Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lord Arciliaus Shorvin sat on the chair in the antechamber outside the Privy Council waiting for his chance to speak with the King of Myreman. Lord Shorvin had traveled down from his estates, growing more and more concerned that his guards could not keep him safe against the growing predation of Lord Leo.
He pulled a lacy handkerchief from the pocket of his red doublet and matted at his balding pate. His hairline had retreated at a young age. Today was vital. He had already lost good farmland to this growing threat.
He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and squirmed on the seat. His rotund body was too fat for the narrow chair, the cushion much too thin for his liking. He glanced at his chamberlain who stood in a black doublet, white-gloved hands at his side.
The door opened and a serving girl in blue and yellow livery swept out. She curtsied to them, her ringlets framing her doll-like face. "His Majesty and his Council will see you now, my Lord."
Lord Shorvin swallowed the impatient retort. Now wasn't the time to be seen as an uncouth frontier lord. He rose with a grunt, his knee throbbing with the burning heat of gout. He ignored it as he marched into the Privy Council, his chamberlain heeling him.
An ornate table draped in sea-blue cloth covered the table, the ends trimmed in golden tassels. King Thanitis sat at the head of the table, his chair carved of black teak with lapis lazuli inlaid in parts. He was a young man, newly ascended to the throne, and had fire burning in his green eyes. He wore his black hair cut short in a martial fashion, his clothing rather plain. A sword in a scabbard rested on the table before him.
Behind the king, a figure cloaked from head to foot in blue stood with his head bowed. The Hooded Confidant. An enigmatic adviser to the king.
To his right sat Knight-General Arthemar, the commander of the Royal Army of Myreman. He had a hard face and iron-gray hair. A waxy scar marred the right side of his face, a token from killing the dungeon builder Karthin Firescream.
To the king's left sat Virin, Royal Mage of Myreman. The chief vizier to the king and a man so old, his skin looked as dry as old parchment and dotted with brown liver spots. But his eyes were a piercing blue, his magic circle draped about his neck, the brass standing out against the gray of his robes.
The last was a woman sitting at the far end of the table. Lysila, High Priestess of Water. She sat with her hands folded before her in robes of deep blue. Her black hair spilled down the back. She sat like the sea on a windless day.
Calm. Placid.
But something lurked in the depths of her blue eyes.
She served Lord Enki and Lady Ninli, the Patrons of Myreman and its capital, Myrecilla.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Your Majesty," Lord Shorvin said, bowing to the king.
"Sit, sit," the young man said, waving an impatient hand. "You're here to petition aid in dealing with Leo the False?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Shorvin took a seat in the middle of the table, two down from the vizier. Swallowing, the lord stared at the young king. "His power grows. He has control over fertile farmland while the Village of Astovin has sworn to him. He carves out a piece of your kingdom for his own!"
"Dungeon Builders come and go," said the vizier. He leaned back in his chair, his dry skin stretching over the bones of his skull as he put on a disingenuous smile. "Surely your own levies are enough to defend your manor and protect what lands you can from his depredations."
"He is a threat to more than my lands," Lord Shorvin said, his hands shaking. "He has swelled in power. The daughter of Anguin Vobria, the great hero, has been deceived by Lord Leo. The foul creature pretends to want only peace as his influence stretches farther and farther. He is nearly on my doorstep."
"And why have you not readied your lands for dealing with a powerful dungeon builder?" asked Knight-General Arthemar. His expression grew as stony as a granite bluff as he stared at Lord Shorvin.
"I have done what I could," Lord Shorvin said, his insides squirming. "I have put out an extravagant bounty that will bankrupt me. I have asked the temples for help. They sent a
saint."
"A saint?" King Thanitis asked. There was an eagerness in his voice. "The saints are legends. Myths."
"The saints are the greatest weapons of the gods," said High Priestess Lysila, "and only used in the direst of circumstances. This Leo is a grave threat if one was unleashed against him, and that he survived..."
