3430 of the Fifth Age
Mordurel, Easterland Region
Castle of Silverhall
Raenys Silverstag
She was reading a book in the garden to calm her temper after that move Aldrich pulled with her. She tried to avoid pondering his dislike of staying with her in the castle. The Kingsguard Sir Eddyre was tasked with the honorable task of watching her read. In her peripheral vision she saw him moving on her left and raised her head. His white gold gilded armor shined when the sun touched it. She saw him take half a step towards a small boy that came jogging.
“It’s alright,” she said.
The hooded boy approached her. He was a malnourished thing, looking around six or so but she imaged he was older than that. Raenys frowned when she wondered why he was so malnourished. Someone would have to answer for it. It was unacceptable that anyone in the castle was so poorly fed as him.
He handed her a parchment and for a moment she thought she spotted small horns below his tattered hood and for a second she hesitated.
That’s why, she realized. That why you’re…oh, of course. You’re a Demonling my sweet.
Any worry on her mind disappeared and she dismissed him and looked at the wax seal, green with a leafless oak. The sigil of house Oakenshield. She opened it and the name at the bottom was that of her friend Dawana. She grew intrigued by what she had heard whispered through her web of spies. The writing mentioned that Baron Whitecloak had done something that would not only embarrass his house if it came out, but also house Chafferly. Both were baronies in Ostland under Dawana’s lord father.
“Very interesting.” When she looked to the bushes where the boy had come from he was already gone. “Hmm, that’s one of your whispering spies isn’t he, Dawana?” She asked rhetorically. “Nobody notices a shunned child cursed with demon blood. That’s brilliant. I need to get some of those.”
She took the book under her arm and walked out of the garden. In a small chamber she put the parchment in the burning hearth.
“Your grace,” Sir Eddyre said.
Raenys turned to see him standing in the doorway with a young man in velvet. The man had gone down on one knee and let his eyes face the marble floor.
“Your grace, I was sent by my lord Jermayne Jagon,” he said.
“What does my lord husband’s master of spies want from me?” She inquired and took a few steps forward.
“He requests your presence in his study as soon as possible.”
“Why? If it is an official matter he should speak to the chancellor.”
“The chancellor is not in the castle at present, neither is the king, as you of course know.”
She sighed. That left governing the realm in her hands. Great. “Very well. Let us go to his study.”
The man rose and she followed him through the halls with Sir Eddyre at her back. His royal purple cloak flowed from his white pauldrons. The study was three levels upward in the castle in its own hallway. All the council posts came with a study in a hallway and a bedchambers and solar in the same wing. The guards in the wing had a pink flower with a yellow center on a brown field on their right chests. A few had brown cloaks with the blazon of house Jagon. She assumed that the man that came to her was a lordling or from the gentry, a son from a rich lowborn family. Could be son of a knight, maybe a knight himself, or son of a merchant or rich landowner. She counted him out as a lordling since he had called her ‘milady’. Since he said ‘my lady’ he must be a lordling or at minimum from the gentry since the lowborn said ‘milady’. It’s a way of dividing the lowborn and more proper born in society, to know who was what.
A man in brown and white gambeson knocked on the thick oak door to the study. Someone answered from inside and he opened the door for her.
“Her majesty the queen, my lord,” he announced.
The young man behind the desk rose and bowed.
“Welcome my queen. I thank you for coming so quickly.”
“I understood it was rather urgent,” she said as she entered.
Behind them the door closed with a thud.
“Would you like some wine? Bluewyne produced,” Jermayne Jagon offered.
She smiled, “Certainly.”
She sat down in the chair opposite his and he poured wine from a blue bottle into a goblet of silver. It was a simpler design then what she was used to. No stylized patterns engraved on it, but it would do since there was wine in it. The young man poured in his own goblet and sipped gently.
“Hmm, yes,” he said with approval of the taste.
“What was so urgent then my lord?” She asked him. At twenty-nine he was only four years her elder.
“Oh, yes. Apologize my queen. A matter has shown itself in the Vorostmark province.”
Oh dear. “What have Count Godsgrace done now?”
He gave her a weak smile and drew his hands through his chestnut curls.
“It appears that, ah…his lordship have caused quite the commotion in his province. He accused one of Lord Baivilúmont’ sons for heresy. He accused him of whoring, speaking ill of the patron gods in favor of the, eh, newer religion. The Church of the Blessed Blood. He…ah…found him guilty before a court of priests and deacons and punished the boy by publically burning him at the stake, alive of course.”
