Chapter I - Family

 

 

 

 

“If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.”

-- Maya Angelou

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Draconis Venator

 

By Don Lund

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I.  Family

 

            Moonlight forced its way through the stained glass windows, combined with the half dozen lit candles casting long shadows inside the ancient church.  All available light appeared attracted to a lone figure, clad in armor, kneeling at the alter toward the front of the building, backed by rows of empty wooden pews.  His blonde hair looked as if had been out in the rain for hours and steady streams of sweat moved down his face and neck.  Sounds of crickets and the occasional hoot from a nearby owl outside obscured the sound of heavier breaths being taken out of the dusty air by the weary soul inside.  He allowed himself to lean back a moment and temporarily take the burden of his weight off his knees.  An unexpected noise from back behind the altar shattered the relative quiet.

            “Achoo!”

            Instinctively, Thaddeus attempted to move toward the altar, where his sword was resting, but he had been kneeling so long, his legs betrayed him and he fell forward onto the ground.  Whoever it was sneezed again, and the sound was hauntingly familiar this time. His sense of alarm quickly transformed to anger.

            “Of all the nights, why tonight, Vi?!” he whispered tersely.

            “No need to whisper, dear brother,” said a voice from the darkness.  “The crash of your armor on the old stone floor is enough to alert the sleepiest sentry.”

            “I’m whispering because of tradition and ceremony,” Thaddeus replied.  “It was supposed to be a night of prayer and fasting.”

            “I know the rituals, I have seen as many people knighted as you, and I am not here to bother you Thad.”

            “Too late for that.  Please, tell me you’re not here trying to emulate the ceremony yourself. You cannot be a knight of the realm.”

            The large oak doors at the opposite end of the building burst open and two men clutching spears and shields stumbled in.  “Who goes there?  Are you well, milord?” asked the taller of the pair.

            “If I were an assassin, the prince certainly would not have been saved by either of you slow pokes,” Victoria laughed.

            “I’m fine, thanks Corporal,” Thaddeus replied from the floor, “Although I could use a hand, now that you are here, I seem to have lost my balance.”

            The flustered and sleepy guards set their spears aside and moved to help Thaddeus off the floor. “Sorry Sire, won’t happen again.  We promise.”

            Victoria waited for the guards to depart and then she stepped out of the shadows, pulled some cloth from a satchel slung over her shoulder and began to wipe the sweat from her brother’s brow.  “You know, you don’t have to wear your full battle armor for this.  Many candidates simply place their armor on the alter with their weapon.”

            “You know why, Vi. We’re heirs to the throne.  We always have to take things a step further to prove ourselves worthy to everyone else.”

            “You mean you are the heir to throne. And do not complain to me about having to prove oneself,” she said, as she pulled the cloth away from his head and then threw it at his chest.

            “Vi….”

            “No, you said it yourself, I cannot become a knight.”

            “I was not trying to offend--”

            “I have trained my whole life for this, as have you. And it is only because I am a woman that I am refused the opportunity to serve our kingdom.”

            “Well, even if you were a born a man, you are still my junior by two full seasons and not likely to follow in father’s footsteps.”

            “Are you trying to comfort me, Thad?  Or rub it in?”

            “I am sorry, but this really was supposed to be a special night for me.”

            “Yes, yes, tomorrow, father will knight you himself and you will ride off to wage war for honor and glory, while I await to be married off for economic benefits or to seal a peace treaty.”

            “With your temper, I don’t think father would use you for a treaty of any kind.”

            Victoria abruptly stepped forward, put her hands on his chest and violently extended both arms.  A surprised Thaddeus fell over onto his back, and struggled, but was unable to roll to his side or gain any footing.

            Again, the far door creaked open and a single helmeted human head poked in, “Sire?”

            “All is well, I am merely a bit clumsy tonight, Corporal,” replied the prince, as he looked up to his sister. “I probably deserved that, but I will need help again to get up off the damn floor.”

            “I should order the guards away and leave you here, floundering like an upended turtle.”

            “Please, Vi, you have made your point.”

            “Have I?  Even father turns a deaf ear.”

            “Perhaps you could marry a rival king, march his armies here, conquer us all and change the laws?”

            A glimmer of hope returned to her eyes, she reached down and braced for some heavy lifting.

            “I was joking, sister.”

            “Oh, I don’t know, it sounds like the best idea I have heard around in here in quite some time.”

            She stepped up to the alter and placed her smaller sword, a gladius, on the opposite end.  Victoria stepped back and knelt beside Thaddeus.

            “I suppose there is enough room for both of us here,” Thaddeus said.

