The Book of the Blessed

[ChrisGibson]

“Go in strength, possess all gates that are yours.
May splendor reign upon you and may you return in peace.
May your enemies know no rest,
and your foes fall before you.”


Book One

How
a Dragon
Can Be
In Trouble





ONE



Westrial- the political entity made of the west-central and dominant part of what was, in ancient times, the Royan kingdom of Ynkurando. Most historians date its beginnings from the time when the white skinned Ayl not only arrived, but when their chief, Eoga, married the Princess Syarr of the, by then, diminished Ynkurando, thus making them the first King and Queen of Westrial…

- A Youth’s Guide to Sussany, by Andi Lincoln




THE RED DISTRICT



“I should be going,” Austin said.
“When you go,” Anson turned around and planted his chin on his fist, “do make sure you close that curtain. The morning light is coming in, and I’m not really ready to see it just yet.”
This Austin was a strange boy, from a Zahem family, but partially Itzumi with their almond, catlike eyes and high cheekbones. Austin was intentionally girlish, bright eyes rimmed with black kohl, and now he slipped striped stockings over his calves before pulling on his bell bottomed and patterned dungarees. He had said he liked the odd piece of women’s apparel and Anson had never experienced such a man before. As Anson watched, he felt the shifting in the bed that meant Pol was waking up. Anson did not need to know his old friend was lying on his side, the same expression as he, chin on fist, watching the boy dress with small amusement.
“If you should come back you know we’ll be here,” Pol said.
Anson turned around. Both he and Pol were, like many of the men of Westrial, golden brown, though Pol, being half Itzum, had the same almond eyes and high cheekbones, spiky dark hair as Austin.
“I’m sure we will be several places,” Anson said, looking at Pol. “But by tonight I certainly plan to be back here.”
Anson thought, and made sure to frequently tell, his friend and sometimes lover was gorgeous. Lean, bronze skinned, bronze haired with a diamond winking in each ear, Pol said, sitting up, “It really all depends on the time.”
“And other things,’ Anson intoned.
“Well, yes,” Pol said, climbing out of bed. “There are always other things.’
Pol was a man who, even naked, seemed clothed in confidence, muscle and swagger. He departed to the restroom not even bothering to close the door, and as he began to piss, Austin confessed, his green eyes on Anson, “Up until now I’ve only thought about doing things.”
“Thinking has its place.”
Anson sat up. He was broad chested, long and tall, his hair bronze colored and his eyes slate blue, almost grey. Squinting, he took a small wooden box out, and from it he pulled a cigarette. He offered it to Austin.
“I shouldn’t.”
“There are many things you shouldn’t do,” Anson said to the boy who stood before him white chest like a marble sculpture. Pol was coming out of the pissroom and now Austin took the cigarette Anson lit it for him.
“So good,” Austin expelled smoke through his nose.
“My—” he stopped and said, “No one ever lets me smoke at home.”
“I was going to say,” Anson said, punching up pillows and lying on his back, smoking, “that thinking has its place. But in the end we must do.”
Pol, lay on his side. He seemed to always look perfect and proud and indestructible.
“Do you prefer the thinking or the doing?”
Anson had pulled the covers up around him, and was smoking indifferently. But Pol, naked and bronze, well muscled, exuded sex, and reminded Austin, so soon to go back to the drabness of his normal life, of the delights of last night.
Anson could just vaguely see Pol running his hand down his side, touching his own body erotically, and Austin’s eyes went a little vague, his mouth opening as he looked on Pol.
“I like the doing,” Austin said, his voice almost a ghost.
Pol reached over Anson and slipped his hands inside of the soft trousers Austin wore. Deftly he pulled them down.
“Then stop standing there talking about having to go home to whatever drab shit you’re going home to. Do.”



“Do you think we’ll ever see our little elf friend again?”
“You know elves don’t look anything like that.”
“You’ve got to stop saying things like that,” Pol said, “At least here.”
A wench came to their booth and she said, “A big breakfast for the big soldier, and an unnatural one for the man who never wakes up until nighttime.”
Pol saluted her wryly and murmured, “What is so unnatural about this?”
“Egg white omelet. Whey juice,” Anson murmured as he sprinkled salt and pepper over fried eggs, “perfectly normal.”
“You eat like that everyday,” Pol pointed to Anson’s trencher, “and you’ll…”
Anson looked at him.
“You’ll be fat as a house.”
“Not likely,” Anson noted as he poured a large load of cream into his coffee.
“And it is isn’t like we will see our friend Austin again unless he comes tonight, to both of us. For coming to you alone he can’t afford it and coming to me alone… I don’t think I have the time.”
“Who was the last boy we took on?”
“That tailor. Odd kid.”
Anson stuck half an egg in his mouth, then rinsed it down with coffee.
“He kept ferrets,” Pol remembered. “Ah, but what nice thighs! Really. And such a well turned…”
“He had a face like a ferret,” Anson remembered, “and little tiny spectacles But when he was naked he was a god, and if we can’t talk about such things here, then we cannot talk about them anywhere in this city.”
Pol sat back half singing his favorite song.

First was the mage
Who moved from age to age
And second was his hero strong

Third was the starry maid,
who lived in trees,
whose wood would never die
Seven came down
Oh, and seven came down

On his his side of the booth Pol said, “Do you go into the palace today?”
“Aye,” Anson said. “To wait on a dying father and put up with siblings. Someone has to keep order.”
“And not just any one.”
“No,” Anson shook his head. He looked very serious and then he said, “Whatever you end up doing… or whomever—”
“You are a funny man.”
“I am a realistic man. You must make your living my friend. But when you are done, come to me and meet an old friend?”
“A friend like Austin?”
Anson shook his head and laughed.
“No, no. A very different kind of a friend.”
When Pol looked at him frankly, waiting for an answer, Anson said:
“A mage.”
“A sorcerer? A true wizard or some fortuneteller?”
“No, no, A wizard.”
“How strange.”
“Not strange at all,” Anson said, “Not any stranger than our friendship, or how the two of us would help that boy.”
Pol took another bite of his omelet, and then, his tongue rolling around in his mouth, he thought before he said, “I had always…. There were some times when I was doing what I was doing when it wasn’t just money. It was fun. And then there were times when it was not just fun it was… more.”
“Like last night.”
“Exactly,” Pol said, his eyes lighting. “Or like the other times when you and I have been with someone together. Or like our first time for that matter.”
“I had just returned from the war. You were the first friend I met who wasn’t a soldier,” Anson said. “I didn’t know what you were, or rather what you did.”
“Nor I you.”
“When I realized it I didn’t know what to do… Pay wise, I mean. I thought, if I am taking you from a night of work.”
“But you knew I wanted to be with you. Surely.”
“And you said put your money away,” Anson remembered.
“And then two nights later you sent someone with money and pretended it wasn’t you, you fucker.”
Anson shrugged.
“I was so angry at first,” Pol saod. “But I knew your intentions were… knew you had class.”
“And so our friendship began.”
Pol nodded.
“And so our friendship began. And those times, those more than special times, it was… Is it blasphemous to say a sacrament?”
“It is a sacrament,” Anson insisted. “Why is that the only time something seems real is in a long liturgy led by tiresome old priests? No, and the people who keep the old ways say that what we did last night was the greatest sacrament of them all.”




