CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

The palace was buzzing with rumors. Prince Ranaan sifted through the conversations of the servants as they dashed about, whispering in not-so-quiet tones. He feigned ignorance and continued making his way through the vast hallways that led above ground and to the throne room. The servants were always full of gossip and sharing the latest intrigue, but today was different.

Today, there was talk of death.

Barely reaching five feet, Ranaan was not an intimidating figure. His hair was black and of medium length, usually tied in a pony-tail. His bangs hung down in sharp points and he was always pushing them aside. His eyes were an icy blue and stood out vividly when he wore his formal white uniform. The youngest of his father’s two sons, he would not take the throne but instead would be allowed to do with his life as he chose.

He reached the hidden doorway that led to the section of the castle that was above ground. At the end of the hallway was two massive wooden doors. As he approached he was greeted by two guards, one at each side of the entrance. They bowed low at his arrival. They grunted as they pushed the doors open, bowing once more as Ranaan swept past them without acknowledgement. The audience room was an enormous circular chamber. It was usually filled with nobles, but today it was empty.

His father was seated on the throne, a large oak chair plated in gold and silver. His brother, the heir to the throne, stood attentively at his side.

“You called for me father?” His voice echoed in the empty chamber.

Dagmar, his brother, had a grave look on his face. “He can’t speak, Ranaan. His condition has worsened. The healers said” his voice cracked and he paused. The emotional turmoil was obvious. “They said he won’t make it through the night.”

Ranaan stood in silence, unsure how to take the news. He loved his father dearly, but the man was nearing ninety and time had not been kind to him. A disease of the mind had consumed him and he was no longer the man Ranaan remembered. It was a confusing mix of emotions. Sadness at the imminent death of his father, but relief that his suffering would soon be at an end.

Byramm, the royal chamberlain, made his presence known by coughing softly. “Your Highness’s,” he greeted solemnly. “You know what this means.”

Dagmar looked to Ranaan. “Do you object?”

“You know I don’t,” Ranaan replied, lowering himself to one knee. “I support your reign as king.” He lowered his head in homage.

Their father, in a rare show of normalcy, reached up weakly and pulled his crown off. He looked at Dagmar and mouthed something unintelligible. Dagmar hesitantly took hold of the crown. Lifting it up, he stared at the large black diamond in its center. He looked to Ranaan, then to the chamberlain, and lastly, his father.

The old king nodded his head slowly. Dagmar placed the crown on his own head.

“Long live the king,” Ranaan said.

There was complete silence. Byramm waited a few moments to speak, not wanting to ruin the moment. “My Lord’s, I do not wish to rush your mourning, but there are things that need to be done. We must announce the coronation and summon the monks from the Abbey to bring the sphere.” Byramm eyed Dagmar critically. “And we must summon the tailor.”

—

“There is one more thing, brother.” The tailor was busy taking Dagmar’s measurements, her hands a flurry of fingers and measuring tape.

Ranaan looked questioningly at his brother.

“I am announcing a truce with Oakvalor.”

Ranaan’s face turned incredulous. “What! There hasn’t been peace since … since anyone can remember. At least, not a real peace. How in the Divines are you going to manage a truce?”

“Marriage.”

The tailor produced a plush violet robe and placed it over Dagmar’s shoulders. Using needles and some sort of sticky parchment, she marked out where she would need to make cuts in the material. “I am going to marry the princess of Oakvalor. It is going to be announced at the coronation.”

Ranaan was at a loss for words. “It is what is best for the people of our kingdom. And theirs. Enough blood has been shed in a war that neither side can win. No one can even remember how it started or why. It is time to leave our feuds in the past and work toward a better future.”

Ranaan looked at his brother in a new light. He seemed wiser somehow. “It makes sense to me, brother. I’m not sure how the people will accept it. War is all we know. I stand behind any decision you make. And I will stand behind this one. My heart says peace would be a nice change, but my mind doesn’t know what peace is.”

“My prayer and my hope is that we can change that.” Dagmar looked at himself in the mirror. “Do I look like a king?” he asked jokingly. Ranaan chuckled softly. He had to wonder if Dagmar meant ‘we’ as in he and his bride to be, or together as brothers. He supposed it didn’t matter so long as the people of the kingdom were happy.