Raenys was shocked by what she just heard. How could the count burned someone alive? The son of one of his mightiest vassals nonetheless. She knew that they called him ‘the Pious’ but this was beyond piety. It was more akin with religious zealots. Was Rohanna the only sane member of her house? She remembered something she heard from Rohanna a few months ago. Did her second elder brother join the Nine-star knights? The knights that swore oaths to the realm’s Faith, to the archdeacon. If she remembered correctly that made three Godsgraces that had sworn off land and wealth to serve the Faith. Truly a pious family.
“By Nightingale, this is troubling news.”
“I’m glad you see it your grace,” Jermayne said with a concerned expression on his gentle features. “The lords of Vorostmark already hates the Godsgraces since they came into the count title at the end of the Bleeding Years in 3405. Count Montúpierre lost the titles for rebelling with Jaeryn Shattershield. Count Godsgrace still lacks the support of his vassals. After the Bleeding Years your mother Queen Jhaenera’s warnings of the realm’s unified military mighty kept them in check. In a well-run province the baronets answer to the baron, the baron answers to the count and the count answers to the king. In Vorostmark the barons rather answers to the king and prefer to skip their count whenever possible.”
She wanted to say that her dear Aldrich was strong and could keep the vassals in check but that was before the count begun to burn his vassals children alive. Even though she wasn’t as good at politics as others she felt that this stank of an imminent rebellion. Twenty-five years later and the Godsgraces haven’t been able to win the loyalty of their vassals. Their actions provoked more often than inspire loyalty.
“Where…” her words were caught in her throat. “…where did the chancellor go?” Furthermore, why hadn’t she been noticed by the chancellor that he had left, thereby leaving ruling and decision making in her gentle hands? Mayhaps he needed to be berated upon his return.
“He rode south to Culhaven. He intends to spend a day in the famous bathhouse, rubbing shoulder with the local gentry. If he keeps to it he’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tell me, where do Baron d’Marth’s loyalties lie?” Raenys asked with their ships in mind.
“Not with Godsgrace,” was Lord Jermayne’s simple answer. “Neither do Viscount Baivilúmont, for obvious reasons. Meaning that the fleet power is in the hands of the loaming rebellion. The viscount has the major naval strength but d’Marth breeds the best sailors on their islands.”
“Assemble the council please. Those that are here. I must seek their advice,” Raenys decided.
Jermayne nodded and rose as she did, “Including the court deacon?” She nodded. “Immediately, but I warn you that he will be troublesome.”
A mere half an hour passed before the members were assembled in the council chamber. She took the place of the chancellor at the high foot of the table. Jermayne Jagon was of course present, as was master of ships Count Beowulf Oakenshield-her friend Dawana’s lord father-and master of justice Baron Ellard Whitecloak, master of treasure Viscount Pippin Payneheart and court deacon Caesar Jagon who was the uncle to Lord Jermayne.
Viscount Payneheart was the eldest at ninety-nine. The master of the arcane was not present but she saw no reason for his advice so she didn’t mind nor care where he were. Sir Eddyre Tinian guarded the outside and Sir Alfred the Skullsplitter was present inside the chamber. Alfred was the only lowborn in the Kingsguard. He was a warrior from the Sverd Isles, the fierce Sverdmens homeland.
“Your grace, this, matter, is most, troubling,” Viscount Payneheart voiced after Lord Jermayne filled them in.
“We all agree on that,” said Lord Whitecloak.
Very insightful, Raenys thought sarcastically.
“Honest opinion your majesty?” Beowulf Oakenshield asked gruffly.
“I wouldn’t have asked you here otherwise my lord.”
“It is my honest opinion that Godsgrace have had a quarter of a century to stabilize their province and gather the loyalty of their vassals, repair wounds from the Bleeding Years and such.”
“The count makes a good point,” Whitecloak, his vassal, agreed. “Vorostlings don’t like being ruled by outsiders and as their name shows Godsgrace is not from Vorostmark originally. Their only loyal vassal is house Stannerly, who migrated with them and are also seen as outsiders.”
“The situation cannot go on. They have proven themselves incapable of lording over Vorostmark. Beastmen like the Fauns raids have increased in success since 3405,” Count Beowulf Oakenshield continued. “I should say, when house Godsgrace response. The province’s barons is capable of defending their own lands against minor incursions.”
“Does anyone disagree?” Raenys asked carefully.
The men shook their heads, except Court Deacon Caesar Jagon.
