The Seven Kingdoms of Audelas

[Lakin_of_DpN]

“Get dressed. It is time for you to leave.” Deana, Queen of Coremas declared as she crossed from the bed to a large dresser and removed a bottle from its small compartment.

A beautiful young girl sat up, and the sheet covering her fell away baring her nude form. The lamps soft glow washed her in a golden veil, revealing glorious bare breasts. Deana’s eyes gleamed at the sight of each voluptuous globe angled deliciously upward. King Rymas kissed one roseate peak, and then tasted the other. Her maiden flavor eliciting a final groan of pleasure from him. “Go,” he ordered, as rolled away on his back.

“Now my darling,” Deana crooned, as she ran her fingers over a smooth green bottle, “I think Eriam wine is in order, to relax you and help you sleep.” Turning away from her husband, she was busy a few moments over the glass before handing it to him. “Drink,” she enticed, sounding like a fabled siren.

Obedient, Rymas lifted the glass to his lips and drained it. He blinked as his wife’s flamboyant beauty receded from view, and his thick lashes sank lower and lower until they closed.

“Tired,” he muttered drowsily.

“Sleep, my love,” insisted his wife softly.

Moving quietly, the sweet young maid with scorching red hair slipped away. Moments later Deana opened the door to admit a woman whose soaring height, faultless figure and hard, perfectly black eyes demanded instant respect.

“Glad you could come so quickly,” said Deana by way of greeting.

“Where is the diamond?” Trirea asked, casting a raised eyebrow around the candlelit room.

With one graceful movement Deana set aside a cloth covering a sparkling white jewel.

Trirea drew in her breath sharply, and then let it out slowly, “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.” Her luminous coal eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together.” The sixth Seal... ” Trirea whispered favorably.

“Did you replace it?” queried Trirea, becoming short and businesslike.

“It’s done; he will never know that this isn’t the original diamond.” Deana placed her husbands diadem carefully away.

Satisfied Trirea nod as she made to leave through a secret passage hidden behind a pale green wall panel. “Payment will be waiting at the Black Garter.”

~~~

The rest of Malagen’s entourage formed in the wide, obsidian pillared hallway at the end of his father’s residence. Lord Hydont a venerated Savion Knight joined the party and led the way to the first level, his long stiffly gathered cloak conical around his legs, his sword skimming the floor in an arc behind him. “I was told that the first council session went exceptionally long and that you, Your Majesty, in particular were greatly admired for the way you conducted yourself.” Filled with pride Lord Hydont strode out in front. “I have attended these assemblies for years, since your father was a young man and his father King. It has never been easy. I commend you my Lord—but still—you must be very careful.” Through narrowed eyes, Hydont took in the crowded plaza outside and gauged the risks to Malagen—to his king. “Your safety is paramount, at all times.” A barb of uneasiness he’d felt many times in the past re-emerge and rippled along the hair at the nape of his neck.

“The palace seems secure enough,” Malagen insisted.

Lord Hydont objected, “It is never truly secure Your Majesty, look at the crowds.”

Malagen stood before the west wing gates that lead back into the central courtyard; he indicated that they should be opened. But before his order could be carried out, Lord Hydont stopped the guard from flinging wide the high wrought doors.

“Hold!” He demanded. A harsh wind whistled through the thick iron lattice and groaned down the palace hallways. “I must make sure it is safe.” He slipped through the narrow opening and crossed the broad colonnade at the top of the onyx-colored steps leading down to the expansive square. He wasn’t shocked by the amount of people even in this bitter cold. The annual meeting was important to everyone, it was no surprise that Tigan would turn out in such multitudes, but the hype—it never ceased to amaze the veteran knight. From the crowd there emanated a constant low-level roar. If the halls of the palace were as packed as this domain, the path back to Malagen’s residence would be a nightmare. A Cenyth Monk embellished in bright red robes waited at the foot of the jet black steps. The crowd around the Monk was a noisy one, but it appeared peaceful.

Hydont signaled the guard to release the gates. Although he had his back to the doors he knew exactly the moment when Malagen became visible to the mass in the square—the young women at the front of the mob reacted brazenly. “How attractive the King is? Is there anything I can do for you Your Majesty, anything your heart desires,” one yelled out.

She was pushed aside by a woman with matted blond hair. “I’ll take you home and keep you company, My Lord. I promise you, you will never be lonely again.”

“I saw him first! “

The blond attacked the first woman and the crowd around them broke into a raucous of cheers and excitement, urging on a cat fight.

“Forgive them your Majesty,” pleaded the Monk who had pressed forward in an attempt to shield the unruly pair. “There is always some who get out of control on these occasions.”

Malagen turned to meet him, working hard to dispel the anger he felt rushing up from his neck at the vulgar comments of the women. The Monk was old, spindly with no hair. He stood straight and tall, holding himself well for his age. Malagen recognized the him as the High Monk and sole survivor of the grisly wyrm massacre in Ciamar. He nod his head and turned his gaze out to the crowded court, the masses broke into frenzy, praising the King, they expressed their approval. Malagen stood like a grand bronze at the top of the steps. Cool, he raised his outstretched hands to the crowd, which reacted by shouting their acclaim still louder—a boisterous roar swept through the square with the force of a whirlwind.

Lord Hydont felt it was time to move on. “Your Majesty...”

“There is another way,” the Monk exclaimed, his very dark eyes became round and bright with anticipation. Lifting his pale, drawn face to Lord Hydont, the Monk raised his voice and repeated his claim. “My Lord, I know of another way.”

Known to the King and posing no visible threat Lord Hydont permitted the High Monk to approach.

It was the closest the Monk would ever come to a smile—his brow furrowed—his mouth creased as he climbed the first step picked up his heavy red-colored robes and knelt. “Will you allow me to show you,” the Cenythian asked.

“Yes... yes lead the way,” Malagen said hastily, gesturing for his personal guard to follow.

“Through here,” the monk urged, quickly slamming and latching a nearby door behind them just in time, for the crowd pounded on the thick wood causing the door to quake on their side of the threshold. Lit wall scones lined the way, leading them deeper into the palace. A gentle glow beckoned faraway down the narrow passage; with his guard close Malagen began the long descent.

