Kings Game

Chapter 83 - The Old Man and the Sea

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Toran watched as Roran sailed away on Vassilis's Spear. He didn't like goodbyes, never had. Then again, his biggest regret was never saying goodbye to Alira. At least he'd gotten to spend one last day with his son.

Hi son. The word still felt foreign to him.

Long ago, Alira had asked him for a favor, a simple one at that, and he'd complied. He knew what the consequences would be, he knew that his flesh and blood would be wandering around in the world, independent of him, but knowing you have a kid and having that kid come back to you were two entirely different things.

At first, he'd been apprehensive. He'd met Roran once when Alira first died, and they'd had no contact since. Toran hadn't even introduced himself then, he'd merely shown up, taken a handful of Alira's belongings, and left. All he'd seen was a boy crying over his sick mother. Then, years later, that boy had shown up on his doorstep, already wearing battle scars and a fresh title. The boy had a knack for getting into trouble, just like his mother.

"Alira, you and yours are a plague on this world," Toran mumbled. "One it so desperately needs. Be safe, Roran. You're the best thing I ever had a hand in making."

With that, he lumbered down off his perch on the mountainside. He'd watched several ships come and go, knowing that Roran had to be on one of them, just to see that his boy made it safely out of the city. Worrying over a squirt like Roran wasn't something Toran normally did, but he was a miserable old drunk, so doing strange things was normal for him. At least, that's what he told himself.

At least the next item on his agenda included alcohol.

Toran meandered through the city until he was in a lesser known neighborhood on Mount Tasos. Naturally, a dusty tavern on Mount Tasos was the only place he could meet with his boss.

Toran reached the tavern and shouldered his way through a rickety door. The tavern was quiet. Most taverns had been quiet lately. There weren't enough people to fill them anymore. Sitting in a corner was a figure with broad shoulders and a heavy cloak with the hood drawn up. Next to him sat King Tasos in the worst disguise he could have come up with.

The King wore a fine cloak of white with emerald trim. Though the cloak covered most of his body, the King was restless. He fidgeted constantly, moving his arms around, crossing and uncrossing his legs, leaning back in the chair until was balanced on two legs. That alone would have been bad enough, but the King didn't make any effort to cover his limbs. The golden etchings flickering across his skin were readily available for the world to see.

"You'd be less obvious if you wore a crown and arrived on a palanquin," said Toran.

"I hate palanquins," said Tasos. "They're so slow and no matter how hard they try, the bearers always end up jostling me about. A horse drawn cart is much more my style."

"Why don't you do us all a favor and just stay in your tower?" asked the figure. The rough voice revealed him to be Mentass, Tasos's pet Champion.

"Where's the fun in that? Where's the intrigue? Where's the danger?"

"You're immortal, you miserable old git," said Toran. "Why can't you act like it?"

The King stuck out his tongue. "Boo, you two are no fun. Why couldn't Roran be my errand boy, he's entertaining at least. Say, did you know that your son was porking the late Prince? At the Queen's Ball no less!"

King Tasos slapped his knee and chuckled. Toran and Mentass exchanged glances.

"Well, my son has good taste," said Toran. "And a penchant for getting into trouble. Too bad about the Prince though."