Introduction:
From the Historic Vaults at Bantor
This is the time to be alive: the orient during the silk age, Italy during the Renaissance… All these eras paled in comparison to the age I am about to describe: the age of love and adventure: the age of discovery. The time of Mystics and Pharaohs, the time of Hittites and Time Travelers… A time when magic was real and where anything could happen. This is when our story takes place. If anyone truly wants to get a picture of the vast period in the expanses of the mind, simply think of the wonders I have just described. Thinking of a time only shows a number and this is so much more than that. This is a civilization at its' highest peak that happened to be at its' breaking point…
Revolution is never a sudden thing: The people become critical of their ruler and the government even before the new king could take the throne. The old king was killed and the new ruler, Louis was threatened while he was still a child. Mobs came to his mother's door and demanded that the prince be brought before them to be crowned. Louis' nurse begged his mother to stop them from taking the boy but the queen believed that Louis was too young to understand what was happening anyway. She saw no reason to stop the commoners. The boy would only think it was a game. Of course, the young boy was terrified when he saw the mob covered in blood. He did not know that the blood was that of his own father.
The people of Bantor may seem like hard people who are bent on destruction. This assumption is not true. They are merely desperate people looking for a way out of their dyer situations. These people are literally fighting for their lives. They had asked the king to ease the burden he had placed on them but nothing seemed to get done. The peasants were literally starving! In their minds, it was either the king's death or their own. They resented the rising and unequal taxes, the persecution of religious minorities, and government interference in their private lives. The people of the kingdom wanted to take Louis in as their own. They thought that Louis would be able to see the evils of his father and turn away. Unfortunately, their wishes never came true. Louis was just as selfish as his father had been.
The young ruler started out, as the king the people had wanted. He established a better financial system of governing. Louis knew that the nobles all wanted to be in control. He wanted to keep his eye on them and gave each of them an invitation to live in the palace with him. If they declined his request, the noble family was forced to come. This treatment may seem harsh, but Louis had good reason to fear the upper class. In the past, barons from their own court overthrew many kings. The rest of the world's monarchs admired Louis. The other courts from all around came to Bantor asking for advice and came away with tales of grander. Dignitaries described the palace of White Stone as the jewel of the country. They did not see the turmoil that befell the streets of the lower sections of town. The nobles that saw the angry mobs in streets felt one of two things: greed or fear. Some nobles worried that a revolution would take place in their country and that they too would be overthrown. Others felt that this would be the perfect time to invade Bantor and take the crown for themselves. No one succeeded in their goal to take the country or to stop the rise of the new era of freedom. Not even the king could imagine what was about to begin.
Now, close your eyes and imagine a lush hillside full of life and safety. Nestled on the north side of a small hill sits a gleaming castle of white stone. The castle stands 120-quarter hands high, dwarfing the small wooden houses around it. There are green hills all around and a small forest in the south. Yet, the castle stands by itself while the wooden homes are grouped together in farm settlements. The hillside is speckled with bright red tomatoes and deep purple grapes. This is the only village called Bantor and in the gleaming castle sits the king, Louis who is not as gleaming or bright as the walls of the castle in which he resides. The castle looks clean and pristine, almost fragile. Luckily, the palace not only looks beautifully secure, it is secure but don't take the king's word for it: Invading countries tried to find a weak point to the castle but all they could see were strong stones and high walls. Everyone assumed that the king must have something very valuable in his palace, for it had a stronger security than even the royal treasury. No one knows the reason for the amazing level of security. The king did not put any walls or protection around the villages that supplied him with food or wool – or even the rich meccas that brought money – but the king's palace seemed to be the safest place in the whole kingdom.
The common people had no security in their lives. There seemed to be doubt and uncertainty waiting behind every corner and, although the commoners could not complain about their plight to the people in power, complain they did! Historians still argue about why the great change in government took place and continued to spread. Some blame Louis' naivety and sheltered life. Maybe he thought they were happy to help their country… Others blame the financial problems. Economic recession in the year before the revolution may have frustrated some nobles and peasants alike in their rise to power and wealth, and rising bread prices the year of the Revolution certainly increased discontent among workers and peasants. Yet it is now commonly believed that the revolutionary process started with a crisis in the Bantorian countryside. This story shows one of the many triggers that caused the revolution to take place: the attack of foreign invaders.
The king is saddened, angered, and confused. Men and women in plain clothes came to him from the farming towns to tell the king that their fields are plentiful but that no produce is coming from them because monsters from an Invading army are coming ever closer and burning the fields and farms as they get to their destination: the heart of Bantor itself. The creatures started by burning neighboring kingdom of Balsee's crops but when farmers of Bantor came to help they too were attacked. Nobel wars are fought between two armies but these Invaders start their tirade by killing peasants who cannot defend themselves. The king knew that he could not allow this to continue. The creatures would destroy Bantor if nothing was done to stop them soon. Who would remain loyal to the king if all the villagers were slaughtered? So, the king decided to do something...
Chapter One:
The Day of the Trial
Marcus Saphire looked out the window as flashes of yellow and red zoomed by him. Any on-looker would assume that the young boy was simply taking an afternoon carriage ride on a beautiful fall morning but the truth of the matter was much more grave. Marcus was on his way to see his parents at the courthouse.
