The procession was sheathed in black.
It was unusual for such a lively, tropical city like Rajmuat. Raka and luarin alike stopped in the streets to stare at the long line of dark caravans and horses covered with shadowy blankets and saddled with equally shadowy riders. It made its way down the main street of Rajmuat, slowly, as though it held a burden that it would rather keep to itself as a silent, black secret.
--
King Oron was lounging in his favorite royal garden with his wife when the slave approached and whispered something to the king's hand servant, who in turn cleared his throat as the slave scurried off.
"Your Highnesses," the servant interrupted, bowing his head as the king and queen turned. "A procession from the Tortallan crown has just arrived to speak with you." He paused, unsure. "They...they come with Islanders. Royal handservants and guards."
The king frowned. "The only Islander handservants should be in Tortall, with my niece. Has she returned so soon?" he asked, then exchanged a knowing look with his wife. "Unless, of course, this is a delegation to arrange a marriage between her and the Tortallan prince Jonathan..." A smile began to grow across his face.
"No, your highness." The raka looked terrified as he contradicted Oron, but added, "The princess has not returned. The messengers are clothed in black."
The king's smile faded.
--
Minutes later, raka slaves and servants tended to their rulers as the two luarin situated themselves on the dais. Oron's nerves could not be appeased, his hand gripping the arm of the throne so tightly that it shook.
The queen looked worriedly at her husband. "Oron, darling, be calm," she pleaded, caressing his whitely tense hand with her own. "You don't even know what news they bring. Perhaps it's not what you guess--"
"GUESS? They come in black, in clothes of MOURNING, and you think I GUESS?" the king roared, echoing a hundred times over in the empty throne room. His voice tightened. "If Josiane is...if something has happened, I will have all their heads. Hear me? Every last one."
The queen fought to keep herself under control and nodded quickly, kept from realizing the obvious until it was thrust upon her that very moment. She forced herself to stay up in a posture befitting to Copper Isles royalty, only her thin-lipped mouth betraying inner apprehension.
The king cleared his throat, regally lifted his head high, and ordered, "Now show them in."
Servants opened the huge double doors, light pouring in from the hallway, and moments later the Tortallan delegation filed in, Islanders formally in service to Princess Josiane at their flanks. Like the servant had reported, they were all wearing only black, their manner slow and deliberate, Islander heads hung. The head of the delegation, one of the Tortallan king's royal messengers, made his way to the front of the small crowd with a scroll in hand. "Your Highnesses." He spoke clearly in Common, his voice ringing out to reach the luarins' ears. "As you might have guessed, we bring bad news."
"Out with it."
"Of course." He began to read. "'On behalf of King Jonathan IV of Tortall, we hereby regret to inform you that on the Coronation day of our king a month past, one Princess Josiane of the Copper Isles was killed by Tortall's warrior and the King's Champion, the Lioness Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau. The princess allegedly murdered a Mithran master Si-Cham with an axe and continued to attempt murder against Sir Alanna, who fought back swiftly and only in self-defense. Although we are sorrowful to inform you of these actions which have thereby taken place, we hope Your Highnesses realize that the Princess Josiane's death, though regretful, was a just action with an eye to the circumstances in which her murderess found herself. Tortall offers our sincere, deepest condolences for your loss.'"
During his recitation, the queen had lost self-control and crumpled in her chair, and now wept against the arm of her husband. Oron himself did not look much changed from the way he held himself before, although a slight color began to rise in his cheeks.
But then, to everyone's horror, the king /smiled./ It was a humorless smile, teeth bared mercilessly, yet there all the same.
"I will thank your king for his thoughtfulness," Oron began, clasping his hands. "But I regret to inform you, the next time you see him, it will be in the deepest realms of the Black God, and you will be mining coal in the darkened caves of death for eternity."
The Tortallan men and servants exchanged uncertain glances with each other. "Your Highness...?" the head delegate offered with confusion.
Ignoring him, the king continued, his voice rising over the growing murmurs. "As for you filth who served my niece: You have failed in your duties to serve and protect her and the Copper Isles crown. You are not worthy of my presence, neither are you worthy of the presence of the lowliest slave."
Raka and luarin servants began to flood the room at a discreet beckon, causing the crowd to rise in panic. The king then gave two definitive orders.
"Bolt the doors. Kill them all."
