The Bringer of War

Whistling merrily, the servant pushed the wheeled cart laden with sweetmeats, fresh fruit and rich cream. A wooden pail filled with ice cooled a green bottle of wine, its label obscured. He made his way down a wide hallway, rich wood paneling adorning the walls. Occasionally he would pass by an oil painting of a dour looking noble, or a magnificent tapestry inlaid with glass beads. The man stopped before a closed door and clapped twice.

He was an older man, of some fifty years, a crown of black hair rapidly going gray on his pate. Large, warm eyes the color of leaves in autumn peered intently at the wine bottle. He used a steady, well muscled hand to tilt it ever so slightly, making it more aesthetically pleasing. Not large in stature, he seemed very much the unassuming servant in his subdued finery, a bit of lace at his collar and sleeves.

“Enter,” came a voice from the other side. Pulling on the polished bronze handle, he swung the door open wide enough to allow the cart egress and backed into the chamber with it. On the other side lay a nicely appointed study, scrolls and tomes lining the twin mahogany bookshelves flanking either side of the room’s one window. A polished cherry wood desk sat in near the center of the chamber, behind which a man who closely resembled the portraiture in the hall scribbled on a parchment with a feathered quill. He did not look up as the cart rolled up before him.

“Your brunch, Master Higgins,” said the servant, beginning the task of transferring the ornate silver platters from cart to desk. The nobleman looked up, a worried frown crossing his features.

“Crown,” he said in a world weary voice “why in the Allfather’s name are you the one to bring me my repast? Do you not have duties to attend to this morning?”

“Of course,” said the servant in a soothing tone “but mistress Harriet was rather, heh heh, harried in the kitchen, so I offered her my most humble assistance.”

“Crown,” said Higgins, mouth watering as he gazed longingly at the meal “you are a treasure! I cannot believe such a dedicated and skilled servant such as yourself was ever in need of employment.”

Crown bowed his head at the compliment, assisting Higgins as he attempted to pour himself a glass of the white wine.

“I am pleased you find my services adequate,” he said.

“More than adequate,” said Higgins, draining his glass in one go. He sighed and smiled softly at the man. “I am most grateful that you were recommended for this position by my old friend Roland.”

“You shame me, Master Higgins,” said Crown, pouring the man another tall glass of wine unbidden. Higgins drank nearly half of the liquid, staring at it suspiciously.

“Is it me,” he said “or is this wine far more refreshing than normal?”

He offered the glass to Crown, who politely pushed it away.

“My stomach is a bit sour, Master Higgins,” he said with a smile. “But I am sure it is status quo.”

Higgins grunted an affirmative, drinking most of the remains. He picked up a sweetmeat and popped it into his largely toothless mouth, savoring the succulent morsel. Subtly, he moved his wide sleeve in a manner than blocked the parchment he had been scribbling on.

“What’s that, my master?” said Crown with a slight smile.

“Just something that need not concern a mere servant,” he said with a sniff. He swallowed the dollop in his mouth, a look of concern growing on his face as he had slurred the last word spoken.

“Oh, but I think it does concern me, Master Higgins,” said Crown, rifling through a stack of blueberries and selecting a particularly hard one. “I think you are writing a missive to Lord Longshanks telling him to divest himself of his holdings in the Drakken family shipping company.”

“How--” said Higgins, his voice seizing up on him “How...”

“Oh, I have my ways, Master Higgins,” said Crown. He looked with faux concern at Higgins. “Is it getting hard to breathe, my lord? Are thoughts growing foggy inside your head?”

Higgins tried to speak, both hands clawing at his throat. Gradually, his hands began to shake, dropping inexorably into his lap. He turned his eyes, the only part of his body that seemed capable of movement, towards his servant, wild and full of fear.

“I’m sorry, Master,” said Crown “but it just would not do for certain parties to lose so much gold because you and your ilk have grown fearful like old women.”

He removed the parchment and unrolled one from inside his own doublet. The hand that had written the new letter appeared almost identical to Higgins’s own.

“There we are,” he said, placing the parchment onto the table and setting one of Higgins’s hands atop it. “Now, I suppose that due to your failing health, most would assume that you had simply passed. But, I am not a man of suppositions, so...”

Using one hand, he gently pried the noble’s mouth open. Grunts of protest issued from his throat as Crown took a large bit of meat and shoved it into his open orifice.

“Almost...” said Crown, forcing it past the man’s teeth and tongue and into his throat “almost....there we are.”

Crown removed his hand when Higgins began to silently gasp for air.

“A pity you had to die in so ignoble a fashion,” said Crown, wiping spittle off his fingers with the nobleman’s own handkerchief. “Choking on a sweetmeat and all, but whether king or pauper we all end up in the dirt, don’t we?”

