The Windcaster [Fantasy/Adventure | Featured | Complete ]

Chapter 45: Kind Generosity

She fidgeted as she sat in the chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs and then tapping the heel of her thick boots of hide against the wooden chair leg. The room was empty; King Lahar appeared to not have any personal guards or servants waiting on him. Even the room was bare; the "old quarters" seemed to be a chamber previously filled with grandeur. Dust had collected on the marble statues and the paintings were faded and coated with cobwebs. The ground was swept clean, however, and the place was simple and tidy.

Tia couldn't help but feel that this was an old and abandoned part of the Old Palace. Her sensitive ears could only hear the quiet footsteps of people far away. Her breath made little mist clouds in front of her, but even then the large fireplace in the room was unlit. In Dernexes, she or one of the servants would have made the fire much earlier; not that it mattered: her thick clothing was more than adequate in keeping her warm.

The sun had gone down. Dusk arrived earlier day by day. The sky was stained a bright orange, throwing the last of its rays over the edges of the trees in the distant through the clear window.

Even though it is such a different place here, the sunset remains the same, mused Tia. I wonder if Mommu and Enlil are seeing this right now.

A cough behind her alerted her of King Lahar's presence. She jumped to her feet and curtsied out of habit, bowing her head low.

"King Lahar." As she lifted her head up again, she registered the astonishment on the older man's face.

"There's no need for that!" He hurried forward to relieve her of the position. "Nabu had told me... I didn't realise Dernexans were really so strict on formalities!"

"I did not realise Gwentians were so much on the contrary," she said, a bit sharper than intended. Her green eyes flicked over his attire; he was clad in the same long tunic, thick leggings and boots of hide as she. At a glance, he would not look out of the ordinary on the streets of Mooncliffe; yet this man was the head of the monarchy and the dictator of Gwent. It almost beggared belief.

King Lahar tilted his head in acknowledgement of her words. "I mean nothing derogative. I do apologise. I'm just surprised by the difference. Please, take a seat."

Tia slipped back onto the chair, feeling uncomfortable she was offered the seat by the king and she was sitting before him. She forced down the unease and faced him as he settled adjacent to her.

"May I call you Tiamat?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

"Call me Lahar," he said. "Everyone does." Tia winced at the informality of it all.

"Of course... Lahar," she said in a strangled voice. "What is it that you wish to speak with me about?"

His expression turned grave as his dark blue eyes met hers.

"I wish for you to tell me what happened in Dernexes. The soldiers who were patrolling the Dernexan-Gwentian border brought you here several days ago but they were unable to provide me with information. I find myself asking why the Mawlinese army of thirty-strong men would chase an exhausted, starved, half-delirious young girl to the point where they were almost – but not quite – prepared to declare war on Gwent by stepping onto our soil."

Tia bowed her head, hiding her face beneath her chestnut hair; her fists gripped the folds of her tunic hard. Her shoulders shook.

"I know this is hard on you, but it's of utmost important that I establish the goal of the Mawlinese. I know Capital of Dernexes has fallen to Mawlin. I know King Ea of Dernexes is dead and all of his Windcasters were killed." Tia flinched. "Rest assured, Tiamat; we will keep you safe here, but I need to know what the Mawlinese are after. And you are the only one who can tell me that."