Author's Note: Apologies if this chapter is too long. This story requires a lot of setup. This story takes place in a separate fantasy world. Many elements were taken from real life cultures and time periods, but this story isn't meant to represent our reality. Also, if you haven't read any of my stories before, I'll warn you. I love describing certain things, like clothing and jewelry, with more detail than necessary. Plus, there will be some scenes involving corporal punishment on children. Nothing gory, of course. That's not my style. I just wanted to warn the reader in case one's sensitive to that. And just a reminder, as if it wasn't obvious, all scenes with graphic sexual content will involve characters that are at least eighteen years old.
***
The bar was in a typical shape, but no dyes had been used in its creation. It was a plain, vaguely pale yellow creation. Beforehand, the bar had been softened over coals. Then, someone had used a thin blade to carve out many rows of lines, fairly deep too. The rows crossed to form a diapered, diamond pattern. When that was done, the bar was allowed to harden again.
Accordingly, when the small knife's blade was forced across the now hardened bar, as if one wanted to create a thin slice from a loaf of bread or a large root vegetable, the thin slice did not come. The previously made diapering, giving way to the small knife, slowly burst into a flowing amount of small cubes, many of which fell down with a crunchy, crinkly noise. The rest of the little parts were swept away with a flick of a few long, dense fingers.
Most of the cubes landed in a wooden bucket. The excess, which fell onto a straw mat, was swept up by a boy, a page. The boy hadn't reached the beginning of manhood, but he certainly wasn't a soft, tiny child.
He was wearing a more militaristic version of his typical clothing. He wasn't wearing any golden braiding, no pieces of jewelry, no brocades, nor any metal shot silk. His sleeves weren't baggy nor open. They were fitted for convenience. However, on the back of the cloak around his shoulders, there was silver embroidery in the shape of the Imperial Family's family crest, or insignia, emblem. Essentially, a really fancy symbol that represents a group.
Within a shield shape, closer to the left there was a wolf on its hind legs, wearing a crown, facing the right. On the right, there was the outline of a tree with apple flowers. The official version of this crest was more colorful, but there wasn't any room for such things here.
They were in what was technically a tent, but it was the biggest tent in the area.
Another boy, only a year or so older and dressed in a similar way to the first, he was standing at a table and whetting a dagger. Beforehand, he'd accidentally spilled a little of the honing oil, but otherwise he was working perfectly adequately. He flipped the blade over the whetstone and without turning his head he asked the younger boy, "How many bars of soap has His Highness carved today?" He was a page too.
"Eleven," the younger boy said as another cascade of cubes fell down. "The twelfth is in his hand."
"How many bars are left?" the boy with the dagger asked.
The younger one stood up and looked at a small, wooden box that was on a small table. That table was very close to the carver's seated form. "One bar's left," the younger one said. He looked up to the carver's stern profile. "Your Highness, we don't have any more play bars for you. We'll have to melt the pieces down and reform them. Then you'll have your play bars again."
His Imperial Highness, Irakly Arkadi Hermol. That was a shorter version of his full name.
His black hair was kept in a loose braid that rested down his nape. That braid hardly moved as his head turned and his dark eyes pointed down. There were quite a few people that would've called the prince "mostly handsome." The structure was there. Square jaw, high cheekbones, firm mouth with a fuller lower lip.
The problems, if they could be called such, were the scars and crooked nose. The man once had a smooth, straight nose. Now it was off the mark, tilted towards his right cheek. On that right side of the face, there was a long, thin scar from perhaps the same level of his thick eyebrow down to his jaw. A much more uneven scar was on the other side, from the corner of the lips and down a bit on his throat. The boys knew there were more on several parts of the prince's body. How he wasn't dead was anyone's guess, but many claimed the gods had smiled down at him.
He spoke to the younger boy.
Rough yet calm with only enough authority to remind one who was speaking. He often sounded like his voice was made of thorns and wool.
"Have someone go into Kaizul to buy more."
That would take some time, but not as much time as was required to make a few good, hard bars. Pretty much every person in this campsite knew how to make soap. Whenever they weren't able to buy any, and they knew they'd be stuck in place for a long time, they'd make their own. The curing process could take anywhere from four to six weeks.
Nodding, the younger page said, "I'll send the message right away." He left the prince. On the way to the main exit, which was a set of curtain-like flaps that would be tied shut during the night, he paused at a snoozing dog. The dog was a large male, a short black coat, pointed and erect ears, and a very wrinkled face. The boy petted the top of his head. The dog lazily yawned, but otherwise didn't give much of a response.
