FF

The members of the court quieted as King Ryence entered the council chambers. Next moment, they all rose, including Lord Sagramore, who nearly threw the table over with the threatening mass of his belly; the empty goblets fell and one of them smashed the floor and rolled to the corner of the room. Unlike the lords and ladies, Ryence didn't want to allow himself the faintest of smile, for he respected Sagramore too much to put mock him in public. I'm keeping his as my Secretary not to laugh at his belly, but because it's the closest I can keep him. And Goddess knows I need to keep Vyda's nephew close.

"My lords and ladies," Ryence said, his voice lost among the pleasantries mouthed by the council members. "Please forgive me for being late. It may seem I've turned it into a habbit, but I promise you I shall improve my timing."

"We are meant to serve the king and to wait for him, if needed be, your grace," Lord Cynric said, smiling, catching the disdainful look from Lord Sagramore who was struggling to get back into his special chair. With Accolon and Leon, absent, the fellow councillor didn't seem to hate Lord Cynric as much as Uther's councillors used to. Little do they know.

"Good," Ryence seated himself next to his secretary Lord Sagramore. The seat to the left of King Ryence remained empty, supposed to have been taken by Sir Leon, the next one was occupied by Lord Cynric, the royal Treasurer. On the opposite side of the table, his sister enjoyed the company of Lady Caelia and Lord Geraint, with one empty seat reserved for Lord Accolon. It's about time the useless fool returned from the West.

Before commencing the session, Ryence glanced at his Council, the council the was free of the faintest suspicion of not being loyal to him. Sir Leon has just proved himself a valuable commander in Brechfa, and I will do well to appoint him the Councilor of War once he is summoned back to the castle. Accolon is useless. Utterly useless. Dutiful to the art of war, but lacking wits when asked to play the part beyond the lines of his official duties. He failed to bring seals of the West to me, famous and respected as he is. I did the good thing when I chose Anna Didnrane to be the envoy to the druids. Lady Caelia... she's too flat-chested for someone with such a pretty face, but I know she's a Cynric's creature, and Cynric depends on me too much to oppose me. Lord Geraint voted Anna during the elections, but this bald fool is so servile he is ready to jump in the moat if I ask him. Sagramore's the one that troubles me. He knows too much about the castle, he's served as Uther's Counciolor of Camelot for years, he is Vyda's natural nephew, while Uther was the nephew of Vyda's husband. Sagramore might be the last stronghold of Uther's loyalty, the stronghold I'm still to uproot. Now that I know he intends to marry his daughter to Vyda's grandson... We shall see.

"Let us begin."

And begin they did. First, Lord Sagramore delivered a thorough report about the consequences of Cenred's invasion, based on the letter sent by Sir Leon. Fifty six soldiers died either during battles or from battle wounds, a number that satisfied King Ryence. One out of ten. Some battles for Everwick made us lose four people out of ten. The False Friends War was a disaster with nearly seven people out of ten killed. Goddess, Bayard was thirsty for blood. Good thing Uther was too proud to ask for my help.

The king's army was positioned at two castles, Lord Sagramore said, and the soldiers were busy restoring peace in the villages, where theft crimes, the common companions of war, were flourishing. According to the report, the fields didn't suffer much; twelve villages were set on fire as the enemy's host was fleeing to Isgaard and the Essetir road, to where the host had come from. Thanks to the generous rains and the tender summer, the kingdom could hope the losses would go unnoticed thanks to larger than expected harvest. Knights were checking the Southern road, the Old Roman road and the Gedref road to make sure bandits would not be troubling the travelers and the merchants once the trade resumes.

The war did not cost the crown as much gold as it could have, but the losses from the seizure suffered by the trade between Camelot and the Southern Lands could not be estimated properly, Sagramore complained. Training, feeding, arming and leading the Howden host to war had not passed unnoticed to the Treasury, Sagramore concluded.

"Sir Leon fought bravely and proved himself a worthy knight," Yrien concluded, when Lord Sagramore finished his reprot. "I'm sure our new Treasurer will find ways to make up for the losses."

"If his grace permits," Cynric said, filling his cup with lemon water. "I suggest we write the letter to Lord of and Lady of, and ask them kindly to bear the expenses of keeping the Howden host in Brechfa. The castles should have more than enough coin for that, your grace."

"Put that in the letter," Ryence nodded. "Let the castle of Brechfa pay for the campaign since this day on. We must make sure peace and order are restored in every corner of the territory that suffered the invasion, and Brechfa can pay for it herslef. As for the dead... Lord Cynric, I must ask you to research our funds and to estimate the sums we can pay to the families of those who died in war."

"At once, your grace," Cynric nodded.

"And what's to be done with war, your grace?" Sagramore asked, the medallion on his neck producing an unpleasant sound.

"War?" Yrien turned to the Secretary. "War is over."

"We would be fools if we believed this invasion is everything Cenred had in his sleeve. The man's a coward, but a dangerous one. Our truce no longer holds and frankly speaking, without truce, we're at war."

"We shall sign another truce then," Yrien suggested. "Now that his pittiful army is smashed, the conditions favor us, don't they?"

