Chapter 25|The Banquet
“Your Royal Majesty, noble guests, I present His Royal Highness, Prince Lerryn of Galdora.” The herald, a paunchy, florid-faced man in a garish green and orange silk doublet, bowed, and gestured for Lerryn to enter the great hall.
Lerryn scarcely noticed the surprised expressions on the faces of the minor nobles gathered around the single, giant table that stretched the length of the hall. He brushed past the chubby man and slowly made his way down the wide, stone staircase. He forced a smile and hoped that he did not look as surly as he felt. Xaver had insisted he forego the wine until dinner. His Vizier was correct, as usual. It wouldn’t do for Lerryn to meet foreign nobility, even ones as insignificant as these, reeking of drink. He was nonetheless displeased with the entire situation.
He surveyed the hall. It was wrought of the same gray stone as the rest of the palace. Dark, dingy walls rose high above them, narrowing to meet in an architecturally unimpressive vaulted ceiling. Faded banners hung from the rafters. On the far end of the room, spread across the back wall, hung a giant tapestry, depicting a great battle from ages past. Remnants of the great nation Lothan had once been. Slivers of evening light shone through narrow windows in the ceiling, casting a bluish hue upon the sad scene.
He heard the hushed whispers of the nobility as he moved along the massive table. At the far end, Orbrad sat at the head with his wife, Queen Agnes to his right, looking well-fed and vacant of original thought. The pale, black-haired young woman was Orbrad’s third wife. An odd coincidence all three had proved to be barren. She smiled and nodded to him.
Lerryn noted, with some annoyance, that the seat of honor, the one to the queen’s right, had not been reserved for him. His annoyance burst into scarcely-contained rage when he saw who occupied that seat.
The white-haired man rose belatedly, stretching to his full height, just slightly taller than the Galdoran prince. He regarded Lerryn with intense, brown eyes set above a slightly crooked nose.
“Your Highness, I believe you are acquainted with His Excellency, Count Nadrin of Kyrin?” Orbrad made no effort to keep the amusement from his voice.
“Forgive me, Highness,” Nadrin said, “I did not intend to usurp your place at the table. I was merely conversing with Her Majesty. Please.” Bowing politely, he motioned to the seat he had just vacated.
“You are too kind,” Lerryn said. He bowed politely to Orbrad, then kissed Agnes’ hand. “Your Majesty, you are most radiant this evening.” The skinny queen blushed and giggled. She nodded to her husband, who motioned for all to be seated.
Lerryn settled into his chair, and immediately reached for his wine glass. He cocked an eyebrow. Real crystal. He swirled the burgundy liquid, enjoying its rich bouquet.
“It is from Diyonus,” Orbrad said. “The finest vintage I have in my cellar.”
“I am humbled that you thought me worthy.” Lerryn took a sip and held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “Exquisite.”
“I am gratified that you find it so. It is not often we receive two esteemed guests in one day.” The king of Lothan gestured to Nadrin, who smiled and bowed his head.
“What brings you this far south, Nadrin?” Lerryn attempted to sound casual. He took another sip of the wine, forcing himself not to gulp it down.
“You know, just keeping up relations with a friendly nation.” Nadrin smiled. His eyes said that they both knew he was lying.
“I did not realize your nations had reached a different status in your relations.”
“I admit that we have not always seen eye-to-eye,” Orbrad interrupted. “Nadrin has pointed out, however, that we have some mutual interests.” The two men openly exchanged knowing grins, enjoying whatever was their shared joke.
Lerryn’s fists clenched. He caught himself before he shattered his goblet, forced down his anger and took another drink.
“Perhaps it is you who should explain why you are here,” Nadrin said. “I suggested to His Majesty that I would be concerned if Galdoran princes were suddenly wandering through my kingdom.”
“How many Galdoran princes have you seen around here, Nadrin?” Lerryn asked.
A fit of coughing suddenly racked Orbrad’s chest. The pudgy monarch spewed wine across the table as he hacked. Agnes clapped him on the back in a most undignified manner.
“Are you all right?” Nadrin asked in a condescending voice.
“Quite,” Orbrad choked. He cleared his throat with a loud rasp, and signaled for more wine. “The count here has pointed out to me that each of our nations has claims on certain ancestral lands that are occupied by Galdora.”
