Lord Storm Nattas
The King of Regia
Part II
-The king is dead-
He’s gone Sir Barnard.
The King is dead.
—
Lord Storm Nattas,
Regia’s Master of Silence,
Baron of Moon’s Haven
& Keeper of the Golden Forest
Last week of Winter 190 NC
Storm tripped over his feet and almost went down right at the stairs leading inside the palace, but Secundus grabbed his arm and helped him. Lord Nattas grunted, sweating like a pig, despite the chill. The skies heavy, as clouds had gathered and another rainstorm was approaching.
He went through the double doors, guards and legionnaires moving about, knights and squires, the main square behind him packed full of armed men, with more coming. Storm walked down the dark hall, people bumping onto him, but no one taking the time to apologize. He’d seen the injured coming out of the carriages on stretches earlier. Many men, too many. The mood was pensive.
Lord Nattas reached the King’s quarters and spotted a pale Lord Doris collapsed on a chair, several officials near him. He went to talk him, but a one-armed Prefect stopped him, the veteran Legion officer looking haggard and even worse that Lord Doris.
“Prefect Ligur,” Storm said, remembering his name at the last moment, a testament to his sharpness under immense pressure, or just blind luck and he crooked his mouth into a grimace of sympathy. “You should get medical attention.”
“I had it burned and stitched in the field,” the officer rustled indifferently. “Lord Doris needs a moment milord.”
Eh, don’t we all? Storm thought. “He was hurt?”
“He lost his son. Sir Deimos,” Prefect Ligur explained, his eyes telling Storm to move along now.
Well that’s a fist up the arse.
“I understand, give him my condolences,” Storm mumbled and moved towards the door leading inside the King’s quarters. The large room located on the east side of the throne hall. Sir Barnard, his armour mangled on several spots and sporting a wild beard under his helm stopped him.
“Lord Holt is inside,” the knight told him. “The King is tired and won’t be receiving any visitors’ milord.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m Lord Nattas,” Storm growled, his anxiousness turning to anger. “Let me in, Sir Barnard!”
“I have orders to keep everyone out, Lord Nattas,” the hale knight replied setting his jaw.
“Was I mentioned specifically?” Storm dodged on the fly. Sir Barnard frowned deeply.
“I don’t believe… you weren’t, milord.”
“Do you know why?” Storm asked him. “It’s because I need to know what’s going on. Move aside Sir Barnard.”
The knight grunted, but stepped out of his way. Storm grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. He walked in and closed the door behind him.
The old Lord of Asturia raised his head hearing him enter. Lord Holt was sitting on a chair, next to the king’s bed, a young squire standing next to the window facing the main square. Storm narrowed his eyes and scanned the premises, but didn’t see anyone else in there.
“The Dottore left,” Lord Holt informed him. “He did all he could.”
“How serious is it?” Storm asked walking near the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of the king’s face.
Lord Holt grimaced. He was almost King Alistair’s age. Perhaps a year older. The King was fifty eight. The lines on his face deep and not all of them from age. The gossip was that had old Lord Holt be given a choice, he’d never have left the army, or the Legion. But Asturia couldn’t govern itself.
“We patched it up in Sabertooth Castle. Enough to make the journey back. The dottore said he should have died on the spot. Almost twenty days ago,” he sighed and pushed himself up. Lord Holt was taller than Storm even at his age. “Alistair decided differently.”
Dammit.
No.
Now what?
Damn ye Abrakas! You cunt that’s not what I meant! May you catch rot in the throat and swallow shite to eternity!
“The Issirs did it? In the fucking Conference?” He grunted unable to keep it civil. Lord Holt eyed him strangely.
“Optio Marcus Ursus was the culprit,” Lord Holt said and Storm stood back stunned.
“Wait… it was an assassination attempt?”
He remembered Maja’s words. The ‘client’ had cancelled the contract. More like taken her out of the picture and then given it to someone else.
“Aye. I have no clue what happened. I didn’t see it and I was standing right there, negotiating with the Issirs. Lord Ursus cousin no less. I knew the man for Goddess’ sake!”
Storm puffed his cheeks out and stared at the bed where the King of Regia lay with his eyes closed.
Lord Holt put a hand on his shoulder interrupting his thoughts.
“Is Prince Jeremy still in Scaldingport?” He asked him and the Master of Silence for Regia looked into the old Lord’s solemn face, more weirded out than he was a moment before.
“He is here in Alden. Arrived about… a couple of weeks back. Why?”
“Uhm. Who sent for him?” Lord Holt asked, not replying. Storm felt the hand on his shoulder heavy. It suddenly bothered him, the casual comforting gesture.
“Lord Doris. What’s this Lord Holt? What is Jeremy has to do with this?”
“Probably nothing by himself, but we need to make sure, Lord Nattas,” the King’s Shield replied eyeing him. “You have the means to do what’s necessary?”
Storm pushed the hand off of his shoulder and took a step back alarmed.
“What’s necessary? The hell does that mean Lord Holt?” He croaked, not believing what he was hearing.
Lord Holt smacked his lips, old face firm and the light green eyes on it pitiless. “You know darn well, Lord Nattas. Time is of the essence, you know the King’s wishes.”
Storm felt his mouth drying up. “These are not… The King would never order this Lord Holt!”
“The King wants the crown and his sword to go to Lucius,” Lord Holt replied and stared at him disgusted. “This isn’t the time to be sentimental Lord Nattas.”
“Jeremy wouldn’t challenge his brother,” Storm snapped, but no sooner than the words left his mouth, he knew this wasn’t true. Storm didn’t know what the young prince had in mind and then it didn’t much matter as Lord Holt had quickly pointed out.
“They would. They’ll put him on that throne Lord Nattas. The moment we step out of this room, it shall be a moment too late. We must take the option off the table for them.”
Storm couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t do this to Miranda.
The thought of the Queen made his eyes blur and the room started to spin.
“Who’s they Lord Holt?” He grunted, feeling sick.
“Does it matter?” He replied and shook his head. “I thought you were more cynical than this Lord Nattas.”
“What if Lucius gets killed in the North?” Storm murmured, suddenly looking worse than the dying king. “We’ll have left Regia without an heir for crying out loud!” He finished shaking all over and too anxious to realize it.
“Bah! What’s the matter with you?” Lord Holt grunted and walked away. He stopped at the door and turned to glare at him. “The decision won’t always be in your hands Lord Nattas. Lord Brakis is going to release Sir Rik and by then it’ll be too late. We’ll have to act before the old Crow takes the matter into his own hands.”
Uh? What in Abrakas flooded cellar is this?
“Sir Rik is a prisoner?” He croaked, very confused.
“On the King’s orders. To prevent Lord Ruud from learning about Antoon’s proposal first hand.”
Storm licked his dry lips and felt his mouth all gluey.
“What was the proposal?”
