King Menran Sharn walked slowly down the pillared hallway with his hands clasped lightly behind his back. He had been considering adding to the guard force for awhile, but there never seemed to be a way to get the additional gold past the Regency Council. Now, with Baolyn imprisoned and the idea of female sorceresses running rampant in Valorian, the prospect of asking for the necessary money wouldn’t be as monumental a task. The Regency Council was conservative, but they weren’t complete idiots.
Sharn chuckled to himself. He pretty much disliked them all. They were hangers-on and leftovers from his father’s council. None of his companions could be on the council, not until he reached the age of adulthood at twenty. A stupid rule. Though he was sixteen, he still understood the reasons for why it was the case. If it hadn’t impacted him directly, he would even have agreed that it was probably for the best of the kingdom. The truth was that he had grown increasingly impatient to be at the helm of the kingdom ever since his father, King Menran Torvil, had passed away two years ago.
Sharn knew that as soon as he reached his majority, he would fire every damn one of those bastards. The thought made him smile thinly. His own companions would see things his way, they knew who their master was. Now with Baolyn soon to be sentenced, he could draw upon the people’s innate fear of female sorceresses. That would make the common folk see him as a champion of justice and a wise ruler. Poor Baolyn, she was really just a pawn. A useful pawn, but a pawn never-the-less.
Sadly, Baolyn hadn’t put up the struggle that he had been hoping for. A few dead soldiers would have been ideal to ensure that she was swiftly sentenced to death. He would have to make sure that the soldiers that were with Sergeant Graethos knew what to say before the court. Not that Baolyn would ever have a chance to speak on her own behalf. He chuckled. No, she would still be wearing the brank to make sure that she didn’t use any evil magic. Nobody would risk speaking in her favor either, they knew that they would be tempting the King’s displeasure. He snorted, displeasure? Hell, he would have them executed alongside the witch!
He barely noticed the castle staff going about their duties around him silently. Their bodies attempting to turn invisible to his notice, Sharn wasn’t someone you wanted to have see you. His attention was usually followed by a flogging or demotion… or worse. Quite a few servants had made the mistake of accidentally being seen. They no longer worked in the castle or were the guests of honor in the dungeons below the fortress. Sharn was lightning tempered and his punishments were the late night whisperings of the castle’s occupants.
So it was with supreme annoyance and narrowing eyes that greeted the arrival of magistrate Urosil Korm and one of the ubiquitous royal guards. Both men immediately halted and kneeled before the King’s glare.
“And?” Sharn snarled.
“For-forgive me, Your Majesty!” The guard stammered, “But the magistrate brings important news.”
Sharn turned his slitted eyes to the quaking magistrate. Urosil Korm was one of the very few honest-to-a-fault holdovers from his father’s reign that had stayed on to serve Sharn. Sharn loosened up a little. “Okay, Korm, what is so damn earthshaking that you needed to see me now rather than make an appointment?”
“My Liege,” the magistrate began, “The Keybearer has returned!”
If it had been anyone else who had said that, Sharn not only would have relieved them of their job, but would have thrown them into the dungeon to await his pleasure for being a liar. However, Urosil Korm never lied. Ever.