THE KINGSBORO

“Cousin!” Anson barked, stabbing him in the back with a finger the way few men would dare, “Wake from your sleeping, wizard.”
Ash, a broad shouldered, caramel colored man, wrapped in his red mantle, blinked, taken aback, but when he turned around he was not surprised to see Anson.
“Cousin,” he purred.
“Cousin,” Anson bowed low. He smiled as he embraced Ash who rose from his perch in the window seat overlooking High Bailey.
“I have been up a long while, actually,” Ash said. “I arrived early to see your father. But where were you?”
“With an old friend.”
Ash smiled.
“Pol,” Ash said, knowingly.
Anson blinked.
“I feel like we’ve already been introduced,” Ash said. “You have spoken of him before.”
Anson’s grey blue eyes were slits, as if he had forgotten this and was trying to remember. He shook his head and said: “Well, then let me reintroduce you.”
“I will be glad of that. When?”
“Tonight, most likely.”
“I will send word to him, and bring him to my chambers,” Ash decided.
Now it was Anson who blinked, but he did not say no, because there was no dissuading Ash. How could there be?
“You are looking even fairer than when last I saw you,” Ash said, observing the bronze haired man soldier with his foxy smile and leather trousers.
“Do you ever cease from games?” Anson murmured.
“Never,” Ash shook his head, rising as they walked across the nearly empty room. “But I do not jest in that, cousin.”
Anson found himself blushing, and tried not to look like a fool in the presence of the magician.
“I have to serve the King’s pleasure,” Anson said. “Could you come with me and then we be free?”
“I need food in me first.”
“You are rising late,” Anson noted as Ash moved across the large sunlit room, putting southcakes on the table, and then putting the orange juice and butter there as well.
“I’m not rising,’ Ash told him. “I’m eating.” He lifted the glass of orange juice to his lips. “And drinking.”
“Breakfast? At noon?”
“How long have you known me?” the mage asked him.
“And I can’t believe you came to my chambers to comment on m eating habits. Have a southcake by the way.”
“No. no,” Anson waved this off. “I’m not hungry. I can scarcely eat.”
There was no need to say “Because of the King?” There was no need, either, for Ash to pretend that he was so distressed he himself could not eat. Such distress was impractical. He dusted off one very large southcake, and Anson said, “I am always surprised at how you put food away. You can tuck so much away.”
“Well, I’m glad to impress.”
“And there is that whole matter of being the King’s first Council,” Anson added.
“I am this King’s First Council,” Ash said. Then he added, “I know as much as you may love the King it is not only his leaving this world, but who ascends to the Lower Throne after him that matters.”
“It will not be me, even if I am his son.” Anson said.
“No,” Ash agreed without mercy. “It will not.
“Years ago, when my mother sent your mother and I from the Rootless Isle to save the Old Queen’s life, it seemed, when King Anthal came to love your mother and made her Queen, that you might come to power. It would have been in the King’s right. But there was really no reason he should pass you over for your older brother.”
Anson opened his mouth and Ash said, “The fact that Cedd is disagreeable is not sufficient reason to take a throne from him. A King does not have to be agreeable.”
“But he will never forgive me for the fact that people thought I should succeed him.”
“No,” Ash agreed again, “and I will be summarily dismissed the day Cedd sits on the Low Throne.”
“But,” Anson looked hopeful, “you have a plan?”
Ash’s eyes popped, and he slapped his chest, dramatically, the flakes of a southcake falling from his lips.
“Why do you think I’d have a plan? Why should the King serve the Rootless Isle or the Hidden Tower anymore than he should the bishops? Why should we not all fade away and let a new power council the King.”
“You have a plan,” Anson insisted.
“Brother,” Ash put the last bit of cake in his mouth. “would you be so kind as to bring me my seal… as long as I have it? And parchment and ink.”
Anson nodded. As he walked away, Ash said, “I always have a plan.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

This was a pleasant surprise, I did not expect to get back to this world so quickly! This is starting out in a completely different place with some old and new characters. I am enjoying it a lot! Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I didn't expect it to happen so soon, either. but I couldn't really stop myself. Well, I guess I could have stopped myself, but... no.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Bright afternoon sunlight came through King Anthal’s chambers even when curtains were drawn over some of the great windows. A vaulted ceiling easily two storeys in height stretched over them, and as the mage, a surprisingly youngish man, hooded in deep red, entered, crossing the floor on a his staff, the King, white beard to his chest, sat up, eyes wide.
“Akkrabath,” he spoke, “I had not expected to see you.”
Ash lowered his hood and his staff made solid noises as its stomped the flagstone floor, muffling only a little as it went over the carpet.
“I have come,” he said, “from the Towers to oversee your comfort. Also, I confess, to bid you remember your promise.”
Ash was a handsome, not overly tall, broad shouldered man, the brown color of the western Royan. He looked on the murals about the wall which told the history of Ynkurando, the land which had become Westrial, Inglad and Essail. There, on the walls, were the ancient Fisher Kings, the lords who had raised the land up from its watery depths, and on the shores of the River Tamlynn was the great city of Ondres, Overlooking the river from its stony height and ringed about by baileys and long walls, high roved was the green castle now called Greenboro, where of old the ancient kings had reigned. Over the bed stretched great Vendigeid, the Giant King who had led the Royan, the people of Ynkurando and Chyr and Rheged, against their enemy across the sea, and here the last of the Ynkurandoian kings to be a free ruling lord, Caralandos, who had become a client king to the Remulan Empire which had ruled over the southern lands four hundred years.
But, near the king’s bed was the coming of the The Ayl. They had swept out of the north through the weakened lands of the Empire and settled in the wild desert country of Ververland before, on ships, sailing into Ynkurando. Deeply tanned, the fair folk had become, their hair bleached, and though they had taken the homeland of Ynkurando they were never able to absorb it old people, the Royan. Here was the mural of King Eoga of the Tandal taking to wife the dark Princess Syarr Rhohedrina, In her time Ynkurando was weak and had been for centuries, nothing more than one of the ancient lands made province of a fallen empire. Under Eoga and Syarr a mighty new kingdom was established that some still called Ynkurando but that most now called Westrial. Ynkurando, a Royan land of ancient magic, the ancient eastern holdout of the Royan people, Westrial, the western land of the Tandal. Both identities this land held, and both came together in the great palace which had become, in time, the great city Kingsboro.
“Remember your promise,” Ash said, simply, “you did not promise that Essily’s son would be king, but your promised to protect all of your people. King, do not leave your land defenseless, the old ones defenseless against those who practice the new religions, and all of your land, defenseless against those who practice magic in the dark, such as the Priests of Phineas and the Black Hands to the South. Remember your promise.”
“And I have, Akkrabath,” the old king’s voice was a rasp, and then it was interrupted by a watery cough which continued until the one called Akkrabath came behind him to lift King Anthal higher on his pillow.
When the fit of coughing ended, Ash said, “But what does it matter if you leave them to the wolves upon your death? Who, right now, oversees the court in your name?”
“Anson.”
“And not Cedd, Because you know he has neither the wisdom nor the temperament for it, and yet you would make him king.”
“I would need,” Anthal cleared his throat of phlegm, “a very good reason to overturn the succession, Cousin. I believe that in the end Anson will help Cedd, will be a good partner to him.”
“Do you really?” Ash said.
“Ash,” the King reprimanded him.
Ash nodded. The King was old. The King was dying. He had been good and kept his words, but it was because the King was old and dying that Ash had to continue.
“Cedd will be King. That is so, but while you live you have the authority to shape the succession if not to change it.”
“That is impossible, Ash,” the King’s voice was a whisper, “The Council of Barons ruled long ago that a new king could not be bound by the conditions of an old king.”
“True,” Ash said, “and the law of the land, written in ancient times when it was only called Ynkurando, and ratified again in the last centuries, is that even a King cannot overturn a law without the support of half of Parliament and the Bound Laws may never be overturned without the support of the over nine tenths of the Royan Parliament. It should have been made Bound Law that no practitioner of magic could be harmed in this land on grounds of being a practitioner of the art, but it never was made so, and so when Cedd comes to the Throne, he may resume the persecutions.”
“He would never do that,” Anthal insisted, but Ash said, “Cousin, you do not know your son.
“It is too late to summon a council to create a Bound Law. But you can ensure that Cedd rules according to your conditions.”
Anthal blinked, understanding, but let the mage continue.
“Have him crowned while you still live. A King crowned during your reign is Bound to operate under the conditions you place upon him.”
“That has not been done in one hundred fifty years,” Anthal said. “It was done in the days when successions were insecure, when kings went off to war leaving young sons behind them.”
“And can still be done,” Ash said.
“But surely Cedd will wish to overturn those conditions,” Anthal thought. “Any king would.”
“Your Grace,” Ash said, “if you had forgotten about this old law, then surely Cedd has never known it. If you simply put the conditions of the coronation in the coronation vow when it is spoken at the ceremony in the Cathedral, then Cedd will not be able to reject it. He may, perhaps, not even hear it. But the people will, and the brehons always overlook the royal contract after the coronation and then at the first Parliament call the King in to remind him of his powers.”
Anthal nodded.
“Well, then,” he said, looking up at Ash, “If it pleases you…”
“It does.”
The King said, “Then let us summon a brehon, and by night’s end all shall be put in order.”




