9th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
The Royal Palace, Chendl, Furyondy
Aslan stood as still as possible.
The waiting room the party occupied was only a short corridor, about ten feet wide and thirty feet long. It had little in the way of ornamentation, but the floors, walls and ceilings were all made of white marble, streaked with red veins. After standing at attention here for ten minutes, even Aslan's patience was beginning to wear thin, but they could do nothing but wait until they were called for.
Aslan could hear shuffling and muttering from behind him. The paladin shifted his gaze to the right, so he could see Elrohir. The ranger, who lacked Aslan's stoicism, gave his friend a grimace, but then turned his gaze forward as well, staring hard at the large, bronzed double doors in front of them.
Beyond those doors was the throne room of Belvor IV, the king of Furyondy.
Aslan returned his gaze front and center as well, quietly studying the thinning silver hair on the back of Sir Hallian's head. The knight turned around, eyed the rest of the party, and then flashed a steely look at Aslan, who didn't need his counterpart's helm of telepathy to decipher it. Sir Hallian obviously didn't want any breaches of protocol from anyone he was bringing before his Royal Majesty. Aslan gave him a reassuring smile, but the knight turned back to the front without a response.
The paladin felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around.
Argo Bigfellow Junior, standing in place directly behind him, gave Aslan a grin that he knew would set the paladin's teeth on edge.
"So what do you think, Aslan?" the ranger whispered loudly. "Shall I sing for the king as part of my vow of fealty? Perhaps a little ditty from the Great Kingdom?"
Aslan knew he was just being baited, but he couldn't help himself from responding.
"As much as seeing you stretched out on the rack would please me Argo, could you put your inner adolescent on the shelf for now? We've all been told how to act and what to do. Let's just toe the line this one time, all right?"
Argo put on a serious face, but Aslan wasn't buying it for a moment. "Of course, Aslan. No need to rat me out to the king in that secret code of yours."
Aslan frowned. "What secret code?"
"You know, that secret code all you paladins have. Oh, wait," Bigfellow said, slapping his forehead, "That's Thieves' Cant, isn't it? I don't know how I keep getting those two confused. Do you think I should ask Belvor about that?"
Aslan rolled his eyes, partially suppressed a growl and turned back to the front. Argo looked over to his right, where his wife stood, grinning from ear to ear at him.
"Now that's how you annoy him, my love."
Standing behind Caroline, Zantac smiled as well. He didn't know about the others, but he was petrified and was grateful for anything to distract him, even for a moment. He had never expected in his life to actually meet King Belvor, and it was going to happen any minute now. The mage clenched and unclenched his fists again, then glanced over to his left.
Cygnus didn't look nervous, but he didn't look at all happy to be here. The tall wizard eyed Zantac sourly, then turned around to look at Talass, who was standing right behind him.
"I swear Talass, if we all get out of this in one piece, we're going to have one hell of a meeting back at the Brass Dragon. I've just about had enough."
Talass nodded silently in assent but said nothing. She thought it was strange that she and Cygnus, who had butted heads on several occasions since the start of the year, were now allied in their desire to stay retired.
If we all get out of this in one piece, she thought. The cleric swallowed hard. Her husband had told Talass it was her decision about whether to tell the others about her omen. She had debated with herself long and hard, and prayed for guidance. In the end, she had decided that the dream had not been specific enough to logically influence anyone's decision, so she had kept silent. Talass looked over to her right, where Tojo stood, immobile and expressionless as always.
The priestess frowned. Of all of them, only the samurai had never sworn an oath of loyalty to Furyondy or its king. He had long ago explained that his allegiance was always to his daimyo, or Nipponese Lord. The fact that said Lord was on another world meant nothing to the samurai. What Tojo would say when the time came for him to make his vow of fealty, no one knew. Elrohir had told her that he or someone else in the party would speak to Tojo about it, but she had forgotten to ask him whether that had been done or not. She had a strong suspicion that it had not, but it was too late to bring up the subject now. She could only hope it would turn out well.