Sagramore cleared his throat.

"The conditions would favor us more if we led our own army into Essetir," he said.

Silence fell over the room, and people were studying at Sagramore warily.

"Declaring war on Essetir in the middle of summer? Lord Sagramore, pray tell, how many soldiers do you think I shall need to make the conditions favor us more? How many swords will be enough to make Cendre sign the treaty on our terms? I have less than five hundred armed men in Brechfa. Raising and arming and training a proper army would take weeks, and..."

"Camelot already has an armed and trained army," Sagramore cut in. "Two thousand swords at the command of the crown, your grace. A full-scale army with mounted legions, archers, spearmen, knights and soldiers waiting for you in Asgorath."

Ryence exchanged looks with Yrien and could swear Cynric's look was burning him as well.

"The army, however, is not, how you've put it? At the command of the crown, lord Sagramore. The seals of the west take time to arrive, it seems. It's a fomality, of course, but without the seals, I hold no power over the Western army, and neither does our dear Councilor of War, it seems. King I may be, but I must not break the traditions of the land."

Traditions, my hairy arse. Uther invented them, an ugly copty of the Western rules.

"My lord, but you do command the West," Lord Sagramore smiled at Ryence before announcng it abruptly. "This very morning, the seals have arrived from the Lord of Asgorath, the Lady of Daobeth, the Lady of Denaria and the Lord of Landshire, together with the letter signed by Lord Catigern, Lady Gaheris, Lady Galla Dindrane and. The western lords and ladies all swear fealty to you. The Western army is yours to command."

Fury swept over Ryence. He felt as though he had been stripped naked and paraded through the narrow streets of Lower Town, or thrown in the stocks for people to smash his wrinkled ass with rotten vegetables. How comes this fat fool learns of the seals before I do? Why hasn't he reported to me? In what light does he present me to the council?

"My lord, please care to explain how the seals get into my Secretary's hands before the hands of the king?" Ryence said with poorly masked anger.

"Why, my lord, but it is a tradition of Camelot. The seals must be presented to the Secretary before anybody else. Like they were to Geoffrey on the election day," even though Sagramore's lips were quivering, he managed to produce the words. "I ought to have announced it at the council."

Ryence's fingers were no longer quenching into fists under the table. He started breathing in, deeply, and could feel his old heart dancing in his chest. Damn it, damn this all. I am forgetting myself. He is a bloody secretary in the first place. Ryence glanced at Cynric, who was tugging upon his chin beard. It seemed to Ryence that Cynric has managed to bow down with the look in his eyes. You're working fast, I grant you that. Is it over? Has Vyda Gaheris surrendered that easily? Was the promise of Asgorath to her younger son enough to make her loyal? Sagramore passed the seals to the king; Yrien's eyes were gleaming, and she was staring at the ringst the way a hungry a cat watches the mockinbirds.

"Now that the formality is cleared, what would his majesty say about the war?" Sagramore asked and stared at the king uncertainly.

King Ryence was quick to take the meaning, the true meaning of that question. Of course Vyda hasn't surrendered easily. I can see through you, Sagramore. Through you and through your old but cunning aunt. Vyda, you're playing it well. You want me to command the Western army to invade Essetir. But if I do so, the Westerners will be granted permit to cross Denaria, Brechfa and Ascetir. You want me to give you the king's permission to bring two thousand swords to the east of White Mountains. But what is it exactly that you're planning to invade, Essetir or Brechfa? I will not stand two thousand Western swords in Brechfa on the verge of the harvest season. I will not let you restage Uther's conquest. You might as well piss in your own mouth in your decaying land.

"My lord, before we wage war on Essetir, we must be certain on the integrity of our own kingdom," Ryence warned.

"Your grace?" Sagramore asked, troubled.

"I'm speaking about the news from the North. The druids in the territory of Andor. They have been crossing the Mercian road in great numbers."

"The druids?" Sagramore mumbled.

"Yes, the druids, the druids in our very kingdom. My sister sent two patrols to gather whatever information they could find. They were back yesterday after the nightfall. You best hear what they have to say."

Ryence clapped his hands. The doors swung open and three men that have returned from patrol entered the room. They were a miserable sight, with their faces filthy, their clothes ragged and something that looked like swords in their hands.

"Your grace," they all bent the knee.

"Arise, brave knights, and please, share your story with my council, so that they hear it from you the way I heard it last night."

"Dear lords and ladies. In the absence of our King, while he was fighting war against Cenred, our Councilor of Camelot ordered us to ride north and check the rumours about the druids on the Mercian road. We did manage to learn that druids were traveling in great numbers, and their destination lay behind the river of Albus. However, when we crossed the river..."

"What then?"

"Our swords turned to dust," the man said, laying the hilt with the corrozed blade that was threatening to fall into pieces and couldn't be used to even cut the apple.

"And so did our daggers."

"And arches."

"And all the weapons we carried."

"Sorcery," Sagramore hissed. "This is the work of sorcery!"