Marble steps led up to a large mural covered door. The door opened into an almost-too-lovely-to-be-gaudy room. Every corner of the ambitiously beautiful room was covered in crystals. Everything from pillows to chandeliers gave a deceiving sparkle. Yes, the couch was beautiful but who would want to sit on a crystal pillow? Every room in the court house was equally beautiful to this one: The courthouse was the largest and most majestically and famously decorated in town but no one wanted to go there – well, that isn't true. Some lawyers and judges do enjoy going to the courthouse each morning. Still, Marcus was not happy to be going to the dreadful place.
The fact that the building was "a beautiful example of Romanesque architecture," did not make the courthouse any more inviting to Marcus. No matter what his guide said, Marcus could not squelch the feeling that he was meeting his doom. In truth it was his father who was on trial for a kidnapping. Marcus would stick his blond head into the aisle way to sneak a look at his father and the old man would smile at him in triumph as if he thought he had already won. He looked so confidant but Marcus knew that he could never win; still, he tried to look confidant to support his father. Although he looked sure of the prevalence of justice, Marcus was a little less sure of success than he let on but he had reason to be. Just last week a jury had sentenced a man named LaBamlme to a life sentence for the lesser crime of thievery. The golem machinery LaBamlme had stolen was worth a lot of money but not a man's life, Marcus thought sadly when he remembered the article that had been read to him at school so long ago.
The article seemed to mean even greater doom as he looked up at his father, who seemed so confidant. He looked like he was on cloud nine but Marcus was sure that he would soon plummet beck to earth when the verdict was read. Marcus hated to think of his father as naïve but what other option was there when he insisted that he had a chance of winning. This thought escaped his head when he looked at his father's back and saw how stiff, frightened and unsure the towering figure of his father looked. "He's putting a happy face on for me," muttered Marcus sadly… His father saw the impending doom in all this as well. Brian had hoped that his father knew something he did not. He wanted his father to have some secret plan that would insure the success of his win in the trial. No plan or strategy was ever reveled and the longer the case progressed, the more certain the doom became. There would be no secret plan for success and no happy ending for the Saphire family. Marcus looked down sadly, not wanting to see the jury look at his father with contempt-filled eyes. What did these twelve people know that made them so special? Why was it their opinion that would decide the fate of not only his father but also of himself?
Marcus knew nothing of court systems – he never had to know anything about them! Before today they were just something you had to know in school for a week or two and then all the information could be thrown out and forgotten. It was like a jury was a dead thing that became extinct yesterday but it became incredibly real today. The things that were vitally important yesterday were thrown by the wayside today because bigger and more complex things needed to be worried about. Nothing was the same and no one would tell Brian why such a drastic change needed to take place. His life had turned upside down in a moment that seemed to only take a second. The driver, the police and even his own father acted as if none of this concerned him. Didn't they see that this one event had changed his full life!
Chapter Two: A Year Before the TrialIt was the year of the revolution according to the seemingly all-knowing newspapers. The Times and Globe and Gazette all said the same thing: The coming year would be different because the people wanted it to be. They claimed that the people of Bantor had power but the more time passed the more helpless they felt. The world wanted something new and different than it had received a year ago but no one who needed a change seemed to be able to make one. Ten thousand people stood anxiously watching and drinking as the town crier climbed onto the platform and yelling out the few remaining seconds of the same, cyclist time period. "Three! Two! ONE!" Hope ran through people…the possibility of power becoming something they could hold onto was a real one.
Marcus himself had yelled with them for the last number. He felt excited and exhilarated but he had not been one with the route crowd members. He was too young to understand that there was even a need for a better time to come. He just felt the charged air and saw the smiling excitement in everyone's eyes. It made him feel warmth within himself. Marcus let his senses get dragged in the sway of the crowd… He saw what they saw and wanted what they wanted. Everyone was connected and he yearned for that connection. This place was like no other place. The crowds made this place special – even the crowds at stores and rallies, which were much larger, had not been as sincere and sensual as the group gathered before the ball.
With the waving of hands and the vast sways of the throng, a familiar face appeared. "Master Anthony, Sir!" Carlos, Marcus' father, yelled through the roar that was constantly around them. The balding man turned and smiled down at Marcus as he said, "Oh, Carlos. How nice to see you and little Marcus out together." Marcus smiled up at him sensing that it was what his father wanted. If it were up to Marcus, Anthony would not even get a wave of acknowledgment. The balding man scared him because of the falseness in his eyes. The man couldn't even make eye contact with his father when they spoke! The man had to be hiding something and Marcus did not want to find out what it was. He wanted to ignore the bald man and never see him again. Still, his father had different ideas…
Chapter Three: The Meeting that Would Change Greg's Life
A dark-eyed, twenty-something year-old man stood in front of the Inn's sign. It was raining that day and the heat radiating from inside the warm kitchens of the establishment were calling to the man. He really did want to go in (as would any sane human being in such weather), but his associate had asked the man to wait for him in front of the sign, not inside of the building. The cloak was growing heavy with water but the man continued to wait in the rain. This meeting may seem ordinary but it was far from it!