It was unusual for such a lively, tropical city like Rajmuat. Raka and luarin alike stopped in the streets to stare at the long line of dark caravans and horses covered with shadowy blankets and saddled with equally shadowy riders. It made its way down the main street of Rajmuat, slowly, as though it held a burden that it would rather keep to itself as a silent, black secret.
--
King Oron was lounging in his favorite royal garden with his wife when the slave approached and whispered something to the king's hand servant, who in turn cleared his throat as the slave scurried off.
"Your Highnesses," the servant interrupted, bowing his head as the king and queen turned. "A procession from the Tortallan crown has just arrived to speak with you." He paused, unsure. "They...they come with Islanders. Royal handservants and guards."
The king frowned. "The only Islander handservants should be in Tortall, with my niece. Has she returned so soon?" he asked, then exchanged a knowing look with his wife. "Unless, of course, this is a delegation to arrange a marriage between her and the Tortallan prince Jonathan..." A smile began to grow across his face.
"No, your highness." The raka looked terrified as he contradicted Oron, but added, "The princess has not returned. The messengers are clothed in black."
The king's smile faded.
--
Minutes later, raka slaves and servants tended to their rulers as the two luarin situated themselves on the dais. Oron's nerves could not be appeased, his hand gripping the arm of the throne so tightly that it shook.
The queen looked worriedly at her husband. "Oron, darling, be calm," she pleaded, caressing his whitely tense hand with her own. "You don't even know what news they bring. Perhaps it's not what you guess--"
"GUESS? They come in black, in clothes of MOURNING, and you think I GUESS?" the king roared, echoing a hundred times over in the empty throne room. His voice tightened. "If Josiane is...if something has happened, I will have all their heads. Hear me? Every last one."
The queen fought to keep herself under control and nodded quickly, kept from realizing the obvious until it was thrust upon her that very moment. She forced herself to stay up in a posture befitting to Copper Isles royalty, only her thin-lipped mouth betraying inner apprehension.
The king cleared his throat, regally lifted his head high, and ordered, "Now show them in."
Servants opened the huge double doors, light pouring in from the hallway, and moments later the Tortallan delegation filed in, Islanders formally in service to Princess Josiane at their flanks. Like the servant had reported, they were all wearing only black, their manner slow and deliberate, Islander heads hung. The head of the delegation, one of the Tortallan king's royal messengers, made his way to the front of the small crowd with a scroll in hand. "Your Highnesses." He spoke clearly in Common, his voice ringing out to reach the luarins' ears. "As you might have guessed, we bring bad news."
"Out with it."
"Of course." He began to read. "'On behalf of King Jonathan IV of Tortall, we hereby regret to inform you that on the Coronation day of our king a month past, one Princess Josiane of the Copper Isles was killed by Tortall's warrior and the King's Champion, the Lioness Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau. The princess allegedly murdered a Mithran master Si-Cham with an axe and continued to attempt murder against Sir Alanna, who fought back swiftly and only in self-defense. Although we are sorrowful to inform you of these actions which have thereby taken place, we hope Your Highnesses realize that the Princess Josiane's death, though regretful, was a just action with an eye to the circumstances in which her murderess found herself. Tortall offers our sincere, deepest condolences for your loss.'"
During his recitation, the queen had lost self-control and crumpled in her chair, and now wept against the arm of her husband. Oron himself did not look much changed from the way he held himself before, although a slight color began to rise in his cheeks.
But then, to everyone's horror, the king /smiled./ It was a humorless smile, teeth bared mercilessly, yet there all the same.
"I will thank your king for his thoughtfulness," Oron began, clasping his hands. "But I regret to inform you, the next time you see him, it will be in the deepest realms of the Black God, and you will be mining coal in the darkened caves of death for eternity."
The Tortallan men and servants exchanged uncertain glances with each other. "Your Highness...?" the head delegate offered with confusion.
Ignoring him, the king continued, his voice rising over the growing murmurs. "As for you filth who served my niece: You have failed in your duties to serve and protect her and the Copper Isles crown. You are not worthy of my presence, neither are you worthy of the presence of the lowliest slave."
Raka and luarin servants began to flood the room at a discreet beckon, causing the crowd to rise in panic. The king then gave two definitive orders.
"Bolt the doors. Kill them all."