THE GREAT WEST ROAD


Late the next morning, the party of White Monks and Nuns moved slowly across the plains toward the juncture of the Southern Road. They had crossed the river the night before into Westrial and now, as they approached the Road, the monks and nuns could already see a great wainhouse traveling down the road from the east, and the monk at the lead of the caravan noted the banners of Essail. He rode back to the white cloaked litter and rapped along the rail. The curtain opened slowly, and the old Abbess looked out.
“We have company on the road.”
“Well, give way,” the Prioress said. “It is the way of God to be low and humble.”
The bald monk nodded, but looked frustrated.
“Mother, it is particular company.”
“Well?’ the Prioress Hilda said.
“It is the Queen of Essail.’
“Oh, damn!” Hilda swore, losing all composure. “Take that look off your face. How long do we have before we meet?’
“Essail’s heralds are already waving.”
“I will open up the litter myself when we approach,” Hilda said. “Let me know so I can greet my sister and her husband.”
Hilda, the second daughter of the dying King Anthal had asked her father at the age of thirteen to enter into the Abbey of Saint Clew, the mightiest Abbey in the Young Kingdoms. As a princess there was no mystery if she would rise high in the ranks of the White Order, and as the years went by, and certain princesses and peeresses left or were found unsuitable to rule, it was nearly a guarantee that she would be declared Abbess when Abbess Gertrude either retired or died.
The Abbey of Clew was often simply called Durham, for this was the city is stood over, the second city of Inglad, not far from Ambridge. Hale and North Hale had lost their royal families and their titles were replaced with earls. Inglad was the native territory of King Edmund Lord of all the Hales, and Gertrude was his chief councilor alongside Ulfin Baldwin, who was also his greatest foe.
“I am nearly ready to retire,” Gertrude said, “to find myself in some quiet retreat.”
Often a queen or a royal lady, after a long time of ruling and sometimes treachery, would declare that she needed to retire to a monastery for a life of quiet and prayer, but the Abbots and Abbesses, especially the great ones, knew little of either quiet or prayer in their great, fortresslike monasteries from which they wielded almost royal power, and when they dreamed of retiring it was to the quiet retreats far from the great stone kingdoms whee they had reigned
“When I have found that place,” Gertrude had told Hilda that summer, “then you will learn what it is to be Abbess of the greatest house in the Young Lands.”
The litter pulled up beside the wainhouse of the Queen, and Hilda decided it was best to beat her sister to the greeting.
“Hail, Sister!”
“Well,” Morgellyn looked down from the gilded door of the wainhouse, “aren’t you looking splendid, Little Sister.’
“Not as fair as you,” Hilda said and wondered, if this was true, why did it sound like a lie?
“Shall we stop for a picnic?” Morgellyn asked.
“Let us press on till evening,” Hilda suggested, “and camp outside of Amesbury.”
“That will be wonderful!” Morgellyn called, and Hilda wished there had been some way to avoid conversation with her older, golden haired sister. Morgellyn added, “We will have so much to talk about.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Hilda, aged twenty-four, wished for Imogen and Anson, In her white robe and wimple, cloaked and veiled by a great black mantle, Hilda smiled regally, like the Mother in the White Order that she was.
As the curtain closed, Sister Ursula chuckled beside her.
“What are you laughing at?”
“We have so much to talk about! I can hardly wait,’ Ursula drawled, giggling.
“You would rather die!”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I am really impressed by the world building and am enjoying learning about this different part of the world of The Blue House. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Oh, yes, the world of the Blue House is much bigger than the Blue House, and this story will be bigger than the first, so I'm glad your enjoying where it's going.

 

[ChrisGibson]

THE KINGSBORO




“Allow me to introduce you to an old friend—”
“Paul,” Ash said. “You know, I do believe I’ve seen you, and I could not forget so fair a face.”
“He says that to everyone,” Anson said, and Ash said, “Don’t be ungracious.”
“Oh, I’ll take it,” Pol laughed. “Certainly.”
Anson looked from one to the other and said, “Unbelievable.”
“Be not unbelieving,” Ash quoted from the Book of Names. “But believe.”
“Always believe,” Pol repeated.
“Well said,” Ash said. “And the business goes?”
Pol looked to Anson and Anson, shrugging, said, “Of course he knows.”
Pol nodded, smiled to himself, and said, “The business comes and goes,” He shrugged. “But mostly it comes.”
“You’ve a sharp wit about you,” Ash clapped his hands.
“Ash,” Anson said, “I was returning to the Hall of Justice, then attending the King. Do you want to stay here and entertain Pol, or come on your own later?”
“I would attend your father,” Ash said.
Anson nodded and Pol said, “Well, then, I will stay behind here, if it please you both, for I feel I’ve risen as high as a man of my station can go.”
“Nonsense,” Ash pulled his mantle about him. “You wouldn’t be the first of your profession to come to a king’s bed. But if you would like to see your drinking friend behave like a prince, follow him to the Hall of Justice.”
So saying, Ash led them out of the room and said, as they entered the corridor. “Anson, do you think perhaps you should be before me?”
“Not really,” Anson, heedless of his rank, replied.



Kingsboro was now the name of the city, but it was initially the name of the palace, for the palace was a boro, something more than a castle, a great fortress meant not to shield the king from the people, but all people from the enemy. A great ring of rose and earth colored stone surrounded the castle and was divided into about three outer courts, one of them called the People’s Court by which people entered for city councils and to receive the royal justice as well, it seemed, simply to socialize. There was some line where it was not fitting for most people to pass, but what that line had never been formally delineated. The central palace was divided into the Lower Bailey, four high, thick, administrative and residential towers in a square overlooking the People’s Court west of it, and the part of the palace where people went freely, and then, to the north of that, the Higher Bailey which was reached only by a zigzagging high and ancient stair, leading to the highest towers of the palace that surrounded a court big as a park with a long pool the size of a pond. Pol looked down and now he saw that if he went to the north, he would leave Long Hall and enter the collection of towers that were somewhere between fifteen and twenty stories high where only the most secret of things occurred and only high lords and ladies resided.
They walked the long hall, Pol marveling at the stone vaulted ceilings, at the suits of silver armor lined against the walls, wondering how he had come to know a prince.
“What in the world is going through your mind?” Anson turned to him.
Pol could not voice it without feeling embarrassed. He said, “It is not matter.”
Ash said, “This boro is enough to put anyone off balance.”
At that moment, Pol heard footsteps approaching from the south and turned more surprised than he had ever been in his professional life.
The man stopped, bowing low, his shocked looking hair hiding his face, the scarf around his neck and his cloak, touching the ground. And then he was gone in the other direction. He must have known Anson, but his eyes flashed in shock for a moment before passing Pol.
“That’s him,” Pol said. “The boy from this morning.”
“Oh, really!” Ash laughed.
“What of it?” Anson shrugged.
“That is Lord Buwa,” Ash said.
Pol nodded, but now he said, “Lord Buwa? I thought he was Austin.”
Ash said nothing because he could tell Anson would have rather Pol never known. But Anson explained.
“Austin Buwa, son of Carmaine Buwa of Osteraven. Can we go now?”
Pol cleared his throat and said, “I feel foolish for not knowing who you are.”
“You do know who I am,” Anson said, irritated. “I’m your friend. And you know the king is my father. And you’ve still been a friend to me. You’ve never been strange. Until now.”
“He has never been in the palace until now,” Ash said.
Pol nodded and Anson, frowning, said, “Fair.”
He stuck out his large, rough hand.
“I am Anson, second Prince of Ynkurando. My father is the Anthal Fourth of that Name, King of Westrial.”
Pol looked as if he wasn’t sure how he felt, and then he took Anson’s friend and said, “I’m Pol Kurusagan. I’m a whore, and my father was Robert, a right drunk in a long line of drunks. Pleased to meet you.”
Anson smiled from the side of his mouth, still shaking his friend’s hand.
“Great,” he said. “Looks like we both come from old families.”

“This is my friend, Pol,” Anson told a tall guard, as if they were an old friend too. “find him a good seat to watch the proceedings.” And then, with a pinch on Pol’s elbow, Anson ascended the steps of the small throne and sat there as a man beside him called out, “The Prince Anson to receive the King’s Justice on this fifteenth day of the month.”
It was a great hall with a ceiling divided into three sections by which the sun shone through small stainglass bits of turquoise, garnet and golden topaz, and the hall was filled with the regular folk of the city who were here to discuss the matters of city governance.