With a metallic groan, the bronze doors began to open inwards. After a final brief glance backwards, Sir Hallian began to march forward, slowly and deliberately. The party followed in step as best in possible.
The throne room was impressive. There was simply no other adjective that worked as well. No one in the party had ever seen anything like it, although admittingly they had not met all that many kings. Elrohir, Aslan, Cygnus and Tojo had met the king of Seltia back on Aarde, but his throne room paled in comparison to this.
It was a good forty feet wide and continued straight on for at least twice that distance forward. Then, the room ended in a kind of scalloped hemisphere. The walls were constructed as the same marble as the floor up to a height of twenty feet. For the twenty feet above that, they were made of a whitewashed stone of some kind. Massive pillars carved to resemble former kings of the realm, their exaggerated crowns supporting the ceiling above, were arranged in a double row down the length of the room's rectangular portion. The marble walls were covered with a series of square frescoes, each one perhaps three feet square. They depicted a wide variety of people, vistas, monsters and battles. No two seemed to be identical. The overall effect was almost dizzying. The upper walls were overlaid with an intricate golden latticework design that drew the viewer's attention forward towards the throne.
As they continued their slow march forward towards that seat, Cygnus caught Zantac's eye, and saw there confirmation of what he had seen- a very faint blue glow, almost like mast lightning, that flickered here and there along the walls. So much magic had been worked into this room that the spell interactions were visible to those who could see them.
Elrohir and Argo took special note of the chainmail-clad warriors who stood on either side of the throne room. They were members of the King's Household Regiment, the personal elite guard of the royal family. These fighters eyed the party walking by with little facial expression but their readiness for sudden action, if needed, was evident in the way in which they regarded the new arrivals
The royal throne itself looked to be made of gold, although Aslan guessed it was probably an overlay over a stone chair. The numerous gems inlaid into the throne looked to be very real though, and very valuable. Six stacked, pink marble circular slabs formed a staircase leading to the royal seat, which sat up at a height of perhaps five feet.
Upon the throne, King Belvor steadily eyed the nine individuals who approached him.
Elrohir, like most of his companions, had already seen portraits of their adopted monarch, and knew some general details about him. His age (about 40), his marital status (recent widower), the name of his teenaged son (Thrommel). While painters were well known for "enhancing the reality" of their subjects, in this case the reality, if anything, overwhelmed the image. Belvor looked fit, vigorous and handsome to a fault, but what the party noticed foremost was that the king appeared much more forceful in person than the pictures and anecdotes had painted him. The Elrohir party were considered very charismatic people in their own right, but Belvor seemed to throw off waves of personal presence. Some of that might come from some kind of magic item, or possibly even the room itself, thought Elrohir, but the effect was still all too real.
Belvor wore robes of royal purple, with red and blue highlights. His right hand clutched what at first Aslan took to be a scepter, but soon realized was a thin mace of some kind. His left hand lay upon a crystal orb that was inset into the arm of his throne. A golden crown lay upon his short, light brown hair. Both mages and Talass knew, that if they had dared to do so, the king would have radiated magic like a beacon.
Six of the scalloped niches (three on each side) were occupied by people. By their appearance, one was a priest of Heironeous, another a mage, and the others warriors of one kind or another. They all stood stiffly at attention. A man in full plate, similar to Hallian's, stepped forward when the party had approached to within five feet of the bottommost marble platform. Sir Hallien instantly stopped, as did the others behind him.
The armored warrior announced in a ringing voice, "All Hail His Most Royal Highness and Pious Majesty, King Belvor IV of Furyondy!" His vocals, strong to begin with, were amplified by the acoustics of the hall. The heatless torches mounted upon the walls flickered at his voice.
Everyone in the throne room (except the Household Regiment) knelt down upon one knee and bowed their heads.