“Denounce Lucius and put Jeremy on the throne, in exchange for peace. Alistair disagreed, but most thought it a small price to pay to avoid war. They are willing to fight us for it,” Lord Holt replied without mincing his words.
Storm rubbed at his forehead, everything bothering him. Lord Holt gave him another disappointed look and added before departing. “I don’t know what happened to you Lord Nattas. But you better snap out of it lad.”
I’m fucking the Queen, Storm thought watching the closed door and the King’s voice coming from his bed almost startled him to death.
“Is that you Nattas?” King Alistair rustled and pushed himself up on the headrest, his face pale and gaunt, but his eyes gleaming.
“My king, you should rest,” Storm mumbled, his hands shaking so much, he had to clasp them tight before his stomach to stop it.
“Plenty of time… for that,” Alistair grunted and tried to raise his head some more using the tall headrest for leverage. “Send for reinforcements. They should march on Riverdor and cut off the Second Foot. Prevent them from retreating beyond the river,” he paused and clenched his jaw hard to combat a jolt of pain. “Smash them there and Antoon will sue for peace.”
“My king, we are in Alden,” Storm said with difficulty.
“Who gave the order?”
“Ahm, I don’t know, but I heard it was important to retreat,” Storm replied.
“Argh, curse them!” Alistair growled and closed his eyes. “It was a bluff… he doesn’t have the support and he will lose the north soon.”
“Antoon? My King you don’t know that—”
“Silence!” The King snarled and glared at him. “Stop being a coward Nattas! Damn weak-kneed lording’s and their short-sighted visions!” The latter not addressed at him.
Lord Nattas hang his head.
“What will Lesia do?”
“Forget about Lesia, they will only act if they see the win offered on a plate. Lesia won’t risk a darn thing unless her profits are threatened.”
“Lord Holt…” Storm paused unsure.
“Holt is a patriot, but he’s also a callous man Nattas,” the King replied. “He can’t run the Kingdom. Lucius… get him back, or give him the time to return.”
“Jeremy is here,” Storm said.
“Those that want a kid on the throne, don’t want to fight,” Alistair replied and breathed once heavy, the discussion exhausting to him. “If you’re scared to fight, then you’ve already lost Nattas and none of this matters. There can be no land, or titles, without a kingdom. No peace, without a strong Regia.”
“There might be another way, my King,” Storm said desperately and Alistair sighed disappointed.
“There’s no other… way,” the King of Regia whispered. “Lucius…” He closed his eyes and his gaunt face relaxed in a smile for the first time in years. “Ah, Vacia… there ye are girl,” Alistair said tenderly. “Queen o’ mine.”
Storm let out a horrified gasp realizing the King had expired and grasped the empty chair with both his hands to stay upright. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he almost went down on a knee. Storm heard someone walking near him and recoiled in panic, the young man with the haunted eyes stopping about a meter away. He held the King’s sword in its scabbard.
“Who are you?” Storm asked, unable to remember the face, his mind numb and his whole body still in shock.
“I’m Adrian Calvus,” the young man replied. “I’m the King’s squire.”
“Is that the King’s sword?” Storm croaked, fighting to get his mind in order.
“Aye milord. I’m to give it to Regia,” Adrian replied.
Ah, you poor fool, Storm thought. Regia is many different things now.
“Keep it out of the way… wait, follow me. We must get out of here,” Storm said and pointed at a small side door leading out of the bedroom. “Wait for me there,” he said and then turned to ring the bell hanging from the large sturdy bed. The main door opened and Sir Barnard burst inside alarmed. Upon seeing Lord Nattas standing next to the peaceful King he breathed once deeply and asked the silent query with his eyes.
“He’s gone, Sir Barnard,” Storm said gravely. “The King is dead.”
“Chief,” Secundus said seeing them coming out of the side door, following the passage leading away from the King’s quarters. “There are a lot of nervous people around. Who’s the lad?”
“Tell Sudi to send the bird,” Storm cut him off. “Ah, and get him out of here.”
“Is that?” Secundus asked frowning and Storm snapped at him.
“Now god darn it!”
He looked around them and saw Lord Brakis walking towards the throne room, followed by a dark faced Sir Rik De Weer. Storm groaned and rushed after them. He pushed and shoved his way there, people trying to sneak in and the guards confused as to who could enter the palace, or not. There were legionnaires moving about and city officials with curious eyes. If people get wind of this and come out, we might lose control of the situation completely, Storm thought. Who will take it upon himself to call for order?
Lord Doris was present inside the larger and quiet hall with the conference table, the same that had hosted the wedding in autumn. The stone throne visible through the open doors at the other end, but empty. Next to him sat Lord Brakis and Sir Rik. Lord Holt without his son and Sir Damian Cato, Lord Sula’s Shield across from them. Lord Holt gave him a stare and the other lords just acknowledged him, as he found one of the empty chairs to sit.
“Sir Rik,” Storm said politely to the scowling knight. “I hope you are well.”
“Lord Nattas, I was held for weeks without reason, or fault. This is an outrage!” Sir Rik exploded and Storm nodded.
“You are absolutely right.”
Sir Rick blinked taken by surprise and several of the others present murmured at his admission.
“It’s the truth,” Storm told them. “Sir Rik was held for political expediency.”
“What do you mean?” The Knight asked him, his sole eye narrowing.
“Had King Alistair not done so, Scaldingport and Regia would have been at war now,” Storm explained to him.
“Because of what the High King said?” Sir Rik queried. “I’ve seen the attack, Lord Nattas. It was unprovoked. My father would never have agreed to participate—”
“Good grief Sir Knight,” Storm stopped him from embarrassing himself. “You were doing fine for a while, but then…anyways, I’ve spoken truthfully afore. I’ll ask for the same courtesy at this crucial hour.”
The Knight from Scaldingport bowed his head chastised. “You’re right Lord Nattas.”
“Regia will release you and your entourage immediately, dear Sir Rik,” Lord Doris told him. “We have reserved quarters for yourself and your men, as well for the other knights of your city currently present.”
“Scaldingport has sent a force here?” Sir Rik De Weer asked a little surprised.
“With Prince Jeremy,” Lord Doris elucidated. “I intent to knight him tomorrow, so I invite you to participate Sir Rik. It will be a short and simple ceremony due to the circumstances.”
Wait… what in Oras Hells? Storm thought and stared at Lord Doris. Lord Holt appeared to share his sentiments.
“Lord Treasurer, the Prince has barely used a sword in his short days and you’re going to knight him?” He admonished Lord Doris, who while worn out and in mourning having lost both a son and his cousin the King, cast a glare on the older Lord.
“Prince Heir should be a knight at the very least,” Doris said and Lord Holt’s fist landed on the table’s surface with a bang, rattling the goblets and cutlery in front of him.
