And Vengeful Kings Part 2

Escetir's territory, over half the size of Camelot, its centered capitol Airaldii far enough away from its borders to prepare for attack from any side. The king's castle, Graeme Longe, was named to intimidate with its dreary stone walls, a fortress with few windows, formidably towering above the towns around it, more a symbol of fear than security. Its halls were equally bleak and dark, choked with dread and shadow for near a decade.

The throne room was equally grim, its plain glass windows draped closed to keep the sunlight out, from warming the interior. Designed to purposely assert his power, this was how Escetir's kings preferred the atmosphere.

King Lot Rynart sat on a throne of iron and stone, covered with furs, reading a message, an iron crown on his head. His piercing dark eyes studied the letter, a strand of hair falling across his weathered face. A slow grin formed on his face.

The captain of his elite Black Guard sat adjacent him, his warrior-like physique relaxed, his calculating gaze eying him with anticipation while gently swirling wine in a fine pewter goblet. He was also married to Lot's daughter, Gisella.

Uncle to the late King Cenred, Lot hadn't received an invitation to Queen Guinevere's coronation. He didn't expect one. As an enemy, he knew a summons would never come. Yet he and the rest of Airaldii couldn't avoid the royal announcement trumpeted from their own ramparts a few days earlier and none surprised to learn of Pendragon's choice of queen.

He'd heard the rumors of the Pendragon affair from his own spies years ago and that news had pleased him. A servant with no experience nor royal blood was sure to destabilize his adversary's kingdom. And just today, his spies confirmed even better news in the letter he held in chain and leather gauntlets. Though still vexed over the incident now a fortnight past, Lot managed to widen his smile and read the letter again.

"Well, sire?" Sir Bernewyn asked, placing his goblet on the small serving stand between them and then stroking his closely shaved beard. His son-in-law was a few years younger than Pendragon and sometimes just as arrogant. But he was intelligent, calculating and brave and that pleased Lot.

Lot was also firm that Bernewyn never use the term "father" when speaking to him, not even in private. Knowing that he'd never hear the word again with his own son's voice, Lot wouldn't hear it from no other man. His stony glare of displeasure had cut deep enough the first time Bernewyn tempted using the familial term.

"They've confirmed that Pendragon took refuge in Ealdor a fortnight ago."

The bold incursion bristled under Lot's skin. He carefully closed the scroll and rose from the throne, his height imposing and shoulders broad. Two strides brought him before the iron-grated fire by the throne, the heat warming his skin, warming his chain mail and trousers. He wrapped his arms behind his back, the scroll still in hand.

"The soldiers that crossed the border terrorized the villagers, setting fires, destroying property. No deaths."

He rounded the fire pit slowly and his gaze mesmerized by the dance of the flames. Silver streaked dark brown hair that fell past his shoulders and spotted his carefully groomed beard and mustache. Just under two meters tall—a favorable characteristic of Rynart men—he towered over most, and as natural as that had always been, it pleased him that Bernewyn, and nearly everyone else, had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Early reports claim the attack was led by Pendragon's uncle and Southron mercenaries," Bernewyn said, his blue eyes tracking the king's slow circle of the pit. "And this did occur under Morgana's rule—not Arthur's."

Few people had the guts to challenge Lot – Bernewyn was one of them, another agreeable trait for the man who married his daughter – as long as he knew well to keep his place.

"A trivial distinction," Lot snarled without looking away from the flames. "Still a Pendragon."

"My lord liege, all the villagers claimed that Arthur convinced most of them to take shelter in the nearby caves, saving many lives. Only a few remained behind and couldn't contain the many fires that were set."

Bernewyn continued to annoyingly advocate for his enemy, deliberating through the circumstances that Pendragon had probably also reasoned out.

"That matters little in the scheme of things," Lot said, not persuaded. "Pendragon violated the treaty and I'm going to deprive Camelot because of it."

"Well then," he said, finally ceasing his defense. "Let us not forget that tongues wagged about Pendragon defending Ealdor against Kenan a few years back. They were also our citizens."

"That warlord and his small band of brigands was a nuisance, but I haven't. My nephew cared very little for the border villages—only for their taxes, but that should not have stopped him from demanding recompense from Uther when his son broke treaty then."

Exiled from Airaldii by his brother, King Gideon, before Cenred came to power, Lot still had eyes and ears telling him the happenings in court from the day he left. Gideon was a fool. Cenred, a privileged and volatile boy all his life, was unpredictable, despite the many hours Lot had spent with him to instill some sense of honor. Their relationship had never been warm.

"What a fool he turned out to be, too."

Lot pulled his eyes away from the flames, glanced at two white banners hanging high behind his throne, the proud emblem of a serpent writhing on each. A serpent can strangle a dragon, he whispered in his heart, staring hard at them that they seemed to come to life and slither upon the cloth. Or drown it in deep waters.

"It's time Pendragon answered for violating our treaty."

"No one would dispute your grievances against Camelot, my liege."

