The Dark Age of Brythunnia

It was an evening when Lord Rickard paced through the hallway towards the king's bedchamber. It was hot inside the Aed's Keep that stood in the central hill of Lundine. It was almost the midsummer, and the day was at its longest. His nephew had summoned him for an urgent meeting, and Rickard, being the royal adviser, had followed the order. It was his duty as the uncle and as the king's adviser, although Rickard didn't know if his nephew ever really needed his advice. He was an intelligent young man, who often was more acquainted with this or than matter than his adviser or his council. And really a pedant if he wanted so, Rickard thought.

The hallway leading to the bedchamber was spacious, well-lit and long, and decorated with tapestries on the wall. They depicted dragons and battles, the thousand-year history of Brythunnia and its kings and queens. Some of them were centuries old, and filled any gazer with excitement to learn more about the pictures. Or so they had done with Rickard when he had seen them the first time as a boy.

Lord Rickard walked naturally with long strides, but he slowed down to watch the tapestries for a while longer. In one picture, Hildebrand the Dragonslayer stood defiant against Aed the Lion. In the next, Hildebrand laid in the ground a longsword buried in his belly after the battle of Camlainn. Rickard stopped for a second before continuing and examined the tapestry. What did Hildebrand think when he knew he had lost?

He brushed the thought away and walked to the bedchamber's door. It was a thick door made of oak, with iron reinforcements. Two guardsmen stood vigilant, spears at hand and swords on their hips. They moved aside without a word, when they recognized Rickard. Being the king's uncle had its perks. Rickard opened the door and entered the bedchamber. "Duncan", Rickard started. "I am here." There was no answer, as usually. Often, when Duncan wrote something, he would concentrate on the writing wholly.

The bedchamber was a round room with small arrow slits on the wall. It had a stoic furniture, only a bed and a couple chairs. Duncan hadn't wanted to use his father's old, more spacious bedchamber, but preferred using the one he had used since childhood. He had enough room and no need to move, Duncan had argued, and who could argue with a king?

Adjacent to the bedchamber, there was also a privy and a small study room. Rickard found Duncan sitting beside his desk in the study room, writing a letter. He was as concentrated as always. Rickard walked behind his nephew and couched noisily. Finally, Duncan put away his quill and turned to face Rickard. "Uncle, it's good that you came so fast here. I have a couple questions concerning my father."

Rickard already knew what Duncan meant with these questions. His father, King Aedin had been a man of big taste for women, and it wasn't a secret that he had had many mistresses. Aedin had died in the Northern War, and as far as Rickard knew he had never talked much about his secret love life to his son. "Go ahead, Duncan. What on your mind?"

Duncan fixed his deep green eyes on Rickard. "I believe I have located one of my father's bastards, my half-brother by a woman named Luciena Cain. Ever heard of her?"

"A former courtier who lived here a couple decades ago. Her brother Kaldian was a captain in your grandfather's army, I believe", Rickard said. He saw no point of hiding the truth from Duncan, as he was a talent to detect lies small and great. "What I have heard, she died years ago, and Kaldian took care of her son. His name is Jaden, I believe."

"Jaden Cain, yes. My father discussed that on a letter I found after his death."

That came as a surprise to Rickard. He hadn't about any letter. "On a letter? What letter?"

Duncan rubbed his jaw, red and raw from the shaving. "Father wrote a letter where he told about one of his bastards. He left it at his bedchamber for me to find when he marched to war to the south. I found it a few weeks ago by accident."

"What are you going to do with this information?" Rickard asked, although he could guess what his nephew was going to do.

"I want you take this letter and give it to Lady Catherine du Aren. I believe she's been itching to get back to the Southern Marches to punish an unruly castellan." Duncan gave the letter Rickard. It was still unsealed. "This is what I am going to do with that information."