“Your Grace, the first issue is the new plan for the central roads of the city.”
Anson frowned and said, “I thought the town council had established that already.”
“Well we have three town councils,” the Alderman Gates said, “And for reasons never explained the central town council is in charge of laying out the main roads.”
“Well, if it has not been explained,” Anson said, “then maybe you could explain it now.”
Alderman Gates turned to a woman with short grey hair who was Alderman Islena.
“Grace, Kingsboro is divided into the First Boro, that is all the surrounds of the palace, and it ends on the border of the main roads leading north and south. The whole downtown runs along that and north and south of it, and that is the Center Boro.”
Here Anson raised an eyebrow indicating he knew the bulk of what Islena was saying, and she sped up her explanation.
“After this comes the Western Boro. The city is divided into more districts and neighborhoods than that, but technically the city is three separate boros, and the Center Boro has control over the main roads even through those run through the Western Boro and the First Boro as well. It was made a law some time ago.”
“Yes,” Alderman Gates said, eyeing Islena, “and happy it makes the Aldermen… and women… of the Western Boro. However they do not even make their own people aware of their own plans let alone the rest of the city. Any day now they are about to set in the Street Ordinance.”
“Which is?” Anson tried.
“Which is, Grace,” Alderman Gates said, though Islena opened her mouth to speak first, “that the whole of the Main Road into the city will be repaved and reconstructed—”
“A good thing,” Anson said, “provided the money has been secured.”
“My Lord,” Alderman Gates said, “it is a fine thing to have the whole road repaved, I agree. To have the entire road reconstructed—and this is estimated to take up to half a year, to have some sections torn down so that intersections will become roundabouts, to overturn the flow of traffic and tear apart whole streets—”
“Really?” Anson began. “Why was the palace not informed?”
“Your Grace,” Alderman Islena said, “the palace did not have to be informed. The Council was informed. It is a project of the Council, not a declaration of war.”
“It is an expensive plan that will overturn transportation in the entire city and interfere with the locomotion of the nation’s capital for the better part of a year,” Gates protested.
“When is construction to begin?” Prince Anson asked, “and this time mind your tongue, Lady.”
Alderman Islena bowed her head in apology.
“Your Grace, the builders are coming into the city even now. It will be a great boon for the hostels throughout the city.”
“And the brothels as well, no doubt,” the Prince said, while, in a corner beside Ash, Pol covered his mouth.
The Prince sat up.
“The construction is halted at once,” Anson declared. “It will not go through until I oversee the plans. I want them Red Taped and brought to my offices before sundown today. We will reconvene this time, this day next week. You are dismissed.”
Alderman Gates seemed very pleased, and Alderman Islena, bowing, tried to hide her dissatisfaction, but could not while the herald called, “Next enter an impresario and a courtesan from the Roon Theatre….”


“But how does it go?” Pol asked later on. “Do you handle all the cases of the city?”
“Three days a week the civil cases of individuals who have either petitioned for the King’s Justice or made appeals from the courts for decisions they found unfair. Two days appeals from the various city Councils. Decisions made in City Council meets which citizens found to be unfair, or which different boros disputed are brought here.”
“But what of the running of the nation?”
“For the most part the nation runs itself, but for ratification of laws which must be brought to the palace and overseen by the king… or his representative. Twice a month, also, when laws are about to be passed, the King must be present. These things, right now, are left in the charge of my brother Cedd, who will be king.”
“Ah, and there he is!” Pol exclaimed.
“My brother?”
“Oh, no,” Pol shook his head. “I wouldn’t know Prince Cedd up close. But Ash.”
Ash was coming down the hall, and now he went from looking serious to triumphant.
“I’ve found you.”
“Were we hard to find?”
Ash shrugged and said, “No, no. But the palace is big. Your father will not be coming down to supper tonight.”
Anson looked worried.
“That is a first.”
“Your Grace,” Pol said. Anson frowned on him.
“That is who you are, and that is what I will call you when we are here,” Pol insisted. “How long has he been ill?”
“Some time and a very long time,” Anson said. “He was not young when he became King, and he certainly wasn’t young when I was born. But he has made an appearance at supper everynight. Not coming to supper—”
“Would imply that he is ill,” Pol said, “and that his power is gone. Yes,” Pol said when Anson nodded, “even I know about the appearance of power.”
“Put that from your mind,” Ash said. “You and Cedd are to preside over supper, and then when it is done you are immediately to go to him. Together.”
Anson nodded. “Should I see him now?”
“He had a coughing fit and I gave him a sleeping draught.”
When Ash saw the troubled look on Anson’s face, he reached up and touched the tall man’s shoulder.
“But we are awake,” Ash said, forcing a smile, “and I come here so seldom. You are the prince. Show us your city.”

CONCLUSION OF CHAPTER ONE

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great conclusion to the chapter. I am liking getting to know the bigger world of this story and am enjoying where the story is going at the moment. I like the character of Pol a lot! Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I am a great fan of Pol Kurusagan myself. It was good to get an inside view of Kingsboro. I'm glad you're enjoying this new look and this new story and, of course, more tomorrow.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT AS WE BEGIN CHAPTER TWO, ASH AND ANSON DISCUSS POWER AND WE MEET WOLF AND MYRNE ON THEIR WAY TO KINGSBORO...




TWO




The Ard, becoming himself, sat in supreme meditation, and as he placed one hand on the earth and one in the air vision arose, insight arose, discernment arose, knowledge arose, illumination arose within him with regard to things never heard before.

- From The Thread of the Opening



KINGSBORO
ABBEY


The high altar of the Cathedral was the size of a house, Abbot Merrill noted. The house where he had grown up was actually the size of this rounded space, the great marble bishop’s throne, the wooden stalls for attending acolytes, the lemon colored polished marble floor, the actual altar table over the tomb of Saint Silen, the gold candlesticks twinkling in the sunlight that came through the high dome. In this immense space one could hear even a pin drop.
Abbot Merrill could hear the footsteps of whoever had entered from the West Door, and now he rose to see a shadow which his bad eyesight could not identify. Eventually the tall figure came closer to the altar, and the Abbot was coming past the altar rail and come down the steps, was coming into the great nave.
“Abbot Merrill?”
This was a messenger from the palace, the Abbot could tell by the wyvern badge on his cloak.
“Yes,”
“A word from the King.”
“Bless you.”
The Abbot received the letter and made a blessing over the messenger, not entirely sure if he’d wanted it or not.
The messenger genuflected and made the sign of blessing, and then turned to leave while the Abbot went to a chair before the altar and opened the letter himself.
He frowned while he read up and down.
Brother Bentham approached and sat beside him.
“Well?” the young man said.
The Abbot thought of reprimanding the younger monk for his presumption but instead he answered.
“A coronation… Must tell the Bishop.”
“The King is—”
“The King is alive.”
“Does he think he’s about to die?”
“Of course he does,” Abbot Merrill said. “We all know he is. But… this is not a ceremony for some time in the future. This is to take place tomorrow. The new king crowned while the old one lives. And the ceremony of the vows.”
Bentham looked at the older man uncertainly and then, finally, he said, “Does this mean something?”
Abbot Merrill looked at Brother Bentham with mild irritation, and then he said, “But how could you know?”
Then he said, “In the Book of Ceremonies, the Coronation Ritual is already set up. When a living king desires his heir crowned while he lives, and when he sends in alterations it can only mean he is doing it to curb the rites of his heir.”
“He doesn’t trust Prince Cedd!” Bentham said.
“Whisper that, friend.”
“We are secure,” Brother Bentham looked about the high domes above them, the marble walls and long windows. “This is our house.”
“It is the house of God,” Abbot Merrill said. “And every house has walls, and all the walls have ears.”
Abbot Merrill put the letter into his robe.
“I doubt very much the Prince knows why his coronation is to take place, and as long as he does not know, everything should go according to the king’s plan.”