“Sir Lucius is the Prince Heir! Why, he’s the king rightly so,” the Lord of Asturia and Shield of the late King retorted.
Lord Doris sat back and looked at Lord Brakis.
“The moment the Herald announces the King has perished,” the Master of Sea said, huffing and puffing, in his baritone voice. “We must declare a successor. Typically it has already happened. Lucius isn’t here though Lord Holt. How are we going to have him sit on that throne?”
“I’ve already sent message to Asturia,” Lord Holt replied. “They will contact Canutia.”
“Regia can’t wait a month, or two Lord Holt!” Lord Doris snarled, angrier than Storm had ever seen him. While justified to a degree, this wasn’t as simple as he’d made it out to be.
“You want to put Jeremy on the throne with Kaltha’s blades on our necks?” Lord Holt asked him seething. “They cut down Sir Deimos!”
Lord Doris closed his eyes to control himself, his hair turned mostly white, face pale and aged preternaturally in just a couple of months of absence. Probably though it had all happened in the last two weeks, Storm thought.
“I’m well aware Lord Holt,” he managed to say a moment later. “Prince Jeremy will ensure peace and that Kaltha will stand down. You heard it from Antoon’s mouth!”
“Bah, Gods curse him!” Lord Holt grunted dismissively.
“King Alistair won the battle. The High King got smacked down,” Sir Cato intervened, Lord Sula’s Shield and representative. “This is a defeatist proposal not shared by Lord Sula. Lord Holt’s position hold’s merit and the Lord of Demames support.”
These are two High Lords votes for Lucius, Storm thought.
“Illirium will back Lord Doris. Lord De Weer comes very close with Regia if Jeremy assumes the throne,” Lord Brakis said, casting his vote on the other bracket.
“Scaldingport is bound to us either way!” Lord Holt snapped angrily, tossing a murderous glare at the overweight Lord Brakis.
“Lord Ruud would prefer to see Jeremy ascending the throne,” Sir Rik intervened and Storm snorted loudly. Of course he fucking would. “He’s young and fit. Married to a noble Lady,” the Knight of Scaldingport continued, praising his sister.
Storm would have laughed out loud and walked out of the meeting, had the matter not being of grave importance for the Realm.
“My Lords,” he said standing up. “Regia needs time to make the right decision.”
“Lord Nattas, while you are right, this is something we are aware,” Lord Doris hissed. “If you can’t offer anything concrete, I advise you to remain quiet.”
Stick to your fucking coin gathering you buffoon!
With a sigh Storm raised his hands to get the Lords attention. The mood had turned from pensive to hostile not even an hour after the King’s death. Tomorrow we might be fighting amongst ourselves, he thought.
“Prince Jeremy is young—”
“He turned seventeen, that’s a fine age,” Lord Brakis interrupted him and while Storm liked the Admiral, he wished him to choke on his spit and die with his fat mouth open alike a fish.
“He’s young,” Storm continued pressing on despite the murmurs from the unruly lords. “And in need of some time to get up to speed, with a looming crisis on our hands. We could give him the time, or offer the same courtesy to Prince Lucius by putting a regent on the throne.”
“A regent?” Lord Holt said looking at him unsure.
“Lord Ursus supports Jeremy,” Lord Doris said. “We have the votes Lord Nattas.”
“Not if the Queen casts Cartagen’s vote for Lucius, Lord Doris,” Storm replied.
“The Queen… shall vote for Jeremy,” Lord Doris said over the loud murmurs of the other lords.
“You presume to know the Queen’s mind?” Lord Holt admonished him, although Storm believed Lord Doris Alden had slipped there and told them the truth.
Ah, this isn’t going well.
“How is placing the Queen as regent not a better solution Lord Doris?” Storm asked him. “Three months, six at the most and Jeremy would have a better grasp of what’s going on in his domain. He has barely left Cartagen and you know it.”
“You wish to give Lucius the time to return,” Lord Doris said thinking about it. “What about the High King?”
“He can hardly argue against the Queen assuming the role,” Storm replied.
“Asturia won’t declare for Jeremy,” Lord Holt said with finality. “We might consider Queen Miranda as regent, if the matter remains open on the next king.”
“This can’t be done,” Lord Brakis disagreed. “We have to give a clear message to the people.”
“Nobody in here cares about the people,” Storm said the quiet part out loud. “We just need time.”
“My sister won’t accept the regency,” Lord Doris said. “We need time Lord Nattas, but war is upon us, you’ll have her fight it? A woman?”
“You’ll support her Lord Doris,” Storm argued. “Wouldn’t you? How about you Lord Brakis? Lord Holt? Sir Cato? Would you support your King’s widow?”
“We have the votes Lord Nattas,” Brakis insisted and Storm clenched his jaw, his undershirt drenched in sweat. “With Lord Ursus vote—”
“Lord Ursus’ cousin was the culprit Lord Brakis!” Storm snapped losing his temper. “The Lord of Novesium might well be implicated himself! You’ll have the King’s assassins decide his successor?”
Lord Brakis turned white and sat back on his seat.
“Do you know this for sure?” Lord Doris asked him.
“There is plenty of evidence pointing at him, my Lords,” Storm lied through his teeth. “Soon I will know for certain. I suggest distancing thyselves from him in the meantime.”
“On that note, let’s take a moment to collect our thoughts,” Lord Holt said, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued after Storm’s bold accusation. “Lord Doris, you will speak with the Queen?”
“I shall,” Lord Doris yielded. “If she decides as I suspect she will, Lord Nattas’ proposal will be null and void.”
Not if I talk with your sister first, Lord Nattas thought, offering the warmest and phoniest of smiles to the scowling Lord Treasurer.
Storm got out of the meeting walking briskly and made to rush to the Queen’s quarters, but heard commotion down the long corridor leading outside of the palace. He headed there noticing Secundus amidst the small crowd of Knights and guards.
“Who was it?” Sir Barnard asked and a palace guard stepped forward.
“Sir Brock,” he said pointing to the one of the two bodies on the stone floor. The other that of the young squire Calvus. “He recognized the King’s sword, but the lad wouldn’t give it up.”
“Who killed the knight?”
Sir Brock had his throat slit from side to side.
The Guard pointed at Secundus. “He was standing over him.”
Hmm, Secundus rarely uses his dagger.
“Adrian Calvus was the King’s squire, Sir Barnard,” Storm said stepping forward to save his man. “I knew the young man well,” Nattas added, although he didn’t.
“I’m aware Lord Nattas,” Sir Barnard rustled not happy with the mess. “The lad is still breathing.”
Ah.
Storm had knelt over the young man in the meantime. His leg protested, but Storm’s pain tolerance was immense. Adrian had a deep cut on his shoulder, the flesh split there to the bone and bleeding heavily. His strained face white. That’s another fucking mess.
