The Silver Serpent
Chapter 23 |Orbrad
“Your Majesty, I present Prince Lerryn of Galdora!”
Lerryn was impressed that so small a man as Bertram could muster such volume. He stepped through the doorway into the throne room. The small cluster of petitioners and bootlickers parted, allowing him clear path to the throne. He ignored the expressions on their faces, all various levels of wonder or suspicion, and focused on Orbrad.
The king of Lothan looked like death. His face was ghastly white and his hands trembled as they clutched the arms of the throne.
“You did not forewarn him that I was here, did you?” Lerryn whispered to the steward.
“I thought he would enjoy the surprise,” Bertram replied without moving his lips, which were frozen in a polite smile.
Lerryn chuckled. He halted several paces from the throne and made a formal bow, though not too deep.
“What are you doing in my kingdom?” Orbrad snapped, still gripping his throne as if it was going to run away.
“And a good day to you as well, Orbrad. Are you ill? You look like a dead goat.” If Orbrad was going to dispense with the niceties, he could do the same.
“You have not answered my question, Highness.” Orbrad replied in his nasal voice.
Did the poor man actually believe he sounded threatening? How pathetic.
“Your Majesty, I apologize for intruding upon you,” Lerryn said. “My retinue and I are merely passing through your kingdom. I thought it would be rude of me not to make my presence known.”
“Why does everyone want to pass through my kingdom?” Orbrad threw up his hands in exasperation. He suddenly dropped his hands to his side, and his face turned red. He cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he said, before Lerryn could ask what he meant. “I won’t bother asking your business. How long do you plan to stay?”
“We are dirty and road-weary,” Lerryn replied. “I would be most grateful if I could beg the hospitality of your castle for one night.”
“I suppose that will not be too great an inconvenience.” Orbrad appeared to relax a little. “Anything else?”
“My throat is dry from the dust of the trail. A bit of wine would not go unappreciated.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that you like your wine,” Orbrad said with a sneer. “Bertram, see to it.”
The little steward bowed much more deeply than necessary, then turned and led Lerryn from the room. When they were again in the hall, Bertram signaled for the guards to close the massive doors. He turned to Lerryn and smiled.
“He must be in a good mood today. I presumed he would throw you in the dungeon.” Without another word, he hurried down the hall, motioning for Lerryn to follow.
Lerryn scratched his head, then followed the sound of the little man’s footsteps as they receded into the depths of Karkwall Castle.
Lerryn stared out the window of his chamber at the keep below. He watched soldiers going about their duties and servants working the small gardens inside the walls. What must it be like to live under a constant siege mentality? For his nation, the threat of war with Kyrin was always a possibility, but it was not an immediate threat such as that under which these people lived. What would happen if the clans united under a single leader? How long could Orbrad hold this castle against a siege? How many would even remain loyal? In Lerryn’s experience, most commoners had little taste for war, and wanted only to live as ordinary a life as possible. They would support whichever leader seemed to offer that hope.
An ordinary life. How he envied the common folk. Ironic that so many of them likely harbored the same envy for him and his life. Perhaps one of them would trade with him one day He chuckled at the thought.
“Honestly, Highness! Talking to yourself is one thing. But a man who goes around laughing for no apparent reason will, at best, be thought a fool.”
Lerryn turned away from the window. How did Xaver always manage to enter a room without his hearing? His vizier sat in an overstuffed chair against the far wall looking pleased with himself. Above him hung a tapestry showing a battle between Tichris and the kings of the east.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like the Ice King?” Lerryn asked.
“That is not amusing, Highness.” Xaver’s expression was blank, cold.
“It is to me.” Lerryn sat down at the small table near the window, and poured a cup of red wine. He took a sip and held it in his mouth for a moment. It was a bit on the sour side, but it was wine. He swallowed, feeling it warm his throat ever so slightly on the way down. “What have you learned?”
Xaver chuckled. “Most of the rumors are the usual castle fare, but there is one rumor that is on everyone’s lips.”
Lerryn took another drink of wine and waited. “Are you going to tell me, or not?”
“Sorry. This one is so rich, it is worth waiting for. Apparently, you are being held in the dungeon.”
“What?” Lerryn put down his cup, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.
“Everyone,” Xaver said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “and I do mean everyone, is whispering that the Prince of Galdora is being held in the dungeon.”
“Foolishness,” Lerryn scoffed. “Orbrad must have arrested some pretender to the throne of Lothan. You know how facts become distorted when whispered in the halls and under the sheets.”
Xaver shook his head. “Everyone is saying exactly the same thing. The Prince of Galdora and his five traveling companions are in the dungeon. That is very specific and quite a coincidence.”
Lerryn stood and walked over to the corner where he had left his sword leaning against the wall, picked it up and belted it on. The feel of its weight around his middle, and the solidity of the hilt in his palm was comforting. He did his best thinking with a sword in his hand and a horse beneath him. The horse was not an option at the moment, so the sword would have to do.
“Do you think Orbrad is planning something?”
“I would not put anything past that buffoon,” Xaver said, folding his long, pale hands across his lap, “but I doubt it. Everyone is talking about it. Even Orbrad can keep a secret better than that. Also, it’s being talked about as if it has already happened.”
“So, either everyone in the castle is grossly misinformed, or Larris has sneaked away from Archstone, gathered five companions, ridden to Karkwall, and offended the king.”
They both laughed.
“There is another possibility.” Xaver looked directly at him. His purple eyes seemed to bore into Lerryn.
Lerryn stared back, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on him. “The prophecy,” he whispered.
“Precisely. The ice cat was evidence that the prophecy is in motion. This is further proof.”
“So, the prophecy is warning us that Orbrad is going to arrest us?”
“It could mean many things. When the Silver Serpent is yours, you will be the most powerful ruler in the east, perhaps in the world. Kings will fear you, even hate you. The rumor may be a foreshadowing of how you will be perceived in the new world we create.”
“We are not going to create a new world,” Lerryn said. I want to end the threat of Kyrin, and I want the nations of the east to no longer view Galdora as a bastard land. Nothing more or less.” He wondered if his words sounded as foolishly altruistic to Xaver as they did to his own ears.
“A poor choice of words on my part,” Xaver said. “In any event, we should be alert for what the prophecy has to tell us. This evening’s banquet should be interesting.”