Page 3 of The Ivory King

“Do you still wish to visit the twins when the moons are new?” V’alor asked to break the serenity of being here with him neatly.

“Yes, I think I must as it is their elder sister’s birthing day celebration.” I sighed at the thought of it all, which was petty of me for the Mossbell boys, Lariam and Luchas, were good friends. They’d been so since I had reached my twelfth season and began attending fetes and balls as the heir representing Renedith. The three noble houses did not always share wine and laughs at parties. There had been battles for centuries over land that ended only when our current king ascended to the throne four hundred seasons ago.

“I will begin preparations for a small envoy to accompany you to the Mossbell lands.”

“Can we not just ride over ourselves?” He threw me a lone arched brow. “Yes, of course, how silly of me to even suggest that I travel without a herald, a trumpeter, and fourteen men in armor.”

“That is how it is done, Aelir. You are the sole heir and hold vast power. You cannot show up at the Mossbell castle atop an old mare with only a sole guard at your side. The rumors that our vills is either falling into bankruptcy or unable to teach the only son how to behave as the Ruler of the vills of Renedith that he is would be whispered about over fruited tuft cakes before the moons fell behind the Witherhorn.” I huffed. And he chuckled. “You do that with the same skill that you did when you were five and Widow Poppy refused to allow you to wheedle more honey cakes from the kitchen.”

I shot to my boots. V’alor, eyes wide, did as well, ready to strike. “I do wish you would cease thinking of me as a lad. I am no longer hiding toads in my pockets, refusing to bathe inanything other than a pond, and skipping dance lessons. I am a man grown!”

“I have…” The grip on his sword hilt relaxed. He turned to face me. “I fully realize just how grown you are, Aelir.”

“Then why must you always leap into the past whenever we are having a close, tender moment?”

And that brought him up short. “We are not meant to have tender moments, Aelir. I am your subject, sworn fealty to this house and to you. You are the master of this domain, our future overlord, and will someday become the head of the house of Renedith. My role is to protect you with my life. That is all that I can be.”

“What if I wish you to be more?!”

He seemed taken aback. “Then you must cleanse that wish from your heart. For you are nobility and I am the son of a backstreet whore.”

“I care not who your mother was or what she did to survive.”

“You may not, but the entirety of Melowynn does.” I stared at him as I tried to form a viable argument, but I knew, deep in my breast, that what he said was true. “Now, we should return to the castle. You have a long day tomorrow and I have an entourage to begin preparing for.”

The walk back to the interior of Castle Willowspirit was quiet, nothing but the sound of our boots striking the cold, hard stone floors of the mighty keep. V’alor obviously felt he had said all there was to say about the subject of us, but I was not so easily talked out of something that was important to me. He should know that by now, and he would get a reminder of just how stubborn a Stillcloud could be.

A TENDAY LATER, WE SET OFF FOR KANAZEN, a smallish vills that supplied most of the peat for the kingdom of Melowynn. It sat low in a valley near Knight’s Way, a marshy land where the elves who paid liege to the Mossbell worked, mostly, in harvesting peat. Not only was peat used in keeps like Castle Moonsweald, the ancestral fortalice we now rode toward in full regality, but it was crucial for a wide plethora of things from filtering water in the underground sewers in the capital so that waste was cleansed from the stream before it emptied into the sea. Elves far and wide, humans and dwarves, as well as yeti, also used it for heating, animal bedding, fuel, and as a soil improver. And yes, the study of the Mossbell peat was part of my schooling, both from my old tutor Master Willowswitch, the surname fit the curmudgeonly prick, to woodland knowledge passed on by Kenton. For such a simple thing, for peat was merely partially decomposed plant soil matter, many hundreds of thousands of lives depended on it for survival.