“You look noble to me, but what do I know?”

—

“No, no, no! You will stand here,” the chamberlain screeched, pointing to a specific stone on the floor. Ranaan rolled his eyes at the old man. He reminded Ranaan of his grandmother, wrinkly and decrepit. Between the heat and the old man’s irritating voice, it was all he could do not to snap. “Why does it matter where we stand, Byramm?”

Byramm’s face turned a deep crimson color. “It is tradition! Which you apparently lack any knowledge of. You are fortunate you’re not a child anymore.”

Ranaan smirked at the chamberlain. “Careful, Byramm. I might break your hip.”

“Please brother,” Dagmar interjected, “we must get this right before evening. Two days from now is the coronation and we will have the entire kingdom watching. The less inexperienced we look, the better.”

Ranaan conceded the point and stood where the chamberlain directed. That old man had been a pain, usually quite literally, when he was younger. Anytime he made a mistake, Byramm was always there to deliver discipline. Now that he was in charge of himself, he could pick at the chamberlain all he pleased with no painful retaliation.

The next few hours were full of boredom for Ranaan as the chamberlain laid out the course of events that would unfold leading up to the coronation. The monastery would bring the sphere out as a symbolic display of power, there would be a few speeches by the people who had helped raise the older prince, and once they were finished, he would be crowned the new king of Talvaard. The only thing that would be different from any other ceremony, at least according to Byramm, was the announcement of the marriage and treaty with Oakvalor.

“The general has tripled the guard in the event the people do not initially take to the idea. There will also be archers on the rooftops. We are not only protecting our new king, but also our new ally and his entourage.”

“That should be plenty of protection,” Dagmar said. “I’ve given King Elkanah permission to bring his bodyguard as well. We have made every preparation possible. Now we can only trust the Divines for the best.”

—

The palace grounds were crowded with people who had come to see the crowning of the new king. Many of them had traveled hundreds of miles from all corners of the kingdom to glimpse the ceremony. The kings of Talvaard were known to live long and die of old age rather than of battle or disease, so the ceremony was a rare event.

Innumerable banners and flags of bright orange, yellow, and red lined the buildings and walkways leading up to the Palace Square. Why it was called a square, no one was certain. The stonework that laid out the area in front of the great wall which separated the actual palace and the Square was in the shape of a rectangle. Whoever had termed it a square, the description stuck.

Soldiers wearing ceremonial armor, emblazoned with the royal insignia of a phoenix bursting forth from a pile of ashes, stood guard along the streets to ensure order and keep the crowds from overwhelming the plaza where the sphere and the new king would be. Archers lined the rooftops with bows in hand, keeping careful watch. The entire population of the monastery, with the exception of the Guardian and those under his command, formed a large circle around a short pillar to the right of where the king would stand. Velkyn and the three former candidates for his position stood alert with their backs to the sphere, forming a protective square. An identical pillar to the left held the crown used only for coronations.

Prince Ranaan peered down at the scene below from the window of the throne room. Dagmar would pace the room, then turn, and pace back. “Are you nervous, brother?” Ranaan chided. “You act as though you have never stood before a crowd.”

His brother ceased his march. “It is easy for you to be calm. You aren’t the one who is accepting a crown that has many enemies. Not to mention the ire I may receive from the people of our kingdom with the announcement I make today. So yes, brother, I am nervous.” Dagmar continued pacing back and forth.

Ranaan shrugged and turned his gaze back to the scene outside. He could see the glint of the sphere through the veil that covered it. Enormous groups of children waved miniature flags with the royal crest. It seemed that the people were happy. The Square was a much different place the night before when they held the funeral. The same people who were excitedly waving flags and banners were also the same people who had cried and openly mourned the loss of their previous king.

Ranaan thought about how his father looked inside the casket. He had always viewed his father as tall and strong, wise and venerable. Seeing him shriveled and pale just lying in a box made him conscious of the reality of death. It was no respecter of people or their status.