THE
EVERDEEN
DISTRICT

As Pol lifted a finger and went to the bar to order drinks, Ash now in a brown traveling cloak and not the wonderful red one, murmured, “Drinking in the middle of the day. How very decadent.”
“What was all that business about telling him how handsome he is?” Anson demanded.
“Well, he is.”
“Were you trying to make me jealous?”
“Cousin,” the brown skinned magician said, with a heavy emphasis on the word, “Did it make you feel jealous?”
“I don’t understand you,” Anson said, shaking his head.
“There’s a great deal you don’t understand, I’ll wager,” Ash said. “But I don’t think it’s me you’re not understanding. By the way, I love that dimple in your chin.”
“See, damn you! You’re doing it again.”
Ash clapped his hands, and laughed, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a wooden cigarette case.
“I just wondered…” Anson began, hunkering down, his shoulders close together, looking a little away from Ash, “if you did all that because it was you who was jealous. Because…”
Through his dark ivory skin, Anson went red and he said, “Now, I sound like a fool.”
“You are not a fool, Cousin,” Ash said, and Anson could smell the smoke of his cigarette. “You are, by everyone’s standards, the most handsome man in Kingsboro, everything a Prince should be. War hero—”
“I could do without that.”
“Soldier among soldiers, gambler, drinker, dashing lover and able ruler. I have been far off in Chyr. I did not expect you to not have beautiful men in your bed.”
“But, there will be time for us—” Anson began.
Ash was quiet now and Anson stopped talking, because Pol had returned to the table.
“A lager for fhe lager haired prince, a stout for the serious magician—I almost said stout magician, but I thought you might take it the wrong way—and something fruity,” Pol gestured to the colorful glass, “for the fruit.”
“Or rather something so sweet for one so sweet,” Ash noted.
“See,” Pol grinned at Anson, “Why don’t you ever say shit like that?”
“I know you too well.”
“Pol is your friend, and he knows what I am,” Ash said, “and so we may as well speak frankly.”
Anson frowned and even Pol said, “Lord Ash, are you sure this is a safe place?”
“Oh, this is the safest place there is,” Ash said.
“Anson, I have never tested you for the Skill.”
“The Skill? You mean magic?””
“I mean nothing else.”
“But… that is you,” Anson said. “I have never been to the Rootless Isle. Nor the Hidden Tower. My training is in battle.”
“You have had no visions? No sign of the Sight? Nothing has happened?”
“Not to my knowledge. Not to my memory. Ash, I doubt very much I have the skill.”
“Your mother had the Skill. Her mother was my aunt, and the Dame of the Rootless Isle, the most powerful of enchantresses. Nor was she the first to marry into the ancient line of Westrial. My grandmother was Messanyn, the greatest Lady of the Rootless Isle and her mother before her. You are the great grandson of Messanyn, and her father was the mage Ruardarch.”
Anson had always been outcast for being the son of the strange Queen Essily, but aside from her being strange, and kin to Ash, a powerful sorcerer, Anson had not given his mother’s family much thought. He was a soldier, a rider of horses, a leader of men and, sometimes he noted, ruefully, vice versa. Magic was not in him. So he asked Ash:
“Why are we speaking of this now?”
“We ought to have spoken of it before.”
“Look,” Ash said, “soon your brother will come to the Low Throne, and it will be whispered about that you are not only jealous, but bear the Witch Blood and possess the Skill.”
“And if it’s whispered, then it might as well be true,” Pol lifted his glass and Ash nodded.
“That is why, if the power is in you, I want to see it brought our immediately.”



THE NEAR WEST COUNTRY



“My good lady!” he called out. “My good lady!”
Myrne turned to see the man on the horse. He looked worse for wear, certainly, but not harmful.
“You are… calling me?” she said, after a time.
“I see you are a lady,” the man said, “and I judge you to be good.”
“Well, we will see soon enough,” she answered, “but how can I help you?”
“You look to be from around these parts.”
“Well, then you are already deceived,” Myrne said. “But let me see if I can help you.”
“I thought I had an impeccable sense of direction—” the young man started, and Myrne was about to comment that most men thought so too, “but I think I am lost on my way to the great city.”
“You don’t—” she began, then, “You are not of Westrial? How far are you from home? Are you from Hale?”
Hale had many poor associations for her but, after all, she was on her way there, herself.
“No, no, from Armet.”
“Well,’ Myrne said. This man was obviously Hale, and she would have been surprised to learn he had any Royan blood in him. And then, she was from the north, paler than this man, and yet she had spent her years in the south, learning from the women of Isle and now, at last, she was on her way back home.
“My family moved there after hard times,” he said, “They call me Wolf.”
“They call me Myrne,” she said, “and if you get on the road you saw me getting off, you and your old horse will meet with the main road soon enough, and it won’t be three days before, traveling south, you are in Kingsboro. As for me, I’m traveling as far from there as I can get.”
“Oh me too,” Wolf said, “In the end. I am going north, too, but first I must go to the city.”
She was a pretty girl, tall, black haired, wide eyes, and pale. Wolf bit his lower lip before speaking.
“We could travel together.”
Myrne did not like men. She did not trust them, really. Her childhood before going to the Rootless Isle was spent being teased by them, being grabbed by them, being looked at like a horse by them or threatened with marriage to one. But this one, with his silly leather half helmet, half cap, and his open face, his dirty cloak, seemed genuinely friendly. It could be from never having lived in Sendic lands. Maybe the Royan were kinder. She’d often felt that.
“I am sure you are a wonderful man—” Myrne began.
“And you are a lady traveling on your own.”
“I can defend myself.”
Wolf nodded, thrust out his lip. “I imagine you can, Miss.”
“I am going in the completely opposite direction of you, and I am in some hurry.”
Wolf nodded, lifted a finger, and went to his bag. He pulled out a small purse and gave it to her.
“You may need this, to get yourself a new horse.”
“Sir!”
“I am servant to a rich master, one whom I am about to meet. Do not worry. Take this.”
Wolf hopped up on his old horse, and it gave a sort of grunt, actually looking stubborn when he coaxed it to move.
“Sir, I don’t need your money.”
“Ah,” Wolf said, as he rode away from her, up the hill to the road from which she had come, “you don’t need anything, do you?”
But before she could respond, he was laughing, and his laughter was the last thing she heard of him.
“A damn proud woman,” Wolf murmured, riding south, looking over his shoulder to see her making her slow progress.
“O’course in the world, such as it is, I imagine a lass would have to be. She’ll let no man step on her back, that’s for certain.”
Suddenly he heard the woman called Myrne cry out, “Hey!”
With effort he turned the old horse that was more draft horse than race horse about and waited for her.
She was some time in coming up the hill.
“Do you know the best way to the Mirren Fens?”
“The road you were taking, but avoid the New Forest.”
“I was going to cut through the smallest part of the New Forest, Angledon Wood.”
“You may,” Wolf allowed. “I’ll not tell you what to do, but there are brigands all through it. They say Michael Flynn and his Pranksters live there.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Outlaws, made outlaw by King Edmund. It is said they still from the rich and give to the poor.”
“I’m not sure I believe in that.”
“I’m not sure I do either,” Wold said.
“I think you have magic about you, but there are even free guild mages among them. I would not take my chance through that wood, but go through the Kimmerly Pass. I do not know much about the south, but I can guide you through the North Country. On that note,” Wolf saluted Myrne, “Good day.”
Myrne seemed to be considering something, and at last, she said, “Sir, Wolf?”
He laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse, Wolf doffed his leather cap and he had a shock of rough red hair.
“Sir Wolf! Next you’ll be calling me Lord Fox! Earl Weasel!”
Myrne wanted to be offended, but Wolf’s laughter was infectious and she said, “I grew up in courts, and if you had too, you would know just how many Lords are foxes and how many more earls are wolves!”
“Well played, Mistress!” Wolf nodded, delighted. “But what was it you were going to say?”
“I was abrupt, and a fool, and it is a great fool who cannot admit her foolishness. I would be grateful for your company, and traveling with you, or at least traveling a night and waiting for your return, would be much wiser than my going on alone. Doubtless the Holy Amana sent you to me. If you would, then let us travel on.”
Wolf said, “I would.”


They rode together, silent for some time, and at last, Wolf held out his hand.
“Yes?” Myrne said, wondering if he was trying to be courtly, to hold her hand.
“If we’re traveling together, you won’t be needing those coins… And I think I will.”
“Oh,” Myrne said, caught off guard, and feeling herself go red. “But of course.”
Reaching into her sack, she pulled out the coins, but now Wolf burst out laughing.
“The look on your face!” He shook his head.
He just kept laughing as they traveled the rough road winding around the high grassed valley.
“You’re sort of a cad,” Myrne discovered.
Wolf looked as if he were thinking this over and figuring out how he felt about it.
“You may be right,” he said, looking delighted, and so they rode on.

MORE AFTER A WEEKEND RELAX!

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion. Lots going on but I am still enjoying it and I look forward to seeing what happens next! Great writing and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Of course you're still enjoying it. It's a wonderful story! Thank you for reading.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Anson and Ash have an afternoon with Pol followed by a conversation with important old friends.


THE
EVERDEEN
DISTRICT



“Friend, are you working tonight?” Ash said to Pol.
Pol looked clearly drunk and flushed, he threw his arms about Ash.
“I love this man,” he said. “He’s a beautiful man, and a courtly man. May all the Gods bless you, Ash. He says, ‘Am I working tonight?’ As if I were a bartender, or server or a dairyman getting the carts ready for the morning.”
Pol stood up, throwing one arm about Ash and another about Anson.
“But, my lords, I am a working man, and work I must.”
“Come to the palace you must,” Anson differed, “now that you’ve seen it. Now that Ash is here. Things were dull before. They’re about to improve, I’m sure.”
“Just because of me?” Ash affected humility.
“My Prince, I’m a working man. Whatever that work.”
“How can you be friends with a Prince of Westrial and ever worry if you’ll have a roof over your head?”
Now Pol looked more serious than he had before, and he said, “Then it is not about the work, but about standing on my own two feet.”
Ash said, “If I set such a charm upon you that you need not worry about that, that such gold will come to you that you might spend this night with us when we ask you to remain, might you reconsider?”
Pol looked at Ash as if he was not sure this was possible and, he had seen no magic from the enchanter, but at last, after a sigh, the smile not departing from his face, he said, “If you allow me to change, then I will accompany you.”
“I was going into the Cathedral,” Anson pointed across the street. “Shall we meet you back here in an hour?”
“Aye,” Pol said, saluting him smartly, and turning down Reed Street in the direction of the Red District.
“What a spirited soul,” Ash noted as they walked toward the great façade of purple and white stone, its two tall towers on either side of it.
“It is a good thing I left my staff,” Ash said. “I feel too wizardly for such a place.”
“But is fair,” Anson said, whispering, even though they were feet away from the three great doors that led into the sanctuary.
Breaking through the noise of the streets, came a more organized noise, an almost stately noise. Chanting. Men in women in lose white robes and rose colored scarves, all with wooden beads about their necks, many with bangles hanging from their wrists. They bore aloft the blue image of a deity, and as they passed they sang:

Ahna Ahnar ahna Ahnar
Ahnar Ahnar ahna ahna
ahna āmar ahna āmar
āmar āmar ahna ahna

“They’ve been all over the place since the war,” Anson said.
“They are the Ahnarata,” Ash said. “They are not new, but they are new to Westrial.”
“And it seems ever since we ended the last war with the Daumans, this is what people want.”
“The Age of Love.”
“Eh?”
“The Age of Love,” Ash said. “And old prophecy in Royan lands, now spoken here by the followers of Ifandell Modet. After the Age of War will come the Age of Love. Ahnar is to usher it in.”
“Ahnar,” Anson noted as the party passed them, “is a god I do not know.”
“You do,” Ash said. “He is another form of Varayan, the incarnation of Varayan as Lord of Love. Here, in Westrial, the form of Varayan people know is Ard, the Wise One. His time may be ending, though, or at least being added to. Wisdom without love and only go so far.”
As they entered, the great abbey, and the sounds of the street were shut out, the saw the nave was filled, but not full.
“Or rather,” Ash whispered, “Wisdom cannot be wisdom if it does not, at last, bear love.”
But their careful reflection was interrupted by the sight of two people they had never expected to see in the Purplekirk. They were not robed in the ordinary trousers or the sensuous sheer shin fitting pants, but in long hooded blue robes, their hands folded into the sleeves. Still, they were a little too young and a little too handsome for an average monk and Anson rejoiced in the faces of the black haired Derek Annakar and the red headed and mild Gabriel Rokomont.
“Here to join the evening prayer?” Ash raised an eyebrow.
Gabriel almost laughed out loud and pressed up his brass rimmed spectacles and the handsome and sharp faced Derek gave a hooked grin.
The nave of the abbey was long and wide, and the monks gathered at the back under the rounded dome. This was the oldest part of it and a temple unto itself. The long nave had shot out over the years for the people, and become statelier still when the Basilica of the Purple had become the national cathedral.
“We are here,” Derek said, “because Conn told us you would be here.”
“His gift has strengthened,” Ash said.
“Because you have helped him strengthen it. Hyrum says it is nearly time for us to leave the main temple, to strike out and found out own House under Conn. It will like the places of old, before the Blue Mages and Blue Priests were split up, for…” and Derek’s voice was even lower, “we all have the Gift. We all can see. We all… can do things.”
“Derek, you told me none of this,” Anson said. “None of you did,” he turned to Gabriel.
“That’s because my lord no longer comes to the Blue Temple,” Gabriel said, pushing up his glasses and if there was an accusation here, Gabriel smiled inoffensively when he said it.
“Connleth asks word of the King’s health,” Derek continued, “and wonders how we shall fair should Cedd take the throne soon.”
Anson turned to Ash, and Ash said, “He will take the throne sooner than he thought, and you will fair better than you hoped.”
That was a witchly answer and they were all witchly people, so Derek Annakar nodded to this..
There were other people coming in and out of the great minsters, some looking around, some sitting in pews to be quiet and alone, and so the knot of men at the opening of the great kirk were not noticed.
Gabriel said, “Conn has dreamed of other things. Things beyond a new king. Wars again, but even… of monsters in the sea. Of the earth opening up. Of magic things long dead and forgotten coming to life again.”
“I…” Anson confessed and as he did, understood that the others around him were in the same condition, “have had… feelings. A change in the air.”
“The air is very much about to change,” Ash said, not sounding very mystical at all. “When you see Connleth, remind of what I said three years ago, that when I come calling, he must be ready. You all must be ready.”
Gabriel nodded and Derek nodded so fiercely that a lock of his black hair fell into his green eyes. This was an end to a meeting, and the men clasped each other tightly and then kissed each other on both cheeks and Derek and Gabriel, pulled their hoods over their heads and went back out into the day.
Now, Anson noted that along the walls of the naves, men were decorating, for anyone who wanted to worship near the monks was further up by the altar.

“Mama ek avasthāvaka bhāgyavatun isipatana taragaya rækavaraṇaya dī baraṇæsa dī ræn̆dī siṭi bava mā asā æta. ehi dī ohu bhikṣūn vahansēlā pas kaṇḍāyama amatā? "kumana dekak liṁgika vastūn vaṭama in̆duran pinavīmaṭa æti kirīmaṭa niyama kara æti bava piṭataṭa giya kenek visin vædagæmmak nohækiyi mē anta dekak tibē:. padanama, grāmya, podu, ignoble, læbūvada samahara viṭeka, hā æti vē svayaṁ-duk pīḍā kirīmaṭa…”

One of the monks in his long black robe was reciting in the midst of his brethren and the other people gathered for the evening recitation. Now he leaned forward, taking a staff and striking a bell which resounded through the space. As he sat, and as Anson made the sign of blessing, and sat down, Ash sitting beside him, far from everyone else, now the monks began to chant:

“kæpa: vēdanākārī insoblevada, læbūvada samahara
viṭeka mē anta dekama,
mē Ard visin avabōdha mæda mārgaya
kirīsamana væḷakīma - dækma niṣpādanaya,
dænuma niṣpādanaya - ṛju dænuma kirīmaṭa,
svayaṁ-pibidīmaṭat kirīmaṭa,
Unvininh kirīmaṭa, sansun kirīmaṭa yomu karayi…”

Over and over again, for the love of the world the Gods came into it, in the ancient days as themselves, but then as great sorcerers and heroes, mightier than most men. Lastly, it was believed, some came as teachers. So it was with he who was called Annatar, Adonai, Tammusan and Varayan. So he had come as Ard, the Great Teacher. In his youth, Ard had lived as a beautiful and well pampered man, but he was sorrowful because he had no wisdom. Then, when he learned the great wisdom, he wished to keep it to himself, but the Gods had come to him and, not commanding, as was their right, but begging, they had requested he give his teachings. Amana Goddess of the Earth had fallen on her knees for him. Tethys, Goddess of the Sea had cast dust in her hair for him. Addiwak and Amana had made such a show that Ard was moved past his fears and wept, and when he opened his mouth, this was the teaching that came:


Dænuma niṣpādanaya, dækma niṣpādanaya—"
ē Ard visin vaṭahā mæda māvata kumak
ṛju dænuma kirīmaṭa, svayaṁ-pibidīmaṭat
kirīmaṭa, Unbinding hariyaṭama mē ārya
aṣṭāṁgika mārgaya veta, sansun kirīmaṭa
yomu karayi:, niværadi dækma ayitiya
adhiṣṭhānaya, niværadi jīvanamārgaya.

Ash looked to his friend and kinsman and saw that Anson’s lips were moving right along with the chanting. When Anson turned to him there were tears in his eyes and he wiped them away very quickly.
“I’m such a fool,” Anson whispered, “such a man of contrary affections.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

Sorry I only got to this now, I thought you weren’t posting today. That was a great portion and it was a very pleasant surprise to see some familiar characters from The Book Of The Blue House! Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I wondered if you knew, but it seemed desperate to say: You know I posted, right?

 

[ChrisGibson]

A DINNER PARTY IN THE KINGSBORO GIVES WAY TO A SORROWFUL MEETING WHERE A KING HAS A CONVERSATION WITH HIS TWO SONS.


THE
KINGSBORO


Austin changed his apparel again. Downstairs the musicians were playing. Now he pulled off the heavy, mountain clothing, more fit for a winter time expedition than a jaunt to court, and he went to his dressers and pulled out garments more suitable for the night. The red leotard, so elegant, he pulled up one toe, and then put the other in and then rolled the fitted skin up his body. He stood in the mirror, taking the back of his hand down his sides, over the curve of his buttocks, and down his muscular thighs. He slipped in the cup which lifted but, which he was proud to say, did not enhance, all that was natural. He put on a brown leather vest jingling with silver charms, and then began to slip on charm bracelets, three jingling from each wrist.
Audrey came into the room now.
“What happened to the first outfit?”
“I prefer this one,” Austin stopped, cocking his hip to one side as he looked in the floor length mirror. “It just makes me feel…” he had no words for it. He said, “Bring me your kohl.”
From the time Audrey was a young girl growing up in the mountains, she knew she would have to marry Austin. She was of a noble house, and Austin’s house was the only other one that shared her family’s religion. Otherwise she would have either been packed off south to Zahem or perhaps married into a Hale family in the far north. Even now, Audrey admitted, as she went down the hall, she knew she did not possess the status or wealth to marry into one of the Great Houses.
And so she had married Austin, and he was good to look at, almost pretty. But even before their marriage, he had told her that he loved to do some of the things that women did.
“Sometimes I even like to look like a woman,” he had told her. “Do not misunderstand me. I am not a woman. I do not want to be a woman. But… I do not always wish to look as a man is supposed to.”
She brought him the mascara and watched Austin apply it to his almond shaped eyes. As she sat on the side of the bed Audrey said, “You do that better than me.”
“I should stop borrowing yours,” Austin said, at last. “I should just use my own. I don’t know why I haven’t bought my own. I would like to wear some of your lipstick.”
Then Austin said, raising a finger, “I’m not actually wearing it to the dinner, but I would like to put it on here, now. Wipe it off, leave the stain.”
“I’ve justed walk all the way from and to my rooms. You’ll have to get that yourself.”
“I’m perfectly fine with that, but I want to wear your boots.”
“I don’t mind you wearing women’s boots, but don’t they make them for women with bigger feet? We’ll have some commissioned for you so you stop stretching the toes in mine.”
Austin nodded to this. On his way out of the room, Audrey placed the back of her hand on his firm ass.
He took her hand, turned it to the palm, and pressed it there, indicating he liked the way she was touching him.
“Speak, Wife,” he said.
“Make a child with me. Make one with me tonight.”
“Very well, love,” he smiled on her.
“I think,” Audrey said, “I want you to rut with me, but with kohl all about your eyes, and along your chin and around your mouth.”
“Like a beard.”
“Yes. And in your green leotard, dressed like the Wild God himself.”
“To ravish you?”
“Please ravish me.”
Her hand was still massaging his ass and he felt himself hardening under his cup.
“I’ll ravish you until you beg me to stop.”


They went down arm and arm, Lord Buwa and Lady Buwa or, to be more accurate, Lord and Lady the Younger. Nephy Buwa stayed in the heights of the southern mountains these days with his perpetual cold to match its perpetual cold, and sent his son and his daughter by marriage down to live in the city. Far to the south it was easy to forget that the rest of Westrial was the land of the Zahem, and the Ayl who lived here were golden of skin or even bronze from years of living in the south as well as mixing with the Royan who had lived her long before them. Here, Audrey had heard herself referred to, not unkindly though, as the White Lady.
But, most strange to her, here they could not practice their faith. Not, Audrey noted truthfully, that she greatly wished to, but here they looked like people of no religion at all. Here, where there was not a single Celestial Temple, and no one knew of their intense religious rites, people had no sense of what it meant to practice something that, in the southwest mountains, and down in Zahem, was the dominant religion. She would start to speak of it to her maids, and then stop. Or she would try to speak of it to women who would have been her friends and then realize they could not be her friends because they could not understand.
As they approached the great hall, the strains of music and the singing could be heard:

What meane the rimes that run thus
large in every shop to sell?

With wanton found, and filthie sense,
me thinke it serves not well

We are not heathen, we forsoth,
at least professe not so

Why range we then to heathens trade?
come back, where will ye go?

Tell me is Tathe, or Ervan Lord?
doth Wisdom or Lust reign?

And so went the archaic lines of the old song, sung in the falsetto of one imitating the castrated singers of another time. His voice danced above the high wire of the harpsichord, but as Aubrey and Austin entered, all eyes were turned upon them, or rather upon him. Austin in his fine boots, his leotard fitting his body, His belt tight around his middle, his manhood proud under it like a red and forbidden fruit, the cap with the jeweled ostrich feather, jaunty on his head, fingernails sparkling such a dark and iridescent emerald they were almost black, and those eyes, winking from behind their kohl.
She knew they were not looking at her, but they must have seen her in passing, and to be part of his glory was enough, like a drop of red added to a white canvas.

And whose are we? Whom ought we serve?
I aske it, answere plaine

If wanton Lust, then go ye forth,
if Ervan, keep your trade

And here was the thing. If they were ever to return to the mountains or, God forbid, to the holy land of Zahem, then Austin could never live this life and be this spectacular, nor could she admire him. He would be reduced to heavy coats, and leather trousers and a cuff on the face for his eccentricities. A brilliant thing like Austin could only thrive in the city.



“Is that?” Pol wondered, from where he sat in his unlikely seat between Ash, how dressed in a deep red mantle, and Anson, “our friend, Austin Buwa?”
“Your friend?” Lady Sanessa, her white gold hair piled up and then twisted about to make a strange frame around her dark ivory face. “Well, what interesting company you keep then.”
“That is indeed,” Anson said, ignoring Sanessa of Auborne, “the Lord Buwa.”
“Maybe we can make his acquaintance again tonight?” Pol murmured, taking out kohl and applying it to his own eyes.”
“Again?” Ash said.
“Only if that dumpy little thing next to him doesn’t mind,” the Lady Sanessa said.
“The thing next to him?” Pol, applied the last of the liner and tucked it away in his vest.
“His wife,” Sanessa said, succinctly.
Austin Buwa came forward to kiss the hand of Prince Cedd, a black haired, handsome man, and then to bow before Prince Anson and Ash, before taking his seat. Next came Sir Anthony Pembroke, who embraced Cedd warmly, but gave only a cold bow to Anson, followed by Governor Andom and the Duchess Pettigar and then one old woman whom the Lady Sanessa noted as being, “Richer than us all, though with no title.”
Under the twinkling chandeliers of the great hall, as the stewards in their black and white came with roast hare, or pheasants, an—in Ash’s eyes—inedible peacock and, on wheels, an enormous and freshly hunted boar, the musicians set to singing again.

A Larke sometimes did breed,
within a field of Corne:
And had increase when as the graine
was ready to be shorne.
She wary of the time,
and carefull for her nest:
Debated wisely with her selfe,
what thing to doo were best:
For to abide the rage.

“The food is wonderful,” Pol said, “but the music could use a pickup.”
Anson nodded and said to Ash, “Brother, you may have to get out your harp and show them how it’s done.”

Debated wisely with her selfe,
what thing to doo were best:
For to abide the rage,
of cruell Reapers hand:
She knew it was to perilous,
with safetie for to stand.

But it was around this time a messenger came into the hall, whispering into the ear of Lord Anthony who was of a height with Anson, but a little leaner, fairer of hair, with more Ayl blood. He leaned in and whispered to Cedd who frowned and then came to Anson, whispering, “Brother, we are needed.”
Anson assumed it was their father and, for a moment, worry passed over both men’s faces before Anson cleared his throat, rose and said, leaning down to Ash, who sat closest to him, “Cousin, friends, it is time for us,” he signaled to Cedd, “to see our father.”
Pol and Ash nodded, and while the Princes departed, suddenly Austin Buwa rose from his seat, and came to the doleful minstrels. By the time Anson and Prince Cedd were gone, Austin Buwa had clapped a hand to his tight, red thigh and set the musicians to a new tune while trilling:

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heav'n's sun doth gently waste.
But my sun's heav'nly eyes
View not your weeping
That now lies sleeping,
Softly, softly, now softly lies sleeping.