Sir Hallian raised his head. "As your Royal Majesty has requested, the owners of the Brass Dragon Inn."
Belvor nodded acknowledgement as Sir Hallian rose and moved off to one side.
Elrohir felt a lump blocking his throat. He was still staring at the floor, but knew that all eyes were upon him, including those of his sovereign. He took a deep breath and raised his head.
The king's hazel eyes were already waiting.
"Your Royal Highness," the ranger began. "I am Elrohir, freeman of Willip. I am your most loyal servant." He bowed his head again, then slowly rose to his feet, turned to his left and walked down past his party to stand behind Tojo, facing forward.
I hope I did that right, Elrohir thought furiously. There was no obvious reaction from Belvor or from anyone else, so he assumed his courtly manners were at least acceptable, if not sterling.
Aslan was next. "Your Royal Highness, I am Aslan, freeman of Willip and paladin of Odin. I am your must humble servant. My talents are at your command."
The paladin rose up, turned to the right and walked down to stand next to Elrohir again.
"How can you be so humble and such a showoff at the same time?" Elrohir mumbled out of the side of his mouth. He received an arched eyebrow and a momentary smile in return.
Caroline was rushing through her turn now. "I am Caroline Bigfellow, once of Aerdy, now your loyal servant." Trembling slightly, she got up and came to stand behind Elrohir again. She shrugged at him with a guilty smile. Her vow had seemed to satisfy everyone present, so Elrohir said nothing. He could sympathize with her nervousness.
Aslan was staring hard at the back of Argo's head as the ranger began his vows. If you mess this up, Argo...
Bigfellow's voice was strong and clear as he spoke. "I am Argo Bigfellow Junior of the Lone Heath, your Royal Highness. I am at your command." Argo stood up and started to move to the right- then stopped and turned his head back to look at the king.
Elrohir and Aslan held their breath.
"And if it please your Majesty, we would be honored to have you as our most honored guest at the Brass Dragon anytime you may find your royal personage traveling to Willip! We'll whip up a special meal just for you!"
With a broad smile, Argo strolled back to his place behind Aslan and promptly resumed his solemn expression. "What?" he asked innocently in response to the arrows being fired by the paladin's light blue eyes. Aslan sighed and turned back to the front.
Belvor looked as if he were trying to suppress a smile. He managed the feat as he focused on Zantac.
"Your Royal Highness, I am Zantac of Willip. I too am originally from Aerdy-"
Several pairs of eyebrows shot up behind him. He'd not mentioned that before.
"but my greatest pleasure is only to be your obedient servant. I know I was not among those you originally sent for, but they have taken me in as one of their own. My meager powers are at your disposal." He rose up and came back to stand behind Caroline. Argo, looking back and to his right, gave him a sour look.
"Did you need a special spell to summon up that much fertilizer, Zantac?" he whispered.
Zantac wasn't fazed. "Look who's talking, Mr. Special Meal!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
Argo shrugged. "We always need more money. I'm assuming he's a big tipper."
Aslan spoke softly without turning around. "I'm pretty sure I can cut both your heads off with one swing, gentlemen. I've already decided the loss of my paladinhood would be worth it."
"You're from the Great Kingdom, Zantac?" Caroline whispered, apparently trying to divert Aslan from the fact that her head would be right in the middle of his aforementioned sword swing.
The red-robed mage nodded. "My father moved my family here from Rauxes when I was three."
Cygnus suddenly appeared besides him. "I hope whatever you people are talking about was very important!" he hissed. "The king could hardly hear my vow over it!"
The sound of a clearing throat turned their attention to their left. Sir Hallian, standing against the far wall, was glaring at them all, a vein on his forehead starting to pulse. Cygnus looked at him with what he hoped was an empathetic expression.
"I'm not with them."