“Sir Brock was on Lord Brakis entourage,” Sir Barnard explained. “Probably wanted to take the King’s sword—”
He never got the chance to finish.
“So he cut down Calvus for it?” Storm hissed, examining the young man’s body for the famed weapon. “Where is it?”
“Milord?” Sir Barnard asked.
“The sword, where is it?” Storm asked again and Calvus opened his hazy eyes.
“Sudi…” He mumbled and Storm frowned.
Shite.
There’s your knife wielding cutthroat bastard.
“What did he say?” Sir Barnard asked stooping over Storm and he got up forcing him to back away.
“He’s delirious from blood loss,” Storm deadpanned. “Incoherent. Secundus get him to a dottore!”
“What about the King’s sword Lord Nattas?” Sir Barnard queried, suddenly interested. Had Storm not noticed it was missing, these fools would probably be still debating about who got the jump on the other first.
Storm glared at the guards gathered around them. “Everyone here must be searched,” he told the Knight. “Find out who took it, Sir Barnard. I have every faith you’ll get to the bottom of this, however unlikely—”
“There was another man, but he run away,” a palace guard said interrupting him.
“What did he look like?” Storm snapped regarding the sharp-eyed guard with pure hatred.
“A hobbling Issir? I barely saw him for a moment,” the guard replied with a shrug. “I was trying to get your man off Sir Brock milord.”
“My man was trying to stop Sir Brock for murdering poor Calvus!” Storm admonished him. “An Issir that’s just fucking great!” He pretended outrage and glanced at Secundus, who had helped a barely responsive Calvus up in the meantime. “Go Secundus, the lad needs medical attention for crying out loud!”
“Lord Nattas we need to find the King’s sword,” Sir Barnard repeated and Storm who was trying to think on the repercussions flinched snapping out of his thoughts.
“Yes! Darn it. Make every effort good knight,” he ordered Sir Barnard. “Each one of you should help also,” Storm told the watching guards. “Don’t just stand there with cock in hand for fuck’s sake. Get on with it!”
“Where’s Sudi?” He asked Secundus the moment they had gotten outside the palace gates. The main square a hot cauldron of activity, with many civilians slowly gathering to watch the Legion’s return. The news will spread like wildfire, Storm thought anxiously. It’s probably already out.
“In yer carriage,” Secundus pointed at the side street, they usually parked it. “He slipped out of a side door.”
“He had it with him?”
“In his pants,” Secundus explained. “Slotted it down his left leg somehow.”
Storm frowned seeing the crowd circling the palace grounds.
“Oras Hells. Everyone and their blasted mother has seen him. He’s burned.”
Obviously Sudi couldn’t be seen with him in the near future, or ever again.
“He needs to lay low probably,” Secundus said reading his mind and checked on the barely conscious Calvus. “We better get him help milord, he’s bleeding a lot.”
“Get him in the carriage, then straight for my house,” Storm said and paused trying to think. “Sudi needs to leave the city. Send him to Verano’s inn to hide for starters and call for the Dottore.”
“What about the sword milord?” Secundus asked him and Storm assumed a stunned expression that turned irate in the next breath.
“What the fuck are you talking about? There was no sword there!” Lord Nattas barked and his man nodded in understanding.
“We better get him to the Dottore immediately,” he pointed after a thoughtful pause, but by then Storm had made up his mind, which was unfortunate for young Calvus.
“Get him to my place Secundus and then call for the doctor,” Storm told him, wishing there was another way around it, but regrettably this was the hand fate had dealt young Adrian. “Alas, despite our best efforts, our friend didn’t make it. Sir Brock shall carry the burden of this sin to his grave.”
No more needed to be said about it.
“What will you do milord?” Secundus asked him and Storm let out a deep sigh the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Buy time for Regia and myself,” he replied tiredly, several fresh wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “If I fail at it, I’ll have Calvus’ fate, or worse. Come to think of it, I’ll probably suffer much of the same, even if I succeed.”
Queen Miranda Alden became Regent of Regia after the High Lords agreed on it. The shock rippled through the Kingdom and paralyzed it, wasting the opening King Alistair had created for a swift end to the conflict.
The High King ordered the Second Foot to end its campaign and replenish its forces, turning his eyes on the soon to start campaign on Eplas. This gave Regia a respite. Lord Est Ravn went along with it, as he found himself stretched thin and with minimum support from the other Issir Lords, especially Scaldingport.
With young Jeremy rumored to have the consent of the Lords to ascent the throne and the news of Lucius stunning victory at Krakenfort and Krakenhall, the Kingdom split into two factions. Those preferring the policy of appeasement, like Lord Doris Alden, Lord Brakis and Lord Ursus, backed by Lord Ruud De Weer who had found himself in the envious position of having a daughter on the throne of Regia and those that flocked around Lord Holt of Asturia, mainly Lord Sula of Demames who wanted revenge from the Issirs for the Battle of the Turncoats. The latter faction supported Lucius bid for the throne, despite the backlash the exiled heir had received for his presumed ‘atrocities’ during the ‘Hundred Days’ campaign that had soured both Kaltha and Lesia to him.
Legatus Lucius bought himself time installing Duchess Zofia in Krakenhall. He then marched back to Rockfort and accepted Dier Vanzon’s surrender. Zofia entered in a trade agreement with Midlanor immediately, which alleviated the High King’s concerns to a point, but not Lord Anker’s, who begrudgingly bid his time waiting for an opportunity to deal with Lucius.
The months’ after the Battle of the Turncoats promised perhaps an end to the conflict, but it all came crashing down, due to a series of shocking events we’ll focus on later chapters. One of them being the Queen Regent stepping down not even three months later, leaving the throne to Jeremy. The gossip behind her decision ruinous for both her reputation and the -soon to be- young king. Queen Miranda’s disappearance from the public life adding fuel to the fire. Not even six months after the king’s death, instead of the public sentiment being in support of Alistair’s tragic widow and so soon after the loss of her only daughter, it turned against her.
Conveniently those most responsible for the chaos after the king’s demise, remained in the shadows, until the sword of justice came down upon all of them, whether at fault, or not.
Alistair Alden, first of his name, King of Regia, Lord of Cartagen and the ‘Stalwart Tiger’ of the Lorian Plains, had ascended the throne in 153 NC taking over from King Titus the Second and ruled with a firm hand for thirty seven years until his murder in the last month of Winter of 190 NC. He was laid to rest in the City of Alden, in his fifty eighth named year and was to be succeeded on the throne of Regia by King Jeremy the Second, the ‘Lacking’.
The unflattering moniker given to the young King for being the first in almost two hundred years to don the tiger’s crown without carrying famed Endariel.
Lord Sirio Veturius
Circa 206 NC
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter XXIII
-Conclusion-
(King Alistair Alden,
Stalwart Tiger of Regia.
Last month of winter 190 NC)
Lord Storm Nattas
The King of Regia
Part II
-The king is dead-
He’s gone Sir Barnard.
