Valkyria (3 page)

“
Tell Ser Seran I have news
for him from Her Majesty.” The old man shuffled to one side,
resembling a penguin in his black and white clothing and awkward
movements. As Ser Lonthan entered the house, he was greeted by a
hall the size of a training room. A stairwell sat on the far side,
splitting into two half way down. It’s marble was as white as a
wedding dress. Contrasting it was the crimson carpet that stretched
away from the door, under the stairwell and into the
parlour.

To the right of the perfectly square
room was a fireplace bigger than Ser Lonthan himself, roaring away
like a lion protecting its family.

“
Welcome, old friend,” said
a voice from the top of the stairwell. There stood a man as tall as
the door he had just come through, with a beard covering an
otherwise clear and empty face. His hair parted in the middle and
seemed to race against itself to reach as far down as
possible.

“
Milord Seran, it is good
to see you again,” replied Ser Lonthan.

“
Come now Lonthan, there is
no need to call me that. Just because I was the better fighter and
was given the better status doesn’t mean we must change the way we
talk to one another.”

“
In that case, Seran, it’s
been a long time you weasel.”

Ser Seran let out a laugh that echoed
through the hall. He marched down the right hand stairwell and
straight toward Ser Lonthan, extending a hand which Ser Lonthan
accepted.

“
You really have moved up
in the world,” said Ser Lonthan. “I can still remember that hovel
we called home back on the Lower Plate, and now look at us. I’m
Captain of the Guard and you’re a Dragoon.”

Ser Lonthan looked around the hall once
again. The fire illuminated a painting of Her Majesty the hung
above it, although like all paintings of the Queen, it did her no
justice. ‘You can’t paint a beautiful picture of a donkey’ he used
to say when he saw them.

“
I have a message from the
donkey,” he said whilst staring at Queen Mari’s picture. “Her
Majesty has called for you at the Rose Throne. I am told it is
urgent.”

“
Urgent you say? I wonder
what the old horse wants now.”

“
You know,” said Ser
Lonthan, “you standing there complaining about meeting with the
Queen is rather amusing, since we were once commoners ourselves and
were not permitted to speak her name.”

“
Yes, and you complaining
about the commoners in the Upper City market is equally as comical.
Do not think I haven’t heard of your comments about them from the
other guards.”

The two Lords laughed with one another
once more before Ser Seran retreated into his bedroom on the upper
floor to get dressed. Ser Lonthan took a seat and began to imagine
what life would be like for him as a Dragoon.

He would have the finest house he could
find in the city, and not one that was connected to a working
alleyway. He would marry a young and nubile woman who would give
him many sons, and they would have they own training room at home
to practice, so that they might become Dragoons as well.

Ser Seran reappeared from the bedroom,
his chainmail glistening in the firelight, with the black Dragoon
cloak wrapped around his neck. His feet were donned with studded
leather boots, as his hands were with leather gloves. Atop the
chainmail he wore a loose tunic of a moss color.

“
Seran, tell me, why did
you choose a house that opened onto such an alleyway?” As soon as
Ser Lonthan finished his sentence the answer was clear. A young
girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen hopped out of the bedroom
wearing a most revealing corset and nothing else.

“
Milord, have you seen my
bottoms?”

“
They’re hanging on the
side of the bath, dear,” replied Ser Seran, glancing back at Ser
Lonthan with a sly smile.

Ser Seran walked down the steps toward
Ser Lonthan, his shoulders swaying far more than usual, and his
smile far larger than a few minutes before.

“
You, sir,” said Ser
Lonthan, “are definitely making use of your new status. But I’m
afraid you have to leave that young beauty for now.”

Ser Seran nodded in acknowledgement and
followed his old friend to the door, up the alley and finally to
the top of the Golden Steps, up to the highest plate of Alexandra
City. Before them stood the great doors of the Royal Estate, made
of the most solid oak Ser Lonthan had ever seen. He had to use both
arms to push the magnificent gates open, which revealed a stone
hall far larger than Ser Seran’s home in its entirety.

Archways lined each side of the hall,
with balconies suspended above them. A large table filled the
centre of the hall large enough to seat well over one hundred
people. It was coated in silver platters and goblets each filled
with various meats and fruits as if a feast was waiting to begin.
Yet there were only five people in the hall, the Queen included, as
she sat on her throne awaiting the two men. They continued through
the hall until they kneeled before the aging woman.

“
Ser Seran, your Majesty,”
said Ser Lonthan as his face was turned to the floor.

“
Thank you Ser Lonthan,”
said the Queen, her voice colder than ice and yet softer than
butter. “Ser Seran, it is time for you to begin your duties to this
nation as a Dragoon.

You see, I feel it is time we take what
was taken from us. The Ringlands have been without our leadership
for far too long. Therefore, I am sending you to take them
back.”

“
As you wish, your
Majesty,” replied Ser Seran. “And how many knights do you wish me
to take?”

Queen Mari screeched a laugh and stared
at the Dragoon with eyes like a cat after a mouse had just entered
the room. Ser Lonthan knew that his friend had said something
wrong, but could not speak of it in front of her
Majesty.

“
Why, my dear boy,” she
said. “You will take none of our knights with you. Why should we
risk our fine men to take back such a place when we must
concentrate on the growing threat from the Three Peaks.

No, you will go alone and when you get
there you will meet with Lord Eerhart who will provide you with all
information and men he has available. For you see, the Ringlands
are small and most of their people are but farmers. You will not
need a great force to take them.”

“
Forgive me, your Majesty,
but if they are but farmers, how did they gain their independence
in the first place?”