Trumpets signaling the approach of King Elkanah momentarily drowned out the sound of the people talking and cheering. Ranaan looked to see which direction the entourage was coming from and spotted them to the west. He could see about twenty men dressed in the colors of Oakvalor marching in front of a carriage.

“Brother,” he said loudly, “our guests have arrived.”

Dagmar seemed not to hear the news, so Ranaan motioned the guards to escort the visiting king to the plaza. “Have you seen her?” Ranaan asked aloud.

“Who?” Dagmar replied.

“Your future wife. Have you seen her?”

Dagmar still did not cease pacing the throne room. “No. Why do you ask?”

“What if she is ugly?” Ranaan laughed, though his brother did not.

“I do not see how the beauty of my queen has anything to do with bringing peace to our kingdoms.”

“It doesn’t.” Ranaan answered. “Though it would be humorous for you to go into the history books as a king who married a repulsive woman.” That did cause Dagmar to stop his pacing and glare at him. “Come now, brother,” Ranaan left the window and embraced his sibling. “I only jest to lighten your heart.”

“There will be plenty of time for you to jest after the ceremony,” Dagmar said curtly. “Though … I do hope she isn’t unsightly.” He smiled at Ranaan and continued his pacing.

One of the generals appeared in the doorway. “Your Highness,” his deep voice echoed in the giant marble chamber, “The king and his daughter await you in the plaza.”

Ranaan removed the robe that lay on the throne and wrapped it around his brother’s shoulders. “That’s our queue.”

—

Calderon could hear the Abbot arguing heatedly with someone in hushed tones. When he looked to see who, he was surprised to see Donovan. His spirits lifted when he saw his mentor, but when he realized his mentor was the one arguing with the Abbot, he got confused. He could only hear pieces of their conversation over the noise of the crowd.

“You must remove it,” Donovan said.

“That will never happen. The coronation will begin any moment, and we will not insult our new king.”

“Something is wrong … I feel … dangerous,” Calderon strained to hear what Donovan was saying, but the crowd was getting louder. “It’s not safe.”

The sound of horns blaring overpowered every sound and shook the ground around them. “All hail Prince Dagmar and Prince Ranaan!” One of the heralds roared.

Calderon thought the crowd was loud before the princes arrived. The masses shoved forward and it was all the soldiers could do to hold them back. He could see a general barking out orders but couldn’t make out the words. Then the two bothers entered the plaza, surrounded by a host of at least two dozen men armed to the teeth. He had not seen much outside the monastery and was overwhelmed by everything.

He looked to where Donovan had been but the old man was gone. The Abbot seemed unfazed by whatever his mentor had said. Velkyn looked calm and composed compared to the soldiers fighting to keep the crowds at bay.

It took almost twenty minutes to restore order and get the people to be silent enough for the ceremony to begin. Despite the chaos of the crowds, everything seemed well orchestrated as each person who had written a speech about the new king came forward and spoke about their memories of Dagmar as a child and various other stories about his character.

As soon as the chamberlain finished talking, an odd hush fell over the crowd. Calderon wasn’t sure why everyone suddenly went quiet. It was probably the only moment of silence he had experienced since leaving the monastery that morning.

Byramm approached the pillar that held the crown and gently picked it up. He turned to Dagmar and lifted the crown into the air. “It is my esteemed honor to name you, Prince Dagmar, as the new king, by royal lineage, over the kingdom of Talvaard and its people.” Placing the crown upon Dagmar’s head, Byramm turned to the assembly. “I give you King Dagmar!”

A great shout filled the air, though the people did not try to surge forward this time. Calderon noticed Prince Ranaan was staring at the sphere. The veil had been removed and it seemed so bright. Ranaan seemed to be entranced by the thing and oblivious to anything around him. The prince closed his eyes and opened his mouth in a scream that was lost in the sound of the thousands of people cheering.

Panic gripped Calderon as he wondered what was wrong with the prince. He was about to rush forward to help him but noticed that one of the soldiers came to his aid.

Ranaan kept shaking his head and seemed unsteady on his feet. It seemed to Calderon that nobody had noticed the prince’s odd behavior. Suddenly Ranaan seemed fine. He stood straight and pushed the soldier away from him.

