Chapter 4: Royal Pawn
Spring 1729 Annus Sanctus
It had been five years since they had arrived in the city Biblos. Thankfully, no one asked questions. There were regular refugees from neighboring towns due to the increasing Hostia invasion and there was little sense in cracking down on the minute details, and most people assumed they were from the slums behind the city. Fortune had finally turned her gaze upon the pair for better; Aelis had happened upon a semi-abandoned church which they had stayed for the better part of the spring when they arrived. The old silent preacher did not seem to mind their presence, always stooped at his podium by day and shuffling back to his home by night. He also did not seem to notice when the pair had left after they managed to rent out a single room at Biblos Inn.
At first, Aelis thought him unnerving; his eyes stared through them as if there was a faraway light within them, as though he were looking at something else altogether. His frizzy tuft of white hair sat on his head like a bird’s nest would sit upon a withered tree, and those bespectacled eyes did no better with an old rim around them that kept slipping off the tip of his beak-like nose. Rosalia had tried to make conversation with the preacher, but to no avail, and Aelis couldn’t be bothered.
He never spoke to them, but eventually, Aelis felt the compulsion to leave a bit of a donation every week in the offertory box. It had been empty save for cobwebs and dead spiders, and after five years, it was filled. With her own gold. Rosalia had reprimanded Aelis for putting pocket change into something the preacher obviously didn’t care about. But she decided that it was best not to be indebted to someone. And perhaps she had felt some compassion for the run-down church.
Aelis was about to make her weekly change deposit and was surprised to find the preacher standing in front of the podium – he usually made himself scarce when Aelis delivered the handful of silver and bronze pieces. He seemed to be observing the worn paintings upon the ceiling with most fervor. Unwilling to begin a conversation, Aelis merely dropped the change into the offertory box just inside the archway door with a familiar clink. She turned to leave for the other side of town.
“People don’t come – but the pigeons are so friendly.” The old man’s voice quavered. He stared, looking as though he were pondering, as he fiddled with the frayed sleeve of his robe. Aelis turned in surprise, thinking that he was speaking to her. His face contorted, and he tore violently at his sleeves, “Vile birds – you!” The preacher rounded on Aelis, “oh, it’s you.” The deep lines on his face softened, mellowing his expression back to the far-off gaze always had. “You know why all the people are gone.”
Aelis shuffled a bit, unwilling to hold the old man’s gaze. He grinned and hobbled closer, and she didn’t realize how tiny he was, the tallest tuft of hair barely reaching her shoulders. Feeling obligated to say something she answered as-a-matter-of-factly with a frown. “The Goddess— ”
“Precisely. She returns!” The old man gripped her vambraced arm only to jerk away in terror and scuttled off, bumping into a mildewed pew. “Oh, dead thing,” he wailed weakly, “they roam the lands now.” He glanced back at her, his exaggerated eyes lingering on her for a second before he left and slammed the back door. Perhaps Rosalia was right to reprimand her.
“Aelis!” Rosalia’s familiar soprano sent Aelis whirling around at the unexpected break in silence of the chapel.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, Rosalia.”
“What do you mean ‘Oh, Rosalia’? You’re not happy to see me?” Rosalia feigned a hurt expression.
“I’m sorry, my dearest most wonderful, Rosalia. Your presence makes my heart leap bounds and scores. I wish to know why you have chosen to grace me with such pleasure,” Aelis jested with bow. Five years of sharing a room with Rosalia had steeled her against the woman’s odd form of showing affection, lending her some wit with the tongue.
“That’s better,” Rosalia said with a satisfied nod. “Anyhow, what are you still doing here?”
“I met the old preacher.”
“Oh? You met him? Meaning you spoke to him?”
“Not exactly. He spoke to me, somewhat.” Aelis adjusted her splinted vambrace, feeling it to be somehow violated by the preacher’s touch.
Rosalia raised a brow, “That’s odd. He never spoke to me.”
Aelis laughed. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a chatterbox.”
“What?!” Rosalia gave Aelis’s shoulder a light slap. “It’s all the more reason to speak to me,” she frowned, “but what did he say?”
“He said something about the Goddess returning – it’s nothing new. And something about the undead. I guess he was a little senile.” Aelis said, brushing it off as just mere ravings of an old man.
“He isn’t wrong, you know,” Rosalia smiled with the corners of her lips dipped in mirthful vengeance, “about the undead part. He must have been speaking of you.”
Aelis shot her a teasing glare, sizing her up, their faces inches apart and whispered, “Then it would do you well to be careful. Death is contagious.”