The knight covered his face with his hand. Cygnus actually felt sorry for Hallian for a moment, before he remembered how much he didn't want to be here in the first place. Annoying the king so that he wouldn't request any kind of a service from them would be a great tactic, Cygnus reasoned, except for the fact that it was hard to take care of the business of running an inn while you were being stuffed inside an iron maiden. Best to just get this over with, he thought.
Talass was going through her vows now. "And wherever the path of the Justice Bringer takes me, I am honored to serve you, my liege." She stood up and walked slowly and deliberately to her place in line, her head held high. All eyes now looked to Tojo.
The samurai stood up without speaking.
There were so many sudden indrawn breaths, Talass marveled that the torches didn't go out. What is he doing? she wondered. She cast a quick fierce glance at Elrohir, who could only smile meekly back at his wife. Tojo knew the gist of what he was supposed to say but had never actually indicated to Elrohir that he would, in fact, say it.
Tojo bowed deeply from the waist, as low as his party had ever seen him go. "Greetings, Bervor-heika," he began.
Cygnus frowned. I've never heard Tojo use that suffix before, he thought. I hope it means "king", and if it doesn't, I really hope Belvor doesn't have a tongues spell going on in here.
For his part, the king certainly seemed curious at this, but his face betrayed no expression otherwise.
Tojo continued, indicating his friends with a gesture.
"My friends serve their roard with honor." He turned back to face the king and bowed again. "I am honored to serve as they do."
Argo smiled. Brilliant! He caught Tojo's eye as the samurai walked back to take his place in line again, but Tojo's face showed no other reaction.
King Belvor sighed deeply and began.
"I thank you, good people. For your show of fealty, and for responding so quickly to my summons. Baron Chartrain of Willip has spoken to me of you and your great feats of courage; the moral integrity you have shown in times of crises, and perhaps most importantly of all, your resolution to see a task done through to completion."
The smile vanished off of Argos' face. We're sunk, he thought glumly.
The king continued. "To the south, in the waters of the Sea of Gearnat and the Wooly Bay, ships with yellow sails plague the lands known as the Wild Coast. Over the past four years, hundreds upon hundreds of people have been carried off by them to the lands of the Pomarj. There, they are sold as slaves to ruthless flesh merchants who then take them all over the Flanaess, never to see their homes, their families, again."
He paused, leaning forward and examining his audience, who said nothing.
"Perhaps you are wondering, 'If these slaver ships do not come up the Selintan into the Nyr Dyv, they are no threat to us. Why concern ourselves with the rabble of the Wild Coast?' I would think no less of you if you had these concerns." Belvor seemed troubled, glancing down at the orb on his throne before looking back at the Elrohir party. "As I have said, these slavers have been operating for at least four years, and it could indeed be said that it was not our concern. However, about four months ago, a delegation from the Wild Coast came here. They stood where you now stand- and they begged me for aid." He sat back on his throne. "It was no idle decision. The risks taken versus the potential gain, the moral realization that we are all brothers versus the cold reality that not everyone who cries out for help receives it. A month after they had departed, I had made my decision, and sent down a team of seven men to the Pomarj, to the humanoid city of Highport, where these 'Slave Lords' are said to process their incoming cargo." The king hesitated. "We never heard from them after they had reached the city."
The party was silent, absorbing this. Belvor spoke again, his voice softer, and sadder.
"Their deaths were my responsibility. It was not the first, nor the last time my subjects have given their lives for me, and it must be stated that their failure in no way resulted from any lack of skill or valor on their part!" Here the king turned briefly to his left.
The party followed his gaze. Belvor was looking at one of the people standing in a niche, a young woman in her mid-twenties or so. She had the same tanned skin tone as the king, an Oeridian who had spent most of his or her life outdoors. She had short brown hair and green eyes which dropped quickly to the floor, uncomfortable with her monarch's attention. Elrohir wondered if she were related to the king in some way, perhaps a distant cousin or something. She wore chainmail dyed brown and carried a longsword and longbow. Elrohir wasn't sure, but when the woman raised her eyes again, he was pretty sure that she was focusing much of her attention on him and Argo. A quick unspoken glance with his fellow ranger confirmed that his suspicion was not a flight of fancy. But why-
"She's a ranger," Argo whispered in his team leader's ear.
