Caleb's Journey
Chapter 9

An Audience with His Majesty

The great hall of the king quite impressed Malachael. What a grand room it was, from top to bottom! The sprawling, black, marble floor had flakes of gold in every one of the tiles that glistened and glittered in the sunlight that shone through the multitude of great, arching windows. This sparkling floor stretched some 300 feet in length. On one end stood the open, arched entryway with is hand carved images of the sun shining on a single crowned man surrounded by a flock of thousands who all shielded their eyes due to the brightness that emanated from that man, the king. He stood there, radiant, triumphant. At the other end of a raised platform sat the majestic jewel encrusted throne of the leader of that nation that sparkled in the sunlight, nearly blinding anyone who stared directly at it. Victor I’s architect designed it that way thinking it a fitting tribute to the Light King, in that nobody could look at him for too long without shielding their eyes.

Now evening came and as was the nightly custom when the king held court, a fabulous feast laid prepared before all of the guests seated at their various tables. Despite the outwardly chaotic appearance of the multiple movements of the multitudinous mass of servants setting plates and jugs of wine, placing dishes before the guests, it was indeed a coordinated concert of movements overseen by well-stationed clerks who directed not only the seemingly endless string of kitchen staff, but had also directed all guests, according to rank and station to tables of various proximity to the king and different degrees of grandeur at those tables in terms of finery as well as the variety and quantity of entrees.

Despite the differences in the color and quality of woven tablecloth, the presence or absence of gold rimmed plates, silver or golden jewel encrusted goblets, no guest felt slighted by their seat nor did they suffer injury to their personal dignity due to the culinary creations proffered to them. In truth, it stood as a resplendent repast complete with roasted fowl, savory beef, spiced potatoes, stuffed fish in a rich wine sauce, fruits at the peak of shining ripeness that still glistened with beads of water from their washing, and the platters of crisp, hearty vegetables all laid before the gathered host, with the aforementioned lesser varieties according to

their station in life. Regardless, it stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Light King, greatest of all monarchs.

There he sat, upon the magnificent throne Malachael had previously beheld, presiding over all he surveyed, supping his meal not from behind a banquet table, but from two side tables, so as to appear open before all, as was his design by having the table dined upon by his predecessors removed, thereby denying anyone the opportunity to dine seated next to him, for that was his other intent, to maintain the image of having no peer. To his still young and noble mind it seemed too undignified to grant anyone equal status at the table. The nearest anyone sat, the seat of honor, stood two steps below him and Lord Lestrade, his favorite knight

, headed that table.

With the meal finished, the monarch stood before the before assembled court ranged with dignitaries from the various nations, knights, and lords, the light king turned his attention to matters of state. All dishes were cleared, forks, knives, spoons, all removed. Wine glasses and ale mugs remained. It was a common custom in this nation to rise from where you sat and speak your piece, as it were.

Upon hearing Malachael’s tale, he spoke thusly, “Why tell me that your order has lost the artifact that it guarded? Retrieve it and let me go about my business of running my kingdom. If you failed, then redeem yourself and return it to me for a reward and real protection for the artifact. What care I for the loss of a tiny trinket? What harm could possibly come to my realm from its theft? Whoever admitted you made a mistake. Nobody has ever seen Xerax. To me, he is the stuff of legend, a tale told to young children about a prince who was swindled by a devil. The story has mixed details about the prince, the devil, the beginning, the ending, and everything in between. I’ve little to fear from a foul character from a jumbled tale. If he comes knocking at my palace door, I have a few

members of the Honor Guard prepared to protect me so I have no reason to panic.”

Malachael stood speechless, stupefied. He heard a few chuckles from some of the courtiers. His face became flush

ed with anger. In days past, he would have

thought nothing of incinerating the offenders with flames issued from his hands. He already

missed the tranquility of the monastery, and he had been gone but a scant few days. He hated it when thoughts of the days of yore snuck into his head. In the face of such conduct of this type he kept his composure, for he had an end to achieve. “Noble king, that

trinket, as you put it, houses a piece of divinity, some of the essence of Uua. She wept radiant blue tears at the birth of her child and all that remains of that is housed in a vial set amongst a chain of golden links. Its power has never been explored and I shudder to think of the consequences of it falling into the wrong hands. It has the potential for untold harm for the world. If I agree with you for but a moment that it was not Xerax, whom I most assuredly blame for its theft, but some other agent who somehow arranged for this theft than we can agree on at least one point your majesty, that whoever did steal this item is indeed resourceful and powerful. I know of no creature living that possesses the will, the desire, and the resources to commit such a crime, but there is one unliving one that fits the description.”

“

You speak of untold consequences? You want me to believe that an unidentified, all- powerful thief stealing an untapped item of great magic from within an unknown grove in my realm means harm to me and my subjects?” The king retorted, “You come to my court and tell me of a failing of your duty and speak of doom, but cannot tell me what to expect? Yet, you expect

me to act.

Me!”