Bernewyn joined him by the fire pit and spread his hands above it, the crackle of wood conceding to flame and ash, filling the silence.

Lot's thoughts drifted to Cyneheard Wymane, a smaller castle southeast of the Feorre mountain range. Banished eight years ago with his family, they traveled two arduous weeks to the luxurious estate, angry and grieved all the same. Along with a small retinue of courtiers and servants, they'd been confined to the ample royal grounds. Guards that had once been under their command now kept them imprisoned that detracted from the beauty and freedom of the estate.

Falsely accused of plotting against his distrustful king-brother and then exiled, those had been bitter years for a soldier of his caliber—the kingdom he loved snatched from his reach and his reputation spoiled. Retaining the privilege of royalty, the luxury of a home, and the comfort of family, he was still imprisoned and it stung nonetheless.

Comfort of family.

The scroll crinkled in Lot's crushing grip, an ache burning to his depths. In that gilded cage, his son, Johan, had succumbed to diphtheria. Eleanor, his wife, wilted like a flower until she was gone not long after. Gisella was the only precious thing left to him.

Everything dies.

The king's eyes drifted down to the high chair of Escetir. His rigid throne crouched on the raised dais like a great iron beast. Thick wolf hides, killed by him during his time at Cyneheard Wymane, served as a cushion for him. Until word came of Cenred's death, he'd wondered if he would ever see his beloved Airaldii and the great throne again.

"That coward." Bernewyn's scoff dragged Lot's thoughts out of memories and back into the present. "Running from a girl."

Whatever Bernewyn had been saying coalesced into meaning and Lot turned to his son-in-law, shifting his stance, creasing his thick brows.

"Do you not recall Cenred's alliance with Morgause?" he asked, his deep voice filling the empty hall and resonating with reproof. "He practically handed the kingdom to that 'girl'."

Lot's jaw tightened as he smacked the scroll against his hand, heat rising in his cheeks. He pointed the scroll at Bernewyn.

"That 'girl' bewitched and murdered my nephew, cursed our army of thousands, and then overthrew another great kingdom with her so-called Immortal Army. So do not be deceived, boy. Women can be just as ruthless as men and Morgause's sister is no different. Lady Morgana is a powerful sorceress not to be underestimated. That 'girl' took Camelot twice."

The captain, as he'd expected, held his own. "And lost it twice."

"Indeed," Lot scowled, taking a deep breath. "It's hard to keep a thing taken by force if you don't have the fortitude to hold it. She did us a favor."

"King Arthur has powerful allies, sire."

The parchment crinkled again as Lot ground his teeth, setting his jaw. "So do we, but we can always use more. Send scouts to search for Morgana Pendragon. I would like a word with her. Make sure they're well-armed. Summon the magician to go with them just to be sure."

"You believe the reports about the Great Dragon?"

"I have no reason not to. But she's an enemy of Camelot as well—perhaps we can work together."

"I'll ensure your orders are followed to the letter, sire."

Orders. He'd been king for only two short years and commanding others came naturally to him. But his ascension came with a weak throne: he had no army, dwindled resources, and a mostly depleted treasury—a perfect start for a ruinous reign, invasion from enemies from without, or a coup from enemies within.

Airaldii was vulnerable and he recognized his inexperience as a sovereign. He was a military man aware of his own weaknesses. He'd intentionally surrounded himself with men of quality; men who were as fiercely protective of Escetir as he was, those with a backbone enough to help raise his kingdom from its knees.

The king seated himself on the throne again. "Summon a scribe. We'll dispatch an emissary to Camelot with the facts and my demands." Draping his arms on the armrests, the corner of Lot's mouth twitched upward in a half smile. "Pendragon is dealing with something different now, Berne."

"What will you demand for recompense?"

"Some gold and what is rightfully mine."

"The Forest of Ascetir," Bernewyn stated.

"Escetir Forest," Lot corrected almost with a growl.

He'd despised the Pendragons ever since the treaty that was struck between King Gideon and King Uther over a decade ago that had cost them Escetir Forest. It was renamed The Forest of Ascetir by the Pendragons upon the sealing of the accord and this had infuriated Lot even more.

He had many fond memories of that forest: playing in it as a small lad, hunting in it as young boy, marching through it as a squire. He'd even kissed a girl for the first time in those woods. What made it more strategic was that Escetir Forest had once extended their borders to the back door of Camelot proper. Upon the signing of the treaty a decade ago, the arm of their territory had been severed, decreasing their enemy's reach towards them. It was an ill-conceived treaty and Lot savored the opportunity to take it back.

"Ten thousand pieces of gold and Escetir Forest. Nothing less."

Bernewyn shook his head. "Audacious, Lot. Pendragon will refuse."

Lot huffed with a smile. "If he does, he tempts war and Camelot is barely recovered from their battle with Morgana and King Helios. Trust me, Berne. He'll return every parcel of that forest, and Escetir will once again become the territory of my kingdom."