“Gentlemen, Galdora consists entirely of your ancestral lands, as you call them. I can assure you that my father will not be handing our country back over to the two of you.” Lerryn drained his glass and held it out to be refilled as the servant arrived to attend to Orbrad.
“With all due respect, Highness, that has never been our desire.” Nadrin leaned forward, plaintive palms upraised in front of him. He was obviously putting on a show for everyone within earshot. Down the table, guests lowered their voices and turned their heads to listen. “There are certain lands that are of great historical and religious significance to us. Kyrin would compensate Galdora for the land in question. We seek a peaceful resolution to this issue.”
“Count Nadrin, I am a soldier, not a diplomat. I feel confident, though, in saying that you can tell your king there is no issue. The borders of Galdora were established centuries ago. They are not flexible, and neither is my father.”
“That is precisely the problem.” Nadrin spoke in a soothing voice, so unlike his normal manner. “Kyrin is willing to negotiate on this matter. Galdora is not.”
“You wish to negotiate the annexation of the richest farmland in our kingdom. I fail to see…”
“Burn you, boy!” Nadrin slammed his fist down hard, nearly upsetting his untouched wine glass. “Kyrinians bled for that land before your bastard nation every existed.”
“No need to raise your voice, Nadrin.” Lerryn smiled, pleased that he had gotten the better of the verbal joust. He looked down the length of the table, enjoying the disapproving expressions on the faces of those who had been listening. On the far end of the hall, he could barely see Xaver. His vizier was seated near the foot of the table, along with Pedric Karst, whose nobility, though tenuous, had merited him a seat in the great hall. The remaining members of Lerryn’s party were taking their meals in their rooms. He would have gladly exchanged places with any of them.
“There are our concerns to deal with, as well,” Orbrad spoke up. “There are lands in the southern reaches of your realm that are traditional Lothan clanholds.”
“Your Majesty, you cannot control your own kingdom, much less any portion of Galdora.”
Next to Lerryn, Queen Agnes gasped and sat upright.
“You dare speak so to us when you are a guest at our table? It is most unseemly, Highness.” The woman was positively quaking with rage. She clutched her crystal goblet in a small, trembling hand. A bit of wine had sloshed over the side, staining the sleeve of her pale green silk dress.
“No matter, my dear.” Orbrad placed a hand on hers. “Perhaps what Lothan needs is a cause behind which to unite our warring factions.” He fixed Lerryn with a meaningful stare.
Lerryn was about to ask where Orbrad had suddenly acquired some sand, though he knew the reason was sitting across the table, when shouting erupted from the other end of the great hall. He closed his eyes, not needing to look to know the source: Karst. He took a deep breath before standing.
Karst was facing off across the table with a tall, fair-skinned man with a neatly-trimmed auburn beard. The man, though dressed in doublet and hose with the traditional clan sash running across his chest from left shoulder to right hip, was obviously a soldier: Lerryn could tell by his bearing and economy of movement. Karst was good with the sword, no doubt, but the boy just might have poured himself too strong a d
rink this time.
“Captain Martrin!” Orbrad shouted. “What is all of this? At my table, no less!”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Martrin said loudly, not taking his eyes from Karst. “Your young guest seems to have forgotten his manners.”
“Must be catching,” Nadrin mumbled.
“Do you accept or not?” Karst called. Around him, the dinner guests moved away from the pair. “Prove that I am as misguided as you say.”
I ought to let him kill the boy and be done with it. Larris entertained the thought for only a fleeting moment. The prophecy would not permit it. They had to be six, and like it or not, Karst was one of them. He hurried to Karst’s side, and grabbed the youth by the shoulder, yanking him away from the table.
“Captain Martrin, I apologize for the behavior of this young man. He is inexperienced at court. I would consider it a personal favor if you allow us to forget this unfortunate event entirely.” It galled him to make nice in front of all these people, but he could not take the chance of losing Karst, and this Martrin fellow did not deserve to bear the brunt of the boy’s foolishness.
The soldier continued to stare at Karst. “If he withdraws the challenge, Highness, I will not hold him to it. But only because it is you who asks.”
“Withdraw the challenge,” Lerryn said through gritted teeth.
