Kingdom in Distress Read online

are... necessarily involved.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and then met the King's horrified stare.

  “It would be almost undoubtedly fatal for her to conceive again, if her condition is not somehow alleviated.”

  As his counselors looked upon him anxiously, King Edward was seized with a terrible fit; he stiffened, and his eyes appeared to bulge out of his head, even as he suddenly toppled and fell to the floor. It was not obvious that he was about to do so until it was already happening, but the High Marshal was fortunately close enough to arrest his fall before he landed. As the Queen was not fit enough to be moved, the King was brought into her private chamber and placed within her bed. She was doubly stricken upon her awakening to find that the King had also fallen ill, and neither one of the royal couple spent much of the following day awake.

  During that day, it became known that a number of those present at the royal banquet which had been called to celebrate the Queen's pregnancy, as well as at the feast in the capital, had fallen ill. The Queen in fact was neither the first to be beset with this dreadful new plague, nor was she the most sorely grieved; already several young children had died in the capital where the disease was spreading like wildfire.

  News of the vanished mirror had spread quickly, and though people still did love their King most truly, there was the odd whisper in side-streets and tavern corners that he must not have spent much time before his mirror of late, given his preoccupation with Queen Katherine's pregnancy. Folks shook their heads and wondered at King Edward's foolishness at letting go of such a valued possession as the mirror had been, for in the past, while the artifact could not in itself stave off sickness or famine, it had provided such forewarning as to allow relief campaigns to be mobilized in advance, with healers and physicians ready and waiting for its arrival.

  It was the evening of the following day when King Edward awoke, he being the first to do so. Upon hearing that the Queen was still too weak and ill to be moved, he called upon the High Marshal to help him to his council chambers, where he was able to prop himself up in his chair despite the court physician's encouragement that he rest and regain his strength. There was, Edward felt, too much that needed doing, particularly without the benefit of Daventry's magical mirror. The first order of business was the upcoming planting: the King encouraged each of his noble councilors to have their farmers plant a week early, for the astrologers had been watching the Heavens and had cautioned as to the coming of an early frost in the autumn of that year. Were the Kingdom's crops to fail, it would add to the already growing feeling of unease within Daventry, in light of recent events involving the Queen and the loss of the royal unborn. News of the horrible tragedy had already spread far and wide to every corner of the realm.

  Next, there was the matter of Daventry's neighbors. The loss of the magic mirror was a trial on more than one field, for the artifact had not simply been used to tell when to plant crops to avoid their untimely loss; it had been used to warn of the approach of the Kingdom's enemies. News was spreading as to the mirror having gone amiss, and there were those who among Edward's neighboring monarchs who were already eyeballing Daventry's lingering wealth and good fortune, and wondering what their own crowns might look like if they were to somehow incorporate into it that of King Edward’s. This saddened the King, for never had he sought by force of arms to make conquest of his neighboring realms; Daventry's modest military had only ever been called upon to defend her borders, and to engage in humanitarian pursuits for the benefit of her citizenry. “Alas,” the King said, “that such evil times be upon us, that all of this wickedness would think to come at once, perhaps some dark spirit seeks to take us unawares? Regardless, that shall not be—High Marshal.”

  “Yes, your Majesty?” The High Marshal sat straight in his chair, always maintaining a proud, militaristic poise. He was an officer and a knight from a family of officers and knights, and he was dedicated to his position, always seeking to demonstrate his worthiness in service to what he truly felt to be the greatest kingdom in all the lands that were. King Edward felt a certain measure of gratitude even for his presence alone; it was easy to be reassured as to the competence of Daventry's military with the fine example set by the High Marshal being so close at hand.

  “You shall call a levy of those young men who are fit, and of working age, and who have to their names at least two younger brothers each, and also make it known that we are accepting voluntary conscripts from among those with at least one younger brother each. We are still a kingdom of plenty, and there shall be no falling of Daventry to over-zealous and uncaring monarchs who have not a thought for her people, but for the opulence of their treasuries and their palaces. We shall swell our ranks, and present a show of force to discourage attack by those who might think that some small misfortune upon our realm has us at a disadvantage. Meanwhile, all soldiers shall be paid in half-again their usual wages, and bonuses for new conscripts are to be doubled.”