Rosalia, undaunted, sidled closer, wrapping her arms about Aelis’s neck. Rosalia thought to herself, since when had this little girl been able to match her height? “What’s life without a little death?”
Aelis’s auburn irises stared into Rosalia’s cornflower ones, and she laughed, leaning her forehead into Rosalia’s shoulder, “Fine, you win.”
Rosalia giggled and hugged Aelis tighter, playing strands of platinum blonde. “You expected to beat me?” They separated as Rosalia continued to speak, “But, Aelis, you’re going to be late for your examination.”
Aelis straightened herself and stood still, allowing Rosalia to adjust her leather spaulders and the ties on her bodice. “I know, but it’s not a long walk. And I shouldn’t be too long.”
“You never know with these Latroci things,” Rosalia focused on tightening the buckles on Aelis’s straps, “but if you really want to do this…” She frowned.
Aelis blinked at studed the other woman’s expression, “Don’t worry, Rosalia. You’ll be fine without me!”
Rosalia sighed and ran her fingers through her neat curls of strawberry auburn. “That’s not what I meant. It’s you I’m worried about – you know, waging war on the Goddess is no small feat.”
Aelis nodded and thought for moment, “I guess.”
“You guess,” Rosalia’s hand-on-her-hips tone was never a good sign. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to become a Latroci. Why not just become a knight?”
Aelis shrugged, “I wouldn’t be able to become a knight if there was nothing left.”
Rosalia’s frown deepened, “Why don’t you just leave the Goddess to the heroes?”
Aelis laughed and pulled Rosalia into a brief embrace. “You worry too much. I should go.” Aelis checked the sheathes on her belt, making sure both the parrying dagger and falchion were in place.
Five years of practice had honed her skills with her weapons of choice – at least that was what she would like people to believe. The truth of the matter was that she could not afford a shield or a better sword, so she, instead, chose and polished less pricey butchering weapons; most of the money from her hunting gigs went into paying rent – Rosalia had even taken the position as the inn’s hostess. The innkeeper Gus was kind enough to give her his old set of armor, and although large, Aelis was able to fashion it so that it fit relatively well.
Aelis darted towards the door, feeling somewhat selfish for wanting to become a Latroci. She and Rosalia had numerous talks and awkward silences between them as a result of her choice. Aelis would stand firm through it all; a knight, she thought, gave his life for the King, but a Latroci gave his life for the people. She had learned this while shadowing a Latroci during one of her more ambitious hunts.
“Aelis, wait,” Rosalia caught Aelis’s hand. “You know I just want you to be safe, right?” She gave Aelis’s hand a little squeeze.
Aelis nodded and reassured Rosalia with a smile.
“I have something for you.” Rosalia pulled out a metal-beaded necklace from her apron pocket. On its end, a miniature silver sword dangled downwards. “It’s the only thing left from the orphanage that we have.” She looped it around Aelis’s neck and tucked it away under the neckline of the fitted tunic.
“Don’t you think it would be safer with you,” Aelis asked. Not that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but for practicality’s sake, it was safer with Rosalia.
“Absolutely,” Rosalia grinned, “but this just means you’ll have to be extra careful.” With a haughty laugh Rosalia shooed Aelis out the door, “And I wouldn’t want you to get too homesick on one of your Latroci journeys”
Aelis laughed back, but knew she would indeed miss her when the assignments get too long. “Thanks, Rosalia.” Aelis bolted out the door leaving Rosalia behind to wave.
The loosened cobblestone streets pounded against her booted feet. Biblos wasn’t a particularly grand city, but it was very yellow. Everything was a sandy color, and when the sun struck an angle correctly, it was as if the city shimmered. It would have been a beautiful sight, Aelis thought, except for the broken roofs, beggars, chipped corners, and semi-paved roads. Carts would clatter and rattle and their wheels would wedge into an old wheel track left by years of wear, and there was always a layer of dirt misting the surface of the city. And although Aelis had managed to scale the town walls five years ago, the King had the walls “rehabilitated” – but even he had no control over the quality of how the thing was built; it still crumbled in places and looked as if someone took old bits of wall from other town walls and stacked it atop the old bit of wall. But Aelis had to give them some type of credit: it was a higher wall.
But for all of the walling about the city, Biblos was still a rather small one, only having a few full-fledged abodes around the vicinity of the palace; many of the living quarters where small townhomes pressed side by side, only big enough for a room or two, the top and bottom floors shared by different families no doubt. These families without the clink of gold in their purses lived within the market district, away from the palace and near the tavern where the air was laden with gossip.