            “You know I would make a good knight.”

            “Of course, I got you that sword and trained you, against father’s wishes.  I imagine you may even thank me for that someday.  You know, whenever you learn to say the words.”

            “Be quiet, this is supposed to be a night of prayer and fasting.”

            Thaddeus resisted the urge to throw an elbow at his sister, and they continued the vigil together.  He wanted to ask her how she snuck into the church, but thought better of it.  The relative silence that had returned to the building was better than starting another argument.

            A half hour before sunrise, Victoria jumped to her feet and grabbed her sword off the altar.  She did not want to jeopardize her brother’s ceremony by drawing the ire of her father.  Soon, the church would be full priests and soldiers plying her brother with gifts and pats on the back.  For good measure, she mussed her brother’s hair, and slipped out the back door.  She anticipated a short nap, before the ladies of the court would start battering her with layers of clothes, perfumes and facial paint. 

            Victoria easily dodged the guards on her way back to the main castle.  Twenty years of wandering around the interior fortress walls made it easy for her to memorize the patrol patterns of any sentry under her father’s command.  Once inside the castle itself, she quietly skipped up the cold stone steps in her leather boots.  Oliver, her personal bodyguard, was soundly asleep in a wooden chair leaned up against the wall next to her bedroom door.   She stopped to admire the concept of sleeping so soundly in such a sore position.  He was a sweet old man, but she was fairly certain he could not protect her from a strong breeze, much less an enemy seeking to do her harm.  Victoria pushed open the door to her room and the iron hinges protested loudly, but Oliver didn’t notice.

            Although she would never admit it to Thad, she was sore and tired from being stuck in the same position for hours at a time.  The silence in the church had served as a time of reflection, and it only reminded her how much she wanted the chance to show her father what she was capable of doing, as a warrior and not the pampered princess he wanted her to be.  She peeled off her cloak and boots, jumped on her bed and set her sword and scabbard next to a pile of pillows.

            A large painting of her mother hung above her bed.  Her mother had died of a fever when Victoria was eight years old, and her father placed the painting there to show that her mother would always watch over her.  The picture displayed her mother in a full formal yellow dress, wearing a crown and holding a colorful hand fan.  It was more haunting than comforting as of late.

            While alive, her mother was indeed beautiful, always offering Victoria words of loving support.  At least from what she could remember.  What bothered her was that mother seemed comfortable with the trappings of royalty, reminding Victoria to stand up straight and be proper and polite.  She could not believe any woman would really desire a life of fancy tea parties, endless social gatherings, all the while being crammed into dresses and painful shoes more disconcerting than the heavy armor the soldiers wore into battle.

            Worse still, she was now being shopped around like the prize goat from the spring festival.  Her father had been parading foreign “dignitaries” into court as potential husbands.  She shuddered at the thought of being shipped off to some far away land, only to be pawed at by some stranger in order to spawn an heir and forced to host inane tea parties of her own.  All this, and her brother was literally being handed the keys to the kingdom, to her home.  It was too much to bear and she couldn’t handle the eternal friendly gaze of her mother.  Not tonight.  She grabbed one of the many extraneous blankets off the bed and gently tucked it over the top of the frame.

            “I am sorry mother, I do not think I can live the life of fancy dresses and fake smiles,” she whispered aloud.  “My fate will be determined with this.”

            Victoria reached for her sword and drew it from the scabbard.  Then in her bare feet, she moved about the bed with deadly precision and entered into a furious mock battle, slaying all those who dared oppose her.  The warrior eventually gave in to exhaustion and closed her eyes.

            In what seemed like a moment or two later, the blare of trumpets interrupted her abbreviated sleep, the pomp and circumstance for her brother’s celebration was officially underway.  It didn’t take long for chambermaids to swarm around her bed.

            “Lady Victoria, you look as if you were out all night again,” Trisha said in a worried tone. She was the youngest of the servants assigned to the princess. Victoria gave them a dismissive wave, in hopes they would all disappear.

            “Of course she was,” said Beatrice, the eldest, her gray hair bursting around the white scarf all the women on the castle staff were required to wear.  Beatrice had been around forever, Victoria thought to herself, as she also used to take care of her mother.  “Drag her to the wash bin.”

            “The water hasn’t had time to heat up for her bath,” reminded Trisha.

            “It matters not,” Beatrice interrupted. “First off, she overslept and is late for her brother’s event.  Second, I know our ‘tough’ princess can handle it.”

            “Why, Ms. Beatrice, your tone could be considered treasonous,” Victoria said, with a half smile, as she was being picked up by several sets of hands and arms.

