Blitzz
A Friendly Brit
"But, your grace, I really think you should reconsi-"
"I said no, Vincent." Isaac's voice cut straight through the old Lord's mumbling, dominant and overpowering. A sky blue woolen cloak was draped accross his shoulders, a simple grey tunic underneath. The chain linking the shoulders of his cloak was iron, encrusted with sapphires. When the sun hit them right, it looked like a string of shining eyes, glimmering with curiosity. He looked a simple man; dirty blonde hair topping a handsome face, and the shadow of a new beard showed strong. He looked good for his age, having yet to find his first grey hair and his face was still as chiseled and flat as when he had been a teenager. His lips were thin and his mouth wide, the ends curved into a permanent but chilling smile. "There is no need of a tourney to celebrate the harvest. We have not done it before, I see no reason why we should waste all of the extra money we earn on a tourney, so that we have to pay even more money to winners." Lord Treasurer Moyses Vincent had always been a man for extravagance and indulgence. If he hadn't been a mathematical genius and financial miracle worker, King Isaac would have had him turned to onto the streets years ago. The fact remained, however, that there was no one who could fill the gap he would leave.
"As you wish, your grace. But know that your people crave entertainment, and you are depriving them." He looked expectantly at Isaac, as the rest of the Council sat at the table turned their eyes to him.
"Guard your tongue, Lord Vincent. If you're not careful, you may lose it." He had always ruled with an iron fist, but somehow his people adored him for it. He turned to Lord Tanner. "What news of the desert? Have the Li'ivi calmed yet?"
"No, your grace. The Iirikh Clan struck out at a caravan passing on its way to Felldor, from the Easterlands. They were cutting through, and were robbed. None were killed, however."
"I will go to them. I will talk to them and calm them, convince them we are not intent on stealing their lands."
"My King, I beg you to reconsider." Isaac threw Lord Southsun a sharp glance, and he silenced himself.
"I will leave one week from now. Lord Denton, you will make the arrangements." The young, black-haired renegade nodded in acceptance. "I am done with this council session. We shall meet again in a fortnight." Isaac stood, his long legs hoisting his 6'3" frame into the air. He turned and walked away from the table, as Ser Troy Barrett and Ser Levi Quinn came up to flank them, clad in elegant blue crystalline plate armor. The pauldrons were decorated with murals of a roaring griffin, a true work of art. They were halfway down the hall to his chambers when he said, "Ser Barrett, find my son Jonno and bring him here."
"You want it? Jump for it!" He was laughing wildly, as the small girl swung her thin arms wildly at it. Eventually, however, she got an idea. Whilst Rob held it high, she swung out and punched him in the stomach. Winded, he doubled over and dropped the bear. Layna grabbed it proudly and walked off.
"You had that coming." Jonno Herrin put his hand on Rob's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Jonno was older by four years, a bastard by birth, but legitimized by his father who married two years later. He was loved like all the others. Rob pushed him.
"Shut up, Jonno. She's stronger than she looks."
"Is she? Or have you just gone soft?" He was teasing him now.
"Shut up!" He punched his older brother on the arm. "I'm not soft!"
"Yeah you are, right here!" Jonno poked his stomach, beneath the boy's muscles into the soft flesh. Robert recoiled quickly and punched Jonno's arm again.
"Have you seen father this morning?"
"No I have not, he was not present at this morning's meal, and mother said he called a council session, so I doubt we'll be seeing him any time soon."
"Peculiar. He must be planning something, otherwise he wouldn't dare leave mother on her own in the morning. I wonder what he's up to."
"Whatever it is, I doubt it will concern us." As if on queue, Ser Troy Barrett appeared through the arched entryway to the courtyard. the sunlight was beating heavily on his crystal blue armor, dazzling the two boys as they turned to look at the approaching knight.
"Lord Jonno, Lord Robert."
"We are not Lords, Ser Barrett, you need not address us as such. What can we do for you?"Jonno was good with words, managing to befriend people with just a polite greeting.
"With all due respect, my Lord, you are the sons of King Isaac Herrin, and Lord Robert is heir to the Throne of Vorrindor. That does, by all rights, make you Lords, my Lord."
