King That Shalt Be
~The story of Roger of Conte~
Author's Note: Here it is, the story behind the man we all know and love (or hate). It's my belief that no one is born evil, so this story is my attempt to explain how Roger got that way. (Don't believe all this deep stuff. I just wanted to write this cause Roger is cool.)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tamora's stuff. I don't even know her. I did go to a book signing, but I don't think that counts. I made up some of the characters, but really, that's it. Don't sue. (I don't own the title, either. It's part of a line from Macbeth. Fitting, isn't it?)
~Prologue~
Lynna Northfield rested her head against the thick velvet curtain, not taking her eyes away from the soldiers advancing up the road. She
blinked as the sunlight reflected off their armor and shields. The banner of the King's Own was just visible, floating silently on the summer breeze. By Lynna's estimate, it would be fifteen minutes until the men of the Own reached the palace gates. She let the curtains fall shut and raced down the tower stairs, taking two in one step.
The servants' quarters were a flurry of activity, as usual. Lynna slipped through the crowd into her family's chambers. Most servant families had just one or two rooms,but since the Northfields were the personal servants of Duke James of Conte, they had six. The circular main chamber had three doors to the right and one to the left. The latter led to a small kitchen with a dining area. The three doors on the right had locks. Each led to a sleeping chamber- one for Lynna, one for her two brothers, Jeremy and Shea, and one for her mother and father. The sixth room was the privy, which was a separate room altogether.
Lynna closed the door to her chamber and took out her formal uniform. She quickly changed, washed her hands and face, and brushed her hair. It was usually Shea's job to greet important people and bring them to the appropriate place, but he had gone with Duke James and the rest of the King's Own, and Jeremy was too young. SO Lynna had the honor of greeting the Knight Commander and taking him to the King. She reached the gate at the same time the soldiers did, curtseying as Knight Commander Anselm of Pirate's Swoop dismounted and handed his reins to a hostler. Anselm had just been appointed to his position the previous winter, but he acted as if he had been born into it. He strode down the halls, not once stopping to think about his path. Lynna considered taking her leave and going to help in the stables, since the Knight Commander obviously didn't need help finding the King, but decided against it. She tailed Anselm down corridor after corridor, until finally they reached the King's private study. Lynna held the door open as Anselm entered, then walked over to a small antechamber and poured a pitcher of wine. Returning to the study, she set the pitcher and two glasses down on the desk King Roald sat behind and sank into a deep curtsey.
"Thank you, you are dismissed," the King said absently. Lynna stood and walked to the door, shutting it behind her. On an impulse, she reopened it a tiny bit and sat down against the corridor wall to listen.
"Well? What news from Maren, Anselm?" King Roald was asking.
"The uprising is over, Majesty. A treaty was signed the day before we left," Anselm replied.
"Oh, good. You know I hate to send the Own out of Tortall."
"Yes, sire."
The King paused. "All right, Anselm, what's the bad news?" His voice sounded both perceptive and weary.
"Bad news, Majesty?" The Knight Commander sounded as if he was attempting to hide something.
"There is always bad news, Anselm. Just tell me what it is."
"About two weeks after we set up camp, a raiding party got in. The sentries were spelled asleep; they must have had a mage with them. Duke James took a few men to try to see what they were up to, and stop them-" Anselm's voice shook a little. "They killed him, and his men. Shot them as soon as they got in range. Didn't even have time to put up shields…" Here, the Knight Commander's voice trailed off- he and Duke James had been good friends. Lynna stifled a gasp.
"Did anyone get the raider's identities?" the King inquired.
"None. They ran for it after- after-" Once again, Anselm fell silent.
The King sighed heavily. "Well, we'd better inform those who need to know." There was a sound of chairs being pushed back, and then footsteps. Lynna started, alarmed. She leapt to her feet and bolted down the hall. Once out of sight and out of the way, she sank to the floor, catching her breath. A tear that she had tried to restrain rolled down her cheek. Unlike many nobles, Duke James had always been kind to his servants. Lynna didn't know what would happen to her family, now that he was dead. Suddenly, her heart sank even lower as she remembered the Duke's small son. He was only five, and now he had no parents- his mother had died giving birth to him. And on top of that, the boy was starting to show signs of the Gift. What would become of Roger of Conte?