The Sword and the Throne

Prologue

There was a storm gathering on that calm night. The moon was bright and full, the sky full of stars, the air pleasantly cool after the warm summer's day. The light of those stars left twinkling reflections in every river and stream they fell across, in the Sea of Storms in the west all the way to Armorian Ocean in the east. In every town, village and city, men and women were out in the streets, enjoying the night's air after a hard day's work, drinking, carousing, fighting and laughing. None of them saw the storm. But then there was nothing to see. Not yet.

It had been gathering for many months, across the kingdoms and baronies that made up the land of Loegria. Some were aware of it. But those that were saw no reason to share that knowledge with the commoners. It was none of their concern. So, the tremors that shook the earth, unfelt by all and unnoticed by most, went unremarked upon while the winds of change rushed through the land, heard by a handful though none spoke of it. Even that night, none were speaking of it. That would come after the storm had broken.

The eye of the storm was to be found in the North East, in the castle of Karleon. In the immense, marble throne room, courtiers, barons and even kings stood in small groups or else alone. All spoke to each other in quiet, muted tones, mimicking respectful airs, though their infrequent glances upward betrayed their true thoughts. All of them were waiting. Waiting for the news they knew would come soon. The news that would be the spark that would light an inferno.

That spark was upstairs, in the highest tower. In the bedchamber. Orian Nl-Ramagne, the Rawncrow, King by the Light of Karleon, High King of Loegria, lay on his deathbed. His long hair, once black as night, now grey as smoke, felt lank beneath his neck. But he was too weak to move and do anything about it. His arms, once so strong, now felt heavy as lead and lay upon his chest. They pressed uncomfortably against his ribs, making his struggle for breath even harder. His legs felt no less weighted. Orian felt as if his body were being dragged downwards into the mattress, as if his own limbs were eager to see him to the dark Afterworld he would surely soon see.

This was what he had come to? He would have been disgusted if he had the energy. He, who had united Loegria through conquest, the first to do so since Maurik Es-Allion Rawncrow. He who had commanded armies and beaten warlords in single combat even before he had received his great power. Now a wasting shell, being suffocated by his own body. Alone with his thoughts.

He was not, technically speaking, alone. There was a veritable swarm of people in the chamber. Parasites, Orian thought with distaste. Scum who care no more for my death than that mob below. Lesser kings and petty lords all just waiting for the fateful moment. And his wife, of course. Mustn't forget the girl that the Bishop had forced on him in the last, desperate hope of providing House Ramagne with an heir. Orian didn't think he would have minded so much had they chosen anyone but Lady Tigren, the most spiteful and conniving little harpy he'd ever met in his life. The Bishop had sworn the girl was Chosen to the Light but if that were true, Orian would eat his sword.

She sat now, beside her husband's bed, her face the perfect picture of the grieving wife. Apart from her eyes. Those gave her away, darting around the room, fixing on one face after another. Looking for allies, Orian knew, and eyeing up the competition.

For the Bishop's efforts had been wasted. Tigren had not provided an heir. Though, Orian knew, that was hardly a surprise. The woman had treated his bed as if it were a plague pit and Orian would have rather had a skunk for a bedmate.

Unfortunately this did mean that, upon his death, Karleon would be plunged into turmoil as the noble houses fought among themselves, both on and off the battlefield, to seize control of his throne and maybe even make themselves the new High King. Orian would have laughed had the thought not moved him almost to tears. All the years, all the effort he had put into making Karleon what it was today. Was it all to be for nothing?