"Yes, I suppose by all rights it does. Very well, Ser Barrett, but it is customary to kneel when addressing a Lord." Ser Barrett looked at him suspiciously, and went to go down on one knee. "I am jesting with you, Ser Barrett! Rise, you damnable fool." Both sons let out a burst of laughter, whilst Ser Barrett smiled slightly as he got back to his feet. The Knight's face was mostly hidden by his helmet, but a pair of eyes as blue as his armor still showed through his metallic face.
"Jonno, your father wishes to speak with you in his chambers." The two boys looked to one another.
"Did he say what it was about?"
"No. Only that he wanted to see you. If you'd be so kind as to come with me." Jonno followed Ser Barrett as he lead him out of the courtyard and along the wide hallways until they were at the base of the tower that was home to his father's personal chambers. The climb was quick, and they were soon stood outside the heavy oak door. Jonno pushed it aside, and strode in. His father was sitting at his desk, scribbling with a quill onto some tattered paper, whilst Ser Levi Quinn stood just inside the door. Ser Barrett took up his position on the other side of the door.
"Some privacy, good Sers?" Isaac spoke without looking up, and both knights left to watch from outside the room.
"You wanted to see me, father?"
"I did, Jonno. Have a seat." Jonno shuffled over to a small wooden chair in the corner of the room."Do you know why I have called you here?"
"No, father."
"You are a bastard, Jonno. You are my son, of course, and I love you, but you are a bastard. As such, you cannot be the one to inherit the throne when I pass."
"I am aware father."
"Good. You cannot become an heir, but I have a plan for you."
"Go on?"
"You are a remarkable physical specimen, Jonno. You are tall, powerful, dominant, and at the same time graceful and agile and swift. You excel with a sword, a bow and are a talented rider. You are special, Jonno."
"Thank you, father. But, is there a point to this praise?"
"Since you have no claim to the Throne, I would ask that you undergo training with the men of my Royal Guard. Within the next three years, you will be one of them. You will forsake all rights to titles and land, and be known as Ser Jonno Herrin."
"My father, I would be honored."
"I'm glad to hear it. For the first part of your training, you will be accompanying me, Lord Denton and Lord Southsun, Ser Borra, Ser Quinn, Ser Blackwest and Ser Lynn to the desert. We are going to bring an end to the hostility between us and the Li'ivi once and for all."
"When do we leave?"
"I like your eagerness, child, but patience is a virtue. One week from now we leave. You have until then to prepare yourself. You may go now, my child." Jonno stood to leave. as he walked out, Ser Quinn and Ser Barrett looked at him and smiled, both with outstretched hands. He shook them both, realizing they had been listening.
"You will make a fine guard, Ser Herrin," Quinn said with a wink.
"I am a Treasurer, your Grace, not a diplomat. Sending me to negotiate is a mistake."
"You're the only one who knows the numbers, Vincent. It has to be you. Someone else might get it wrong."
"I'm honored your Grace, but I just don't think I'll be of any use."
"Take Mandra, take 50 of my men. that should be enough to get you west. Do a tour; start with our neighbors, then head northwest to Sondheim, then south to the Patriarchy. You should be back within the year. And, whilst you're in the Patriarchy's lands, see if you can recruit a few Yunta, if you can afford their price."
"My King, you are wise and powerful, but this is folly. You cannot send your Lord Treasurer away for a year!"
"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps not. We will only find out, however, once you leave. That is all, Lord Vincent." The man turned away from Isaac, his features screwed up in a mixture of fear, humiliation and rage. He slammed the door behind him like a child as he left, leaving Isaac alone with his thoughts. The Kivikoshi won't be able to afford all of our excess. We need to get rid of it somehow. Stone, food, all the extras need to go. We don't have the facilities to store them through the winter. Maybe... yes. We can get rid of some of to the Li'ivi, a sort of peace offering. If we can strike a deal with them... yes. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.
"Lord Marka, your Grace," Ser Quinn called out.
"Send him in." The door slid accross the carpeted floor of Isaac's chambers as Marka walked in. He was short for his age, but muscular and a skilled fighter. He had his mother's black hair, and her size, but had his father's handsome face. He was too young to yet be growing a beard, but the shadow was beginning to appear on his upper lip for the first time, even though the boy was only eleven.