King Belvor had resumed speaking. "I believe now that I erred in placing too much stock in loyalty, to the detriment of other factors. These men were all Knights of Furyondy, brave and steadfast to the last, and yet- it seems like the situation in Highport may require a group with more, shall we say, eclectic abilities and temperaments?"
The party, still uncertain of whether they could speak at this point, chose not to.
"This then is the task that I place before you. Travel to Highport, locate whatever facility in that city is being used by the Slave Lords, and do whatever is in your power to put this horrific enterprise to an end." Belvor read the faces of those beneath him, then turned to his right, where he indicated the priest of Heironeous. "My High Priest, Gareth Heldenster."
Heldenster stepped forward. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was only a few inches taller than Aslan, but like the paladin, his strength came from his presence, not shining good looks. The priest wore silver chainmail trimmed with gold and carried an enormous battleaxe strapped to his back. "In his foresight," the cleric pronounced, "our liege has convinced the Noble Council to give their full backing to your mission. I assure you; this was no small feat." He looked at the party, who stared back at him, awaiting his explanation. The cleric permitted himself a grim smile after a quick glance at his king.
"What this means to you is that all services that may be required for you by the Valorous Temple here in Chendl shall be provided to you free of any charge. This includes healing of any kind, removal of curses- even the raising of the dead; the Invincible One willing, of course."
Elrohir's jaw dropped open. Free healing? Free ressurection? How many times in the past could we have used that? He turned to look at his allies, some of whom seemed to share his excitement. Others did not. Talass leaned in close to her husband.
"Didn't save the last party, did it?" she whispered to him, her blue eyes cold.
An uncommon surge of energy seemed to go through Elrohir's frame. He stared his wife down. "They didn't have Aslan, did they?" he whispered back, while indicating the paladin. Talass glanced briefly at Aslan before returning her gaze to Elrohir.
"As long as he isn't the one who dies."
"With his healing?" he retorted, but she had already turned away, looking oddly enough, at Cygnus.
"Of course," King Belvor resumed, "Such support would not come without at least one representative of the Crown being aboard this expedition, and to me this does seem proper and just." He turned again to the woman standing in the niche and beckoned her forward.
Slowly, almost shyly, she approached the group.
"May I present Nesco Cynewine," the king exclaimed. "A ranger in service to the Knights of the Hart, and one of my loyal warriors!"
The young woman nodded meekly, bowed low and then addressed them all, while looking directly at Argo. "Greetings to you all. My teacher, Sir Damoscene, has told me some about you. I hope to learn more, so I may be of the greatest service to you."
Ahh, thought Argo. This is the one he was talking about. He glanced back at Caroline, who didn't seem to appreciate Nesco's interest in Argo, but said nothing.
The man in plate mail who had first introduced the king stepped forward again. "I am Sir Davos Rahldent," he stated. "A room has been prepared for you where we can go over your final strategy. Let us be going; his Royal Majesty permitting."
The party glanced back at the king, who slowly stood up, and walked down to stand directly in front of them.
"I wish you the greatest success," he said, moving to look intently at each face in turn. "Know that you shall have the gratitude of those whose lives you can return to normal, and of myself."
For a moment, His Most Pious Majesty, King Belvor IV of Furyondy, seemed like just another man. "Blessings upon the Valorous," he said quietly.
The moment passed. King Belvor turned and strode back up to his waiting throne.
Sir Rahldent led the way out via a side door. Gareth Heldenster and the as-yet-unnamed mage motioned the party through then followed behind. Nesco was last.
I can't fail these people. The thought ran continuously through the ranger's mind. I can't.