“
That is simple,” she
continued. “Our Inquisition betrayed the oaths they had sworn and
turned upon our nation when we least expected it. However, that was
many years ago and those men are either dead or as close to it as
they could be.

Therefore it is my decision that you
will go alone. Do you understand?”

“
Yes, your Majesty,” said
Ser Seran. Ser Lonthan watching from the corner of his eye as the
Dragoon bowed his head in acceptance and stood. Ser Lonthan did the
same.

“
May I ask how I am to
travel there, Your Majesty?”

“
Why my dear boy, that is
simple. You will take a horse-drawn coach to Karayol Port and then
board a fishing boat we have arranged for you.”

“
A fishing boat, Your
Majesty? Why not take an Odin or Thor airship? They are small and
nimble enough.”

“
You will be going to the
Ringlands under the guise of a Journeyman, most of whom have very
little money and certainly could not pay the price of an air-taxi,
let alone a private transport.”

“
I understand, Your
Majesty. I will do as you ask immediately.”

*~*~*

3

EINAR

The long road to Saylae was covered in
horse tracks from the hundreds of merchants that travelled around
the island of Suhran from the port city. Thousands of paths and
roads entangled one another across the land, but in the end they
all joined the Saylae road.

Einar had awoken Alexia at sunrise and
they had set off with a few short minutes. Dragging the meat cart
along the old road had proven difficult, but they had managed to
cover half of it before the full face of the sun had
risen.

After five hours of dirt, broken
branches and the odd strange riding by on a horse the trees began
to separate, the forest finally ending. It gave way to the
Whitewash Plains as if a gate had opened for the young travellers.
The plains themselves were as flat as a squirrel after a coach had
run it down.

They spread far and wide, further than
Einar’s eyes could see. Whiteseed plants spread over the land like
a canvas as farmers harvested the petals for medicine whilst the
rest would be used in the brewery in Saylae itself.

Ahead was the great stone wall of the
Suhran capital, always guarded and always gleaming like garnet due
to the dark marble that was added into the building
stones.

“
The Lord of Saylae,” said
Einar trying to break the silence that has come over them, “is
called Ser Handrid. A truly great man if ever there was one. He had
been part of the Inquisition for Alexandria when they came here,
but had fallen in love with our lands and lead the revolt of the
Inquisition itself. He and his family, the Highwinds, lead the
assault on Saylae when it was under Alexandrian control. That’s why
they named him Lord of Saylae and then Lord of Suhran Island
itself.”

He looked over at his sister, half
expecting her to not listen, yet she was looking at him directly in
the face with eyes open wide.

“
The Highwinds did a very
good job, in many ways. Yes we have a much harder life now than
before but at the same time the city itself prospered and brought
more merchants to us.

Originally it was just a small village
like Caim, but the Highwinds grew it, and built a new port,
increased the market area and built the Whitewash
fields.”

“
It really is beautiful,”
said Alexia. “You never told me about it before.”

“
I didn’t think you would
be interested,” he replied. Einar had always assumed she was far
too interested in things like the “higher powers” and other
fairy-tales she was told by old Ma’am Erey. He had been to Saylae
six times in the past year and each time the buildings astounded
him. However, the people were entirely different.

“
Alexia, be careful in
there,” he said. “Some of the people will be able to tell you are
from a village and may try to take advantage of what they think is
your ignorance. So we’ll just go to the market and then leave for
today.”

They reached the gateway of the great
market city, which was always open during the sunlight of the day
to allow the hundreds of merchants to freely come and go. On each
side of the enormous arched gateway stood a stone gryphon clutching
a great sword in its mouth; the emblem of the Highwind
family.

“
That sword was called
Ruzgard,” said Einar when he noticed Alexia’s eyes were fixated
upon the statues. “It means Wind Guardian in the old tongue. You
see, the Highwind family admired our culture and language so much
that they tried to honour its loss after Alexandria
left.”

Einar had always admired the Highwind
family, and the Inquisition themselves. They had brought back at
least a small pinch of the freedom that the Ringlands had lost at
the hands of the Alexandria Empire.

After passing through the gateway they
walked into what could have been a completely different world. The
streets were lined with cobblestone rather than the tracks of Caim
Village. They were bustling and busy, with countless faces flowing
in and out of every corner. Horses strode through the gaps between
the sea of people as an endless song of a thousand voices filled
the skies, with words like ‘apples’ and ‘meat’ echoing from the
market stalls.

Houses stretched up three to four
stories and were coloured white with brown oak borders. Thatched
roofs extended all around the city whilst the market stalls form a
wall on both sides of every road.

The echoing voices were drowned every
few seconds as the roar of a steam-cart rolled passed. The long
silver hoods of the carts stretched out as long as a man, with
metal cabins to seat the passengers situated behind it. The drivers
sat in small opening between the cabin and the engine, and all
seemed to wear the same standard leather cap and protective
goggles.

In the sky Einar could see at least one
hundred small delivery air-taxis trundling around above the houses,
leaving trails of white smoke as the steam engines dragged the
propellers into motion. The small balloons that held up the
air-taxis were at the top, sometimes three or four of them,
sometimes only one depending on the size of the
air-taxi.

From the balloons stretched thick rope
which wrapped its way around wooden cabins that resembled a closed
fishing boat of varying sizes.

They walked a short distance, trying to
maneuver the meat cart around the bustling citizens until they
reached a small stall with a wooden roof and a box that was covered
in various choice cuts of meat.

“
What have you go there,
boy?” The stall owner was a wide built man at best, with a beard
that had certainly seen better days. An odour of ale escaped from
his mouth as he spoke.