"Father."
"Marka. What can I do for you, my boy?"
"You're leaving."
"Who told you?"
"I heard some of the men talking."
"I was going to tell you, just not yet."
"Why do you always go? Why do you have to do everything yourself? They're savages! They'll cut your legs off and eat them in front of you, they'll bury you in sand and let the Viryi eat out your eyes!"
"Those are all just foul stories, my child. The Dunedwellers \re just like you and me. They care about their families, their home. They feel like we are invading theirs. What if someone came here, my boy, and threatened to kill your sister, your mother, your brothers. What would you do?"
"I'd kill them! I'd kick them to the floor and stab them till they die!"
"Precisely, Marka. They feel threatened. All they need is a little reassurance. That's why it has to be me. Any of these other brutes will just anger them more. They need someone who is willing to accept their ways, and embrace them." A tear had begun to stream from Marka's eye. "Don't cry, my boy. It will be fine. I'll be back soon, and all the Dunedwellers will be friendly by then. You'll see."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Now run along, Layna is probably looking for you. She was calling after you for hide and seek earlier." Marka chuckled and ran out of the room. He wasn't even fully down the stairs when Isaac could hear him calling Layna's name. Isaac thought through the coming days. In four, he would leave for the Desert. In about three, Vincent would reach the Supremacy's capital. In about a week, more iron would arrive from the Kivikoshi city, so new building projects could get underway with the new resources. It would be an eventful month. The winds of war were rising. He could smell it on the air. They would need allies, they would need the Yunta and the Li'ivi and the Kivikoshi to have any hope of surviving the war to come. This next year would change the course of Vorrindor's history, and it all started here, with his own decisions. The pressure was almost unbearable.
"I said no, Vincent." Isaac's voice cut straight through the old Lord's mumbling, dominant and overpowering. A sky blue woolen cloak was draped accross his shoulders, a simple grey tunic underneath. The chain linking the shoulders of his cloak was iron, encrusted with sapphires. When the sun hit them right, it looked like a string of shining eyes, glimmering with curiosity. He looked a simple man; dirty blonde hair topping a handsome face, and the shadow of a new beard showed strong. He looked good for his age, having yet to find his first grey hair and his face was still as chiseled and flat as when he had been a teenager. His lips were thin and his mouth wide, the ends curved into a permanent but chilling smile. "There is no need of a tourney to celebrate the harvest. We have not done it before, I see no reason why we should waste all of the extra money we earn on a tourney, so that we have to pay even more money to winners." Lord Treasurer Moyses Vincent had always been a man for extravagance and indulgence. If he hadn't been a mathematical genius and financial miracle worker, King Isaac would have had him turned to onto the streets years ago. The fact remained, however, that there was no one who could fill the gap he would leave.
"As you wish, your grace. But know that your people crave entertainment, and you are depriving them." He looked expectantly at Isaac, as the rest of the Council sat at the table turned their eyes to him.
"Guard your tongue, Lord Vincent. If you're not careful, you may lose it." He had always ruled with an iron fist, but somehow his people adored him for it. He turned to Lord Tanner. "What news of the desert? Have the Li'ivi calmed yet?"
"No, your grace. The Iirikh Clan struck out at a caravan passing on its way to Felldor, from the Easterlands. They were cutting through, and were robbed. None were killed, however."
"I will go to them. I will talk to them and calm them, convince them we are not intent on stealing their lands."
"My King, I beg you to reconsider." Isaac threw Lord Southsun a sharp glance, and he silenced himself.
"I will leave one week from now. Lord Denton, you will make the arrangements." The young, black-haired renegade nodded in acceptance. "I am done with this council session. We shall meet again in a fortnight." Isaac stood, his long legs hoisting his 6'3" frame into the air. He turned and walked away from the table, as Ser Troy Barrett and Ser Levi Quinn came up to flank them, clad in elegant blue crystalline plate armor. The pauldrons were decorated with murals of a roaring griffin, a true work of art. They were halfway down the hall to his chambers when he said, "Ser Barrett, find my son Jonno and bring him here."