"Of course it is the work of sorcery," Yrien said, irritated. "You don't presume a smithy could have foged a sword that turns from a shining blade into a dusty filth in a blink of an eye? You're dismissed."

"What can be the meaning of this?"

"Anything. Riots. Rebellion. War. The druids have suffered greatly after the Great Purge."

"Not greatly enough, it seems," Sagramore. "We must irradicate them before they pose a greater threat."

"And how must I do that, my lord? By sending a well trained army of two thousand western swords to hunt the druids in the forests of Andor?"

"King Uther would command raiding the druids camps at the single suspicion of..."

"I am not king Uther. I will not be sending my men to fight the druids now. There is some magic at work, if you have not noticed by the look of these swords. We must tread carefully."

"What does his majesty suggest?"

"I suggest send an envoy first. We must learn the druids' intentions before figuring out the number of soldiers we will need to oppose them."

"Who will serve as the envoy of the crown?"

"Anna of House Dindrane."

"Your grace, forgive me, but this decision is a mistake."

"Pray explain yourself, lord Sagramore."

"We all know who Anna of House Dindrane is. The granddaughter of the last druid queen."

"The druid dynasty was replaced thirty-two years ago, lord Sagramore. Prince Darian's branch has been cleansed off earth thanks to Uther's doing, and Andor's granddaughters married to Uther's warlords."

"Still, sending her... Your Grace..."

"Lord Sagramore, do you think that Uther would have kept Anna at court had he not been entirely certain about her loyalties. She has done nothing to oppose Uther. She hasn't even taken part in Dorin's plot to murder Uther. She saw Dorin beheaded and Elsa burnt at stakes, together with husband and children. Her origins may help us win druids' trust."

"Win druids' trust? Your grace, we don't need their trust! We don't need the druids at this land, they are the sworn enemies of our kingdom..."

"Do you want me to start a full scale war on the druids? Do you think they would be noble enough to step into the open field and give us a soild battle? Lord Sagramore, this is a lesson Camelot has learned. They will go hiding into the forests and start crossing the border with Essetir. You suggest I spend gold and armed men on hunting some renegades in Andor? For all we know, these druids may just be all the Essetir tribes that have been driven from Camelot by Uther's purge, they may just be returning home. But we don't know. And we will not know, unless we send an envoy. The matter is set and shall not be discussed. What shall be discussed, though, is the royal tax decree."

"My lords and ladies, ever since the Great Purge and the exhausting years of war with Mercia, Gwynedd and Essetir, King Uther has established the tax system that doesn't let our Camelot blossom fully and freely. What has been done is not only unfair, but also unwise. The crown collects the taxes from all the territories, to later redistribute this money among them. To put it simple, the rich regions of Camelot pay for the poor onces, instead of taking some measures to help the poor regions step on their own path to wealth."

"And how can we put the poor regions on the paths to wealth, your grace?"

"By sharply reducing the tax rates and the sums which we require every territory to remit. Let Asgorath gold remain in Asgorath, let Brechfa gold stay in Brechfa and let Gedref gold belong to Gedref instead of making it travel all the way to Camelot. The corwn will requried smaller sums, and not in gold, but in silver, so that each land has more gold for foreign trade. I will pass the drafts of the Decree to you, lord Sagramore, so that you can copy it and send to all the territories of Camelot. Please ask the great lords and ladies to voice their conerns and suggestions, I will be more than happy to study them before finalizing the Tax Decree."

"At once, my lord."

"As for Decrees, we've got three decrees signed this week. The Succession Decree: I, Ryence of House Gingawaine, King of Camelot, in the precence of my Council declare Rion of House Gingawaine Prince of Camelot and Heir to the throne. His mother Yrien of House Gingawaine should become Queen Regent of Camelot if Rion doesn't come of age when I pass. Signed in the precence of Deos Sagramore, Hector Cynric, Yrien Gingawaine, Caelia and Geraint."

"The smallfolk would cheer to that all over the town," Cynric smiled. "The love Rion dearly."

"Two other decrees, regarding the lordships over territories. The castle of Gedref and all its incomes is granted to Hector of House Cynric, who paid most money to the crown."

"I wonder where he's got such money from."

"My father left my a fortune, my lord."

"Never heard of that."

"No wonder."

"The castle of Asgorath and all its incomes are to be inherrited by Nentres of House Gaheris."

"Lord Gornemant may take it as an insult, your Grace. The castle of Asgorath was thought to pass to his son, Keres."

"The castle of Asgorath was thought to pass to Lady Morgana in the first place. She is, I mean, was Lord Catigern's niece. Now that she's dead, we need to tread carefully. Lord Gornemant may be Lord Catiegrn's cousin, but Lord Gornemant is married to Galla Dindrane, the Lady of Denaria, and can't hope to chew another bit of land."

"Why can Nentres hope to chew this land? He's Vyda's son, she's the Lady of Daobeth..."

"And has a stronger claim on Asgorath since she was the wife of Prince Ulwich. The matter is settled, Lord Sagramore."

"What about Lady Morgana? Shall we not pass a Decree and declare her dead?"

"You may prepare it, my lord. I'm too tired now."