            Beatrice pulled the blanket off the picture of the former queen and tossed it on the bed.

            “My tone is no worse than you covering up your mother’s picture,” Beatrice replied.  “You need to learn some respect for your mother, she was a great woman.”

            “Yes, yes, so I am told.”

            “What should I do with this?” Trisha asked as she picked up a sword by the edge, as if it were a dead rat.

            “Throw it out,” Beatrice said. “Her father doesn’t want her running around here with weapons.”

            Victoria started to protest but she was dunked into a tub of extremely cold water, clothes and all.  She went under long enough to get her hair wet and plant her feet firmly at the bottom of the tub.  The water was so cold, it was painful, but it was an ally to her newfound anger.

            “You forget yourselves ladies!  Now kindly place my sword on my bed and all of you, get the hell out of my bedroom!”

            Everyone froze in place, and slowly looked toward Beatrice for guidance.

            “And you forget yourself, Lady Victoria,” Beatrice said with a stare as cold as the water. “We are not your enemies here.  These women work for a pittance to serve you.  Your mother would never-”

            “Do not evoke her name to chastise me, I am not my mother.” 

            “Agreed, you are nothing like your mother.”

            “I will never know why my father allows you to talk to me this way.  I am sorry for screaming, but I really do wish to be left alone.”

            After a brief standoff, Beatrice motioned for everyone to leave.  Victoria began to wonder how she would eventually rule the world, when she was not even allowed to bath and dress herself.   She jumped up out of the tub and grabbed a towel.  Beatrice was right about one thing, it was late.  After drying off she looked to the bed, only to find a horrid pink frilly dress laid out neatly with white gloves and her officious looking royal tiara.  She rolled her eyes and went through the dreaded process, since she knew her father would want her looking “proper” for her brother’s knighting ceremony.  She hid her sword, scabbard and sharpening stone under her mattress, in hopes they would be there upon her return.

            Somehow, Oliver always seemed to sense when she was to leave, and she heard his standard double knock on the door. “Ready, milady?  I think we are missin’ it,” a muffled voice said.

            “I am ready, Ollie.”

            And the door, slowly opened, and the elderly guard walked in and offered his arm, “Then allow me the honor of escorting you to the church,” he said with a smile that revealed a few crooked, yellow teeth.

            “The honor is mine, Oliver,” she tried not to stare at the disheveled old soldier, reached for his arm, “Let us see if father is willing to make Thad a knight.”

            She must have slept longer than she thought, or the ceremony was moving ahead of schedule.  The courtyards were empty save a score of the king’s honor guard lined along either side of the walk in front of the church. The bright sunlight of the late summer morning flashed and flickered off their well polished armor and shields as they moved toward the gray brick structure.  As Oliver reached to open the door, the sound of claps, whistles and cheers erupted from inside. “Oh my, I think we did miss it milady,” Oliver shouted over the merriment.

            Victoria felt her face blush and moved forward through the crowd, in hopes her father would somehow forgive her.  She started to try to push her way through toward the alter as Oliver was unable to clear a path through the mass of bodies standing in the aisle.  The entire kingdom must be crammed in here, she thought to herself.

            “Make way for the princess!” Oliver hollered in vain.

            Someone at the front of the church noticed the commotion in the crowd and whispered into the ear of the gray bearded king, in gold tinted armor.  He turned and raised his arms above his head, and the crowd began to quiet.  “My pardon good ladies and gents. My daughter has at last found her way here from the castle; please allow her through so she may pass on her belated well wishes to her brother.”

            Laughter echoed off the high arched ceiling and the sea of humanity began to slowly part, revealing a red faced princess and her beleaguered guardian.  After a moment of hesitation, Victoria held her chin up high, gathered her long gown in her hands and stepped forward toward her brother, father and as many priests and dignitaries as space would allow around the alter.  She curtsied twice, once to her father, and once to her brother.

            “Please accept my humble apologies for my tardiness father,” she turned and continued now with a hint of sarcasm, “And congratulations dear brother, on your glorious accolade, or should I address you only as Sir Thaddeus now?”

            Thaddeus tried to hold a look of anger, but it didn’t last and a smile broke out across his face. “Why, yes, I think you should address me as, Sir, from this day forward.  I do like the sound of that.”

            He stepped forward, removed her tiara and proceeded to mess her hair up, and then offered to hand back her crown.  Laughter returned to the hall, “For last night and being late,” he whispered in her ear.

            “You can keep the tiara, it will look better on you, Sir Thad.”

            As if he could no longer permit distance between them, King Byron quickly moved toward Victoria, hugged her and effortlessly lifted her in the air, and circled around as he did when she was a little girl.  His booming laugh trumped the crowd’s noises.