+++
"Oh come on, Rob, don't be an ass! Give it back!" Robert Herrin was a replica of his father. Tall and handsome, with dirty blonde hair, except 28 years younger and with a thinner beard. Layna was small, and had the black hair of her mother. Her face was young and sweet, stamped with innocence. Rob was holding her teddy bear Stuffy in the air above her head, mocking the young girl's height. "You want it? Jump for it!" He was laughing wildly, as the small girl swung her thin arms wildly at it. Eventually, however, she got an idea. Whilst Rob held it high, she swung out and punched him in the stomach. Winded, he doubled over and dropped the bear. Layna grabbed it proudly and walked off.
"You had that coming." Jonno Herrin put his hand on Rob's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Jonno was older by four years, a bastard by birth, but legitimized by his father who married two years later. He was loved like all the others. Rob pushed him.
"Shut up, Jonno. She's stronger than she looks."
"Is she? Or have you just gone soft?" He was teasing him now.
"Shut up!" He punched his older brother on the arm. "I'm not soft!"
"Yeah you are, right here!" Jonno poked his stomach, beneath the boy's muscles into the soft flesh. Robert recoiled quickly and punched Jonno's arm again.
"Have you seen father this morning?"
"No I have not, he was not present at this morning's meal, and mother said he called a council session, so I doubt we'll be seeing him any time soon."
"Peculiar. He must be planning something, otherwise he wouldn't dare leave mother on her own in the morning. I wonder what he's up to."
"Whatever it is, I doubt it will concern us." As if on queue, Ser Troy Barrett appeared through the arched entryway to the courtyard. the sunlight was beating heavily on his crystal blue armor, dazzling the two boys as they turned to look at the approaching knight.
"Lord Jonno, Lord Robert."
"We are not Lords, Ser Barrett, you need not address us as such. What can we do for you?"Jonno was good with words, managing to befriend people with just a polite greeting.
"With all due respect, my Lord, you are the sons of King Isaac Herrin, and Lord Robert is heir to the Throne of Vorrindor. That does, by all rights, make you Lords, my Lord."
"Yes, I suppose by all rights it does. Very well, Ser Barrett, but it is customary to kneel when addressing a Lord." Ser Barrett looked at him suspiciously, and went to go down on one knee. "I am jesting with you, Ser Barrett! Rise, you damnable fool." Both sons let out a burst of laughter, whilst Ser Barrett smiled slightly as he got back to his feet. The Knight's face was mostly hidden by his helmet, but a pair of eyes as blue as his armor still showed through his metallic face.
"Jonno, your father wishes to speak with you in his chambers." The two boys looked to one another.
"Did he say what it was about?"
"No. Only that he wanted to see you. If you'd be so kind as to come with me." Jonno followed Ser Barrett as he lead him out of the courtyard and along the wide hallways until they were at the base of the tower that was home to his father's personal chambers. The climb was quick, and they were soon stood outside the heavy oak door. Jonno pushed it aside, and strode in. His father was sitting at his desk, scribbling with a quill onto some tattered paper, whilst Ser Levi Quinn stood just inside the door. Ser Barrett took up his position on the other side of the door.
"Some privacy, good Sers?" Isaac spoke without looking up, and both knights left to watch from outside the room.
"You wanted to see me, father?"
"I did, Jonno. Have a seat." Jonno shuffled over to a small wooden chair in the corner of the room."Do you know why I have called you here?"
"No, father."
"You are a bastard, Jonno. You are my son, of course, and I love you, but you are a bastard. As such, you cannot be the one to inherit the throne when I pass."
"I am aware father."
"Good. You cannot become an heir, but I have a plan for you."
"Go on?"
"You are a remarkable physical specimen, Jonno. You are tall, powerful, dominant, and at the same time graceful and agile and swift. You excel with a sword, a bow and are a talented rider. You are special, Jonno."
"Thank you, father. But, is there a point to this praise?"
"Since you have no claim to the Throne, I would ask that you undergo training with the men of my Royal Guard. Within the next three years, you will be one of them. You will forsake all rights to titles and land, and be known as Ser Jonno Herrin."
"My father, I would be honored."
"I'm glad to hear it. For the first part of your training, you will be accompanying me, Lord Denton and Lord Southsun, Ser Borra, Ser Quinn, Ser Blackwest and Ser Lynn to the desert. We are going to bring an end to the hostility between us and the Li'ivi once and for all."