“

I can tell you what will happen,” piped Candellah, who had arrived not long before Malachael. “I’ve had a vision of pure evil, cataclysmic destruction, and great chaos when the item was taken from its home.” Malachael recognized her as the woman he had seen roaming the streets.

A knight, Sir Epriam, who sat at one of the high tables mocked her, “A bad dream? By all means, let no man rest until it is returned, lest the priestess not get another good night’s sleep.”

This sarcastic jest elicited a chorus of laughter. Even the king cracked a smile as he stifled a chuckle. She was the spiritual advisor, but the liberal dispensation of libations had effected his judgment. All laughed, save Candellah and Malachael. From amongst the crowd someone quipped, “I already can’t sleep because of it.” The laughter became even louder.

“

I did not come here to be mocked,” Malachael said with a cool, but dark tone. “And I have no intention of standing for it. Master Summal will be most displeased when he learns of my treatment here.”

“

Nor shall the priests and populace to whom I answer replace comfort in the words of their king and protector,” chimed in Candellah. Here she pointed to Malachael, “I had no knowledge of this man before my arrival. Yet the same event has brought us to the same place at the same time. Everyone, forces greater than we are at work here to unite us and they must be heeded.”

At this time, a tall, clean shaven knight of nearly forty, with neatly trimmed black hair, a twinge of gray in it,

near the temples, searching green eyes, and a confident gait rose from his seat near the king. This shrewd, clever, crafting, man was the king’s trusted advisor for the Honor Knight’s Council, Lord Lestrade, a master politician and diplomat. His keen mind knew how to turn any situation to his advantage, appearing in the most favorable light to all others, no matter what truth lie in his heart. He bent down and with his clever tongue, whispered in the king’s ear while others muttered their ideas about what was to be done with this spontaneously conjoined ecclesiastical delegation.

The king nodded his approval at the softly spoken words. Then, he raised his hand so as to silence all in his court as he spoke, “Nobles, knights, delegates from other countries, hear my words. None hold Uua in higher regard than I and any attack on Her is an attack on my realm. I hold my subjects close to my bosom for they are my flock, my children. Our esteemed comrade in arms, Lord Lestrade has graciously offered to lead an expedition to recover the stolen artifact and once again safeguard this kingdom. Monk, priestess, you will join the detachment of knights on this mission. I have also been made aware that the recently returned Caleb Hart, son of the beloved Sir Gonwald Hart, will also join the expedition, as well as his companion from the Kilagi tribe of tigans, Seth Kitarn. Bravo. We wish you success.”

All parties in the hall rose to their feet and cheered in great exultation. A chorus of applause met the king’s words. Ever mindful of the courtesies paid to him that observant monarch noted the sincerity of each attendant’s applause. “I’d like a representative from the Elven nation to attend as well,” he subtly and knowingly added, “if it can be arranged.” Amongst the other races, a request from the Light King was tantamount to an edict. Thus, the Elven delegate, Hasna, nodded in acknowledgment of the king’s wishes. “Great king and esteemed neighbor, I have someone

special in mind for this assignment.” He replied. “Alari, one of my attendants, shall serve as my representative on this quest.”

“

Not likely,” a voice quipped from the elven throng. The elf in question had given her reply and emerged from behind her superior. Slight of frame with shoulder length chestnut brown hair, soft, slight brown eyes, a petite nose, thin, pursed lips, and the post pubescent form of a younger elf, say a couple of hundred years, for elves lived for a few thousand. Adorned in a green cloak, brown shirt and green pants, with leather boots, she looked more ready to go on a hunt than to appear in court. That sort of defiant spirit was precisely why her elder opted to send her with the departing

group.

Hasna turned and gave her a reproachful glare. “That’s a pity,” he dryly said. “I had figured that given the choice between this assignment and placement on the border, safeguarding our realm from the tigans that you would have opted to choose this task.”

Placement on the border guard had the potential of skirmishes with the tigans, skirmishes which conjured up vivid, violent images in the mind of the young elf. She saw herself face to face with a fearsome, seven foot tall, tigan, saliva dripping from his greedy fangs, and his fearsome double-bladed pole arm in hand, staring through her. That image produced a lump in her throat and a more deferential reply. “Hasna, I apologize for my rash response. It will be my pleasure to serve my country on this mission.” She bowed her head and departed the room to pack for the trip.

“

Your majesty, I have need of knights to accompany me. Here are the knights I wish to take, with your blessing.”

“

You have my blessing. Who are the knights?”

“

Sir Kyme, Sir Welkin, Sir Bix, Sir Sneed, Sir Cedvic, Sir Anvar, Sir Vintus, Sir Otho, and Sir Masurat.”

Mugal, the dwarven delegate spoke, “We dwarves, unless specifically requested by your majesty to provide an emissary, have pressing matters in our own kingdom, being harassed by outlanders.”

“

Noble dwarf, I am aware of your difficulties, direct your attention where it is warranted, to your homeland. We have more than sufficient resources to deal with this threat,” was Victor IV’s reply.