The King is dead.
—
Lord Storm Nattas,
Regia’s Master of Silence,
Baron of Moon’s Haven
& Keeper of the Golden Forest
Last week of Winter 190 NC
Storm tripped over his feet and almost went down right at the stairs leading inside the palace, but Secundus grabbed his arm and helped him. Lord Nattas grunted, sweating like a pig, despite the chill. The skies heavy, as clouds had gathered and another rainstorm was approaching.
He went through the double doors, guards and legionnaires moving about, knights and squires, the main square behind him packed full of armed men, with more coming. Storm walked down the dark hall, people bumping onto him, but no one taking the time to apologize. He’d seen the injured coming out of the carriages on stretches earlier. Many men, too many. The mood was pensive.
Lord Nattas reached the King’s quarters and spotted a pale Lord Doris collapsed on a chair, several officials near him. He went to talk him, but a one-armed Prefect stopped him, the veteran Legion officer looking haggard and even worse that Lord Doris.
“Prefect Ligur,” Storm said, remembering his name at the last moment, a testament to his sharpness under immense pressure, or just blind luck and he crooked his mouth into a grimace of sympathy. “You should get medical attention.”
“I had it burned and stitched in the field,” the officer rustled indifferently. “Lord Doris needs a moment milord.”
Eh, don’t we all? Storm thought. “He was hurt?”
“He lost his son. Sir Deimos,” Prefect Ligur explained, his eyes telling Storm to move along now.
Well that’s a fist up the arse.
“I understand, give him my condolences,” Storm mumbled and moved towards the door leading inside the King’s quarters. The large room located on the east side of the throne hall. Sir Barnard, his armour mangled on several spots and sporting a wild beard under his helm stopped him.
“Lord Holt is inside,” the knight told him. “The King is tired and won’t be receiving any visitors’ milord.”
For fuck’s sake.
“I’m Lord Nattas,” Storm growled, his anxiousness turning to anger. “Let me in, Sir Barnard!”
“I have orders to keep everyone out, Lord Nattas,” the hale knight replied setting his jaw.
“Was I mentioned specifically?” Storm dodged on the fly. Sir Barnard frowned deeply.
“I don’t believe… you weren’t, milord.”
“Do you know why?” Storm asked him. “It’s because I need to know what’s going on. Move aside Sir Barnard.”
The knight grunted, but stepped out of his way. Storm grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. He walked in and closed the door behind him.
The old Lord of Asturia raised his head hearing him enter. Lord Holt was sitting on a chair, next to the king’s bed, a young squire standing next to the window facing the main square. Storm narrowed his eyes and scanned the premises, but didn’t see anyone else in there.
“The Dottore left,” Lord Holt informed him. “He did all he could.”
“How serious is it?” Storm asked walking near the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of the king’s face.
Lord Holt grimaced. He was almost King Alistair’s age. Perhaps a year older. The King was fifty eight. The lines on his face deep and not all of them from age. The gossip was that had old Lord Holt be given a choice, he’d never have left the army, or the Legion. But Asturia couldn’t govern itself.
“We patched it up in Sabertooth Castle. Enough to make the journey back. The dottore said he should have died on the spot. Almost twenty days ago,” he sighed and pushed himself up. Lord Holt was taller than Storm even at his age. “Alistair decided differently.”
Dammit.
No.
Now what?
Damn ye Abrakas! You cunt that’s not what I meant! May you catch rot in the throat and swallow shite to eternity!
“The Issirs did it? In the fucking Conference?” He grunted unable to keep it civil. Lord Holt eyed him strangely.
“Optio Marcus Ursus was the culprit,” Lord Holt said and Storm stood back stunned.
“Wait… it was an assassination attempt?”
He remembered Maja’s words. The ‘client’ had cancelled the contract. More like taken her out of the picture and then given it to someone else.
“Aye. I have no clue what happened. I didn’t see it and I was standing right there, negotiating with the Issirs. Lord Ursus cousin no less. I knew the man for Goddess’ sake!”
Storm puffed his cheeks out and stared at the bed where the King of Regia lay with his eyes closed.
Lord Holt put a hand on his shoulder interrupting his thoughts.
“Is Prince Jeremy still in Scaldingport?” He asked him and the Master of Silence for Regia looked into the old Lord’s solemn face, more weirded out than he was a moment before.
“He is here in Alden. Arrived about… a couple of weeks back. Why?”
“Uhm. Who sent for him?” Lord Holt asked, not replying. Storm felt the hand on his shoulder heavy. It suddenly bothered him, the casual comforting gesture.
“Lord Doris. What’s this Lord Holt? What is Jeremy has to do with this?”
“Probably nothing by himself, but we need to make sure, Lord Nattas,” the King’s Shield replied eyeing him. “You have the means to do what’s necessary?”
Storm pushed the hand off of his shoulder and took a step back alarmed.
“What’s necessary? The hell does that mean Lord Holt?” He croaked, not believing what he was hearing.
Lord Holt smacked his lips, old face firm and the light green eyes on it pitiless. “You know darn well, Lord Nattas. Time is of the essence, you know the King’s wishes.”
Storm felt his mouth drying up. “These are not… The King would never order this Lord Holt!”
“The King wants the crown and his sword to go to Lucius,” Lord Holt replied and stared at him disgusted. “This isn’t the time to be sentimental Lord Nattas.”
“Jeremy wouldn’t challenge his brother,” Storm snapped, but no sooner than the words left his mouth, he knew this wasn’t true. Storm didn’t know what the young prince had in mind and then it didn’t much matter as Lord Holt had quickly pointed out.
“They would. They’ll put him on that throne Lord Nattas. The moment we step out of this room, it shall be a moment too late. We must take the option off the table for them.”
Storm couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t do this to Miranda.
The thought of the Queen made his eyes blur and the room started to spin.
“Who’s they Lord Holt?” He grunted, feeling sick.
“Does it matter?” He replied and shook his head. “I thought you were more cynical than this Lord Nattas.”
“What if Lucius gets killed in the North?” Storm murmured, suddenly looking worse than the dying king. “We’ll have left Regia without an heir for crying out loud!” He finished shaking all over and too anxious to realize it.
“Bah! What’s the matter with you?” Lord Holt grunted and walked away. He stopped at the door and turned to glare at him. “The decision won’t always be in your hands Lord Nattas. Lord Brakis is going to release Sir Rik and by then it’ll be too late. We’ll have to act before the old Crow takes the matter into his own hands.”
Uh? What in Abrakas flooded cellar is this?
“Sir Rik is a prisoner?” He croaked, very confused.
“On the King’s orders. To prevent Lord Ruud from learning about Antoon’s proposal first hand.”
Storm licked his dry lips and felt his mouth all gluey.
“What was the proposal?”