“Court deacon? What is your opinion on the situation?” She asked and instantly regretted inviting him.
He leaned forward and cleared his throat.
“Your majesty, I do not agree with Count Godsgrace’s actions. I want that to be clear. The burning of Lord Baivilúmont’s son was not a good decision,” he began to say. “However, as the representative of the Faith in this chamber I have to speak my mind and of equal mind is the archdeacon himself. It would be ill-advised to remove a man as pious as Lord Godsgrace.”
Raenys glanced at the other lords around the table. Lord Beowulf had an expression of adamant disagreement written on his furrowed eyebrows. Lord Payneheart had an expression that could be considered disgust on his gaunt face. Jermayne and Whitecloak looked more neutral. She assumed that in the end Lord Whitecloak would fall with Lord Oakenshield’s position. The same could perhaps be considered with Lord Jermayne Jagon and his uncle, however she knew for a fact that the nephew and uncle had a more icy relationship.
“The faith, have, no pos…position, on this matter. This, is, a matter, of state. Not religion. His lordship, Godsgrace’s staunch faith, is irrelevant because, even an, incompetent man, can be pious,” Payneheart croaked. It could have been mistaken for a sour throat if it wasn’t for the fact that Raenys knew that he always spoke in that voice. It was a sign of his advanced age.
“I concur. Faith must take a step back in this case. The realm don’t burn its nobles at the stake. Not since Queen Ann-Daena the Mad.” She left it there and saw the deacon grow in frustration. It wasn’t easy to keep her enjoyment out of her face. She then looked at the faces of the men around her. “Thank you all. I have made my decision.” Eyebrows were raised in anticipation. “Their titles as counts and lordship over Vorostmark must be revoked, for the good of the Westerland Realm of Men. The question becomes who shall replace them.” She tried to sound as decisive as possible.
Deacon Jagon opened his mouth but was interrupted by his faster nephew.
“Baivilúmont perhaps?” He suggested. “They hold influence among the barons and fellow viscounts. They hold the naval might in the province and the gold mine and their shipwrights are famous throughout the realms provinces. I know that my lord father have sent young shipwrights to learn from Vorostlings for decades and his lord father did it before him.”
“On the other hand house Montúpierre have experience,” Lord Whitecloak sought to remind them all.
Raenys gave a mocking chuckle, “They committed treason against my house. Just because Godsgrace wasn’t capable it doesn’t mean the traitors deserve their power returned. Plus they are barons now.”
“Baivilúmont is a good option your grace,” Lord Oakenshield stated in agreement with Lord Jermayne. “Although, there are three other viscounts in Vorostmark, all native Vorostlings.”
She mused that perhaps she should leave this decision to Aldrich. As king it was technically his choice but she had been granted equal authority on their coronation. The only factor that lowered her power was that she was a woman. She was certain that Aldrich would see the situation her way, he had to. Then Deacon Jagon leaned forward once again, showing that he intended to speak.
“Mayhaps we should wait for the king’s return for this decision.”
The tone in his voice made her frown. She glanced at the others and worried that she’d seem weak if she now agreed. Despite the fact that she already thought about it she would seem to capitulate if she did that now. Waiting was an impossibility now.
“Sir Alfred.” Her voice was sharp.
“Yes your highness,” came the Sverdmen accent.
“Remove the court deacon from the chamber.”
“Yes your highness.”
The giant bear of a man stepped up to Caesar Jagon’s seat and put a gauntlet on his shoulder.
“You can’t do this,” he seethed. “The faith-”
“-Does not, run, the realm,” Lord Payneheart declared adamantly and put his hands down on the table with a thud.
Sir Alfred pulled the deacon to his feet and marched him out of the council chamber and closed the door and then returned to stand two meters behind Raenys once more.
“With the disruptive element dealt with, what do you say my lords, which house would be best suited?”
“I believe Baivilúmont, is a, fierce, and loyal, friend of the crown,” Lord Payneheart said. “It, would appear, a just decision, after he lost a, child.”
“Aye,” Lord Jermayne agreed.
“I stand for that house d’Baufrey is a better choice,” Lord Oakenshield said and Whitecloak nodded in silent agreement.
Their stance made her wonder if they had a good relationship with the d’Baufreys. She pushed the thought away for the moment and nodded.
“My lords, I must thank you for all your advice,” she told them sincerely. “I believe Baivilúmont is the best choice. I know my lord husband supports me in this matter.”634Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeTHBWnQzQ6