"When do we leave?"
"I like your eagerness, child, but patience is a virtue. One week from now we leave. You have until then to prepare yourself. You may go now, my child." Jonno stood to leave. as he walked out, Ser Quinn and Ser Barrett looked at him and smiled, both with outstretched hands. He shook them both, realizing they had been listening.
"You will make a fine guard, Ser Herrin," Quinn said with a wink.
+ THREE DAYS LATER +
Isaac watched a small bead of sweat roll down the Lord Treasurer Moyses Vincent's brow. It was warm, but that was not the real reason he was sweating. His tight features seemed to shrivel up as Isaac spoke. "If we do not trade our excess to the other kingdoms, then it will go to waste. We could use the extra funds, and you know that better than anyone, Vincent." Isaac raised an eyebrow at the older Lord, who seemed nervous that he was being called upon."I am a Treasurer, your Grace, not a diplomat. Sending me to negotiate is a mistake."
"You're the only one who knows the numbers, Vincent. It has to be you. Someone else might get it wrong."
"I'm honored your Grace, but I just don't think I'll be of any use."
"Take Mandra, take 50 of my men. that should be enough to get you west. Do a tour; start with our neighbors, then head northwest to Sondheim, then south to the Patriarchy. You should be back within the year. And, whilst you're in the Patriarchy's lands, see if you can recruit a few Yunta, if you can afford their price."
"My King, you are wise and powerful, but this is folly. You cannot send your Lord Treasurer away for a year!"
"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps not. We will only find out, however, once you leave. That is all, Lord Vincent." The man turned away from Isaac, his features screwed up in a mixture of fear, humiliation and rage. He slammed the door behind him like a child as he left, leaving Isaac alone with his thoughts. The Kivikoshi won't be able to afford all of our excess. We need to get rid of it somehow. Stone, food, all the extras need to go. We don't have the facilities to store them through the winter. Maybe... yes. We can get rid of some of to the Li'ivi, a sort of peace offering. If we can strike a deal with them... yes. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door.
"Lord Marka, your Grace," Ser Quinn called out.
"Send him in." The door slid accross the carpeted floor of Isaac's chambers as Marka walked in. He was short for his age, but muscular and a skilled fighter. He had his mother's black hair, and her size, but had his father's handsome face. He was too young to yet be growing a beard, but the shadow was beginning to appear on his upper lip for the first time, even though the boy was only eleven.
"Father."
"Marka. What can I do for you, my boy?"
"You're leaving."
"Who told you?"
"I heard some of the men talking."
"I was going to tell you, just not yet."
"Why do you always go? Why do you have to do everything yourself? They're savages! They'll cut your legs off and eat them in front of you, they'll bury you in sand and let the Viryi eat out your eyes!"
"Those are all just foul stories, my child. The Dunedwellers \re just like you and me. They care about their families, their home. They feel like we are invading theirs. What if someone came here, my boy, and threatened to kill your sister, your mother, your brothers. What would you do?"
"I'd kill them! I'd kick them to the floor and stab them till they die!"
"Precisely, Marka. They feel threatened. All they need is a little reassurance. That's why it has to be me. Any of these other brutes will just anger them more. They need someone who is willing to accept their ways, and embrace them." A tear had begun to stream from Marka's eye. "Don't cry, my boy. It will be fine. I'll be back soon, and all the Dunedwellers will be friendly by then. You'll see."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Now run along, Layna is probably looking for you. She was calling after you for hide and seek earlier." Marka chuckled and ran out of the room. He wasn't even fully down the stairs when Isaac could hear him calling Layna's name. Isaac thought through the coming days. In four, he would leave for the Desert. In about three, Vincent would reach the Supremacy's capital. In about a week, more iron would arrive from the Kivikoshi city, so new building projects could get underway with the new resources. It would be an eventful month. The winds of war were rising. He could smell it on the air. They would need allies, they would need the Yunta and the Li'ivi and the Kivikoshi to have any hope of surviving the war to come. This next year would change the course of Vorrindor's history, and it all started here, with his own decisions. The pressure was almost unbearable.