My entourage rode along behind me, save for V’alor, who was at my side. We had cleared the main roads through the village, where the Ivory guard in their resplendent copper armor had ridden in a tight formation around me. I had not been concerned about the common folk of Kanazen shouting and waving or the small children rushing up around us to touch our boots or beg for coppers. A toss of a handful of coins sent themscurrying out of the way of our horses’ hooves as the adults sent blessings of Ihdos to us for our generosity. Throughout the two-day journey, V’alor had been the perfect military leader. Vigilant, respectful. Never called me by my given name in front of the men in our group. I had tried to pull him and the man who rode close to V’alor’s side, Pasil Greenleaves, a guardsman of lesser rank and V’alor’s closest friend, into a conversation about diplomacy.

“It is not our place to pass judgment on the workings of those above us,” V’alor stiffly replied. Pasil, a fun-loving man with short black hair and light blue eyes, cocked a slim brow at his commander.

“Surely it is indeed our place to voice concerns to the next in line. Lord Aelir seeks to know what the common man thinks of our diplomatic corps and—”

“If Lord Aelir wishes to spark conversation about such things, then Lord Aelir should speak to the Grand Overseer or the diplomats themselves. Our role, lieutenant, is to protect our lord against any and all danger. That is it.”

Pasil reined his horse, a fine gelding of darkest ruddy red coloration, to gawk at his guard commander openly. Then he shot me a look as he eased back into the flanks of the others riding with us. The air was thick with the smell of decaying vegetation mixed with the subtle scent of wet animals. Earthy and resinous, it clung to our clothing like the mist we rode through.

“I ask your forgiveness, my lord. I forgot my place,” Pasil said in deference as he melded back into the men.

“That was rather cutting,” I said once Pasil had eased away.

“The truth is often sharp. I shall send a bannerman to ride ahead to the castle so that they know of our impending arrival, my lord.”

The urge to call him out had been huge, but I bit my tongue. Something that I had learned was a large part of being nobility. If only we said what we were thinking most of the time, the noble houses would still be warring and my personal guard commander would be shocked to his dogmatic core.

Smalltalk fell off as we rode closer to the slate-gray stone castle. On either side of us were peat bogs as far as the eye could see. Mules and carts filled with squares of peat rolled down the road, the workers lowering their heads in respect, then pulling off to the side to let us pass. I nodded at the workers, soaked through and filthy, if they dared to peek at us from under floppy hats thick with muddy fingerprints.

As we neared the drawbridge, I could feel the eyes of the Mossbell guards on us. It was a gray day, the rains closing in and the damp winds snapping the trio of noble house banners against the battlements and donjon. Each house had its own colors and words of power. The Stillcloud banner color was ruby, which stood for power, loyalty, and friendship. Its crest was a golden swan. The banner for the Mossbell house was sapphire-colored, conveying healing, love, and serenity. Their house crest was represented by a white moose. The color for the Dewfall noble house banner was ebony, meaning intuition, protection, and defense, and its crest donned a magenta badger.

We were met in the outer bailey by the twins and their mother, the great lady Si’ofra. All were highborn, with long golden hair worn free as dictated by our society for all nobles, high cheekbones, and clear blue eyes. The Mossbell had taken to marking themselves with small tattoos, mostly on their temples, of pale white antlers to symbolize the snowy white moose that move through the peat bogs on a yearly migration.

The bailey was busy, as most were in grand castles, and while Castle Moonsweald was smaller than our keep or that of the Dewfall, it was kept well.

“Finally, you have arrived!” Lariam and Luchas shouted to be heard over a gaggle of geese being chased by a young lad with a larch stick. The twins were handsome young men of my age, slim, and always possessed of a smile or joke. They were identical in every way aside from a small scar that bisected Lariam’s left eyebrow. Of course, since they were not looked on to inherit the vills, they tended to be more frivolous than those who wore the weight of their people on their shoulders. “Your bannerman rode in nearly a day ago!”

I slid down from my mare, gave my sweet dapple Atriel a rub on her strong neck, and then let a stable hand take her reins.

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