“Denounce Lucius and put Jeremy on the throne, in exchange for peace. Alistair disagreed, but most thought it a small price to pay to avoid war. They are willing to fight us for it,” Lord Holt replied without mincing his words.
Storm rubbed at his forehead, everything bothering him. Lord Holt gave him another disappointed look and added before departing. “I don’t know what happened to you Lord Nattas. But you better snap out of it lad.”
I’m fucking the Queen, Storm thought watching the closed door and the King’s voice coming from his bed almost startled him to death.
“Is that you Nattas?” King Alistair rustled and pushed himself up on the headrest, his face pale and gaunt, but his eyes gleaming.
“My king, you should rest,” Storm mumbled, his hands shaking so much, he had to clasp them tight before his stomach to stop it.
“Plenty of time… for that,” Alistair grunted and tried to raise his head some more using the tall headrest for leverage. “Send for reinforcements. They should march on Riverdor and cut off the Second Foot. Prevent them from retreating beyond the river,” he paused and clenched his jaw hard to combat a jolt of pain. “Smash them there and Antoon will sue for peace.”
“My king, we are in Alden,” Storm said with difficulty.
“Who gave the order?”
“Ahm, I don’t know, but I heard it was important to retreat,” Storm replied.
“Argh, curse them!” Alistair growled and closed his eyes. “It was a bluff… he doesn’t have the support and he will lose the north soon.”
“Antoon? My King you don’t know that—”
“Silence!” The King snarled and glared at him. “Stop being a coward Nattas! Damn weak-kneed lording’s and their short-sighted visions!” The latter not addressed at him.
Lord Nattas hang his head.
“What will Lesia do?”
“Forget about Lesia, they will only act if they see the win offered on a plate. Lesia won’t risk a darn thing unless her profits are threatened.”
“Lord Holt…” Storm paused unsure.
“Holt is a patriot, but he’s also a callous man Nattas,” the King replied. “He can’t run the Kingdom. Lucius… get him back, or give him the time to return.”
“Jeremy is here,” Storm said.
“Those that want a kid on the throne, don’t want to fight,” Alistair replied and breathed once heavy, the discussion exhausting to him. “If you’re scared to fight, then you’ve already lost Nattas and none of this matters. There can be no land, or titles, without a kingdom. No peace, without a strong Regia.”
“There might be another way, my King,” Storm said desperately and Alistair sighed disappointed.
“There’s no other… way,” the King of Regia whispered. “Lucius…” He closed his eyes and his gaunt face relaxed in a smile for the first time in years. “Ah, Vacia… there ye are girl,” Alistair said tenderly. “Queen o’ mine.”
Storm let out a horrified gasp realizing the King had expired and grasped the empty chair with both his hands to stay upright. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he almost went down on a knee. Storm heard someone walking near him and recoiled in panic, the young man with the haunted eyes stopping about a meter away. He held the King’s sword in its scabbard.
“Who are you?” Storm asked, unable to remember the face, his mind numb and his whole body still in shock.
“I’m Adrian Calvus,” the young man replied. “I’m the King’s squire.”
“Is that the King’s sword?” Storm croaked, fighting to get his mind in order.
“Aye milord. I’m to give it to Regia,” Adrian replied.
Ah, you poor fool, Storm thought. Regia is many different things now.
“Keep it out of the way… wait, follow me. We must get out of here,” Storm said and pointed at a small side door leading out of the bedroom. “Wait for me there,” he said and then turned to ring the bell hanging from the large sturdy bed. The main door opened and Sir Barnard burst inside alarmed. Upon seeing Lord Nattas standing next to the peaceful King he breathed once deeply and asked the silent query with his eyes.
“He’s gone, Sir Barnard,” Storm said gravely. “The King is dead.”
“Chief,” Secundus said seeing them coming out of the side door, following the passage leading away from the King’s quarters. “There are a lot of nervous people around. Who’s the lad?”
“Tell Sudi to send the bird,” Storm cut him off. “Ah, and get him out of here.”
“Is that?” Secundus asked frowning and Storm snapped at him.
“Now god darn it!”
He looked around them and saw Lord Brakis walking towards the throne room, followed by a dark faced Sir Rik De Weer. Storm groaned and rushed after them. He pushed and shoved his way there, people trying to sneak in and the guards confused as to who could enter the palace, or not. There were legionnaires moving about and city officials with curious eyes. If people get wind of this and come out, we might lose control of the situation completely, Storm thought. Who will take it upon himself to call for order?
Lord Doris was present inside the larger and quiet hall with the conference table, the same that had hosted the wedding in autumn. The stone throne visible through the open doors at the other end, but empty. Next to him sat Lord Brakis and Sir Rik. Lord Holt without his son and Sir Damian Cato, Lord Sula’s Shield across from them. Lord Holt gave him a stare and the other lords just acknowledged him, as he found one of the empty chairs to sit.
“Sir Rik,” Storm said politely to the scowling knight. “I hope you are well.”
“Lord Nattas, I was held for weeks without reason, or fault. This is an outrage!” Sir Rik exploded and Storm nodded.
“You are absolutely right.”
Sir Rick blinked taken by surprise and several of the others present murmured at his admission.
“It’s the truth,” Storm told them. “Sir Rik was held for political expediency.”
“What do you mean?” The Knight asked him, his sole eye narrowing.
“Had King Alistair not done so, Scaldingport and Regia would have been at war now,” Storm explained to him.
“Because of what the High King said?” Sir Rik queried. “I’ve seen the attack, Lord Nattas. It was unprovoked. My father would never have agreed to participate—”
“Good grief Sir Knight,” Storm stopped him from embarrassing himself. “You were doing fine for a while, but then…anyways, I’ve spoken truthfully afore. I’ll ask for the same courtesy at this crucial hour.”
The Knight from Scaldingport bowed his head chastised. “You’re right Lord Nattas.”
“Regia will release you and your entourage immediately, dear Sir Rik,” Lord Doris told him. “We have reserved quarters for yourself and your men, as well for the other knights of your city currently present.”
“Scaldingport has sent a force here?” Sir Rik De Weer asked a little surprised.
“With Prince Jeremy,” Lord Doris elucidated. “I intent to knight him tomorrow, so I invite you to participate Sir Rik. It will be a short and simple ceremony due to the circumstances.”
Wait… what in Oras Hells? Storm thought and stared at Lord Doris. Lord Holt appeared to share his sentiments.
“Lord Treasurer, the Prince has barely used a sword in his short days and you’re going to knight him?” He admonished Lord Doris, who while worn out and in mourning having lost both a son and his cousin the King, cast a glare on the older Lord.
“Prince Heir should be a knight at the very least,” Doris said and Lord Holt’s fist landed on the table’s surface with a bang, rattling the goblets and cutlery in front of him.