  Hope Renewed

  There was a small sea of approving nods, at which point there came a knock at the door of the council chamber. The King's chamberlain was waiting on the other side, and he entered as he was bidden by the King. “Your Majesty,” the chamberlain said bowing, “and your Graces,” to the councilors, to a small chorus of polite returns—for the chamberlain, while a servant of the household, was a good and rightful man who did his duties loyally, and was considerably virtuous. It had in fact been said, more than once, that he was himself meritorious of a minor title, which he might be given to further expand upon such fortunes, as might only come with a certain measure of nobility.

  “Chamberlain Sestous, what brings you to the council chambers?” The King's voice was not reproachful, though there was a note of impatience, as any time spent not engaged in matters of governance was time in which his mind inevitably drifted to his recent misfortunes. Though I have been most fortunate overall, he thought to himself sadly, I feel I cannot help but mourn such a wretched turn of events as these last two days have handed me and mine. Woe for my lovely Queen may the Light save her!

  “I pray thee forgive the interruption, good Majesty, but there is one here who claims as his right the title of emissary, and says that he is from the nation of Mountain Dwarves far to the east of the Great Swamp, beyond the Gnomish Realm.” The chamberlain bowed again, as the various members of King Edward's council looked at each other in astonishment.

  “A Dwarven Ambassador? After so many years?” cried the King. “This is excellent news, indeed!” He bade the chamberlain depart in haste and send the newly arrived emissary into the council chambers, which was against formal protocol and etiquette but these were trying times, not to mention extraordinary circumstances. Soon, the Mountain Dwarf had been ushered into the room, and was seated at the table along with the King's other councilors. The prospects afforded by this strange turn of events had King Edward genuinely excited, for contact with the Mountain Dwarves' underground nation had not been held in any official capacity since the time of his great-grandfather.

  “Your Majesty.” The Dwarf nodded politely, and stroked his great red beard, which was forked, and braided, and thrust into his gold-trimmed leather belt, such was its impressive length. His manner was somewhat gruff but this—as every child of Daventry had been raised in full knowledge of—was the way of dwarves, particularly in a formal setting; they regarded warm and friendly displays of emotion to be a form of conduct appropriate only to the company of close family. The members of the King's royal council nodded approvingly to themselves likewise pleased, as was the King, to have a dwarf at court once more.

  “Noble dwarf,” the King continued; “might we know your name?”

  “I am Braamfohg ap Forgescythe, Oh wise King,” replied Braamfohg, “though humans oft find it easier to simply refer to me as Braam. This is perfectly acceptable, and would not be met with offense.” Such was the way of Dwarvish formality.

  “Noble Braam,” the King said, “I, along with my fellow councilors have heard marv
els of the wondrous works of dwarvish craftsmanship. We are a prosperous realm here in Daventry, and we look forward to mutually lucrative trade arrangements with the nation of the Mountain Dwarves.”

  “Indeed, Oh King,” Braamfohg stated in turn, “I am pleased to make known to you a certain arrangement of my father's own devising, though alas, he was unable to make his way to Daventry in his own time, for my people were long at war with the Fire Dwarves, and the Salamander-folk and many of our ancient ways were held fast. The journey over land would have been forbiddingly long and direly perilous, and as such, it was not made when we might have liked it to be. Now however, the ancient ways are open once again, and I would offer you, as a token of our esteem, a great marvel of our kingdom, in exchange but for a simple token of friendship and camaraderie in return.”

  “Truly?” King Edward was wary; his recent interactions with the Magus Deveureaux had him unusually cautious, though normally, he was not a wantonly brazen man. Surely, however, this is a different situation entirely? The Mountain Dwarves are known to be good and solid folk, steadfast friends and formidable