Elora: Prologue (pt 1)

King Fairn Colton IV, sovereign of Duor, was a formidable man. Though he had seen more than threescore years, he still retained a warrior’s sturdy build. His eyes, a piercing green, stood out from the stern face that rarely softened. His bodyguard was a formality. King Colton had proven himself in battle time and again, often enough that no one would think he was a pampered noble. He wore a dagger tucked into the folds of his robes, much to the dismay of his attendants, who felt that a king should not have to be armed. Ever since the assassination attempt six years after he had taken Duor’s throne, no one dared voice their complaints.

His vizier, Shamgar, stood a pace away, shuffling through a pile of reports and statements. He was a thickly built man with muscles that belied his mainly sedentary career. His dark, brooding features masked a keen intellect, sharp wit, and fierce loyalty to his king. Nobody crossed him more than once. When he was not at the king’s elbow, Shamgar could be found in the taverns around the city, cradling a mug of ale which he never drank, feigning a drunken stupor as he listened to the conversations of loose-tongued men around him, cataloguing information and assessing threats.

At the far left of the enormous desk, a soldier stood at rigid attention. His uniform marked him as part of the King’s Guard, Colton’s personal detachment, an elite group that nobles couldn’t buy their way into. A thin scar twisted its way up his right cheek, past his temple, and onto his forehead. It marked the occasion when he had defended his king and won the position of personal bodyguard. Three thin gold lines, intersected by two silver, were embroidered just above his heart—a captain’s insignia.

Captain Tor’s right hand was scarce inches from his sword hilt. The weapon was well-cared for, but not gaudy. He also had a small dagger tucked out of sight, and two smaller knives in either boot. Though he never moved, he was very aware of what was happening in the room. By looking everywhere and nowhere, he would catch sight of any movement, however slight, and his hearing was sharper than most. Even the faint scratching of the King Colton’s quill did not escape his attention, nor the fact that the king had chosen to write the missive himself, rather than dictate to one of the many palace scribes.

The King’s rings clicked gently together as he reached to dip his quill again, ignoring the few drops of ink that splattered on his sleeve. He penned a few more lines at the bottom of the sheet of paper, signed it with a flourish, then blotted it gently. He folded the paper, taking care to make the creases even, and reached for the sealing wax.

“Bring in the Courier.”

The captain nodded curtly and crossed the distance to the door with crisp, even strides, one hand now firmly on the hilt of his sword. Couriers were trusted as a whole, but this one was Maranthan; Captain Tor, like most of his countrymen, had a deep-seated suspicion of citizens of Duor’s neighbor. He opened the door with his left hand and ushered the Courier before King Colton.

The tow-headed Courier was just over six feet tall and walked with the easy, confident gait of a man trained to fight well if needed. His grey eyes missed nothing as he followed Captain Tor. He wore the uniform of a Courier—black tunic and leggings with red stitching, a red falcon embroidered over his heart, completed by riding boots, gloves tucked in his belt, and a black ceremonial cloak with a larger falcon on the back. The cloak would often be stored inside a Courier’s saddlebags while actually on a ride.

The Courier stopped exactly three paces before the king’s desk and bowed deeply, flourishing his cape.

The king nodded, barely glancing up from the sealing wax he was affixing to the letter. “Courier Ethlon, correct?”

“Aye, sire. What service would you have me do?”

King Colton pressed his signet ring deeply into the royal blue wax and slid the letter into an official Courier pouch. Then he rose and came around the desk to hand the pouch to Ethlon. His eyes were intense and serious.

“Courier Ethlon, I tell you this only to impress upon you the seriousness and urgency of this ride. You know the tensions between our countries have long been strained. At best, we bicker and thwart trade relations. At worst, we wage bitter war. For decades, we have hated and mistrusted each other.”

“Every Maranthan and Duorian knows this, sire,” Ethlon half-smiled. “It’s hardly a secret.”

“True. But what is not so well-known is that there are elements of both our countries that are silently helping the war along. They find it… profitable.”