“Sir Lucius is the Prince Heir! Why, he’s the king rightly so,” the Lord of Asturia and Shield of the late King retorted.
Lord Doris sat back and looked at Lord Brakis.
“The moment the Herald announces the King has perished,” the Master of Sea said, huffing and puffing, in his baritone voice. “We must declare a successor. Typically it has already happened. Lucius isn’t here though Lord Holt. How are we going to have him sit on that throne?”
“I’ve already sent message to Asturia,” Lord Holt replied. “They will contact Canutia.”
“Regia can’t wait a month, or two Lord Holt!” Lord Doris snarled, angrier than Storm had ever seen him. While justified to a degree, this wasn’t as simple as he’d made it out to be.
“You want to put Jeremy on the throne with Kaltha’s blades on our necks?” Lord Holt asked him seething. “They cut down Sir Deimos!”
Lord Doris closed his eyes to control himself, his hair turned mostly white, face pale and aged preternaturally in just a couple of months of absence. Probably though it had all happened in the last two weeks, Storm thought.
“I’m well aware Lord Holt,” he managed to say a moment later. “Prince Jeremy will ensure peace and that Kaltha will stand down. You heard it from Antoon’s mouth!”
“Bah, Gods curse him!” Lord Holt grunted dismissively.
“King Alistair won the battle. The High King got smacked down,” Sir Cato intervened, Lord Sula’s Shield and representative. “This is a defeatist proposal not shared by Lord Sula. Lord Holt’s position hold’s merit and the Lord of Demames support.”
These are two High Lords votes for Lucius, Storm thought.
“Illirium will back Lord Doris. Lord De Weer comes very close with Regia if Jeremy assumes the throne,” Lord Brakis said, casting his vote on the other bracket.
“Scaldingport is bound to us either way!” Lord Holt snapped angrily, tossing a murderous glare at the overweight Lord Brakis.
“Lord Ruud would prefer to see Jeremy ascending the throne,” Sir Rik intervened and Storm snorted loudly. Of course he fucking would. “He’s young and fit. Married to a noble Lady,” the Knight of Scaldingport continued, praising his sister.
Storm would have laughed out loud and walked out of the meeting, had the matter not being of grave importance for the Realm.
“My Lords,” he said standing up. “Regia needs time to make the right decision.”
“Lord Nattas, while you are right, this is something we are aware,” Lord Doris hissed. “If you can’t offer anything concrete, I advise you to remain quiet.”
Stick to your fucking coin gathering you buffoon!
With a sigh Storm raised his hands to get the Lords attention. The mood had turned from pensive to hostile not even an hour after the King’s death. Tomorrow we might be fighting amongst ourselves, he thought.
“Prince Jeremy is young—”
“He turned seventeen, that’s a fine age,” Lord Brakis interrupted him and while Storm liked the Admiral, he wished him to choke on his spit and die with his fat mouth open alike a fish.
“He’s young,” Storm continued pressing on despite the murmurs from the unruly lords. “And in need of some time to get up to speed, with a looming crisis on our hands. We could give him the time, or offer the same courtesy to Prince Lucius by putting a regent on the throne.”
“A regent?” Lord Holt said looking at him unsure.
“Lord Ursus supports Jeremy,” Lord Doris said. “We have the votes Lord Nattas.”
“Not if the Queen casts Cartagen’s vote for Lucius, Lord Doris,” Storm replied.
“The Queen… shall vote for Jeremy,” Lord Doris said over the loud murmurs of the other lords.
“You presume to know the Queen’s mind?” Lord Holt admonished him, although Storm believed Lord Doris Alden had slipped there and told them the truth.
Ah, this isn’t going well.
“How is placing the Queen as regent not a better solution Lord Doris?” Storm asked him. “Three months, six at the most and Jeremy would have a better grasp of what’s going on in his domain. He has barely left Cartagen and you know it.”
“You wish to give Lucius the time to return,” Lord Doris said thinking about it. “What about the High King?”
“He can hardly argue against the Queen assuming the role,” Storm replied.
“Asturia won’t declare for Jeremy,” Lord Holt said with finality. “We might consider Queen Miranda as regent, if the matter remains open on the next king.”
“This can’t be done,” Lord Brakis disagreed. “We have to give a clear message to the people.”
“Nobody in here cares about the people,” Storm said the quiet part out loud. “We just need time.”
“My sister won’t accept the regency,” Lord Doris said. “We need time Lord Nattas, but war is upon us, you’ll have her fight it? A woman?”
“You’ll support her Lord Doris,” Storm argued. “Wouldn’t you? How about you Lord Brakis? Lord Holt? Sir Cato? Would you support your King’s widow?”
“We have the votes Lord Nattas,” Brakis insisted and Storm clenched his jaw, his undershirt drenched in sweat. “With Lord Ursus vote—”
“Lord Ursus’ cousin was the culprit Lord Brakis!” Storm snapped losing his temper. “The Lord of Novesium might well be implicated himself! You’ll have the King’s assassins decide his successor?”
Lord Brakis turned white and sat back on his seat.
“Do you know this for sure?” Lord Doris asked him.
“There is plenty of evidence pointing at him, my Lords,” Storm lied through his teeth. “Soon I will know for certain. I suggest distancing thyselves from him in the meantime.”
“On that note, let’s take a moment to collect our thoughts,” Lord Holt said, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued after Storm’s bold accusation. “Lord Doris, you will speak with the Queen?”
“I shall,” Lord Doris yielded. “If she decides as I suspect she will, Lord Nattas’ proposal will be null and void.”
Not if I talk with your sister first, Lord Nattas thought, offering the warmest and phoniest of smiles to the scowling Lord Treasurer.
Storm got out of the meeting walking briskly and made to rush to the Queen’s quarters, but heard commotion down the long corridor leading outside of the palace. He headed there noticing Secundus amidst the small crowd of Knights and guards.
“Who was it?” Sir Barnard asked and a palace guard stepped forward.
“Sir Brock,” he said pointing to the one of the two bodies on the stone floor. The other that of the young squire Calvus. “He recognized the King’s sword, but the lad wouldn’t give it up.”
“Who killed the knight?”
Sir Brock had his throat slit from side to side.
The Guard pointed at Secundus. “He was standing over him.”
Hmm, Secundus rarely uses his dagger.
“Adrian Calvus was the King’s squire, Sir Barnard,” Storm said stepping forward to save his man. “I knew the young man well,” Nattas added, although he didn’t.
“I’m aware Lord Nattas,” Sir Barnard rustled not happy with the mess. “The lad is still breathing.”
Ah.
Storm had knelt over the young man in the meantime. His leg protested, but Storm’s pain tolerance was immense. Adrian had a deep cut on his shoulder, the flesh split there to the bone and bleeding heavily. His strained face white. That’s another fucking mess.
“Sir Brock was on Lord Brakis entourage,” Sir Barnard explained. “Probably wanted to take the King’s sword—”
He never got the chance to finish.