People in the street seemed to sense his anxiety and would occasionally slow in their work to take a look at him. He was always told that he looked young for his age. Some people take that as a complement but he did not. He always liked to think that his lean, toned body and thin lips made him look more mature and dignified. His eyes were the only body part that gave away his true age. A worried frown creased his face. He had been watching for the businessman for some hours now and was beginning to think that they had been trying to trick him.
Would any of them take him seriously? "I should have brought the letters he sent with me," he chided himself. It would have been nice to double-check the address without having to walk halfway across town! He needed these people to take him seriously – He knew that the threats the "associates" had given him were dead serious and he had hoped to make the plain a little more even. It sounded so simple: go wait for the associate at an inn and give his message to Louis. He could be a patriot and help the commoners at the same time by serving as a go-between. In truth, the young man didn't really believe that the king truly wanted to help the commoners but this was his chance to give a jester and hopefully stop the impending war.
The king had written proclamations as letters to the people of course but they could not serve in place of real contact. Facial expressions and body language said feelings more than words. Those feelings usually didn't come across in the wordy and formal proclamations. The people didn't really know their king and they were convinced that he did not really know them. The wet man hated to admit it but he feared that the common people were right about their ruler: He couldn't even imagine what it could be like to be them!
Part of the blame had to be placed on the proclamations. No matter how good a person wrote he knew that a real friendship could not be started until the two corresponding parties met face-to-face. Ask anyone who has been separated from a lover. The letters they write bring comfort but it can only go so far! Seeing the lover once again brings happiness so profound that even the best of poets cannot describe it accurately. The only way to show the people of France that their king truly cared about them would be to appear before them.
"I'll arrange that meeting after this one," the man said through chattering teeth. He knew that it was rude to talk to no one but yourself but no one really seemed to be listening. He continued to mutter about cold and rain and paper work when he saw a face that did not seem to fit in with the crowd that normally presided in the street.
It was an old face with a baldhead. He wore rags and his hands were covered in dirt – this was the associate who had come to him last night. Anxiety and gratification washed over Gregory at the site of the bald man. Soon, he would be able to go into the Inn and warm himself by the fire. He relished in the idea that relief from the damp cold were quickly approaching him. Still, the man also knew that the businessman would want more than this… He was anxious to hear his next task. These thoughts mixed with others of the same cloudy nature as the two of them entered the Inn.
They took their seats at a small both in the far corner (as far from the bar as they could get) to ovoid noisy ears listening in on their conversation. The Inn was dimly lit but the table itself held a single candle, which provided a large amount of light. The bald man kept his head down and his companion found it hard to see his face but he did not really care. Greg was just happy to be out of the rain.
The bald man went to get drinks while the wet man removed his cloak. When the man got back to the table his associate had already returned and a frothy mug sat by his seat. "I take it you know why I called you here today?" The bald man spoke the question as if he was simply making a statement. Still, he paused afterwards as if he wanted Greg to answer.
He was hesitant about answering the question. Did he know why he was called? Well, he thought he knew but he prayed that he was wrong! Luckily, the bald man didn't wait for the man to answer. He just kept going through his conversation as statement/quests. Every few sentences or so, he would stop and look left and right just to make sure that no one had noticed anything amiss.
"Our friend would be grateful for any information you can provide."
Finally, Greg knew that the bald man was really waiting for his answer. "The only information I can give is old information. The people are unhappy and are getting impatient with waiting. They hear the promise that help is coming and that others suffer as well but they do not see the evidence… I can only say that it is time to show them the proof that they have been waiting for."
Baldy stood onto his feet quickly. "You are not in a position to suggest anything, you ignorant cow!" His face was red and his eyes looked like they were about to pop but he quickly quieted down and took his seat when he saw that the entire room had turned to them. "So much for keeping a low profile and blending in," murmured Greg as he leaned further into the shadows. The bald man that sat across from him had to be a noble: no one else would have so little self-control. The upper class was used to doing what they wanted when they wanted without having to deal with any repercussions. Even after making this grievous mistake, the bald man still thought he was in charge and acted like it! He jerked his baldhead towards the door. "Let's move."
Greg shrugged his shoulders and went to grab his still-dripping cloak from the entrance. "I wasn't trying to say that I knew more than you or your 'friends'. I only meant that ideas were all I had to offer. No real new information."
The bald nobleman breathed out slowly as if to steady the pounding within him. "I am paying you to get information. Get that information or find a new job." The man stared at baldy as he turned to leave. Greg was beginning to loose his patients as well…
"If you could find someone to do this job as well as me, you would have already hired him. You need my services more than I need your money." The nobleman dressed as a beggar paused in his departure for a time but he never turned around. The five-second pause was the full extent of the acknowledgement the still-wet Gregory received. The nobleman continued walking and called to his carriage.
Great, thought Greg as he drew the hood of his cloak up, I'm leaving this meeting more confused than I was when I came.
The man turned to walk away himself when the noble called back to him, "I expect a better report next week, Gregory. Meet me here next week. There will be more information for you in the box."
Gregory just smiled and walked on through the rain.