Before the tent's flaps could be fully opened, someone else burst into the area. He was a taller, older boy, close to manhood. The younger boy knew who he was. He had a cape similar to the other boys, only the crown and apple flowers in the emblem were gold. All the other stitches were still silver. He was a squire.
Frowning, wiping his face with a rag, the squire hurried over to the seated prince and gave a bow. "Your Highness," he said, "Distressing news from the Imperial Castle."
The prince dropped his knife and the remainder of his play soap in the bucket.
Making his chair creak, Prince Irakly rose. His neck made a popping noise as he tilted his head to one side, then straightened it back. "I'll hear the news," he said.
Cringing, the teenage boy said, "His Imperial Majesty has struggled far too long with the returning tumors. Unfortunately, he was taken from this world, and funeral arrangements are being planned as we speak. Her Imperial Majesty has requested that you return to her immediately."
Aside from a little twitch in a lower eyelid, Prince Irakly was stone for a moment. Then his lips parted, and he said to the teenager, "I might have to stay home for more than a week."
"Your Highness," the squire before the prince said, "there's more."
"Oh?" Prince Irakly didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Then speak."
After a rather painful looking gulp of saliva, the squire said, "Her Imperial Highness, she's given birth to a son, but," here, the teenager made a hissing sort of inhale, then an exhale, "the childbirth was too dangerous. Both mother and son were taken, and as it is for His Imperial Majesty, there will be funeral arrangements. Her Imperial Majesty has stated this as another reason to request your return."
It was that moment when the prince sat back down. He bent over and gripped the edges of the bucket of little soap pieces. His face seemed to be frozen in place, eternally stern but calm.
The veins in his hands stretched and bulged.
Creak. Whine. Snap! Pop!
A burst of soap confetti.
The bucket was now in fairly even pieces, as if all the dried adhesive and the thin metallic rings were made useless. The bucket's staves could no longer stay together. It was almost as if someone gathered the pieces needed for a bucket but never put them in place.
The great dog got up from his spot and quickly ran over to the scene. He halted right at the prince's feet and started up at him, whimpering a little. Prince Irakly didn't turn to look at the dog, but he did silently reach over to pat his big head. That seemed to calm the dog, and he settled down near the prince.
The younger page went off to get a longer broom and a new bucket.
An hour or more later, Prince Irakly was outside, near a wagon loaded with supplies and building materials. It wasn't the only one at all. Tents, horses, men, campfires, all sorts of things one would expect in a military camp. There were even groups of live cattle, pigs, and chickens, kept alive to be slaughtered for food whenever needed.
The only thing that was odd was the amount of bird's nests that were often tucked into loose spots in the tents. Whenever soldiers were released to go home, to be replaced by other soldiers, nobody bothered packing the tents up.
That wasn't normal.
The prince was in light, leather armor, just in case. The cloak on his shoulders had his family's crest in all golden embroidery. A big, heavily guarded carriage was set up for him. Before the prince entered, he stood in place for a moment.
Then turned around.
He looked at a far off wall that seemed to divide the world itself. It was tall, made of the strongest stone, and the prince knew that it bordered most of the country of Testoa. The whole damn country was considered to be technically part of the monarch's castle there, because it was inside the walls that the royal family had put in place long ago. That was how people viewed it. Therefore, there were castles within the castle, with cities, towns, and farming villages all kept inside.
There were even walls protecting the fucking Vaina River! If they could've put a wall in the seas the river came from, they would've done so. Their navy would have to suffice there, and it did a very nice job. Their location helped too. In order for Yahsin to send some of their own ships to that coast for some good old fashioned naval warfare, those ships would need to travel an unreasonably long distance with only a fixed amount of food and water, and there was always the risk that the ships wouldn't hold up in the absolute danger that is the ocean.
Traveling on land and stopping to rest in various friendly nations was the safest method.
But now, Prince Irakly had to leave the camp under the full control of General Anisim.
One of the prince's shoulders jerked up. Rather pompously, his bent nose rose and took a great sniff.
And that was when he climbed into the carriage.
***
The weather at the campsite was unbearably hot. Nobody wanted to attack Testoa right then. There was a great risk of heatstroke. According to what Irakly had been told, quite a few men had already died from just that. It was embarrassing and miserable.
But the prince was here again.