Calderon kept his eyes on the prince to see if anything else happened, but he seemed fine. Dagmar was trying to hush the crowd, and eventually Calderon turned his attention away from Ranaan.

“I have an announcement,” Dagmar yelled loudly to be heard as the noise of the people died down. “We have long been at war with our neighbors, and I am sure you are all wondering why the king of Oakvalor is here for my coronation. Today the nation of Talvaard and Oakvalor put our feuding past behind us. Today, my people, we forge a peace that not even our forefathers imagined. Today, I will marry the daughter of King Elkanah and seal a treaty of peace between our kingdoms!”

There was complete silence. Calderon eyed the crowd. Everyone just stood there, staring at their new king with wide eyes and in some cases, wide mouths. Then someone in the back started clapping. Then another followed suit. And another. And another, until everyone was clapping in approval of the union.

King Elkanah brought forth his daughter and the people began cheering loudly again. To say the woman was beautiful was an understatement. Calderon was awed by her eyes. They were bright blue, and her white flowing dress made them seem all the brighter. Her hair was blonde and long, perhaps reaching the middle of her back.

The two kings embraced each other in a hug, and then Dagmar took the woman by her hand. “What’s your name?” Dagmar asked embarrassedly.

“Nizana.”

“It’s as beautiful as you are,” he complimented.

A great smile spread across her face, revealing her teeth which were just as white as her dress.

Despite the loudness and chaos of the crowd, Calderon was glad to have experienced this moment. “History in the making,” he whispered to himself. He noticed Prince Ranaan was hovering toward the back of the plaza, his behavior seeming odd again. And then …

Calderon watched in sheer horror as a scene more nightmarish than anything he could ever dream played out before his very eyes.

Ranaan shoved his brother to the ground from behind. Unsheathing a sword from the soldier who helped him, he thrust the blade into Nizana’s abdomen. Blood spurt forth onto Ranaan’s hands and onto the floor. There was a wild look in the prince’s eyes as he jerked the blade free.

Dagmar stared in horror and confusion, unsure of what to do. King Elkanah pointed at Ranaan and ordered his bodyguard to seize the murderer. The crazed look on his face made the guards hesitate. Then in a quick fluid motion, he swung the blade in a giant arc and decapitated his brother.

Time seemed to cease for Calderon, but for everyone else, all hell broke loose. The Talvaard soldiers, unsure of what they should do, grouped protectively around Prince Ranaan. King Elkanah’s bodyguards did likewise and began systematically moving him away from the Square to the carriage, pushing their way through the distraught crowd.

People were screaming and trampling each other to get away from the horrific sight. Calderon’s attention snapped back to the direction of the sphere when he heard the familiar voice of his friend Velkyn shouting for the monks to shield the sphere with their bodies. The thunderous sound of magic boomed and lit up the square in a bluish-green light and King Elkanah’s carriage, and his entourage, disappeared from sight.

“So, there are wizards,” Calderon whispered in disbelief. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the Abbot. “Go with Velkyn and the others and take the sphere to safety.” Calderon nodded and left the circle to join his friend. He noticed that the soldiers had moved Ranaan behind the stone wall of the palace.

“What in the name of the Divines just happened?” he yelled. Velkyn shook his head grimly. “I’m not sure, but it seems like a coupe just happened.”

“A what?”

Velkyn pointed to the dead body of Dagmar. “An overthrow and seizure of the throne by a jealous brother. Come, we have to get the sphere back to the monastery.”

—

The trip back was rushed and nothing like the trip earlier that morning. Calderon had been entranced by the beauty of the capital city and the surrounding countryside. Everything now seemed different. Velkyn personally carried the sphere and only allowed Calderon to walk near him.

“Why would the Prince kill King Elkanah’s daughter, let alone his own brother?” one of the monks whispered to another.

“Why indeed?” Calderon looked questioningly to Velkyn.

“Your assumption is as good as mine,” he replied, holding the sphere tightly to his chest. “Perhaps he wasn’t happy with not being king.”

Calderon’s heart was heavy with grief. This was the only time he had left the monastery since he entered the sacred halls and it ended in bloodshed. A nagging thought in the back of his mind kept reminding him that the day wasn’t over yet.