.”

    “I see…”

    “I need your king to send word to his envoy in the city. As soon as he hears of my defection, he must deliver an intimation of war to the duke in case my nephew is hurt.”

    That one was really pushing it.

    “How is your nephew’s safety our problem?” asked kor Zaladiar.

    “It’s not. It’s my problem. And if this is to work, my problems will be your kings problems. And his will be mine. Just like any other vassal and suzerain lord.”

    Silence, again.

    “Well, captain Belerias… I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to grant you some of your wishes.”

    “Then I guess you must go to someone who has. We can wait.”

    There was only one person who had the authority to accept those requests. And no one but kor Zaladiar himself could be trusted with getting them through to him.

    Time was of the essence. That very night, word was sent to Liostar Reromedes in Astalis, detailing the state of the negotiations. Kor Zaladiar also wrote to queen Elianis and lady Beotrid, asking them to delay Filior’s return from the pilgrimage.

    Then, we got to the business of reaching the king in Imerria. Odrias was, of course, used to sneaking people and goods in and out of the city, so everything was prepared. We put on black hats and cloaks and were taken through a path in the gardens. It led to a gate in the mansion’s wall, hidden from view by shrubs and vines.

    Because of the spies around the house, we couldn’t afford to use a lot of light. Odrias’ servants only carried small candles, and I was startled once I realised we were facing the deep black waters of the Redo.

    “Easy now.” – said kor Zaladiar.

    He grabbed my shoulder and led me down a stone stairway, pushing me gently into a wobbly surface. It was a wooden skiff. Ionad and Madual soon joined me inside, shaking in the cold. Even in the dark, I could see their warm breath against the cold air. And my own.

    The knight was the last to come aboard, bringing with him a handful of his men. He didn’t need any help throughout the whole thing. I was always amazed at how well he managed with only one arm.

    We were barely able to see, but the Odrias’ skilled pilot and his rowers managed to guide themselves by the lights in the banks and moored boats.

    Most of kor Zaladiar’s retinue stayed back in the house. We needed to make everyone believe we were staying there.

    Before long, we were in the harbour.

    I couldn’t distinguish between the ships’ big shapes, but I remember that there were a lot of merchant vessels, including fat carracks. Around ten of Emilar’s galleys were also anchored there, as well as a few of Serafal’s and, of course, those of Saldaras’ war fleet. The latter were better manned than their counterparts in the royal navy, using professional freemen as rowers instead of the enslaved rabble. They even had a guild and chapel of their own, like every other trade in the city.

    Odrias’ men turned towards one of the royal galleys.

    As dawn’s first light broke through the hills behind the city, the ship took form before my eyes. The gilded stern shone shyly in the humble light, as did the Astalis hawk sculpted in the prow. While a salty breeze caressed the banners, the crew gathered on the deck, studying our approach.

    The captain was as competent as he was trustworthy. We climbed aboard and kor Zaladiar met with him in his quarters. The orders were duly given, and we left before sunrise.

    As we sailed away, we got a glimpse of the City Council’s palace, standing tall and wide, its foundations barely above the high tide.

    We turned towards the northeast, blinded by the rising sun in front of us. With the war’s end, the journey to Imerria was fast and safe. Still, I was uneasy.

    I didn’t know what to expect from our meeting with the Emilar. Would he accept the terms? Had the war changed him?

    Most importantly: would kor Nadlas be there?

    By then, I already knew of my old master’s misfortune… It had caused a lot commotion at court, and especially among the White Habit. There was no shortage of debate and gossip. It troubled me, stubbornly remaining in my thoughts. Was I ready to confront it?”

    --
    After a big delay, the longest chapter yet!

    @Alwyn: You are quite right about Ionad. As for Radalar, you'll see. And well, here's Saldaras in detail for you!

    EDIT: Since it's been a long while, I've added a memory aid above the chapter.

  20. #60
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Words of the Forgotten | Chapter X

    The memory aid is a good idea. I enjoyed seeing Saldaras in more detail, I like the way that you display the wealth and pride of the city's people. It sounds like Belerias is both well-informed and very ambitious, I wonder if the terms will be accepted and what the consequences will be.

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