Crown turned to the noble, whose eyes had begun to loll back into his head.

“I see,” said Crown “you are struck speechless with the irony. Well, take care, Master Higgins. In the next life, try not to trifle with the machinations of those in power.”

The servant took his leave, exiting the study and carefully closing the door after himself. He cheerfully sang a jaunty tavern tune as he returned to his normal duties.

He smiled softly less than an hour later when a woman’s blood curdling scream wafted through the halls of the fine manor.

“Oh, dear,” he said “has something happened to Master Higgins?”

** *

Beautiful, fragrant flowers spread out on either side of Bruno, marking his path with their lush palette. His step was light and carefree, the expression on his swarthy face more serene than his normal glower. A fine silk jerkin with his family crest stitched onto the elbow length sleeves adorned his body, the dark blue of the Templar order. It was belted at his waist with a leather band dyed a complimentary yellow. Opaque hose covered his legs, enhancing their impressive musculature. Soft soled shoes of a sort he rarely wore trod softly on the cobblestone path beneath him.

The colorful barriers to either side of him abruptly widened to become the walls of a colorful garden, songbirds singing merrily in the cherry trees. A limestone walled well sat in the center of the garden, covered almost completely by creeping vines. Bruno increased his stride when he saw his quarry; A woman wearing a shimmering satin gown, her curly brown hair cascading down her shoulders. She had her back towards him, but stirred at his approach.

The woman was quite beautiful, with large brown eyes and a pale, even complexion. Light cosmetics were applied to her features more to enhance her natural loveliness than to conceal any flaw. Her nose was long and thin, bearing more than a passing resemblance to the King’s. Full, red lips parted in a subdued smile as he strode up next to her.

“Lady Katherine,” he said, taking her gloved hand and kissing it gently.

“Sir Bruno,” she said, somewhat stiffly.

Bruno raised his brows at her tone, but otherwise had no reaction. He gazed about them at the lovely scene, bright sunlight bathing both of them in its radiance.

“Your green thumb is impressive as ever, Lady,” he said.

“My humble thanks,” said Katherine, not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Lady,” said Bruno “is something troubling you?”

She looked into his eyes, her expression sad but resolute.

“Oh, Sir Bruno,” she said “though it pains me more than you could ever know, I am afraid I must break off our engagement.”

Bruno stood stunned for a moment, his jaw gone slack. Katherine could not meet the wounded gaze he gave her, and turned slightly to examine a red rose bush.

“Lady,” he said “Have I given some offense to you? Was not my dowry sufficient-”

“Your dowry was most generous,” said Katherine “and my father is already making the arrangements to reimburse you. And you could never offend me, Bruno, you are noble and brave and true.”

Bruno extended his arms out to his sides in supplication. When he spoke, his voice had a clear note of exasperation.

“Then, why?” he said. “Have we not went on many rides together, spent long starry nights where we but spoke until the sun kissed the horizon?”

Katherine smiled sadly at him. She put her hand on his smoothly shaven cheek.

“Sweet Bruno,” she said longingly “if it were up to me, I would wed you this instant! Sadly, it is not.”

He took her hand in his own, pulled it away from his face. Her touch, once a source of comfort for him, now pained him.

“You must give me an explanation,” he said “I am owed that much, at least.”

“Sir Cromwell,” she said “you are owed a great deal more than I could ever provide you! You are a living legend, a war hero and all who speak of you do so in an awe. Unfortunately, you are not noble by birth, but were adopted by Lord Cromwell. Father has decreed we must keep our lineage pure.”

“Pure?” said Bruno, his eyes narrowing. “I was raised here in the north, and was but a babe when my father found me during the Amber War! The king himself decreed my blood to be as pure as any...”

His angry voice wound down, and the rage in his eyes was replaced by profound sadness.

“I see,” he said “it is not my low birth, but the hue of my skin that causes your trepidation.”

Katherine’s brown eyes became angry, her hands clenching into fists.

“Do you think that matters the slightest to me?” she said. “I find your appearance very pleasing, and have never given you cause to think differently!”

“Until now,” said Bruno.

Katherine sighed, her anger fleeing her body as quickly as her breath.

“It is for my father that I must do this thing,” she said “he fought in the Amber War as well, you know. He does not....wishes not to...”

“Speak, Lady,” said Bruno, crossing his muscular arms over his barrel chest.

“He does not wish to look into the faces of his grandchildren, and see the eyes of his enemies!” she said in a rush. “Please, Bruno, if you care for me at all, do not press this matter.”

“But,” said Bruno, bravado fleeing “but, I love you, my lady.”

“And I,” she said, blinking away tears “you, but marriage between nobles has never been about love. There are other considerations...”

“There should not be,” he said, turning on his heel and stalking away from her.

“Please, Sir Bruno,” she called after him “do not let us part this way!”

“This is the only way we could ever be parted,” he said “by your will. Fare thee well, Lady Katherine of Mannix. I shall not trouble you again.”

When he exploded out of the Mannix family estate a few minutes later, Hector rose from his seat on the edge of a robust flower pot. He was taken aback by his master’s pained expression, and nearly forgot his place. He quickly moved to offer Bruno his traveling cloak and sword, jaw working silently.

“Sir Bruno, what’s wrong?” he dared to ask. “Have you been...been weeping?”

“Bah,” said Bruno, stiffly buckling his sword belt around his waist “Templars shed no tears, unless they are tears of joy at a glorious victory!”

Hector could deduce enough of what had transpired to grow angry.

“Why,” he said “after all this time are you not accepted, Sir Bruno? Why do so many gaze upon your countenance and see only the black skin of the Sun People? How many enemies of the King must you slay to overcome the accident of your birth?””

Bruno’s mouth twitched, and he fixed his squire with a gaze full of new respect.

“There are times, boy,” he said “that I wish I could strip the color from my skin, and pass as one of the North men.”

Hector frowned, shaking his head.

“That is not right,” he said “you should not speak of such a thing! You are as the Allfather created you, and that is all anyone can ever be.”

“Right or not, it is how matters are,” said Bruno. He began walking quickly away from Hector, who hastily followed. The squire seemed to realize that further speech would only cause his master pain, and thus refrained from making it. The sights and sounds of Drakken City passed by them as they walked to the Templar stables at the edge of town.

“Forgive me, “ said Hector “but what is our path now? Has the King given you new orders?”

“For the time being,” said Bruno “I am bidden to return to my own lands, and await the king’s pleasure. Fear not, squire, soon enough we will be back on the road.”

“I can hardly wait,” said Hector sarcastically.

** *

Crown held the old housekeeper in his arms, stroking her graying hair as she wept into his shoulder.

“There, there,” he said “It’s going to be all right, my dear.”

“B-but,” she blubbered “lord Higgins is dead! Choked on his food! What are we to do?”

“Fear not,” said Crown with a warm smile, staring into her wizened face “Higgins has several sons. One will no doubt take over this estate, and will most certainly keep on a skilled servant such as yourself.”

The woman sniffled, pulling away from him so she could noisily blow her nose into a handkerchief.

“I weep not for my wretched old bones,” she said “but for our departed Lord’s noble ones. Still, it gladdens my heart to hear you speak so kindly of me. Perhaps the new lord Higgins will keep you on staff as well?”

Crown smiled, putting his arms akimbo as he regarded the woman. They were standing in the kitchen, normally filled with delicious aromas at this hour. However, with their lord dead, there was no one to prepare a dinner for.

“No, my dear,” he said “I do believe I shall be heading out in the morning. I was once offered a position with the house Lyorn. Allfather willing, I will still be welcome.”

“Oh, you poor man,” said the housekeeper with sympathy “having to pull up stakes and move again.”

“It is not so terrible,” said Crown with a smile “I am a simple man with simple needs, and thus travel lightly. I bid you good eve, my lady. Today’s excitement has me feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Take care, you sweet fellow!” she called after him as he exited the kitchen. He strode lightly down the elegant hall towards his own modest chambers. A comfortable bed, a simple oak table and chair, and a dresser were the only pieces of furniture in the room. The one window was shuttered, a bit of fading sunlight visible in the space where the two halves met.

Whistling cheerfully, he opened the dresser and removed several sets of clothing. He put then in a simple rucksack and tightened the string. Sitting down on the bed, he took a cursory glance towards the door, then began rummaging around inside his doublet. He withdrew a small spool of silver wire, tsking at the bit of tarnish it displayed. Carefully, he unraveled the spool and used his teeth to snip a length of about a foot off of it. Gingerly placing the thread in his mouth, he spoke.

“The task is complete, Master Roland,” he said. The silver thread glowed lightly but without apparent heat. He waited patiently for several minutes, until the wire increased in luminous intensity.

“Excellent work, as always Crown,” came a hollow, tinny voice from the string. “When you return to the palace, there will be your standard fee awaiting you...and another task, if you are inclined.”

Crown raised his neatly manicured brows at the words.

“I live to serve,” he said politely.

“Excellent,” came the reply “I will await you at the ninth hour on the morrow. Take care, dear sir.”

The silver thread increased in brightness, and Crown took it out of his mouth and watched it dissipate into nothingness in his fingers.

“No rest for the wicked,” he said with a chuckle.