            “Please father, allow me a bit of dignity, I did apologize for being late.”

            “Very well,” he set her down, looked out among the people in the church, “Enough formality for the day, let the trumpets announce our newest knight, while we eat, drink and celebrate to welcome another defender of the realm among us!”

            Upon the completion of his last uttered syllable, several trumpeters sounded off, and the priests led the royal procession down the aisle, as Byron put an arm around both of his children and moved with them out of the church.  Victoria’s long hair had fallen around her face, thanks to the efforts of Thaddeus but observant members of the crowd could see her smiling.

            The castle was full of life as servants raced through the hall, futilely attempting to keep pace with the consumption of food and alcohol.  The large, open area of the hall had enough room for twice as many guests in attendance, but the high ceiling that towered well above the crowd, allowed every conversation to echo beyond the grey stone walls. 

            With only a brief nap to show for her last night’s sleep, Victoria was exhausted and she absolutely despised putting on airs to impress the nobles and rich commoners who vied for her attention.  She wanted to at least say goodnight to her family, but her father was surrounded by people who hoped his happy mood would find him more approving of them. When she finally found Thaddeus, he had attracted a small army of debutantes who were all swarming around him, smiling and giggling.  Ugh, I am no mood to wrestle past those letches now; I will see him in the morrow.  She returned to her room, Oliver’s chair was understandably empty, he was likely off in the kitchen ‘helping’ to pour the ale and fill the serving platters.

            Without care, she shredded her dress off in pieces and defiantly tossed the remnants in the corner, grabbed a long nightshirt and moved to her bed, which had been made up neatly with far too many blankets and pillows.  She reached under the mattress only to find her sword missing.  Bah, it had to be the old battleaxe Beatrice who took it.  That would have to be dealt with later, for now, slumber called to her.  As she looked up, her mother’s painting did not appear to be giving her an approving glance, so she covered it up and went to sleep.

            Just like the night before, her rest was interrupted by the sound of trumpets.  This time, the trumpets were sounding an alert, and specifically a call to arms.  It was still dark outside, a cool breeze pushed in through her open window.  She was still extremely tired and had no idea how long she was able to sleep.  She looked at the service bell, an item she generally hated and tried to avoid, but she wanted some answers about the pandemonium filling the courtyard.  She rang the bell and Trisha moved in quickly from a room next door, holding a lit candle.  “Yes, Lady Victoria, what do you need?”

            “Thank goodness it is you on duty, Trish.  How long have I been asleep, and do you have any idea why troops are being called to the castle?”

            “The last sentry call was a while ago at four in the morning and all was well, so you have been here about five hours, milady.  I am sorry to say I have no idea of the troubles yet.”

            “You must have drawn the short straw, no one likes being assigned to me anymore,” Victoria smiled.

            Trisha looked flustered, unsure how to answer.

            “I do not mean to be so difficult, Trish.  I just believe there must be more to life for us than cleaning castles and waiting to be married off.”

            “Yes, milady.”

            “Sorry to have bothered you. Try to get some rest. I will see if I can discover what the fuss is all about.”

            She put on a robe and moved to the top of the stairs.  Thad and her father stood with their squires and a handful of advisors at the bottom of the stairs. They were back in full armor, the family crest of three golden lions over a field of dark green carefully painted on the breastplates of their armor.  “What is it father?”

            He looked up at her, bleary eyed, and it looked as if he hadn’t yet had the chance to escape the previous night’s party and rest.  Thad looked just as tired, but he appeared quite happy to be called to duty.

            “Word has come to us that a nearby village of Duvalton has been pillaged and burned.  It appears the Northmen have broken their treaty with us,” the king explained.

            “May I accompany you father?”

            “Heavens no, dear,” he said.  “If the Northmen are indeed raiding the realm, your place is here, behind the castle walls.  Stay safe, my daughter.”

            King Byron moved up the steps, helm in one hand, he reached out and hugged with his free arm and kissed her on the cheek and he smiled, “Take care now, and make sure Oliver doesn’t drink the castle dry while I’m gone.  And please mind the Grand Vizier until my return, his political experience will make him a fine Viceroy in my stead.”

            “But father…,” she protested and thought to herself, anyone but that vulture should lead while the king was away.

            “Someday, maybe, you will make a fine queen for a lucky fellow.  Today is not that day. I beg of you, do not make trouble for him,” he said, as he turned and traversed back down the steps.

            Thaddeus skipped by his father, moved up the steps and whispered in his sister’s ear, “I left you a couple things on my chair, to help you guard the castle while I am gone.”