Rickard read the letter in his mind. "Dear Lady Night, your next assignment is to find King Aedin's bastard son named Jaden Cain, who lives in the Dragon Mountains, and either capture him, kill him if he resists or at least try to secure information about his fate if he has died or lost. Your reward will be higher if you can bring him alive to me, for the reasons of state. According to my knowledge, his mother was a courtier named Luciena Cain, but she has been dead for years. He has ever since apparently lived with his uncle Kaldian Cain. I have woven a cover story for Catherine du Aren. She is to travel to the Southern Marches to her estates to punish her castellan who is rumoured to be an embezzler. Travel to the Dragon Mountains as soon as possible, and burn this letter before leaving."

"Are you sure about this? Some stones are better left unturned" Rickard said. He didn't mind killing his enemies, but he preferred doing so by himself, not by some hired dagger, let alone by an assassin. "What are you going to do with him when Claret brings him here?"

"Yes, I am hundred percent sure. Who is going to replace me if I die before fathering an heir? You? Everyone knows what you think of managing the kingdom. And I want to assess his worth and quality, if he has any, with my own eyes."

Rickard was doubtful, but Duncan was his king. He handed the letter back to him. "Seal this letter, and I take it personally to Lady Catherine right away."

It took a while to seal the letter with wax, and then Rickard left his nephew's bedchamber, marching with the same long strides and watching the same tapestries as he had seen a few moments ago.

Claret flew from roof top to roof top, the pattern of sprinting and leaping across the city’s buildings closer to true, unbridled pleasure than any other feeling she knew. The full moon was high, the musk of the densely populated capital faint this high above the streets, and the muffled sounds of ordinary life were made hardly audible by the wind in her ears. Fog hung around the edges of her vision, hiding much of Lundine beneath its choking, clutching fingers, but the Lady Night saw nothing but the next gap to spring. She was as free as the hawk that represented her alias’s proud family, until she came to the last building on the fringe of the city. As the impressive outer wall loomed above her, Claret skidded to a halt and looked down at her hands, only to find them smeared with blood.

Then, with the distant cry of a hunter’s falcon, the young woman gasped awake from her daze. She was in her own opulent chambers, the too-warm fire illuminating hands stained with ink, not the crimson ichor of some poor fool’s heart. Claret glared accusingly at a bottle of deep red wine sitting on her writing desk. The next time she had a couple glasses, the Lady Night would be more careful with the potent vintage.

Very little light streamed through the window before her, and, past the bottles of ink and fine wine, the Lady Aren could see a midsummer evening falling on the castle grounds. She hadn’t slept more than a half an hour then; there would still be time to send the missive she had been writing to her contacts in the city. Claret made a point to always know what went on around her city. Such knowledge both made her better at her job, and gave her a means to save her own skin, if certain things about her past were to become known or Duncan’s not so stable reign were to end unexpectedly.

The red-headed woman cleaned ink off long, delicate fingers before deftly folding the letter and smoothing her clinging crimson gown. She was surprisingly clear headed: a chronic insomnia was more likely the cause of her unplanned nap than the wine she had consumed. The Red Countess left her rooms quickly and started up the eastern stair case to the rookery. Her burnished messenger hawk would be as eager for a mission as she herself was.

The Lady Night was bored. It had been two weeks since her last mission, and the court had been relatively quiet during all that time. There hadn’t been a whisper to distract her from her pococurantism. Hence the lack of sleep: with no activity to occupy her during the day, Claret’s overactive mental faculties refused to shut down after moonrise. Therefore, it is not difficult to imagine, even though she kept the emotion from her face, that Claret was delighted to see Lord Richard Mawr striding towards her from the general direction of the King’s quarters. The tall man had a purposeful look about him which boded well for the red woman’s monotony, even if it didn’t necessarily mean he had a task for her.

Lady Catherine du Aren dipped her chin gracefully to the approaching nobleman, before raising her head to meet his blue eyes. “Good evening, Lord Richard. I hope to find you well."