Ethlon frowned. “Warmongers?”

“Precisely.” King Colton met Ethlon’s gaze squarely. “I have no great love for your people, but I cannot abide manipulative nobles. Names of those in my court and King Fathrain’s have recently come to my attention, and I feel a sense of responsibility to warn your king of those who plot the ruin of our nations.

“You understand that there are members of the nobility who would not want this letter to make it to your king. No one outside of this room knows of this. Secrecy is of utmost importance. This could be your most dangerous ride yet.”

“I know back roads and forgotten mountain passages, majesty. I will do all I can to assure safe and timely delivery.”

“I know you will, Courier.” King Colton turned and took one step, then paused, facing Ethlon once again. “I understand you frequently ride with your young daughter.”

“Elora, majesty.”

“Yes. Perhaps it would be best if she did not accompany you this time. The danger is real, though we will certainly do all we can to contain it.”

“Thank you for your concern, sire, but I have no one I would trust her to. Her mother died in childbirth seven years past. Elora is everything I have, and I would prefer to keep her within my protection. Also, because of the political implications of this letter, I would not wish to expose her to the possibility of kidnapping.”

“Would you accept a guard?”

“No, sire. I ride best and fastest without outside accompaniment. I hope I don’t offend.”

“Of course not, Courier. I am simply concerned for the safety of your child. But I do understand your feelings. I, too, am a father. You must do what you feel best.”

“Thank you.” Ethlon swept another bow. “If I may have your leave, sire, I will go and make arrangements for my ride.”

“You are dismissed, Courier Ethlon. Luck go with you.” Colton nodded to his bodyguard. “You are dismissed as well, Captain.”

Ethlon bowed one last time, stepping backwards, then turned and followed Captain Tor out of the room, easily keeping pace with the soldier’s long strides. Captain Tor watched Ethlon walk down the hall, then beckoned to a page, shutting the door to the king’s study.

“Inform Lord Kaov that I wish to speak with him. I have information he will find extremely interesting.” He pressed a copper into the boy’s hand, and the boy scampered off.

~~~

King Colton waited until the door closed before turning to his vizier.

“Was that convincing enough, Shamgar?”

“He seemed to completely believe you, my liege. Once Fathrain gets that missive, it will divide his court. He won’t be able to trust half his nobles.”

“That’s the idea.” King Colton smiled, and there was a nasty edge to it. “The more confusion there is in the Maranthan court, the more this war will swing in our favor.”

“Will Courier Ethlon deliver the pouch?”

“I chose Courier Ethlon for several reasons. Primarily because he is a Maranthan, and King Fathrain will have no reason to distrust him as he would a Duorian Courier. But almost as compelling a reason is that Ethlon has never abandoned or failed a ride. If anyone can get through, he can.”

“And when Fathrain discovers that the list is fictitious?”

“If, Shamgar. If. If he discovers it, then seeds of doubt will already be sown. It will be too late.”

~~~

“Are you certain, captain?” Lord Kaov had been annoyed by Tor’s request for a meeting, but the news the bodyguard shared banished all trace of his initial feelings, leaving in its place frustration and the barest hint of fear.

“I watched the King write the names of Maranthan nobles from another list and give it to the Courier.”

Lord Kaov swore softly. “Fool of a king.” He looked sharply at Tor. “Did you see any of the names?”

“No, my lord. My post is too far away, and it would be overtly obvious were I to crane my neck.”

“A pity.” Kaov had either missed or ignored the sarcasm Tor offered him. “Courier Ethlon, was it?”

“Yes. He seemed anxious to start the ride, too.”

“Probably wanting to see Maranth again,” Kaov mused. “Did he say anything that would indicate his route?”

“Ethlon said he knew the old paths and forgotten mountain passes. He will likely stay away from the main roads as much as possible.”

Lord Kaov nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for your information, captain. We must find a way to ensure that the pouch never makes it to the Maranthan palace.”