“I will not…”
Lerryn smacked him on the base of the skull with his open palm.
Karst turned and glared, rubbing the back of his head. “What did you do that for? I am within my rights.” He drew back a step, but the look in his eyes was defiant.
Lerryn leaned toward him, his nose nearly touching Karst’s. He whispered, in his iciest voice, “Withdraw…it…now.” He tensed, waiting for an answer. It was reckless of him to give Karst such an order in this setting. What if the boy defied him in front of everyone? With any other person, it would have been unthinkable, but Karst was foolish enough to do it. What would he do? Kill the boy and bring the quest to an end? To the ice with Karst!
Karst glared for a moment longer, then turned back to face Martrin. He visibly gathered himself before speaking.
“Because my liege orders it, I withdraw my challenge.”
Lerryn relaxed when he saw Martrin nod his acceptance. He did not think he’d ever heard so sour a voice, but the words were enough. He turned back to face the head of the table, where Orbrad stood, arms folded across his chest. Next to him, Nadrin stood grinning. Lerryn ignored the Kyrinian’s amusement.
“Your Majesty, I apologize for disrupting your fine banquet. I regret that I must beg your leave to take my young charge back to our rooms for the evening. I thank you for the hospitality of your table.” He bowed deeply. To his right, Karst grudgingly followed suit.
“We regret that His Highness must take his leave,” Orbrad lied without conviction, bowing perfunctorily before motioning for everyone to take their seats. Stealing glances toward Lerryn and Karst, the dinner guests returned to their meals.
Lerryn shoved Karst toward the door. He turned and spotted Xaver rising to leave, and shook his head. Xaver frowned, then nodded and settled back into his chair. Perhaps he could glean some useful information. Lerryn was finished for the night. After he chastised Karst, he would return to his quarters and drink himself to sleep.
“Wake up Highness.” Xaver hurried through the door, bumping against the frame as he entered. “We must leave.”
“I’m awake.” Lerryn slipped his feet off of the table, and sat up. The bottle of wine sat untouched in front of him. “What’s the hurry?”
“The rumor I heard earlier. I believe the prophecy was trying to warn us of Orbrad’s duplicity.” He sat down across from Lerryn, noticed the full wine bottle, and raised his eyebrows before continuing. “Obviously, Nadrin has Orbrad’s ear, and is trying to form an alliance against Galdora. Karst’s very public scene could give Orbrad an excuse to arrest us.”
“I interpret it differently,” Lerryn said. “I think the prophecy was warning us that we would be arrested if Karst slew that Martrin fellow. Besides, if we were arrested, couldn’t you do… something?”
Xaver sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He laced his long, pale fingers together and rested them on his chest.
“I can do some small things, but neither magic nor sorcery are what they once were. The feats of the past are just that: in the past. Even in my lifetime I have felt the power, for lack of a better term, dwindle. I could open a cell, yes. Perhaps I could do away with a few guards. But get us out of a dungeon, through a palace, and out of a hostile city? That is beyond my capabilities.”
“So you think we should go now?”
“Regrettably, yes. The banquet will be breaking up within the hour. The meal is over, but the wine is still flowing. I suggest that we gather the other four and go.”
Lerryn stared at the ceiling, mulling over what Xaver had said. It was all so frustratingly nebulous, just like the prophecy. All he could do was go with his gut instinct.
“I won’t run out like a beaten dog,” he said finally. “I will not give Nadrin the satisfaction.” He paused, waiting for Xaver to protest, but not a word came. That was a surprise. “Your advice is sound, but my instinct tells me to wait until morning, then move on. If we light out like thieves in the night, that will confirm in Orbrad’s mind that our intentions are dishonorable.”
“Very well. I can cast a ward on the door to our chambers. It will give us warning if someone comes for us during the night. For now, that is the most I can do.”
“No arguments, Xaver? I expected at least a small objection or two.”
Xaver rose from his chair and headed for the door. “No, Highness. I fear that when you are sober, you actually make sense from time-to-time.” He twisted the corner of his mouth into an almost-smile, bowed, and slipped quietly from the room.
Lerryn looked at the closed door for a surprised moment, then smiled. “Don’t grow accustomed to it.”