The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Letter

Days and nights went by and still not a word from anyone, other than a vague letter from the King saying to wait for word. It came three days after the Bastard Brigade arrived, the sole response to many increasingly frantic letters asking for instructions. Tauron sent letters to Raenna, Blackfield and Raingaurd but not responses came from either until now. And that little note just said wait for instructions. From who? The King? Lord Ryden? The whole reason that this army was assembled was to provide reinforcements for the Westland should they need it. As more and more refugees come out from the Rainwood, the rumors get more and more dire. Yet there was no word from Lord Horith. Has he already been killed? According to some yes, but to others no.

And now the Bastards are causing trouble. There have been three reported rapes and a brawl with Nakbar and his men at a brothel. The Nakbar himself has sent letters to the Prince demanding to know what was going to happen. They wanted action, and they wanted their gold. If they were going to sit around for days on end, they want to at least have some assurances about the integrity of their deal.

Tauron disliked the company of others at the moment. They would do nothing but ask questions for which he had no clear answers. Same questions day in and day out. Why his father grayed so early in life was no clear to him. He probably had a few grays already after all this madness, despite only being of twenty-two years. The fact that he was so young made it worse. Elder members of the war council were looking down on him behind his back. Nicholi Gramman, Ulysses, Clayton Blackwell. Even Sir Julius, who was only four years his elder. Even Jon Malken was beginning to seem like a competent commander in their eyes. At least he ate, drank and sleep, and came to the meetings with a clear mind.

There was only one that the Prince could talk to in solace. Helg, his dear Helg. Though the heir to Tanner Hall had grown more cynical in the years at Blackfield, he had now lost an ounce of his ability to comfort Tauron when none others were willing or knowledgeable. Perhaps they would continue the tradition of a Heflite on the Throne and a Velrock by his side. That is how it has always been since Tauron's great grandfather took the throne after the fall of the Lanray Dynasty. It was a debate that nearly came to arms over which Duke, Ardor of Heflite or Heldon of Velrock would marry the last survivor of the fallen royal family. In the end, Ardor was chosen and the Lords of the Northern Crossing became the Kings of Liticea. But at their side, was the Velrock family. The two families over the last century worked together so much that the people spoke that there were two royal families in Liticea. It was amazing to think that the two houses have yet to join together through the blood of their children. But there never was a suitable son or a suitable daughter to join them at any one time. Tauron and Helg secretly agreed that if one were to have a son and the other were to have a daughter they would have them married and they would be brothers in blood and spirit.

Helg had the ability to make light of any situation. Even the Bastards got a laugh out of him. The country had a strange system of justice, he said to Tauron the night after the Brigade arrived, if one rapes and murders and gets arrested, they can either lose their head or they come to the Swampland. There they rape and murder with Desmond Guale's blessing. The country did not have a strange system, Tauron thought, Desmond Guale had that system. King Austin denounced it, even Duke Yorod denounced it, but the Swampland was a vassal in name only. The swamps were Desmond's kingdom and he was their king.

How Helg could make that a joke, or anything was beyond Tauron. Nevertheless, Helg remained a pillar that helped the Prince stand tall when he wanted to sit down.

When Helg was not around, Tauron only had the company of Robert Oaran. He was a dull boy. When the Prince spoke, he never looked him in the eye and when the Prince was not speaking he would slink away into a corner and hover, his face drooping and his hands cupped together at his waist. One would not think that he was to travel into the Westland. Lord Oaran must have had a lot of faith in the Sorcerer Prince to be sending his son into the Rainwood with him. Oaran bragged that his son could become a fine swordsmen, but the boy looked as if he had spend more time handling forks and spoons than swords.