As Aelis neared the palace, she slowed to a walk. She had the notion that if she weren’t careful, she’d disturb the air of elitism within the vicinity, or if she startled the statuesque guard, there would be some punishment, or that she might . So, she approached lightly, reporting herself. The guard nodded and escorted her through the arched door.
Inside the palace was a complete juxtaposition of what was outside – it was as if the inside had taken all of the grace and beauty from the city and saturated it into the sweeping arches that flew across the ceiling. The marble statues were dipped in grace, their figures in posture, chipped in just the right places – a little at the shoulders, perhaps a little wear about the hips, or maybe a knick upon the nose. Aelis walked down the tan marble hall; the walls themselves struck her speechless. The white that marbled the stone almost appeared to be silver, or even gold when the sun struck well through the arched glass panes, dripping from the ceiling down to the floor to weave out like roots underfoot.
Aelis drank in the view from ceiling to floor, from statue to tapestry, until she reached the throne room. The guard who had escorted her saluted and marched back to his post. Aelis watched him leave, not truly minding her surroundings until she heard a familiar gruff clearing of the throat. She automatically straightened her posture, her gaze first brushing from the carped floor then up the elevation of stairs where she saw a Colonel Cillian. It wasn’t shocking to see him affiliated with the palace, but it was shocking, just like it was always surprising to see a familiar face in an unexpected place, to see him announcing their presence.
She looked around, attempting to locate the king, thinking it was odd that there were only two other examinees. But upon closer inspection of her compatriots, she saw two familiar faces which were scrutinizing her as well. Harry and Serdic. Aelis swallowed and turned away with guise of calm. She pretended not to notice, her jaw stiffening with anticipation, as Harry eyed her with suspicion. With a boom of Cillian’s voice, the three examinees straightened to attention, all other things forgotten in the wake of authority.
“The Kingdom of Weiselheim does not need more pawns.” The Colonel clenched his fists and beckoned towards Aelis, Harry, and Serdic. A chill shot down her spine when Cillian held her gaze, his eyes shadowed with the herald of impending doom. He looked away, and Aelis felt relief, wondering if her own gaze would eventually mimic his, bearing the weight of ice. He spoke again, that commanding voice pounding against the marble pillars with such force that even they seemed to shudder in its wake. “King Antoine Vikesl Cordelweisel himself will explain your task.”
Aelis started. For what she had mistaken for the king’s lack of presence was in fact the king’s lack of height. She knew the Kingdom of Weiselheim was ruled by what the people called “The Boy King,” but his stature, for a boy of his age, was unimpressive. He appeared graceful in his movements; it was befitting for his frail form and sickly gray complexion.
“Your task lay within the Domerul Forest,” the king rasped; Aelis could tell by the way his breath shuddered that he was ill. Aelis almost cringed when the pitiful king let out a hack that shook his entire frame, and she found herself cheering him on in her head, coaxing him to continue. He shot a glance at her. She gulped and held his gaze; this boy’s gaze was different than the Colonel’s – his gaze was confused, yet knowing, clear, yet jaded. His gaze was that of a boy’s and a king’s.
Gathering himself, King Antoine continued, “It is up to you, brave warriors, to complete the task. And this task, you shall have to find on your own.” He gestured to his manservant who briskly handed each of the examinees a piece of stone.
Aelis ran her thumb over the rough surface; the thing looked as though it was taken off of a recently battered boulder, but it was smooth, the edges worn. She saw out of the corner of her eyes, Harry and Serdic both exchanging confused glances, and trying to catch her gaze. They were all at a loss. What would one do with a rock? Serdic dared to move, eying the little stone against the sun’s rays and sighing when it was of no avail. Aelis only placed hers within her satchel.
“This examination is a unique case,” said the king. It looked as if he could collapse even if the slightest breezed entered the chamber. “You may only return if you have completed the task.” With that he turned and left in as much hurry his little form could muster.
Cillian’s voice burst against the air again, “What are you standing here for? Your examination has already begun.” The guards escorted all three out of the palace. Questions raced through her head; they didn’t even know what the task was, and what did it mean that the kingdom didn’t need any more pawns – kingdoms always needed pawns. And the forest, she thought, was the one she came through to get into the city. Of course, there were the two former guards, Harry and Serdic stealing glances at her then at each other. Ignore them, Aelis decided.
As she exited the castle, she swore she felt the stone warm inside her satchel. But then again, it could have been her nerves acting up. Aelis was about to send word to Rosalia when she and her two examinees were ushered out of the hind gates behind the castle and into the forest. When the chains stopped clinking and the final thunder of the gate closing, there were no sounds save for the occasional crack of winter-dried branches and the pounding of hearts.
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