Sy in the West #2 - The Lord of Bastion

       ‘The Imperial Palace had first been founded at the foot of Unkastor sixteen years after the settlement of men on the large island of Imril. Then, of course, it was not known as The Imperial Palace, but was simply a haven for the settlers to seek refuge should they come under attack. The wars that had driven the Qaboron people from their homeland left long memories in the lines of our ancestral families.’ Sigismund paused in his oration and Avirkas took the chance to stick his hand up. The elderly tutor ignored it.

       ‘The people were right to fear. When they took boats north and discovered Sy, the people we now call the Ancient Dukaban mercilessly exterminated those first nameless explorers. The remnant of Qaboron were once again faced with open war. They were forced to unite. Those who did not ended up burned out of this land by the hand of the ancient tyrants. Those forefathers of the Empire we serve today were united by not their own efforts, but by the device of the cousins Inkas and Asrak.’

       ‘Asrak was ever the face of the Empire, but it is well known that Inkas was most responsible for the power behind the throne. He served the Empire willingly and without complaint, humble though his position may have been.’ Sigismund glared down his bony nose at the two boys before him. ‘He certainly did not try to twist the word of law and take Asrak’s throne from him.’

       Averit withered under the wintery gaze of the old man. Glancing to the side, he saw his brother was not faring much better.

       ‘Nor did Asrak challenge little boys to a swordfight in the dead of night.’ The angry eyes drifted to Avirkas, sparing Averit for a moment.

       Sigismund stood tall and pristine in his white robes, commanding the middle of the palace theatre down in the West Three wing. His young charges sat on the first row of the stands on benches of cold stone with fine vellum notebooks resting before them on low tables. Their inkwells remained untouched however, as the morning’s lesson was looking less like a session about trade negotiations along the Etrianan border and more like a stern telling-off.

       ‘Little mischiefs like your misadventure last night reflect badly on the legacy of the Imperial Line. What will the people think of you when you take up the crown and throne, Avirkas? WIll they see a man who will lead his people to greater glories in a time of enlightenment? Or will they perhaps see a little boy who plays at swords and scampers about on rooftops.’ Avirkas visibly shrunk back at the tutor’s rebuke.

       ‘And you, Averit. Remember the roll you will play in this Empire is as great as that of your brother. When diplomats arrive from Sy, will they entreat you with the respect and fear that a son of the line of Asrak deserves? Or will they rather see the weak, exploitable boy who fell short of being Emperor and has been bitter ever since.’ Averit took his particular message better than Avirkas did his, or so he liked to think.

       ‘Just as I and your father have taken this Empire into the age of the air, you both will lead it into a time when the rest of the world is simply a few weeks voyage away. You both cannot afford weakness.’ He paused again and suddenly Sigismund no longer looked so menacing, but like a tired old bony man who did not eat enough.

       ‘I have been talking with your father, and he agrees, that we need to bring into the palace someone who can tutor you both more regularly than I and the other courtiers. With a more firm guiding hand, you both are less likely to end up in another mess like last night.’ Averit looked up at this. Someone new to teach him would certainly be a pleasant change to the monotony of palace life.

       ‘We have acquired the services of a man from Amvarad. His name is Kin do Tara. He is most wise in the ways of the world and has forgotten more than the two of you will ever know, so I am sure that he will be able to satisfy your curiosities and mould the both of you into reasonable and capable young men.’’

       Averit thrust his hand in the air and Sigismund nodded at him. ‘When will he be getting here?’ He asked.

       Sigismund looked off into the distance for a moment, as if deciding something. ‘A month at least,’ He relented. ‘Tara replied to our request saying that he would be happy to join us here in the Imperial Palace, so long as he was given the time to clear up some matters where he is now in Amvarad.’

       Averit’s heart fell at this last piece of news. It was exciting to be getting a new tutor, despite the limited freedoms it would impose, but it was much more exciting when the tutor was only a day or two away. Having to wait a whole month was far too unreasonable for the son of the Emperor of Imril, he thought.

       ‘In the meantime, I think your father is going to begin inviting you to court in the mornings, but I will let him explain further on the matter. He has instructed me to send the both of you to him in the Great Hall once we were finished with the lesson.’ Sigismund glided from his position in the middle of the theatre and stepped onto the stairs, clearly expecting the boys to follow.

       Averit and Avirkas looked at each other. They had never been invited to the Great Hall before; only lords holding land were permitted to enter there, so said the Book of the Empire. They so far had only ever been invited into the Receiving Hall which was reserved for guests of the Emperor and distinguished visitors from other lands. They got up and followed Sigismund out of the theatre.

---

       A tall arched wooden door was now all that barred Avirkas and Averit from the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace. Six guards wielding more traditional pikes flanked the doors, whilst above them men with rifles kept watch over the courtyard. Here they were only a hundred feet above the plains that surrounded Unkastor, so this part of the castle was rather warm, even outside. The brothers had taken the time to change before they presented themselves before their father and his court, so a little time had passed since the lesson.

       Avirkas was dressed as befitted the Prince Imperium; his shirt and waistcoat were both the colour of the noonday sky and his leggings were cream underneath his dark blue coat that buckled down just below his waist, as was the imperial fashion. Over it all he wore a gold-fringed purple cape; the sort that only royalty were rich enough to afford.

       Averit was clad more simply in greens and blacks. His own coat did not buckle as far as his brother’s and he did not wear a cloak either. He resented this, but Sigismund has assured him that his presentation to the court had to be perfect. If Averit was dressed too like his brother it could be taken as a sign of jealousy, which was not a trait that Averit wanted to show after last night’s misadventure.

       He straightened and tugged at his coat collar. This was serious business. He was being invited by his father into the world of adults; full of politics and dangers and hidden agendas. He had to do his father proud.

       ‘I think father called us here to just make us stare at the door for a while.’ Avirkas muttered.

       ‘The lords of the court are old and fat,’ Averit muttered back. ‘perhaps they all fell over when they stood for the Emperor and are rolling around on the floor like little beetles.’

       Avirkas sniggered under his breath and glanced at his brother, about to say something else. The muffled sound of a deep horn playing a short, sollum tune drew his head back to the door, a moment before it opened, dividing apart down the middle as it was pulled from within.

       ‘May I present the Prince Imperium Avirkas and the Prince Royal Averit,’ Pronounced a man somewhere i the huge chamber, loud enough to be heard over the booming horn.

       The tune set a slow and stately pace for the two Princes to walk to. Averit made sure that he was slightly behind his Brother as they stepped into the room and towards the high balcony upon which their father the Emperor of Imril sat waiting upon a throne of wood and ivory. Averit kept his eyes forward, but was able to watch the hall through the corners of his eyes. Perhaps sixty lords and ladies were present in all, most dressed in the current fashion as he was. Some defied the trend. Perhaps they were trying to make a statement, Averit wondered. He had been told that the nobility of the land tried to be subtle in their dealings with their own kind. It seemed to be a part of the fashion too.

       Halfway to the stairs that lead up to the Emperor’s balcony, Averit realized that his mind had already wandered. He focused himself again and set his face. He was not just a boy. He was a prince of Imril, and these people would serve him one day. His brother might hold their loyalty, but it would be Averit who held their tax payments.

       The hall grew silent as the horn’s song ended. Averit kept walking and reached the bottom of the stairs just after Avirkas. As one they knelt.

       The tiled floor was well polished and Averit could see his reflection in it as he sat there with bended knee and bowed head, waiting for the Emperor to speak. Averit reminded himself that it would indeed by the Emperor speaking. He would have to keep his words respectful and formal, even though it was his father he was talking to.
‘Arise,’ The Emperor said at last.

       Averit stood next to his brother and looked up at the man on the throne. His father was seated there, tall and regal. His greying hair seemed only to add to his wisdom and authority, kept neat underneath the silver circlet that formed the Crown of Imril. His eyes flickered between his two sons, settling on Avirkas.

       ‘My sons,’ He began, sonorous and precise. ‘For twelve years you have both studied statecraft and law, just as the sons of the empire have ever done. You are quick of wit and of mind. This great Empire well deserves such people as you.’

       He got up from the throne and a servant hurried forward holding a pillow. Flat across it was the Imperial Blade and two gilded scrolls. The Emperor took the sheathed sword in one hand and the two rolls of paper in the other. He descended to the floor of the Great Hall and walked to Avirkas. He formally presented him with the rapier first. Avirkas received the blade graciously, slipping the sheath into the belt that cinched his coat at the waist.

       ‘To you, Avirkas my son, I give all my wealth, my land and my power upon event of my death.’ The Emperor then presented him with the first scroll saying, ‘This you also deserve; A military commission. In two years, when your studies have progressed enough, I am sending you to our northern border to command the garrison at Granney Castle.’

       Avirkas took the scroll and clutched to his chest. ‘It would be an honor, you Majesty,’ He said tightly, his young voice sounding odd and quiet after the Emperor’s booming cadence.

       ‘The task before you will be demanding of you. There will be trade to manage, soldiers to supply and delicate politics between us and Etrian to manage. I know you are more than capable of holding the border together. Go and show the people what a great Emperor they will have next!’

       ‘Your faith flatters me, Majesty,’ Avirkas responded politely. ‘I can only hope to live up to your expectations.’

       The Emperor glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and then moved across in front of his younger son, and Averit became chilled. What would his father give him? His brother had just been named heir and given a commission over the largest fortress the Empire held on mainland Sy. Averit forced his worry down and looked into his fathers eyes. They were unreadable.

       ‘To you, Averit my son, I give the township of Bastion. I name you a lord of the land, and pass unto you all the rights and privileges such a position deserves.’

       Averit stood there inanely for a moment before he remembered himself and took the scroll from his father’s outstretched hand. ‘This is a, um, unexpected honour,’ He stammered ‘I… I will do you proud. Your Majesty.’ He remembered to add.

       His father looked down on him and smiled softly, privately, in that huge chamber full of the Lords of Imril. A brief moment for just them. ‘I certainly hope so,’ He said aloud. ‘You are more than ready for such responsibility, my son.’

       Then the moment passed and his father was the Emperor again, a man too powerful to be that bothered by the two boys in his court. ‘Avirkas, come,’ He called, ascending back to his throne. ‘Stand by my side.’

       Averit let himself relax as his brother, now the Prince Imperium in truth as well as by birthright, rose to the balcony to sit besides their father. He glanced around at the lords and ladies in the chamber. The room itself was long and thin, with wide stone steps climbing up the sides of the chamber. Seats of varying type were placed on these steps. Most were empty. Sigismund was present, Averit saw, higher up and towards the back with an empty seat beside him. Noticing Averit looking, he subtly pointed to the seat with one hand and beckoned with the other.

       Averit stole one last glance at his brother and father, but they were not paying attention to him, so he climbed up the shallow but wide steps to where Sigismund was with his back to the tapestry-covered wall.

       ‘Did you know of this?’ Averit asked as he sat.

       Sigismund shrugged. ‘I guessed. Your father asked a number of questions about yours and your brother's skills. I was sure that you would be granted land, but not where.’

       ‘What is Bastion like? Does it mean anything special, being given Bastion in particular?.’

       ‘That can wait for later. The court is happening now; focus on it,’ Sigismund chided. He leaned back and stretched his arms behind his head. ‘This session won’t last much longer. Lord Pascal,’ He nodded towards a man sat on the front row with a lady who was probably a third of his age, ‘wants to levy an extra tax on people passing from Zorvek to the mainland. However, the People’s and the Merchant’s Voices,’ He indicated two white-robed men standing to the left of the Emperor’s balcony, ‘are arguing that it would incite rebellion in the city amongst the poor sailors and reduce trade profits from both Sy and mainland Rissone. I doubt that a vote will be called today; neither side has a clear advantage yet.’

       Averit nodded and leaned back into his chair, listening as the arguments and counterarguments continued until the great gong sounded throughout the palace, signaling the midday watch change. The Emperor then dismissed the court, the Lords and Ladies filing out of the Great Hall to discuss the day’s proceedings over a fine lunch. The Emperor himself departed by a hidden way and Avirkas vanished with him, so Averit was left behind in the Great Hall, alone save Sigismund, a few servants and the Merchant’s Voice.

       The old tutor lead Averit over to the white-robed Voice, who was gathering up various scrolls and even a few small bound books.

       ‘There is someone I would like you to meet,’ Sigismund began, when the Voice noticed them heading his way. ‘Lord Averit, this is Rosmund, the Merchant’s Voice and Lord of Aravel.’

       ‘A pleasure, I’m sure,’ the bulky man responded with a slight dip of the head. ‘That was quite an honour you received today. It takes most Lords take years of service before they can wrangle a township out of the Emperor.’

       ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting it,’ Averit replied. ‘I did not expect my father to think so highly of me.’

       Sigismund gave Rosmund a curious look. ‘Leave that out,’ he said. ‘He’s barely been a Lord two hours and you expect him to bandy words with the best of us?’

       Rosmund smiled tightly and then bowed a little more deeply. ‘My apologies, your Highness,’ he said. ‘I was merely testing you. I, more than any of the other Voices must be cautious in dealing with the court.’ He glanced at Sigismund for a moment and then back to Averit, saying; ‘I expect the Master brought you here not for idle chatter, however. You probably will not know this, but many many years ago, the task of being the ‘Merchant’s Voice’ actually meant that you represented the traders and craftsmen of Imril.’

       ‘These days I am little more than a well-known spymaster. My contacts reach far and wide across our little Island and into Sy. I even have a few people reporting to me from distant Rissone, but I doubt that you will have need of them for a while yet.’ He lifted an eyebrow in a slow, secrative gesture. ‘You may have need of my men in and around Bastion sometime in the near future, though. If you ever desire to know the true feelings of your people, never be afraid to find me and ask.’ He bowed again, deeper still and excused himself.

       In his mind, Averit resolved to ask Sigismund a great many things more than just what the significance of being given Bastion was. He set his jaw and left the Great Hall, his tutor just behind him.

---

       Avirkas followed his father through the old and dank tunnels that riddled the Palace. This one had lead from the Great Hall and crossed several other passages before climbing up into the mountain. It was a little while before the cold and wet rock walls were replaced by cold and wet bricks. Then his father did something he concealed and a section of the brick wall opened out, revealing a black room.

       Once out of the passage, the Emperor turned on an alchemy lamp so the room was bathed in a cool  blue light. Looking around, Avirkas realised that he was in his father’s withdrawing room, where he would talk with Sigismund and the Voices after the evening meal. The room had no windows; it was built deep inside the Palace’s defences.

       The Emperor took a chair and motioned for his son to do the same.

       ‘Well done today. I was surprised by the way you handled yourself out there.’ Emperor Aernor commented. ‘The court is full of wolves seeking to steal the meat from the young pups. You won’t see it yet, Avirkas. It will be a few years yet before you are given land to administer, and before then you will be an accomplished commander in Imril’s armies. You should have little trouble so long as you keep your nose clean and your manner polite.’

       ‘Thank you father,’ Avirkas responded truthfully. Advice from his father was always welcome, and praise even more so. He had learned that disregarding the wisdom of the Emperor was often a poor choice. He paused before speaking again. ‘Father. If the old Lords seek more land from the young, why did you grant land to Averit?’

       Aernor straightened in his seat. ‘Averit’s path lies different to yours. He is to become your advisor, not your equal. Like Asrak and Inkas of old, you will be the face of the Empire; the brave face and strong arm of Imril, whilst Averit will sit in the shadows and make your great plans and bold proclamations come true. His job will be to run the Empire, as surely as yours will be to lead it.’

       ‘As to why I gave him land, there is nothing more he can learn without doing. It is surely one thing to study taxation and trade, but it is entirely another to deal with a rebellion of the common people, or a strike by one of your local guilds. Averit needs to learn to handle such matters of statecraft, where you need to learn to be a leader.’

       ‘When Kin Do Tara gets here, he will tutor you more than Averit. He is an old hand at commanding soldiers and his insights will prepare you for your comission up on the northern border in two years time.’

       Avirkas thought for another moment before speaking again. ‘Would you have made Averit the prince if he had won last night?’

       Aernor lifted an eyebrow, as if he had not expected the question. ‘Being the Emperor is not a mere matter of winning or losing.’ He said, pointing at Avirkas. ‘The Emperor has to be responsible for all his people. He has to have the right character; the right heart. Who was born first plays no part in this. You are brave and strong but your brother is cunning and perceptive. He could have become Emperor, but I do not think it would have been wisest for the security and happiness of the Empire.’

       Aernor looked like he was going to dismiss Avirkas, before he said; ‘Don’t tell your brother of this. I would like to see how long it is before he works it out.’ He then indicated the door. ‘Now be a good son and find us a servant to go the the kitchens and bring Lunch. I can’t stand another minute with those Lords and Ladies and their petty bickering.’

       Avirkas grinned and left.