THE KING'S DAUGHTER - Chapter Three (the game begins)
Urlian came to, but kept his eyes shut during the not so gentle washing of cold spring water on his aching face. The nose was not broken, but badly bruised and swollen. Laying on what he presumed was his bed, Urlian listened to the swishing of a cloth in the basin of water that sat on a stand near the bed. There was a small splash, then the sound of liquid being squeezed out of the haven of the rag, back into the lake of sandalwood scented water. A few steps towards the bedstead sounded, and then the return of the dabbling and scrubbing around his tender proboscis. He flinched.
“Milord… milord? Master, are ye awake? Milord?”
A wary and bloodshot eye eased open. “’Tis a good thing it is you, Balin. I do not think I could have survived the tender ministrations of that she-wolf. I thought it was her coming to finish off what the Captain started. Damn him… hand me a mirror, Balin.” His voice gained in strength as he sat up.
Balin handed the Viscount a polished silver mirror, the back decorated with knotwork of superior quality. The first thing he noticed when he glanced in the mirror was that his once elegantly shaped nose now looked like a black and thoroughly rotten tomato. The once patrician nose, the jewel in the frame of his face was now spoiled. For the time being. This discovery did nothing to aid his already foul mood. Growing frustrated at his reflection, he tossed the heirloom mirror behind him, where it hit the wall with a thud, then fell with a clatter to the cold stone floor. Looking about, he noticed that his clothing trunks were open and half-packed with his court finery. Jewel colored velvets, sheer silks, and the finest of linens, were all thrown haphazard into the cedar chests. His father, the Duke, was not going to be pleased when that missive Manann wrote reaches him.
They destroyed his future; Aibell, the spawn of a whore and a coward, Manann, King of Maicair Caylus, who was not his King by right; Urlian was a member of the Elvish race that had its kingdom in the southern mountains, the southern most empire, excluding the vast Unclaimed Wilderness. The long trek back to exile took about two months, if one traversed south through Oak and Ash filled Northern Forest to Feenoriah. The vast Feenorian plains gave way to the Pine and Cedar filled Kingdom of Misthaven, ruled by the Pixxish. A short jaunt avoiding the Pixxi, and he would be safely encased in shame when he crossed the borders into the Elvish Kingdom Ruhullald. South, down the River Taigih, to his father’s dukedom, where he was sure to be humiliated, shamed, embarrassed and disgraced when his father broke open the sealing wax to unleash the torrent of lies that Manann had concocted to punish him.
“Milord?” The timid question broke Urlian out of his reverie.
“What?” Urlian snapped the word, for his nose was throbbing and adding to the tension that had already begun to gather behind his eyes.
“I-I don’t mean to be rude, milord, but that great boar, the Cap’in, has guards stationed at the door with orders to accompany ye off the Castle lands before the moon is overhead. I have already started packing milord, but where are we to stay? Are we goin’ home then? Why are we--”
“Balin, do us both a favor and shut up. The babble spewing from your mouth is making my head hurt. I have been exiled back to the Southern Mountains. Apparently the Princess doesn’t desire me as a suitor, thus has had the King banish me back to my father’s little hill. I could have been sovereign of this land, if she had not of cheated me out of it! Balin, just get everything ready for our immediate departure.” The servant began to pack things into the large trunks. “Wait. Fetch me a footman before you start. We are going to stay at Heighlien Village. It is across the river, and south enough to let Manann think that we are on our way back to Ruhullald.”
Balin dropped the ivy green doublet, encrusted with a small fortune of peridot and citrine into the cedar box and made a beeline to the door to leave. As he was about to shut the door closed, he heard Urlian speak, so he paused. “Balin, do not believe any gossip you are sure to hear. You are likely to be asked all you know about me being cast from the Fey kingdom. Tell them you know naught, and you shall be rewarded amply. Go along now.” Balin closed the door and shook his head. His master was a mean one, alright. However, if he did as he was bid, there was a good possibility that he would be rewarded. There was as good a chance of getting Urlian’s prized dirk entrenched between his ribs.
Shortly after Balin left, a rather harassed footman knocked on the solid oak door. The door flew open unexpectedly; an arm shot out and yanked the footman through the portal. Bowing, the footman waited for his instructions.
“Go immediately to Heighlien Village, and reserve a room at the pub…what is it called? Oh yes, The Crowing Cock. Mind you, I will not waste good silver on the public room or a loft in the stable. While you are there, arrange for the local healer to visit me.” Turning, he bent over and started rummaging in the nearest chest. Finding the woolen pouch dyed with woad, he stood up and tossed it at the footman. The clink of solid silver coins echoed in the chamber. “That is enough to rent a room for two months for myself and my servant, for food, firewood, bathwater and wine… not to mention enough left over for you to pay the bride price of any maid hereabouts, and if you have some of your meager earnings saved, you may even be able to buy a house, that is, of course if you do not mention this to anyone. That is quite a bargain, is it not? A new life in exchange for silence, when you make a only a few copper coins every year come Lammastide for uttering ‘Yes, Milord; Yes, Milady,’ nonstop.” He cocked his head and grinned. What was once a very handsome smile now was a mockery. The bruising had spread from his nose outward to his forehead, cheeks and chin.
As hard as he could try, the footman tried not to watch the protruding, swollen and throbbing vein in the Viscount’s brow pulsate with every thump his heart made. The grotesque purple mask of his features got darker when the muscles contracted and forced the blood in his face to pool beneath the skin as he smiled.
“Aye, milord, right away, sir” The footman couldn’t wait to get out of there. As he left the castle, the thought to take the money and run never crossed his mind. He had seen it enough with other servants who thought they could get away with their crime. You do not try and trick the nobility, that is for damned sure. They always managed to get even in a most dreadful manner, since they seem to have the coin to purchase torment for their intended victims.
As the footman was leaving the courtyard, Balin made his way back to the Viscount’s chamber guarded by four burly sentries. Entering the room, he resumed his duties in packing for their departure. Speaking up hesitantly, Balin told the Viscount, ”I have made the arrangements, milord. There is a baggage cart waiting for yer trunks, yer horse is waiting to be saddled, and there is some food wrapped up in your saddle bag that I got from Cook.”
“Very good, Balin.” And with a casual flick of his wrist, a gold coin flipped through the air to land at the servant’s feet. This was more coin than what he earned in the eleven years of service to the Dukedom of Eisloh’n. “Finish packing so we can be rid of this place. I would leave while there is some daylight left.” With nothing to do, Urlian returned to his now stripped bed, and lay down for a restorative nap.
The Viscount awoke upon being shaken this time, a site better than the last, since this method did not involve his nose. “The baggage cart is loaded milord, and your horse awaits you.” Balin backed away from the bed. With little more ado, Urlian donned his cloak, strode out of the chamber that had been his home for the past six months, down the corridor, to initiate what was to become his exile into madness.
Thank you for reading! If you’d like more of the story, help yourself to the rest of the posted chapters: