Samual (8 page)

The Court was full that morning. There were a dozen petitioners asking to be heard, many of them linked with either the noble houses or the merchant guilds, several emissaries from the nearby realms seeking an audience, and five or six disputes needing to be resolved. It was a long list of duties to get through in a morning. And all Heri really wanted to do was check his soldiers, count his treasury's gold, and listen to the reports of his spies. Those were the things that really mattered. Those were the things that kept him in power.

The rest of this – the polished wooden floors and walls, the grandeur of the huge vaulted ceiling in the throne room, the massive stained glass windows with their depictions of his family's heroic acts, the assembly of overdressed courtiers attending him – they were nothing. Theatre. They were what made him look like a king. But in the end it was always about power. About being able to force his will upon others. And that was done through force of arms, economic might, knowledge and cunning. Looking the part merely helped him keep the throne.

But Heri was surrounded by enemies. Smiling, polite, elegant enemies dressed in all their finery, all of whom would happily stick a knife in his back if they thought they could get away with it. Especially if it would gain them the throne.

Prince Venti was currently standing to one side chatting with some of the ladies. He called himself a prince but really, he was no prince at all. He just claimed the title since his father had been the king before Heri's father had taken it. The man was stupid, but he had a powerful army.

Seeing him standing there posing like a king, Heri had to fight the impulse to have him killed on the spot. Or even to do something cunning like invite him into his private sanctum and introduce him to his little horse head statue. The man would do well as a horse he thought. And it was about time he made some use of that ancient artefact instead of just letting it sit on his shelves. But he supposed someone would notice the prince's absence and know he had last been seen with the king. It would also be difficult getting a horse out of his sanctum through the underground tunnel.

Lord Cameral stood in the background, holding a drink and giving the impression he was there simply to socialise. And yet Heri noticed he didn't take a single sip of his drink. He pretended to be just a guest enjoying himself, but really he was there to see what he could learn. Watching and listening carefully to everything around him and looking for any piece of information he could exploit. The man was a plotter and a schemer. Luckily his lands were weak. He could cause Heri trouble but ultimately could not take the throne and he knew it.

And then there were the Fallbrights. The entire accursed family was here, all of them stuffed into fine clothes that they looked distinctly uncomfortable in. They were a bunch of brigands – though they called themselves soldiers – who had seized an estate a generation or two back, and held it ever since by force of arms. Naturally they had no respect for him since he wasn't the warrior they wanted, and they weren't afraid to point that out. They weren't going to enjoy today's session of the Court Heri promised himself. That would be his only joy today.

To make matters worse, it was also a celebration – the archaic festival of the midsummer sun or some such thing – and so there were a number of white robed priests of the All Father currently littering the marble tiled floor with their presence and intoning prayers. He hated the priests, and if the gods truly existed he didn't like them much either. But he needed their support so he publicly followed the All Father and pretended faith. He spent good gold keeping the All Father's poxy great temple in good order, and insisted that the people follow the observances of the king of gods. He even kept an adviser from the temple on hand, though he never listened to him.

But at least it was the king of gods that he supported publicly. A worthy god for a king to worship. Not some miserable little god like Vineus or worse the god of one of the other races like the elves' pathetic Goddess. He allowed the worship of the other gods – a king had to indulge the weak minds of his subjects – as long as they didn't go against his rulings. So the priests of the Red God of War and Vineus could be seen walking the streets freely. Phil the White had his own temple in the city. Healing was always a valued gift. The priests of Draco however had been banned from the realm. He had nothing against dragons as long as they stayed far away from him, but their priests liked to play with fire literally and that threatened the safety of everyone. Naturally none of Draco's priests were in attendance.

But as if to make up for their absence there were minstrels. He hated minstrels. Their singing tore at his ears, the sounds of their harps and lutes were pure torture. Adding insult to injury he recognised them as nothing more than a bunch of thieves and beggars who told endless lies about him across a thousand inns. He would have had them all put to the sword had it been allowed. He regularly prayed to the All Father to have them struck down by some plague. But of course that never happened. The gods – if they truly existed – did not do as he asked. And to kill them himself would simply have been seen as a king gone mad, and would have stirred up the people against him. So he had to tolerate them.  As the king he had to be seen by the people as at least fair. They were never going to love him as they had loved his father, but if he was considered fair, then at least they wouldn't turn on him.

Heri's mother had taught him that, before she'd turned against him and he'd imprisoned her in the towers with the rest of his enemies. Stupid woman, she'd actually thought that she could control the throne through him. Now she had plenty of time to reflect on her mistakes. He was the king and she should have known better. But still, he visited her and listened to her advice from time to time, one piece of which was to hold regular public courts. His subjects needed to know that their king still lived and that he still held the reins of power tightly. That their lives were his.

They also needed to know that he was beyond them in all the ways that mattered. And so the castle was kept in perfect order, the throne room and all the antechambers were polished daily and the most extravagant of artworks hung from the walls. Naturally most of them were portraits of him, looking down regally over his subjects.

The cannon throne that he'd had carefully crafted in precious metals was another symbol of his power. He had had his golden high backed chair draped in the most expensive furs he could buy and then placed securely on two bronzed cannon. Those cannon in turn stood on a raised dais of marble overlooking the chamber. He thought it emphasized both his wealth and his military might.

Then too he held a dozen balls a year, more than he needed to and far more than he wanted, but he had to demonstrate his wealth at every opportunity.

The guards in their expensive finery and bearing their more than serviceable weapons were also sign of his power, as was the army he kept and the regular patrols he sent throughout the realm. The people had to know he was more than just a man; that he would not be easily overthrown, and that when the time came if they tried, he would crush them. There was a reason he kept the heads of those who had dared to stand against him on a garden of pikes outside the front gates. There was also a reason that there were so many of them.

More important than the people of course, the nobles had to know that he was king. Fair Fields was less a kingdom than a collection of baronies, fiefdoms, principalities and estates that had come together for trade and mutual defence from one another. The throne was a prize that all of them wanted. And they all wanted to see Heri fail so that they could lay claim to it.

He would not fail though. And today every noble house would see once again that he had a way of dealing with those who challenged him. It would keep them in order for a while. And the people would think nothing of it save that the king was supporting them. Today would be a good day for him. If he could just get through it.

Heri sat on his throne, idly clutching his gold and jewel encrusted sceptre, surrounded by his court and tried to look attentive as his mother had schooled him. A king had to be seen to be concerned with affairs of state, even when he wasn't. Like today for example.

Usually he was. Usually he liked being king. He liked having the nobles of the realm bow to him. He liked setting down the law, and watching them grit their teeth in pain as they had to obey. He liked raising taxes for the same reason. Not because of the poor people who also had to pay them. They were nobodies. But the nobles, the pretentious, treacherous lords and ladies of the court – most of whom were always looking for a chance to slip a dagger in to his back – they mattered, and he loved seeing them suffer. He loved seeing the impotent fury in their eyes as they surrounded him, bowed to him, while all the time masking their rage with fake smiles.

This day however, wasn't a good one. First there had been news from his spies that the elves of Shavarra were on the move. No one could tell him why, save that it didn't seem to be a military posture. But the one thing they could tell him was that the elves were heading this way. West towards Fair Fields. Every pigeon they had sent had said the same thing. He didn't like that. He especially didn't like that there could be a war coming. So he had had his patrols start riding the border and now waited impatiently for more news from his spies. 

To add to his worries Augrim had been making noises about some huge magical event in the world. He too could tell him little about it, save that it was immense and it heralded major changes in the world. The man might be his magical advisor and highly respected as a wizard, but some days Heri wondered if he was really worth what he paid him. True the wizard had found him a lot of ancient magical treasures for his sanctum, but often his divination skills didn't seem to be the most reliable. And the cost of all those scrolls of magical knowledge the wizard wanted in exchange for his services was excessive. Besides, he hated the wizard's stupid looking beard.

Then a messenger had come from the dungeons with some disturbing news. His prisoner was poorly. That was a worry. He didn't really care in truth whether Ryshal lived or not. She was inconsequential, especially since she'd spurned his advances years before. There were plenty of other wenches happy to share his bedchamber and a whoring elf didn't matter to him. But if she died his hold on Samual died with her, and that could be dangerous.

Samual had magic, which was bad enough. He'd used it against him once, and Heri had counted himself lucky to have been ready for him. Even so it had been close. A lot of men had fallen that day and Heri had nearly fallen with them. But if Samual had been thinking he would have known that his magic wasn't his greatest weapon. Nor was his blade. He was a knight, one of the dearly loved knights of Hanor, and he had a following within his order. People who would blindly follow him. Others would follow them in turn. And they would do so not only because they loved Samual but also in memory of their father – the only king of Fair Fields to have been elected by the people of the land and not the nobles. That made Samual much more dangerous than a few sparks flowing from his fingertips.

It also didn't help that his half-blood brother was fair of face. He stood tall and he smiled and people flocked to him. They listened as he spouted his noble words. They believed in him. The bastard had been favoured by the All Father.

Heri hated him for that. He always had. Samual had been his father's favourite. He had always had everything given to him. Worse still, things came easily to him. Whether it was swords, or warcraft, learning or magic, he had been given everything. For as long as he could remember Heri had always wanted Samual dead. It had just never seemed to happen.

Heri for his part wasn't loved by the people, and there was nothing he could do to change that. The people wanted a hero. Or a worthy king. At the very least they wanted someone they could understand. Feel a little kinship with. But using the shortened version of his name had not been enough to do that. Samual called himself Sam and the people flocked to him because of it. He shortened his name and they lost what little respect they had for him to begin with. And now instead of Heriott he was eternally Heri. As for the Court they hated him. An older brother, even if he was a bastard son without a legitimate claim to the throne could still pose a serious threat to his rule if he was loved. Heri couldn't afford threats.

Lose the throne and lose his life. That was one of the facts of life his mother had taught him, and Heri had learned the lesson well. He had no interest in dying.

That was why Heri had locked Samual's elven whore up in the first place. Samual had made a pretence of leaving Fair Fields with his new wife and her parents. He had loaded up wagons and made all the right noises. But it had been a lie. Heri had seen through to the cold, calculating heart of his pox ridden half-brother. Samual had been making a play for the throne. He had only pretended to be leaving. In truth he had been fomenting revolution. His plan had been to make the people protest and beg him to stay. He had even amassed a following. It wouldn't have been long Heri knew, before Samual had graciously acceded to the people's demands and taken the throne from him. That could not have been allowed.