~~~

Every nerve quivered as Lakin entered, she took a deep steadying breath and glanced speculatively around Letho’s private chambers. A movement in the corner of her eye snagged her attention. She observed as a young maid with fiery red hair descended the steps from the residences, disappearing into the hallway leading down to the servant’s station. Genth, Letho’s personal guard darted into the hallway after her, but Lakin doubted he would catch her too soon. She had quite a head start on the eager young squire. Lakin smiled as the door to the chamber closed behind her. Lifting the hem of her gown in one delicate hand, she followed Letho’s invitation and moved toward the welcoming fire. The practicality of the chamber seemed to emphasize the grandeur of two, tall backed chairs embossed with roses and fine crystal goblets set on a smooth mahogany table. She presumed from the studious surroundings, that they must have been set up for just this occasion—for her. “I have...”

“Please,” Letho interrupted, “make yourself comfortable.” He bowed formally in recognition of her presence. “I suggest we start with a glass of wine?”

“A wonderful idea,” Lakin agreed. Slipping her hand inside the lapel of her cloak she pressed the lining and a secret pocket opened. She removed a well-worn book from the hiding place and sat, her cloak fanning out like a silvery-white shell. “Why did you keep your identity from me?” She asked, peering down at the frayed and slightly torn binding of the book in her lap. Her hand gently smoothed over the soft leather cover.

Letho glanced sideways at her, “Because the diary you carry probably contains things about Kristiniel that even I did not know about. And I am not certain that I am ready for such a revelation.”

Letho poured her wine and the fragrance filled the room, reminding Lakin of the Inn in Savion and its owner Marcus Georan, the man who had entrusted her with the precious book, Kristiniel’s father.

“But it is a diary—handwritten by your wife,” Lakin pressed. She sat forward modestly gathering the cloak she wore around her. “Are you not even a little
curious?” she asked, feeling a sudden thrill of excitement in the pit of her stomach at the idea of Kristiniel’s journal brought full circle.

“You are here, are you not?” Letho responded, his eyes on her the entire time. He took a long hard drink finishing his goblet of wine in one impatient swallow. “I have my own memories of her Lakin and I was content with them,” he confided.

Lakin looked away, but when she turned her face back to Letho, his brown eyes were steady.

