King of Crows

Chapter 4

Daren and Griff disappeared into a narrow service passageway; it was dim despite the torches hanging from the high ceiling. The only sound that could be heard were the soft footfalls of leather boots on stone. "Here we are", Griff turned into a dank chamber. On one end of the octagonal cell hung a grey archway.

Daren peered through the doorway and glimpsed the throne room, torch flames lighting its interior with a summertime glow. Knights stood shoulder to shoulder lining both walls, swords at their sides and oval ceremonial shields in their hands.

They were the Whitehall Guards, sworn to protect the royal family unto death. King Michael, a white cape flung over one shoulder, stood on the marble steps leading to an alabaster throne. The queen, hands clasped and head held high, paced nearby.

Several courtiers and knights stood at the base of the throne's dais, conversing in hushed whispers. A pair of pages stood in the shadow of the eves, each held a tray of wine goblets. Nearby squatted a wooden table with a crystal decanter balanced in the center.

A sharp movement drew Daren's attention to the throne room's entrance. A messenger, face red with exertion, trotted up next to a grey headed courtier, the steward of the king.

The steward, grey beard shimmering, nodded as the messenger whispered into his ear. As the errand boy turned to leave the steward cleared his throat.

"My lord king." the steward's voice, tremulous within the hall, commanded the room into silence.

"What is it, Gavan?" the king answered, his hand resting on his sword.

"The Lord Fraleth has arrived, he awaits your welcome at the palace gates."

"Have the lord and whoever is with him escorted into the palace", the king then turned to a nearby courtier and whispered something Daren could not hear.

Griff remained silent, eyes scanning the throne room, lips silently forming a frantic jumble of words. Daren look stared at Griff, perplexed at the courtier's behavior. The sudden crack of a staff striking stone made him flinch. It was a soldier, his dark cloak draped over one shoulder, who had made the noise. A spear was clasped in his bare hands and a raw sword hung in his belt. The soldier's light corn silk hair marked him as a man form Valion, descendant from the people of the plains; the heart of the Realm.

"The Lord Fraleth of Fardryn House greets the hall of the king." The bareheaded soldier lifted his gaze to the King Michael, "He and his men thank you. May your wealth and household increase."

King Michael Bronwyn , eye narrowed and hands at his side, stood atop the dais. "Lord Fraleth is always welcome, may his honor never ebb or diminish."

The soldier ducked his head and stood to the side and a file of men in dusky traveling cloaks tramped into the throne room. The grimy band kept their heads low, hoods over their brows and hands near their swords.

Next a small procession of knights marched under the arch. Red cloaks trimmed with sable rippled behind them, their steel armor gleamed dully in the orange firelight. Each man bore the symbol of Fardryn House on his shoulders, a black burning phoenix on a red shield. The group gathered in the center, rank upon rank of soldiers and knights. They bowed in unison, low and submissive.

King Michael gazed on while the lords shifted below the throne.

Daren glanced at Griff, "Does Lord Fraleth need so many soldiers to accompany him?"

Daren counted almost forty armed men with Fraleth's emblem on their tunics. A hushed silence descended over the hall at the rasp of riding spurs. A lonely figure, lit by the flames and grey morning sun, strode under the arch and joined the troop of soldiers clustered in the center. His face was smooth, pale in the gray sunshine.