The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Twelve

Throughout the following days the Castle was plagued with rumours, whispers and quiet conversations amongst the members of the Royal staff that the King had ordered an immediate gathering of the High Lords due to a dark and terrible act that had befallen the West. Thankfully, news travelled slowly amongst the common folk and so far there had been no reports of the terrible tragic events that had befallen the stronghold of Cerran. There was, however, a large and undeniable sense amongst the commoners that the Palace had placed a larger number of troops amongst its streets, and that this signalled the city as a place of great importance within the coming days. The castle walls were cleaned and the drawbridge roadway was weeded, with newly planted flowerbeds taking residence on either side of the carriageway. Within the courtyards, the Kingsmen had been instructed that the place was to be cleared and prepared in proper fashion for the arrival of the High Lords. This meant moving large quantities of ale and whiskies down into the lower cellars, as well as renovating two of the large stable blocks to house the mares and carriages that would be kept safely within the walls. The High Lords of the West had great respect bestowed onto them by the people of Ceraborn, but nevertheless plans were drawn in order to clear a route directly to the castle and thereby ensuring that there was an almost impossibility of the carriages being held up or coming to any contact with traders or suchlike whilst they entered the city. The King had instructed his personal guards to practise ceremonial drills, unlike any they had performed before and the bands to play music befitting of the significant occasion. To his pleasure, Brodon discovered that the royal chefs had already begun preparations for the feasts, and had sourced more than enough food, wine and ale to see the meetings throughout. Brodon's sole intention was to ensure that the meeting was deemed as having his whole and undivided attention. This, he believed, was his moment. He had the maids check over the banners, washing them and drying them deep within the cellars to ensure they were perfect for the morning of the arrivals. Furthermore, there was a great amount of work put into the gardens surrounding the Palace, the grass was cut and the trees and shrubbery shaped into the most elegant of appearances. Deep within the castle walls, in a large open room overlooking the gardens, with the morning sun shining an amber light across the place and dancing from the walls in a magnificent fashion, Ser Ramon of Garth and Lenren of Cerran stood with arms outstretched and with tailors busying about them as they measured for the ceremonial garbs that they were required to wear on such occasions. Lenren had gotten all to comfortable with the idea, and had even gone as far as to have chosen the colours of his robes ahead of time. Ramon on the other hand, was not so forgiving. Ramon had spent a number of hours, perhaps days, during his military life getting fitted for such events. Whether it be dinners of the Lord Commanders at the Eastern Edge, or the passing out parades he had attended in the fledgling days of his promotion in rank, he was all too familiar and tired of these types of things. As the tailor fitted him, pinning small square samples across his arms and stomach, he found himself sighing heavily at the tiresome nature of the precedings.
'I think the blue for the inner lining, with perhaps the black as the outer. How would you feel about that, Lord Commander?' The tailor asked, stepping back and admiring Ramon from afar with his fingers postitoned like the head of a python towards the archer.
'I think that's a wonderful idea Gérard.' Lenren agreed, standing beside the tailor and copying that man's pose. Ramon scowled, looked into the mirror beside him and admired the colours.
'It will do.' He replied, in almost a grunt. He pulled at the pins and let the strips of fabric fall gently to the floor as he replaced his own outer shirt and sat down on one of the few chairs that had not been stacked high with robes, fabric books or the tailors other things. Gérard smiled, bowed to the man and continued to pick up the fabrics, replaced the fabrics into a silver tray atop the table and began to write down the man's measurements.
'I think, with the Gods by our side, we can manage to get the garbs to you by the end of tomorrow. Though the King has requested that you bare the Sygil of the Kingsmen on the sleeves.' He said, tapping his pencil for a moment before glancing to the man. Ramon growled again, staring from the tailor and towards his friend. Leren stood opposite the man with a sullen expression.
'Did you know about this?' Ramon asked. Lenren sat opposite his friend and looked towards the tailor, telling him with his eyes that the man was no longer welcome. Gérard quickly picked up a notebook and made for the door, closing it softly behind him.
'Brodon asked that all members of the High Guard wear the Sygil of the brotherhood they are bound to. For you, that is the Kingsmen.' Lenren said.
'That doesn't answer my question.' Ramon returned.
'Aye, I knew. And I agree with the King, as should you. This is a moment for unity, you were bestowed a great honor by Brodon and yet you act as a man bound to an iron ball for all eternity. Why?' Lenren replied angrily.
'Because of what I have seen, of what has happened before. I don't deserve this, Lenren, and I certainly don't care for it. I will serve my Kingdom until the day I die, but the Crown? Do not pretend to me that you think the Crown holy above all else.' Said Ramon, slamming a heavy fist down against the cold wood of the table. He was all too ready for a heavier handed discussion, and wit his blood boiling him found himself staring into the eyes of a man he had called a friend for years now, and that same man looked at him with more worry than Ramon had ever seen. Ramon calmed himself, gritted his teeth and stared away from Lenren.
'I serve both Ramon. The Crown and the Kingdoms, and I shall continue to do so until I am struck down by whatever man or beast finds my too elderly and slow to show him my true skill. Wear the Sygil, wear it with pride for once in your life. Perhaps then you will realise the honour it gives to you.'
Ramon watched from the corner of his eye and his friend walked quick footed from the room, opening and closing the door with great force and ferocity. He held himself on the chair for a few moments, allowing his temper to cool and the moment to pass by him. He looked out across the room and out onto the lawns that grew beneath him, and sighed heavily.
He began to wonder on the prospect of things. Of how, with the blessing of the King, he had marched men from coastline to coastline, watching over defence towers that were always, and without a single exception, quiet. Of course, the Kingdoms being at peace was the outcome all Folk hoped would befall on them, though many in the ranks of the Kingsmen had begun to hunger for the taste of a victory in battle. There had been whispers, begun in the Far Eastern Kingdoms under the rulers of Eronmar, that a small band of religious Knights, held bent on the destruction of the old temples that stood as the centrepiece of the Great Cities of the region, were travelling across the Eastern borderlands in hope of persuading the tribe Lords to join them and overthrow the established monarchs and rulers of the region. The very thought, to some of the Kingsmen, of blood stained deserts piled high with the corpses of enemies, was irresistible. Alas, it was not a conflict Brodon saw any requirement of his forces to enact upon. Ramon had spent far longer in the company of Brodon than he cared to admit. Over the passage of time, as Ramon had risen in the ranks had gained influence in the Kingsmen, the King had sought him as a confidente. Ramon, of course, had denied him. Instead Ramon eventually arrived at the Table of High Commanders, which convened with the King every three months in order to allow all parties to air out any complaints, issues or suchlike that they might have with the current campaigns. He was proud, deep down, of his achievements within the forces of the Kingdoms and his sense of pride had afforded him many years of happiness within his own heart. However, those years seemed like distant memories now. The only thing that swelled within him now was a mass of confusion and frustration. He had, on multiple occasions, ventured towards the Castle in order to confront the King and to talk through his furies, though each time his mind failed him.