“So he cut down Calvus for it?” Storm hissed, examining the young man’s body for the famed weapon. “Where is it?”
“Milord?” Sir Barnard asked.
“The sword, where is it?” Storm asked again and Calvus opened his hazy eyes.
“Sudi…” He mumbled and Storm frowned.
Shite.
There’s your knife wielding cutthroat bastard.
“What did he say?” Sir Barnard asked stooping over Storm and he got up forcing him to back away.
“He’s delirious from blood loss,” Storm deadpanned. “Incoherent. Secundus get him to a dottore!”
“What about the King’s sword Lord Nattas?” Sir Barnard queried, suddenly interested. Had Storm not noticed it was missing, these fools would probably be still debating about who got the jump on the other first.
Storm glared at the guards gathered around them. “Everyone here must be searched,” he told the Knight. “Find out who took it, Sir Barnard. I have every faith you’ll get to the bottom of this, however unlikely—”
“There was another man, but he run away,” a palace guard said interrupting him.
“What did he look like?” Storm snapped regarding the sharp-eyed guard with pure hatred.
“A hobbling Issir? I barely saw him for a moment,” the guard replied with a shrug. “I was trying to get your man off Sir Brock milord.”
“My man was trying to stop Sir Brock for murdering poor Calvus!” Storm admonished him. “An Issir that’s just fucking great!” He pretended outrage and glanced at Secundus, who had helped a barely responsive Calvus up in the meantime. “Go Secundus, the lad needs medical attention for crying out loud!”
“Lord Nattas we need to find the King’s sword,” Sir Barnard repeated and Storm who was trying to think on the repercussions flinched snapping out of his thoughts.
“Yes! Darn it. Make every effort good knight,” he ordered Sir Barnard. “Each one of you should help also,” Storm told the watching guards. “Don’t just stand there with cock in hand for fuck’s sake. Get on with it!”
“Where’s Sudi?” He asked Secundus the moment they had gotten outside the palace gates. The main square a hot cauldron of activity, with many civilians slowly gathering to watch the Legion’s return. The news will spread like wildfire, Storm thought anxiously. It’s probably already out.
“In yer carriage,” Secundus pointed at the side street, they usually parked it. “He slipped out of a side door.”
“He had it with him?”
“In his pants,” Secundus explained. “Slotted it down his left leg somehow.”
Storm frowned seeing the crowd circling the palace grounds.
“Oras Hells. Everyone and their blasted mother has seen him. He’s burned.”
Obviously Sudi couldn’t be seen with him in the near future, or ever again.
“He needs to lay low probably,” Secundus said reading his mind and checked on the barely conscious Calvus. “We better get him help milord, he’s bleeding a lot.”
“Get him in the carriage, then straight for my house,” Storm said and paused trying to think. “Sudi needs to leave the city. Send him to Verano’s inn to hide for starters and call for the Dottore.”
“What about the sword milord?” Secundus asked him and Storm assumed a stunned expression that turned irate in the next breath.
“What the fuck are you talking about? There was no sword there!” Lord Nattas barked and his man nodded in understanding.
“We better get him to the Dottore immediately,” he pointed after a thoughtful pause, but by then Storm had made up his mind, which was unfortunate for young Calvus.
“Get him to my place Secundus and then call for the doctor,” Storm told him, wishing there was another way around it, but regrettably this was the hand fate had dealt young Adrian. “Alas, despite our best efforts, our friend didn’t make it. Sir Brock shall carry the burden of this sin to his grave.”
No more needed to be said about it.
“What will you do milord?” Secundus asked him and Storm let out a deep sigh the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Buy time for Regia and myself,” he replied tiredly, several fresh wrinkles appearing on his forehead. “If I fail at it, I’ll have Calvus’ fate, or worse. Come to think of it, I’ll probably suffer much of the same, even if I succeed.”
Queen Miranda Alden became Regent of Regia after the High Lords agreed on it. The shock rippled through the Kingdom and paralyzed it, wasting the opening King Alistair had created for a swift end to the conflict.
The High King ordered the Second Foot to end its campaign and replenish its forces, turning his eyes on the soon to start campaign on Eplas. This gave Regia a respite. Lord Est Ravn went along with it, as he found himself stretched thin and with minimum support from the other Issir Lords, especially Scaldingport.
With young Jeremy rumored to have the consent of the Lords to ascent the throne and the news of Lucius stunning victory at Krakenfort and Krakenhall, the Kingdom split into two factions. Those preferring the policy of appeasement, like Lord Doris Alden, Lord Brakis and Lord Ursus, backed by Lord Ruud De Weer who had found himself in the envious position of having a daughter on the throne of Regia and those that flocked around Lord Holt of Asturia, mainly Lord Sula of Demames who wanted revenge from the Issirs for the Battle of the Turncoats. The latter faction supported Lucius bid for the throne, despite the backlash the exiled heir had received for his presumed ‘atrocities’ during the ‘Hundred Days’ campaign that had soured both Kaltha and Lesia to him.
Legatus Lucius bought himself time installing Duchess Zofia in Krakenhall. He then marched back to Rockfort and accepted Dier Vanzon’s surrender. Zofia entered in a trade agreement with Midlanor immediately, which alleviated the High King’s concerns to a point, but not Lord Anker’s, who begrudgingly bid his time waiting for an opportunity to deal with Lucius.
The months’ after the Battle of the Turncoats promised perhaps an end to the conflict, but it all came crashing down, due to a series of shocking events we’ll focus on later chapters. One of them being the Queen Regent stepping down not even three months later, leaving the throne to Jeremy. The gossip behind her decision ruinous for both her reputation and the -soon to be- young king. Queen Miranda’s disappearance from the public life adding fuel to the fire. Not even six months after the king’s death, instead of the public sentiment being in support of Alistair’s tragic widow and so soon after the loss of her only daughter, it turned against her.
Conveniently those most responsible for the chaos after the king’s demise, remained in the shadows, until the sword of justice came down upon all of them, whether at fault, or not.
Alistair Alden, first of his name, King of Regia, Lord of Cartagen and the ‘Stalwart Tiger’ of the Lorian Plains, had ascended the throne in 153 NC taking over from King Titus the Second and ruled with a firm hand for thirty seven years until his murder in the last month of Winter of 190 NC. He was laid to rest in the City of Alden, in his fifty eighth named year and was to be succeeded on the throne of Regia by King Jeremy the Second, the ‘Lacking’.
The unflattering moniker given to the young King for being the first in almost two hundred years to don the tiger’s crown without carrying famed Endariel.
Lord Sirio Veturius
Circa 206 NC
The Fall of Heroes
Chapter XXIII
-Conclusion-
(King Alistair Alden,
Stalwart Tiger of Regia.
Last month of winter 190 NC)