“I realized very quickly after meeting you that you would not be satisfied until either my son or I claimed Kristiniel’s journal.” Letho stood up, strode back to the carved wooden desk illuminated by the fire burning in hearth and poured himself another drink. ” So here you are.”

Lakin trembled a little beneath the intensity of his gaze but did not withdraw and in a deceptively calm voice persevered. “The book reveals Kristiniel as a woman who loved deeply, a woman who believed in her family and her people. It tells of a beautiful romance between a young Prince and an ordinary peasant girl who were destined to be together.” Lakin turned a page halfway through the book. “Let me read to you what she’s written.”

Watching her half-reclined, Letho nod and sighed deeply. "Fine, I suppose by this time you have read the book in its entirety."

Lakin began slowly, her heart racing strongly as she sank down in her chair only a few feet from Letho.
“He is so handsome. Tall and perfectly made, with rich brown hair and beautiful skin. His eyes are a delicious shade of brown, his full lips mouth-watering, and when he looks at me my heart beats wildly. After I served him some ale to ease his fatigue he gave a smile that shook me as if the earth moved. His hand brushed mine and it was sweet indeed...”

Throwing open the door suddenly a young maid burst in, disheveled and shaking. The abrupt, unannounced appearance brought Letho instinctively to his feet. He used the split second it took for him to react. In an instant he was standing above the intruder. At that moment the girl raised her face from her hands and Lakin recognized the tear-stained face as the redhead in the hallway.

“Oh Sir... Genth.” She burst into a storm of renewed weeping. Based on the last thing Lakin saw, it seemed that what was wrong involved Letho’s young squire.

“What has happened?” Letho growled, holding the maids heaving
shoulders. It looked as if she had been weeping on and off for sometime.

The young girl sobbed more loudly.

“Let me talk to her,” Lakin suggested, unsettled by how distressed the girl had become.

“Calm down,” Lakin urged as she wrapped her arms around the young servants shoulders to comfort her. “Take a deep breath and tell us what has happened.” It was a tremendous effort to keep the girl on her feet.

“They... he... took him away. It was horrible,” she choked out through her sobs.

“Who took him?” Lakin questioned urgently.

“I don’t know, I was too afraid to look,” the maid answered, her eyes red rimmed from weeping

“Where?”

“Down in the tunnels they use to enter the dungeons.”

“Take me there,” Letho demanded, “quickly girl!” He strode forward wearing the Audrin Sword in a thickset leather sheath across his back. He sensed Lakin’s determination to help him well ahead of time. “No way, we can’t risk it. I don’t want to have to rescue you as well.”

She sighed, understanding. “Never-the-less I am coming with you, the girl can barely stand." Lakin made to move with the trembling maid.

“It is too dangerous,” Letho explained, with a shout of anger.

Headstrong, Lakin assured the girl that everything would be alright. “We are wasting time Letho.” The sobbing stopped and the maid nodded her readiness to Letho who stood behind them.

Not accustomed to hearing Lakin use his name, Letho paused for a moment. He shook his head and lifted his hand indicating that the girl should start forward.

As they descended Lakin felt it, a chill that penetrated her skin as a steady heavy throb flowing through her veins, through her bones until the insistent pulse, dark in force reached her mind. It came like a veritable whisper, chanting and rising in volume. The black power overwhelming. Everything faded away to an eerie silence, leaving only the blackness of the hypnotic enchantment that rolled over her and the unnerving emptiness in her eyes. Lakin was helpless to turn away, once again Trirea’s essence entwined with hers—once again she was sucked into darkness. A picture of murder, Letho and the ivory-handled dagger pressed against her waist manifested in her mind.

A dark figure moved from the shadows into the wedge of light his fingers pressed to Genth’s throat. Shock and pain racked through the young squire’s body as he dangled—helpless—consciousness fading as the steel-strong digits around his neck tightened.

Letho grabbed at Lakin, he deliberately brought her to his side, although he never took his eyes off the silhouette waiting. He tensed preparing himself and stepped forward into the cold dank dungeon first.

“Kill him,” shrieked the voice boring into Lakin’s mind. It came from behind her, but no one was there. Earsplitting, it destroyed any resistance Lakin could rally. She stared emotionlessly into Letho’s back.