"My lady, it is Lord Rickard. Otherwise, it is a pleasure to see you this evening" Rickard said bluntly. He didn't like that someone said his name wrong, although Rickard was indeed awfully close to Richard. Claret seemed to be quite pretty and innocent in the evening light, but Rickard knew what kind of a person she truly was. Aedin had told him about her when they had been in the Southern Marches.

"Now, as we are done with the necessary courtesies, my royal nephew has sent you a letter. He also apologies that he couldn't attend you in person. He has a realm to govern." Rickard took the letter from his tunic's pocket and handed the letter to Claret. He didn't like acting as a courier and he didn't enjoy talking with Claret, but Duncan trusted messages like this one only to the hands of Rickard. "If my lady doesn't have any questions, I would like to excuse myself."

Lady Night had no difficulty finding the dislike in the nobleman's face and it sparked an unexpected burst of anger within her. Here was an embodiment of the reason she so jealously guarded her identity. Who was this pampered son of a king to act as judge over her choices? Claret had always done what she must in order to survive, and while there was no glory to be had in surviving, the assassin had no small amount of pride in having accomplished it. Would this pampered, powdered nobleman have done as well had their places been reversed? There were scars hidden beneath her beautiful crimson gown that would make a veteran of the Long War blanch.

"If you will wait just a moment, Lord Rickard?" Claret said, keeping her voice light but letting all pretenses of gaiety melt from her pale face as she unfolded the letter. Her caramel eyes grew hard, her small mouth thin. The assassin read slowly, painfully working through the complicated language the nobles so enjoyed writing. She hated having to do this now, in front of the disdainful advisor and her frustration added to the festering anger.

"This mission, by requiring me to bring the target back to the court, has every likelihood of jeopardizing my identity. Should this occur, I will kill him and not return," she purred in a low whisper, "Collecting wayward family members is not usually within my job description."

Leaning back and speaking normally once more, Claret added, "Do tell the King that I plan on visiting the dear Lady Reagent of the Heartlands on my way, and would gladly carry a missive to her, should he wish to send one. I will leave on the morrow."

Duncan will not like the sound of that. He has kept the bogey-woman too long in the closet, it seems. "I'll tell your answer the king" Rickard said to the lady assassin. "But remember, even if the king has given you a carte blanche to handle Jaden, that young still my nephew, however low his birth might be. Good night, and have a safe voyage, my lady."

He turned away slowly, and could see how Claret gazed him with steely eyes. If a gaze could kill, he would have died right then and there. Instead, he walked back to the king's bedchamber and entered inside.

He called Duncan, and the king answered this time around, eating some supper in his study. "Your bogey-woman got the letter. She said she would leave on the morrow" Rickard reported. "Though she wasn't very happy about it. Apparently, you don't often hire assassins to track people and keep them alive. Who would have guessed?"

Duncan chortled and took a sip from a cup. "She's just being prideful. Proud of her profession and skills. Anything else?"

"She will pass through the Heartlands. I fear she might have some thoughts of jumping over the fence and joining that High Lady."

"Lady Gwendolyn. A lovely lady, but somewhat protective of her own. I have met her a few times. Her husband died of the withering disease some time ago. Now, she has assumed the control over the bread basket of the kingdom, and she could hold the country in a choke hold. There's a chance that Claret would sell Jaden to the new regent, but I won't hold my breath. She might be a hired dagger, but she isn't stupid to have me on my bad side, uncle."

"Right, Duncan" Rickard said. He could believe any tales told about Claret. "Would it be wise to send another agent on his own? To double our chances at finding Jaden?"

Duncan rubbed again his jaw. "No need. Only if Claret doesn't come back or find any credible proof of Jaden's demise, then maybe. But not yet." He started to play with a peach. "You know, this peach came this morning from the Heartlands. It's still fresh and ripe. Take one, and leave me. I need to think a few things."

Rickard nodded and left the king to his own peace. He found his way to his own bedchamber, that was more spacious than the king's, but it had more furniture and furs on the floor. He undressed and went to bed, trying to catch sleep, only to find himself drifting in memories and times past. Finally, he fell asleep.