            She studied his face, trying to determine if he was setting her up for a practical joke or if he really did leave her gifts.  He recognized the puzzled look on her face and laughed, and he descended the stairs.  “Do not fret, Vi.  I am certain you will be pleased.”

            Victoria lost track of the passing hours, but she waited long enough for them to finaly clear the hall and then she made a mad dash toward her brother’s room.  The door was open; servants were methodically dusting and picking up clothes off the floor in a room that looked as if it could use a larger cleaning staff.  Through the clutter, she saw a blanket with a note on it, covering a mysterious pile of something on a chair in the corner.  In the sloppy penmanship of her brother, she read the words, “For Lady Vi, a future Knight of the Realm.”

            She ripped the blanket away, and it revealed a chain mail shirt, some stiff leather gloves and shiny skull cap helm.  The items were familiar enough to her, since this was the equipment her brother would lend to her while they honed their sword skills.  Father had allowed her to essentially “play around,” but he would not allow her any equipment of her own.  Still, this was a pleasant surprise, and a nice gesture by Thad, especially on the heels of his knighthood ceremony.

            A flood of memories surrounded her, as each piece of this ensemble had been carefully selected to fit her particular fighting style.  While the full armor of the knights provided some additional protection, it was far too heavy for her to wear.  Thad told her to emphasize her true strengths, which were her speed and determination.  The chain mail was lighter and would at least deflect lesser blows.  Her helm was fitted and protected the top of her head, but the open face gave her better visibility than the heavier helmets with movable visors.  The gloves were hardened, cured leather with enough cover to keep her hands from lighter damage and light enough to maintain quickness with her sword. 

            “My sword,” she said aloud.  “Where is Mistress Beatrice?”

            A newer member of the staff that Victoria did not recognize curtsied and nervously pointed toward the opposite end of the courtyard, “I think she is working in the kitchen this morning, milady.”

            Vi gathered carefully collected her armor and left for her room.  The first hints of sunlight started to peek through the upper windows.  Once in her room, she threw her gear on her bed, and exchanged her robe and nightshirt for a simple white wool dress and boots.  She was about to storm out of the room when it caught the corner of her eye.  Her sword and scabbard were resting on her pillow.  For whatever reason, her adversary had relented and returned her prized possessions.  “I may never figure out that old woman,” she thought to herself.

            For the rest of the day, she paced around the halls and in and out of her room, demanding updates every hour for news of her family’s mission to investigate the village.  The village was only a few miles away, and twice the guard tower reported the sight of smoke on the horizon in the direction of the troubled area.  A few hours later, Oliver attended to his favorite chair to dedicate another night of protective duty, “Lady, you’re a wearin’ a path into the stone floor,” Oliver observed with concern. “As soon as word gets here, I will pass it along.”

            “I should be out there with them.”

            “They will be fine milady, they took half of the Royal Guard with them. They are some of the finest warriors in our realm,” Oliver said.  “I’ll bet the cowardly raiders are already in full retreat as our warriors help those poor souls recover. Now please rest.  I swear, as soon as word reaches the gate, you will know of their return.”

            Reluctantly, the princess agreed.  She had not had much sleep in over the previous couple days, so she considered an early rest may be helpful.  Especially if her father sent for more reinforcements, she may finally, finally get her chance to show the king what she could do with the sword.  She tucked her mother’s painting in again, thinking her mother would not approve of her dreams of adventure.  She fell asleep as the castle grew dark.  Her last conscious thoughts were that it was strange that no one had yet reported back from the village.

            Some time later, her chamber door was thrust open and torch light from the hall spilled into her room.  She sat up quickly and reached for her sword, only to see a wide eyed Oliver advancing alone toward her, while other guards stayed in the hall.  Oliver hesitated, as if his feet had suddenly become too heavy to move any further, Victoria knew something was wrong. 

            “What news Oliver?” as she hoped her words would ease his burden.

            Tears welled up in Oliver’s eyes as he slowly stepped toward the side of her bed and fell to his knees, “I am so sorry milady, but I must be the one to tell you…your father and brother…they are dead!”

Reviews

[Brandon Meyers]

Alright Don, firstly, let me just say that you have an excellent command of words. Minor grammatical beasties aside, your sentence structure/paragraph structure and overall presentation are very good. Keeping in mind that this is just my opinion, take it for what it's worth. I think the characters are believable, and I love the dynamic between brother and sister.

I'm a pretty big fan of lengthy bits of exposition, so I really like all the details you built into this about not only the castle, but Vi's personality.

I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes...