Travis Starnes
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In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2023-12-23 16:46:01 +0000 UTCWilliam stood among the gathered nobility in the Great Hall of Starhaven, waiting for Serwyn’s coronation to begin. The cavernous hall had changed since William’s last visit, when he paid his final respects to Serwyn’s father. It was, if anything, more grandiose than it had been for Gavric’s lying in state, lavishly decorated for the occasion. Banners emblazoned with the royal crest hung from the vaulted ceiling, and braziers etched with intricate scrollwork stood at attention along the perimeter, bathing the coronation dais in a bright, warm light.
The crowd of noblemen, court favorites, and lords and ladies mingled in the expanse in front of the dais, their low conversations melding into a single murmuring hum that echoed off the stone walls and high arched ceilings.
There were no commoners present at the coronation, judged as unfit to see the man who would guide their futures given the crown. William hadn’t been born when Gavric was crowned, but he knew the coronation always happened in the Great Hall, under the watchful eye of the Acolytes, who trotted out every piece of the remaining magic they’d been able to put their hands on for the occasion.
Part of William wondered why this didn’t happen in front of the Great Hall, where some commoners might get a chance to see it, although it was no surprise to him that Serwyn wouldn’t want that. While Serwyn thought everyone was beneath him, he definitely had a prejudice against the ‘mob’ as he and William’s father called the average citizen of Sidor.
For their part, the high-born that were allowed to attend were in high spirits. A new king meant new opportunities. Gavric had been a great king, at least in William’s eyes, but not all the lords felt the same way. William figured every ruler made their fair share of enemies, as was the inevitable result of politics, but Gavric had seemed to go out of his way to make them. Or maybe the assembled throng was excited because Serwyn was so young. Gavric had been on the throne a long time and had cemented his authority early in his reign. Perhaps they felt Serwyn would be more malleable to their machinations or, at the very least, their bribes.
William scoffed at that idea. If they thought that was the case, they were mistaken. Not because Serwyn wasn’t for sale, but because he was already bought. William’s father already had his claws sunk deep into his nephew, and William doubted any of the barons or even the other dukes would have enough strength to pull those talons free. And it would only get worse the more time Edmund spent with Serwyn.
William was pulled out of his thoughts when the constant murmur began to die off. It didn’t happen all at once. Even the rich and powerful had a pecking order, and some members were further to the sides of the grand hall, with less visibility to see what was happening than those along the aisle or up front. William, at least, didn’t have to worry about that. As a member of the royal family, he was up on the lowest level of the dais, on the far-right side, standing next to his uncle Aldric.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view as the crowd turned to look toward the entrance of the great hall as Serwyn made his way through the towering stone archway, his pace measured and deliberate, shoulders pulled back in practiced regality. His blond hair was perfectly coiffed, and the ermine mantle of state rested across his shoulders, the pure white fur standing out starkly against his black tunic. Behind him marched a procession of guards and advisors, the sound of their metal armor and boots absorbed by the miraculous mystical flooring of the Great Hall.
William watched as Serwyn ascended the dais. He was a little impressed that his cousin, whom William knew to be a coward deep in his heart, showed no trace of nervousness. His blue eyes were cold as they swept over the family. Even William had to admit he fit the kingly mold, at least outwardly.
As he took his place in front of the throne, the seemingly ancient Elder of Sidor, draped in the grey robes of his order, shuffled slowly from his position on the left side of the dais, with the crown of Sidor cradled reverently in his hands. Stopping in front of Serwyn, he lifted the crown high into the air as Serwyn knelt.
“I beseech the wisdom of the Ancients. Test your servant, Serwyn Whitton. Judge his soul and anoint him rightful ruler of Sidor,” he said in a reedy voice, lowering the glittering crown onto Serwyn’s golden head.
As he took a shuffling step back, just to the edge of the dais, the elder stretched out his hand, taking a knotted, wooden staff from an aide in the same grey cloak of the Acolytes, who rushed forward to hand it to him before disappearing again back behind the dais. The staff was covered in arcane symbols and glowed a deep blue. Lifting the staff high in the air, the elder brought it down, gently tapping the crown where it rested on Serwyn’s bowed head.
A visible ripple of energy passed through Serwyn as the staff made contact, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a falling pebble, before spreading out across the entirety of the great hall. As if in response, the white floors glowed a brilliant light, forcing everyone present to squint momentarily as the light flared, and then passed.
William watched, awestruck. It was the first real magic he had ever witnessed. The power of the Ancients, channeled through the Elder, validating Serwyn’s right to rule. A king ordained and blessed with the mystical forces of old. It was a powerful ritual.
The Elder stepped back and proclaimed, “The Ancients proclaim Serwyn Whitton, twenty-first in his line and true-born heir, King of Sidor and all its lands and peoples! Glory to the Crown.”
The gathered assembly bowed their heads and repeated the words.
“Glory to the Crown,” William said, the words bitter on his tongue.
Serwyn lifted himself up, his back straight and chin held high, trying to keep his face stoic. William knew him well enough to see the expression under that stoic facade. He was loving the adulation.
“My loyal subjects,” Serwyn began, his voice laden with practiced gravitas. “Together, we embark on a new era for the realm of Sidor. My father’s war with Lynese will be brought to a swift and glorious end under my leadership. Even now, our armies prepare to leave their winter encampments to teach them once and for all the cost of meddling in Sidorian affairs.”
The crowd erupted into raucous cheers and applause as his cousin paused for dramatic effect.
“But victory abroad is not enough,” Serwyn continued. “Prosperity must also reign within our borders. We will usher in a new golden age for Sidor. Sidor will become the envy of nations, a beacon of culture, learning, and advancement that all will look upon with awe.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Serwyn allowed himself a small smile. He had them hooked, and he knew it.
“I pledge to you that under my reign, our kingdom shall rise to heights never before seen. We shall not merely be a powerful nation; we shall be an empire, a beacon of light in a world of darkness, bringing justice and prosperity.”
“But this prosperity will not come easily. Sacrifices must be made. As your king, I will require your loyalty and support,” his tone hardening ever so slightly. “Those who seek to undermine the Crown will suffer the consequences.”
“Wise governance requires order,” Serwyn went on. “Dissent will not be tolerated. The laws of Sidor have served us well for generations. Under my rule, they will be upheld without compromise. Justice will be swift, and those found guilty will face the King’s judgment.”
A slight unease rippled through the assembly. Justice under Gavric had been stern but fair. Serwyn’s words hinted at a more draconian brand of rule.
Sensing the shift in mood, Serwyn adopted a more conciliatory tone, “In return, I promise prosperity only ever dreamt of. The rivers will teem with trade, united under the banner of Sidor. On the heels of our victory in Lynese, we will stand ready to claim our rightful place in this world. Our future shines bright with promise and glory!”
He lifted his hands skyward, eyes blazing with zealous fervor. Caught up in the moment, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, the hesitation of a moment ago forgotten.
William did not join them. He knew Serwyn. His cousin didn’t care for Sidor or its people. The only person Serwyn ever cared for was himself. He was vain, selfish, and cruel. Nothing he was saying sounded like anything he’d ever heard Serwyn say before, except for the part about ‘Dissent will not be tolerated.’ That sounded exactly like Serwyn.
Leaning over to speak low into his uncle Aldric’s ear, William muttered, “My father’s work, no doubt.”
Aldric nodded almost imperceptibly, “Yes. He felt it best if Serwyn’s first speech had the right tone.”
“By tone, are you also including the stuff about loyalty, dissent, and swift justice?”
“That wasn’t Edmund.”
“I thought not. Demanding everyone do exactly what he says is Serwyn’s hallmark.”
“Careful, William,” Aldric cautioned, his tone serious but not unkind. “Walls have ears, even here.”
William opened his mouth to say something back, but seeing the look in his uncle’s eyes, he just shut it again and nodded. Turning his attention back to his cousin, William joined in the polite applause as Serwyn’s speech came to an end. He had to look away when his cousin gave his trademark smug, self-satisfied smile.
As much as he’d complained about being shipped off to Lynese, now he looked forward to it. Anything to get away from what was sure to become a cesspool as all the worst sorts courted Serwyn for favor or patronage.
***
Two days later, Serwyn watched as Edmund paced the length of the king’s private study, reciting from a list of boring topics, topic after boring topic. As a place for lectures goes, the private study was a comfortable one, Serwyn guessed, though he’d still prefer to be anywhere else at the moment. Intricate tapestries lined the walls, depicting heroic battles, and ornate displays of armor and martial weaponry stood in each corner. Serwyn had to say one thing for his father; he had good taste. Symbols of his victories filled the palace, showing the strength of their armies.
“When holding court, you must greet each petitioner by their full title, no matter how lowly. Give each matter your full attention, but do not commit to any request outright. Tell them you will take their words under advisement,” Edmund said.
Serwyn stifled a yawn.
“I know how to hold court, Uncle,” Serwyn said with a hint of annoyance. “Father let me sit in on his councils since I was ten.”
“There is a difference between observing and leading,” Edmund replied. He began to pace again, stroking his trim blond beard. “You are king now. Every word, every gesture carries consequences.”
“I’m supposed to be down in the training pit, working with the master-at-arms. As the king, I’m going to be leading armies into battle. Shouldn’t I be preparing for that instead of listening to the complaints of people who don’t matter? My father wouldn’t have wasted his time on this.”
“Your father did this every time he was in court, as did your grandfather and your father’s grandfather. I know it’s tedious, but it’s how ruling is done. A kingdom is not held together by the strength of its king’s sword arm alone, my prince. Yes, it’s sometimes necessary, but more important is keeping your vassals not only in line but loyal. Hearing the commoners’ petitions is for appearances, but hearing your dukes’ and even their barons’ concerns is key to maintaining the strength of the kingdom.”
Serwyn scowled, “They should be loyal out of fear and respect for their rightful king!”
“That’s true. Our house, between my duchy and your uncle Aldrich’s, has the largest armies in the kingdom, and the crown has forces of its own, but we are not the totality of our empire’s might. The other duchies still provide a large number of men currently called to your banner, and are a key source of revenue for paying the armies. Without them, we would find ourselves in a much weaker position.”
“They grow too bold,” Serwyn complained. “I should remind them of their duty. They swore oaths to our house, swore on the Ancients. I will not tolerate disloyalty. My father may have been tolerant of that, but I will not be.”
Edmund paused his pacing and turned to face Serwyn directly, his expression growing serious.
“A sword can be an effective tool when wielded judiciously,” Edmund replied, “but brute force alone risks turning those you seek to control into bitter enemies. There are other paths to power than outright domination.”
Serwyn fell back in his seat. Everything he said, his uncle had a counter. He was king now, but it seemed like he had even less power than he did before. Everyone was always telling him what he needed to do, where he needed to be, what he should say, and what he couldn’t do. He was sick of it.
“It won’t be like that forever,” Edmund continued. “The barons spend more time at each other’s throats than complaining to the crown. They live for their petty squabbles. We just have to bide our time, find out who is loyal and who must be dealt with while they break their own bonds with each other. When they’re fragmented and alone, we can remove those who refuse to submit to your will. If you prefer another tactic, then I, of course, serve at your pleasure. You’ve grown into a clever man, Serwyn, and I have no doubt you’ll find a way to deal with their disloyalty that leaves the crown stronger than before.”
Serwyn frowned. Maybe his uncle was right. His father had told him many times that a general leads more with his head than his sword. Of course, he would then go right out and fight on the front lines, covering himself in glory, but maybe his father hadn’t meant that he was needed for the battlefield. Maybe he was trying to tell Serwyn how to deal with the barons. His father knew, after all, that Serwyn would follow him to the throne one day.
“Fine. We should handle the barons carefully. I agree with you, but what about the commoners? Surely what they think doesn’t matter.”
“It’s less a matter of what they think than what we can convince them of, my king,” Edmund said. “The peasants are easily led, but there are many of them and most of your soldiers come from peasant stock. Think of it less as caring what they think and more as finding the best way to use them. The mob is a tool and a powerful weapon, and if wielded properly, they can be a valuable tool against the barons. A good king knows the sword isn’t the only weapon, and is often not even the strongest weapon.”
Serwyn sat up, thinking about this. He liked training, but this … His father, and even Uncle Edmund before his father died, never talked to him about these things. About how to control people, make them do what he wanted them to do.
“But how do you do that? How do you turn them against their barons?”
“That’s the easy part. The mob’s wants are simple. A little bread, a little coin, and they will forget their former allegiances. The mob’s favor is fickle.”
“Fine, I will listen to them, but there are things I need. I’ve tried to talk to several of the advisors you’ve given me, and everyone always tells me why we can’t do this or why that isn’t practical.”
“Such as?” Edmund asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Expanding the royal armory, for one,” Serwyn said firmly. “Everyone knows the finest weapons come from Lynese. Why is that? We control a third of their lands, so why are their artisans still there? We should have the greatest armors, the greatest craftsmen. People should want to come here, and not Lynese, if they want the best.”
Edmund nodded slowly, “A reasonable request, though not cheap. Still, your reasoning is sound. You did promise a golden age, and what better way for people to see that? I’m certain funds could be arranged, and instructions could be sent to the army to find us the right artisans and convince them to adjust their loyalties. Excellent Serwyn. You’re thinking like a true king, looking beyond the simple things lesser men notice, to the real truths.”
Serwyn sat up a bit straighter. It had been an offhand comment, just the first thing he thought of, but as his uncle talked, Serwyn realized it actually wasn’t a bad idea. He had, in fact, promised a golden age. True, his uncle had written that part, but that didn’t make the sentiment bad.
“Very well,” Serwyn conceded.
“Don’t look so down. We’ll keep the audiences short today and I’m sure we can find time for you to still get down to the training field. You’re King after all, and you should be able to do what you want.”
“It’s about time someone realized that. I’d started to think I served all of you instead of the other way around.”
“We’re always happy to see to your wishes, my lord. As your advisors, though, we’d be remiss if we didn’t try to give you the best advice we could. I, for one, want your reign to be a long and powerful one.”
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Serwyn said.
Comments
Brett Grayson
Truly appreciate the story and enjoy the pertinent graphic illustration.
