The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Five

Brodon sat on the throne, his Queen beside him and flanked on either side by Kingsmen in pristine armour. He looked around, there were eight men shackled and kneeling before him. All had committed an act which he could not afford to simply ignore or have his council deal with. The attempted murder of Ser Ramon and Astriel, as well as hate speech against the King himself and questioning of his rule over the lands had seen Lord Greynire and his conspirators condemned to death.
'I have not condemned a man to death by Royal decree during my reign. I had hoped, maybe foolishly, that we had passed those days. Perhaps I was wrong.' He said, staring down at Greynire, who still wore his bloodstained battle armour. The Lord turned his head, the iron collar forcing his head to hand against his chest as he fought to keep himself somewhat up right. He saw Lenren, leaning casually against a pillar, and snarled at the Archer. Lenren looked back to the Lord and then to the King.
'On the count of attempted murder against The Black Archers of Ceraborn, I sentence you to death by hanging. Those who this sentence is passed to include Lord Elser Greynire, and Sers Mason Revlar, Padstone Relmy and James Condor. The sentence shall be carried out tomorrow morning in the name of I, King Brodon Second of his Name and Ruler of the Western Kingdoms. For the rest, they shall be sent to Kraven's Point and serve the sentences as prescribed by the laws of the land. Thirty years to each man.' The King announced, and with a final fling of his wrist the men were dragged from the Great Hall and taken down into the depths of the dungeons, with no hope of escape and awaiting death- in whichever form it came.

The doors were closed and the hall once again fell deadly silent. Lenren began to walk toward the door but was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned, Brodon stood beside him.
'You think there's more?' the King asked.
'We captured who we could my King. Those who were involved are long gone by now.' Lenren returned. The King seemed unconvinced by the response and looked back towards the throne, his wife sat waiting for him.
'If the people are unhappy at my rule, what if a rebellion begins? What then?' He replied.
'A rebellion? Brodon, the Kingdoms are at peace. You will be known for that until the end of days. The people are happy. This changes nothing, the Lord is mad with grief, but murder will not fill that void.' The Archer returned. Brodon, with eyes plagued of worry, bit his lips and patted his friend on the shoulder before returning to his wife and sitting on his throne.

Lenren walked along the halls alone. The walls were lit with the occasional lantern but otherwise they were oddly dark. Dark, and quiet. As the Archer wandered the South halls he keep to the astronomy Tower, a long winding staircase which led towards a large room with a dommed roof and four enermous astronomical clock faces. Built by The Old King during his early years, when his mind was occupied by simpler things than dragons and other legends, he had spent several years enhancing his knowledge of the stars that shone above his Kingdom. He had even traded an astrolabe from Cyronos, though this now lay covered by a large net and covered in thick layers of dust. The room now lay bare, the book shelvings now held barely a quarter of the old collections, as they were now kept in the vaults of The Welling down in the Southern edges of the Kingdoms. Softly the Archer climbed the stone steps, he opened the wooden door and it creaked loudly as if it were yawning awake from a long sleep. The place lay thick with dust, the clocks were covered in thin covers of linen embroided with the Old King's seal. Lenren smiled, there had been good times under Haurtaff, though history offered instead to misplace those details and replace them with his cruelty and madness instead. He lifted one of the covers and saw the glinting golden outlines of the signs of Men. There were six signs of Men, each found within the stars by the Eastern astronomers that had charted the skies centuries ago.
It was believed, as Lenren knew, that Cyronos had been the birthplace of the Signs and that the once great Keep of Kherla was where those men had first seen the signs within the stars. He further pulled at the cover, the signs glistened in the sunlight for the first time over twenty years. The Dragon, The Pike, The Bear, The Dove, The Sister and The Waters. Lenren had been born under The Pike, and it seemed as though it had bore some truth to his life. He felt the scarring on his arm, the healed but still twisted flesh that forever reminded him of his sacrifice to the Kingdoms. Lenren was a man weary with age, his mind a swirling vortex of memories that had shaped him into the man that now stood looking at his own reflection against the astronomical clock. He looked deep into his emerald eyes, his skin greying and his long jet black hair speckling with grey, and found a sadness reflected back. He replaced the cover and moved towards the shelves, thick wooden plank built from the old oaks that once forested where Ceraborn now stood. Of course the forest still spread out around the place but Lenren could not help but wonder if the forest felt a part of itself had been ripped away with the construction of the city. The old leather bound books that were still stored were thick was dust, he pulled one from its place and wiped the cover, the gold leaf font pressed into the cover revealed itself in ancient Elder Folk, a language few now read or could understand. He opened the book, the quiet crackling of the spine echoed around him as he found handwritten text with beautifully illustrated pages.
'The books of Si'Namar.' The familiar voice of Velgar announced. Lenren turned and smiled. The Arch Chancellor walked closer and examined the pages, pointing to the illustrations. 'Beautiful, I've often come up here and stared at them.'
'Aye. But what do they mean?' He asked, flicking through the pages.
'They are believed, and this was only a theory of Arch Maseter Tulloch, to be the legends of the Elder Folk. Stories passed from generation to generation.' The Chancellor returned.
'And the name? What is Si'Namar?'
'The author my boy, Si'Namar was a chronicle of the Elder Folk. Much as with Rha Thu'Ma in the East. Si'Namar wrote many a book such as this, some such as this were discovered buried in the Valley of Kings.' The Chancellor took the book from Lenren and gently closed it.
'Buried?' Lenren said.
'The people's of the West were at war, they had been for hundreds if not thousands of years. And then, as they settled, Brodon Westermann came and conquered them.' replied the Chancellor, a sadness surrounding his words. Lenren nodded in acknowledgement and watched the as Velgar returned the book to the shelving by slotting it back between three other tombes. The two stood for a moment, in quiet and each embraced the surroundings in his own way.
'The King is worried.' Lenren said finally.
'I know. There have been rumours of discontent around the Kingdom since the Kludde attacks. But rest assured that Brodon has done all he can.' Replied Velgar affirmatively.
'I know that, and I agree. But the High Lords must ensure that these rumblings are quashed. Brodon cannot go the way of his father.' Returned Lenren.
Velgar glanced across the room towards the Archer and sighed heavily.
'The High Lords are doing what they can. As are we, rumours are apart of life. The King's worrisome nature will, in time, subside. I'm sure of it.'
Lenren remained unsatisfied, but simply smiled and left the place, closing the door behind him and whistling as he walked down the stone steps of the tower and back into the dimly lit corridors of the Castle.