“I remember that song being slightly….” Pol began.
“Sadder,” Ash supplied.
“I feel like Lord Buwa doesn’t have time for sadness,” Pol noted as Austin crossed one foot behind the other and threw his head back singing.



MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I am liking Austin and I hope there is a lot more of him. I don’t have much else to say other then great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Austin is interesting and gender bending and definitely not going anywhere.

 

[ChrisGibson]

The Boro was so large that without the lifts, which had been built in recent years, it would have been impossible to move quickly through them. The Great Hall was in the High Boro, that complex of halls and towers that made the central keep. Still they traveled up many floors in a creaking lift and down quiet halls to reach their father.
Neither spoke for a long while.
At last, Cedd said, “I am scared, too.”
Anson nodded. They continued down the long, barely lit hall to their father’s chambers, and before they reached the place always kept lit, always discreetly manned by guards, Anson said, “There was a time when we were close. Perhaps we will be again.”
“I would like that,” his black haired brother said.
Anson gauged his tone for meaning, wondering how serious he was, doubting it and telling his heart to cease doubting.
Wordlessly, the guards opened the doors to the King’s apartments and now they were in a lit and carpeted set of halls and anterooms and the door to the King’s bedroom was open. Cedd entered first, though they both noted that it had been Anson’s impulse to first enter.
They both noticed that their youngest sister, Princess Imogen, was there. She had not been at supper, but by now they were used to the dark haired girl going where she wished. They should have known she would be here.
The curtains were open to show a white moon high in a black sky, and as they came to the bed, Anson was struck anew by how frail his father looked. He only heard Cedd gasp a little. Both of them went to their knees before their father who sat up in bed and placed his hands on their heads.
Anthal had always been an old man. He and his brother, king before him, had been dispossessed by an uncle and fought their way back to the throne of Westrial, gaining help from the Rootless Isle. This was how Anthal had met Anson’s mother, so the King had said. She had been a girl back then, much younger than him. He had married the black haired Tourmaline, a northern princess, Cedd’s mother.
As the King’s sons arrived, Imogen stood and bowed, moving for them to take her place. Anthal’s hand massaged Anson’s head tenderly and he murmured, voice hoarse, “My boys, my boys, my boys. Your sisters are on their way. They will be here in time.”
Both men looked up, a pain shooting through them.
“No,” the King said gently, “I did not mean for my death, though that cannot be far off. But for the coronation.”
Behind them, Imogen sucked in her breath, but said nothing. They both looked confused, and Anthal continued, wearily, “The court, the land, factions… have always pitted my beautiful boys against each other. When I am gone…”
Anthal drifted off and then he said, “I want it made firm while I live. I want to see the crown on Cedd’s head the day after tomorrow. Do you understand?”
“That was why they were dressing the Cathedral!” Anson discovered.
“Yes,” Anthal said.
“The day after tomorrow…?” Cedd wondered.
“Will you support your brother?” the King said to Anson.
“With my life, Father!”
Then Anson turned to Cedd and said, “With my life.”
“And will you uphold the only brother you have?” Anthal charged Cedd.
The handsome older prince looked sharply at Anson, his black eyes serious.
He said, “I will.”


Other things were going on about the hall, and under the mural of Saint Silen established the Hermitage, and Saint Cyfan of the Rock teaching his first disciples there was, ironically, the richest woman in the city being hit on by a young gad about town.
Under the mural of the Coronation of King Athelstan by Archbishop Ambrose, the Lady Audrey was sitting amongst a number of ladies where she was clearly the least, and looking at her singing husband in wonder. When Austin was done singing, Pol stood up and Ash noted that, though he was not wearing hose he was wearing the most snug leather trews he had seen in some time.
“I will speak with our little songbird,” Pol said, inching away, “and see what he wishes to sing about later on.”
As Ash watched him walking away, and noticed the Lady Sanessa doing the same, he murmured, “Why, when he says, speak with our songbird, does it sound like ‘eat our songbird?’”
But there was no time to wonder about this. Back into the hall came the two princes, looking confounded, a little flabbergasted. Cedd took his central seat, but Anson came behind Ash and whispered:
“Father has sent a letter to the Abbey. He’s planning to have Cedd’s coronation the day after tomorrow, giving one day for the city to gather.”
Ash nodded and Anson said, “You already knew.”
“Of course.”
Anson thumped on the back of Ash’s seat. “Get your going out clothes, ready, wizard. I’ll be needing a drink.”




THE NEAR WEST COUNTIES

That night they stayed in a village called Nine Forks, which was in the middle of a small deep valley, with large, long low roofed houses half circling a silver lake.
“Had you been here before?” Wolf asked Myrne as he went to put his horse in the stable.
“No,” Myrne said. “I came a different way. I was coming from the south by the sea. The last village I remember is the one we passed an hour ago.”
As they entered the tavern full of the smell of shepherd’s pie and the noises of the town gathering spot, Myrne added, “I imagine tomorrow, as we come closer to the capital, we should see more towns. Even some palaces of rich lords.”
“We did see one castle.”
“Even from a distance I do not think it belonged to a very rich lord,” Myrne said. “I would not be surprised it if was empty and the family had gone away long ago.”
They found their own table, and soon an old man asked them what they’d be having and Wolf replied that he wanted the house special.
“That’s good cause it’s all we got,” the man said, plainly.
“Then why in the world did you ask us what we wanted?”
“People like to think they have options,” the man said with a shrug. “Whaddo you be drinkin tonight?”
“Do we have options?” Myrne asked while Wolf covered his mouth.
“Ale and water. Wine too.”
“Ale,” Wolf said.
“I’ll have water.”
“She’ll have an ale as well,” Wolf said. The man nodded, and went away.
“Who do you think you are?” she asked Wolf. “And who does he think he is? If I say I’ll have water, well then let me have water.”
“Howabout you have water and ale?” Wolf asked her. “We can both have water and ale.”
“I can’t wait till that food gets here,” Myrne decided, “anything to keep your mouth stuffed.
“Why are you going to Kingsboro, anyway?” Myrne said.
“My master is at the palace. I am going to attend him, travel back with him. Right now he is with King Anthal, but when we leave he will leave with me.”
Myrne frowned and Wolf said, “Did I say something unpleasant?”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said as the innkeeper came back with two tankards of ale and a basket of hot bread.
“Thank you,” she said absently while Wolf said the same, toasting the man.
“No,” Myrne said again. “It’s only… I felt something. Something strange when you said that, and I’ve been sorting through my strange feelings since I was seven years old. Tell me about this master.”
“I do not know if you have heard of the Lord Ohean Penannyn?”
“Are you serious?” Myrne said.
“Well, yes.”
“You are the servant of Ohean?”
“Well,” Wolf took a hunk of bread and opened it, the steam wafting out as he reached for a round hunk of butter. “I wouldn’t say servant so much as assistant.”
“Gods!” Myrne murmured, swooning. “I have to master myself.”
“Lady,” Wolf put the bread down and looked more serious than he had before, “Are you well. For real?”
“It is not that bald lie about being a sorcerer’s apprentice,” she said, “but something else… Sometimes I am struck by the power.”
Wolf frowned, watching the girl flush, getting ready to call for water, when Myrne said, “Do you have a means of reaching him? Without being in his presence?”
“Magic?”
“That too, but some wealthy people have devices that reach over long distances.”
“I do not,’ Wolf said, plainly.
“Then we will have to reach Master Ash as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
It was now that Myrne finally took a great hunk of bread and began to butter it. She took a most unladylike plug of ale and, wiping her red mouth, she said, “I do not know. Not really. He has attached himself to someone. To something. I will attempt to see it if I can. But if he does not leave soon it, or he or she, will be in danger.”
She chewed on the bread thoroughly and, mouthful, she said, “There is sickness in this land.”
She leaned forward and whispered to Wolf, surprisingly offhandedly:
“The King is dying."

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow lots going on! That was a great portion! I hope the coronation of the new king goes well. I am getting even more engrossed as the story goes along and I look forward to more tomorrow! Excellent writing!